"My word… so this is what my people get for being loyal to Frieza? How could he order Vegeta to do this to us… after all we've done for him?"
"Hmph. Fool. No-one tells me what to do anymore, especially not him."
"Y-you dare to defy Frieza?"
"Look, I didn't even come here to fight you. Your big-mouthed men started it. I'm just looking for another saiyan calling himself Goku."
"I've never even heard of him!"
"Are you sure? If you're lying, you are going to get it."
"Hah. W-we're protected under Frieza's t-treaty. You're the one who's going to get it!"
"Oh really? You think so?!"
"The treaty you made with Frieza is no longer valid. A saiyan who goes by the name of Goku is now the strongest fighter in the universe. He finished off Frieza for good."
"Frieza? Killed by a m-monkey? What a joke!"
"Hahahaa. Look who's talking, you dodo bird. You're about to become extinct."
"No! Wait, I-AAAAAARRGHH!"
Goku stood confidently with his arms crossed, smirking. He had recently modified his gi to suit the desert climate and better match the attire of his new Jedi master-apprentice. He had mended his torn orange robes and fashioned them into a tunic of sorts, with a long, wide streak of fabric draped diagonally from his left shoulder across his torso and back. His arms remained exposed but for his blue wristbands, and his dark blue undershirt had been made into the bottom of a draping tailcoat that hung over the backs of his orange-clad legs, held in place by his fabric belt.
"Come at me."
Obi-Wan crouched. Aided by a burst of the Force, he rocketed towards Goku in a whirl of orange dust. His leg swung round, completing a rapid half-turn before his foot connected solidly with his opponent's bulging neck. Goku's hair simply ruffled under the impact; he did not move a muscle, or an inch. Obi-Wan grimaced with pain: it was almost as bad as kicking Grievous in the shins. He snapped around, propelling himself with his landed right foot, and with his other he delivered what would have been a devastating heel kick directly to the saiyan's face. As if he were striking a steel doorknob, Goku's sharp little nose dug bluntly into Kenobi's ankle and he twisted mid-air once again, unleashing a futile elbow strike before landing and following up with a flurry of well-aimed but ineffectual punches.
He took a step back, panting.
"You're going to have to do better than that. You need to try and focus your mind into every strike. See—"
Before Goku could utter another word, Obi-Wan closed his eyes, bent over and thrust his hands forward. Goku's eyes widened. He was swept off his feet immediately, tumbling through a runway of sand before swiftly sailing off the dune on which they had been fighting. As he struggled to correct his fall, he felt himself push against an immovable wall that forced his head downwards and caused him to skid face-first across the droughted dirt below. For the outward-branching river of Force current wasn't simply a telekinetic blast like the ones he knew; it was a ripple of warped space. Regardless of his own strength, movement against it was impossible.
The Jedi master slid down the dune towards the face-down saiyan, his eyes still closed in deep concentration and his hands still firmly outstretched.
"Hehe," chuckled Goku, his mouth pressed to the crackled ground. "Force really packs a punch, doesn't it? But… you can't attack me while you're holding me down. Problem is, one slip in your concentration…"
He punched the pulverised floor below him and a shockwave bellowed out across the earth. Kenobi's eyes opened in shock and he tripped forward, bracing himself for impact. The impact he got, however, was not the kind of impact he was expecting. Goku appeared before him from thin air and delivered a palm strike to the Jedi's chest. Instantly winded, he doubled over and fell to his knees, coughing.
"That's enough for now. We need more meditative training, so you can tap into your internal reserves properly. We're never gonna bring your ki out just by fighting."
"Right," Obi-Wan said, sighing as Goku helped pull him to his feet. "I think it'd be a welcome break. Though you must tell me: how much were you holding back? Really?"
Goku laughed nervously and rubbed the back of his head.
"Well… I'm probably going at a bit less than one percent. I really was trying my hardest against your Force push there, though. There's not much I can do about that."
"Less than one percent?!"
"Commander Tarkin, sir. We have twenty unidentified vessels inbound from the rear."
"Who are they? I find it hard to believe these wretched Separatist stragglers have already got the drop on us."
"They appear to be spherical… only space for one passenger. Perhaps an escape pod of sorts—"
"I don't want 'perhaps', soldier. I require a reading on those vessels, now."
"Sir, they're headed straight for Antar-4!"
"I cannot allow them to disrupt this operation. Fire at will."
Putting on the new helmet hadn't been easy. The eyepieces were too small, it smelled of disinfectant and sat too tightly on the back of his head, but those were just trivialities.
The old, hard, expressionless external Mandalorian shell of before had defined him for years. He was made from a heartless gun for hire, but had been crafted to do good in the name of all that was right in the galaxy, without pay. He was the embodiment of commitment. To his brothers, to the Republic, to democracy and peace, to eliminating the malignant factions who threatened it. And now he was the embodiment of the opposite.
The darkness in a set of white armour.
See, the worst thing about the small, dark-tinted eyepieces was that when you looked into the eyes of a cowering Jedi child, you could barely see anything. It held no figure, no form, no soul: there was no value beyond its fearful orbs. It was just a husk of flesh, ready to be pumped full of plasma.