Light in the darkness

Brog switched off his lightsaber, and mercyful darkness surrounded him. How did it come to this, he wondered?

The blackness could not stop the images from forming in his mind; the bright lights of lightsabers dancing, illuminating this very hall in which he now stood in gloomy greens and blues and reds, until one after the other, the lights were extinguised as its wielders fell -- until the only light that shone was Brog's scarlet blade.

They had been his former classmates and teachers; Jedi he had known from early childhood. He had never truly hated them, and their demise pained him greatly. This was not what he had wanted.

Brog, like many before him, had become sceptical of the Jedi ways. The dark seemed to offer him the chances for personal growth and fulfillment he had longed for. A Sith had introduced him to many a secret of the Force, and Brog had revelled in it.

Of course, with the Sith teachings came the endless torment of body and mind; a way to hone him into perceived perfection. Sith do not fear pain; they use it. Rather than being a slave to the will of microscopic lifeforms, the Sith use the Force as a tool to shape themselves to full potential.

Although the confrontation with his former masters and fellow padawans was inevitable, Brog had not expected it. Or perhaps he had tried to ignore it, stubbornly hoping it would never come if he did not think about it.

He still had much to learn.

Switching it on again, Brog inspected his lightsaber. The slim black handle was without a scratch; the blade a pure red line in the otherwise colorless chamber. His imagination drew patches of flesh and gore on the blade, and he felt his stomach turn. Suddenly trembling, he looked away from the saber, at the bodies on the floor. Lifeless. Charred. Betrayed. Murdered.

What a fool he was. As if the dark side was nothing more than a change of heart, with no influence on the rest of life. Instead of perfecting him, it had make him arrogant and weak; only a master of evil. The dark side had changed him into something he despised more than anything -- an empty shell; a Sith's puppet.

He realized he was standing at a crossroad: to take the easy route, or to take the right route. The choice was clear to him now.

With fresh determination, Brog left the room, blade ready, to confront his master.