Will of The Force (Star Wars / Worm)

 

Anakin’s body floated in the air in a cross-legged position, his hands resting on his knees, his lightsaber floating in front of him while his mind was fully immersed in the Force.

.

Inside his mind, he saw strands of blood rising from the ocean below, the maelstrom of power that formed his mental projection absorbing them and deepening in color, the red growing darker by the second as it swirled around the light core on his chest.

On his lap, his old helmet stared back at him, the mirrored lenses reflecting the shapeless face, his blue eyes the last remains he still had of his old life. Dark tendrils stretched from the metal, sneaking their way through his body, his soul.

Whispers filled his ears, muffled screams, offers of power, fears old and new, they all assaulted him.

Shifting his eyes away from the helmet, he looked down, watching as buildings rose from the ocean. Made from dried blood, they formed the small, insignificant city he had found himself in —Brockton Bay, small enough that he could crush it in his palm… or control it as he wished.

Gathering his will, he slowly let his fear seep out of him, letting the Force fill its place and sensing the bright spot of light standing in front of him, a few thin, glowing strings stretching towards it, braiding themselves around each other to grow stronger.

Grabbing the helmet, he lifted it up, tearing the dark tendrils from his spirit and shredding them with determination until only the helmet remained. For a moment, he wished to destroy the cursed thing, use the Force to crush it into an unrecognizable ball, throw it away.

Instead, he used a single hand to lift it up in front of his face, the helmet seeming to stare at him. He stared back.

.

 

With a thrum of power, the small, blue lightsaber cut the air, and then did it again and again until the sound of the blade filled the workshop.

Opening his eyes, Anakin uncrossed his legs, stepping back on the floor and clasping his own lightsaber back to his waist. In front of him, Dinah swung her newly acquired weapon.

He hadn’t taught her any lightsaber sequences —those required a greater connection to the Force than she currently had— but she was using her Matukai stances to wield the tool as if it was a normal sword or staff.

“What… are you doing?”

“Come on, I meditated, for an entire hour even!” the girl said, sheepishly turning off her blade. “I wanna learn to wield it! You can’t just give me a sword and not let me use it.”

His first instinct was to reprimand her, but she had meditated for a full hour. At her age, he’d have found a reason to stop much earlier… or fallen asleep.

Star’s end, he could actually remember skipping on a meditative retreat to go stay with Padme as a fully grown adult. Ah, in hindsight, he truly pitied Obi-Wan.

“Come on, train me,” Dinah begged. “Teach me the ways, master!”

“You are not yet capable of wielding the lightsaber as a Jedi, or Sith,” he sighed, pulling his lightsaber to his hand yet again. “Regardless, I suppose I can teach you, not every technique requires the Force.”

With a thought, he made sure to adjust the field of his own lightsaber, preventing it from causing much damage.

Anakin highly preferred Form V in all its permutations, but it required an excess of physical strength that Dinah would not be able to display for a long time even if she mastered the use of the Force.

In truth, he felt the girl would fit well with the aggressiveness of Form IV, but it was a style that heavily emphasized the use of the Force. Her missing arm would also be a problem.

Form I, the most basic and the one who most resembled the use of a sword required both hands and, while her prosthetic was incredibly useful, it did not have the full range or the fast response of a cybernetic arm.

Turning his body sideways, he put one arm behind his back and lowered his lightsaber, the tip pointing forwards and down at the floor, the blade blocking any attacks to his leg. “This is one of the most traditional stances of Form II, Makashi; with this you can transition to either attack or defense as needed, copy me.”

Eagerly, Dinah stands beside him, using her own lightsaber to imitate his stance. Taking a second to watch her, he couldn’t help smiling when she did so perfectly, no longer needing him to adjust her position.

He didn’t explore the form too much, simply teaching her how to move her legs, how to transition and block from different sides as well as two ways of attacking or countering an attack.

It… would not really be useful in a fight, but the movements looked good and he could build on them later.

“So, when can I start cutting bullets out of the air?” she asked, repeating the same slash for the tenth time.

“Patience. Increasing your Force sensitivity will take time,” he chided, flickering her forehead with the Force.

“Ouch,” she actually said, taking a second to rub her forehead. “But, you said there’s a ritual or something, can’t you do it?”

“I do possess the ability to enhance Force sensitivity, it was one of the few powers my former Master taught me, and I know of witches that could achieve similar things,” Anakin said, making a small correction on Dinah’s movement. “Unfortunately, I do not know if it can be done through the Force or only by channeling the Dark Side.”

“Am I not ready or something?” she asked, lowering the lightsaber and having it touch the floor, the tip slowly starting to burn the material. “Or are you trying to do it with the light side?”

“There is no ‘light side’, there’s only the Force and the Dark Side,” Anakin explained, his eyes looking away from the girl. “The Jedi considered the Dark Side a curse, a cancer that has no use, no redeeming qualities and no place in the world but to cause pain.”

“But… you use the Dark Side?” Dinah asked, turning off her lightsaber.

“I no longer fear the Dark Side, but it has a cost, one you have yet to understand and, as such, must not be made to bear lest it corrupts you.”

Turning towards the youngling, Anakin sat down on his work chair, his hands resting at each arm while he gathered his thoughts. “The Dark Side offers strength faster and more readily available than any other path, however, there is always a cost.”

“Like becoming a parahuman…” Dinah whispered.

“It is… similar,” Anakin said, he had read about trigger events and, while they were vastly different from the use of the Dark Side, it would suffice to illustrate his point.

“Fine, I can take it slow,” she grumbled, clasping her lightsaber to a new belt she got around her waist. “Say, are you gonna take me with you?”

“Do you wish to come?”

“Hell yeah?” she looked up at him like she couldn’t believe he’d even asked.

“Very well, go take your shower.”

Anakin watched the girl run towards the small bathroom they had at the workshop, quickly kicking off her shoes and dropping the prosthetic on top of the table before slamming the door shut behind her.

“I must admit, it will be quite satisfying to watch as you deal with the meatbags,” the droid said as it disconnected from a socket and floated towards Anakin.

“You believe it will be necessary?” Anakin looked at him without turning his head.

“Disobeying your directives would be foolish, serve no purpose and reveal a disturbing lack of self preservation,” Hal bobbed in the air. “In other words, typical meatbag behavior.”

Anakin didn’t answer, simply stretching his senses through the world around them and searching for anyone watching, he did not find any, it seemed like Coil had finally given up on keeping a direct watch on their location.

Dinah quickly returned from her shower with various articles of her costume in-hand rather than worn. Putting on his mask, Anakin tidied his cape and watched as Dinah copied his movements, her armor and helmet making her look like a smaller version of himself, Hal floating above her head.

With a flick of her wrists, she covered her head with the hood and radiated satisfaction, striking a pose while doing her best to make the movement seem natural.

Stepping out of the workshop, Anakin saw an old lady sitting on the other side of the street, a black cat on her lap. Lifting an arm, she gave them a wave, a smile blossoming on her face.

For a full second, Anakin just stared at the woman, his stupefaction made worse by the old woman’s feelings actually being true. When was the last time someone had felt happy at seeing him?

Well, besides Dinah.

Twenty minutes later, they stepped out of the car in front of six young gang members, they wore the ABB colors, but Anakin could already see they weren’t as tainted.

Through his senses, they felt like typical harsh teenagers, filled with bravado, anger and fear, but not the malicious hate or the desire to hurt.

Rushing out of a nearby building, an older man bowed towards him, his head hanging low as he regained his breath.

“Boss, I-I didn’t know if you were actually going to come,” Jun Watanabe said, the youngest of Lung’s remaining lieutenants.

“And yet, you have arranged the meeting,” Anakin said through his mask, no sign of the softness he displayed with Dinah in his voice.

“Of course, I mean, after what you did to Lung and Oni-Lee, nobody would dare deny you,” the man said, a bead of sweat falling down his face. “But what am I saying out here? Come in, we have prepared your part of the week’s earnings. It's a little lacking since we had to drop some of our most lucrative deals and a lot of the boys left —not your fault, obviously, totally ours, but please…”

“You are overly fond of speaking,” Anakin said, walking by the man entering the old, four story abandoned club.

“Apologies, I’m… going to stay quiet now.”

Dinah suppressed a snort at his side, but Anakin simply glanced at her before following the feelings towards the inside of the building.

The place was entirely gray, the walls were once covered in wallpaper, but it had long since been peeled away by time or teenage hands, ABB tags of all shapes and sizes covering every corridor or door.

And yet, the place smelled clean, there were no signs of mold anywhere and, as they walked further up a set of stairs, the building started looking better. It wasn’t perfect, but someone had clearly taken the trouble to fix everything.

Stepping on the last floor, Anakin took stock of the situation, the remaining ABB leadership stood at attention, clearly divided into groups and feeling a mixture of fear and anxiousness.

.

.

.

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Aoi Sato couldn’t forget the day he saw death. Being one of Lung’s top Lieutenants, one in charge of the brothels, perhaps his highest grossing business, he had always had a healthy fear of the Dragon.

Unconsciously, he scratched at the scabs over the sword’s burn on his face. The weapon hadn’t even touched him, but it still destroyed the skin over his right cheek and caused him immense pain.

Then there were the two bullet holes in his legs and the headache from whatever Susano-o had done to get the information from his head. This, this was why he didn’t bother parahumans!

 

.

“Sato, ask for a raise, they need you, you have to ask for what you’re worth.”

“Sato, you should kill that damn Korean, maybe then you can leave those cursed brothels.”

“Aoi Sato, if I catch you staring at a naked woman again I swear I’ll cut your balls off.”

.

 

For fuck’s sake, he loved Akemi but she was utterly insane. He had managed to rise in the gang all while snagging a comfortable job away from the violence of the streets, one that the Dragon couldn’t give a shit about as long as it continued to earn him money.

So what if he had to stare at naked prostitutes or didn’t earn as much as he could, it wasn’t like he partook of the merchandise and he was certainly NOT gonna bother the Korean for a raise, much less the Dragon himself.

As for killing the Korean? That was even worse. He liked having at least one body between him and Lung at all times, thank you very much.

He kind of liked his job anyway; he got to stare at naked girls, earned a lot of money, almost never had to see violence and got to order his men around. Heck, he even liked to keep his girls happy and protected.

Happy prostitutes earned more, took better care of themselves and treated him much better than his wife. He wasn’t gonna cheat on her, but it was nice having at least some kindness in his daily life.

If he changed jobs, they’d probably put some asshole in his place, one who’d take advantage of the girls, let his men take advantage of them and probably try to get extra money for letting the clients get rough with them.

Sato wasn’t a saint, but he wasn’t a demon either. It cost him nothing to keep his brothels clean and his girls happy.

He was aware Nam Hoang had treated the girls on the street much worse and even forced some of them —many too young for his liking— against their will, but he couldn’t help everyone.

Fucker was dead anyway, had refused to turn himself in and the Korean had taken care of that. Tae-Soo Park was one scary motherfucker, almost as scary as the parahumans.

Really, Susano-o’s demands were insane. In any other gang it simply wouldn’t work.

Fortunately for them, Lung had created the ABB, he had shaped it with him as the absolute leader. Far too many of their men had died, burned alive by his hands just for questioning an order. The only ones left were used to obeying.

Almost against his will, Sato’s feet tried to tap against the ground, but it only caused him to suck in a breath and grit his teeth as the bullet wounds sent a jolt of pain through his body.

Behind his oak chair, Li Xiu put her manicured hands on his shoulders and started massaging them, making him relax. The madam for his main brothel had been helping him with the street girls after Hoang’s death and he decided to take her with him.

“I didn’t think you’d be here,” Tae-Soo, the Korean, said from his seat on the red armchair. “I didn’t have time to look over your business, but I always thought you took advantage of your position.”

“Ha, if I did, it would only be once, Akemi would have fed me my balls,” he answered, not daring to ignore the current leader of the ABB, well, at least until Susano-o decided what to do with them.

San-Dae burst into laughter, having followed Tae-Soo when Lung took over their gang; the mountain of muscle accidentally kicked his pickaxe and almost dropped it to the floor before putting it to the side.

“I didn’t think so few of us would be here,” Zhang Li said, the old Chinese man. “Did they all decide to turn themselves in? I admit our new master is impressive, but the depths of stupidity on some people is equally so.”

“No, they didn’t,” Tao-Soo said. “Fortunately, without the dragon, I took the chance to make some… adjustments to our numbers.”

“Ah, right, I forgot how much you hated some of us,” the old man laughed, but his hand was hidden on his clothes. “Coward, should have done it with Lung here.”

“Hate is too strong a word,” Tae-Soo shook his head, ignoring the insult and taking another puff of his cigarette. “I despise incompetency, one of the many reasons I didn’t despise Lung. The dragon was at least competent when he wanted to be, he was just lazy.”

That raised a few eyebrows, but they heard young Watanabe bringing Susano-o up the stairs and quieted down. San-Dae immediately grabbed his pickaxe, the old man palmed his revolver and even Li Xiu took her hands off his shoulder to grab something under her dress.

Sato didn’t bother arming himself, he couldn’t even get up, the fingers on one of his hands were still recovering and he had seen what Susano-o was capable of with that sword of his.

Heck, if he knew the Dragon would get killed, he wouldn’t have resisted so much.

Tae-Soo too didn’t react, simply finishing off his cigarette and crossing his legs.

Susano-o marched into the room, his armored boots seeming to shake the ground, or maybe that was just Sato’s heart beating against his chest. There seemed to be an aura of fear around the man, his black mask seeming to stare down at their soul.

The aura was almost like when the blonde bimbo flew over the brothel, only ten times worse, as if a weight settled into his body, dragging him down and making his limbs lose strength. A combination of dread and awe, as if he was staring right into a massive predator and nothing he could ever do would change anything.

Sato wondered if this was how it felt to face an Endbringer.

The parahuman towered over them, his armor making him look massive as he stood unnaturally still, his head slowly going over them in an almost dismissive way before settling on him. “Aoi Sato, I did not expect to see you again.”

The voice seemed to echo in the room, causing even Tao-Soo to grip the arm of his chair and tense. Sato himself couldn’t take his eyes away from Susano-o’s face, his legs shaking despite the pain.

“I-I have a wife, never touched any of the girls,” Sato said, swallowing hard before continuing. “Didn’t break any of your other rules too.”

“Surprising, you do not appear to be lying,” Susano-o commented before shifting away from Sato, taking a full minute to look at everyone present. “You all seem to be… tolerable.”

Sato nearly collapsed back against his chair, his heart beating almost as hard as it ever had, the fingers on his good hand releasing their death-grip on the wood. As he relaxed, he finally noticed the small girl beside Susano-o.

She looked a lot like him. The same way of moving, the same rigid body, the same mask, coupled with a dark cape… even if she couldn’t help taking fast glances around herself and wasn’t as unnerving. Heck, he thought she looked far too cute for a mini dragon killer.

Then the rest of Susano-o’s words registered. The guy could read minds now? Or at least sense lies. Damn it, just how many powers did he have!

“I’m glad we passed your test,” Tae-Soo said, uncrossing his legs and leaning forward, his arms resting on his knees as he stared at the parahumans. “What now?”

“There was a time I had an empire at my back, endless supplies and information at my beck and call. That time has passed,” he said again, his steps echoing as he paced through the building. “I have goals; I require resources to meet them.”

Well, that pretty much confirmed Susano-o was some kind of warlord, didn’t it? With his presence and way of moving, Sato would think he was from Japan, but he had never heard of anyone like that back home.

No, the guy was probably from Africa. Did he get kicked out by Moord Nag or something? Heck, if the Dragon killer got kicked out of somewhere, just how freaking strong were the guys that managed it?

“I thought you wanted nothing to do with the ABB,” Tae-Soo asked again. “We had a deal. The ABB gets rid of the worst offenders without you needing to act and you leave us alone.”

Sato couldn’t help staring at his Boss; the damn Korean must have balls of steel or something. For a second, he thought he’d hear the same hum of power that haunted his nightmare for the last week; instead, he swore Susano-o was amused when he answered.

“… I have altered the deal. Pray I do not alter it any further.”

Tae-Soo glared at the masked parahumans, but his anger seemed to simply bounce off the man with no effect. Above the girl's head, the tinkertech drone she used swung his way, a red light blinking.

“Please, do refuse,” it said in a robotic but incredibly sad voice. “I had anticipated you meatbags to be wholly unintelligent. I beseech you, do not disappoint me.”

“Heh, we’re criminals, young Tae-Soo,” the old man actually snickered as he looked at the Korean’s angry face. “I don’t think this guy respect’s us enough to keep his word in anything.”

Susano-o didn’t kill the idiot, but he also didn’t deny the accusation, which, in Sato’s opinion, did not bode well for them.

“Fine, not like we have a choice,” the Korean leaned back on his chair and sighed, one of his hands going over his eyes. “What do you need?”

“I will require a new house. There is also a list of materials,” Susano-o said, pulling a piece of paper from inside his armor and floating it towards Tae-Soo.

The ABB leader read the list, his eyes widening slightly at how long it was. Eventually, he threw the thing towards the old man. “Can you do it?”

“What the fuck do you need all this for? To build a tinkertech castle or something?” the old man asked, causing the atmosphere to grow heavy as Susano-o shifted his focus towards him. “Yeah, yeah, I can do it!”

“Good. You have until next week.”

“This is most vexing,” the floating drone said. “Will no one ever attempt to attack him? Please?”

Unsurprisingly, no one took him up on the offer, even that brute San-Dae.

Goal achieved —as if they were going to say no— Susano-o turned around, pausing slightly at the door. “What are the chances one of the ABB will break my rules this week?”

“Huh? Forty seven point nine, six, nine, one percent chance,” the young girl said.

Turning back towards them, Susano-o seemed to bring the full weight of his attention towards the gathered gang leaders, something seeming to grip their hearts and squeeze, a feeling of absolute terror.

“I expect those numbers to be below ten percent by the end of the day. Do not disappoint me,” saying that, Susano-o turned his back to them, striding out of the room quickly followed by his young companion.

For a few minutes, they all just stayed quiet, as if opening their mouths would bring the damn guy back but, finally, Zhang Li said what they were all thinking.

“Fuck me, who’s the fucking idiot trying to test the dragon slayer?”