A short submission for the Halloween challenge for Sci-Fi! A sci-fi character is returned from the dead.
More or less.

The deep ebony of the planet's moonless night was both archetypal...and necessary.  Stars alone were to witness gruesome happenings here, as they had for a millennia. The air was steeped in chill it could not dispel. The earth looked rusty as if stained by blood; an illusion even the most lion-hearted shuddered in the face of, under the shadows of stone and silence.

This was a Sith world. Breath drawn here was stolen from the lungs of the dead.

And yet here was life, a procession of black-garbed creatures; humans, in all their wicked deeds cloaked by night. They bore with them the stolen, twisted remains of a terror. A mask scorched by fire. A Lord.

Darth Vader.

The dark worshippers knew not of Vader's redemption, only that in a time of such sickening light, they needed a Champion. The ritual began in an utterance of harsh Sith words, torn from rock and ruin. Flashing eyes. A summons.

Silence. They waited.

And then: an echo. Splintering air.

The Dark Lord breathed again.

"Lord Vader," came a seemingly mouthless cry, but its speaker was cut off in a gag and a shift in the Force. The dozen of them crumpled, clutching their throats. Writhing under the aloof gaze of the stars. 

Then all was still. The air was stirred by a final sigh.

The empty, malformed helmet might have almost been a sneer.