The Hands of Fate

There Was Once an Innocent Boy

"You are beaten."

Luke was thrown to the ground by the weight of Darth Vader's blade, his hip sharply cutting into an elevated step on the catwalk. The words ignited a fear within the youth as he lay dumbly on the ground, suddenly realizing the raw strength of his opponent. He could only shake in horror as the red blade inched dangerously close to his skin, closer and closer with every step, until the fire of the blade heated the skin on his face. He couldn't move but he could feel the stray whiskers on his jaw slowly burn as the core radiated against the smooth pores.

While he own fear shook him into blinded submission, the weakened Jedi used whatever drive left in his being to scoot back further and further from his impending doom until he was practically lying completely on his back, Vader's blade looming over the entirety of his body. Fire singed the outer cloth of his fatigues, his body glistening underneath in horrific sweat; he continued crawling until his back jagged the corner of a step. He couldn't move back further – it was either surrender his morality or end his mortality. And for the first time in this battle, Luke wasn't sure what the right choice was. He couldn't give into the twisting and hateful dark side – but was he ready to give up his own life instead?

This was the man that had taken so much, murdered so many, the destroyer of millions - the angel of death that threatened the entire galaxy. This was the symbol of evil personified to young Skywalker and yet here he was; defenseless and beaten. Bones creaked and muscles sprang as he futilely tried to advance back further. The lightsaber was all he could stare at; that blade was so close to his soul, ready to pierce at any instant. The running blood that trickled down his nose quickly formed to a crust as Vader continued. Luke looked to the masked man and then to the blade, nodding in blank acceptance, knowing full well that this very weapon could be the one that spilled his last blood and fried it into oblivion. If he was going to die, he would have to give Darth Vader hell.

"It is useless to resist; don't let yourself be destroyed as Obi-Wan did." As Obi-Wan did - his mind left his body as his physical being continued to fight, controlled by both blind rage and powers beyond his control. The fire had been replenished in his soul as Luke Skywalker threw his blade into the air, directly entangling it into the crimson hue of his opponent, striking forward with an intensity he had never felt before.

He could barely feel the maddening red of his face, the blood in his cheeks and forehead close to burst, as he instinctively twisted to the side and narrowly dodged Darth Vader's swipe. The hurt came rushing back, lingering abandonment and resentment returned to his will, reminding him of yet another reason why he stood here. Why he was facing a man Luke knew now he would never beat. He remembered standing there in the hanger of the Death Star – the red blade slicing into the deteriorating robe. He could hear his own cry piercing back and reliving the old memory: his uncontrollable anger, his sudden bloodlust, a second that snapped him out of reality and into someone bent on revenge. He wanted justice - no. he wanted murder.

The two were locked in combat. Luke was in a realm he has never experienced, his arms moving almost automatically in blind anger, preparing an onslaught against the Dark Lord. He stabbed forward, lunging to meet the blade, swiping back left and right. Vader had no right to say that name. He was determined to make his one strike – his one victory in a battle marred with failure. He gives in. He detects slowness on Vader's part and brings his blade down across his shoulder, sparks soaring into the air and shooting out into the abyss.

The roar of Darth Vader filled the chamber, the massive husk quickly raising his arm into the air and swiping. Despite this one congratulatory effort, Luke knew he was soon defeated; though his soul was raised anew, his body began to slow and his movements depressed. The wrath that fueled and gave life to his motions soon slipped away as fear seeped back in to the tiny frame of a fledgling man. "You can do this, Luke," the young Jedi scampered back as he regained control of himself, narrowly avoiding a horizontal slice that would have cut him in two. An overlooking panel was sliced in two instead. He tried to distance himself even further but soon became aware of his own grim fate – the overlooking catwalk was heading towards an abrupt end.