long fingers curl around the hilt of the saber and RAGE burns bright in his chest. he can FEEL it, fighting to CONSUME him. he HATES that he can’t control it; hates that it is IMPOSSIBLE for him to keep hidden (like a face behind a mask). with a swift flick, the saber’s blade meets durasteel. sparks fly as contact is made, but he’s too concentrated on doing as much DAMAGE as possible in an attempt to liberate the VEXATION that plagues him.
your son is GONE.
a frustrated GROWL escapes his throat, sounding distorted through the mask’s voice modifier. he wants to FORGET the past- he wants to move FORWARD.
he was WEAK, like his father.
FATHER. just the thought was enough for his free hand to outstretch and throw a few chairs towards the transpari-steel that plated the windows before him. a new rage ignited in him and random objects go flying without much effort on his part. he didn’t HAVE a father. the man he’d just killed wasn’t his FATHER. he was a TRAITOR.
so i DESTROYED him.
another ENRAGED shout escapes his chapped lips and he swings again, watching as the computer screen before him FINALLY stops glowing. despite the CHAOS that swirls in his chest and threatens to take him, he gets a strange, yet INSIGNIFICANT, feeling of SATISFACTION at this task.
ben solo was DEAD. kylo ren had made SURE of that. he thought that killing ben’s father would’ve been enough to let the darkness CONSUME him.
yet he STILL felt it- the light BECKONING to him, BEGGING him to come home. he could see his mother’s WARM eyes, his father’s OPEN arms.
NO.
he COULDN’T go back. it was too LATE for that. he had to finish his MISSION, he had to make snoke PROUD. and he would do WHATEVER it took to fulfill it.