The Starlord

The clash began—and, to the growing disbelief of everyone present, refused to end.

Across the burning sands of Tatooine, two crimson blades met again and again, their violent collisions ringing out like thunder. Each strike echoed far beyond the battlefield, carried on the dry winds that whipped sand into spiraling currents around the combatants.

This was not what anyone had expected.

From the moment Darth Vader had stepped onto the field, the outcome had seemed certain. Officers had straightened in confidence, stormtroopers had steadied their rifles, and even those watching from a distance had prepared themselves for a short, brutal display of Imperial power.

Instead, they found themselves staring at something they could not understand.

Vader struck first, his opening attack a merciless downward arc meant to crush through defense and bone alike. It was a blow that had ended countless duels before they had truly begun. Yet this time, it met resistance.

The hooded figure raised his blade and caught the strike without flinching.

The force of the impact cracked the ground beneath their feet, sending fractures racing outward across the scorched earth. Sand lifted in a violent burst, swirling around them like a storm born from the collision itself.

Vader did not pause.

He pressed forward immediately, his assault intensifying with each passing second. His movements were not just precise—they were relentless, driven by a fury that translated into overwhelming power behind every swing. Each strike came faster than the last, each angle designed to break through defense and end the fight.

Harry met them all.

He moved with a calm that stood in stark contrast to Vader’s aggression, matching every blow with one of his own. There was no retreat in his steps, no hesitation in his guard. Where Vader advanced, Harry held ground. Where Vader struck with force, Harry answered with equal strength.

From the sidelines, the illusion of certainty began to crack.

A trooper lowered his weapon slightly, his voice unsteady as he spoke. “That’s… that’s Lord Vader.”

Another shook his head, eyes fixed on the duel. “Then why isn’t he winning?”

No one had an answer.

Inside the mask, Vader’s breathing remained steady, mechanical and unchanging, but his thoughts had begun to shift. Every duel he had ever fought had followed the same pattern: resistance, then collapse. His enemies broke under pressure, their fear betraying them long before his blade reached them.

This opponent did neither.

Harry did not falter. He did not tire. Most importantly, he did not fear.

Their sabers locked in a sudden clash, the two drawn close, crimson light reflecting off black armor and shadowed hood alike. For a brief moment, the chaos around them seemed to fade, leaving only the two of them in a silent contest of will.

Vader’s voice cut through the tension, low and measured. “You hide behind a mask.”

Harry’s response came just as calmly. “So do you.”

The blades slid apart with a hiss, and the fight resumed with renewed intensity.

Recognizing that raw strength alone would not be enough, Vader shifted his approach. His hand rose sharply, and the Force surged forward in a crushing wave, powerful enough to send armored soldiers flying like leaves in a storm.

Harry lifted a single hand.

The invisible force struck—and diverted.

It bent around him as though meeting an immovable object, dissipating into nothing as casually as if it had been brushed aside.

A flicker of something dangerous passed through Vader’s mind.

Again, he reached out, this time aiming for a choke. The invisible grip tightened, seeking to close around Harry’s throat, to end the fight without another strike.

Before it could take hold, it unraveled.

“What… are you?” Vader murmured, the words slipping out before he could stop them.

Harry offered no answer.

Instead, the battle escalated.

Vader tore massive chunks of debris from the battlefield—boulders, shattered droids, fragments of wreckage—and hurled them forward with lethal precision. The air filled with the shriek of displaced sand and twisting metal as the projectiles hurtled toward their target.

Harry did not evade.

He raised his hand once more, and the objects stopped mid-air.

For a single, suspended heartbeat, they hung there, caught between motion and stillness.

Then they reversed direction.

Faster than before.

Vader was forced to break his stance, his saber flashing as he cut through the incoming barrage. Sparks erupted as metal met plasma, fragments scattering across the battlefield in a storm of destruction.

For the first time, there was hesitation in his movements.

High above, aboard his command vessel, Wilhuff Tarkin observed the duel with a strategist’s precision. His posture remained composed, but his attention had sharpened in a way it rarely did. This was no longer a simple engagement—it was an anomaly.

Far beyond even him, in the shadowed depths of his throne room, Darth Sidious watched with something far closer to fascination.

A slow smile formed on his lips.

“Magnificent…” he murmured.

He leaned forward slightly, his gaze never leaving the unfolding duel. “No one has pressed him like this.”

Even in their private confrontations, he had never allowed Vader to reach such a state. There had always been control, always a hidden advantage. Lightning could cripple the suit, and the suit itself ensured dependence.

But here, there was no such limitation.

No restraint placed upon Vader.

And yet, the newcomer had not taken advantage of the most obvious weakness.

Sidious’s eyes narrowed.

“…Why?”

He could see the openings. One precise strike of Force lightning would end the duel in an instant. Vader’s armor would fail, his body would collapse, and the fight would be over.

Yet the stranger did not use it.

That choice intrigued him more than any display of raw power.

Back on the battlefield, the duel surged toward another crescendo. The air itself seemed to warp under the pressure of their clash, sand lifting into spirals as the ground fractured beneath their feet. More Imperial forces had arrived, forming a wide perimeter around the combatants, while fighters circled overhead like predators waiting for an opportunity that would never come.

“Contain the area!” an officer shouted, struggling to maintain authority. “No one interferes!”

Even he could hear the tremor in his own voice.

Because what he was witnessing was something no one had prepared for.

Vader was not dominating the fight.

The two combatants collided once more in a blinding exchange of strikes, their movements too fast for the untrained eye to follow. Vader drove forward with sheer force, attempting to break the stalemate through overwhelming pressure, but Harry pivoted, redirected the attack, and answered with equal ferocity.

Neither yielded.

And then—

Vader stepped back.

It was only a single step, but it carried weight far beyond its size.

This was not an enemy to be crushed.

This was an equal.

A rival.

For couple of minutes Dobby forgot everything.

He stood in the shadows of the Imperial command ship, pressed close to the cold metallic wall, peering through a narrow viewport that overlooked the battlefield below. The glass vibrated faintly with every impact, every clash of power that echoed upward from the sands of Tatooine.

Two crimson blades.

They moved too fast for ordinary eyes to follow, their weapons colliding in flashes of violent light. Each strike sent tremors through the ground, and even from this distance, Dobby could feel it—like distant thunder rolling through the bones of the ship itself.

Dobby’s wide eyes reflected the battle below, filled not with fear, but with something far softer.

“Master Harry…” he whispered, his voice filled with quiet awe. “So strong…”

The duel was mesmerizing. Hypnotic. Every movement carried purpose, every strike answered with equal force. It was not the kind of battle Dobby had seen before. This was not chaos—it was mastery.

For those few minutes, nothing else existed.

Not the mission.

Not the danger.

Only the sight of his master standing against one of the most feared beings in the galaxy—and not yielding.

Then—

Footsteps echoed down the corridor behind him.

Voices followed.

“Did you see that?!”

“He’s actually matching Lord Vader!”

“That’s impossible—no one does that!”

Dobby blinked.

The spell shattered instantly.

He turned sharply, pressing himself closer into the shadows as a pair of troopers hurried past, their discipline forgotten as they rushed toward a better view of the battle outside.

For a second, Dobby simply stared after them.

Then he smacked his forehead lightly.

“Dobby forgot mission,” he muttered, his tone shifting from wonder to urgency.

His posture changed completely.

The softness vanished.

What remained was focus.

He reappeared outside the ship.

The sudden heat of Tatooine hit him immediately, along with the harsh desert winds that howled across the metal hull. The surface beneath his feet hummed faintly with energy, warm and unyielding.

Inside this massive structure, his target waited.

Wilhuff Tarkin.

Dobby’s expression hardened.

He ignited his lightsaber, and a blade of crimson light burst into existence, its glow stark against the endless desert.

“No time,” he murmured.

Then he struck.

The blade sliced through the hull with ease, molten metal parting like soft wax. Sparks scattered into the wind as he carved a clean opening just large enough to slip through.

The moment he entered—

Alarms blared.

“INTRUDER!”

The corridor erupted into motion. Droids turned, optics flaring to life. Troopers snapped their weapons up, instincts finally catching up to the chaos already unfolding.

They were too slow.

Dobby moved like a flash of red light.

The first droid fell before it could fire, split cleanly in two. The second followed an instant later, its upper half sliding from its lower in a shower of sparks. A trooper managed half a shout before his blaster was ripped from his grip by an invisible force, his body slammed into the wall with enough force to silence him instantly.

The corridor descended into chaos—but it was chaos that only moved in one direction.

Dobby did not hesitate. Every movement was precise, every action efficient. He did not waste time, and he did not make mistakes.

Within moments, the resistance ended.

The path ahead lay open.

At the far end of the corridor, a door slid open with a sharp hiss.

Wilhuff Tarkin stepped out, flanked by two guards. His posture remained composed, but his eyes were sharper now, already analyzing the situation.

Then he saw the intruder.

A small figure.

Lightsaber humming softly in its grip.

For a fraction of a second, something flickered across Tarkin’s expression—recognition, or perhaps confusion.

“…Master Yoda?” he murmured instinctively.

But even as he said it, he knew it was not true.

This presence felt different.

The guards raised their weapons.

Dobby flicked his wrist, and both men were lifted off their feet as though gravity itself had betrayed them. They slammed into opposite walls with brutal force, their bodies going limp before they even hit the floor.

Tarkin stood alone.

To his credit, he did not panic.

He straightened slightly, his expression settling into cold calculation.

“You are not here for negotiation,” he said evenly.

Dobby tilted his head.

“No.”

Tarkin gave a small, acknowledging nod.

“As expected.”

Even then, he did not stop.

“If you kill me, the Empire will not fall,” he continued, his voice steady. “Another will take my place.”

Dobby took a single step forward.

“Dobby does not care.”

Tarkin studied him closely now, his gaze narrowing with understanding.

“You serve the one outside,” he said.

Dobby nodded, pride unmistakable.

“Yes.”

There was a brief pause.

Then Tarkin spoke again, quieter this time.

“Then you should consider what kind of master you follow. Because anyone capable of that power…” He let the words linger. “…does not share it.”

Dobby’s grip tightened around his weapon.

“Master Harry is good.”

Tarkin exhaled slowly.

“…Then you are already lost.”

Dobby moved.

There was no warning, no dramatic motion—only sudden, absolute action.

The red blade flashed once.

Then it was over.

Tarkin’s body collapsed, lifeless, the sound echoing faintly through the corridor.

Silence returned as quickly as it had been broken.

“Mission complete,” he said softly.

With another quiet pop, he vanished.

Back on the battlefield, the duel had only grown more intense.

Harry and Vader clashed in a storm of motion, their blades colliding in rapid succession. The ground beneath them had fractured completely, sand lifting into spiraling currents that danced around the epicenter of their battle.

The rhythm of their duel had become something relentless and unbroken.

Then—

Dobby appeared beside Harry.

His lightsaber already ignited.

For the first time since the battle began, Vader paused.

It was brief, but it was there.

Dobby raised his hand.

A surge of invisible force erupted outward.

It struck Vader like a shockwave.

Even he was thrown back, his armored form sliding across the sand before he regained his footing several meters away.

A ripple of shock spread through the watching forces.

There were two of them.

A trooper’s voice trembled. “There’s… there’s another one…”

“They’re both Sith—!” someone else whispered, fear creeping into the words.

Dobby turned toward Harry, lowering his weapon slightly.

“I finished the mission, Master Harry,” he said.

The word carried.

Vader heard it.

The troopers heard it.

And far away, in the depths of his throne room, Darth Sidious heard it as well.

Harry did not reply with words. He simply gave a single nod.

In the next instant, both of them vanished.

They were simply gone, as though they had never been there at all.

The battlefield remained behind—broken, burning, and silent.

Vader stood motionless, his breathing steady, his gaze fixed on the empty space where they had stood.

High above, Sidious leaned forward slowly, his earlier amusement gone.

“Teleportation…” he murmured, his voice quieter now, edged with something far more serious.

Not one.

But two.

A master.

And an apprentice.

His fingers curled slightly as his thoughts turned darker.

“…This cannot be allowed.”

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