From Darkness, I Rise

by Kurenaino

The Jedi are thrust into a war that threatens to tear the galaxy apart, and prospects are bleak when the fearsome Sith Negotiator begins to win key victories against the Republic. Sequel to From Grace, I Fall. Also, more Sith!Obi keeps the sadness away. Search your feelings. You know it to be true.

93. Embers

Chapter 93: Embers

Obi-Wan sat cross-legged before the large window in Dooku's study, his eyes closed, his breathing deep and even, the Code of the Sith in the ancient tongue on his lips, his consciousness lost deep within the Force. Makeb hadn't burned. Makeb was mostly water, and the land it had couldn't burn, being composed mostly of rock and mineral, but the population had been executed all the same through the joint efforts of Mand'alor Bo-Katan and Barriss Offee in her first test as an agent of the Sith. It had been wildly successful, and while the planet couldn't burn, its cities were shown to be susceptible to the violent explosions of the bombs that Offee had crafted. The girl had proven to be adept at the skill, her talent enhanced by a close friendship with Anakin Skywalker, and his love for machines and mechanics had taught the clever Mirialan a great deal, all information she used to devastating effect in her own creations.

Kessel hadn't burned either. When Cody had returned to his Master's side, sanity slowly began to reassert itself. What he had on his hands was an opportunity, and as Cody had pointed out, only half of the planet was occupied by the Pykes in the form of the notoriously brutal spice mines. The other half was lush and vibrant and populated by beautiful sanctuaries ruled by the Kessel royal family, and while they recognized the brutal conditions of the mines in the northern hemisphere and the criminal element that ruled there, they turned a blind eye. Kenobi didn't know if this was due to greed or weakness on the part of the people of Kessel, but it ultimately didn't matter. The presence of a new and greater power would bring not only the planet, but the people under sway of the Sith, and were he to occupy the planet, he would have a close and powerful foothold right on the edge of Hutt Space. His attack was immanent. His revenge was almost complete.

Thousands were slaughtered in the spice mines, be it slaves or the criminals that stayed there, and with the threat of the Mandalorian judgement hanging above them, the people on the untouched southern hemisphere began to give up the Pykes living within the sanctuaries in order to save themselves, the lessons from Oba Diah and Ord Mantell keenly felt. Kenobi saw the full cooperation of the Royal family as they grounded the ships on the planet, giving their own security force the authority to destroy any ship that attempted to leave. By the end of the day, the Pyke presence on Kessel had been eradicated, the spice mines left desolate with the corpses of a hundred thousand people, and the Mandalorians, led by their Shadow King, were hailed as liberators and heroes. But most importantly, Kenobi had captured a Pyke named Fife, who had been absent from Oba Diah at the time the Mandalorians had attacked and remained the last of the syndicate's leaders whose death was unaccounted for. With nowhere to go, the remainder of his criminal enterprise had fled to their outpost on Kessel in the hopes of gaining support from their nearby Hutt allies, but Gardulla, Jabba, and the rest of the Hutt Council were trying desperately to wash their hands of the Shadow Collective before they burned as well.

The Jedi could do nothing, though they did appear, and much to Kenobi's disappointment, it wasn't Skywalker that flew into orbit around Kessel. He wasn't sure who it was, but it didn't matter. Skywalker's ship remained stationed where it was, in the skies above Tatooine, and hadn't moved at the sign of either attack. It was...distressing. It wasn't like Skywalker to remain at a distance, especially not when the threat of planetary burning was a very real possibility, and Kenobi had expected the boy to continue to be impulsive as he had been. After all, he had chased the Mandalorian fleet for some time after the slaughter on Oba Diah, and Obi-Wan expected to continue leading him by the nose where ever he wished.

The sudden change of tactic could only have three explanations. First, the Jedi Council had called him off the Mandalorian's trail by orders of Chancellor Palpatine, who had made it very clear that the Republic didn't have the resources to get involved with criminals at the time, and if the Mandalorians wished to tangle with the galaxy's filth, than it wasn't going to be the Republic that rushed to their aid. Alternatively, Skywalker could have had a weakness for his home world that Kenobi didn't anticipate. He would have thought that the emotional Jedi would have an aversion to the planet that made him a slave, but as Anakin sat like a guard dog over the desert world, it seemed unlikely that was the case. It could also be that Skywalker had relinquished control of the mission's tactics to his Admiral, Tarkin, a man that not only had a reputation for brutal efficiency, but had attracted the attention of Darth Sidious, which meant that the man was not only distressingly good at what he did, but had a future within the Sith Empire.

Choosing to remain at a correctly assumed future target instead of continuing on a wild chase was a calculated risk that would mean the sacrifice of entire worlds in exchange for a guaranteed chance to intercept the Shadow King, and it gave them a chance to lay a trap, one that Kenobi could feel closing in even now. As his targets were hit, his enemies destroyed, his revenge nearing its completion, he could feel the noose begin to tighten around his neck, a clear pull of the Force that was beginning to shout to him in warning. Sidious had been right, as he so often was. His wild, untempered, single-minded quest for revenge against Satine's murderers had left the Jedi unchecked and unattended, allowing them the opportunity to lay a trap for the Sith Lord, and now, when he found himself sane enough to notice, he felt it may be too late to avoid it.

Of course, he wasn't undefended, and his newfound awareness of the potential situation gave him a chance to take actions against it. The Force was with him, after all, and while it still burned with fury, threatening to overtake him the moment his tenuous control slipped, with each successive victory, he could feel the flame ease, his insanity slowly ebb in its intensity, and while he still felt its pull, the madness deep within him laughing and calling for flames and destruction of the entire galaxy, Kenobi slowly began to embrace the pain of his reality. Satine was dead. His son was dead. There was anger, yes, a rage that drove him toward unrelenting revenge against Maul and his Shadow Collective, but now as his revenge was nearing completion, the wrath began to fade, the flames reduced to smouldering embers on blackened earth thick with ash that left nothing left to burn. There was a void within him that was once filled with Satine and the love he held for her, then by the inferno of his consuming madness, and now...nothing. It was a blackened void rife with embers that struggled to find something to catch fire to, but soon, he knew even that would fade. It was depression, in its purest form, and without the Sith, without the guidance of his Master, Kenobi knew he would have very little left.

He had considered going to Sidious and asking him for the power to bring her back to him, but he quickly discounted it. Even the Sith could only do so much. The emptiness was maddening in its own right, and where he saw flames before, now everything had turned to ash, bitter and distasteful. Food lost its flavor, though he still rarely ate, sleep was no longer restful, though he rarely slept, the Force ran cold where there used to be comfort, and underneath it all was bitter rage, ever-present and consuming, cold where it used to be fire and passion and he ached for it. His madness had made him wild and untamable, but in his depression, he could feel his connection to the Force grow stronger, more powerful, centering him in a way that he hadn't been since he first embraced the Sith. Satine's death had made him stronger, and now that he felt his madness beginning to fade, that strength became apparent, shining and burnished by the blood of Satine Kryze and their unborn child. It was...intoxicating.

He was changed, yes, but within him, he felt a return to form. His old feelings of hatred and betrayal toward the Jedi, once drowned out in the wash of cruel delight in his embrace of the Dark Side, was pulled to the forefront. Long ago, he once instructed Ventress that the path to power, the Way of the Sith wasn't just hatred and anger and pain, but the embrace of all passions, all emotions, deep and unrelenting, so unlike the cold detachment of the Jedi. In his wrath, he had become unbalanced, dangerously so, embracing the pain of loss and the fury that accompanied it to the exclusion of all else, and it set him on a path of destruction that clashed with the careful, manipulative machinations of the Sith. Now, as the madness began to fade, Kenobi embraced not just the anger and hatred for the ones that did this, but the actual sadness of his profound loss, and through it, he felt his strength grow, his passions deepen, and the small, sliver of light, that warm comfort of the Force within him gently reminded that this too shall pass.

Though not yet. Even now as he sat before the wide windows and looked out at Serenno's courtyard bathed in the light of its two moons, he could feel the insanity deep within him, still burning, still raging, still aching to be free. Kenobi knew it as his body's craving to be taken by the Dark Side, ruled by it, bathed in its unlimited power, but he resisted. Any fool could be controlled and consumed, as he had allowed, but the Sith held dominion over even the untamable Dark Side. He knew he would slip again, knew his sanity to be temporary, but so was the madness. For now, he held fast, his mind quickly plotting and laying his plans, orchestrating the execution of the Sith Imperative in a way that would best please his Master. It would be over soon.

The Jedi would suffer, and the Jedi would die. Every single day, he took steps to ensure that, and his acquisition of Quinlan Vos and Barriss Offee had brought him even closer to this end. What's more, the seduction of Padmé Amidala spelled the end of Anakin Skywalker, and it was only a matter of time before he watched his counterpart in the Force face the same ruin he did. Perhaps it was driven by his madness, but Kenobi didn't care. If he couldn't have the love of his life, the child they had created together, than nobody should have it. Not Quinlan Vos, deprived now of Asajj Ventress, and certainly not Anakin Skywalker. He had lost Padmé, and would continue to lose her, even though he may not know it yet. Kenobi would have her, again and again until the sight of Skywalker's love sickened the Jedi, until he looked at her and could only see the Sith's poisonous touch on her willing body. He would watch helpless as the Sith's seed took root within her, and Skywalker would be deprived not just of his pretty little wife, but of his children as well. It would destroy him, as it had destroyed Kenobi, and the Sith Lord couldn't wait to see it.

Padmé was a means to an end. A strangely comforting one, but that was all. What happened to the children he would plant inside her was of no consequence, though Kenobi suspected that Sidious would want the child she would bring into this world. That was fine. This child, the boy he saw in his visions was a substitute, a pale imitation of the son he had lost, and Sidious was welcome to him, if that was what he pleased. Even still, the Force had shown Kenobi that he would have a hand in raising the child, and he was not one to deny the pull of the Force. Not now. Not ever. He wasn't sure what else the Force could do to him, in what manner it could possibly bite back at him, but he wasn't ready to test that.

He would have to plan a trip to Padmé soon. He hadn't felt her conceive, but even while he was away from her, he could feel her lust, her desire, her confusion, her desperation, and it delighted him. The dark pull of Darth Sidious may have pushed her to act upon her lust for her first love, but now that the deed was done, Kenobi found her torn between her Jedi love and her Sith lover, even though she hated herself for it. He couldn't explain it, but he felt...drawn to her. Perhaps it was her turmoil, the mess of emotions and passions that mixed with darkness and light within her, but regardless of what it was, Kenobi felt comforted by her, a warm, gentle soothing of his aching soul from being near her, intensified greatly when he had been inside her. He felt it in the pull of the Force, though he couldn't identify if, perhaps, it was Sidious' influence as well, praising him and soothing him for being complicit in his manipulations of the girl, but he felt it was something more. The Force had something planned for Padmé, and it was vastly important, though if it had shown him what that something was, he didn't recognize it. All he knew was that Padmé was central to the plans of the Force, and he had to be near it.

He breathed slow, deep, and hardly at all to the outside observer. Being as lost in the Force as he was, the physical meant little, but bit by bit, he withdrew, dragging himself from the rushing river of the Force to she shores of the mortal realm, and with it came the awareness of his surroundings. It was slow at first as he gradually eased himself back into his body, a vessel streaked with darkness, grief and insanity, and as he became aware of his deep breathing, his powerful command of the Force, the sharp stab of pain within him, the oppressive grief that sat heavy upon him, he became aware of the teeming life on Serenno. The calling wildlife, vast and untamed within the forests of the planet shone like a million million candles, embers in the wind of the Force. Tightening his focus, he felt the life within the palace.

Quinlan, somewhere deep below, wrathful and confused, his darkness untamed and wild like the man that commanded it. Dooku, quiet and studious and in deep meditation, and when Kenobi reached out and brushed against his consciousness, the Count grasped back, his grip cold as ice, but not unkind, strong and unyielding, but the chill tempered the flames that burned deep inside him. Kenobi's focus tightened even further, narrowing to the room he was in, the dark presence of Barriss Offee right beside him, her appearance small within the Force, timid to look at, though the dark she sat in trembled with power barely contained, a deep, pervasive anger and consuming hate that sat tense and waiting to be unleashed. Twin presences stood nearby, identical at a passing glance, but closer inspection betrayed the differences of the wealth of their experiences, one stained with bitterness and calm acceptance, almost shock, and the other running deep with darkness, a confidence brought from hundreds of victories and an unshakable loyalty to the one that broke his chains. And right behind him...the flickering, unconscious presence of Fife, the lone Pyke that had survived the slaughter.

His eyes had been opened, sightless before, but as he withdrew from the Force, the golden gaze glowed with life, observing the courtyard impassively. To others, it may have been beautiful, but to him, it simply was. He breathed deep, the expansion of his chest burning slightly as his lungs rushed full with air. "Tell me about Anakin Skywalker," he said softly, and the girl beside him jumped slightly, squeaking in surprise. They had been sitting, had been silent for so long, and she hadn't felt the Sith Lord return to himself.

"Anakin, Master?" she repeated softly, but Kenobi didn't move. The question didn't need an answer. Barriss took a deep breath. "He's intelligent, Master. Much smarter than most give him credit for. His reckless and impulsive nature makes him appear to be thoughtless, but he uses the Force to guide him instinctually."

"The Force naturally flows toward darkness now," Obi-Wan said softly, and he felt the girl shift beside him, her eyes downcast and listening intently. "If he truly followed the will of the Force, he'd be drawn to the Dark Side as you were, Barriss."

She was silent for a long while as she considered it, and slowly nodded. "As you say, Master. The Jedi have lost the way. They no longer follow the Force as they were meant to." Kenobi nodded, but was otherwise silent. "Anakin is a prodigy with mechanics of all kinds, and he's the best pilot I have ever seen."

"Better than me?"

"I haven't seen you fly, Master, but I confess to having difficulty imagining anyone better than him." The air grew colder in the Sith Lord's displeasure, and Barriss shivered, gripping her cloak closer to her against the chill. "The Masters all call him a vergence in the Force, and I believe them. He is frightfully powerful, he excels in lightsaber combat, and-"

"I didn't bring you here to exalt his virtues, Barriss," the Sith Lord snapped, his temper rising with each word the Mirialan spoke, and she trembled when she felt the Force close around her, gently laying her hand over his on her leg and lightly stroking his arm with long fingers.

"Forgive me..." she whispered, her heart pounding in her chest as she felt the blaze of power swell around her, the strain in the Sith's tense muscles tight with the threat of his insanity returning if he let go for even a moment. "Forgive me," she said again, less fearful this time. "Since the war began, Anakin and I haven't speant much time together, even less so when he was knighted. I don't know if I have the information you are seeking."

"But you do," Kenobi said softly, and the tension fled from him, the Force once again under his control. "What I need to know isn't what he is now, but what he was. In our past lies all our weaknesses, and I would know Anakin Skywalker's."

"...you have something in mind," she stated, not asked, and the Sith Lord nodded.

"He sits above Tatooine, the planet of his birth. He has puzzled out that I will attack that cursed desert, and he has stopped his pursuit of my forces in order to defend it. I find this move...uncharacteristic."

"I disagree."

Kenobi chuckled. "He has condemned thousands to the slaughter in his defense of the planet."

"Would any lives be saved were he to follow you instead?" she asked, her head tilted to the side and questioningly observing the Sith.

"No, but impossible odds haven't stopped him before."

She shrugged. "He cares nothing for Tatooine. He has family there."

"His mother." The girl slowly shook her head.

"No, Anakin's mother died before the war started." She gasped as her heart began to race, those golden eyes turned on her and seeming to look right into her, and she could feel the Sith grasp at her mind, waves of pleasure rushing through her as she felt Kenobi's presence stroke her, slow and gentle, almost seductive in how softly he coaxed her. "Tuscan raiders killed her," she gasped, a shaking hand raking over the silken robes covering Kenobi's chest.

"Do you know what happened?" he asked, his smooth voice almost hypnotic to her pleasure-hazed mind, and she nodded desperately. Behind him, he could hear Cody quietly admonish the boy at his side, the teen's presence flushed and heated with the beginnings of physical longing. Kenobi rolled his eyes. Puberty was hell on everyone, it seemed.

"Anakin went with his brother to rescue her, and when she died, he killed them."

"All of them?" Kenobi said in disbelief, and the girl shook her head.

"Some. Five or six, I think. His brother stopped him."

Something was wrong. Kenobi closed his eyes, felt the flowing of the Force, and found it thick with tension that he was feeling as well. What Barriss was describing was an unmistakable turn toward the Dark Side, not just a defense, but a murder, a killing born of revenge for the death of the mother that he knew Anakin held so dear. And yet, Skywalker was a vergence, a shining beacon in the Force, a gift of the light to which Kenobi stood opposed. How was it that Skywalker could remain a Jedi after such a thing? How was it he could be brought to cope not just with the loss of a woman he loved, but with the reality of his dark deeds that sprang from it? Loss and the fear of it had driven Kenobi to embrace the Dark Side, but Skywalker it seemed had simply brushed it off. How. Kenobi sucked in a sharp breath and held it, coming to the answer even as he thought of the question. It was Qui-Gon. Nothing else made sense.

For a long time now, Obi-Wan had felt something was going on with his former Master, something beyond his blinding presence, the searing pain of the light he commanded, the strength of the Force that cloaked him, the embrace of something mysterious and forbidden that not even death could penetrate. Kenobi had never seen its like, and its meaning had been made clear to him the longer he meditated on the meaning of Qui-Gon's transcendence. The Jedi, unconventional and rebellious, disinclined to follow the will of the Council, unconcerned by the whims of the Republic, had become one with the Force as no Jedi in living memory had, and in doing such, had touched immortality. Obi-Wan truly believed this to be the case, could feel the importance of the man not just in his presence, but in his visions as well. Qui-Gon stood on the edge, a shining beacon in a tide of darkness, the sole light holding back something fearsome and indistinct, something that must never be unleashed, not just a scourge on the galaxy, but upon the will of the Force as well.

Kenobi wasn't sure if this was because the Force was warning him away from Qui-Gon's death, or of it was hinting at something larger, but now that he knew of Anakin's slip, only to be caught by Qui-Gon Jinn, the meaning was slowly beginning to make itself apparent. The unsteady, emotional Anakin Skywalker, too old to train, too powerful to be ignored, had been trained not by the Council, but by Qui-Gon, perhaps the only true Jedi left in the galaxy that followed the will of the Force over the will of the Republic they served. In doing such, Qui-Gon altered and adjusted Skywalker's training, bringing him up not just to follow the Force, but to manage the very human emotions that raced through him. It made Skywalker...measured, in a way, his passionate personality tempered not with the Jedi's repression of their emotions, but with Qui-Gon's instructions to actively deal with them. It presented a serious problem. Perhaps the seduction of Padmé Amidala wouldn't have the devastating effect that Kenobi had hoped. If Skywalker could simply recover, it was possible that nothing the Sith threw at him could touch the young Jedi Knight.

The vision flashed before him, of Qui-Gon, his body glowing a ghostly pale blue, standing on the edge of the abyss, and in a red flash of light, the Jedi faded, and the rushing of the Force howled in his ears as darkness was unleashed. The Force felt unbalanced, strained and tense and reeling to correct itself, and through it all came the face in flames, and with it, the roar of the Force was silenced, replaced instead with slow, even breathing, deep and rhythmic, the sound muffled and unnatural, as if filtered through a machine or a respirator. The meaning was ultimately lost on Kenobi, though he had the strong feeling that somehow, the tide Qui-Gon held back was related directly to Anakin Skywalker.

"He just told you this?" Obi-Wan asked softly, his breathing becoming fast and shallow as he struggled for control, the vision of flames refusing to leave him, the fires licking the edge of everything he saw as madness tried to reassert itself.

"He's always been very frank and open about...well, everything. Master Qui-Gon always supported his...attachments," she said almost bitterly, and Kenobi found himself chuckling at the girl, though he suspected it may have been less in amusement and more a result of his insanity. Luminara's touch on the girl was plain to see, and it was no surprise that the fallen Padawan would be disdainful of the Jedi's attachments when her own Master had been so good at letting go. "He made no move to hide his struggles. Not from me, in any case, and certainly not from Master Qui-Gon. Anakin's emotions were something of an expectation that Qui-Gon always supported and helped him manage."

"And his brother?"

Barriss shrugged. "Qui-Gon allowed him to maintain his family ties." She scoffed, her face twisting with disgust. "He's hardly a Jedi. A vergence in the Force, supposedly destined to stand against the Sith, against you, and he doesn't follow the Code at all."

"Which is why he's so successful, I imagine..." he mumbled, groaning as he rose to his feet, tensing his muscles to stretch them as he stood. Without turning around, his eyes fixed on the pale moons in the sky, he raised his hand, channeled the Dark Side, and with a frantic gasp of pain, the hurried shuffling of feet upon the ground, and the brief begging of a creature that had suffered too much pain, the Pyke, Fife, rose into the air. His movements were sluggish, the man only semi-lucid as he was dragged to consciousness by a sharp pull of the Force, and immediately found himself hauled to his feet by the neck by an unseen force. He grasped at his throat and the light pressure that pressed against his windpipe, not choking, but uncomfortable. Panic and fear brought him quickly to full alertness, and once again, he tried to beg, plea for his life, but Fife knew it was futile. The Pykes had supported the wrong man, and now, they had all paid for it.

"Cody," Kenobi said, turning from the window and walking down the short ways to meet the clone, the Pyke pulled behind him with the grip of the Force, his toes dragging along the ground as he scrambled for a better footing, but there was none to be found. Gold eyes turned to the clone's young charge, and the teen averted his eyes. "What is that?"

Cody simply shrugged. "The leader of the bounty hunters that attacked us with Ventress."

"This child leads a group of bounty hunters?" Kenobi laughed harshly, the Pyke struggling behind him. "Not a very good one, it would seem. What's your name, boy?"

"I don't answer to you!" the teen snarled, and a moment later, the boy was on his back, the heel of Cody's boot digging against his chest, and the teen gasped for breath, trying in vain to push the man off.

"Forgive him, my Lord," Cody mumbled. "He hasn't learned manners yet. But he will."

"You intend to keep him?" An almost playful smirk came across Cody's face, his head rocking back and forth as he seemed to consider the idea, though it was clear from the confident ease he exuded that he already knew the answer.

"I don't know, sir," he drawled, digging his heel harder against the boy, and the teen began coughing. "He is an unaltered clone of the template Jango Fett, and, well..." He grinned. "I do look a great deal like his father." His foot removed, the boy quickly scrambled to his feet, rubbing his chest and glaring at Cody, but the anger, the aggression only lasted for a moment. Obi-Wan felt the change in him, the sharp snap of anger fade instantly into the dull pain of loss, a longing ache, the uncertainty of being a teenager far out of his depth. After all, within the room he stood in, a Pyke was gasping for air, choked by invisible hands commanded by a man that reeked with power, a girl not much his senior stood alluringly close, who had only moments earlier been flushed with physical pleasure, and a man in the armor of his Mandalorian heritage had captured him, a man with the face of his father, and the teen didn't seem to have the heart to run.

Kenobi carefully observed the boy, his eyes downcast, his entire being almost seeming to crave guidance. He was a child, after all, no matter how much life had hardened him. "Your name, child," he said again, much kinder this time.

"...Boba Fett," he said softly, not meeting the eyes of the man that spoke to him, though he could feel them burning on him, observing, looking right through him, and the teen shivered. There would be no secrets here. The clone, Cody, had said as much after his capture.

"Do you know you are a clone, Boba Fett?" The boy nodded, and a flash of anger finally forced the teen to look up and meet the blazing gold eyes of the reigning Lord.

"But I am nothing like them!" he shouted, pointing at Cody, who looked smug as could be.

"I believe you," Kenobi said, a soft smile on his lips, his body relaxing as he spoke to the child, and the Pyke behind him gasped, renewed his writhing as the grip loosened. He was no closer to being released, though. "You have seen the Republic's clones, then. You grew up among them, I have been given to understand." He grinned when the boy's angry eyes widened in shock. "I know a great deal more than you suspect. After all, I work closely with Count Dooku, and I know you have met him."

The boy nodded, swallowed hard, and forgot his anger, the danger of where he stood hitting him hard, but he somehow didn't feel afraid. "My father raised me himself. He said I was his true son, these...replicas were just a cheep imitation made to serve. My father would never serve!"

"You were raised differently, yes," Kenobi said, nodding. "And it's true you are nothing like them. They're simply slaves, after all. So you tell me," he drawled, putting his hand on the boy's shoulder and pointing toward Cody, Fett following the Sith Lord's hand with his eyes and feeling almost hazy when that elegant, powerful hand laid on him. "Is he anything like the other clones?"

"...no." And he wasn't, Fett knew. The clone hadn't just bested him, he continued to best him. The way he fought was nothing like how the clones had been trained. It was more focused, more brutal, more like his father...

"Vaabir gar jorhaa'ir Mando'a?" With a gasp, Boba swiftly looked back at the Sith Lord's face in equal parts shock and disbelief, struggling for a moment to understand what had been said to him, though he knew the meaning. He just hadn't heard Mando'a spoken to him since his father died. Those golden eyes, for just a moment, looked almost distant, empty and melancholy, as if the words felt as foreign and painfully nostalgic to him as they did to Boba. He nodded.

"Elek," he said, his voice an almost breathless gasp. "Pehea cuyir bic gar ganar olaror at jorhaa'ir Mando'a?" How is it you have come to speak Mando'a?

He didn't answer for a moment, and possibly wouldn't have answered if Cody's hand hadn't come to lay on his shoulder, the strong body tensing from the sudden contact, gentle and comforting, and gold eyes focused back on the boy before him, a small, sad smile coming to his lips. "We are all Mandalorian here. Not by birth, perhaps, but by deed. By action, as all Mandalorians are. I...once ruled over the Mandalorian Empire beside Duchess Satine Kryze, until..." He hissed, knocking the clone's hand off his shoulder. "It's unimportant. Everyone knows what happened."

Kenobi suddenly reeled on the Pyke behind him, the creature rising into the air, gasping and choking as the grasp around his throat tightened, his legs kicking violently as he tried to free himself, but to no avail. Boba stared transfixed at the display of wrath and power, could have sworn he felt the air run cold, confirmed a moment later when his breath exited his lungs in visible puffs, and a moment later, he felt himself dragged backwards by Cody's strong, armored hand, the clone pulling him away from the Sith Lord, his arm draped over the teen's shoulder and a protective hand against his chest. He started to struggle against the man, but stopped quickly when Cody pulled him closer, tense and defensive, and Boba allowed it, the feel of his father too great to ignore, the fearsome visage of Mandalore's Shadow King too awe-inspiring to look away.

His rage spiked, but his vision was clear, free of the insanity that had plagued him, and for the first time in a very long time, Obi-Wan felt the cold, striking clarity of the endless depths of his hatred, the swell of the Dark Side's wrathful pleasure at having the object of his anger in his grasp, personal and intimate, so unlike the detached massacres he had been engaging in as of late. This was what he craved. The feel of a single life in his grasp, his to command, to do with as he pleased. His body filled with sadistic pleasure as he grasped the Pyke's consciousness and dug even deeper, going past the creature's body and seeking him out in the Force itself, so deep, he lost awareness of all around him, both of himself and the occupants of the room, and didn't notice when the door swung open, didn't feel Quinlan as he entered to stare transfixed at the work of his dark Master.

He found it, a dancing flame, sputtering and frantic within the light of the Force, leaping and flaring as if to escape, as if it knew of the intentions of the shadowed hand that reached out toward it, as if it could feel the darkness it would bring as the flame was extinguished. Kenobi reached out, grasped his hands around it, the flame of his life, his presence in the Force licking at his palms, but the man felt no pain, would not burn. With a deep breath, the Sith Lord tightened his hold and drew the Force out of the struggling Pyke, his every cell screaming in protest as the life was drawn out of him. Kenobi drained him far beyond the point that the hapless creature stopped moving, the pull to consume life sucking him in, and he allowed it, his old practice of the lost Sith technique coming easily to his practiced hands. The Force ran dry, and the Sith felt his own ind aching for more, trying to pull water from the stone of the lifeless creature, and with a hiss, he released him, the long-limbed Pyke dropping to the floor with a sickening crack, his presence in the Force reduced to a gaping wound.

His task done, the Dark Side sated and brimming with the stolen life within it, Kenobi sat on the steps, leaned back, and closed his eyes, reveling in the feel of drunkenness, the warm rush brought by the haze of the Force like a drug on his mind, ravaging him with satisfaction and pleasure. He felt intoxicated, drunk and drugged all at once as the Force set to its task, using the life stolen to revitalize the Sith Lord, and Kenobi could feel his aches and pains, old and new, fade into nothingness, and while it healed his body, making him feel younger, stronger than before, it did nothing to heal his mind, the insanity still looming, the void within him still equally dark and ashen. It was no matter. The surge of his powers, the rush brought by the fatal intimacy of his touch upon the Pyke had demonstrated his command of the Force, and the Dark Side mewled in submission, resting within him like a sated beast awaiting the commands of its Master. The insanity, at least for now, was contained.

"How did you do that?!" Boba Fett asked awestruck, giving voice to the feelings of the two Force sensitives in the room as they stared, mouths agape, at their Master. Cody rolled his eyes and pushed the boy forward toward the Sith Lord, and Fett was too weak-kneed to resist.

"We can teach you, boy," Cody said firmly. "Not how to do that, but how to be a true Mandalorian, like your father. You're young and inexperienced, and you can't learn on your own what we can teach you here."

"Yes," the teen said quickly, far more enthusiastically than he intended, and he flushed deeply and looked away, embarrassed and feeling like little more than a child. "I mean, I guess you could teach me something..."

"My Lord?" Cody asked, again pushing the boy forward, the boy's eyes downcast as the Sith propped himself up on his elbows and stared at him with hazy, glowing eyes. When Boba seemed to object, Cody hissed, "It isn't up to me, boy. If you're to learn from us, you're going to have to ask the man that will be your commander."

Fett bit his lip, took a deep breath, and looked at the Sith. "I don't lose. If you could make a clone do the things I've seen him do..." He took another deep breath, growled in frustration, and ran a hand though his thick hair. "Damn it, you and him, Cody, I guess...well, you're the Shadow King of Mandalore, aren't you?"

"So it's been said..." Kenobi drawled, his accented voice thick with satisfaction.

"Father always talked about Mandalore, said he'd return someday and take me with him to learn how to be a real warrior. So, I guess..."

Kenobi waved his hand in the air, silencing the boy as he leaned back and closed his eyes. "Save the boy the humiliation and take him away, Cody. If you're going to raise a son, you had better teach him how to speak to me."

A slow, wide grin spread across the clone's face as he reached out and grabbed Boba Fett by the shoulder, his grip firm as he led him from the room, speaking in soft, hushed Mando'a to the teen, and Obi-Wan could feel the man's satisfaction through the Force. Denying Cody had always been difficult for Kenobi, and it pleased him to feel the clone's muted elation at getting to train his own protégé. After all, the Sith Lord had felt something from the young bounty hunter. The boy would be of some use, if his genetics had anything to say about it. After all, the boy's father had been one of the finest warriors in the galaxy, which had gotten him selected as the template for Sidious' clone army, and young Boba shared with Kenobi a blistering hatred of the Jedi. All things considered, he was a fortunate find, and adding a fearsome Mandalorian to his cause was appealing.

He felt Barriss slowly move to examine the body of the Pyke, her clever mind trying to grasp exactly what the Sith Lord had just done, and a moment later, he felt Quinlan Vos settle down on the steps beside him, sitting tense and nervous and uncertain. The Kiffar's strong hand laid on Kenobi's chest, his fingers kneading his robes and the muscle beneath it with an almost frantic desperation, as if his friend would simply vanish if he were to let go.

"I heard you failed to kill Ventress," Obi-Wan said softly, and a nervous whine was torn out of Vos' throat, his hand tensing, his presence in the Force nervous and uncertain.

"...yes, Master," he choked. "I did try..." The Sith's hand shot up and grabbed Vos' chin, his gold eyes quickly regaining their sharpness as he pushed aside the pleasure the Force was pulsing with. He needed clarity.

"I can be Master to you when we're training, Quin," he said, harsher than he intended, and he exhaled, relaxing his grip on the man and running a finger down the long scar beside the Kiffar's eye, the mark that he had once placed there himself. "Right now, I'm your friend, because that's what you need." He felt Vos tremble for a moment before he relaxed, releasing his worry and concern as if they were simply bad dreams.

"I might need a lover more," Vos drawled, attempting to be slick, but laughter in his voice ruined the attempted ruse.

""Mm, you'd have to be really good for that." Quinlan laughed, a mixture of good humor and relief as the rest of his tension left, and Kenobi smiled softly as he sat up. "Don't worry about Ventress, Quin. You'll have another shot. The fact that she got away simply means that the Force still has further use for her."

"What could the Force possibly want with that viper?" Vos asked bitterly, rolling his eyes, and the Sith Lord shrugged.

"I don't know. Don't forget, she evaded me twice. Me! And not just me, but Dooku too." He drummed his fingers against his leg, reached out a hand and called the lightsaber on Quinlan's hand to his open palm. "I let her go on Dathomir so she could suffer and know that she could never escape the Dark Side." He grinned as Vos' face darkened. "That seems to be working out well. Wouldn't you say?"

"Maybe so, but I don't want her to suffer, I want her to die."

"She will, my friend," Obi-Wan said softly, patting the man's leg as he rose and he extended a hand to help the Kiffar up. "Patience, Quin. We will see your revenge through to its completion." He turned the lightsaber over in his hands. "It seems you have reacquired your lightsaber." Vos nodded slowly.

"Ahsoka brought it back to me..." He sighed heavily, watching the weapon in the Sith's hand. "If she hadn't been there, I would have killed Ventress. She-"

"Your attachment got in the way?"

"I can't kill Ahsoka," Quinlan whispered, and after a moment, his serious, somber expression gave way to laughter. "But she won't aid Ventress again. Ahsoka's smart, and she saw what sort of a woman Ventress is. She's a liar and a murderer, and she knows now that Ventress used me." He grinned broadly. "You should have heard how she tried to manipulate me, Obi! She was saying the craziest things to try and sway me away from you!"

"She's desperate, Quin, desperation leads people to extremes."

"Yes, but this was outlandish, even for her." The Kiffar laughed again. "She tried to absolve herself of Tholme's death again. She fooled me once by saying it was Dooku, and now I know the truth, and she tried to blame you. She said you're the one that ordered his execution."

"I am."

Quinlan stared at the Sith, uncertain for a long while that he had heard correctly, but when Kenobi didn't move, did nothing to ease him, Vos felt the cold sink into him, felt his rage build, felt his hands tremble. Obi-Wan had a hand in Tholme's death. Ventress hadn't lied. Vos was so certain that she did, was so convinced that she sought only to plant doubt in his mind, to drive him apart from his friend Obi-Wan in order to get Vos to turn on his Sith allies that he discounted it entirely. However, the damage had been done, and since that day, his mind had been awash in the possibility that perhaps, it was actually Obi-Wan that was responsible. He didn't want to believe it. He couldn't believe it, and as casual as ever, as if he had just been discussing the events of a typical day, Kenobi had confirmed the truth Ventress had told him. If she had been honest about that...what else was she speaking the truth about?

Furious yellow eyes turned on Kenobi, the full wrath of the depths of the Kiffar's hate on his face, and Obi-Wan smirked softly when he saw murder in his friend's eyes. "Do you want to kill me, Quin?" he asked softly, calmly, and the tattooed face twitched in barely controlled rage.

"Yes." Kenobi bowed his head, closed his eyes, took a deep breath as he relaxed, his entire being calm and resolved.

"Good..." the Sith Lord whispered, and faster than Vos could see him move, Kenobi's hand shot out and gabbed Quinlan's wrist and he pressed the hilt of his lightsaber into his hand, the metal warm to the touch and comfortable, and the Sith's hands closed around the Kiffar's to make him grab the weapon. Obi-Wan jerked him close, Quinlan's arm extended as Kenobi placed the end of the hilt against his chest right over his heart. "Do it."

"W-wha-" He was pulled even closer, so close he could see the jagged lines of red that accented the intense, furious gold of the Sith Lord's eyes, and his hand began to shake when a low, feral growl reverberated through his lightsaber from the man's chest. Kenobi wasn't joking, and this wasn't a test, the Dark Side strong and forceful in its intention.

"Kill me, Quin," Kenobi snarled again, his voice clear and strong and serious, devoid of the insanity that Vos knew that man suffered from. "You want to kill me, so do it. Free me from this pain, Quinlan Vos."

His thumb hovered over the ignition, his hands shaking as he contemplated his task, checked his intentions against the Sith Lord's and found them lacking. His hands shook so hard he thought he may flick the ignition on accident, and imagined for a moment what it would be like for his green blade to pierce through the heart of this Sith Lord, the man he had called friend and brother for as long as he could remember. This was so like his first murder, the murder that Kenobi had helped him commit, and he remembered the rush he had felt then, the swell of power, and he craved it. He thought of what it would be like to feel the life of Obi-Wan Kenobi drain into nothingness, his body lifeless and deprived of the Force he so cherished, the enemy of the Jedi, the man that caused so much pain and grief dead in a moment. It wasn't just vengeance, it was mercy. He could do it. He could free Kenobi of the pain, the madness, the grief, he just needed to press the ignition, one slip of the finger, and his friend would lie dead...and the thought repulsed him.

With a strangled cry, Vos tore his hand away and threw the lightsaber to the ground, his breathing hard and fast, and for a moment, Obi-Wan looked almost disappointed. Vos' gaze drifted off to his side when he heard a relieved breath and he saw Barriss, the girl standing with a lightsaber in her hand, the young Mirialan ready to defend the Sith Lord. It was unlikely that he would have been able to kill Kenobi, and even if he had, Offee would have struck him down. After all, he hadn't even felt her come to attention. Kenobi extended his hand, and Vos' lightsaber rose into the air and came to his palm, long fingers closing delicately around the hilt, and without a word, he held it out to Vos. The Kiffar looked at it almost bitterly for a moment before he gently took it from Kenobi's hands.

"Why," he asked, his voice choked as he struggled with a sudden wave of nausea. "Why would you tell me this?"

"Because it's the truth," Kenobi said softly, and Vos shivered at the sincerity, nearly flinched away from it. "I wouldn't lie to you, Quin."

"Why didn't you tell me?!" Vos shouted, looking at his calm, composed friend, and he didn't understand how he could be like that in the face of being confronted with betrayal. Obi-Wan should be upset, but...he had just told Vos the truth, hadn't he? It was more than Ventress had done.

"It never came up," Kenobi said softly. "We haven't had much time to talk, and when we have..." The Sith chuckled softly and shook his head, a hand sliding into his sandy blond hair. "I haven't exactly been mentally stable. You know I...struggle." When Vos looked like he would object, Kenobi raised a calming hand. "I trust you, Quinlan, which is why I told you now, when it came up. I could have easily lied, and you would have believed me. After all, you have evidence of Ventress' murder of Tholme. All you have against me is my word against hers, and I have never lied to you."

With a whimper, Vos dropped to the floor, drew his knees to his chest and wrapped his arms around his legs. He didn't think he could remain standing if he tried, his world was spinning so fast. Kenobi was right, of course. He never had lied to him, had always been open and honest about the Dark Side, about his intentions, about his fall, about...well, everything. When the Sith Lord sat next to him, Vos leaned his head against the man's shoulder, and he frowned. Kenobi still wasn't eating right.

"This changes everything," he whispered, groaning softly when Obi-Wan moved to stroke his thick, dark hair. "This makes Ventress innocent, Tholme's death was ordered by you."

"This changes nothing," the Sith gently countered. "She still lied to you. She told you it was Dooku when she executed him. She manipulated you to move you against the Sith."

"...yes." He took a deep, shuddering breath and relaxed against Kenobi, his presence in the Force warm and comforting and serene. "If she trusted me, if she just...told me what actually happened, if she blamed you instead...things may have been very different."

"Perhaps."

Vos sighed when the long fingers brushed his neck, his anger fading into calm relaxation. This is how it should have been with Ventress. If she had been honest with him, his trust in her would have been complete, and he never would have turned to the Sith, never would have felt the bitter sting of betrayal from a lover that sought only to manipulate him. Kenobi was right. This changed nothing.

"Why did you do it?" he asked, almost breathless, and he listened to the slow beat of the Sith's heart, felt the even pulse of the Force that moved in time with the blood in Kenobi's veins.

"The war had just started, and Ventress was restless for Jedi blood." He shrugged gently as to not disturb the Kiffar. "I had tried to restrain her from senseless death for as long as I could, but it was no longer possible. I gave her a target that would suit my plans, a death that could hold purpose instead of simply being senseless."

"But why my Master?" Vos choked, and he could feel the bitter sting of tears in his eyes as he relived old pain.

"It was nothing personal, Quin," Kenobi soothed. "I believed his death would bring you home to me. I was willing to do that and more to see us united again."

Vos trembled. In a way, it was...weirdly sweet. Sith Lord or not, Kenobi seemed almost...lonely. After all, they had spoken about this. There was no friendship among the Sith, but Kenobi had been different, had always been reluctant to kill, if it could be avoided, and had surrounded himself not just with tools, but allies and friends. "Well..." he said softly, pulling away from the Sith and smiling at him. "That worked out in the end."

"I should say so, yes."

"And Ventress?"

Kenobi shrugged. "She lusted for Jedi blood, and she often mocked me for not killing them when I had the opportunity to. Tholme's execution was a matter of cruelty to her."

"But you-"

"Yes, but when she found him, she was with Dooku on Rugosa trying to negotiate with the Toydarians. There was a battle there, as you know, and she took the opportunity to kill him. She would have done so anyway since she was craving dead Jedi. The only thing that came from me ordering his death was that when the deed was done, she collected his lightsaber and brought it to me instead of delivering it to her Master."

Vos sighed deeply and hung his head, drew his legs closer to him against the chill he suddenly felt. "I thought this could have absolved her. It's almost worse." Kenobi lightly drew his hand down the Kiffar's strong arm, the touch of the Force in his fingers making the man shiver and relax.

"There are casualties in war, Quin, and your Master was one. It's sad, and it's tragic, and when it happens, there's little we can do."

"...like Satine and your son."

Kenobi tensed, his breath held and his chest aching with tension, but the yellow eyes of his friend were sympathetic and understanding, and the usual anger he felt at the mere thought of his loss gave way to a feeling of emptiness. He nodded. "Yes. Like Satine and my son."

Quinlan quickly drew Kenobi close to him, planted a kiss to the man's cheek, and grinned broadly when the Sith Lord squirmed, trying to wriggle away from the Kiffar's grasp and rubbing his cheek with disgust. They had lost so much, but at the end of it all, they had still managed to find each other. "You and me, Kenobi," he chirped, "are going to take this galaxy by storm."

Kenobi nodded. "We good?"

"Yeah, we're good." The Kiffar smiled. "You trusted me, Kenobi. It's only right for me to put my faith in you." And he would. Even now, he felt the depth of their connection, and together, nothing would be able to stop them. He would be patient, as Kenobi had said, and in time, he'd have his revenge on Ventress. That, at least, hadn't changed.