Nick Rostu knew darkness.

He had, after all, stood with the Jedi Master Mace Windu against Kar Vastor in the steaming jungles of Haruun Kal. Kar Vastor, leader of the Balawai resistance; Kar Vastor, with his arm-mounted vibroblade weapons and his almost supernatural strength. Kar Vastor, stronger in the Force than any of the Korunnai, stronger than any in the galaxy, perhaps, save for the Jedi. Kar Vastor, so submerged in the dark side that, even though Nick had been only a couple of meters away from him during that final battle, even though he could see the man as clearly as he could see Mace, or Iolu, the guard who’d sliced him from sternum to navel—still, looking back on it now, he realized he couldn’t visualize the guerrilla leader’s face. It was as if the Balawai commander had been shrouded in darkness, somehow, as if the dark side of the Force radiated a strange anti-light. Kar Vastor had been the essence, the personification, of primal power, jungle savagery, and bloodlust distilled into flesh. Nick had never seen anyone or anything to match him.

Until now.

Until he stood, unarmed, before Darth Vader.

As if being armed would make a difference, he thought. He could be tricked out with wrist rockets, a hold-out shooter, a pair of DL-44s, and a disruptor rifle, and he might just as well be carrying a pointed stick.

Vastor had been animal ferocity and menace, barely contained. He’d thrummed with the power of the dark side. His arms, legs, torso, and shoulders had been layered with striated muscle; he looked like he could have lifted a pregnant grasser over his head. One-handed.

Vader was as tall as Vastor had been, but probably massed a good twenty kilos less. He wasn’t physically impressive in the same way; no musculature was visible under the black armor. It didn’t matter. There was no doubt in Nick’s mind that, were Kar Vastor somehow to be pitted against Darth Vader, the feral Balawai renegade wouldn’t stand a chance.

The Force was powerful in Vader; even the dim wattage of Nick’s connection could feel that. It was far more powerful than it had been in Kar Vastor. It had pulsed from Vastor in waves of fury, blasted like an open furnace. In Vader, it was—contained. Pent.

Waiting.

The setting was innocuous enough: they stood on a balcony, high above the main levels of the city. It was just after dawn; the morning rays of the Coruscant sun struck opalescent sparks from the many towers, ziggurats, domes, and other structures surrounding the Imperial Palace. The bullet-shaped spire that supported them was taller than most; Nick estimated that they were at least seven hundred meters above the streets. If he were to fall from this height, he would have nearly ten seconds in which to regret it before impact—assuming he wasn’t struck in midfall by one of the many vehicles whipping by in the various traffic strata.


- Coruscant Nights I: Jedi Twilight, Chapter 20