Star Wars: Eyes of God Chapter 7 - Chakra Receiver

Kyle stood upside down in Zarni's cramped apartment, hands flat on the durasteel floor, boots pointing straight at the ceiling. He bent his elbows, lowering his head toward the ground, then pushed back up for another handstand pushup. Sweat poured off his forehead, dripping onto the scratched metal in small, wet splats. He counted in his head, hitting two hundred reps without stopping, his arms burning under his bare skin. His tunic clung tight to his back, soaked through, sticking to every curve of his spine and shoulders. "Kriff," he muttered, keeping his breaths even. He lifted his right hand off the floor, balancing on his left, and cranked out fifty more one-handed pushups. Sweat ran down his arms, tracing the veins popping out along his forearms, sliding over his chest where his pecs flexed hard with each move, leaving his skin glistening under the dim glowpanel light. His stomach muscles tightened, showing off the ridges of his abs through the wet fabric.

Four days had passed since he raided the gang hideout, and his chakra kept growing fast. He felt it every time he meditated, the energy rushing through his tenketsu stronger than before, twice as big as right after the fight. He thought about why while pushing through theNama: the reps. "Gotta be all that Jedi training," he said to himself, grunting as he dipped low. He'd spent years running obstacle courses, swinging training sabers, climbing temple walls to keep his body in shape. His biceps bulged, his back stayed broad and strong from hauling himself up ledges, and his legs carried power from constant running. His mind got a workout too, sharpened by Force drills and scraps. Chakra mixed physical and spiritual energy, and Jedi trained both without knowing it. "Or maybe it's these damn eyes," he added, wondering if the Rinnegan was forcing his chakra to catch up after being locked away so long. He figured both made sense and kept going, locking in on the next pushup.

He pressed off his left hand and flipped onto his feet, landing with a quiet thud. Sweat drenched his upper body, his arms and shoulders packed with lean muscle from all those Jedi drills. His chest heaved as he caught his breath, sweat sliding down his pecs, over the hard lines of his abs, and soaking into his pants' waistband, leaving his navel shiny and wet. His shoulder blades stuck out sharp under his skin, and his lower back curved with a tight V-shape down to his hips. "Alright, that's enough of that crap," he said, wiping his face with his forearm. He walked to the conservator, bare feet sticking to the floor a bit, and opened it. He grabbed a bottle of blue stim-drink, some cheap stuff Zarni kept stocked, and twisted the cap off. "To another day of not dying," he said, tipping it back and gulping half in one go, the cold hitting his dry throat.

He wiped his mouth with his hand and pulled his datapad from the satchel on the counter. He tapped it on, checking his credit account, and scrolled to the total. It showed 74,000 credits, all from the gang safe he raided. The Blood Oracle hadn't paid him yet, not the 20,000 for the job or the 10,000 bonus for finishing Granno fast. "Where's my kriffing money at?" he said, setting the bottle down hard, the glass clinking on the counter. He knew 30,000 credits was a lot for a gang, so he'd given them a few days to scrape it up. "They better not be screwing me over," he muttered, thinking about his plans—blasters, ship parts, maybe a Holocron. He wasn't waiting much longer.

He walked to the sofa, bottle in hand, and dropped onto the cushions, his wet tunic sticking to them. He stretched his legs out, propping his feet on the low table despite Zarni's rules, and used the Force to flip on the holovid. The screen buzzed to life, cycling through channels from Coruscant's upper levels. "What's the high-and-mighty crowd watching today?" he said, skipping a cooking show with a Twi'lek slicing nerf meat. "Nah." He passed a HoloNet news feed about the Senate. "Yawn." Then a reality show with humans betting on swoop races. "Garbage." He stopped on a drama, some romance flick set in the towers up top, and leaned back. "This'll work."

The actress onscreen grabbed his attention fast. Her name flashed as Aralani, but her real name was Irizi'ar'alani, a Chiss from the Unknown Regions. Her body was slim, her big breasts pushing against a tight silver dress, her hips wide and round below a tiny waist. Her black hair hung down to her thick backside, swaying when she turned to talk. Her red eyes stood out against her blue skin, and her voice carried a smooth edge that made the dumb lines sound decent. "Well, damn, she's a knockout," Kyle said, holding his drink and staring as she moved. "I'd ditch my saber for one night with that." He pictured her pressed against him, those full breasts flattening on his chest, her firm ass in his hands, that hair spilling everywhere, and laughed. "Yeah, fat chance, Marek."

His comlink buzzed on the table, pulling him off the holovid. He grabbed it, thumbed the answer switch, and Ahsoka's face popped up on the holo. He blinked, caught off guard, his eyebrows lifting as she grinned at him.

"Hey, how'd you pull this off?" he asked.

"Took some fiddling," she said, laughing. "Sliced my comlink past the Jedi locks. Pretty easy for someone skilled such as myself."

"Nice job," he said, grinning back. "Good to see you, 'Soka."

"I miss you, Kyle," she said, her voice softening. "Keep thinking about you holding me."

"Yeah, I miss you too," he said, his chest tightening. "Been way too long."

"You doing alright down there?" she asked. "Got a spot to crash?"

"Yeah, I'm good," he said. "Staying with a buddy. No sweat."

"What about credits?" she pressed. "I can grab some for you if you're short."

"Nah, I'm set," he said, shaking his head. "Got it handled, don't worry."

She leaned in closer. "I've been bugging Anakin and Obi-Wan about you. Trying to get them to undo the Council kicking you out. Might take time, but I think I can swing it."

He scratched his neck, frowning. "Look, 'Soka, it's cool. I'm having too much fun out here. Temple's not my thing anymore."

Her face dropped, her lekku twitching. "So... you don't want me anymore?"

"No, that's not it," he said fast, sitting up. "I want you, alright? I'll come see you soon. Just can't deal with all those Jedi rules cramping me."

She looked down, quiet for a second. "Feels like you're drifting off anyway."

"Don't say that," he said, easing his tone. "Imagine me back there, I'd probably end up just getting kicked out for some other dumb reason."

She cracked a smile, laughing a bit. "True, you'd be a disaster... Okay, I believe you."

"Good," he said, leaning back. "Not ditching you for anything."

Her voice dropped lower. "I miss your hands on me, Kyle... it keeps me up at night."

"Yeah?" he said, gripping the comlink tighter as blood rushed south. "Same here."

"Want me to show you?" she asked, her fingers sliding over her tunic.

"Kriff yeah," he said, voice getting rough.

She smirked, tugging her tunic off slow, letting it fall to show her flat stomach, her small breasts perky with tight orange nipples sticking out. "How's this?" she asked, kicking off her leggings next. Her toned thighs spread as she climbed onto her bunk on hands and knees, bending over to flash her bare ass, round and firm with a smooth slit peeking between her legs. Her lekku hung down, brushing her shoulders, her back arched to push her cheeks up. "You can't walk away from me," she teased. "Not when this is all yours."

He shifted his cock in his pants, the bulge straining hard, and licked his lips. "Ain't missing that for the whole damn galaxy."

Then the Force spiked, a warning buzzing in his head, the hairs on his arms standing up. "Hold up, 'Soka," he said, cutting in. "Gotta call you back. Trouble's coming."

"What? Kyle, wait—" she started, but he shut the comlink off, her face blinking out. He stood, dropping the bottle on the table, and scanned the room, letting the Force pull him. It dragged him to the door, his steps quick across the floor. "What's this bantha shit now?" he muttered, he looked to the table and thought about grabbing his lightsaber but didn't, it was probably nothing.

He pressed his eye to the peephole, his Rinnegan sharpening the hall outside. Five mercenaries stood there, decked in patched armor with blasters and vibroblades out. One slapped a detonite charge on the door, the red light blinking as they backed up, ready to blow it open. "Son of a Hutt," Kyle said, stepping back.

Kyle smirked as he stepped back from the door and said, "Guess it's time to use a trick I figured out." He reached out with the Force, switched off the glowpanels, and turned the apartment dark. He moved back, pressed himself against the wall by the conservator, and waited with his hand on his lightsaber.

The mercenaries outside set off the detonite charge, blew the door open with a loud bang, and sent metal pieces flying across the room. Twelve of them stepped inside, boots crunching on the debris, each holding a blaster rifle in both hands. They spread out, peered into the shadows, and aimed their weapons around the space, one of them tried to get the lights but wasn't able to activate them. The leader, a tall human with a scar on his jaw, looked around and said, "Forget the lights. Find the target." They advanced, turned their heads to search, and saw nothing in the black corners.

One mercenary flinched, noticed a shape move in the corner of his eye, and jerked his rifle toward it. Another caught a figure on his left, swung his weapon fast, and hovered his finger over the trigger. "Something's out there," one muttered with a tight voice. A blaster shot fired, the red bolt hit the wall near the sofa, and the leader turned shouting, "Stand down! Don't waste shots!"

They split up, three went to the bedroom, four checked the kitchen area, and the rest scanned the living space. Kyle watched from the ceiling, holding himself up on an exposed beam, and dropped behind a lone mercenary by the bedroom door. He raised his right hand, focused his chakra into a tight point, and formed a black chakra rod that slid out from his palm. He discovered this a day after the gang job, experimenting with his Rinnegan late at night, pooling and condensing his chakra until the rods took shape like an extension of his will. He stabbed the rod through the back of the man's neck, pushed it deep into the spine, and covered the mercenary's mouth with his left hand to muffle the choked gasp. He lowered the body to the floor, left it limp with a hole in the neck, and crouched low.

Two other mercenaries stood close, held their rifles up, and talked in low tones. "This Jedi kid's got the boss pissed," one said while shifting his stance. "Wants him gone. And that chick Zarni too."

"Better be a big bonus for this," the other replied. "Killing a Jedi's no small gig."

Kyle stepped out from the shadows and said, "I wouldn't bet on it. Your boss hates paying up."

They shouted, swung their rifles at him, and fired shots that flashed red in the dark. Kyle grabbed the nearest rifle barrel with his left hand, pulled it up, pointed it at the second man, and pressed the trigger with the mercenary's finger still on it. The bolt hit the second man's chest, burned through his armor, and dropped him with a smoking hole. Kyle twisted the rifle out of the first man's hands with his right hand, flipped him over his shoulder, slammed him onto his back, and stomped his boot on the man's throat, crushing it with a snap.

Men rushed out of the bedroom and kitchen, fired blaster rifles, and sent bolts zipping past Kyle's head. He focused his chakra, performed Substitution Jutsu, and swapped places with a shooter near the kitchen. The man took the hits instead, bolts punching through his chest and stomach with smoking burns as he fell. Kyle made hand signs, channeled his chakra, and created three clones with Clone Jutsu. Three versions of him ran forward, charged the group, and split their focus.

"What the hell is this?" one mercenary yelled, shot at the first clone running straight at him.

"He's multiplying!" another shouted, turned his rifle to the second clone moving left.

"Take them all out!" a third barked, fired at the third clone dodging right.

The clones vanished when the bolts passed through, left the air empty, and let Kyle close in from behind. He held two chakra rods in his hands, gripped them like knives, and drove one into a mercenary's shoulder, pushed it deep into the muscle until the man grunted and dropped his rifle. He pulled it out, spun, and threw the rod into another man's thigh, stuck it into the flesh, and made the man yell as he fell. Kyle kicked him in the chest, sent him crashing into the wall with ribs breaking under his armor.

One mercenary ran at him, swung his rifle like a club, and aimed for Kyle's head. Kyle ducked under it, grabbed the man's arm, pulled him forward with his own speed, and smashed his forearm across the man's throat. The mercenary's neck bent back, he gagged as he hit the floor, and he lay there struggling to breathe. Another charged from the side, swung a fist, and tried to tackle him. Kyle stepped aside, hooked the man's arm, spun him into a hurricanrana, and flipped him headfirst through the window. Glass broke apart, the body flew out, and landed on the street below with a thud, armor cracked and limbs bent.

Kyle faced three more, dodged their blaster shots, and raised his hand shouting, "Almighty Push!" A force wave blasted out, threw them into the far wall, and broke their bones as they hit with loud cracks. He fired a chakra rod from his palm into a fourth man's stomach, kept it shallow to avoid killing him, and channeled chakra through it. The man's body stiffened, he turned his rifle on his squad, and shot two in the back with bolts that left smoking holes before Kyle stopped the control, letting him slump with the rod still in his gut.

The leader lunged, fired a bolt point-blank, and aimed for Kyle's chest. Kyle slid under it, came up behind him, grabbed his rifle with both hands, twisted it out of his grip, and tossed it aside. He locked his arm around the leader's throat, lifted him off the ground, and squeezed tight. "Blood Oracle sent you, right?" he said while tightening his hold as the man clawed at his arm. "How much they paying?"

"Ten thousand," the leader gasped with his face turning red.

Kyle laughed, eased his grip just enough to talk, and said, "Ten thousand? You're an idiot. Your boss is too cheap."

"What about Zarni?" Kyle asked while pressing his thumb into the man's windpipe.

"Another team's hitting her at the club," the leader choked out. "You don't need to worry about her though."

"Oh yeah?" Kyle said. "Why's that?"

His Force senses screamed danger, warned him loud and clear, and made the hairs on his neck stand up. He threw the leader out the broken window with a fast shove, jumped after him, as a huge blaster cannon round slammed into the apartment above. The explosion roared, blew fire and debris out, and tore apart the walls and floor where he'd been. Kyle raised both hands and used "Almighty Push!" again, and sent a force wave up to stop the blast's push, knocking durasteel chunks and glass away from him. He grabbed the leader's limp body mid-fall, hit the ground hard, and landed on top of him, crushing the man's chest and legs with a snap.

Kyle rolled off, cursed as he got to his knees, and said, "Kriffing hell! That Blood Oracle sleemo can shove it up his ass!" He spat on the ground next to the leader's broken body, stood up, and brushed dust off his pants. He looked at the wreckage, saw his lightsaber among the smoking debris, and picked it up. The hilt was burned black, split open, and sparked with exposed wires. "Damn it," he said while kicking a piece of rubble. He looked down at the dead leader of the mercenaries and grabbed his satchel, inside was a blaster pistol and a few thermal detonators, attaching it to himself he started running toward Za Za Ka to save Zarni.