The world narrowed, until it was just the two of them.
And then,
silence.
Emptiness. No matter how fast The Mongrel's cybernetic implants made him, no matter how far beyond ordinary mortals his cold metal augmentations pushed him, he was still not as fast as a Jedi.
Schwinng. The new-forged blade howled through the open air where Ishida had stood, parting the wind with its razor edge, as though sharp enough to slice through spacetime itself and spill the guts of reality. And yet it did not matter how sharp the blade might be if the wielder was lacking.
Never enough. He was never enough.
One of the Alliance tanks exploded, bathing the scene in vibrant oranges and yellows. Shrapnel pinged off of The Mongrel's metal chassis, dull impacts that hardly registered on his sensors; they would have sounded like little hollow chimes, had they been audible over the roar of the detonation. Looking up, the warlord tracked the trajectory of the Jedi's leap, watching as the shockwave caught her and threw her askew.
He might not be able to catch the witch, but
physics certainly could. Well, he'd take what he could get. He always had.
He was a warrior of
opportunity as much as skill.
The jarring impact didn't keep Ishida from dispatching one of the shock troopers, delivering him to a fiery end. The Mongrel only watched, the unblinking lenses that had replaced his eyes staring blankly at the exchange of blows. Though a thick cloud of smoke had kicked up from the vicious vehicle clash, plumes drifting from burning wreckage and the smoldering fuel that had leaked from it, he could still see her perfectly; his optical sensors saw on
many different spectrums, making it easy to distinguish his target no matter the concealment.
Whereas
she would find it more difficult.
Opportunity.
Why? she asked.
Why does the cycle have to go on? "That is the way of the universe." The thunderous voice, like metal
continents grinding together, came from over her shoulder. In the same instant he struck, his blade whistling out of the smoke in a swift blow aimed diagonally across her back; if it struck home, it would cut her from left shoulder to right hip, opening her across the spine. He did not wait to see if he'd drawn blood, instead striking again immediately, raising the sword and bringing it down right shoulder to left hip this time.
A perfect X in the air... and perhaps in her flesh.
But The Mongrel knew better than to assume he could finish her so easily, and kept his guard up.
"The laws of nature do not promise to be fair or kind. They simply are. And the foremost laws are these: everything that is born must die, and life is struggle." He stepped back, blade raised before him, hoping to see it wet with the Jedi's blood.
"Thus, the cycle. Unending. Eternal." A cycle that only the Maw could repair, toppling the galaxy's stagnant old orders, setting everyone free to live in a universe without judges or kings.
No more Jedi or Republics or Empires or laws to constrain them.
No more affronts against nature's way.
At that moment,
distraction... and an unfamiliar feeling to go with it.
Fear. The Mongrel did not feel fear for himself. His mechanical body felt no pain any longer, and death on the battlefield would be nothing but
release, the price of his passage to the Galaxy To Come. But he had gained a weakness in the past few years, because now there was a person he
feared to lose. He heard Mercy's voice in his mind, heard the pain and exhaustion in her words, and
fear clenched tight around a heart he no longer physically had. He
needed her.
~ You are alive, ~ he replied, the relief in his words abundantly clear,
~ and that is what matters most. Thank you for your warning, but do not worry. Rest now, Mercy. Get to safety and rest. ~ In that moment The Mongrel did not care about the information hidden on the facility's terminals, even if it might end the torment of sharing a mind. He cared only that Mercy escaped. He could not live with himself if she died for him. Why
her, this one individual, and not all the countless
other lives he had ruined? He did not know, but it was true.
That was how
love worked, he supposed. Even to a
monster.
---------------------------------------------
Deep in the warm confines of a sunlit dream, Kallan stirred.
Awareness of a world beyond the dream was returning to him. He could feel arms that were partly his, now going through the patterns of an X-shaped cut as they wielded a mighty sword. He could sense the light of a bright explosion, though the metal skin of his
real body couldn't feel the heat. The Mongrel was fighting again, pursuing the mad mission that the Brotherhood had instilled in him through torture and mental breaking. He had usurped Kallan's life, turned him from peace to war, ruined other lives just as Kallan's had been ruined.
Please, don't fight against him. Keilara was in his arms, back in the dream. She was warm, soft, holding him tight. He gently brushed the tears from her face, held her close.
~ I'm glad you're both okay, ~ Kallan told her. He pitied Mercy, pitied her for what The Mongrel had done to her; she hadn't deserved it any more than
he had. And Keilara, his love... she was so much the same as he was, trapped inside while their bodies helped cause misery. He wanted to be free of all this, and for her to be free with him... but was that selfish?
Did he have a responsibility to stop all this, if he could?
~ It's wrong, Keilara ~ he told her.
~ What he's doing is wrong, and I know I should try to stop him. ~ Even if it meant that Kallan would die too, because what was his
one life compared to the countless
millions The Mongrel's actions had helped destroy? But Kallan wasn't a fighter. He was just a speeder mechanic, a refugee from a war-torn world who just wanted to be left alone to live in peace. Maybe he wasn't up to the task of facing his violent, zealous other self. Maybe he had to hope that Mercy and Keilara would find another way.
~ But for you, ~ he promised,
~ I'll stay quiet. ~
For now.
