Chapter 17 – The Crucible of Corruption

Anakin crouched over the mangled body of his latest kill, his blood-slicked fingers tearing chunks of flesh from the beast's lifeless form. He chewed ravenously, the taste no longer foreign to him. The creature's blood ran down his chin, pooling at his feet and staining the crimson sands of Korriban. The dark side buzzed around him like a swarm of angry insects, feeding his fury, his hunger, his need.

His clothes were tattered and soaked with blood, clinging to his small frame. His chest heaved, not just from the exertion of the fight, but from something deeper—a growing hunger, a need for more. The whispers of Korriban echoed in his mind, louder now than ever before. They weren't words exactly, but emotions: hatred, ambition, the unrelenting drive for conquest.

"I survived," he muttered to himself, his voice hoarse. His gaze drifted across the crimson sands, his eyes narrowing with determination. "Not because of them. Because of me."

The whispers surged in response, filling him with a strange sense of validation. They didn't condemn him for his actions—they encouraged him. They told him what he wanted to hear, what he needed to believe: that he was destined for greatness.

Days turned into weeks as Anakin wandered the desolate landscape, his survival becoming second nature. The creatures of Korriban were no longer predators—they were prey. He moved with a precision that belied his age, his small body darting through the shadows, his crimson blade striking with unrelenting accuracy.

But it wasn't just his physical abilities that grew sharper. The dark side whispered to him, guiding his every move. It showed him where to strike, how to manipulate the currents of the Force to his advantage. He learned to anticipate the movements of his enemies, to use their fear against them.

"You're stronger than them," the whispers told him. "Stronger than Maul. Stronger than Sidious."

At first, the thoughts unsettled him. Maul had drilled into him the importance of discipline. Sidious had promised him greatness if he proved himself worthy. But here, on Korriban, there were no masters. There was only survival—and power.

"They'll see," he whispered to himself one night, his voice barely audible over the crackling of his makeshift fire. "I'm not just some pawn. I'll show them what I can do."

The firelight danced across his face, casting long shadows that made him look far older than he actually was.

The Valley of the Sith Lords sprawled before Anakin like a barren wasteland of failure. The jagged cliffs and towering statues cast long shadows over the red sands, their cracked, eroded faces silent yet oppressive. Anakin moved through the ruins with increasing agitation, his small frame dwarfed by the remnants of the Sith's once-great empire.

The dark side whispered louder here than anywhere else on Korriban. It wasn't a guiding presence—it was a cacophony of emotion, overwhelming and chaotic. Hatred, ambition, betrayal—all of it pressed against his thoughts, demanding his attention, feeding into his own simmering frustration.

He approached a shattered obelisk, its jagged remains half-buried in the shifting sands. The faint carvings etched into its surface seemed to mock him with their illegibility. He crouched beside it, running his fingers along the faded symbols, trying to force meaning out of them.

The air around him pulsed faintly with the dark side, but it offered nothing. No clarity, no knowledge, no power, nothing.

Anakin's teeth clenched, his jaw tightening as he stood. The obelisk was useless, like every other ruin he had encountered so far. His hands curled into fists at his sides, his nails biting into his palms as he glared at the broken stone.

The whispers grew louder, their tones shifting to mockery. They didn't need words to convey their disdain.

The valley was alive with their presence, and it pressed on him with suffocating weight. Anakin turned sharply, his boots grinding into the sand as he stormed deeper into the ruins. His movements were quick and purposeful at first, but his steps faltered as the whispers grew stronger, their emotions bleeding into him.

Hatred and frustration swirled in his chest, tightening like a vice. The statues of Sith Lords lining the valley seemed to watch him, their cracked faces twisted in silent contempt. He could feel their gaze, their scorn, and it burned.

At another monument—a towering structure now reduced to rubble—Anakin stopped, his breath shallow. He crouched again, brushing sand away from the jagged stones, his hands trembling. The inscriptions were faint, barely visible, and as he stared at them, a sense of futility gripped him.

He reached out with the Force, desperate to find something—anything—within the stone. The dark side was there, faint and cold, but it slipped through his grasp like sand between his fingers.

The whispers shifted again, their tones filled with approval now. Not for his efforts, but for his frustration. They fed on his anger, his desperation, his arrogance.

The edge of his thoughts blurred, his rage building with every passing moment.

Anakin rose suddenly, his hands balling into fists. The frustration that had simmered beneath the surface erupted like a storm. He struck the monument with all the strength his small body could muster, his fists slamming into the stone. Pain shot through his arms, but it only spurred him on.

He struck again, and again, his bloodied knuckles leaving smears on the cold surface. His breathing grew ragged, his chest heaving as his strikes became wilder, more erratic.

The dark side pulsed stronger now, the whispers blending with his own thoughts, fueling his rage.

The monument cracked under the force of his blows, fragments of stone crumbling away. But it wasn't enough. It wasn't what he wanted. It wasn't what he needed.

The valley had nothing for him. No answers. No power. Nothing but broken ruins and the lingering stench of failure.

Anakin stepped back, his body trembling. His hands were slick with blood, his knuckles raw and torn. His vision blurred for a moment, but the whispers kept him upright.

The air around him seemed to thrum with approval now, the dark side feeding on his anger, amplifying it. His arrogance burned brighter, the whispers nudging him toward it. They liked this.

Anakin's breaths came faster, his chest heaving as the weight of the valley pressed harder on him. He was surrounded by failure—by the remnants of those who had come before him and fallen. The realization struck him like a hammer, and his rage surged anew.

He thrust out his hands, the dark side roaring through him in a violent wave. The rubble exploded outward, fragments of stone raining down as the monument crumbled into dust.

The valley was silent now, save for his ragged breaths. The whispers were quiet too, though their presence was heavier, more approving. Anakin could feel their attention on him, their faint approval feeding his pride.

"You're different," it seemed to say. "You're better."

Anakin clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms. "Yes," he said through gritted teeth. "I'm better."

The towering statues lining the valley seemed to stare down at him, their expressions unchanged but their weight oppressive. They didn't speak, but he felt their judgment.

The emotions around him were suffocating—hatred, anger, ambition. The Sith Lords who had come before him had been powerful, but they had all fallen. And now all they left behind were ruins and shadows.

Anakin's lips curled into a sneer, his yellow-ringed eyes blazing as he turned away from the shattered monument. The Sith had failed, all of them. But he wouldn't.

The valley had nothing to give him. But it didn't matter.

His steps quickened as he climbed the jagged cliffs at the edge of the valley. The dark side was stronger there, its whispers louder. If there was anything left of value, it would be there.

Pain throbbed in his bloodied hands and scraped legs, but it only fueled him. His rage was a fire now, burning away his doubts and driving him forward.

He reached the top of the cliffs and paused, his gaze sweeping across the valley below. The red sands stretched out endlessly, the ruins of the Sith's greatest achievements littering the landscape.

The whispers were quiet again, faint but approving. They fed on his rage, his frustration, his growing arrogance.

Anakin turned his gaze forward, his steps deliberate and unyielding as he began his descent. The valley's secrets had eluded him, but it didn't matter. He didn't need them.

The Sith Lords had fallen, but he wouldn't. He would take what they couldn't hold. He would become what they had failed to be.

As the months dragged on, Anakin's fights became more brutal. He didn't just kill to survive anymore—he killed to prove himself. Each victory was a reminder that he was stronger than the creatures of Korriban, stronger than the Sith who had come before him.

When a pack of beats ambushed him near the ruins of a tomb, he didn't flinch. He ignited his blade and charged, his small frame moving with a speed and ferocity that defied his age. The first beast lunged at him, its claws raking the air, but he ducked under its attack and drove his saber into its chest.

Another beast lunged from behind, but he sensed its presence through the Force. Without turning, he extended his hand and unleashed a blast of energy that sent it tumbling into the sand. The remaining predators hesitated, their instincts telling them to retreat.

But Anakin wasn't finished. He reached out with the Force, his fingers curling into claws, and began to drain the life from one of the creatures. Its struggles grew weaker as its essence flowed into him, healing his wounds and filling him with a sickening euphoria.

"Run," he said to the others, his voice cold and steady. "Before I take you, too."

The beasts fled, their howls echoing through the valley. Anakin watched them go, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his bloodied lips.

As the weeks turned into months, Anakin found himself speaking aloud more often, his voice breaking the oppressive silence of Korriban. He wasn't talking to anyone—there was no one left to hear him—but it didn't matter. The whispers of the dark side were his only companions, and he spoke to them as if they were old friends.

"You think I'm like you?" he asked one night, staring into the dying embers of his fire. "I'm not. I'm stronger."

The whispers didn't respond with words, but he felt their approval. The dark side pulsed around him, feeding on his arrogance, his defiance.

"They'll see," he continued, his voice growing louder. "Maul. Sidious. They think they can control me, but they're wrong. I'll show them. I'll show all of them."

The fire flared suddenly, as if in response. Anakin's eyes glinted in the light influenced by the dark side.

"I'm not afraid anymore," he said, his voice steady.

By the time a year had passed, Anakin was unrecognizable. His small frame, though still that of a child, was hardened by months of survival. Scars crisscrossed his body, each one a testament to his battles. His tattered clothing hung loosely from his lean frame, stiff with dried blood and sand.

He stood at the edge of a jagged ridge, overlooking the Valley of the Sith Lords. The sun cast long shadows across the desolate landscape, painting it in shades of crimson and gold.

"I survived," he said aloud, his voice steady and unyielding. "Not because of Maul. Not because of Sidious. Because of me."

The valley seemed to respond, the whispers growing louder, more insistent. But Anakin didn't flinch. He had faced their hatred, their rage, and he had conquered it.

"I'm better than all of you," he said, his voice dripping with arrogance.

The dark side pulsed around him, a silent acknowledgment of his declaration. For the first time, Anakin felt truly alive—not as a pawn in someone else's game, but as a force of his own making.

As Anakin drank the blood of the winged beast he had just slain, a familiar presence rippled through the Force, sending a jolt down his spine. His bloodied hands froze mid-movement, and his glowing yellow eyes narrowed. He hadn't felt this presence in a long time—strong, cruel, and suffused with the dark side.

'Maul.'

The realization hit him like a thunderbolt. For a moment, the oppressive whispers of the fallen Sith around him grew louder, urging him to act. Hatred surged through him as memories of his tormentor flooded back. The Zabrak who had humiliated him, beaten, and taunted him.

"Maul" Anakin growled under his breath, his grip tightening around the hilt of his lightsaber. His small body, still covered in the blood of his latest kill, trembled with rage and excitement.

Fueled by anger, Anakin pushed himself to his feet. He barely noticed the dried blood caking his clothes or the gnawing hunger in his stomach. He had one goal now: find Maul. He had spent the last year honing his connection to the dark side, surviving the harshness of Korriban. He wasn't the same boy Maul had left to rot.

He sprinted across the dunes with unnatural speed, the Force amplifying his movements. Rocks and jagged cliffs blurred past him as his senses zeroed in on Maul's presence. It burned brightly in the dark void of the planet, like a beacon calling to him. His mind raced with thoughts of revenge, his lips curling into a feral snarl.

"I'll kill you," he muttered, his voice dripping with venom. "I'll make you suffer."

As he leapt over a steep ridge, the familiar shape of the Scimitar came into view. The sleek, predatory ship stood out against the crimson sands, its ramp extended. And there, at the base of the ramp, stood Maul. The Zabrak's arms were crossed, his dark robes billowing slightly in the dry wind. His yellow-red eyes locked onto Anakin, and a slow smile spread across his face.

"You survived," Maul said, his tone dripping with mockery. "Impressive."

Anakin skidded to a halt a few meters away, his chest heaving. His blood-soaked clothing and wild eyes made him look almost feral, but there was a dangerous intensity in his stance. He ignited his lightsaber, the crimson blade casting an eerie glow across the sands.

"I'll kill you!" he roared, his voice filled with rage and conviction.

Maul's smile widened as he stepped forward, his own blade still unignited. "Good," he said, his voice calm and measured. "Show me how far you've come."

Anakin wasted no time. He extended his free hand, summoning every piece of debris and rubble in the area. Rocks, shards of metal, and broken fragments of the planet's ruins hurtled toward Maul in a relentless barrage. The Zabrak moved with uncanny speed and agility, his body twisting and flipping as he evaded the projectiles with ease.

"You're still relying on brute force," Maul said, sidestepping a massive boulder. "Pathetic."

The taunt only fueled Anakin's rage. He roared as he lifted even larger chunks of debris, hurling them at Maul with increased ferocity. But the Zabrak remained untouchable, his movements precise and fluid. As he landed from a backflip, his feet barely touched the ground before he darted forward, closing the distance between them.

Anakin anticipated the move. Using the momentum of his throws, he launched himself into the air, his blade aimed directly at Maul's head. The Zabrak narrowly avoided the strike, the searing heat of the saber grazing his shoulder as he twisted away.

Maul's smile faltered for the first time, replaced by a look of mild annoyance. "You've improved," he admitted, igniting his lightsaber. Its crimson glow bathed the battlefield as he pointed it at Anakin. "But you're still a long way from being my equal."

The two clashed in an explosion of light and sound, their sabers cutting through the air in a blur of red. Anakin attacked with relentless aggression, his strikes wild but powerful. He feigned low blows, only to redirect his blade mid-swing toward Maul's throat. The Zabrak parried each strike with ease, his experience and skill shining through.

"You fight like an animal," Maul sneered as he deflected another blow. "All rage and no precision. Is that the best the dark side can give you?"

Anakin didn't respond. His focus was absolute, his mind consumed by the fight. He amplified his strength and speed through the Force, his small frame moving with a ferocity that belied his age. Each strike was heavier than the last, forcing Maul to exert more effort to block and evade.

Sensing an opening, Anakin reached out with the Force, sending tendrils of dark energy toward Maul. He could feel the faint pull of the Zabrak's vitality, the Force Drain technique he had honed over the past year slowly taking effect.

Maul's eyes narrowed as he reinforced his barriers, severing the connection before it could weaken him further. "You dare use that against me?" he growled, his strikes growing faster and more aggressive. "You overstep, boy."

The whispers of the dark side grew louder, their voices mocking and scornful.

"And you thought you're better than us? You're nothing."

"He will crush you, like the warm you are."

Anakin clenched his teeth, his rage boiling over as he screamed, "Shut up!" His strikes became more feral, his movements erratic as he channeled his anger into his attacks. Horizontal slashes forced Maul to block, and with each clash of their blades, Anakin sent small debris flying toward the Zabrak's back.

Maul deflected the debris with ease, but the boy's creativity impressed him. "You've learned some tricks," he admitted, his voice laced with grudging respect. "But tricks won't save you."

With a flick of his wrist, Maul sent a powerful Force Push toward Anakin. The boy was thrown backward, tumbling across the sand before coming to a stop. Blood dripped from his nose, but he pushed himself up, his glowing eyes burning with hatred.

"You're weak," Maul taunted, stalking toward him. "You think raw power is enough to defeat me? You're just a child playing at being Sith."

Anakin roared as he manipulated the sand around them, whipping it into a blinding storm. Maul shielded his eyes as the storm intensified, giving Anakin the opening he needed. He lunged forward, his lightsaber aimed at Maul's chest. But the Zabrak was ready.

With a graceful sidestep, Maul dodged the strike and slashed downward, his blade cutting into Anakin's leg. The boy screamed as he collapsed to the ground, the pain searing through him. He could feel the bone burnt. His lightsaber fell from his grasp as he clutched his wounded leg.

Maul loomed over him, his blade pointed at the boy's neck. "Did you really think you could kill me?" he hissed, his voice low and venomous. "Me?"

He extended his free hand, lifting Anakin into the air with the Force. The boy's small frame writhed as the invisible grip tightened around his throat.

"You're nothing," Maul growled.

With a flick of his wrist, Maul slammed Anakin into the ground. The boy gasped in pain, but before he could recover, Maul lifted him again and hurled him against a jagged rock. The impact cracked the stone, and Anakin's vision blurred as his head struck the surface.

"Get up," Maul commanded, his voice cold and disdainful. "Show me the strength you claim to have."

Anakin tried to rise. His limbs felt heavy, his mind clouded with pain. For the first time in a year, he felt fear—not of death, but of failure.

But as he stood up another force push sent him into the rock, cracking it.

Maul deactivated his blade and stepped forward, grabbing Anakin by the collar. The boy's limp body hung in his grip as the Zabrak dragged him toward the Scimitar. Blood smeared the sands as they ascended the ramp.

"You have potential," Maul muttered. "But you're still far from ready."

As the ramp closed behind them, Anakin slipped into unconsciousness.