Disclaimer: If I owned them, I probably wouldn't have had to just write a thirty page thesis.
Note: for the purposes of this fic, there are two kinds of teräs käsi – the fighting art that J. Danva participates in, and a very old order that A. Lyn is a master of. The Order of Teräs Käsi is capitalized, the basic fighting bit is not.
Let the fight scene begin...
----------------------------------
8. Into Shadow
Arden Lyn stood atop one of the highest buildings on Coruscant and watched the Jedi Temple burn.
Speeders full of gawkers were chased away by local patrols. Flickers of surprise and fear dotted the city planet as word spread, and even those who hated the Jedi would admit to what Devona Swyfte had already pointed out: The temple should not be ablaze like that, without any help in sight.
The wind that lifted her dark hair carried the faint sounds of battle. Clones and Jedi. Soldiers and commanders. If she stretched out her senses, she could pinpoint the exact fights as they were won and lost, but her inspection of each level brought only the same result: complete destruction. Jedi padawans and children scattered in hallways, and older Knights and Masters fought with all they had to no avail.
Carnage.
All of this against a batch of clones with projectile weapons?
Arden Lyn had seen a great many things throughout her unnaturally long life. She had come to accept that certain events would occur: the Sith would rise again, the Jedi would face unenviable hardship, and war would besiege the Republic.
Now, as she watched the cornerstone of peace and justice -- or what passed for it these days -- burn and die, she knew that something far darker had smoked across the stars.
She tugged on her wrist bracers and checked the nearby air for errant speeders. A step off the roof and she was airborne, soaring across the city and landing atop one of the buildings directly across from the temple. Several citizens were already gathered on the landing below her, gawking through smoke at the mess. It took only a tweak of the greater power to keep their attention off Arden and on the temple, allowing her to get a good look.
A lone fireship arrived, and smoke mixed with steam as it poured water on one of the many smaller fires: an apparently wrecked transport at the base of the Council tower.
She reached out again. Someone still put up a fight, though the exhausted strokes of a lightsaber rapidly indicated the person was running out of energy.
Of time.
Of hope.
She climbed up the spire, leaning out over an abyss and shading her eyes from the flames. Yes, the Sith have made a move...and a bold one. A direct frontal assault on the Jedi Temple had long been accepted as a suicide run and no more, even by the notoriously flamboyant Teräs Käsi masters. Were the temple in its usual peacetime state, hundreds of able-bodied fighters would have destroyed the clone force, regardless of its size. No mere soldier dared stand up to a full team of...
But they were away...with the rest of the clones.
Arden pulled herself back fully to the spire, and held tightly with both hands as she extended her reach as far as she could.
She immediately shrank back within herself, uncertain as to exactly what she was looking at.
It was as if stars in the galaxy were simply winking out. She'd lived thousands of years and then some, but Arden Lyn had never seen such complete blackness settle over the galaxy.
She knew instinctively what it must be: This act of treason by the clones was not simply restricted to the temple. This was happening everywhere, on every world, against every Jedi out there with the troops...
Are none of them fighting back?
Something dark and powerful moved inside the temple, and Arden gauged the distance between her spire and one of the entrances. For the sake of her Order's neutrality, she knew she ought to simply stay away – go back to Swyfte and the Wanderer, and avoid a a confrontation that might turn disastrous.
But the darkness moved and rippled, wreathed in a power she'd not seen in thousands of years. I'll just take a peek. No one ever started a war over a peek. She shuffled over to the edge of the spire, spotting a balcony on the temple that she could feasibly reach.
So the Jedi will fall.
Arden had known a day like this would come.
But for all her years and vivid imagination, she had never expected it to happen like this.
-----------------------------
The fighting art of teräs käsi was at best a cruel one, demanding more of its students than any other in the galaxy. The tournaments, held in the Outer Rims in order to avoid too much Republic policing, were notoriously bloody.
Many set out to master the ancient practice, and better than half emerged with permanent scars and injuries -- if they made it out at all. But if one did master it, the rewards might well outweigh the horrors of the training regimen. Pain might be regulated to some distant part of the psyche, enabling the combatant to go on fighting long after his body said stop.
So Joclad Danva sprinted through the temple, all but oblivious to his various wounds. Blood soaked through his tunic in several places, and he was fairly certain he'd at least sprained his ankle following an ill-timed hop from a statue. But the pain was no more than a dull thrum against his nerves, supporting his various lightsaber acrobatics in spite of its soft complaints. His lungs burned and his mind all but bled under the weight of so much death so close to him, but he dared not stop. Not now.
He did not seek to save them all; that chance was lost to him before he even arrived. He could only cut down whatever enemies he found and hope his efforts might be enough to buy some still-living soul a chance to escape.
Cin. You're still here. Cin. Father. Cin Drallig still lived, and Joclad raced toward his glowing presence in the Force. No one could kill Cin Drallig; he was too damned ornery. Run -- run faster, Danva. Clones? Kill them. Nice backspin. Move on.
He was everywhere and nowhere when he struck. Faster, faster. His legs ached; his arms no longer wished to move. No pain. No pain. He blocked it all out, only aware of the vaguest sensation of something wrong. There'd be hell to pay once he came down from his high, but he could not stop now.
He shut down one lightsaber and resorted to his fists, spiraling into the midst of a clone squadron and dancing between the shadows.
If only he'd fought like this in his last bout on Bunduki….
The Jedi has fallen! Phow Ji's long-ago taunt sounded clearly in his mind. Startled by its ferocity, Joclad stopped in his tracks. A lone soldier lifted his rifle and opened fire, and Joclad snatched his left hand back as hot pain blossomed through his palm and joints. He looked incredulously at the clone, who perhaps realized that he'd just signed his own death warrant. "You shot my hand?"
He stretched his injured fingers out, and the rifle flew from the clone's hand into Joclad's. It hurt to even try grasping the gun, so he hurled it aside and stalked forward.
"Backup!" The clone stumbled backward and fumbled for another weapon at his belt. "I need backup!"
Joclad grabbed the clone by the throat and slammed him one-handed against a pillar. "Yes, call for backup. I've killed them all." He yanked the man forward, and then shoved him back again, some vicious vein of the Force making the motion even stronger. The cracking noise the helmet made only served to increase his rage, and he was aware of his own voice issuing curses and threats over the din.
"Just orders…"
The whispered excuse might have earned the soldier mercy, once upon a time. As it was, Joclad kept going, extinguishing his blade and simply pounding the clone against Alderaanian marble until blood ran out from the helmet.
He dropped the body and moved on.
Phow Ji trailed him, haunting his steps as he followed little-known corridors in pursuit of the darkness. Get up, pathetic Jedi. Or shall I kill you where you lie? Rip your heart from your chest and hold it aloft so your friends might see? Where is your fickle Force now, Jedi? Where?
"Get out of my head," he muttered, stopping at a cross-corridor and then choosing the direct route. "You're floating in space somewhere. Go away."
You'll die here tonight, Jedi, and I will laugh to see them feast on your corpse…
SHUT UP!
Phow Ji leered from behind a column, and Joclad lunged, fingers wrapping around his old opponent's neck. "Try to get into my head, will you?"
A startled shriek dissolved the much-loathed face and revealed a tiny Twi'lek padawan, no more than fifteen. Joclad dropped her instantly and backed away, muttering an apology. "Get out," he said, "get out if you can…"
"Master Danva…" The quake in her voice told Joclad she wouldn't last long with all the clones. "…you're fighting…"
At least, he thought she said you're fighting. He answered it in the affirmative: "I'll fight forever."
He'd said the same thing to Phow Ji before self-preservation kicked in and ended the bout before the native of Bunduki could land a killing blow. Not that it's done much for me in the long run.
Joclad left the padawan standing there. I can't help you. Sorry. Lucidity returned, and with it some pain. He slowed his pace and tried to catch his breath.
I'll fight forever. I'll fight forever. It would be his battlecry if he escaped this carnage. I'll fight forever….
He pushed a hand along the wall to keep himself upright. He knew he couldn't keep this up much longer; his body demanded rest and a dip in the bacta tank, but he could only promise further action. It was all he had left.
Joclad forged ahead anyway, subconsciously holding his left hand against his chest in hopes that it might heal.
Maybe right afterward, he'd wake up from this nightmare.
Something in the depths of the temple flared – a shock of bright light in the Force – and he paused. Something felt… different. He could not say what, but when he reached out to question it, his senses were dulled by the overwhelming presence of Darkness.
Darkness, Darkness, everywhere… Joclad picked up his pace again. Something is going to happen, something always happens….
The Twi'lek padawan's statement pushed through the crowded confines of his mind. You're fighting. You're fighting. You're…bleeding? Had she said that?
You're bleeding.
It made more sense, now that he thought of it.
You're bleeding.
He lifted his good hand and wiped the sweat from his brow, glancing at his fingers as he staggered to a stop behind one of the ruined statues. In the flickering overhead lights, he made out the crimson stickiness of his own blood sticking to them.
He realized that even if his mind hadn't recognized the Twi'lek's observation, his voice had.
I'll bleed forever...
-----------------------------------------------
Joclad reached the glassed-in observation chamber in record time, nearly ramming into the window that overlooked the dueling room. Bodies littered the floor -- bodies -- death -- where are you, Cin, I still feel you, something is coming...
Anakin Skywalker had Cin Drallig in a chokehold. Joclad ran for the doorway, lightsabers back in his hands. He had to get to Cin. Had to.
He felt the stab through the remnants of the training bond as a slice right into his middle. He looked out the transparisteel again, eyes wide.
"NO!"
Skywalker held the man transfixed on his lightsaber for a moment, appearing to say something to him. No sound carried up; Cin remained stoic, his expression tight even now. Skywalker slashed upward, shredding organs and burning through flesh.
From his point in the observation tower high above the arena, Joclad Danva watched the only father he really remembered crumple to the floor.
There is no death, there is only the Force.
The calm delivery of the phrase, repeated so often, suddenly enraged him. Lies, lies, lies! There is only death now!
Self-control and caution vanished, replaced by a terrible savagery that felt as if it sparked out of his eyes. He all but flew the last few meters to the door, and ignored the throbbing pain in his left hand as he called his second hilt back to it. Pain meant nothing to him now; the only thought he could formulate was to engage Skywalker and tear him into microscopic pieces, preferably with his bare hands.
Skywalker looked up as Joclad burst into the room, and twirled his blue blade in challenge. "This should be interesting…."
Joclad charged at him with both lightsabers, bringing one blade up and the other down. Skywalker stepped aside and blocked the first thrust, but Joclad immediately compensated with an overhand swing. He slapped Skywalker's weapon aside and lashed out with the right hilt, raising a thin line of smoke along the traitor's tabards.
Skywalker laughed. He laughed.
Joclad whirled and thrust at him again, drawing on every ounce of skill he possessed. I'll kill you where you stand, traitor. His anger drove his weapons into ever-faster patterns, dual blades casting half his face in terrible light as he pushed the saber dance to its limits. Skywalker matched his every move, somehow thrusting his blade between killing blows and stopping them in mid-swing.
"You can't save them," Skywalker said, Force-shoving Joclad several steps back. "There's no one left to fight for, Danva! They're all dead!"
Joclad scarcely saw where that mattered. Then I'll avenge them…
He crouched down as he blocked an overhead swing, and swiped at Skywalker's boots with his other 'saber. I'll kill you, you gods-awful demon, I'll kill you!
"Keep trying," Skywalker said. "C'mon, Danva, you're better than this."
The jape worked with his anger, and new stamina flooded through him. Stupid boy. Joclad hammered at Skywalker with his green blade and went for abdomen and legs with the blue, striking hard enough to make the traitor's mechanical arm waver.
Skywalker held up his left hand, but Joclad dug in his heels and held his weapons vertically in front of him, leaning slightly forward to counter the Force-shove. It was like standing in the windswept plains of Laerae… but this wind, Skywalker's wind, bit into his face and hands and threatened to send him hurtling into a wall if he did not resist.
The pressure subsided, and Joclad bared his teeth in a dark smile. "You'll find there are more difficult things to kill than padawans, Knight Skywalker."
They met again in the center of the dueling chamber. Blue and green mixed with the orange and red of the fires outside, and Joclad summoned what he could of the Force. Two can play this game, he thought, trying to fling the boy against the wall.
Skywalker scarcely reacted to the shove. "Where is the great hero of Bunduki? Phow Ji must have killed your will to win entirely."
Joclad's temper flared. We'll see about that.
"Not that you'll get a chance to best him again… he's dead."
Joclad turned slightly to the side and backhanded him with both 'sabers, calling on the Force again and willing it to power the blow. Quick as a feral street-dikta on Ord Mantell, Skywalker caught the green blade on the edge of his weapon, and held up his living hand. Joclad's blue 'saber froze in place. "Yes... I think he did take the heart out of you… or maybe the arena did that…."
Skywalker's eyes narrowed thoughtfully, and Joclad felt a strange prickling in his head, as though fingers--
--he's pawing through my mind! Frantic, he tried to clamp down on the memories and fears the Dark Lord might use against him. Shut it all down, shut it down, lock away Cin and and Bunduki and Phow Ji and Depa, lock it away….
Not good enough. Skywalker smiled. "You're hiding it from me…hiding…Depa? Depa Billaba on Geonosis…"
How is he doing that? Joclad scowled at him. He didn't bother trying to return the favor; diving into the minds of others had never been one of his particular gifts, and he didn't care to find out what Skywalker currently had swimming around in his shaggy little head.
Skywalker's mouth turned downward slightly, and he appeared to concentrate. "You were so happy to see her, after the gunships left you…but Depa's not able to save you now, is she?"
Joclad's mind froze. Depa was still in the temple, and unable to save herself, much less anyone else. If Skywalker knew….
Too late, he realized the trap and clamped down on his thoughts.
"I'm sure I'll have a wonderful time watching her die," Skywalker said. Joclad remained quiet, but something in his expression must have changed, for Skywalker gave him a cold grin. "I had no idea you were so interested in her well-being, Danva. Maybe you'd like to come watch?"
They stood there for a nanosecond, lightsabers pushing at one another, and Joclad felt the familiar fire racing through his veins. Cin was gone. Serra was in a broken pile on the floor. Dack and thousands of others, snuffed out b before they could so much as sense the danger.
What if it's just me left? Me, and… him? A Jedi and a Sith. Gods, it sounded like one of Dack's stupid holoflicks that he'd so dearly adored before the war.
Joclad leaned over the crossed blades. "You won't lay a finger on her."
Skywalker absorbed the statement, and nodded thoughtfully. "Who's going to stop me? I'm going to kill you tonight, Danva. You must realize that."
Joclad subtly tried to extract his blue 'saber from the Force-vice in which the Sith had captured it. "If it takes my life to end yours, then so be it."
The golden eyes rolled in amusement. "Grand words, Danva. You watched the same holovids I did."
Joclad wrenched his blue blade free and stabbed at Skywalker's head. The boy jerked to the side, but then had to leap backward to avoid the lancing green blade. Joclad advanced further, trying to force the dark thing up against a wall. They always get flustered when their back is to a wall, he was fond of saying. He brought both blades inward from opposite directions, only to have Skywalker flip backward and land safely out of the way.
Joclad persisted. He didn't care whether he lived or died anymore; his sole existence now -- his last duty -- was to kill this Dark Lord, this thing…before it got to the rest of them.
I'll do whatever I have to.
A hot and terrible power built in him, and Skywalker's eyes widened slightly. Joclad pinned the boy's blade overhead and smiled nastily at him. Yes…I can feel the Dark, too, can't I? I can use it as you do….
Skywalker lifted his blade high and brought it down with the Force behind it. Joclad crossed his 'sabers, catching the blue plasma in the center and then casting it aside. If Darkness can beat him, then Darkness, I call on you!
The Darkness responded, and power swept through his weary limbs. Exhaustion was a thing of the past; he was stronger, faster, better then he'd been in years. He and Skywalker raged across the sparring room, their blades singeing walls and destroying what remained of the holocrons.
Never give in to the Dark, an ancient Jedi whispered from his platform. Joclad hit Skywalker's blade hard enough to slam it into the projection device, and the man's image vanished in a shower of sparks. The Jedi's voice, however, refused to be silenced. Give in to the Dark, he said, his recording damaged by the blow. Give in to the Dark….
Joclad laughed and shoved Skywalker off-kilter. The Force is with me after all! The merest taste of Darkness gave him such strength – could Skywalker even hope to stand against him if he immersed himself fully? If he gave in to the Dark and defeated the wretched little boy before him, the clones would stop, wouldn't they? He'd stop the slaughter before it progressed further.
I'll save Depa. She can lead the survivors.
Joclad ducked an overhead thrust and took a swipe at Skywalker's boots. He'll do much greater damage if he gets out of the temple. That must not happen! If nothing else, the Sith had to die here and now. And if it took the sacrifice of Joclad's soul to save the rest, to save her…gods, will it be worth it?
The answer came to him clearly. Depa…must live...
He could think of no better reason to fall to the shadows.
Darkness, make me strong. The Force sparked brightly in his mind, and the orange glow from the fire outside the chamber was suddenly not unlike the red moon of Bunduki. Joclad hurled the blue blade at Skywalker, using his power to send it dancing around the creature's head, and suddenly Joclad Danva was no longer a mere Knight facing indescribable evil. No, he was a creature of light and dark, blurring the grey lines into nothing more than nightfall. Darkness, make me strong. Strong enough to kill him.
He stepped confidently into the role of the teräs käsi warrior. Revel in the kill, the old texts whispered. Give him blood and pain.
Blood and pain...
Joclad grew bold in his strikes. Too bold. He was young and strong, a warrior in the prime of his abilities, and in those few moments he felt it, knew it, believed it. I am Joclad Danva, Jedi Knight, Sith-killer! No mere Code-breaker. No mere warrior. Something more….
"Don't stretch too far," Skywalker cautioned, shoving his 'saber forward. "You're weakening. I feel it…."
"Chosen One or not," Joclad said as he pinned Skywalker's blade to the wall, "I will stop you!"
They were two demons of the same breed, fallen from the Light and destined for nothing less than the dance of death. It would have made a fine recording for the Archives, if they still existed.
Snarling, Joclad tore into Skywalker, every ounce of energy he possessed funneled toward one goal, one purpose: death. It was his only meaning.
Give in to the Dark…and perish…
In the end, even his rage-fueled strength could not stand against the terrifying blunt manifestation of the Chosen One's darkest side. Skywalker struck Joclad's left blade hard enough to jar open his weakened fingers. Joclad reached desperately for the weapon, trying to bring his right 'saber up in time to block the incoming thrust.
The other hilt flew back to his hand, but blue fire blazed across his chest as Skywalker sliced him horizontally, opening a gash from his shoulder to his hip. Joclad leaped back with Force-assisted speed, but his newfound power dissolved under a mass of confused pain that began and ended with the howling intensity of his wounded mind. The strength seeped from his arms, and raising the 'sabers to defend against Skywalker's borderline-cheerful blows became the most arduous task in the galaxy.
Depa, he thought as the left blade went spinning away. He grasped the remaining one – the green – with both hands, keeping his right fingers curled tightly around his left to hold them in position. He lifted the blade as high as his torn and exhausted body could bear and brought it down against Skywalker's shoulder with brutal ferocity. Depa. I have to protect her….
Skywalker brushed his strike away as if it were nothing more than an irritating little insect.
Joclad's fortitude could no longer match his intent. He watched the delicate arc of the Sith Lord's weapon as it twirled and danced before him, nothing less than a death sentence in the guise of lightning. Anakin Skywalker -- Darth Skywalker, now? -- had won this fight, and could relish its finale as he liked.
And relish it he did. "I don't like you standing," Skywalker commented, twitching the fingers of his flesh hand. Dimly, Joclad felt tremendous power in his mind just before he dropped to his knees, his lightsaber still held in front of him. You just want me on my knees because I'm taller than you, he tried sending, but Skywalker gave no indication of receiving the taunt.
Joclad concentrated, trying to break the hold and regain his capacities. The Force writhed and sparked inside him, but he'd never had to throw off something so strong from his mind. He didn't know where to start.
Skywalker gave him a bored look. "KnightDanva, so sorry I'll have to end this little session…"
Subtle Force-pressure on his neck suggested that the Sith wanted him to look down. Joclad fought it off, and stared unwaveringly into Skywalker's glinting red-gold gaze until his neck ached from the strain of resistance. "You should look your enemy in the eye when you kill him… scum."
At last Skywalker shrugged. "Stare all you want. It makes no difference to me."
"See that it doesn't," Joclad whispered, hands still frozen around his lightsaber. Cin, Depa… forgive me my failure….
The Sith Lord lifted his blade for the killing blow, not quite looking at his prey. It gave Joclad a little victory, in the end.
Thus ended the fighting days of Joclad Danva, Phow Ji's voice taunted. Born a rat on Ord Mantell, died a broken man on Coruscant. You should have let me kill you. There'd be more honor in it.
Joclad hurled the hated voice aside. Force, do not let my last thought be of Phow Ji.
Skywalker's blade flashed downward.
In his mind's eye, Depa smiled.