The weekly rankings shuffled again, as they did every morning, and Morgan’s name ticked up another few spots. The screens were in every training room, every hallway, so that they always knew where they were ranked. How close they were to death.

He suppressed a laugh, contemplating the last week.

‘Only a week passed and I’ve jumped fifteen spots. Shows what proper enforcement does for you.’

A week of meditating, sparring and Overseer organized torture. Able to strengthen his body again allowed him to keep up with the others, and he was once again the second strongest of his faction. Bastra had overtaken him, his skill with the saber and fighting experience overtaking a Morgan that wasn’t able to use the Force.

Not so much a Morgan that could, not anymore. Experience counted, yes, but speed and strength did too.

Luckily for Bastra, Soft Voice had taken him aside and taught him how to use the Force proper. Not that the man was very good at it yet. His ratio of power used to strength gained was lower than Morgan’s, ensuring his victories over the gladiator by sheer endurance.

Not that the man made victory easy, nevermind painless.

He jumped lightly as the Force moved through his body, a spark of sheer glee fluttering through his stomach even after a week.

He wasn’t sure what this was, exactly, but he knew it was for him. Not the Dark’s endless aggression and betrayal, nor the Light’s submission and apathy.

Something in between. Something that worked with him.

And work it did. Body enforcement flowed easy compared to the Dark, his body swelling with strength. No longer did he need to induce rage to power his blows, to lose himself as he fought.

He still needed to find his balance, that elusive state of mind that allowed him to call on the Force whole, but when he did? His precognition skyrocketed, eclipsing even Soft Voice.

Drawing on the Force grew smoother, faster and more reliable as he used it. Almost as if the Force wanted to be whole, growing easier by the day.

Enforcement wasn't the only thing he could do again. Basic telekinesis was something almost everyone could do, after Soft Voice had figured it out. The Dark had more might, true. He was rarely able to match even the average acolyte for power. But unlike their brutish approach he could pull their foot, push their arm.

Where others had power, he had control. Where others relied on aggression to keep them going, he had carefully measured endurance.

The first time he had to use his new connection to the Force near the Overseer had been terror inducing. A month here had sharpened his acting skills, luckily, so he was able to mask his terror. Mask it to normal levels, anyway. He was always afraid when the Overseer announced her next task, so hiding its source proved doable.

And her tasks kept coming.

Relentless endurance against droids. Run until you drop, dodging low powered blaster fire as you do. Spar against the other acolytes, the loser victim to his opponents' whims.

Tasks to quell fear. Sparring using only the force. Obstacle courses designed to instil agility. Endless were the tasks, and endless were the punishments for failing them.

Spitefully, Morgan was forced to admit it was effective. As long as you didn’t die, of course.

Weeks of enduring the tasks without the Force made it easier to endure them with it. It showed in the rankings, too. Where before he was falling, now he was rising. First out of the bottom quarter, then the bottom third. Now he hovered just above halfway, safe from the weekly purge.

As safe as this place ever could be, anyway.

Soft Voice clapped, pulling Morgan out of his musings.

“Enough standing around. Morgan, spar with Bastra. Make sure he enforces himself properly. Mirla, practise your third kata set. It needs work.”

He called out more pairs to duel, assigning others to guard the room. More yet were told to review some material he had assigned as homework.

Weeks of training had everyone moving smoothly, the progress showing. Now it was usually the weakest of the other factions in bottom place, although the low ten was still often filled with their members.

But for now they lived, so for now they trained. Six weeks for them, five for Morgan, had culled the weakest already. The rest were hardened, tempered. Forced them to find a reason to keep going, to get up every morning knowing it might be your last. Be that for revenge, love, hope or fear. It didn’t matter.

Seeing who had it, and who didn’t, was easy enough. One trained with purpose, pushing themselves to the limit day after day. The second went through the motions, doing what Soft Voice told them to and little more.

There weren't a lot of the second kind left.

Morgan had yet to find what he lived for. Fear, certainly. Fear of death and pain. Fear motivated him to train, but it would not forge him into a warrior.

And only warriors would leave this place alive.

----------------------------------------

The Overseer was pacing again, as she usually did, and Morgan really didn’t like the look on her face. Not smirking nor scowling. Not angry or happy.

The Overseer’s mood was easy to see, normally. It could shift rapidly, from irritation to glee back to annoyance again, but it was there.

Today her face was carved from stone, her silent pacing scaring more than just Morgan.

When she finally spoke half the room flinched in fear, Morgan among them. “Today we are going to see how quickly you learn a new skill. How quickly you each adapt to new techniques.” She took a breath, halting to glare at them. “Each of you knows telekinesis and some of you are powerful enough to send people flying with it. So why do we bother to teach lightsaber techniques at all? Why not simply pick up your opponent with the Force, smash them into the wall, then laugh as they die?”

‘Because I’m not a fucking psychopath?’

Silence greeted her, stretching as she kept waiting. Finally, when it became clear she wasn’t going to continue, Soft Voice spoke up.

“Besides the fact that enhanced agility and strength limits the damage such a move could deal? Because one can shield themselves against the Force.”

She smiled at him, the normally unshakable Soft Voice lowering his eyes a tad too quickly. “Precisely. Glad to see someone is using the provided datapads.” The Overseer’s accusing gaze swept the acolytes. “Shielding oneself with the Force stops any lucky jedi sending you flying. Stops rival sith from pulling you limb from limb. It essentially creates a layer of protection against Force techniques.”

Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

Morgan mulled on that. ‘Right, I remember something like that. I wonder how my brand of specialness will twist it.’

Before he could think too long, she continued. “There are two ways of doing this. The first, and most common, is simply to layer oneself in the Force. This stops the attack, certainly, but is damaged each time it does so. Should you be powerful, this is a good option. You cannot be surprised, and, once readied, you have to pay it little attention.”

Soft Voice raised his hand, the Overseer blinking. “I’ve read that a sufficiently powerful Force user can overwhelm shields entirely. How would you protect against that?”

Morgan dearly wished he had chosen to stand far from the man that morning, the Overseer stalking over to his friend. And, by extension, to him.

“Indeed they can. A Lord will break your barrier and snap your spine in the time it takes your heart to beat. It cannot be dodged, cannot be defended against. A strong jedi, few as they are, will paralyse your mind. Break your will and leave you a drooling prisoner. Because they’re merciful, you see. They would never just kill. That would be wrong.”

She looked Soft Voice in the eye, the man lowering his gaze. “Does that answer your question, acolyte Zethix?”

Finally, after what seemed an eternity, he nodded. “Yes, Overseer.”

“Good.” She twirled, Morgan catching Soft Voice looking at her ass. “The second method of shielding is to react to attacks, countering them. More difficult, but more efficient. Every attack has a counter, a way to unravel the technique into harmless smoke.”

She turned around again when she was at the front of the class, smirking at Soft Voice. “These techniques are not mutually exclusive. None of you have the required skill to attempt the second, nor will you for a long time. Should you attempt both your opponent will take your head, laughing at your distracted, decapitated corpse.”

Morgan was trying to stay optimistic, he really was, but he lacked raw power. This seemed like a technique focused on it. His burgeoning telekinesis wasn't too strong, either, but he made up for that with control. He couldn't fling someone across the room with a wave, but he could do things no other acolyte could. Freeze a limb at that critical moment of the swing. Jerk a shoulder, twist a foot.

Each bought him maybe a heartbeat, but at the speed that they fought it could be enough. His growing skill usually made it enough.

“Now focus your sight on me, and learn.” The Overseer commanded. Left unsaid was what would happen to anyone that didn’t. Morgan didn’t think anyone so stupid as to disobey her and slack off was still alive.

So Morgan observed. Not with his eyes, ears or nose but with that strange sight that came with being attuned to the force. Others of his faction had described it like seeing ripples in smoke, the changing of smells.

Soft Voice had told him it was like seeing a painting move on the wall.

For him it was like the Force told his very soul what was happening. Not in messy words, or clumsy writing. Not in picture or smell. None of that could describe the Force as it truly was. What it was like for him.

When he observed his friend, or enemies, fight, he could see exactly how they enforced their bodies. How they pushed and pulled at the world around them. It was why he was so good at both. He copied anything that worked better than what he possessed. Refined his techniques with a drive he never thought he had.

Oh, some things he could not copy. The explosive strength that came with the Dark’s aggression. Soft Voice’s extreme natural endurance, boosted as it was by his mastery over the Force.

But something like this? With an expert demonstrating slowly, their Overseer actually teaching?

It clicked after only minutes.

The Overseer’s eyes snapped to Morgan as he felt the shield wrap around him. Protecting not only his body but something deeper, something arcane. That strange non space that served as his core. His being, or soul.

It wasn’t particularly strong. Not even close to the level of the Overseer, not that that was a surprise.

He didn’t see the Overseer narrow her eyes at him, focused as he was on her demonstration.

If he had, he might not have been so eager to fix its mistakes. Flicking his shield away after every flaw found, ready to attempt an improved version. He might have been more cautious. Smarter.

But easy success was addicting, not to mention rare. Hours later, when almost everyone had displayed some measure of shielding, his shield was nearly as flawless as the Overseer’s. Nearly as smooth to his senses, nearly as quick to build.

It was, of course, weaker. But its weakness was a matter of power, not skill or control.

For the first time Morgan prepared to leave the Overseer’s class satisfied with his progress, smiling.

He really should have known better.

The Overseer called an end, but unlike every day before today she didn’t disappear through the only other door. Instead, she started pointing. “You, you, both of you, you you and you.”

Morgan felt fear climb up his stomach as the finger pointed at him, the six others that the Overseer had singled out staying as everyone else left. Soft Voice tried to linger, the treasure that he was, but ultimately left after the Overseer glared at him.

Morgan saw he was the only one from his faction to be here, with the others seemingly chosen at random. Not that there were just three factions anymore. Since Spiky’s death every day seemed to bring a new faction or group. A new alliance made, an old one broken. Endlessly they shifted, with the only constant being their own faction.

Some of the best had their own little groups, seeming content to focus on training. Smart. Smarter than the rest, anyway. They spend their time fighting for meaningless power, jockeying for position when they should be improving.

It seemed only Soft Voice had come to the conclusion that treating your followers well, teaching them, resulted in stable foundations. Made them loyal, willing to work together to survive. To trust in the person next to them when the fighting broke out, standing shoulder to shoulder.

Morgan sometimes wondered how everyone else wasn’t dead yet.

“You, all of you, are in need of remedial training.” The woman next to Morgan, Kerala, flinched. He was hard pressed not to join her. “Specifically, all of you are incapable of feeding fear and pain to the Force.”

Kerala broke out in a cold sweat, Morgan joining her. That could mean nothing good.

“So from now on, until you learn to do so, you will be staying behind after every lesson.” The Overseer took a deep breath, Morgan feeling the Force swell around her. ”Now focus your mind. Feed your fear, pain and hesitation to the Dark.”

Without warning the Overseer blasted the only rodian with lightning, harsh light streaming from her fingers. He went down screaming, yet his flesh did not burn. His eyes did not pop, and he leaked no blood.

The Overseer released him, starting to pace. “An interesting variation on sith lightning. Designed to inflict pain without causing wounds. It has fascinating application for torture, wouldn't you agree?”

Light flashed, the next in line dropping while begging for his life. Then the next, and the next, until the Overseer arrived at Kerala. By then terror had taken her mind, moving to run.

She was able to turn halfway before the Overseer zapped her, joining the rest of the line on the ground. Now only Morgan stood, petrified. “The pain lasts quite a while, seeing as it targets something deeper than mere flesh.” The Overseer smiled, and for the first time Morgan could see the spark of madness in her eyes.

The Overseer turned his way, raising her hand. His mind sped up, rapidly constructing a shield. ‘If it targets the soul,’ he thought desperately, ‘the shield should stop it.’

To his surprise the flash of light wasn’t immediately followed by pain. Instead, he heard a sound like breaking glass. His shield strained, cracking soon after, but the pain didn’t follow. When he looked up the Overseer was openly smiling at him.

“Good thinking, acolyte. This version of sith lightning can indeed be stopped by a proper shield. Unfortunately for you, this is not a lesson on shielding yourself.”

When she blasted him again his shield shattered completely, pain filling his mind. It filled his body, his soul. It filled him until it was all he was, all he could think about. Pain unending.

Slowly, ever so slowly, the peak passed. He could hear the Overseer speaking again, feel the cool floor pressing against his face.

“...and that is why it’s important to be able to withstand fear. And if you are unable, or unwilling, to let the Dark feed on it? Well, I’m more than happy to teach you to withstand it alone.”

Her eyes locked with Morgan, the spark of madness all he could see.

“Hour after hour. Day after day. Week after week. Until you learn.”

The last word was punctuated with lightning, the Rodian writhing on the ground again. Morgan watched numbly, feeling something inside of him die.

He felt his last bit of hope, of happiness, leave him entirely.