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Fan Fiction
"Darth Maul: Ascension"
By Ray Van Horn, Jr.
Original Material Copyright 1999
The unexpected, searing pain shredding Darth Maul's exposed innards was
comparable to digesting fire. His gored intestines vomited forth from the
bisecting slash of the Jedi Padawan's lightsaber blade, dangling nauseatingly
as Maul's bottom half separated itself from the remainder of his body.
The offensive display of grue was nearly offset by the shocked, enraged
facade of Darth Maul as he gagged and hacked blood from the spikes holding
sentry in his mouth; his sharp incisors released sanguinary fluids like
floodgates as he gurgled in protest at his sudden death.
Still conscious as his cleaved halves tumbled down the airshaft in the
Theed power generator, Maul's final thought was that of his master, Darth
Sidious. He prayed that his liege would somehow avenge him upon the young
Padawan who had incredulously snuffed out Maul's lifeforce. It was a
fleeting death wish, as Darth Maul caught a last glimpse of the accursed
Padawan extinguishing his lightsaber before succumbing to the ultimate
darkness.
But Maul, in essence, did not cease to exist. Trapped in a limbo state
of purgatory, Darth Maul's severed body sections were mere discarded,
inanimate pieces of flesh, but the core blackness of Maul's soul freefalled
in a pitch-black portal that offered no indication of its destination.
Maul's soul floated and gyrated like a dead animal on a spit--only there was
no flesh to roast. If there was any sensation Maul felt at all--he was dead,
after all--it was a possible frigid chill that numbed the astral form he
maintained.
His ghostly spirit spun backwards a few times, much like his flawlessly
executed backflips that were an integral part of his repertoire of fighting
maneuvers when he still lived. What was uncomfortable was the lack of
control to the tailspins. There was nothing Maul could do to prevent himself
from tumbling in reverse. In this maddening existence, Darth Maul was as
useless in agility as the day he broke free of his mother's womb. Indeed,
this annoyingly hellish plane of the dead made him feel like an infant
struggling to balance itself on two feet. The only problem was, there was
nowhere to put one's feet in this deathscape.
He tried to call out to Darth Sidious--in many ways, Darth Maul still
denied that he was dead--but nothing released from his silenced mouth. It
was then, that for the first time since he was conceived, Darth Maul knew
fear.
He so desperately wanted to scream, to know that a true, tangible part
of his former self still existed. To make matters worse, he felt his
weightlessness rebel against him--how horrifying it was to feel, but with no
real feeling involved. He twirled in a downward spiral that he was impotent
to resist. Whatever force controlled this nightmarish realm was toying with
his soul like a sadistic parent cruelly demoralizing a defenseless child.
That was how Darth Maul felt, having been slain by the Jedi
Padawan--demoralized.
Hints of rage fueling the driving mechanism of the embodied engine of
destruction that was once Darth Maul swirled like transitory electricity
throughout the wispy configuration of Maul's new, air-like existence. He
strongly desired the savory feel of the lightsaber in his transparent hand.
He wanted to crush something--anything-- with his once powerful maw, but had
neither the means nor the mass to do so. The hate that had guided him in
life was now an overbearing humiliator, taunting him to the brink of insanity.
Just one scream, just to know I exist! Maul pleaded to whatever entity
held watch in this horrid domain. Damn you with every ounce of anger left
within me!
As if in answer, a scene from Maul's mortal life mystically penetrated
the abyss. A deep, guttural feeling (though there were no guts to speak of)
triggered within his current form, finally offering him solace.
He witnessed a younger vision of himself, still a pupil in the eyes of
Darth Sidious. Wearing only a black, snug loincloth, the vivid
representation of himself flooded the dead Maul with a sense of hope, where
there was once despair. In the vision, the younger Maul was sprinting
barefooted through a forest on the planet Yavin. The red and black marks
adorning his face yielded no signs of perspiration as he moved stealthily
through the lush foliage and gargantuan trees. Darth Sidious monitored his
movements from the Sith temple acres away by means of The Force as the
protege executed somersaults, cartwheels and backsprings. Maul seemed to
float amidst the trees, as he leaped up and thrust a naked foot against the
gnashing bark of a nearby tree. The hard kick had left a trace of an imprint
that amazed the young Sith.
The upraised horns on his shaven head pulsated in time to his rhythmic
heartbeat as he continued his exercise in the forest. Appearing almost
barbarously primitive, the youthful Darth Maul sprang forward like a lunging
Wookie, extending his hands so that he planted them into the soft earth, and
then propelled himself upwards, feet first. He landed again gracefully, then
jumped up and released a midair roundhouse kick. He then twirled and
launched another diagonal kick with one foot while keeping his other leg
perpendicular to the ground. To complete the exercise, Maul unraveled a
series of quick-snapped jabs, then he leaned backwards, straining the sinews
of his leg muscles, with an upraised, beckoning, Force-driven claw, he
unearthed a large rock wedged at the base of an oak tree. He guided the rock
slowly through the air, demonstrating his mastery of telekinesis, and bore a
pleased, benevolent grin upon his tattooed face. Finally, he exerted more of
The Force and sent the rock careening into the same oak tree from whence it
had been dislodged, where it crumbled against the resistance of the dense
tree.
"Excellent, my young apprentice," the voice of Darth Sidious echoed as
the image dematerialized, plunging Darth Maul into darkness once again.
NO! Maul cried, to no avail. So soon had he begun to feel alive
again, then just as quickly was he reminded of his fate.
Before he could dwell on the disturbing thought, however, a new image
crystallized before him.
If he could see himself right now, he fathomed that his mouth was
drooped open in awe.
Surrounded by a bluish aura, a female-like form floated toward him; at
least, it appeared as if the essence was female. There was no real dimension
to the spirit approaching Maul, but the whispery, tenuous fibers that snaked
and waved atop the perfectly ovalled head like thin strands of hair, and the
deep, engaging eyes, coupled with the small, hallowish nose and full layered
lips, made the form evidently female. Below the head, the mysterious entity
appeared hazy, as if camoflauging any trace of a body.
A tendril extended from the female existence, reaching for Maul. So
bright was the radiation emanating from her aura, that Darth Maul was
suddenly aware that he could see a blue shrouded version of his hand, which
was unconsciously aiming towards the effeminate spirit's prolongation. To
his extreme pleasure, his hand merged with the tendril, and the apparition
glided closer to him. The two eidolons locked together in an embrace, their
auras glowing incandescently.
The phantasma's eyes beamed with expectation as Darth Maul allowed her
to draw closer to where his lips should be. Her eyes fluttered shut
dreamily, and her mouth swam through their unification to meet his, forming
what was undeniably a firm kiss.
As they locked their lips, Darth Maul suddenly realized the significance
of this union. This umbra was The Force, the very same Force that had
resided within his mortal frame, the same Force that demanded greatly from
him, and nurtured him sweetly in return. This dark kiss was Darth Maul's
ascension into immortality....
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