Jedi Insurgency 283 (Interlude 44)

AN: THIS is Vitiate, for the uninitiated:

https://youtu.be/hQacPQ89PvU?is=-2XOlvM_ZECWW1iQ

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Upon grasping the holocron, Vader’s mind was transported to another place. 

He found himself standing within a vast throne room aboard a spaceship. At the far side of the chamber, before a window overlooking the void of space, stood a man.

He had his back to Vader, and wore a high class cloak alongside white garments. Silver threaded his hair, whilst his hands rested gently behind his back, as if this meeting was of no consequence to him. 

“At last, a supplicant bearing the lowest modicum of power necessary to activate this device.” 

The voice rolled through the chamber in a deep, measured baritone. It possessed none of Palpatine’s rasping theatricality. There was no effort in it, no need to manufacture menace. The words carried their own gravity.

Vader tried peering at the reflection of the man through the spaceship's glass, yet all he saw was stars, and the empty void. 

“Darth Vader, a name fashioned for a slave who mistook his chain for power. It appears the Sith have changed little since my demise. How…unfortunate.” The man sighed. 

Vader’s eyes narrowed. To better synchronize with a holocron, it was best for a Force Sensitive to put more of himself into the device. By doing so, he could learn faster, and let the teacher inside tailor their lesson to the user. This wasn't something the Jedi or Sith had taught him, nor was it information found in some archive. Vader discovered this trick solely due to his own genius. However, this went both ways, and Vader had a basic understanding of the man before him. 

“I have seen the flaws in the Jedi, and experienced the Sith. What can you offer me, Vitiate?” Vader asked, crossing his arms in an almost impatient tone. 

A low chuckle answered him.

“I have been called Vitiate, Tenebrae, Valkorion, Emperor, God. Names are useful tools. They carry history, weight, legacy. Though bound by chains of thought, even I can see that Skywalker is a name that has, is, and shall resound throughout the ages.” 

Vader studied the man’s silhouette. Even within the holocron, the presence surrounding him felt immense. However, unlike the raw power Vader had wielded during his duel with Revan, where every move was brutal and raw, Vitiate felt curated. Like a Loth Lion sitting doing nothing, his mere presence felt majestic, lethal. It filled the throne room because Vitiate wished it to, just as a performer’s voice filled a theater. He oozed control.

“You claim to have ruled for more than a thousand years. You devoured worlds, possessed bodies, built empires. And yet your defeat has become but a speck in the river of time. Is it me who ‘possesses the barest modicum of power’ or is it you who is overconfident?” Vader challenged, believing Vitiate was full of himself. 

“A simplification of reality.” Vitiate’s voice remained effortlessly calm. “But not an inaccurate one.”

Vader folded his arms considering cutting this ‘training session' early, and finding some other means to gather power. Time was not on his side. He had felt first hand how fast Revan's recovery had been. The next time they clashed, the masked menace would surely be even more powerful…he did not have time to waste here philosophizing with a pedantic old man. 

“My Master was even more powerful than I am now. I think you were afraid.” Vader scoffed, trying to get a rise out of the old man, and start the training early. 

Vitiate slowly raised his head, gazing into the sea of distant suns. Sidious. He savored the name as though it belonged to an amusingly malformed animal.

“Your master found my relics when he was young. He found fragments of my rites. Records written by frightened men who understood perhaps one word in ten. He studied the ash left behind by my passing and congratulated himself for discovering fire. This politician hid in the decaying heart of a weakened Republic and spent decades whispering into the ears of lesser beings. He achieved his position through trickery, and yet claims the mantle Dark Lord of the Sith. How contemptible."

Vitiate’s voice deepened, each word resounding through the spaceship's throne room. 

“Sidious's plan was quite well thought out…for a bureaucrat.”

Vader’s lips slightly curled to the side as his curiosity was piqued. This was the style he was interested in, to dominate one's foes directly. Trickery was in itself the mark of a great warrior, but to negotiate with politicians all day, the thought made him sick. 

Vitiate continued, his tone growing richer, almost conversational despite the contempt within it. “Sidious desired dominion, yet required the galaxy’s permission to seize it. He destroyed the Jedi through treachery because he feared to face their strength gathered against him. He turned their Chosen One through manipulation, mutilated him through negligence, then dressed the ruined remains in machinery and called the result his greatest triumph.”

Vader’s faint amusement vanished, his golden eyes narrowed, and his breathing stilled as anger swelled within his heart. 

“He built armies made of children, and mistook terror for obedience. He surrounded himself with governors who hated him, officers who lied to him, apprentices who dreamed of murdering him, and millions of soldiers who would abandon his banner the moment his brain chip was removed.” 

Vitiate extended one hand toward the stars, holding up an empty palm, as if he were grasping the heavens.

“I did not merely conquer those who opposed me. I entered their minds. I hollowed them. I made rebellion inconceivable. I consumed the strength of entire worlds and carried their dead within me. I shed identities as lesser men shed garments. I ruled one empire, abandoned it, and fashioned another. Not from desperation, fear or some base desire, but due to curiosity.”

Vitiate'a fingers slowly closed, as if he were grasping the universe within his grip. 

“Sidious sought immortality because death terrified him. I sought immortality because a single lifetime was insufficient to contain my ambition.”

Vader’s cloak stirred around his boots, and the Force within the chamber began to slowly pulse. It was subtle at first, but it swirled around the man in white like the planets around a star. 

“And yet, for all your power, you are a fragment of a thought, residing within a holocron.” Vader stated with crossed arms. 

Vitiate replied with a magnificent sound, a laugh that was deep, dark, and utterly without shame.

“You have not answered my question regarding my Master or myself. Are you worthy of my time?” Vader asked dismissively with a raised eyebrow. 

“Haven't I? Must words be used to describe my disdain?” 

“He defeated his Master, destroyed more Jedi than you ever have, and conquered the Republic. Was he not worthy?” Vader scoffed. 

“He inherited the culmination of another Sith’s designs, poisoned an institution already dying, and seated himself upon a throne built by his enemies. Do not mistake successful scavenging for greatness.” Vitiate replied with a sharp tone, his cape swirling. 

Vader stared at the Emperor’s unmoving back. “Perhaps you feared what he might become under your tutelage. You think I am easy to manipulate, isn't that right?” 

Upon finishing his statement, Vader ignited his lightsaber. Crimson reflected off the black finish of the floor, and he was about to charge at the man. To discover for himself just how potent this ancient Emperor truly was. 

Vitiate did not turn to meet him, his hands remained calmly behind his back.

Just as the red blade was about to slice into the old man's neck, pressure overwhelming crashed into him from every direction. Not only did this pressure crash into his body, but through it. It clamped around his bones, drove into his organs, and seized the currents of the Force running through his flesh. His mind, body, and soul fell sway to domination. 

The floor cratered beneath Vader’s boots, his knees bent before he could lock them, and his cloak slammed flat against his back as if it was a weight greater than a thousand pounds. 

Vader snarled, refusing to kneel. 

He reached for the Force and discovered a presence already waiting for him, blocking his path. When ordinarily Vader wished to pull upon that ocean of power, it was as automatic as blinking or breathing, yet the old man-still with his back to Vader-stood there within his psyche, within the Force itself, blocking the flow of the Force. 

Vitiate’s will filled it.

When gazing upon those broad shoulders, Vader sensed a cold intellect layered with the screams of planets and the obedience of countless civilizations. Vader felt himself reduced beneath its attention, like he was once again a boy bowing his head in Watto's shop. 

Yet even so, Vader refused to kneel. 

His bones creaked, blood thundered in his ears, and white flashed across his vision. The throne room blurred, and all the accumulated pain: Mustafar, Padmé, Obi-Wan, Revan, it all blurred together in one soup of despair piercing his heart. 

Vader thrust one foot forward, focusing upon the red light of his blade, willing it to sink but one inch into the neck of his foe. 

And yet, every instinct demanded that he drop to one knee, if only to keep his spine from breaking. The command was not entirely physical. Vitiate’s will whispered through the agony, promising relief in exchange for submission.

Kneel.

Vader had heard that command in a hundred forms. From the Jedi Council, Obi-Wan,  Sidious, from fate itself.

“No.” The word came out in a strained whisper, his hands shook as he struggled for control. 

Fury so concentrated that the room started to shake radiated off of Vader in waves. Memories flashed through him: his mother dying in his arms; Padmé turning away; Obi-Wan standing above him on Mustafar; Sidious naming him servant and apprentice in the same breath.

Vader felt the pressure double, yet he did not yield. The stronger the pain, the more iron his will. 

Each memory was an act of betrayal, a sharp blade spurring him on. Blood ran from Vader’s nose, his shoulders trembled, and yet, he smiled. It was a ferocious, happy, joyful, monstrous thing. 

Vader lifted his head all the way, and what he saw was the front side of that old man. 

Vitiate’s face was handsome in a severe, ageless fashion. His eyes held neither fire nor madness, but the tranquil certainty of a man who knew every outcome, and had lived a dozen different lives. He regarded Vader with the detached interest of a sculptor who had struck a block of stone and discovered valuable material beneath the surface.

“You asked me why you were worthy? That. Skywalker. Is why.” Vitiate raised his chin, glancing at Vader’s refusal to kneel despite the overwhelming pressure. 

And like that, the presence enveloping Vader vanished. Steadying his breath, Vader glared hatefully, greedily at Vitiate. The power to block another from accessing the Force…it must be his! 

Meanwhile, the ancient Emperor bypassed Vader-ignoring the lightsaber as if it were a child's toy-and descended from the dais near his throne, each unhurried step carrying unmatched dignity.

“Long before he crowned himself. Long before he murdered Plagueis and imagined the act made him free. Sidious knelt to his fear of death. To his need for control. To the lineage whose approval he pretended to disdain. He lacked the courage to become anything his predecessors had not already named. Ultimately, he was a tool of Revan.” Vitiate spat in disdain. 

Vader was momentarily startled. That name again. 

“Indeed. The ‘Rule of Two’ was prophesied by him. Your predecessor, Bane could be counted as half his disciple. How fitting then, that in the end, you should come to me.” Vitiate, for the first time, smiled. 

“Teach me.” Vader demanded, holding his head high. He had shown his worth, he would be taught! 

Vitiate studied Vader openly now. His gaze lingered upon the young man’s healed body, his clenched hands, and the hatred still radiating from him.

“You endured a fraction of my attention, perhaps…” Vitiate said trailingly. 

“A fraction?” Vader scoffed disbelievingly. 

“Would you prefer a comforting lie?” Vitiate’s baritone asked. 

Vader folded his arms, to which Vitiate nodded. 

“Good.” Vitiate said, not wasting anymore needles words. 

Violet flames reignited one after another, revealing a dozen archways behind Vitiate where there had previously been only the darkness of space. The glass of the spaceship shattered, beyond which waited visions: ancient temples beneath dead suns, fleets moving through scarlet storms, worlds stripped of life, and warriors kneeling before thrones of gold and black.

“My children possessed gifts that made the most famous of conquerors appear ordinary. One tempered his strength with loyalty. One allowed doubt to poison greatness. One carried power enough to tear worlds apart, yet remained a prisoner of her own wounds.”

His eyes returned to Vader.

“You contain aspects of them all.”

“I am no one’s child.” Vader was quick to rebut, brandishing his lightsaber. 

“Come, then, Darth Vader.” The old man's sonorous voice calmly mocked, whilst he walked into the broken void. 

Vitiate turned away once more, treating the threat of violence as beneath concern. With a small movement of his fingers, the central archway opened wider. Beyond it lay a road crossing a black and crimson wilderness beneath a fractured moon.

“Let us discover whether you are as worthy as my children…or merely another failed tool in the end.”