Chapter 16 – Descent

The academy was behind him now, its jagged silhouette swallowed by the endless expanse of red sands. Korriban's wasteland stretched out in all directions, barren and unyielding. The dry wind clawed at Anakin's face, carrying with it the metallic tang of decay. His cloak snapped violently in the gale, but he kept moving, his boots sinking into the loose ground with every step.

He wasn't thinking about water, food, or shelter—at least not yet. His thoughts churned, their weight dragging at him as much as the oppressive heat. The visions from the ruins refused to fade, replaying over and over in his mind. The rise and fall of Sith empires. The Brotherhood of Darkness tearing itself apart. The man who had spoken with calm authority: "Two there should be; no more, no less."

The Rule of Two. It hung in his mind like a riddle, both simple and impossibly complex. From what little he'd read in Sidious's archives,as far as galaxy is concerned the Sith had been wiped out after the fall of the Brotherhood. That was the story, anyway. But here he was, trained by Maul and Sidious—both calling themselves Sith.

'Sith weren't dead. They had survived. But the new sith weren't like the old, no armies of sith acolytes. At least I didn't see any. Do they follow this… rule if so why?'

He glanced down at the hooked hilt hanging from his belt. The saber felt heavier now, its weight dragging against him like a reminder of what he'd seen—and what he didn't understand. The Sith of old hadn't followed any Rule of Two. They had armies, fleets, entire civilizations bent to their will. They had ruled openly, boldly. And they had destroyed themselves.

Maybe that's why this rule exists. To stop them from falling apart again. Two instead of many. Focused. Strong. 'But if it's so perfect, why did Sidious break it?'

The wind shifted, carrying the faintest scent of blood and decay. Anakin stopped, narrowing his eyes at the ridges on the horizon. Ruins, perhaps. Or just another illusion. He turned toward them anyway, the sand crunching beneath his boots as he moved.

His thoughts didn't relent. They dug deeper, circling Sidious like a predator stalking its prey. 'Does he even believe in this rule? He has Maul. And he ordered Maul to train me. That makes three. Three Sith. That's already broken the rule, isn't it? Or am I just some… tool? A pawn for them to use and discard?'

The idea ignited a spark of anger deep in his chest. His fists clenched, his nails biting into his palms.

'If Sidious is testing me, fine. I'll pass his test. If he's waiting for me to kill Maul, I'll do it. But if he thinks I'm just another piece on his board, he's wrong. I'll survive this. I'll outlast them both.'

The dark side whispered louder now, its voice weaving through his thoughts. Korriban itself felt alive now, its presence oppressive and ancient, yet also guiding. Anakin let it pull at him, its tendrils wrapping around his mind. It promised power, answers—but only if he could endure.

The ridges grew sharper as he approached, their jagged edges like broken teeth. The Force swirled thickly here, pressing against him. He didn't resist. Instead, he reached out, letting his senses stretch across the dunes. Faint ripples of life flickered in the distance—small, scattered, but real.

He adjusted his path, his thoughts still circling. 'What if Sidious doesn't care about the Rule of Two? What if it's just a means to an end for him? A way to control power instead of letting it slip through his fingers? Or… maybe he's trying to evolve it. To create something stronger.'

The idea burned in his mind as the ruins came into focus. Broken spires jutted from the sand, their shadows stretching like claws under the crimson sky. The dark side roared louder here, thick and suffocating, pressing against his chest with every step.

Anakin paused at the base of the first ridge, staring up at the jagged ruins. His jaw tightened as the weight of the saber on his belt seemed to grow heavier. He gripped the hilt, his fingers brushing its worn surface.

The Sith in the visions thought they were invincible. They destroyed themselves because they couldn't see past their own greed. If this rule was supposed to stop that, why does it feel so… incomplete?

The wind howled around him, the sand biting at his skin. Anakin exhaled slowly, his breath steady despite the storm raging in his mind. The questions burned, but he pushed them aside for now.

The ruins loomed closer, jagged shapes piercing the red sands like the bones of some ancient predator. Shadows clung to the structures, long and menacing under the crimson sky. Anakin climbed the ridge cautiously, his small frame moving with practiced precision as he stayed hidden behind the scattered rocks. Each step brought him closer, and with it came a growing sense of unease.

He reached the crest of the ridge and froze. His breath caught as his senses flared, the dark side buzzing like static in the back of his mind. Something was wrong. 'Something is watching.'

Then he saw it—or rather, felt it first. A predator.

The beast prowled the sands near the ruins, its massive, scarred body moving with a deadly grace. Six powerful legs dug into the ground with each step, its thick muscles rippling beneath its pale, mottled hide. Its yellow eyes glowed faintly, scanning the area with an intelligence that sent a chill down Anakin's spine. When it opened its jaws, he saw rows of jagged teeth, some broken, others sharpened to lethal points.

Anakin pressed himself against a rock, his heart pounding in his chest. The dark side whispered in the back of his mind, urging him to strike, to act, to dominate. But his logical mind hesitated.

'This isn't training.'

He tightened his grip on the saber at his side, his fingers trembling slightly. Maul's brutal sessions had pushed him to his limits, but those fights had been controlled—measured chaos. This was different. This was raw, unrelenting instinct.

The beast's head snapped in his direction. Its nostrils flared as it caught his scent, and a low, guttural growl rumbled from deep within its chest. Anakin's blood turned cold.

The creature lunged without warning, its massive body closing the distance in a blur of speed. Anakin barely had time to react. He threw himself to the side, igniting the crimson blade of his lightsaber mid-roll. The beast's claws raked the sand where he had been standing, sending up a spray of grit and debris.

Anakin twisted to his feet, his weapon humming in his grip. The beast circled him now, its yellow eyes locked on his every move.

'Focus. Use the Force. You've done this before.'

He pushed the fear down, forcing his mind to calm as he reached out with the dark side. The whispers grew louder, feeding on his anxiety, his anger, his desperation. He saw the creature move before it did, a flicker of motion in his mind's eye.

The beast lunged again, its claws outstretched. Anakin leapt high, the Force amplifying his movement. The lightsaber slashed downward, grazing the creature's flank and drawing a spray of dark, steaming blood.

The beast roared, its voice echoing through the ruins like a thunderclap. It twisted with surprising speed, its claws digging into the sand as it turned to face him again.

Anakin landed hard, his knees buckling slightly. He steadied himself, his breathing ragged as he watched the beast prepare for another charge. Its muscles coiled, and he could see the raw power in every movement.

'I have to end this now.'

The dark side surged within him, demanding action. He gritted his teeth and planted his feet, his small frame trembling as the beast barreled toward him.

It lunged, and this time, Anakin didn't leap away. He dropped low, sliding beneath its claws and slashing upward with all the strength he could muster. The lightsaber bit deep into the creature's chest, tearing through flesh and bone.

The beast roared in agony, its massive body collapsing onto the sand. Anakin rolled away, his body aching as he scrambled to his feet. He turned to face the creature, his blade still ignited.

"Stay down!" he shouted, his voice raw and breaking.

The beast twitched, its claws digging into the sand as it struggled to rise. Without thinking, Anakin moved forward, the crimson blade plunging into its throat. The weapon hissed as it burned through flesh and sinew, the smell of charred meat filling the air.

The beast convulsed violently, then stilled.

Anakin staggered back, his chest heaving. The lightsaber's hum was the only sound now, a steady rhythm that matched his pounding heart. Slowly, he deactivated the blade, the sudden silence deafening.

He stared at the lifeless corpse, his thoughts a tangled mess of relief, fear, and exhilaration. Blood—both his and the creature's—stained the sand around him, dark and steaming under the crimson sky.

'I did it.'

The thought flickered in his mind, but it was hollow. The whispers of the dark side didn't fade. They grew louder, feeding on the chaos, urging him forward. They weren't satisfied.

Anakin dropped to one knee, his hands trembling as the adrenaline began to fade. His muscles screamed in protest, every inch of his body battered and bruised. But he didn't care.

'This is what survival feels like. This is what power feels like.'

He looked at the creature's lifeless form, his lips curling into a faint, bitter smile. The fear he'd felt moments ago was gone, replaced by something colder. Something darker.

"Next time," he muttered, his voice low and steady, "I'll be faster. Stronger. I won't hesitate."

The wind howled around him, the dark side pressing closer. Anakin clenched his fists, the faint pull of the Force guiding him back to his feet.

He turned toward the ruins, the weight of his actions settling over him. This wasn't just about survival anymore. The whispers demanded more.

And he was ready to give it to them.

The fire sputtered weakly, barely more than embers glowing in the endless night. Anakin crouched beside the creature's corpse, his small hands slick with blood as he worked the jagged stone with trembling precision. The flesh came away in uneven chunks, the sickly-sweet stench of death mingling with the bitter smoke of roasting meat. His stomach twisted at the smell, but he forced himself to endure, biting into the charred meat with mechanical determination. Each swallow was a battle against nausea, but hunger gnawed at him too fiercely to care.

His throat was raw, his lips cracked and bleeding. The faint sting of dehydration burned with every breath. He stared at the creature's corpse, its dark blood pooling in the sand like molten shadows. The idea came unbidden, slithering into his thoughts like a viper.

'Drink.'

He recoiled at first, disgust and logic warring in his mind. No. That's—

The whispers interrupted, louder now, insistent. Their tones were mocking, their words slithering just beneath the edge of comprehension. 'Weakness. Pathetic. Are you even worthy of being a Sith ?'

"You need it," Anakin whispered, his voice a hollow rasp. The words felt foreign, as though someone else were speaking through him. He swallowed hard, his hands trembling as he cupped the warm blood. The liquid was thick, its metallic tang assaulting his senses.

For a moment, he hesitated, staring down at the dark liquid pooling in his hands. The whispers surged, goading him, laughing at his weakness.

"You don't have a choice."

He brought the blood to his cracked lips and drank. The taste hit him like a wave—bitter, foul, and alive with the coppery sting of iron. He gagged, his stomach twisting in protest, but he forced it down, gulp after agonizing gulp. Warmth spread through him, dulling the edge of his thirst but leaving an ache behind.

The whispers grew louder, a cacophony of derision and malice. They circled his thoughts like vultures, each voice clawing at the edges of his sanity.

"Is this what you are now?" one sneered.

"A scavenger? A beast? A worm?"

Anakin's hands clenched into fists, his nails digging into his palms until they drew blood. The pain grounded him, if only for a moment. "No," he hissed through gritted teeth, his voice trembling with both rage and defiance. "I'm better than this."

The voices didn't stop. They surrounded him, pressing against his mind with relentless force. The air itself seemed to vibrate, heavy with the weight of their presence. It wasn't just the whispers—it was the feeling. A suffocating tide of despair, ambition, hatred. The emotions of the dead clung to Korriban like a shroud, their memories etched into the very sands he walked.

He could feel them now, more vividly than ever. They weren't just voices; they were wounds. Scars of failure, betrayal, and death, each one bleeding into him. He saw flashes of their lives—their victories, their defeats, their endless hunger for power.

'They were strong.'

The thought echoed in his mind, unbidden but undeniable. He felt their strength, their raw, unrestrained power. It filled him, pulsing through his veins like fire. But beneath the power, there was weakness. Fear. Their final moments replayed in his thoughts, each one more violent than the last. A red-skinned Sith falling to the blade of his own brother. A human Sith crushed beneath the weight of their own arrogance.

'They were strong, but they failed.'

Anakin's breathing quickened, his hands trembling as the dark side pressed harder against him. The whispers twisted now, their tones shifting from mockery to seduction.

"You don't have to fail like they did."

"Their power is yours if you take it."

"Be stronger. Be greater."

The fire in front of him flickered, the embers glowing brighter for a moment as if stirred by the voices. Anakin's vision blurred, the edges of the world dissolving into shadow. He gripped the lightsaber at his side, the hilt slick with sweat and blood.

"I am strong," he muttered, his voice low and venomous. His fingers tightened around the hilt until his knuckles turned white. "Stronger than any of them."

The whispers laughed, but the malice was gone. There was something else now—approval. Satisfaction. The weight of the dead Sith's emotions didn't lift, but it shifted, pressing into him differently. Instead of overwhelming, it urged. It demanded.

Anakin stared at the creature's bloodied corpse, his lips curling into a faint, bitter smile. The fear and disgust that had gnawed at him earlier were gone. In their place was a cold, unyielding determination.

"This isn't survival. This is strength. I'll do whatever it takes."

The whispers surged again, filling his mind like a storm. He didn't fight them this time. He let them in. Their hatred, their anger, their hunger—it became his. The world around him seemed to shift, the shadows deepening as the dark side pulsed stronger than ever.

Anakin pushed himself to his feet, his legs shaking beneath him. The whispers grew quieter now, settling into a steady rhythm at the back of his mind. The fire burned low, casting flickering shadows across the sands.

He turned toward the ruins, the dark side pressing against him with every step. The dead Sith were still with him, their emotions flooding through his veins like a drug. And he welcomed it.

"I'm not like them," he said aloud, his voice steady now. "I won't fail like they did. I'll take what they couldn't hold. Their power. Their strength. All of it." Whispers tone shifted once more. Not mocking. Not seductive.

But expectant.

The second day began with a low, guttural growl that shattered the stillness of the early morning. Anakin's eyes snapped open, his body jolting upright as his hand instinctively closed around the hilt of his lightsaber. His muscles ached, every movement sending sharp reminders of the wounds he had sustained the day before. But the sound made him forget the pain, his senses sharpening as his gaze scanned the dunes.

Beasts.

Dozens of them. Their lean, sinewy forms moved like shadows, their glowing yellow eyes fixed on the remains of his first kill. They circled the carcass hungrily, snapping and snarling as they tore chunks of flesh from its rotting corpse. Blood dripped from their jagged teeth, soaking into the red sands.

Anakin rose slowly, the crimson blade of his saber hissing to life. The sound drew the predators' attention, their heads snapping toward him in unison. Their growls deepened, and the largest of them—scarred and towering—took a deliberate step forward.

"You think you can take what's mine?" Anakin snarled, his voice cold and venomous. "Come and try."

The largest predator roared, and the pack surged forward as one. The ground trembled beneath the weight of their charge, the air filled with snarls and the sound of claws raking the sand.

Anakin met them head-on, his blade cutting through the first predator's neck with a clean, brutal stroke. Blood sprayed across his face, hot and metallic, but he didn't flinch. Another beast lunged at his side, and he twisted sharply, the Force guiding his blade as it slashed through the creature's chest.

But there were too many.

A predator's claws raked across his leg, tearing through his clothes and into his flesh. Anakin cried out, the pain lancing through him like fire. Another beast lunged, its jaws snapping shut around his arm. He screamed, the agony blinding, but the whispers in his mind surged louder.

"Use it. Use the pain. Let it fuel you."

His vision blurred with rage as he thrust his free hand forward, the dark side exploding outward in a violent wave. The beast flew backward, its body hitting the ground with a sickening crunch. Anakin's breathing quickened, his chest heaving as he turned to face the rest of the pack.

The predators hesitated, their movements faltering as the air around them grew heavy. But their hunger drove them forward.

Anakin roared, his voice raw and feral, as he leapt into their midst. His strikes were wild and unrelenting, each swing of his saber guided by the dark side. Blood splattered across the sand, painting the dunes in crimson.

Pain tore through him again as another predator's claws sank into his side, the wound deep and gushing. Anakin stumbled, his vision darkening for a moment. But then he reached out with the Force, his anger igniting like a flame.

He latched onto the nearest predator, force tendeil tearing into its lifeforce. The creature froze, its body convulsing violently as Anakin drained it dry. The pain in his side faded, replaced by a surge of raw energy that burned through his veins.

His mother's face flashed in his mind—her final moments, her sacrifice. The memory twisted his anger into something monstrous.

"Your weakness took her from you" the whispers hissed. "You must be strong. Destroy them all."

Anakin's strikes grew faster, more ferocious. He grabbed one predator with the Force, slamming it into the ground so hard its spine shattered. Another lunged at him, but he caught it mid-air, his hand clenching into a fist as its body crumpled like a broken doll.

Claws and teeth tore at him, opening fresh wounds, but each new injury only fueled his rage. He drained the lifeforce from another predator, feeling its vitality flow into him as his wounds closed. His eyes burned, their color shifting—yellow irises ringed with fiery red.

The remaining predators tried to retreat, their snarls turning to whimpers as they realized they had no chance. But Anakin didn't let them go.

He thrust out his hands, the dark side roaring through him in a torrent of hatred and fury. The last of the beasts froze, their bodies writhing as their lifeforce was ripped away. Anakin stood amidst the carnage, the air thick with the stench of blood and death. His breathing slowed, his chest heaving as the dark side whispered its approval.

His small frame trembled, his skin slick with sweat and blood. But he didn't feel weak. He felt alive.

Anakin stumbled to one of the corpses, his hands trembling as he carved into its flesh. Blood pooled around him, steaming faintly in the cold morning air. He drank deeply, the metallic taste no longer revolting. It was sustenance, strength.

The whispers surged again, louder than ever. The shadows around him deepened, the air charged with the presence of the dark side. When he rose to his feet, his glowing yellow eyes burned with hatred.

"I'm not weak," he muttered, his voice low and steady. "Not anymore. I'll destroy anyone who tries to take from me."

Coruscant

The chamber was bathed in the warm light of Coruscant's skyline, the distant hum of the bustling city filtering through the thick walls. Master Yoda sat in meditation, his gimer stick resting beside him. The Force swirled around him, turbulent and clouded, carrying with it an unmistakable weight.

Yoda's expression tightened as the disturbance struck him again—a pulse of anger, hatred, and raw power, distant yet vast. It pressed against his thoughts like a great wave, the sheer intensity of it threatening to overwhelm his focus.

"Clouded, the Force becomes," Yoda murmured to himself. "A shadow rising, it is."

The soft hiss of the chamber door opening pulled him from his thoughts. Qui-Gon Jinn stepped inside, his tall frame silhouetted against the light. His expression was uncharacteristically grim, his usual calm replaced with a sense of urgency.

"Master Yoda," Qui-Gon said, bowing slightly. "You felt it too?"

Yoda's eyes opened slowly, meeting Qui-Gon's gaze. "Felt it, I have. Dark, it is. Ancient, yet alive."

Qui-Gon stepped closer, his hands clasped tightly behind his back. "I've never sensed anything like it. The Force… it screamed, as though something—or someone—is tearing through it." He paused, his jaw tightening. "We must act. This disturbance is too great to ignore."

Yoda's ears twitched, but his expression remained unreadable. "Far, this disturbance is. Not immediate, its threat. Act rashly, we must not."

"Master, with respect, this isn't the time for caution," Qui-Gon countered, his tone firm but respectful. "The darkness I felt—it's growing. If we wait, we may lose the chance to confront it."

Yoda leaned forward slightly, his brow furrowing. "Confront what, hmm? Know this disturbance's source, do you? Know its intent?" He shook his head slowly. "Much unknown, this is. Dangerous, it will be, to act without clarity."

Qui-Gon's frustration was evident, though he tempered it. "Master, the Force doesn't scream like this without reason. This isn't the natural flow of things—it's deliberate. Someone is causing this."

Yoda closed his eyes again, his mind reaching out into the currents of the Force. The darkness was there, vast and ominous, but its source remained elusive. He sighed deeply, leaning back slightly.

"Time to act, it is not," Yoda said finally, his voice heavy with finality. "Meditate further, I will. Reckless action, avoid we must."

"Reckless?" Qui-Gon's voice held a faint edge. "Master Yoda, hesitation in the face of darkness can be just as dangerous as recklessness." He straightened, his hands tightening behind his back. "I fear that by the time we're ready to act, it may be too late."

Yoda opened his eyes, his gaze steady. "A storm, this may be. Or a shadow passing. Clearer, it will become, with patience."

Qui-Gon held Yoda's gaze for a moment longer before nodding reluctantly. "As you wish, Master. But I will meditate further on this myself. I won't ignore it."

Yoda's expression softened slightly. "Wise, you are, Qui-Gon. But cautious, you must also be. More at play here, there is, than we see."

Qui-Gon bowed his head again before leaving the chamber. The door hissed shut behind him, leaving Yoda alone once more.

The Grand Master sighed, his ears drooping slightly. His fingers brushed against the gimer stick beside him as he closed his eyes. "A storm coming, there is. Prepare, we must… or consumed, we will be."

Mygeeto.

The room was a masterpiece of opulence, its walls lined with crystalline sculptures and golden fixtures. The faint hum of Mygeeto's energy conduits pulsed in the background, their rhythm steady and soothing.

At the center of it all, seated in a high-backed chair draped in crimson and gold, was Darth Sidious. His pale, sunken features were bathed in the cold light of the city's crystalline towers.

He leaned back, his hands steepled beneath his chin, as his lips curled into a satisfied smile. The Force around him trembled, alive with anger and pain. He could feel it—the surge of raw power, the growing darkness. It was distant but unmistakable, like the first rumble of thunder before a storm.

"Yes," Sidious murmured, his voice barely more than a whisper. "Good."

He rose slowly, his movements deliberate and measured, as he stepped toward the window. His gaze swept over the cityscape, but his mind was far away. The boy was proving himself.

"Let the darkness consume you, my young apprentice," he said softly, his voice tinged with cruel amusement. "Let it shape you into the weapon I need."

Sidious clasped his hands behind his back, his yellow eyes gleaming with malice. The boy's rage, his pain, his hatred—it was all fuel for the grand design. A future of domination, of the Sith triumphant, forged in fire and shadow.

The disturbance in the Force was undeniable now, rippling outward in waves that would surely reach the Jedi. Sidious's smile widened, his laughter soft but cold.

"They will sense it," he murmured, "but they will hesitate. They will deliberate, falter. And by the time they understand what is happening…" He paused, the smile turning razor-sharp. "…it will already be too late."

The shadows of the room deepened as Sidious turned away from the window. His laughter echoed through the chamber.