Ezra's charge at the droids was fueled by anger; frustration, to be accurate.
Everything since the mission to Malachor V had been one long, laborious slog through ever-increasing amounts of problems for the teen.

Maul forming a connection with him was a large protrusion into Ezra's happiness and emotional well-being; he'd tormented him, played a mental slugging match that Ezra by that point had realised was a farce.

The teen was sick of it; of life screwing him over; of the universe's seemingly endless attempts at simultaneously ripping apart his relations with the Ghost crew and his dedication to the light.

The droid's turned with mechanical whirrs as metal joints grinded against each other. The electro staffs in one of the pair's hands thrusted out toward Ezra's neck, a move he countered with furious teenage grit.

Immediately after his blade pushed the droid's electro staff downward, Ezra riposted, his blade making a swing for the droid's midsection, moving diagonally upward to the right. By this time the second droid of the pair had begun its own movements, too.

It jabbed on end of its electro staff towards Ezra's left oblique, forcing him to break off his attack on the first droid in a desperate attempt to block it. The teen's lightsaber blade closed the gap, striking the electro staff's tip with a satisfying crackle. Yet the first droid of the pair had begun its counter to Ezra's riposte.

Forced to break off a possible attack again Ezra opted to jump back several paces, hoping to buy himself some breathing room. But the droids weren't hindered by stamina; they didn't have pesky things like muscles that got tired, or ever needed any respite.

They moved in unison, one taking Ezra's left side and the other covering his right. he glared at them for a moment, then the action began once again.

Ezra's blade was blur; forced to cover two flanks with one weapon, he opted for a strategy of high movement. Desperation fueled the strategy itself; he'd perry one thrust from one of the droids, then spin out of the way of the second's attempt to capitalize on his exposed flank. This cycle was continuous, with Ezra and the droid's moving in a faux-circle around the main console. Ezra found that he could barely sustain it.

Barely, but able.

He poured every bit of his abilities into his limbs: it was the only way he could fight the droids. Ezra might have spoken, taunted the droids; smart comments his admittedly pitiful form of psychological warfare. But that wouldn't affect droids; even ones like Chopper were just personalities. They could act like a sentient being, but in the end it was a computer formulating their responses rather than a brain. Ezra made a slash as an electro-staff tip came hurtling toward his side. At that same moment, the another tip did the same towards Ezra's chest. Ezra moved on instinct. His blade met the first tip, a crackle coinciding with the tip being pushed away from him. Then he leaned back, moving his blade arm upward and cutting off the tip that threatened his chest. Ezra jumped back after that.

The droid who had their electro-staff cut was still for a millisecond, then their programing had the other end of their weapon pointed at Ezra. They lunged again. Ezra blocked their attack, spinning out of the way of their friend's staff as it jabbed toward his left bicep. Hair wild, eyes focused and emotions high, Ezra somersaulted away, catching a tip to his achilles on the way. He landed sloppily, grunting as he did so. He was on his literal back foot now. The droids bounded forward, once again attacking Ezra from high and low. This time Ezra was slower, the pain in his heel slowing his movements. It hurt his concentration. He stopped a tip that came close to his core at the last second, getting his in his eye a moment later. Ezra's weapon moved upward with no time to spare as it directed the tip that was perilously close to his neck over his right shoulder.

In a blur of adrenaline and speed, Ezra's desperation reached it's crescendo. His heel screaming, muscles tired, he was forced to give continual ground, leading him back into the hall that had lead him into the room in the first place. The pods where the droids came from were open. Aware of the fact that he was, if continued at his current pace, going to run into the closed blast doors within moments. Risking everything, Ezra reached out behind him and pulled the wiring of the security door so it opened. It did so.

That few-moment break cost Ezra though. The droids' combined actions, despite the several minutes Ezra had faced them, never slowed. Their mechanical parts whirred, their programming allowing them to work in perfect sync. Perhaps they were connected via a shared server, Ezra thought. He dismissed the thought as one lunged toward his feet while the other went for his chest again. Tired, battered, and beaten, Ezra's mind registered that he couldn't fight this.

No matter how fast he moved, he couldn't move his arms from his feet to chest or vice versa in time to stop both tips. He wouldn't survive this pass. There simply wasn't a way. So he did his best.

Ezra blocked the tip that was near to his chest, smacking it out of the way and only a moment later being hit by the tip that threatened his feet. Everything slowed for Ezra as he fell to one knee. He saw the droid face as one of the pair of droids began to lower their electro-staff towards his head. His mind was panicking. It didn't want to die. His memories were flashing before his vision.

Everything he'd done, good or bad, was shown to him. The pain of his childhood; roughness of his early teen years; his adventures with the Ghost crew. The excruciating pain Maul put him through; losing Ahsoka on Malachor V. He'd survived everything the galaxy had put him through. He'd fought inquisitors and held his own. He'd faced down entire squads of stormtroopers without blinking.

His mind refused to let itself die to this.

Something deep from inside Ezra exploded; his limbs felt rejuvenated; his mind was clear. Extending a bruised hand, Ezra opened it shoved the arm it was attached to forward and throwing the droids backward. They went screaming down the hall, AI's unable to find a way to avoid their destruction. Their programming, meticulously crafted by CIS engineers, had protocols in place for fighting force-sensitives, and those protocols had worked. Yet at the speed they were moving it was impossible for their computers to survive.

Ezra was glaring as the droids' AI were simultaneously at a loss to save themselves. His hair was unkempt, eyes slits in anger. A thin yellow ring was around his blue irises. The droids slammed into the wall, AI's pulverized and limbs finally going still. Ezra rose to both feet; battered, bruised, and broken, but still the victor.

Then he collapsed.

AN: Hi there. This was a difficult chapter to write, honestly. There's only so many ways you can describe someone parrying things. Still, it was fun, and I'm not done with Ezra yet. Ohhhhh no. He's got a difficult path ahead of him, and I hope you'll enjoy what have in store for him. Any reviews/follows/favorites will be duly noted. - Raging Celiac