Each breath came in short stabs, more forced gasp than autonomic response. Death lingered like a miasma over the battlefield choking Obi-Wan as he trudged over the softened ground, moist from the blood that freely flowed from cut down warriors.
Exhaustion gnawed at him, making each step more difficult than the last. It took more strength than Obi-Wan thought he had to give just to raise his boots over the rough terrain.
The terrified looks of the Sarujaa clung to his thoughts before fading into the smoky twilight, their desire to bask in the glow of Amanohara satiated.
They were afraid of him.
It did not take the Force to give him that knowledge; the fear in their eyes gave it away.
Unlike the anger in Kuiin's eyes the instant before death took her.
A Jedi should kill, but only in defense. It was one of the most important lessons.
But what was he defending against?
She was nothing but a child—barely a teen—and had possessed little chance against him. He was a skilled fighter, a warrior, but more than that, he was a killer. The last thought held on as he tightened his grip on the hilt of his weapon.
But then again, so was she. Ranshin had painted her in his own image.
The heaviness in his left arm drew his sluggish attention. His darkened tunic sleeve was pinned to his flesh by the dagger Kuiin had driven into it. Nearly oblivious to the explosions blooming around him, he wrapped his fingers around the carved wooden hilt.
Just as he pulled the blade free, the Force screamed in warning.
Spinning about, he launched the blade across the expanse of the battlefield. A dull pop sounded over the din of the distant fighting. Completing his turn, he found himself face to face with the warlord, Ranshin.
With all of their men fallen or retreated, they were the last men standing in the cradle of the Bourei Valley, enemies for the sake of ideals.
Ranshin's wood and leather armor was tattered and broken, hardly protection against the Republic's weapons. Yet, he still stood. The hate in his eyes was hooded by the flared helmet and grimacing facemask. His heavy, rasping breaths were amplified against the snarl of carved lips. "Hisai Jee-dai," he growled.
The glint of a long, curved blade drew Obi-Wan's attention before being drawn back to Ranshin's other hand, seeking the dagger sticking out of the blood red chest plating.
Holding his ground, he refused to offer the being fear.
Roughly pulling the dagger from his armor, Ranshin tromped toward his adversary. "Hisai!" There was no fear in the warlord, he was focused on the moment, and long ago had resigned himself to death on the battlefield.
There was nothing to lose.
Obi-Wan retreated a step, before squaring his position. A quick glance about revealed the stillness of the surrounding valley, the battle had long ended there, but the glow of cannon fire in the distance told him that the war was far from over.
As the space between the men vanished, he realized that the rebel leader would not surrender or be taken alive.
"Hisai Jee-dai!" the warlord bellowed. A sword and knife held at the ready.
Memories of jumbled reports and bits of information came to him. He had read that Ranshin and many of his followers had chosen to fight and die the way their ancestors had. They knew, even with numbers, they were a doomed people. They chose not to suffer the Gosho rule, or that of the Republic. They would meet their fate in a fashion deemed honorable by the warriors who had passed into Amanohara before them.
"Hisai Jee-dai!"
"I do not understand your language," Obi-Wan said in a low voice as he brought his weapon forward and activated the glowing blue blade.
Ranshin reached up and pulled his facemask away, tossing it to the dirt. He smirked and spat blood as he revealed red tinged teeth. Madness glittered in his dark eyes. The fighting had not been kind to him. "May you suffer, Jedi," he growled in a heavily accented Basic.
Never allowing his gaze to falter, Obi-Wan replied, "Is that a curse or a statement of the obvious?"
Deep laughter filled the void as the two men studied each other. Loosening his grip, Ranshin flipped the dagger that had belonged to his daughter about, catching it by the tip of the blade. His gaze lingered on the hilt before shifting to meet his enemy. "Today is a good day to die." With lightning quick reflexes that belied his husky form, he sent the blade ripping through the smoky air once more.
Reacting, Obi-Wan brought his hand up and through the Force, deflected the aim of the blade sending it zipping passed him.
But the moment of distraction was all Ranshin had needed.
A powerful fist flew out, grazing the Jedi's jaw. Obi-Wan flew to the side, barely missing a second, skull-crushing blow. He hit the ground, his lightsaber slipping free of his grip as he rolled out of the way of the long sword that chased after him, crushing everything in its path. Rolling onto his wounded arm, he braced himself against the ground before kicking out. The heel of his boot connected firmly with Ranshin's wrist, knocking the weapon from his grip.
A feral howl tore into the darkened sky as Ranshin landed a punch to the Jedi's ribcage. Obi-Wan gasped—desperately sucking in air—before sending the warlord flying backward with a Force push. Scrambling to his feet, he glanced about searching for his lost lightsaber in the flashes of distant explosions.
He spun about, driving his wounded arm back and slammed his elbow into Ranshin's face. Blood spurted from a broken nose as the large man stumbled backward.
"Jedi demon!" Ranshin barked before launching himself at Obi-Wan once more. A full body tackle sent them both crashing to the ground. Air exploded from Obi-Wan's lungs, as he was crushed beneath the larger man. "I'll prove to them that you not invincible!" From the soil, he snatched up the broken blade of a sword shattered in earlier fighting. The edges sliced into his fingers drawing blood as he wrapped his hands around it. "Your corpse will rot from the Tree of Bound Souls for all to see what become of the mighty Jedi!"
"We are as frail and mortal as anyone," Obi-Wan whispered, barely able to breathe as Ranshin's weight pressed down on his chest. He reached up and caught the tip of the blade just centimeters from piercing flesh and his heart. He gripped it desperately even as it sliced through the pads of his palms, threatening to sever his fingers.
Gritting his teeth, he poured all of his strength into redirecting the angle of the blade. It was slick with blood. Ranshin bore down, sending the blade deep. It slid along Obi-Wan's grimy tunic, cutting through the material at his shoulder before sinking into the soil at his side.
Fury marked Ranshin's aura as he reached out and struck his foe once more across the face with a powerful fist before grabbing at the sword blade.
Obi-Wan's head swam from the abuse, but he was cognizant enough to grab at the blade also. In desperation, he countered, his fist flying out and striking Ranshin's already broken nose. The warlord cried out, jerking back.
Taking the sword blade, Obi-Wan swiped it about, slicing into one of the powerful arms, driving Ranshin back. The large man tumbled to the ground, scrambling away.
"Your war bands have been decimated," Obi-Wan began, trying to reason with him as he struggled to find his feet. "You have nothing left," he said between heavy breaths, his lungs feeling crushed, "you have lost. Give up and spare the lives of your people."
"I have hope," Ranshin said, as he reached out across the turned soil. "I have my honor." With his back to Obi-Wan, he slowly rose to his feet. "And I will go to Amanohara dragging you with me. Forever to be my servant in the otherworld."
"You are a traitor to your people and the Republic," Obi-Wan said. "Where is the honor in that?"
"I will not give in to Republic slavers." Ranshin was in motion before he had completely turned around. He and the Jedi collided.
Blue smoke drifted across the battlefield as the rumble of cannons filled the air, like the foreboding rumble of a distant storm.
Shock filled Ranshin's wild eyes as he choked. The sword blade had stolen his voice where it pierced his throat. The rage that had so possessed his dark eyes turned, fading.
It took only a moment before a smoky glaze distanced him from the world of the living. Pulling free of the sword that impaled him with a step, then another, before Ranshin toppled to the ground.
Obi-Wan stood motionless, staring at the once fierce warrior at his feet. The blade slipped from blood-slicked fingers, clattering to the ground.
And I will go to Amanohara dragging you along with me.
A pent up breath escaped the Jedi as he stumbled before catching his footing once more. A dull awareness washed over him as his gaze fixed on the ceremonial dagger jutting just a hand's width to the left of his sternum. Instinctively, he reached for it but his arm felt so heavy, falling back to his side. He staggered, turning about only to find a field of the dead surrounding him.
Memories of the living watched as he fought to maintain his footing.
The sound like rushing water—of tides crashing against rocks—of blood flowing through his veins drowned out the call of battle.
"I am not ready," he whispered before sinking to the ground.
Fear.
Everything washed into black.