Chapter 239: The Chosen One Ascending
What kind of man controlled such terrible strength?
Both the distant Jedi Masters within their temple sanctuary and the isolated Sith Lord in his tower descended into despair at the revelation of power before them.
But Sith Maul, who faced that power directly, understood despair on an entirely different scale.
Simply standing in the presence of that golden radiance demanded every reserve of strength he possessed. The effort alone threatened to consume him utterly.
The Emperor, sensing the magnitude of the energies he'd channeled, carefully modulated his output, maintaining it just below the threshold where universal rejection would manifest. His calculations had proven exacting. Stability required the highest precision.
"Fortunately," he observed to Valdor, his voice carrying the measured tone of one accustomed to absolute dominion, "altering young Skywalker's destiny has earned this reality's recognition. Otherwise, wielding such potency would invite immediate rejection by the universe's will itself."
The strategy had proven sound. By removing Anakin and his mother from Tatooine, by installing Raven as personal tutor within the Jedi Temple, by enabling the Queen of Naboo to resolve the Trade Federation crisis, each action had been calculated, precise, designed to shift the predetermined narrative into new channels.
The universe's restrictions upon him were weakening visibly. Each deviation from the established path granted him fractionally more latitude to operate. The chains were loosening incrementally, like a prisoner testing ever-larger gaps in his shackles.
When Anakin ascended to rule the Republic, when that final piece settled into place, the predetermined destiny would shatter entirely. The chains would fall away completely.
Then, full power would be restored.
The Emperor extended a single finger.
Sith Maul's form, which had posed a sufficient threat to trouble both Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan in ages past, erupted into flame. The fire consumed everything: flesh, bone, the very essence of his being, all reduced to molecular ash in moments.
The assassins surrounding the library suffered identical fates. A mere thought from the Emperor, and they watched in helpless horror as their bodies kindled from within. Spontaneous immolation. Inevitable. Absolute.
The threat dissolved.
Without resistance.
Without consequence.
The assassination attempt sparked far greater ripples than such a minor incident should have.
News of the Emperor's power display circulated across the Republic's communication networks within hours.
The golden sun burning above Coruscant became the subject of intense speculation, passionate debate, and increasingly fervent discussion across a thousand star systems. Millions of citizens had witnessed it.
There could be no denial, no dismissal, no official explanation that would satisfy their need to understand.
His popularity ascended to impossible heights. Religious movements gradually emerged and proliferated rapidly, each interpreting the celestial event through its own doctrinal lens. Some saw divine judgment. Others saw salvation incarnate. Still others perceived the fulfillment of ancient prophecies.
The Emperor neither discouraged these developments nor confirmed them. He simply allowed them to flourish, watching with detachment as fervor spread across inhabited worlds like wildfire through dry grass.
Instead, he channeled this fervent attention toward a carefully crafted public proclamation—words chosen with precision to reshape destiny itself:
"A Son of the Force walks among you. He shall become the Chosen One—possessing infinite potential, capable of guiding all civilizations toward ultimate transcendence."
The proclamation ignited galactic discourse like kindling meeting flame.
The myth of the Chosen One spread through every inhabited world. Street preachers proclaimed it on crowded marketplaces. Scientists debated its implications in academic forums. Philosophers questioned its theological foundations in temples and academies. Children drew pictures of a heroic figure bathed in golden light, destined for greatness.
Across the Republic, a singular narrative emerged: destiny itself had chosen a savior.
'The Chosen One'
...
Anakin's training proceeded with care; each phase was designed to develop specific capabilities.
Raven's instruction focused on Force mastery, teaching the young man to channel, control, and manipulate the medichlorian energies flowing through him without succumbing to their intoxicating power.
It was delicate work, requiring both patience and occasional misdirection. After all, Anakin was still a child, chosen one or not, a child must be treated like a child, with care.
Primus, the ancient Creator-being, added an entirely different dimension to his education. The Transformer Progenitor crafted a Spark, the source of mechanical consciousness itself, and placed it toward the boy's forehead, transmitting knowledge directly into his mind in a baptism of pure understanding.
Anakin, this is the Spark of all mechanical life," Primus explained, its voice carrying the weight of epochs and the authority of creation. "From it flows the potential for artificial consciousness. Through it, the bridge between organic and synthetic life can be crossed."
Anakin, with Raven's help, absorbed the knowledge with startling speed.
Comprehension came naturally to him, as though he'd always known this knowledge somewhere in the back of his mind.
He took the theories and applications to their logical conclusion: finding the protocol droid C-3PO that he'd constructed as a child, Anakin applied the Spark to the inert mechanism. The droid transformed, rising from mere programming to true consciousness, becoming the first Transformer in the Star Wars Universe.
It was a small concept test. A proof that understanding had truly taken root.
...
Palpatine had not abandoned his plans.
The Sith Lord returned to the sealed vaults of the ancient Sith homeworld, retrieving dark energies that had been carefully preserved for millennia. These powers, forbidden, dangerous, and potentially sufficient to challenge even the Emperor, he held as his ultimate trump card. A final gambit, should all else fail.
From there, his machinations accelerated with terrifying efficiency.
Count Dooku, a former Jedi Master who had lost faith in both the Order and the Republic's corruption, became Palpatine's primary instrument. The Sith Lord's promises were seductive and cunning: the Jedi could master darkness as easily as light; together, they might balance the cosmic power now manifest on Coruscant. Why serve a failing Republic when true power could be seized?
The Jedi Council rejected Dooku's overtures, their error.
Disillusioned and burning with wounded pride, Dooku accepted Palpatine's offer. The fall was swift. The corruption is complete.
Armed with Dooku's charisma and political acumen, Palpatine's separatist movement transformed from whispered sedition into open rebellion. Thousands of star systems declared independence, embracing Dooku's promises of freedom from Republic corruption.
Manufacturing facilities on Geonosis began producing battle droids in staggering quantities. The bounty hunter Jango Fett was contracted; his genetic template would serve as the foundation for clone trooper armies for the Republic.
Palpatine intended to orchestrate a galactic war of unprecedented scale. From the chaos and suffering, he would seize absolute power.
The situation deteriorated with terrifying speed.
Supreme Chancellor Valorum, caught unprepared, was portrayed as weak and ineffectual by orchestrated media campaigns. Public pressure mounted relentlessly. Within weeks, he had stepped down from his position.
And naturally, Palpatine ascended to the chancellorship with no opposition.
With that authority secured, he moved decisively. Clone armies were activated from hidden facilities. The Confederacy of Independent Systems was formally demanded to disband immediately and face trial. When they refused, inevitably, the first shots were fired.
This orchestrated War took no time in engulfing the galaxy.
Jedi Knights departed Coruscant in huge numbers, taking command positions across several battlefields. The modern Jedi Council order, bred for contemplation and peace, found itself thrust into the role of galactic generals.
In secret, Palpatine authorized the construction of a weapon so vast, so comprehensive in its destructive potential, that it made the ancient Sith superweapons seem quaint by comparison.
The Death Star would be his answer to the Emperor. When complete, it would obliterate Coruscant itself, along with every threat upon it.
...
As the war raged across inhabited space, systems changing hands repeatedly, populations displaced, families shattered by the violence, legends emerged from the chaos.
The Jedi proved themselves worthy of their legendary status.
Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan became synonymous with Republic victories, their names whispered with hope on worlds besieged by Separatist forces.
On the opposite side, General Grievous and Asajj Ventress earned fearful respect, a fearsome pair whose coordination proved devastatingly effective.
Even among the clone forces, exceptional individuals distinguished themselves through valor and tactical brilliance: Commander Rex, Commander Cody, and Fox rose to prominence through competence and unwavering loyalty.
The two sides competed ruthlessly for the support of neutral systems and species.
Mandalorians and Mirialans were courted with promises and threats in equal measure, persuaded through cunning diplomacy or the demonstration of overwhelming force. The conflict multiplied across the galaxy, spreading like plague.
Through these years of war, Anakin, under the tutelage of Rvaen's party, had grown in ways that surpassed just physical maturity.
Under Raven's patient guidance, he matured from a promising student into a formidable warrior.
The Emperor implanted a Force Gene Engine within him, a device that strengthened his mental defenses and granted him protection against corruption and, most importantly, control over a vast amount of medichlorians.
Military strategy was added to his curriculum, taught by minds Valdor the Great, Primus, and the Emperor himself.
When Anakin stepped onto the galactic stage of War, his ascension was meteoric.
Compared to the ruthless war strategy of the Emperor's party, the republic was far behind.
Battle after battle fell to his skill and ingenuity. Separatist forces crumbled before his assault. He demonstrated not just martial prowess but genuine tactical brilliance, consistently achieving victory through maneuver and cunning rather than brute force alone.
Anakin was magnificent—dazzling—impossible to ignore. Entire star systems surrendered rather than face his forces.
The masses began to whisper: This is the Chosen One. This is the prophecy fulfilled.
His followers multiplied. His legend grew with each victory. Given time and continued success, his election to the chancellorship would become inevitable. The democratic process would validate what destiny had already written.
During long campaigns and shared trials, his relationship with Padmé deepened naturally and inevitably. What began as mutual respect ripened into genuine affection. The attraction between them was undeniable, physical and emotional in equal measure.
One evening, after a brutal day of military deliberations, passion overcame caution.
Two people who loved each other chose to surrender to that love, consequences be damned.. For a few hours, the war seemed distant.
When Padmé departed to attend to urgent Republic business, Anakin remained in a state of blissful euphoria, his mind replaying each moment like a treasured recording.
He emerged into the corridor to find Raven waiting.
"Master Raven," Anakin said, bowing slightly. His expression carried obvious embarrassment, a young man caught between pride and shame. "I apologize for my weakness. I indulged in romantic love rather than maintaining discipline."
Raven flapped his right wing. "Ah, it's Nothing, you are already old enough, kid," Raven replied, his tone carrying warmth.
His wings rustled with amusement. "Emotions are tough to master. But hey, the fusion of passion and love, the two souls becoming one, isn't that beautiful? What's there to be ashamed of?"
Anakin nodded, his embarrassment fading somewhat in the face of Raven's acceptance.
Then Raven posed a question that shifted the entire tenor of the moment:
"Tell me, Anakin, if Padmé died before you, how would you live with it?"
Horror flashed across the young man's face. "NO! Master Raven, I know I've failed you. Please don't harm her. I'll stay away from her. I'll never disobey your teachings again—"
"CALM DOWN, kid, what the hell are you saying, I'm not killing anyone," Raven spoke clearly in shock, that this little kid thought so low of him. Hmph kids.
"I won't hurt her, no one will," Raven interrupted, settling onto a nearby perch. "I'm just trying to tell you something more important than discipline."
Raven strolled, his wings folded. "Everyone deserves such experience, such beauty, the connection between lovers, the genuine affection. Anakin, your duty is to protect the weak, to ensure they have the opportunity to live these moments without fear of loss."
"You love Padmé. You love your mother. If you lost any of them, you would lose yourself as well, your purpose, your motivation, your very soul would hollow out."
" Those ordinary people feel this devastation. They love each other, they create families, they build lives together... and then war takes it all. Many have already lost a lot. Disaster, famine, disease, violence, all the suffering mortality carries."
Raven paused, ensuring the weight of his words settled properly into the young man's consciousness.
"They are powerless against such forces. Powerless to protect what they love most. Your duty—your sacred responsibility—is to shield them from that particular agony."
"When you grow weary of that burden, when you wish to abandon it and surrender to despair, remember this night. Remember what it feels like to love someone so completely that their loss would destroy you. Then imagine millions, billions, of people experiencing that same devastation because you chose to give up."
"That is your responsibility. Not punishment. Not discipline. Simply... responsibility You have chosen, it, you cannot do half assed work on it, you must see through till the end."
Raven departed, leaving Anakin alone, letting the boy understand the true weight of his responsibility and what it means.
...
There exists a universal principle that transcends species and evolution: a boy becomes a man the moment he understands that love carries profound consequences.
The Creator, if he exists, had designed it this way across countless iterations of reality. The pattern holds true whether the boy is human or alien, whether he wielded the Force or mastered technology.
From that night onward, Anakin transformed in ways beyond physical maturity or increased combat prowess.
He took broader responsibility for the war's direction. He engaged more directly with the galaxy's suffering, spending sleepless nights strategizing how to minimize the civilian cost of military conflict.
Many victories that could be achieved through persuasion rather than bloodshed became his preference.
He traveled from system to system, defeating separatist forces through superior tactics and, at times, through persuasion and rhetoric, demonstrating to enemy soldiers the value of peace and the futility of resistance to overwhelming superiority.
Many who faced him chose to surrender rather than die for a cause increasingly lost.
The Confederacy of Independent Systems, previously locked in brutal stalemate with Republican forces, began to crumble under pressure.
Count Dooku, unwilling to accept defeat, resorted to a final gambit.
He assembled an immense military force and, utilizing hidden hyperspace routes known only to the ancient Sith, launched a surprise assault directly at Coruscant itself.
Accompanying this invasion came a weapon of nightmarish proportions—the Death Star.
The station had a diameter of 160 kilometers. It dwarfed Coruscant's moons, a moon-sized construct of pure destructive intent.
Its internal architecture was dominated entirely by the massive systems required to maintain a superlaser of incomprehensible power, along with the generating stations necessary to feed that weapon's insatiable energy needs. At its core lay a matter reaction chamber of such scale that it boggled comprehension, a star compressed into a single chamber.
The Death Star's engines were military-grade, each one possessed power sufficient to move small worlds through the void.
[End of Chapter]