Vader's Reckoning

Darth Vader's vessel descended onto Dantooine's desolate wasteland with surgical precision. The ground was crossed, splintered, remnants of a forgotten era. The wind screamed across the broken surface, and from the distance carried the thinnest whiff of dampness from the oceans. The air, however, felt feeble, as a dying world's final breath.

The Force itself, however, was thick with the presence of others. Not just others—these were Jedi. Fractured, ancient ones. They had no idea of the darkness that would descend upon them.

Vader knew they were around long before he set foot. Their fear, their determination—everything rippled through the Force, like throwing pebbles into still waters. Five Jedi, alone, tied together on the string of a shared destiny. He needed none of them, not really. But then there was one—only one—who intrigued him. The others? Disposable.

His feet struck ground, and a silent command pierced his mind. The Force surged at a distance, tracing their paths. They were preparing. They were ready to die.

Vader inhaled slowly, his black dark cape waving in the wind. The gleam on his saber was barely noticeable under the fading light of the sun, but it was enough to send a shiver through the Force. And the Jedi sensed it too.

"Prepare!" shouted Dar'Nala, her voice half defiance, half fear. She was a torgruta, older than most Jedi, battered from decades of war, a former master to Satele Shan. She knew that death was coming, but Jedi always resisted, no matter the odds.

The initial attack came swift and silent. Vader's saber ignited in a hiss, the red blade cutting the air itself around him. He was a wave of black and red, moving faster than lightning. Before the beat of a heart, the first of the Jedi—a man of years—had his throat slit open, his body dropping before it hit the floor. No quarter. No pause.

Dar'Nala swung her lightsaber back in defense, but Vader was already gone, returning behind her. The old Jedi's chest was torn open with a single cut. Her body collapsed to the ground, dead before the dust settled. Another Jedi passed silently.

The remaining three Jedi—a tall, muscular Zabrak, one; slender Twi'lek, one; a young, unskilled human, they—retreated, witnessing the horrid end that had befallen their companions.

"Run!" the Zabrak shouted, but it was too late. They were already dead.

Vader swept his hand through the air between them, the Force controlling each movement as he crushed the human. The last two Jedi tried to run, but Vader was already upon them. The green blade of the Twi'lek hummed through the air as she tried a desperate swing, but Vader parried her with one swing of his own, forcing her to push it down.

Before she could answer, he thrust out his hand. The Force struck her in the chest and pinned her against the ruins of the ancient temple. She bounced off the stone wall, falling to the floor, blood gushing from her broken body.

The Zabrak attacked, his lightsaber flashing in a whirl of anger. He battled in fury, driven by fear and rage. But it was for nothing. Vader, controlled and precise, deflected each strike. His saber bit through the air, meeting the Zabrak's blade in a ringing clash, and a second, and a third.

It was inevitable. With a final, devastating strike, Vader severed the Zabrak's head from his shoulders, his dead body thudding into the ground.

Now, there was only one left. Sidionie Garen, a human Jedi Master, remained standing, her face white but resolute. She was no novice, yet she could feel it—how much greater she was not. The weight of the Force was crushing about her, like an intangible pressure that bore down on her from all sides.

"You are powerful," Vader had answered, the words a stiff, metallic snarl. "But you will not survive."

She didn't cower. She didn't huddle. "You think you have won, Sith?" Sidionie's was firm, no matter what came next. "There will always be more Jedi. There will always be more of us."

Vader's mask tilted a fraction, as if he were balancing her words. He had known her the instant he entered—the flicker of something in her. Something greater. She was strong in the Force, to be sure. But there was something about her that… drew him. A potential he could harness.

"You speak of hope," he said to her, his hand outstretched toward her. "But hope is an ephemeral thing. You will do as I say. And when you have no other option but to comply, you will realize your own purpose."

Sidionie's saber remained in front of her, but it wavered just a little bit. She felt the pressure of his power upon her—such as the undertow of an incoming tidal wave on the threshold of crashing upon the shore. She had faced death more often than she knew how to number, but this? This was different.

"You think you can convert me to the dark side?" Sidionie spat. "I would sooner die."

Vader's mask concealed his bright eyes. "You will not die today. You are too valuable."

Vader's hand flashed out in a swift motion, the Force encircling Sidionie, lifting her off the ground as if she were weightless. Her eyes widened, fear invading, but she was caught. The power of his will was crushing. His tone rang in her mind, quiet and cold.

"I will make you see. You will be my vessel of will, as were the others. You have the potential to be something more than a common Jedi. But you will have to adapt to me."

Sidionie Garen shivered, her will rebelling at the crushing blackness that was Vader. Yet, something else was there as well. A spark, a marvel—a black marvel. Something within her at a deep level wanting to experience the power of Vader.

"I sense it in you," Vader continued, his tone reducing to a whisper. "The desire for something more. To rise above the restrictions of the Jedi Code. I can grant it to you. I can grant you power."

She fought against it. She fought against the temptation of the darkness. But there was a part of her—a small, hidden part—that understood the truth of his words. He held power beyond comprehension. And if she was to truly live, to defeat the Sith, then... then maybe she would have to align herself with him.

Vader smiled behind the mask, sensing the change within her. The small shift. The beginning of her breaking.

"You will be with me," he said to her. "Together, we will find the knowledge to recreate me. And when the time comes, you will stand by my side."

Sidionie's eyes snapped defiance, but across it lay a reluctant submission. She had no other option now. The shadows were too broad to step away from. She would give in. It was just a matter of when.

Vader's boot crashed onto the ruined stone floor of the ruined Jedi Temple as he released Sidionie. She fell, thudding to the ground with a thud, her body in a heap. Her face was ashen, her breathing strained, but her eyes—those beautiful eyes—were alight with newfound understanding. The battle was done. She would be his, one way or another.

"Get up," Vader commanded, rasping like the sound of metal creaking, cutting and icy. His helmeted gaze fixed hers, unflinching. He did not sympathize with her, only nodded in acknowledgment of a bargain made.

Sidionie strained down onto her knees, shaking hands. She did not look at him, did not give him the pleasure of seeing how frail she was. But she felt it. Something inside of her was changing. The darkness Vader carried with him was overwhelming, suffocating. It was all that was in her to stand, to cling to some kind of defiance, but already she was beginning to wonder if that would be enough. Could it be? Could she survive this?

"Get up," Vader commanded again. His voice remained unchanged, but there was a cold confidence in it. He had broken her, and now she was his. She stood up unwillingly, too tired to fight anymore.

Within the temple, the light was old, shafts of pale light filtering through crevices in the stone walls. The remains of the Jedi Order were scattered across the ancient halls—smashed statues, ruined pillars, shattered holocrons—splinters of a glorious past now gone to the ages. Vader's hand trailed across the rim of a fractured stone, the same vibration of the Force that permeated him guiding each step he took. There was power here—ancient power that he could feel but not yet access.

Sidionie trailed behind him in silence, her face flashing to the darkness that clung to every corner, the hum of the Force on the wind making her flesh crawl. She could still sense it—the chill of his form, a shadow cast over all.

Vader halted before an ancient arch. The ruins of a grand chamber lay beyond it, filled with relics that had lain undisturbed for ages. He could feel the dark side drawing him there, but it was intertwined with the delicate strands of Jedi energy. This temple was untouched by time, frozen in state as no other temple had been. A perfect location to entomb knowledge. Data that he would use to achieve his ultimate goal—rebuilding his body to its prime.

"Find out what's remaining," he told her sharply

Sidionie nodded, her head dipping slightly. She moved further into the temple, the air holding dust and the scent of age. Her fingers stroked old Jedi relics, the remains of a deceased order, but none were what they were seeking. The holocrons—holding the ancient Jedi knowledge—scattered around the room, but she knew Vader would settle for nothing less than the best source of information.

There it was. A Jedi holocron, lost centuries ago, its surface inscribed with tiny, weathered symbols. The Force curled around it, extending to both of them. Sidionie reached out a tentative hand, sensing the history behind it, but before her fingers touched it, Vader was already standing beside her, his towering form looming over her.

"Open it," he growled.

Sidionie hesitated, the temptation of the information within dancing in her mind. It was illegal, even for a Jedi Master, to tap into the dark arts, but the temptation of power—of knowledge—was strong enough to overcome her hesitation. She energized the holocron with a soft hum. The crystal lit up, and a holographic image of an ancient Jedi Master stood before her. He echoed in the room, clear despite the centuries that had elapsed.

"Technique of Force Healing," the hologram declared. "A power that will restore parts of the body... back to its former strength. But beware, for it has its dangers."

Vader's hand extended toward the holocron, the projection curving and twisting to admit him. He leaned forward, his breathing deliberate, calculated. "Force Healing," he intoned. "This is the secret to that which I am seeking."

Sidionie picked up on the coldness of his tone but remained silent. She understood now—understood why he allowed her to live. He wasn't just a Sith Lord. He was an individual with an agenda. He wanted something other than domination. He wanted something back that was stolen from him, and in order to obtain it, he needed her.

Vader shifted away, going further into the room, sounding contemplative. "This is not a technique to be easily mastered," he said, as much to himself as to anyone else. "But I will restore my body. I will be complete. And when that is accomplished, Sidionie... You will obey me with your maximum strength."

She didn't respond. She couldn't. The pull of his power, of his will, was relentless. She couldn't help it. Her mind flashed through her head—she was broken, yes, but she wasn't all broken. She still had some resistance within her, some lingering of the Jedi training which clung to her for a lifeline. But there was darkness around Vader that suffocated, and in time, it would extinguish her entirely.

Vader confronted her once more. "I saved your life because you are of use. Because you have the strength to help me do as I wish. And because you will learn to serve me, the Jedi never being able to teach you."

Sidionie held firm, her breathing light. There was weight to those words. A threat of something dark. Something that would change her life forever.

"I will not give in to you, Sith," she said, her voice softer than she had intended, but still defiant.

Vader stepped closer, the dark side energy surrounding him like a choking tempest. "You will," he whispered, his voice icy. "In time, you will. You are already mine."

She felt it then—the tightening of her chest, the thrill of fear deep within her. He was right. She would break. It was only a matter of when.

Vader's gaze lingered on her for a heartbeat longer, something dark moving behind his mask. It wasn't the gaze of a master. No, it was something else. Something... subtle. Something almost human. He didn't just look at her as a tool—he looked at her as potential... companionship.

But that would wait until later. He wasn't prepared for that quite yet. Not while his quest for power continued so near at hand.

"Let us continue," Vader declared, falling into his accustomed cold, unpassionate tone. "There remains more to be learned."

* * *

Vader departed, finally leaving the ruin of the Jedi Temple behind. The learning he'd garnered here, the fragments of Force Healing littered throughout ancient holocrons and forgotten scrolls, gave him an uncomfortable sense of accomplishment. It was progress, but not quite enough.

He wasn't dumb—he was well aware that solutions were beyond the capabilities of the Jedi. And, perhaps, beyond the reveals of Sidious. The rule of two had withheld from him the majority of the Sith's actual wisdom. He had learned as much as he could ever learn from the Emperor, but Sidious had kept the deepest secrets from him and evidently he was still not capable of reversing the aging process or even better, eternal youth. The old man was frightened by Vader's ability. But it was apparent to Vader now that he needed more. To renew himself in every way. In an effort to be whole once more. He needed something more. He thought of Darth Nihilus and his ability to suck the life from planets, maybe that was what he'd focus on next?

But not today. Today there was only one person who mattered—the person who would help him with his next move.

Sidionie.

The Jedi Master had been broken, distorted, and reshaped into something that would be capable of serving him. She had fought initially, but now, as with all things, she was yielding to the inevitable. As with all the other Jedi ever to cross Vader's path when he made them into Inquisitors.

"Come," Vader ordered. He turned, holding out one hand to point to Sidionie, and then walked towards the door of the Enclave.

Sidionie, her expression still somewhat unreadable, stepped forward, following him silently. Her feet did so warily, almost defensively, but a fire burned in her eyes—anger simmering just below the surface.

As they emerged from the Enclave, the winds of Dantooine bit into them both. Sidionie flinched, but Vader did not move, his black cape fluttering imperceptibly in the wind. Their starship was waiting for them—his own ship, sleek and menacing, a reflection of his unyielding power. Vader boarded first, his movements smooth and rehearsed, while Sidionie paused for a moment, obedient even in reluctance, before she too boarded the ship.

Sitting, Vader's metal voice was in the room as he leaned back, his gloved hands grasping the armrests. He looked over at Sidionie, who sat opposite him, her muscles tense, her eyes still betraying her inner struggle.

"The return to Mustafar will be a long one," Vader said, his voice nearly contemplative. He was always thinking, always scheming.

Sidionie did not answer. She simply sat, her gaze straight ahead, the drone of the ship's engines filling the air around them with quiet. The seconds passed, each one stretching out longer than the last. She knew what was to be done—what was to become of her—but there was a part of her that would not. Not simply her Jedi training; her pride. Her anger. Her refusal.

"Are you going to train me?" she at last replied, strong but tinged with mistrust.

Vader's gaze was narrowed, his breathing still hissing through the mask. "I'm going to shape you into what I need. You will be my enforcer, my apprentice. Your training will start when we get there."

Sidionie's jaw was tight, her fists clenched at her sides. She was smarter than to try something foolish, but the resentment in her heart grew. The Force inside of her fluctuated in uncertainty, for a tempest was contained in her chest. Her connection to the light side still existed, growing weaker, but not extinguished. The darkness that surrounded her was oppressive, yes, but the light had never departed. Vader had no idea how much strength that factor could be.

Her tone was strained. "You can try it, but I will not forget who I am. I will not let you turn me into something that I am not."

Vader's expression did not change; his face as cold and hard as ever. But there was something behind the mask. Something which looked almost like a stifled amusement. He leaned forward slightly. "I care not what you were, Sidionie. I care about what you shall become."

She tried to ignore him, but the words hurt. She hadn't been expecting this response. It wasn't about her. Not quite. He didn't love her, not the way she had hoped he would. She was just a tool—just a weapon. And, for the first time, she wondered if that would be sufficient for her. Would she be able to keep on fighting the inevitable? Could she possibly keep on clinging to the Jedi ways when every part of her was screaming for her to give in to the dark side's power?

"I'll shatter you," she answered, she was softer now but poisonous. Kept denying it still. "You won't change me. You won't possess me."

Vader's mechanical breathing hung in the air for a second. He looked at her through the slits of his mask. "We'll see."

The vessel was now in hyperspace, stars bleeding into strips of light as it sped through the void. But in the silent space between, there was strain, an electric suspense in the air, a sense that the Force itself was waiting with bated breath.

Vader eased back, his hands interlocked before him as he considered. Sidionie would be useful, yes. But the training, the shaping, that would take time. She was not going to simply fall into place overnight. He had no illusions about that. He'd have to break her. Shatter her further.

But the key to his own survival, to hauling himself back—in body and spirit—lay in her and in what she still carried. She was a window into something he was hungry to possess. And when opportunity was at hand, she would be his tool, his sword.