Aziraphale had not anticipated the sudden tremor beneath them, nor the way the ground betrayed him as Ko's strike sent a shuddering fissure through the earth. The once-stable surface collapsed under their weight, the mossy terrain splitting apart as loose stone and dirt cascaded downward. With no time to spread his wings, he too was swallowed by the crumbling earth, plunging into the furious rapids below.
The shock of the cold water hit him like a blow to the chest, stealing his breath before he could properly orient himself. The current was merciless. It seized his body, dragging him along its violent path. His wings, normally his greatest asset, became his downfall in this moment—they caught the water, billowing uselessly, twisting his form in unnatural angles as the river battered him against sharp jutting stones. Each powerful surge sent him hurtling against unseen rocks beneath the surface, jarring his bones and bruising his body. His attempt to fight against the tide was a losing battle; the river did not care for his strength, nor his will. It carried him where it pleased, slamming him against jagged stones and dragging him beneath the frothing white water.
Aziraphale's head broke the surface just long enough for him to gasp a breath before the river violently yanked him under again. His limbs burned with exhaustion, his muscles aching from the relentless force of the rapids. Panic threatened to take root, but he forced himself to think. He could not let this be his end—not here, not like this.
A massive rock loomed ahead, the current splitting violently around it. It was his only chance. Summoning what remained of his strength, Aziraphale twisted his body and reached out. His fingers scraped against slick, moss-covered stone, failing at first, but desperation granted him the resolve to try again. His nails bit into a crevice, his grip barely holding as the river fought to rip him away. His wings flared out, catching just enough resistance to slow his momentum, and with a guttural growl of effort, he pulled himself up, his body straining against the river's force.
For a moment, he merely clung to the rock, chest heaving, as the rapids roared around him. Blood from a gash on his temple mixed with the water trailing down his face. His ribs ached where he had struck something unseen beneath the current. But he was alive.
And Ko… Ko had vanished into the darkness of a cave, swept away by the same unforgiving current.
Aziraphale's gaze followed the path of the rapids, narrowing at the yawning cavern where his prey had disappeared. The fight had taken an unexpected turn, but this was not over. With a slow, measured breath, he tightened his grip on the stone and began pulling himself out of the water. If Ko thought the river had saved him, he was sorely mistaken.
⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊☽ ◯ ☾₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊☽ ◯ ☾₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊☽ ◯ ☾₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆
As Ko's battered body drifted through the cave's darkened maw, his mind barely clung to consciousness. The weight of exhaustion bore down on him, and soon the cold, rushing water seemed to fade. He wasn't sure if he was awake anymore or slipping into the abyss, but then—visions began to take hold.
The cave's darkness parted, and Ko found himself standing amidst a ruined city. Towering spires, once proud and gleaming, now lay in heaps of shattered stone. Firelight flickered through the ruins, and ash rained from the sky like diseased snowflakes.
Bodies littered the streets—some armored, some unarmed, all broken. The air stank of scorched durasteel and the coppery bite of blood.
And at the center of it all stood himself.
Or rather… what he had become.
His robes were no longer those of a Jedi. They were blackened, battle-worn, adorned with makeshift armor pieces that bore the etchings of his fallen foes. A heavy belt carried not just a saber, but a collection of weapons stripped from the dead—blasters, vibroblades, even a crude cudgel still slick with gore.
His eyes were lifeless. His voice, when he finally spoke, was hollow.
"Justice is balance. And balance is blood."
As Ko watched, the vision of himself raised a hand. A terrified figure crawled backward, wounded but alive. A pleading expression twisted their face, but Ko's doppelgänger showed no mercy. With a mere flex of his fingers, the air itself squeezed tight. The victim's throat collapsed with a sickening crunch.
The other Ko let the body fall. He did not flinch. He did not grieve.
He merely continued.
⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊☽ ◯ ☾₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊☽ ◯ ☾₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊☽ ◯ ☾₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆
The vision shifted violently.
Now Ko stood in a dimly lit hall, a tribunal chamber of sorts, but not one governed by law—only fear. A group of captives knelt before him, bound and beaten. Above them, massive banners of an unfamiliar sigil draped over cold durasteel walls. His sigil.
This version of himself sat on a throne—no, not a throne, a
judgment seat. His helmeted face betrayed no emotion as a masked figure whispered in his ear. One by one, the prisoners were brought forth.
"Criminals," the figure at his side sneered.
"Murderers, thieves, warlords… all of them unworthy."
And yet, among them, Ko recognized one. A Jedi. A former ally. Their robes were torn, their face bruised, but their eyes still burned with hope.
"Ko, this isn't justice," they pleaded.
"This is vengeance. You are not the law."
The other Ko said nothing. He simply raised his fingers—and pointed.
Blaster fire echoed in the chamber.
The prisoners collapsed. The Jedi, the criminals, all of them.
And still, the other Ko did not flinch.
"Justice," he finally murmured, as if the word itself had lost all meaning.
⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊☽ ◯ ☾₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊☽ ◯ ☾₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊☽ ◯ ☾₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆
The next vision came like a whisper, creeping in from the edges of his fading consciousness.
A lonely figure stood in a cold, forgotten alleyway. His once-mighty weapons lay discarded at his feet, their weight no longer necessary. His armor was cracked, rusted, and caked with the blood of so many he had slain.
There was no throne now. No banners. No soldiers.
Only
him.
The city, the world, the entire galaxy had grown to
fear his name. But there was nothing left for him to fight.
No villains. No wars. No injustices unpunished.
He had won.
And in his victory, he had lost everything.
A voice, distant and familiar, called his name—one he hadn't heard in a long time. His master? His friends? His past self?
But he could not answer.
Because there was no one left to listen.
⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊☽ ◯ ☾₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊☽ ◯ ☾₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊☽ ◯ ☾₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆
The visions dissolved in a haze of darkness.
Ko's battered body still drifted through the cave waters, but the cold no longer felt the same. His hands, even as they struggled for something to grasp onto, felt stained.
Aziraphale
Ko Vuto
