AN: My apologies for being late once more with an update - I have failed this challenge. : (
This has also turned out a lot darker (and longer) than I had initially intended.
Smoke
Part Two
The Princess Leia raced through the corridors of Home One, the Mon Calamari built cruiser the rebellion was currently using as both headquarters and fleet command ship. Leia quickly skirted passed personnel, shouted "excuse me," "sorry," and "my fault!" when she knocked packages out of an ensign's arms and was in too much of a hurry to help pick them up.
Luke's team was back. They had been missing and out of contact for four days and, with a growing sense of dread, Leia had begun to fear the worst and she'd had to keep herself busy and distracted to keep the darkening thoughts at bay; they'd been killed, they'd been captured. Luke was…
Luke hadn't been the same since Bespin, since the loss of his hand, since facing Vader. He was quieter, more introspective. He was less impulsive, less rash, taking time to reflect and consider consequences. Perhaps this was down to the trauma he had experienced at Vader's hands, or perhaps it was the Jedi training that he had briefly told Leia about when she had finally confronted him about his whereabouts after Hoth.
"I've been training," he told her, looking around the cabin he had been assigned on the ship. It was tiny, cramped, more closet sized, but it was close to the Squadron bunkroom and the hangers and it even had a porthole; the blue of hyperspace churned just centimetres away. He dropped his bag to the floor, it landed light. He didn't have much in it; he'd lost belongings at Hoth, left other's behind with his X-Wing at Bespin. He'd been given new fatigues, a new jumpsuit, the essentials of underwear and hygiene products and little else.
"As a Jedi?" Leia was incredulous, "How? With whom?"
"A Jedi Master."
"A Master?" More incredulity. "Luke, the council was wiped out in the purge. My father said…"
"Obi-Wan survived, did he?" Luke had bitten back, looking around at her. He regarded her with dark eyes. He looked exhausted.
Leia felt herself crumble under the intensity of belief in his eyes. If Luke believed it, it must be true. She sank to his bunk. "Who?" She asked, "Which Master?"
Luke opened his mouth to speak, drew in a breath, hesitated and closed his lips. He shook his head looking shame faced. "I can't, Leia. I can't put him at risk by telling another."
Her fire sparked at this. "Even me?! You can't tell me!?"
"Anyone," Luke told her, voice slightly raised at this. Then he visibly calmed, and told her quietly, sadly, "I can't tell anyone."
And Leia had the feeling that Luke was talking about more than just the name of his Jedi Master.
The door to the hanger bay slashed open and she jogged across the deck toward the Imperial cargo carrier. She could see a dark-haired head lowering into the medical capsule and sprinted over, looking alternately between the capsule and the cargo door of the ship.
Where was Luke? Where were the rest of the squad? Had they already gone to medical? To debrief?
You know they haven't.
"Wedge," she breathed heavily, looking down at him when she saw he was awake. He looked in rough shape, bruised, battered, nose and mouth covered by an oxygen mask. His clothes smelled of sweat and smoke. "Are you alright?"
That's not what she wanted to ask, she wanted to ask; "Where's Luke?"
"Princess," he greeted, trying to sit up. He grunted, coughed, closed his eyes, hand going to his head.
A medic intervened, "Captain, that's not advisable, we need to get you to medical."
Wedge waved her off, "S'okay, I'm okay," he told both women, voice rough. He pulled off the mask, lay back. "I.. I'm all that's left."
Leia felt the ship tilt and clasped the side of the capsule. "Luke…" she breathed, her fingers tightening, knuckles white.
"He's… alive," Wedge told her, and yet he wasn't reassuring her, there was something about his tone, something that screamed at her not to listen and then he said one word: one name. "Vader."
Leia swallowed, had to force her words out. "He has him?"
Wedge coughed again and the medic tried to put the mask back over his face, but he waved it away and confirmed Leia's worst fears. "Yes."
Leia continued to clutch at the capsule, her legs trembling.
Not Luke. Not Luke.
Han, I need you.
Damn you, Vader.
My home. My people. My father. My Mother. My dignity. My lover. My…
She took in a breath, steadied herself. She was a princess of Alderaan, a leader of the Rebellion and she could not…
Would not.
…give in to these feelings. She absolutely would not allow Vader another victory and so she clung to her hope and said what Han would say, what Luke would say. "Then we'll get him back," she announced, resolutely, "Find out where they took him and…"
And then Wedge uttered the impossible and that was the cruellest thing of all, for the sheer truth of it crushed the small hope she nurtured.
"He's… Vader's son."
ooOOoo
On wakening Luke found the uninjured side of his face pressing against the deck plates of the shuttle and had been surprised to find that he had been placed into the recovery position rather than just dumped in a heap, or locked away in a tiny cargo hold. His view was of grey metal and white boots. He'd had to fight against his initial impulse to move, to fight against those who sat on the benches around him, watching him, guarding him; he really could not afford to be further injured.
Vader was behind him; he could feel him, sense his bulk, hear his breathing and could feel the Dark Lord's satisfaction that at last he was awake, and Luke had tentatively reached out within the Force. But all he had felt was Vader's darkness; it filled the passenger area as surely as that mechanical breathing filled the silence. Vader was flames and frost. Hot, searing, rage. Cold, frozen, hatred.
Both burned.
And Luke kept the Force close to him, did not dare try and reach out to his father again.
He had lain in silence, fighting his pain, fighting his panic, but eventually he had slept; too hurt, too exhausted to stay awake. His body needed the rest, needed the time to heal.
It had been a jolt of turbulence that had awakened him again; the shuttle dropping, and rising again, the engines compensating for the difference between space flight and atmospheric flight.
Luke swallowed, his throat hurting. His face stung from the burns, and from the blows from Vader, his eye swollen. His body ached from the blast waves on Abarim, from the beatings received from his father's prison guards. His right arm was a ruined mess and so painful that the whole limb felt doused in liquid heat.
It is you and your abilities the Emperor wants…
Ben's warning.
Was that where Vader was taking him? Straight to Imperial Centre? Coruscant of old? The seat of the Empire?
Did he have the strength to fight Palpatine and his father? To stand alone against them?
He didn't think he did. He thought they would surely kill them.
Join him.
It was whisper in the Force, a suggestion. A seduction.
Join him. Join him.
Take his hand, Jedi.
More than one voice, more than…
The shuttle shook again, the very fabric of the craft juddering and bouncing. He felt the troopers stiffen, felt Vader stir, felt his father's eyes on him and…
Join him.
Or suffer.
Die, Jedi.
And Darkness assaulted him. A sudden strike, a brutal hammer blow to his senses, as the shuttle rattled. Luke recoiled, a natural, instinctive, reaction to the depravity, the sheer wickedness, that battered him. He jerked on the floor, legs kicking out, pushed himself up, saw and felt the bracing of the soldiers as they prepared to subdue him.
Death.
He could feel it. He didn't need to reach out to touch the Force; it came to him. Sliding and shifting over his body, hissing and sniggering in his ears as it whispered entreaties.
Let us in Jedi… let us show you the Dark Side.
You have power, let us make you powerful.
He squeezed eyes shut, desperately tried to push the invading malevolence away.
Do not fight us.
Join us.
This was not Vader's darkness, although he was a part of it, this was…
"Bring him," Vader commanded, suddenly standing as the entry ramp cracked open and a hiss of hot air carried in smoke, steam and stench.
This place was rotten. Luke could feel it; not just in the volcanic environment that leached into the shuttle with the lowering ramp. The smell of releasing sulphur, the rumble of ground quakes, the popping and bubbling of thick liquid, the taste of ash, smoke and hot air was nothing compared to the sheer corruption of this place.
Come Jedi.
Come to us.
Join us.
The soldiers around him moved. Armoured hands grabbing the fabric of his stolen jacket and hauling him to his feet. Luke grunted at the rough handling, having no strength to better voice his pain. His legs folded, and they bladed their hands under his arms, until their elbows supported him, cupped his shoulders with their palms, and grasped his elbows with their other hands, pushing his arms forward and locking them. Rivulets of pain undulated through the fractures of his right arm and he felt the phantom fingers of his missing hand flex in response.
They dragged him, backward, after his father. He couldn't see where he was going, could only see the interior of the ship receding as his bare heels scrapped on the deck of the shuttle, on the ramp and on the landing pad of…
What was this place?
The scenery beyond the shuttle was a nightmare landscape. He had known the atmosphere was volcanic, had recognised the smells, the sounds, the heat from a mission to Nevarro, but this…
This place was something much different. Nevarro, despite the Imperial presence was natural; its volatility was a result of weaknesses in the ground crust, of building pressures of collecting gasses beneath the surface and racing magma, but this place.
This place was corruption.
He could feel it. It was a dark place, a debauched place. Like the cave on Dagobah it harnessed and held the Dark Side of the Force. But, the cave on Dagobah was small, was concentrated in a sole area and could be contained.
This place, this planet, was darkness on a scale that he hadn't thought possible. It terrified him, the hot winds took the breath from him, raked an already burned throat and lungs making breathing difficult. He gulped air, chest heaving hard.
Grimacing in pain Luke, squeezed his eyes shut against it all, tried to push the Darkness away, but it slithered away from him, teasing and playing. Whispering.
Soon Jedi.
You will be ours.
One of us.
You want it.
There was a deep rumble, a tremor shuddered the ground and Luke opened his eyes to see the receding shuttle sitting on the landing pad with a geyser of molten lava erupting close behind it. He involuntarily cried out as the liquid rock fell toward them only to hit against a shield that shimmered and shifted with power. Hissing, the shield repelled the lava.
What was this place?
He twisted his body, craned his neck trying to see where they were taking him and saw an immensely tall, black, building rising high above them as though grown out of the supporting rock formation. It forked into two tines; towers that rose into a sky cast red and black from the volcanic scenery surrounding them.
This is where Jedi come to die.
It was almost a giggle.
You will die, here.
Or join us, be one of us.
He jerked in the troopers' grip, feet scrabbling on the duracrete, trying to find purchase, as he was cruelly wrenched forward, the soldier's tightening their holds. He wanted to scream, he wanted to cry out….
Don't take me there!
…but he refused to give Vader…
His father!
…the satisfaction.
Instead he closed his eyes, went limp to conserve his energy, and allowed the soldiers to take his weight as the whisperers breathed through the Force, voices gathering into a cacophony of warnings, entreaties and promises. There were so many, so many, voices…
Come, Jedi.
You will die here.
Join us.
Join him.
You have power.
Become powerful.
Or die.
Be one of us.
Become us.
You have darkness.
Let your darkness grow.
It was becoming harder to make out words, so hard to listen as the noise in the Force grew to a harsh disharmony; a white noise of discorded melodies that grew louder with each step toward the towering structure. He could barely hear the doors rumble apart, could barely sense the change from outside into inside, but as he was taken passed the doors and into the building, he could feel the glee, the sickening delight.
You are ours. One of us. Die Jedi. Become us. Powerful. Ours. Join us. Be us.
And, just as the doors began to close, just before the monstrous landscape and the red tinged light was severed by the closing door, and just before he passed out, Luke thought he heard one last voice rise above the many: one last plea.
Anakin… Don't do this.
ooOOoo
It was the jostling of his body as the soldiers changed their grips that wakened him this time. He just had enough time to realise what was happening and to reach out with his left arm to break his fall when the troopers dropped him, threw him, to the floor. Luke grunted at the impact, bit back a cry as the pain washed over his body. Then there was a scrape, a slam, as a barred door slashed down to separate him from the soldiers and his father.
He was on his knees, panting, lungs still burning from the aftereffects of breathing in smoke and heat on Abarim. Left hand on the warm floor, fingers splayed wide on the rough scuffed surface to take his weight. Right arm held close to his body.
"Leave us," Vader commanded and the stormtroopers turned and left, footsteps receding away to silence, leaving father and son alone.
Luke risked a glance at Vader, it was so dull, so dim, in this place that he could barely make his father out through the lattice of the bars. Another wave of pain hit him, and he grimaced feeling the tight burn scars pull on his face as he did so.
"More torture," he rasped. It wasn't really a question; it was an expectation.
"That depends of your point of view," Vader rumbled, his voice harsh and threatening in tone.
Luke nodded, then regretted the movement. "What else would you call this?"
Vader didn't immediately answer, allowing only his breathing to fill the silent tension between father and son, between Dark Lord and Jedi Knight. "A reckoning."
Luke laughed; it was more of a barking cough. "I…," he heaved in a breath. The air felt heavy, warm, humid. "I won't tell you anything."
Vader took a step closer to the cell door. "I'm not asking anything," he growled. He abruptly turned, his cape flicking against the bars, and he strode away.
A door slammed further up a corridor and Luke could no longer hear his father's footsteps or his mechanised breathing. He let out a puff of breath, heaved in another, coughed and steeled his resolve, braced himself for movement.
Gingerly he turned on his knees and pushed himself up, grimacing as his battered body protested and he had to bite back a cry. He peered into the gloom, trying to make out his surroundings. His cell was tiny, little more than a two-metre square space, but at least it gave some space for him to lie down. He squinted at the walls with dawning horror; there was no fresher, no vac tube.
This could get messy…
He reached out and up with his left hand, grabbed a bar of the door and, again after bracing himself against the inevitable pain, he hauled himself to his feet. His knees almost went from him, but he locked his fingers onto the metal and spread his legs for balance. His muscles trembled with the effort and he broke out in a sweat…
Well, it is hot in here.
…but he stayed on his feet. Narrowing his eyes, he looked out of the door, trying to see beyond his own little enclosure. The atrium, if you could call it that, seemed to be hexagonal, with a cell on each edge. He could just make out the lattice of bars on the doors opposite.
"Heh…." He cleared his throat. "Hello?"
Silence.
"Anyone else here?"
No answer. No sense of company.
He was alone.
Luke lowered himself to the floor, settled in the dust and dirt with his back against the bars. He needed to time to heal, he needed to sleep and conserve his energy; then, once he was strong enough, he could start figuring a way out of here. He let his head drop, closed his eyes, feeling sweat beads trickle down his nose. He wiped them off with the sleeve of his stolen jacket, licked his lips.
He needed water and soon. Unless, of course, he was being left here to die.
Jedi.
He jerked his head up. Feeling hope, feeling dread.
"Hello?" He called, "Is someone there?"
Jedi.
A sense of a presence. A sense of many, seeping, crawling, leaching into the cell block, into his cell.
A touch in the Force and Luke jerked away at the malignancy. "No," he protested. "Please."
Poor, young, Jedi.
A stroke on his burned face and Luke hissed in pain, pulling away but unable to move very far in the constricting place.
Join us.
Be us.
Fingers moving through his hair.
He batted them away with his remaining hand.
You are ours.
Ours.
Pressure on his injured arm and Luke cried out in pain and horror at the invisible attack. What was this? Who was this? He crawled to the opposite wall, and something grabbed his legs and pulled.
Feel us.
Feel the Dark Side.
He was on his back and a weight descended, pinning him down.
Suffer, Jedi.
As we do.
Fear us.
Be one of us.
Soon.
"No," Luke moaned, wanting to put his hands over his ears, wanted to shut out the crowding, cloying evil he knew was in this place. He wanted to curl into a ball, he wanted to deny this was happening. "Don't."
Pressure on his chest, making breathing difficult. He pulled, he jerked. He panicked.
Die, Jedi!
Join us!
Voices, so many voices within the Force. It felt depraved, corrupt and he wanted to reel in his senses, wanted to feel nothing at all.
Soon.
Soon you will be ours.
You will join him.
You will be him.
Hands on him, all over. Hurting.
Luke struggled uselessly, opened his mouth to scream and was immediately silenced as something…
Someone!
…was forced into his mouth and down his throat. The voices joined in chorus, celebrating.
Jedi!
Jedi!
The malicious laughter of many resonated, and Luke shrieked into the Force.
"Father!"
ooOOoo
Luke was curled on the floor on the cell right arm still held close to his body, his left arm cradling it. Even in unconsciousness the pain he was in was etched on his features, brows down in a grimace, little tremors rippling through his body. He'd shrugged off the jacket he had stolen from the medic on Abarim and thrown it in a corner, it was simply too hot in this place to wear heavy fabric, and Vader could see the stark, black purple, bruises adorning his son's torso, the red burns searing the remains of his right arm.
It seems that Luke had attempted to save his squad on Abarim when the explosives they had planted had detonated early. Security footage had shown their run, had shown Luke planting his feet and holding the raging fire back with the Force, and screaming for his men to go.
His control, his power, was impressive.
As the blast door had rolled shut the traitor, Wedge Antilles, had grabbed Luke and dragged him backward; Luke's arm had been caught between the closing doors, and Antilles had pulled him sideways, snapping the bones in his arm, as heat and flames had licked greedily through the gap. His son had screamed in agony, much like his cry on Bespin when Vader had taken his hand. In a matter of seconds, Luke's prosthetic was crushed and scorched, his arm seared, his hair caught, and flames had dripped down the side of his head and face.
The following wave of sonic discharge had killed all the security cameras.
Vader took in a slow breath, watching Luke twitch in his sleep. This was not what he had wanted for his son, not what he had planned when he had offered Luke his hand on Bespin.
This is what the boy had chosen when he had rejected him.
"Take him to Mustafar, my friend. You know what to do. But, be warned, Lord Vader, there is to be no more entreaties to join you.
Make him mine."
This is what Palpatine had chosen.
Another regulated breath, another tremor through his child's slender body.
"Open it," he ordered the soldiers with him, although they were not his to command. These silent, robed, men reported only to Palpatine. "Bring him."
A red gloved hand disengaged the lock of the cell door and another set of hands grabbed Luke's legs and dragged him from the cell, scraping his back along the rough floor.
Luke yelled, awake, immediately reacting, feet kicking and arms flailing in a vain effort to protect himself. A couple of strikes from a force pike and Luke was subdued enough to be hauled to unsteady feet and fastened in the guard's tight holds.
Vader stepped up and Luke's heavy, tired, scared eyes flickered to his own and, just for a second, Vader thought he saw a flash of madness there.
This place exacted a heavy cost on captives.
Then it was gone, and Luke's eyes darkened, and his gaze fell away.
Without a word Vader turned and strode away, knowing the guards would follow.
ooOOoo
Luke yelped when he was dumped on a durasteel floor and the cloaked soldiers took a step back. The floor he lay upon was once smooth and polished, but now it was rough, scraped, with large long gouges in the surface; the edges of which looked melted.
Yep, stare at the floor and not at what really matters, Luke.
His eyes watered with pain and his brief burst of humour died. He squeezed his eyes shut, grimacing, fighting the agony of his body and the nausea that threatened to overwhelm him. He swallowed it down, panted, grasped for the Force for strength, but found its tendrils swaying teasingly out of reach. Frustrated, defeated, he let out a breath, and lowered his head to the floor. Even here on the upper levels of this place the floor was uncomfortably warm.
His head pounded from dehydration, his mouth was parched, his stomach sick. His heart was racing, and he didn't know if that was from terror or lack of water.
"Get up," Vader commanded. His tone brooking no disobedience.
Luke knew he had to obey, knew if he didn't do what the Dark Lord…
his father!
...wanted that he would suffer for it. He heaved in breath, reached for the Force again only to have it snatched away, and he risked a glance up at Vader knowing that Vader was keeping him from it.
Anger stirred.
And suddenly it was there! It was around him, through him, in him! And it was strong, potent.
Be one of us!
Jedi…
Luke grasped it, greedily drinking it in as though it was the fluid his body so badly needed. With his left hand he pushed himself up to his knees, pausing when pain undulated through his ruined right arm, bone fragments rubbing against each other, his missing hand aching terribly as phantom nerves tricked him. He damped the pain, forced it down and found his feet.
He stood, swaying a little, and lifted darkened eyes to his father.
Vader smiled beneath the mask, meeting his son's hardened gaze, feeling pride in his son's courage and strength. Luke had been soundly beaten; his body broken…
Burned, like your own
…but his spirit was wild; tempestuous. The Force squalled within Luke, and he could sense his son grasping to it for strength, could feel Luke's rage, loathing, fear and the deepening shadows within his weakened body, could feel the resolve to stay true to the Jedi waver when faced with the alternative destiny that Mustfar offered him.
Offered?
No. Forced upon him.
Tricked, manipulated, as you were manipulated.
You forget yourself, Lord Vader.
Vader tossed away that last, warning, thought that suddenly arose. Dampened down any doubts that this had to happen. That Luke had to turn. He could not hesitate again when it came to his son, could not lose his child to the light, or to death.
He must obey his master.
Vader allowed a cycle of breath to calm him and he drew upon the Force for the power do to what he must.
"Kneel," he commanded.
Luke faltered, almost fell. He took a step forward to steady himself, felt the guards behind him tense. He raised his chin again, once more fighting ill placed humour; he was to kneel, when he's only just got up?
Seriously, father?
He raised his chin, much like he had in the Carbon Freeing Chamber on Cloud City when the Dark Lord had told him that Obi-Wan had known his destiny belonged to Vader. He gave the same answer, no matter the consequences. "No!"
Only this time his voice was merely a dry whisper.
Vader gave another smile at the conviction in Luke's reply. The resistance, the resolve in that one word. If only his son knew what lay ahead.
Another brief pause, another breath. He could, of course, nod to his master's red clad guards and they would put Luke on his knees, but… no… Luke had to find his own way to the floor.
Vader nodded his head once and the red guards backed away. Luke licked his peeling, dry lips, body tense, unsure of what was happening and took his first glance around the room. It was cavernous, grey durasteel walls, floor and… he looked up, the ceiling was high with walkways and gantries crisscrossing above from which hung the lights. Like the floor, the walls were scratched and gouged.
Luke was momentarily lost as to what this place was; until his father unhooked his lightsaber from his belt and ignited it. His eye's flared with a sudden surge of fear and he swallowed, unsure of his father's intentions, but understanding of what this hall was crashed home.
Jedi were killed here.
First tormented and tortured.
Executed.
Vader turn his hand, twisted his wrist and his red blade did a slow loop. Luke swallowed, watching closing, body aching, the burns on his face hot and smarting. Vader took a step forward. Luke took a step back, body tense, legs trembling, adrenalin surging.
There was an abrupt warning in the Force, milliseconds to react, before Vader lunged bringing his saber down and across in a vicious diagonal swipe. Luke dropped, rolled and ended on his back, looking up to find the tip of Vader's saber inches from his face.
Well, this was familiar.
Vader stepped back, lowering his blade. "Get up."
Luke's body was screaming in agony, new bruises already flaring. He lay trying to catch his breath, trying to fight against the pain, the fear. "I can't," he gasped. "Just… get it… over with."
Better to die now than allow his father to play with him like a loth-cat with a loth-rat.
Hey, that rhymes!
Luke grinned, feeling laughter bubble within. It felt like madness.
Maybe it was.
You will die, Jedi
You will be us!
Vader frowned at the smile that broke out on Luke's face, the flash of humour in his son's blue eyes. He felt the Force shift around them, felt it shimmer darkly. His son was expecting to die.
He would be disappointed.
"Get up," he said again.
Luke wearily laid his head on the floor. "No," he said simply.
Surging rage at the open defiance drove Vader forward, he held his lightsaber back, but with his free hand he reached down and grabbed his errant son by the upper arm. Luke squawked in pain as he was dragged up and set on unsteady legs.
"You will learn to obey," Vader growled in warning, pointing a finger in Luke's face; red saber still humming in his other hand.
Luke's head was reeling, dizzy, he staggered, caught himself, not wanting to drop like an empty sack at Vader's feet. Rising anger at Vader's words gave him strength and he lifted his eyes again to his father's mask. "Uncle Owen failed, what makes you think you'll do any better," he took a breath and rasped out, "father," with as much loathing and contempt as he could muster.
He had expected to be run through, decapitated, or simply back handed into next week. He hadn't expected his father to nod, he hadn't expected his father to deactivate his lightsaber and he hadn't expected praise.
"Good," Vader told him, sounding for a moment like a pleased master, "your hatred has given you strength, your anger; power."
Luke closed his eyes in regret of his feelings, knowing he had just lost a battle. No matter how natural his emotions may be for this situation, he knew they did not belong to a Jedi.
And then Vader did something surprising. He tossed his lightsaber into the air, caught it and held the hand grip out to Luke.
"Take it," he invited.
Squaring his shoulders, Luke stared at the offered sword, head giddy with temptation.
Take it.
Take it.
Kill him.
Use it.
Do it.
You want this.
Could he do this? Did he have the strength to wield it? To kill Vader? To Kill his father?
Be one of us.
It was trick. Had to be. Vader wouldn't just allow him to take it.
Still the outstretched hand…
"Join me, and together we can rule the Galaxy as father and son! Come with me!"
He could end this, right now.
Yes, Jedi…
Yes.
Keeping his eyes on his father Luke shuffled forward on unsteady legs. His hand trembled as he lifted it and he reached out, wrapping his fingers around the hilt of the offered lightsaber and, for a moment, both father and son held the same sword.
It happened quickly.
With a cry that was both pain and hope, Luke lunged forward with his remaining strength, pressing the activation stud as he moved.
Vader was no longer there; with an effort that belied his size and weight, the Dark Lord had leapt up and over to land behind his son. He reached out a hand and a force pike wrenched from a Red Guard, it flew across the room into his own hand. He ignited the vibro edged blades; they thrummed as Vader stalked back to Luke.
Luke had stumbled forward when his lunge met no resistance, ending up down on one knee, Vader's saber gashing a new rut into the floor. The Force suddenly screamed at him and he moved, rolling to the side as the pike was thrust down, barely missing him.
Another strike with the staff, another, and another; Vader allowing no relief for Luke's injured state, no respite. Luke rolled and dodged on the floor, until fatigue slowed him, and the vibrating edge caught his shoulder. He screamed his pain, his rage, and he scissored his legs trying to catch Vader's as the pike fell again.
This time Luke met it with the lightsaber. The blade sparked against the vibro-edge.
Luke huffed a breath. Lying on his back, with failing strength, he was pushing up the blade with his one hand, fruitlessly trying to force his father back, trying to stop his father from pushing both the pike and lightsaber down and onto, into, him.
He was losing.
Vader feigned, pulled back, and with nothing keeping it in check, the lightsaber swept up and to the side, leaving Luke exposed. One pike edge came down on his left arm, striking his wrist, knocking the lightsaber from his grasp. Vader spun the melee weapon spearing the air centimetres from Luke's throat.
In a moment of madness, of sheer despair, like that on Bespin when he had jumped, Luke thrust his throat up.
Vader stepped back, lifting the pike away to a cry of denial from his son.
The Dark Lord ignored the convoluted feelings that raged from his distraught son; the anguish and desolation at being denied death yet again. Vader had known the pike would not kill, it was at its lowest setting; something that Luke had not realised, after all the boy still had his left hand.
He turned away, retrieved his lightsaber simply by opening his palm. He strode to the doorway of the large hall, addressing the Red Guards as he went. "Take him to his accommodation."
Horror rattled through Luke at Vader's words. That place, that hot dank cell, where the silky guileful whispers of sinister spectres hissed and sighed entreaties and threats. That touched him, pulled him, tugged him and forced themselves onto him, into him.
Come to us Jedi…
He pushed up, fell back, exhausted.
Please, please…
Was he saying it aloud?
Did he care?
The soldiers were approaching, closing in. Crowding.
I hate you!
Vader turned at the twist in the Force from his son.
The guards took Luke's arms and hauled him to his feet. He wanted to shout, he wanted to scream his denials. He wanted to struggle, to fight. He wanted to plead, to please, please, don't put me back there.
He did not cry out. He would not give Vader any more satisfaction. He raised his head, limped with the guards, refusing to look at his father as they passed him at the open portal.
The floor beneath them shuddered as another ground quake rumbled beneath the massive building.
Come, Jedi.
Come to us.
ooOOoo
tbc