albinomilksnake | STAR WARS: possible spoiler warning

Stop it. [Hissed out. Brimming with fear - he knows how far the apparition has come. How much he's let it. Reels away from its nonexistent touch to turn instead to the only thing left untouched amongst the wreckage of his own belongings: Vader's helmet, twisted and broken and resolute in its silence. Preserved where so much else had become nothing.

Like him, he had always imagined. Some mournful, poetic parallel running cleanly through his bloodline. The last of Darth Vader's near-forgotten legacy holding out amongst dust and decay.

He sets his hands on either side of its pedestal - breathes in deep, inhaling the soft, distant smell of smoke. The only reality he'll dare permit.]

Grandfather, I need you--

[Ben can see the fear in Ren, he can FEEL it - and when his other self pulls away from him, he sighs in exasperation, temper flaring. He follows after on the way to that ridiculous pedestal, keeping close behind.]

You stop it. How many times have you begged that mask for help now, Ren? How many times has it helped?

I'm right here. I'm talking to you right now. I'm trying to help, if you would only listen to me.

[He reaches out again, aiming to put a hand on Ren's brooding shoulder.]

Answer me.

[He's practically wheezing it, lungs pitched and pinned beneath his ribs, blatantly-- desperately-- ignoring the hand that sits heavy at his shoulder, eyes red and raw and stinging at their corners. This cannot be it. This cannot be all there is left to him. Let Vader's will be his master, not Snoke's - let the name Ben Solo die and tumble silently into the void.

Let him not falter.]

Please--

[This hurts.

He's winning. He's pushing through, finding ground, but at a high cost. Watching himself sink deeper and deeper twists a knife somewhere in the pit of his stomach, and his own eyes start to sting and brim with tears.

The difference between the two of them in this situation is simple. Kylo wants Ben to die. Ben wants to coexist, to make amends. But at what cost would that come?

His voice shakes. His other hand falls upon Ren's other shoulder, desperately clinging there.]

Ren. Please. I'm begging you.

Please stop.

You have to face me sooner or later.

You're so right.

[Hollow. Empty. All that's left when the rage has settled down and turned to dying, ashen embers. His shoulders still, the tears stop; alone with his own misery, there's no one else to blame for all the mistakes of the past, and it is a quiet calm-- not a tense one-- that's overtaken the space around them. He keeps his eyes on the twisted wreckage before him, breathes in, out.

The hands at his shoulders are warm. False or not, it's a different sort of existence that denies simple logic aside from the manipulations of his own mind or even the Force itself (which was often capable of splitting everything dwelling within its grasp). He can't run from it, there is nowhere left to run.

Ben Solo is right.

Which is why his hand darts for the hilt at his side when he finally turns, saber flaring to life and hissing with violent rage, spitting red sparks in its wake as it's brought down across his reflection's torso. A broad, livid stroke meant to wound whatever shadow thinks itself capable of touching him. If it wants to be real, then let it be real. Let it hurt, let it suffer...

And it'll die all over again, just as it did before.]

[The instant the words fall from Ren's lips, Ben knows what is coming. His grip falls away from his shoulders and he jumps back as the saber swings, but there isn't enough time to miss the blade - and a wound opens from shoulder to abdomen, leaving him standing shell-shocked and bleeding.

This is as close as he's ever come to getting through for certain, if he's near enough for this agony. The wound burns, stings, throbs...but the pain settling in his chest and in his head is much worse. This is going to have to be a fight, like it or not, and any physical damage is actually superficial in the end.

The fight is all in his head, after all.

Ben grits his teeth, hand shooting outward to try and catch the next strike with the Force. Maybe, maybe if he's strong enough to touch him, he's not completely helpless this time.

He has to try.

He can't give up now.]

Accept it.

[His own arm halts as he bears down again, pressing in against that invisible resistance. Sneering-- snarling-- it's all he can do not to buckle where he's standing, gloved fingers twitching sharply overtop the hilt of his blade. The air snaps, pops, hisses with electric strain, inert force protesting the confines of the struggle itself and stained in bloody red.

Ren is not disarmed - not so long as the Force courses through him.

Snapping out his opposite arm, Kylo Ren fixates on the width of his opponent's throat, clamping down with visceral fury. Whether it works or fails, he only needs Ben to falter for a single, pivotal second to succeed in pressing the attack, deepening those false wounds.]

Edited (ipad don't you dare) 2016-01-16 02:28 (UTC)

I will not.

[So long as the Force courses through one, it courses through the other - Ben narrows his eyes, pushing his will as hard as he can against the next impending strike....

And then he feels the pressure closing around his throat, and his lips part in a desperate grimace. He has to keep focus. He can't stop, or this is over. Or HE is over.

But the saber drops another inch in a short jerk.

And there is sadness in his eyes.]

[Luke was the first to tell him about what it was to fight his own dark side amongst the fog and murky water of Dagobah. Incapable of discerning the difference between reality and his own mind, the only one he supposedly wounded was himself.

Weak-willed as Skywalker proved to be, Kylo Ren had never taken heed of the story. Now, with Ben firmly in his grasp and his own throat constricting for it (he feels it, knows it, even as he endeavors to outlast his reflection) he understands what it had truly meant. There's no winning this battle without it costing him dearly, and there's no advantage he can press entirely unaffected. His arm slips an inch. Two. And then his hold on Soloz gives way, leaving Ren coughing and gasping for air in his own space, gripping Vader's altar to stay upright in the process.

They are connected through the Force; that is the start and the end of it. The light and its cast shadow.]

[When the choking ceases, Ben falls back onto the ground, wheezing and sitting back against the twisted wreckage of what had been a shelf before this conversation had started. He wasn't bleeding out from the wound - and he knew he wouldn't - but cauterized or not, it still left him in shock and panting.

Staring up at himself, he flashes another weak smile - a little smug even now, but mostly out of pity. His voice rasps when he speaks.]

...You cannot end me, Kylo Ren, without ending yourself. We cannot exist without one another.

And we both know neither of us are done. There is so much more to do.

[Wheezing through his own teeth, dark hair a disheveled mess where it's fallen in front of his eyes, Ren doesn't dare move a step closer - too afraid to bridge the gap between them when it might mean tipping his hand to his own loss. Instead, it's only silence. Only Ben Solo and Kylo Ren and all the years they've lost under the weight of this struggle alone.

Snoke was always in his head, haunting him for as long as he can remember - perhaps even now, he knows where this struggle has led.

He sinks down to the floor, panting, back set to the pedestal behind him, eyes shut.] No.

No, there is very little left. For either of us.

[The pity shifts to concern - going from all the fight to none of it, sitting before him in a mirrored position, fear palpable to the point of speeding his own heart in his chest.]

...I know who it is you fear. But you must not give up. We do still have time, but we will not if you let him crumple you up like a bit of cloth.

[He tries to shift into a better sitting position - his face contorts in pain as he does, body buckling forward and hands flattening against the floor.]

I'm not letting him do that. That's why I'm still here.

And you are supposed to be my strength.

[Kinetic force. A weight pressing back against a world that cared nothing for them. That was his claim, his relevance. In part, Ben Solo is wrong: Snoke had wanted him to be nothing less, but their goals had always run parallel - potentially why the Supreme Leader's influence had inevitably come to fruition, necessity crossing wires with wants and whispers, spiraling out of control without remorse.

He cannot manage sympathy or sorrow, unwilling still to bow silently at the whim of his own cast-off shell, but redirection...of his hatred, his enmity and whatever impact it caries, that Kylo Ren can do.

His eyeline lifts, gloved fingers tiredly reaching up to grab blindy where he'd set his mask. A gesture punctuated by cold determination.]

To the end, then.

[And that's really all that Ben can expect from Kylo in the end, isn't it? Anger, pointed one way or the other. If it has to be that way, it may as well be pointed in something resembling a productive direction. Better than self-defeat, anyhow.

He locks eyes with himself, smiling as he struggles up to his feet. It hurts. All of this hurts.

But it's not going to stop any time soon.

He offers a hand to help Ren up.]

All the way to the end.

One way or the other.

[A gesture that might be otherwise heartwarming, rejected immediately by Kylo Ren as he places gloved palms on the floor at his side, shoving hard until he's upright via nothing more than his own stubborn, livid strength. Meets his shadow's stare, unblinking.

And then turns to replace the mask, pulling it unceremoniously from its resting place at his back.

If this is where fate-- and the Force-- has led them, then so be it.]

[Of course.

Ben knew he wouldn't take the hand. He knew he wouldn't fold to him in any way, but still it hurts somewhere deep in his gut as Ren turns away.

Someday.

Someday they will live in harmony.

As Kylo Ren replaces his mask, Ben Solo shimmers and fades back into obscurity.]

STAR WARS: possible spoiler warning

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