The heavy, mechanical breathing pierced the darkness. It was the only thing that penetrated the black veil surrounding him. It was an unnatural, unholy darkness; a blanket of evil that seemed to be pulling every particle of light into its unwavering grasp. He turned his head, and then his whole body, willing his eyes to see what his ears could hear. He was there, somewhere, lurking in the darkness. He could feel him through the Force.
He stretched out through the Force, hoping it would pierce the darkness the way his eyes could not. Like the breathing, however, the dark presence seemed to be everywhere at once; behind him, in front of him, all around him. The fear mounted inside of him, and a voice sounded behind him, quietly.
"Fear is the path to the Darkside," it said. He recognized the voice as that of Master Yoda. Pivoting quickly, he peered through the darkness behind him, trying to locate the familiar face, but again he failed. There was no light in this place.
His hand reached down his side towards the cylinder attached to his right hip. He unhooked it from his belt and raised it before him, his fingers caressing the cool metal. If the breathing and Master Yoda's voice could penetrate the unholy blanket surrounding him, certainly this could as well. With practiced ease, his thumb gently pressed the activation switch. A glowing blue blade stabbed through the darkness before him with a sharp snap-hiss.
An evil, unfamiliar cackle answered his action. The horrifying laughter echoed, as if magnified by the surrounding blackness. Again, he tried in vain to locate the source of the sound. The glow of his blade illuminated a small portion of the area around him, but still he saw nothing. The cackling died out, and once more he heard the breathing. This time it sounded as if it were behind him.
He spun quickly, raising his blue blade in a sweeping parry as he turned. A brilliant red blade appeared from out of the inky blackness, crashing into the blue blade with a shower of sparks. He stared at the creature before him, the light of the crossed blades reflecting off the glossy finish of the mask. A mask he'd seen so many times before; but this time would be different.
Summoning strength from the Force, he sent a wall of energy at the Dark Lord, shoving him backwards. Silently, they stared at one another from a distance, their blades pulsing in the darkness between them. He longed to know what lie beneath that black, articulated mask. Was it man, or machine, or a hideous combination of both?
Bracing himself for another attack, he raised his lightsabre in a defensive position. He sensed his opponent preparing for an attack, but rather than moving forward, toward him, the black mask turned to its left and stepped away from him. Peering through the never-ending darkness, he sensed, rather than saw the new arrival.
The Sith spoke, his words as mechanical as his breathing. "When I left you, I was but the learner." He directed the taunt toward the unseen Jedi. "Now I am the master."
"Only a master of evil, Darth," the new arrival declared in even tones, his rich voice reaching through the dark.
He watched in silent astonishment as the Dark Lord crossed the void with unnatural speed and brought his red blade down upon the Jedi, whose blue blade appeared just as quickly to block the blow. He tried to move, to help his friend, but found his feet fastened in place. He struggled against the invisible bonds, but to no avail. This wasn't his fight; he could do nothing but watch as the two combatants crossed blades.
The movements were swift, and sure. As soon as one struck, the other parried and then quickly reversed the attack. They looked like seasoned foes, the black cape and brown robes participants in an almost familiar dance.
And then it was suddenly over. The red blade sliced cleanly through the center of the brown robes, which crumpled to the floor.
He screamed, but no sound came out. Struggling more fiercely against the darkness, whatever was holding him back finally relinquished its grip on him and he flew at the dark menace. With a flurry of motion, he rained blows upon his opponent, determined to avenge his friend's death. The Dark Lord parried each attack swiftly, easily turning the blue blade away from his ebony clad visage.
A white-hot pain seared through his flesh, and he looked down in shock at his right arm. Where it had only moments before gripped the cool shaft of his lightsabre, there was nothing there now but a cauterized stump. He stared, unbelieving, as bits of mechanical components appeared before his eyes to affect the shape of a human hand. He flexed, experimentally, and watched the tiny gears create a fluid movement in the unnatural fingers. There was something unnerving about how easily the machine had interfaced with his human body.
As if triggered by this thought, a black glove appeared, hiding the unsightly components behind the opaque material. Reaching out through the Force, he willed his lightsabre into his new hand. He ignited it instantly, just in time to parry another blow from his opponent.
Determination set in. This evil creature could not win. He stared into the expressionless mask and released himself to the flow of the Force around him. It permeated his very being, giving him strength he'd never imagined. His movements became more precise, more intense. He gained the upper hand, forcing his dark opponent onto the defensive. His breathing became ragged, until it was hard to distinguish the sound of one from the other.
His blade suddenly sliced through the solid material encasing his opponent's head as the Dark Lord of the Sith failed to bring his own red blade around in time. The gleaming helmet rolled off of the towering visage upon which it had been affixed and dropped to the floor. It rocked back and forth a few times before the front of the mask disappeared in a quick flash of light.
He stared, horrified, at the vision behind the mask. He knew that face. It stared back at him every time he passed a mirror.
He awoke with a start; this time he had successfully screamed, the sound shattering the veil of darkness surrounding him. The sheets were tangled about him, sticking to the sheen of sweat that covered his upper body.
An inquiring set of beeps and whistles greeted him from across the room, and he glanced over at the room's other occupant. Drawing a deep breath, he shook his head, as if to shake the vision out of it.
"No, Artoo," he spoke, his voice loud to his ears. "I'm all right. It was just a dream."
The droid blatted a response that clearly said he didn't believe him, and the young Jedi wasn't so sure he believed it himself.
Fin