Beyond Good and Evil (Complete)

[ObliviousKnight]

I finally managed to fight past my usual procrastination and actually complete a one-shot fanfic. This baby grew out of a writing experiment that I indulged in when I didn't feel like sleeping one night about a month back. I liked the idea so much that I decided to expand on it and transform it from a few paragraphs to a pretty respectable one-shot fanfic.

 

And so, I present to you, Beyond Good and Evil.

 

 

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It was strange, even ironic, to be so covered in blood, to be drowning in the spilled life force of others, and to feel so cold. Blood was hot, even after it had some time to dry””I'd learned about that years ago””and yet I felt so chilled and numb I might have just spent a night hunkered in a cave on Ilum, with no protection beyond my robes.

 

I couldn't clearly remember what I had been doing in the last few hours. Obviously, I had to have been fighting in a battle. Nothing else would explain how my white Jedi robes had turned into such tattered, bloodstained rags, or why I was wearing my armor, or how my face and neck had been so thoroughly scratched up and why the taste of death lingered in my mouth.

 

Vaguely, as though my consciousness was disconnected from my body, I realized that my shoulders and knees were aching. Those were where my prosthetic limbs””all four of them””met the stumps that were the remains of my arms and legs. It was strange”¦ I knew that phantom limb pain wasn't uncommon among prosthetic users, but I'd never experienced it before, and my limbs weren't outfitted with pain receptors. I frowned curiously at the wall of the shuttle I was taking back to the Indomitable, one of the Rebel Alliance's surviving Mon Cal-designed capital ships.

 

A jolt ran under my feet, and I glanced down towards the floor of the shuttle. Obviously, we'd just landed, and exhausted soldiers began to remove their restraints and queue up towards the boarding ramp of the shuttle. Few of them allowed their eyes to wander idly; most of them were too exhausted and were too busy dealing with the aftermath of the battle to fidget. I'd secluded myself by taking refuge in the corridor to the shuttle's cockpit, desiring to be left alone and the crew content to leave me alone. Even for a woman as combative as myself, I was in a frightful state.

 

What little of my Jedi robe that wasn't left on the battlefield was almost universally ripped, bloodstained, or scorched. My braided, ebony hair, which was usually long enough to pose a serious inconvenience in battle, was shriveled and cut short by a near miss from one of the miniature flamethrowers that the Imperials were favoring. Half of my right arm had been literally chopped off, and the remains of the prosthesis was sparking sporadically at the level of the forearm.

 

Jedi Masters simply didn't”¦ look like I did. They were supposed to be calm, steady avatars of strength, gracefully smiting down enemies with their mythical weapons. They might be bloodied, even killed, but they didn't return as I did, obviously struggling to cope with the aftermath of violence with a thousand meter stare.

 

But it was more than that. Something was off about me, and we all knew it.

 

The Force tended to be merciful at the strangest moments. Although my eyes were focused on anything but the soldiers in front of me and where I was walking, I found myself at my private quarters when my attention returned, surrounded by the stark white of Mon Cal engineering and cramped construction of a warship. The fact alone that these were private quarters””even if they only consisted of a desk, a small bed, and an adjoining refresher””was a luxury in itself, and privacy was what I needed.

 

Add a shower to that list. I felt an irresistible urge to be clean. Let the debriefings come another hour; I needed to be rid of the mingled stenches of blood and smoke and burnt hair and flesh. I needed to look at myself and see a living woman, not a feminine Grim Reaper. I needed to feel warm water””or anything clean””run down my naked skin and wash away the scum of warfare. Sighing shakily, I picked my way towards the refresher station, already tossing aside my armored breastplate.

 

As space was a precious commodity on a warship, the refreshers were appropriately cramped. That meant that the moment the door to the refresher slid open, I got a good look at myself through the mirror above the sink. For a while, I simply ignored my reflection, far more interested in the prospect of washing my face clean of the blood and grime of the battlefield. However, after several unsuccessful attempts of splashing away the scum with hot water, I withdrew my face from the sink and glared up at the mirror. My eyes””those were supposed to be my eyes?””were simultaneously transfixed and revolted by the woman that stared back at me.

 

No. It had been years since I had last been physically affected by battle, but I felt nausea slithering up my throat. That”¦ banshee that was staring back couldn't possibly be me!

 

I'd always had pale skin, but I could see that under the dark dirt and ash my flesh had absorbed during the battle lay pallid, colorless skin. I gingerly touched my cheek, feeling”¦ nothing, not even cold when my fingers ran over the curves of my face. What scared me the most, however, were my eyes. I'd always loved my eyes, sparkling brightly with an emerald light that could burn as fiercely with humor as they could with fiery determination. But now”¦

 

I blinked once, almost as though hoping that this was only an awful hallucination, brought on by the stress of battle. It didn't work.

 

They were yellow, with hateful rings of red around the pupils.

 

I fell away, staggering for the toilet as my sickness overcame me. My body shook with my wretches as my stomach purged itself of its contents. If only the same thing worked as well for darkness. I blindly reached to empty the toilet bowl when my nausea began to subside into dry heaves, refusing to open my eyes to see the results. I could still smell the effuse over the stench of the concluded battle. I stepped away, carefully keeping my eyes off the mirror while I sank against the wall, finding the top of my booted feet a preferable target to stare at than any other object in the room.

 

After seeing my reflection, the events of the past few hours suddenly became clear. My pallor, my sickly yellow-red eyes, the overwhelming sense that all was not right; those signs were well documented indications of a fallen Force Sensitive that had lost all control. But years back, I became uncertain that the Dark Side even existed; I'd chosen to devote my skills to a simpler, less mystical struggle: the battle between life and death. I knew my foes””it had been decades since the Empire even pretended to stand for anything other than destruction. And staring at my dead eyes for that horrible moment”¦

 

But it was very simple, the problem with the views of the classical Jedi. I was not evil. I was an honest, though secretive woman to the public; the very ideal of hope and altruism to devastated communities; an honorable, though vicious combatant to my enemies; and a loving, devoted wife to my husband Aryian. How could any of this be remotely sinister? Was there something that I had grossly misunderstood, then? Did my Fall have to do with something beyond good and evil?

 

I had to think back to the battle””not easy, considering how I'd spent most of the onslaught deeply immersed in the Force, almost in a trance-like state. Conscious memory came with great effort, but I could remember feeling the killing around me, seeing the flames of life within my allies flare and die as they were struck down by enemy fire. I could recall, vaguely, becoming more and more revolted by the bloodletting until”¦

 

I suddenly remembered””I'd ordered the commander of the squad that I was attached to to take cover and let me clear the way. We had been pinned down by fire from an E-Web emplacement, but I'd practically ripped the turret from its supporting struts. Recoil from its next blast toppled it at once and rendered it useless for a few vital seconds. Then I'd charged directly into the middle of the enemy squad, using their numbers as protection from overwhelming fire. It was basic Jedi battle doctrine: when outnumbered, charge. Few opponents were able to resist the pressure to fold in on themselves and hesitated at the prospect of friendly fire.

 

Jedi tactics, perhaps, but what had followed would have horrified any Jedi.

 

I could remember laughing as my lightsaber's blade scythed through their bodies as though they were ghosts. Deadly though they might have been with their rifles, the skills of a stormtrooper stood no chance against a Jedi Master at point-blank range. They couldn't touch me, and I delighted in my overwhelming superiority to their ranks, even as their cloven bodies fell in the wake of my morbid dance.

 

I had always enjoyed fighting and relished a good spar, but it was killing that I hated. Sometimes, I even took measures to ensure that I reviled each of my triumphs on the field, and had no choice but to feel the lives that I was releasing from the mortal plane. But this time, even as I breathed in the pungent stink of vaporized armor and the sickly stench of seared flesh, I loved it. Every crash of a fallen foe's body on the ground was an indication that I was winning.

 

Why was that wrong, though? Those troopers blithely swore allegiance to and killed for a depraved dictator who wished to grind all life beneath his heels””by destroying them, I was resisting and weakening the legions of the very avatar of destruction. How was it wrong to love justice and victory over the minions of a venomous oppressor?

 

I shuddered against the wall as another dry heave convulsed through my stomach. I never would have seen slaughter in such a positive light, not even a few months ago. What had happened to me?

 

There was movement outside my quarters. Even though I was having difficulty concentrating enough to identify the presence, someone was approaching, with my quarters as a specific destination. Maybe the good Admiral had finally decided to dispatch guards to subdue me before I flew into a stereotypical berserker rampage against the noble and innocent? Or perhaps another Jedi, guided either by order or conscience to arrest me or offer consolation and advice””meanwhile keeping a very close eye on me. I didn't know if I could bear to face my husband in my shame, if he had come out of love and duty. Maybe it was Ara-Lai Kaipi, with that fantastic, darkness-purging sword of hers.

 

Or maybe””and I had to admit, my imagination really went wild here””the Sith had infiltrated the ship, intending to bring a fallen Jedi to her rightful place in the Force.

 

I fingered the crystalline pommels of my lightsabers, deciding to unclip the twin weapons from my belt. I'd long cast away my knives, my blaster, and most of the other weapons I carried into battle””they were either lying abandoned on the battlefield or resting in the cooling corpse of one of my foes. The presence had stopped at the door. Even though I'd locked it behind me, I knew that if someone really needed to enter my quarters, it was a simple matter of overriding the lock. It was only a few seconds before they would come in. I took one last glance at the pallid, scared face that stared back at me in the mirror. I splashed more hot water into my face, trying to wipe away a last stubborn streak of blood that refused to wash away. Though the water stung at my many scratches, this last attempt seemed as futile as the others.

 

It wasn't washing away. Maybe alcohol, or soap, or”¦

 

I wasn't going to get a chance to try those, however. I heard the door to my quarters slide open, booted feet stepping””marching?””inside. Their owners at least had the courtesy to let me present myself, rather than hauling me straight to the brig so I wouldn't pose a danger to the other members of the crew. Or maybe they were actually terrified of engaging me in close-quarters, choosing instead to stun me as I stepped out the door from the tiny refresher. Sensible tactics, I had to admit””catch the Fallen Jedi in a bottleneck, where she had no room to evade their unblockable stun bolts.

 

I stood for a few more seconds, shaking from my silent sobs and my fear. I was not going to turn on my friends””I knew myself well enough to know I wouldn't do that.

 

However, as I thumbed the keypad to open the door, I found myself hating that even without my lightsabers, I was far from disarmed”¦

[Amidala Skywalker]

As I said before, I really really like this one-shot. It's excellently written, and you capture her emotions perfectly. The whole story has this creepy, tortured feeling that fits so perfectly with what the character is going through.

 

Excellent job, and a pleasure to read!

[Tiana Calthye]

As I didn't say before, I really don't have anything to say. >< I can't help it. You're my favorite RPer. It carries over into writing. I love the first person, I love the characterization... my only complaint might be that it's a lot of longer sentences and description, a little bit of short sentence stuff might add a bit more ow. You've got a few, most of it works perfectly. The battle flashback could've been emphasized a bit more--and this is my style speaking--adding a bit more fragmentation to it. I found it a bit too 'tell, not show'. The rest of it? Pretty well flawless.

 

I love the description, I love her fear, I find most of it carries over flawlessly. And the last line just makes it all perfect.

 

What can I say, except what Ami said? A creepy, tortured feeling. It's perfect for your character, from what I've read in RP and a pleasure to read on its own.

[Jedi Kiara]

This was very well written and well thought out. If this were not a one shot post I would say that you needed to do more showing instead of telling, but in a post like this I think it's the only way. So good job on that. You had good description and emotion. It was intense.

 

Sorry if I have you wrong, I am guessing you are male. Because the way you characterised her at first, I thought your character was a male. I would maybe try to make that a bit more clear in the beginning, just so that the reader can visualise it better. Anyway, that is my only crit.

 

Good job!

[ObliviousKnight]

I'm not surprised that someone, especially someone who doesn't follow the RP, made that mistake. You were right; I am a guy, and I wouldn't be surprised if it shows in my writing, especially the way that I write my primary RP character.

 

My intention was always to be less about describing actions than describing thoughts, and I think I was more or less conscious of that while I was writing. In that goal, I was pretty happy with the end product.

[Anakin T Skywalker]

Ah, yes, the inevitable gender question. Although actually, I didn't even think about the character's gender until you mentioned it.

 

Anyway, it's an interesting idea. It almost implies that your main character has turned to the Dark Side without knowing it! I'm not really sure how possible that is, but I'm open to investigating it, anyway.