A sense like he was trapped, like fingers were rising up out of nowhere and clawing his legs, pulling him downward. Down to what?
There was no water to drown in, no mire below. And yet that was the overwhelming feeling. He didn't know why. None of it made sense. He saw Aida squeezing her eyes shut, hands shaking. He had never seen her like this. He pulled her to him, and they slowly backed away from the group. The prisoner was being dragged inside the place past the blast door, and was now screaming at the top of his lungs, a devastating sound.
But there was another voice, too, an unrecognizable, chillingly soothing voice that reached to his core like a dagger.
You're doomed, Creighton. You don't matter. Nothing you do matters.
Creighton backed away. He would have staggered drunkenly but he forced himself to appear unaffected, taking all his strength to do so.
Pulling Aida along with him, they headed in the opposite direction and dashed into a simple entryway. He shook his head, trying to focus and use the Force to crush the lock on the door. He pushed it open. It was dark inside, and he shoved Aida ahead of him. Before he shut the door, he saw several Path members rushing in the passageways, all collectively heading somewhere. Creighton shut the door behind them.
The scent of something rotten surrounded him.
The slithering voice in his head became fainter.
You're nothing, Creighton.
In the dark, he gasped and fell to his knees. The terrible sensations were like tendrils twisting around his limbs, sticky and impossible to push away. Giving up would be so easy. The voice was growing fainter, yet still so inviting, coaxing him to succumb.
Aida, too, fell down on all fours. She must have been holding in her panic, because she began to suddenly hyperventilate and whimper-truly whimper, like a tiny child in severe pain. Creighton clenched his fists, intermittently pushing away a nonexistent presence. It was as if the darkness had become a sentient thing, attempting to trap him in an indescribable, inescapable mire. It didn't make sense.
And what was worse was knowing in his bones, in every cell of his being, that there was a terrible disturbance in the Force, and part of that disturbance was affecting him and Aida.
The more he reached out to the Force to gain control and clarity, the worse it became. As a child, he remembered being attacked by other children, well before he was a Jedi youngling and being filled with so much fear. The terror he felt now was similar a pure, cold emo-tion. But as a child, there had been another emotion that came alongside the fear and replaced it. Rage. He had ended up fighting hard with gnashing teeth and nail gouges and dirty punches, overwhelming his attackers until they lay around him with broken bones and raggedly bitten skin. A similar anger filled him unexpectedly now, an almost primeval instinct.
Inside his head, Creighton roared.
The relentless tendrils pulling at him began to dissipate. Creighton breathed, inhaling the stench within the room, a stench that could've been real or a hallucination- he couldn't tell. But the horrific sensations mercifully faded, slowly at first, but then more quickly the longer they stayed in the dark.
Creighton lost all sense of time as he and Aida recovered. He wasn't sure if they had been in this room a minute, or an hour. The voice of the prisoner was gone inside their heads. The absence of his voice chilled Creighton. Finally, Aida spoke, her voice shaking.

Star Wars The High Republic Cataclysm Chapter 11 Page 159