The Art of Broken Pieces

35-ish Porgs

Rey's anger was a constant presence in the back of Ben's mind, and it fueled him. They were fighting as one, light and dark, feeding off of one another's power and fury.

Ben had known the First Order stormtroopers were positioned to surround him, even as he swept into their trap with all the unrestrained power of a tidal wave. The unstable lightsaber in his hands burned through the air, spinning a net around him in all directions as he spun, reflecting blaster shots and countering the weaker energy weapons they wielded as he moved into close quarters with the ones near the base of the ship.

His concentration fragmented into as many pieces as he needed to survive. One to freeze blaster fire in the air behind him. One to lift the dark uniformed man that charged his flank and throw him with crushing force against the ship's hull, hearing and feeling the shattering of bone, the extinguishing of his life in the Force. One to raise his own weapon to meet the crackling blade of an energy spear, the vibrations ringing through his hands and up his arms.

The soldier engaging him was skilled enough in her own right, wielding her weapon with enough force and technique to require Ben's focus on the fight. Sparks flew around them, the sand spraying up under their boots as they danced in the shade of the hulking ship's wing.

Spinning away momentarily Ben redirected one of the energy bolts he held suspended, sending it flying into the chest of a last stormtrooper attempting to sneak up while he was distracted. Even in that moment, his skilled opponent swept in with a raking swing that caught in Ben's shirt and blazed a thin line of pain across his stomach as he danced backwards with a curse.

His anger rose with the pain, focusing his attention. It fed him, fed the Force within him, and with a snarling cry he lunged forward, battering her back with lightning fast strikes. She was withdrawing before him now, entirely on the defensive as the force raged in him.

Driving her back against the ship's body Ben dropped one hand from his weapon and reached out, wrapping fingers around the long hilt of her own and ripping it from her hands. There was fear in her eyes now, fear, and an anger not unlike his own. Holding her frozen with the Force, Ben took the moment of victory to cast his senses over the battlefield behind him, assuring himself that there were no other relevant survivors. Distantly, he could feel Rey still fighting her own war.

Halfway down from the ceiling, Rey ignited her lightsaber. It sprang out with a snap-hiss and cast luminous blue light across the faces of the children. She landed in a fighting stance, dropped her staff to her foot, and stretched out her arm. She didn't know how to do this particular force-move, but Ben did, and she stole the knowledge from his mind.

Dominate. Subjugate. Move.

It's what he'd done to her in the forest, the day they'd met, when he'd frozen her in place, prowled around her like a demon deciding which soft part to strike at first. But this was different. Ten hands released ten slave children, who dropped to their knees and scrambled into the deepened shadows.

Ten was too many. In her mind, in Ben's mind, that was clear. Their combined wills were too strong. They overwhelmed her, and she felt her mind shudder against them. She released her hold with a rough cry and kicked her staff back into her off hand. When the traders began to shoot, she was already whirling.

Ben followed her back to her battle for a few moments, enough to make certain that she had things under control. It would not be an easy fight, but Rey would be able to handle it. From the brief glimpse had stolen from her mind the slavers were large and sluggish, and it would be a good test of her abilities.

Refocusing on his own prey, Ben prowled around his captive, eyes narrowed. She wore the badges of decent rank, more than he had seen on any other survivors of the First Order. Her eyes followed him, wide with a mix of tumbling emotions that were easy to read from the surface of her thoughts. Fear, confusion, betrayal... hope.