Rain had battered Kamino's durasteel spires without mercy, a ceaseless drumbeat that mirrored the tempest raging inside me. The Salvation had lain in ruins, its bridge a mangled skeleton of twisted metal and shattered transparisteel, the storm's wrath seeping through every jagged tear. Thunder had rolled low and primal, a counterpoint to the chaos I'd waded through, while lightning had clawed the sky apart, throwing sharp shadows across the wreckage. The air had carried a sour bite: ozone mixed with blood and the acrid sting of blaster char, coating my tongue with every breath. My boots had sloshed through puddles slick with rain, each step sending a jolt through my battered body, but pain had been a companion I'd long since mastered.
I'd descended on Kamino with the Rebels, a blade of fury honed by defiance. In my hands, my dual lightsabers had sung their deadly hymn: crimson in my right, a haunting echo of my Sith chains; blue in my left, my father's legacy reclaimed. Their plasma blades had glowed through the storm's murk, casting twin halos of light that danced with the rain. Stormtroopers had swarmed like insects, their white armor gleaming wet under the downpour, blasters flashing to life with sharp, staccato barks. I'd moved like a phantom, the Force threading through my instincts, guiding every strike with a predator's grace. A squad had rounded a corner, blasters snapping up. I'd tilted my crimson saber just so, catching a bolt mid-flight and sending it screaming back; it had punched through the shooter's visor, a wet burst of blood and gray matter erupting as he'd crumpled. Another had charged from my left, vibroblade slashing for my ribs. I'd slipped aside, blue saber arcing upward in a smooth, lethal stroke. Plasma had bitten through plastoid and flesh, parting his torso in two, the cauterized halves hitting the deck with a dull thud. Overhead, jumptroopers had roared into the air, jetpacks spitting flame, their blasters raining crimson bolts. I'd leaped, crimson blade slicing through a fuel line. The trooper had spiraled wildly, crashing into a bulkhead in a fireball that swallowed his scream. Another had fired from above; I'd twisted mid-air, blue saber deflecting the shot into his partner's chest, then flung him into the sea below with a surge of the Force, his armored form vanishing into the black waves.
Carbonite War Droids had lumbered into the fray, their freeze rays humming as frost clouded the air. I'd darted between them, the Force coiling in my grasp. I'd seized one's leg with an invisible fist, toppling it with a screech of metal on metal. I'd vaulted onto its chest, crimson saber plunging into its optic sensor. Plasma had melted through circuits, spitting sparks and molten slag as I'd yanked the blade free. A second droid had fired, its freeze ray grazing my arm, numbing the flesh in an instant. Pain had flared, but I'd spun on my heel, snarling, and hurled my blue saber. It had twirled end-over-end, carving through the droid's torso in a spray of shredded steel before snapping back to my hand with a low hum. Terror Troopers had flickered into view, their cloaking fields bending light, but the Force had laid them bare: subtle ripples of intent cutting through the storm's din. I'd whirled, blue saber sweeping wide, and caught one mid-step; his head had tumbled free with a wet thunk, the wound seared shut by the plasma's heat. Another had struck from behind, vibroblade aimed for my spine. I'd ducked low, crimson saber ripping upward through his gut, the plasma blade searing a clean path, leaving charred flesh in its wake. The air had grown thick with blaster smoke, the coppery reek of blood mingling with oil and rain into a slick, nauseating mire. My chest had heaved, sweat and water stinging my eyes, but I'd pressed forward, the cloning labs rising ahead like a grim promise.
I'd stormed into the labs, where transparisteel tanks had lined the walls, each cradling a figure with my face, motionless, suspended in bacta, their stillness a cruel reflection of my own doubts. Am I just another experiment, a shadow stitched from someone else's soul? The thought had gnawed at me, cold and relentless. The Force had pulsed then, dragging me into memory: my mother's voice, sharp and desperate, "You'll never take him!"; Vader's hand crushing my father's throat. The vision had faded, leaving my chest tight, the question a blade in my mind: Was I real, or just a dead man's copy? I'd shoved it down, letting rage drive me. With a thrust of my hand, I'd shattered the tanks. Glass and bacta had exploded outward, bodies slumping into lifeless heaps. A guard had rushed me, blaster spitting fire; I'd deflected the bolt into his knee, bone cracking audibly, then slammed his skull against the wall with a Force grip, painting the durasteel red. Another had fired from a catwalk above. I'd leaped, blue saber piercing his chest mid-air, his body jerking as I'd landed and pulled the blade free with a hiss, the cauterized wound smoldering in the rain.
Then, a jolt in the Force: Juno. Her pain had hit me like a blaster bolt, sharp and urgent, cutting through the storm's haze. She was aboard the Salvation, piloting the battered frigate against the Empire's onslaught. Vader's presence had loomed, a dark tide, and through the Force I'd seen it: his hand outstretched, Juno's body crashing through a viewport, slamming into the wreckage below. Blood had stained her coat, her breaths shallow and ragged, but she'd clung to life, her will a fragile spark in the dark. My heart had twisted, fury blazing white-hot. I'd sprinted through the corridors, boots pounding the wet durasteel, the storm's thunder spurring me on. I'd reached the Salvation's bridge, a graveyard of steel and glass, rain hammering through gaping wounds in the hull. Lightning split the sky, casting jagged shadows across the slick deck, where blood and water pooled in crimson swirls. The air was thick with the sting of ozone, the sharp tang of blaster burns, and the coppery reek of my own sweat. Thunder growled, a beast unchained, as if Kamino itself roared for the bloodshed to come. My chest heaved, ribs aching from earlier blows, but I stood firm, the weight of my dual sabers in my hands grounding me.
He was there—Vader, a black titan against the storm, his mechanical breath rasping like a blade on stone. His red saber glowed, a slash of blood in the dark, and his voice cut through the gale, cold and venomous: "You are nothing, a thing of my design. Submit!" I ignited my sabers, crimson and blue flaring with a defiant hum. "I'm finally free of you," I snarled, my voice raw, scraping against the storm's din. I lunged, blades a whirlwind of plasma. He met me head-on, his saber clashing with mine, sparks erupting like shattered stars. The impact shuddered up my arms, the air screaming with the friction of energy fields grinding together. Rain stung my face, blurring my vision, but the Force sharpened my senses, guiding every move. Vader was a wall of power, his strikes heavy, deliberate, each swing of his saber a test of my resolve. I ducked under a high slash, crimson blade parrying his follow-through, the plasma hissing as it grazed his armor, leaving a scorched line. I spun, blue saber aiming for his chest. He blocked with a flick of his wrist, the force of it nearly wrenching my arm from its socket. I gritted my teeth, shoving back with the Force, a raw surge that sent consoles skidding across the deck, their metal groaning. Vader staggered, his cape whipping in the wind, but he held his ground, his presence a dark tide in the Force.
The fight was a grind, every move a battle of attrition. I feinted left, crimson blade grazing his shoulder, then pivoted, blue saber slashing for his helm. Vader deflected, but I was already moving, using the wrecked bridge's terrain. I leaped onto a toppled console, rain slick under my boots, and launched myself at him, both sabers arcing downward. He raised his blade, sparks showering as plasma met plasma, the heat searing my skin. I landed, rolling to avoid his counterstrike, his saber carving a molten gash in the deck where I'd stood. I countered with a Force push, stronger this time, debris flying like shrapnel. Vader braced, but his footing slipped, and I surged forward, crimson blade slashing across his chest plate, leaving a smoking scar. He retaliated with a Force choke, invisible fingers tightening around my throat. My breath caught, vision spotting, but I clawed through the pain, channeling the Force to break his grip. I gasped, free, and charged again, blue saber thrusting for his core. He sidestepped, his blade slashing for my ribs. I twisted, the plasma grazing my tunic, singeing flesh with a sharp burn. Pain fueled me, and I hammered him with both sabers, a flurry of strikes: crimson to his arm, blue to his leg, each hit chipping at his iron stance. The storm roared approval, lightning illuminating our clash, casting us in stark relief against the ruined bridge.
I was gaining ground, but Vader was relentless, his power a furnace. He swung wide, forcing me to duck. His saber cleaved a support beam, sparks raining as it collapsed. A vision clawed at me: my mother's scream cut short by that same crimson blade. I roared, channeling the pain, and hurled a wave of Force energy. It slammed into Vader, buckling his knee, durasteel creaking under his weight. I pressed the attack, crimson saber slashing low, blue high, a relentless rhythm. He parried, but each block was slower, his breath rasping louder. I saw an opening, my blue saber was ready, the killing blow inches away. Rahm Kota's voice sliced through, rough as gravel: "Take him alive, damn it!" I ignored him, rage drowning his words, the need to bury Vader overwhelming.
A figure lunged from the dark, his red saber a slash of malice. He was my mirror, my face, twisted with hate, eyes burning in a warped mirror. Vader rose, his voice a hiss, "You were never the original. You're a failure, a mistake!" The words cut deeper than any blade, doubt flaring anew. I parried the clone's strike, crimson meeting red, the impact jarring my bones. He was fast, his saber a blur, but I matched him, blue blade blocking a thrust aimed at my heart. We'd locked sabers, crimson against red, plasma blades grinding with a high-pitched scream, sparks raining hot on my skin. Our faces were inches apart, his eyes—my eyes—burning with a desperate hate. "You're the failure," he'd spat, his voice a warped echo of mine, trembling with a need to prove himself.
I'd growled, muscles straining as I'd pushed against his blade, the Force surging between us like a living current. Time had slowed, the storm's thunder fading to a dull pulse, the rain a soft curtain around us. In that locked moment, our minds had touched. His essence had brushed mine through the Force, a faint, flickering soul against my own. It was like staring into a cracked mirror, his thoughts a jumble of rage and fear, a lesser echo of my pain, my purpose. Clarity had blazed through me, a sobering storm: This is my shadow, diminished, a frail copy of my will. The Force had roared within me, a titan's strength against his frailty. I'd felt an energy only we could sense, a raw, unshackled power that surged from my core, burning through the bond between us. His eyes had flared sharp white, wide with sudden terror, as my will overwhelmed his. I'd unleashed it, a silent, devastating pulse that tore through his being. His body had convulsed, a choked gasp escaping as the Force surge tore through him, his form collapsing in a broken heap, the rain washing away the faint scorch of his defeat. His saber had clattered to the deck, its light extinguished, his form collapsing in a broken heap. "I am a titan of the Force, bow and accept your fate!" I'd bellowed, the truth a fire in my veins, searing away the doubt: I'm no copy.
Rage had consumed me, a blinding inferno that left no room for caution. I'd stood over the clone's ruin, chest heaving, sabers humming triumph, the storm's howl a distant echo. I'd been invincible in that moment, my focus locked on the victory, too locked. Vader had struck, his presence a sudden, suffocating weight in the Force, his crimson saber arcing from my blind side. I'd sensed it too late, twisting to parry, but his blade had been faster, a searing slash that tore across my ribs. Pain had exploded, a sharp agony as the plasma blade carved through flesh, cauterizing instantly, leaving a smoking gash that burned with every breath.
Vader had loomed over me, his crimson saber raised to finally end it, its glow casting a bloody sheen across the rain-slicked deck. My body paralyzed, blood seeping from my ribs, each breath a knife in my chest. The storm's roar had dulled to a distant hum, my vision narrowing to the black silhouette of his armor against the lightning's flash. I reached for my sabers through the Force, but my strength had bled out with the downpour, leaving me defenseless. A woman's form took shape, her face soft, her voice desperate: "Anakin, please, don't do this!" Vader had frozen, his saber halted mid-arc, a choked rasp breaking his iron rhythm. I'd felt it through the Force: a raw, trembling wound, someone vital to him, enough to shatter his focus. The air had shifted, charged with his sudden hesitation, as if the storm itself had paused.
Rebels stormed the bridge at that moment, their arrival a chaotic surge: stun blasters crackling with blue bolts, boots pounding the wet steel. Kota had led them, his blind eyes fierce, his Force push slamming Vader backward, durasteel groaning under the impact. The Sith Lord had staggered, caught off-guard by the unexpected assault, his saber lowering as Rebels swarmed, stun cuffs snapping tight around his wrists. "He's not slipping this time!" Kota had growled, his voice a blade of resolve, blasters trained on Vader's bound form. PROXY then throwing off the women's image from his frame, shattering Vader's haunted vision. From the wreckage, a Rebel had scrambled to a crumpled pile of metal where Juno had lain, trapped since Vader flung her through the viewport. He'd pried apart the debris, durasteel screeching, and Juno crawled free, her body a map of blood and bruises, her coat torn and soaked. She'd staggered to her feet, eyes locking on me, and ran, collapsing beside me with a gasp. Her hands, slick with rain and blood, searched for my pulse, trembling as she dragged me from the ruin, her strength a defiant spark against her pain. PROXY had steadied her, his circuits whirring, as Rebels secured Vader, his silhouette a defeated shadow against the storm's fury.
My vision had blurred, the world shrinking to a faint pulse. Juno's face had hovered above me, fierce despite her wounds, her eyes a light in the gathering dark. "Stay with me, Galen," she'd whispered, her voice a fraying thread of warmth, fierce and unyielding. I'd tried to speak, to promise I'd fight, but my strength had ebbed with the rain. The edges of my sight had frayed, darkness creeping in like a tide.
My body convulses as if my very essence is being rewired, each pulse a reminder of an unnatural process keeping me alive. The voices grow clearer: "He's responding, but the neural activity is erratic," the first woman from before says. "Could be his physiology," the softer voice replies. "This Force… it's unlike anything we've seen." My fingers twitch, and I feel a strange vitality spreading through me, but it's laced with pain. The lights overhead blinding my vision again.