Chapter 86: The Fall
He dreamt of darkness and pain and blood, of burning flames that consumed him and all around him. Occasionally, he'd wake up with a start, his heart beating fast and irregular, a cold sweat on his forehead, but as soon as he'd awaken, he'd open his eyes and see nothing but blazing golden eyes through the haze of his unfocused vision. The darkness that saturated his mind, thick and soothing as it gently lapped against the deepest parts of him would stir ever so slightly, the currents tugging to life with a delicate touch to his forehead, and he'd quickly be lulled back into willing unconsciousness.
He dreamed of Ahsoka, his beloved Padawan, her big, blue eyes wide, eager and trusting. She was a talent, a rare gift to the Jedi that loved a good fight, but was also compassionate and kind, possessing of an iron will that was difficult to break. She would be a Master one day, would sit on the Council to wisely show the Jedi the way, to keep them prepared for any future fights to come. When they returned to Coruscant and told the Masters about her brilliant fight with Pong Krell, the Jedi Master turned Sith Apprentice, he was certain that his young Padawan would be made a Knight, despite her young age, despite how short of a time she'd been a student.
That is, if they made it back. His memories from that night were hazy at best, a confusing mess of brief flashes and intense emotion and pain, but he remembered Ahsoka, the startled look on her face, the fear in her eyes as she and General Grievous tumbled from a balcony high above the ground. He couldn't feel her through the Force, couldn't feel her through their connection. If the fall didn't kill her, than Grievous certainly did. Grievous wouldn't be harmed by a fall like that, but the young girl would be, even if she had somehow managed to use the Force to soften the fall. Ahsoka Tano was almost certainly dead. Almost. But it was enough to allow him to hope.
He dreamed of Asajj Ventress, the woman he had grown so close to, so intimate with. He was reluctant to call them lovers, but...no other term existed to explain what they were. She was his lover, or she had been for a very short time. Before she had jumped from the balcony and abandoned him. Or was forced to jump. He couldn't remember. What he did remember was their brutal training sessions that deepened his connection with the Dark Side, taking her hand and walking with her to the water's edge, wetting his feet in the turbulent waves, but never venturing deeper for fear of the undertow. He remembered the first time they kissed, intense and passionate, and he could feel himself breaking apart even now as the memory of it burned through his blood. It wasn't his first kiss, though it may as well have been for the beautiful rush of new emotions that she had awakened in him.
The time passed in a whirl of new emotions deeply felt, and he had understood why it was so easy to fall prey to the Dark Side, why it was so appealing, so seductive, just like the woman he was falling in love with. He hadn't understood why Obi-Wan had been so protective over the memory of Satine when he was younger, when he was a Jedi, but his time with Ventress had made him understand. It was love, deep and keenly felt, too pleasurable to let go of, too painful in its absence to forget, and it had made young Kenobi recoil from the prospect of being with another for fear it would happen again, for fear that he would forget what it was like with his Duchess. Quinlan felt it too. After Ventress, he didn't want to go back to the way he was. He wanted this, he wanted her, and that she wasn't beside him now, that she may never be again, that she may have abandoned him, that she may be dead, Like Obi-Wan's Satine was dead...
Of all the horrors that his nightmares brought to him, that was the most painful.
He slowly began to stir, his muscles burning and aching with even the slightest movements, his thought hazy through the darkness that sat in his mind like a thick fog, and the smell of roasted meats, of freshly baked pastries, of fresh cut fruit wafted through the air, awakening and sharpening all of his senses. Slowly, he opened his bleary eyes, immediately shut them again when he was met by the red light of a setting sun, bright and blinding, and with a whimper, he curled up tightly, a sharp pain in his stomach that continued to rage through him, his mouth uncontrollably salivating in response. He was hungry, and the fragrance of real, rich food was making it difficult to bear. He slowly attempted to open his eyes again, whimpering against the pain of the light in his unadjusted eyes and the dull throb of his head as he felt the darkness slowly receded.
Slowly, slowly he sat up, squinting as he looked around at the large, opulent room, the long line of mirrors on the far wall that made it look far bigger than it was, the long dining table loaded with the food whose smell was drifting through the air, a feast meant for twenty people, maybe more, but only one sat at the table. Quinlan growled with anger felt deep, but the Dark Side did not respond when called, did not fly to him at his command. It had abandoned him for something else, something darker. Perhaps it was Dooku, but Vos suspected not. With a groan, he tried to rise to his feet, a thousand questions racing through his mind as his hands pushed on his leg, but found he lacked the strength to rise. He reached out, grabbed hold of the nearby chair for support, and was immediately knocked back to the ground, clutching his head in pain as the Force slammed into him.
For a moment, he thought it had been Dooku, but than the visions came, the painful memory of the object in the room filling his mind with flashes of blue lightning, the echoed screams of agony, the charred, electric burned body of a woman, a Jedi, that lay draped over the overturned chair. With a gasp, it was over, fading from his mind as his body went limp, random convulsions occasionally pulsing through him as the vision faded, but the memory of it stayed. Jedi had died here. More than one, he could feel it. One of his questions had been answered. The opulence of the place, the presence of the Count, and now the memory of dead Jedi meant he could only be in one place. Serenno. It was here where it all began. It was here that Obi-Wan had fallen to the Dark Side and joined the Sith.
When his breathing regulated, Quinlan pushed himself to his knees again, carefully avoiding the offending chair, and with a grunt of effort, he rose to unsteady feet. The Jedi looked around, taking in the details of his surroundings, trying to avoid looking at the food upon the table in hopes to avoid aggravating his hunger pangs., but he found his eyes drawn instead to the Count, the man completely relaxed and at ease at the head of his table, a pile of food upon his plate and a fluted glass of wine held in his hand. When he was certain that Vos was looking at him, Dooku smirked, and raised his glass to the Jedi.
"Welcome," he said warmly, and drank from the glass, and Vos, much to his surprise, didn't feel himself burn with anger like he expected. He was just...hungry. His thousand, thousand questions raced through his mind, and he reached out and grabbed the first one he could get a grasp on.
"How long was I out?" Vos asked, his voice weak, hoarse and raspy, whether it be from pain or disuse, he wasn't sure, but he tried to clear his throat, winced when he felt how raw it was.
"Two days," Dooku said, reaching for the bottle of wine and pouring it into an empty glass. "We brought you here from Raxus after your...misguided attempt on my life." He held out the glass to Quinlan, and Vos looked suspiciously at the glass, and Dooku rolled his eyes as if he could read his thoughts. "It isn't poisoned, Vos," the Count said, drinking from the glass he had poured for the Jedi and filling another glass with the deep, red liquid. Vos' resolve wavered, and he shuffled a few steps toward the Count before he stopped, mentally kicking himself for falling under the man's sway. "Come now, you are hungry and thirsty. All this is available to you, if only you ask."
Anger, hot and sudden, rushed through the Jedi, his hand tightening by his side, but it was weak, devoid of his previous strength, without the Force behind him. "I will not beg for anything from the Sith," Vos spat, the disgust in his voice only amplified by the raw rasp of his throat. Again, the Count rolled his eyes.
"Suit yourself, but please," he stressed, holding the glass out. "Drink. I assure you, you are safe here. I know how dangerous it is to get between Lumis and what he believes to be his, and you, Vos, are his."
He began to object, but found he couldn't, and Quinlan quickly shut his mouth. Everything inside him said Dooku was right, and the Force pulled at him, he felt the Dark Side roll over inside him in submission, not to him, but to Kenobi. Obi-Wan hadn't even drawn his lightsaber on Raxus, and the moment he arrived, the battle was lost. His power was fearsome, terrifying, but above it all, his heart ached for his friend. They shared so much now, betrayals and pain, and from what he saw, from what he remembered, Obi-Wan needed someone beside him while he grieved. Burn with me, the Sith had said, and Vos felt that he already was.
He eyed Dooku cautiously, a scowl on his lips wrinkling the tattoo across his face. This Sith had killed his Master, was the cause of all the problems in the galaxy...and he had asked him to take the wine. Grumbling in irritation, he strode to the Count, tripping on his feet as he did so, and he snatched the glass from the Count's hand, glaring at him as he did, and he emptied the glass. It was, by far, the best thing that ever passed his lips, and Vos didn't know if it was because he was parched, or because the Count could afford opulence that the Jedi couldn't even dream of, but it didn't matter. He reached over the table and snatched the bottle and walked away, dropped onto the stairs that led up to the Count's desk, and brought the bottle to his lips. He was trapped, and he knew it. He may as well enjoy himself.
The questions rushed through his mind, but he had no desire to ask any of them. His dark eyes roved over the room, over the Count, over everything, the sights and smells filling him with contempt and revulsion, and he couldn't help himself. "It must have been so easy," he snarled, his voice low and dangerous, "for you to leave the Jedi Order when you had all these riches, all these servants, your palace, a pampered life to rush to!" Dooku simply nodded.
"It was, yes. Easier than it was for Lumis, certainly. Easier than it will be for you."
"Why are you doing this!" Vos finally cried, his voice hitching as it cracked, and he jumped to his feet, wavered on legs that could barely hold him up, but what nearly broke him was the look of pity on Dooku's patrician face.
"You were brought here," he started slowly, "because Lumis demanded it. He's put a lot of work into you, and now he will reap what he's sown." Fear gripped Quinlan, his eyes darting around the room, his mind racing with ways to escape as the alcohol in his empty stomach began to embolden him, but he stopped when a stern look from the Count held his gaze. "You can't escape, Vos. You know this. If you value your life, you won't try it. You won't think it, Lumis can read minds the way normal men may read a neon sign. You can't hide anything from him, so I suggest you keep your mind blank, allow him to do his work, and don't lie."
"If you're trying to frighten me, Sith, it isn't working." A small, sad smile crossed Dooku's face, and Vos felt himself tremble, his anger fading into nothingness.
"I'm trying to help you," the Count said softly. "Lumis will not hesitate to end your life if he doesn't get what he wants, and no, your friendship with him means nothing. Not anymore, so don't count on it to save you." Dooku took a deep breath and ran his hand over his hair. "If I were you, Vos, I would eat, and I would drink. You're going to want to be as drunk as possible when he arrives, so you may as well sate yourself now. I wouldn't want to be sober for what he has in store for you."
Quinlan remained where he stood, keeping his legs several times from moving himself to the table, the smell of fresh bread nearly breaking him. He tried to rationalize it away, give himself a reason for not heeding the Sith's suggestion, but he could find nothing. Slowly, he began to walk toward the table, clutching the empty bottle in his hand, and he stopped suddenly when the doors swung open with a loud bang and a rush of wind. Dooku rose when Obi-Wan strode in, his face cold and hard, and a man in black and red clone armor walking in step beside him. Quinlan could have sworn that his heart stopped beating.
Without thinking, Vos dropped the bottle and ran toward his friend, but Kenobi didn't seem to even notice that he was there. When Vos was nearly close enough to reach out and touch him, the Force slammed into him, hard and screaming in rage as it lifted him and carelessly tossed him aside, sending the Jedi Master skidding across the ground. He lay there for a long moment, his aching body protesting any movement at all, and when he opened his eyes, he saw blood streaked across the ground. His forearms stung, and when he extended his arms out before him and rotated his hands, he hissed in pain, his strong forearms streaked with bleeding burns from the friction on the stone. With a groan, he slowly began to crawl to his friend when he found he lacked the strength to stand.
"Lumis," Dooku said respectfully, a concerned timbre in his deep, resonant voice as he stood from his seat. "Come, eat with me."
"I'm not hungry," was the short, curt reply, and Dooku's shoulders sank. Vos could feel the man become almost frantic, and he looked on in disbelief at the Sith Lords. This was not how he imagined the two of them would act together, not when they were supposedly competing over the place of the one apprentice to the Sith Master.
"You weren't hungry yesterday," Dooku insisted, his dark eyes watching as Lumis mounted the stairs to stand by the window, his hands clasped behind his back as he looked out over the forest, the setting sun making it appear as if the world was engulfed in flames. "Or the day before that. You need to eat."
"I don't need to do anything," Lumis hissed, not moving from his spot, and the clone at his side shifted uncomfortably.
"My Lord," he started softly. "Lord Tyranus is right, you need to eat." There was silence, nobody in the room daring to move, and Quinlan could feel the air rush from him as the Force tightened with raw anger. Slowly, he brought himself to his feet and began to shuffle closer to Kenobi.
"...I will," Lumis whispered, and the clone breathed a sigh of relief. "After I'm done here."
"Obi-Wan!" The silence that followed was deafening, and both the clone and Dooku tensed, but Quinlan paid them no mind His focus was on Obi-Wan, and the man hadn't moved, hadn't stirred at all, as if he hadn't heard him calling. Vos stopped at the base of the steps, afraid to get too close, but it was close enough. He had so much he wanted to say, needed to say, but grabbed for the most important. "Obi-Wan," he began again. "I'm so, so sorry about what happened to Satine, I-" He stopped, not because he wanted to, but because his throat suddenly, violently closed, and he was lifted, just enough so the tip of his boot could drag across the floor as he thrashed. Kenobi hadn't moved. Slowly, the Jedi's blood began to boil within him.
Vos choked, gagging against the grip until his eyes rolled back into his head, his face flushing so dark red it was nearly purple with the closing of the thick arteries and veins on the side of his neck. His vision was tunneling, and he felt himself losing consciousness. "Mention her name again," Lumis said softly, the words ringing loud and clear in Vos' ears, "and I will kill you." Quinlan dropped back to the ground, and he gasped loudly, violently coughed as the rush of air filled his quivering lungs.
"Obi-Wan," he tried again, voice rasping, but the man still wouldn't turn.
"You know Cody," Lumis said, unclasping his hands and gesturing to the clone at his side, and Vos sucked in a sharp breath as he looked the man over. He knew what he looked like under the helmet, of course, but Kenobi was right about him knowing this clone. The 212th Attack Battalion was his battalion that he had lost so long ago on Christophsis. Everyone assumed that the clones aboard had been a bad batch, that they had defected to become Kenobi's Lost Legion, but he had never been confronted with the re-purposed battalion before. Now, beside Kenobi, stood Cody, the commander that Vos had stood next to when he had been made General of the 212th, before Kenobi had stolen the Dauntless and made her the Liberator. Before Cody and his men left the Republic to serve the Sith.
"Cody..." Vos repeated quietly. His head was swimming. He couldn't think straight. Everything was going wrong, everything had been going wrong from the very start of this whole war. "How could you leave?" he asked mindlessly, and the clone scoffed and shifted to stand closer to the Sith Lord.
"He showed me freedom," he said, pointing his thumb over his shoulder at Kenobi, who remained where he was. "How could I return to slavery when I knew what freedom was like?"
"You find yourself in a similar situation now, Quinlan," Lumis said coldly, and Vos shivered. He was right, of course. He tasted the Dark Side, and he was finding it difficult to imagine himself returning to the austere life of the Jedi. To a life without attachment. A life without Ventress.
"You weren't supposed to be on Raxus, Kenobi," Vos said, putting a foot on the step and trying to decide if it was worth the climb, when the Sith Lord finally turned to look at him, his eyes blazing with hatred and fury that stopped the Jedi in his tracks.
"And why shouldn't I be, Vos? Hmm?" He pointed two long fingers at Dooku, his entire arm shaking with tension. "I knew your intentions to assassinate Dooku, I told you I would be there when you would execute your plan, and I told you I would fight against you when the time came! How is any of this a surprise to you?"
"You knew?!" Vos asked, his jaw hanging slack.
"We discussed it," Lumis snarled. "And what better time and place to assassinate a public figure than when his gates were left wide open? I would applaud your choice if it wasn't so obvious."
"I thought," Vos began, his teeth clenched tightly together as his temper rose, "that you wouldn't be there because-"
"Because what?" he hissed, his fists clenching at his side, and Vos could feel the Dark Side drawn to the Sith Lord, pulsing and swirling around him like a living creature. "Because the point of it all was to remember Satine? Because the pain of it would keep me away?" The Sith laughed without mirth, cold and harsh, and Vos tried to back away, but found his feet firmly rooted to the spot. His body would not obey him. "Pain is the point," Lumis snarled, his eyes narrowing when he saw fear on his friend's face. "Pain makes me stronger, and I embrace it, and that will be the death of you all."
"What has grief done to you?" Quinlan muttered, reaching toward the man with the Force and feeling only darkness, its pull so strong he almost couldn't look away.
"It's opened my eyes, my friend," Lumis said, his voice blank as he turned back toward the window, his chest rising as he took in a long, deep breath of air and held it. "This galaxy will burn, Quinlan. I have seen it. All of it. This world, Coruscant, the Jedi. Every system, every sector, all of it in flames, and I am the one who will start it. I am burning, Quin, and I'm taking everything with me."
Vos heard Dooku suck in a sharp breath behind him, and turned to see the Count's face drawn in worry, his presence in the Force tight with concern. He was...afraid. No, not quite that, but the Count could feel the insanity in the other Sith Lord, and he was struggling to find a way to douse the flames that consumed Kenobi and drove him to madness. Slowly, Obi-Wan began to laugh, softly at first, but quickly becoming manic as he turned from the window, his hands tightly gripping his ruffled hair.
"Oh, but what help you brought with you to Raxus!" the Sith chirped. "Honestly, I didn't think you'd be stupid enough to bring your beloved Padawan!" He grinned when the Jedi tensed, his hand flying to his belt for his lightsaber, and the Kiffar cursed when he found it wasn't on him. He knew it wasn't on him. He had lost it on Raxus. "And Ventress! I didn't think she'd be stupid enough to make another attempt on her former Master. Teaching you was one thing, but coming herself..." Lumis clicked his tongue as if he were reprimanding her, and Vos felt himself tense. "Foolish woman."
"What happened to them?" Vos asked in a quivering voice before he could stop himself, and the gold eyes before him seemed to recoil, widen in slight shock before amusement seemed to make them glow. For a moment, Vos thought his friend had returned, the insanity parting and giving way to who he was before, but the longer he looked, the more he felt wrong. There was cruelty there, and a lust for destruction that Vos hadn't wanted to believe, but now that he saw it, it wasn't possible to deny. "Please," he cried out in desperation, dropping to his knees before his friend as Lumis walked down the stairs. "Tell me what happened to them, where are they!"
He was silent for a moment, looking the Jedi over, and Vos could feel the Sith Lord in his mind, probing around as if he owned him, and Quinlan didn't have the strength to resist him. "You will be pleased to know that I have no idea. At the very least, they escaped Grievous and Krell." A wide grin spread across Quinlan's face, his dark eyes filled with hope for the survival of the people he loved, and the Sith's eyes flashed dangerously. Quinlan realized his mistake too late, tried to throw up whatever mental defenses he had, but Lumis already had what he needed.
"And there it is," he hissed, circling around the Jedi like a predator, a cruel smile on his lips as his gold eyes blazed with amusement. "You are in love. With Ventress!" He laughed, loud and harsh and bitter, and a moment later, Lumis' hand was balled into Vos' hair, and he yanked his head back, forcing the Jedi to look up into his face, the corner of his mouth twitching from pain as he tried to keep his wild emotions in check. "How precious. The incorrigible Quinlan Vos, in love." He laughed again, harsh and mocking. "I almost feel bad about having to take this away from you."
"You can't!" Vos snarled, struggling to rise, but Lumis tugged his hair back, keeping the Jedi on the ground. He grit his teeth, undaunted by the Sith Lord. "She escaped you, you won't find her again!"
Lumis shrugged. "It doesn't matter that she escaped, she's dead anyway. All of you are already dead, you just don't know it..."
"Lumis..." Dooku softly warned, but the other Sith waved him off with a flick of his wrist that conveyed his irritation.
"And even so, I don't need her here to take her from you." A wicked smile crossed his face as he let the Jedi go, and Vos quickly jumped to his feet, only to fall to his knees once again when the Dark Side commanded him to kneel before his Sith Master. "Today's the day you die, Quin," he said softly, and the Jedi felt himself tremble, though he looked up at him defiantly. "You're just going to decide how it's going to be done. Either you die and rise again as Sith to stand beside me, or you die when I separate your head from your shoulders and send the pieces back to your Council. The choice is yours."
Vos couldn't breathe. For a moment, he closed his eyes and imagined what it would be like to stand beside Obi-Wan, as they had done so long ago, not to fight the Sith, but to make them stronger. Together, he and Obi-Wan could kill Dooku, kill the Sith Master. He would never be free from the reach of the Sith until they were all dead, and this seemed the best way to do it. But the notion only lasted for a moment, and then he thought of Ahsoka. He thought of Asajj, and his choice was made. He drew up as far as he was able while on his knees and looked defiantly at the imperious Lord Lumis.
"I will never join the Sith!"
"But you will," he snarled, hatred and rage suddenly exploding out of the man, and Vos felt himself shake under the pressure of the Dark Side. They had always had problems sensing Obi-Wan, but now, he was blown open, raw and exposed, and Quinlan felt as though he were looking into the sun, the Force itself blazing with flames hotter than he could comprehend, and beyond that, he could sense nothing but the dark that came from emptiness. "Stop deluding yourself, Quin, you have already fallen!"
"No!" he shouted back. "Ventress-"
"Has lied to you!" Lumis finished. "Tell me, how did she motivate you against Dooku when I could not? You had your motivation! Stop the war! That should have been all you needed, but it wasn't enough, so what did she do!"
"Revenge" Vos snarled, feeling his anger rise, and in the presence of the infinite darkness, he felt the Dark Side return to him, a vicious, hunting beast that was suddenly awakened with the promise of blood. Dooku was so near, so close! "He killed him!" the Jedi shouted, pointing an accusing finger at Dooku. "He killed my Master, he murdered Master Tholme!"
"Oh..." Kenobi whispered, taking a step back and breathing deeply. "I see. That explains it, she made it personal for you." He shrugged. "She's lying, of course."
The words made Vos feel as if he was being stabbed, and slowly, he felt doubt once again creep into his mind. His anger rising, he quickly brushed it to the side. "No," he gasped. "She wouldn't lie to me." Kenobi's eyes narrowed dangerously, and Vos watched as Obi-Wan slowly faded from the face he knew so well, leaving him with the cold and hard and uncaring Darth Lumis. He felt himself shiver. Qui-Gon had been right. Obi-Wan was dead. The glimpses he saw may have just been old habit, or perhaps he was simply just desperate to see Kenobi again. He wasn't sure which it was.
"I don't need to explain this to you, Quinlan," Lumis hissed, holding his hand out, and Cody slowly approached his Master. "I've been so gentle with you for so long, but that's done now. You need a firmer hand, and I should have given it to you long ago."
"Nothing you say will make a difference!" Vos shouted, but his anger froze in his chest as his eyes widened, and that anger quickly became fear when Cody unclipped something from the back of his belt and laid the cylinder in the Sith's hand. It was a lightsaber, and one that Vos recognized all too well, and he knew that if the Sith were to ignite it, the blade would shine a brilliant green, just like his own. After all, he had modeled his saber after this one. Vos felt his hands shake. It had belonged to Master Tholme.
"I'm not going to say anything to you, Quin, I'm going to show you." Vos tried to rise, but with a snap of the Sith Lord's fingers, the Jedi saw white spots of light flash across his vision as Cody struck the back of his head with the butt of his blaster rifle, and a moment later, he felt both his wrists clutched in the clone's strong grasp. Lumis crouched down before him, his face pale and drawn and expressionless, the fire dead in those golden eyes, and Vos felt as though he were looking into the cold indifference of nothingness.
"You love her, Quin," Lumis whispered. "I can feel it within you. And I'm going to take that away from you. If I can't have it, if I have to suffer the agony of having loved so deeply and lost it all, so help me, you are going to share in my suffering, you're going to burn with me." Cody brought the Jedi's hand's out in front of him, and Vos tightly closed them into fists, but the Force pried them open, and Lumis laid the lightsaber on his palm, took Quinlan's hand in his own and forced him to hold his Master's saber in his grasp. Vos shut his eyes, grit his teeth, and shut the Force out.
"You can make me touch it," he growled, "but you can't force me to read it!"
"I know," Lumis said softly, his voice almost gentle, his thumb lightly stroking the back of Vos' hand. "But you will, Quin. You need to know, and the truth is right here in your hand." The soft, gently fingers stroked the back of his hand, and Vos felt his grip tighten around the weapon. He could do it. He could power the weapon on, he could drive it through the heart of this Sith that walked in Obi-Wan's body, stole his memories, killed the Jedi that he used to be. His fingers gripped for the ignition, and he opened his eyes to look at the creature that tormented him and felt his breath catch in his throat. A small, sad smile tugged on the corner of his mouth, his gold eyes suddenly deep, pained and sympathetic, and Vos felt warmth rush through him from his hand clasped gingerly between the Sith's.
"She wouldn't..." Quinlan said so softly he may as well have said nothing at all, but Kenobi heard him. "I know her. I know her like you don't."
"It's true that you know her very differently than I do," Lumis whispered, and the softness of his hands, the warmth in his voice found Quinlan sliding his fingers off the ignition. He couldn't kill him. "I've never been inside her the way you have." The Sith's features hardened with remembered pain, old and new all at once, like a wound inflicted long ago that never healed right. "But I know Ventress, and I know how treacherous she is. She can never escape the Dark Side, as she seems to think. After all, her lies have delivered you right to me."
His hand began to shake around his Master's lightsaber as doubt and fear wormed its way into his mind like a snake. "She wouldn't," Vos growled, and Lumis responded by tightening his grasp on the Jedi's hand.
"Your faith is touching," he said coldly. "If you trust her so much, than you have nothing to fear from this weapon." He leaned in closer, bringing his face mere inches from the Jedi's, and try as he might, Quinlan didn't have the resolve to lean back. "Read it, Quin."
Vos felt the Force flicker through him, saw the brief flash of battle droids on what looked like the floor of a coral reef, dry and barren without the waters of the ocean above it. Vos recognized the greens and purples of the coral forest as the moon of Rugosa, the place where Jedi Master Tholme had died. He gasped, his hand trembling as he pushed the Force away, banished the vision from his mind, and he shut his eyes to keep from looking at the Sith Lord, afraid that simply looking upon him would allow the man inside his mind, let him take over his body, manipulate his thoughts, force him to read the object in his hands.
But doubt had already crept in. Why was he so afraid of this? He trusted Ventress, knew she wouldn't lie to him, but with the saber in his grasp, he felt the Force quake in warning, trying in frantic desperation to turn him from the weapon, to shield him from what he may learn. But why. Was it trying to protect him from the pain of his Master's final moments? Or was it trying to keep him from something worse? His hand tightened. He needed to know. Doubt ate at his mind, worse than anything he had felt before. He needed to clear it, needed to be reassured of his faith in Ventress, needed to know that she wasn't just using him as a tool for revenge. After all, she had used the Nightsisters. She had even created the monster Savage Opress to complete her revenge. What was it that stopped her from using a Jedi when she found one that suited her needs?
Quinlan shook his head violently, trying to clear the thought, but it wouldn't leave. After all they had been through, all they had shared, how intimate they had become, it was impossible for Vos to imagine that this was true. She trusted him as he trusted her, maybe even loved her the way he did. This Sith's words were poison, as the Jedi always knew they were, and he was trying to lead him astray, like he always had been. It was no secret that Kenobi was working to secure Vos' fall to the Dark Side, but he wouldn't ever join the Sith as his fallen friend had done. He may never be a Jedi again, but he was not Sith. All Obi-Wan was doing was planting doubt in his mind where none was before. He could overcome this. He would overcome this. His faith in Ventress was absolute. He had nothing to fear from this lightsaber.
He opened his eyes and looked defiantly into the Sith's golden gaze, a smirk on his lips and the touch of the Force in his fingertips, and the room fell away as he looked within Tholme's lightsaber.
There were thousands of battle droids, the air filled with blaster fire as they clashed with the Republic's clone army, but all Quinlan could see was the green blade of a lightsaber as it effortlessly cut a path through the droid army. It was wielded by an aging Jedi, his black hair streaked with gray, his gaze focused and intense, and Vos felt a stab of pain lance through him. He wasn't prepared for how painful it would be to look upon his Master, the image of him so vibrant and alive sending a shiver through him that threatened to tear bitter tears from his eyes, but he held back, refusing to even breathe as he braced himself for what he knew was coming. Out of the corner of his vision, he saw a red lightsaber flash into view, and for a moment, he felt relief wash through him, but he quickly ran cold with dread when he saw the second blade, extending angry and red from curved hilts that he knew all too well.
Asajj Ventress.
The light reflected off her bald head, her skin pale as untouched snow, her lithe body clad in tight, black leather that allowed for her easy, athletic movements as she expertly wielded the lightsabers in her hand, cutting through clones and droids alike to reach the Jedi Master. Vos tried to tear himself away, tried to avert his gaze, but he couldn't. He needed to know, and his raw emotional state kept him transfixed as the Jedi Master and the Sith assassin met in furious, heated battle, the two combatants spinning and moving with such speed that the lightsabers in their hands left the sky bleeding red and green with trails of light. It happened so fast, so fast that Vos couldn't see exactly what had happened, but Ventress had forced the Jedi to begin to retreat as she snatched the upper hand. Her blade circling his, she flicked her wrist effortlessly, a practiced skill of Dooku's preferred style, and Tholme's blade went flying from his hand, and Ventress pointed her blades at the Master, a look of sinister triumph upon her face.
He couldn't look away from her face, the face that he had thought so beautiful, now twisted and contorted with cruelty and hatred, the light blue eyes he got lost in so often pale and gray, the lips he had kissed so deeply the past few months curled in a vicious sneer. Even in her hatred, she was a thing of beauty, but Quinlan felt love turn to revulsion when he thought of that body, naked and wanting beneath him as he slid deep within her only days before, being used as a brutal weapon against the Master that he had treasured. Vos watched helpless as Tholme put his hands in the air and sunk to his knees in surrender, and without a pause, Ventress thrust one blade into his heart, laughing in her deep rasp as she slowly drew the other blade across his side, opening him up and spilling his innards on the ground before her.
Vos felt his body convulse with nausea, a vile, burning rising up in his chest as he looked at the vision before him as it began to fade, leaving him in the room with the two Sith Lords, the clone that was once his, his firm grasp on Vos' wrists released and now standing behind his Master. The lightsaber clutched tightly in Vos' hand, his eyes shot to Obi-Wan, hoping, begging that somehow, the Sith had influenced him, altered the visions he received. But while Vos was lost in the Force, Lumis had removed himself, not just from the gentle grasp of his hands on the Jedi's, but from his mind as well. Vos searched himself and found his mental defenses high and strong in his panic, a reflexive move that ensured that Kenobi stayed out, and he felt none of his old friend's presence within him. The darkness that swirled within him now, violent and angry, was of his own making. Kenobi could not alter the vision. Things happened exactly as the Force had shown him. Ventress had killed his Master, murdered him after he had surrendered, lied to him to motivate him against Dooku in order to weaponize the Jedi against her former Master. He had been used, tricked into loving a snake, and Vos couldn't help but wonder what else the woman had lied to him about, a furious burning erupting behind his eyes as he looked desperately to the Sith Lord that showed him the truth.
Lumis watched impassively as Quinlan's pupils narrowed to pinpoints in his wrath, his warm, brown eyes beginning to lighten, slowly spreading outwards from the center until brown gave way to pale, glowing yellow rimmed with red. It was...perfection. The pain within his friend so consuming, so divine that he could feel it tear at the Force. Lumis couldn't help but moan at the pleasure of it, his own rush of the Dark Side growling to sinister life with the deepness of shared pain and the culmination of years of work. It was betrayal, raw and cruel, and it was loss of love, bitter and consuming, all rolled up into a singular moment. Lumis couldn't have planned this any better himself, his chest rising and falling rapidly as the agonizing grasp of the Dark Side wrapped itself around Quinlan Vos, sank its claws deep within him, and refused to let go. All Lumis could feel was burning pleasure rip through him as he watched his friend finally fall, tightly embracing the Dark Side as he quickly begin to burn.
"I couldn't spare you the pain of this," Lumis whispered, a pleased smile on his lips as the Kiffar's yellow eyes locked with his. "Pain feeds your hate, and hate will make you powerful. The Dark Side is strong in you, Quin, and it has been for a very long time. It's time you nurture that."
"She's a liar..." Vos growled, his voice thick with emotion as his shoulders began to shake with sobs, the Dark Side pooling around him and whipping into a violent frenzy that had Lumis shivering in delight. "And a murderer."
"I know." Lumis rose to his feet and looked down at the pitiful man, his body wracked with sobs and convulsing in pain, every inch of his being screaming his surrender to darkness. He extended his hand out to his friend. "All that's left for you is revenge. Come with me, and I shall see that you have it, all of it and more." The Kiffar looked up at him, his expressive eyes wide and pained and trusting, and Lumis felt a faint stirring in his chest, not of sympathy, but of old, remembered kinship. "We were brothers once, Quin. Let us become so again. We'll seek your revenge together. We'll seek mine together. You and me, just as we were, just as we have always been."
Quinlan looked up at those golden eyes, the face he knew so well, the hand that gently reached out to him, and he shivered. Obi-Wan Kenobi had always been his friend, always, and that was never more true than now. It seemed cruel to reveal this awful truth, to violently rip his love away from him, but Vos recognized it as a kindness. Kenobi was freeing him from the woman's vile grasp, correcting his flawed beliefs, focusing his rage where it truly belonged. Once, he had asked Kenobi to teach him the ways of the Dark Side, and the Sith had refused him, insisted that he wouldn't stand against his Sith brothers, but things were different now. Now, the focus of his wrath wasn't on the Sith, but on Ventress. She had lied to him, used him, betrayed his trust, made him love her when she knew full well that she had killed the Master he adored. Vos wondered how hard she had laughed at the foolish Jedi when he had left her bed, when he looked at her with adoration and the beginnings of love, and it made him hate her.
And there to save him was Obi-Wan Kenobi, Lord of the Sith, enemy of the Jedi, and his one true friend. If his fellow Jedi knew what he had been doing, they would try to take her from him as well, but not because they cared, because they forbid it. Obi-Wan cared about him, showed him the horrible truth, and now stood ready to help him. Vos trembled as sympathy quickly turned to empathy for his fallen Jedi brother. Obi-Wan had suffered betrayal after betrayal at the hands of the Jedi, and a flash of pain and anger rushed through the Kiffar, enraged that the Order would do this to his friend. He had always been bitter about Kenobi's treatment before, but now, he understood. Now he felt the bitter sting of betrayal in his own hardening heart, and he was filled with loathing for the Jedi that caused it. And then there was Satine...
The pain of that loss was clear in Kenobi's eyes, deep and pervasive, driving him to the brink of insanity with a lust for the destruction of everything, and Vos understood. The Jedi knew he'd be dangerous, knew he had changed, and while Vos knew his friend was drowning in grief for the loss of his lover and his unborn son, the Jedi plotted to destroy him, hoping to catch him in a weakened state before he could recover and come back stronger than before. It was cruel and ruthless, devoid of the sympathy that the Jedi prided themself on, and it made Vos burn. Obi-Wan stood beside him, and he always had, and Vos wouldn't abandon him now.
Quinlan reached out and grabbed Kenobi's hand, kissed his long fingers, and laid his forehead on the smooth skin that covered his knuckles. "Teach me," Vos whispered, looking up into the glowing gold eyes above him. "Teach me, and we can have our revenge, my Master."
Lumis hooked his finger's under Vos' chin and drew the kneeling man up to stand beside him, soothing the Dark Side that raged around the Kiffar like a storm, easing the turbulent waves down to the smooth, inky calm of darkness. Vos nearly slumped against him as the fury was drained from him, leaving him feeling warm and sated, the dull pulse of pleasure beating rhythmically in his mind. There was anger, yes, and hatred, fearsome and consuming, but it was still and calm, laying in wait as it was drowned by the bliss of submission to Kenobi, the Sith Lord, his friend, his Master.
"Cody," Lumis whispered, not taking his eyes from the fallen Quinlan. "Get the Umbra ready. It's time to bring my apprentice home." A sly smirk passed over Lumis' face when Quinlan shivered, moaning softly as pleasure rushed through him, frantically clinging to the Sith Lord's sleeve like it was a lifeline. "And you and I have plans to make. There are worlds to burn."