AN: *Evil grin here* Definitely one of my favorite chapters...
xXx
I'd like to say that my ability to think while touching the darkness is what stopped me from becoming the savage beasts that many of the Sith I knew of had been. I fear, though, that in reality, it has just made me into something worse.
Dathomir was an outer-rim planet that had history of some technological advancement, but the factions that lived on the forested planet fought each other so often that they didn't have the unity to even form a basic planetary defense, let alone enough of a united face to even get entrance into the Republic. Even though it was considered part of Republic space, it was not itself represented in the Senate.
So there it sat, forgotten by all but the Force-users, and even the Jedi only mentioned it briefly in their teachings. It was a planet steeped in the Dark side. Of the tribes on the planet, the Nightsisters—the Dark-Side users—were the most prominent presence and were not to be taken lightly.
Obi-wan stared at the planet through the view screen of his ship, the Refracted Edge. He could feel them—the Force-sensitive on the planet—and knew they could sense him as well. Well, someone could. They seemed to prod at his presence curiously every now and then. He'd been sitting in his small, freighter-like vessel above the planet for almost half a day now. He'd come here to follow up on a vision, but he honestly didn't know why. He had no clue what some half-trained dark savages could do for him.
But then there was that presence; strong and forceful and in control of themselves…. Were they why Obi-wan was here? Could they help him? Somehow he doubted it. In his experience those who followed the dark path didn't help others, even others who also lingered in the dark.
Still, the Force had led him here for a reason, and so he sighed, checked his supplies and precautions for the umpteenth time and finally nudged his ship into the atmosphere. He wouldn't get any answers sitting up here.
xXx
He knew he wouldn't have to go far from his ship. He'd purposefully landed fairly close to where he could feel the presence emanating from. It certainly hadn't made any sort of move to hide from him, and he couldn't help but feel underestimated. Either that, or he was underestimating them…and he really hoped that wasn't the case.
Leaving the Refracted Edge wasn't something he felt was wise, but after a day and a half of waiting and nothing coming to him, he finally realized that, again, he'd have to take a few risks to hopefully get a few answers. The planet itself made him uneasy in a way and so he made sure to take more than just his lightsaber. A few thermal detonators and some other similar explosives along with rations that could last him for a week if he stretched them made him feel much better.
As he clipped his last weapon—his lightsaber—onto his belt, he paused and studied it for a moment. Lately he'd been feeling like his weapon wasn't…well, his anymore. The crystal inside no longer resonated with him (a fact he'd been steadily ignoring for several weeks now) and the rest of the design had begun to feel old, mundane and inadequate. He'd have to construct a new one soon.
Filing that thought away for later contemplation he made sure he had everything he would need on him and then left the ship.
He blamed not being able to sense the people that surrounded him not a click later on the fact that there was so much ambient energy on the planet that pin-pointing anything except that large presence would have been extremely difficult. He wasn't even sure he could locate the presence unless it wanted him to. It felt too controlled for that.
He'd been keeping an eye on the people surrounding him for about ten minutes when one of them jumped from the trees to land in front of him. Immediately he had his lightsaber in hand but didn't move to attack. The being in front of him was obviously a woman and she carried an energy bow and arrow that glowed purple in the dim lighting of the forest. That would be, he realized, somewhat effective against his lightsaber, which was meant to take blaster bolts. He still had little doubt that it would be much of a threat, but these would undoubtedly pack a punch and he wondered if that was why they hadn't 'upgraded' to blasters as it were. Did they learn their lesson from confronting Jedi in the past? Or were there other reasons?
"Intruder," she whispered in a harsh, grating tone, "prepare to die!"
Obi-wan flipped his lightsaber on and reached for the Force. Just before the woman would let her bow go, though, a voice called out.
"STOP!"
And Obi-wan knew the voice belonged to the person he'd been sensing.
He could not describe the woman who walked calmly out of the trees as anything approaching pretty or even mundane. Her face had been tattooed in bold black and white shapes, giving off the illusion of a skull all only accentuated by the red cloth draped over her head. Still, the woman was nothing if not regal…in a very back-water, tribe-leader type fashion. Her presence leaked out of her in controlled waves and the robes she wore floated through the air with them, as if she somehow both hovered under water and simultaneously stood before them.
This, Obi-wan realized, was not someone to cross lightly.
"Why have you come here, Jedi?" she asked. When she spoke, Obi-wan could swear he heard more than one voice. At least one other, very deep tone seemed to speak with her—or through her, Obi-wan realized. He suspected that she somehow gave voice to the darkness that saturated the area.
"I am no Jedi," he said bitterly.
The tribe leader scrutinized him for several minutes before stepping forward gracefully. "Perhaps not, but you would be wise to answer my question."
Obi-wan clenched his teeth as he continued to stand with his back straight, lightsaber still out and humming at his side. "I have been led here," he said finally. "I do not know why."
"Nor do I," the woman mused thoughtfully, continuing to scrutinize the man before her. Then her eyes narrowed ever so slightly, although she never lost her mildly amused tone. "But you do seek power."
The former Jedi bristled, but he had enough control to not simply deny it. "You think so?"
The woman raised an eyebrow (or what should be an eyebrow, he wasn't quite sure) at him. "You deny that you seek for a way to use and control the darkness?"
This time he didn't answer, instead glaring up at the perceptive woman with thinned lips. She didn't seem to mind in the slightest.
"You do not seek a mate or an apprentice, you do not come with a misguided offering of peace, but neither are you here to hunt us. You have come here because you have nowhere else to go." Okay, her perceptive streak was starting to get frustrating. "You have your own reasons, but you seek control…as you always have."
And that made no sense at all whatsoever. He had not always sought control, thank you very much.
As if in response to his thoughts, she shrugged. "Whatever the reason for your presence here, we cannot train a male of any species."
"I assure you, I didn't come here to—"
"Then why did you come?"
Somehow she had moved so quickly he almost couldn't follow and was now standing far too close, scrutinizing him with her strange, dark eyes that only made the whites of them seem to glow.
"I have yet to figure that out," he responded, refusing to give into the anger and defense that bubbled below the surface of his calm exterior.
The woman laughed then, a loud, creepy laugh that seemed to reverberate around the clearing. The other women echoed it with their own, high-pitched laughter. Obi-wan's grip on his lightsaber tightened.
"You are very good at lying to yourself, I see," the tribe leader said as she finally backed up and began pacing casually around the circle of women. Obi-wan grit his teeth but said nothing. He knew that already. He didn't need her to point it out again.
"It is a pity," the woman said, still pacing slowly and casually through the dense undergrowth. "You are powerful and would be quite the asset. Perhaps…" she faded off, obviously thinking.
"Beejot," she said suddenly. One of the archers stepped forward. She had a veil covering her face and head, although the rest of her outfit did little to hide her body.
"Mother Talzin," she said reverently, bowing her head.
"Inform the Nightbrothers that we have a new member for them."
Obi-wan decided this had gone on long enough. "I'm afraid I must decline your offer," he broke in, forcing a smile onto his face and not caring how fake or challenging it looked. "I have heard of your tribes of Nightbrothers and I have no wish to become a slave to your whims."
The woman, Mother Talzin, had been circling behind him, although he had yet to let her out of his sight. She paused and watched him for a few moments.
"No, you would not do well as a slave," she finally said, managing to surprise Obi-wan who had been positive he would have to somehow fight his way out of this one. "While your genetics could add to ours, and it would certainly be enjoyable to break you again…" Obi-wan sucked in a silent breath as the anger surged through him. How could she know? And his shame at giving in and allowing himself to be broken by that Sith Witch stabbed at him yet again. Would he never be rid of it? Somehow he doubted it.
"Oh, yes," Mother Talzin hissed in what he could only assume was pleasure. It disgusted him. "Oh, it would be beautiful…but I sense your role is larger than that."
"What do you mean?" Obi-wan asked, annoyed at the anger so visible in his voice.
The woman's eyes drooped to half closed and her eyes rolled up. When she spoke again, the deep undertone that had been present before nearly overwhelmed her own, natural tones.
"You are the key to fate. Your actions will decide whether light or darkness remains. You will push the chosen to choose." Obi-wan blinked, taken slightly aback. That had to be one of the most straight-forward predictions he'd ever heard. It wasn't difficult to discern who 'The Chosen' was, but knowing that his actions would push Anakin in one direction or another frightened him more than a little.
Mother Talzin continued, her tone returning to normal. "I sense that if we enslave or break you here, it will only bring about our downfall. However, if we help and encourage you in your role, then it would be to the betterment of all."
Obi-wan couldn't help but scoff. "And you know this because you received a vision from the Dark side."
She laughed again, shaking her head mockingly, as if to pity him. "Poor child of the light, trapped in the dark, rejected by that which he holds most dear." And then she changed, her demeanor suddenly serious. "I will give you a choice. As of this moment, you may come and go from this planet and any area controlled by the Nightsisters as you wish, so long as you do not cause a threat to us. You will not learn what you need to learn if we try to force you, so you may choose to train with the Nightbrothers, or you can continue to stumble about in the darkness. It is your decision. Your training will be complete when you can hide your presence from me. Until that time, you cannot begin to hope to confront the Sith Lord and survive."
The former Jedi felt his eyes narrow. "You know of the Sith Lord."
"Of his existence, yes," the woman said with the slightest of shrugs and a nonchalant attitude. "His power, when he unleashes it, is not something anyone so attuned to the darkness could miss."
At that, Obi-wan frowned. Could that explain those random, strange sensations he kept feeling? That could explain a lot. He still did not like how she seemed to know so much that she really shouldn't though.
"And why would you think I wished to confront him?"
The woman laughed again, a cold, arrogant laugh. "Reading the waves of your hatred is quite amusing. It lays your darkest desires open to those who can understand."
Obi-wan's heart clenched in fear and denial. His desires were his own.
"Perhaps you will also wish learn that?"
He didn't say anything. It was a tempting offer, but not one that he trusted. He really wasn't sure why he'd come…but what other choice did he have?
Before he could speak again, Mother Talzin seemed to catch onto his general mind set and apparently decided to make a proposal.
"Perhaps a trial period is in order? If you have a problem learning with the brothers, then you can speak with me again. We will…work something out." And he did not like the way she looked him up and down at that, as if he were a piece of meat. Still, he did like that he didn't have to commit just yet…and he had been looking for someone to teach him…
"I keep my lightsaber and ship. You do not own me or anything of mine. Are we in accord?"
The woman's smile seemed both smug and amused. She really seemed to like to play on his nerves, and he really just wanted to wrap his hands around her neck and squeeze the life out of her.
He shook the thought from his head as she answered.
"Very well. If that is your wish."
"It is."
"Beejot, escort our newest brother to the fifth group. I believe he will do well there."
Obi-wan refused to thank her. Instead he used the Force to draw his bag to him and, with one final warning glance around, turned to follow the woman who had spoken earlier, hoping beyond hope that he had not made a mistake.
xXx
They took the Refracted Edge to the Nightbrother clan. Obi-wan watched the woman, Beejot, with open suspicion as she directed him to the area where he would potentially be spending the next several months. She did so with gestures and rarely spoke, which was fine with him. He was surprised that she seemed to know her way around technology. He'd expected her to be nervous or awkward, but if she was, she hid it well.
It actually took longer to secure his ship than it did for them to fly to the clan territory. He briefly wondered if all of the 'maling' camps were that close to Nightsister territory but ultimately decided it didn't matter. He finished sealing his transport and went to follow the woman into the settling only to stop short. The men who lived there had come to watch him, each holding in their curiosity but not bothering to hide their wariness about him in general.
That he could handle just fine. It was really their species that had him pausing.
"Zabaraks," he muttered to himself, bringing his fingers up to rub the bridge of his nose. "It had to be Zabaraks."
Not that he had anything against the species, it was just that he felt as if the Force were playing a rather nasty prank on him. All he could see when he saw them was the face of the Sith he'd killed on Naboo, which in turn brought up memories of his loss there, which tore at old wounds and increased his connection to the Dark side. Of course.
Still, he was determined to stay until he could be sure this was a waste of time. Mother Talzin hadn't been wrong when she'd pointed out that he was seeking training. Besides, maybe this would be the best place to actually learn to use the darkness.
The clan's little 'encampment' was actually more of a village like structure and more permanent than he'd originally thought it would be. Perhaps he'd been playing up the idea of 'savages' in his mind. That had been how the Temple teachings had described them.
Beejot looked to be having a rather interesting conversation with one of the Zabaraks. He did not look happy and kept shooting Obi-wan nasty looks. It amused the former Jedi more than anything, especially seeing him so flustered while the Nightsister stood calmly in front of him. Despite her far slimmer stature it was impossible to not understand who controlled the situation.
Finally the Zabarak turned to him, glowering. "This way," he practically growled before turning and stalking away. Obi-wan raised one eyebrow at him and then strode after him.
As he passed Beejot, she whispered the first full sentence he'd heard from her. "We expect great things from you."
He paused for only a moment and glanced at her curiously and more than a little wary. She, however, watched him with a stony face. Something jolted through the Force too fast for Obi-wan to identify it and he narrowed his eyes in warning. She didn't pay him much mind, though, instead turning and striding calmly away from the settlement.
Obi-wan watched her for a moment more before he followed after the Zabarak again. He caught up with him just outside of the largest building in the compound.
He didn't say anything as he led Obi-wan into what looked like a hallway filled with small, closet-like rooms, each holding only a cot and a few blankets. A little over half-way down the hallway, the Zabarak stopped and pointed inside.
"You stay here."
Obi-wan simply nodded to him and moved into the room. It may not be much, but Obi-wan had had to make do with less. At least this offered some privacy, and it wasn't as if he'd brought much with him to begin with.
"This will be too easy," the Zabarak said from behind him, the other's voice filled with a sudden sadistic glee. Obi-wan didn't feel any threat through the Force, but the malice from the being was all too palpable. He certainly wasn't making any secret that Obi-wan was not welcome here.
"Your name?" the ginger-haired man asked, making sure to keep his voice neutral.
"Victen," he responded. They stared each other down for several seconds, but it wasn't anything Obi-wan couldn't handle. For the first time in what felt like forever, the calm came naturally to him and he sat there, easily handling the other man's animosity. It wasn't the serenity he was used to, but a surety that yes, he could best this being.
After several minutes, the Zabarak grinned nastily. "Can't wait to see you in action tomorrow, Jedi."
Obi-wan's demeanor gained just the hint of ice. "I am no longer a Jedi."
"Just as weak as one, though. Just as easy to kill."
This time Obi-wan couldn't help gaining a grin of his own as he remembered Naboo again, his thoughts filled only with the expression of shock and pain as he fell away. Just a few months ago a comment like that would have worried him. Had these creatures killed Jedi? But now, he just couldn't help but think that they could try to undermine him as much as they liked. Perhaps this was a game with deadly stakes, but he'd been playing in those kinds of fields for decades now.
Victen's own smile faded just a bit.
"We rise at dawn," he hissed and walked away. Obi-wan went about getting to sleep. He may be here to learn, but he was no novice. And if they pushed him, they'd find out just as solidly as Ventress did why one should never push a Jedi.
xXx
Getting back on a more normal schedule wasn't a problem, even if his body did protest for the first day or two. Dathomir actually had a similar rotation to Courscant, only being slightly longer by a few minutes. The rigorous training the Nightbrothers adhered to became, much to their annoyance, a welcome reprieve and something he found he could concentrate on without allowing his mind to wander where he didn't wish for it to.
Really the hardest adjustment came in the form of Obi-wan having to adapt to their way of life—immensely less refined than what he was used to at the Temple. Breakfast consisted leftovers from the night before. Lunch was practically non-existent and dinner came in the form of whatever they caught that day. That wasn't so unusual. It was actually the hunting—like a pack of well-coordinated but vicious canines—and how they often ate their catches raw that got to him. Between that and their form of celebration (little more than raucous chaos) that seemed to take place every night, the entire lifestyle just didn't appeal to him, and he found that he felt distanced from the other beings in the clan. He didn't exactly have a problem with that though.
Fortunately, his semi-voluntary isolation didn't stem from his being unable to keep up with them. He actually had little problem doing so, finding that his patient form of Soresu worked as a perfect foil to their rushed, often single-minded fury. True, his hand-to-hand combat skills (which they seemed to emphasize) had never been his strong point, but he had survived more than one battle situation without his lightsaber. He did not win every spar, but he could generally hold his own, and he also had more focused training when it came to the Force.
He ranked almost first when it came to weapons, and he could tell they hated that. It actually filled him with a sort of smug confidence that he didn't flaunt. Although none of them had anything as civilized as a sword (let alone a lightsaber) he found that his saber training and real-life combat had kept him in top shape.
The practice he found most helpful, though, was actually their meditation session. It was by no means anything he was used to as, even though they would all retreat to their quarters when instructed, quiet didn't seem to be a part of anything they did, and this was no exception. The first day of his training, Victen (the leader of the clan, apparently) came to instruct him in the new practice. He still made almost no attempt at civility, but apparently he had been instructed to keep an eye on the newcomer, and so he did.
His basic was harsh, guttural and heavily accented, making it difficult for Obi-wan to understand everything, but he got the general gist surprisingly quickly. Their form of meditation meant focusing on that which would strengthen their connection to the 'life blood of the spirit'. At first, saying that Obi-wan hadn't been happy would be an understatement. The last thing he wanted to focus on was his guilt and pain. Apparently Victen wasn't too impressed at Obi-wan's reluctance and left with an even more menacing smile after he commented that he would be looking forward to the next night.
That sounded rather ominous to the former Jedi and he made a mental note to keep his lightsaber on him for the next little while and proceeded to observe his fellow trainees more closely.
Two of them stuck out to him in particular. They were younger, barely 19 standard years if that, but Obi-wan could feel their strength in the Force, and what was more, their attachment to the other. He came to the conclusion that they were brothers (or at least closely related) as one always seemed to look out for the other. Just watching them reminded him of himself and Anakin, and it hurt.
He found that when in their vicinity, he tended to do much better at the exercises everyone was given.
His third day there heralded the coming of the head Brother. Apparently he was in charge of and ran all of the camps in the area. Viscral. He was supposedly a warrior of great renown and someone all of the Nightbrothers looked up to. Obi-wan decided to withhold judgment and couldn't help but feel a rather great sense of relief at his choice. It seemed his good sense was slowly returning to him after all.
The moment the Head Brother stepped into the village, Obi-wan felt a sense of tense anticipation permeate his very being. Something would happen because of this, something the Dark side seemed ecstatic about. He immediately went on guard and glared at the other being. Almost as if he could sense Obi-wan's gaze (a distinct possibility), he turned and met the former Jedi's stare. Obi-wan didn't much care for the glint he saw in the man's eyes and his guard kicked up even higher. The head Zabarak didn't say anything, even after he'd stepped onto a platform in the center of the village. Instead he just stood there and grinned like a hungry shark as he looked over the rabble before him.
Then Victen pronounced that the day's training would commence. Somehow Obi-wan knew that whatever the Force anticipated would happen soon. Worse, he would be required to give up his lightsaber for the spar. He considered keeping it anyway. What could they really do, after all? But something told him that his paranoia was unnecessary. He furrowed his brow and concentrated on that little nudge. Was that the Force? The Dark side, of all things, was giving him reassurance?
And yet…
He glanced up at where Victen and Viscral were seated on the platform, noticing that Viscral was watching him thoughtfully.
Then he felt the nudge again.
It's a test, he realized. Whatever was coming up would be something either set before him by the Nightsisters via Viscral or some form of acceptance ceremony…or hazing. Perhaps a combination of all three options.
And somehow he also knew that he would have to surrender his lightsaber to pass.
The Jedi Knight Obi-wan Kenobi would have considered the pros and cons upon this realization and most likely he would have simply refused to enter if it could be helped. The Dark Jedi Obi-wan Kenobi still weighed the pros and cons. He knew they hadn't told him much of anything when it came to gaining control and techniques. The meditation helped immensely (even if he hated it far more than what Anakin had ever claimed of the Jedi equivalent), but there were other things that he needed to learn if he wanted to confront Sidious.
But did he want to give into that so easily? Was this really worth his life? Because that was the only kind of a test he could see these people giving.
And then he thought of Anakin sitting on Courscant, subject to the Sith's mercy, and his fists clenched. Fine. He would play along with their little game for now.
The first few fights ended as they normally did, with a clear captor beating their opponent down rather viciously amidst roars of encouragement and angry protests. Obi-wan didn't participate. He didn't see much of a point, even if he could feel the Force weaving itself in and through the rampant emotion running wild amongst the rabble.
Then Victen turned to him, a vicious grin on his face.
"You, Jedi. You're next."
Obi-wan eyed him for a moment before tossing his lightsaber in his direction. The Zabarak caught it easily.
He stepped into the clearing in the middle and stood there, seemingly relaxed but really poised to jump into action at any moment. He didn't trust them to play fair.
After a moment of suspicious quiet (not silence, never silence around here), he glanced at Victen.
"Who is my opponent?"
The Zabarak's grin widened. "Everyone. We can pass your death off as a training accident easily enough. You should have known better than to come here, outsider."
Obi-wan's eyes went wide as the hoard around him rushed forward. For just a moment he felt a rush of fear. He couldn't last long weaponless against to many other Force users…and then he thought of Anakin, and knew he would do whatever he had to do.
He focused on his anger at the unfairness of the situation and their blatant prejudice. He brought to mind his hatred of the Sith Lord, who he blamed for all of this…and he ignored any reservations he had. He allowed himself to fall into that ever crushing and consuming shame that had more or less become apart of him. If he wanted to survive this—if he wanted to give Anakin a chance—he had to survive. No matter what.
So he pulled a spear to him from the hands of one of the more inexperienced malings and attacked, losing himself to the wild flurries and eddies of the Force, demanding that it tell him where and when he needed to move. It did.
If he would have been able to see himself, he may have noticed that his eyes had melted from the grey blue to a harsh yellow…and that he was grinning.
xXx
When he came to himself again, he stood alone in the center of the crowd. The malings had backed well away from him, watching him with a strange combination of fear, respect and anger.
It took him a moment to realize why. The reason lay at his feet.
He actually gasped and his blood froze in his veins.
Had he really done that? He couldn't count the number of bodies offhand, but it had to be upward of a dozen—maybe more. So many men lay dead or dying around him…and his hands…so red…why did he see dark red everywhere he looked?
He wanted to be sick; wanted to sink into the ground and never rise again, but then there was part of him that felt so…satisfied. He suspected that it had a great deal to do with the rushing of the Dark side that seemed to curl around him in approval. It made him even more nauseous and he had to concentrate on not emptying his stomach.
Unbidden, his mouth opened, ready to deny that he'd had anything to do with this…this slaughter, but he knew that he had. This had been his doing, no matter how much that part of him that still longed for the Jedi Temple wished to deny it. He also knew that if he spoke—that if he showed any weakness—he would have to continue to fight. He could already feel where people had managed to get past his defense, even if only barely, to leave cuts and bruises, nothing too major (he wondered at that) but if he went on like this, he would die…and he had to live.
Victen looked about ready to murder him, and Obi-wan wanted to look away, but he couldn't allow himself to do so. He met the gaze steadily, causing the other being to only glare harder. Then he turned and looked at Viscral, who nodded smugly, looking all too happy to sit back and watch. He looked to be enjoying the spectacle and watching his brethren die like this.
Obi-wan wondered if he would ever be like that one day and couldn't stop himself from closing his eyes to try and banish the awful images that brought up. He couldn't think about that. Not now. Because then he really would be sick.
Anakin. He had to think of Anakin. And the other Jedi that Sidious wanted to wipe out…and the other free people of the universe. He was doing this to help them.
A snap-hiss brought him rather quickly out of his reverie. A nudge through the Force and he looked up to see Victen jumping through the air towards him, Obi-wan's own lightsaber ignited, the blue blade falling towards him.
He dodged out of the way, ignoring with some difficulty the mess he was rolling over. Victen landed with a loud thump, lightsaber cleaving the ground Obi-wan had been standing on not moments before.
And then he fell back into the dance, this time dodging and moving away from the blade he could not otherwise deflect. The Zabarak's swings sliced through the air in powerful strokes, and Obi-wan knew that –that both of them—had immersed themselves completely in the darkness. The thing was, as powerful as the Zabarak's strikes were, his style (like the style of most of the men there) was mostly predictable, primitive and unrefined. He fought well, but there were several openings if Obi-wan could just get close enough to exploit them.
And so he waited, as patiently as he could, continuing to dodge, jump, roll and scurry away from his own blade.
Then, one of the men on the ground cried out as Victen stomped over his body. Both of the fighters paused and looked down at him. He was still alive? Obi-wan could see he had a rather large wound across his back, and it was bleeding sluggishly, but he was willing to move the fight somewhere else if they wanted to save their own.
Victen's expression suddenly turned to disgust. "Weakling," he hissed and stabbed the man through with the lightsaber. The man cried out once more before going limp and Obi-wan felt his life drain away in a manner that felt so familiar…
And then he realized why. It felt similar to his Master's life as it had faded away. And that suddenly they were not on Dathomir in the middle of a village, but on Naboo. Obi-wan wasn't facing the leader of the village, but the red-and-black tattooed Sith. Qui-gon was dying, and all this Sith wanted to do was gloat and Obi-wan hated him for it. He'd wanted to kill the man then, but now that feeling seemed magnified several times over. Angrily, he rushed forward, somehow knowing exactly what the Sith would do. He jumped over the swinging blade, falling back into the form IV style flipping gracefully to land just before the other being. Then, faster than most people could blink, he reached out and grabbed the Sith's wrist, snapping it neatly with a deft turn.
The being cried out in pain, but Obi-wan paid him no mind. He used the Force, demanded that it bring his lightsaber to him. The moment he felt the warm metal touch his skin, he switched it on, ducked a desperate, weaponless attack from the other and swung. For the second time in his life, he watched as the Sith stared in shock before collapsing into two separate heaps on the ground.
He turned to go to his Master's side, but was confused when he heard a loud, steady clapping. He also realized that he wasn't in the belly of a palace reactor and control center, but outside and on a planet that had a distinctly red hue to its sky.
"Well done," a new voice speaking in almost perfect basic said, and Obi-wan blinked at the man who had talked. Viscral. Then he blinked again and looked down at where the Sith lay, but he only saw Victen lying there on top of his other comrades, his face still twisted in shock.
More than a little dazed and confused, Obi-wan didn't trust himself to speak, so instead he held his lightsaber defensively in front of him as the other man approached.
"I mean you no harm," Viscral insisted, holding his hands up in a show of vulnerability. Obi-wan didn't believe he was vulnerable for a second, so he didn't lower his blade, but he also didn't attack.
"Then what do you mean to do?" the former Jedi asked, his voice calm but dangerous.
To his surprise, the man grinned and then threw his head back and laughed. It was a harsh, cruel laugh, but a genuine one nonetheless.
"They were right about you," he finally said after a moment. "So much potential…"
Obi-wan forced himself to not grit his teeth together. Something about this man seriously irked him. The way he was sizing Obi-wan up—like a prized nerf—did nothing to endear the man to him.
"Well," Viscral continued, turning to wave his hand at the malings still watching the proceedings warily and then gesturing to the bodies on the ground before turning back to Obi-wan. "You certainly proved that you deserve to stay here."
"I suspected this was a set up," Obi-wan muttered bitterly.
"Everything except Victen attacking you," Viscral confirmed. "He was supposed to stay out of it, but he has paid the price for his inability to see. Just so you know, as you killed him, you can claim his position as head of the village."
Obi-wan blinked at that, his mind working to wrap itself around the words.
"No," he said after a hesitation, but his answer was firm. "I have no desire to rule over a measly group of short-sighted beings."
Viscral shrugged nonchalantly although he seemed more intrigued than ever. "As you wish. I merely put forth the possibility."
"Another test?" Obi-wan asked dryly.
The Zabarak just grinned. From this distance, Obi-wan could swear his teeth looked jagged. "I am here to teach you what you wish to know, Jedi."
"I am not a Jedi," Obi-wan spat.
The Zabarak raised an eyebrow. "Oh? I saw how you paused when the injured cried out. You would have taken pity on him, even now."
Obi-wan frowned. "I will not kill in cold blood."
Viscral laughed again, this time low and mocking. "And that is why I will continue to call you 'Jedi'."
If looks could kill, the man in front of Obi-wan would have been little more than atoms in moments. Without responding (doing so would only be playing into his hand), the former Jedi turned and walked away, not caring how the rest of the Nightbrothers parted before him or how they shrunk away in fear.
xXx
Thanks to Windona for her beta reading skillz!
