Chaos littered the streets. Fires sprouted up everywhere, and with no order to put them out they only spread. People were running through the streets. Other people were chasing the aforementioned people through the streets. Other people were chasing both. All of them were running from everyone else. It was as pure as chaos could ever get.

“Rally a few key people and there’s no end to what you can accomplish,” Xoverus grinned, turning to Werkzeug, “Do you not agree, apostle?”

A pure work of dark art, Werkzeug no longer had the physical capacity to make a verbal response, and instead simply nodded his deformed head. The vision of what was now Werkzeug had come to Jeremiah long ago in a dream, but the Dark Jedi Master had never believed he would have ever realized that dream until he had seen the former drunkard, wallowing in the alley. Alone.

Two enormous wings had sprouted from the minion’s spinal cord. Feet were now hooves, hands were now claws. The head, which had never been a pretty sight, was now viciously scarred and deformed beyond all recollection of the beast’s former humanity. Werkzeug was no longer a man. He was a demon. He was the Apostle, warlord over all of those under Xoverus’s influence.

Warlord. It was an honorary title and nothing more. In a land of pure chaos, there could be no system of order. There was only Xoverus, the people he had warped into monsters, and the prey of those very monsters. And it was spreading. This was the third city Xoverus had claimed in the name of ultimate chaos. There would be many more yet to come.

Ultimate chaos. It was the figurehead, the puppet with which Xoverus justified his campaign to those who served him. His real intent lay secret to all, even the Apostle. Xoverus’s power lay in corruption, not dominance. Humanity needed an ideal. One Dark Jedi’s vendetta against a Fallen Jedi didn’t exactly qualify as an ideal. These people died and killed for chaos. Xoverus made them for Zark Ekan.

Zark Ekan.


************

The bullet lay straight upon his palm. The palm did not quiver, and neither did the bullet. The bullet was a part of the palm, just as the palm was a part of the hand, the hand a part of the arm, and so on…finally until at last it came to the man itself, Zark Ekan. All this, he knew to be true, and yet he felt no ownership over the bullet whatsoever. Somehow, the bullet owned him.

The bullet left the palm, and yet the movement of the palm could not be registered to any who might be watching (which was no one). The glare reflected light into the Jedi…no, the Force User’s eye, and for a small moment Zark remembered what it had been like to have a twinkle in his eye. And then it was gone once more.

The bullet fell neatly into one of the six slots in the revolver that had somehow materialized out of nowhere. With an impossibly quick flick of the thumb, the cylinder rolled back into the frame of the weapon, and, with one last glint of light, the bullet disappeared.

Zark liked to think that each bullet he fired was a small piece of Roland, and that every kill he made was one step closer on a never-ending journey to avenge the man’s death. But the rational part of his mind, the part that he hated almost as much as the insane part, reminded him that not only was that the stupidest thing to think in the world, but Roland had never existed in the first place.

“Then how do you explain my ‘reincarnation’?” Zark asked himself.

How do you explain talking to yourself?

“I’m insane.”

Yes, well, that’s what I was getting at. You are insane, especially if you think Roland ever really existed.

“You don’t either.”

You’re insane.

“Touche.”

In one fluent motion, the revolver returned to its holster, and as Zark’s fingers left the hilt, they brushed past the hilt of another weapon. The hilt of his lightsaber. No, the hilt of a lightsaber. It wasn’t his anymore. He had long lost his right to honorably wield the instrument of the Jedi.

With a wave of his hand, the lightsaber went flying across the room, propelled by the Force. He would not be using it this time around. He owed at least that much to the people he had fooled. He owed it to Roland. He owed it to himself. He owed it to Heather.

You don’t owe anyone anything, you’re just trying to justify unjustifiable actions.

“You’d rather I accept the fact that I’m a killer? A murderer? You’d rather I just accept it and move on.”

We both know that isn’t going to happen.

“No…I have to see this through.”

We both know that’s bullshit, too. You hate him. That’s all it is. Hatred. Vengeance. Evil. Everything you’ve always fought against.

“You’re saying I shouldn’t hate him?”

I’m saying that under the teachings of the Jedi, you are not supposed to.

“The teachings of the Jedi are flawed.”

Correct.

“I am no Jedi.”

Correct.

“Then what am I?”

You are Fallen.

*****************

It hadn’t exactly been an easy thing to do, staying out of sight and tracking Zark’s hyperspace route, but Heather had managed to do it. So had Aenix and Nathaniel, although it had been much easier for them, as it seemed all Heather was concentrated on was finding the man who had left her standing alone in the spaceport a few hours ago.

Nathaniel meditated, but both Aenix and Heather stared intently ahead, as if she could see Zark and he could see her. The hatred bubbling inside of Aenix and the obsession bubbling inside of Heather unnerved Nathaniel greatly, and he found himself wondering at how easily the return of a long lost friend had led them both away from the path of the Jedi.

“Oh Force, I hope that isn’t what’s happening,” Nathaniel whispered to himself.

“Did you say something?” Aenix asked a few seconds later.

“No,” Nathaniel snapped quickly, “No. Nothing.”

Corrupt. That was the only word to describe anything that had fallen under Jeremiah’s control. He had corrupted thousands of people, a considerably larger amount than those Zark had faced on JED-1. But the similarities between the two scenarios were strikingly similar. The Dark Jedi’s base of operations was located with in a crumbling old cathedral, in the very of the three largest cities under Xoverus’ influence. Amazingly, in an aerial view, the cities formed points on a triangle, and the cathedral was in the center.

There were also the mindless, controlled, shells of human beings from before, although these were considerably larger in number. Their devotion was fanatical at the least; they acted primitively and on instinct under the guidance of Xoverus. One could even mistake them for a pseudo-backward society roaming a modern world, if it weren’t for the blasters and vibroblades they carried.

All of this was done with a purpose. All of this was done to achieve a goal. Xoverus wanted another chance. Another try. A reset, so to speak. He had recreated the battle at Darj Ekdi City, only on a much grander scale. This time, he was going to win. This time, he was going to destroy the Jedi Knight Zark Ekan.

This time, Zark didn’t have Roland.


*************


As Zark flew over the world Xoverus had corrupted his own little portion of, he couldn’t say he was surprised. He had expected something like this, but he had to admit he was impressed with how much Jeremiah had managed to accomplish in such a short time. The Dark Jedi certainly worked fast. So too would he. He word work fast.

Or he would die.

Can I honestly say I care which happens anymore?


************


The landing wasn’t necessarily the best she had ever pulled off, but it was most certainly the fastest. She was out of the hatch before all of the systems had powered off. Resting a mere twenty yards away was the ship of the man she had become obsessed with. The hatch was open; Zark had not bothered to close it. Deep down inside she knew why, but she would never admit it. She couldn’t.

Deep down inside she knew he didn’t intend to be returning to it.

The ship was black, pitch black, but it was very obvious that systems were still running. There was the constant humming of the engine and the occasional dots of lights that lined the walls. Why had he bothered to turn the lights off when he left but nothing else? She knew why, even if she wouldn’t admit that either.

The lights had never been on.

The ship gave off a foreboding sense to it. As if something was almost obviously out of place, but not quite. It reminded her of Zark himself, and she knew it was probably because he had spent so much time in it, even if it didn’t show it. The ship looked as if brand new. There was not a personal touch to it, probably just like it had been off of the factory line.

That is, everything except for one thing.

She almost couldn’t believe her eyes when she first saw it, and it took her a few minutes to register with her mind what exactly it was. It was, in the most basic of terms, a gun rack. A very, very big gun rack. Every type of weapon she had ever seen and many more she had not, it was almost like a collection of the most exotic pieces of weaponry in the galaxy.

Almost like a collection, she knew better than that. Even naïve Heather knew better than that now. She found herself wondering, against her will, how many people Zark had killed…had murdered…with each of the weapons. She could not help but picture the man she was chasing mowing down hundreds of people with a single firearm, and by now she had been surprised enough times to believe that it might have actually happened.

How many acts of killing did it take to be a killer? Wherever the line was drawn, she knew Zark had long crossed it and hadn’t looked back. He was a killer. He was a murderer. He was a…he was a fallen.

“Is he no better than a Sith?” she whispered oh-so-quietly out loud to herself.

Of course, nobody answered.

“Well, I guess I’ll just have to find out for myself.”


************


The two young Knights cautiously approached the two ships, lightsabers drawn but not activated. Aenix held a blaster pistol in his off-hand, and Nathaniel had his other hand up and ready to cast any sort of incantation at a moments notice. They were both extremely nervous before, as neither had been off of Naboo since their pre-trial days. In a galaxy called catastrophe, it was much safer surrounded by allies.

First they searched Heather’s ship, finding nothing of use, and then they too came to Zark’s craft. They too crept aboard with nagging hints of fear tearing at the backs of their necks, they too felt the sense of nostalgia as they crept through the halls, Zark’s presence emanating at every corner. And finally, they too found the gigantic ‘gun rack’.

The gun rack which was missing more weapons than it had been when Heather had first found it.

The Fallen looked out upon the city with bitter sadness in his eyes. Death had been visited upon this place. Not just death, but something a thousand times worse. Undeath. And it had all happened because of him. One way or another, this was all his fault. He had, in his inability to defeat a Sith Lord, killed all of these people. He had, in his inability to defeat a Sith Lord, raised them from the dead and forced them to do Jeremiah Xoverus’s dark bidding.

He hated himself for it. He hated what Xoverus had made him. He hated what he had done to his friends and what he had to do to more innocents. He hated everything about himself. The only thing that kept him going was one simple little thing. The only thing that prevented him from squeezing off a round into his chest or head right now…

As much as he hated himself, he hated Jeremiah Xoverus much, much more.

Hatred. It was an emotion once unthinkable to him, an emotion that he had been experiencing in massive volumes over the past year. Didn’t hatred lead to the darkside? That’s what the Jedi said, wasn’t it? He vaguely remembered. Fear leads to anger, anger leads to hate, hate leads to…suffering. Suffering…

Jedi knew not the meaning of suffering. Neither did the Sith.

That was the path to the darkside, but somehow Zark had skipped the last step. Yes, he had fallen from grace. Yes, he could be considered evil. Yes, many aspects of the Sith fit him, but…he knew, he just knew, that was not the case. He had no desire to wipe out those he once called friends, no deep hunger for power and death, no…no allegiance to those who, by all means, should now be considered his brethren. No, in fact he hated them too.

They were responsible. They were at fault. They were the ones who made Jeremiah Xoverus the man he was today. They created the techniques that, at this very moment, Xoverus employed on the innocents of this city he was about to wreak havoc in. They were the ones who had caused all of his pain and suffering over the years. They were the ones who had killed Roland. They were…they were his biological parents.

Oh the cruelness of irony.

Something was happening to him. Even in his state, he could feel it, clearly. He did not know what it was doing, or whether or not it would turn out for better or for worse, but he knew he would not...could not do anything to stop it. The once definite line the Force created in itself had blurred beyond recognition…for nobody but him.

What the Shadow Jedi had dedicated their entire lives to accomplishing he had done without meaning to. He was the ultimate mixture between the light and dark sides of the Force. Was it a good thing? He didn’t know. He didn’t care. He didn’t care about much anymore.

He was going to take down Darth Xoverus once and for all, and he was going to bring this city and many like it to their knees in order to do so.

The Fallen reached out with the Force, as far as he could go, taking in everything his mind could sense. It was at these moments that he realized just how powerful his abilities in the Force had become. A year ago, he would not be able to scan anywhere near the distance he touched with ease now.

What had caused it? How was it related to what he had become? These were questions he didn’t want the answers to. He didn’t want any answers anymore. He was done asking the questions. All he wanted was closure. Whether or not redemption or death or none of the above came afterward, he didn’t care.

Jeremiah’s territory was amazingly large for one man to have taken in such a short time, but the Sith was crafty. There were countless more heads under his control than there had been during the JED-1 incident. This was like Darj Ekdi times ten.

There were nine cities, each with a hefty population of undead and each with one lieutenant to bring about direction to the chaos. The northernmost city would be the one Zark would take first. It was called Galt, once upon a time. It boasted a headcount of five to six hundred undead under Jeremiah’s command. Its lieutenant was Baltar the Bear. Each lieutenant had a small measure of Force power. Baltar was the weakest with the Force but strongest physically.

To the southwest of Galt was Reap, with a population of eight hundred heads under Xoverus. Its lieutenant was Vix the Sly, the most cunning lieutenant. His Force powers lay mostly in the area of deception and stealth. Far to the east, southeast of Galt, was Hambry. Its population was roughly the same as Reap’s. Hambry’s lieutenant was Ziv the Venomous, brother to Vix, whose area of expertise was in poisons and tricks upon the enemy’s body.

Far south of Galt, southeast of Reap and southwest of Hambry, completing a diamond pattern, was Mejis. It had a headcount of over one thousand undead under Jeremiah’s command. Zark hoped to skip Mejis completely, and kill Xoverus before word ever got there that there was a serious attack. Mejis was the stronghold of Werkzeug, Warlord of Xoverus’s army of the dead.

And then there was the center of the diamond. There were four small towns, mimicking the outer diamond in a smaller area. They were Geb, Scholomance, Stratholme, and Hillsbrad. Geb’s lieutenant was Iziz the Fierce, Scholomance’s Nosfer the Wise, Stratholme’s Marcus the Brave, and Hillsbrad’s Dien the Merciless. Each city only had a headcount in the area of one hundred, but they were close together, and it would be tough to take one at a time without alerting any of the others.

Finally, there was the last city. It was Gilead, the center of Tirisfal, the area that Jeremiah had enslaved. Gilead was the capital city, the stronghold of Darth Xoverus himself. That was where Jeremiah resided. That was why Zark was here. That was the direction in which he would have to kill.

It was night, but the cities did not sleep. They never slept. There was no advantage, no high ground, no surprise. Jeremiah expected him, and so did his minions. But hopelessness had never deterred Zark before, and he would not be chased away now. The city of Galt was bathed in darkness, and Zark was coming to bathe it in blood.

The trees whipped by faster than she would have thought possible. Her breathing was hoarse and rapid, the metal she clutched in her hands slung across her back seemed to way more and more with every second. Still she pressed on. Scared to stop, hoping she could catch up with her ever-elusive prey.

Heather had never before used the Force to enhance her movement and strength. She had never had the need before. The feeling was…odd, to say the least. Even after near a half an hour she still felt a little weird, not to mention tired. She didn’t know how much farther she could go, but for some reason she knew she couldn’t stop. Not yet. And it wasn’t just because of Zark.

Every once in a while she found herself sneaking peaks over her shoulder, as if she was no longer chasing someone but running away. But who could she be running away from? She chalked it up to mere paranoia, but a part of her mind wasn’t so sure. A part of her mind urged her not to stop, just in case. So she didn’t. She kept running.

Meanwhile, Aenix and Nathaniel were getting closer and closer with every second.

“Where is she going?” Nathaniel asked for the third time.

“I can’t tell,” Aenix replied for the third time, tossing a nasty look his friend’s way, “Why don’t you read her mind and find out?”

“Read her mind?” Nathaniel scoffed, “Why don’t we just start screaming out into the forest ‘we’re here!’? I can barely risk opening myself up enough to track her. Reading her mind would be like an instant hello.”

“Right, well-”

“Shh!” Nathaniel hissed, “We’re getting close. She’s stopped.”

“Why?” Aenix whispered.

This time it was Nathaniel’s turn to give the nasty look.

Meanwhile, nearly a mile ahead, Heather hissed in surprise and wonder. She looked down at the town of Galt below, just as Zark had done when he reached out to scan the area. But the town was different than when Zark had looked at it. It was almost normal, except for the rapid on and off flashing of light…and the screams of the undead minions of Jeremiah Xoverus.

“Oh Force…” someone whispered behind her, and she whipped around, pointing what she hoped was the death side in the direction where the voice had come from.

“Woah woah Heather!” came another voice.

At the sound of her name, her mind cleared a little and she recognized the familiarity of the two voices. Aenix and Nathaniel stepped from the shadows of the forest, and she lowered her weapon…a little. But they were not focused on her. They, like she had been before, were staring at the town of Galt below.

“What is that?” Nathaniel whispered.

“That…” she replied in just as soft a voice, “…is Zark.”


************


The similarity of the scene to that night in Darj Ekdi was uncanny to Zark Ekan, but at the time he wasn’t focused on much except for staying alive. Undead swarmed everywhere, all of them unarmed, but even still if he was pulled down by one it would be all over. As he killed, his mind wondered why they did not tote weapons as the ones on JED-1 had.

Eventually he came to the conclusion that Xoverus could not control so many and fill them with the knowledge of how to operate such weaponry at the same time. Not that it mattered. All that mattered was, for what might be called a pleasant change; these ones were not shooting at him.

An explosion from a grenade rocked the ground underneath him as a dozen or so newly recreated corpses flew in all directions. He had developed the strategy of herding them together and then finding a way to kill many of them at the same time. Before he had used objects nearby to do so, not wanting to waste precious grenades, but as much as he did not like to admit it, he was getting desperate.

Another quake rocked the ground beneath him, but not one that he had caused. This one did so with so much force that it knocked him to the ground, and in that instant he lost all hope. It was over. Undead would swarm him, and he would be devoured. There was no hope of ever killing Jeremiah.

But the undead did not come. In fact, those who had once been walking blindly into the fire of his rifle were no longer anywhere near him. He began to get up, and another quake rocked the ground. This time, though, Zark managed to keep his balance. He turned toward the source, and was confronted by a sight that was not entirely easy on the eyes.

“Tremble, foolish hooman!” Came an almost, but not entirely, completely annoying voice, “For I am the one! I am Baltar the Bear, Lieutenant of the Dark One! I shall be yer doom!”

The near empty clip of ammunition fell from the rifle, and Zark jammed a fresh one in. He cocked the rifle, and raised it to fire. Baltar bent low, aiming to charge. A scream halted both their movements. It was not one of the familiar screams of the undead. This one was human. This one, Zark realized with utter horror, was Heather’s.

“What the frell is that?” That was Aenix, and Zark shook his head with dismay. None of them should be here, but here they all were.

“GO BACK!” Zark bellowed, his voice enhanced by the Force, “GO BACK! THIS IS NOT YOUR FIGHT! GO BACK YOU FOOLS! LEAVE ME TO MY DEMONS!”

Baltar charged, not at Zark, but at the trio who had unknowingly walked into a town filled with the dead. The Bear’s speed was fast, frighteningly fast. None of them could react. Heather tried to scream, but she could not find her voice. Her lungs refused to cooperate, and she hadn’t realized she was holding her breath. Aenix reached for his saber, but he knew it was too late.

And then Baltar was not charging toward them, but somehow the gigantic creature was flying into the wall of a nearby building, where he made a rather generous-sized crater. Faster than any of them could have even hoped to react to, Zark had acted. Somehow, the Fallen had managed to send a gigantic beast into a wall with one kick.

He wheeled around to face them, and they truly feared the look upon his face.

“Go back, damn you all!” He screamed, pleadingly this time, “I already have too much on my conscience to bear! YOU ARE NOT FRELLING DYING HERE! NONE OF YOU!”

His hand shot out suddenly to the side, rifle and all, and he fired one handed. The bullets dug into the skin of Baltar the Bear, who had recovered from the kicked and was once more charging. The Fallen leapt up and over the beast as he charged past, twisting himself into a corkscrew in midair and coming back down, both hands on the rifle this time, as he fired once more.

None of the trio could find any words to say. Finally, after a silence that seemed like forever, Aenix whispered.

“So he was going easy on me in our duel?”

Chances are there is someone out there in the massive galaxy that can teach you everything there ever is to know about any type of fighting ever even thought of, except for one thing. One thing everyone has to learn for themselves. One thing everyone learns differently. One thing not everyone who fights learns. How to deal with the stress of actual combat.

A man could be completely physically prepared for a combat situation, but if they can’t deal with the mental stress, they will fall apart. That’s what Zark felt like in those opening moments of the fight between him and Baltar the Bear. It was his first days of combat all over again.

He had to deal with his best of friends being with him in a combat situation, or he wouldn’t make it out alive. He knew this. He had seen it happen to people before. But try as he might, he just couldn’t wipe the expression on Heather’s face from his mind. So he didn’t.

Heather was his focus. Heather was his cause. Heather was what he was fighting for.

The fight with Baltar was reminiscent of those moments in the cathedral with Xoverus. The hardest, the strongest, the best he had ever fought. Zark predicted every movement Baltar made before he made it, as if he knew what the monstrosity was thinking in that deformed head of his.

But try as he might, he just couldn’t wear the beast down. Baltar took round after round of rifle fire, unflinchingly and almost unaware. It was like they were annoying mosquitoes. Zark realized that he couldn’t continue this for much longer. He wasn’t getting tired, but he was wasting too much ammunition. Ammunition he would need.

He slung the rifle around his back, a move that surprised all three onlookers and confused Baltar himself. For a moment. Then the beast charged once more…and so did Zark. In those few seconds it took for the two to reach each other, Heather truly believed that Zark had finally lost his mind. She gave a cry of dismay, one that quickly turned to one of surprise.

Zark came in with a roundhouse punch to the side of Baltar’s face, and to the shock of the Jedi, it sent the creature flying and eventually skidding, onto the ground. Baltar slowly but surely pushed itself off the ground, shaking its head and grunting. Its head craned to the side to look at its opponent, who was standing calmly, not even mocking a fighting stance.

Baltar fully regained a standing position, and gave a bellow of rage. Once more it charge, but this time Zark did not do the same. It came thundering toward the unmoving Fallen. Zark showed no signs of moving, and still it came on. Motionless. Finally, when the beast was mere feet away from him, Zark sprang lightning-quick into a leap that cleared the beast’s head and over it.

Zark landed, and Baltar skidded to a halt, preparing to come back for another charge.

“Heather, the shotgun!” Zark bellowed, his head jerking toward the onlookers.

“The what?” Heather managed.

“The gun on your back! Now!”

Confused, she fumbled the hulking weapon off of her back, and hurled it at Zark. It would have fallen hopelessly short if the Fallen had not drawn it to him with the Force. Baltar was once again charging, dangerously close to him. Zark cocked the weapon. Baltar was close. He aimed. Baltar was too close. He fired.

And the beast collapsed, nearly crushing Zark underneath it. It would have, if he had not back-flipped into a roll, clearing ‘ground zero’. The beast attempted to lift itself up again as it had done after Zark punched it, but it found it couldn’t stand. Zark cocked the shotgun again, and the next shot took out the beast’s other leg. For that was what Zark was aiming for. The two stubs that had, against all odds, kept Baltar standing, until they were riddled with shotgun blasts, that is.

Baltar attempted to hoist part of his body up with his hands, but he could not support his dead weight, and collapsed back to the ground. Zark slowly approached the beast, his movements long and drawn out, as if he was building up the suspense. But in reality he was dreading what he was about to do. What he had to do. Not because he held any sorrow for Baltar the Bear, but because she was standing right there.

“Urrgghhh…” groaned Baltar, “Fool! You may have destroyed the outpost of Galt, but the rest will not be so easy! Darth Xoverus will have his vengeance! The Jedi Zark Ekan will be DESTROYED!”

Zark straddled the massive neck of the beast, looking down on the back of its head. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but reconsidered and simply snapped the beast’s neck. The crack was loud, gruesome, and extremely satisfying.

The Fallen swung one leg over and sat on the former lieutenant’s head. One down, a lot to go. Zark had a feeling that this was going to last longer than one night. Larger scale, longer timeline, it only made sense. Still, the idea of all of the killing he was going to have to do nearly made him sick.

It wasn’t a matter of morality, Zark had long gotten past that, but killing things over and over again was like watching one movie over and over again. It might be exciting the first, second, and maybe third time. But eventually it got boring, and after enough times, it made you want to throw up.

“Umm…Zark?” It was Nathaniel.

“Yes?” Zark asked.

“A little help?”

It took Zark a full second to register that there were still undead wandering about, the destruction of their leader not seeming to have given them a moment of pause. With a frustrated sigh, the Fallen stood up, wiping the seat of his pants off. There was going to be a lot more killing, and Zark was only looking forward to one more death.

You’re almost not worth it, Jeremiah, Zark thought to himself.


************


Zark once again sat perched atop the head of Baltar the Bear, attempting, in vain, to wipe off some of the blood, entrails, and other pieces of flesh that had managed to cling to his body during the fight. It had been nearly another half hour of fighting before he, with minimal help from Aenix and Nathaniel, had cleared out the rest of the town.

“So…where to next?” Nathaniel asked.

“Reap,” Zark muttered, just loud enough for them to hear.

“To Reap, then,” Nathaniel proclaimed, trying to bring a measure of happiness to a situation that couldn’t possibly have any of its own.

“I’m going to Reap,” Zark fixed them all with a stare; “You three are going home. Now.”

“No,” Aenix.

“What?” Zark glared at what seemed more and more like a former friend.

“You heard me,” Aenix said, “We’re coming with you. It is our duty as Jedi to rid this planet of the blight that plagues it.”

Zark laughed. There was no measure of joy in it, no happiness. It was the laugh of a man who had lost all sense of anything remotely positive, and it was one of the scariest things any of them had ever heard, even Aenix, though he wouldn’t admit it. It truly sounded like Zark was a madman.

“The Jedi lost all sense of their duty a long time ago,” Zark hissed, “Their self-proclaimed duty. Their mandate, given to them by themselves. Selfless, hah! They have achieved more fame and glory than any could ever hope to achieve, and look what they’ve accomplished? A galaxy ruined, an Empire at large. The New Republic? A fool’s idea, gone with the fucking wind.”

“Not another word, Zark,” Aenix growled.

“Or what, Aenix?” Zark growled right back, “Look at you! ‘Rid this planet of the blight that plagues it’, you couldn’t rid this planet of a frelling nerf. You’ve been so glorified by those you protect that you’ve forgotten how to protect! What are you going to do, discuss philosophy with them? Go home, you miserable child.”


”Child?” Aenix scoffed, “And what are you? A man. What does it take to become a man, Zark? Do I have to kill someone? Is that it?”

“To kill someone…” Zark whispered, again just loud enough for them to hear, “Is to become a monster.”

“Then how do you justify yourself?!”

“I don’t,” Zark snapped, “I am a monster. I cannot justify that. I live with it, though I’d rather not. But I have one more thing to do.”

“What’s that?” Heather managed, speaking for the first time since the fighting had begun.

“Kill the source. Kill the Sith. Kill Xoverus. Again.”

“Again?” Nathaniel breathed.

“Go home.” Zark said again, but his tone had changed. He was no longer the angry ‘monster’, the Fallen. He was, for a moment, Zark. The old Zark. And his voice…was kind…and pleading, “Please.”

“We’re coming,” Aenix said, his tone resolute.

“Then may the Force be with you,” Zark said, “You’re going to need it.”

The town of Reap loomed before them, shadows seeming to flutter about it as if they were alive. Reap gave off the impression that it was three times larger than Galt, but Zark knew better. This was the residence of Vix the Sly, and tricks upon the mind were to be expected in plenty.

Standing between them and Reap there was one minor obstacle. In the midst of fields once green and beautiful, darkened by the evil forces that now traveled them freely, there was a…well, a crack in the ground. A very large crack. Standing before them, a very rickety rope bridge stood, seemingly the only way across.

“That is so cliché,” Nathaniel muttered.

“If there’s one thing Xoverus doesn’t have,” Zark turned his head, “Its creativity.”

As they began to walk toward the bridge, Nathaniel hustled a little until he was walking with the Fallen.

“Who is Xoverus?” Nathaniel asked him, “This is the second time you’ve mentioned that name.”

For a while Zark did not answer, and Nathaniel had almost given up when he opened his mouth to speak.

“He is the enemy.”

“Well, I had guessed that,” Nathaniel replied, “But who is he exactly? I’ve never heard anyone speak a name with such venom before.”

“You haven’t gotten out much since I left, have you?” Zark asked.

“Ha ha, very funny,” Nathaniel quipped, secretly pleased that Zark had made a joke. Maybe he wasn’t completely gone after all, “Seriously, who is he?”

“He is a man…if you could call him that…” Zark paused, searching for the words, “That I have already killed. He is a man that has taken more from me than you could possibly imagine. He is a man that had taken from me before I was aware of his existence.”

“How descriptive,” Aenix muttered.

“He’s a Sith,” Zark retorted, “More or less. I thought that’d be enough for you, Aenix.”

“More or less?” Nathaniel echoed, “What does that mean?”

“Well…” Zark paused once more, “The last time I faced him, he truly believed he was still doing the work of a Jedi Knight. It is truly amazing the delusions the darkside can create. This time around, though, I really doubt he still thinks he’s the good guy.”

“So you’re the good guy?” Aenix snapped.

“No.”

“Then who is?” Heather whispered.

“Life isn’t like the holofilms,” Zark said, “Both light and dark aren’t always found in every battle.”

Heather opened her mouth as if to say more, but stopped. They had reached the bridge, and all three of them, even Aenix, looked to Zark as if waiting for him to give orders. They stood there for about a minute, before he finally spoke up.

“I’ll go first,” Zark said, finally, “If the bridge snaps, and I fall, get the frell out of here. Go back to Naboo.”

They all nodded dumbly.

Zark began his trek across the bridge without fear. He did not hold his arms out to the side to steady himself; he didn’t pause when the bridge creaked especially loudly. He only stopped to regain his balance whenever he lost it. He was a man unafraid of death, even one so anticlimactic.

It seemed to take hours for Zark to finish the perilous trek across the crack in the foundation of the planet’s Earth. When he finally did, all three on the other side exhaled as one, unaware until then that they had been holding their breaths the entire time. Aenix stepped out to cross next, but Zark wheeled and held up his hand.

“Halt!” he bellowed.

Aenix froze.

“Back!”

The Jedi slowly but steadily retraced his steps until he was once more on the side he had started on. Then, without warning, a vibro-blade flashed out from somewhere within Zark’s person, and before any of the Jedi could react the bridge had been severed on the Fallen’s side. It fell downward, snapping to a halt when it hit the Jedi’s side.

“What the frell was that?” Aenix screamed.

“Go back,” Zark said, enhancing his voice with the Force so he did not have to scream, “Go back to Naboo and leave me be.”

“No!” Heather screamed.

“You have two choices,” Zark replied, sadly, “Either you can give up and go back, or you can find a way around. Do not go to the west; that will lead you to Gilead. That way lies death. Go to the east. Hopefully by the time you find a way around, this will be finished or I will be dead.”

“We are not leaving you here, Zark!” Nathaniel screamed.

“I am sorry, my old friends,” Zark said, “But I have a feeling you will, whether you intend to or not.”

The Fallen turned and moved off, seeming to disappear in the shadow of Reap.

“Zark! Zark!” Aenix bellowed, “Come back, damn you!”


************


The city of Reap stood, seemingly towering before him. Every aspect of it seemed built specifically to strike fear in the hearts of any who would wish to oppose it, but not a flicker of fear passed across Zark’s face. In fact, a terrible and vicious smirked crossed his face for a few moments.

Reap had been designed to strike fear in the hearts of the living. Zark was already dead.

Six Days Later…

Zark had spent an entire week of his life on the planet Xoverus had so brutally claimed and twisted to suit his own personal needs. He had passed through hell, and he was still alive, if you could call it that. It was just like a fairy tale, straight out of the books he had been read as a child. The fearless knight conquered his dark foes and triumphed over the Dark Lord who threatened to plague the land.

The Dark Lord had already been killed once before. The fearless knight had been driven mad by the torments of his past. The dark foes, in many parts of Tirisfal, still walked abroad, without fear and without talk. Almost just like a fairy tale. Zark knew, somewhere in the back of his mind, that this fairy tale would not have a fairy tale ending.

Over the course of the past week Zark had sacked the town of Galt, and slain Baltar the Bear. He had turned the tables on Vix the Sly, assassinating the master of stealth from the shadows. He had turned back Ziv’s venom, engulfing the lieutenant in his own concoction, at a terrible price. His left eye socket lay empty, the ball having been sizzled away by his dead foe.

The armies of Geb, Scholomance, Stratholme, and Hillsbrad had been gathered into a bottleneck, and Zark had depleted his surplus of weaponry in blowing them all to hell where their damned souls belonged. Iziz the Fierce had been slain, his body skewered upon a pike. He had taken Zark’s left hand with him to his grave. Nosfer the Wise had been driven mad by his thoughts, cursed to think and think about everything and nothing until his head exploded. Marcus the Brave lay in some hollow corner, terrified out of his mind and no threat to anyone. Dien the Merciless had been flayed alive by his own creations.

And then there were two. Gilead and Mejis. The mass army of Mejis had no doubt been notified by now of the disturbance, and was likely on their way. Gilead lay before him, bleak and desolate, with not a minion of Xoverus in sight. Zark knew that there would be no creatures sneaking from the shadows here. Gilead was barren, save one.

Gilead was the key. Gilead was all that mattered.

Gilead housed Jeremiah.

Zark wandered the streets, marveling at the oddities of a culture now destroyed. They had made a little utopia for themselves on this planet, a mix of old ways and new technology. The people of Tirisfal had been aided by an outside source. Zark wondered if it had been Xoverus himself. It would have been just like the Sith, to lift Tirisfal’s culture beyond their wildest dreams and destroy it just as quickly as it had begun.

But no, Xoverus had been trapped on JED-1 for decades.

“Zark!” it was the cry he had feared ever since he had left Reap.

He did not know whether it was Aenix or Nathaniel calling to him, and he did not care. He pretended, desperately, not to hear them, a last ditch effort to deter them from following. No use. It seemed that the fates of the four were intertwined after all, as Zark had feared ever since he had realized his fantasies’ futility back on Naboo.

“That was some shit you pulled at the bri-oh Force…” Aenix stopped suddenly, seeing for the first time the stump where his left hand had once been.

Zark turned, and before either of the two men could react Heather burst into tears. His left hand he had left untended, but the blood oozing from his eye had become too cumbersome during his battles. He had managed to cobble together a decent-looking eye-patch, but the terror of what the patch represented horrified his companions beyond belief.

“It is almost over,” Zark said, unfazed, “You should not have come.”

“You bastard,” Zark had expected it to be Aenix, but he was shocked to discover the statement had come from Nathaniel’s lips, “We could have helped you! I could have helped you! You selfish little bastard!”

“After all this time, you think it’s about fame?” Zark asked, almost horrified, “If you’re lucky, not all of you will die here. I hope you’re lucky.”

“What?” Heather asked, “It’s over, Zark! It’s done! There’s no one left.”

“No,” Zark’s one eye flashed in anger, “There is one left. There is the most important of all.”

As if on queue, Jeremiah Xoverus stepped from the shadows. He looked nothing like he had originally on JED-1, that body was forever dead. But Zark knew right away who was standing before him.

“Well done, Zark,” Marcus’s mouth said, but the voice was the one he knew from so long ago, “You did better than I had expected. It’s a shame about the hand, though…and the eye. That probably will handicap you when it comes.”

“When what comes?” Heather whispered, “When what comes, Zark?”

“The battle,” Zark replied calmly, “The battle to end it.”

“Ah, Heather,” Jeremiah grinned broadly, “So nice of you to come. You don’t know it yet, but you’re going to be a big help when the time comes.”

“Leave her the fuck out of this,” Zark hissed, his voice turning into something terrible and viscious.

“Or you’ll what?” Jeremiah scoffed, “Beat me with that stump?”

“Aenix,” Zark’s voice was calm once more, “Your lightsaber.”

“Zark..,” Aenix began.

“Now.”

“I…”

“Aenix!” Zark hissed, “If you love me. If you love her, you will give me your lightsaber!”

Slowly, ever so slowly, Aenix unclipped the Jedi weapon from his belt. It was snatched out of his hands by the Force before he could second-guess his decision, and the familiar snap-hiss! greeted everyone’s ears, followed instantly by the appearance of the blue-colored blade.

“Awww…” Jeremiah tilted his head, smirking, “I was hoping we could have chatted for a while longer. But very well, if you insist.”

Jeremiah’s own, red blade, appeared, and in an instant too short to comprehend, Zark Ekan and Jeremiah Xoverus exploded.

The collision was the likes of which none of the three onlookers had ever experienced. They were literally blown off their feet by the shockwave of the two men’s first strike. Both sabers strained and groaned under the sheer pressure of the force with which their master’s were wielding them.

And then…it happened. The fight began to play out with such predictability that neither of the two really had to think. It was exactly as it had been. Exactly as it was during that night oh so long ago on JED-1. Down to the last saber strike, everything was the same. Their sabers even broke from over-exertion at the exact same moment.

“Do you remember this fight, Zark?” Jeremiah asked, “I do. I remember it so clearly. Do you remember how it turned out in the end?”

“Yes,” Zark replied, huffing, “I shot you. More than once.”

“Ah yes, yes you did,” Jeremiah chuckled, “But you had Roland then. He sacrificed himself for you. He gave you life. He is not here this time. All he can give you is death…death in his memory.”

And before even Xoverus could react, a punch was landed so hardly on his nose that it compressed inside his face, leaving only a stump in the middle of his horribly disfigured face, a small hole between his mouth and eyes.

And he laughed. Blood gushed from the wound, and he laughed.

“Exactly as it was supposed to happen,” Xoverus grinned, and he went into a chant. An all too familiar chant.

“NO!” Zark screamed, moving faster than could be possible.

Too late.

Zark’s fist exploded through the chest of Marcus’s body, but Jeremiah’s soul had ceased to inhabit it moments before.

“Take me!” Zark screamed, “You want someone else?! Take me! TAKE ME!”

“You would love that, wouldn’t you? a tiny, almost insignificant voice whispered, “But you know as well as I do that it is not meant to be.”

“No…no! NO! DAMN YOU, XOVERUS!” Zark screamed all around him, “NO!”

His gaze halted as he reached Heather’s face, and his look softened. He knew what was going to happen. He couldn’t prevent it. It was inevitable. Why couldn’t they have just listened? Why couldn’t they have just gone home?

“Zark?” Heather managed to speak for the first time since the fight had begun, “What’s going on? Zark?”

“Damn me to hell, I’m so sorry,” Zark choked out, tears pouring down from his one good eye, “I’m so sorry, Heather. Please. I’m so sorry. I never wanted this. I’m so sorry.”

“Zar-” and before she could scream, it happened.

The spirit of Jeremiah Xoverus rushed in through her opened mouth, and for the third time he…she was reborn. Aenix and Nathaniel backed away, horrified. The woman they had known since they were children contorted into something terrible. Something exactly the same, something completely different.

“Damn me to hell…” Zark whispered.

Before Nathaniel could react, his lightsaber had unclipped itself and flown out of his grasp. The purple saber flared to life, and Heather charged.

“No…” Zark whispered.

Still she charged.

“No…no no no…” he couldn’t find anything else to say.

Relentless.

“NO!” he screamed, and in his voice was something…ethereal. Something…unworldly.

He drew his revolver, and shot her.

The spirit once more fled her body, the shadow of Xoverus’s voice tittering with ravenous glee.

Heather fell, and before she hit the ground Zark was there, catching her. Breaking her fall. Saving her. Saving her…if only. If only he could. Her eyes, her beautiful eyes, stared up at him, as if she did not believe what she was seeing. His eye had softened; his face had stopped natural impassiveness. Vigor had returned. For a brief moment, the old Zark Ekan. The Zark Ekan she had once known was back. Was standing right in front of her.

“I lo…I lov…I…” and she died.

“I know…” Zark whispered quietly to her dead face, “Even if you never said it, I know. I did too, once. Please forgive this broken shell, who can no longer love even the ones who deserve it. Please forgive me. Please forgive this Fallen Jedi.”

He lifted her body, and carried it over to Aenix and Nathaniel, horror still portrayed prominently on their faces, tear stains covering their faces. He gave her to Aenix.

“Take her. Get back to your ship. Get out of here.”

“Where are you going?” Nathaniel finally managed.

“I’m staying right here,” Zark replied, “I’m going to end it.”

Wordlessly, Aenix and Nathaniel complied. The traveled north, through the wreckage of Galt, back to the ship they had arrived in.

Xoverus infested Zark in an effort to prevent what he was doing, but it was too late. They battled for what seemed like hours before Zark Ekan was manage to send forth the entire essence of the Force within him in the form of a Spark of the Lightside into the ground.

The following explosion was more devastating than any created by the ingenuity of man. In a split second, Tirisfal was gone.

Zark had won.

At the cost of everything, Zark had won.

And now he could find peace.

End.