The door slid past, a pneumatic hiss signifying the development. Ezra didn't register this, his chest rising and falling with the steady pace that bespoke sleep. Kanan could tell this, not through sight - that had been lost in weeks prior - no, it was the shift from Ezra's end of their bond. One that had been inactive for a length after Malachor. Ever since Kanan had lost his sight, even more so. When he was sent to Yavin IV on medical leave, his apprentice had been quiet. Yet, the former jedi knew full well why; Hera had given him a near-tearful elaboration of Ezra's business with the sith holocron when he arrived on the Ghost.

The fact that Ezra's mental defenses had shattered was profoundly worrying.

Destroying the holocron had been even worse.

Hera said that Ezra's scream of agony had been heard from even the cargo bay. And Kanan...Kanan most definitely did. A force bond was something of an enigma; it was very dependent on the relationship of both parties involved, and pain from one end would strike the other with as force equal to what that party in agony was experiencing. So, when the holocron had been sliced in half, Kanan nearly force-screamed. The pain was unlike anything he'd ever felt; it was all-consuming, akin to a tsunami that would bury a continent. Nothing was left untouched.

What remained of his self-control had been lost when he felt Maul begin to choke Ezra. Kanan experienced a familial desire to murder unprecedented to anything he'd ever had the fortune to feel. When his master was cut down he'd felt a wave of depression and grief that nearly overwhelmed him; when Ahsoka sacrificed herself, he had been hit by similar grief; the Inquisitor's interrogation of him made him indignant. But this…

It was the need to murder.

And it was wholly disturbing. Kanan had never been one for combat as a jedi, blending in with the masses of younglings, with little notoriety. His stumbling upon Depa Billaba, one of Mace Windu's few apprentice's, while in her coma had been an accident. Her waking only in his presence hadn't been. Ezra's action wasn't one, either. The youth seemed to have gained more drastic mood-shifts in the weeks since Malachor, and had become increasingly fatalist. Considering the precedents the youth had been setting, this decision shouldn't surprise him. Not with the fog of his mind cleared. Yet hindsight was, by definition, the look at an event after it had passed.

This decision by Ezra wasn't surprising at all, in hindsight. The more Kanan put himself in Ezra's shoes, the more he understood it: Maul had broken in, he knew of the holocron, and would likely do everything in his power to get it - along with Ezra. This had been Ezra's final act of rebellion. Ironic, considering his line of work.

Now all Kanan had to do was stop Maul's plans cold.

Easier said than done, of course. Connections weren't easily broken. Nor created, for that matter. Having Ezra attempt to break it would do one of two things: either it would succeed, or, as the logical section of his mind screamed, it would result in complete and utter failure. The latter of which was grossly likely. Massaging his temples, Kanan lightly sighed. It seemed every problem that could have occurred had compounded: Ezra was, to most, a total basketcase. Combine that with the most critical mission they'd been given yet, you got one thing:

A huge fucking problem.

The situation looked more bleak the more Kanan analysed it; the mere fact that Ezra had mentally broken left more than just facts about the crew - it left him open to mind dominance. Given Maul's background, Kanan was also aware of the fact there were any number of other obscure and unknown ways that Maul could take his apprentice from him. Another sigh escaped him.

"Kanan? Is everything okay?" Kanan looked up: it was Hera.

"No. Its not."

At this point Ezra was done with his arbitrary dreams; he was now in a command center of some sort, based on the many consoles that littered it. Their surfaces were coated with a thin layer of rust and cobwebs, giving a decrepit tone to the room. The durasteel beneath his feet was in a similar state of repair, as were the walls. As his eyes roamed, a high-pitched noise made him freeze. Lights affixed to the walls lit up, a ruby glow painted across his features. A door to his right slid past, the sounds of clashing something's causing Ezra to turn to the source.

Himself.

This Ezra was rapidly retreating, two droids carrying electro-staffs towering over them. The droids had tanned simmer-silk draped over their mechanical shoulders as pauldrons, the thin cloth looked like it hadn't seen light for years. The electro staffs they carried moved with rapidity unseen; mechanisms groaned in an attempt to overwhelm this strikes that came from that Ezra were the floundering type; colored with desperation and panic that bespoke the hopelessness of their situation. Flashes of golden and purple contrasted the blood red of the lights in the command deck. Natural and mechanical feet struck the durasteel floor, with the former's far faster than those of the latter. The droids continued to press this Ezra, relentlessly striking at every direction their programs could calculate.

The trio went in a faux-circle around a hologram table as Ezra's other self continued to give ground to the droids, his blade frenetically blocking each strike as it came. One swung wide toward his legs, causing the dream-Ezra to jump back; the second of the pair thrusted toward his midsection, forcing the dream-Ezra's blade to do a desperate crescent movement to stop it. The dream-Ezra spun, somersaulting away, reaching out a hand.

A console was ripped with a horrible scraping sound as decades old bolts groaned in protest. The dream-Ezra tossed it at the fast-closing droids, scattering the pair. Closing his eyes, he ripped two more consoles from their places on the walls, throwing both at the closest droid to him, so happening to be the left of the pair. The droid rolled out of the first console's deadly range, hit by an equally speedy console only a moment later. The console slammed the droid against the command center's walls, snapping it's durasteel upper limbs and mechanical neck.

By this point the droid's partner had gotten its bearings, doing a somersault of its own over the dream-Ezra. With cold purpose, this Ezra struck at their exposed torso, cutting it at the legs midair. The legless body fell to the ground, scraping the floor of the command center as it tried to reach the dream-Ezra. Frowning at the sound, the dream-Ezra ripped another console from its place on the wall, lazily tossing toward the remaining droid. It slammed into the torso, half-flattening it against the wall.

The dream-Ezra wore a triumphant smirk as the body sputtered and died, bringing finality. Just as the droid died though, the smirk faded. It was replaced by a hiss of pain and gritting of teeth. The dream-Ezra closed his eyes and clutched its head, dropping to their knees. After a few moments of agonized silence, they collapsed.

AN: sorry if this chapter feels like more fluff, but I'm having trouble getting a plot point ironed out at the moment. Still, there is something of substance in this chapter, see if you can guess it. I hope it will take some thought. ;D Any reviews/follows/favorites will be duly noted. - Raging Celiac