Chapter Text
Death, yet the Force.
Or so Darth Tyranus has been told when he was still a Jedi.
The thoughts of his own mortality had not crossed his head until the last moment, though the conditions for his death did.
On board the Invisible Hand , Tyranus, or Count Yan Dooku, stared at his old Sith artifact, a five-centimeter in diameter sphere made of a glass-like substance, letting him see the black inside of it. For a lack of a proper name, he always called it the Black Sphere since the day he found it in a forgotten temple on his home planet of Serenno. Tyranus never knew what made him hide the artifact, first from the Jedi then from his Sith master and allies, and keep it to himself. After all, he had found it years before he had ever touched the Darkside, thus his fascination with it was a bit of an oddity.
Shouldn’t he have at least shown it to someone?
An alarm started blaring indicating the proximity of one of the Republic and the Jedi Star destroyers.
No surprises there.
Yan scoffed.
It was against his better judgment and his wishes that he was executing this plan, this farce. It served no purpose other than to inflame the Republican public, and it would not advance the war on one side or the other.
Not for the first time he questioned his master’s reasoning, even if he knew Darth Sidious was playing a complex galactic shah-tezh game. But kidnapping the Chancellor of the Republic for the sake of it was… unwise, to say the least.
As he walked towards the bridge, Yan looked outside one of the starports. He couldn’t help himself but roll his eyes at the first Star Destroyed that showed up. The Resolute , knight Anakin Skywalker’s flagship. Great, he would have to deal with Skywalker's stupidity. As if this whole farce wasn’t already frustrating enough.
But it was when the second Destroyer dropped near the orbit of Coruscant that Tyranus grinned.
The Negotiator .
Jedi High General Obi-Wan Kenobi was here too.
The High General was one of the best strategic minds of the Grand Army of the Republic, even if sometimes his plans bordered on organized madness. He was the main responsible for taking battles Sidious wanted the Republic to lose and turn them into wins. The only one able to oppose Tyranus in battle, making them real battles of wits. Tactician versus tactician.
Still, with his pleasant smile, Tyranus continued his path towards the bridge, passing frantic droids and one or two of the sentient technicians.
Well, although Darth Sidious' plan was still a farce, with General Kenobi around, it could at the very least be entertaining.
He almost lost himself imagining what his nemesis would do this time, thinking of counter-plans and counter-strikes. Though, because of his master’s farce, the only concrete plan he could make was the fastest path towards the escape shuttle.
He pursed his lip in distaste, toying with the Black Sphere still in his hand. His earlier thoughts came back one last time as he stared at it, a half-remembered memory of part of the inscription in the chamber where he found the artifact.
... for when he loses his head .
Yan couldn’t remember what came before and what came after. Sure, he had visited the little temple a couple of times after finding the Black Sphere, but it lost his interest soon enough, especially after what happened next.
Galidraan.
The madness and loss of his third padawan.
The disappearance of his grandpadawan and at the time only great-grandpadawan.
The overreaching of the Senate into the Jedi Order and his helplessness to do anything.
The assassination of his first padawan.
The invasion of Serenno and the kidnapping of his sister.
The disappearance of one of his best friends.
The death of his last padawan.
He should be forgiven for not paying attention to the inscription of an useless artifact, no matter how fascinated he was about it. Especially with his family, direct or extended family, being snuffed out or pressed between stones and hard places.
Yan stared at it. When the light hit the sphere just right, it reminded him of a black hole, a shiny one, but a black-hole nonetheless. A white halo around a glistening deep dark black center that appeared to suck the light near it.
Why was he remembering part of that inscription? And why the part about losing one’s head in particular?
With a final shake of his head, he put the Black Sphere back to where it had been in the last two decades and a half, in his pocket. He didn’t have the time to think of the answers.
The first thing he saw as he opened the door to the bridge was that his master had chained himself to the captain's chair. Yet, he kept this air of arrogance that made it clear who was in command.
An Emperor by anything but name.
“Master,” Yan greeted him with a bow of his head.
“Is everything in place?” Sidious asked without preamble.
“As much as it could be, master.”
“And the Jedi ship?”
“Two of them. The Resolute and the Negotiator .”
Darth Sidious paused, his eyes hard with a glint of Sith gold.
The weight of his stare felt like a guillotine.
“So. Kenobi is here.”
Sidious spat the name like a curse.
Tyranus just blinked, unphased by his master’s vitriol.
“That is to be assumed, yes.”
“Your grandpadawan ” and once again Sidious spat the term “is here to ruin my plans once again.”
“My nemesis is coming, yes master.”
“A nemesis you fail to eliminate every single time,” a sharp golden stare “I wonder why.”
“He has a penchant for daring escapes, I’ll give him that,” Yan replied with a nod and his hands behind his back.
Sidious narrowed his eyes.
“Is that pride I notice in your tone, apprentice?”
“Of course not, master,” Tyranus scoffed.
“Yet you still failed to dispose of him at every given opportunity.”
“As I said, he is hard to kill.”
“And the fact you wanted him to join you in taking my place has nothing to do with it.”
That gave Yan pause, but he recovered fast.
“My loyalty lies with you, master, especially with the promised end of the Rule of Two.” Or so Sidious had promised. “You said so yourself when talking about having another apprentice in Skywalker.”
“And yet if it wasn’t for Kenobi's intervention time and time again, I am sure you would have eliminated Skywalker without a second thought.”
“At your command, I kept him alive. And besides, he is also from my lineage.”
“Ah, yes… your lineage… Your beloved Jedi family. And you, forever a family man.” Sidious chuckled. “Your weakness and the source of your disloyalty.”
That made Tyranus frown in displeasure, bristling on the inside and holding back on thinking of the apprentice he sacrificed at his master’s command.
“I am in full control of myself to have any weaknesses. And once again, my loyalty is with you and our Empire, master.”
“Oh, my apprentice… That’s your problem, too much control and too little power. Your fear of the power of chaos and fear of losing the one you still see as family hinders your true full potential in the Darkside.”
Yan pursed his lips, holding back his tongue.
It was his belief that true power came from full control. Letting chaos rule your actions was a weakness in and of itself, even with the power taken from it. Mastery and finesse could beat raw power anytime in a fair fight.
But that was an intellectual impasse between master and apprentice, and Yan wasn’t in the mood to take the punishment for disagreeing.
Hidden from Master Sidious’ stare by his cape, his hand found the Black Sphere in his pocket, toying with it in a matter of comfort. The sounds of fighting against his droids were getting closer, and he could feel the presences of Skywalker and General Kenobi getting somewhat nearer.
“Have I not sacrificed everything for our cause?” Tyranus asked with a tight voice, the Sith golden of hatred slipping to his eyes as he dared to glare at his master. “Have I not killed at your command, including my old friends and the last remnants of my family? Have I not given you all?”
Sidious grinned, a small toxic little pull of his lips, sharpening his teeth like beheading axes.
“You have given much for my great plans, my apprentice… Yet you’re still stuck at your limits.”
Another point of contention between them. That his master mistakes “boundaries” with “limits”, especially with what the apprentice was willing or not to do. It was majorly related to the unnecessary elimination of innocent lives, especially children. There was no sense or logic to kill the innocent if they hadn't stood in their way. Tyranus supposed his reluctance to do those senseless kills grated into his master considering the Sith master’s desire to eradicate the Jedi Order, even their babies. But there was more than one way to skin a cat, or so they say, more than one way of achieving the new Empire, ways without the blood of padawans, initiates, and younglings on their hands (no more than what they already have with the war).
Once again, Tyranus refrained from arguing, his hand gripping the Black Sphere tightly.
“Yet have I not given it all ?” he repeats still in a calm tone but with his emotions slipping through the cracks. He said that with a frown, eyes golden and mingling with red in his brewing bottled rage “I do not understand why my loyalty is suddenly put into question.”
Still smiling like an executor, Sidious replied.
“Not your loyalty, apprentice, not your loyalty.”
Before they could continue, Skywalker burst through the doors, his ignited lightsaber in hand and a scowl on his face.
“Surrender, Dooku!” he shouted before attacking, no time at all for a reply.
Barbaric, really.
Was that the person his master wanted as his next apprentice, as their equal?
Once again he caught himself being disappointed. Especially considering he had already bested Skywalker in a duel before, as shown by his mechanical hand. It should not be much of a challenge, not unless General Kenobi interfered, as he was the superior duelist. Absent-mindedly, he wondered where the General was. Why wasn’t he here holding Skywalker’s leash? What was his plan?
Well, no matter. He would deal with Master Kenobi if he got to it. For now, it was better to deal with the assault dog. It shouldn’t be a problem.
At the first exchange of blows, however, Tyranus felt that something was wrong.
The Force was warped.
He couldn’t draw power out of it at the same time that he fought Skywalker’s brutal Djem So lightsaber onslaught. He was almost blind in the Force! Only his superior ability as a duelist kept him on his feet as he desperately tried to call on the Force to serve him.
With the corner of his eyes, he could see Sidious grinning, giving him clarity on why the Force was the way it was.
His master was withholding it from him.
Under normal circumstances or in a confrontation with Master Sidious himself, Tyranus could easily break that control and take back what was his. But under Skywalker's unrelenting attacks, a style so brutal against his more precise Makashi, there was no opportunity. It was a perfect storm of Skywalker’s raw power in the Force sucking up the air out of a room and his master smoking up the few oxygen left. Almost as effective as the heaviest Force suppression collar.
Yan gritted his teeth and met the attacks with his own mastery in combat.
Was that a test?
Was his master testing him?
And if yes, what was the test? His capabilities with the lightsaber? His loyalty?
But why?
Skywalker’s eyes bleed golden under his fierce scowl, glaring at Tyranus with hatred reserved only to the worst of the enemies. A damn fine thing for a Sith, if only he could bottle up that anger, that hate, and control it, making it burn for him instead of burning him. The young man had potential, that Tyranus could admit, but the way he burned instead of igniting said potential was somewhat disconcerting.
Maybe something to improve on the new apprentice once he was fully converted.
Was that what Master Sidious was testing? Compatibility?
No…
Something was not right.
The Sith Lord wasn’t a good teacher, watering down his teachings while viciously punishing the minute he perceived any mistake. One of his many dissatisfactions with his Sith apprenticeship. Thus, to get to the level he was now, Yan had to learn a lot for himself. However, if Sidious had a point to make, he would make his point.
The master was a cruel teacher, but there was a method to his cruelty.
Now if only he could know what was the method at that moment.
Why was the master doing this?
Why such a decollating challenge?
Holding his own against Skywalker without the Force was hard, but he was a swordmaster by his own effort and a Sith Lord in his own right. Tyranus could still do it, especially because the young man seemed to rely more on his brute force rather than better techniques. The real challenge was to find an opening to defeat his opponent without maiming him too much since his master hadn’t been very pleased the last time he “accidentally” separated Skywalker from one of his members. Preferably, he should find said opening before General Kenobi got there.
Speaking of the devil, through the open door behind Skywalker, he could see General Kenobi running towards the bridge, lightsaber in hand, but still turned off.
A wave of the Darkside closed the door before Kenobi could get there. The blue lightsaber started to cut the way through the door, but that soon became the last thing on Tyranus' mind.
Another wave of the Darkside, a wave of the black fright sea of the Force, hit him with full force, weighing on his legs and filling up his lungs.
Yan had no time to guess what in the Sithhell was that.
And he couldn’t keep up the onslaught with that extra hindrance.
Skywalker returned the favor from their first duel twofold, cutting off both of Tyranus' arms.
Scorching pain crossed his arms sending his body in biological shock. Intellectually, he knew it was a reaction to the plasma of the saber, so impossibly hot it sent his body into a panic chemical reaction that he was trained to control when he was still a Jedi. But one thing is to know, another is to feel, and Tyranus could barely control his reactions not to scream and to still stand proud.
Yan was out of breath, glaring at the Jedi Knight as Skywalker put both their lightsabers on Yan’s neck, like a big pair of scissors, threatening him into submission.
The young man was catching his breath too, taking deep breaths while glowering at Tyranus. As he recovered, the gold in his eyes slowly receded, letting the dark blue shine once again. Reason seems to come back into the knight’s eyes, even if flashes of anger still reflect there.
“You-... You, Count Dooku-... are-... under arrest…” Skywalker declared in between pants, his Force signature slowly going back from Dark to Light in a surprising shift.
“He’s too dangerous to be kept alive.” Sidious intervened almost immediately.
Yan’s eyes turned to his master.
To say it was in disbelief was a terrible understatement.
The truth of his situation crashed his mind like a meteor, leaving a crater on what was left of his heart.
“What?!” Skywalker stared at Sidious in bafflement, his cheeks getting pale even with his overextension after the fight.
“Finish this, master Skywalker!”
That wasn’t a test.
The withholding of the Force, the incapacitating wave of the Darkside…
He was being thrown away.
“Off with his head!” said Darth Sidious with a little bit of too much glee.
Sidious had betrayed him.
It wasn’t a test, at least not for him.
It was his execution.
“That is not the Jedi way!” Skywalker replied, still panting. His voice waved at the end.
“But you know it’s the right thing.” Sidious continued, eyes sharp.
Sharp like a guillotine.
The door of the bridge finally crashed down, cut by General Kenobi’s lightsaber.
In his shocked and hysterical state, Yan almost laughed.
How fucked he must be if his last hope was his very own nemesis?
He didn't see what expression Kenobi had.
All he could focus on was that his betrayer master's eyes were staring at Skywalker.
Testing him .
It dawned too late with Yan that indeed it wasn’t his loyalty that was in question, but Skywalker’s obedience .
“Do it.”
Skywalker pursed his lips.
There was no nod.
No confirmation.
Only pure blind obedience.
Yan heard a scream. Not his, mind you, for if he was going to be executed, he would die with his pride intact. Not begging. Not pleading.
He heard a scream…
…and the plasma of the lightsabers moving.
And then searing scorching pain.
He had heard years ago that when a human is beheaded, if done right, one still stays alive for six seconds. That is the time for the brain to consume the oxygen still there. After that, without the beating heart to replenish it with new blood, then functions finally cease to happen. The last six seconds of life.
What they don’t tell you is how agonizing those six seconds are.
He couldn’t scream.
He couldn’t breathe.
He could barely move his face.
Pain of the head hitting the floor registered, but it was meaningless.
Yan saw his own body fall.
The sounds were getting distant now and his vision was funneling.
Betrayal still had an awful taste in his mouth, like licking ashes from a forest fire, but his fury was tampered with helplessness.
That plan, that farce…
His own execution.
Flawlessly.
And to the last second, he didn’t realize that he wasn’t a player in Sidious’ game, but just a foolish pawn.
Fortune's fool.
The Galaxy's biggest idiot.
Somehow, the Black Sphere rolled from his corpse’s pocket, passing by his field of vision.
The last thing Yan Dooku saw before his life left him for good was the light hitting the little artifact just right.
It glowed like plasma, like a true black-hole, right before turning red…
----
Air.
That was the first thing Yan noticed.
Blissful air entered his lungs as he gasped and sat up abruptly.
Fresh air, with a hint of the soft lively decay so common in forests and intermingled with the salty of the sea. It soothed the burn left by his last seconds without oxygen, cool and soft and impossibly gentle.
He continued gasping and breathing deeply, letting himself be flooded with life. Still blind and deaf for anything else that wasn’t the precious air filling his lungs, slipping kindly to his bloodstream and spreading through all of him.
The second thing he noticed was that he was clutching his robes with his hands, instinctively trying to feel the expansion of his own chest with each breath.
Hands!
Still attached to his body!
His hands!
He looked at them in wonder. The memory of the plasma cutting them out and the subsequent shock he barely held off was still fresh in his mind. Thus his hinder brain could only stare at them in awe.
His hands! All the calluses he knew so well after years practicing with the lightsaber, his scar on the right hand from a childhood accident he couldn’t even remember anymore. The left hand, though, didn’t have the small scar he got at the beginning of the Clone Wars, coming from one of his many confrontations with General Kenobi.
He flexed them, counted his fingers, and closed them into fists before taking them to his neck.
The third thing he noticed should be the most obvious but somehow it took a moment for him to process.
He was alive.
He starts to laugh, hysteria taking over his brain in maniacal glee at the sheer impossibility that was.
Alive!
He was alive!
Yan Dooku was alive!