Before she knew what was happening, he had whirled around to face her, whipped out his saber, and caught her blow on his own scarlet blade. Damn him to the deepest of the nine Sith hells . . . he knew where I was all along . . .
"Mara Jade-Darklighter," he greeted her, a feral predator's grin gracing his perfect features even as he strained against her emerald blade. "So . . . nice to finally meet you face-to-face."
"Luke Skywalker," she grunted, shifting her stance to accommodate his strength. He was strong, a lot stronger than he looked and a lot stronger than she was; chances were, after defeating a galaxy worth of Jedi, that he was the better fighter as well. "Same to you."
Silently, she cursed herself and her all-too-excitable temper; it was folly, stupidity, to even try to fight the Sith warrior when all the Jedi training she had managed to garner came from the books she had found in Kenobi's hut. She hadn't even built her own lightsaber; she found this green one under a pile of old clothing, junk that Kenobi had accumulated during his life and travels. It wasn't an extraordinary weapon -- it looked like something from at least a decade before the Clone Wars -- but it had served her purpose for all the years she'd been fleeing to escape this moment.
The grin was gone now, replaced by a snarl of fury. "There is no Luke Skywalker," he growled, eyes shining with rage. "And there hasn't been for a very long time."
He pushed her back suddenly, and she fell to the floor in an embarrassing heap. He stalked closer as she scrambled back to her feet, careful to keep her green blade between herself and the Sith Lord. She was going to die here, but she wasn't going to give in without taking a few of his limbs with her.
They circled, two warriors caught once more in the deadly dance that dictated their lives. His smirk was back, and she silently cursed him for it -- this was his element, the battle, the dance. This was how he had killed his first Jedi at the tender age of eighteen and how he had killed Kenobi only a few short years before, ending the Purge. This was how he had killed Leia Organa Solo, first of the new Jedi order, and Kyp Durron, the last ... and, dammit, this was probably how he was going to end up killing her, too.
He lunged forward, attacking her with a flurry of shots that she barely managed to block. His movements were quick, fleeting, but powerful nonetheless; it was frightening to know that this was only the beginning. He was testing her, she knew; she also knew how pathetic her skills were.
His smirk widened into a grin. "I didn't killing think the last of you would be this easy," he noted, before surging forward yet again.
He thrust and blocked and parried with a strength and speed she would have thought impossible; it was all she could do to keep from getting skewered, much less keep up with his blows. She stumbled backwards, swinging her lightsaber almost haphazardly, hoping against hope that she could find a way out of this.
The sounds of their duel echoed throughout the hall, reverberating and rebounding off the walls again and again, making it sound as if a hundred Jedi fought instead of just one. She blocked as many of his attacks as she could, kept from getting killed, barely survived while in defensive mode without giving a thought to offense. At this rate, the only way she would win was if a column would conveniently topple onto the Sith.
Yeah. Maybe in some alternate universe.
An instant too late, she recognized the butterfly pattern his weapon was tracing. Her lightsaber fell to the ground.
She dove for it, narrowly avoiding his blade even as she kicked his arm away. She grasped the hilt of her saber once more, even as she heard his hiss of pain, and scrambled back into the classic ready position.
This is insane, some part of her mind blubbered. You've never used a lightsaber before, not in a real battle, and you're trying to kill Darth Vader, the man who slaughtered a galaxy worth of Jedi while you were still sitting at home on Tatooine --
Shut up, she snarled in answer, bringing her green blade up once more to meet his attack. Don't you know how not good a time this is?
His blows were coming faster now, stronger and quicker in succession, hardly giving her a chance to breathe. He was angry; she could see the wrath in his eyes as he rained blow after blow onto her blade, allowing her no chance to even think about slipping in an attack.
Suddenly, she realized that she could only sense the rage emanating from his eyes but in the very atmosphere around him as well. A dark cloud wafted around him, faintly at first but gaining in intensity with each angry blow. She imagined -- or perhaps she didn't -- the traces of blue energy that lanced through at infrequent intervals; they reminded her of lightning.
Gods, he's calling on the Dark Side --
With a sudden wrench from an invisible hand, her lightsaber flew from her grasp.
She threw a quick kick at him, unheeding of his superior strength and speed. He dodged quickly, ducking away and out of range before lashing out with his own kick and catching her squarely in the chest.
She stumbled but stayed on her feet; she wasn't going to give in without a fight. To her surprise, he flicked off her lightsaber, tossing it casually away before settling into a crouch. It wasn't his style to fight with anything even approaching fairness --
He's just toying with me, that's all . . .
"Full of spirit, aren't you?" he asked in amusement, steadily circling around her. "The courage and determination . . . almost makes up for the pathetic lack of skill with a blade. Ah," he taunted with a mocking smile, "what a Darksider you would have made."
She kicked out again, this time aiming for his head -- bring knee up, extend, snap back, hook around -- and following up with a series of punches. He blocked them all easily, a warrior as well-versed in the arts of unarmed combat as with a lightsaber blade. The Emperor hadn't been lax in training his apprentice, that was for sure, and the Dark Lord had enough strength in his slight frame to beat an opponent far larger than she.
She dropped, lashing out at his legs and trying to sweep his feet out from under him. He leapt over her foot, sent a kick to her ribs. She cried out in pain but scrambled to her feet once more: she could take this, she had to take this . . .
He grinned. "Ready to give up, Jade?"
"In your dreams, Skywalker," she bit out. She was proud of herself; she wasn't quite panting from the exertion, despite the fact that her muscles were screaming in agony. He on the other hand . . . he didn't seem fazed at all, still breathing normally. The only sign he'd been fighting was the slight sheen of sweat on his forehead.
He ignored her gibe. "Suit yourself, Jade."
He began a flurry of his own attacks, quick kicks and punches that she managed to block with more confidence than she had had during the duel. She could do this; she'd spent far too much time as a child fighting with the boys when she should have been doing chores, and she was far better at hand-to-hand combat than she had ever been with a lightsaber . . .
She brought up a foot sharply, catching him in the solar plexus. He grunted, the breath whooshing out of his lungs as, for the first time since this battle began, she started to feel hopeful about the outcome of this fight. Maybe he's not invincible after all . . . maybe he's only human . . .
And was utterly surprised by his sudden backfist to her temple.
He kicked her feet out from under her and watched as she tumbled gracelessly to the ground. Still dazed, she scrambled away from him, unheeding of dignity or pride, and scuttled backwards until she felt her back connect with the wall.
He smirked. "Not too bad," he acknowledged. "But not nearly good enough."
"Go to hell!" she snapped, looking around desperately for escape. This can't be the end, this can't be the end . . . why can't the good guys win just once?
He smiled at her, a smile that didn't quite reach his cold, expressionless eyes. "Join me, Jade," he whispered, lowering his lightsaber and offering a hand. He looked earnest . . . against her own will, she found her eyes drawn to his face. Found herself tracing the smooth perfection of his jaw, his cheeks . . . "Join me as my consort, and we will rule the galaxy together till the end of our days."
She wavered. Just take his hand, some voice inside her urged. Some voice she typically scorned but didn't have the strength to ignore now. Take his hand, and you'll find power beyond belief . . . knowledge beyond price . . . a life without death . . . She wavered, despite what she knew of the Dark, despite what she'd read, despite what she'd been told. Her hand twitched slightly, moving almost of its own accord as she raised it up, meaning to grasp his hand .. .
Despite herself, she found that she was lost in his eyes again. Gods, but they were alluring. They brought to mind peace, happiness . . . things they had no right to hint at . . .
Icy and cold, but blue beyond anything she had ever seen: they reminded her of the Tatooinian sky, on a bright day with the suns shining overhead, with the sand between her toes and the wind in her hair. She could remember her laughter, the happy days of childhood when she had played with the boys with all their games: playing at being Jedi, pilots, even -- once -- nerf-herders. Without a care in the world, without worrying about an Empire on her heels or a mad tyrant looking for her blood or a Dark Lord who was really the most enthralling man the Force had ever fashioned . . .
And wouldn't it be wonderful, just for a while, to forget all the pain? To take his hand and forget everything that had happened in the last few years? Forget the two damned droids that had showed up one morning, the message they carried, the old wizard of the Wastes, Biggs' determination to rescue the princess -- he had always wanted to join the Rebellion and this was the perfect chance -- and the meeting with the smuggler in Mos Eisley, the smuggler who would die fighting for a cause he didn't think he believed in. How they rescued the princess and lost the Jedi, how less than six hours later she'd lost Biggs . . .
And how, while he was getting shot down, how she discovered she was pregnant . . .
Wouldn't it be wonderful . . . just to forget all that pain, all that sorrow . . .
But forget the love, too . . . Biggs . . . Ben . . . Biggs' smile, Biggs' kiss, Biggs' eyes . . . Ben's hair, Ben's warmth against my chest, the adoring look he always reserved just for his mother . . .
She slashed his cheek with her nails, drawing four faint red lines down his perfect cheek.
He drew back, hissing. She raised her head and gazed back defiantly, emerald eyes shining as she rejected his offer, as any Jedi should: "Over my dead body, scum."
He looked back down at her ... and grinned. She shuddered; his grin was exultant, looking for all the world like it belonged to a little boy who had just been given the galaxy's greatest toy. And, indeed, that was what was happening, wasn't it -- he'd just been given a new toy to play with, and he was going to enjoy it for a very long time. His smile could have lit the dark side of Endor . . . gods, it wasn't right that such a smile should belong on this face, of all faces . . .
"Oh well. Just thought it'd be polite to offer," he quipped. He brought up his hand, fingers splayed, and she slammed into the wall with agonizing force.
= = =
TBC