ADVISORY: The following chapter contains sensitive material relating to: Murder, intense violence, execution, endangerment of children, extreme torture, dismemberment, and war crimes. Remember to practice self care before, during, and after reading.
Chapter: 123 Vader's Wrath (Part II)
Hans was no stranger to being rendered unconscious. Were it from a stun blast or a taking a horrid hit in battle, luck had never seemed to favor him. He'd even worried that so many strikes to the head would leave a crippling brain injury if he wasn't careful. But any hope of caution was an illusion. For by following the Pau'an's lead and surrendering to the newly-formed Empire, Hans had abandoned all freedom of choice. He slowly stirred, feeling the repetitive rumble of a metallic surface. A grated floor rattled beneath his boots and he instinctually wanted to lift them. A set of durasteel shackles eliminated any chance of freeing him from the sensation. The ongoing rattle had him restlessly stirring. Whatever vessel he was aboard was either launching or entering the atmosphere. A series of machinations whirred, adding to the overstimulating cacophony which had Hans squirming in his shackles. Still waking up, he buckled forward and heard a blaster power up.
Holding his breath, he peered up and found himself staring down the barrel of a DC-15. "Sit up straight," the clone trooper growled. "And quit your squirming."
Hans scowled, staving off his post-stun dizziness and sinking into the seat. He eyed the clone from head to toe. So often had he grown used to identifying troopers by their uniquely colored armors. Instead, this trooper was simply pale with nothing more than his dark visor to juxtapose against it all. The transport leveled out into a steady glide and Hans could hear wind against the hull. They were planetside, the only question remaining was where.
The gentleness of an unknown, ongoing breeze was suddenly snuffed out by heavy machinery. Heavy clangs echoed from outside of the vessel's narrow hold, sounding as though they were landing indoors. Hans' imagination ran rampant, visualizing anything from another ship to an elaborate facility. Although given his circumstances, he was likely heading towards a prison. A distorted voice crackled through the clone's helmet as he pressed his fingers to it.
"Copy that," he affirmed. "Preparing to disembark."
Hans braced himself while thoughts raced within. Part of him wanted to fight back the second he saw an opening. The rest of his more timid self favored sticking to his Pau'an friend's plan. He was no stranger to lying. Hans had snaked his way through the Jedi Order's ranks ever since he was a youngling and no one had ever caught on. If he could sneak his way through their system to survive, the Empire would be no different. Concealing his smug grin, Hans relaxed his shoulders. A seal hissed open, revealing a triangular ramp just across from his seat. The clone kept his blaster aimed at Hans' head while two more troopers marched up the ramp.
"Unlatching," the first clone warned. "Three...two-" Hans felt as though his ankles could breathe as the shackles unclipped beneath him. "Up," the clone ordered while his brothers moved in. Hans' freedom only lasted seconds as another clone yanked his arms forward and slapped a pair of binders on. Hans' heart sank as he observed the buzzing, cyan ring around each of his restrains.
Stuncuffs, he thought to himself. In all of his time serving the Jedi, Hans never thought he'd be on the receiving end of stuncuffs. Designed to deliver a shock to any "resistant" criminals, stuncuffs were in the process of being outlawed by the Senate due to overuse. At least...they were until a clause in Palpatine's Emergency Powers Act deemed them 'Necessary to preserve order.' Hans wanted to observe his restraints further, but a clone's furious shove against his back said otherwise.
"Go," the trooper commanded. "That door ahead."
Hans stumbled forward, weapons trained on him at all times. His empty stomps were mere trudges along a vacant and shadowy hangar. He knew not what planet he was on, nor what eerie place he'd been brought too. The faint sense of saltwater would occasionally reach his nose, but never long enough for him to make a deduction. He stepped onward, reaching a door whose hasty hiss had him shuddering. The hallway narrowed further, leading Hans towards what looked like a 2-1B series medical droid. Only instead of its typical, blue coating...the medical droid had been given a dreadfully inky plating. Its commonly white photoreceptors remained bright and foreboding as it fixated on Hans, beckoning him towards two cylinders. While one of the containers was hollow and bland, the second occasionally loosed a daunting crackle.
One of the clones was about to shove Hans again if he didn't pick up the pace. Instead, he merely raised his blaster as their captive stepped before the droid. "Remove," it computed. Hans' brows furrowed with confusion until the droid gestured to his torso. "Remove," it asserted. Hans could feel the clones' gazes practically piercing the back of his skull. One of the troopers used a special activator to separate his binders, freeing his arms. Taking a deep breath, he untied his tabards. Garment by garment, the Jedi robes he'd worn for years fell to his feet. He instinctually hugged his naked self as the facility's cold air, reached his body. His skin quivered while the clones observed the poorly patched blaster wound on his back and faded saber scar. Bowing his head, Hans glared down at the robes. His tired gaze followed the droid's arm as it scooped up his clothes and tossed them into the crackling cylinder. Hans bit back an impulsive gasp as the incinerator within flickered. Without wasting another moment, the droid reached into the second cylinder and retrieved an ashy grey...prisoner's uniform. The jumpsuit was handed over and Hans was quick to warm himself up with it. For as much as he'd loathed the Jedi Order, there was something about watching his robes be destroyed that had struck a cord with him. Any sense of pride he'd carried in his look all of those years had now vanished in the blink of an eye.
With its task completed, the droid returned to its idle position and saw Hans as unrelated to its further programming. His stuncuffs were linked back together. Back to the mercy of the clones, Hans was shoved down several corridors and into an awfully cramped elevator. By the time he'd seen his third hallway, he was wondering if they were just taking the same path over and over again. Just when he was dreading yet another hallway, Hans was ushered into a holding cell. The likes of which was bathed in a crimson glow. Its angular walls gave off the impression that the room was constantly closing in on itself. Ventilation hardly existed, making Hans briefly miss the chilled hallways.
A series of footsteps had him watching the clones as they backed away from the door. Their pale sets of armor were replaced by a pair of dark-armored individuals. Hans had never seen troopers suited in such eerier equipment. Red-trimmed, black kamas trailed at their hips. Aside from the rest of their armor being so shadowy, each trooper had a scarlet visor which remained focused on Hans. Distorted comm chattered crackled through their helmets as they slowly flanked him. The cell door closed, leaving Hans alone with the two figures.
Hans almost wanted to snark at the 'added guards' in his maximum security cell, but a voice suddenly emerged from the overhead intercom. "Hans Westgard," it declared and his head shot upward. The voice was distorted by some apparatus, giving it the impression that it was unnaturally deep. "You were discovered hiding among another one of your kind in Coruscant's undercity. How many others were living down there?" Hans paused, narrowing his eyes towards a security camera mounted in the corner. "How many other Jedi are still on Level 1313?"
Hans felt his body stiffening. Clenching his fists, he knew what the Pau'an would want him to do. In fact, if the Pau'an was in a similar cell, he was probably giving up endless Jedi information. But something held Hans back. He could still see Rika dashing off in his mind. Her words shooting towards him as she moved away. "Cowards...traitors."
Hans' indecisive response prompted the voice to hang up from the intercom. And that sinister click heralded something far worse. The shadowy troopers closed in, each unclipping a thin rod from their belts. With rapid flicks, the rods extended into batons and one of the troopers swung downward. He struck Hans abdomen, making him hunch forward. Acting on instinct, he called upon the Force to retaliate. But as Hans raised his arms in defense, a painful sting emanated from his stuncuffs. The likes of which brought him further to his knees and directly into the second trooper's swing.
The camera was as lifeless as Hans' interrogator. Its dark lens remained stationary as three silhouettes shifted within it. Hans' figure fell as the shadow of two troopers loomed over him. Their furious batons descended, over and over. All while the occasional buzz of his stuncuffs sounded. Hans had no choice but to endure his torment, as these dark figures increased their intensity. Their strikes and his painful grunts echoed throughout the cell.
ONE WEEK LATER
"You can make the pain stop," the deep voice reverberated throughout the cell. It brayed between each baton swing as Hans' weakened silhouette fell against the wall. "Where are the other Jedi on Level 1313?"
Hans could hardly stand between labored breaths as he tried a desperate Force push. His attempt was met with electrocution and several, retaliatory beatings. It was only mid-strike that he literally coughed out a confession. "Rika!" he spewed, blood sputtering across his cell floor. The troopers staved their batons as Hans crawled to a corner of his cell. Breaking out into a hysteric coughing fit, he desperately fought through his wounds to speak. His head hung in the darkness as blood and sweat doused his face. Neither could be distinguished from the other under the cell's red lighting, as Hans raised his trembling hands for mercy. The weight of his cuffs dragged them down as he wheezed, "Rika is...a Jedi Sentinel. She was-...with us. She escaped when Utapau and I were captured. That's all I know."
The ensuing silence was pulse pounding as Hans slowly lifted his head. The troopers also awaited orders until the voice finally returned. "Where is she now?"
Hans' heart sank as the troopers inched closer. "I-" he gulped. "I don't know."
"What contacts would she have? What other Jedi would be down there? What else are you hiding?"
"They saved me," Hans confessed as his interrogators closed in. "P-please," he croaked. "I don't know anything else, I-" His stomach dropped as the intercom powered down. "No," he uttered. "No!" was all Hans could shout before one of the batons struck across his face.
THREE MONTHS LATER
Even in darkness, Hans spoke through the void of his cell. In the past, his deeds had haunted his mind. Now they were merging with him. His weakened hands patted...and clawed at the enclosed space. "I don't know," he whispered...over and over again. His speech slurred as his imagination formed apparitions in the shadows. Gaston, Celenia, and his father floated around him...lurking like demons. Yet every time Hans sought to face them, their shadows only grew. His body ached beyond comprehension and he writhed across the floor. "Make it stop," he winced and scratched at his own sleeves. His parched, dried lips parted as the doors to his cell hissed open. Countless beatings conditioned him to back up against the wall and raise his hands over his face. Even when his captors were simply delivering food, Hans had come to anticipate a strike.
"I don't know," he croaked as the dark-armored soldiers returned. Instead of drawing batons, each siezed one of Hans' arms and hauled him to his feet. His legs were weaker than anticipated, and he had to be dragged through the corridor. His knees soon numbed against the firm grates. Hans' eyes had grown so accustomed to his dark red cell, that even the dimly-lit hallway prompted eye strain. He hung his head and a sliver of blood trickled from his lips. Any time Hans wanted to close his eyes, the troopers would give him a firm yank against his shoulders. They kept up the intensity until they reached a separate chamber. This room featured a long table with two chairs isolated from one another. Hans was forced into one of the seats before those escorting him returned to the door. They stood guard as if he had any energy to make a run for it if he wanted to.
Hans slouched forward, coughing and quivering like the bruised pulp he was. His head slightly tilted while the rest of him flinched as the adjacent door opened. An officer's polished boots tromped into the room. Their echo was strident enough to have Hans raising his gaze. Contrary to most officers, this high-ranking individual donned a pale uniform. It was so perfectly pale, that his scarlet rank bar could be seen in any lighting. Removing his dark cap, the officer revealed a surprisingly youthful complexion. He reminded Hans of himself in his early years of the Jedi Order. Only, there wasn't an ounce of color in the man's flesh. He looked like he'd never seen the sun in years. And depending on where he'd worked for the Republic turned Empire...that might've been true.
The officer took a moment to look over Hans' bloodied and swollen state, never introducing himself. Instead, his hazel eyes listed down to a datapad. "I trust the Purge Troopers haven't been too much for you," he commented. The youth's grim remark fell on deaf ears as Hans glared onward. "Hans Westgard," the officer proceeded. "Did you know? According to the data we've acquired over the last few months, the majority of Jedi survivors have been knights? Just like you." Hans' silence made the officer pull up several files. "I find the survival rate to be a blend between age and skill. However-" The officer slowly spun his datapad, letting the images flash across Hans' eyes. "-not even a knight is a match for the Empire."
There was a panicked alertness to Hans' tired gaze as he stared at the screen. A fallen Jedi lay with his face down in some unknown grassland. A grotesque assortment of smoking blaster holes sizzled from his body. Just as Hans let the image sink in, the officer switched to a second...and then a third. Each victim's fate seemed more gruesome than their predecessor's. Hans' heart raced as he found himself on the verge of nausea. He might've renounced the Jedi Order on his own accord...But to see copious amounts of mangled, shot up, and exploded Jedi was inconceivable.
Once the officer was convinced Hans had witnessed enough, he started lowering the datapad. "You do realize there is no escape," he murmured and waited for Hans to slowly nod. "That no matter where the Jedi go. No matter what they call themselves. No matter what they say or do. The Empire will slaughter them." There was a delayed twitch in Hans' neck, but he ultimately nodded again. "So I'll ask you one last time," the officer sighed, as Hans realized he'd been the distorted voice. He folded his fingers and leaned in, pausing to make sure he had Hans' full attention. He smiled coyly, almost relishing in the fact that Hans' had figured out his torturer's identity. "Where is Jedi Knight Rika Sorze?"
A long, chilling silence filled the room. The likes of which had the Purge Troopers advancing on Hans from the door. With all eyes on him, he sunk into his seat. Catching his breath to speak, he parted his lips for no words to find a home. "I-" he finally whispered and the officer leaned closer. "I don't know," Hans spoke his truth and immediately vomited beside the table.
The officer backed off, satisfied with his work. For it mattered not if Hans knew the whereabouts of any Jedi. The confession of the Empire's superiority was all he wanted. "A most intriguing piece of data," he said while adding notes to his datapad. "You'll make a...thrilling statistic." He packed up his equipment and rose from the table. "We're done here," he told the troopers. "Take him to the dojo."
Before Hans knew it, he was up on his feet once more. The interrogation room was just a hollow memory as he was dragged into a cramped and cylindrical elevator. Hans wanted to fall over, but the troopers' vice grips kept him in place. As the elevator reached another level, its ensuing ding had Hans shuddering. The doors hissed open, revealing a wide expanse of the structure. Contrary to the rest of the fortress, this section was reminiscent of the Jedi Temple's dojo. Only instead of the bright, noble pillars and cream-colored walls...the entire room had flickers of dim cyan. Black banners hung overhead, displaying a cogged symbol that looked like some variant of the Republic emblem. Hans couldn't be sure. As he tried to get a closer look, one of the troopers pulled him back by the hair.
His widened, frantic eyes glanced leftward to see a teal syringe in the trooper's gloved hand. Without wasting a moment, his captor injected the component into his neck and had him wincing. "Hold still," the other Purge Trooper grunted. The fluid was cold...freezing as it pulsed through Hans' veins. The troopers let him fall forward as the effects took hold, meanwhile they stepped into the dojo. Hans trembled, feeling more awake yet still in pain. And those aches dulled as if a chunk of ice was sliding through his body. He clasped his chest, feeling as though his heart was frozen under the sting.
"Wh-" he coughed until his voice cleared up. "What did you-...do to me?"
"Kolto supplement," one of the Purge Troopers explained. "Not as warm and welcoming as bacta. But it will wake you right up." Hans was about to question why they'd heal him, but their ongoing actions were enough of a grim response. Rising from the ground, he watched as both troopers drew their batons. Just seeing the act was enough to have Hans' heart pounding with painful memories. To his surprise, one of the troopers unclipped a third baton and tossed it to Hans' feet. The prisoner stared bewilderedly at the clattering object at first. "Go on," the trooper urged and pressed a button on his vambrace. Hans' stuncuffs deactivated and clanged beside the weapon. "Fight."
Desperation filled Hans' heart as the troopers advanced. Stumbling at first, he recovered the baton and hobbled forward. Swinging wildly, his attack was easily dodged and one of the troopers kicked him to the floor. The kolto might've numbed his pain, but the pulse of every hit was still very real. As soon as Hans struck the ground, he immediately endured several strikes to his back from both troopers, the likes of which had him rolling to dodge. In his weakened state, this maneuver came off more as simply toppling over.
The troopers were relentless, swinging down upon him as they had for months. And amid their flurry, Hans wildly swiped again. Conditioned to fear using the Force, his frantic strike swept against one of the trooper's ankles. They fell from the impact and Hans rose to push his attack. Yet the second trooper was on the defense, ready to shove Hans away. He grabbed the trooper's shoving hand, keeping him trapped. Only then did Hans bludgeon his helmet twice and send the trooper stumbling back. It was all Hans had in him as he recoiled in the opposite direction.
The troopers recovered themselves, one now sporting a cracked visor. Instead of advancing on Hans again, they backed up towards the rear set of doors and fixed their posture. Silence filled the dojo as Hans caught his breath. With each passing moment, the kolto supplement was reinvigorating his stature. Rising with trembling knees, Hans sought to call on the Force once more. The troopers might've been done fighting, but he surely wasn't. Tapping into his emotions, Hans' senses were faded yet existent. But as he sought to harness the Force, a deeper hindrance came upon him.
The chill Hans now faced was far worse than anything pulsing through his veins. It was surreal...beyond physical coldness. The first Force sensation to return to Hans was that of bleakness. The frigid void of death filled the air as Hans felt all the more confused. His breaths shortened just as a set of heavier, modulated breaths began. They echoed past the guarded doors and were accompanied by a set of daunting, heavy stomps. In all of his wanderings and struggles, never had Hans heard such breaths. The coldness was becoming overwhelming as the doors opened and both troopers straightened their posture. In stepped the very embodiment of that bleak and deathly void.
Some form of...being came forth. Its armor was as sleek as it was bulky. A soulless, skull-like face sat atop a prominent chest plate. Life support functions flickered, granting the meager hope that some living creature was encased inside that dark mess. A thick cape loomed over its broad shoulders, shrouding the rest of its machinations to mystery. While movement in such heavy gear seemed limited, it made the forward steps all the more intimidating. Each heavy stomp brought the being closer to towering over Hans. Its heavy breathing was as ominous as the bulbous, shadowy eyes of its helmet. Hans braced himself as the stranger shifted its cape and revealed a familiar glint. The likes of which had Hans biting back a gasp. As if seeing a lost friend once more.
Steadfast was unlike any other. Hans had ensured that his lightsaber would be special by building its hilt out of Haysian Smelt. Now, that very golden tint had his heart sinking in alarm. And then came a voice, deep and modulated. Its resonance had Hans stammering for a moment as it said, "Leave us."
Before Hans could comprehend if it was talking to him, the Purge Troopers were quick to depart. "Yes, Lord Vader," they answered nearly in unison. And as the doors sealed behind them, Hans found himself alone with this mysterious entity.
Unclipping Steadfast, it tossed the old lightsaber to Hans' feet. "Face me, Jedi." Vader demanded. "And confront the inevitable."
Unsure whether or not Vader's words were some form of test, he acted on survival instinct. Battling aches and fatigue, he scooped up Steadfast and rejoiced in the familiar touch. Sparking up the blade, he let its green glow carry him as he straightened his posture. The hum of Hans' bold blade was matched by a foul hiss surging from Vader's silver hilt. A crimson blade burned brightly beside the Darksider's shadowy armor as he closed in on Hans. Before a single question could be uttered, Vader took a swing.
The heavy attack had Hans rolling for his life and tumbling into the dojo's nearest wall. Seeking to strike swiftly, he kicked off of the wall and jabbed his saber forward. Without even parrying, Vader used the Force to redirect Hans into the floor. While Steadfast scorched the tiles, Hans' nose struck the opposite end. Before he could recover, Vader used a powerful Force push to slam Hans into the wall. The impact was enough to disarm him and fatigue had run its course. Hans attempted to stand, but was met with an immense amount of pressure around his neck.
Vader raised his gloved hand and hoisted Hans into the air. With each passing moment, he strangled him by way of the Force. The Dark Lord balanced his torment preciously, never bringing Hans to unconsciousness and yet keeping him trapped in his grip. His hapless legs dangled above the floor as Vader stared him down. "The Jedi Order is all but destroyed," he asserted. "Its scattered remnants are nothing more than cowards, lost throughout the galaxy. Just as you were. But if you are to become more, you must embrace more. Feel more." His grip on the Force tightened around Hans' throat. "You must suffer as I have."
"I-" Hans wheezed. "I have suffered."
"You know nothing of true pain," Vader spoke over him. His helmeted head dipped downward as he raised his saber. "But I will properly acquaint you." Hans writhed as the saber drew nearer. "Now-" Vader continued as Hans' eyes widened. "Suffer with me." Demonstrating his mastery of the Force, Vader brought Hans' deactivated lightsaber up to his face. Through an immense amount of pressure, Vader crushed Steadfast like common trash and let its dented fragments plummet to the ground. Hans' eyes widened in grief, watching each piece of his labor fall. Vader then swiftly slashed his saber towards Hans' legs, causing his victim's screams to echo throughout the dojo.
FOUR YEARS LATER
The fortress dojo was alive with the sounds of combat as several Purge Troopers rushed in. Batons swung in from all sides as a lightly armored figure weaved between all of them. His auburn waves swished with each powerful punch he delivered. "Good," a voice instructed from the upper balcony. "Gather your anger...all of your pain. The Jedi taught you to be defensive...but here you must push your attack. Disarming a trooper, Hans recovered his baton and smashed it across another combatant's face. Smashed shards of visor spewed over the tiles while Hans advanced. When his enemies tried to disperse, he used the Force to pull them back together. There was fury in his hate-filled, yellow eyes as he bludgeoned another trooper just as they'd beaten him. "That's it," the instructor said. "Inflict what has been inflicted. Remember your pain and return it at thrice the intensity."
A trooper struck Hans in the back and made him stagger. Instead of falling over, Hans maintained his balance on account of his new cybernetics. Having been severed from the knees down, his new attachments were made of black durasteel. Instead of being seen as an upgrade, Hans viewed the cybernetics as a constant reminder of what he'd lost in his weakness. And those reminders angered him further as he lunged toward his attacker. Loosing a mighty Force push, Hans snapped his enemy's arm and then kicked them down. His cybernetic heel clanged against the trooper's armor as they fell over into silence. Catching his breath, Hans glanced up at the sounds of an ongoing slow clap.
Adorned in armor similar to his stood the very Pau'an who'd whisked him into this recruitment. Apart from a similar yellow gaze, the Pau'an now donned prominent...Sith markings above and just beneath his eyes. Standing at a similar height beside him was the being who'd mutilated Hans in the first place. "Your student shows promise, Grand Inquisitor," he said.
"He is ready to join our ranks, Lord Vader." the Pau'an replied.
"Not yet," Vader countered and descended from the stairs. "One test remains for the lost Jedi," he said as Hans raised a brow. "To be an Inquisitor is to be merciless," Vader decreed. "It is to-"
Before the Sith could finish his explanation, Hans was already stomping on one of the downed Purge Trooper's throats. Vader watched as Hans kept his metal foot down, twisting and digging the heel until his victim went limp. Hans stepped over the corpse and nodded to Vader. "Pick another," he said and gestured to the other fallen troopers. "Any of your choosing and I will end them just the same. I will make each and every one of them suffer as I have."
Vader was silent as the Grand Inquisitor smirked. "Peace is a lie, there is only passion," Vader decreed. "Through passion, I gain strength. Through strength, I gain power. Through power, I gain victory. Through victory, my chains are broken. The Force shall free me. Such is the way of the Dark Side. And through your hate and suffering, you shall carry out my bidding. Without hesitation. Without mercy. You will act as an agent of the Empire."
Hans knelt before Vader, hardly able to contain the adrenaline rush he was still feeling. "My rage is yours, Lord Vader," he murmured.
"And unleash that rage you will," the Grand Inquisitor stated as a spherical servant droid hovered over. It held a customized helmet in its pronged digits and passed it over to the Pau'an, who in turn stepped before Hans. "Henceforth, you shall be known as Vader's...Wrath," the Grand Inquisitor declared and placed the horned helmet atop Hans' head. "Now rise, as an Inquisitor of the Empire."
Hans stood tall as the darkness of his helmet shrouded torment beyond anyone's comprehension. "Your place shall be forged in the crucible of the hunt," Vader said and passed a delicate fragment into Hans' palms.
Observing its green glint, Hans recognized it was his kyber crystal...and the only surviving remnant of Steadfast. Hans' anger only festered as he squeezed the crystal, pouring every painful memory into his hateful grip. And that malice corrupted the crystal he'd so nobly discovered as a youngling on Ilum. Instead, he watched as the green glimmer receded, and a deep red seeped through the refractions. The crystal bled under Hans' new power and he embraced its crimson hue. Just as the Grand Inquisitor passed a hollow, circular hilt to him. The double-bladed weapon of Inquisitorius was finally Hans' as he slid his fingers between the ringed guard. Placing the corrupted crystal into its energy chamber and sealing it, Hans furthered his steps towards the Dark Side.
As Hans clipped his saber to his utility belt, the Grand Inquisitor was already handing him a datapad. He paused, glaring at the device as the Pau'an said, "Your first target. Batuu System."
Hans read over the report, glancing at sector follow ups but ultimately freezing at the escaped Jedi's name. His eyes briefly widened as Vader said. "To be an Inquisitor is to hunt Jedi to the ends of the galaxy. You do not stop...you do not rest...until all remnants of the Jedi Order are destroyed."
"Collect your pain, Hans," the Grand Inquisitor added. "Now is the time unleash your wrath in full." Hans swiftly nodded and handed the datapad back.
Hans cared little for his Imperial escort to the Batuu system. He was frustrated enough that the Empire had "upgraded" their navy with fighters that didn't even possess hyperdrives...or shields for that matter. Hans trudged through the Star Destroyer's hangar and approached his TIE Interceptor. Four, dagger-like solar panels extended around the spherical cockpit.
"Inquisitor!" the deck commander hollered from the second level. "Shall I provide a squadron of clones to assist in your hunt?"
Hans glared up at her and then scoffed at the white-armored troopers standing below. "They'll only slow me down," he huffed. "Plus, those lab rats'll be phased out in a few more months anyway. Just hang back and wait for my signal. I'll take it from here." Hans popped open the hatch to his TIE and slid into the cockpit. Fastening his helmet, he primed the engines and rocketed out of the hangar.
While the interceptor lacked defensive capabilities, its speed was unmatched. Hans darted across the stars and had his ship piercing Batuu's atmosphere like a cluster of dark blades. Monitoring his contact's coordinates on the dashboard, he glided beyond Black Spire Outpost and towards a wide stretch of pointed spires. Hans performed evasive maneuvers, swerving between the rock formations and letting his TIE unleash a grizzly echo. He reduced speed upon noticing a series of green lights flashing in a sequence. Following them, he landed his craft along a mossy plateau overlooking the valley.
The lights paused, and the merchant signaling Hans emerged from along the cliffs. With a triple-lensed set of goggles, the hefty Gran came hobbling over. "I was beginning to think you weren't coming," he spoke gruffly, catching his breath as Hans disembarked. "Say...I'm not in trouble too am I?"
"Where is the Jedi?" Hans questioned and lurked over the farmer.
The Gran gulped and pointed a trembling finger over the cliffside. "Just across the river. Outskirts of Surabat Village. Big nerf and numa farm. Can't miss it."
"We're done here," Hans said and started his hike.
"Well hey," the Gran cleared his throat. "Do I get some kind of reward for calling it in? For seeing her calm a rampaging nerf with just her magic hands?"
Hans paused and placed an uncomfortably tight hand on the Gran's bulky shoulder. "Your reward is the fact that I'm not sending you home in a body bag," he said before letting go. The Gran staggered back, watching the shadowy figure descend from the plateau.
A gentle, morning rainfall was picking up as Hans traversed Batuu's gravelly fields. The distant jeers and hollers of village folk had him keeping to the bushes as he moved along the river. Soon the winds carried the overwhelming stench of livestock, which had Hans equipping his macrobinoculars for a closer look. Under the cover of stone and shrub, Hans zoomed in on the riverside farm. Separated from the rest Surabat, this dwelling was its own thriving community. Bulky nerfs mooed while tiny numas clucked between their legs. Hans traced his macrobinoculars to a giggling silhouette moving behind the numas.
A blissful child waddled about, his head a mess of tight curls bobbing in the wind. He happily chased the numas until a man emerged from the yard. He chuckled before scooping the child into his arms. Following their motions, Hans found her. Gone were the Jedi robes she held so dearly as she donned a merchant's cloak. Herding a nerf back into its corral, she wiped the sweat from her brow and moved to join her family. Hans hit maximum zoom and held his breath. She was a direct match from the datapad report. Her dark hair might've been unbraided now, but her broad nose took Hans back. He recalled how often it had wrinkled when she stressed her remarks. As she turned fully towards his lenses, Hans could get a confirmation. Rika Sorze was alive. Years of exile had been kind to her, as she'd inevitably forsaken Jedi life in the name of new purpose. A family at the edge of the galaxy...
But her attachments had made her careless. And it was only a matter of time before a rival merchant would turn her in. Patience and the element of surprise were on Hans' side. He kept a visual on Rika and her family, noting their surroundings. Yet as he tried to formulate a plan, all he could do was feel angrier...and angrier. He didn't just see Rika. He saw himself on that quaint and miserable farm. He saw the life Celenia wanted to have with him if he'd left the Order. The life he could've had with Anna if she hadn't abandoned him in the temple. The thought of it all disgusted Hans. It was a like a vicious venom eating away at his brain as he watched Rika thrive. He just sat their, festering in his wrath. Letting every moment of his collective pain sink in as Rika carried about her morning. A perpetual sneer formed on his face as he remembered how she'd called him a traitor and a coward. Hans seethed with hatred as Rika ultimately gathered supplies to trade in town. Kissing her husband and son goodbye, she mounted her speeder bike and sped past the village. She carried her harvest through the winding pathways of Surabat Valley and all the way to Blackspire Outpost.
The sun was setting along Batuu's wild horizon. Its fiery streaks painted bold hues along the clouds, which kept the outpost illuminated for those closing up shop. Concluding her final trades, Rika rejoiced in the amount of credits funneling their way into her pouch. The Trandoshan she'd bartered her nerf hides to nodded and waved his clawed digits. "Till the spires," he hissed, bidding her farewell.
"Till the spires," Rika replied and packed her bags. Eager to return home with fresh payment, she loaded up her speeder bike and accelerated out of Black Spire. The streets leaving the outpost were always so quiet in the evening, which made chasing the sunset all the more fun. Rika smiled as she recalled a plan that'd often crossed her mind on such rides. She'd been meaning to take her son out on a bike trip at sunset. He loved feeling the rush of the vehicle reaching top speeds. Departing from Black Spire, Rika sped through the dark rock formations leading to her village. She remembered being so frightened during her first drive, and now she was maneuvering the rocks with ease. But as Rika biked through the shadows, she found herself experiencing a tremor in the Force.
It was powerful enough to have her squeezing on the speeder bike's breaks as she came to a halt. The engine stalled briefly and she sat idle in the rising darkness. Catching her breath, Rika tried to make sense of the chill pulsing through her. She peered up at the nearby spires, still painted red by dwindling sunlight. An ominous sense of foreboding took hold, and it was enough to have Rika shivering. Frightened by the sensation, she fired up her bike once more and rushed home.
Fleeing the jagged rocks brought a sliver of comfort to Rika. The wide expanse of Surabat Valley brought her the solace she so desperately sought. Her black tresses swished with her speeding vehicle as she skimmed along the valley's main river. And as the sun set over the horizon, she wondered how it could keep its prominent glow. The likes of which seemed as dark as it was bright. Rika soon realized that the sky had grown significantly darker above the valley...and the scent of smoke had filled the air.
With widening eyes and a shallow gasp, Rika raced home. The roar of her speeder bike echoed over the rolling hills as she glimpsed her home across the valley. Its rooftops were set ablaze as flames extended towards her family's crops. "No-" was all she could utter as she practically fell off of her bike. Tumbling down a gravely incline, she dashed towards her farm on foot. Surviving numa scattered to the river while dead nerfs lay slaughtered across the field. Rika ran past the butchered livestock, sensing their deaths and battling her own anxieties.
"Bemri?" she called out into the inferno. "Icaro!" While the family barn was in flames, their main home was only partially damaged. Acting on blind hope, she barged through the door and stumbled into the kitchen. A fire had started to form across the cabinets, and the unscathed living room beckoned Rika into it. "Bemri!" she shouted for her husband. "Bem-"
Rika nearly lost her footing as she entered the living room. Nausea, despair, and terror clashed to render her a stiffening mess. A pair of fallen boots lay at the center of he room. Boots Rika had gifted to her lover several years ago. Boots she'd buckled as an endearing gesture many a blissful morning. Boots their son had often tried to put on. In an effort to include him, Rika had bought their child his own identical pair. A smaller pair which now lay cradled in his father's embrace. Their bodies were wrapped as one...huddled together in the burning room. A long, cauterized slash stretched across Bemri's back and into reaches Rika couldn't bring herself to look upon.
"I wish I could tell you they didn't suffer," a voice spoke and sent a chill down Rika's spine. "That it was quick." Rika's eyes slowly shifted across the room, where Hans sat calmly. He didn't budge from the family couch, even as flames continued to crackle in the kitchen. "No," Hans continued. "They felt...every moment." Hans folded his gloved hands and stared Rika down. "Waiting helplessly. Your husband realizing his wife had abandoned him. Your child...crying for a mother that was never coming to save him." Rika was frozen in shock. She couldn't bring herself to speak as her wide and unblinking eyes met Hans'. A tear rolled down her cheek as he continued. "You did this, Rika. Your husband and child are dead...because of you. Traitor to the Order. Coward of the Force."
Rika dropped to her knees as disbelief clashed with sheer trauma. Tears streamed down her cheeks as Hans rose from the couch. The flames intensified, making their way into the living room as Hans knelt beside her. Rika's mind had broken. While her gaze was fixed on her murdered family, her hand haplessly reached for her lightsaber...never once fully grabbing it.
"You cannot escape my wrath," Hans decreed. Satisfied with Rika's brokenness, he unclipped his saber and pressed it to her back. She was so mentally dissociated, that she didn't feel it touch her. Hans leaned in, his lips nearly pressed against her ear. "Now-" he whispered. "-suffer with me." Bright red plasma ignited across the burning wallpapers. And with a swift jab of Hans' lightsaber, Rika's silhouette collapsed beside her son and husband.
The flames continued to spread across the homestead as Hans' dark figure emerged from the doorframe. The inferno crackled into the night as he stumbled out, stomping in random directions. Sweat doused his face as his eyes grew glassy. Licking that very sweat from his lips, Hans looked as though he couldn't decide between screaming or crying. As he dropped to his knees, a third incarnation took form...and Hans burst into hysterical laughter. His cackles filled the dark glow as flames danced behind him. He laughed until his throat ran raw, and all that remained were a series of bleating whimpers. "S-suffer...with me," Hans reiterated. "Suffer with me!"
PRESENT DAY
Hans' cybernetic feet clacked at the foot of his bed. As he leaned towards the edge, every memory he'd held in the darkness brought him back to the present. Rising from his bed, he approached his mirror to confront one last recollection. Staring into his own shadowy reflection, Hans loathed the new scar across his face. He let its pain and all of that torment carry him to a single image: Anna's. He saw her smiling face from all those years ago and visualized it abandoning him. Hans' breaths shortened as every moment of staring at himself disgusted him further. He thought of Anna so much, that he inevitably drove his fist into the mirror, splitting his reflection into fragments. Glaring at his distorted image, Hans scowled. He had accepted a new hunt...and Anna would suffer Vader's Wrath.
Author's Note: Thank you so much for reading this week's chapter of "The Frozen Force!" I'll see you Friday, August 4th for "Chapter: 124 - Fallen Order Part I."
Long Live Imagination and May the Force be with You,
~ Sparks