Star Wars powers

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mybb@mybb.ru (DarthSorox) — Tue, 28 Jan 2020 09:29:16 +0300

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mybb@mybb.ru (Jim) — Sat, 23 Nov 2019 13:11:00 +0300

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"Quite so, my Master. Quite so." Again, Dooku sighed. Today he felt every hour of his eighty-three years. "It is fatiguing, to play the villain for so long, Master. I find myself looking forward to an honorable captivity."

A captivity that would allow him to sit out the rest of the war in comfort; a captivity that would allow him to forswear his former allegiances-when he would conveniently appear to finally discover the true extent of the Separatists� crimes against civilization-and bind himself to the new government with his reputation for integrity and idealism fully intact.

The new government...

This had been their star of destiny for lo, these many years.

A government clean, pure, direct: none of the messy scramble for the favor of ignorant rabble and subhuman creatures that made up the Republic he so despised. The government he would serve would be Authority personified.

Human authority.

It was no accident that the primary powers of the Confederacy of Independent Systems were Neimoidian, Skakoan, Quarren and Aqualish, Muun and Gossam, Sy Myrthian and Koorivar and Geonosian. At war's end the aliens would be crushed, stripped of all they possessed, and their systems and their wealth would be given into the hands of the only beings who could be trusted with them.

Human beings.

Dooku would serve an Empire of Man.

And he would serve it as only he could. As he was born to. He would smash the Jedi Order to create it anew: not shackled by the corrupt, narcissistic, shabby little beings who called themselves politicians, but free to bring true authority and true peace to a galaxy that so badly needed both.

An Order that would not negotiate. Would not mediate.

An Order that would enforce.

The survivors of the Jedi Order would become the Sith Army.

The Fist of the Empire.

And that Fist would become a power beyond any Jedi's darkest dreams. The Jedi were not the only users of the Force in the galaxy; from Hapes to Haruun Kal, from Kiffu to Dathomir, powerful Force-capable humans and near-humans had long re-fused to surrender their children to lifelong bound servitude in the Jedi Order.

They would not so refuse the Sith Army.

They would not have the choice.

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"Kenobi must die. Today. At your hand. His death may be the code key of the final lock that will seal Skywalker to us forever."

Dooku understood: not only would the death of his mentor tip Skywalker's already unstable emotional balance down the darkest of slopes, but it would also remove the greatest obstacle to Skywalker's successful conversion. As long as Kenobi was alive, Skywalker would never be securely in the camp of the Sith; Kenobi's unshakable faith in the values of the Jedi would keep the Jedi blindfold on Skywalker's eyes and the Jedi shackles on the young man�s true power.

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This was the day. The hour.

The death of Obi-Wan Kenobi would be the death of the Republic.

Today would see the birth of the Empire.

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Quite simple, in the end, he thought. Isolate Skywalker, slaughter Kenobi. Beyond that, it would be merely a matter of spinning Skywalker up into enough of a frenzy to break through his Jedi restraint and reveal the infinite vista of Sith power.

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With his heroic capture of Count Dooku, Anakin Skywalker will become the ultimate hero: the greatest hero in the history of the Republic, perhaps of the Jedi Order itself. The loss of his beloved partner will add just exactly the correct spice of tragedy to give melancholy weight to his every word, when he gives his HoloNet interviews denouncing the Senate's corruption as impeding the war effort, when he delicately-oh, so delicately, not to mention reluctantly-insinuates that corruption in the Jedi Order prolonged the war as well.

When he announces the creation of a new order of Force-using warriors.

He will be the perfect commanding general for the Sith Army.

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He gave no thought to failure. Why should he?

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Skywalker gave Dooku only his back, but his blade was already out and his tall, lean frame stood frozen with anticipation: so motionless he almost seemed to shiver. Pathetic. It was an insult to call this boy a Jedi at all.

Kenobi, now-he was something else entirely: a classic of his obsolete kind. He simply stood gazing calmly up at Dooku and the super battle droids that ﬂanked him, hands open, utterly relaxed, on his face only an expression of mild interest.

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Kenobi was luminous, a transparent being, a window onto a sunlit meadow of the Force.

Skywalker was a storm cloud, ﬂickering with dangerous lightning, building the rotation that threatens a tornado.

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He sprang, lightsaber angled for the kill.

Obi-Wan leapt from Dooku's far side in perfect coordination-and they met in midair, for the Sith Lord was no longer between them.

Anakin looked up just in time to glimpse the bottom of Dooku's rancor-leather boot as it came down on his face and smacked him tumbling toward the ﬂoor; he reached into the Force to effortlessly right himself and touched down in perfect balance to spring again toward the lightning ﬂares, scarlet against sky blue, that sprayed from clashing lightsabers as Dooku pressed Obi-Wan away with a succession of weaving, flourishing thrusts that drove the Jedi's blade out of line while they reached for his heart.

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Anakin launched himself at Dooku's back-and the Count half turned, gesturing casually while holding Obi-Wan at bay with an elegant one-handed bind. Chairs leapt up from the situation table and whirled toward Anakin's head. He slashed the first one in half contemptuously, but the second caught him across the knees and the third battered his shoulder and knocked him down. He snarled to himself and reached through the Force to pick up some chairs of his own-and the situation table itself slammed into him and drove him back to crush him against the wall. His lightsaber came loose from his slackening fingers and clattered across the tabletop to drop to the ﬂoor on the far side.

And Dooku barely even seemed to be paying attention to him.

Pinned, breathless, half stunned, Anakin thought, If this keeps up, I am going to get mad.

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While effortlessly deﬂecting a rain of blue-streaking cuts from Kenobi, Dooku felt the Force shove the situation table away from the wall and send it hurtling toward his back with astonishing speed; he barely managed to lift himself enough that he could backroll over it instead of having it shatter his spine.

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"Really," Dooku said, "this is pathetic."

Oh, they were certainly energetic enough, leaping and whirling, raining blows almost at random, cutting chairs to pieces and Force-hurling them in every conceivable direction, while Dooku continued, in his gracefully methodical way, to out-maneuver them so thoroughly it was all he could to do keep from laughing out loud.

It was a simple matter of countering their tactics, which were depressingly straightforward; Skywalker was the swift one, whooshing here and there like a spastic hawk-bat-attempting a Jedi variant of neek-in-the-middle so they could come at him from both sides-while Kenobi came on in a measured Shii-Cho cadence, deliberate as a lumberdroid, moving step by step, cutting off the angles, clumsy but relentlessly dogged as he tried to chivvy Dooku into a corner.

Whereas all Dooku need do was to slip from one side to another-and occasionally ﬂip over a head here and there-so that he could fight each of them in turn, rather than both of them at the same time. He supposed that in their own milieu, they might actually prove reasonably effective; it was clear that their style had been developed by fighting as a team against large numbers of opponents. They were not prepared to fight together against a single Force-user, certainly not one of Dooku's power; he, on the other hand, had always fought alone. It was laughably
easy to keep the Jedi tripping and stumbling and getting in each other�s way.

They didn�t even comprehend how utterly he dominated the combat. Because they fought as they had been trained, by releasing all desire and allowing the Force to ﬂow through them, they had no hope of countering Dooku's mastery of Sith techniques They had learned nothing since he had bested them on Geonosis.

They allowed the Force to direct them; Dooku directed the Force.

He drew their strikes to his parries, and drove his own ripostes with thrusts of dark power that subtly altered the Jedi's balance and disrupted their timing. He could have slaughtered both of them as casually as that creature Maul had destroyed the vigos of the Black Sun.

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However, only one death was in his plan, and this dumb-show was becoming tiresome. Not to mention tiring. The dark power that served him went only so far, and he was, after all, not a young man.

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He leaned into a thrust at Kenobi's gut that the Jedi Master deflected with a rising parry, bringing them chest-to-chest, blades flaring, locked together a handbreadth from each other's throats. "Your moves are too slow, Kenobi. Too predictable. You'll have to do better."

Kenobi's response to this friendly word was to regard him with a twinkle of gentle amusement in his eye.

"Very well, then," the Jedi said, and shot straight upward over Dooku's head so fast it seemed he'd vanished.

And in the space where Kenobi's chest had been was now only the blue lightning of Skywalker's blade driving straight for Dooku's heart.

Only a desperate whirl to one side made what would have been a smoking hole in his chest into a line of scorch through his armorweave cloak.

Dooku thought, What?

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He threw himself spinning up and away from the two Jedi to land on the situation table, disengaging for a moment to recover his composure�that had been entirely too close�but by the time his boots touched down Kenobi was there to meet him, blade weaving through a defensive velocity so bewilderingly fast that Dooku dared not even try a strike; he threw a feint toward Kenobi�s face, then dropped and spun in a reverse ankle-sweep�

But not only did Kenobi easily overleap this attack, Dooku nearly lost his own foot to a slash from Skywalker who had again come out of nowhere and now carved through the table so that it collapsed under Dooku�s weight and dumped the Sith Lord unceremoniously to the floor.

This was not in the plan.

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Skywalker slammed his following strike down so hard that the shock of deflecting it buckled Dooku�s elbows. Dooku threw himself into a backroll that brought him to his feet�and Kenobi�s blade was there to meet his neck. Only a desperate whirling slash-block, coupled with a wheel kick that caught Kenobi on the thigh, bought him enough time to leap away again, and when he touched down�

Skywalker was already there.

The first overhand chop of Skywalker�s blade slid off Dooku�s instinctive guard. The second bent Dooku�s wrist. The third flash of blue forced Dooku�s scarlet blade so far to the inside that his own lightsaber scorched his shoulder, and Dooku was forced to give ground.

Dooku felt himself blanch. Where had this come from?

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Skywalker came on, mechanically inexorable, impossibly powerful, a destroyer droid with a lightsaber: each step a blow and each blow a step. Dooku backed away as fast as he dared; Skywalker stayed right on top of him. Dooku�s breath went short and hard. He no longer tried to block Skywalker�s strikes but only to guide them slanting away; he could not meet Skywalker strength-to-strength�not only did the boy wield tremendous reserves of Force energy, but his sheer physical power was astonishing�

And only then did Dooku understand that he�d been suckered.

Skywalker�s Shien ready-stance had been a ruse, as had his Ataro gymnastics; the boy was a Djem So stylist, and as fine a one as Dooku had ever seen. His own elegant Makashi simply did not generate the kinetic power to meet Djem So head-to-head. Especially not while also defending against a second attacker.

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It was time to alter his own tactics.

He dropped low and spun into another reverse anklesweep�the weakness of Djem So was its lack of mobility�that slapped Skywalker�s boot sharply enough to throw the young Jedi off balance, giving Dooku the opportunity to leap away�

Only to find himself again facing the wheel of blue lightning that was Kenobi�s blade.

Dooku decided that the comedy had ended.

Now it was time to kill.

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Kenobi�s Master had been Qui-Gon Jinn, Dooku�s own Padawan; Dooku had fenced Qui-Gon thousands of times, and he knew every weakness of the Ataro form, with its ridiculous acrobatics. He drove a series of flashing thrusts toward Kenobi�s legs to draw the Jedi Master into a flipping overhead leap so that Dooku could burn through his spine from kidneys to shoulder blades�and this image, this plan, was so clear in Dooku�s mind that he almost failed to notice that Kenobi met every one of his thrusts without so much as moving his feet, staying perfectly centered, perfectly balanced, blade never moving a millimeter more than was necessary, deflecting without effort, riposting with flickering strikes and stabs swifter than the tongue of a Garollian ghost viper, and when Dooku felt Skywalker regain his feet and stride once more toward his back, he finally registered the source of that blinding defensive velocity Kenobi had used a moment ago, and only then, belatedly, did he understand that Kenobi�s Ataro and Shii-Cho had been ploys, as well.

Kenobi had become a master of Soresu.

Dooku found himself having a sudden, unexpected, overpowering, and entirely distressing bad feeling about this�

His farce had suddenly, inexplicably, spun from humorous to deadly serious and was tumbling rapidly toward terrifying. Realization burst through Dooku�s consciousness like the blossoming fireballs of dying ships outside: this pair of Jedi fools had somehow managed to become entirely dangerous.

These clowns might�just possibly�actually be able to beat him.

No sense taking chances; even his Master would agree with that. Lord Sidious could come up with a new plan more easily than a new apprentice.

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He gathered the Force once more in a single indrawn breath that summoned power from throughout the universe; the slightest whipcrack of that power, negligent as a flick of his wrist, sent Kenobi flying backward to crash hard against the wall, but Dooku didn�t have time to enjoy it.

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Skywalker was all over him.

The shining blue lightsaber whirled and spat and every overhand chop crashed against Dooku�s defense with the unstoppable power of a meteor strike; the Sith Lord spent lavishly of his reserve of the Force merely to meet these attacks without being cut in half, and Skywalker�

Skywalker was getting stronger.

Each parry cost Dooku more power than he�d used to throw Kenobi across the room; each block aged him a decade.

He decided he�d best revise his strategy once again.

He no longer even tried to strike back. Force exhaustion began to close down his perceptions, drawing his consciousness back down to his physical form, trapping him within his own skull until he could barely even feel the contours of the room around him; he dimly sensed stairs at his back, stairs that led up to the entrance balcony. He retreated up them, using the higher ground for leverage, but Skywalker just kept on coming, tirelessly ferocious.

That blue blade was everywhere, flashing and whirling faster and faster until Dooku saw the room through an electric haze, and now Kenobi was back in the picture: with a shout of the Force, he shot like a torpedo up the stairs behind Skywalker, and Dooku decided that under these rather extreme circumstances, it was at least arguably permissible for a gentleman to cheat.

�Guards!� he said to the pair of super battle droids that still stood at attention to either side of the entrance. �Open fire!�

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Instantly the two droids sprang forward and lifted their hands. Energy hammered out from the heavy blasters built into their arms; Skywalker whirled and his blade batted every blast back at the droids, whose mirror-polished carapace armor deflected the bolts again. Galvened particle beams screeched through the room in blinding ricochets.

Kenobi reached the top of the stairs and a single slash of his lightsaber dismantled both droids. Before their pieces could even hit the floor Dooku was in motion, landing a spinning side-stamp that folded Skywalker in half; he used his last burst of dark power to continue his spin into a blindingly fast wheel-kick that brought his heel against the point of Kenobi�s chin with a crack like the report of a huge-bore slugthrower, knocking the Jedi Master back down the stairs. Sounded like he�d broken his neck.

Wouldn�t that be lovely?

There was no sense in taking chances, however.

While Kenobi�s bonelessly limp body was still tumbling toward the floor far below, Dooku sent a surge of energy through the Force. Kenobi�s fall suddenly accelerated like a missile burning the last of its drives before impact. The Jedi Master struck the floor at a steep angle, skidded along it, and slammed into the wall so hard the hydro-foamed permacrete buckled and collapsed onto him.

This Dooku found exceedingly gratifying.

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Which was as far as Dooku got, because by the time his attention returned to the younger Jedi, his vision was rather completely obstructed by the sole of a boot approaching his face with something resembling terminal velocity.

The impact was a blast of white fire, and there was a second impact against his back that was the balcony rail, and then the room turned upside down and he fell toward the ceiling, but not really, of course: it only felt that way because he had flipped over the rail and he was falling headfirst toward the floor, and neither his arms nor his legs were paying any attention to what he was trying to make them do. The Force seemed to be busy elsewhere, and really, the whole process was entirely mortifying.

He was barely able to summon a last surge of dark power before what would have been a disabling impact. The Force cradled him, cushioning his fall and setting him on his feet.

He dusted himself off and fixed a supercilious gaze on Skywalker, who now stood upon the balcony looking down at him�and Dooku couldn�t hold the stare; he found this reversal of their original positions oddly unsettling.

There was something troublingly appropriate about it.

Seeing Skywalker standing where Dooku himself had stood only moments ago� it was as though he was trying to remember a dream he�d never actually had�

He pushed this aside, drawing once more upon the certain knowledge of his personal invincibility to open a channel to the Force. Power flowed into him, and the weight of his years dropped away.

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He lifted his blade, and beckoned.

Skywalker leapt from the balcony. Even as the boy hurtled downward, Dooku felt a new twist in the currents of the Force between them, and he finally understood.

He understood how Skywalker was getting stronger. Why he no longer spoke. How he had become a machine of battle. He understood why Sidious had been so interested in him for so long.

Skywalker was a natural.

There was a thermonuclear furnace where his heart should be, and it was burning through the firewalls of his Jedi training. He held the Force in the clench of a white-hot fist. He was half Sith already, and he didn�t even know it.

This boy had the gift of fury.

And even now, he was holding himself back; even now, as he landed at Dooku�s flank and rained blows upon the Sith Lord�s defenses, even as he drove Dooku backward step after step, Dooku could feel how Skywalker kept his fury banked behind walls of will: walls that were hardened by some uncontrollable dread.

Dread, Dooku surmised, of himself. Of what might happen if he should ever allow that furnace he used for a heart to go supercritical.

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Dooku slipped aside from an overhand chop and sprang backward. �I sense great fear in you. You are consumed by it. Hero With No Fear, indeed. You�re a fraud, Skywalker. You are nothing but a posturing child.�

He pointed his lightsaber at the young Jedi like an accusing finger. �Aren�t you a little old to be afraid of the dark?�

Skywalker leapt for him again, and this time Dooku met the boy�s charge easily. They stood nearly toe-to-toe, blades flashing faster than the eye could see, but Skywalker had lost his edge: a simple taunt was all that had been required to shift the focus of his attention from winning the fight to controlling his own emotions. The angrier he got, the more afraid he became, and the fear fed his anger in turn; like the proverbial Corellian multipede, now that he had started thinking about what he was doing, he could no longer walk.

Dooku allowed himself to relax; he felt that spirit of playfulness coming over him again as he and Skywalker spun �round each other in their lethal dance. Whatever fun was to be had, he should enjoy while he could.

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Then Sidious, for some reason, decided to intervene.

�Don�t fear what you�re feeling, Anakin, use it!� he barked in Palpatine�s voice. �Call upon your fury. Focus it, and he cannot stand against you. Rage is your weapon. Strike now! Strike! Kill him!�

Dooku thought blankly, Kill me?

He and Skywalker paused for one single, final instant, blades locked together, staring at each other past a sizzling cross of scarlet against blue, and in that instant Dooku found himself wondering in bewildered astonishment if Sidious had suddenly lost his mind. Didn�t he understand the advice he�d just given?

Whose side was he on, anyway?

And through the cross of their blades he saw in Skywalker�s eyes the promise of hell, and he felt a sickening presentiment that he already knew the answer to that question.

Treachery is the way of the Sith.

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This is the death of Count Dooku:

A starburst of clarity blossoms within Anakin Skywalker�s mind, when he says to himself "Oh. I get it, now and discovers that the fear within his heart can be a weapon, too".

It is that simple, and that complex.

And it is final.

Dooku is dead already. The rest is mere detail.

The play is still on; the comedy of lightsabers flashes and snaps and hisses. Dooku & Skywalker, a one-time-only command performance, for an audience of one. Jedi and Sith and Sith and Jedi, spinning, whirling, crashing together, slashing and chopping, parrying, binding, slipping and whipping and ripping the air around them with snarls of power.

And all for nothing, because a nuclear flame has consumed Anakin Skywalker�s Jedi restraint, and fear becomes fury without effort, and fury is a blade that makes his lightsaber into a toy.

The play goes on, but the suspense is over. It has become mere pantomime, as intricate and as meaningless as the space-time curves that guide galactic clusters through a measureless cosmos.

Dooku�s decades of combat experience are irrelevant. His mastery of swordplay is useless. His vast wealth, his political influence, impeccable breeding, immaculate manners, exquisite taste�all the pursuits and points of pride to which he has devoted so much of his time and attention over the long, long years of his life�are now chains hung upon his spirit, bending his neck before the ax.

Even his knowledge of the Force has become a joke.

It is this knowledge that shows him his death, makes him handle it, turn it this way and that in his mind, examine it in detail like a black gemstone so cold it burns. Dooku�s elegant farce has degenerated into bathetic melodrama, and not one shed tear will mark the passing of its hero.

But for Anakin, in the fight there is only terror, and rage.

Only he stands between death and the two men he loves best in all the world, and he can no longer afford to hold anything back. That imaginary dead-star dragon tries its best to freeze away his strength, to whisper to him that Dooku has beaten him before, that Dooku has all the power of the darkness, to remind him how Dooku took his hand, how Dooku could strike down even Obi-Wan himself seemingly without effort and now Anakin is all alone and he will never be a match for any Lord of the Sith�

But Palpatine�s words rage is your weapon have given Anakin permission to unseal the shielding around his furnace heart, and all his fears and all his doubts shrivel in its flame.

When Count Dooku flies at him, blade flashing, Watto�s fist cracks out from Anakin�s childhood to knock the Sith Lord tumbling back.

When with all the power that the dark side can draw from throughout the universe, Dooku hurls a jagged fragment of the durasteel table, Shmi Skywalker�s gentle murmur "I knew you would come for me, Anakin smashes it aside".

His head has been filled with the smoke from his smothered heart for far too long; it has been the thunder that darkens his mind. On Aargonar, on Jabiim, in the Tusken camp on Tatooine, that smoke had clouded his mind, had blinded him and left him flailing in the dark, a mindless machine of slaughter; but here, now, within this ship, this microscopic cell of life in the infinite sterile desert of space, his firewalls have opened so that the terror and the rage are out there, in the fight instead of in his head, and Anakin�s mind is clear as a crystal bell.

In that pristine clarity, there is only one thing he must do.

Decide.

So he does.

He decides to win.

He decides that Dooku should lose the same hand he took. Decision is reality, here: his blade moves simultaneously with his will and blue fire vaporizes black Corellian nanosilk and disintegrates flesh and shears bone, and away falls a Sith Lord�s lightsaber hand, trailing smoke that tastes of charred meat and burned hair. The hand falls with a bar of scarlet blaze still extending from its spastic death grip, and Anakin�s heart sings for the fall of that red blade.

He reaches out and the Force catches it for him.

And then Anakin takes Dooku�s other hand as well.

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Dooku crumples to his knees, face blank, mouth slack, and his weapon whirs through the air to the victor�s hand, and Anakin finds his vision of the future happening before his eyes: two blades at Count Dooku�s throat.

But here, now, the truth belies the dream. Both lightsabers are in his hands, and the one in his hand of flesh flares with the synthetic bloodshine of a Sith blade.

Dooku, cringing, shrinking with dread, still finds some hope in his heart that he is wrong, that Palpatine has not betrayed him, that this has all been proceeding according to plan�

Until he hears �Good, Anakin! Good! I knew you could do it!� and registers this is Palpatine�s voice and feels within the darkest depths of all he is the approach of the words that are to come next.

�Kill him,� Palpatine says. �Kill him now.�

In Skywalker�s eyes he sees only flames.

�Chancellor, please!� he gasps, desperate and helpless, his aristocratic demeanor invisible, his courage only a bitter memory. He is reduced to begging for his life, as so many of his victims have. �Please, you promised me immunity! We had a deal! Help me!�

And his begging gains him a share of mercy equal to that which he has dispensed.

�A deal only if you released me,� Palpatine replies, cold as intergalactic space. �Not if you used me as bait to kill my friends.�

And he knows, then, that all has indeed been going according to plan. Sidious�s plan, not his own. This had been a Jedi trap indeed, but Jedi were not the quarry.

They were the bait.

�Anakin,� Palpatine says quietly. �Finish him.�

Years of Jedi training make Anakin hesitate; he looks down upon Dooku and sees not a Lord of the Sith but a beaten, broken, cringing old man.

�I shouldn�t��

But when Palpatine barks, �Do it! Now!� Anakin realizes that this isn�t actually an order. That it is, in fact, nothing more than what he�s been waiting for his whole life.

Permission.

And Dooku�

As he looks up into the eyes of Anakin Skywalker for the final time, Count Dooku knows that he has been deceived not just today, but for many, many years. That he has never been the true apprentice. That he has never been the heir to the power of the Sith. He has been only a tool.

His whole life�all his victories, all his struggles, all his heritage, all his principles and his sacrifices, everything he�s done, everything he owns, everything he�s been, all his dreams and grand vision for the future Empire and the Army of Sith�have been only a pathetic sham, because all of them, all of him, add up only to this.

He has existed only for this.

This.

To be the victim of Anakin Skywalker�s first coldblooded murder.

First but not, he knows, the last.

Then the blades crossed at his throat uncross like scissors.

Dooku crumples to his knees, face blank, mouth slack, and his weapon whirs through the air to the victor�s hand, and Anakin finds his vision of the future happening before his eyes: two blades at Count Dooku�s throat.

But here, now, the truth belies the dream. Both lightsabers are in his hands, and the one in his hand of flesh flares with the synthetic bloodshine of a Sith blade.

Dooku, cringing, shrinking with dread, still finds some hope in his heart that he is wrong, that Palpatine has not betrayed him, that this has all been proceeding according to plan�

Until he hears �Good, Anakin! Good! I knew you could do it!� and registers this is Palpatine�s voice and feels within the darkest depths of all he is the approach of the words that are to come next.

�Kill him,� Palpatine says. �Kill him now.�

In Skywalker�s eyes he sees only flames.

�Chancellor, please!� he gasps, desperate and helpless, his aristocratic demeanor invisible, his courage only a bitter memory. He is reduced to begging for his life, as so many of his victims have. �Please, you promised me immunity! We had a deal! Help me!�

And his begging gains him a share of mercy equal to that which he has dispensed.

�A deal only if you released me,� Palpatine replies, cold as intergalactic space. �Not if you used me as bait to kill my friends.�

And he knows, then, that all has indeed been going according to plan. Sidious�s plan, not his own. This had been a Jedi trap indeed, but Jedi were not the quarry.

They were the bait.

�Anakin,� Palpatine says quietly. �Finish him.�

Years of Jedi training make Anakin hesitate; he looks down upon Dooku and sees not a Lord of the Sith but a beaten, broken, cringing old man.

�I shouldn�t��

But when Palpatine barks, �Do it! Now!� Anakin realizes that this isn�t actually an order. That it is, in fact, nothing more than what he�s been waiting for his whole life.

Permission.

And Dooku�

As he looks up into the eyes of Anakin Skywalker for the final time, Count Dooku knows that he has been deceived not just today, but for many, many years. That he has never been the true apprentice. That he has never been the heir to the power of the Sith. He has been only a tool.

His whole life�all his victories, all his struggles, all his heritage, all his principles and his sacrifices, everything he�s done, everything he owns, everything he�s been, all his dreams and grand vision for the future Empire and the Army of Sith�have been only a pathetic sham, because all of them, all of him, add up only to this.

He has existed only for this.

This.

To be the victim of Anakin Skywalker�s first coldblooded murder.

First but not, he knows, the last.

Then the blades crossed at his throat uncross like scissors.

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��: �� (Jim) vs �� (DarthSorox)

mybb@mybb.ru (Jim) — Sun, 03 Nov 2019 13:33:51 +0300

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RotS - Revenge of the Sith (�� )
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"When I started, I figured that a youngling is a level one. And somebody like Kit Fisto - seven. I did take it to eight and nine, but not many people know that. Eight and nine is cheat. So Obi-Wan is eight. Yoda is nine. Mace is eight, bordering on nine. Anakin is nine."

"Sidious is a level nine (out of ten). On this film, Obi is eight-he's moved up-Anakin is a nine; Mace is a nine, Yoda is a nine. They're up with Sidious. Once you get to eight, you have a Pandora's box. You could go any way with it. The way not to go is the dark side. But it would tempt you, because that would jump you right past the others. So you need to arrive at level eight at the right age-not as young as Anakin. That young, the dark side is too tempting."

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"Obi-Wan is at a level 8, which is where Anakin starts. But Anakin jumps to level 9 -- and the difference between 8 and 9 is enormous. A Jedi can get to level 9, but that's the difference between light and dark. The duel actually gives you quite an idea about these characters, because Anakin has learned the fighting, he's enormously talented -- but he hasn't learned the mental side of it."

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"Mace is eight bordering on nine. Dooku and Maul are eight, but there is a huge difference inside the numbers themselves."

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mybb@mybb.ru (DarthSorox) — Mon, 30 Sep 2019 10:40:19 +0300

1. �� -�� ?
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��: �� (Jim) vs �� (DarthSorox)

mybb@mybb.ru (Jim) — Sun, 29 Sep 2019 16:58:48 +0300

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Before the Jedi could react, Palpatine sprang into action and killed all of them except Mace Windu.

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Before Mace realizes what has happened, Kolar, Tiin, and Fisto have fallen to Sidious's blade.

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Vastor was younger, stronger, faster, and immensely more powerful, and he wielded weapons that could not be harmed by the Jedi blade. Mace couldn't win such a battle on his best day, and this day was far from his best: he was exhausted, badly wounded, and heartsick.

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mybb@mybb.ru (DarthSorox) — Wed, 18 Sep 2019 16:40:25 +0300

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Darth Bane - Path of Destruction ��(�):

To Bane, it seemed the teachings contained within the single Holocron surpassed those of the Academy's entire archives. Revan had discovered many of the rituals of the ancient Sith, and as the Holocron's avatar explained their nature and purpose, Bane could barely wrap his mind around their awesome potential. Some of the rituals were so terrible - so dangerous to attempt, even for a true Sith Master - that he doubted he would ever dare to use them...

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Darth Bane: Rule of Two ��(�):

It was an uncomfortable line of speculation, but it was one Bane forced himself to consider. He had read the histories of the great Sith Lords; many were filled with feats almost too incredible to be believed. Yet even if these accounts were true, even if some of his predecessors had had the ability to use the dark side to destroy entire worlds or make a sun go nova, Bane still felt that his power measured up to the described abilities of many of those who had successfully created Holocrons of their own.

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Darth Bane: Path of Destruction ��(�):

There was nothing subtle about Bane's attack: the massive shock wave shook the very foundations of the great Rakatan Temple. The concussive blast had enough power to shatter every bone in Kas'im's body and pulverize his flesh into a mass of pulpy liquid. But at the last possible instant he threw up a shield to protect himself from the attack.

Unfortunately, he couldn't shield the Temple around him. The walls exploded into great chunks of rubble. The archway collapsed in a shower of stone, burying Kas'im beneath tons of rock and mortar. A second later the rest of the roof caved in, drowning out the Twi'lek's dying screams with a deafening rumble.

Bane watched the spectacle of the Temple's implosion from the safety of the ground at the foot of the stairs. Billowing clouds of dust rolled out from the wreckage and down the stairs toward him.

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Darth Bane: Dynasty of Evil ��(�):

Even though they were decades removed from the encounter, the Iktotchi sensed the raw power of the dark side emanating from him. It was like nothing she had seen or felt before, both terrifying and exhilarating.

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Darth Bane: Dynasty of Evil ��(�):

Thousands of years ago Ambria had been a world of verdant forests, brimming with life and the power of the Force. But the lush vegetation had been devastated when a Sith sorceress tried-and failed-to bend the entire planet to her will through a powerful ritual. Unable to control the violent energies of the dark side, she was destroyed by her own spell, as was the landscape of the entire planet.

For centuries the corruption of the failed ritual influenced all life on Ambria, transforming the once beautiful world into a nightmare of stunted, poisonous vegetation and twisted, mutated beasts. Eventually the dark side energies released by the Sith sorceress were trapped in a great lake near the planet's equator by a Jedi Master named Thon, but the damage was too widespread for the world to ever be completely healed.

The Iktotchi knew all this not because she had studied the planet's history, however. Her connection to the Force allowed her to see things.

�� 

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Darkness Shared ��(�):

He could sense his Master's summons in the Force, and he could not resist the beckoning much longer. Lord Kaan was calling them all, the entire Brotherhood.

Darth Bane: Path of Destruction ��(�):

He lifted his voice so that it carried throughout the camp, his words booming across the tented landscape. "Now that you are here, the Brotherhood of Darkness is at last whole!"

The troops in camp paused and looked up at him. A few rose expectantly to their feet. There was fire in that single bold statement; it rekindled hope from the damp ashes of their fatigue and despair.

"The full power of the Sith Lords is now united here on Ruusan," he continued, projecting his words to even the most distant of his followers. Reaching out to them with the undeniable power of the Force, he fed them, rejuvenated them, and filled their hollow spirits. "We are strong. Stronger than the Jedi. We are the champions of the dark side, and we will crush Lord Hoth and his servants of light!"

A great shout roared up from his troops. Those who were seated leapt to their feet. Those who were standing thrust their fists up in the air. The echo of their cheers shook the camp like a groundquake.

Githany felt it as surely as the rest of the troops. It was more than just the words. It was the way he said them. All her doubts and fears simply vanished, crushed by the weight of that single brief speech. It was as if she had been compelled to obey by a power greater than herself.

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Darth Bane: Path of Destruction ��(�):

Bane stayed in the position of supplication until the Dark Lord was well out of sight, then stood up and brushed the dirt from his knees with a grim scowl. He had felt Kaan's efforts to dominate his mind, but they had had no more effect than a rusted knife scraping against the hide plates of a Halurian ice-boar. Yet he had seized on the opportunity and delivered a performance worthy of the greatest dramatist on Alderaan.

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Star Wars powers

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