A/N: I woke up one day and realized I'd written a hefty amount of pages for a story I was never going to post. So I figured I'd post it. There was one review in particular that inspired this story, but I won't say the name, because spoilers. You'll know who you are, soon enough.
This story is a direct sequel to my other story "The Little Man." Go read that if you haven't. This story won't make much sense otherwise. Also, it is unbeta-ed so I apologize for missing words and spelling errors.
Faces of the Defeated
Chapter 1
Obi-Wan hung from his wrists in his cell, his body suspended so that his feet barely brushed the cold, white floor below. His joints creaked and ached under the strain of holding his entire weight and he quickly became alarmed in discovering that he could not draw in enough air.
It was ridiculous... he'd wanted death for so long now that he should consider this a blessing or a mercy, but that primal part of his brain, the part that was incapable of rational thought, took control of his body, forced his muscles to flex, forced his arms to pull himself higher so that he might take one more sweet breath of the prison atmosphere.
There was nothing left for him. He'd failed, and now Palpatine knew everything, combing the deepest depths of his mind to rip out and discard the last of his remaining hope. The galaxy was lost. The Jedi were lost... and this was the end.
"Padawan," It was a voice he'd not heard in many many years, and the version in his dreams had grown distorted over time, yet he'd recognize it anywhere.
"Mast... er..." Obi-Wan sobbed, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes to join the others already accumulated in his beard in his more pathetic moments.
"What is it you need?" Qui-Gon's specter asked him. He didn't show any particular distress at his former padawan's situation, proof perhaps that in the afterlife, stresses on the body and mind were made irrelevant.
"I need... guidance."
"You can die, or you can live with the taint forever," came the simple response, no bias toward either choice. Qui-Gon knew what it was he was considering, what was lurking in the shadows of his mind.
"Is… it... so terrible?" Obi-Wan gasped, desperation clear in his hoarse voice. And he did not speak of death, for death could not be anything but release at this stage.
"For you? No. It will be intoxicating. But it is an addiction, one that is impossible to break. In time it will either consume you, or not a day will go by where you don't consider letting it."
Obi-Wan shuttered, letting out the last of the air in his lungs. Knowing that he would have to lift himself to get another good breath, and knowing also that he didn't have the strength to do so really limited his time to meditate on the issue. He took a few, stunted inhales.
"Is the... Force …finished with me?! Have I ...fulfilled my ...purpose!?" he demanded of the shade before him. Qui-Gon spent an agonizing moment with his hand to his chin and his head cocked to one side as he considered. Say yes, Obi-Wan begged in his mind, By the light! Say yes and absolve me of my worldly sins. Allow me a reason to let go!
"Have you?" Qui-Gon wondered out loud before fading into the ether. Obi-Wan whimpered in impotent rage, muscles cramping, arms straining, chest heaving.
He retreated into his mind, then, deeper than he'd gone in a long time, into that area that young Jedi were taught to rope off or lock up before truly beginning their training.
For Obi-Wan, it took the form of a stone well, dredged up from some childhood memory long forgotten. He stared down into the hole, into the swirling, black waters below. Always a temptation, always a curiosity, never a possibility.
He let himself fall head first, plunging into water that was not cold and icy but warm and soothing. The black currents swirled around him, caressing, whispering. Energy flooded him, sent up from reserves yet untapped until he was filled with a strength he'd never felt before.
In the detention cell, Obi-Wan opened his eyes again. He lifted himself and breathed.
A rotation passed before his visitor came again. Palpatine entered calmly, with no guard or escort. Obi-Wan was dropped onto the floor unceremoniously.
"You're still alive," the Emperor observed, mildly amused. The old man reached down to grasp his prisoner by the face, skeletal fingers digging into hollow cheeks. Obi-Wan was unable to pull away, forced instead to stare into yellow, deceitful eyes.
"I no longer have need of you, Master Jedi, but still you refuse to die. Perhaps I should let my apprentice decide your fate."
Obi-Wan rather liked the idea. It would certainly be a more dignified death than whatever Sidious had planned for him. The Emperor seized upon this unshielded thought.
"We are in agreement then. The killing of one's master is a rite of passage for a Sith, much like your Jedi Trials," the old man released him suddenly, turning away. "However, I rather enjoy living, therefore, your death will have to suffice."
Exhaustion was catching up with Obi-Wan, and he tried to stave it off as he'd done before, but now that the immediate threat to his life had been removed, there was no need to sustain himself by unnatural means.
How terribly rude of him to fall asleep while the Chancellor was speaking... Hopefully the council would forgive him...
.o.o.o.o.o.
When Obi-Wan woke again, the Chancellor was gone, his fellow Jedi were gone, and he remained in a prison cell. The disorientation persisted for some time. His dreams had been feverish and full of darkness. Even now he could still feel the dark energy thrumming through his veins, remnants of his brush with the forbidden.
The outer door to his cell slid open, revealing the droid that always brought his food. It was a rather simple machine that did not speak or perform any function other than to deliver supplies to the detention level occupants. Its one notable feature was that it had been designed to pass through ray shields without becoming damaged.
The tray was suddenly flung at Obi-Wan, and food splattered both on and around him. Even as unexpected as the action was, Obi-Wan did not have energy enough to clean himself off. The tray clattered to the floor within his line of vision and he noticed something peculiar. There were words scratched hastily into the metal, barely visible from where a sticky sauce had been smeared over them.
Take Cover Obi-Wan Kenobi, it read.
An explosion tore through the detention level.
.o.o.o.o.o.
"Get up and carry your own weight, old man or we will never get out of here alive!" a young, fully tattooed Zabrak was hollering in Obi-Wan's face as he came around. His ears were ringing. He could feel the soot all over his body and the blaster fire zinging past him. He was being dragged. Turning his head as far as he could, he saw that he was in a hanger of some sort. Two men in were with him. One had hold of his arm, the Zabrak. He was in trooper armor but seemed to have discarded the helmet. An accomplice trailed behind them in the uniform of an Imperial officer. He was a blonde fellow in his late twenties or early thirties with kind eyes.
Get out alive. Who even cared anymore? Who were these men that would risk their lives for the failure that was Obi-Wan Kenobi?
"You said we would be in and out before the alarm was raised!" the Zabrak complained as he set Obi-Wan over his shoulder so that they might travel faster.
"Change of plan," the other answered, unapologetic. He raised a shield emitter to block more incoming blaster fire. A shuttle loomed ahead, the engines already prepped for takeoff and they managed to climb onto the ramp just as it began to close. Laser cannon fire clipped them soon after that, but the shields held.
"He's damaged," the Zabrak commented, leaning over Obi-Wan and prodding a blaster wound in his leg. "The Witch King will not be pleased."
"I will handle it," the blonde man answered. He was stripping off his officer's uniform and replacing it with blue and white Mandalorian armor. "Go man the rear gun. I expect we'll have company soon." The Zabrak growled his displeasure with the order, but heeded it nonetheless. Obi-Wan was left alone in the hold with the Mandalorian.
Something had caught his interest, so much so that it had kept him from slipping again into unconsciousness. This man was familiar.
"Have we met?" Obi-Wan croaked. It was so weak that he doubted for a moment that he'd made himself heard, and that was unfortunate, because he did not have the strength to try again.
But then the young man turned to him, his pale, blue eyes met Obi-Wan's and his expression turned briefly to one of sadness.
"No, Master Kenobi, we have not," the man said softly. Emotions flowed through the force, tangible in their intensity. Obi-Wan felt his regret, his rage, his guilt, his pity, but they were all quickly shut away and the young man placed the Mandalorian helmet upon his head before making a hasty exit.
They stayed in hyperspace for several hours, and perhaps a few more that Obi-Wan was not awake for. When he next opened his eyes, he was no longer on the ship. And he was seeing red. At first he assumed it to be a problem with his vision. It would not be the only thing failing him in that moment.
But no. It was red mist hanging in the air all around. He was being dragged through a forest by his two rescuers. He had seen this mist before. He had been on this planet before. Why was he reminded of Anakin?
"...Oh this place is all kinds of fun," he remembered Anakin saying, voice full of irony and hands thrown in the air, exasperated. They had been surrounded by this same, swirling mist.
"I'm glad you think so," Obi-Wan had retorted, hadn't he? How long ago had that been? What had they been doing? He couldn't remember, he couldn't seem to sift the reality from the steadily growing madness in his mind.
There was a temple ahead, reduced mostly to ruin. Shells of old droids and Separatist weaponry littered the ground. The bones of the fallen snapped underfoot. In the darkened interior of the temple, Obi-Wan was deposited onto the floor. He could not stand, he could not move and nor did he have any desire to do so. The stone was cold against his cheek.
"We've completed the task," the Zabrak announced to some unseen occupant, sounding quite pleased with himself. The blonde man removed his helmet, but he did not add anything, and instead just stood with his head bowed.
The unseen occupant approached, deliberate and slow footsteps on gritty stone.
"I have been waiting so long..." a new voice whispered, sending shivers up Obi-Wan's spine before his mind even made the connection. The bedraggled Jedi was forced over onto his back so that he could stare blankly up at a face that had colored his nightmares for so many years.
Maul studied him, disgust darkening his aging features, lip curling in anger.
"He has ruined you!" the Sith hissed, prowling around Obi-Wan's prone form, fists clenched, harnessing a barely concealed rage. He wore a set of dusty, red robes displaying a variety of tribal symbols that trailed on the ground behind him. "You were never his to break! That honor was to be mine! Mine alone!" Maul grabbed Obi-Wan by his tattered tunic, lifting his thin and wasted body so that they were eye level. "What use are you to me like this?!" Maul demanded, giving his adversary a rough shake, "How am I to exact my revenge on a man already dead inside?!"
Obi-Wan, of course, did not answer, so Maul ripped into his mind, inspecting the mess that Sidious had left behind, shifting through his thoughts, his desires, his secrets. Once finished, the Sith let out a feral growl of frustration, tossing his broken captive away with the aid of the force.
Obi-Wan felt his body connect with a wall, and the breath was knocked from his lungs.
"That wretched slime! He will pay! Even if I cannot kill him, I will be sure to destroy all that he values. His precious Empire will fall, even if I have to dismantle it bit by bit. I will ensure that there remains no galaxy left for him to rule!" Maul turned his back, still trembling in his rage.
Obi-Wan closed his eyes. The Force had indeed had a plan for him. He was to meet his end like this. At the hands of Maul... not Sidious... not Vader. He would die the same way his master had three decades ago in that fateful duel. How very poetic. When the war between Sith and Jedi began anew, Maul had had the honor of taking the life of the first Jedi, and now he would take the last.
They were all gone. All of them. The thought was so lonely that it was unbearable. Maul did not miss this sorrowful sentiment.
"That," Maul sighed, closing his eyes in absolute bliss, anger fleeing from him abruptly, "That is the despair that I have always wished to instill in you, Kenobi. All I ever wanted was to bring you down, to reduce you to this. A total and complete loss of hope. Alas, this is no victory of mine." Maul turned again, this time to address his two followers. He gestured vaguely in Obi-Wan's direction.
"Dispose of him," the Sith ordered.
"Wait," the blonde Mandalorian spoke up, his voice ringing in the vast, stone chamber. He seemed to immediately regret his outburst, but nevertheless did not retract it, even when Maul rounded on him, closing the distance until he could look down upon the human.
"Wait?" Maul mocked quietly, "Do you think so mightily of yourself these days that you would dare command me?"
"He may still be of some use to you," the young man reasoned, drawing courage as spoke.
"Do not lie to my face. Did you think your interest in this decrepit Jedi somehow escaped my notice? I know what is in your mind, boy, and it is weakness."
"He could become a valuable asset... the very last Jedi, and he belongs now to the Shadow Collective."
"Look at him. Useless. His mind is gone. And your emotions betray you, Mandalorian." The two of them stood there for a time, simply squaring off. The human man stood tall, facing the horned menace that was Maul while the old Sith glared back, awaiting a concession.
Eventually Maul waved a dismissive hand in Obi-Wan's general direction.
"This wreck is now your charge," the older Zabrak explained, "though I suspect he is not long for this world."
"Thank you," the young man said. Maul had begun to walk away, hands clasped behind his back, red robes trailing behind him, but he suddenly turned his head to regard his lackey out of the corner of his eye.
"I've done you no favors, boy. Let us not pretend otherwise."
.o.o.o.o.o.
A/N: He's not an OC