=== Obi-Wan ===
Obi-Wan stood with his arms folded loosely before him, watching as one of his close friends' heads was opened.
Across the room, upon a raised medical platform, Rex lay motionless, his armor stripped away, replaced by sterile coverings and a web of scanning devices that cast faint, shifting lights across his body. Thin beams of blue light passed methodically over his skull, mapping and revealing what had been hidden beneath, a violation that sent a quiet chill through Obi-Wan's thoughts every time he allowed himself to truly consider it.
At his side stood Satine Kryze. She watched the display intently, her hands clasped lightly before her.
"There," she said quietly.
Obi-Wan followed her gaze.
The display shifted, zooming inward, layer by layer, until it revealed a small implant nestled deep within Rex's brain.
Obi-Wan felt something tighten in his chest.
"So it's true…" he murmured, more to himself than to her. "The Sith had control of everything from the start."
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Then Obi-Wan straightened slightly. "Can it be removed?"
"Yes." Her eyes flicked toward him briefly. "But it will be delicate. One mistake…"
She didn't finish the thought.
Obi-Wan nodded once. "Do it."
The droids moved in, their movements smooth as they positioned themselves around Rex. The faint hum of surgical instruments replaced the steady rhythm of the scanner, and silence settled over the room as the process began.
Obi-Wan watched as the incision was made, as the delicate tools moved and navigated the fragile pathways of Rex's brain. The chip itself was smaller than he had expected, insignificant in size, yet catastrophic in its purpose. And as it was carefully extracted, lifted free from where it had been embedded, Obi-Wan felt his stomach churn.
"It's done," Satine said at last.
Obi-Wan exhaled slowly, a breath he hadn't realized he had been holding.
Rex was moved into recovery soon after, the medical systems adjusting to monitor his vitals as his body began the slow process of stabilizing.
Satine stepped away from the platform, her gaze drifting toward Obi-Wan as the tension in her posture eased, if only slightly. "He should wake soon," she said. "He may be confused. But physically, he'll recover."
Obi-Wan nodded, though his thoughts were already elsewhere.
Satine studied him for a moment, then asked quietly, "And you?"
He didn't answer immediately.
Instead, he closed his eyes.
He reached outward, searching and feeling for the familiar signatures of those friends, allies, and fellow Jedi. But what came back was… absence. Silence. A void where there should have been light.
There were presences, yes. Life still burned across the galaxy. But the ones he sought… they were gone. Or hidden. Or worse.
He opened his eyes slowly.
"I don't know who's left," he admitted, his voice quieter now. "I can't feel them. Not clearly though. The Force… it's clouded." His gaze drifted briefly toward Rex, then back to Satine. "But one thing hasn't changed."
She held his gaze.
"I have to stop him."
"Anakin cannot be allowed to continue down this path," Obi-Wan said. "But I cannot do it alone."
Satine's expression softened, though concern lingered behind it. "Then you won't," she said. "You have allies. More than you think."
Obi-Wan gave a faint, almost weary smile. "I hope you're right."
A quiet shift drew their attention.
Rex stirred.
It was subtle at first, a tightening of his brow, a faint movement of his hand, then his breathing changed, deepening slightly as consciousness began to return. His eyes opened slowly, unfocused at first, blinking against the light as he tried to make sense of where he was.
"…Where…?"
His voice was rough and strained.
Obi-Wan crossed towards him immediately. "Easy, Captain," he said gently. "You're safe."
Rex's gaze shifted, finding him, though confusion still clouded his expression. "General…?" His voice carried uncertainty now, as though the word itself didn't quite feel right. "What… happened?"
Obi-Wan exchanged a brief glance with Satine before looking back at him.
"You were injured," he said carefully. "And… compromised." He paused, choosing his words with care. "There was something in your head. A device. We removed it."
Rex frowned slightly, his hand lifting weakly toward his temple. "A… device?" His brow furrowed deeper. "I don't… I don't understand."
"Neither do we," Obi-Wan said quietly. "We believe it was placed there without your knowledge. We believe it's what forced you… and the other clones… to follow orders you would not have otherwise followed."
The words settled slowly.
"…I remember…" Rex murmured, then stopped, his expression tightening briefly before easing again. "No. It's… it's not clear."
He looked back at Obi-Wan.
"…But… the device is gone?"
Obi-Wan nodded. "Yes."
Rex let out a slow breath, some of the tension leaving him as he sank back slightly against the platform. "Good," he said simply.
=== Darth Vader ===
Darth Vader stood with his back to the viewport, the vastness of the city reflected dimly across the dark, newly-forged armor that encased his body.
Behind him, stood Wilhuff Tarkin, his posture immaculate, his expression carefully neutral as he observed the figure before him. There was no fear in him, not openly. He recognized that the man who stood before him was no longer the Jedi Knight he had once known.
There was only Vader.
"The Imperium will not remain idle," Tarkin said at last, his voice measured, each word deliberate. "They have suffered an incredible loss, yes… but they are not broken. If anything, this will provoke them."
Vader remained still for a moment longer before responding.
"Good."
The word came low, distorted slightly through the partial vocoder integrated into his armor.
"While they are on the move," he continued, slowly turning to face Tarkin, the faint glow of Coruscant now at his back, casting him in a silhouette of darkness and steel. "We will strike where they least expect."
Tarkin's eyes narrowed slightly. "Their warriors… these Astartes… they have already demonstrated superiority in direct engagements. Standard clone forces will not be sufficient in any prolonged conflict."
"I am aware," Vader stepped forward as he spoke.
His gaze, hidden behind the dark lenses of his mask, fixed upon Tarkin with an intensity that made the man swallow hard.
Vader turned slightly, one gloved hand rising as though grasping at something unseen, his thoughts already moving beyond the present moment, shaping what would come next.
"Their armor," he said slowly. "Their weapons. Their resilience." A faint tilt of his head followed. "They are designed for war… forged for it."
His hand lowered.
Tarkin's brow furrowed, just slightly. "You have something in mind."
Vader's voice lowered further.
"We have one of the largest armies the Galaxy has ever seen, yet the Imperium is able to stomp us down in every battle," he said.
A brief silence followed.
Recognition flickered across Tarkin's expression.
"…Beskar."
Vader inclined his head ever so slightly.
"Yes."
"We will need it," he continued. "In quantity. Enough to outfit specialized units. Enough to create armor capable of standing against the Astartes… and surviving."
Tarkin stepped forward slightly, his hands clasped behind his back as his mind moved rapidly through the implications. "Mandalore," he said. "The source of nearly all known Beskar reserves."
"Yes."
Vader turned fully now, facing him.
"While they focus on Coruscant or one of the other surrounding plants, we will be going after a lightly defended Capitol world."
"You would sacrifice Coruscant in doing so." Tarkin rebuked.
"Small damages, yes. But they will not stay here long when they begin receiving distress calls from Mandalore." Vader replied, seeming to care little for the fate of Coruscant.
Vader went on. "The Sun Eater is en route to one of Mandalore's surrounding systems."
Tarkin allowed himself the faintest pause at that, the mention of such a weapon not taken lightly even by him. "A decisive measure," he said.
"It will be sufficient."
Tarkin inclined his head slightly.
"Then I will begin preparations immediately," he said. "The full strength of the clone army will be mobilized. Supply lines redirected. Command structures reorganized for planetary assault."
His gaze lifted, meeting Vader's mask.
"It will be done… my Emperor."
Vader did not react outwardly, though there was a moment of silence that followed.
"See that it is," he said.
Without another word, Vader turned. The heavy doors parted before him as he stepped through them, leaving Tarkin alone in the shadowed chamber to carry out his will.
But Vader did not go to the war room.
He did not go to the command decks.
Instead, he walked through the towering corridors of Coruscant with a singular destination in mind.
The Jedi Temple.
It loomed in the distance as he approached, its once-proud spires now darkened and half destroyed.
The Force stirred around him, heavy and turbulent as if responding to his presence. This place had once been his home. Now… It was a graveyard.
He stepped through its vast entrance without pause, his heavy footfalls echoing across the fractured stone and debris.
The great halls that had once been filled with glory and disciplined serenity now lay in ruin. Pillars were cracked and leaning into walls or laying on the floor, sections of the ceiling had collapsed inward, debris scattered around haphazardly.
Dust hung in the air, disturbed only by his passing.
The Force clung to the walls, to the shattered floors, to the broken remnants of a thousand lives that had been extinguished in a single, violent assault.
There were echoes here, and they brushed against Vader's senses as he moved deeper, whispers of fear, of confusion, of desperation, of anguish and sadness.
The Dark Side guided him now, pulling him forward with an insistent hunger, leading him through the ruins of what the Imperium had destroyed. He passed through long corridors where the light no longer reached, where only the shadow remained.
He knew where he was going… Even if he had never been there before.
A hallway, half-buried beneath fallen stone, opened into a narrow passage, its walls lined with ancient carvings long since dulled by time. Vader's gaze passed over them without interest. The past held no power over him now. Only what could be taken from it… mattered.
He turned sharply into a concealed chamber, one that would have gone unnoticed to anyone who did not know what to look for.
At its center stood an old holo-bookshelf, its structure archaic, out of place among the more refined architecture of the Temple. It flickered faintly, long abandoned, its stored knowledge locked behind systems that had not been accessed in years.
With a violent, sudden motion, the entire structure tore free from the wall, ripping loose with a shriek of metal and stone before crashing aside in a cloud of dust and debris. Behind it, concealed for generations, a narrow entrance revealed itself.
Vader stepped forward.
The darkness swallowed him immediately, until with a sharp hiss, a blade of blue light ignited in his hand.
His lightsaber cast long, shifting shadows along the walls as he descended, the glow reflecting faintly off the metal of his armor. The corridor was tight and ancient, the air stale as though it had not been disturbed in centuries. The deeper he went, the heavier the Force became.
The Dark Side coiled tighter around him as the passage opened suddenly into a vast chamber covered in dust.
It lay across the floor, across the walls, across the relics that filled the room in silent, forgotten rows, artifacts of an age long past. Holocrons, ancient texts, and fragments of knowledge deemed too dangerous, too powerful to be left in the open.
The Jedi had hidden them away, locked deep within the Temple as they feared what one could learn from them.
Vader stepped forward slowly, his gaze moving across the relics with indifference.
A holocron lifted from its resting place, drawn into his hand by the Force. It hovered there for a moment, its surface catching the faint glow of his blade.
He crushed it in his hand as the Force flooded him, forcing it to collapse inward under his impossible strength before fracturing into jagged fragments that fell to the floor with hollow, meaningless clatters. Whatever knowledge it had once held was gone, reduced to nothing in an instant.
Vader released it without a second thought.
The chamber gave way to another passage, wider now, leading into a second room, and as he entered, he stopped as hundreds of lightsabers came into view.
They lined the walls in careful rows, arranged as trophies and as records, each one a life, a legacy, a purpose given form.
Vader deactivated his own weapon.
The blue blade vanished with a hiss, plunging the room into shadow once more, broken only by faint ambient light filtering through unseen cracks above. He stood there for a moment, surrounded by them, the weight of what they represented pressing in from all sides.
Then, slowly, he raised his hand.
His lightsaber lifted from his grasp, suspended in the air before him.
With precise, controlled motions, the weapon began to come apart, piece by piece, each component separating cleanly, until at last the core was revealed.
The kyber crystal hovered there, glowing faintly, its light soft, steady…and oh so pure.
Vader reached out and took it into his hand.
For a moment, everything stilled as the crystal hummed.
A resonance brushed against him, familiar in a way that felt distant now, like a memory half-forgotten. It resisted him, not violently, but with a quiet, unwavering will.
It remembered what it had been. What he had been.
Vader closed his fist around it, and turned to walk deeper still, leaving the room of blades behind him, descending into the final chamber, the place where the Dark Side coiled strongest.
At the center stood an altar that Vader approached slowly, his steps echoing in the vast emptiness, until he stood before it, the kyber crystal still clutched in his hand.
For a moment, he did nothing.
Then, he slowly placed it down.
The crystal rested against the stone, its faint blue light flickering softly in the darkness.
Vader stood over it before letting his pain, anger, hatred, and anguish consume him.
The fire of Mustafar. The burning. The feeling of flesh turning to ash as everything he had been was stripped away. The lies of the Jedi. The weakness of their teachings. The betrayal of those he had trusted. The loss of Padmé—
Suddenly his fist clenched as the Force erupted around him.
It poured out of him, raw and overwhelming, crashing into the crystal like a tidal wave of fury and suffering. The chamber trembled as dust lifted from the ground as the very air seemed to distort under the pressure of it.
The crystal resisted, and for a moment, its light flared, fighting against what was being forced upon it, against the corruption, the pain, the sheer overwhelming darkness being driven into its core.
Vader did not relent.
He forced it.
Every ounce of hatred. Every fragment of anguish, driven into the crystal without mercy.
It began to crack, the blue light flickering, then slowly… It began to bleed.
Red spread through it, like blood in water. The glow deepened, darkened, until the soft blue was consumed entirely, replaced by a violent, burning crimson that pulsed with the same fury that had created it.
The crystal fought him.
As the Dark Side poured into it, as his will crushed down upon its essence and bent it toward something new, the kyber did not simply yield.
Light burst across his mind, visions forming without his consent, rising from the depths of the Force as though the crystal itself was reaching back, offering something in return for its survival.
He saw himself, not as he was, but as he could have been. His armor was gone, his pain was no more.
He stood beneath open endless blue skies, the Force around him calm, whole… at peace. There were voices, no screams, no echoes of death, but laughter, soft and real. He saw two young children running and playing in the fields of Naboo as they ran towards a woman.
Padmé. She was alive, but how?
Then he saw the Imperium… not burning or killing, not crushed beneath overwhelming force, but… speaking. Negotiating. Their warriors standing as guardians and protectors, not executioners.
Absurd.
The vision twisted again.
He saw himself standing before them, not as Darth Vader, not as a ruler forged through fear, but as something else. The Force around him was steady, no longer so one sided, as he spoke to Nira.
There was… peace. Genuine, real peace.
He saw a galaxy that did not tremble beneath his hand.
A future where the war ended not in annihilation, but in… peace.
One where he turned away. One where he chose to be something else.
Vader's hand tightened.
But… in this perfect situation. Where was Padmé?
The visions faltered, but did not break as he tightened his hand on the crystal.
He would have to go to the Imperium. Not as a conqueror. Not as a destroyer. But as something far worse.
A supplicant.
He felt the weight of it pressing down on his shoulders. Standing before those warriors, before beings like Vulkan… and offering terms. Speaking of peace. Of coexistence.
After everything he had been through.
After the blood that had already been spilled.
After his mother, the Jedi, Raxor… After Padmé?
The idea did not simply feel impossible to him. It felt… disgusting.
The crystal trembled in his grasp before suddenly, something within Vader snapped.
"No." Vader whispered. There would be no peace. There would be no understanding. There would be no future where he bent, where he yielded, where he sought anything from the Imperium but its destruction.
The Darkside roared through him, no longer restrained, no longer contested, flooding into the crystal with a force that erased everything it had tried to show him. The resistance within it collapsed entirely, its light twisting violently as the last remnants of its former purity were torn apart.
It made one more desperate attempt to stop its Master, to show him a way back to the light but—
"No!" Vader roared, seeing what would be required of him to turn from his path.
A deep, blood-red glow burst from within the crystal, throwing Vader back a step as his cape whipped violently behind him.
The crystal hovered before him once more, its crimson light casting jagged shadows across the chamber as he raised his hand again. The disassembled components of his lightsaber lifted from where they had fallen, drawn back together in perfection.
The chamber went dark.
For a single, endless moment, there was nothing.
Then—
SNAP-HISS.
A blade of pure crimson erupted into existence.
The red light flooded the chamber instantly, cutting through the darkness, casting everything in its violent glow. The shadows recoiled, driven back by the intensity of it, and at the center of it all stood Darth Vader, his form outlined in the burning light of the weapon he had just created.
He held it steady, the crimson glow reflecting off the black of his armor, off the mask that no longer held any trace of the man beneath.
The visions were gone.
The choice had been made.
And in the silence that followed, illuminated only by the blood-red blade in his hand…
There was nothing left of Anakin Skywalker at all.
===
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