The four hooded men nodded immediately and unhooked their lightsabers. Six blades of red shot up from them. Two had a single blade, another had a double blade and the last held two single-bladed lightsabers.
Instead of drawing my own, I simply left it in the sleeve and stood straight to gather myself.
Breathing deeply. Slowly. My eyes closed for two reasons, to calm myself - to make sure the growing fear and anger wouldn't overcome me, but to banish them, bury them deep into my being, and the other?
To surrender my body, mind and will to the Force.
'The Force is my ally! And it will not abandon me here!'
"Move, Jedi filth!" One Acolyte said. His red blade rose to point at my neck.
Instead of moving forward, The Force acted with a Push, throwing the one in front away, and before the Force's opponents realised what happened It threw my hands towards two others, which soared as well. The third, the one with two blades, sprung into action and leapt at me with lightsabers drawn. One of his lightsabers came down with a thrust, the Force moving my torso and head to the side, letting the blade pass me by. Catching his wrist - and gripping it tight - the Force pulled the heretic's arm straight only to drive my elbow into his.
Like a hammer striking a thin piece of wood, the Acolyte's elbow cracked and his scream of pain echoed throughout the room. I didn't stop there however and the Force sped my being forwards, wrapping an arm around the Acolyte's throat tightly before he could even have a chance to respond. Cutting off the blood flow to his brain, and in his confusion and anger, I rested my free hand against his head - inducing drowsiness into his mind. The feeling of panic and pain from his injury and my blood choke allowed me easy access to the Acolyte's mind.
"Sleep," I whispered, my voice echoing within my opponent. Normally a blood choke needs five to ten seconds for the receiver to go unconscious but should get up not long after. Though if you held on long enough the choke would lead to brain damage, even death. However, I didn't want to kill, only subdue. The Force can do many things, even make someone fall asleep. Maybe what I did wouldn't be considered right for a Jedi to use, but I needed a way to take the Acolyte out without killing him.
I guided the Darksider to the floor, cradling his head so at least no further damage would be caused by the fall.
The Force screamed and It rolled my body forwards in response, narrowly missing a lightsaber swing that scraped across the floor. The sharp crackling sound wailed and the smell of melted rock struck my senses.
Back to my feet, I could see the Acolyte that was pushed away had joined his other two compatriots.
"Typical Jedi mercy." One Acolyte sneered. Don't know which one it came from, they all wore the same clothing.
"You say it like a bad habit." I said back.
"Huh, this Jedi has a sense of humour, come on Jedi, you can tell all the jokes you want after Lord Revan and Lord Malak are done with you." Another said.
"I've got one for you now but it seems like I don't need to, I have three right in front of me." My hand waved in front of me, indicating my opponents.
I just hoped the deep void in my stomach wasn't discovered. The ensuring growl from all three was kind of satisfying, I will admit.
"Are you fools done embarrassing yourselves?!" Malak demanded, voice . "Capture the Padawan!"
Fear radiated from the Acolytes, one shuddered before strengthening his resolve. Then all at once, the three men charged my position.
I pulled my arm from the remaining sleeve, unsheathing my lightsaber along the way. Green bathed my body from a single blade, reflecting off my cortosis armour, as it deflected two strikes as the Force jumped away.
Landing on a plinth beneath a statue of a man holding an urn of some kind, I automatically switched to one of many Niman stances - the blade held in two hands at head height, angled upwards but slightly inwards, and my dominant foot forward.
Niman, the Diplomat's Form or the Moderation Form, was meant to be just that. A form of moderation at everything, moderate at speed, defence, offence, footwork etc. However, Niman isn't good for a combat form, only used by Jedi that didn't want to focus on the blade but wanted to study diplomacy or on the Force itself. However, because of that focus and the fact that Niman wasn't popular during the Mandalorian Wars, actually training to learn the Form didn't exactly adhere to my fellow Younglings and Padawans - who had heard legends and stories about the Mandalorian Wars and wanted to train in the other specialist forms. I disagreed with this philosophy, I just did, maybe it was something from my previous life that influenced my decision but I felt that Niman was a perfect fighting form. Especially in the aftermath of the Mandalorian Wars, a Jedi needed to know offence and defence to survive in a war-torn galaxy. My state of mind was one of aggression and defensiveness, not moderation.
A Form of Versatility, if you will.
The High Council would probably order me to stop this philosophical variant of Niman, but I would not care.
It still pains me when I think back to Master Zesh's look of disappointment at the description of my variant.
"This is a corruption of Niman, aggressive and so far removed from what a Jedi is. It will lead to the Dark Side, like Exar Kun before." My Master said, his tone almost condescending but one that came from someone that lived their life by the Jedi Code.
Of course, Master Zesh didn't need to know everything.
"Come, Acolytes of the Dark Side." My confidence grew enormously as I slid back into the comfortable combination of the Force and my form six variant.
The duel truly started; my heart was a drum, sweat started to pour down, with my back and armpits formed patches of the fluid. I knew that I was in the fight of my life. I had to catch these Acolytes off-guard. I wouldn't be able to do that again. Not even telling about Revan and Malak, who I knew as Alak, and the other two Acolytes holding Master Zesh.
'My last fight.' I thought with grim acceptance. 'Let's make it a good one.'
The three Acolytes charged as one, one was high in the air, an Ataru user from what I remember. The others simply ran towards me from either side.
The three did use a good strategy, they covered me from all sides, I had three options; wait until they came to me but that option would have led to me being overrun. The other option was what I chose to do.
Jumping onto the statue's knee as a platform, I then launched myself at the Acolyte in the air. Our blades met in the middle and sparks of light brightened our faces. My momentum continued and I landed behind all three Acolytes but they didn't give up and turned around to charge me again.
This time I didn't run and stood my ground, switching to another Niman high guard - and waited.
Using Soresu's defence and footwork, alongside Shii-Cho's aptitude for multiple opponents, I was able to block the first three strikes - one from each Acolyte - and jumped backwards against a thrust. Now that the three were working together, their attacks came in quick flashes of red, making it harder to parry, even with my combat-focused Niman.
Their attacks came one after the other, applying team attacks and feints. One thrusted or swung, I parried the attack away and another strike came immediately after. I was being pushed back, and my feet went backwards and tapped a wall. Staring at their attack patterns, I felt them, the beat of their blades falling into a drum-like pattern. The beat of war. The same as my heart, beating like it was responding to theirs, becoming in tune like a song.
My vision narrowed and time became inconsistent; fast, slow and everything between those two points.
I loved it.
I loved fighting.
At that moment, I just focused on that, on the fight. Not my Master, not the two holding him, not even Malak or Revan. It was just me, the tomb and the three Acolytes.
Eyes followed the hand of an Acolyte swinging, my emerald blade turned the crimson away for the first beat, then to the left for a second, before finally on the third to guide the thrust to the side.
In-between those beats was an opening. I just had to find it.
Beat.
Beat.
Beat.
Beat
And restart.
Beat.
Beat.
Beat.
Beat
And restart.
Beat.
Be-
A green light hummed sharply. An Acolyte screamed in pain, two red lights disappeared as his lightsaber staff clanged against the floor - a hand followed it with a splat.
The two other Acolytes broke off, and a feeling of fear and trepidation rose in them.
The Acolyte, whose hand I detached from his body, fell to his knees, holding onto the stump where his wrist used to be. My palm met the top of his head.
"Sleep."
The groaning man fell backwards, unconscious.
"It seems the Padawan has some teeth after all." Malak spoke up once again, the former Jedi, as I knew what Revan and he had become, his tone was more amused than concerned for the Acolyte's condition. "Who knew that Zesh had such a promising student?"
I said nothing, words would mean nothing but give additional weaponry to an enemy. A deep burn in my chest halted my assault, my body was giving out, and I imagined I looked pretty pathetic, with nearly all of my body's water escaping out of my skin like water cracking through a hastily made dam.
The last two, one duel-wielding and the other holding a single blade, both charged side by side. Rage and fear were clear in their motivation, however, their pause gave me enough time to trap the single-blade wielder inside an energy field generated by the Force.
Meeting the two-sabre holder with the fast, wide swings of Ataru and the strong parries of Djem So, I couldn't help but notice from his parries that he studied Djem So and Ataru as well. Of course, I studied Niman and was not well versed in the two other forms like my enemy, it would only be a matter of time before he got the upper hand.
And he did so.
Clipping my lightsaber blade, enough to give himself an opening, he thrusted his off-hand forwards. Aiming for the heart, for the kill.
'Guess it wasn't just I thought was absorbed into the fight.' I thought.
I imagined my enemy thought he was victorious. He had killed a Jedi, a Padawan sure, but still a Jedi.
A riposte using a lightsaber hilt was a move that no sane Force user would ever conceive as an ability. After all, lightsabers can cut through anything due to the extreme heat the blade emits.
Well, almost anything.
The thrust was thrown away as sparks erupted from my hilt, and the red-hot glow quickly faded.
"What?" Yelped the Acolyte. Not an unexpected reaction, but one I counted on.
Another green blade exited from the other end of the hilt, the Acolyte's body realised the danger but his mind did not. A desperate wide strike was easily deflected to the side, leaving him open and a green blade cut into his thigh, not enough for him to lose the limb, but the pain still pulled the man to his knee.
A hand, another command of 'Sleep' and I was done with another opponent.
Before anything, before I could attack, defend or roll. Blue entered my vision, steam emerged and the smell of burning meat caused my stomach to react violently. Cries of such magnitude, such pain seemed, so far away. If you asked me at the time, I would've said the scream was a mile away. If you asked me a moment later, I would have realised my mistake.
The cries of pain came from me.
"Enough!" Malak's roar easily overpowered my own.
The lightning stabbed at me, clawing its way into skin, muscle, organs, nerves, bone and marrow. The world, the universe, became nothing. Nothing but the blue, the tearing, and the agony.
The blue stopped, and I collapsed with whimpers. Such fury, such power was too much for me to overcome. The Acolytes were not Sith, but mere Dark Jedi that played with the Dark Side.
In those minutes, Malak was different. Terrifying, and inescapable. The Dark Side was truly powerful.
"Zavros, bring that Padawan! Now!"
I did not know who picked me, dragging me towards Malak and Revan without care. Only that in one second, I was on the ground, twitching, and the next I was next to my Master.
Eyes searched for help, for comfort, except it would not be given. My Master would not even look at me.
'How scared must Master Zesh be?' I wondered, looking back at this point. 'To be so struck with fear that he would not speak up in defence of his Padawan?'
The silence was around us, three Acolytes still slept, with three still standing. Malak towered above my Master and I with his physical presence - but he in turn was dwarfed by Revan's sheer might in the Force.
Sounds of leather against rock pulled my eyes forward, meeting black boots, and looking up, I was face to face with Revan himself as he held my lightsaber in his hands
"Beskar?" Revan hummed to himself, turning the hilt this way and that way as if valuing its worth. "You are an unusual Padawan."
Struggling to kneel, I attempted to open my right hand, except the Force had seemingly abandoned me for the third time that day, as it fizzled and sparked - sending shocks up my arm. The replacement had been made redundant by Malak's lightning.
Once again, I searched for comfort from Master Zesh, hoping to at least be one in the Force when the blow came.
I didn't sense comfort.
Zesh radiated something no Jedi should feel.
Anger, pain and guilt.
"You sense it too, Padawan?" Revan spoke as he knelt. "The guilt and anger? What a poor Jedi." The Dark Lord then turned to Master, his voice turned harsh. "What don't you tell the young Padawan why you came to Korriban?"
"H-He said w-were hunting M-M-Mandalorians." My words felt hollow then, I wasn't sure why I spoke up, I just needed to protect my Master, hoping to at least shield him from Revan's attention.
"Is that what he told you? I knew the Jedi did not care about the well-being of the galaxy, but to think that they would lie to one of their own." Darth Revan turned to me one last time. "No, Padawan. You were not brought here to find Mandalorians. You were here to die."
"Silence!" Cried Zesh. pitiful and desperate. Spit flew from his mouth. He was not a Master of the Jedi order then, but a frothing animal.
I stopped. I could sense the truth in his words, Zesh's reaction and feelings were clear to even me. The bond we shared was loosening strand by strand, not from me, but from Zesh; my Jedi Master was trying to save face, not because he wanted to spare me pain, but because he didn't want me to find the truth.
It was too late.
"Y-Y…" Stammering and spluttering at the revelation, tears climbed out of my eyes and slid down my cheeks.
My Master was going to kill me, and leave my corpse to rot in this place.
"Why?" The whisper took hold and the tight grip on my own emotions was obliterated by my Master's betrayal.
Revan responded first, pulling up a gauntlet and pressing a few buttons.
"Master Zesh, take your apprentice to Korriban, there you shall send him into the Force." I heard Master Vrook Lamar through the gauntlet.
"Turn it off!" Demanded Zesh only to be ignored, the Acolytes holding him more fiercely with the Force.
"Are you sure, Master Lamar?" My hope was raised by Master Zesh's question.
"Yes, his presence is an anomaly. The Force strikes fear into the other Padawans, and you have even informed me about his actions and philosophy. I sense a great darkness coming to the galaxy and I know Padawan Madell will play a role in it. He cannot be allowed to infest the galaxy."
"Yes, Master Lamar."
My lightsaber arrived in my working hand, a blade of green rose and fell.
A scream of hate. A grunt of pain. A thud of a body against rock.
Master Zesh laid there. Unmoving. A mark of blackened and cauterised flesh, from shoulder to hip, was clear.
I fell to my knees.
Agony and betrayal fell into my heart, infecting the defences of the light until it became dark.
I tossed away the teachings of the Jedi, my own Jedi Master and a member of the High Council wanted me dead because they were afraid. Of what I am, of what I could become.
They did not trust me. Did not think to help me steer in the other direction.
Revan showed me the truth.
Turning to him, eyes in pain and heart burning with loss. I pushed a knee forward and bowed.
Revan simply offered a hand.
Looking back at Zesh's body, I couldn't help but think of my time as his Padawan.
All those looks, all those condescending words. They weren't him teaching me. They were him scouting me for any use of the Dark Side.
For any accepted reason for my death.
My choice was obvious.
I took Revan's hand without a second look to Asaak Zesh, to my past.
Right, I'm rusty with this fic so please tell me if there are any mistakes in grammar or spelling.
Next chapter I will show my last CYOA as there will be a time skip.
Reviews and discussion are welcome.