STAR WARS: The Cruel Path Home

Prologue

Starkiller Base
A Long, Long Time Ago…

The cold snow was beginning to soak through my cloak, and I felt the vitality draining from my body. I tried again to prop myself up, but only succeeded in dragging my limp body another few centimeters across the frigid ground. Intense pain flowed through me, fueling the inferno within me. The physical suffering was inconsequential, but the lack of mobility was agonizing—and the searing sting of failure roiled my very being.

I had dedicated everything to my pursuit of the Dark Side, yet it had not been enough. I was a formidable warrior, fueled by rage and without remorse or regret. Yet somehow, this girl had proven a worthy opponent. This untrained novice. This small, weak, pitiable creature.

Once again I tried to move, feeling the wound in my side tear open further. Each twist of my abdomen had further widened it throughout my fight, the sinewy flesh unable to maintain its integrity against the strain of my physical exertion. The pain had been stimulating, but the blood loss was fatiguing. I managed to raise my head high enough to see the river of warm blood flowing onto the ground, staining the pristine white snow.

It was another indignity to suffer: succumbing to the blade of the girl was hardly desirable, but at least she was a strong in the force. That made such a demise at least marginally respectable. To die from a wound inflicted by a Wookie—a non-entity—and his primitive weapon was not a suitable end.

It was ironic, too. Chewbacca, the creature that had claimed it owed a life debt to Han Solo, would ultimately bear responsibility for the death of the son Solo had so desperately wanted to save. Solo… the man who had risked every, and given everything, in the hope that he could undo the past.

It was his mistake, of course. His son no longer existed. Ben Solo was weak and inconsequential, a fragile being holding great potential but lacking corresponding ambition. Thus he had been destroyed to give way to someone eager to embrace true power. Someone with a destiny worthy of the Dark Side.

At least that is what I had believed. I could feel my own life fading, my breath quickening as my body struggled for oxygen. As the blood pooled around me destiny seemed very far away.

Beneath me, the ground shook violently. A low rumble filled the air, punctuated by the staccato sound of cracking rock. Perhaps I was wrong; maybe my death would not be attributable to the Wookie after all.

Han Solo had tried valiantly to change what could not be undone. But his interference could not be tolerated. Even as I had faced him on the bridge his emotions had washed over me. The tempest of feelings had challenged the very essence of what I was. Indecision and uncertainty festered within me, the hidden relics of what I had once been emerging to tear at my soul.

And that is why he had to die. Not because Snoke wished it. Not as some kind of revenge for the multiple transgressions of my childhood. He threatened to fundamentally change what I am. I had made my choice, and nothing would change my mind. Certainly not a man who was a smuggler, a thief, and a coward.

I had looked into his eyes and seen his pain, his hope, his love. I had felt everything in his mind, everything in his soul. And I had cut out his heart, driving a crimson blade through his chest.

The wave of emotion was overwhelming, a cacophony of feelings that I could not understand nor control. Relief and regret. Pride and sorrow. Part of me had died with him, a fragment of my soul I had sought to destroy for years. Still, I was not prepared for ferocity with which it tore through every fiber of my being in its final throes.

As his body fell away, I had struggled to regain my composure. My decision had been made, and there had been no turning back. Not for Han Solo, not for anyone. I had devoted myself to the darkness for all of eternity.

Sometimes, however, eternity is quite short. Now, as the cold, wet snow seeped through my clothing, I wondered if what was true. After all I had given, I was now going to die. Crippled. Alone.

The Force had betrayed me.

Or had I failed it?

That emotion… that weakness. It had made me vulnerable. Those moments of indecision had led to a debilitating wound. It was certainly serious; warm blood flowed in a sufficient quantity not only to stain the snow with its dark red color but cause steam to rise from it. The fire inside me was literally pouring out, melting the snow.

Even those who can embrace their pain cannot overcome the physical frailty of the human form. How else could I explain a neophyte besting me in combat, regardless of what connection she had to the Force? Her strength was irrefutable, but without the proper training how could she hope to channel it effectively? I had studied the Force for most of my life; the concept that someone with no previous guidance could defeat me was both unsettling and unlikely.

No matter how rational the excuse, it was ultimately another demonstration of my own inadequacy. There had been only two suitable outcomes from our confrontation: her acquiescence or her destruction.

In truth, I preferred the former. I felt compelled to free her of the chains the light would bind her with, filled with an overwhelming desire to introduce her to the wonders of the Universe. I wanted to show her things that defy comprehension, marvels that Skywalker would never have the courage to show her. He feared what he did not understand, and she would suffer for it if I did not intervene. Perhaps that aspiration itself dulled my attacks, another case of hesitation and indecision leading to weakness. But I knew what she needed, what she deserved.

It was also a desire borne of practicality. Han Solo was not incorrect: Snoke would support me only as long as I was of use to him, and would dispatch me without reservation or remorse if I became a threat. Confrontation was therefore inevitable: it was the way of the Dark Side. It was the path I have chosen, the only one that would lead the culmination of Darth Vader's vision.

The Supreme Leader is wise: he would never provide me with the skills or knowledge I would need to resist him. But with another, one whose strength in the Force was boundless and ripe for my guidance, I would have been unstoppable. Together, we could have brought order to the Galaxy as my Grandfather had foreseen.

She would have resisted me, of course, just as I had once resisted Snoke. Ultimate power, though alluring, is unnerving to those that do not fully understand it. The Dark Side does not fit with the constructs of most societies, and to truly explore the gifts it offers one must divest whatever weak philosophies they had been taught. Eventually she would have understood. We all do. The darkness is indeed fear and anger, but it is also purpose. It allows you to focus your hate in the pursuit of goals beyond comprehension.

Goals I would no longer achieve. For all my efforts the crowning achievement of my journey was the immolation of my own father. And now even that bred confusion bordering on regret. My emotional control still failed to push aside the connection I had with the man. Who was I—feeble, uncertain, conflicted-to instruct her in the ways of darkness?

A fresh wave of hate grew within me, directed inward this time. I had not given in, and yet I had been too weak. Ben Solo was dead, and yet his soul still tormented me, reaching out from beyond the curtain of the past to hinder my actions. The last vestiges of the light within me still festered, tempering my abilities and leading to my ruination.

My trek through the darkness had been an insignificant speck against the canvas of the cosmos, a life just as inconsequential as the one I had left behind. But at last it was over. I relaxed my weakening muscles and let my head sag to the ground. At least I would die one with the darkness. My weakness might have been exposed, but it had not broken me. As I faced the end I remained one with the darkness, something not even Darth Vader had achieved. I would be destroyed, but not defeated.

Unconsciousness pulled at me, and without a further purpose I let it in and welcomed oblivion.