a/n: diverges from movie events slightly
The chamber is empty and yet it is not.
He sits, legs crossed, and opens his mind to the Force, drawing it hungrily towards him. Reveal yourself to me, he implores it. Teach me the ways of darkness. Steer me from the light, and show me the true path.
I am your willing student, your acolyte, your vessel. I bare myself to you. I offer up this crude body to your will, so that you may remake me in your image, as you were.
Grandfather.
.
.
.
.
Neither fire nor time could destroy Vader. Decades after the fall of the second Death Star, he can still perceive the great shadow of its existence, a raw wound in the side of the galaxy still burning with the remnants of old power.
This is the course that Vader began, and now it is his duty to see it completed. Day by day, he can feel the dark inside him snuffing out what little light remains. It makes him proud, to be following in the footsteps of his ancestor, but it also gives him pause. As he approaches the final stages of his transformation, doubts begin rising to the surface.
"Such things are not unexpected," Snoke had told him. "In the end, it will fall to you to cull any and all weakness from your spirit. When you embrace the Dark Side, your conviction must be absolute. Those who wield the power of the dark cannot flinch in the face of it, lest they risk suffering its wrath turned upon themselves."
The Supreme Leader is wise, he knows. But wisdom is slow in coming, and what presses upon him now is more urgent. There is a hunger inside of him that cannot be sated by the plodding teachings of Snoke. What he desires is to don the mantle Vader once wore, to become as his predecessor was during his prime - to become strength itself, relentless, all-consuming. He finds no pleasure in silently moving around the pieces of the galaxy, observing the motions of fate but never once participating, never toppling worlds in the flesh.
I know the things you seek, another one promises. I know of different paths, and secrets which bested even the great Sith'ari of old.
Inside the chamber, from a nameless place where there is nothing but the sound of his own heart, a pair of golden eyes flash.
.
.
.
.
He grips his saber and brings it down, hard. Metal splits cleanly before him, the edges of the cut glowing white-hot before fading into soft orange. Screams fill the air, thick as the smoke coming from the wreckage. So much fear, and pain - he wants to pull it all into his chest, sew it shut, let it eat away the bones of Ben. His own name has become an anathema, a bitter reminder of the boy at the temple. He recalls a training droid, the rustling of cloth, the swift movements of the others as they deflected stunning bolts-
Two men make to fire on him. His arm sweeps out, fingers clawed, sending the Force slamming down on both of them with an irresistible pressure. Armor crumples and blasters warp against the strain of his grip.
Carefully, he advances. The hum of his blade is present through his helmet, and he can feel the heat from quillons pulsing lightly against his hand. Sweat gathers on his brow. It is all too warm on this planet.
"Where are you hiding the Resistance members?" he demands. One man turns his head away. The other spits on the ground.
"You'll get no answer from us, Ren," the fighter snarls. "Sith scum like you should've gone to Dagobah and stayed there; you deserve to rot on that planet with the rest of its garbage-"
With just a gesture, he seals the man's mouth shut and reaches into his mind, probing for information. His companion watches mutely, horrified, as his partner begins to convulse, eyes rolling back in their sockets and a thin trail of blood leaking from one ear.
Too rough, she tells him, smiling. She has followed him here, emerged without noise from the miasma, and now she is grinning widely between his captives. Her robes, sheer black limned with red, barely flutter in the steaming wind. With infinite tenderness, she runs her fingers over the shuddering man's neck, dabs at the blood that has wound its way down to his collar. You'll find nothing of use in that brain now.
But the flesh still has its purposes. Her laughter is high and piercing.
Savagely, he plunges his saber into the man's stomach and twists. Skin and cloth burn in tandem, and the companion howls - in dread or sympathy or both, he does not know or care. All that occupies him at present is the terror on their faces - he is becoming something beyond their comprehension, and they are afraid.
His mask betrays nothing. But inside, he is ecstatic, awash in the thrill of the act.
"Tell me where you have hidden them," he commands the survivor, reaching again with the Force. This time, the answers are quicker in coming. A desert world - Jakku. He can piece the rest together later, but this is a start.
After he has dispatched the rest of the insurgents, he picks his way back to her past the cries of the dying. For a moment, he imagines that he can see another figure through the smoke, squat and pallid, a hooked finger carving into her chest. Perhaps she glances at him, and her eyes are the color of rain on Yavin 4, hissing it meets his blade on some night other than here.
He wipes his helmet. No one else is with him but the woman.
You did well, she says. For a boy.
"I am no boy," he replies, deactivating his saber and clipping it to his belt. "Not any longer."
Your aspirations have taken you far, she agrees, but you have yet to complete your training. I believe your master warned you already. One obstacle is left. Do you have the courage to face it?
"I do."
We shall see, she sneers as his ship lands. We shall see.
.
.
.
.
"Ben!"
Startled, he pauses on the bridge. He had known that this moment must come at some point, but he had never anticipated that it would arrive so quickly.
The helmet, which had never bothered him before, now seems to weigh upon him far too heavily.
This is your wish, whispers the voice of Desire, inches away from his face. Remember your oath.
"I will cut down all who stand in my way," he murmurs. "I have no fear."
Remember what you wanted.
"To join with the Dark."
You are no boy, Kylo. Lightly, it pads to the edge of the walkway, peering down as though calculating the drop. Then prove it.
He does not look, but he hears it sigh, seemingly satisfied, as it departs.
Kylo turns and regards the man before him evenly, and when he speaks, his voice does not quiver. "Han Solo."