Recruit

Chapter 11: Wrong

You stumble into your master's quarters, breath hitching in your lungs, your heart pumping cold, dark energy through your body. Your hands shake violently as your mind spins. Your eyes can't focus on anything around you.

"You're upset and angry." His voice is low, and not quiet, but soft somehow.

You feel the darkness pulsing in your fingertips, throbbing and ready to burst out. You look down at your hands, expecting to see it. It surges out and a strangled cry rips through your throat. Your ears start to ring, your vision tunnels.

Something round, textured, cold, and a little heavy is placed in your open palm.

"Ignite it."

Your mind doesn't process his words, but your body goes into action, griping your fingers around the object. All of the swirling, pulsing blackness starts to funnel down your arm, into your hand, then through the cold metal. It draws the darkness out of your mind, out of your pounding heart, and rushes toward the object as if it's being summoned.

Your thumb gravitates upward until it rests on a small, sliding switch. You push the slide up.

The room is filled with red light, breaking through the haze of darkness around your eyes. A crackling hum sings in your ears. And the light vibration in your hand pulls all the darkness inside right to it, and out through the glowing red blade.

A lightsaber?

It feels nothing like the other one you held after killing that Jedi. This feels good...right. It looks much different, there are two small rays of red plasma jutting out from the base. And it looks to be at a breaking point, the crackling and splintering nothing like the smooth blade and hum from the green one.

"Slash the wall. The table. The furniture. Everything."

Your eyes widen, and for the first time, you can see your master's face through the disappearing haze. His eyes are glowing in the red light, boring through your own into your soul. His chest heaves just as much as yours.

Words finally come to you. "What?"

He doesn't answer you. But he walks around you, pushing his chest into the back of your head and reaching his arm out. His hand grips tight around yours at the base of the weapon. His other hand grips your waist, digging his fingers into your skin to guide your movements. He steps forward, pushing you forward.

His hand pulls yours up, and then slashes down right through the back of a lounge chair. The red blade pulls and channels more of the energy through you. You already feel better than you just did. He does it again, spinning and pulling you against him, forcing you to slash at the wall. It feels even better.

He lets go of your hand, stepping back. You slash and hack, shouting, screaming. Spinning, you slam the crackling blade into everything it touches. A table, a sofa- repeatedly. Then you turn back to the wall, slashing back and forth at the same spot over and over again.

You aren't sure how long you do it, but eventually, all the darkness inside you is focused, running like a river through your body and out your hand, through the weapon. Your knees buckle under you, and you go down, the blade screaming against the floor as it slowly melts the metal under it.

It's taken out of your grasp, and you let your fingers fall open. The swirling, cold, dark energy starts to dissolve, going back into hiding wherever your body stores it. You realize you're smiling, teeth open to pull heavy breaths into your tired lungs. The red glow and crackling hum disappear, leaving only silence.

You just sit there on the floor for a moment, gazing around in awe at your destruction. There's a haze of acrid smoke hanging in the air from the scorched metal and sofa. Your heart still pounds, but it's focused and electric. You look down at your hands to find them still shaking in your lap.