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Chapter 3 - Edited
Ben flicked the ash from his cigarette, watching as it scattered onto the charred ground. The fallen tree lay before him, its branches twisted and broken, releasing fresh clouds of soot that settled on his clothes. He crouched down, his gloved hands running over the rough bark, searching for any signs of impurities.
But it wasn't just the tree that held his attention. Something had changed on the island since that fateful night at the bar. A current of unrest was seeping into every corner, simmering just beneath the surface. He could hear it in the heated arguments of the workers, the bitter debates about the fire nation. And deeper still, he could feel it, pulsating through the force that still clung to him despite his attempts to sever ties.
Ben shook his head, trying to clear his mind of the persistent whispers. He needed to focus on his work, to shut out the lingering echoes of the force. But it was relentless, like a stubborn dog gnawing at his leg, always reminding him of its presence. In response, he clenched his jaw, seeking solace in smoke and alcohol to drown out the sensations that haunted him.
Since the recruiters were driven out, the revolutionaries had grown bolder, launching a more aggressive campaign against the fire nation. Stands turned into riots, and even the guards found themselves nursing wounds in the infirmary after ambushes gone awry.
Ben had little sympathy for the fire nation. To him, they were no different than the Mandalorians—conquerors and slavers. The mere thought brought a twisted smile to his lips, an image of vengeance and bloodshed dancing in his mind's eye. But he quickly reined in those thoughts, knowing the darkness that lurked within him, threatening to consume him whole. Memories of the past, stained with sorrow and guilt, clawed their way back, trying to break free from his attempts to bury them.
His connection to the force was a volatile beast, sometimes slipping through the cracks in his resolve. He felt its power surge through him when he unleashed his wrath upon Rin, suffocating him with the force. And once again, amidst the crowd's frenzy, he felt the dark side's energy pulsating, feeding off his own secreted darkness.
It was there, in that explosive moment, that he launched himself off the bar stool, a surge of force lightning crackling from his fingertips, scorching the fabric beneath him.
Ben tilted his head, catching a whiff of smoke carried by the wind. His senses heightened by the force, he could taste the acrid scent on his tongue. Instinct took over, and he dropped the axe he had been wielding, his feet moving of their own accord. Through the ash-laden ground, he ran towards the town, his free-flowing hair billowing behind him, battling against the gusts of wind.
"No…they wouldn't dare," he gasped, his words caught in the rush of air as he sprinted onward. His connection to the force, though incomplete, refused to let him go. It tugged at him, a familiar but unsettling sensation. The ash-clad snow crunched beneath his boots as he raced, propelled by a mixture of fear and determination.
He could feel it…pain, searing through his veins like a relentless fire. Ben knew the atrocities committed by the fire nation. The tales of their merciless prison camps, their brutal colonization, and their destructive conquests. He had heard stories of villages reduced to rubble, their inhabitants punished for the slightest hint of defiance. At times, he found it hard to believe, thinking it was an exaggeration or a twisted rumor. But as he ran through the decimated landscape, the charred remnants of oak trees and fields of ash, the truth became undeniable.
"God damn it!" Ben's voice erupted, a mixture of frustration and desperation. His eyes widened, dilating as he gazed into the void. To any onlooker, it would seem as though Ben had frozen in his tracks, paralyzed by the shock of the scene unfolding before him. But he knew it was more than that—it was a force vision, a haunting glimpse into the future. The fire nation soldiers materialized in his mind's eye, their heavy boots pounding against the dirt streets of the colony, their iron visors gleaming under the scorching sun.
As the vision consumed him, Ben felt the intensity of the fire, the acrid scent of burning buildings, the sickening stench of seared flesh. Corpses littered the streets, consumed by the merciless flames. A building collapsed in on itself, reduced to smoldering ruins. And there, trapped beneath the weight of a wooden beam, was a figure he knew all too well.
"Bill!" Ben's voice broke free from his lips, a cry of alarm and desperation. His eyes snapped back to reality, the force vision fading away. His legs propelled him forward, each step pounding against the ashen road. The force surged through him, guiding his every movement. Yet, as he broke through the edge of the forest, where the ashen wasteland gave way to the dirt road leading back to town, a grim realization settled within him.
The fire nation in his vision had no intentions of taking prisoners. This was not an invasion or a strategic maneuver. It was a massacre, a slaughter of every inhabitant on the island. Perhaps the growing threat of revolution had pushed the fire nation to the brink, driving them to eliminate any trace of resistance.
Ben's sprint slowed to a cautious walk as he scanned the surrounding trees, his gaze searching for a sign. If the fire nation was carrying out this horrifying act, then it meant one thing—war. His eyes traced along the trunks, studying the faint marks etched into the bark. A small axe had left its mark, almost imperceptible to the untrained eye but glaringly obvious to one who sought it.
Dropping to his knees, Ben knelt before the tree, its upturned soil revealing a secret buried beneath. He didn't have a shovel, so his gloved hands became his tools. He dug into the earth, tossing the soil aside, his fingers sifting through the dampness. And then, he felt it—the tension of plasteel against his fingertips, the sight of a red outline emerging from the dirt. His hands clasped the box, ripping it free from the earth's grasp, and he placed it beside the hole he had created.
Ben inched closer to the box, the weight of the dirt covering it pressing against his gloved hands. With deliberate care, he swept away the remaining remnants of earth, revealing the unmistakable insignia on the surface. His right hand trembled as it hovered over the box, his fingers hesitant, as if afraid to disturb the fragile balance.
The insignia...Revan's Sith Empire. Ben's fingers trembled as they traced the contours of the emblem. His breath caught in his throat, his eyes fixated solely on the box. It felt like an eternity until he finally released the golden clamps, the gears grinding in protest as the box opened.
As his fingers explored the contents of the box, they came into contact with the peculiar fabric lining. Onderonian red silk caressed his hands, evoking a sense of familiarity, a beckoning from his homeland. It reminded him of the time when he and the Jedi crusaders had aided the Onderonian royals in their battle against the Mandalorian threat. The royal family had bestowed each Jedi with similar gifts as tokens of their gratitude. This particular item held immense power, an enigmatic blaster crafted in Mandalorian style using Onderonian gold.
Whoever had once wielded this blaster must have been consumed by vanity. Ben hadn't fully grasped its significance during his apprenticeship at the tender age of twelve or thirteen. But he could feel it now—the dormant power resonating within. Ancient power, the kind the Jedi would have never deemed suitable for him to wield.
Perhaps, in the midst of the recent battles, the horrors he had witnessed, and the whispers of death that echoed through the Force, he had failed to recognize the darkness that shrouded this weapon. And yet, it hadn't deterred him from using it. Throughout the Mandalorian Wars and the Jedi Civil War, this blaster had claimed the lives of countless Mandalorians, Jedi, and Sith. The memories seeped into his very being, his dreams haunted by the exhilaration of wielding his double-bladed lightsaber, the hum of the twin blades blending with the kick of the blaster's bronze bolts tearing through his enemies.
There had been a twisted joy, a perverse satisfaction in those moments. The bloodlust pumping through his veins, the thrill of vanquishing the Mandalorian threat. Perhaps, he had justified their deaths, labeling them as the true monsters of the story. But could he have used the same excuse against the Jedi?
Maybe, deep down, he acknowledged the monster within himself—the conqueror, the slayer, the murderer. Perhaps, he had found pleasure in killing, although he already knew a harsh truth in this world.
"If you take out a debt, it's only a matter of time before someone comes collecting."
The dreams, the nightmares, the guilt, and the paranoia—they were the price he paid for his sins. The specter of death had haunted him relentlessly, inching ever closer, either at the hands of another or by his own. There were days when the darkness became suffocating, the light too dim to guide him.
And that's why he had kept the blaster with him all this way. A constant reminder of the fragility of his resolve. He had sworn to never take another life, to leave the path of war and conflict behind, yet here he was, burdened by a weapon he no longer needed. Just ten minutes away from his apartment, a last resort if everything spiraled out of control and Ben couldn't bear it any longer.
What was driving him now? He had no alliances, no enemies. He had renounced war and conflict, entangling himself in the embrace of alcohol. Engaged in a war against his own past, but one can never truly win such a battle.
'Perhaps it is the festering self-loathing that lurks within him, a peculiar strength born from the depths of his diseased spirit. It refuses to surrender, no matter the threats he encounters or the wreckage he leaves in his wake.'
But now was not the time for introspection. Ben grasped the blaster firmly in his hand. Despite its ornate design, the weapon possessed a striking effectiveness. He secured the light brown bandolier around his right thigh, ensuring the holster was properly strapped.
He proceeded down the path, the town looming closer into view. However, the first thing that struck Ben was the searing heat. It scorched his eyes shut, akin to being struck by a starfighter.
He surveyed the buildings of the colony—apartment complexes that blended together drearily, constructed from wood and stone. Some structures had collapsed, with the distinct scent of ash and flames clinging to the air.
Smoke billowed, almost touching the sun. Yet, it wasn't the fires or the destruction that caught his attention. The streets were lined with people, their clothing tattered, their bodies strewn along the roads.
Their skin was horrifically charred, blackened outlines etched upon them. Some had been consumed by the fire, engulfed in its relentless embrace. Ben stood in the center of the street, his footsteps resonating along the dirt path as his eyes beheld the fallen colonists.
They had been butchered. The sight disturbed him, but he had already witnessed such atrocities during the wars. That part of him also frightened him—the capacity to endure amidst chaos and cruelty. A normal person might have vomited or wept at the loss of life.
But Ben simply walked away, resolute in his onward march. He knew he was shattered, that the innocence he once possessed had been mercilessly stripped away by the Mandalorian Wars. A part of him would forever remain broken. Until he halted in front of the bar—or rather, what remained of it.
Ben coughed into his fist as he navigated the wreckage of the bar. The ceiling had collapsed, and only two out of the four walls stood. Chairs and remnants of cheap booze littered the floor.
Yet, it took Ben a moment to register who was there. "Bill!" he exclaimed, rushing toward the old man. He knelt beside him, suppressing his panic. Now was not the time.
Bill lay pinned beneath debris, blood trickling from his bearded head as his eyes fluttered open. Ben positioned himself above him, attempting to lift the beam. "Benji..."
"Don't worry, old man." Benjamin tilted his head back, muscles tensed as he braced his legs. But the beam hardly budged. "I'll get you out of this!"
Bill's head thudded against the wooden floor. One eye closed from the blood seeping into it, while the other remained partially open. His left hand, the only one free from the rubble. "Ben... run."
Ben met the old man's gaze and shook his head. Such a response held no relevance now. Ben had been running for years—running from everything. Guilt, regret, fear—he had been in constant motion. But in this moment, he chose to stand his ground.
"They're slaughtering all of us, those damn revolutionaries acted too soon. Damn fools..." Bill's gaze shifted skyward, his hand reaching for the mid-morning sun. "Damn fools... should've known better than to kill a fire nation general's son."
It all clicked for Ben in that moment, the pieces falling into place. After the chaos erupted in the bar, whether fueled by the dark energy or simply the revolutionary fervor, a fire nation general's son had been slain. Taking the life of a fire nation citizen was already a grave offense, but killing a noble's offspring was an altogether different transgression. And now they were facing the consequences, facing a merciless purge driven by revenge.
Ben could sense the approaching footsteps. No... he couldn't. They were still too distant, the fire nation guards stepping over lifeless bodies, their iron visors concealing any trace of remorse.
"Did they even care? Do they even realize what they've done... they killed the innocent? Murdered them all, exterminated them!"
His eyes widened as memories of Malachor V flooded his mind—the mass shadow generator, the weapon that had sealed the war. Ten million Mandalorian ships obliterated in an instant, the entire Mandalorian race reduced to debris. Mandalorian and Jedi vessels still floated amidst the desolation of that dead world.
The weight of guilt consumed him, gnawing at his soul like a ravenous rat, but Ben refused to succumb. Hatred and anger surged through his veins, his emotions igniting a tempest of hate and fury that consumed the remnants of destruction.
His breathing grew distorted, wooden fragments and shattered chairs hovering in the air, some crumbling under the oppressive force of the dark Jedi's power. Bill's solitary eye wandered, fixated on the crackling electricity emanating from the boy's left hand, dark purple sparks dancing along his fingers, tendrils threatening to burst forth.
"The Mandalorians got what the fuck they deserved... I'm glad I witnessed it. We're nothing alike. I did what Meetra failed to do—I exterminated them. I am proud... proud that I brought about their destruction. Millions of ships engulfed in flames, all those who followed Mandalore wiped out... all wiped out in a single second. I watched it happen... I MADE IT HAPPEN!"
The death and suffering that had befallen the colony, not just today but over the years of toil endured by its inhabitants, fueled him. It rejuvenated his body. Yet, amidst it all, there lingered a voice from the past, a person he desperately wished to forget—the words that had saved him, the words that reminded him of who he once was.
"You are... free. Your destiny, your path... is yours to forge. Whether light or dark, remember this... Jedi or Sith... hero or conqueror... crusader or villain... I grant you this gift, exile."
His clenched fist began to relax, the anger dissipating as objects thudded to the ground, leaving only guilt behind.
He owed that person his life—they had saved him from his own destruction. He owed them the opportunity to choose who he would become when he was ready, both mentally and emotionally prepared to decide his own identity.
However, now was not the time for introspection. Ben had to face the encroaching wave of fire nation soldiers head-on. He firmly gripped the blaster in his right hand, feeling its weight and familiarity.
"My breath steadied as I aimed down the barrel. Carefully, I switched the blaster to stun mode with my left index finger. 'Don't want to add any more bodies to the count, right?' I muttered, a shudder coursing through me from the poorly timed joke. Empty words, a false promise. What difference did a few more bodies make to a murderer like myself? I am no Jedi. I am a butcher."
His thoughts struck at the core of his being. Stepping out into the middle of the street, Ben positioned himself just close enough to witness the fire nation soldiers emerging from the thick shroud of smoke, their crimson robes blending with their iron armor.
Raising the blaster in front of him, he prepared to engage. The recoil of the blaster caught him off guard, momentarily unfamiliar. The stun bolt struck the first fire nation soldier square in the face, sending him crashing to the ground. Ben swiftly shifted his aim to the next guard.
This one was nimble, adopting a combat stance and unleashing a fiery projectile towards the boy. But the bender lacked what the exile possessed—force sensitivity.
Dodging the incoming fireball with a graceful leap, Ben returned fire from his hip. Guided by the precognition flowing through him, his shots rarely missed their mark.
However, as he squeezed the trigger, the once-vibrant bronze bolts ceased firing from the blaster's golden barrel. "Shit!" Ben exclaimed, realizing the gun had overheated. It had been too long since he last cleaned or oiled the weapon.
Though aged and adorned with an intricate design, the blaster was still powerful and reliable. Ben swiftly holstered the smoldering barrel as his eyes widened, a blast of scorching heat nearly singeing his face.
Reacting in the nick of time, his hands grasped the edges of a nearby bar chair. With a swift motion, he hurled it over his shoulder, intercepting the fireball that would have engulfed his face. The chair exploded into a flurry of wooden shrapnel, splintering all around him like writhing serpents.
Ben tumbled to the ground, his limbs flailing from the force of the explosion. "Motherfucker!" he bellowed, his gaze fixed on his bleeding wound.
His left arm was riddled with splinters, larger fragments breaking through his jacket and embedding themselves into his flesh like wooden arrows. Some protruded visibly on the other side of his arm. Pain surged through his body, saliva spraying from his mouth.
"Fucking... shit!" he cursed inwardly. With his good hand, he hastily removed his belt, wincing as he tightened it forcefully around his left arm, creating a makeshift tourniquet to staunch the profuse bleeding.
His vision felt hazy, as if he had been taken on a wild ride by a ravenous kath hound. His head throbbed, ears ringing from the impact of his fall.
The soldiers were slowly closing in on him, their emotions palpable. Unease, concern, and fear. They feared him—the young boy, barely fifteen or sixteen, taking down their comrades with that peculiar weapon.
Even as he stopped a fireball in mid-flight with a daring throw, Ben's saliva sprayed from his mouth, his other hand instinctively reaching for his blaster. The barrel still searing hot, he quickly withdrew his fingers, cursing under his breath. "Damn it... what now?" his mind raced, observing the approaching squadron of fire nation warriors.
He desperately tried to formulate a plan, any plan. "I fully abandoned the force... those moments of acting on emotion don't count. If I establish a connection to the force and resort to the dark side or take lives... it could easily send me back down that path I escaped from. Maybe if I drag Bill... No, that won't work. They're already too close, and there's no way to free Bill from that debris... but maybe if I..."
"No!" Ben shouted, his thoughts silenced by his own command. His gaze fixed on the glimmering reflection of fire on the fire nation soldier's iron mask. "I refuse... I reject that desire..."
He wouldn't leave Bill behind. If this was to be his end, then so be it. If he was going to die here, he would die fighting, standing on his own two feet. Ben surveyed the area, his eyes widening as they landed upon a lifeless body sprawled on the ground.
Golden curls and a youthful face. The boy he had saved from the recruiter lay there, life snuffed out. Ben's chest heaved, his body propelling itself upright, even as his vision blurred.
"A kid... maybe thirteen years old. This was an extermination... did I forget? They're killing everyone on this colony for resisting the fire nation. They even killed women and children..." Ben's breath quickened, his heart pumping with adrenaline, the pain in his arm gradually numbing. Despite his double vision, he could still perceive. He could see them, like objects, their positions and numbers highlighted in white.
It was like a whisper, the beat of a heart, the warmth of the sun without its glare. Power surged through him, struggling to breathe amidst the smoke-filled air.
"I was a fool... the biggest fool, to show them mercy. The fire nation are animals, each and every one of them. Just like the Mandalorians, taking prisoners, enslaving people... slaughtering the innocent. The only solution for dealing with the fire nation is the same as with the Mandalorians... EXTERMINATION!"
Death, destruction, fear, horror, and regret emanated from the lives prematurely snuffed out on this island. The Jedi would have forbidden Ben from embracing this pain, urging him to reject and avoid it.
But they were gone, exterminated during the Jedi Civil War, their weakness leading to their downfall. He was more than an apprentice, and he rejected their desires.
Rage exploded from deep within Ben. A surge of fiery passion washed away his exhaustion and weariness. The dark side dulled the pain in his arm, his hatred sharpening his focus on the enemies before him. His body felt invigorated, his mind unburdened.
His right hand poised in front of him, a potent wave of dark side energy building within. The fire nation soldiers sensed it, their instincts telling them to flee or hide, but it was already too late.
The wave of dark side force energy tore through their ranks. Their bodies were hurled aside, and the powerful wave even upturned a massive chunk of the dirt road. Their weapons clattered to the ground, as the echoes of devastation reverberated through the ravaged town.
Ben's knee buckled, and he collapsed to the floor, his breaths heavy and rasping in his parched throat, the acrid smoke filling his senses. He could feel it, the relentless waves of adversaries still coming, relentless in their pursuit. They would not stop until the old man breathed his last breath, and the boy met the same fate.
"At least I fought," Ben thought, his eyelids fluttering shut, his awareness fading as the force surged through him once more. Yet, this time, it felt different, unfamiliar. "Because I fell... because I killed Jedi. Can I still find oneness with the force... or will I merely become a specter in the spirit world, a remnant of the dark side?"
Then, a blast of air...
Ben's body jerked, crashing back to the ground. His eyes fluttered open, the searing heat subsiding as he beheld a young boy, perhaps thirteen or fourteen, clad in dark brown and yellow robes, clutching a peculiar staff. A blue arrow adorned his forehead, pointing upwards. The boy turned towards Ben, who propped himself up with trembling hands, his breath ragged.
"This is peculiar... I'm not dead. And I've used the force during the wars without this level of exhaustion. Could it be that severing my connection to the force requires me to relearn certain abilities?"
"Are you... alright?" The boy's voice echoed in Ben's ears, causing him to clutch his right ear and nod weakly. "Never better. Just a bleeding arm and a few fire nation soldiers taken care of. A splendid day," he replied, dripping with sarcasm.
The boy frowned, shaking his head. "Okay... I'm the Avatar, and I need to know what happened here."
"What happened?" Ben's gaze swept over the lifeless bodies. "The fucking fire nation massacred the entire colony. Where were you?"
"Aren't you the Avatar, the defender of the weak? Where have you been?"
Ben shook his head, bordering on contemplating the sheer absurdity of the question. What was the use of assigning blame in this moment? "Come on!" he screamed, jolting the Avatar from his daze, snapping him back to reality.
Leading the way, Ben forged ahead, pushing through the debris scattered by the forceful wave. Bill remained slumped beneath the rubble, his eye fixed on Ben. "I saw what you did with the air, not quite like commanding the force, but I need you to save him."
The Avatar stared at Bill, assuming a combat stance, attempting to bend the air around him. Yet, the dense air resisted his efforts. "The air is too thick. I'm sorry, but I can't save him."
Furrowing his brow, Ben's gaze returned to the old man, his grip tightening around the wooden beam that trapped him. If the Avatar couldn't do it, then he would save him. He didn't need someone who vanished over a century ago, leaving the world to be controlled by this despicable filth.
"Ben, it's okay..."
Ben's gaze dropped to the floor, meeting the old man's gaze. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth, his eye only slightly open, a faint grin etched across his face. "No... it's not okay. I won't leave you here, old man. You saved me, gave me a home... kept my secret. I'll be damned if I abandon you..."
"My son... he would have been around your age now. Quiet like you, sharp-tongued and quick-witted. Perhaps that's why he rebelled against the fire nation too soon..." Tears welled in the old man's eyes, his hand clutching onto Ben's leg. "I don't have the strength, Benjamin. But you do. This is your life..."
Relinquishing his grip on the wooden pillar, Ben's tears mingled with his own anguish as he knelt beside the old man. The Avatar took a few steps back, averting his gaze from the poignant exchange. "Benjamin..." the old man uttered reluctantly, raising his head higher, the crimson blood mingling with the fire's radiance.
"You're fifteen or sixteen. A skilled fighter, lightning-fast reflexes, and an uncanny ability to uncover hidden truths in this world. You're a soldier, I can tell... I had my suspicions, but I knew you didn't belong here. Your sarcasm, your evasiveness... you're a smooth talker, but I can sense the pain you try to conceal. The nightmares that haunt you, the drinking and smoking to forget. You can't outrun the past, you can't maintain sanity by burying it..."
His gaze shifted to the setting sun, casting an orange glow upon the world. "Months ago, or maybe a year, I saw your ship pierce the horizon like a celestial body. I didn't know what to expect, but I hoped there was something worthwhile. I never anticipated finding you... Then it dawned on me just how special you are. The powers you possess are not of this world, beyond my comprehension. But, Ben, I can feel them. Your hatred... your guilt... your rage."
Ben remained kneeling, motionless, as he listened to the old man's words, his eyes fixed on his aging friend, captivated by his every utterance.
"I don't know what you're running from... but running in an attempt to forget the past is futile. We've all tried it here, and now we're all gone. We'll be forgotten in the end. Hatred, my son, is where people turn when they can't confront their guilt, their fear. It corrodes and dulls the soul... the weapon that plunges deep within, used to conquer and destroy, repeatedly, until it ultimately consumes you. The more you wield it, the stronger you may become... but those you love, those you seek to protect, will be harmed. Until there is nothing left but scrap."
"Come on, old man, don't waste the time I have left to get you out of here... how about this? I'll get you out, and we can continue this discussion over a nice bottle of..." Ben interjected, attempting to inject some levity into the conversation, grasping at the reality that he could still save his friend. But he was swiftly interrupted.
"I don't blame you, Benjamin. You were just a child... what other choice did you have but to embrace hatred? You were a soldier. Don't let it destroy you when you still have so much to live for. Guilt weighs heavily upon you. I'm sorry, but you must come to te-"
"You don't understand..." Ben cut him off, his voice quivering with desperation. "You're going to die eventually. You have no regrets, lived life on your own terms." Sweat trickled down Ben's brow, his eyes wild and unfocused, wide open as his bloodied hand grasped at the edges of his face, his palm outstretched. "No one... no human... no one in this world... no, in this universe can ever comprehend. There was no other option. The Mandalorians were slaughtering us by the millions... Master Surik couldn't activate it. This was the final battle. If we lost, the Mandalorians would have conquered the Republic. I had no choice. If Surik couldn't activate the mass..."
Bill's words struck a nerve, stirring conflicting emotions within Ben. "Wouldn't it be easier to run away?" he asked, the words hanging heavy in the air. But running away would mean denying the truth, evading the choices that had led him to this moment.
A surge of power coursed through Ben, his connection to the Force reawakening. It was a double-edged sword, a gift that had caused him immense suffering. How could he use this power for good when it had brought him nothing but pain?
Yet, the approaching Fire Nation soldiers reminded him that there was no escape from the battle at hand. Their hostile auras seeped through the island, a tangible presence that threatened to consume all.
Bill's knowing smirk confirmed what Ben already understood. "I've lived long enough," he admitted, his voice filled with a weary acceptance. His gaze turned to the Avatar, a plea for protection. "Take him away from here... he's like a son to me."
"Bill!" Ben protested, his exhaustion weighing him down. His battered body rebelled against further exertion, and his connection to the Force wavered under the strain. He was running on fumes, a flickering flame that threatened to extinguish.
The Avatar stepped forward, his arm encircling Ben's waist. A sudden gust of wind propelled them into the air, the howling tempest slicing at Ben's eyes. Bill's form faded from view, a bittersweet smile etched upon his face.
"Goodbye... Benjamin," Bill's fading voice whispered in the wind, a poignant farewell that echoed in Ben's heart.
As they soared through the turbulent skies, Ben's thoughts swirled with uncertainty. The path ahead was treacherous, and the scars of his past threatened to consume him. Yet, within him burned a flicker of hope, a glimmer of determination to forge a different destiny.
The island, seething with the dark energies of hatred and war, receded beneath them. It was time for Ben to confront his own demons, to discover the true nature of his power, and to decide whether he could harness it for good. The journey ahead would be arduous, but he would not face it alone.