28Disclaimer: I own nothing. All characters and quotes from the Revenge of the Sith novelization are the property of Matthew Stover and George Lucas.
Prepare yourselves...This is the moment you've all been waiting for! (Yeah, I know, that was really cliché, but I couldn't help myself.) We finally get to see the Anakin/Dooku fight! This chapter will probably be a little longer than usual, a lot has to happen to set up the sequel. (Yes there will be a sequel.)
Just a warning, the tense changes in the middle of the post from past-tense to present-tense. It makes it more dramatic, and I'll probably end up writing the sequel in present tense also.
Here comes the Grand Finale, I hope you guys enjoy it!
"Oh, Force that's disgusting!" Ahsoka's huffed in disgust and fled from Anakin's room.
"It's not what it looks like!" Anakin protested, hopping after Ahsoka as he attempted to pull on a clean pair of pants-he'd fallen asleep in his clothes.
"You were sharing the bed!" Ahsoka countered. "Together. Under the covers." Ahsoka was appalled. "How is that not what it looks like?"
Anakin was at a loss; how was he going to explain this?
Thankfully, Padmé came to his rescue. "We still have our clothes from yesterday on, Ahsoka." She said. "Don't you think that if we were doing...that we wouldn't have bothered to wear any clothes?"
Ahsoka frowned in thought. A scowl rippled across her face. "Fine. Whatever. It's still gross." She said.
Satisfied that his cousin no longer thought him a creep, Anakin shut the door to finish changing. He turned to Padmé, a sheepish grin plastered on his face. "Kids," He offered with a noncommittal shrug.
Padmé rolled her eyes. "Maybe you should consider locking the door next time." She said.
***RH***
Dooku snatched another water bottle from the mini-fridge in Palpatine's office. He sat down, had the cap unscrewed and half the bottle chugged in seconds.
"Be careful, that mix is significantly more potent than the blend you've been consuming-one bottle will suffice." Palpatine cautioned.
Dooku acknowledged Palpatine's warning with a curt grunt as he finished the beverage, his dark eyes morphing to a reptilian yellow.
"I thought you wanted me to beat Skywalker? Does it really matter how much I take?" Dooku wondered.
"Yes, I do wish for you to be victorious in today's match; but you'll be no use to me dead." Palpatine counseled.
Dooku blanched. "Dead?" He wondered.
Palpatine's yellow gaze hardened. "Follow my instructions, and everything will be fine. I need you to trust me, my apprentice."
Dooku felt a thrill of pride. Palpatine had picked him. Over Skywalker. Now he had to win. "I understand Boss. I won't let you down."
"See that you don't" Palpatine sneered.
Dooku nodded, rose from his chair, and stepped lithely from the room.
***RH***
"Sir, I think you should see this." Boba approached his father Jango Fett, Police Chief of Galactic City, and lead investigator on the Ruwee Naberrie murder case.
"What is it, son?" Jango asked.
Boba rolled his eyes. "We're in the field, Dad. It's officer Fett." He sighed. "One of the steak knives in the kitchen is missing, and the fingerprints on the coffee mug in the kitchen don't belong to the victim." Boba explained.
"Well, that means someone else was in the house with him. We might have our , killer. Have you matched the prints yet?" Jango responded.
Boba sighed again. "Give me some credit Dad. I'm not totally useless...The prints belong to Anakin Skywalker. He just moved here from Tatooine about three months ago; he's been attending school at Master Yoda's Academy for Boys and Girls since school started up again last week." He explained. "What are we still doing here then?" Boba wondered.
"Slow down, officer Fett. Just because his prints are in the room, doesn't mean he was the killer. We can still bring him in for questioning; but we can't accuse him of anything until we find the murder weapon. If the prints on the weapon match the prints on the cup match the prints on the mug, then we'll talk." Jango reasoned.
Boba held up an evidence bag, containing a bloodstained steak knife. "And if they do?"
Jango was instantly serious. "Pack up your men, and your supplies. We're leaving."
***RH***
Anakin took another swig from the water bottle Palpatine had given him outside the gym-his throat was dry, nothing to worry about; just normal pre-fight nerves. He took a deep breath to calm himself-he had nothing to worry about.
Except for the fact that he hadn't practiced.
At all.
For weeks.
I'm done for. Anakin thought resignedly. As he watched Dooku's most recent victim limp off the mat. As much as he hated to admit it, Anakin was impressed; Dooku had systematically destroyed all of his competition-even the better fighters, like Obi-Wan and Mace-with almost no effort at all.
Before he could begin to wallow in self-doubt, the announcer was calling his name.
"And now...you know him, you love him, ladies and gentlemen: Give it up for the one, the only, Anakin Skywalker!"
The gymnasium erupted in cheers and shouts and whistles as Anakin rose and took his place on the mat across from Dooku.
This is the end of Nelvin Dooku:
Anakin takes his place on the mat, his sword in that same deceptively relaxed position that is his tried-and-true stance.
A simple taunt is all it takes to set Anakin's brain alive with fury:
Padmé deserved it.
Anakin doesn't take the time to wonder how on earth Dooku knows; because that would be impossible. He simply can't know. It's just not feasible.
But somehow, he does.
That's all that matters.
Anakin is on him in an eyeblink, his silver blade flashing and ringing and crashing, driving Dooku back across the mat.
Vader does most of the work, lending Anakin strength he doesn't have, reflexes bordering on inhuman.
Dooku backs carefully across the mat, his parries and ripostes meticulous. Outwardly, he is calm, but inwardly, he has an entirely unfounded, completely ludicrous, and yet entirely distressing bad feeling about this.
He ripostes another lightning-fast strike from Skywalker, and then retaliates with an impressive flurry of his own.
Almost contemptuously, Anakin takes a half-step back, cocking his left-arm back to deliver another blow.
That's when Dooku realizes that he's really in trouble-an ambidextrous swordsman is a very dangerous opponent.
But, Anakin's left hand is his off-hand, and the strike is a little slower in its delivery.
Dooku seizes his opportunity with a sweeping upward hack, intending to cleave Skywalker's arm from his body.
Sword meets arm with a sickening crunch, and Anakin's left arm flops uselessly over Dooku's blade, grievously broken.
The gym erupts in squeals of horror.
Cin Drallig steps onto the mat, screaming for the boys to stop, but they are too far gone to hear him.
Anakin ducks under Dooku's next attack, unfazed by the loss of an arm. He retrieves his sword and sends Dooku stumbling with a high kick.
Anakin steps forward at the same time as Dooku, both of them delivering a thrust with the force of a freight train.
A crash echoes through the gym.
Dooku's sword spirals into the air.
The shining weapon flips almost in slow motion.
Impossibly, Anakin's shattered left arm reaches out to catch it, at the same time as his snap-kick drives Dooku back another step
The red hate-smoke of his fury dissolves, and in that instant, everything is clear.
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 that he took. Decision is reality here: his blade moves simultaneously with his will, and silver ice obliterates the suddenly flimsly armor, and disintegrates flesh and shears bone, and away falls Dooku's weapon arm, weeping ichor that stains the floor with the death of his dreams.
The sword twirls one last time before slapping solidly into Anakin's left hand.
And then he takes Dooku's other arm as well.
Dooku crumples to his knees, face blank, mouth slack, as he finds two blades crossed at his throat.
As he looks up into the eyes of Anakin Skywalker one final time finding Palpatine's grimly approving smirk behind him, Nelvin Dooku knows that he has been deceived, not just today, but for many, many years. That he has never been the true apprentice. He has been only a tool.
He has existed only for this.
This.
To be the victim of Anakin Skywalker's first cold-blooded murder.
First but not, he knows, the last.
Then the blades at his throat uncross like scissors.
Snip.
And all of him becomes nothing at all.
***RH***
Padmé stares in horror at her boyfriend, jerked from her stupor only when the GCPD bursts into the gymnasium.
"Freeze!" The command echoes in the room as one of the men tackles Anakin bodily to the ground.
Blankly, she thinks: What?
And then, in twelve simple words, her universe comes crashing down around her ears.
"Anakin Skywalker, you are under arrest for the murder of Ruwee Naberrie."
He mouth drops open in shock.
It can't be...
But she knows it is.
Because she has just seen him kill another man.
In cold-blood.
Clearly, he is capable of murder.
And he has already threatened to kill her father before.
Twice.
And now, the murder is calling out, blasphemy of the very blackest kind.
"You've got the wrong guy. Padmé help me out here!"
Anakin's eyes are not the Caribbean blue she is used to, the color that melts her heart and washes away her sadness; his request is more of a command.
His eyes are yellow.
They frighten her.
"I hate you!" She screams and then flees from the room.
Tears blurring her vision she streaks out into the parking lot, smashing into another person on the way out.
The woman picks herself up, and draws Padmé into a hug.
Padmé recognizes her instantly, the smell of rose petals and lavender, she tenderness of her embrace.
"Mom?" She gasps, looking up into her mothers kind brown eyes.
"Yes, dear." Her mother whispers, hugging her tighter. "What's the matter.
For a moment, Padmé is incapable of speech.
"I want, I want..." She bursts into tears again. Pitifully, she pleads. "I want to go..." She hiccups, her small frame shaking with the force of her anguish. "I want to go home!"
Unnerved, Jobal Naberrie strokes he daughter's hair. "Okay..." She takes a deep breath. "Okay, sweetheart."
Neither of them moved for a long, long time.
***RH***
This is how it feels to be Anakin Skywalker, right now.
The events that brought you to this cold and empty jail cell are all a blur.
Except one.
Padmé's anguished, hateful, horror-stricken shout of "I hate you!" rings in your ear.
What have I done? You ask yourself.
There is one blazing moment in which you finally understand that there was no Vader. That there was only you. Only Anakin Skywalker.
That it was all you. Is you.
Only you.
You did it.
You drove her away.
You drove her away because, finally, when you could have saved her, when you could have gone away with her, when you could have been thinking about her, you were thinking about yourself.
About how angry Ruwee made you.
How he deserved to die for what he had done to Padmé.
You never thought about what it would do to her.
You never thought about the consequences.
You did what you wanted.
You satisfied your feelings.
Satisfied yourself.
And yet, only when Palpatine arrives does it hit you.
In that blazing moment you finally understand the trap, the final cruelty of the Mob-
Because now yourself is all you will ever have.
And you're up, raging and screaming and shaking the bars of your cell, trying to get out, to crush the man who has destroyed your world, but you are so far less now. Without Vader, you are like a painter gone blind, a composer gone deaf, you can remember where the power was, but the power you can touch is only a memory, and so with all your world-destroying fury it is only your screams of rage that shake the prison you've trapped yourself in, and in the end you cannot touch the shadow.
In the end you do not even want to.
In the end, the shadow is all you have left.
Because the shadow understands you, the shadow forgives you, the shadow gathers you unto itself-
And within your furnace heart, you burn in your own flame.
This is how it feels to be Anakin Skywalker.
Forever...
***RH***
Anakin kneels before Palpatine.
"I have come to release you." Palpatine says.
Anakin doesn't move.
"Lord Vader...can you hear me?" Palpatine presses.
A pause. Dark as the space between spaces.
And then, an oath, so utterly requisite that uttering it will bind Anakin to this man for the rest of his life:
"Yes, Master."
Well, sadly, that wraps up Republic High. I would like to take a moment to thank everyone who has reviewed, this story would not be complete without you:
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Thanks again, everyone!
Please, don't forget to review. I'll have the sequel up as soon as I am able.
May the Force be with you,
~Ink17