Th-thump…

He feels it: the sudden power with which his heart begins to beat. The strength of it. The force. His blood surges through his veins: hot, turbulent, pounding in his ears. It's like a storm raging, unbridled, unstoppable, but the anger and emotion driving it is what he's been trained to harness. He will take what he wants, and it will be devastating.

His fingers grip the lightsaber tightly. The beam extends: the color of rage and fire and blood, and it will burn flesh and paint the ground crimson before the night is through. A hum shakes the air as two blades of plasma meet, and he and the traitor fight. Cold bites at his face, the skin exposed and vulnerable: a feeling he'd almost forgotten after all this time.

The thrill drives his heart to pound harder. It's like a beast beneath his ribs, thumping at his chest like it wants to be released. Adrenaline surges, and he's soaring on a high like no other as he sees himself closing in.

When the traitor falls, he will take what is rightfully his. He'll cast aside the red for the color of skies, of freedom, of peace. He reaches for it, purpose and longing bubbling in his chest to finally claim the lightsaber lying in the snow…but it doesn't answer to him. His heart plummets when the weapon flies past his open hand into the grasp of the girl behind him.

Now the fury burns hotter, but each heartbeat has turned heavy with despair. The force of the storm in his veins turns against him, her blue like a lightning bolt driving his red into the dirt.

Th-thump…

He feels it again: a heartbeat, hollow and weakened as it pumps the dying fire in his veins to stain the snow red.

He tastes blood, and it tastes of defeat.