Darth Maul was, by any measure, an exceptional apprentice.
Palpatine had found him young, shaped him carefully, forged him into a weapon of pure dark side intent.
His connection to the Force was savage, beautiful in its darkness.
His childhood had been nothing but suffering… pain meticulously applied, lessons carved into flesh and spirit alike until the boy became something else entirely.
Something useful.
The details of how he'd come to Palpatine originally? Even Maul himself no longer remembered clearly.
The past was a blur of agony and instruction. What mattered was the present.
What mattered was the mission.
Hunt Qui-Gon Jinn. Hunt the boy, Obi-Wan Kenobi. End them both.
On Tatooine, Maul waited.
He despised this planet. The twin suns, the endless sand, the dry air that seemed to suck moisture from his very bones.
The dark side shielded him from the worst of it, but shielding was not comfort.
He simply... didn't like it here. The brightness, the constant grit.
He'd arrived before the Jedi. Naturally. His ship was faster, his senses sharper.
But instead of hunting immediately, he'd... occupied himself.
There was a game.
A rather excellent one, actually.
He'd been playing it for some time now, running missions between assignments, filling the empty hours between kills.
The 1v1 combat mode was adequate training.
The large-scale battles, thousands of combatants clashing, were genuinely satisfying. And flying?
When he slipped into a fighter, let the dark side guide his hands, he could dismantle entire squadrons.
The feeling was... addictive.
Cleaner than real violence. No mess or witnesses. Just the satisfying confirmation of kills.
Today, he'd purchased a new skin for his fighter. Black and red. It matched his complexion perfectly.
Perfect.
When the Jedi's shuttle finally landed, and he saw Qui-Gon and his party approaching, Maul felt a flicker of genuine irritation.
Now!? I was in the middle of a session.
They'll make me miss~
He stepped forward, black robes billowing, and ignited his double-bladed lightsaber.
The crimson blades hummed, hungry.
I've been waiting a long, long time, he thought, the words running through his mind in silent irritation.
Played two full matches. And where were you?
Do you know what you've cost me? You've delayed my gaming. You've brought this on yourselves.
Outwardly, he said nothing. Just a flick of his wrist toward the Jedi.
Qui-Gon's hand moved to his own lightsaber, but he didn't ignite it yet. Garfield's words echoed in his memory, the Sith are among you. Be ready.
"Obi-Wan," he said quietly, "take Anakin and Padmé. Get them to the shuttle. Start the engines and get them to Coruscant."
Obi-Wan hesitated for only a heartbeat. Years of training, of trust, overrode instinct.
He ignited his blade, positioning himself and shepherded Anakin and Padmé toward the ramp.
Padmé paused at the threshold. "Obi-Wan~"
"Go. Start the engines. Get to the Jedi Temple, find Master Yoda. He'll help you."
She wanted to argue. The look in her eyes said everything. But she was a queen, and queens learned when to yield.
She disappeared inside.
Obi-Wan turned, blade still burning, and ran toward his master.
Two Jedi. One Sith.
On paper, the numbers favored the Jedi. In practice? Maul had spent years being outnumbered.
In training. In missions. In the game, where he'd faced countless opponents and learned to read their patterns, predict their moves, punish their mistakes.
He'd been ganked just yesterday, three opponents jumping him at once.
Two Jedi? His lips curved slightly beneath his tattoos.
From the first clash of blades, it was evident… Darth Maul was faster, stronger, more aggressive.
His double-bladed saber spun in deadly arcs, forcing Qui-Gon onto the defensive.
Again and again, crimson plasma hissed past his guard, close enough to singe his robes.
Again and again, he barely deflected strikes that would have carved through flesh and bone.
Then Obi-Wan was there.
The moment his apprentice's blade joined the fight, the tide shifted.
Qui-Gon drew a breath, found his footing, and together they began to move as they'd trained for over a decade.
Master and apprentice. Teacher and student. Two minds linked by the Force, by trust, by countless hours of practice.
Their coordination was seamless. When Qui-Gon pressed forward, Obi-Wan covered his flank.
When Obi-Wan parried, Qui-Gon struck.
They fought like four hands directed by a single will, the combat effectiveness of two Jedi, amplified into something far greater.
Maul felt the pressure immediately.
These aren't game opponents, he realized, his earlier contempt evaporating. These are real Jedi.
He stopped playing. The dark side surged through him, and he met their assault with renewed ferocity.
Inside the shuttle, Anakin Skywalker watched the battle on the monitor, his small hands pressed against the viewport.
A Jedi Knight.
Every slave child on Tatooine dreamed of Jedi Knights… stories whispered in dark corners, tales of heroes who could free entire worlds with a wave of their hand.
Anakin had imagined it a thousand times… a Jedi appearing, freeing him and his mother from Watto's grip.
Now here they were. Real Jedi, fighting a real monster.
"Padmé," he asked without turning, "will they win? Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan?"
Padmé's eyes never left the screen. "I don't know, Ani. But they're Jedi Knights. They're very strong."
It was what everyone believed. The Jedi were invincible. The Republic's finest.
The screen told a different story.
Obi-Wan's blade came a half-second too slow. Maul felt the hesitation before it happened, the dark side always sensed weakness and pivoted.
His leg connected with Obi-Wan's chest in a brutal roundhouse kick that sent the young Jedi flying five meters across the sand.
The Force softened the impact, but not enough.
Obi-Wan gasped, struggled to rise.
Qui-Gon stood alone.
"No!" Anakin's cry filled the shuttle. "Obi-Wan got hit!"
C-3PO, ever anxious, turned to Padmé. "Miss Padmé, in this situation, I really must insist that we take some sort of~"
R2-D2 interrupted with a series of urgent beeps.
"Yes, yes, I understood you perfectly the first time," C-3PO replied testily. "You want to use the shuttle's cannons. But who would~"
"I can do it!" Anakin's hand shot up. "I'm a really good shot! Watto always said~"
Padmé's hand gently descended onto his head, cutting him off.
She gestured toward the guards already moving into position. "You don't need to fight, little one. And you should call me 'Sister' Not just Padmé."
Anakin shook his head with the absolute certainty of a nine-year-old who had already decided the future.
"No. If I call you sister, then I can't marry you later."
The guards exchanged glances. Smothered laughs escaped despite the tension.
A child's fantasy.
None of them could know that decades later, that same child would stand in a secret wedding chapel on Naboo, placing a ring on Padmé's finger.
That the queen they served would become the wife of the boy who couldn't even pronounce her title properly.
But that was another story.
For now, Padmé activated the shuttle's weapons systems. R2-D2 chirped guidance adjustments.
The ship's nose swung toward the battlefield below, targeting sensors locking onto the red-and-black figure locked in combat with Qui-Gon.
"Target acquired."