Star Wars: The Chosen One || An Anakin Skywalker Story [COMPLETED]

Thirty-Seven || Beaten

Anakin narrows his eyes at her, realizing she is lost and thrashing around with her own thoughts. She was too entangled in her own worry, her own suffering.

As silently as he could, he sets his gloved hand firm on the ground to prop himself up. He slides against the metal wall as he picks up his heavy, aching body, silently regaining his posture on his two feet as Kyla stands feet before him, back turned, thrashing around in desperate confusion.

"You ruined everything, Kyla, you've lost your mind!" She screams out to the girl in her mind, the girl she knew she still was.

Anakin knows what he has to do. He cannot kill her, he would never be able to do such a thing, but he knows what he must do.

He ignites his saber.

The radiant blue light glows with the classic hum against the metal walls, reflecting the striking color everywhere he looked. He nears her, the tip of the saber nearing her cloaked back.

She stops. She senses it.

She cannot scream anymore. She knew who she really was.

She was Demetrious, and Demetrious would never go down without a fight.

Demetrious would kill Anakin if she must.

*Queue "Battle Of The Heroes"*

So she ignites hers too; red, hot, fiery. Red like her eyes; fiery like her soul, her lungs that burned with every moment, burning with regret and self-hatred. Her saber shines, brighter than his, darker in color, the color of blood, pain, evil. Sith. Double-sided blades reflected her two-faced personality - Anakin's eyes widened at the sight of the saber that reminded him of what killed his former Master's own Master.

She hisses, "You're a fool, Skywalker," before her dark cloak falls to the ground, revealing her pure black tunic. Instantly, she twirls on her heels and collides her blades with his.

The second the sabers collided, the static of the clashing hums ringing through the metal halls, he knew she was no match. He had trained her well; every trick, every stunt she knew, was his own. He had mastered his own ways, the ways he saw in her every movement.

But there is a difference in their fighting patterns; Demetrious fought very differently than Kyla. Demetrious had anger, hate; and she was not afraid to take it out on her brash movements with the saber. Kyla was more... strategic. She liked finding certain ways to fight, certain patterns, whereas Demetrious just fought with all her willing hatred.

Her anger is growing with every blow she takes to him with either side of her saber, clearly trying to kill him. They both grit their teeth as she swings and he blocks, the striking and clashing sounds of the sabers seeming to be the only thing they can hear anymore.

With every split second's glance he can take to her eyes as the sweat builts up on his forehead and his teeth nearly shatter from being clenched so tightly, he sees the anger in them. The hatred. The yellow color that was astounding; the red-rims that showed no sign of Kyla.

As they fight, they take steps, nearly running into each movement as she pressed the saber harder into his, forcefully trying to kill him.

The hallway was long. It seemed never-ending. Until they came to a solid metal door at the end that led to another assistant control room, lined with desks and monitors, rows of controls and levers and other gadgets that monitored the laser of the Death Star.

The door was closed. She slams his body against it, pressing the saber into his neck, closer, closer...

He wards it off with all his strength, his body shaking as he urges into blocking the saber from nearing his neck, his left hand clutching his saber as hers lay across his neck, the heat on his skin...