After the Fall Chapter 44 - Swordfall

Swordfall

Dustil

"I will not fight you, Father," Dustil said calmly. Carth brought the swords down in a flurry that Dustil parried, every strike jarring him to his shoulders. He wished for his blasters.

On Korriban, his Dad toted blasters, one custom-made and upgraded, yet with a handgrip worn smooth to fit into his father's hand as if it had grown there. Come to think of it, maybe he ought to be grateful for swords. He didn't seem to be doing too badly. The Master sharing his brainspace may have had something to do with that.

He parried and blocked his father's maddened slashes. Carth was not fighting defensively, and he saw several opportunities where he could have ducked in and slashed, but he stayed himself, controlled his instincts ruthlessly, rather than strike his father down.

He had a sudden vision of himself and his father, like two mythical titans from stories of old, falling into a bottomless pit, destined to clash forever as they fell. His world narrowed down to the next slash, the next parry. Just one more deflection, one more block. Swing, beat, turn, sidestep, twist. Like a dance, until one of them missed a step and lost a limb.

If that's the price I'm to pay, he thought, so be it. If I can't escape the Sith, I guess I have to accept their legacy, too, and both life and death by swordfall are quick and merciful. I'm sorry, Master. I'll probably serve the shortest apprenticeship you've ever seen.

All he had to do was simply fail to parry the next blow.

The whine of a heavy repeater powering up gave both fighters pause. The big Mandalorian from the Ebon Hawk stood in the doorway, supporting a mostly-unconscious Bastila in one arm, and the galaxy's biggest gun in the other. Wow, he thought disconnectedly, he can lift that thing one-handed.

//Now, my apprentice. Let me out.//

Dustil did as his master told him, and his head imploded this time. Carth's blades both came down on the Sith blade, shattering it. This is it, he thought. "Father," he said.

Carth stood over him with his blades. Dustil dropped the useless hilt of the Sith sword and reached out a hand. His actions and voice powered by the Master in his head, he summoned a gathering of the Force. Tucked away, Dustil marveled. I had no idea it was this big, he thought. Through his mouth, the master intoned, "You cannot win."

His hand came into contact with his father's chest, and the master said, "Let it go. Accept it."

His vision blurred, and his eyeballs turned inside out as his consciousness opened up and touched every living thing in the entire galaxy. An incredible connection to everything where sound, light, and smells assaulted him. His tongue went numb as a thousand thousand different flavors washed through his mouth. His skin swelled and burst with the excruciating sensation of every nerve ending firing off at once. Yet at the same time, his focus tunneled until he contemplated a single atom from a great distance, in endless insensate peace.

Then it all started to move. The massive life energy began to flow from him to his father. The incredible pressure in the room receded. Carth let out an anguished cry and Dustil shuddered at the sound, his senses already stretched to a breakpoint.

It sounded like a man whose soul is being ripped out of him slowly.

//Not ripped out. Put back in.//

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