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I am so sorry
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Alive or Undead — Powerwolf
Through the breach the lone Skywalker strolled to certain death.
Behind him, still quivering with fear or the loss of all hope, lay the final remnants of the failed Resistance, little more than a paramilitary intermingled with disaffected locals seeking to find a better purpose other than slave for the First Order. General "Organa" Solo, in particular, still sat where she had sunken down, head bowed and spine bent. In her hand was the memory—the only memory she had left—of her estranged, now dead, husband, two golden die that had hung from the Falcon's cockpit.
Through the fire and the flames Skywalker walked out onto the odorless salt flats.
As he walked he saw, from the corner of his eye, a few straggling Resistance fighters bearing wounded away from the trenches or—most incredibly—from burning ski speeders. They stumbled past him without so much as a glance.
Before him loomed the war machine of the Empire.
Eleven gigantic AT-M6 walkers stood arrayed as a firing line. In front of them, now being drawn away, was the siege cannon that had blasted the base's armored doors apart with surgical precision. Several smaller AT-ST walkers stood guard, shielding the two AT-ATs that were beginning to discharge their landing complements.
Hovering in the air was a single First Order shuttle.
Luke continued his leisurely stroll onto the ruins of the battlefield. The featureless, white expanse was marred with blackened, fused crystal from the siege cannon and endless crystalline drifts of red mineral. He walked out past the bombed out trenches, sparing few glances at the bodies of those who gave their all in a final stand; passed the remnants of guard towers and flak cannon emplacements still smoking from laser bombardments; and onto the realm of no man's land.
He stopped at long last. He had placed much distance between himself and the ruined base. He hoped that Leia wasn't so far gone in her grief that she wouldn't take the hint.
The wind blew, carrying the scent of ozone and smoke across. He closed his eyes and breathed, letting the smell carry him back to the distant past of more than fifteen years ago. Back then he was only a farmer boy, looking to the future and longing to leave a boring, but safe, life of moisture farming. Little did he know that little astromech unit would have brought the future to him. For a split second—only the briefest of moments—the empty plains of Crait vanished, to be replaced with a blinding glare from twin suns, broken by a cloud of billowing acrid smoke, accompanied by the smell of roasted human flesh. Then it faded away.
He opened his eyes. The shuttle had landed, and there stood Ben Solo.
"You look different," Luke said.
"No thanks to you," Supreme Leader Ben answered. He undid the fastening of his cloak and let it drop to the encrusted ground. Without its shadow he looked thin, almost small. Weak, almost.
Master Yoda had warned him repeatedly to never underestimate anyone from appearance alone. And what Luke could see, even without the Force's "helpful" hand, was that power swirled within and without the young man—a veritable maelstrom of dark energy borne of hate and violence.
"You have been through quite the adventure," Luke continued, ignoring the jab. He narrowed his eyes as he looked over the younger man. "I see your service in Snoke's apprenticeship has left you with some… scars."
Ben glared at him, the twisted line where Rey had scored through his face briefly pulsating with a fiery red.
Luke held up his right hand, palm out, then began to rotate it. The synth-skin coating had long since rotted away without appropriate conditioning and maintenance, and the raw metal the Alliance had grafted onto him shone in the light. "In a way, I suppose it is something no one can escape in service to the Force—"
"You had nothing to do with it," Kylo roared, eyes flashing. "All you ever did was to try and murder me in my sleep. Like father, like son."
"Yes, yes… you are right."
"So why have you come back? To beg for my forgiveness? 'I'm sorry, Ben, that I tried to kill you in your sleep.'"
Luke's face twitched, his mouth quirking upward in a half-smile. "No. I know that even attempting it will only rightly earn me your scorn. I had failed you, Ben. I thought I could do better than Master Kenobi."
"I'm sure you are," Kylo retorted with unnatural coldness. There was no trace of the raw fury that had flown through his veins when Snoke had taunted him. Only the absolute chill of a machine. "Your sister's resistance—" he pointedly did not call her 'mother', "—is dead; the war with the failed Republic is over; and when I'm finished with you, the last of the Jedi will finally be extinct."
"You are right."
For a moment the complete acceptance of this caught Ben off guard. It was only for a moment before his expression hardened again. "So? The master at last admits he was wrong about everything?"
Luke answered, "Yes, just as you have heard. You are right. The resistance has indeed died. Your jammers are most impressive." He waved his hand behind them, almost lazily. "In there you will find maybe a few dozen soldiers, pilots, and support staff. All that is left of the resistance, eager and waiting to die by your hand. The Republic trusted too much in the supposed gratefulness of the galaxy, and has rightfully been destroyed for its arrogance… and, yes, of course, the Jedi. I am indeed the last of the Jedi."
Kylo cocked his head to the side. "You are blasé. What is your game, Skywalker? After six years—six years!—you finally have the gall to show up, only to admit to all of your wrongdoings. You're not doing this for my benefit, are you, Skywalker?"
"No," Luke replied. "Every word you just said was wrong. I came here to apologize, to you, personally, for all of the wrong I have wrought against you."
The Supreme Leader threw back his head and laughed, a thin, shrill screech that descended the scales. It ended into a chilling mocking laugh, one that Luke was all too familiar with; the laugh of someone who had the whole situation under his absolute control.
"Oh that is rich coming from you, Skywalker, of all people. You lost your chance when you swung that blade at me. I destroyed your pathetic little project as revenge, and you went into hiding instead of facing me like the 'Jedi Knight' you claim you are."
Kylo looked at Luke again, smirking. "And now, I have you right where I want you. All units—fire at this man!"
As one the All Terrain MegaCaliber Sixes released the full fury of the First Order upon the last Jedi. Endless turbolaser bolts thundered through the air, to land with bone-chilling accuracy upon the wizened frame of Skywalker. The All Terrain Scout Transports added their own fanfare to the symphony, hundreds of smaller blasts sailing to land with equal finality.
Kylo Ren stood in silence, hair blowing in the typhon summoned by the maelstrom of energy converging upon one, central spot. Far behind the duo, behind Skywalker, the last of the Resistance watched with a fearful eye as her brother disappeared in a shower of red dust.
Then Ren lifted his hand, and clenched his fist.
The bombardment stopped. The smell of ozone now hung thickly in the air, too great to be blown away by the wind.
Out of the dusty cloud Luke stood up, miraculously unharmed, surrounded by a pockmarked crater of devastation. He reached up casually to flick some nonexistent dust off his cloak.
"No… this cannot be—" Kylo started, eyes bulging with disbelief, his composure shaken. "You should be dead. You cannot use the Force—how—?"
"My first master told me the Force surrounds us, binds us, penetrates us, keeping the galaxy together. It is impossible to shut out the Force. I should know, I tried to sever my connection to it, tried to drown it away with drink." Luke then began to walk towards Kylo.
Snap-hiss-crackle!
"Stay back!" Kylo Ren pointed his lightsaber at the advancing Skywalker's chest. The blade sizzled in the air, its crossguard venting a thicker smell of ozone than usual.
"So afraid now?" Luke asked. "You should not be afraid of a dead man."
"You should be dead—"
"Appearances are deceiving." In several swift steps Luke stood before his nephew. He looked at the weapon Kylo held askance. "An impressive weapon. Your skill is impeccable, though the design is unorthodox."
"You… you dare to mock me?" Ben whispered.
Luke smiled. "No. I too built my first weapon, without proper guidance, when my father's was taken from me." He unclipped it and held it out, sideways, unignited. "This is the weapon of a Jedi. I am no longer worthy to wield it."
Kylo blinked. Several times.
"You think I jest, but I am serious. This weapon is yours now."
"But… how… I killed all of the Jedi—"
"My father, your grandfather, killed all of the Jedi, once. Yet I believed there was something yet of the man within who could be saved. I accepted that he had been a monster. And he overcame the Emperor, for my sake."
Kylo looked down. A hot tear fell to sizzle in the salt. Whether it was from anger or bewildered grief was uncertain—both emotions had fused together in him.
Luke kept the weapon held out. "I failed you six years ago. I failed all of my students. I allowed my emotions to get the better of me. In that instance, the Jedi had truly died; I had slain the last Jedi—you."
"You think that by offering me some trinket you will turn me from the dark side?" There was a certain irony in his tone of voice.
"Just as you thought that Darth Vader's helmet could give you any guidance?" Luke asked with a knowing smile. "Who do you think the voices that spoke to you really are?"
Kylo lashed out, suddenly, quickly, and decisively. His blade cut through Luke's torso with a blinding swiftness; there was no way anyone could survive such a close range strike. Yet he stumbled backwards, physically, when he saw that his blade had done nothing.
He gasped, multiple times, attempting to draw breath. "You…" he began, then stopped. His senses caught up with him. "You have deceived me," he concluded instead, eyes narrowing. "You are stalling, to buy time for them to escape!"
Luke nodded. "And by this time they are long gone. You ought to have deployed an orbital web of satellites for maximum coverage."
"It is of no matter," Kylo retorted. "I will find them. I will destroy her and all of it."
"You will need help." Luke opened his hand and the lightsaber dropped. "Lashing out in anger has cost me the lives of my students and your trust in me. I know there is nothing I can do to win those lives or that trust back. But, please, accept a gift from a dying, old man."
"I'll never accept a gift from you."
Luke nodded. "I understand. The Force will be with you, always. I am truly sorry for all I have done."
He and Ben Solo looked at one another for a few moments longer; then, Luke Skywalker's Force projection faded away, forever.
Ben breathed, drawing in air forcefully. His shoulders began to shake. He looked down to where the lightsaber lay amidst the red crystal sand. Then he flung out a hand and, through the power of the Force, summoned it. It flew true and landed.
He ignited it—a deep green shimmered into life, an even humming joining the disjointed crackle-and-pop of his fractured red. For several long moments he gazed into the sword of his former master, lost in thought.
His expressions contorted into hardness. "Soldiers!" he bellowed, using the Force to amplify his call. "Advance!"
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