I’m Star-Lord (SW Xover)

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Inside the Cave of Evil…

The temperature dropped sharply the moment Peter stepped inside the cave. The oppressive darkness seemed to wrap around him, clutching at his very soul. The walls of the cave weren't just stone—they pulsed faintly, like the inside of a living creature. They shifted and breathed, the texture slimy and alive.

Peter's voice echoed in the vastness, swallowed by the suffocating quiet. "Alright, creepy cave… what do you got?"

Shadows danced along the walls, independent of any light source, moving unnaturally as if they were alive. Each step forward felt heavier, the darkness pressing against him like a physical weight.

Then, the whispers started.

They were faint at first, indistinct murmurs, like a distant crowd. But as Peter pressed deeper into the cave, they grew louder and clearer, taking on familiar voices.

"Why did you leave me, Peter?" The voice was soft, sorrowful.

He froze mid-step, his breath hitching. Turning slowly, his heart sank as he saw her—Gamora. She stood there, her green skin illuminated faintly by an otherworldly glow. Her eyes were filled with pain and betrayal.

Peter's chest tightened. "No. No, this isn't real."

"You left me," she continued, stepping closer. "You saved me and then dropped me like I'm nothing."

"This isn't real…" Peter snapped, backing away. His voice trembled, his hands clenched into fists. "You—this isn't you. This is the cave messing with me."

The shadows around her shifted, twisting her face into something grotesque, her voice warping into an angry snarl. "You always have a choice, Peter. But you always choose wrong."

Peter stumbled back, his breathing ragged, and turned to escape her haunting gaze. But another figure stepped out from the darkness ahead of him—Nebula.

Her cybernetic enhancements gleamed in the dim light, her face a mask of anger and disappointment. "You never cared about me," she said, her voice cold and biting. "I was just another broken thing for you to fix. But you didn't fix me, Peter. You just broke me more."

"That's not true," Peter said, shaking his head. "I—"

"You abandoned me!" Nebula shouted, her voice rising to a shriek that echoed off the walls. "You left me with the Jedi! When I needed you most, you were too busy playing hero. And now look at me. Look what I've become because of you."

Her voice cut into him like a blade, and Peter's legs nearly gave out beneath him. He backed away again, only to stumble and fall, landing hard on the cave floor. The fog around him thickened, and the oppressive darkness seemed to close in.

"Why did you leave me, Peter?" another voice said softly.

His head snapped up, his heart sinking as he recognized the voice. Standing before him, her blue skin glowing faintly in the dark, was a young Aayla Secura. She was no more than six, her Lekku draped over her shoulders, her large eyes filled with pain and disappointment.

Peter's mouth opened, but no words came out.

"You were supposed to be my big brother," Aayla said, stepping closer. Her tone wasn't angry, but the sadness in her voice cut him deeper than any accusation. "You promised to protect me."

"Aayla…" Peter whispered, his voice trembling. "I didn't—"

"You left me," she interrupted, tears streaming down her face. "I waited for you. I waited for years. Every time the comms buzzed, I thought it was you. But it never was. You didn't care enough to even say goodbye."

Peter scrambled to his feet, reaching out to her, but she took a step back, her expression hardening.

"You were everything to me," Aayla said, her voice breaking. "But I guess I wasn't enough for you."

"No, that's not true!" Peter shouted, his voice echoing off the walls. "I cared—I still care! You have no idea how much I've thought about you, how much I've regretted not being there."

"Words," Aayla said bitterly, her image flickering like a faulty hologram. "They're just words, Peter. And they're too late."

The fog swirled around her, and before Peter could take another step, she was gone, swallowed by the darkness.

As Peter caught his breath, thinking the worst was over, the whispers began again, but this time they carried a venomous edge, hissing accusations that sliced through his resolve.

"Does it feel good, Peter? To pretend you're the hero while lying to the people who love you?"

The shadows shifted, forming three distinct shapes. Mikaela, Natasha, and Padmé emerged from the darkness, their faces filled with anger and betrayal.

Mikaela was the first to speak, her voice sharp and laced with pain. "You think you're so smooth, don't you? Playing all of us like we're too stupid to figure it out. Did you even care about me, Peter? Or was I just a conquest to you?"

"No," Peter stammered, stepping back as the weight of her words struck him. "That's not—Mikaela, I love you."

"Love?" Natasha interrupted, her tone icy as she folded her arms. "Is that what you call this? Because to me, it looks like betrayal. You claim you're protecting us, but you're just using us to feed your ego."

Peter shook his head, his voice breaking. "That's not true! I didn't mean for it to be like this."

Padmé stepped forward then, her regal composure shattered by the hurt in her eyes. "We trusted you, Peter. I trusted you. I thought we had something real, but you couldn't even be honest with me. With any of us."

Peter's heart felt like it was being ripped apart. "I didn't… I didn't know how to handle it. I care about all of you, but I never wanted to hurt you."

Mikaela's gaze hardened, her voice a low growl. "Well, congratulations. You did."

Natasha stepped closer, her piercing glare cutting through him. "How long did you think you could keep this up? How long before we turned on each other? Or were you planning on watching us tear each other apart for your attention?"

Padmé's voice trembled with anger, tears threatening to spill. "You were supposed to be better than this, Peter. But you're just as selfish as the Sith you claim to hate."

The three women surrounded him now, their words stabbing into his heart like daggers.

"You don't deserve us," Mikaela spat.

"You'll end up alone," Natasha added coldly.

Padmé's voice was the last, soft but devastating. "You already are."

Peter dropped to his knees, clutching his head as the whispers and accusations swirled around him, growing louder and louder. The cave seemed to revel in his torment, the darkness feeding on his guilt and self-loathing.

"You'll always fail."

"You'll never be good enough."

"Everyone you love will leave you."

Peter gritted his teeth, gripping the ground beneath him as he tried to drown out the voices. "Shut up…" he muttered, his voice shaking. "Shut up!"

But the darkness didn't relent. The shadows around him twisted and grew, forming a figure that loomed over him like a living embodiment of his guilt and fear.

It stepped forward, solidifying into a perfect doppelganger, though its features were twisted and malevolent. Its eyes glowed faintly with a sinister yellow light, its smile sharp and predatory.

It was him—but not him. A darker, crueler version of himself, with eyes that burned with malice.

"Look at you," the doppelganger said, its voice a distorted echo of Peter's own. "The so-called Star-Lord. Leader. Hero. Savior of the galaxy."

Peter tensed, his hand drifting instinctively to his blasters, though he didn't draw them. "Let me guess—you're here to tell me I suck?"

The shadow chuckled darkly, taking a slow step closer. "I don't have to tell you anything. You already know. You feel it every day, don't you? That little voice in your head, whispering that you're not good enough."

Peter didn't respond, his jaw tightening as he held the shadow's gaze.

"You fail everyone you care about," the doppelganger continued, its tone mocking. "Gamora. Nebula, Aayla, Mikaela, Natasha, Padmé. Your crew. Your apprentices. The Jedi. You're not a leader—you're a walking disaster waiting to happen."

"That's not true," Peter growled, taking a step forward, his fists clenched. "I've made mistakes, sure, but I'm doing everything I can to make up for them."

The shadow smirked, its eyes narrowing. "And how's that working out for you? You haven't even talked to Gamora, Nebula, and poor little Aayla in what? A year? And let's not even talk about your little girlfriends. They must hate you. And if they don't, then they will soon enough. After all, who could ever love a cheater like you?"

The Doppelganger's smirk widened as it continued. "And let's be honest, your crew only follows you because they're terrified of you, not because they trust you. And your apprentices?" It laughed, a cruel, hollow sound. "They'll fall, just like you. Anakin will become a Sith, like he's supposed to. Maul will betray you. And the Ancient One? She's just waiting until she learns what she wants so she can leave you behind."

Peter's breath hitched, the words hitting harder than he expected. He tried to shake them off, to push the doubts away, but the shadow stepped closer, its voice growing softer, more insidious.

"You're not a hero, Peter. You're a failure. And deep down, you know it."

Peter stood his ground, his heart pounding, the weight of the accusations threatening to crush him. But then, something stirred within him—a flicker of defiance, of resolve.

Peter drew his lightsaber, his voice echoing in the cavern as he ignited it. "Alright, you twisted knock-off. I'm tired of all this talking. Let's finish this."

The cave seemed to shift around Peter, its walls closing in, the air growing thicker with each passing moment. The shadowy doppelganger loomed before him.

The shadow remained silent, drawing an identical lightsaber and igniting its crimson blade, unlike Peter's black one. Without a word, it lunged at him, moving with a speed that seemed to defy the very laws of physics.

Peter barely dodged, the swipe of the shadow's blade grazing his shoulder and leaving a chill that seeped into his very bones. He retaliated with a swift strike, his saber connecting solidly, but instead of recoiling, the shadow seemed to absorb the blow, growing larger and more menacing.

It laughed—a guttural, mocking sound that reverberated through the cave. "Is that all you've got, Star-Lord? You can't fight me. You are me."

Peter gritted his teeth, launching into a flurry of sword swings. Each attack, dodge, and parry flawless, but with every hit, the shadow only grew stronger, its aura of darkness intensifying. Tendrils of shadow lashed out, wrapping around Peter's arms and legs, dragging him down to his knees.

"You're feeding me," the shadow hissed, its voice dripping with malice. "Your anger, your fear—it makes me stronger."

Peter struggled against the binds, his breathing ragged. The shadow loomed closer, its grin widening. "You'll never win like this. You can't fight what you really are."

For a moment, Peter froze, the weight of the words sinking in. The shadow was right—he wasn't winning. Every move he made only seemed to empower it. He deactivated his lightsaber and closed his eyes, forcing himself to think, to focus, Yoda's voice sounding in his mind.

'Fear it, you must not.'

Taking a deep breath, Peter stopped struggling. The tendrils loosened slightly, as though confused by his lack of resistance. He opened his eyes, meeting the shadow's gaze.

"I get it now," he said softly. "You're not here to be defeated. You're here to teach me."

The shadow snarled, lunging at him again, but this time, Peter didn't fight back. Instead, he stood tall, his stance relaxed, and extended his hand—not in attack, but in peace.

Peter smiled, focusing on the force within himself, the memories of those he cared about appearing before him—Gamora's laughter, Nebula's rare smile, Aayla's never-ending trust in him, Mikaela's laugh, Natasha's loyalty, Padmé's love, the loyalty of his crew, and the trust of his apprentices. He held onto those moments, using them as an anchor to push back against the darkness.

"I am Star-Lord," he said, his voice echoing in the void. "And I'm not afraid of you. You're a part of me. My anger, my fear, my mistakes—they're all part of who I am. But they don't control me."

The shadow hesitated mid-strike, its form flickering like a flame in the wind. Peter stepped closer, his tone calm but resolute. "You don't define me. I define me."

With each word, the shadow shrank, its shape becoming less distinct. Peter closed his eyes, focusing on the light within himself—the love he carried for his crew, his apprentices, and the galaxy he swore to protect. The warmth of those memories radiated outward, pushing back the darkness.

When he opened his eyes again, the shadow was gone. The oppressive energy that had filled the cave lifted, replaced by a quiet stillness.

Peter exhaled deeply, his shoulders relaxing. "Well, that was… enlightening."

As he turned to leave the cave, the walls began to shimmer, and the air grew thick with an otherworldly hum. Peter froze, his gaze darting around. The light dimmed, and before him appeared flashes of images, vivid and fleeting like a reel of film running too fast to comprehend.

A battlefield—blasters firing, lightsabers clashing, chaos everywhere.

A darkened room—a throne shrouded in shadow, a figure seated atop it, their face obscured but radiating immense power.

An apprentice—was it Anakin?—falling to his knees, his expression twisted in agony and anger.

His crew, fighting side by side against an unseen enemy.

And then, the final image—a pair of glowing pale blue eyes in the darkness, their gaze locking onto Peter. A voice, low and steady, echoed in his mind.

"You are not ready."

The vision ended abruptly, leaving Peter alone in the now-silent cave. He staggered slightly, his mind reeling from what he had just witnessed.

"Okay," he muttered to himself, running a hand through his hair. "What the hell was that?"

Straightening, Peter took one last look around the cave. The darkness was still there, but it no longer felt as oppressive. He had faced it, confronted his fears and doubts, and come out stronger.

With a determined nod, he turned and made his way back toward the entrance.

A/N: 2419 words :)

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