Part X
Fear is a stranger to Darth Vader. He knows it only as the bright, cold, fractured light in the eyes of his victims. It is a flickering white substance that does not flow through his black, bloodless veins. It does not seep into his spindly metal flesh. Fear is a living thing and there is no room for it in the grave that is his mind.
Naboo is not as he had known it. The skies are not clear and radiant. The sun sleeps between clouds of toxic grey. The air is not fresh and fragrant but stale and smoky. The fields, once vibrant with life, are now haunted by the lonely wind. The waters trickle not with merriment but flow like tears. The birds do not rejoice in song. Silence resounds. Naboo does not glow of love. There is only the rushing, pounding echo of war, the air charged with chaotic energy. A pang clutches at a broken man's mangled heart.
In the distance, among wild, flowing grasses is a dark, thin figure with spidery limbs, approaching with a deadly, aggressive stance, never pausing, never sparing anything a second thought. Together and apart they shrink the distance and stare each other in the eye.
His eyes are bleached a striking white and so empty, pits of nothing, sucking at the soul like starved creatures of the night, piercing as chips of metal so hot they are cold. His face is harsh and angular, drawn in hard, sharp lines, ruthless and unfeeling…For a split second, Vader sees himself in the twin soulless orbs. The image is dispelled as the other man speaks.
"Emperor Vader – have you come to destroy your wayward offspring?" He is unreadable. Is that scorn in his tone, or is there something plaintive, something vulnerable under the derision?
"I did not come here with ill intentions, my son…but I hope you will not make me do something I will later regret." Cold words, he knows, harboring no feelings towards him, so befitting of a Lord of the Sith.
"I'm afraid you've arrived too late." His speech is lighter than air.
"How so?"
"The person you are looking for no longer exists." So calm that he is untouchable. It drives the Sith Lord mad.
"Do you seek to cut yourself off from your identity?"
His son – but is he, really? – smiles bitterly, sending hairline cracks streaking down Vader's very core.
"I'm not so naïve. But I'm not lying when I say this person does not exist. I'm not who I was."
And he isn't, even the blind can see. It sends chills down the Sith Lord's spine.
"Jade worries about you. She says you are dying." And he can feel him die at this very moment.
The other man shrugs faintly, nonchalant.
"Life and death are quite relative. The line is easily broken." He turns pale, lifeless eyes to somber sky above, as if in thought. The sight is painful.
"She fears you may do something foolish." A bitter, ironic sound, between laughter and misery.
"Foolish doesn't cover it. Homicidal, perhaps, does…I'm going to kill you, father." Said so dispassionately, it doesn't sound like it came from a sentient being.
"I do not doubt that you will attempt it. May I ask why?"
"It's either that or death."
He arms himself, drawing a lightsaber. Poorly constructed – patched together in the space of mere days by someone with little knowledge concerning these weapons. He ignites it. Red. A shaft of blood against the desolate landscape. The Sith follows.
Their weapons clash, red against red, blood against blood. Time is irrelevant. Vader's opponent is stronger than he remembers – swift and agile, yet his blows are jagged and feral, striking like claws, sweeping like flames, stabbing like agony. But not enough to defeat the Dark One.
The fields leave them and hills take their place. The grasses are snarled and thorny, biting at their ankles, whipping in the wind. The blows grow wilder, more desperate, angrier. His opponent's face is twisted in the darkest of scowls, icy eyes aflame.
The scenery is shifting again. The terrain becomes rockier until the grass yields to lichens and moss as Vader's opponent yields to the Sith Lord. The outcome of the battle seems to be written already, until he resumes his offensive with newfound aggression. What little finesse there was is gone. He fights like a beast. His blows are swift and direct. His stabs are like vipers.
The rocks grow sharper, more pointed. They will not last forever. The fight shifts to a much more acrobatic style, and yes, fiercer. They move like whirlwinds. Inevitably, they draw nearer to the abrupt end. Vader's opponent sweeps a low, unexpected blow, aiming to sever his legs at the knee.
Vader's blade moves to meet its counterpart, but there is nothing there. The other blade sputters, flickers and dies.
The opponent, light on his feet, shrinks back, but not before he can feel the 'saber's bite on his torso. A high, strangled cry is ripped from his throat. And Force, it hurts.
The eyes widen, and suddenly they are not so white. He reels and stumbles backward. But there is no backward. There is only open space.
Strong in the Force as he is, he is not invincible. He can be defeated. He can bleed. He can scream. And he cannot walk on air. He falls.
Vader looks over the edge. One last glance. But his opponent has not fallen all the way. He still clings to the ledge. He still clings to that tiny fragment left of him, clings to it with all the desperation of a dying man.
Slowly, his grip is failing. His fingers are slipping. It will not be long, now. The Dark One stretches out a black-gloved hand. A silent offer. A silent plea.
And white eyes, sad, distant white eyes, just stare, unblinking. He almost hears a whisper obscured by the wind's mournful cry. He almost feels a ghostly touch brush against his mind. It is gone in a heartbeat.
He watches him fall away, fall to his death, white eyes still watching.
oOo
Darth Vader knows no fear. Darkness scares him not, for he dwells in it. Pain scares him not, for his senses have long since been dulled. Death scares him not, for she is his sole, most intimate friend. Nothing can frighten him. Except the waters below - for inside them, he sees himself.
