The world exploded into luminous yellow light when the Apprentice stepped through the doorway. When the change became bearable to his eyes, Starkiller looked up, and wasn't sure of what exactly he'd walked into.
The walls of the open hall were ruined—particularly with two archways, each across from the other, being caved in and lost to rubble, and Starkiller wondered in that moment that if the walls gave and the hall collapsed if would he be able to catch it. He decided he'd rather not have to find out. But what lied ahead was his true problem—and it was a large on indeed.
Starkiller stared in fascination and bewilderment at the benevolent and slanted image of a goddess in flowing garb and hood encased in stone past the end of the hall, almost lying on her side in the chamber she had fallen into. Soft rays of light bathed her from above and particles of dust danced within. He should have been beholden to witness this, to gaze upon a beauty such as this, even if it was stone, but her beauty had all but vanished. Time had been the crippling factor, not the fall as he would have thought. Time had eroded her features beneath a billowing hood, until nothing was left but the ghost of a smile. Yet, in spite of this, Starkiller could still feel the reverence beneath the stone, and could only imagine what the Goddess once looked like. Six golden figures stood like guard along the center of the hall—not unlike the ones guarding the door, facing each other and mirroring the other's position; some with weapons, some not. There was even a path engraved in the floor between them starting at where Starkiller stood, guiding him toward the Goddess.
For the first time in any of his trips to this place, Starkiller felt a profound sense of reverence for what this Temple once was.
But there was a problem.
Unfortunately, the Goddess and her guardians stood in the way of his goal.
He had charted everything carefully. Before his first trip to the Jedi Temple, Starkiller had been given schematics and layouts by Vader, and though select portions were out of date and mentioned nothing of the Imperial's "modifications", they served him well enough. He understood that, if what he was looking for was still there, it would be positioned under the center of the Jedi Temple. But this was a blind spot in the map.
And Starkiller also knew that the Goddess, though a large roadblock, was not an immovable one. And he knew she was one he couldn't simply get around. Starkiller sighed, knowing what would become of the Goddess.
Casualties, he told himself, and started walking on the path.
The Apprentice stopped after the fourth step; his boot's squeak sending a ghostly echo through the chamber. A cold shiver prickled up his spine as danger sense called to him in the back of his mind like a hollow whisper. He scanned the hall, frozen. Nothing. Tentatively, he took a step back. Nothing. The guardians and the Goddess remained still, and the dust particles kept dancing. Starkiller began to doubt his senses, thinking perhaps something in the battle outside had tampered with them; and as he did, the voice continued to whisper, telling him softly: it's not safe.
He pushed the doubt away and his lightsaber flew from his belt and landed inverted in his hand. The bright blue blade sprang to life behind his back; its musical hum strong in his ears and reaching all corners of the hall.
Then, he caught a flicker of movement from the farthest row of guardian's from him.
The cold prickle knotted in his back. Gritting his teeth against it, Starkiller stretched his mind into the Force searching for a presence. But something was throwing him off; something pushing against his will and trying to scramble his senses, but he found a small flicker beside the other end of the chamber.
As soon as he found it the air around the farthest guardian statue on the left side stirred and twisted in on itself, swirling like a black hole and distorting the image of the Goddess within it. Starkiller's brow furrowed and the grip on his saber tightened as he watched the very center of the vortex open into a small portal of blackness, then the portal expanded out, forming a humanoid posture and shape. Then, little by little, as the darkness gave way while the air around it returned to normal, the details began to crystallize on the being: The pale blue armor plating; the black suite beneath them so tight Starkiller could see muscles bulge; the glow under the gloved hand and feet sticking them to the guardian; the blaster pointed at him with a small, almost unseen blood-red beam slowly moving across his chest; and the pale blue helmet in the shape of an enlarged human skull with thin metal cylinder's poking out the dark eye sockets. The same kind of red light shined in the cylinders.
Starkiller remained still. His face gave nothing away. But inside, he was struggling to keep his heart under control and breathe.
But before it could be, another vortex appeared on the statue opposite the first, and following suite, another pale-blue Skull Trooper appeared and another dot joined the other on his chest, dancing around his heart. Two vortex's appeared at once on the middle guardians, and as the troopers showed themselves, the last portals came on the sides of the twin statues closest to him. Starkiller waited, but no more came in front of him.
He regarded each of the troopers coldly, not budging. Not even shutting down his lightsaber. He was playing how this all would go down in his mind, step by sep, coordinating where he would go with this precious time they would sourly regret giving him. At the edge of his peripheral vision though, he saw more dots jump onto his chest, loosely forming a sheet of bright red. And again, Starkiller had to keep his heart rate under control, looking up without noticeably bending his neck.
His eyes went wide.
And his heart began to race.
Skull-Troopers hung on the curved ceiling of the hall like insects gathered around the corpse, suspended by their free hand and ends of their feet. Each had a blaster, leveled on him. And the amount of concentrated light emanating from the socket cylinder's and blaster's rivaled the sun outside when staring directly at it; the troopers acting more as shadowy being's lurking behind the hellfire of red.
The plan in his head vanished. He was counting on the half-second—no matter how good thy were—it took to pull the trigger to take them out. But he couldn't risk it with this many weapons trained on him. His gaze burned with the hate smoldering in his heart and hot air hissed through closed teeth.
They got around me. I didn't even feel them arriving, Then, added. What is allowing them to do this?
A clear bolt of lightning crackled through the hall and a final portal appeared on the other end between the guardian's, already in humanoid form and details formed as the phantom strode along the path. It was another Skull Trooper, but no cylinder's poked out and neither the twin blasters in the holsters on his side or the two strung together behind his back were in his hand. But as he grew closer, Starkiller saw the specks lurking behind the sockets. Two, dark stripes ran down the peak of his helmet and traveled down the plates to his feet. And on his left arm was the depiction of a dark, grotesque creature swiping its razor talons across a being's body, annihilating them.
Starkiller tore through the veil dampening his senses and reached out to the striped trooper. And what he felt was a swirling pool of festering hunger approaching him. His blood was rushing beneath that armor and pulse and heart thumping. From his aura, Starkiller was surprised at how controlled the being was. His strides gave no indication, save for the confidence that exuded from him, and his hands were like stone.
Starkiller risked a slight glance back, and the entrance never felt farther away.
The striped trooper stopped a few feet from the Apprentice. He wasn't a tall man, coming eye-level with Starkiller.
"Well, well," Stripes said, his voice sounding synthesized through the helmet's speaker. He said nothing more, just standing there, watching.
The silence pulled at Starkiller more then he cared to admit. His teeth remained bared, and he thought that now with a target so close, perhaps he could use Stripe's presence—or body, against the other's like a shield. His grip tightened and his lightsaber creaked behind him as he prepared.
Stripe's hands blurred and two blasters were in his hand. Blinding red light exploded in his vision and Starkiller tilted his head in recoil to get it out.
"Don't try it, Jedi." Stripes ordered. The cylinder's jumped out from the sockets, and after the eclipses of light faded from his sight, Starkiller obeyed, relaxing his grip and shutting his lightsaber down behind him.
There were other methods.
He brought his hand around, keeping the handle of his saber in sight. So long as Stripes believed he had his token prize, Starkiller still had leverage,, as, he had found out often through his own life: arrogance blinds the mind more so then the beam that flashed his eyes.
Stripes didn't try to snatch the lightsaber, instead remaining where he was, weapons still drawn.
"Put the energy saber on the ground," Starkiller complied, leaving it at his feet. He then reached into the Force and sent tendrils all around the ceiling, weaving past body's and bits of plat life in the cracks and found their places by the time Starkiller was upright. Behind the helmet, Stripes was probably smiling.
"Good." The blaster in his left hand blurred and was once again resting in its holster. He reached behind him and Starkiller heard something metal rustle. What he extracted were two steel rings connected by a short, energy cord. But what caught his eye were the glimmers flashing from within the rings.
Starkiller seized the tendrils, ensuring his hold. But he did not pull. Not yet.
Stripe's started toward Starkiller, keeping the blaster on him, and when he stopped only inches from the Apprentice, Starkiller flicked a glance down and saw what the glimmers were.
They were actually small sparks. And they leapt from the tips of stubby spikes scattered evenly throughout the inside of the rings. One by one, they flashed, like fireworks spread through the night sky.
That's enough of that, he thought. Then started slowly pulling the tendrils. There was resistance, but not enough to stop him.
He knew he would only get once chance at this, and his time would be short. And he knew that one mistake would mean death. But he was used to that. Vader's rule wasn't much different.
Starkiller stepped just barely to the right, putting Stripes in the line of fire. Stripes was trying to get the cuffs on him, saying something that Starkiller paid no attention to his words, instead focusing on the tendrils and calling on the Force to augment his body. Stripes examined Starkiller from top to bottom, asking if the Jedi misunderstood his orders—
And Starkiller yanked on the tendrils.
And Skull Troopers rained from the sky, screaming, with blocks of old stone still stuck to their hands and feet as they clattered loudly against the floor.
Starkiller could sense Stripes struggling not to turn, but reflex got the better of him and he did, leaving the Apprentice with only hesitation's time to take out the others.
He reached out in the Force and crushed the bases of the two stone guardians closest to him and sent it soaring back, smashing them and the troopers into the middle row with enough impact to knock those two loose, then slam the remaining row with force enough to send the cluster of golden stone and pale-blue plasteel careening into the relatively small space between the hall and the Goddess.
By this time, Stripes was whipping back around to Starkiller and some of the Troopers were beginning to recover. The lightsaber at his feet flared back to life and swept its bright aqua blade up, skewing through and leaving Stripe's blaster a worthless hunk of white-hot metal. It proceeded to pass between them and spun toward the Trooper's, staying low and searing the floor. And one by one, fires of life in the Force were blown out.
But Starkiller hadn't qualified Stripe's speed. The cuffs and ruined blaster were falling and the holstered blaster was already in his hand with his other reaching for another strapped across his back. A single shot spat out the barrel and Starkiller threw his head to the side and it whisked centimeters past his ear.
It was the only one he'd get.
Starkiller gathered the power of the Dark side into the palms of his fists until they burned and punched the center of Stripe's breastplate. A thousand cracks intersected each other under the force of his knuckles like webs and Stripes was sent careening back, his body a blur and hitting the brim of the Goddess's nose with a sickening crack. The blaster slipped from his grasp, and he remained upright for a moment, his other hand jammed behind him, until he fell forward and plunged into the crack, his remaining blasters tumbling out and following closely behind him.
Meanwhile, on the left side of the hall, the lightsaber was on its last stretch. It would not be stopped. Could not be stopped. The last life flickered out and the saber spun back around to the front and Starkiller caught the handle, shutting down the aqua blade and leaving the hall in mute silence.
And leaving Starkiller alone with the bodies.
Starkiller took a pause to catch his breath, letting the fire in his hands slowly burn away and leaving his palms aching. He clipped his lightsaber to his belt and started walking down the path, but stopped. He expanded his awareness to the bodies lying around him, feeling for any shred of life. But the call was not answered. Starkiller continued on through the rubble and death without breaking stride, until he reached the edge.
The walls of the chamber were forever scarred with the Goddess's fall, the hole in the corner massive and fitting to her shape. The chamber beyond it was bleak; a product of the final night of the Clone Wars and the demise of the Order brought to life by the luminescent auburn light shining through blackened transparisteel windows. Starkiller barely noticed. Now that he was closer to the Goddess, he could see that she had sustained some damage on her side from the fall, though most of it was shrouded by deep shadow. But that—and the small crack still fresh on her nose—were the only blemishes he found past the erosion. Closer, he could also peer past some of what the hood hid; small sections of undisturbed stone. Mostly strands of hair longer then his arm having slid from under the hood. The Goddess reminded him of Juno, he realized, only faded, like she was a specter haunting him. Like his father.
He forced down the thought and concentrated on his task. And with it came a growing sense of dread at what he would have to do. But it was unavoidable.
So he took one last, long look at the Goddess, then reached out to her—
And suddenly her face was replaced with a pale blue skull with twin strips running along its side.
Starkiller stepped back as Stripes rose up through the crack, his left arm dangling numbly and hand a crushed mess of tissue. The bottoms of his feet were glowing brightly against the broad shoulder-plates of a Jet Trooper, whose pack was quiet as it tried to haul the extra weight in its Silent Hover mode. The Trooper himself was trying to cope with it, looking like an animal trying to balance on a thin bed of ice. He fumbled for his hip, wrenching the blaster free of its holster. It's barrel trembled.
Starkiller just watched as the duo rose above the floor of the hall and stopped, hovering just beyond range of his lightsaber. His hands were still open.
Stripes, looking like a benevolent god standing atop his plasteel steed and cackling spitting from his helmet's speaker, pointed at Starkiller with his good hand.
"Shoot 'em down, big boy!" Stripes proclaimed. His voice was drenched in hate and excitement.
What Stripes didn't know was that the Jet Trooper was not as quick on the draw as he was, and in that critical second it took to level and aim the blaster, Starkiller already had him. He just didn't realize it.
A black, leather finger closed around the trigger.
The trigger bent and snapped off.
The Jet Trooper looked at his gun, head cocking slightly to the right, perplexed. Just then, he was yanked around by Starkiller, putting his and Stripe's backs to the Apprentice. Stripes struggled to keep upright.
Lightning cascaded in long, zigzagging arcs from his hands, and, guided by his will, each bolt found their way into the rather large bump between the trooper's shoulder blades, feeding up the steel shafts with small, blue flames sputtering out their ends. Those small flames erupted and the color changed from blue to searing red and shooting down, shaped like tentacles. the mechanics within the pack fried and bubbled and the pressure within emitted a high pitching whine. Starkiller clasped his hands into fist and the lightning ceased. In that instant, Stripes and the Jet Trooper shot up with enough torque to smash bone. They cleared the Goddess and one of the shafts melted under the strain, putting the two into a rising spiral, the pressure and whine growing steadily. Around and around they went, their circling growing wider in the chamber with Stripes screaming the whole way up as he tried to disengage himself from the trooper. But it was too late. A ball of bright flame swallowed them, leaving in its wake only smoke and bits of charred plasteel to rain down.
Starkiller's lip raised in satisfaction while watching the haze of smoke begin to evaporate. It wasn't a broad grin, but remained glued to his face.
Until he heard it. A small sound, muffled in the distance. It rose and fell, and sounded as if you were underground listening to a an assault tank pass above you. Then it ended, and he heard a faint static click. As soon as it did, though, another started, deeper, slower. And suddenly, he knew what he was hearing.
Voices.
Stormtroopers.
A second later, something above caught Starkiller's eye. He looked up, and through the thinning smoke cloud saw the tiny white figures standing in the end of a hall identical to his own.
He reached out into the spectrum of the Force, ripping through that veil like it never existed, and the chamber crystallized in his mind. He saw every knock and corner: every foot of stone: every bit of plant growing in the cracks. And he saw the two Trooper's like he had before; like little flames standing next to each other. He could feel their confusion and unease in the Force. They felt wound like a string being pulled in separate directions, on the verge of snapping. And he saw their fingers wrapped tightly around the triggers of their weapons, just waiting for the target.
And he saw dozens of them. Converging on this area.
Before he could make sense of it, sense came to him as he remembered the Jet Trooper outside, and the final word he bellowed before Starkiller cut him off.
Backup.
Starkiller wished he'd gotten to that Trooper sooner. But what was done could not be changed, and right now he needed to focus on adapting to this situation, not sulk about the past.
They hadn't seen him yet, otherwise there'd be a hailstorm of energy bolts coming his way. Good. Nimbly, he stepped back, keeping his upper body still so he wouldn't draw attention. He did this for two more steps, then was out of their line of sight beneath the hall's curved ceiling. Starkiller began reassessing his current predicament. It would not be long before they figured out where he was, through the location of the first call outside. And probably through the squad that lay dead under rubble also. He felt some of the Troopers determination, closing in from both the upper and lower levels. They would be there within minutes, if that.
Starkiller wondered if the secondary goal for the squad that, if they could not capture him, was to make him waste his time killing them. Otherwise they could have opened fire on him when he first stepped through the door and been done with him. But the Empire would want a live Jedi more then a dead Jedi. Because alive, they could serve. Dead, they could only rot. Even if it took a couple dozen bodies that were loyal to the Empire to do it. Little did they know he had been serving them, through Vader. It was that training that helped him grow into the being he was; helped him develop the immense power within, which he would use along with his Master's to overthrow the Emperor and his Empire.
But if he was captured, or even killed, the plan would fall apart.
He thought: You won't let that happen, But he wasn't sure it was his voice or Vader's.
Starkiller already knew what he was going to do, but when he looked back at the Goddess and imagined Juno, he hesitated. The little flames surrounding him grew closer, and he squashed the hesitation, and the image faded.
It was time to get to work.
Starkiller squared his footing and inhaled. Then, he extended his arms and reached out in his mind to the Goddess.
The man who looks like a Jedi is a speck in the massive chamber. Above and below him, white specks appear through the thick fog of shadow, hunting.
The man who serves Darth Vader had his hands out. His gaze narrows on the statue before him. Slowly, his fingers wrench into talons and his eyes close. His forehead furrows. And he reaches into the vast nebula of power he draws upon.
He is buffeted instantly. His eyes shoot open. All air was expelled from his lungs at once. The recoil is almost enough to throw him out of his stance. He holds it.
The statue remains still.
The boy regains his posture, baring his teeth as he squints his eyes shut, leaving just a sliver of sight. He inhaled through his nostrils. Then exhaled. His hands were open, facing the statue. Once more, he reached back into the spectrum and tried again.
This time, the colossal statue moved.
It's minute, and is barely noticeable. But that nudge happens again, again, and again, and evolves into a low ruble. That rumble grew. Dust is shaken off her crisp shoulders. The man's hands twist into tight talons. More white dots emerge from the blankets of shadow spread all across the chamber, some watching the divine statue, others doubling their efforts to find the cause. They will not make it in time.
The lines in the man's forehead grow deeper as his brow furrows and dampens with perspiration that shined. His talon-fingers start to close into his palm, and the statue lifted upward a few inches, then a few feet, and broke away from the wall and ground. Cracked, damaged, and forgotten stone on her shadowed under-half crumbled from their host and tumbles like raindrops into the abyss. The white dots now stand frozen, transfixed on this sight, weapons, and for some, the mission, now long lost in their minds.
The statue floats further up, her slanted form rising in the hole she created, and as her face passed the man's views, his hands clench into fists. She stops for a moment, hovering. Stone fills the hole and the hall is dark.
He griped his hands in tighter. His knuckles flared white under the pressure. The fists trembled slightly in the air. He drew a long breath and held it, then shifted his stance to accommodate for what was to happen. Slowly, the slits of his sights closed, and his body tensed.
For a second, there is silence.
Then his eyes shoot open, he exhales, and he throws his fists up like they were boulders, and the looming statue shot up the chamber, spinning on its side as it spirals up the hole it created. It cleared the hall, and leaves a thick sheet of pale-brown dust and dirt in its wake.
With the lower chasm empty, the blue light of his mission shines faintly through the dust.
He sees this.
The man doesn't hesitate.
He lowers his arms, unravels his hands, and charges full-force at the light.
Meanwhile, the top of the statue's head grazes against the wall and a chunk of her hood breaks of and falls. This skews it off its course.
The man reaches the edge and leaps toward the distant light with all he has. He passes over the area where troopers fell into the crevasse, and shoots into the dust cloud. Above, the massive statue reaches the end of the hole it created and—stuck in damp shadow for years—its lower half strikes hard against the top of it and shattered like fragile glass shattering against a freighter's hull. The hole is barely damaged. The statue tumbles and turns in the air. The head dips downward but at its velocity, it keeps climbing in spite of the loss, until it slams into the far, upper wall from where the man was and where some of the white dots were standing.
The impact rocks the chamber (behind the man, the walls of his hall give out and the room collapses), but the man is still inside the cloud, so he neither feels or sees this. The statue breaks off into three pieces, and together with the bits of loose and weakened rock, they begin to fall.
The man continues to shoot through the cloud, drawing closer to his target, and its details becoming clear. He saw the bright spot—possibly a symbol, within the center of a sky-colored doorway. He concentrates on the bright spot. The top of the cloud darkens with the falling shadows.
Above, the pieces clatter against each other and are knocked out of their alignment, bouncing and striking the chamber walls. White forms fall from the points they hit, screaming. They are two seconds away from slicing through the cloud.
The man clears through the thick of the cloud, now inside a small gap of sorts between the doorway and the cloud with only a thin layer of dust in the air. He can see the door perfectly. He also sees that whatever walkway was connecting the hall and this door was crushed with the statue's fall, and all that is left is two feet of twisted metal. And he cannot quite make it to the door. He hits the remnant of a walkway and clutches for something to grasp, and blood runs through his right palm as he clutches a jagged spiral of metal.
But the pieces reach him before he can do anything else.
The cloud is obliterated under the force of their arrival and the around walls vibrate with them. More blood flows free from the hand. The statue's faded face looms above, her hood scraping the wall, with a small crack at the brim of her nose aimed at him. The man hauls himself to the few feet of walkway that's left, putting him under a small archway, and slid his body as far from the edge as he could manage. The head reaches the archway and again the man was in darkness, save for the soft glow of the door, with stone passing at an alarming speed centimeters behind him. But it ends almost as soon as it started, and as light shined through, the man's lifted by the force of its departure and thrown through the doorway.
The field ripples softly like water, then is still, shimmering brightly within the chaos around it.
Laying on his back on cold stone, Starkiller couldn't believe how close that was.
His heart thumped loudly in his ears, but it was nowhere near enough to cover the sounds of destruction outside. Stone grated against the walls. The stone reached the bottom of the chasm and clasped together in a thunderous crash that was heard and felt everywhere in the Jedi Temple for over a minute without pause. Then the sound just . . . faded away. And soon, it was quiet.
And Starkiller just lied there, staring at the stone ceiling, just breathing, in and out, while he thought of what he just went through. The thump-thump, thump-thump that almost dominated his hearing eventually died like the crash did. He felt the warm searing in his right palm and tingling from the ends of his fingers. He did nothing to stop it. There wasn't much he could do anyway. He dose not know how to call on the Force to heal; only to inflict pain. So his body dose it for him and soon the blood thins down to a trickle and then stops altogether. But the pain and tingling remain. It's the farthest thing from his mind.
Starkiller knew that if he had been one second slow with his jump, if he spared a moment to even his footing or channel the Force into his feet, the Goddess would have got him and he'd be a smear on the side of her head.
The Apprentice sat himself up, favoring his left hand to do so, and looked back.
Seeing through this side of the doorway, there was no bright glimmer in the center and the image was blurred and tinted an aqua color that resembled the hue of his lightsaber. Unfortunately, there was nothing of the Goddess to see; only dark, fragmented shadows that only went half-way up the transparent entrance. The one that he could see the best was a silhouette in the shape of her hood, and Starkiller wondered if she was looking at him through the field as he was looking at her. He supposed it didn't matter. Unless he came to a dead-end, he was sure he wouldn't pass through this door again.
Where could he go if he did?
Nowhere, he told himself. but forward.
Starkiller looked away from the door and managed to get himself to his feet. His white robes were coated with a thin layer of light-brown dust and he brushed as much of it as he could, but realized he wouldn't get it all. After patting off enough to create his own cloud, he looked up and found himself staring at what could only be described as an endless hallway.
The cold stone walls appeared to be undisturbed and even preserved. He could tell the supporting archways spread evenly down the hall were made of metal, and being the same color was the stone, blended flawlessly with it. These arches acted as beacons of sorts, until they, the walls, and even the air itself were swallowed by distant blackness.
He reached out into the Force, searching for something. But whatever was beyond the veil was masked to his perceptions; a dull-grey haze that he could not break through.
But as he gave up his search, a weak but familiar voice called to him through the haze: I'm sorry.
It was his father's voice.
And it cut deeper then any weapon could reach.
Then, a single bright spot flicked to life in the shadows. It was warm, and inviting. And yet, Starkiller hesitated to move. Besides the fact that the last time he saw something like that he ran into a squad of troopers bent on capturing him, there was something behind the warmth; a feeling of malice trying to conceal itself, a dark shadow behind the light, smiling as it beckoned you nearer.
But Starkiller had to go, no matter the threat. He would deal with it as it came, and once it came into the light and revealed itself, he would crush it. Just as he's done.
Hesitation bled out of his body and Starkiller opened his left hand and his lightsaber flew from his belt and slapped into his palm, thumbing the activator stud and creating his own light. He wasn't sure what he was going to do about his other hand. It throbbed, and sent hot surges up his arm. But, like with the shadow, he'd find a way. Because he suspected that the worse, has yet to happen.
Starkiller started walking down the hall, not once taking his eyes off the bright spot.