Hello! I'm back shortly after the previous chapter, as I promised. I hope you'll like another psycho chapter. facegrin

Unfortunately, I won't be able to update soon. I've written this chapter on holidays, and right now I simply don't have time for writing, no matter how much I want to. There are real Siths in the world--college professors and brutal, horrible, tear-jerking finals they love to unleash on the students. faceskullfaceskull I promise that I'll come back... if I survive.

I hope you enjoy. :)

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Coming Up to Breathe

Palpatine's words reverberated in the hangar, crawling into each corner. The vast hangar seemed smaller with every second, as though the walls were coming together, intent on squashing them like bugs. The enormous spaceships gleamed ominously, their empty cockpits—the only place he had always felt at home—piercing him with their cold, unwavering stare.

His breath nauseatingly hard in his chest, Vader looked around, taking the surroundings in. Anakin's family was encircled and heavily outnumbered by a large battalion of the storm troopers. They had no chance of survival… and least of all his babies. Palpatine had managed to trick all of them again.

Vader focused his eyes back on the Sith, but everything he saw was a smear of white and black. He couldn't even see Padmé—she was just a blurry silhouette, just a person who stood not far from him. She didn't matter now. No one did, expect for little Luke and Leia. The Force quivered slightly, its tremble sounding much like a real breath, like the one that would come before weeping.

"Kill them, Lord Vader," Palpatine ordered icily. The troopers' circle tightened slightly.

Kill them. He could kill them—it was the thing that Vader had craved to do for a long, lonely year. Would killing Anakin's family bring peace to him, sending a sweet jolt of completion through his body, like he had imagined it would? And what would follow? Peace? Happiness? Or bitter, horrible emptiness?

Ever since Vader had landed on Sump and laid his eyes upon all of them, he had felt confused. He had reached his goal and fulfilled his mission—that ought to be enough to satisfy him. But the part of him that hated his new face grew stronger instead of fading. That part banged at him from inside, screaming loudly, making him desire to cover his ears and crawl into a corner. That part had made him save his babies and try to set his family free. Those were actions he couldn't explain and his entire being protested against them, the monster in him demanding the traitors' deaths.

Seconds ticked by, and he still hadn't moved, undecided. His whole life had always had a purpose. When he had been a slave on Tatooine, that purpose had been winning his freedom. As a Jedi Padawan, his purpose was making Obi-Wan proud of him. During the Clone Wars it was making Padmé happy during the short moments they had spent together. His new life as the dark Lord had only one purpose—revenge on his family. But what was his purpose now?

The babies.

He had to save his children—from Palpatine, from himself, and from the entire world. He loved Anakin's children, no matter how revolting and illogical that might seem…

"Lord Vader," Palpatine called. His silky voice had an edge of warning to it.

Lost in his own world, Vader had forgotten about his Master's presence, about the choice he had to make. He snapped his head up involuntarily. But, was there a choice to make? That old, venomous man had made him kill his babies, and he had nearly succeeded. Again, it was a lie—the initiative to kill Luke and Leia belonged to him, not to his Master. Yet it felt so much easier to put the blame onto someone else's shoulders…

There was no choice to be made.

In a familiar motion, Vader activated his lightsaber, taking a step towards Palpatine. The turquoise blade scintillated slightly in the dim hangar. It was Anakin's weapon, a Jedi's weapon. He had kept it, having no desire to make a new sabre. Colours and their meanings meant little to him. His lightsaber had been a part of his body, as painful to lose as an arm or a leg.

"Only one will die today," he said quietly, approaching Palpatine.

There was a loud, ringing silence. Staring into Palpatine's horrible, yellow eyes, Vader could feel the others' shocked stares on his back. But their reaction didn't matter to him. Nothing mattered anymore. Padmé, the time-travellers, Obi-Wan—those were Anakin's blurry memories and unsleeping phantoms from Vader's past, desires that now belonged to the past. But his babies… they were a different story.

Palpatine cackled quietly. "Your powers are very feeble, my very young Apprentice."

The last word was like the ghostly, nonexistent pain of slave's transmitter. "Don't call me Apprentice," Vader gritted through his teeth, tightening his grip on the lightsaber.

Palpatine smiled mirthlessly. "As you wish, Lord Vader."

His attack was so swift and sudden that Vader had barely had time to dodge. As if on cue, the perfect troopers' circle broke into smaller groups, each one of then opening fire on the prisoners. Blaster shots pierced the air everywhere, ricocheting from the ships. Palpatine was quick and lethal, throwing blows at him in such a maddening tempo that Vader had trouble parrying them.

The world around him turned into a blur of blue and red, Palpatine's yellow eyes being the centre of it, sparkling with a taste of coming victory, insane and cold in their pure maliciousness. Those eyes couldn't belong to a real being, they were too horrible to belong to a monster. That's what his own eyes probably looked like… They were two monsters fighting each other.

Which one of them was worse? The Master or the Apprentice? Both of them had killed thousands, both of them had betrayed those closest to them… but only one of them had attempted to kill children—his own children.

Sensing a blaster bolt coming at him, Vader flicked his wrist, sending the fire at Palpatine. The Sith blocked it as easily as he had. The dance of their sabres quickened even more, their arms moving so swiftly that Vader had a feeling his shoulder would dislocate from the maddening spinning. They whirled and jumped, moving in the hangar like hurricanes, completely oblivious to the intense battle of a few against several hundreds that occurred around them.

"You were a failure as a Jedi, husband and father, Lord Vader," Palpatine sneered contemptuously. "And you are a failure as a Sith. Your powers are feeble, Chosen One."

His insides burning with hatred, Vader reached into the Force, feeling the waves of raw power crackling in his palm. Streaks of violet lightning erupted from his left hand, enveloping Palpatine. The Force screamed shrilly in his ears as Vader reached further into it, blanketing himself into it like in black cocoon, sending more and more power at his opponent, loathing him with each and every cell of his body. The strike was violent enough to kill a throng of people, but Palpatine laughed, the lighting having no effect on him—violet streaks merely bounced off his pale skin, bringing him no harm at all.

Still laughing gleefully, Palpatine thrust his palm forward, stopping the lighting attack. The lethal streaks melted into a small, pulsating ball. Realising that his attempt didn't work, Vader lowered his hand. It fell limply at his side.

"You have mastered the power of Dark Side well enough, Chosen One… but not enough to rival me," Palpatine said triumphantly, baring his teeth in a horrific snarl. He pushed the ball at Vader, who dodged it. The ball exploded in the hangar with the power of several thermal detonators, the shockwave of explosion sending many storm troopers high into the air and slamming them harshly to the floor. They didn't stand up.

"I'm not the Chosen One," Vader barked, summoning the Force, and pushing Palpatine with it, his hatred fuelling him. The Sith was thrown into a high arch and hit a ship, breaking the cockpit window. "I haven't been chosen for anything!"

A random blaster bolt must have hit a fuel block. Fire burned in the hangar, clouds of smoke rising quickly, high into the air and making the sight even worse. Monotonous crackling of blasters sounded everywhere, much like in the Temple more than a year ago, but only two lightsabers could be seen through the smoke—a green one and a blue one. Luke and Obi-Wan.

Suddenly a white, blinding light exploded in his brain. The ships, the smoke, the jets of fire—everything started wobbling as fear pierced Vader's conscious. But that fear was not his own. Two voices started crying in his head—his children's voices. They were in trouble, they needed him.

Stumbling, Vader ran into the direction he assumed Luke and Leia were, all thoughts of Palpatine forgotten. Three storm troopers blocked his path, firing at him, their expressionless white masks an almost exact replica of his own. A couple of powerful slashes—and the troopers fell motionlessly on the floor, much like hundreds of other people he had slain before. Flames were slowly spreading over the entire hangar, jumping from one ship to another, licking the best Imperial cruisers. The bitter, stiff stench of the burning metal was stinging Vader's nose as he ran to his children, killing random storm troopers on his way.

Obi-Wan was surrounded by several white soldiers. He was heavily outnumbered. Vaguely, Vader could sense fatigue spreading in his former Master's Force signature like oil—he wasn't young anymore, the past year cutting strongly at his power resources. Several cuts were patches of scarlet on the Jedi's face, and his tunic was covered in stains of blood and smoke. Obi-Wan had always cared about his appearance, he had always liked to wear a fresh tunic even during the hardest battles, he had preferred hunger to eating 'disgusting food', he had been offended when Anakin Skywalker had told him he had snored… Without realising clearly what he was doing, Vader attacked the storm trooper who was aiming a shot at Obi-Wan from behind. The trooper fell, struck by his blade. His turquoise blade slashed through the troopers' armour, and white figures fell one by one as Vader spun around side by side with his former Master, completely oblivious to the shocked expression on Obi-Wan's face…

…Through the veil of fire and smoke Vader saw a motionless body, lying dangerously close to the tongues of flame that trudged towards it unhurriedly yet terrifyingly quickly. Luke and Leia's pleas for help grew louder in his head with each step he took. Mon Mothma lay on the ground, a stain of blood spreading over her right shoulder, resembling a blossoming flower—an insane image in the insane surrounding. The baby Luke and Leia tugged at her, weeping loudly, but she remained perfectly still and peaceful, as though she were only sleeping.

"Shh, it's alright," Vader said calmly, scooping the babies into his arms and Force-checking Mon Mothma. There was a weak pulse in her grey Force signature—she was only unconscious, but heavily injured. "Your Father is with you."

Closing his eyes, he carefully lifted the former Senator with the Force, placing her a few feet away where the flames wouldn't harm her. The heat from the fire was heavy in the air, making the breathing process hard and painful. Luke's face was covered with tears and perspiration, and his blue eyes were blood-shot from crying. It was unfair that his son had already had to endure so much in his young age, and his Father was the one to blame…

"I'll take you away from here," Vader continued, brushing the tears from Leia's face with his gloved finger. Her cheek was incredibly soft and warm under his fingers—a feeling of closeness that his hands had long forgotten. She raised her eyes to him, looking both slightly surprised and incredibly delighted to see him. What face did his daughter see? It was a black, horrifying mask, reflecting the flames and covered with dirt.

Luke cooed slightly, tugging at his cloak and playing with his mask as Vader ran with them midst the battle, blaster bolts missing him by inches. He reached a spot that was yet safe from the fire.

"Stay here," he ordered gently to the twins, lowering them on the floor under a giant space ship. "You should be safe here."

Luke smiled slyly. "Bi ba ba?"

"No, don't enter the ship, and don't toy with the dashboard!" Vader exclaimed, horrified. "Just stay here. I'll come back to you, I promise."

Instinctively, he made a motion to kiss them before he remembered that his mask didn't have lips. Leia glanced at him sympathetically, and Vader didn't avert his eyes, feeling as though she might be able to see through his mask and look into his real eyes. Vaguely, he felt two little hands grasp at the edges of his mask and pull it away from his face, uncovering it for real for the first time for a whole year…

Suddenly, a searing pain slashed through his back like fire. Uncomprehending and blinded with pain, Vader turned slowly around. Black circles started blossoming before his eyes, making his vision seem eerie, as though riddled with holes. Palpatine stood before him, his scarlet lightsaber scintillating gleefully, his yellow eyes gleaming madly.

"And this is the end," he said triumphantly, smiling very slightly.

Vader fell on his knees. Treacherous weakness started spreading over his body, making the pain feel numb—but it was a revolting numbness that was mingled with cold, a prickly, deathly cold. Only his spinal cord felt like it was melting. If it was the end, it didn't appear to be as bad as he had feared it would be. Yet it was humiliating to die from the hand of the old fossil, dying as a monster, dying as the man who would live in people's memory for many years for his atrocities…

But it had not always been like this. Only a year ago, there had been no darkness, no monster, no bitterness. There had been love, friendship, compassion and happiness. There had been another life, a life that seemed to belong to another person, a life that seemed to be a sweet dream than reality—Anakin's past was so distant, so foreign, so unreal.

…His mother laughing loudly as she tried to clean his face, dirty from building the pod.

…He was playing with Kitster and his other friends in the rare spare time, the twin suns of Tatooine shining brightly on them.

…Obi-Wan scoffing at him by the fire in the jungle as he teased him about the recent battle. But he could clearly see glints of glee and affection in his Master's eyes.

…Padmé was arguing with him on the gender of their first child, looking unbelievingly beautiful as the gentle wind toyed with her hair on Naboo, during the few days they got to spend together during the war.

…Luke and he competing during one of the space battles, Obi-Wan's scandalized voice demanding them to stop.

The monster in him stirred, sniffing the air. 'They betrayed you! Not one of them cares about you!' it screamed shrilly into his ear.

But those words, which had seemed so solid and truthful for a long time, sounded surprisingly hollow and phantom in his head. It was like there was a golden wall between him and the monster, and slowly, its piercing cries grew fainter and fainter until they were nearly inaudible.

Or was it simply because of the pain, because of the giant slash through his back?

"And such is the death of the Chosen One," Palpatine said with mock sadness, bringing his humming blade closer to Vader's neck. Luke and Leia were very still.

What would happen to them if he died, if he let the monster win? Palpatine would take the babies and train them to become Sith. Could he let his children follow their father's steps and become the very thing he despised? He could step back so very easily—he only had to surrender to the weakness and to the pain. Death was something that he deserved only too much, it was the easy way out. But right was not always easy. He would die a monster if he let Palpatine take and seduce his children.

"No, it isn't," Vader contradicted quietly, his voice horribly slurred. Reaching into the Force, he managed to stand up and straighten himself, activating his lightsaber. "It is yours."

He launched himself at Palpatine, the Force whispering comforting words into his ears, enveloping him in golden and silver threads. The deep cut on his back flared with his each movement, making his eyes sting. The stench of the battle—fire, the smell of dead bodies, the smell of blood—hit his nose with the full force after being kept away from him by the mask. The mask affected neither his vision nor his hearing, yet he had forgotten how wonderful the colours of the world had been. He had forgotten about the soft and caressing the touch of fresh air on his skin.

The battle around them raged on, the troopers attacking Anakin's family mercilessly. Many Imperial soldiers had died, but they rest of them was still in majority. Blood trickled slowly from a cut on Padmé's head as she shot untiringly, and Bail panted heavily, clutching his chest. Obi-Wan and Luke fought back to back, deflecting the blaster fire, but for how long would the fight of two Jedi against dozens and dozens of troopers continue?

Parrying Palpatine's strike, Vader whirled around, nearly stumbling over a fallen trooper's body. Seizing the opportunity, Palpatine gave him a strong Force-push which sent him flying through the air. Vader landed harshly on the floor, a fit of excruciating pain ripping through his entire body. Tongues of flames danced dangerously close to him, the play of red and orange reminding Vader of Mustafar. He rolled away from them, his spinal cord feeling like it would explode every moment. A scarlet blade hummed inches from his ear, Palpatine's malicious cackle echoing dumbly in his ears. Vader was thrown into the air again. He hit a cruiser with his back and slid onto the floor powerlessly, panting. A strange, unnatural fog covered his vision.

Palpatine was already there again. Reaching farther into the Force, Vader leapt at him and they entwined in a ferocious duel once more. Scarlet and turquoise became a colourless blur, accompanied by ever intensifying black circles before his eyes. Dull, numb weariness spread over his body like venom—the kind of weariness that could catch one unaware at every moment and make arms tremble for a split second, but enough for the adversary. Another fit of pain slashed through Vader's right leg, and he slumped on his knees again.

"And such is the end," Vader heard Palpatine's voice over him. A smear of black and white, framed by hungry flames was everything he saw.

"No, it isn't," another voice said by his ear.

A shimmering, blue blade drifted into his field of vision. It belonged to Obi-Wan.

Before Palpatine could react, Obi-Wan threw himself at him, and the Jedi Master and the Sith Lord started whirling around, the ever growing layer of the troopers' blood screeching revoltingly under their feet. Obi-Wan! Obi-Wan came to his rescue, Obi-Wan who had buried him after Mustafar! Obi-Wan who had been his father, brother and best friend. How was it possible?

Wincing with pain, Vader rose slowly on his feet, dragging his leg behind him. The Force sang softly to him, embracing him paternally. 'Hold on', it seemed to whisper him. Its touch was beautiful and full of love, the shimmering waters washing away his pain, the golden threads engulfing him into a shell. The Light Side of the Force was magnificent and gentle, impossible to compare to the raw and consummating power of the Dark Side, which burned like fire in the chest yet made him feel horribly empty. How could he ever think the Dark Side was more powerful? It was evil and destructive, it had nearly destroyed him.

Vader launched himself at Palpatine, joining Obi-Wan. He didn't cast a single glance at his former Master, scared of what he would read in his grey eyes—judgment, cold indifference or… forgiveness? And yet he couldn't help but notice the Force flowing in gentle currents around them, telling him about each move Obi-Wan would use, much like in old times, before the darkness.

Palpatine smiled coldly. He thrust his palm forward, and, instantly, Obi-Wan was thrown away. He was slammed against a ship and stayed there, motionless, blood oozing slowly from the cut on his head. It was too much alike the time he and Obi-Wan had fought Dooku… It had been then, on the 'Invisible Hand', when the darkness which had previously slept in him, had pushed forwards and made its significant victory. The monster in him stirred again, laughing, remembering the sweet sense of victory, the feeling of being almighty and invincible. 'Didn't you like it?' the monster asked him, the darkness shifting slightly. And the monster was right—Vader did savour the feeling of sheer power flowing through veins, the way it felt in his mouth, the sensation of completion…

Palpatine's speed was incredible, his attacks powerful and merciless. His arms growing heavier with every second, Vader could barely hold his own. The scarlet blade was a constant blur before his eyes—it seemed that the shimmering red was everything he could see. There was nothing else… Anakin Skywalker was supposed to be the Chosen One—the only one powerful enough to defeat the Sith. But he was weak. Palpatine was too strong, too skilled, too powerful was the Chosen One.

'You should use the Dark Side of the Force,' the monster hissed. 'Only your hatred can defeat Palpatine. Use it, feed on it, be strong!'

Wasn't it easier to use the hatred? It whirled around his right arm, gauzed his vision and made his heart beat. His hatred was there, and it would always be, no matter how hard he tried to block it. Why not use it—the only thing he had ever been good at?

No. He shouldn't think like that, he was stronger than the monster! He didn't want to hate. He didn't want to be hated. He didn't want to be Vader. He wanted to be Anakin again.

But why? Why become Anakin again? What for? Besides, what future would await Anakin Skywalker? Eternal redemption, shame, pain, seclusion… Was it the future worth fighting for? Wasn't it easier to stop fighting and continue being a monster, enduring no endless years of inner torture? Even if Anakin won, he would never be the same again… Padmé wouldn't love him after everything he had done. She wouldn't let him raise his children.

My children. Luke and Leia.

Two tiny, smiling faces—children who loved their father even though he had wanted to kill them, relying on their primitive feelings and instincts. The Force enveloped him tighter, flowing through his veins, giving him strength, doubling his speed.

Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan had been a father to him, he had cared about him and he had never betrayed him—not even in the darkest times. Anakin had been too consummated by self-pity and his selfishness to notice that. Anakin's death had nearly destroyed Obi-Wan—he looked so fragile, so aged, so lustreless… The Force and he melted together, becoming one and the same being.

Padmé.

The few years he had spent with Padmé were the best in his life. She had brought so much light into his life, making him a different, better person. How could he have existed without her so long? She was his everything. The Force continued whispering to him, guiding him and giving him strength. He had never felt so strong before. But it was not the sickly sweet feeling of power of the dark side, this was beautiful and freeing, pure and full of love.

Palpatine attempted to slash at him again, but, suddenly, his movements appeared to Vader incredibly slow and imprecise, so easy to block. There was no gauzed, red curtain before his eyes, no black circles—his vision was clearer than ever before. He could see every dust particle, every movement of the air, count hair on Luke's head… There was no hatred—it was gone, swallowed by the light. For the first time in what seemed years, he felt like he could breathe—not simply consume oxygen, but really breathe with whole lungs.

A slight smile graced his features, covered by the ugly mask no longer. His arms felt strong, stronger than ever before. Vader swung broadly in a quick, incredibly quick motion. For a split second it took his blade to meet Palpatine's body, time seemed to move slower than usual—Vader could perceive everything, every tiny detail. Palpatine's eyes widened very slightly. There was fear in his eyes… and surprise. It was the last sensation they would ever express. But the moment was over, and Vader's blade sliced through Palpatine's neck.

There was a nearly inaudible but sickening thud, and the beheaded body fell onto the floor, the pool of blood squelching softly under it. His breath hot and unnaturally hard in his chest, Vader watched Palpatine's eyes—venomously yellow, still widened in fear. He could see his own reflection there—a young man with dazzled blue eyes. Then, after what seemed only several seconds, a grey shroud passed over the iris, and the sinister glint died off slowly. His reflection disappeared.

Palpatine was dead, and he was finally free.

The monster in his chest laughed shrilly, demanding him to take over the throne. Strangely, its orders had never seemed so unconvincing, so feeble before. The Force swirled around him once again, as though hearing the monster, and its clear, sparkling waters unleashed upon the beast, pulling it under. Light and darkness became one and the same. The monster's agonised, dying screams were a feeble sound in his head midst the beautiful, glowing ocean of the Force. It could finally be itself, unpolluted by the dark anymore.

But then the monster screamed one last time before it disappeared forever, and the Force pulled back from Vader, letting pain and weariness overwhelm him again. The injuries from the duel with Palpatine were like a mixture of ice and fire on his skin, chasing each rational thought and impulse from his mind. Black circles whirled in a furious dance before his eyes, and Vader felt himself slumping on his knees and falling over.

He had fulfilled his purpose. He had freed his family and… himself.

Warm, inviting darkness and distant voices calling Skywalker's name were the last thing that Darth Vader's—Anakin Skywalker's—fading conscious registered before everything disappeared.

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