She was coming.
He'd delayed it for so long now. Sacrificing his legions, his apprentices, even Bastila. Trying to use the Star Forge itself as a barrier between them. He didn't want to see her. To face her.
But he wouldn't have to, would he? After all, this wasn't Revan he was up against. It wasn't his childhood friend, companion Padawan, his leader. It definitely wasn't the woman who he found crying in the night, afraid of her own plans and emotions. No, this was "Sela Ven," the faithful republic soldier turned Jedi. A puppet. A tool.
Savior of the Republic. Yes, that was it. She was Jedi, an enemy, destroying all that Revan had worked for. All that Revan had done. He should hate her. He did hate her. He had to hate, to be strong. That was the point of this cause that she had taught him. That was what he had learned to become.
He felt the last of the droid-spawning machines shut down. He should prepare himself, set traps, do something. She was coming, and nothing could stop her. Nothing could stop Revan, after all. Why should it stop "Sela"?
But he did nothing, could not move, did not want to. He couldn't stop her. Gazing out at the space battle, he wasn't even sure he wanted to. Perhaps there was still time for him to find a ship, take off into the darkness. Join the fight, perhaps, become just another moving target, firing at dots on the target screen until a lucky shot took him down. A bright explosion, light and sound and pain… and then cold, calm darkness. Emptiness. Peace.
Or perhaps he could run, just flee. Keep flying until there was nowhere to go, find his peace or death or emptiness far from her. From here, he meant to say. It was the same thing, really.
But he couldn't run from her any longer. No, no, this isn't Revan. This is Sela, a paragon of light and virtue, a tool created by the Jedi Council from her corpse. Revan died… Revan died the day I killed her.
No, no, not like that. It wasn't like that. IT WASN'T.
The door slid open behind him. She was here, if not "her". Not herself. He was frozen, though. He wouldn't move, couldn't move, couldn't turn to face her. Her steps rang out, familiar and light. This is wrong, so very, very wrong. It was Revan's tread, if not Revan who walked the steps. Then silence. She was waiting for him to turn, to fight her. Of course, she was a Jedi. And Jedi don't strike down unarmed opponents.
He turned, reluctantly, slowly. Revan would want him to face his enemy. Revan would want…
It was Revan's grey eyes that stared him down coldly. Her wayward strands of black hair that drifted across her face, her lips, thin in disapproval, her easy stance, her… body.
And it was so, so very empty.
As he gazed hopelessly into the blank, soulless eyes of this creature, this abomination the Council had forged out of the woman he loved, Malak wanted nothing more than to run, to crawl, to flee to some dark haven and cry, or kill, or die.
Instead, he met Revan's eyes and Sela's stare with his own broken gaze.
"Well done, Revan…"
They clung together as they fell.
It had been Revan's idea. He didn't know how long she knew what she had to do, but she showed him the path, and he followed her along it. Did she come up with it all during the Mandalorian Wars? Surely before Malachor. Or was she somehow winging it, letting the Force guide her steps without asking why? No, not Revan. Revan went her own way, always. She was a force, not a tool or blind follower.
He had gone to her then, after Sylvan left. But, of course, she hadn't just left. She had been destroyed, wounded, wrecked. She was broken, dead inside. So he went to Revan for answers, as he had always done.
She wasn't at the command post, or working with the strategists. There were still plans left to be made, Mandalorians to mop up. If she wasn't there, something was truly wrong. So he went to her quarters.
The great Jedi Knight Revan, Supreme Commander of the Republic Army and Fleet, master strategist and recent victor in the most devastating battle of the war, was curled up on her bed, sobbing.
"Revan! What—what's happened!?" Malak walked up, touched her shoulder lightly. "What's wrong?"
Revan flinched at his touch, shaking silently as the tears coursed down her cheeks. Her face turned to look at him, short spiky hair in her face, as always, eyes wide and trembling.
"Me. I—I'm what's wrong. I killed them all, Malak! I killed them all, and I made her feel it! I made her swallow my poison, and amplify it. Iused her, and I broke her, and I knew what I was doing! I killed her, then and there. She may walk and speak and think, but you can see it in the Force, I killed what she was! For my own gain!" Her hands clenched and unclenched as her voice rose hysterically. Her shaking resumed, more frantic than before. "I chose this!" She moved as if to strike herself, drawing his attention to several bruises and scratches already marring her pale skin.
Malak sat down beside her, grabbing her hand in his, then hesitatingly putting his arm around her, holding her tightly. Her trembling reverberated through his body as she shook with silent sobs, and she buried her face on his shoulder.
Malak didn't know what she had done to Sylvan, or why. But this was Revan. He knew her, trusted her, more than himself.
"It's okay, Revan," he said desperately, wishing he could say something meaningful rather than his pitiful assurances. "I know you. If you did it, it was the right choice. It'll be alright. You'll make it work."
"You don't get it. You have no idea what I did, what it means—"
"I don't have to. It's you. You make sacrifices, Revan. You have to," he continued seriously. "You have to accept loss, and pain." He grinned wryly. "I'm supposed to be the soft one. But Revan, you make things work. That's what you do, and if you have to hurt people along the way—well, you do the best you can to make your victories worth what you sacrifice for them. I couldn't do it; I never have been able to. But you can. I have faith in you."
She was silent, for a long time. Her sobs had stilled, but she was still trembling slightly. He held her, uncertain if she wanted him to let go, but damn well sure he wasn't going to stop comforting her until he knew she wanted him to. She spoke finally, quietly, sadly, but not hysterically.
"You're right. You're absolutely right, and right now, I wish you weren't." She looked up at him awkwardly, sadness mixing with self-loathing. "I do sacrifice things, and people. And what I did to Sylvan—it was the start of something much, much bigger. There's something out there—not the Mandalorians, but something much, much worse. And I have to be able to stop it. But I can't, not as I am."
"I'm going to sacrifice everything I have. It may not be enough. But I have to try, no matter who I hurt, or who I lose. No matter how many people I break or ruin. Or how many souls I destroy. And I can do that. And I will."
She averted her eyes from his, looked down at the crumpled bedcovers and sheets, suddenly tense and nervous. "I—I don't think I'll make it through. I'll end up sacrificing myself, and even then, I don't know if it'll be enough. I… you…"
Malak sat, listening, absorbing every word into his spirit, stones falling into a still pool, sending infinite reverberations over the surface and sinking deep into the waters. At her hesitation, he spoke. "You do realize I'm coming with you. I'm helping you. You need me."
Her eyes flashed for a moment, her usual independence and slight touch of arrogance enraged at the words. Then, with a touch of amusement at her own initial reaction, she reined in her emotions. "You're right," she admitted softly. "I do need you. But… you have to promise me something."
"Anything." His dark eyes gazed into hers with fervent loyalty.
"There will come a time when I need something done, something I can't trust anyone else for." Her eyes flickered, avoiding his own. "Promise me that you'll do this for me." She raised a hand, stalling his questions. "I can't tell you what, not now. It's something you won't want to do. But you must promise me, and make good on your promise. Everything depends on this. I can make sacrifices as needed, but you must make this one for me, when I ask. Or what I plan to do, what I have done—it's all wasted. All lost."
He looked at her, at her shifty posture, and caught the avoidance in her tone. But he was looking at Revan, and knew his answer. The answer he had to give, for her sake if not for her plans. Staring at her intently, he replied, "Alright. I promise to do as you say, to make a sacrifice for you when asked to do it. But I will follow you, stay with you until the end. I'll keep you safe. Use me instead, Revan. I trust you."
"You shouldn't…" her eyes were haunted, with thoughts or visions or truths, he didn't know. "You really shouldn't."
They sat there for a while, in tense silence, until Malak rather awkwardly unwrapped his arms from around Revan. He stood and slowly walked towards the door. At the exit, he turned back, his eyes meeting Revan's.
It was Revan who voiced what they were both pleading inside. "Please… stay with me."
An intense heat and burning pain washed over Malak as Sela's short blue blade skimmed his flesh. She pressed her attacks, slashing and chopping with both lightsabers as he stumbled through a hasty defense.
Her weapons cut glowing arcs of blue through the air, mirrored by a slight blur in her own features as she moved with inhuman speed. Revan's speed. But it wasn't Revan. It wasn't. Revan's attacks were graceful, filled with finesse and skill. Sela's… they were graceful, but used a more straightforward, brutal style. A more deadly style, perhaps. But Revan had never used such moves, not in their hundreds of sparring sessions.
Perhaps it was because Revan had never before wanted so badly to kill him.
It isn't Revan! But it was. "Sela" had Revan's form, speed, skill, and power. She even used two blades. But it was different. She was different.
Distracted by his mental anguish, Malak missed the shift in posture that signaled Sela's change in tactics. Her movements suddenly took on a new wildness as she entered the Juyo form, stabbing wildly through and around his guard. Malak blinked in surprise at the rod of energy impaling his torso, and the ensuing waves of pain.
Revan used Juyo. He stared blankly at the weapon that was killing him. He shuddered as he looked up and saw the face of his killer: Revan's face, in a cold, emotionless mask. A Jedi mask. Or maybe no mask at all, just the blank interface of the mindless creature she'd become. He looked back at the blade.
Blue. 'The color of a Jedi Guardian.' That's a difference. See, it's not Revan after all. Revan despised the stupid, meaningless standardization of the three Jedi disciplines. While a guardian, she refused to conform to the stereotype, and got in trouble her first week as a Padawan for sneaking out to the kinrath cave alone to obtain a different crystal. "If I can't be a guardian without having blue lightsabers like Kavar, how is it that I can be a Jedi without being a wrinkly gnome like Vandar?" she'd asked. While both the Jedi mentioned might have found that statement amusing, she had the bad luck to be overheard by Vrook, who… was less than pleased. "What, does humor lead to the dark side, too?" she questioned flippantly.
This Revan stood before him, cold and dispassionately watching him die. No humor, no sorrow, no love. No soul or spark in her blank, uncaring eyes. The perfect Jedi.
Vrook would be proud.
Malak looked into Revan's face and searched desperately, hopelessly, for Revan. She wasn't there. He would have given his life for her. He would have let her take it, though knowing she would want his death would hurt far worse than any wound another could give. But this… this was a far greater, far more terrible pain, to look for her and see… nothing.
Not like this. If I must die, I will die. But by the Force, it will be Revan who kills me.
He staggered towards the edge of the platform, blood oozing from the hole in his gut, not fully cauterized by her lightsaber. She stood, watching his pained steps uncaringly. Did she think he had already lost? Not yet. You can't kill me, Sela. Not you.
He reached the first tank, where a broken Jedi hung suspended, twisted by the Force, consumed by Revan's Star Forge—no, his Star Forge now. Malak expended the last of his energy—an investment that was quickly repaid as the power suffused him, healing his wounds and refilling his Force reserves.
They had all worshipped her.
She was a dark queen, resplendent in her power. She enveloped herself in the dark side of the Force, wearing its strength as easily as she donned her black robes and mask. The devotion of her men was unquestioned, and her brilliant mind would lead them to victories against the Republic as easily as it had defeated the Mandalorians.
She was Revan, Dark Lord of the Sith, descending upon the weak and unstable Republic with both the material weapons of her newly forged fleet and the dark power of the Sith teachings. The Republic feared her, the Sith followed her, and the Jedi… sent assassins.
The strike team landed on her flagship, Darkstar, in a stolen Sith starship. They moved toward their destination, hiding their presence from her soldiers and avoiding her dark acolytes.
When Malak arrived at the entrance to her quarters, the door was a melted lump of slag, crisscrossed with lightsaber cuts. Inside, he heard the hum and crash of combat.
Without pausing to consider, he drew his lightsaber with one hand, and shoved the remnants of the door out of his way with the other. The jagged metal cut the flesh of his hand, but he paid it no heed, dashing forward with Force-augmented speed as he called out, "Revan! What's—"
His voice stopped, cut off by horror as he viewed the scene within. Revan was backed into a corner, both blades drawn, and employing all of her inhuman speed in her own defense. She was under assault by not merely one or two, butfour Jedi, two of which Malak recognized as Masters. The room seemed filled with arcs of color as lightsabers danced past and around each other: Revan's red and purple, and two blue, one yellow, and a double-bladed green for the four Jedi.
As he entered, the combatants looked up at the new arrival. Revan gave him a brief glance, then returned her gaze to the combat, dropping to avoid a slash by one of her blue-bladed opponents.
"Malak, go! I can handle it!" She struck out with her red lightsaber, pushing her attacker back, and refocusing the attention of her combatants on herself.
"Like hell you can!" Malak charged forward, swinging his own red saber at the nearest opponent, a dark-hued purple twi'lek with a yellow lightsaber. A jarring sensation vibrated through his body as his blade clashed with a long green one, and he found himself staring into the piercing jade eyes of a dark-haired woman. Green. 'The color of a Jedi Consular'. The color of her weapon came as no surprise; Malak had recognized this woman as both a Consular and Jedi Master from the Dantooine academy. But if she specializes in Force attacks, why bother wielding a doubleblader?
The answer became clear as the woman spun her weapon, striking at him with the opposite end. He stumbled back, ducking under her attack more by luck than skill.
Because she can.
Damn, she's good.
The woman pressed her advantage, driving him back—away from Revan. Glancing away for a moment, Malak saw Revan wound one of her opponents, a bald man with a blue lightsaber, who fell back for a moment to heal. Malak's inattention cost him, though, and he hissed as the woman's blade cut into his left shoulder. He stumbled back, brought up his weapon to cut under her guard, and—
Stopped, frozen in action. He glared, infuriated, at the consular, her hand outstretched from the Force Stasis she had just used on him. He felt her Force energy crackling around him, binding him in place, halting his motion.
Dismissing him as no longer a threat, she turned to face Revan. Revan had been faring relatively well; while all three of her current opponents showed burned graze marks or outright wounds, she was untouched.
As Malak watched, though, she shuddered, sliding back a bit as the green-eyed consular thrust out her hand in the motions of a Force Push. Revan shook it off quickly and resumed her defense, but the other woman persisted, shoving her energy again and again in an attempt to catch Revan off-balance. As if by some silent consensus, the two blue-bladed fighters pressed in closer, while the purple twi'lek with the yellow lightsaber—the color of a Jedi Sentinel—fell back to aid with the Force attacks. Although Revan could resist the attacks, it was clear the effort was tiring her, slowing her movements.
Malak could only watch, helpless, frozen in place, as Revan fought for her life. Sweat trickled down his face as he clenched and unclenched his muscles in furious attempts to overcome the Stasis. He glared enraged at the consular in front of him, back turned, facing Revan. The consular who had come here, invaded their place, and was now threatening the life of the woman he loved.
He felt his anger building within him, giving him strength, a dark blade of fury he could use to strike at the Jedi's binding. Good. More, I need more. He fed it his rage at the Jedi: for letting the Mandalorians go unchecked, for censuring and then casting out Revan and her followers simply because they had done what the Jedi were too weak to do, for their hypocritical lies and self-righteous beliefs, for invading this place, and most of all, for threatening Revan—
Malak's concentration was broken by a hiss of pain from across the room.Revan. She was pinned against the wall by the combined pressure of several Force Pushes. A lightsaber burn crossed her right cheekbone, narrowly missing her eye. While her lightsabers were still in front of her, she was clearly exerting all of her strength to keep them from being plastered to the wall with the rest of her. They were no threat. The two blue-bladed attackers stood ready to finish her off, blades extended. She glared murderously at the lot of them.
"Former Jedi Revan," stated the consular calmly, clearly the leader of the group. "You are charged with the attempted destruction of the Republic and the Jedi Order. Surrender now and return to Coruscant to stand trial."
"Or?" Revan's tone made her answer clear. No matter how hopeless her situation was, there was no chance she would go crawling back to the Jedi or submit to their rule once more. Force, she's beautiful. Malak hurriedly refocused on his anger.
"Or we will destroy you, 'Sith Lord.' Exar Kun was enough for the galaxy. Jedi are protectors of the peace, and we will not allow you to bring war once more."
"You can—" Revan's reply was cut short as Malak broke through the Jedi's barrier, bringing down his lightsaber in a blow that severed the consular's left arm at the elbow as she attempted to leap out of the way. She collapsed, clutching her cauterized stump, as the others turned to face him.
The blue-bladed guardians were first to attack, coming in on either side with sweeping attacks, one high, one low. Malak blocked one easily and leapt over the other attack, clearing the arc of blue light by an easy half-meter. Revan was right. He had doubted the Sith teachings. He had feared giving into his anger, his hate, and had always concealed it behind humor, pretending it didn't exist. But this… this was so much simpler. Use it, don't hide it. Don't lie to yourself. Don't be a Jedi.
He spun midair, swiping his blade below him where he knew one attacker was. He heard a grunt of pain, and knew he had connected with someone. Without turning to look, Malak felt the first Guardian crumple through the Force. As he landed, he spun to where he knew the second was striking from. This woman, although quicker than her counterpart, seemed slow and sluggish in Malak's vision. He blocked her blow with ease, his glowing red blade clashing violently against her blue lightsaber.
He spared a fraction of his focus to feel for Revan, and found her angry, but well, grappling through the Force with the consular, who, although grievously injured, nevertheless continued in her attempts to hold Revan back. Focusing more strongly, Malak sensed something else in Revan, another emotion that seemed more unfamiliar, out of place… was that fear? No… not Revan. She wouldn't be scared of these fools… Force, when she fought Mandalore there was no fear. Why now?
Truly worried now, he probed deeper. It was fear, but… Ah. It's me. She's afraid for me. He grinned a bit inwardly at this. The Mandalorians didn't scare Revan. She destroyed worlds, mastered the Star Forge, and faced four Jedi without trembling. But when he was fighting… It's not exactly a good thing. But it's nice to be cared about. Not that she needed to worry, he thought, drawing upon this new dark energy to force the Guardian's blue saber back towards her face, overpowering her steadily. I'm fine now, better than I've ever been—
Pain. Flashing yellow light, arcing through his head. Pain, blood, breaking. He screamed, aloud and through the Force. But from his throat, only a dull gurgle emerged. So much blood, so much blood everywhere. He was falling… or maybe he had already fallen. Bright light in his head, searing. Blood, pain, savage, savage pain through his head, his mind. He tried to call out, but no sound emerged, only a bubbling wheezing noise.
Malak heard a sharp cry of rage, a crackling sound, clashing and fighting and screams. What did it mean? Did it matter? Everything was going dark, so dark.Am I drowning in blood? Whose? Mine, Revan's, the Jedi's? Perhaps the Mandalorians, or Sylvan's. But no, that was Revan's doing, right? Nothing seemed certain anymore. Screams, dying, pain. Was that then or now? Then a soft blue light, cool ice touch taking away the pain. But the darkness remained, so soft and easy to fall into, to rest, to run away.
"Malak, wake up, dammit!"
He didn't want to. The blood was in the way, and if he had not drowned in it already, he had no desire to do so now. The darkness was safer, more peaceful.
"Malak. I need you." The voice was frantic, desperate. "You can't fracking do this! Wake up!"
Malak slowly drew himself to his feet, using the emptied tank at first for support, then moving shakily away. Such a transfer of energy overwhelmed his body's capacities briefly, although it was well worth the price. Any organic vessel could act as a conduit for the Force, but when this much power flowed so quickly through his body… it had consequences.
Malak was keenly aware, as always, of his metal jaw, the dead spot in the Force as it flowed through him. When he had returned to consciousness after Revan's healing, she had told him what had happened. How the twi'lek Jedi Sentinel cloaked his presence and moved in to strike while Malak pressed his advantage on the Guardian. How his jaw had been severed, and he had nearly died of blood loss, despite all Revan could do. As for the fate of the Jedi, no description was necessary. Their smoking corpses were strewn on the floor, some blasted with Lightning, others… 'diced' was the word that came to mind.
He turned to face Sela as she rapidly approached, flipping herself over the railing to land gracefully a few meters away. This was the last of the tanks, the last broken Jedi with which he could restore his powers.
This was his last chance to reach her.
She reached him first, in a sudden high leap, striking down and across with her two blades, pressing down from above. He shifted sideways, out of reach of her shorter, left-hand saber, while bringing his own weapon up to block her downward strike. Red clashed with blue with a resounding crash, and Malak made use of his greater strength to force the two blades back at his adversary. Revan wouldn't have used such a straightforward attack. If that was such an advantage, why did he wish it were otherwise?
He kicked out at Sela, attempting to force her back before she could bring her second weapon into play again. Her level gaze showed only contempt as she leapt over his attack, using their clashed blades as leverage to flip herself up and past Malak. He nearly fell over avoiding her long arcing blade as she flew and dropped, landing gracefully behind him.
He spun to meet her. She didn't bother to turn. Flipping her short lightsaber to a different hold, she stabbed behind her, catching him mid-turn.
Pain. Flashing yellow light… but no, this light was blue, and pierced not his head, but torso. That was right. The Jedi went for the head. Revan… Sela killed him differently. He had a vague idea that the light was going away as he crumpled to the floor, but he couldn't really tell. The metal was so cold.
I failed.
No, not yet. Not here, not now… not her.
It was supposed to be Revan.
How could Sela have done this? The pawn, the tool… how could she defeat him. How could she have defeated Revan?
He writhed, feebly attempting to rise, attempting to somehow resist the growing cold that he could feel spreading. Was it the metal deck he was sprawled out on? Or his metal jaw, spreading its lifelessness? Or was Sela's blade not extinguished at all. It was inside him.
Cold, so cold.
It wasn't supposed to be like this. How could this have happened?
"Impossible…" he whispered brokenly, futilely. His metal speech unit's regularity was broken by a whimpering cough as blood caught in his lungs. "I… I cannot be beaten." Not here. Not now. I can't. Not by Sela.
I failed. I couldn't find her.
"The power of the light will always be stronger than the dark side."
Her clear, hard voice rang out above him with mechanical calm. A simple truth, that's all this was to her. Did her world hold anything but truths? Anything but righteousness and faith, clear-cut good and evil?
Am I evil? I thought I was just weak.
He tried to speak, and coughed again. Face twisted with agony, Malak painfully lifted his head, meeting her eyes of grey calm with his own tortured black ones. "…still spouting the wisdom of the Jedi," he gasped. Could that be it? Was it as simple as she thought, merely good versus evil, where good was always stronger?
"Maybe—" he began, then cut short. No. That wasn't it; that couldn't be. Revan was strong. Revan had been beautiful and deadly, defiant and swift. It was she who had taught him that blind obedience was no better than slavery, and he would not forget her words just to excuse his own weakness. His own failure.
Sela watched, impassive.
Desperately, he tried again. The cold was spreading. "What would have happened had our positions been reversed? If you had not led me down this path in the first place, what destiny would I have found?" Stop looking at me like that. See me, just see me. Then see yourself.
"You cannot blame me for the path you chose."
Blame her? He had never blamed her. Only loved, and followed, and fallen, and lost. And now, lost again, in every way possible. He looked up suddenly, the pain receding as the cold consumed him. "I just…" He searched her face once again, seeking any sign of Revan, any sign that she was not lost as much as he.
No such thing. His head dropped, and his words came out in quiet despair.
"I just wanted to protect you."
She laughed. He hadn't believed it possible for her, and the sound hurt more than anything she could do. He'd thought the pain was gone. But he had heard this laugh so many times before, accompanied by bright, amused eyes and occasionally a good-natured jab to the ribs. It was Revan's laugh… but wrong. Harsh, twisted, expressing contempt rather than pleasure. Sela laughed.
"'To protect'? All you sought was power. You fired on my… Revan's ship. You tried to kill her." She seemed to grimace slightly at her unintentional slip. It was more emotion than he had heard in her voice yet.
"No." His voice was soft, tired. How could she do this? How could she? This usurper, this puppet, this… this construct in Revan's form? "No," he repeated, suddenly incensed. "You told me to, Revan. You said you would be off the ship, that I would be saving you. I wanted to wait, but you told me that this was the moment, that I had to make good on my promise."
His face turned up, awash with anger and sorrow. He tried to find her face, but the cold had spread too far, too fast, and all he could see was darkening shadows.
"Why?" He spoke quietly now. Desperation and pain and shame and loss warred in his whispered questions. He could hardly hear himself, hardly feel the deck beneath him. "Why can't you remember, Revan?" Even the cold was gone now. I am nothing.
Malak's last broken whisper was not a question, but a plea.
"Why aren't you Revan?"
The woman stood over Malak's corpse, face hidden by shadow. Her two lightsabers were still out, though extinguished, held in each hand in a reflexive, ready grip. She stood quite still for several minutes, ignoring the display of capital ships lining up outside the windows, and the subsequent shield failure warnings that blared over the Star Forge's comm system.
Then something fell, a droplet with the pain of worlds. A sound, a muffled catch could be heard, as if the breather was incalculably fatigued. And then the woman raised her head from the shadow, and the tears glittered on her anguished face.
She knelt before the body and answered his question. Her voice was soft and light, but twisted by her own sorrow and self-hatred.
"Because I couldn't have done this."
Revan rose.