Revelation: A Star Wars Fanfic

Chapter 8

"You're not a bad person. You're a very good person who bad things have happened to. Besides, the world isn't split into good people and [bad people]. We've all got both Light and Dark inside us. What matters is the part we choose to act on. That's who we really are."
—Sirius Black, Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix

There is Darkness. And there is Light. That much had always been clear to be.

My vision became a haze, focusing on nothing in particular. I heard only the melody of the Dark Side and my own heart beat in tune with the hum of my lightsabers. I felt only the hilt in my hand.

It was as if I was being controlled by a Force far greater than me. I remember feeling wild and uncontrolled, but it was welcoming.

How I had longed to reach deep inside myself, to let that side of me show.

I do not remember the trip to Geonosis. I do not remember jumping from the ship. I do not remember the hoards of clone troopers joining us.

I only remember my eyes feeling like fire as they burned red with rage and the immense hatred I felt for these hideous creatures for what they did to my family.

The world moved slowly as I cut down the next abomination. I felt its agony, but it only added fuel to my flames.

I exterminated beast after beast, inflicting pain and suffering that I shamefully enjoyed.

Reflecting upon it, I admit that I was a beast myself. I was simply a weapon of mass destruction sent to wipe out an enemy.

Then I heard a forceful interruption, like a tear in a tightly fabricated dream. It was weak, but it was enough.

I pushed away the thoughts and wants of the Dark Side, refusing to be it's conduit any longer. I looked up just in time to see my brother catch me as I fell, exhausted.

And in excruciating pain.

In my drunken, power-mongering state, I hadn't noticed the Jedi that had targeted me as an enemy. I had not killed them, but I had dealt some serious blows, but not before they got their licks in.

My shoulder glowed white hot from a burn, as did my thigh. A few small cuts would scar across my arms, but perhaps the worst of it was the blow to my neck that was meant to be fatal.

Betwixt the pain of killing others, and I indeed felt their pain, I had ignored my own.

I was dying; that much was obvious.

For what might have been the last time, I looked into the starkly cold eyes of my brother. His eyes were torn by circumstances that he didn't fully understand.

But I knew what I needed to do.

Clutching desperately at the gaping wound on throat, I managed to whimper a small word: "Go."

And I prayed profusely, singing our shared song with the Force in my head, hoping that he would hear it and understand. In the few seconds I had, I needed to convey a short message.

His lips moved, but I couldn't hear any sounds. I didn't understand. I just hoped that he did.

I felt blissfully unaware of my surroundings.