I’m Star-Lord (SW Xover)

C12 Trials of Darth ***** (1/2)

Check out early access chapters on my Patréon, currently 7 chapters ahead! 

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The fiery landscape stretched before Peter, mirroring the turmoil within his own mind and soul. He immediately regretted opening his mouth and goading whatever maniacal a*shole was putting through all of this. 

'This keeps repeating…!' First, it was when he stupidly asked Yoda about the temple's history, and now he did it again… 'I should just sow my mouth shut at this point.'

But he wouldn't be able to wallow in his own idiocy for much longer, as memories of his mother's death flashed through his mind, igniting a flame of sorrow and anger that burned deep within him. 

With clenched fists, Peter struggled to contain the rage bubbling beneath the surface. The image of his cancer ridden mother's lifeless body and the beeping sound of the heart monitor at the hospital haunted him, fueling the inferno of fury that threatened to swallow him whole.

"No!" Peter roared, his voice echoing across the desolate landscape. Tears evaporated into the scorching heat as he relived the pain of loss, the raw emotion driving him to the brink of madness.

The flames danced around him, reflecting the tumultuous storm raging within. Each flicker of fire whispered tales of betrayal and heartache, fanning the flames of Peter's anger to greater heights.

As he grappled with the overwhelming surge of emotion, thoughts of his father, Ego, surged to the forefront of his mind. The revelation of Ego's true nature, the realization that his own flesh and blood was responsible for not only his mother death, but also every single sibling of his, who he'll never have the chance to meet. 

All of this pain and suffering fueled Peter's rage like a blazing inferno. "Aaaarrrggghh!" He roared with fury as he unleashed a torrent of pent-up emotion. The ground trembled beneath him as he unleashed his anger, the fiery landscape mirroring the chaos within his heart.

With each passing moment, Peter's control slipped further away, the rage consuming him from within. He lashed out at the fiery landscape, his fists pounding against the rocky terrain as if trying to vanquish the source of his torment.

Next, the memories of his time with the Ravagers flooded his mind, adding fuel to the raging fire of his wrath. The pain of betrayal, the anguish of captivity, and the scars of torture ignited a fury unlike anything Peter had ever known.

"Yondu!" Peter's voice echoed through the fiery landscape, the name a bitter curse upon his lips. 

The betrayal of the man who was supposed to become his surrogate father, the one who stole him from his home on the night of his mother death, trapped him in a cell, and starved him in some cruel attempt at torturous entertainment. 

Just thinking about it brought Peter's rage to unseen levels!

With a primal roar, Peter unleashed the full force of his fury, the flames erupting around him in a whirlwind of destruction, his eyes slowly brightening with a yellow hue. The landscape trembled and cracked beneath his feet as he unleashed his wrath upon the world.

Illusions of Peter's rage swirled around him, each image a dagger aimed at his heart. The agony of losing his mother, the betrayal of Yondu, and the cruelty of his father threatened to overwhelm him, dragging him deeper into the abyss of rage.

With every fiber of his being, Peter fought against the onslaught of emotions, his fists clenched in determination. He refused to succumb to the darkness that sought to consume him, knowing that to lose control would mean failure.

But as the illusions grew stronger, so too did Peter's resolve. With a fierce determination burning in his eyes, he faced each image head-on, refusing to let them break him. 

Though the flames of his rage still burned bright, Peter began to realize that he held the power to control them. With each passing moment, he grew stronger, his will becoming a shield against the onslaught of his rage.

"No more!" Peter's voice rang out through the fiery landscape, his words a declaration of defiance. He refused to be shackled by his anger any longer, knowing that true strength lay in mastering his emotions.

Peter began to slowly get himself under a tiny modicum of control, his eyes still glowing a faint yellow as his mind raced, trying to recall the description of the trial. 'Confront the inferno of rage within…. Yeah, did that already… The flames may seek to engulf, but channel the fury into purpose. Master the storm of anger, for in its crucible, strength tempered by control emerges.' 

"So I have to channel my anger while staying in control…" He muttered, his voice bother strained and hopeless. "How the f*ck am I supposed to do that?!"

After taking a few calming breaths, Peter reached deep within himself, tapping into the well of power that lay dormant within. Slowly, he began to channel his rage, shaping it into a weapon to be wielded against his enemies.

The flames around him responded to his command, bending to his will as he forged them into a blade of pure fury, which he grasped tightly, his hand burning from the heat. *Sizzle…* 

"Ugh…" Grunting in pain, Peter refused to let go, his hand constantly burning as he held the sword, feeling its power envelope him. 

With each swing of his makeshift weapon, he cut through the illusions that sought to ensnare him, slicing them until they faded away. He especially enjoyed tearing apart Yondu and Ego's illusion, reveling in their downfall. 

But when it came to his mothers image, Peter stood frozen, unable to bring himself to attack. Unlike Yondu and his father, he loved his mother dearly, and just the thought of attacking her made him disgusted with himself. 

'But she's not real…' He reminded himself. 

Breathing heavily as his hand continued to sizzle, Peter found himself watching his mother for minutes on end before finally slashing her illusion away, a guilty feeling welling up in his chest as she vanished. 

He knew it wasn't actually her, but it just didn't feel right. 

Nonetheless, with a final swing of his fiery blade, Peter vanquished the last of the illusions, his victory a testament to the strength of his will. 

As the flames around him began to fade, Peter calmed considerably, though he could still feel his rage burning deep within. 'I may have controlled it for a little while, but if I want to actually master it, then I'll have to practice…'

Soon enough, the landscape shifted and Peter found himself standing in a void of darkness, taking a moment to catch his breath. Despite his efforts, the ember of rage still burned within him, a constant reminder of his need for practice.

Suddenly, the raspy voice from earlier echoed through the darkness, congratulating Peter on completing the trial. "Congratulations. You have passed the Trial of Wrath's Crucible," the voice intoned, its words echoing ominously in the empty space.

Peter narrowed his eyes, his hand still throbbing even though it was healed again. "Yeah? So what now?" he demanded, his voice tinged with defiance. "You gonna throw me into another trial? Is this supposed to be some sick form of entertainment for you?"

There was a moment of silence before the voice replied, its tone cryptic and unsettling. "You have shown potential, but your control over your rage is still lacking," it admitted, its words carrying a weight of warning. "You must continue to practice if you wish to truly harness your emotions."

Peter gritted his teeth, frustration simmering beneath the surface. "Great," he muttered, rolling his eyes. "So… Can I leave now, or…?"

The voice chuckled darkly, its amusement sending a shiver down Peter's spine. "Now why would you want to leave so badly? Am I not a good host?" 

"No, you've been… delightful." Peter responds with a heavy dose of sarcasm. 

"Oh, that's good. I was worried for a moment." The voice responded, completely ignoring his sarcasm. "Now, it's time for the last trial!" it announced before fading into the darknes

With a heavy sigh, Peter steeled himself for the challenges that lay ahead. Though he may not have mastered his rage completely, he was determined to continue on the journey towards self-discovery and redemption.

As the darkness enveloped him, Peter braced himself for whatever trials awaited him next, relieved to know that it was the last. 

…

Seconds later, Peter found himself perched atop a scenic mountain top, his gaze locked on the breathtaking vista spread before him, though he remained aware that this was most definitely an illusion. 

Beside him, a bloodstained altar with a long knife laying atop it sent a shiver down his spine, making him wonder what kind of trial he would have to face next. 

Before he could gather his thoughts, the raspy voice returned, its presence both eerie and foreboding. "Welcome to the Trial of Sacrificial Ascendance," it intoned, the words echoing off the surrounding cliffs.

Peter frowned, his heart pounding with unease. "Sacrifice? What am I supposed to do now?" he asked, his voice tinged with apprehension.

The voice chuckled darkly, its tone filled with amusement. "On the mountains highest peak, you must face the necessity of sacrifice," it explained cryptically. "Willingly surrendered your life for the greater good."

Peter's stomach churned at the thought, his mind racing with the implications of the trial ahead. "Did you just tell me to kill myself?" he pressed, his voice growing more incredulous. "And what's the 'greater good' supposed to be?"

But before he could receive any answers, the voice vanished, leaving Peter alone on the mountaintop with nothing but his own thoughts. With a heavy sigh, he turned his attention to the altar, steeling himself for the challenge that lay ahead.

As he approached the bloodstained stone altar, Peter couldn't shake the feeling of dread that hung in the air. With a deep breath, he reached for the long knife resting on the altar, his hand trembling slightly as he grasped the hilt. The weight of the blade felt heavy in his hand, a stark reminder of the gravity of the task before him.

"It's just an illusion…" He reassured himself, his hands shaking as he held the knife up the his throat. "That's right, it's just an illusion. What am I so worried about?"

Closing his eyes, Peter steeled himself for what he believed he must do, preparing to slit his own throat. But just as the blade grazed his skin, a sudden wave of defiance surged through him, halting his actions.

This life was his second chance to live, and he wouldn't squander it on the whims of some twisted trial. After all, for all he knew, this knife was real and he was about to truly die. 

'It's not worth the risk…' With a defiant gesture, Peter tossed the knife aside and raised his middle fingers to the sky, his voice filled with resolve. "You want a sacrifice? Why don't you come down here and kill yourself, you sadistic bastard!" he shouted into the void, his words echoing off the mountainside.

Seconds later, a red spectral figure materialized before him, its form flickering with an otherworldly energy. The figure wore ancient sith armor, its facial features strikingly reminiscent of Keanu Reeves, but with a dark and foreboding aura.

[Insert picture of Revan/Keanu Reeves] (A/N: Bonus points for Sith Revan, and extra bonus points if you can find a darkside Revan force ghost)

The ghostly figure chuckled darkly, its eyes gleaming with amusement. "Well done," it intoned, its voice echoing with an eerie resonance. "You're the first Jedi to pass the final test."

"W-Wait… I passed?!" Peter replied in confusion. 

"Yes," The red ghost seemed amused. "After four thousand years and countless challengers, you're the first to refuse to stupidly kill yourself for the greater good." He scoffed as the last two words left his mouth. "Whatever that's supposed to mean…"

"Are you saying that knife was actually real?!" Peter couldn't help but ask. 

"Yes, and the blood as well." The Sith ghost replied with a nod. "All of the contenders before you chose to kill themselves." He revealed, an amused tilting voice. "You Jedi really know how to mold people into martyrs, don't you? It's actually quite impressive…"

Peter blinked in disbelief, unsure of what to make of the spectral apparition before him. "Who... or what are you?" he asked cautiously, his gaze fixed on the ghostly figure.

The figure's lips curled into a sinister smile, its presence unsettling. "I am Darth Revan, Dark Lord of the Sith. But from this day forth, you may call me Master…"

A/N: 2118 words :) Darth Revan appears! For people who like grey/balanced Revan, just wait and see. There's a reason for everything, and a grey Revan may appear later… *hint* Ps- I'll be writing 4 chapters on Patréon today, if anyone is interested… 

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