The Price of Redemption
Chapter I:
The first sensation to claw its way into Anakin's consciousness was pain.
Fire, broken metal and ravaged flesh. It sang through him as a discordant hymn. Vaguely was he aware of the stench of rot and something acrid, something alien, that clung to the humid air.
His eyelids, heavy as blast doors, grudgingly scraped open. The world refused to swim into focus, an eerie light flooding him. All he could make out were splotches of green amongst the dizzying blackness. Unfamiliar sounds assaulted him. The hiss of escaping steam, gurgling of unseen liquids, and a low, rhythmic thumping that seemed to vibrate through the very ground he lay on. He tried to push himself up, but his remaining scorched hand slipped on the grime beneath him.
A scream, so raw and ragged, tore from his throat as his body protested the movement. Each breath he took was an exercise in agony, his lungs burning with every inhale, each exhale a cruel mockery. Images of molten plains flashed behind his eyes, the spark of lightsabers colliding, and Padmé... pale and drawn…
Anakin screamed again as he lurched upward, only to realize with a sickening jolt that he had no feet. His legs ended abruptly at the thighs, replaced by nothing but empty space and searing pain. The world tilted, and the grotesque landscape of twisted metal and alien vegetation blurred as darkness crept in.
Then, voices. Harsh, unfamiliar voices that cut through this haze.
"Well, well," one rasped. "Looks like we got ourselves some fresh meat, boys. Roasted, too. Wonder how much he'll fetch?"
Three figures emerged from the shadows, their faces gaunt and hungry. They looked like they'd crawled out of the very walls themselves, all sharp angles and desperation. The middle one brandished a makeshift weapon, something that might have once been a kitchen knife, now crudely sharpened and stained a disturbing shade of brown.
"Fancy clothes." The one on the left said, and they all snickered.
The man on the right, a hulking brute, flashed a cruel grin. "Wonder if he's got any shimmer on him?"
Anakin blinked, struggling to focus. Instinctively, he reached for his saber, only to be scraped by the melted remains of his cybernetic hand.
"Get out of my way." He tried to project an air of authority, but it came out as a pathetic croak.
The middle thug, who seemed to be the leader, let out a harsh bark of laughter. "You think you're in a position to be giving orders?" He gestured with the knife. "This isn't Piltover. You wanna walk through here, you gotta pay the toll."
The three of them stepped forward, and Anakin's anger flared. A familiar heat in the wasteland of his soul.
He lurched. It wasn't the graceful, Force-augmented leap he was used to, but it was enough. He slammed into the leader, his melted fist connecting with the man's jaw in a sickening crunch. The thug staggered back, stunned.
The other two hesitated, their bravado crumbling. The left one, a scrawny youth with eyes wide with fear, turned and fled, disappearing into the labyrinthine alleys. The hulking brute tried to intervene, but Anakin was too quick, too driven. He rolled away from the brute's clumsy charge, his single hand shooting out to grab the man's wrist. With a sharp twist, Anakin sent him tumbling head-first into the ground.
Anakin turned back to the leader, who was scrambling to his feet. The man, eyes wide with terror, threw his knife.
Time seemed to slow down as the blade spun through the air, glinting in the dim light. Anakin watched it with a strange detachment, his mind registering the danger even as his body struggled to react. The sharp end plunged into his side, a searing pain that eclipsed even the aches of his missing limbs. He gasped, feeling the warmth spreading through his tattered robes, his burns sizzling at the touch of blood.
The few remains of the Force inside kept Anakin from collapsing on the spot. With a guttural cry, he summoned the last vestiges of his energy. He tore the knife from his torso and sent it flying back.
The leader had no time to scream as the blade found its mark, his head separating from his body in a spray of blood. His nerveless limbs bent at unnatural angles as he crumpled to the ground.
Anakin shuddered.
The adrenaline was fading, vision blurring, leaving him with the agonizing reality of his injuries. He looked down at the knife wound, the blood flowing freely, as his back sank against the cold, unforgiving wall.
The world around him seemed to disappear, the sounds of the alley growing distant. He closed his eyes, and in the darkness, he saw Padmé's face, her smile a beacon in the encroaching void.
There was a prick of something against his neck.
It felt cool to the touch.
Then, nothing.
Author's Note:
Hopefully this short tease made you excited for my idea of Anakin/Vader in Arcane. It's important to keep in mind that this post-Mustafar version of Anakin never found out that Padmé died, nor does he have much inclination as to what a Sith is outside of pure hatred. He was only just recently christened as Darth Vader, and believes that Padmé betrayed him. That could be just my opinion, though. It's all for fun. But just imagine a Shimmer/Hex-Tech Vader suit... :) This story will be taking place in between Season 1 and 2. If you have any questions, leave them as a review! I'll try my best to answer them without spoilers. You can find me in the discord in my bio!
For my Percy Jackson and MCU readers, don't worry, updates are coming, I'm just stockpiling currently so that I can get back to a consistent update schedule with them.