Star Wars: Starkiller

The forest was quiet, broken only by the steady footsteps of Darth Vader and the metallic echo of his breathing. His dark silhouette moved through the trees like a living shadow, advancing without stopping. All around him, Stormtroopers marched with precision, making way for their leader. Finally, they came to a small hut, isolated in the thicket. 

Without warning, the door opened. A man stepped out onto the threshold. His tunic, a faded yellow, billowed slightly in the wind. His eyes were riveted on the imposing figure in front of him. 

"Dark Lord..." he said in a steady voice, though his hand trembled slightly as he reached for the lightsaber at his belt. "Whatever it is you seek, you will not find it here." 

Vader took a step forward, his mask reflecting the dim light filtering through the treetops. "You can't hide from me..... Jedi." 

The man adjusted his stance and his gaze hardened. "Turn around." 

With a sharp movement, he held out his hand. The Force roared through the air, hurling the Stormtroopers escorting Vader into the trees and scattering them like leaves. The Dark Lord, however, did not move an inch. His figure remained unwavering, as solid as the metal that encased him. 

Without further ado, the Jedi ignited his lightsaber and launched his attack. The battle began with a flash of light, blue against red, and the steady hum of clashing weapons echoed through the thicket. The Jedi fought with the ferocity of a cornered man, but he was no match for the overwhelming power of Darth Vader. 

Finally, the Jedi was thrown violently against the hut, collapsing part of the structure. Before he could get up, he felt the Dark Lord's invisible claw closing around his throat, lifting him off the ground. 

"I sense someone much more powerful nearby," Vader said, his voice cold and calculating. "Where is your master?" 

The Jedi, his lips tight with pain, stared at him. "The Dark Side has clouded your mind. You killed my master years ago." 

"Then now you will share his fate." 

With a swift movement, Vader raised his saber, ready to deliver the final blow. But before he could do so, the weapon was wrenched from his hand and flew through the air, landing in the small hands of a child watching the scene from inside the hut. 

Vader turned to the little boy, bowing his head slightly. "A son..." he muttered. 

"Run!" the Jedi shouted, with his dying breath. 

The Dark Lord clenched his fist, and the dry sound of the man's neck snapping echoed through the air. The lifeless body fell to the ground with a thud. 

Vader took a step toward the boy, who recoiled, clutching the lightsaber tightly. At that moment, an Imperial Commander appeared in the doorway of the hut, accompanied by a small unit of Stormtroopers. 

"Lord Vader?" he asked, with some hesitation as he took in the scene. 

The Commander turned his gaze to the boy and, without waiting for orders, raised his weapon. "Open fire!" he ordered his men. 

The roar of gunfire filled the place, but before the blaster bolts could hit their target, Vader stepped between them and the boy. With precise and lethal movements, he retrieved his lightsaber and deflected each shot with ease. The Stormtroopers fell one by one, unable to touch the Dark Lord. 

As the last of them lay on the ground, Vader extinguished his saber and turned to the boy, who looked up at him with fear-filled eyes. 

"Come with me," he said in a deep, but not aggressive voice. "More will be coming soon." 

The boy, trembling, looked at the gun he held in his hands. At that moment, without fully understanding what was happening, he knew his life would never be the same again. 

The boy did not respond immediately, but his small hands clenched the lightsaber tightly, as if it could somehow protect him from the man in front of him. Vader remained motionless, watching him closely. The Force vibrated intensely around him, pulsing like an uncontrolled heartbeat that drenched everything. That little being was special, and he knew it.

"More will be coming soon," he repeated, this time with a calmness that did not match the carnage he had just unleashed.

The child, still paralyzed, nodded slowly. There was fear in his gaze, yes, but Vader sensed something else deep in those eyes: the spark of an unwavering will.

Without another word, Vader turned and began walking toward the ship waiting at the edge of the clearing. After a few moments, the boy's faltering footsteps joined his own. Vader did not need to turn to confirm that he was following. A faint dark smile crossed his face beneath the mask.

As they climbed inside the Imperial ship, Vader sensed a conflicting presence. It was weak, haphazard, like a flame about to be extinguished. But it was also powerful. There was something raw in that child, something that had not been molded or repressed. A strength that, if properly cultivated, could come to rival even his own.

As the transport took off and the planet's atmosphere was left behind, Vader stood, gazing into the infinite emptiness of space through the cockpit visor. He said nothing the entire way. He didn't need to. The boy was silent as well, huddled against one of the ship's walls, watching him with a mixture of fear and fascination.

Arriving at the Imperial facility where his quarters awaited him, Vader turned to him. "Come."

The boy hesitated for a moment, but finally stood up and followed him. They walked through the gray, barren corridors of the station. Officers and soldiers who crossed their path quickly turned away, their gazes lowered, avoiding any eye contact. The very air seemed charged with tension at the presence of the Dark Lord.

Finally, they came to a large, empty chamber. At its center, the floor was marked with concentric circles and lines that formed patterns evoking duels and training. Vader stopped in the center of the room and turned to the boy.

"This will be your new home," he announced in a cutting voice. "Here you will learn. Here you will suffer."

The boy looked at him, puzzled, clenching his fists tightly. His large, curious eyes tried to comprehend the words of the imposing warrior in front of him.

"Compassion is a weakness," Vader continued. "Fear keeps you alive. Hatred gives you power. Remember these words...for they will define you."

The boy did not respond. He couldn't. He barely understood the weight of those words, but something about Vader's oppressive energy made him feel small and insignificant. For a moment, it seemed that the weight of darkness emanating from the Sith would crush him. However, to the Dark Lord's surprise, the boy's small fists relaxed. Something had changed in his expression: a defiant, unconscious but latent glow.

Vader bowed his head. The child was neither crying nor recoiling. That was good. But resistance was not enough.

"I want you to survive," Vader said, igniting his lightsaber suddenly. The crimson of the blade bathed the room in an ominous glow. "And to do that, you'll have to fight first."

Without warning, Vader's saber lunged toward the boy in a deadly arc. The latter barely had time to raise the weapon he had held all that time, reacting more out of instinct than knowledge. A flash of light filled the room as the two sabers collided. In that instant, Vader knew that the real training had begun.

He had found his apprentice.

(14 years later…)

His master had never been a patient instructor, much less someone given to words. In his presence, silence outweighed any lecture, and his teachings were conveyed through blows, constant pressure, and punishment for every mistake. Leniency had no place in the training of a Dark Side apprentice. Conversation was a luxury, and the only voice that really mattered was that of hatred, that inner flame that had to grow until it consumed everything.

During the countless hours of practice with the lightsaber, telekinesis exercises or mental challenges, he had never received a word of encouragement. Every lesson was a battle, and every mistake, one more mark on his skin. And although at first he had questioned this brutal method, he now understood its purpose: the apprentice's path was not a well-lit path laid out by his master, but a dark forest full of dangers, where he had to make his way alone. His master would not guide him. He would only intervene when his failure was total, when he was on the verge of death, and only to remind him that survival was not a gift, but a duty.

Even in his defeats, he found wisdom. For on the Dark Side, that which did not kill him, made him stronger.

And many times he was sure he was going to die.

Now, panting, his chest burning and sweat pouring down his face, he fell to his knees in front of his master. His body trembled with exhaustion; his hands could barely hold the laser sword, whose blade he had deactivated in surrender. His breathing was erratic, a stark contrast to the steady, oppressive sound of the life support system that kept the man in front of him alive.

He felt the anger radiating from his master like an invisible fire, so searing that it burned him even without contact. His senses were flooded by that presence that surpassed him in every way: power, control, will. He did not need to look up to know that the black figure was judging him, assessing every flaw, every weakness.

"When I found you, you were weak," the deep voice said, echoing like a thunderclap across the chamber.

The apprentice gritted his teeth. He knew those words, had heard them so many times they were burned into his memory. They were almost a mantra, a constant reminder of his past insignificance.

"You shouldn't have survived my training."

He closed his eyes and accepted the reality of those words. It was true. By rights, he should have died long ago. But death never claimed him. His master had molded him with blows and pain, transforming his fear into hate and his hate into strength. That was the only lesson that mattered.

"Learn... or die."

He visualized the crimson edge of his master's lightsaber, that deadly blade that had so often grazed his skin, leaving scars that reminded him of his failures. He wondered what it would be like when it finally pierced him. The pain no longer terrified him; in a way, he expected it, desired it. It would be a clean ending, a logical conclusion to his existence as an apprentice.

The vibration of the sword activating made his eyes widen. His master raised the weapon, and the sound of plasma slicing through the air filled the space. The crimson blade stopped millimeters from his neck, close enough to singe the hairs on his skin.

"But now," his master continued, "your hatred has become your strength."

The apprentice dared not move, but felt a pang of bewilderment. 'Why those words?' His master did not flatter him. He never did.

The lightsaber swung away in one swift motion, deactivating with a whirring sound. The apprentice let out a faint sigh of relief, though he dared not look up.

"At last, the Dark Side is your ally."

The words fell on him like an unexpected blow. He didn't know whether to interpret them as praise or as a warning. His mind, ever vigilant, whispered to him not to let his guard down.

Then his master's voice changed tone, and the next words struck him with a force greater than any duel.

"Rise, my young apprentice."

"Apprentice." That word echoed in his mind like an endless echo. She had always assumed she was his apprentice, but it had never been confirmed to her. He had never received any recognition from his master.

For an instant, he hesitated. Then he obeyed. His legs, trembling, rose with difficulty. In front of him, the imposing figure of his master was silhouetted against the reddish glow of the planet shining on the other side of the viewport. The angular, metallic space around him was familiar, but now everything seemed different, sharper, as if something had changed inside him.

"What is your will, master?" he asked, keeping his voice steady despite the tide of emotions sweeping over him.

The black shadow bowed his head slightly, as if assessing him once more.

"You have defeated many of my enemies. Your training is nearing completion." His master's voice grew colder, more calculating. "The time has come for you to face your first real test."

The apprentice nodded slowly, feeling the strength of the Dark Side grow within him. He knew the test would be deadly. He knew that, if he failed, his life would end. But for the first time, he felt no fear.

For the first time, he felt worthy.

Images of previous missions flashed through the apprentice's mind. Over the years, Lord Vader had ordered him to dispose of numerous enemies from within the Empire; mainly spies and thieves, but on occasion there was also the occasional traitor of higher rank. He felt only the satisfaction of duty done. His victims had brought their doom upon themselves, they were nothing more than vermin gnawing at the foundations of the majestic edifice that was the Empire.

However, this was different. There was something more to his master's words. Darth Vader was not talking about a common smuggler, nor a puny Force adept incapable of presenting him with a real challenge. This time, the task was different. Bigger. More dangerous. The time had come to face the enemy he was finally worthy of.

"Your spies have located a Jedi?"

"Yes," Vader confirmed grimly. "A Quinlan Vos. My spies have discovered that he is hiding on Terminus, an Outer Rim world."

The apprentice felt a jolt of excitement course through his body. Quinlan Vos. He had heard that name in his training. A Jedi Master known for both his cunning and his ferocity in combat. This would not be an easy confrontation... and for that very reason he could not suppress his excitement. He had trained for this moment for as long as he could remember. Killing a Jedi was not just a mission, it was a rite of passage, an ultimate test that would bring him closer to absolute power.

"I will leave at once, Master."

He turned and had barely started walking toward the door when Vader's peremptory voice stopped him in his tracks.

"The Emperor must not discover you."

"As you wish, Master."

"You cannot let anyone see you, use the skills I have taught you to go unnoticed."

Starkiller nodded, though a shadow of doubt fleetingly passed through his mind. Killing Imperials. That was unusual, but he dared not question it. He knew he shouldn't.

"Don't fail."

The weight of the lightsaber hanging from his belt was reassuring. In it he felt the power of his master's teachings, a tangible connection to the Dark Side. Doubt was replaced by a firm resolve.

"No, my lord," he assured with a straight back and a firm voice.

Darth Vader turned to the large bay window, clasping his hands behind his back. The red sun of the system bathed his figure in fiery reflections, casting an elongated shadow that seemed to envelop the entire chamber. His apprentice waited no longer. He left with determined steps, knowing that the next time he saw his master, it would be as someone stronger, more lethal.

In the hangar, he boarded his personal ship, the Sombra Furtiva, a small, agile craft designed specifically for covert missions. As he sat in the cockpit, he activated the systems and plotted the coordinates to Terminus. The ship took off smoothly, and soon after, hyperspace enveloped him in a burst of starry lines.

The trip was brief, but enough for his mind to focus on what was to come. There would be no margin for error. Quinlan Vos would be his biggest test yet, and Starkiller knew that any sign of weakness would be his undoing.

As the ship dropped out of hyperspace, Terminus appeared before him. The planet was controlled chaos, a hive of activity at the edge of the galaxy. From orbit, he could see the huge port cities spread out along the shores of vast oceans, connected to each other by endless trade routes. The planet was a key point for smugglers, mercenaries and traders of all kinds, a place where the Empire's law was weakest and secrets abounded.

Starkiller descended toward the surface. His ship pierced the atmosphere, and soon the sights of Terminus became sharper. The cities were an amalgam of tall buildings and makeshift structures, illuminated by flashing neon lights. The streets were bustling with life, with creatures from all over the galaxy going about their business. Cargo ships and light fighters moved like swarms across the sky, while the vast spaceports roared with the constant activity of arrival and departure.

He landed on a hidden platform in the suburbs of one of the largest cities, where the shadows were deep and prying eyes were few. As he stepped off the ship, the atmosphere of the place enveloped him: a humid air, laden with metallic and chemical smells, mixed with the unmistakable stench of the crowd.

He activated a communicator on his wrist, verifying the data provided by Vader's spies. Quinlan Vos was here. Beyond the bustle of the city, in the nearby mountains, an abandoned structure had been identified that served as his refuge.

Starkiller closed his eyes for a moment, stretching his senses in the Force. The energy of the planet was chaotic, rife with emotions: fear, despair, ambition. But beneath it all, in the distance, he sensed something else. A strong, vibrant presence, like a rock in the middle of a turbulent river.

He smiled to himself.

He had found his prey.