Ran felt strangely calm. He was about to confront Tauth on an even field, the man who had thrown his perceptions into such disarray…and he felt nothing but soothing serenity. He thought back to his first face-to-face meeting with the withered dark side master. He had used words like a knife, stabbing doubts into Ran's heart. "Anger, fear, passion—these things brought you success. If you embrace it, you will become greater than any Jedi!" Tauth had told him. "The Jedi weaken you. They are hypocrites. They promote peace and justice, but they do so by force and blade!"
Ran had thought long and hard about those words since that fateful encounter. Were the Jedi really hypocrites? Were they really weakening him? He was a passionate person, driven by his emotions. Emotion served him well throughout his life. They gave him purpose, gave him personality. They gave him humanity and depth. But the Jedi Code stated that there was no emotion, only peace. Tauth's words made him realize that he personally found peace through forbidden emotion. It was who he was. But he was also a Jedi, and had to adhere to the code. The dichotomy was befuddling.
He had examined Tauth's holocron, sought to mesh the discipline and justice of the Jedi with the passion and strength of the Sith. In his blindness, he had tried to walk the gray line between light and darkness, and almost fell doing so. No, he knew now, there can be no in-between, no personal balance in the struggle of good and evil in a man's soul. One had to fall, either slightly to the light, or slightly to the dark. In the grand macrocosm, balance was achieved—but in the microcosm of a person's life, only contrasts existed. That was his truth.
He had known that De-Lanna and Ascera had worried about him, had sensed—not through the Force, but through friendship—that they felt his troubles and his confusion…and his dance with the dark side. He had tried to hide the conflict within his heart, but he was simply to open and honest a person to truly hide his soul. Ran smiled to himself—that was who he was: peace through emotion. He embraced that motto and came out of the darkness. His smiles were genuine and easy once again, and he held himself with the same ease and candor that he always did.
When Darth Malice lay dead at his feet, Ran realized something. The light side led to complacency and zealousness—the undoing of the Old Republic Jedi. The dark side led to death and destruction—the downfall of the Sith. To follow either path blindly was folly, but to follow neither path, to walk the gray in between was useless as well. A man in twilight could not see where he was going without light, nor hide from his foes without darkness. Only by stepping into one or the other would he stand to gain.
This understanding opened Ran to a personal truth, a credo that resonated deep in his soul. The darkness was past him. He had found his truth. "I will use my emotions to make me stronger. But only to help others, never for my own selfishness." There was no balance on the microcosmic scale, Ran thought. He made his decision and took a small step back onto the light. Only contrasts.
The doors to the turbolift opened, and before him stood Marcus Tauth. The old man seemed frailer, his skin sallower and leathery, hanging from him like a cloth mask. He wore tattered black robes emblazoned with poorly-stitched Sith runes. The effect made him terrifying to behold, a ghost of a human being, shrouded in darkness so thickly that it manifested in his own physical form. The dark side had consumed his mind and now it was consuming his body.
Four Quelsar stood between the Jedi and Tauth, their lightsabers hot in their hands.
"Let me handle Tauth," Ran said quietly. He saw the looks his friends gave him, filled with worry. "Don't worry," he said with a smile. "I'm all right. I won't fall, I promise. This is not a battle between Tauth and me anymore; it's a battle of ideologies. Of good and evil, and there can be no middle ground." With that, he strode boldly toward his opponent. The dark Jedi parted before him, somehow knowing of his intentions. They instead turned their attention to Ran's friends. Ran paid them no mind; he knew that they would fall before his comrades' strength.
Ran stepped up to the command dais that Tauth stood upon. They stared hard at one another. "We meet again," the old man hissed in a voice no longer his own. It reverberated with the dark side. "You come here with weapons, no doubt to kill me."
"Good guess," the green-eyed Jedi replied sarcastically with a lopsided grin.
"This was foolish of you. You could have been so much more. No matter. You have no doubt slain my master, but even that is of no consequence. In the short time he was my teacher, I learned enough to complete my training! I am Darth Terros, the new Dark Lord of the Sith!"
Ran scoffed. "That is the stupidest name I have ever heard."
Tauth fumed with rage. "You will pay for your insolence, boy!" Lightning boiled from outstretched hands, arcing for Ran's heart. But the young Jedi tossed up a small crystal into the air, letting it catch the lightning. The object exploded.
"My holocron!" Tauth cried, recognizing the item an instant too late.
"It was useful," Ran smirked. Lightning crackled and he brought up his lightsaber in time to catch the blue-white bands in its red blade. "You can do this all day, Tauth," Ran said, "and I can do this all day, too."
"I will remember your bravery as I will remember your foolishness." The newly-crowned Sith Lord drew his lightsaber, its crimson lance hissing into existence. "Let us settle this as Jedi would. Meet your doom." Tauth advanced with astonishing speed for his withered body, forcing Ran onto the defensive. Their blades crashed with incredible force. The young Jedi's brow beaded with perspiration just from the initial exchanges; Tauth was not only fast, but strong as well—the work of the Force.
Ran ducked and parried, dodged and blocked, keeping his defenses high and solid. Tauth's swings were wide, sweeping, and immensely powerful. Even foiled attacks left Ran's arms numb. Sparks flew as the Sith Lord's blade tore through the command deck: rails, computer terminals, floor, ceiling—all were subject to his frenzied swordplay. The young Jedi had to surrender more and more ground to the ferocious old man. In desperation for more space, he hurled a chair from a nearby terminal at a pressure plate on a wall. The door it was keyed to slid open, leading into the observation deck, an enormous affair with a transparisteel wall overlooking the ice fields of Mathassi.
The two swordsmen continued their battle against that white background, their red blades a stark play of light against the ice and sky. Ran tried every combat maneuver he knew. Kicks, punches, trips, disarms, even overbearing chops were all foiled by Tauth's masterful fencing skills.
"I grow tired of this game," the Sith Lord rasped, batting Ran's arm with a fist, breaking the young Jedi's defenses for an instant. That instant was all that the vile creature needed. He blasted Ran with the Force, knocking back a few steps, then he swiftly advanced, chopping with an upwards spin of his blade. Ran released a cry of agony as his right arm fell away, severed at the shoulder. A second blast of the Force, followed by a stream of lightning, sent the battered Jedi against the ceiling. Tauth was relentless, letting the blue energy enter his opponent's shattered body. Billowing smoke and scorched flesh filled the air, accented by an unending scream.
But Ran was a survivor. Memories came to him: his youth in the gangs of Coruscant, his time in jail as a child, his first missions as a Jedi…. Surrender was not an option. It was not even in his blood. Through the pain and the burning and the smell of his own skin boiling under the tremendous heat of the lightning—through all that agony, he summoned the will to act. His lightsaber, held in his severed arm, flew to his grasp. Its red blade took Tauth's lightning with a hiss. He fell to the ground, hitting his knees hard against the floor, but he did not flinch. Compared to the burning of lightning bolts, hard surfaces were nothing.
"You certainly are persistent," the Sith Lord conceded with surprise. "Wounded, possibly dying, and yet you still fight. It would be a shame to murder you, warrior. You would do the Force great credit if you reached your full potential."
"I intend to," Ran said evenly, biting back the lingering aches wracking his body. He kept a firm grip on his weapon. "I intend to because I'm not going to die here." With that as his only warning, the young Jedi charged at the Sith Lord with Force-assisted speed. He became a blur, slashing once with his weapon. Suddenly, he was behind Tauth, not more than a meter away. His enemy gurgled once and fell into two pieces, slain.
The Sith were no more.
Epilogue: What Did I Miss?Ran's injuries were severe and it was a miracle he had survived. After the battle, he simply collapsed and it was a full week before he awakened—with his usual gusto. "I'm hungry," were the first words he spoke upon regaining consciousness, to the relief, amusement, and irritation of his friends.
"So what did I miss?" the green-eyed Jedi asked around a mouthful of gruel. He lay in bed in the medical wing of the Jedi academy, tended to by Cilghal, a Mon Calamari Jedi healer, and a medical droid. Ran gave his new cybernetic arm a testing flex. Servos whirred in reply. It was as responsive as a real limb.
"You missed the ceremony the Mathassar held for us," Ascera told him. She sat on a stool next to him, holding his good hand with sisterly care. "We killed their demon and wiped out all of the Sith Quelsar. We brought about their Great Change, just like we promised. The Jedi are considered saviors twice over." She smiled. "They even gave us a ship—Dalaan Norsh's own vessel, the Nebula Dancer, which was rusting behind a snow pile for the past two thousand years."
"Sounds like a catch," he quipped. "A broken-down junk bucket."
"I think you'll be surprised by it. I gave it a once over, and it has quite the collection of modifications." Her voice died and her hand moved to his prosthetic. "I'm sorry, Ran."
"For what? It's just an arm," he said lightly, trying to dispel the growing depression that was radiating from her. "Master Skywalker has one too. It's no big deal." He meant the words. Against an opponent like Tauth, whose strength was augmented by madness, a missing limb was probably the best result Ran could have asked for. "Don't beat yourself up over this, Ascera. It wasn't your fault and there wouldn't have been anything you could have done."
"De-Lanna said you told her those same words when she came to visit you."
"And I meant them back then, too."
Ascera was quiet for a long moment, accepting the honest candor in which those words were given. She suddenly felt blessed to have as a close a friend as Ran Tonno-Skeve, infuriating though he may be. "You know," she continued with a smile, "she also said that you kissed her again."
"Well, she wasn't arguing. She kissed back, I swear."
"She said she punched you afterwards."
"Yeah, but it was more of a love-tap."
The Twi'lek shook her head and sighed. "You really are an idiot."
End Shadows of the Past