Star Wars: Starkiller

The presence was unmistakable, even amidst the chaos of Terminus. Quinlan Vos was like a beacon, even if he tried to hide. Starkiller could sense him clearly: a swirl of determination and control, tinged with the shadow of someone who had lived through too many battles. Vos was a survivor, a Jedi who did not give up easily.

Starkiller stepped out of the spaceport and into the city. The streets were crowded with smugglers, mercenaries and desperate inhabitants who barely looked up when they passed him. He walked with his face covered by a black hood, his tall and menacing figure made him stand out, but no one dared to stop him. He was not looking for unnecessary confrontations, not yet. His objective was clear.

He followed the Jedi's trail to the outskirts of the city. As he progressed, the neon and metal buildings gave way to a rougher, more natural landscape: dark stone mountains and thick forests of twisted trees that seemed to groan in the wind. The air was cleaner here, but the atmosphere weighed with a strange stillness. Starkiller knew Vos was near.

He stopped in a clearing, closed his eyes and extended his perception into the Force. It was a trick his master had taught him, a way to sharpen his senses and project his will toward his prey. A light breeze hit his face, and in it he perceived the echo of something: a swift movement, a figure gliding through the shadows of the forest.

It was him.

Without wasting a second, Starkiller darted after his target. His steps were silent but swift, gliding like a predator after its prey. The branches crunched under his boots, but the noise was drowned out by the rustling of the wind and the chirping of the nocturnal creatures. Vos was trying to evade him, but Starkiller was persistent.

The chase extended into a narrow gorge between the mountains. Sunlight filtered down in faint beams, casting elongated shadows that danced on the rocks. Here, Vos's trail was clearer: fresh footprints in the dust, a broken branch, the energy of the Force marking his path.

Starkiller came to a sudden halt.

A few meters ahead, between two huge boulders, a hooded figure stood waiting for him. Quinlan Vos.

"You were quick," Vos said, removing his hood to reveal his face. His gaze was piercing, eyes painted by the classic dark mark of his tribe. The face of a weary, but still dangerous warrior. "Sith? No, not quite. I can feel it in you. You're something... different."

Starkiller took a step forward, his lightsaber still dangling from his belt. "Quinlan Vos. The fugitive Jedi. I've come for you."

Vos crossed his arms with a slight sarcastic smile. "For me? I always thought Vader would be the one to come for me. But instead, he sends his cub. I must admit, it's an interesting change."

The taunt didn't affect Starkiller. He had been trained to resist such tactics. Instead of responding, he let his right hand slowly slide to his lightsaber. With a sharp snap, the weapon activated, projecting a red blade that lit up the gorge with an ominous glow.

"Surrender, and you will die quickly." Starkiller said calmly.

Vos sighed, but his hands also moved to the lightsaber hanging from his waist. When the glowing green blade activated, the whirring sound seemed to echo throughout the canyon.

"I've faced others like you before," Vos replied, adopting a combat stance. "You are not the first. And you won't be the last, either."

Starkiller waited no longer. In one fluid motion, he lunged forward, his saber tracing a crimson arc that cut through the air. Vos blocked it with ease, deflecting the blow with a precision that spoke of years of experience. The Force seemed to explode between them, an invisible ripple that shook the dust and rocks around them.

The clash was violent, like two storms colliding. Starkiller attacked with the ferocity of a predator: swift, brutal blows that sought to overpower his opponent. But Vos was no ordinary opponent. His movements were calculated, fluid, as if he were dancing in the midst of combat. Each attack he blocked seemed to bring him one step closer to counterattacking.

"You're strong," Vos commented as he deflected a blow that nearly grazed his shoulder. "But you're still missing something."

"What could I be missing?" growled Starkiller, launching a blast of Force energy that Vos dodged with a leap.

"Conviction." Vos landed on a rock, looking at Starkiller with a serious expression. "You fight like someone who follows orders, but I don't see the real reason behind your strikes. What motivates you? Is it fear? Anger? Or simply the desire to be your master's favorite?"

Vos' words resonated more than Starkiller wanted to admit, but he had no time for second thoughts. With a shout of fury, he leapt toward the rock where the Jedi stood, his saber raised for a deadly strike.

The fight was far from over, and in that instant, Starkiller understood that killing Quinlan Vos would not be as easy as he had imagined. 

He raised his left hand and attacked the renegade Jedi with a surge of Sith lightning, unleashing the power of the Dark Side. This surprised the Jedi, who barely managed to deflect the attack with his lightsaber toward the starry sky of Terminus. 

"Maybe I underestimated you, pup. Not just anyone can pull off that kind of attack." 

Starkiller ignored him, focusing all his rage. He moved as fast as lightning, as deadly as a dagger, delivering a thrust that grazed Quinlan Vos' shoulder. Despite the pain, the Jedi instinctively reacted, pushing him away with the Force. The impact sent Vader's apprentice backward, making him stumble several meters until his communicator hit the ground with a sharp thud. 

Meanwhile, Quinlan briefly examined the wound. A slight sardonic smile appeared on his face.

"Hah, evidently, I've become more careless... but I can still defeat you." 

Starkiller growled, raising his saber again with barely contained fury. But something caught Quinlan's attention before the apprentice could launch his next attack. His gaze landed on the fallen communicator, a small device that had survived countless battles, worn but functional. 

Quinlan extended his free hand and, before Starkiller could react, the communicator flew into his palm with a subtle tug of the Force. The Jedi held it, sensing a dark energy imbued in the object. Quinlan had a gift that few Jedi possessed: psychometry, the ability to read the past of an object by touching it. Against his better judgment, he closed his eyes and let the Force flow through him as he grasped the device. 

Darkness enveloped him immediately. Images and sensations filled his mind like an unrelenting storm. He saw a young Starkiller, a frightened child, torn from his home by the imposing figure of Darth Vader. He felt the fear, the desperation... and then, the pain. The visions moved quickly, as if the communicator itself were alive with the memories of its owner. 

Quinlan saw Vader, relentless and cold, subjecting the child to brutal training. The lessons in saber combat were merciless, with Vader attacking him without mercy. The punishments for mistakes were cruel, and the message was clear: failure was not an option. Quinlan could feel the anger growing in the apprentice's heart, fueled by his master's words, words that echoed like dark whispers in his mind: 

"Anger gives you power. Hatred makes you invincible. Only the death of the weak will make you strong." 

The Jedi took a deep breath, trying to stay grounded in reality as the images kept flowing. Now he saw Starkiller facing other opponents: training droids, clone soldiers, even Jedi survivors of Order 66. Each fight was a test, each victory bringing him closer to the purpose that Vader had designed for him. Quinlan felt the emptiness in Starkiller's heart, a young man shaped into a tool of destruction, stripped of all humanity by the Sith. 

Finally, Quinlan released the communicator, breathing heavily. His eyes opened, filled with a mixture of compassion and horror. 

"Now I understand what you are... and why you fight like this," he said in a grave tone, looking at Starkiller with renewed intensity. 

The apprentice, confused by the Jedi's reaction, glared at him. 

"What the hell did you do?" 

"I didn't do anything. I only saw who made you what you are." Quinlan replied, still holding the communicator. His tone was calmer, but there was a tinge of sadness in his words. "You're a weapon, Starkiller. A tool created by a monster... but you don't have to remain his slave." 

Starkiller took a step forward, raising his saber in fury. 

"You don't know anything about me." 

Quinlan looked at him with compassion but didn't lower his guard. 

"I know more than you think. I know what he did to you... and I know you still have a choice." 

Quinlan's words, fueled by what he had seen through psychometry, began to sink into Starkiller's heart, even though he tried to ignore them. But the battle was far from over, and Starkiller's anger would not be so easily quelled. 

Almost immediately after that, Quinlan made a burst of speed to try to surprise Starkiller with a thrust of his saber, but the latter saw it coming and blocked it with his own saber. The clash of the two blades caused sparks to fly as the hissing sound of the lightsabers touching each other filled the air. 

"Vader has corrupted you... but it's not too late, kid. You can break the cycle of hatred and pain of the Sith. I already did, and I believe you'll be able to do it too."

However, Starkiller ignored what he said and took advantage of the fact that the Jedi was somewhat distracted by his speech to push him with the Force, sending Quinlan crashing into a rock wall. Though he tried to get back up, Starkiller didn't give him time to rest, and as fast as lightning, he used his lightsaber to deliver the final thrust to his abdomen. 

Quinlan Vos' eyes soon opened as he felt the lightsaber piercing him. 

"So this is how it ends, huh? At least it was a good fight," Quinlan said, blood starting to spill from his mouth. "But remember something, Vader's apprentice, you are a tool, a weapon without purpose. When the Sith no longer need you, they will discard you like an old rag." He added, as his eyes began to close, never to open again. 

The weight of those words hung in the air, like a shadow looming over Starkiller. But the apprentice didn't let them affect him—not now. 

Quinlan Vos' eyes slowly closed, his body relaxed, and the Force claimed another of its own. The Jedi had fallen, and the silence of the battlefield was only interrupted by the hum of Starkiller's red lightsaber, which soon powered down. 

The fight was over. 

Starkiller withdrew his saber from the Jedi's corpse and clipped it to his belt. For a moment, he gazed at Quinlan Vos' lifeless body. His words still lingered there, like a faint whisper in the back of his mind. But he shook his head, pushing away any thoughts that might weaken him. "I'm not weak. I'm not a tool... I am my master's will." 

He shifted his focus to the fallen Jedi's hand. He was still holding his lightsaber, a relic now without a master. Without hesitation, Starkiller bent down and tore the weapon from the cold fingers of the corpse. He examined the metallic cylinder for a moment, appreciating its design and the history it surely held. 

With a decisive movement, he clipped the saber to his belt, next to his own. It would be proof for Vader, a sign that his mission had been completed. 

As he walked away from Quinlan Vos' body, the air seemed heavier, charged with something he couldn't quite identify. The Jedi's words still echoed in his mind, like a slow poison that he couldn't entirely ignore. But Starkiller closed his eyes and took a deep breath, letting the darkness of the Force fill him once again. 

"I'm more than a tool," he murmured to himself, in the tone of someone still trying to convince himself. 

And with that phrase, he turned, leaving Quinlan Vos' body behind and continuing his path toward the next mission Vader would assign him.