The jagged, sharp piece of broken glass skimmed across his hands from the ground—something that he felt rather than saw, since his eyes stung with the poison gas, and everything was still very hazy in his disoriented mind. The glass cut deep into his hand when Anakin gripped it. Warm blood ran down his fingers, almost comfortably, soothingly. The coziness it brought when he simply lay there made him want to fall dead asleep, or at least close his eyes, escape. But of course he wouldn't dare try, because Anakin knew the fateful result that would lead to. Instead he felt his flesh tear open, and it was excruciating, exhilarating, but he didn't drop the piece. He only wrapped his hand around in firmer, making sure blood and sweat would be impossible to cause it to slip away. This piece of debris—small, broken, painful piece of debris, however, was his only lifeline. It not only made his adrenaline serge to life again, or cause the pain to bring back lucidity, but it was his only weapon against the person surely about to kill him.

Without even thinking, the Jedi Padawan sprung from the smokey ground, makeshift blade in hand, letting the blood drain to the floor. It made him look powerful, he decided. The durability to withstand the hurt, the sheer determination to not succumb to his enemy, the Force gaining strength and bonding together with Anakin's whole being.

He saw the other guy, the traitor, the terrorist loom before him. The other man still held the used, poisoned smoke bomb—some altered standard gas detonator him and the rest of the terrorists had illegally made (well, at least it was illegal on this mid-rim planet, Eutisia, even if it was recreated on some outer-rim wasteland). Anakin still vividly remembered when it was set off, too. Not only hearing his own tormented shout as the acidic gas burned through his eyeballs, but the innocent civilians who were agonizingly stuck helplessly into this almost-war-zone. The Force screamed inside his head that many of them were still within the area, exposed and unconscious, which only managed to increase his blearing anxiety.

Sure, himself and Obi-Wan had been on plenty of missions, some mildly uncomfortable and some completely terrifying, but this situation was just so far more intense than the others. It was practically—no, it was a battlefield, with hundreds of helpless lives at stake, an organization of deranged terrorist that needed to be taken down, and a city of torturous booby traps that have already wiped out half of the place, along with the people, and, Force dammit, everything was just getting so alarmingly overwhelming. He cursed at himself for getting so panicked, so un-Jedi-like. This was not the way his Master had trained him to act. A holo-recording on an infinite loop played within his mind, A Jedi is not hindered by emotions... Fear is a path to the Dark Side... release your feelings into the Force... All stuff he's heard for 5 years, but when he heard it now, the mental messages were scrambled and incoherent.

Anakin swallowed hard, focusing on feeling his heart beat through his hand, the warm blood continuing to taint the glass and ground. It flowed down his palm, his fingers, and distantly Anakin wondered if it would ever stop, because, despite ditching numerous classes at the Temple—basic biology, for instance—he knew blood was kind of important, to say the least. And, so was vision, and right now all he saw was the mere outline of the terrorist attacker he'd fought, and the stained, rocky ground.

Great. Not that his own injuries ever worried him, but the fact that he was somewhat hurt, facing off against one of the terrorist, there were desperate people that needed rescuing, and he was impossibly forgetting how to be a Jedi scared him more than he'd like to admit.

...So Anakin let the Force take over, much like when he was pod racing in his days of slavery, or combat training within the much too different walls of the Jedi Temple. He had been one with the pod, one his is 'saber, and now his mind, lungs, and heart were part of the single piece of broken glass.

Honestly, he wasn't sure what had happened after that. Only remembering motions of what his body was doing, and the pain of his defensive breaking when the man attacked him back. The Force didn't abandon him though. The hurt of everything and the emotion he fought with made him stronger, made the Force glow brighter. He was a beacon of the living Force, no Force-sensitive could ignore him, he was like fire—and completely not in control, too.

Anakin hadn't realized the extent of his powerful slashes with the blade until now. The crimson brought him back to the present, and it tainted everything. He wasn't sure how much blood had spilled altogether, but definitely knew it wasn't just his. Though, Anakin was pretty aware the blood on his hands from the glass was his own, it still felt dirty to think of. It felt wrong and dark.

A sickening thud sounded on the ground, possibly accompanied by the cracking of bone. He registered that his enemy had fallen to the floor, but not himself, collapsed on his knees. It took a while to figure out why he was on the ground, too—why there was something wet dipping down his cheeks. He made one fateful decision to glance at the dead man and that's when reality finally caught up to him.

The skin on the other's face was completely inhumanly mutilated, the flesh wounds too bloody and bruised that they hid beyond his lost features. Anakin remembered youthful, but cold eyes, peach cheeks, blond hair, but anything the guy once possessed was gone. The young Jedi looked at his shattered hand that looked just as rabidly torn as the dead person's disfigured face, briefly noticing he wasn't holding the debris glass anymore. Instead, Anakin found the piece violently ripped into the side of the man's neck, fresh, warm blood still leaking out in spurts.

He never though himself to be as weak to the point of vomiting, but Anakin Skywalker was truly mistaken. He'd seen gore before, witnessed death before, but nothing of the past compared to his horrendous moment. What he did, horrified himself, even more so since it was clear the slashes of self-defence morphed into torture and torture morphed into carving up a body well after death.

Distantly, he could picture the young man alive again, fighting for what he believed to be right, just as petrified by the bloodshed as Anakin was. There was sweat bedded to his face, along with blood that could be his, or his friends, or someone else's entirely. Wet tears mixed with dirt and all kinds of Force-knows-what. Vaguely, Anakin noticed the guy was lying again on the ground, just as he was in real life, not a delusion of his own mind. He heard a strangled cry or a heaving gasp or something awfully agonized, possibly back in reality. His brain just barely tells him that it's his.

He doesn't know what to do anymore, how to react even if he could. Nothing but blood and darkness polluted the air, making in hard to breathe. He called on the Force, one, twice, thrice... but with his lack of strength at the moment, it was impossible to find. In the end, Anakin wasn't sure he wanted to call on it. He did that before to defeat his enemy, and that only left him with uncontrollable dread and fear and panic rolling around in his insides. The sensation of the Force being used in that sort of way left a bad sense wrapping around him, constricting his lungs to feel like bodily confinement. It was nauseating, and worst, why did he have the feeling with dark energy sensation was only the beginning?

That was the first time Anakin even felt the Force turn against him.

A/N:

Mmmm... not really sure what this was. I had a plan at first, but it didn't turn out... Wow, I'm even confused by my own story.

I guess, it's sorta about using the Dark Side unwillingly, and the first time Anakin felt it to the extreme. He's 14 in this, because I wanted him to have the sense of innocence, though that innocence is taken away when he's pretty young, huh?

Oh, and Happy New Year!

Feedback is awesome to receive!

May the Force be with you

- CyanGalaxy