Star Wars, The Cooper Chronicle's, Book 1: The Rise

Chapter 14: We Meet Agian

Zar: You know, anger isn't the Jedi way, but who am I kidding? You're no Jedi. You're just a lucky civilian with fancy toys.

She snarked, the comment prompting a grin across her lips as she looked down at the young man. He wasn't a threat even as she watched him struggle to regain his composure, his right-hand fumbling to find the silver hilt that no longer sat on his belt but lay mere inches from his face. The young man stared up after Zar forced a cough, his eyes glazed over as he struggled to breathe, streaks of red seeping down the back of his neck. She had him just like before, yet more broken. Now standing over the young man, Zar tapped the saber with her foot.

Zar: Come on now, you want to prove me wrong? Try and fight me like this. I need some more amusement before I take you away.

Letting out a heave, Jerome's eyes watering, hand leaving belt and sliding across the stone floor. Any bit of bravado was gone, his strength, and he barely wrapped his fingers around the cold metal. Panic surged through him. He had let anger ruin any chance of reinforcements arriving on time. Jerome's breathing grew faster, with streaks beginning to fall down his cheeks, emotions bouncing around like someone had shaken the hornet's nest till everything faded away.

Darkness held Jerome's vision till intense flashes and feelings began to bombard his eyes and mind. Like in the temple after the recording of his father, Jerome started to see things, not from potentially his own, but another's perspective. Feelings of rage and pain accompanied images of crimson sabers, brief flashes of fights against a tall red and black alien with horns, against a man who he recognized as his father, of running towards a ship of sorts. Then as a voice far off spoke, their words were nothing but gibberish. Everything shifted to two things, an overwhelming sense of fear and a blurry image. This time, he felt himself returning to himself, a deep, long-forgotten memory. A figure with dark brown hair stood with a white saber protectively in front of another, seemingly who was carrying him. The vision of sorts slowly began to grow clearer and clearer despite the rise in the volume of gibberish, for within the doorway of the house he was within, a man stood, crimson blades in each hand. The outline was more defined by the second, the women slowly beginning to move, but suddenly, it was all ripped away with a sharp pain in his gut.

Blood splattered onto the floor before him as he snapped back to the present. Jerome curled up into a ball, hugging his stomach as Zar's foot planted back onto the ground, the woman slowly leaning down, forcibly grabbing Jerome's chin, tilting his face to meet hers.

Zar: Hellooo, you still with me? Dooku wouldn't be pleased if I brought you in broken.

She said, shifting his face left and right till Jerome tried to bite down on her fingers weakly, but she let go before he could, tisking and returning to her full stature.

Zar: Good, you're still trying to fight back, which means it could be only a minor concussion, or you could have blacked out. Well, whatever the case, we'll be going now. Any last words before we go, or can you even manage that?

Zar mused with a slight groan as she chuckled, rubbing the wound on her side. Meanwhile, Jerome rolled onto his front, the young man shaking his head, propping himself up on trembling limbs, his gaze falling upon his father's saber.

Jerome: It's better than nothing.

He thought before 'collapsing' to the floor again, with his injured arm tucked under his body. As Zar was crouching down to pick up the boy, the discarded saber began to shake, dragging across the ground for a few inches until the boy clutched his fist. In a flash, the weapon rocketed towards the young man's hand, spinning again end over end. The sound of it whistling drew the CIS commander's attention away, her eyes widening as she spotted the incoming object but could do nothing but attempt to dodge it. It was too late, however, as the horn contracted with the back of her leg, digging a sizable gash into her calf.