Knightfall
Title: Knightfall
Fandom: Star Wars
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Anakin Skywalker (mentioned), Depa Billaba (mentioned), Galen Marek/Starkiller (mentioned), Kar Vastor (mentioned), Mace Windu, Obi-Wan Kenobi, Vergere
Summary: Mace doesn't expect to survive the fall of Coruscant. Vergere has other plans.
Note: Set in the Destroyer of Worlds universe. Tentatively set at the same time as A Good Day To Die and Purple Skies In The Morning. Also set before Pandora's Box. This is pretty much a very dark version of the Yuuzhan Vong invasion, set a little differently in time.
-
Mace Windu blinked open his eyes.
The movement sent purple-green electric sparks arcing along optic fibers of nerve bundles shooting in needle-sharp pinpoints prickling behind his eyesockets deep in his skull. He ground his hand against the persistent ache in his forehead.
He tried to sit up; everywhere ached and hurt. His chest hurt, and when he glanced down, he didn’t see a wound - he saw a thin, pale line of pink flesh that throbbed when he touched it. It looked days old, raw flesh knitting together into a faint scar that would later fade ghost-white against his darker skin. His robes had been slit there, with the neat cut typical of a bladed weapon.
Mace didn’t remember being wounded. He was also certain he hadn’t been out for days.
The apartment was dark; the only light that came in was through the large transparisteel-paned window, transforming all colours, even the dun beige of his robes into variations of sickly alien hues.
Mace didn’t know how long he sat there, legs tucked up against his aching chest. He flipped the switches at least five times with the Force before he realised they’d hit the power generators. Maybe the Temple’s backups too.
He sat there for a while longer, staring at the swirling malevolent magenta skies in the dim mauve-edged shadows before Mace realised that the power wasn’t going to come back on.
Ever.
-
It had all begun with purple skies in the morning.
Or with Depa’s abduction. Or with Vergere’s return from beyond the Outer Rim, when the Archivists in charge of the Jedi Temple rosters had long written her off for good. Or that morning so many years ago, when he had supported Master Yoda’s conclusions when the Council deliberated about what Palpatine had told former Jedi Master Anakin Skywalker.
Mace’s first act as the new Grand Master of the Jedi Order had been to reinstate Anakin Skywalker as a Jedi Master. Skywalker had told him precisely where he could stick that promotion - or reinstation. But he hadn’t resigned, either.
Or it had begun with a comm transmission from Obi-Wan Kenobi.
Mace had been considering the problem of Kyp Durron’s latest mess when his comm unit had blinked, indicating a call. Calls to his private quarters were usually made by personal friends: a quick check had shown it was from Obi-Wan’s comlink.
“Mace?” Obi-Wan’s voice issued from the speaker. Mace frowned. Reception wasn’t usually so bad. This time, static crackled and threatened to disrupt the comm transmission, and he made a mental note to check with the Temple communications centre.
“Obi-Wan,” he greeted tersely, “What is it?”
“Mace, get the Temple to evacuate. There’s an invasion fleet - an alien fleet, and communications are being jammed right now. I’ve had to get through a great deal of static to even patch this through to the Temple, and Coruscant’s lost, Mace, it’s imperative you get as many Jedi and civilians out as possible…”
Mace heard the words, with stunned incomprehension. “Coruscant’s lost? An invasion fleet?” And breathed them, the mind of one of the Republic’s military commanders coming to the forefront. The situation crystallised as he breathed and reached out instinctively to the Force, trying to feel for shatterpoints…
And he fumbled and felt uncertainty. Half the faultlines buckled and threatened to slip away into a void: the other half of them were tied in an intricate knotted matrix around the Jedi Temple and beings that Mace could only barely sense.
And Kenobi. And Skywalker.
All this went through his mind in as much time as it took for him to ruthlessly quash the doubt. The General assessed the situation; the Jedi Master winced but saw Obi-Wan’s logic. “Understood,” he said crisply. “Coruscant’s defenses?”
“Offline. Someone’s disrupting communications and any attempt to coordinate a defense. Mace…down….contacts say…inevitable…”
“Obi-Wan?” Mace tried, “Obi-Wan! Come in. Your signal’s breaking up.”
“Coruscant’s planetary defenses are down. The planet is defenseless, Mace. My contacts say defeat is inevitable.”
Mace made the difficult decision in a heartbeat. In a moment, he was a Jedi Master again. He stopped reeling from the idea that Coruscant was lost, and started weighing choices, coolly deciding how many he could save.
“Understood,” he said into the comm unit. “I’ll ask for volunteers.”
There was a heavy silence from the other end of the comm. Mace didn’t notice it. He was too busy trying to decide who to send, who he could ask to make the difficult decisions. They were all Jedi. They were all willing to die for the Republic. How many would be willing to do what didn’t come naturally: to run away, hide, and to save themselves for the strategic good of the Republic?
“I’ve got Anakin, we’re heading over to the Temple - “
“No,” Mace cut Obi-Wan off, “Obi-Wan, your responsibility is to get Skywalker off Coruscant.” That much, he knew was important. If there was anything Mace could believe in, it was Skywalker’s prowess as a warrior, and a pilot. And the Chosen One. The Force had shown Mace the dark lines of power, radiating outward, and he knew that Skywalker and Kenobi were bound up in this once more. “I’m charging you with his protection. Skywalker must live, and you must get off Coruscant, regardless of whatever else happens to anyone. Do you understand?”
Would you sacrifice the whole planet to save Skywalker, Mace? It was a dark thought. He ignored it. It wasn’t one that he had to think about now.
A general would have dropped a baradium bomb on that arena. Strange how often his thoughts took the sound of Depa's voice, now.
“Mace,” Obi-Wan said, and he sounded worried, “We have to evacuate -“
There was an explosion, and then a low whine, and then the lights went out. They were back on a few moments later: the dim emergency lighting flickered on.
“Mace?”
Mace did not curse. However, he demanded sharply, “What was that?”
“EMP pulse,” Obi-Wan said, and now he was very definitely worried, “Someone fired a series of EMP missiles and detonated them point-blank over Coruscant. All systems are down. The Temple has back-up generators…”
And shielded hangars, Mace realised, calculating. Which meant that the Republic military bases could already be hit and already down. And if an invasion fleet was on the way, then most of the Republic’s ships were out of the fight for hours yet.
His blood ran cold. Without larger ships, evacuation was an almost-impossible cause.
“…Starkiller,” Obi-Wan mentioned, and then Mace realised he’d missed what Obi-Wan was saying. He’d been too focused on the problem at hand.
“What about him?”
“Anakin won’t leave until he’s certain Starkiller is safe.”
“Obi-Wan, Starkiller isn’t even on the planet. He was on a mission to Bakura.” Mace did not add that he would have evacuated Skywalker’s old Padawan, if that was what it took. “Protect Skywalker, Obi-Wan. May the Force be with you.”
“May the Force be with you, Mace.”
Mace shut off the transmission, and then cast one more glance at the sullen purple skies. That should have been their first warning, he thought, dismayed, before he palmed open the door and headed for the communications centre at a run.
-
The snap-hiss of his lightsaber activating almost startled Mace, as he activated it and spun on his heel, blade arcing out to point directly at Vergere’s throat. And then he was staring stonily at her, the lightsaber held steady in his grasp.
“Vergere,” he said. He did not lower the lightsaber. Vergere. The renegade Jedi Skywalker and Obi-Wan had been dispatched to find, so many years ago. The Knight who had returned to the known galaxy after years and years of absence. Who had taken Depa and fled, and was now within reach of his lightsaber. Mace did not consider if it was a perfectly Jedi response. Vergere was dangerous. Of that, he was absolutely certain. “What do you want?”
“Hello, Mace,” Vergere said cheerfully, with one of her inscrutable smiles. Her hands were by her side, perfectly relaxed, and she made no move to reach for the lightsaber that she must be carrying concealed on her. The feathers of her cranial crest betrayed no sign of anything apart from amusement. “I quite expected to find you…here,” she glanced about at his quarters momentarily.
Mace grunted; he wasn’t sure he could believe her. And an unarmed Jedi was still dangerous. The Force was their ally. A lightsaber just made them a lot more dangerous. The unique physiology of Vergere’s species meant that he’d have to adjust tactics if it came down to a duel. “Get out.”
Teardrop shaped eyes shifted subtly as Vergere’s mouth twitched. Half-smile now. “Or else?” she asked, merrily. “You should know by now, Master Windu. Orders are not orders unless backed by force.”
Mace wasn’t going to force a confrontation. He didn’t have the time for this. He realised he was tense, like a stretched string, and forced himself to relax. Be motion, the Ataru Masters instructed. Be fluid. Water does not anticipate; it reacts.
He took one more step towards her, to unsettle her. The lightsaber cast violet-edged shadows near the vulnerable Fosh neck. “You are under arrest, Vergere. Consider your Knighthood suspended, pending disciplinary action.”
“Only a fool,” Vergere said softly, “Plays games of power when the world is crumbling around him.” Eyes bright, whiskers twitching, she stared at him, feathers turned a bright shade of purple that matched the vivid hue of his lightsaber blade. “Are you a fool, Mace?”
Mace’s hand squeezed the hilt and he watched his lightsaber blade shrink away, felt the anger die down in him. He was not surprised, anymore. “And I suppose your masters are pleased with you.”
“Mace,” she said. Chiding. “You’ve become petty…”
“Tell me what you did to Depa.”
“Don’t you have other worries?” she wanted to know. “Mace,” Vergere said patiently, as if he were a youngling being instructed in the Jedi principles of combat, “You don’t even know the face of your enemy.”
“Then tell me.”
She took a step forward, and then glanced up at him. “They call themselves the Vong. The Yuuzhan Vong. The Temple is falling. If you don’t get your act together, Mace…” she leaned forward conspiratorially, “They will destroy the Republic.”
Tricks, Mace knew. Jedi focus creates reality. Words create the focus. He met the doubt with the iron will of a Jedi Master. Do not seek to control the future.
This time, the snap-hiss of a lightsaber igniting was not his. Mace triggered his lightsaber in time to block the shining blue of Vergere’s blade. He whirled and sank into Vaapad in a moment, feeling the snarling energies course through him as he met a one-handed cut with a swift parry that forced Vergere backwards until she slammed a Force-push that landed hard and fast, socking him in the gut.
He wavered and Vergere was in and under his defense, pushing him fast. She slapped aside his lightsaber with a reverse-Shien parry, and then one clawed hand touched his cheek, lightly.
It was damp.
Mace fell.
-
Mace Windu opened his eyes.
The movement sent purple-green electric sparks arcing along optic fibers of nerve bundles shooting in needle-sharp pinpoints prickling behind his eyesockets deep in his skull. He ground his hand against the persistent ache in his forehead.
He tried to sit up; everywhere ached and hurt. His chest hurt, and when he glanced down, he didn’t see a wound - he saw a thin, pale line of pink flesh that throbbed when he touched it. It looked days old, raw flesh knitting together into a faint scar that would later fade ghost-white against his darker skin. His robes had been slit there, with the neat cut typical of a bladed weapon.
Mace didn’t remember being wounded. He was also certain he hadn’t been out for days.
The apartment was dark; the only light that came in was through the large transparisteel-paned window, transforming all colours, even the dun beige of his robes into variations of sickly alien hues.
Mace didn’t know how long he sat there, legs tucked up against his aching chest. He flipped the switches at least five times with the Force before he realised they’d hit the power generators. Maybe the Temple’s backups too.
He sat there for a while longer, staring at the swirling malevolent magenta skies in the dim mauve-edged shadows.
Finally, Vergere spoke up from a pool of purple-black shadow, in the corner of the room. You should leave soon, she said, or you will die. Mace blinked, and winced as the motion sent splinters of pain kniving through his head. For a moment, he could see the plastcrete of the wall through her translucent form.
He grunted a response and settled for ignoring her.
They’re coming, Mace, Vergere said. She came over and crouched down in front of him, so close that she was almost touching him. Mace didn’t blink this time as he stared back at her. He would see her even if he closed his eyes.
In his dreams, he saw Coruscant fall to the night. He saw the city become a planet-wide jungle, fungi and mold swallowing the sharp striking corners of duracrete, making everything soft with decay. Now, the jungle was here with him, in this room. Brassthorn vines grew thick and ropy in the purple-inked shadows. He could feel the tendrils pulse in time with his slow heartbeat.
It is in the darkest night that the light we are shines brightest, Vergere continued. He blinked, as if he had been struck, and stared at her, eyes narrowed. The information you carry with you is the key, Mace. And what will you do with it, hmm?
She was joined by a familiar figure who walked out of the shadows, and then nudged at Mace with the toe of his boot. Time to go, dôshalo, Kar Vastor rumbled, needle-sharp teeth flashing in a predatory grin.
Mace reached into the Force - or perhaps the Force reached into him. The moment crystallised, faultlines of decision and significance fusing into a bright crusted web of cracks. Suddenly, that which was clouded earlier was now imbued with a new clarity; the void melted away in the Force, showing him lines of choice.
The Force showed him nothing of Vergere, or Kar. In a way, Mace had already expected it. It made things so much easier.
Everything pointed to him. Now, he was the anchor on which the shatterpoint of this whole war swung towards. Kenobi. Skywalker. The lines still radiated off into the distance. The whole mess was gaining some form of momentum. Mace looked deeper into the Force, assessing shifting planes of stability, chaos, reality - the layers interlocked to form the intricate lattice that was the moment, the war, here and now. He sensed that if he hit it in just the right way, the shatterpoints would cascade outwards…would unravel, to reveal…
To reveal what?
Dôshalo, Kar Vastor growled. It is time.
Mace went.
Fandom: Star Wars
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Anakin Skywalker (mentioned), Depa Billaba (mentioned), Galen Marek/Starkiller (mentioned), Kar Vastor (mentioned), Mace Windu, Obi-Wan Kenobi, Vergere
Summary: Mace doesn't expect to survive the fall of Coruscant. Vergere has other plans.
Note: Set in the Destroyer of Worlds universe. Tentatively set at the same time as A Good Day To Die and Purple Skies In The Morning. Also set before Pandora's Box. This is pretty much a very dark version of the Yuuzhan Vong invasion, set a little differently in time.
-
Mace Windu blinked open his eyes.
The movement sent purple-green electric sparks arcing along optic fibers of nerve bundles shooting in needle-sharp pinpoints prickling behind his eyesockets deep in his skull. He ground his hand against the persistent ache in his forehead.
He tried to sit up; everywhere ached and hurt. His chest hurt, and when he glanced down, he didn’t see a wound - he saw a thin, pale line of pink flesh that throbbed when he touched it. It looked days old, raw flesh knitting together into a faint scar that would later fade ghost-white against his darker skin. His robes had been slit there, with the neat cut typical of a bladed weapon.
Mace didn’t remember being wounded. He was also certain he hadn’t been out for days.
The apartment was dark; the only light that came in was through the large transparisteel-paned window, transforming all colours, even the dun beige of his robes into variations of sickly alien hues.
Mace didn’t know how long he sat there, legs tucked up against his aching chest. He flipped the switches at least five times with the Force before he realised they’d hit the power generators. Maybe the Temple’s backups too.
He sat there for a while longer, staring at the swirling malevolent magenta skies in the dim mauve-edged shadows before Mace realised that the power wasn’t going to come back on.
Ever.
-
It had all begun with purple skies in the morning.
Or with Depa’s abduction. Or with Vergere’s return from beyond the Outer Rim, when the Archivists in charge of the Jedi Temple rosters had long written her off for good. Or that morning so many years ago, when he had supported Master Yoda’s conclusions when the Council deliberated about what Palpatine had told former Jedi Master Anakin Skywalker.
Mace’s first act as the new Grand Master of the Jedi Order had been to reinstate Anakin Skywalker as a Jedi Master. Skywalker had told him precisely where he could stick that promotion - or reinstation. But he hadn’t resigned, either.
Or it had begun with a comm transmission from Obi-Wan Kenobi.
Mace had been considering the problem of Kyp Durron’s latest mess when his comm unit had blinked, indicating a call. Calls to his private quarters were usually made by personal friends: a quick check had shown it was from Obi-Wan’s comlink.
“Mace?” Obi-Wan’s voice issued from the speaker. Mace frowned. Reception wasn’t usually so bad. This time, static crackled and threatened to disrupt the comm transmission, and he made a mental note to check with the Temple communications centre.
“Obi-Wan,” he greeted tersely, “What is it?”
“Mace, get the Temple to evacuate. There’s an invasion fleet - an alien fleet, and communications are being jammed right now. I’ve had to get through a great deal of static to even patch this through to the Temple, and Coruscant’s lost, Mace, it’s imperative you get as many Jedi and civilians out as possible…”
Mace heard the words, with stunned incomprehension. “Coruscant’s lost? An invasion fleet?” And breathed them, the mind of one of the Republic’s military commanders coming to the forefront. The situation crystallised as he breathed and reached out instinctively to the Force, trying to feel for shatterpoints…
And he fumbled and felt uncertainty. Half the faultlines buckled and threatened to slip away into a void: the other half of them were tied in an intricate knotted matrix around the Jedi Temple and beings that Mace could only barely sense.
And Kenobi. And Skywalker.
All this went through his mind in as much time as it took for him to ruthlessly quash the doubt. The General assessed the situation; the Jedi Master winced but saw Obi-Wan’s logic. “Understood,” he said crisply. “Coruscant’s defenses?”
“Offline. Someone’s disrupting communications and any attempt to coordinate a defense. Mace…down….contacts say…inevitable…”
“Obi-Wan?” Mace tried, “Obi-Wan! Come in. Your signal’s breaking up.”
“Coruscant’s planetary defenses are down. The planet is defenseless, Mace. My contacts say defeat is inevitable.”
Mace made the difficult decision in a heartbeat. In a moment, he was a Jedi Master again. He stopped reeling from the idea that Coruscant was lost, and started weighing choices, coolly deciding how many he could save.
“Understood,” he said into the comm unit. “I’ll ask for volunteers.”
There was a heavy silence from the other end of the comm. Mace didn’t notice it. He was too busy trying to decide who to send, who he could ask to make the difficult decisions. They were all Jedi. They were all willing to die for the Republic. How many would be willing to do what didn’t come naturally: to run away, hide, and to save themselves for the strategic good of the Republic?
“I’ve got Anakin, we’re heading over to the Temple - “
“No,” Mace cut Obi-Wan off, “Obi-Wan, your responsibility is to get Skywalker off Coruscant.” That much, he knew was important. If there was anything Mace could believe in, it was Skywalker’s prowess as a warrior, and a pilot. And the Chosen One. The Force had shown Mace the dark lines of power, radiating outward, and he knew that Skywalker and Kenobi were bound up in this once more. “I’m charging you with his protection. Skywalker must live, and you must get off Coruscant, regardless of whatever else happens to anyone. Do you understand?”
Would you sacrifice the whole planet to save Skywalker, Mace? It was a dark thought. He ignored it. It wasn’t one that he had to think about now.
A general would have dropped a baradium bomb on that arena. Strange how often his thoughts took the sound of Depa's voice, now.
“Mace,” Obi-Wan said, and he sounded worried, “We have to evacuate -“
There was an explosion, and then a low whine, and then the lights went out. They were back on a few moments later: the dim emergency lighting flickered on.
“Mace?”
Mace did not curse. However, he demanded sharply, “What was that?”
“EMP pulse,” Obi-Wan said, and now he was very definitely worried, “Someone fired a series of EMP missiles and detonated them point-blank over Coruscant. All systems are down. The Temple has back-up generators…”
And shielded hangars, Mace realised, calculating. Which meant that the Republic military bases could already be hit and already down. And if an invasion fleet was on the way, then most of the Republic’s ships were out of the fight for hours yet.
His blood ran cold. Without larger ships, evacuation was an almost-impossible cause.
“…Starkiller,” Obi-Wan mentioned, and then Mace realised he’d missed what Obi-Wan was saying. He’d been too focused on the problem at hand.
“What about him?”
“Anakin won’t leave until he’s certain Starkiller is safe.”
“Obi-Wan, Starkiller isn’t even on the planet. He was on a mission to Bakura.” Mace did not add that he would have evacuated Skywalker’s old Padawan, if that was what it took. “Protect Skywalker, Obi-Wan. May the Force be with you.”
“May the Force be with you, Mace.”
Mace shut off the transmission, and then cast one more glance at the sullen purple skies. That should have been their first warning, he thought, dismayed, before he palmed open the door and headed for the communications centre at a run.
-
The snap-hiss of his lightsaber activating almost startled Mace, as he activated it and spun on his heel, blade arcing out to point directly at Vergere’s throat. And then he was staring stonily at her, the lightsaber held steady in his grasp.
“Vergere,” he said. He did not lower the lightsaber. Vergere. The renegade Jedi Skywalker and Obi-Wan had been dispatched to find, so many years ago. The Knight who had returned to the known galaxy after years and years of absence. Who had taken Depa and fled, and was now within reach of his lightsaber. Mace did not consider if it was a perfectly Jedi response. Vergere was dangerous. Of that, he was absolutely certain. “What do you want?”
“Hello, Mace,” Vergere said cheerfully, with one of her inscrutable smiles. Her hands were by her side, perfectly relaxed, and she made no move to reach for the lightsaber that she must be carrying concealed on her. The feathers of her cranial crest betrayed no sign of anything apart from amusement. “I quite expected to find you…here,” she glanced about at his quarters momentarily.
Mace grunted; he wasn’t sure he could believe her. And an unarmed Jedi was still dangerous. The Force was their ally. A lightsaber just made them a lot more dangerous. The unique physiology of Vergere’s species meant that he’d have to adjust tactics if it came down to a duel. “Get out.”
Teardrop shaped eyes shifted subtly as Vergere’s mouth twitched. Half-smile now. “Or else?” she asked, merrily. “You should know by now, Master Windu. Orders are not orders unless backed by force.”
Mace wasn’t going to force a confrontation. He didn’t have the time for this. He realised he was tense, like a stretched string, and forced himself to relax. Be motion, the Ataru Masters instructed. Be fluid. Water does not anticipate; it reacts.
He took one more step towards her, to unsettle her. The lightsaber cast violet-edged shadows near the vulnerable Fosh neck. “You are under arrest, Vergere. Consider your Knighthood suspended, pending disciplinary action.”
“Only a fool,” Vergere said softly, “Plays games of power when the world is crumbling around him.” Eyes bright, whiskers twitching, she stared at him, feathers turned a bright shade of purple that matched the vivid hue of his lightsaber blade. “Are you a fool, Mace?”
Mace’s hand squeezed the hilt and he watched his lightsaber blade shrink away, felt the anger die down in him. He was not surprised, anymore. “And I suppose your masters are pleased with you.”
“Mace,” she said. Chiding. “You’ve become petty…”
“Tell me what you did to Depa.”
“Don’t you have other worries?” she wanted to know. “Mace,” Vergere said patiently, as if he were a youngling being instructed in the Jedi principles of combat, “You don’t even know the face of your enemy.”
“Then tell me.”
She took a step forward, and then glanced up at him. “They call themselves the Vong. The Yuuzhan Vong. The Temple is falling. If you don’t get your act together, Mace…” she leaned forward conspiratorially, “They will destroy the Republic.”
Tricks, Mace knew. Jedi focus creates reality. Words create the focus. He met the doubt with the iron will of a Jedi Master. Do not seek to control the future.
This time, the snap-hiss of a lightsaber igniting was not his. Mace triggered his lightsaber in time to block the shining blue of Vergere’s blade. He whirled and sank into Vaapad in a moment, feeling the snarling energies course through him as he met a one-handed cut with a swift parry that forced Vergere backwards until she slammed a Force-push that landed hard and fast, socking him in the gut.
He wavered and Vergere was in and under his defense, pushing him fast. She slapped aside his lightsaber with a reverse-Shien parry, and then one clawed hand touched his cheek, lightly.
It was damp.
Mace fell.
-
Mace Windu opened his eyes.
The movement sent purple-green electric sparks arcing along optic fibers of nerve bundles shooting in needle-sharp pinpoints prickling behind his eyesockets deep in his skull. He ground his hand against the persistent ache in his forehead.
He tried to sit up; everywhere ached and hurt. His chest hurt, and when he glanced down, he didn’t see a wound - he saw a thin, pale line of pink flesh that throbbed when he touched it. It looked days old, raw flesh knitting together into a faint scar that would later fade ghost-white against his darker skin. His robes had been slit there, with the neat cut typical of a bladed weapon.
Mace didn’t remember being wounded. He was also certain he hadn’t been out for days.
The apartment was dark; the only light that came in was through the large transparisteel-paned window, transforming all colours, even the dun beige of his robes into variations of sickly alien hues.
Mace didn’t know how long he sat there, legs tucked up against his aching chest. He flipped the switches at least five times with the Force before he realised they’d hit the power generators. Maybe the Temple’s backups too.
He sat there for a while longer, staring at the swirling malevolent magenta skies in the dim mauve-edged shadows.
Finally, Vergere spoke up from a pool of purple-black shadow, in the corner of the room. You should leave soon, she said, or you will die. Mace blinked, and winced as the motion sent splinters of pain kniving through his head. For a moment, he could see the plastcrete of the wall through her translucent form.
He grunted a response and settled for ignoring her.
They’re coming, Mace, Vergere said. She came over and crouched down in front of him, so close that she was almost touching him. Mace didn’t blink this time as he stared back at her. He would see her even if he closed his eyes.
In his dreams, he saw Coruscant fall to the night. He saw the city become a planet-wide jungle, fungi and mold swallowing the sharp striking corners of duracrete, making everything soft with decay. Now, the jungle was here with him, in this room. Brassthorn vines grew thick and ropy in the purple-inked shadows. He could feel the tendrils pulse in time with his slow heartbeat.
It is in the darkest night that the light we are shines brightest, Vergere continued. He blinked, as if he had been struck, and stared at her, eyes narrowed. The information you carry with you is the key, Mace. And what will you do with it, hmm?
She was joined by a familiar figure who walked out of the shadows, and then nudged at Mace with the toe of his boot. Time to go, dôshalo, Kar Vastor rumbled, needle-sharp teeth flashing in a predatory grin.
Mace reached into the Force - or perhaps the Force reached into him. The moment crystallised, faultlines of decision and significance fusing into a bright crusted web of cracks. Suddenly, that which was clouded earlier was now imbued with a new clarity; the void melted away in the Force, showing him lines of choice.
The Force showed him nothing of Vergere, or Kar. In a way, Mace had already expected it. It made things so much easier.
Everything pointed to him. Now, he was the anchor on which the shatterpoint of this whole war swung towards. Kenobi. Skywalker. The lines still radiated off into the distance. The whole mess was gaining some form of momentum. Mace looked deeper into the Force, assessing shifting planes of stability, chaos, reality - the layers interlocked to form the intricate lattice that was the moment, the war, here and now. He sensed that if he hit it in just the right way, the shatterpoints would cascade outwards…would unravel, to reveal…
To reveal what?
Dôshalo, Kar Vastor growled. It is time.
Mace went.