Force Destiny

Maz's Wisdom

Kylo forcefully opened the hatch and climbed out of the cockpit into the vast hangar. After checking Blue over for damage, he stumbled in a daze around the right side of the fighter to survey the extent of the destruction. He paused as a wave of nausea rolled through him. His knees buckled under his trembling weight, and he used the Force to remain upright. He pinched the bridge his nose, clearing the tears forming in the corners of his eyes in the process.

He was a naïve, weak-minded fool. He believed it was real. Again. As if he would ever be wanted for more than power. He had only ever been an enemy to her. She hated him, wanted nothing to do with him, just like everyone else. He wasn't surprised to find her with another man – why wouldn't they gravitate toward her light – but of all the anarchists she could have chosen, she kissed Dameron. And she did it when she knew he was there. She probably dragged him there for that sole purpose, because he knew he hadn't been thinking of her while engaged in a dog-fight with pirates.

Why did she choose Dameron? Did she know their history? Had she chosen Leia's surrogate son because she knew it would torment him? Kylo had been inside the pilot's mind. Dameron would never appreciate her strength in the Force, he would never understand her. Not like Kylo did. He would fear her as they all feared Ben Solo. He would never understand how special she was. Poe Dameron hadn't allowed himself to be close to anyone but a droid since his mother died. His only interest in her was superficial. Carnal

Another wave of nausea crashed over him.

The usual anger burned underneath his skin, pumping forcefully through his veins. Hatred was there too. And, of course, the sharp, cold claws of the darkness dragging him into the shadows where creatures like him belonged. He had always lived in the shadows; first in the shadows of legends and then in the shadows of darkness. And that was the worst part – why he hated seeing her with the traitor and the pilot. Or his mother. They were everything he was not. He and Rey had a connection that no one else had, but she didn't see the bond as anything but a curse. Why wouldn't she, he would never be anything but a monster. He had thought he could be enough for Rey, that she understood him, that she wanted him. She wanted him all right – wanted him as a power piece like a Mantellian Savrip in her galactic wargame. He had never been good enough, he would never be good enough; not for Sidious or the First Order or the Knights, not for his parents or his uncle or his grandfather.

Not for Rey.

Or himself.

His stomach twisted as something darker possessed his senses. It was at once burning, tearing and crushing him into nothing. He wasn't certain whether his difficulty breathing or the overwhelming desire to empty his stomach was more pressing. His body was shaking, and if there hadn't been stormtroopers watching his every move, he would have dropped to his knees, screamed until his voice was hoarse and pounded the floor with his fists until they were bloody and raw to match the wounded ache in his chest.

The despair escalated until every last thought was directed at stabilizing his emotions. He knew it wouldn't work; he had become an expert in his own violent outbursts, and he knew this would not end without destruction. The power of the Force was drawn to his fingers. He clenched them to contain it, but they itched with the need for release. His mind replayed her lips pressed against those of the treacherous drunkard, her hateful words echoing in his ears. He closed his eyes, picturing the softness in her eyes in the hut, her promise, but nothing could neutralize the piercing ache that threatened to overwhelm him.

When the rapidly expanding energy had become uncontrollable, he turned in desperation for a source to unleash the emotions suffocating the Force around him. His eyes settled on an unoccupied TIE fighter. He clenched and unclenched his fists in one last effort for control, but it was useless. As his fingers curled, the frame of the fighter began to buckle, caving in upon itself. Each crunch of metal that further rendered the ship unrecognizable tempered the storm inside him. When his body shuddered, finally exhausted by the uninhibited release of power, the ship was a sparking heap of twisted metal in the hangar. Part of him felt awe; he'd never destroyed an entire ship before. Despite the violent display, the nauseating ache quickly returned. The images of Rey with Leia's surrogate son replayed relentlessly in his mind.