Afterglow II | The Clone Wars

Death's Door

Primal. The agony that erupted out of her, tearing her windpipe. Not a battle cry nor anger. It tore itself free from somewhere deep inside her barb-wired defenses as the world refused to stay in clarity.

Smoke rolled across the shattered platform in thick, suffocating waves, swallowing pieces of the wreckage before revealing them again. The remains of their shuttle—their escape—burned behind her.

Rex.

He slumped against a twisted support beam, one hand weakly gripping the jagged piece of durasteel that had punched through the front of his armor after he'd been hurled into the wreckage. His helmet lay several feet away. His head hung forward, catatonic, his shoulders—the ones she pressed her forehead lovingly into—still, as blood coated the piercing point jutting out of him.

"Rex..." Dakota croaked, attempting to crawl but her ruined leg folded. She collapsed on her stomach, ribs crushed. Everything hurt. Everything, everything.

The Mask stood several meters away, untouched by the torturous chaos she'd created and relished in. Her red blade cast a dull glow across the smoke.

"You had this coming." Her modulated voice was calm. "You misplaced your priorities."

Dakota glared up at her through strands of sweat and blood-soaked hair. "I'll fucking—" Her throat caught, a sob rattling through her.

The Mask tilted, her voice a song. "I warned you. You chose sentiment over strategy. Others over your own. And look where it brought you." She pointed her saber to Rex. "Death's door."

A scraping noise interrupted them. Ava. Who always knew how and when to interrupt. The young Twi'lek pushed herself up from the ground, coughing through the smoke. She was shaking, terrified. A child.

Dakota's eyes widened. "No." She whirled back to the Mask. "Please don't. I beg you, please."

Ava reached into her bag with trembling hands. Her fingers closed around the tiny emergency blaster she'd hidden there. She raised it defiantly with both hands, trying to steady its near impossible aim. The barrel wavered toward the masked woman.

"I..." Ava's voice cracked. She shook. "Leave her alone."

Dakota's heart lurched. She grabbed hold the Mask's ankle as the shadow moved. "No! She's a child. Take me. Kill me. Me! Me!"

The Mask, void of empathy, kicked the Jedi in the jaw, sending her head snapping to the side, silencing her pleas.

Curling her fingers, the Mask then used the Force on the blaster, ripping it from Ava's shaky grip. Metal shrieked. The weapon crumpled in midair, folding in on itself until it became an unrecognizable ball of twisted alloy before clattering uselessly onto the platform.

Ava stared, defeated. The Force seized her next. Her feet left the ground. She gasped as she was pulled helplessly across the platform toward the masked figure.

Dakota's voice broke. She clawed, nearly delirious, across the durasteel, dragging herself, bloody and broken, forward despite her ruined leg. She yelled. "ME. ME."

Everything seemed to slow. Ava was brought to a hover in front of the Mask, tears streaming her cheeks and tap—tap—tapping on the ground.

And in a flash of crimson.

A body fell. Another dragged.

Lekku slipped weakly across forearms, hands missing ligaments shook a lifeless corpse—a child. Willing her to reignite.

She did not.