Maul smiled cruelly as he detected his apprentice falling into sleep. Well, sleep was probably the incorrect term, considering what Maul did when his apprentice fell into it's embrace. Maul calmly approached his personal cabin on the Savage, entering the room with cold, defined purpose. These mental sessions with his apprentice were becoming evermore draining with each pass, taking ever increasing tribute from his reserve of energy.

Ezra, though Maul despised to call him as such, held surprisingly tenacious mental barricades. Though, if Maul was being true to himself, he should've expected such; the boy did grow in the streets, after all. Street-grown tenacity considered, Maul should've prepared for this mental war of attrition beforehand. Alas, he didn't.

Maul was in a meditative stance by this point, his hands clasped over his knees and his back slightly slouched. A position that didn't lend itself well to the aging dathomirian. Still, pain was an integral part of any sith's career, and every dagger of pain was one more to strengthen him. He would teach these lessons to Ezra when he broke, and he would, in time. Maul made his first cautious jabs at the youth's mental barricades.

They were still the same durasteel walls they'd been for the past week, though with a few more cracks this time around.

And so began the dance.

Maul slammed his force signature against the walls, holding back. The mental barricades shook, but held steadfast. Maul felt discomfort on Ezra's end of their bond. The former sith was preparing another assault when his apprentice struck back. This strike came in the form of arrows, something Maul hadn't expected; most were grounded in the present, only focusing on history that went back a few hundred years. Maul of course, was an exception, having studied the history of weapons back to the Rakatan Infinite Empire. Then force-imbued blades of steel were the killers, along with poor hygiene. Back then the Zell's ancestors were taking their first steps on the land of Coruscant - back when it had land, of didn't think of a time when civilisations used objects that flung metal at each other over resources.

So the Lothalian's knowledge of such weaponry was unexpected - unplanned for. But, like many aspects of Ezra Bridger, it was. The counterattack did little to dispel the dathomirian, who continued to batter the durasteel walls the teen had conjured without relent. Minutes, hours, to both time lacked a meaning during the mental slugging match. Ezra was constantly repairing his mental shields, delaying the inevitable. It was inevitable, after all. What hope did the youth have of leaving these mental sessions the victor?

After immeasurable effort, Maul broke through. The former sith didn't revel in his victory; he had an advantage, and he'd learned to use those whenever possible against his apprentice. Maul plunged deeper. A few memories flashed through Maul's mind, though they were mostly images that soon flickered out. The youth he was facing attempted more defence, but these were miserable failures. Ezra didn't give up hope, setting impromptu barriers whenever he could, in hopes of slowing the former sith's rampage through his mind. Maul brushed these off at every turn, not realising his apprentice's true intention for these barricades before he went past the point of no return. The situation wasn't particularly grim, at least not for Maul, he could simply keep tearing the barriers down, but each sapped more of his energy reserve.

Maul grimaced in approval of the tactics. The youth knew when he was beaten, and instead opted to fight a mental guerrilla war against him. How clever of the boy. Maul stopped his advances, looking at what he'd gained and smirking - psychically and physically. Using what memories he had access to, he sent waves of loneliness and despair from Ezra's past to the boy, who stopped preparing mental barricades when they hit. The rebel let out a low moan when the waves arrived, waking his cabin mate, Zeb. The lasat rose at the noise, before shaking his head and turning away from his loud friend and letting sleep overtake him once more. If only he knew what was happening to him.

Maul continued directing waves to the boy, sending ones of happiness occasionally, only to snuff them out with cold despair a moment later. Maul felt the boy begin to weep, as images of his parents getting taken away appeared from the cynicism and independence Ezra had buried them in.

Zeb awoke, for the second time that night, to the sound of Ezra. Not specifically Ezra, mainly the low moans and weeping sounds emanating from him. The lasat attempted to shut these machinations out, at first turning away from them, and then covering his ears with his pillow. None of his subsequent actions prevailed, and the lasat eventually gave up, instead rising from his cot and approaching Ezra's with apprehension. He reached a tentative hand to the boy's shoulder, the only response he got was a low, almost inaudible,

"Make it stop…" Zeb was now sure he was dealing with a nightmare. They'd been common enough when Ezra first arrived on the Ghost, reaching their crescendo after Ezra was almost taken by the fifth and seventh inquisitors. After that, they'd died out. And now it seemed they were back. Zeb shook the youth's shoulders - another mumble. He shook them again. Another mumble, this time louder. Zeb, apprehension gripping him, shook the shoulders once more. Ezra's frame froze. Completely. His breathing, along with Zeb's, hitched, though for vastly separate reasons.

Zeb shook Ezra's shoulders and asked,

"Kid, you fine?" No response. This wasn't good. With fear rising, Zeb slapped Ezra across the cheek.

"Kid! Wake up!" Ezra didn't move. Zeb felt panic replacing fear at this point. He slapped Ezra again, shaking his shoulders violently.

"Kid, wake up goddamnit! Wake up!" Zeb's voice was a near roar. He was unaware of the simultaneous pneumatic hisses as Sabine and Hera emerged from their cabins, heading the direction of Zeb's shouts.

"Kid! Wake. The. Kriff. UP!" Still no response from the boy. Zeb had his hand raised when Ezra let out an ear-splitting shriek. It was unlike anything Zeb had heard before; it was primal, without thought or foresight - animal. It wasn't a cry for a particular being, it was an utterly terrified shout that gave no justice to what Ezra was really experiencing. Zeb's movements froze while the remaining crew members actions took on a panicked fervor. Ezra's eyes snapped open, filled with senseless terror that made Zeb take several steps back. The boy was certainly alive now. Ezra didn't move, instead having his eyes roam the room before they settled on his lasat roommate.

The blue orbs were those of cornered prey, which Ezra certainly was at the moment, in a metaphorical sense. The door to the pair's cabin opened to reveal the remaining members of the crew, both in half-dressed disarray. Sabine's gaze flicked over to Zeb before leveling itself at Ezra. The jedi to-be was in complete and utter disorganization; his hair was a mess, his jumpsuit was soaking sweat, as was his brow, and he looked nothing like the he was only hours earlier. Hera asked Zeb a shaken,

"What happened?"

Maul withdrew from the teen's mind, a satisfied smirk adorning his features. The youth had finally broken, after three weeks of mentally assaulting the boy, he'd succeeded! Now he had one final step: plot a course for Dathomir.

AN: You know, this chapter almost made me shed a tear - almost. ;D I hope you enjoyed this chapter - and the Ezra pain that came with it - or found it emotional enough to warrant a review/fav/follow. They will be duly noted - Raging Celiac