Star Wars: Shadow of Skywalker

Anakin had stopped counting the days long ago. Time had no meaning on Mustafar. His body, a map of endless bruises and burns, was a reminder of Maul's harsh training. Each injury, every mark on his skin, was part of the cost of becoming stronger. Pain had become as familiar as breathing, yet beneath it, something darker festered—an unrelenting fire.

Rage. Hatred for Maul. For the Tuskens. For Watto, who had never cared. For himself, for being so weak. Weak when it mattered most.

His mother's face, bloodied and lifeless, still haunted his thoughts. "Because I was weak," Anakin whispered to himself in the silence of his quarters. Every day felt like a battle to prove he was stronger than the helpless boy he'd once been, the one who couldn't save her. He still remembered how it felt to watch her die, knowing there was nothing he could do.

He clenched his fists. No more. He wasn't that boy anymore. Every moment of pain now made him harder, faster, stronger. Maul's brutal training, the isolation of Mustafar—it was all shaping him into something new, something powerful. A weapon.

The massive doors hissed open, and heat struck Anakin like a hammer. The training hall had been remade over the months: a deathtrap disguised as a lesson. Rows of sharp, bladed pendulums swung from above, training droids floated in predatory orbits, and molten vents hissed scalding steam from the floor.

At the center of it all stood Darth Maul, a single-bladed saber hanging loosely in his grip. The Zabrak's face was a mask of scornful disdain, his yellow eyes drilling into Anakin with predatory satisfaction.

"You're late," Maul sneered, though he wasn't. It was always the same greeting. "Are you ready to learn how not to embarrass yourself?".

Anakin didn't answer. He stepped forward, igniting his own crimson training saber. The blade hissed to life, its glow painting his face with fire.

"Attack me," Maul ordered, stepping back into a defensive stance. "Do better than yesterday, or I'll make you regret it".

"I'll do better," Anakin said, his voice low but steady.

Maul's lip curled. "You'll try."

Maul attacked first, a crimson streak blurring through the air. Anakin barely parried, the force of the strike sending him staggering backward. Maul didn't relent. He was a storm—every swing heavier, faster, sharper than the last.

Anakin grunted, his feet slipping as he blocked a downward strike. Sparks spat where the blades met, burning into his skin.

"You're slow," Maul sneered, his saber crashing against Anakin's again. "Weak. I've seen slaves fight harder than this."

The insult stung like a whip. Anakin growled, twisting his body to jump over Maul's strike. He landed behind him, his blade slicing low. Maul spun effortlessly, kicking Anakin in the stomach with bone-crushing force.

The boy hit the ground hard, sliding across the floor. His ribs screamed in protest as he rolled onto his knees, gasping for breath. Maul circled him like a predator stalking wounded prey.

"Get up, worm. Or do you plan to lie there like your mother while the galaxy crushes you?"

Anakin froze. The words stabbed deeper than any blade.

"Don't… talk about her," he snarled, his teeth gritted.

Maul laughed, a cruel, hollow sound. "Why not? She was weak. She died weak. And what are you? A boy with a stick, pretending to be strong?"

Anakin's vision swam red. The Force surged within him like a storm. He didn't think—he acted. With a roar, he thrust out his hand, the air around him shuddering. A wave of telekinetic energy erupted outward, blasting Maul back several meters.

For the first time, Maul staggered. The Zabrak's sneer vanished for a heartbeat, replaced by mild surprise.

"Finally," Maul growled, rising to his feet. "You show a spark of life."

The combat droids activated, circling the hall like vultures. Yellow bolts screamed through the air, converging on Anakin from all sides.

Anakin didn't hesitate. He moved, augmenting his speed through the Force. His practice saber hummed, deflecting the first barrage of bolts. His vision narrowed, every sense hyper-focused. He saw the droids before they moved, his mind calculating each trajectory.

One bolt ricocheted off his blade, destroying a droid in an explosion of sparks. Another streaked for his chest, but he leapt, flipping over the attack and landing with cat-like precision.

Maul watched from the shadows, his voice cutting through the chaos. "Impressive. But it's not enough."

A sharp click echoed. More droids emerged from the walls, armed with stun-batons. They descended on Anakin in a swarm.

Anakin's fury reached a boiling point. His blade snapped outward in a vicious arc, cleaving one droid's head clean off. Another lunged at him, baton crackling, but Anakin snarled and thrust out his hand. The droid froze mid-air, its circuits sparking as Anakin gripped it with the Force.

'Crush.'

The droid's frame crumpled like paper, metal shrieking as it compacted into a useless heap. Anakin hurled it into another drone, the impact obliterating both.

For a brief moment, he felt it—the rush. The Force obeyed him. It bent to his will.

Maul's laughter shattered his focus. "You're still wasting time, boy!"

Before Anakin could react, Maul charged, his saber screaming through the air. Anakin twisted to block, but Maul's strength was overwhelming. The Zabrak's blade hammered against his defense, pushing him backward step by step.

"You think this is power?" Maul hissed, his strikes growing faster. "You think rage alone will save you? No—this is discipline. This is mastery."

Anakin growled, pouring everything into his movements. He thrust out his hand, a sharp Force Push blasting toward Maul. But Maul sidestepped, closing the distance instantly. His boot smashed into Anakin's chest, sending him sprawling.

Before Anakin could rise, Maul's hand shot out. An invisible Force Grip closed around Anakin's throat, lifting him off the ground. The boy kicked and struggled, his vision blurring.

"You're weak," Maul said, his voice low and venomous. "You'll always be weak unless you embrace this pain."

Anakin's fists clenched, his rage flaring to life again. He reached inward, his mind screaming for the power he'd felt before—the power to take, to drain the life from his enemies. For a heartbeat, he felt it flicker to the surface. The shadows around him seemed to twist, dark tendrils brushing against Maul.

The Sith's eyes narrowed. Then the power vanished, slipping from Anakin's grasp.

Maul laughed, dropping him unceremoniously to the floor. Anakin collapsed, coughing and gasping for air.

"You try to drain me? Me!?" Maul's grin was savage. "Pathetic. You're not ready for that power, boy. You'll never be ready."

Anakin lay there, shaking, his face pressed against the scorched floor. Every muscle screamed. Every breath burned. But inside, the fire of his hatred raged hotter than ever.

'One day', he thought. 'One day, I'll kill you.'

Hours later, Anakin sat in the suffocating blackness of the meditation chamber. Blood still trickled from a gash on his lip, but he didn't care. He could feel it—the faint pull of the Holocron across the stars. It whispered, a shadow on the edge of his mind.

"I'll come back for you," he muttered, his voice hoarse. "I'll take your power. And then I'll make them all pay."

The galaxy had broken him. Maul had broken him. But every strike, every insult, only reforged him into something sharper. Something deadlier.

Anakin clenched his fists, nails digging into his palms. He could still hear Maul's voice, mocking him. He could still see Shmi—her broken body. The savage Tuskens. The Hutts controlling the planet. The filthy mercenaries.

"I'll kill them all," Anakin whispered. His voice was colder now. Harder. "The Tuskens. The Hutts. You, Maul. And anyone who ever hurt me."

The darkness pressed in around him, listening.

"I'll never be weak again."

Far across the galaxy, on the sands of Tatooine, the Holocron pulsed faintly, as though in answer.

On Coruscant, Darth Sidious meticulously managed his plan.

In a large, well-appointed conference room with soft lighting, Nute Gunray, the ambitious executive of the Trade Federation, sat across from Senator Palpatine and Hego Damask II, leader of Damask Holdings. The room was charged with the subtle tension of power dynamics at play.

Gunray nervously adjusted his tie, glancing between the two men. Senator Palpatine, projecting calm authority, leaned forward with an encouraging smile. Hego Damask II, unflappable and calculating, kept his gaze steady, assessing every move.

"Mr. Gunray," Palpatine began, his voice smooth and confident, "The Trade Federation stands at a critical juncture. You have the potential to lead, and with the right support, you could rise to positions of greater influence."

Gunray hesitated, unsure. "I appreciate your faith, Senator. But what exactly are you proposing?"

Damask II spoke, his tone direct but measured. "We want to invest in both the Federation and, more importantly, in you. With the right training, mentorship, and access to our network, we can help you climb the ranks faster and more effectively."

Palpatine continued, "Imagine leading major projects with the full backing to implement your strategies, shaping decisions within the Federation. This is about more than business growth—this is about creating leadership capable of navigating the galaxy's complex trade systems."

Gunray leaned back, considering their words. "And what do you expect in return for this support?"

Palpatine's smile deepened slightly, his confidence clear but restrained. "Loyalty and cooperation. As you rise, your alignment with our goals will be essential. Your leadership can help advance our shared interests."

Damask II added, "By aligning with us, you'll gain access to exclusive resources and insights, giving you a critical edge in your endeavors. It's a partnership of mutual trust and ambition."

Gunray was silent for a moment, weighing the offer. "If this support truly accelerates my rise and provides the necessary tools for leadership, I'm willing to consider it."

Palpatine extended his hand. "Good. Together, we'll ensure that your growth benefits not just you, but the Trade Federation as a whole."

Damask II followed with his handshake, sealing the deal. "Welcome, Mr. Gunray. We look forward to what we can accomplish together."

Gunray took the handshake, a new resolve in his eyes. "Thank you. I look forward to the opportunities ahead."

As the meeting ended, Palpatine and Damask exchanged a subtle but knowing glance. The foundation was set. Gunray was now a valuable ally. The future was in motion.