Chapter Four
Consequences of Rage

Anakin's world had gone black.
The ire he felt for the man standing across from him bubbled up like boiling liquid in his chest, and he was consumed. With the echo of his vicious promise still ringing in the Force, Anakin launched himself at the Jedi Master with renewed ferocity, the wind singing eerily in his ears. His only thought, his sole focus, was how much he wanted to kill Obi-Wan Kenobi. It drove him through every thrust of his lightsaber, every rush of adrenaline that surged into his muscles. The fear that had tormented him with premonitions of his beloved's death shrank from his rage.
The rage was his world.
Something flickered on the edge of his awareness, like the first hesitant star rising in early twilight. It was so small – utterly insignificant compared to the roiling inferno that he dismissed it easily.
Anakin.
Carrying across the black abyss, the voice called in a pure tone that penetrated every cell of his body until it became a low thrum resonating in his bone marrow. He felt it tug at something deep inside him – something that the blackness now concealed and held at bay. Like the breeze that rustled the folds of his robe, it neither demanded nor threatened; yet he found he could not ignore it.
The thickening darkness parted around Anakin, and he stumbled slightly, his limbs forgetting to move as all previous thought fled. Concentrating on the tremor that was flavored with a presence he knew intimately, but could not believe that it was possible, he sought the source of the call.
Delicate threads, gossamer and shimmering like starlight and too numerous to count, linked his bruised, deadened heart to the only woman he could ever love. He stared in amazement at this rare vision in the Force – a representation of the bond he had felt with Padmé the first time he had set eyes on her. The threads wove around their hearts, and began trembling in perfect harmony with every beat.

Don't leave me.
Her words came to him with crystalline clarity, reaching out as she had only hours ago, using the threads connecting them as a channel. He did not know how, nor did he care.
With the assurance of one trained in the ways of the Force, he touched her essence with his, determined to offer the same consolation as before – the kind only he could give.
The universe exploded.
Anakin felt as if he had brushed against a supernova; the blackness was burned away in blinding light, and he threw up an arm to shield his eyes from the glare. Never had he felt such raw power, so all-consuming that the dark taint in his soul screeched in fear, but he sensed a feeling of wholeness, and it was beautiful.
Padmé was all around him; her presence flowed around him and through him like water, and she glowed like a star beside him. There were echoes, as well – tiny lights flitting about like the bioluminescent insects on Naboo. They orbited around Padmé, and then all was white. It blazed around him, the flames licking at the stains of death and betrayal that he wore, and he was afraid.
He was afraid that if the flames were allowed to cleanse him, there would be nothing left.

Abruptly, he severed the link, and gasped as the shadows floated about him instantly.
Relief followed the shadows, and he felt a burst of self-loathing mixed with apprehension that he had become something that preferred the darkness. But he needed to see her.
Slowly, Anakin turned, focusing on the small form of his wife. Their eyes met…and he blinked in surprise when her face turned white and she skittered away from him, pressing herself against a carved pillar. His heart twisted painfully at the naked fear in her dark eyes.
Whatever he may look like, she had to know it was him. She had to.
"Padmé?" He asked softly, tenderly, approaching her with careful slowness."What's wrong?"

She stared up at him like she did not know him, her eyes so wide that they consumed her pale face. One slender arm was curled around their unborn children, and she whispered weakly, "Who are you…?"
An icy blade plunged through his breastbone and pierced his heart.
The trusting gaze of the Younglings in the Temple flashed before his eyes, and then the terror that marred their faces as he ignited his lightsaber. He had fallen to his knees afterwards, unable to see them lying on the floor, and he felt so disgusted that he wanted to die. He told himself countless times that he did it for Padmé, for their twins…but he could never tell her. She could never know that her life was the bargaining chip in his pact with a Sith Lord. Because to him, she was worth the sacrifice of hundreds of lives.
He raised his hand to gently brush her cheek – and a glint of metal suddenly leveled at his chest, and he lost his footing on reality.
His angel was pointing a blaster at him.

Her expression was deadly calm, but a tear escaped the corner of her eye as she stared at him over the barrel of the weapon in her hands. The black fires of his anger began to creep towards her.
He struggled to speak, asking darkly, "Padmé, what are you doing?"
Her chin quivered as she fought to keep her voice from shaking. "Obi-Wan was right. You've changed."
Changed…
Shock mingled with the anger as Anakin stared blankly at Padmé. What was happening?
He had done all this for her – the treachery, the death, and the darkness – all for her.
And now she was turning on him?
Perhaps he was changed; he could not deny it. The darkness was shaping him, re-forging a Jedi, a warrior of Light, into a wielder of the dark side. But that did not mean that what they had was changed. He loved her. He loved her enough to eliminate every being in the galaxy if it could keep them together. Then the rest of her statement sank in. "Obi-Wan was right…"
His eyes narrowed dangerously. "I don't want to hear any more about Obi-Wan. The Jedi turned against me – don't you turn against me."

Even though his anger blazed so hot that it blistered his nerves, Anakin felt the sting of regret as soon as those words left his mouth. He could only watch his angel grow paler, her lips whitening as they parted in shock. She was trembling so hard that the blaster rattled in her grasp, and Anakin's arms ached to hold her, to soothe her fears and find his own solace in her warmth.
But the shaking pistol remained locked onto his broad chest, and the steely resolve he knew Padmé contained within every cell kept her from dropping the weapon altogether. Anakin could scarcely remain centered in his own frayed consciousness with the chasm between them widening, a frigid wind whistling through the empty spaces that she once filled.
He could sense her pulling away from him, and the gut-wrenching terror of her absence in his life coiled around the base of his brain, choking off all rationality.

The high-pitched whine of Padmé's grief saturated the atmosphere, grating against him like a serrated blade. He took a desperate lope towards her, arms outstretched in surrender, certain that if she did shoot he would not feel it. She was his sun, his rain…he would freeze to death in this black night without her. Her slim shoulders tensed as he neared, the shrill whine increasing in volume and intensity. Her gaze suddenly slid sideways to a spot above his right shoulder, a burst of sunlight covering her white face in a sheen of gold. She squinted into the glare, and sent a charge of horror into the Force as she screamed, "Look—!"
Something struck the ground near Anakin's boot, creating a blackened crater in the veranda, and another sliced through the air under his arm, the heat leaving a smoldering circle in the sleeve of his robe. Weaving in and out of the piercing screech that filled his ears, Anakin heard muffled shouts, blaster discharges, and a whirring lightsaber – the only constant companions he had had for five months in the Outer Rim. He thought that he had fallen into another vision, another reminder of his failures…
But all he saw was Padmé.

Her mouth was frozen in a small "oh" of surprise, a tear snaking down the elegant curve of her jaw as her head slowly tilted to look at the scorched hole near her collarbone.
She looked up at him, and the fear vanished from her velvety brown eyes like the morning mist. She radiated compassion and unconditional love, a tiny smile lifting the corners of her mouth. "Ani…" The blaster slipped from her limp fingers and clattered on the floor, and her eyes fell closed as she arced gracefully toward the smooth stone.
And the universe ceased to exist.

Anakin felt the razor-keen talons of despair dig into his muscles.
Everything disappeared in a distorted wash of light and shadow – the noise, the blackness…until there was nothing. He knew that he was losing his mind. His already unstable perch on sanity was teetering dangerously toward oblivion when Padmé drew her blaster on him. Only one thought remained, floating abstractly in the grey void.
No.
In one swift, fluid motion the Chosen One caught his wife's motionless body and cradled her in his arms as if she were made of spun glass. "Padmé, Padmé," he whispered her name brokenly, over and over, brushing loose curls from her fair cheeks. Alarm slammed through his ribcage over how cold her skin felt under his fingers. Biting his lower lip to keep from screaming, Anakin shifted his precious burden to look at the wound marring her otherwise flawless form.
It was a clean shot, one a marksman would be proud to claim – a neat entry through the gap between the shoulder and collarbone, where only muscle and sinew hindered the course of the energy bolt. Dull pain washed over him as his teeth punctured his lip, and the taste of blood filled his mouth. The shot was precise, and orchestrated to incapacitate the target rather than eliminate it. Anakin had lived over three years of his life on the battlefields of the Clone Wars, and each conflict left scars…on his flesh and his soul. He had seen what the clones were capable of accomplishing; he had seen it on Jabiim, on Neimoidia, countless Outer Rim settlements…

And in the pillared halls of the Jedi Temple.
Pieces of his fractured reality began clicking together.
The radio silence on his comm as he had entered Coruscant's atmosphere.
Padmé's mysteriously absent handmaidens and staff.
The shrill whine piercing his eardrums.
And the sounds of battle surrounding him like a sinister repetition of every campaign he had fought in the name of the Republic.
ARC troopers.
A red haze gathered around his disjointed thoughts, sending fire into his veins, but Anakin's touch was infinitely gentle as he examined Padmé's injury with the eyes of one who had seen far worse in the midst of varied combat zones. The flesh had been cauterized by the blaster's high-power beam, so loss of blood was not a concern. But it would cause her a great deal of pain, and the trauma to the surrounding tissues would leave her entire shoulder bruised.
Not to mention the enormous emotional stress she had been under for the past few months, and the continuous changes her body was undergoing – The twins! Anakin thought wildly.
In his consuming worry for his angel, he had completely forgotten about the tiny embodiments of hope sheltered inside her.
Struggling to ignore the twinge of guilt, Anakin sent a tendril of perception through the Force into Padmé's womb. The thought that he may lose them all was unbearable, so much so that his fevered brain refused to process that outcome. His chest rose and fell with a brief, relieved sigh when he sensed two heartbeats pulsing within her. They were safe.

The white fog tunneling his vision to his family started thinning, and Anakin heard someone calling his name, distantly, through a torrent of explosions that rang like thunder in the air.
He tore his gaze from Padmé's white face and searched the horizon.
A Republic attack gunship hovered nearly 20 meters from the elegant curve of the veranda, spewing green light at an indistinct figure enveloped in a whirling field of indigo.
The gunship glided sideways, and a contingent of troopers leapt onto the balcony, five of them moving to surround the stalwart Jedi Master as the commander, his white armor splashed with crimson on the helmet and shoulders to indicate his rank, made his way to Anakin and saluted.
"The area is secure, Lord Vader."

Not Commander Skywalker – but Lord Vader. He was no longer recognized by the title he had earned in combat by these men whom he had once trusted with his life – but now addressed by the name given him by Sidious, the Emperor.
It sickened him.
Flames singed the corneas of his eyes as he knelt there on the cool stone, his wife pressed against him as fragments of the past few days twinkled at him like falling stars.
He had thought that the knowledge he could attain from the Chancellor would release him from his nightmares. He had reasoned that he could achieve the power to keep Padmé from the terrible fate that flashed behind his eyelids each time he blinked. He had thought that turning to the dark side would grant him the freedom he had craved his entire life.
He had thought wrong.
Everything was wrong.
The polar opposites of his existence came clashing together in that one instant, grappling for dominion of the Chosen One's conscience.
ARC troopers were stationed around my wife's apartment.
They were there to keep her safe!
It's my responsibility to protect her.
Why should you bother if she does not want you anymore?
She was scared for the twins.
She pointed a blaster at you!
That is no reason for them to shoot her.
You would rather she shot you?

Anakin pressed his gloved hand against his temple, the warring voices driving him towards the brink of the blackest pit.
"My Lord?"
The huddled figure in front of the commander shuddered, and the tangled mass of bronze locks lifted slightly, a pair of molten-yellow orbs gleaming within the shadowed face.
An animalistic snarl twisting its features, the mouth opened and screamed with an inhuman voice that burrowed into the commander's skull, rupturing blood vessels and shattering his helmet's visor as well as the transparisteel windows on every building within an eight thousand-meter radius. The seismic upheaval of the natural flow of the Force sent ripples into all corners of the universe.
Stars imploded. Asteroids crashed into one another, leaving smoldering trails of rock and dust. Creatures suddenly fell dead. Others inexplicably returned to life.
The Force itself experienced the raging anguish of the Chosen One.

Yet lying on that quaking stone, wrapped in an impenetrable blanket of energy, three souls remained cocooned from the destructive power.
And it was this single flickering light that called Anakin from the crackling black fires of the void looming before him. Its beacon of hope beckoned to him…and with great effort…
He opened his eyes.

Obi-Wan was tired.
It was not simply physical weariness; the Force rejuvenated his parched body like a glass of the coldest water. It was exhaustion of the soul.
Blue-grey eyes that revealed a new maturity that made him appear far older than his years watched as a forbidden love began to unravel. He was the sole spectator to this romance that had blossomed and been cultivated before his very eyes – and the eyes of the Jedi Council.
The fatigued Jedi allowed his ruminations to carry him into his memories as he fought to maintain the willpower to finish what had begun between himself and Anakin.
The other Masters did not, or could not, have seen the effects of the relationship upon his former Padawan. Anakin had always carried the memory of the young handmaiden who was a queen tucked in his breast. At the time, Obi-Wan had not seen the harm in a homesick boy determined to outshine all expectations of an obscure prophecy cherishing visions of a dear friend whom he may never see again.
That had been before Anakin's assignment as Senator Amidala's bodyguard.

The older Jedi knew of his apprentice's infatuation with the Senator, though he hid it well, in spite of his youth and fiery temperament. In a rare moment of calm before the assassin's second attempt on the Senator's life, the young man had confided his muddled feelings to Obi-Wan. It had surprised the Knight enough that he had paused to form a reply.
"Just being around her again is…intoxicating."
Obi-Wan had cautioned his student to be wary of those feelings, and reminded Anakin of his commitment to the Order. He could see that the boy was not listening – or at least not taking his advice seriously. In hindsight, Obi-Wan wished that he had protested more earnestly to Yoda and Mace about handing over the protection of Senator Amidala to an exceptionally gifted Padawan who had not yet mastered his unruly emotions. He had reasoned, based on the other Master's explanations, that the task had been a test for Anakin.
Anakin's dream was to become a Jedi. Not just any Jedi, but the Chosen One – the being that would fulfill the prophecy and bring balance to the Force. It was his destiny.
Qui-Gon Jinn had believed that of him, as did many within the Order. Even Obi-Wan himself had witnessed glimpses of the young man's full potential, and they left him breathless. But Anakin was also a boy on the threshold of manhood, barely controlling his feelings for a woman he could never have.
Or perhaps he had decided to unleash them after he and the Senator were safely hidden away from her attackers and the rest of the galaxy. Obi-Wan could only surmise that this was what had triggered the outcome that faced them now.

He should have seen it then.
The brief contact they had with one another in Obi-Wan's presence had been tentative, awkward, and guarded. Despite the dense shielding around his thoughts, Anakin made his true intentions plain each time his ice-hot blue eyes flashed in her direction.
The Senator was reserved and polite – choosing her words well, as any skilled diplomat, she deflected Anakin's smoldering looks with stoic tranquility. Concern had also flitted in the depths of her dark brown eyes that a would-be Jedi was harboring such sentiments.
Obi-Wan had watched the pair board the transport to Naboo in a mixture of dread and optimism, thinking that Padmé's levelheaded personality would help her spurn any declarations Anakin may make and he, in return, would allow the experience to teach him and draw upon his training to overcome his passions.
Obi-Wan now scoffed at his own naïveté.
The parting remark of Captain Typho served as the Jedi Master's first warning: "I'd be more concerned about her doing something than him."
The second came in a Republic gunship soaring above the red sands of Geonosis.

In pursuit of Count Dooku, their pilot momentarily lost visibility as he struggled to evade enemy fire and bumped into a large dune. Sensing the danger, Anakin and Obi-Wan had managed to grasp the webbing suspended above their heads as the transport lurched wildly.
A startled cry, a flash of white – and Padmé tumbled from view into the swirling dust.
The gust of anguish from the young man beside him had rocked Obi-Wan more than the swaying gunship. Screaming her name as he leaned out of the doorway in a futile attempt to catch the Senator, he had demanded that the ship land and retrieve their lost passenger.
Obi-Wan, concerned as he was for Padmé's safety, sternly reprimanded his Padawan for allowing personal feelings to cloud his judgment. The heated argument that had followed unmasked what
Obi-Wan refused to see.
"Lower the ship!"
"I can't take Dooku alone. I need you. If we catch him we can end this war right now! We have a job to do!"
"I don't care – put the ship down!"
"You will be expelled from the Jedi Order!"
"I can't leave her!"
Desperation and anger peppered every syllable – but there had been the faintest touch of an indefinable sensation that puzzled the Jedi Master immensely. His apprentice's entire countenance was bathed in this bittersweet impression.
Obi-Wan knew at that instant.
And he had reacted fiercely, hoping to somehow dissuade the inevitable turn of events and appeal to Anakin's sense of duty. It had worked. For a little while.

After Anakin lost the duel – and his arm – to Dooku, Obi-Wan had found himself pulled into a swift current of war councils, battle strategies, and mission briefings. His Padawan, whom his cared for more than he would admit, was so distraught and depressed by his loss that Obi-Wan granted him permission to escort Senator Amidala back to Naboo without a qualm. When Anakin returned a few days later for their first campaign, he was different.
Obi-Wan wanted to ignore the truth, to pretend that he had not failed to cement this aspect of a Jedi's life into Anakin's training. But his young friend was so…alive now, and it became obvious to the older Jedi that Anakin's connection to the Force was strengthening – not just through practice and honing his skills in battle – but something else.
So the Jedi Master invented excuses not to confront the newly appointed Knight or report his misgivings to the Council, of which he was now a member.
By now their love was so distressingly clear that Obi-Wan worried for them both.
They were very careful, even when together in a public forum, but the signs were written all over them – especially to an observer who already suspected a relationship.
The benefits of Jedi training afforded Anakin heavy camouflage over his illicit feelings for Padmé. His eyes, however, had no such disguise.

Those bright sapphire orbs would flash like lightning any time Senator Amidala was mentioned, or when Obi-Wan announced that they were being given a brief respite from assignments and heading home. Padmé was the exact opposite. Her years of political education allowed her to don expressionless masks so that none of her emotions were visible to anyone. But whenever Anakin entered the room, or was brought up in a Senate meeting, she lit up in the Force. Longing and excitement exploded like fireworks in her essence, and Obi-Wan was resigned to admit that in spite of all the rules each of them strived to uphold – they had formed an attachment too potent to dissolve.
It was this attachment that the Jedi Master felt humming with power, and jolted his mind out of the past. He had never felt such a concentration of Force energy – especially not emanating from a single person. A person, who, he was fairly confident, had no sensitivity to the Force whatsoever.
Yet Padmé Amidala continued to emit waves of energy like an overcharged power cell, infusing her mysterious link to Anakin with pulses of light. The shadow-cloaked form of his old friend appeared frozen in the bright vortex, and then the power suddenly winked out – as if someone had thrown a switch. More threads of this tightly and intricately woven love affair tore loose as a frightened Padmé retreated from Anakin and aimed her blaster at his advancing presence.

"Padmé, what are you doing?" His growled query rose over the shrieking wind.
Her tremulous reply made Obi-Wan's injured heart throb painfully. "Obi-Wan was right. You've changed."
The air around Anakin seemed to darken, as the sky before a storm. Obi-Wan felt strange tingles along his nerve endings – his interpretation of the Force issuing a warning. He braced himself to intervene as Anakin said with barely restrained venom, "I don't want to hear any more Obi-Wan. The Jedi turned against me – don't you turn against me."
The Jedi Master stood perfectly balanced on the balls of his feet; every muscle tensed to spring to Padmé's aid should this monster that used to be his best friend choose to strike.
But retaliation did not come.
Instead, Obi-Wan perceived peculiar variations within their essences – especially Anakin.
It was as if the young man were straddling the dividing line between the extremes of the universe; good and evil, light and dark, life and death, love and hate – all existed within him at that instant, and the slip of a woman before him was the pivot. A high-pitched whine filled the rigid silence, and the Force was electrified by horror as it guided Obi-Wan to spin on heel and bring his lightsaber to bear just in front of his left eye.

The energy bolt that smashed into the blade caused the Jedi Master to adjust his footing, but soon he was deflecting a torrent of blasterfire from an unknown assailant lurking just out of sight, using the heavy fog as camouflage. Obi-Wan felt himself slip into the persona of the Negotiator as he shouted with authority, "Anakin, I need your help!"
The fierce blue light he wielded appeared to take on a life of its own, whirling and spinning in a protective cage around him as the shrill noise intensified. Obi-Wan's slate eyes widened, stunned, as a Republic attack gunship emerged from the fog, its bubble cannons trained on him as they sent out green energy bolts. "Anakin!" He shouted once more, desperation leaking into his sharp tone as he called upon the Force to sustain him. He felt nothing from Anakin – absolutely nothing, and that worried him more than anything else he had seen and felt in the past few days. Padmé's presence was faint as well, radiating a blankness that made Obi-Wan concerned that she may have fallen unconscious.

Booted feet hit the stone of the veranda, and Obi-Wan's head jerked sideways to see a group of clone troopers disembark from the gunship and begin to fire upon him, forming a loose circle. His back to the open expanse of Galactic City, Obi-Wan fought for his life and against the numbness of hopelessness. The numbness retreated briefly when he heard a clone report, "The area is secure, Lord Vader." For the first time since Obi-Wan had realized the betrayal of the Chancellor and Anakin, the chains of discipline around his anger began to groan in protest.
With a fresh surge of energy, Obi-Wan vaulted over the advancing clones and went on the attack, rather than the passive defense that had gotten the rest of the Jedi Order killed.
He fought with vigor and an aggression he did not know he has possessed, and a tiny voice whispered in the back of his mind that he was falling prey to the dark side.
Exactly like Anakin.
At once the anger drained out of him. His lapse in concentration allowed a trooper to land a shot, but the bolt merely grazed his arm rather than lodging into his chest. Obi-Wan struggled to return to the light, the place he had always resided in battle, and it was more difficult than it had been before. The Force seemed dormant, and Obi-Wan extended himself into it frantically, waiting anxiously for the connection.

And then the Force began to scream.
Obi-Wan dropped his lightsaber and screamed with it, his palms pressed against his ears, but it did not block out the sound or the emotion behind it. The anguish was the equivalent of the anguish of every living being in existence, and it was excruciating.
The last Jedi on Coruscant fell to his knees, his throat scratched raw from yelling, and before the blackness took him, he saw a young man embracing the still form of his only love, his tear-streaked face raised to the heavens, shattered glass and droplets of blood strewn around him like precious gems, the waves of agony rising and falling from his heart.
Then there was silence.