Chapter Text
It was a strange, sorrowful feeling.
He was a Sith Lord once!
He had a purpose. That Sith Lord in him was gone. He was a strong willed person. He knew how to manipulate, however that only came from his learnings, more like beatings.
Yet He was nothing.
No part of him was what he could have been, if he had a different path. He was just Sidious’s making, a fighter with no remorse, a brutal killer, someone who could have fought rathars all day long. Of course he could still do that, but now without the excitement that he would have had. He often pondered, thinking what could have gone wrong, why he ended up like this. It all curled back to Kenobi. Otherwise, his mind gave him no answer, the galaxy and the force stayed silent. So he buried that question every time he thought of it. Or did his best.
He’d only focus on tearing Kenobi’s head off his body, or inflicting so much pain, the pain of thousands of maggots eating his skin, the phantom pain of half of his body being suffered, the silent pleas that went into his mind while his former Master tortured him…
His mind would wander often to violent fantasies of Kenobi dying or being tortured.
There were two pains he could not give to Kenobi. The one that made him feel empty and lonely, not because of Kenobi.
It was different from the pain when his brother died. That felt horrible, even after the torture. That wanted him to die, it made him feel worthless and numb. It made him grimace to even think about his brother. It was a nightmare he kept seeing. A loss that repeatedly tormented him in his dreams. So he scarcely slept. The silence now gave him time to sink into his thoughts, which was the worst. He had all his plans laid out, leaving to him only to think about his mental state, or lose his sanity for what felt like the hundredth time over the silence of his own mind.
Now he felt something similar, on Dathomir with Ezra. It was sad that he couldn’t connect with Ezra, to have a chance to start over again. Ezra’s master was far too stubborn, and protective for him to make the bond he wished for. He just wanted a companion, someone he could teach, and try to do the thing he’d forgotten to do with Savage.
He felt lonely.
Once he’d felt so miserable he drank enough alcohol to make a bantha drunk, he was not using the force at the time, so the effect took on him quickly and that's what he remembered, it might have been different, he felt even more miserable. Too miserable. Even worse when he woke up. He decided that was not the path he’d take. He usually didn’t drink, but on occasions, it was something he’d do.
For now, it was the rage that kept him on, for Kenobi. The man who started it all, ruined his life, made him leave with nothing, with nowhere to go.
Kenobi.
He had to move on and now it seems that he always needed to. He had a task at hand. The last task he’d ever perform, then he would finally make waste to his wasted mind and body. He’d be irrelevant. Perhaps...he’d even see Savage again.
That made him smile softly.
Maybe even with his third brother he’d never met, Feral. Was it? Maul only heard him through Savage’s nicer dreams, the ones that were rare. Savage muttered alot in his sleep, sometimes even shouted or screamed, Maul picked up a few things before helping his brother out to wake up.
Maul looked out his cockpit on the Nightbrother to the streaking blue lights of hyperspace, he saw himself. Yellow eyes, now a dull gold. Weathered down horns that he’d never maintained, slightly skinnier than the Clone Wars…and by the force did he look quite old. The war had quieted him down a bit. He had set course to where he knew his life would likely end. After, before, perhaps during the duel he’d hoped to be something.
Tatooine, in the hands of an old enemy.
Ezra’s betrayal was still new to his heart, but it never mattered now. All of his suffering would be gone, and he would be nothing. Which hurt him in a very different way.
Why did he hurt so much?
Maul still cared about Ezra. Deep down he had to admit the boy was something. Ezra reminded him of somebody in a window (Just like his brother) who was free. Free from the suffering he was going through, free to do whatever he wanted.
The first time he met Ezra, he was so childish and naive that he was shocked for the rest of the time he was on Malachor, he was very close to speechless. Ezra was easy to manipulate, as easy as spreading butter on bread. So much that Maul felt a bit fond towards Ezra. A little too much. He couldn’t help it.
He was quite pleased with how he felt on Malachor, until he fell off the edge of the temple. That was….incredibly unpleasant. He hated the feeling of falling. Sadly, he was used to it.
Now he was here, on a well maintained ship, on his way to finish what had started. As the blue streaks of hyperspace vanished along the edges of the cockpit and the beige planet came to view, a silver disc started to beep.
Darth Maul growled softly and frowned from his seat.
Who was it?
Qira?
Well, if it was her, now would be the worst of all times. She knew how to maintain Crimson Dawn on her own, which was good. So if she was calling, why? He jabbed his hand towards the holoprojector and with an aggressive (quite agitated) push of a finger, a blue figure popped up. Who was there surprised and agitated him even more.
It was that Jedi Master, Caleb Dume.
What did he want?
Why did he look like he saw a ghost?
Why should he answer?
Maul decided to answer, perhaps there was something he needed to know. Curiosity took the better of him. He could be walking into a trap. Caleb-no Kanan, would never contact him.
Why now?
A thousand questions starting with “why” popped into his head. He pushed them back, leaned back into his seat and defensively crossed his arms. He would likely decline anything the Jedi would say. His frown deepened when a grave voice distorted, but hearable filled his cockpit.
“We need your help.”