Star Wars: The Chosen One || An Anakin Skywalker Story [COMPLETED]

Eighteen || Aggressive Negotiations

Kyla's POV

I don't know what happened to myself.

I don't remember who I was - who I could ever have hoped to be.

I don't have feelings anymore; I don't feel sympathy, or pity, regret, shame, sadness. My actions are upsetting to me, yet I can't feel anything. I feel the tears, the sense of them burning behind my eyes, and I open my mouth to scream - and there's nothing. No tears, sobs, screams. I'm an emotionless monster. I can't stop myself.

I can't stop my army from invading the Republic. I watch them with a proud figure and rule them with an iron fist, yet the weak soul that still exists within me tells me this is not what Mom would've wanted. I swat the thoughts away like a pesky insect; my mother was dead. My father was dead. My brother was somewhere I couldn't care less about, somewhere I had enraging and uncontrollable anger for.

It was like I was two people; I had my Dark Side, the side of me with the stone cold yellow eyes and frozen heart, a mindset to destroy the Republic. A mindset to take over the galaxy. Then I had the light side of myself, the light side that was fading. It was becoming a dollop of nothing, a nagging voice in my head that I was certain was my former Master's, his bold voice demanding I stop this. I couldn't forgive myself for what I was doing, for what I planned to do - but at the same time, I had never been more proud of myself.

Today, my army invades the Republic.

Today, my army leaves the planet of Hoth, on their mission to invade and destroy the Republic, starting at the atmosphere of Coruscant.

I show no emotion as I watch them leave, standing in the entryway of my base underground. They march, clone after clone, replicas of one another, the same stature, the same position. My army. I stand proud, my dark cloak falling over my broad shoulders in an elegant way, my hood overtop my thick hair and round face, brightening my yellow eyes and concealing my identity. My silhouette stands tall over the white snow. I stand with authority, with rule. I will never stand another way again.

From behind my back, I hold my most powerful weapon; my lightsaber. With the swish of my wrist, the blade ignites, the once blue blade that represented the Jedi.

Now, the once blue blade is replaced with a red one, bright and warm, radiating onto me. I feel my power within this weapon. I recall everything I'd ever been told about this weapon; if only it could've had this much power when I was a Jedi. I realize I have a sly smile on my face, hidden underneath my hood, as I was thinking about my double-sided red blade and the power it holds. I was trained with this weapon; and with two sides, it was the ultimate one.

Nothing can stop me now, I think proudly, watching my army leave the base, marching into their fighters, ready to invade and destroy the Republic.

My Empire is almost ready.

Soon, Darth Demetrious will be in rule.

Narrator's POV

Effortlessly, Padmé Amidala finds herself jogging into a sprint towards her husband Anakin Skywalker on their veranda, as she saw his Starfighter land on the landing pad. He had been in Hoth for the past few days on a mission with Obi-Wan Kenobi, looking for a Clone army base under Kyla Valero's reign. She couldn't help but conceal her worry she'd been dealing with these past few days; every time she asked the Council how Anakin was doing, they never had a clear answer for her.

But now, all her worries were instantly erased as she saw the familiar dark figure of her husband jogging towards her, two lovers at last meeting again.

She says nothing as he gathers her in a hug, her face pressed against his dark tunic, her ear against his quickening heartbeat as he whirls her around off her feet, relieved to see her again, ending their twirl with him finally placing her petite body back on the ground. They embrace each other, her hands cradled around the back of his sweat-beaded neck, his hands stroking the sides of her soft, smooth face, as her hair was up in an ornate style, looking ever more radiant in the lights of the slowly fading day.