Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/11626383.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      F/M
  Fandom:
      Star_Wars_Original_Trilogy, Star_Wars:_Rebellion_Era_-_All_Media_Types,
      Star_Wars_-_All_Media_Types
  Relationship:
      Darth_Vader/Original_Character(s), Darth_Sidious/Darth_Vader
  Character:
      Darth_Vader, Original_Female_Character(s), Sheev_Palpatine_|_Darth
      Sidious
  Additional Tags:
      Bondage_and_Discipline, Psychological_Torture, Past_Child_Abuse, Blood
      and_Violence, Interrogation, Non-Consensual_Voyeurism, Heavy_BDSM,
      Domination/submission, Master/Slave, Murder, Rough_Sex, Oral_Sex,
      Consensual_bondage, Dark_Romance, Darth_Vader_-_Freeform, Manipulative
      Sheev_Palpatine, Emperor_Palpatine_-_Freeform, Decapitation, Underage
      Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced_Rape/Non-con, The_GFFA_is_a_terrifying
      place, Yes_there_are_some_feelz, Look_you_know_she's_perfect_for_him,
      Aren't_you_happy_he_found_a_nice_girl?, This_is_the_darkest_installment
      of_the_series, No_that_was_a_lie_it_gets_a_lot_more_murdery, I_didn't
      used_to_be_like_this_you_know, Dead_Dove:_Do_Not_Eat
  Series:
      Part 3 of The_Chronicles_of_House_Vader
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-07-27 Completed: 2017-07-28 Chapters: 2/2 Words: 22030
****** Dark Angel's Embrace (Part II of The Chronicles of House Vader) ******
by IvyLeigh
Summary
     After missing in action for three months after the Battle of Yavin,
     Vader arrives on the Imperial Throneworld and is severely punished by
     Sidious for his failure to protect the Death Star. As the Emperor
     tortures Vader's mind, he discovers the existence of Lylla. Angry and
     jealous, Palpatine makes a deplorable demand.
     Lylla discovers that life on the Throneworld is not what she
     anticipated.
Notes
     1/21/18: I've gone back and made some changes. I was going to try and
     work in the whole Inquisitor/Inquisitorious thang, but then decided
     it was stupid and wasn't gonna work. So Lylla is now an Imperial
     Interrogator, not an Inquisitor. Yeah, it was confusing. Sorry about
     that.
     I decided to split this up into 2 chapters. Sorry for any confusion
     and/or inconvenience.
     Ok, I just want to say this-- the GFFA is a terrible dangerous place
     full of violence and suffering. Now we only get the PG-13 version of
     this universe through movies and comics. This is not the PG-13
     version. AT. ALL.
     There is content in this installment that may be disturbing to some
     readers, including rape/non-con (flashbacks), torture, physical
     abuse, voyeurism, M/M BDSM, bondage, child sexual abuse (flashbacks),
     and murder. Lylla was a sex slave. Lylla did NOT have a happy life.
     And the one thing Vader hates more than Jedi are slavers.
     It is no secret that Vader and Sidious have a pretty effed-up
     relationship. While not a sexual relationship per se, I always
     imagined Palpatine using sexuality to humiliate and degrade, and I
     don't think Vader escaped that treatment. It's a disturbing scene to
     read. It was a very disturbing scene to write. I had to take quite a
     few breaks and walk away from it for minutes at a time.
     What started as a smut challenge nine years ago has become this
     sprawling epic in my head-- The Rise of the House of Vader. And we're
     only three months in.
      
      
     Thank you for your readership and support. Kudos and reviews are like
     Christmas all day every day!
See the end of the work for more notes
***** Chapter 1 *****
               Date: Three Standard Months After Battle of Yavin
The quartet of the Emperor's Royal Guard stood noiseless and inert, two at the
entrance of the gleaming receiving hall, and two on either side of the massive
five-meter tall obsidian doors on the far end. Planted in the center, the squad
of eight stormtroopers from the 501st stood just as rigid and silent, blasters
poised across their armored chests, four facing the entrance guards, four
facing the door guards. They had stood like this, facing each other, opposing
chess pieces controlled by similar hands, expressionless, solid, and utterly
unaware of the torture that had been going on behind those doors for the last
several hours.
Beyond the doors lay a chamber built of black marble and durasteel and the
finest obsidian in the galaxy, scores of meters wide as it was high. The far
wall of the massive room was one enormous rounded window that looked out across
the Imperial Throneworld's soaring skyline, the city-planet once known as
Coruscant. The floors, laid with polished onyx, caught the diminishing light of
the setting sun and glistened like a serene pool at midnight-- a purposeful
disguise for the the horrors that lay beneath it. For beneath those floors were
instruments for every imagined torment; a durasteel restraining table installed
with hundreds of electrodes that punctured the skin; full-body photon tissue
splicers that could burn through cellular structures in a matter of
nanoseconds; hundreds of meters of chains attached to durasteel cuffs and
collars; ultrasonic synapse shatterers; the list went on. Emperor Palpatine’s
private torture systems made the ISB's look like a youngling’s playground.
Probably the most interesting aspect of them all was that none of them ran on
any power supply. All power was provided by Darth Sidious himself through the
Dark Side of the Force, including the trap doors and platforms that raised the
monstrosities from beneath the floors to the throne room. One of these Force-
powered mechanisms was a transparasteel hyperbaric chamber. And inside that
hyperbaric chamber was a writhing, shrieking, chained, and unarmored Darth
Vader.
Vader was on his knees, his arms wide and in front of him, held there by
durasteel bolts driven through his cybernetic wrists attached to chains
stretched to the ceiling struts. The ankles of his cybernetic legs were bolted
straight into the floor. Wisped ends of wire frayed from out of the wounds, and
synthe-plasma the color of crude dripped from the punctures, pooling on the
floor around him. Between his hoarse, tortured cries, Vader's chest quaked and
heaved with frantic attempts to overtake the chamber’s measured oxygen pumps
for desperately needed air. But these small torments were insignificant
compared to the agony within the shattered window of his own tortured mind.
The stooped figure of the Emperor sat withered in his huge onyx throne,
contoured against the late afternoon light of peach and maroon, his hooded head
tipped slightly down. He was weary, yes. Despite the decades of manipulating
his physiology into something no longer completely human, small beads of sweat
still managed to douse his brow and betray his complete control over his
involuntary functions. Hours of administering Force-lightning torture was easy,
and not too terribly taxing. But this…this work had always proven to be
significantly demanding on him, no matter how he would prepare himself for it
or how often he would dispense it. Yes, weaving his telepathic tendrils into
the psychic garret of Vader's mind and ripping his sanity apart from the inside
always wore poor Sidious out. Waking nightmares were a particularly laborious
torment of the Dark Side.
Sidious lifted his hood slightly as he witnessed the newest image of horror
blaze through Vader's mind. Vader battled the chains holding him down while he
shrieked in his unaltered voice, “NO! NO, PLEASE! MOTHER! HANG ON! GIVE ME YOUR
HAND! IT CAN'T BURN YOU IF YOU HOLD MY HAND! DON'T LET GO! NO! NO! DON'T LET-
NOOOOOO! AAAAAAHHH!" And with that final scream, Vader's enormous hulk lurched
up. Sidious sighed with what one could almost call pity as the image of Shmi
Skywalker, sinking and screaming into an ocean of Mustafar's molten lava,
seared through his mind. There, he could smell her hair burning, see her meat
crackling and blackening and curling off her bones, and watched her eyes bulge
from the sockets as she screamed for her son's hand...
With a breath and a tiny flick of his finger, Palpatine altered the nightmare
as easily as he would switch frequencies on the holonet. Vader's screams of
horror altered as well, becoming deeper, menacing; the words spit were those of
a raging adolescent. "You. It's your fault, it's ALL your fault! You hate me,
the Council hates me, you're all jealous of my power! Nothing was ever good
enough for you! You took EVERYTHING FROM ME! EVERYTHING!" He erupted into a
triumphant cacophony of laughter barbed with madness. "HA! THERE! Who's the
master NOW? Who holds the power of life and death in his hands? Burn, you
spiteful, treacherous son of a bitch! BURN IN HELL!"
A raise of the Emperor's eyebrow brought forth another image, and with it
another anguished scene for Vader. "Not you. No, not you too," His scarred
voice cracked with a sob. "I did it for you. I did it all for you, and our…Ah,
gods…" His entire body quaked with weeping. "Come back. Don't leave, please
don't leave me. Everyone leaves me…Look at me…who could ever want me…like
this…?"
A slow, sated smile crept under Palpatine's black hood. As he had done many,
many times throughout the last twenty years, he had pummeled Vader's mental
barricades, had smashed through any defenses, leaving his apprentice drained,
broken, and pliable to his commands. Now was the time to imprint his visage on
Vader's mind, as his apprentice's one and only friend, his confidant, as his
parent and teacher, as his whole reason for existence…raising his hood ever so
slightly, Palpatine prepared himself for the final mental caress…
Until a new image flashed through his mind, an avatar not of his making, but of
Vader's. Murky and unfamiliar, it slithered across Sidious's mind's eye: Pale
tones of ivory flesh, slender hands with tapered fingers snaking down his
apprentice's scarred, tube-implanted chest, a caress of lips, a ragged cry,
eyes clenched closed and mouth agape, the undeniable rhythm of human coupling,
and a brief flash of scarlet hair thrown back in sexual fury and dire need…And
when Vader spoke again, a web of desire and doubt spun over Sidious's psyche.
"Sa’thraxxx..." Vader whispered. "How could you…want…a monster? You want the
darkness…are you like me inside…are you...a beast?" His chest heaved slowly,
rhythmically. "A beautiful beast…"
Vader’s growing erection did not escape the Emperor's attention either.
Rage roiled through Palpatine, his gnarled fingers gripping the arms of his
throne. A new companion lurked in the shadows now, a new tether for his
apprentice to grasp, a new surrogate for his needs. Throwing up his arms,
Palpatine sliced his hands through the air, breaking his psychic bondage.
Vader's screams pealed through the hyperbaric chamber as the Emperor's tendrils
ripped from his mind, his whole scarred mass convulsing and twisting in his
chains. With a small, tired wave of his hand, the Emperor released the bolts
through Vader's limbs, and the chains shot back into their housings. Vader fell
prostrate to the floor. With great effort, the Dark Lord pushed himself onto
his hands and knees, his head slunk between his arms. For many long,
excruciating moments, the only sound in the vast chamber was that of the mighty
Dark Lord panting frantically for air.
Palpatine glared at his apprentice, waiting for his desperate breaths to slow,
before he chose to address him. "You wound me, child. You have torn at the very
fabric of my heart. You have betrayed me."
Vader pushed himself to his hands and knees. The shrill, childish staccato that
had wracked his voice during the torture was gone, and his rich cadence had
returned. "I deserve no forgiveness, my Master. I underestimated the Rebels'
tenacity and dismissed their fortitude. I have failed you."
"BAH!" Palpatine barked, exploding to his feet. "The REBELS? You think I speak
of that motley mob of thieves and terrorists!" He began to descend the dais
staircase. "Twenty years of research, planning, building, wiped out in an
instant! A million of the Empire's finest, gone in the blink of an eye! Our
greatest achievement, our monument to our eminence, vanished! And the irony of
it all? THAT, my friend, I can forgive." He stopped his slow, menacing approach
a meter shy of his kneeling, shattered apprentice inside his chamber.
"Materials can be restored. Men can be replaced, as there is never a shortage
of those ravenous for power and privilege. And even as we speak, construction
has increased on Death Star II. But…" His voice softened to a hurt growl. "How
does one return…trust? How does one cement a union that has taken decades to
enmesh, only to be rent asunder through deceit! After all of our years
together, after everything I have given you--your power, your body, everything-
-now you keep SECRETS from me?"
Vader's chest seized clear through to his shoulders. Having no recollection
whatsoever of the waking nightmares, dread twined through what remained organic
in his body. What had his master seen? "My Master, I would never—"
"And now you lie to me as well?" A heavy sigh permeated from under the black
hood, and thin, dark cloaked arms folded over his thin chest. "Look at me."
Vader obeyed, lifting his maskless face to meet the Emperor's sickly yellow
eyes. With a curl to his lip that could have been either disgust or amusement,
Palpatine murmured, "You have taken a lover, boy."
Vader clenched his eyes and swallowed hard. Sidious had seen her, there was no
point in denying it now. "Yes, my Master."
"Without my permission or approval?"
"Yes, my Master." Palpatine's rage and jealousy stabbed through Vader. "I
thought it of no importance. An opportunity presented itself. I…took it."
"I see." Turning, the Emperor slinked slowly across the gleaming floors back
toward another gigantic window, leaving his apprentice kneeling and penitent
for what seemed to be an eternity of quiet. Finally, the Emperor spoke. "Is it
a male or female?"
Vader looked up and over at the Emperor. A small smile tugged at his scarred
lip as he narrowed his eyes. So, Palpatine hadn't seen everything, his shields
had worked somewhat, if not completely. The smile, however, melted as quickly
as his tiny triumph, as he was now obliged to answer his Master's questions. "A
woman, Master."
"A woman." The Emperor chuckled murkily. "Yes, of course. You always did have a
weakness for them." His twisted smile grew even wider as he felt humiliation
jolt from his apprentice. "Human?"
"Yes, Master. Fellenetian."
"Fellenetian? Hmmm. She is tall then?” Sidious asked, knowing that Fellenet was
a lower-gravity world. “As tall as you?”
“Almost, Master.”
“Is she beautiful?” Palpatine bit out.
“Very,” Vader rasped, daring a hint of defiance.
Emperor wrought his brow in anger. Turning over his shoulder, he asked, "Tell
me, boy…has she seen your face?"
Vader swallowed his degradation. "Yes, Master."
Palpatine turned completely around, his hood set at an incredulous tilt. "And
she didn't run screaming? She was still willing to bed with you? My, there is
some mettle in this lover, isn't there?"
"Yes, Master," Vader replied dully before glaring directly at Sidious and
adding, "She is… unique." Despite his humiliating predicament, Vader took some
pleasure in his Master’s jealousy.
"Is she now?" Palpatine snarled quietly. "Who is she? Anyone from court? An
officer? A noble?"
"No, Master. She is your newest Interrogator."
Palpatine straightened in response. “You appointed her?”
“Yes. She was able to get the location of the Rebel base from Organa’s personal
guard when other attempts had failed. She will serve you well.”
Sidious raised a hairless eyebrow. “Impressive. Her name is Sa'thraxxx?"
Vader fought a shudder. Had he said her name…? "Yes, Master."
"That is a Sith name."
"Yes, Master. I gave it to her."
“You gave it to her?” The Emperor’s scowl deepened. “Of all the Sith names, you
gave her that one? Why, boy? You know what it means.”
“I do. It fits her.”
Palpatine’s jealousy flared through the Force. Vader stifled his triumphant
sneer. But then, abruptly, Sidious chuckled. “So, she has seen your face. Has
she seen the rest of you?” He felt Vader’s defiance disintegrate. “I’ll take
that as a no. Oh my boy, do you honestly think a mere mortal woman could love
something like you?”
Vader was not about to play that game. “She offered herself as a means of
promotion. I am using her, Master, and she is using me. That is all. I do not
believe she is even capable of love."
Palpatine raised a hairless brow once more. "Indeed. Well, if she is not a
courtier, she certainly behaves like one. Offering sex for promotion? And
sadistic enough for my Inquisition? Yes, it seems you have chosen wisely…so
far." Palpatine held his kneeling apprentice in his eye before he proclaimed,
"I will meet this lover."
Vader's voice remained steady. "Yes, my Master."
"She will be sent an invitation to the Coronation Day celebration. There, she
will be presented to me."
"Yes, Master."
"But before then, I will watch you with her."
Vader's eyes rose again to meet his master's glare. "Watch me with her? I…do
not understand, Master—"
"Oh, of course you do, child." Palpatine again came toward his apprentice.
"When you leave here, you will summon her to you. And you will open yourself to
me as you rut with her." Again, the dim chuckle frothed from his decrepit
throat as he leaned down to look at Vader through the transparasteel of the
hyperbaric chamber. "I must determine if she is worthy of you, my boy. I cannot
have my second cavorting with little more than a gutterslut now, can I?"
Vader glared blaster bolts into his Master’s fire-colored eyes from his own. In
the twenty some years within his Master's bondage, he had never had to perform
sexually for him. Yes, there had been manipulations before, when the Emperor
invaded his mind and toyed with the pleasure centers there, but Palpatine had
always insisted that practice was merely used as stress relief, to keep him
focused and undistracted from his work. There had never been any physical
demands made upon him. Until now.
Again, that dark chuckle gurgled through the throneroom, slinking across the
floors and ceiling. "I can feel your hate, boy," Sidious croaked. He enfolded
his skeletal hand it into his voluminous sleeve. "Now go." He turned away. "And
do not dissatisfy me."
A large tile slid open in the floor of the hyperbaric chamber. Out of the
opening rose a Two One Bee medical droid holding Vader’s mask, helmet, armor,
and robes across its arms. Shakily, Vader rose to his feet, and pulled himself
to his full stature. "Yes, my Master," he rumbled softly, attempting to
disguise the loathing in his voice before turning toward the droid, who
assisted him in putting his armor back on and calibrating the its life-support
systems. Once his armor was fully installed, the chamber’s hydraulic locks
opened with an reverberate thunk. Without acknowledging his Master again, he
moved toward the doors. The entire chamber and the Two One Bee unit inside sank
back down through the floor.
As Vader stepped out into the glistening foyer, his troops split to each side
to allow him through. But after only a few steps, he stumbled and slumped to a
knee, bracing himself with one hand on the floor. Even with his suit’s
respiratory system running at full capacity, his blood oxygen was still
dangerously low. Although the Emperor's scarlet guard never moved from their
posts, Vader's troopers charged forward to assist their fallen commander-- but
stopped abruptly, as if they were suddenly and involuntarily frozen in their
tracks.
It was then he heard a stray thought of one of the Royal Imperial Guards slide
across his consciousness and felt his hate across the hall—
*So, the all-powerful Sith Lord isn't so powerful after all.*
Vader raised his mask, slowly, toward the Guard at the entrance and held it
there. Then he brought up his hand, raised two fingers, and beckoned the Guard
over.
The Guard chuckled grimly under his helm, thrilled at the invitation, his long-
held hatred and jealousy of the Dark Lord overcoming his better judgment. With
Vader physically compromised and focusing the Force on his men, dispatching him
would be significantly less troublesome. “With pleasure, Vader.” He threw his
long scarlet cloak over his shoulder, revealing the red battle armor worn
underneath it. Gripping his shock pike, the Guard spun and twirled it around
his body in an intricate kata before breaking into a run and leaping into the
air, the pike pointed straight down right at Vader’s chest panel.
The Guard never saw him snatch the lightsaber off his belt and ignite it. Never
rising off his knee, Vader grabbed his cape and snapped it up and forward,
entwining it around the Guard’s staff. He yanked the Guard down and thrust the
saber through the man’s torso. Vader then leapt to his feet, spun back and
around the Guard, sliced the saber behind him and decapitated the Guard before
he even hit the ground.
As the Guard’s helmeted head and pike rolled across the marble floors, Vader
straightened himself, switched his lightsaber off, hooked it back onto his
belt, and asked, “Anyone else care to share his thoughts?” Unsurprisingly, he
was met with silence as every man in the room immediately tried to think of
nothing. He addressed the Royal Guards. “Extend my deepest condolences to the
Emperor.” With that, he released his stormtroopers from their Force-hold,
casually stepped over the corpse, and glided out of the receiving hall, forcing
his troopers to jog behind him.
As they strode through the Palace toward his shuttlecraft, Vader ordered,
“Sergeant Kreel.”
The Sergeant came up to Vader’s side. “Yes, my Lord.”
"You and your squad will go to the ISB Headquarters, Interrogation Division.
There you will fetch Madame Sa'thraxxx and bring her to my fortress."
                                     * * *
The old man’s screams echoed through the cold empty starkness of the torture
room, deadening the POP of his shoulders being pulled from their sockets.
"Not exactly the way you thought it would end, is it?" asked a hushed, amused
contralto. "You had it all planned—retire to a lovely green temperate world,
open a small curio shop, and live out the rest of your days free and relaxed,
unfettered by the strife of the surrounding galaxy."
The massive wheel-like structure he was stretched on rotated forward, gears
whining, bringing him level with his Inquisitor. She stood with a relaxed
casual air, her back to him, one long hand set upon the lazy curve of her
slender hip while the other fingered a glimmer-spice cigarette. Her blood-red
leather bodysuit encased her like a second skin, with straps and buckles
accentuating her most pleasing physical features, the back cut out from the
high stiff collar all the way down to the subtle dimples just above her
buttocks. Leather stiletto boots the same hue hugged her taut thighs. Despite
his agony, he glared a hole through the intricate braided hairstyle into the
back of his torturer's skull.
"But," Lylla Sa'thraxxx sighed wearily, bringing the glimmer-spice cigarette to
her lips and taking a long, deliberate drag, "for some reason, you felt you
needed to get involved.” She blew the smoke out in rings. “Kashyyk not exciting
enough for your old bones, was that it? Or does the glorious progress of our
esteemed Empire rattle your sensibilities?"
"Glorious progress," spat the old man through harsh breaths. "Is that what you
call enslaving the Wookiees—"
The elegance of her hands betrayed the speed and ferociousness with which she
could use them. Spinning around, she paced only two steps before smashing her
lead-weighted gloved fist across his aged jaw. “You will speak ONLY when you
tell me what I want to hear!" Grabbing a fistful of his white hair, she jerked
his head up and forward, forcing him to stare into her silver eyes. "That cargo
ship contained over two thousand Wookiee slaves en route to a classified
Imperial labor destination. And then, all of the sudden, two hundred of them
were ARMED with blasters-- blasters you smuggled onboard in crates from your
shop. Now I will ask you again—who was the Rebel spy that engineered that
revolt, and where did that ship go?"
The old man's answer came in the form of bloody saliva that hit just under her
kohl-smudged eye. A slow, amused smirk played across Lylla's full scarlet lips
as she released the old man's hair and delicately wiped the spittle away.
Taking one last drag off the joint, she leaned in, her lips just grazing his
own, and blew the smoke down his throat as she purred, "Wrong answer."
With that, she pressed a tiny button on the remote fastened to her belt,
sending shocks of electricity through the electrodes clamped on the old man's
nipples and privates under his tattered clothing. His screams tore around the
barren walls once again, the old man thrashing in spite of his broken arms.
With the press of another button, the torture wheel rotated again, sending him
up and over to dangle upside down. Lylla's heels clicked the durasteel floor in
an unhurried cadence as she met him on the other side. She waited until the
man's head cleared mere centimeters from the floor before she stopped both
rotation and current.
"You Rebels are charmingly stubborn.” She dropped the joint and crushed it
under her boot. "And your tenacity for a man your age impresses me." She came
to stand above him, planting a boot on either side of his head. Slowly, she
lowered herself into a crouch, grasping the side of the wheel for support,
until the old man's nose was just a breath from her crotch. The old man
sputtered, as the musk of her sex mingled with the scent of leather, wafting
into his nostrils.
Watching the scene through the room’s holocameras, Interrogation Director
Berblinn pulled his own nostrils wide in a disgusted sneer. "Trash," he hissed
through his teeth.
"One must admit, Director," his younger male aide interjected, "she is
effective."
"Oh yes, effective. Effective in befouling a noble profession to which I have
dedicated my life with her wanton ways."
The aide looked nervously about their antechamber. "Please, sir. With all due
respect to your wisdom and greatness, I feel the need to advise that you keep
your voice down in regard to our newest Interrogator."
The older man turned in his seat, looking down his nose at his aide. "Meaning?"
The younger man shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "There have been rumors,
sir, that connect Interrogator Sa'thraxxx with—"
"I know perfectly well with whom she is affiliated, Braxone," The Director
muttered. Braxone opened his mouth to warn him again, but was cut off by a curt
wave of Berblinn's hand as Lylla spoke again through the speakers.
"Ah," Lylla sighed, her smile darkly satisfied, "you are not so old that you no
longer appreciate the scent of a woman, hmmm?" She chuckled again as the old
man choked and writhed under her. "Yes, it is hard to resist. They say that
scent is the greatest aphrodisiac there is, driving men into a frenzied state
of lust. Hopefully, the squad of stormtroopers holding your daughter has been
able to keep themselves in check."
The old man stilled, and his aged eyes gaped in horror. "Wh…what?"
Lylla straightened her long legs, bending at the waist and tipping her head
down until her eyes were parallel to the old man's. "Oh, did I not mention that
before? My apologies." She pulled herself up to her full height. "She wasn't at
all hard to find. A simple cross-reference of your name in the Imperial
databanks told us of her location. And she was right here on the Imperial
Throneworld, of all places. How convenient." She initiated the remote on her
belt again, and the torture wheel rolled up and forward again.
"No, NO!" begged the old man as her whirled forward. "Please, she doesn't know
anything about this—"
"Would you like to see her?" Lylla asked. Another flick of a tiny switch, and a
hologram shot from the projector in the wall. A young woman was bound to a
chair, her clothes ripped, mouth gagged, her eyes swollen, red, and terrified.
Around her stood several white-armored stormtroopers, some with their helmets
and gloves off. Their laughter was guttural and harsh as they groped her
breasts and ran their hands through her thick brown hair. The girl cried
through her gag, trying to writhe out of their reach.
The old man sobbed. Planting herself in front of him, Lylla picked a comlink
off her belt and brought it to her lips. "They have behaved themselves, so far.
But when the commander receives my order, they will partake of your daughter in
any manner they like. My,” her smile grew wider, " 'bonus' to them, for a job
well done in retrieving her so quickly."
"Please," pleaded the old man, hanging limply in his bonds, "please don't do
this…"
"I won't," Lylla answered simply, raising her brows. She stepped toward him.
"If you tell me where that ship went, and who your Rebel contact was. You tell
me, and she goes free. It's easy."
He panted hard, his eyes slit. "You malignant bitch."
Lylla clicked her tongue against her teeth. "Again, wrong answer." She flicked
the comlink on. "Sergeant—"
"Tatooine!!" he cried. His face compressed into an anguished grimace. "We sent
it to Tatooine.”
"Tatooine," she muttered. Lylla’s eyes slit. Between the two Mos spaceports and
the hundreds of smugglers that ran their contraband out of them, the chances
were too good that those slaves were dispersed throughout the galaxy by now.
"Who was the ring leader? How did they get the clearance codes to land on
Tatooine?" Lylla pressed her whole body against him. "Tell. Me."
He swallowed hard, and sunk his head. "A free Wookiee named Chewbacca. He was a
smuggler who now works with the Rebel Alliance. He got the guns, I ran them
through my shop. He knows Imperial clearance codes, he knows every smuggler in
the galaxy."
"And where is he?"
"I don't know."
"Really?" she sighed. She lifted the comlink again. "Sergeant—"
"I DON'T KNOW!" he screamed. "I don't know where he is! Don't, please DON'T! I
DON'T KNOw…" His cracked voice receded into hysterical sobs.
Lylla considered the weeping, broken elder for a moment before switching on the
comlink. "Sergeant. Return the detainee to her home." She paused, piercing her
silver-hued gaze into the old man's crying eyes, and drawled, “In your own
time.” Then she turned and paced away.
"Please, don't let them hurt her," he begged.
Sa'thraxxx stopped and explained over her shoulder, "Examples must be made, my
misguided, foolish old friend. The galaxy must acknowledge that those who spit
in the face of our glorious Emperor will find justice swift and ruthless."
"Justice?" he wept bitterly. "You mean vengeance."
She turned back and shrugged. "Whatever." With a press of one last button on
her belt, the old man's heart exploded in his chest as one last vicious current
coursed through him. His broken lifeless body slumped on the torture wheel.
Lylla drew a long, shuddering breath. She clenched herself to keep the wash of
arousal from soaking her suit. She walked to the wall and leaned against it,
her head on her arm. A particularly effective torture session always left her
feeling like this-- wanting, frustrated, sad, and very, very alone. "Where are
you?" she breathed, her lips trembling. "Please, I need you." A sob shocked her
throat. "I need you..."
She jerked up, remembering that she was still being recorded. She straightened
herself, breathed, wiped the smudge of moisture from her eyes. Striding to the
door, she palmed the lock-- and found herself face to face with the Director
Berblinn and his aide standing on the other side.
Lylla cocked an eyebrow. "Did you get all that?"
"It has been recorded and is being sent to Intelligence Director Isaard as we
speak, Madame Sa'thraxxx," Braxone answered, then cowered slightly at the sharp
glance from Berblinn.
The display did not escape Lylla's notice. With a smirk and a nod, she chirped,
"Good," as she lazily brushed between the two men and made her way down the
corridor.
"Madame Sa'thraxxx!" Berblinn bellowed after her, "A word with you!"
Lylla never broke her long strides as she turned over her shoulder. "I'm sure
we can discuss whatever you wish in my rest chamber, High Lord."
The Director turned a deepened purple. "Who exactly does that strumpet think
she is?" he bit through his teeth as he burst after her. He, however, kept his
anger in check as he followed her, saving it for the privacy of her chambers.
A turn of a corner and a few more steps brought them to Lylla's suite. She
palmed the door and, without acknowledging her, threw her lead-weighted gloves
at the young human servant girl inside. The girl scrambled to catch them, then
lowered her head in reverence to the Director and his aide.
Lylla came about the large chair in front of her mirror and dropped herself in
it. "And to what to do I owe the pleasure of this personal visit, Director?"
she crooned as she stretched her long arms over her head.
Berblinn wasted no time with pleasantries. "Who authorized your use of a squad
of stormtroopers?" he barked.
Lylla raised an eyebrow at his mirrored reflection. "I needed authorization? I
was under the impression that Interrogators are provided complete autonomy."
"Within the confines of interrogation! Bringing in a family member is used ONLY
when all other means of interrogation have failed! An old man like that
wouldn't have lasted five more timeparts. There was no need to threaten in his
daughter!"
Lylla spun the chair round to face him fully, lifting one long leg up to drape
over the other. "He confessed, didn't he? We know what happened to that slave
ship, and now we have a name." She snapped her fingers hastily at the young
slave, who immediately came to her and began gingerly taking out the pins
holding Lylla's intricate hairstyle. Lylla rested her head back. "I fail to
understand this sudden bout of compassion Director, particularly where the
Rebels are concerned.”
"Chaos with compassion!" Berblinn countered crustily. "Do you know the COST of
authorizing a squad of troops?"
"There's a cost?"
He folded his arms within the sleeves of his sumptuous dark red robe as he took
a long, calming breath. "Yes, Sa'thraxxx, there are costs. Fuel, transmission
fees for holomessages, administration fees, and so on. Do you think credits are
limitless--”
“Compared to what, Berblinn?” she snapped. “The Empire losing billions of
credits in a labor force that just went ‘poof’?”
Berblinn ignored her. “Not to mention taking those troopers off their assigned
duties AND the public display of dragging the girl from her home-"
She narrowed her eyes. “Why don’t you tell me what this is really about?”
The Director drew a deep breath. "The destruction of Alderaan did not exactly
have the effect the Emperor had anticipated." The High Lord explained. "There
have been numerous reports of even more insurgencies rising, even here on the
Coruscant--”
“The Imperial Center.”
‘DON’T CORRECT ME!” Berblinn exclaimed. Lylla enjoyed her tiny victory in
angering him even more. He continued. “And now with the obliteration of the
Death Star--"
"The destruction of the Death Star has merely tipped the scales, my Lord, not
toppled them," Lylla said smoothly. A strange smile pulled her lip. "Are you
not familiar with the Tarkin Doctrine?"
"Of course," he huffed.
"Then how can you argue my methods? If the only way to govern a principality as
vast as an entire galaxy is through FEAR, then we, as His Majesty's
Interrogators, are truly his finest weapons. I am quite proud to say that I
knew Grand Moff Tarkin personally.” VERY personally, Berblinn, she thought to
herself. Fucking Tarkin was well worth hacking into his personal logs. “Which
do you believe is more frightening, High Lord-- a battle station that you can
plainly see?" She lifted her silver eyes to penetrate his. "Or the eyes
watching from the shadows that you can not?" She smiled cruelly. "This is
hardly the time to relax our grip, Director. If anything, we must tighten our
hold even further on the hearts and minds of the populace."
The Director glared at Lylla for a brief moment. Then, quite unexpectedly, he
chuckled. "You are an ambitious woman, Sa'thraxxx. But you are hardly Grand
Moff Tarkin."
Her serpentine eyes slit. "Not yet." Suddenly she winced, growled, and spun her
chair around, using its momentum to backhand her servant full force across the
face. "What have I said about PULLING?" she flared.
The golden-haired girl cried out and dropped the pins and combs she held,
bringing a shaking hand to her cheek. "Forgive me, Mistress," the girl
whimpered, her eyes cast to the floor. "Your hair just grows so fast...the pins
get snarled, it is difficult to remove them."
Lylla glared at her servant briefly before pursing her lips. She was correct,
of course. Her first, and so far only, coupling with Darth Vader had exposed
her to the Dark Side of the Force. Since then, her hair grew at an alarming
rate. Every night, her servant girl would cut it up to her neck. By morning, it
had grown to the middle of her back. Some days it would have to be cut twice.
She settled a delicate finger on the girl's cheek. "Just...be...careful," she
advised in a throaty murmur, sliding the finger down her throat, letting it
brush just slightly over the girl's small breast before dropping it back into
her lap. Spinning the chair round, she leaned her head back. "Continue." The
humiliated girl picked a clean comb from the dressing table and resumed her
work on Lylla's black-streaked scarlet hair. Sa'thraxxx opened one silver eye,
glancing down her nose at Berblinn. "You're still here?" She sighed wearily,
waving a lazy hand. "Fine-- from now on, no troops without your expressed
authorization, Director. Understood." When awaited response did not come
immediately, she opened the other eye. "Was there anything else?"
A slow smile soured Berblinn's sagging face. "By all dimensions of the Force,"
he chuckled dimly, shaking his head, "what does Lord Vader possibly see in
you?"
The girl gasped, dropping her second comb on the durasteel floor. Even the
silver protocol droid stationed in the suite's corner reacted, raising his
metal hands in front of his plastine eyes and turning into the wall. Braxone
rolled his eyes back and seemed to shrink several centimeters down into his
uniform, as if that could possibly hide him from the repercussions of
Berblinn's foolhardiness. But Berblinn held his ground in the thick silence of
the room, the smirk still smeared across his face as he awaited this harpy's
hysterical reaction…
But even as rage simmered under the delicate ivory of her complexion, Lylla
remained as cool and poised as an assassin's dagger…and smiled. Slowly she rose
from her chair, uncoiling to her full stature before—and over—him. Placing her
slim hands upon her hips, she leaned into him, just brushing the satin of her
cheek against his, and her breath rolled gently over his ear as she murmured,
"Would you like me to ask him for you when he returns, Director Berblinn?"
Berblinn remained still, staring directly ahead. "IF he returns, Inquisitor
Sa'thraxxx." His grin spread even wider as he felt hers fall against his cheek.
"Three months since the Death Star's destruction, and still no word from Lord
Vader. You honestly believe His Majesty's propaganda, that Lord Vader is alive
and well and currently hunting those responsible for the Death Star’s
destruction? Your girlish trust exposes your inexperience. We who have served
the Emperor for significantly more years know better."
Lylla froze as Berblinn pulled away from her, her eyes cast down as she fought
to remain composed. He glanced at the protocol droid in the corner. "I commend
His Lordship on his choice of tutors for you, my dear. Instead of a coarse,
uncultured whore, you've become a somewhat more sophisticated one." He gestured
to his aide, who was more than happy to follow his direction toward the door.
Berblinn remained a brief second longer to glare Lylla down. "You strut your
arrogance on borrowed time, Sa'thraxxx," he said before striding through the
door.
Lylla glared at the floor, her fists curling, her knuckles whitening. "Get
out," she whispered.
Her servant maid knit her brow. "Mistress?"
"Get out," Sa'thraxxx repeated in a low growl. Scared and confused, the girl
hesitated. Lylla spun round, her silver eyes flashing, her lip pulled over her
teeth in an animal snarl. "Are you fucking deaf?" Seizing the arms of the heavy
chair, she screamed, "I SAID GET OUT!" before hurling it across the room. The
girl screamed in kind, throwing her arms over her head and rushing past her
mistress out the door. The protocol droid, far slower than his human
counterpart, hobbled as fast as he could toward the door, only to be struck
several times by bottles and jars his mistress threw at him.
Lylla hurled her arms across her dressing table. Bottles, brushes, pins and
small pots flew in all directions, shattering against the walls, spilling on
the floor. Cosmetic powder exploded into the air, snowing lightly back down on
her as she slumped to her knees and howled her anguish into the floor.
Berblinn was right, and she knew it. Right about her, and about Vader. "He's
dead," she whispered before exploding into tears. “He’s dead.” Her body racked
violently with every word, every sob. "I don't belong here, I'm…I try to be
like them…but they hate me…I should never have come here, I should have gotten
on that supply cruiser…" She wiped her soaked face and her lip trembled.
"Berblinn is right. What did he see in me…?"
Her chest hurt. She sat up, still weeping, and rubbed between her breasts as
she attempted to calm herself. Her chamber door chimed. Lylla threw her head up
and shrieked, “I have NOTHING to say to you, Berblinn!!” It chimed again. She
pushed herself off the floor, lunged at the doors, and slammed the controls
with her palm, ready to unleash all the fury of the nine hells on that
insufferable slacked-jowled fat bastard---
Only to find herself facing a squad of stormtroopers.
One stepped forward. “Madame Sa’thraxxx. We are ordered by Lord Vader to
retrieve you and take you to his fortress.”
Her breaths were short and shallow as she furiously tried to understand what
was happening…and then a wave of elation swept over her. “He’s...alive?” she
whispered through her sobs. The Sergeant nodded once. Lylla threw her arms
around the stormtrooper’s neck as she joyously wailed, “HE’S ALIVE!!!” The poor
stormtrooper stiffened under her embrace and prayed Lord Vader would never hear
of this.
Lylla looked over the trooper’s shoulder to see High Lord Inquisitor Berblinn
standing behind the squad. Berblinn's demeanor had taken a turn since his last
visit only moments earlier—his jowls seemed to sink as low as his spirit, as
did his posture, and his eyes were that of a cornered womprat. Lylla watched
him struggle to meet her gaze. "It seems," he croaked before clearing his
bulbous throat, "that I have underestimated our Lord Vader."
A crooked smile tugged Lylla's full lips as she held her hold on Sergeant
Krell’s neck. "Yes, it seems you have."
“Madame,” Sergeant Kreel murmured through his vocoder, “I politely ask you to
let me go.”
“Wha--yes, yes, of course.” Lylla let go of the trooper’s neck. She exhaled in
glee, then frowned slightly as she spun and quickly looked into her suite’s
mirror. Caked in powders, cosmetics, and perfumes, her hair was wild and
disheveled, and her leather bodysuit smeared all over: She looked dreadful.
Drawing a calming breath, running a hand over her hair and attempting to regain
some dignity, Lylla said, "I will need a few moments to prepare myself."
"As you wish, Lady," Kreel replied.
"Lady," Lylla repeated in an absent whisper. She smiled again. "Yes…a few
moments…" She palmed the door closed and then frantically tore through her
suite.
From dressing area to fresher and back again, her frenzied movement only
interrupted by a few moments of quick decision. Makeup? Not enough time—just
wash. Clothing rained all over the suite as Lylla ripped her wardrobe apart.
This dress? No, too many laces…No, not this one, too complicated…yes, yes this
one! Hair—oh gods, my HAIR…!
The few moments Lylla requested clicked away, and her door finally slid open.
Berblinn glanced up and raised an eyebrow. She stood in the door, breathless
and wild-eyed, and he couldn't help but be reminded of a thoroughbred equaa
rearing against its gate before a race. Her face was fresh and clean of the
heavy cosmetics she usually wore. Hastily and loosely tied behind her neck, her
scarlet hair spilled down her back, messy tendrils veiling her face. Silver
eyes sparked with feral eagerness, lips wet and parted and, if Berblinn didn't
think he knew her better, he could almost say that she struck a likeness of
unbridled innocence.
She threw a scarlet wrap over her clingy black shimmersilk dress. "I'm ready."
"Very good, Lady," the Sergeant replied, nodding his helm in affirmation as he
stepped aside to let her pass.
She took a few steps forward, but stopped and turned around. The purity that
had graced her features was gone, and the arrogant glint had returned to
Lylla’s eyes. "Would you still like me to relay your question to Lord Vader,
Director Berblinn?" she sang with a caustic lilt. Berblinn's response came in
an explosion of furious red across his face and a fierce shaking of his jowls.
Lylla's throaty laughter pealed down the dark corridor, blending with the cries
of the tortured in aberrant harmony. Her boot heels drummed the floors as she
practically sprinted toward the speeder bay.
Kreel took a step to go, but stopped when Berblinn asked, "Lord Vader is at his
fortress?"
"Yes, Director Berblinn."
"Very good, Sergeant, thank you." As the stormtroopers stepped in unison down
the corridor, Berblinn picked a comlink out of his pocket. "Braxone."
"Yes, sir," Braxone's light tenor crackled over the com.
"I'm on my way back. And I expect a direct channel to Lord Vader to be open by
the time I return."
                                     * * *
The speeder raced through the day's end sky, skimming through peaks and crests
of the Throneworld highest starscrapers. The thoroughfare they traveled was
reserved for the Emperor and Lord Vader's use only, so theirs was the only
speeder in their part of the atmosphere. The air was so clean and almost
fragrant that high above the hive-world.
Lylla felt her heart would burst. She clutched the seat in front of her as she
shifted her legs under her and knelt up, unconcerned of the danger it posed.
She closed her eyes and smiled, filling her lungs, reveling in the feel of the
wind whipping through her hair. To her, nothing else mattered but these next
few hours.
When she finally opened her eyes, they were filled with the ebon citadel
looming before them with black obsidian spires that stabbed into the indigo
twilight skies. A terrifying yet magnificent monument of man's fortitude forged
with machine's might.
Just like him, she thought.
"Madame Sa'thraxxx," the Sergeant sitting in the front seat addressed her, "I
suggest belting yourself in. We will be making our descent in a moment."
Lylla sank back into her seat, and clicked her restraint into place. She placed
her hand over her heart, and when she felt its wild thump against her palm, a
strange turmoil gripped her. Why does my heart beat like this? she thought.
He's a man, he's only a man, just like all the others, a means to an end, just
like all the others…
But he isn’t, is he?
Images and feelings swarmed her mind, memories of their night together on the
now destroyed Death Star. He had shown her things, things that did not dwell in
this mundane physical world, but were no less real. The dark magnificence of
fallen angels had touched her, and there were times she still felt the heat of
their lips upon her flesh, the feel of him inside of her, his searing kiss, his
hunger for her. Then there were the corporeal changes; the blanching of her
eyes, the mad growth of her scarlet hair, the black streaks of Dark Side
striping through it, setting its claim on her.
But the nights…the long, unbearable nights she would lie in her new
sumptuous—and empty—bed, staring at the ceiling for hours. She bitterly
recalled how, as she lay there, she would slide her hand down to her mound,and
bring herself to orgasm as she cried for his return.
The speeder descended toward the gaping maw of the fortress's speeder port, and
Lylla's eyes slit. Her elation, unexpectedly, seeped into quiet anger. What
have you done to me, Vader?
                                     * * *
"Of course, it pains me to bring you this news, Lord Vader." Berblinn's
holographic jowls sank with conjured remorse. "But I was given little choice, I
fear."
"I see." The Dark Lord paused. Berblinn opened his mouth to continue, but was
cut off. "What is her record so far?"
"Er, well," Berblinn began, somewhat reluctantly, "We have been breaking her in
on somewhat easier subjects—the elderly, addicts—"
"And?"
Berblinn took a breath before admitting, "Full confessions from each subject.
And all information checked out."
"In what time?"
"All confessed in less than a standard day."
"So,” Vader began, “you felt it necessary to intrude upon my solitude to inform
me that, much to your displeasure, my newest appointee to the ISB Interrogation
Division is doing her job well."
This was not going as Berblinn had anticipated. He swallowed. "Force, no, my
Lord! That's not what—"
"Do not take the Force's name in vain in my presence, if you please," Vader
interjected with the perfect touch of threat.
Berblinn's earlier assurance was now completely shattered. He lowered his eyes.
"Forgive me, Lord Vader. It was not my intention to question or insult you. I
merely thought you should be informed of Interrogator Sathraxxx's behavior."
"And that is?"
Berblinn seemed to bristle ever so slightly to the Dark Lord's calm and
composed tone, but he certainly became more daring as he exclaimed, "The woman
is completely out of control! She is arrogant and willful; she absolutely lacks
any respect for her superiors! Her dress is inappropriate at best. She refuses
to wear the standard ISB uniform! Comes traipsing in wearing some—"
"Madame Sa'thraxxx's choice of wardrobe was a personal directive from me,"
Vader informed him. He continued as Berblinn gawked at him. "Her physical
attractiveness complements her unique methods. Surely that has been proven?"
"That I cannot deny, my Lord," Berblinn acknowledged grudgingly. "However, that
isn't the end of it. She beats her servant in public view—a most distasteful
practice, one must admit. She partakes of glimmer-spice during interrogation!
And then there is her complete lack of discretion regarding the nature of her
relationship with you—"
"And what exactly IS the nature of her relationship with me, Director?"
Berblinn blubbered silently as he struggled to find a suitable answer. "I'm
sure," he finally sputtered, "I do not know, Lord Vader, nor care to."
"I thought as much." He leaned toward Berblinn's holographic image.
"Personality conflicts within the ISB do not concern me, Berblinn. Since
Interrogator Sa'thraxxx appears to be performing her duties well, I will not
tolerate any trivial reports regarding her methods. Understood?"
"Most clearly, my Lord Vader."
"However, as far as her behavior is concerned," Vader added, his tone quieter,
"It will be dealt with accordingly."
Berblinn exhaled sharply as he bowed low. "I humbly thank you, Lord Vader."
Without acknowledging Berblinn any further, Vader switched the holocom off and
collapsed back into the med-bed. It had taken substantial effort and the Force
to appear fit in front of his troops, but once he arrived back to his fortress,
his droids immediately rushed him to his medical chamber. He attempted deep
breaths, but again, could not override the programmed rhythm of his respirator.
"Allow me, my Lord," his Two-One-Bee unit offered, extending one of its metal
appendages and readjusting the panel on Vader's breastplate. The adjustment
filled his mask with a gust of precious oxygen, and he inhaled deeply. With his
remaining three appendages, Two-One-Bee delicately seared the last cable
housing on Vader's cybernetic wrist closed. "Finished, my Lord. I have mended
all cybernetic pathways."
Vader raised his ungloved cybernetic hands to his mask, opening and closing
them, testing the mends. "How long before I can shed my armor?" he asked.
"A few more minutes, my Lord. Pressure and oxygen levels in your chambers at
eighty-five percent." The medical droid glanced at the monitor. "Heart rate has
returned to standard beat. Organic to synthetic blood ratio has been balanced.
Blood oxygen levels returned to optimum. Brain scan shows no damage. You should
take sustenance though, my Lord."
Insertion of his feeding tube did not sound particularly inviting. "Not now."
"Very well, my Lord." A soft alarm sounded from Vader's desk. "It seems Madame
Sa'thraxxx has arrived."
"Bring her to my chambers," Vader instructed.
With a slight nod of its head, the Two-One-Bee unit backed up, turned, and
glided across the onyx floor out the chamber doors. Vader lay on his med-bed,
staring at the readouts across his lenses signifying his chamber's atmospheric
levels, and sighed.
Disciplined by his Master. Forced to correct his mistress. Yes, this homecoming
was turning out exactly as he had expected.
***** Chapter 2 *****
Chapter Summary
     Vader is furious with Lylla's behavior while he was missing. Lylla is
     furious with Vader for abandoning her alone on the Throneworld. But
     their battle of wills only makes their attraction that much stronger.
     Vader senses that the Dark Side favors Lylla and wants to know more.
     Sidious makes his presence known, but Vader distracts him as he
     compels Lylla to reveal her past.
     Palpatine enlists an enemy of Vader's in a scheme to drive a wedge
     between them.
     While purging renegade Jedi on Fellenet, Vader tracks down a person
     from Lylla's past.
                                     * * *
It didn't surprise Lylla that the palace was massive. What did surprise her was
its lack of…well, anything. No furniture, no servants, no art, nothing that
would suggest Vader's obvious vast wealth, save for the palace itself. In fact,
there were no organic beings to be found anywhere. Just various makes of droids
that would appear from the perpetual gloom of the place, rolling or stepping
out from behind the staggering ebon pillars that held the lofted ceilings. She
remembered a saying she’d heard once, "A man's home is the reflection of his
soul." And here it was, laid before her; splendid, imposing, dark, cold, and
empty.
"I know the feeling," she murmured.
"Pardon, Madame?"
Her attention dropped from the sprawling ceilings to the protocol droid in
front of her. "What?"
It tilted its head. "Did you say something to me, Madame?"
"No," Lylla snapped. Her musing was quickly replaced by impatience. "How much
further must we walk?"
"Not long, Madam. Here." The droid gestured to the open lift doors before them.
Lylla brushed past the droid. But the droid stayed behind.
She lifted an eyebrow. "You're not coming?"
"No, Madame. Only Lord Vader's medical droids are allowed on his private floor.
No one has ever been granted access…except you."
A self-satisfied smirk played across her features. "As it should be," she
growled softly as the lift doors slid closed.
When the lift stopped, the doors opened to reveal yet another grand corridor.
The hall had to have been a quarter-kilometer long. The Throneworld twilight
ebbed through the majestic cathedral windows that lined the vast passage,
dimming with every step she took.
She tried to walk the extensive corridor with patience but, as it had been
since the very moment she had learned of his return, her desire overcame her
reason. Before Lylla even knew it she was running down the black hall. The wind
she created caught her scarlet wrap, lifting it up and off her shoulders. She
stopped only once, hopping on one leg, then the next as she pulled off the
high-heeled boots that impeded her before resuming her sprint. The enormous
doors that awaited her swung open, and Lylla wasted no time running through
them.
She stopped, however, when she realized she couldn't see a thing. And the
air…heavy, hot, almost too dense to breathe, and she felt the same dull
pressure in her ears as she did in his hyperbaric chamber on the Death Star.
With the air so thick with oxygen, her head began to spin, but nevertheless she
tried to force her eyes to adjust to the darkness. She looked above her to the
only source of any light, a steel-strutted skylight that shown only the
faintest glow from the city-planet below. She lowered her eyes, still
struggling to see, when a form finally took shape. The dim light glinted off
the sheen of the dome-shaped helmet over what appeared to be wide shoulders
draped in a black cloak…
"Vader," she purred. She took careful steps toward the figure, careful to avoid
any obstacles, before lunging forward and throwing her arms around the
form—only to have it topple in her grasp. She screamed when the helmet clanged
across the hard marble floor and the heavy black cloak pooled at her feet.
"Don't move."
Lylla shrieked again. Her eyes darted through the darkness. "My Lord—"
"And don't speak." His voice was different, higher in pitch and hoarse. With
the thick air, his helmet lying on the floor, and his voice unaltered, Lylla
assumed the Dark Lord was completely unarmored. "Move back into the light,” he
said. “I want a look at you." He was quiet and unmistakably angry.
The desire that had flustered her only moments before was giving way to dread.
Hesitant, she stepped into the diffused circle of the skylight. Her lip
trembled, but she raised her chin into the light to allow better viewing.
Many long, tense moments passed before the Dark Lord spoke again. "You are too
thin, Sa'thraxxx," the voice rumbled. It came from all around her as he circled
her. She heard the faintest sounds come from the dark, the barely audible whirs
of robotic gears, a soft clink every time he took a step, but could still see
nothing. "One would think that with your newfound fortune, a decent meal would
have made its way to your lips. You are no longer a slave." A pause. "Or are
you?"
Something seized her by the throat from behind and yanked her back against a
wall of skin and muscle. She tried to scream, but couldn’t breathe. She
thrashed and clawed at the clamp around her throat…but stilled when she
realized it wasn't a clamp at all. It was a hand hewn of wire and durasteel.
Another metal hand plunged down the neckline of her dress and groped her
breasts. But it was gone as quickly, and as it appeared in front of her face, a
slim joint of glimmer-spice was pinched between its metal digits. "A slave to
this?"
Oh gods, she forgot it was there, hidden inside a tiny pocket. Her voice came
out a strangled squeak. "Vader—"
"You are not fit to utter my name.” His whisper was like acid in her ear.
"Director Berblinn has just informed me of your conduct of recent months,
Sa'thraxxx."
Lylla winced in spite of her immediate peril. That bastard son of a galley
whore, she thought dourly.
Vader pulled her up and tight against his hard scarred chest, her toes brushing
the floor, and his fingers crushed harder around her throat. He bit out every
word. "I lifted you from bondage, I bestowed you with wealth, I handed you the
power of fear and privilege, and how do you repay me? With arrogance, with
indiscretion, with ADDICTION!" He crushed the joint between his metal fingers
in front of her eyes, letting it pepper to the floor. "I will NOT be humiliated
by the likes of YOU! Give me one sound reason why I should not kill you where
you stand?”
Lylla's body went limp within his grip. Her Lord’s favor was slipping away,
along with her consciousness. And if she lost that, she wouldn't want to go on.
“I can't,” she rasped.
Vader opened himself to her emotions. He expected the usual—fear, terror,
desperation. But instead, he felt… heartbreak. Disgrace that she had displeased
him. And complete acceptance of her fate, at his hands. His lips still against
her ear, he saw the sparkle of a single tear slide down her cheek.
A grimace smeared across his face. The metal hand snapped open. Lylla dropped
to the floor, collapsing to her hands and knees, sucking hoarse breaths of the
heavy air into her starved lungs. Vader slipped back into the darkness.
"Perhaps I was mistaken about you," he growled. "Perhaps you are not worthy of
my favor."
Lylla's desperate breaths slowed, and Vader immediately felt her desolation
turn into white-hot anger. She raised her head. "Oh," she growled back, her lip
pulling up, "but I was worthy enough to fuck, wasn't I, Vader?" She chewed his
name through her teeth.
"You dare take that tone with me, girl!" Vader roared.
"Yes, I dare!" Lylla shot back, narrowing her eyes into silver blades. "When
you threaten me without hearing me out, I dare! When you disappear for months
and don't tell me where you are—"
"I was stranded on Vaal!" he bellowed. "I crash landed, my ship was destroyed,
I had no transmitter, no sustenance, nothing! Fighting my way through beasts
and predators for weeks to get to a communications post! So forgive me, Lady,"
he snarled, "if I couldn't return quickly enough to coddle you."
"YOU LEFT ME HERE!" she screamed. She beat her fists against the hard floor.
"You told me it would only be a few days, after you had defeated the Rebels!
You left me here, alone, at the mercy of those Imperial skiv-wolves! Berblinn,
Isaard, all of them, calling me a whore, laughing at me… " A heavy sob wracked
her body. "I didn't know what to do, I didn't know how to act! So yes, I did
imply that we were lovers—simply to frighten them, to make them…just leave me
alone!" She sat back on her feet and pressed her palms against her soaking
eyes. "I…wanted…to be strong, feared, like…you."
"Is that how you think I behave?" Vader asked. "Like an insufferable child?"
Lylla let out a frustrated shriek and hit the floor again. "Show yourself, damn
it! Why do you constantly hide from me? First you blind me, and now you lurk in
the dark! If you are going to kill me, then face me!"
A heavy metallic THUNK came towards her, then another. Before she could
retreat, the metal hands had clamped her by the shoulders and pulled her off
the floor. She sucked a breath to scream, but then stopped. She gaped at his
face, now just a breath from hers. Burn-scarred skin stretched over chiseled
cheekbones, lips pulled back from his teeth in anger. But the blue eyes she
remembered now burned a seething yellow shot with red. "Is this what you want?"
he hissed, spit hitting her lip. "Is this what you wanted to see?"
"Yes, damn you!" Lylla spat back.
He twisted his hand into her hair and jerked her head back. "Foolish,
infuriating girl!” he roared. “I could burst your heart with a mere thought—"
"THEN DO IT!!" she screamed. Even with her head forced back, Lylla glared him
down, shaking with rage even as her eyes filled with tears. "If I am nothing to
you, if I have lost your favor forever, then I'd rather be DEAD." She clenched
her eyes shut. "What have you done to me? I was strong, I relied on no one but
myself, I didn’t need ANYONE before you!”
“Yes, you were flourishing as Imperial property,” Vader snarled.
She began to cry. “I hate you. I hate that you've made me so weak!" Captured
and breathless, Lylla struggled against him. “I hate you…” Her body quaked with
sobbing and her delicious anger blazed through the Force.
Caged in his arms and completely at his mercy, Vader realized he had never held
a woman like this before, so forcibly, so possessively. He could never have
done this with...her: He would have terrorized her, so he had always restrained
himself, no matter how fiercely he wanted to. But Lylla… Lylla was a furious
feminine animal, a ravishing beast of fire and rage and sex. He touched her
with the Force and, despite her outward fight, she was wildly aroused. His cock
swelled hard, her cries in his ears.
His hand still snared in her hair, he forced her face to his... and caught the
tears running down her cheeks on his tongue, relishing the burn of their salt.
He met her stunned wet eyes. “I must bring you to tears more often, my girl,”
he said in a deep growl. “You are exquisite when you cry.” Before she could
respond in any way, Vader savagely took her mouth, his tongue assaulting hers.
Lylla stiffened at first in shock, but only for the briefest moment. The
hesitancy and uncertainty of their first encounter was gone, replaced by the
raw fury and passion that she knew him capable of and had so coveted these last
few months. She fervently kissed him back, plundering his tongue with her own.
When his cybernetic hands slid down to grasp her buttocks, she instinctively
took the cue and clamped her long legs around his waist while snaking her arms
around his neck. Through her dress, she could feel that he was naked—and hard
for her.
Vader broke off the kiss, but still trapped her against him. They panted
against each other, staring into the other's eyes. His digits slid into her
wild hair again and pulled her head back, albeit far more gently this time, and
his teeth grazed the satin column of her throat, working up to her earlobe.
Lylla drew a sharp breath, and ground her mound against his rigid erection. "Am
I forgiven?" she whispered huskily into his ear.
Vader pulled back to meet her eyes. "Not quite." He held her in his glare. "You
are insolent and careless, Sa'thraxxx—"
"Lylla. Call me Lylla. Please."
He raised a hairless eyebrow. “You do not care for the name I gave you?”
“Oh no, my Lord, I cherish it,” she breathed, burying her face into his neck.
“But... it’s what they call me. I’ve only heard it snarled at me in disgust.”
The yellow in his eyes sparked with quiet anger-- not at her, but at those
fatuous career Inquisitors who denigrated her Sith name in her ears. He took
her earlobe into his teeth again. “Sa’thraxxx…” he half-whispered, half-
growled, elongating the hiss of her name. She responded with a breath and a
shiver. “That is how you will hear it from now on. Understood?”
“Yes, my Lord,” Lylla moaned back. Vader pulled back and stared at her
intently, with a look that she could only describe as bemused. “What is it?”
she asked.
"Why do you not fear me, Lylla?" Vader asked, quietly yet earnestly.
She smiled slightly. "Why do you want me, Vader?" she asked. “Is it because I
don't fear you?" She caressed his lips with her breath. "Because I understand
you?"
She did. Vader looked into her very essence, and found all of his rage, hate,
and emptiness reflected back to him. Had Lylla any Force-sensitivity, she would
have made a fine apprentice. And yet, the darkness of her aura was unlike any
he had ever encountered from someone Force-blind. The fact that she not only
survived her intense exposure to the Dark Side, but was physically changed by
it, indicated that Lylla was special. While she couldn’t use the Force, Vader
sensed that she could be very useful to him in other ways than just carnally.
But then, dread darkened his thoughts. The Emperor may feel the same way once
he sensed her uniqueness.
He slowly released her until her feet touched the floor, and unhooked her arms
from his neck. Before Lylla had the chance to protest, he had already slipped
back into the shadows. How does he move that fast? she thought, perturbed. She
was about to vent her frustration when he said, "The Emperor knows of you."
She cocked an eyebrow. "And?"
"Now is not the time to play the innocent, Lylla."
She knit her brow. "Is that bad?"
"It is…unfortunate." A pause. "He wants to meet you."
"What?" she gasped. "The Emperor?"
"It is not the honor you perceive it to be. He wants to study you, twist you,
find ways to use you against me."
"That will never happen—"
"Do not be too certain," he replied sourly.
She furrowed her brow in confusion. "But I thought…you were his heir, his
second—"
"I am…" he began, but then stopped. "He is my Master. I must obey him in all
things."
“Master? What do you mean, ‘Master’?” Lylla tried to determine what he was
saying. “You mean...like his slave?”
One could put it that way, he bitterly mused. “His apprentice.”
“Oh.” She didn’t quite understand, but she did glean that this was a not
relationship based on friendship or trust. She had only seen holopics of the
Emperor, a tiny troll of a man, swallowed by dark robes, with bony hands and a
twist in his face that could sort of be described as a smile. That was when she
made the connection. “Is the Emperor a mage? Like you?”
“Mage?” he asked.
“A magician, a sorcerer. That’s what we called them on Fellenet.”
Vader knit his brow. “There are many of these on Fellenet?”
Lylla shrugged. “A few. Travelers, entertainers. No one as powerful as you,
though. They just do tricks, make things float in the air, make people do and
say silly things, tell fortunes. For money.”
Jedi, Vader thought. Or untrained Force-sensitives blaspheming their powers on
circus tricks. Vader cracked a small smile-- Lylla had just led him to renegade
Force-users and she didn’t even know it. Yes, very useful. It seemed Fellenet
would be his next destination.
He answered her question. “Yes, he is like me. But stronger.”
“Stronger?” Lylla said, incredulous. “I can’t believe that. That little bog-
toad couldn’t lift an eyelid.”
“I would watch your words carefully, Lylla.”
She shrugged again. “Why? He’s not here.”
“Not yet. But he will be.”
“Wait--what?” she yelped. “He’s COMING HERE?”
“You misunderstand. He can see us through the Force. He wants to…” A hard
pause. “Watch us.”
“Watch us? Watch us do wha--” The answer felt like it fell on her head. “You
mean…?”
“Yes,” Vader exhaled. "He wants to be certain that you are worthy of my favor."
He turned back to Lylla standing in the dim circle of light. She stood still
and silent with her mouth agape and her expression blank. But then, quite
suddenly, she began to laugh. A soft giggle at first, it escalated into hearty
laughter that pealed off every surface of the chamber.
His wrath smoldered. "You find this amusing?"
"I…I find it…" she gasped between cackles, "Very, very funny!" This sent her
into another round of inappropriate laughter.
"I fail to see the humor,” he rumbled,
Lylla straightened herself up, breathing deeply to regain her control. "Men!
Whether slave or king, you all want the same thing! You are simple creatures."
"What do you mean?"
"The Emperor is nothing more than a horny old stone-goat is what I mean!" she
exclaimed. "He doesn't care that I'm worthy of you—he wants a show!” Another
fit threatened to surface, but she clamped her hand over her mouth and managed
to force it down. “Why, the old, wrinkled voyeur! Who knew he had it in him?”
"Trust me, Lylla,” Vader warned, “That is not all he wants.”
Her mirth suddenly soured. “But it’s partly what he wants.” She ran her slender
hands through her unruly mane, "I was a pleasure slave, a thrall. I have
performed for unseen eyes many times. I know what this is, and I know why he
wants it. Because he can’t do it.” She met his glare and cocked an eyebrow.
“Seems you are stronger than he is in one aspect, my Lord.” Her laughter
returned, but now it was quiet and bitter. “Masters. No matter who they are,
they all play the same pathetic little games.”
Vader’s loins tightened. Dark. Fearless. Battered but never broken. His spies
on the Death Star had told him much, but they hadn’t told him everything about
Lylla. He wanted to know everything.
She turned away and took a few steps, her head bent down as if in thought.
Finally, she turned over her shoulder. "Well then," she purred, as that sultry
smile once again graced her lips, "shall we give him what he wants?" Her hands
floated to her shoulders, where she pinched the ties holding her dress and
pulled them loose. "Shall we show him what he'll NEVER have?"
The clingy black dress slid languorously down her body to pool around her
ankles. She pulled up her black-streaked scarlet tresses, allowing Vader's eyes
to rake over her backside. Standing in the dim light, her body could have been
carved from ivory. It bathed her slim muscles, the subtle curve of her back and
buttocks and down her long, slender legs.
A face glimmered in his mind. Soft, oval, with cheeks kissed golden by the
bright Naboo sun, long chocolate ringlets that spilled over her shoulders, and
large, brown eyes…
He looked at the face here, now, slyly turned over her shoulder. Alabaster with
sharp cheekbones, silver serpentine eyes slit with desire, a wild halo of red
and black hair, and a wide, ravenous mouth that looked as though it could
devour a man's soul.
Anakin, I don't even know you anymore…
But Lylla knew him.
You are going down a path I cannot follow…
Lylla would not only follow him, she would bolt down that path and gorge upon
everything the Dark Side could offer her. In every way, they were The Light and
The Dark. Padme, his angel bride. Lylla, his demon whore.
"Turn around," he demanded quietly.
"Mm mm mm," she hummed, wagging her finger over her shoulder. "You come here,
into the light. It's only fair." Her smile waned a bit. "Please, my Lord.
Please let me see you."
She heard the soft whirs of his cybernetics once more. Eventually, Vader
stepped into the circle of diffused light. Lylla gasped, and her mouth fell
open, but Vader sensed that her reaction was not of horror, but wonder. She
turned fully around and came to him. He was pale, paler than she was. His
cybernetic limbs were fashioned to mimic human arms and legs, with cabling and
durasteel replacing flesh and bone. She touched his shoulder ever so slightly,
but even then Vader tensed. She looked into his eyes. “No one has ever touched
you without your armor, have they?”
“Only medical droids,” he answered.
Lylla’s eyes widened, silently asking for consent, which he gave with a nod.
Gingerly, she traced the maze of his scars down his pale arm with her fingertip
to just below where his powerful bicep inserted into the housing of his
cybernetic limb. “Does it hurt?”
“No pity, Lylla.” Lylla understood then that Vader would never let on how much
pain he was in. She ran her palm down his mechanical arm, caressing it as if it
were his flesh, and took his cybernetic hand. Raising it to her lips, she
selected one of his digits, and ran the tip over her wet lips. “Never, my
Lord,” she murmured.
Her hands became bolder. She ran them both down his expansive chest, marred as
it was yet like brick under her touch. There was an intricate system of tubes
and circuitry over his heart that she carefully worked round before lightly
passing her thumbs over his nipples. Lylla turned her hands fingers-down and
caressed him lower. Even through the scars, she could see and feel the cuts of
wrought muscle and sinew in his abdomen. She set her fingers into the dents of
the V of muscle that ran to his loins and followed the lines down.
“So,” Vader murmured, “do you still think of me as a man?”
Lylla drew a ragged breath. His pallor, his scars and his injuries didn’t
detract from his presence at all; in fact, he looked even more formidable, a
warrior prince who survived that which would have killed any other man. He was
the Lord of the Sith, the most powerful being she had ever encountered. “No,”
she answered softly. “I think you are a god.” Slowly, Lylla lowered herself to
her knees, running her lips down his body, and nuzzled the crease between his
thigh and his cock; she could still smell the leather of his suit mixed with
his male scent. Capturing the head into her soft, hungry mouth, she opened her
throat and took his shaft down to the hilt.
Vader sucked a rough breath into his lungs, entwining his metal fingers into
her lush hair once more. Her throat squeezed around him as she fondled his
balls. She looked up and met his flame-colored eyes with hers of silver. He
thrusted even further down her throat and when her eyes teared up, a snarl
smeared his lips: She was his. His to use, to claim in ways she would never let
him. His and only his.
*Is she now...boy?*
He was there, the Emperor, slinking into the undercurrents of Vader’s mind,
that insipid, yellowed grin oozing through his consciousness. When she felt him
soften, Lylla knew immediately what was happening. She drew back and looked up.
“He’s here, isn’t he?”
Vader slid his hand from her hair to cup her face. "Yes."
She nuzzled the hand with her cheek, still gazing up at him. “Remember,” she
purred, a vicious smile spreading her lips, “what he’ll NEVER have.” She took
him into her mouth again, fully intent of awakening his lust and blocking that
old fool from his mind…
Vader lunged down, seized her by the shoulders, and pulled her to her feet. He
then gripped her wrists and thrust them up over her head. Lylla's discarded
dress sailed through the air. She heard the fabric rip as the sleeves spun
themselves around her arms. The skirt shot to the skylight, shredding into
streamers that tied themselves to the steel struts. Lylla found herself bound
and hanging, her toes barely touching the floor. She threw a shocked look at
Vader. And for the first time, she saw his face stretch into a full smile.
"Comfortable?" he murmured. His scarlet-gold eyes were almost glowing.
Her breaths came quick and deep as her arousal quickened. "Yes, Vader."
He gripped the back of her neck and forced her face to his. "Your familiarity
is inappropriate, Sa'thraxxx,” he whispered against her lips. “Yes, whom?"
"Yes, Lord Vader!" she grunted, never attempting to hide the smile on her lips.
"Better." So, she found pleasure playing the victim as well as the torturer. He
had surmised so much, one's Inquisitor often did. But Berblinn’s dossier
aside...
He scraped his teeth down her throat and enjoyed her groans. His mouth moved
down over her shoulders, to her breasts, gorging on her silken skin. He pinned
her against him, metal digits digging into her flesh, and deeply inhaled her
fragrance. She arched into him as he feasted down her body, and threw her head
back when he grazed down below her navel. Vader flung Lylla's legs over his
shoulders, clamped his metal hands around her buttocks, and thrust his tongue
into her mound.
Lylla wrapped her legs over his shoulders, and ground into his mouth. He
growled into her cunt and his tongue lapped a primal beat on her clit, sending
shock waves through her. Her scent, her honey, her unbridled response were
beyond intoxicating. Her hips and roars responded in kind, keeping in the
rhythm of his tongue. Vader sank his teeth into her mons. Lylla pulled at her
restraints, and a fluent string of Huttese profanity poured from her in grunts.
Multilingual, he mused as he devoured her. Impressive.
*Yes, quite. And such abandon. Rather practiced at this, isn’t she…?*
Sidious meant it to be humiliating. But Vader snarled a smile as he thought,
Yes. She is. He rose back to his feet, gripped Lylla’s hips, maneuvered her
onto his cock, and took her in one thrust. Lylla sucked a pained gasp as he
filled her. He moved her in long, slow, deep strokes. She convulsed around his
shaft as she gripped her restraints and met his thrusts. He pulled her to him
and devoured her neck until her cries ricocheted throughout the room.
But just as suddenly as he took her, he pulled out of her and released his hold
on her. Lylla swung back down. Panting furiously, she gawked at him. "Why…
what—" Vader took her hair again and plunged his tongue into her mouth, intent
on making her taste her own juices. She groaned into his mouth, still writhing
against him. He broke off the kiss, sliding a finger between the lips of her
soaking slit. "Do you wish me to bring you release, Lylla?"
The coolness of his digit inside her warm slickness sent shivers through her.
"Oh, yes," she gasped.
He thrust another finger into her. "Beg me."
"Please," she cried, her hips pumping furiously, “please, my lord—"
Just as quickly as he had thrust them in her, Vader pulled his fingers out and
stepped away. "In time." Lylla hung taut in her bonds, whimpering, her eyes
beseeching and baffled. He began to circle her. "You will do something for me
first. Then I will give you release."
"Anything," she moaned, still undulating in her bonds. "I'll do anything for
you, my Lord."
He came back around her, and placed his hands on either side of her face,
pulling her forward, and murmured, "Show me."
"What?
"Open yourself to me," he intoned softly, brushing her lips ever so lightly
with his own, "as you did on the Death Star. Show me your life."
Her lip quivered, and she tried to break from his grip. "No."
He tightened his hold. "You deny me?"
"Yes…no…I mean…" She began to tremble, and Vader saw the beginning of tears in
her eyes. "Won't HE see as well?"
"Yes. It doesn't matter, Sa'thraxxx. I'm sure he's already delved into your
past. He knows who and what you are."
"Then why?"
"Because," he whispered, "I want to know."
"Please…my lord,” she whimpered, “…don't make me do this."
He ran a thumb under her eye, and caught a tear. "Why not?"
"I'm ashamed." She cast her eyes down. "I don't want you to see…where I came
from."
“We have far more in common than you think, Lylla," he said. "Look at me." She
did, and saw that his eyes had turned from fierce yellow back into the crystal
blue she remembered. Even as he held her head, he stroked her cheek with the
back of his fingers. "Do you trust me?"
Lylla nuzzled his hand. "With my life."
"Then…" He leaned in, holding her still in his grasp. "Show me."
After a moment's uncertainty, Lylla conceded. She closed her eyes, and cleared
her mind. She felt him slip into her thoughts, a mist that wrapped itself
around her soul. Within her mind, she looked up to the sky, and again she saw
the black heavens streak brilliant with flashes of scarlet lightning. But the
dark angels did not come to her this time, they merely settled in the distance,
upon ebon peaks afar…and looked down to experience her first day as a pleasure
slave all over again.
As did Vader…
*** "Sold!
Fellenet was a dank, overcast world. The merciless rain pounded the deck of the
rickety platform, soaking the long scarlet hair of the nude girl-child standing
in the center. About a score of males, human and non alike, gathered about the
stage. The girl shivered, crossing her arms over herself as the groans and
curses of those who lost the auction spread throughout the crowd. Judging from
the budding of her breasts and the faint scarlet hairs that grew from her young
womanhood, Vader presumed she was no more than twelve years old.
The voices of the auctioneer and of the lucky winner rose above the pounding
rain…
"She had better be what you promise. Untouched."
"I would cheat an upstanding peer of the territory such as you, Magistrate?
Besides, I have the word of her father that she remains pure, despite her
brothers' attempts."
The Magistrate laughed a bit. “Well, that should keep him in Corellian whiskey
and Black Razor for a few months, ey, Talimande?” The men laughed a bit. Vader
looked back to young Lylla. He was unable to decipher her tears from the rain,
although he could clearly feel the terror through her soul. His anger reared.
Sold as a pleasure slave. By her own father.
The scene shifted to a dark corridor leading to large chamber doors. From
behind the doors came the pained cries and terrified sobs of the scarlet-haired
girl as she begged the Magistrate to stop.
“Quiet, girl! Do you want to wake up my wife? Just relax…you’ll enjoy it soon
enough…” ***
"Did you know what he was doing to you?" Vader asked.
"Oh yes. I knew."
“It hurt.".
"Like hell.” Lylla lifted her eyes to his. “No pity, my Lord.”
He smirked. “Never, Lylla.” His metal hand gently cupped her breast. "You were
afraid?"
"At first. But then…I began to realize that I had…some power…"
***Another shift, five years later. The girl was truly no longer a girl. Still
young, yes, but taller, her breasts now filling her scant bra, her hips graced
by a beaded dance belt, her buttocks fuller and rounder as she was on her
knees, finishing her task on the house guard.
A grunt, a thrust, a wipe across her lips, and the sound of pants fasteners.
"You have half a standard hour, Lylla."
She rose to her feet. "Damn you, Grees. After everything I've done for you—"
"You know what'll happen to me, to both of us, if the Magistrate finds out? I'm
being generous, Lylla." He opened the door.
Vader watched her enter the office, take a seat behind a desk, and press a
button on the holocom. A wizened old female face appeared in the air, wearing a
soft, warm smile. "Welcome, youngling, to your sixth lesson in reading
Aurebesh…"***
"You taught yourself how to read," he said.
"I taught myself many things," she replied.
"And you continued your education, in the same manner, aboard the Death Star."
She gasped. "You knew about that?"
"I had been watching you for some time, Lylla. As you had been watching me.”
She cocked an eyebrow. “Is there anything you don’t know about me, Vader?”
“Yes.”
***They were in a smoky, dank room. Around a table sat several beings, sabaac
cards and credits scattered on the table top, with only two men holding
cards—her Master, and an extremely well dressed man. Jewels donned his fingers
and throat, and his clothes were made from very expensive fabric.***
"Malifino," she spat.
"A new Master?" Vader inquired, his lips brushing against her neck from behind
her.
"The scum on the swamp of the universe," she clarified, her voice seething with
hatred. She leaned back against him. "As you can guess, the Magistrate lost."
"And you were the prize." For a nanosecond, he touched the Emperor's psychic
tendril, and smiled inwardly. Sidious was engrossed in the vision, which was
exactly what Vader had hoped for. With the Emperor distracted, he felt free to
cup Lylla’s breast as his other hand caressed her belly. But she tensed, and a
wave of apprehension broke over her essence. "What is it?"
Her breathing quickened. "I don't want you to see this."
The metal hand settled around her throat, but it did not close. "I will see it.
You will refuse me nothing, Sa'thraxxx." The hand slid from her throat and
joined the other in fondling her breasts. "Nothing."
Lylla sighed—whether from pleasure or defeat, she wasn't entirely certain.
Supported by her restraints, she fell back against the Dark Lord and closed her
eyes, allowing him again to watch her past.
***Her new master's home was somewhat more opulent than her last. Her clothing,
while still titillating, was sewn of finer fabric and custom made, fitting her
better than the cheap dancing costumes her former master furnished. There were
more females in his harem, numbering in the double digits. And the food was
much better. Lylla's youth, her height, her scarlet hair and her overall brazen
sexuality quickly made her a favorite of towering Baron Malifino, a regional
shipping tycoon.
That was not a good thing, for Malifino was a sexual sadist. The only way he
could get aroused was to inflict as much physical pain and terror onto his bed-
wench as she could take without dying or passing out. And Lylla had,
unfortunately, a high pain tolerance that coincided with her insubordinate
ways.
Over the next two years, Lylla received more beatings than any of the other
girls. If she fought Malifino back, it only aroused him more. If she didn't
fight him, he beat her senseless and bloody, sometimes before he raped her,
sometimes after. Trip after trip to the infirmary, session after session with
the surgeon and the bone-knitters and the bacta tanks. Every time they healed
her up, she would return just days later with cracked ribs or a broken jaw or a
fractured arm. ***
Lylla began to shake against Vader. Vader could hear the Emperor's maniacal
cackling off in the distance of his consciousness. He knew he couldn't shield
Lylla's memories from Sidious, but he could strengthen her, bring her through
it. "You escaped him?" he breathed into her ear.
She hesitated before answering breathlessly, "In a manner of speaking."
"Show me."
*** She was in another room, a library of sorts. Again, she had performed
sexually for one of Malifino's aides for access to the library key. Her fingers
flurried across the board of the holoputer, until the information she wanted
appeared before her. Vader read the words on the projected screen:
Poisons Undetected In the Body After Death.
The images came fast and furious, as did Lylla's execution of her plan. So many
favors to perform, timing to get just perfect, the exhausting study of mixtures
and formulas beyond her comprehension, but she persevered.
And then the night came, when she came to his chambers, as she had many times
before. A blow to her cheek came immediately upon entry, but she took it
without screaming or fear. Things were different this time, for the Baron
hadn't noticed the syringe tucked in Lylla's hand, the syringe she had stolen
during her last trip to the infirmary.
She was quick, and lethal. She swung her arm, and the needle plunged directly
into Malifino's throat. Vader watched her snarl as she pushed the plunger down,
watching the green ooze drain from the tube, watching Malifino's dumbfounded
face as it turned pasty, then blue. He watched the brute fall to his knees,
reaching for Lylla, pleading with her. Lylla answered his pleas with a kick to
his face and a string of low Correllian curses to not only him, but to his
entire, worthless line. She beat him with her fists, screaming, crying,
laughing, exacting her revenge on him, venting her rage to the universe
itself…***
Vader dropped his hands, and came around to face her. Lylla hung from her
restraints, her head bowed, her breaths fast and hoarse. He touched her chin,
and gently lifted her eyes to face him. Her expression was blank, exhausted,
but her eyes glittered with tears. "You killed your Master," he murmured.
Her lip quivered. "I had to."
"You were not afraid?"
"No," she answered firmly. "I knew that I could be put to death, but I didn't
care. I could die happy knowing he was roasting in the dimensional hells. And I
wouldn't die by his miserable hand."
Lylla saw the yellow spark just briefly in his eyes and the expression he wore,
an expression she couldn’t entirely determine. But just as quickly as it had
appeared, it was gone. "What happened after that?"
She sighed. "The constabulary arrived. Everyone knew I had killed him, but…no
one turned me in. Even the estate doctor claimed it a heart attack. No one
mourned him."
“With his death, you should have been released from indenture. Why weren’t
you?”
A bitter chuckle. "Seems tax evasion was another one of Malifino’s many
talents. The Empire seized all of his assets, including the harem, and put me
to work. I serviced Imperial ships and stations for seven years until I was
transferred to the Death Star." She was silent for a moment before blurting, "I
want to show you one more thing."
Vader nodded and, cupping her face, leaned into her again. She closed her eyes
again and let him in…
*** Her jaw dropped as she gawked at the monstrous sphere that rose within the
viewport. Although it was named 'Death Star', the whole construction seemed
alive somehow. It rotated slowly, majestically. Ships of all sizes and makes
whirred around the thing, and the light of thousands of viewports blinked from
the surface.
She smiled proudly. This was it, the end of her journey, the ticket out of this
life. The last five years had brought at least some prosperity; high-ranking
Imperial officers had proven not only to be more dignified and less brutal, but
generous to boot. And now, she would be a part of the Empire's greatest
triumph, servicing its finest, best-paid personnel. She clutched the purse of
credits she had hidden in her corset. It was only a matter of time before she
could buy herself out.
Final approach, and landing. Lylla swallowed hard—she was not well versed in
space travel, and it always made her a bit motion sick. The whimpers and tense,
squeaky whispers of the other pleasure slaves aboard were not helping. She
turned and barked, "Keep it down, you pathetic little brats! You don't know how
lucky you are!" The girls immediately fell silent, as the statuesque redhead
already intimidated them.
She led the other girls down the ramp, and enjoyed in the immediate impact she
had on the officers in the bay. She purposely dropped her cowl over her
shoulders, giving the officers a glimpse of creamy cleavage bound in her tight-
fitting corset. A petty officer droned on regarding procedures and limits and
what was expected of the girls and how fortunate they were and blah, blah blah.
Lylla sighed, her attention drifting to the sheer enormity of the bay, the
soaring ceilings, the stories of catwalks that lined the bulkhead…until her
eyes held, and her breath caught in her throat.
He strode heavily on the catwalk, flanked by several officers. A black tower of
leather and flowing robes, the hangar lights glinted off his polished helm. His
ebon cape caught the breeze he created with his stride and sheer size. The mask
that covered his face was that of a gargoyle, yet his walk was that of a
sovereign. His arms looked like they could split a Rancor's skull against the
span of his chest, his legs as though they could crush whole planets under his
boot. And she could hear his…breathing. It echoed through the bay, a low,
hypnotic sound that at once startled and soothed her.
Every officer and stormtrooper stopped what he was doing for the briefest of
moments. Some dared to glance at the soaring behemoth, some didn't. But there
was no mistaking the force of awe and fear that broke over the assembly, and
she heard a name barely whispered amongst them…
Darth Vader.
Lylla stood in her tracks, just as the other girls were being led to the
brothel quarters, unable to take her eyes off him. Something stirred deep
within her, a feeling she had always forced with every man she had been with.
She grew wet, warm, and excitement flushed her entire being. She hoped that
somehow, in some way, this magnificent manifestation of machine and man, would
be a part of her destiny.
A demon prince.
A dark angel.
And then…. he looked at her. It seemed as though he had...sensed her. He
stopped at the catwalk's rail and peered down at her. The officers around
continued to brief him on various aspects of progress and construction, but he
paid them no heed. He didn't move, didn't speak and, of course, she couldn't
see his expression. He merely…looked at her.
"You!"
Lylla snapped out of the dark stranger's spell on her. She turned to see the
petty officer stomp toward her. He grabbed her arm and dragged her out. "Keep
up, and stop gawking! Do you know what Lord Vader could do to you?! Who do you
think you are…?" ***
The vision vanished, and the dimness of the chamber seeped back. Lylla opened
her eyes, and gazed into Vader's. "I loved you the first moment I saw you," she
murmured.
And the Emperor was gone.
Vader furrowed his brow as he sought out his Master's presence. But Sidious was
nowhere to be found within the Force. A sick feeling began in his gut, but he
immediately dismissed it. To hell with Palpatine.
He lifted his hand. The ripped dress unwound itself from the struts above, and
unwrapped from Lylla's wrists. Gently, he caught her and cradled her into his
arms. She nestled her cheek into the crook of his neck. The metal arms
encircling felt cool against her skin in the oppressive humidity in the room.
He carried her a few steps into the darkness and lowered her down. The smooth
feel of silk greeted her, and she contentedly sank into the softness of what
could only be a bed. She was quiet for a time. "Is the Emperor still watching?"
"No," Vader answered.
"Then it worked?"
"What do you mean?"
"I know you didn't want him watching us. You used my memories to distract him."
Her insight was uncanny. He patted the sweat off her body with the sheet as he
contemplated everything he had just seen. She had killed her master. Without
fear, without remorse. A mere pleasure slave. She did it to save her own life,
but he had felt her savage satisfaction as she murdered the degenerate. She had
taught herself to read, and studied many different subjects and languages. And
she remained patient, she bided her time, utilizing her charms to convince her
owners of her passion for them while secretly loathing them and using them to
ensure her own survival. Born into despair, betrayed by fate for many years,
until this moment when she lay in his arms.
He searched the Force, trying to find an answer, a sign. He had been alone for
so many years. Perhaps after all this time, a new mate had finally presented
herself. The perfect woman, a fitting consort… not for Anakin Skywalker, but
for Darth Vader. He wouldn't find a queen.
He would create one.
"I am impressed, Lylla,” he said.
“Impressed?” She gaped at him. That was not a word she was expecting.
“Yes,” he answered. "Your will is formidable, as are your cunning and your
intelligence. You are still alive. You shouldn’t be.” He met her eyes. “You are
worthy of my favor."
She exhaled heavily, flustered by the Dark Lord’s compliments, "But...you saw
it. You saw where I came from. I was a slave—"
"I was born a slave."
Her eyes widened. "What?"
"I was born on Tatooine, to a slave woman. Named Skywalker." He waited. "You do
not recognize the name?"
"No. Should I?"
She was becoming more ideal with each passing moment. He smiled slightly. "No."
Lylla raised herself onto her elbow. "But…I thought you were royalty. A prince,
perhaps—"
"I am a Lord of the Sith." His tone indicated that he had nothing more to say
on the subject.
Lylla gaped at him, utterly aghast. Then she bolted upright and pulled him to
her, crushing her lips into his and brazenly wrapping her hand around his
shaft. She stroked him, firmly and smoothly. Vader responded with a primal
grunt, roughly pinning her against him, taking her tongue with his own. He
pressed her down onto her back and covered her with his body. Lylla caressed
his cock, guiding him into her. He hooked one mechanical arm under her knee and
pulled her leg up and high as he drove into her. Lylla wrapped her other leg
around his back and raised her hips off the bed to pull him in. Regaining some
control, Vader pumped her in a slow, heavy rhythm. He cast himself into the
Force to soothe his raging desire and to ease the pain that gripped his body.
He grabbed her wrists and pushed them apart, holding her helpless. Lylla tossed
her head, both legs around him now, bucking beneath him, mouth agape, her hair
wild and spread like dark flames. She keened as his cock filled her and claimed
her as his.
So warm, so wet, so eager and taut. He bent his head and took her breast into
his mouth, lathing her nipple, tugging with his teeth, before moving to the
other. A sharp gasp shocked her body-- the sinister angels had returned,
caressing her flesh with fingers of fire and kisses of frost. When she closed
her eyes, she saw streaks of lighting lancing through a blood red sky.
Vader lowered down and crushed her underneath him. “Look at me,” he commanded.
She did. His hand was on her throat, and his eyes burned again. “Do you want
this, Sa’thraxxx?”
“This?” she breathed.
“To be my mistress. My woman. Do you want this? TRULY want this?.”
Her eyes lit. “Yes, why wouldn’t I--”
“I’ll tell you why.” He thrust into her, eliciting a cry from her throat. His
whisper was harsh. “My enemies will target you. There will be attempts on your
life. The Emperor will have spies on you day and night. You will be in constant
danger. Even from me.” His fingers tightened a whisper around her throat, and
his voice burned from his chest. “Especially from me.”
Lylla panted, confused, aroused, and a little afraid. “From you? I don’t know
what you mean--” Vader didn’t let her finish. He kissed her again, hard and
possessively. But this was different; He wasn’t just kissing her. He was
inhaling her into his mind.
She struggled for a frightened second. But then her body felt like it was
melting away from her bones, and the hymns of the night washed over her once
more. The lighting behind her eyes streaked through the red skies again. But
now, sparks and cinders danced above and around her, and a fountain of lava
erupted in the distance
***behind a ship, on a port. Lylla looked around her, at the chaos of the
volcanic scene, the air as hot and poisoned as port exhaust. Then she saw him,
and her jaw dropped.
He was young, younger than she was now, just on that edge of becoming a man but
not there yet. The winds fired up by the heat blew his sandy hair around his
head, his body was lean and whole and dressed in dark robes. In his hand he
held a lightsaber. His face, while smooth and beautiful, was marred by rage and
madness.
“Don't you see, we don't have to run away anymore. I have brought peace to the
Republic. I am more powerful than the Chancellor. I can overthrow him, and
together you and I can rule the galaxy. Make things the way we want them to
be!”
“I don't believe what I'm hearing . . . Obi-Wan was right. You've changed.”
Lylla turned to the new voice across the pad. There stood a girl, petite,
brunette. And very pregnant.
“I don't want to hear any more about Obi-Wan!” he bellowed, encroaching on her.
“The Jedi turned against me. Don't you turn against me, Padme!”
The girl’s anguish twisted her angelic face. “I don't know you anymore. Anakin,
you're breaking my heart.” A sob broke from her throat. “I'll never stop loving
you, but you are going down a path I can't follow.”
“Because of Obi-Wan?” he snarled.
“Because of what you've done! Stop, stop now. Come back! I love you…”
He looked so tired, so lost. It seemed like he was about to break, to go to
her… but then his face changed from exhaustion to seething anger when he looked
past her and saw a man on the ship’s ramp. “Liar!” he yelled, pointing at the
man. “Why is he here? WHAT ARE YOU TWO PLANNING? You're with him, you've
betrayed me! You brought him here to kill me!”
The girl whipped around to look at the man coming down the ramp. “NO!” she
cried out at him. She turned back to him. “Anakin. I swear ... I …”
He thrust his hand before him. The girl began to gasp, choke, and her hands
flew to her throat. Her eyes begged him and released a storm of tears. He
lurched at her, his perfect beauty torn ugly by rage and heartbreak, and he
closed his hand into a tight fist. “LIAR! YOU HAVE BETRAYED ME! I AM THE MOST
POWERFUL JEDI WHO EVER LIVED! AND YOU WILL PAY FOR YOUR LACK OF FAITH!”
LIAR
LIAR
YOU BETRAYED ME--
Lylla shrieked when she was sucked back into the red skies, through the ash and
the smoke, and thrown back into her body. She bucked up off the bed, and her
eyes sprang open when she realized Vader was still on top of her, still inside
of her. She gaped up into his face, so different from his youth, and yet the
same. His expression was hard, even malevolent, and his eyes burned nuclear.
“I will ask you again,” he said, his voice low and rough, “do you want this?”
“You killed your wife,” she whispered.
“I did." Vader felt her tremble underneath him. Her lip shook, and he saw the
sparkle of tears in her eyes. He expected terror from her, a panicked urge to
run. But he didn’t feel her terror. He felt her indignant rage.
“You,” she began, fighting to keep her swelling anger at bay, “you offered her
the galaxy. You offered her power, security, safety, she would never want for
anything. You offered her the universe itself. And she refused you?” Unable to
hold it, Lylla burst into angry tears. “You gave her a child! Someone to carry
your name, your greatness. And she threw it away! Did she know? Did she know
how PRECIOUS that is?” She gripped his shoulders and sank her forehead into his
neck. “I would have crawled through that lava for you if you commanded me. And
I would have given you sons.” She sobbed. “So many sons...”
Vader, taken aback by her reaction, opened his receptors and felt an emptiness
crater inside of her. “They sterilized you,” he surmised.
Lylla’s head fell back onto the bed, and she looked away from him. “Right after
my first bleed.” She chuckled bitterly through her tears. “That’s the
difference between harem slaves and port whores. Lords of the manor don’t want
to spend their wealth feeding the mouths of a dozen bastards. Pimps don’t care,
they wouldn’t feed them anyway.”
“Like your father.”
She grimaced at his mention before she snapped her eyes back to him. “Who was
that man?”
“His name was Obi Wan Kenobi. My Jedi Master.” He raised his cybernetic hand.
“The one who did this to me.”
Lylla’s rage flared around her like a star’s corona. She curled her fists on
his shoulders. “Did you kill him?” she asked with hope in her voice and murder
in her eyes.
“Yes,” Vader answered. An hour after you left the Death Star.
“So,” she growled, “she did bring him to kill you. She did betray you.” Lylla
closed her eyes, calmed her anger. When she opened them again, she reached up
and took his face into her hands. Her eyes burned like melted platinum. “Yes. I
want this. I want this even more. Danger has never scared me-- I would face the
dimensional hells themselves for you.” She caressed his head. “I will follow
you to the end of time itself. I swear this to you, my precious Lord.”
Vader said nothing, and she couldn’t quite read his eyes. He leaned in and
kissed her hungrily until he hardened inside her again. He wrapped an arm
around her waist and lifted her up to meet his ardent thrusts. And while still
passionate, his roughness had subsided. He pulled Lylla even closer, gripped
her thigh and wrapped it around him, like he was trying to meld her into his
own scarred flesh. Like he was trying to fill his own emptiness with her. Like
he needed her.
And when she came, she wailed in perfect harmony with the hymns of the dark
angels in her ears. He soon followed her, roaring against her neck and pulsing
his seed into her. As they lay entwined and panting. Lylla touched his cheek.
“My Lord,” she whispered, “what happened to your child?”
Vader lifted his head and looked her directly in the eye. “He died with her.”
                                     * * *
The gown slid down her arms and cascaded over her slender body, dropping to
sway around her ankles. She ran her hand down the front and over the sleeves,
feeling the texture of Arisand silk for the first time in her life. It felt
exactly like she had read it would-- like a cool whisper. The dress was simple
yet elegant, fitting her like a serpent’s skin. A small laugh escaped her lips-
- even it its simplicity, it probably cost more than she did all those years
ago.
She looked at her Dark Lord, armored once again and seated in a large chair
before her, and grinned. “I know you are a mage, my Lord, but I can’t help but
be impressed by your miraculous ability to make beautiful clothes appear out of
nowhere.”
“I had your modiste send several items here,” Vader stated. “I will destroy
much of your wardrobe. It is only reasonable to have replacements on hand."
Lylla exhaled a shuddering breath as she clenched her loins. With a throaty
giggle, she spun around to look at the dress in the full length mirror. But her
smile faded as she saw herself. “Vader,” she breathed, “my eyes have turned
white.”
“Yes, I noticed.”
She turned back to him. Indeed, her black pupils popped from irises white as
star cores. “You don’t sound concerned,” she noted with concern of her own.
“There are some beings,” he explained, “acolytes to the Dark Side, but with no
Force ability of their own. I have several in my employ across the Empire.” He
was quiet for a moment before he said, “You are the first to have touched the
Dark Side of the Force through me. It does not surprise me that you are
transformed by it.” But I am intrigued that you lived through it.
Lylla’s breath caught in her throat. But then a smile grew across her face. She
came and slinked onto of him, straddling his thighs and snaking her arms around
his neck. “You have put a spell on me, my Lord.”
A chuckle came through his vocoder. “No spell, Lylla” he murmured, running his
fingers down her throat. “The Force favors you.” His fingers continued down the
sleeve of her dress. “You are quite pleasing in scarlet. You must wear it
often, my girl.”
Her smile grew wider. “Then I shall.” She looked around the room they were in,
so different from the rest of the fortress. Circular, with cathedral windows on
all sides, and furnished with sumptuous chairs, a divan, a sprawling vanity,
and an enormous wardrobe. “This is mine?” she asked with subtle disbelief.
“Your dressing room.”
“This is the only furniture I’ve seen here. Except for your bed.”
“It is not my bed. It is solely for our use. I do not sleep in a bed.”
Lylla’s brow knit as she caught his subtext. “You mean you don’t sleep.”
He squeezed her arms, a subtle warning for her to discontinue the subject. “It
is time to be serious,” he chided. “You will spend fourteen hours a day with
your protocol droid.”
“Fourteen hours? A day?” Lylla retorted.
“When you are not required at the Bureau, of course. You have much to learn.
You will cover such lessons as etiquette, Imperial history, political
structure, Core World languages, the names and titles of Imperial aristocracy,
and dancing.”
Her face fell. “Dancing?”
“Not the kind you have known. Courtly dances. It will be expected of you.”
She chuckled. “Forgive me my Lord, but I find it hard to imagine you dancing.”
“That is because I don’t.”
“But you just said-”
“I said you would be expected to dance."
Lylla frowned, albeit playfully. “That’s not fair.”
“No. It isn’t,” Vader said.
She looked up to the ceiling. "I’m a terrible dancer,” Lylla huffed. “It sounds
awful.”
"Perhaps," he replied, "but you will have to be versed in these things for the
Coronation Day Ball. Expect an invitation by tomorrow. Besides,” he added, “it
will keep you occupied while I am on Fellenet.”
She started a bit. “Fellenet? Why do you want to go to that shitho--” She
stopped herself, pursed her lips, and chose proper words. “That terrible
planet?”
“Unexpected business,” he said quietly.
“What business?” He stared at her, the wheeze of his respirator only helping to
make his point. She simpered. “You mean the kind that is none of my business.”
“You learn quickly, Sa’thraxxx.”
Lylla stared at him for a moment before she slid off him back onto the floor,
crossed her arms, and turned away to look in the mirror. “So you’re leaving
again.”
Vader rose from his chair and came behind her, joining her in the mirror. He
put his hands on her shoulders. “This is the way it is. Accept it. Now.” She
drew a deep breath and looked at the floor. He continued. “I assure you, I have
no intention of being shot out of the sky by a barely-legal freighter piloted
by a petty criminal this time. My business there will be brief.”
Lylla looked back up into the mirror, met his gaze, and nodded. She crossed her
arms over herself, and laid her hands over his on her shoulders. “I will make
you proud, my Lord. I swear it.”
“I expect nothing less, Lylla," Vader rumbled.
                                     * * *
There was no ground, no gravity at all as Lylla stepped through the enormous
palace doors onto the speeder dock. She practically floated, unfettered by this
physical realm. She stopped for a moment, and looked into the sky. There, she
didn't see just black, but every unimaginable shade of it. Her mind still
reeled with what Vader had shown her. She had promised him no pity. But her
heart ached and a seed of hatred had been planted and was now growing like a
toxic vine.
"You foolish, spoiled little bitch," she whispered to the ghost of Padme
Amidala. But then a wicked smirk stretched her mouth wide. This stupid girl may
have destroyed him.
But she would rebuild him.
                                     * * *
"Well, well, well…what have we here?"
The human girl in the enormous bed stirred at the melodious baritone across the
room. Propping herself on her elbow, she smiled dreamily. "Something
interesting?"
"One might just say that." He ran his long fingers through his topknot as he
perused the image on his holoscope.
The girl slid nude out from the covers and slinked across the exotic animal
furs thrown about out to the balcony. The air still hung with the scent of
exotic incense mixed with the musk of sex and pheromones and glimmer-smoke, and
she breathed it deeply, stretching her arms over her head. She lowered them to
wrap around his muscled green-skinned torso, sliding her hands into his silk
bottoms. "Xizor, come back to bed…"
Prince Xizor hastily grabbed the girl's hands before they reached their prize.
"Watch your manners, love," he growled, "I'm busy." And pulled them out of his
pants. As the girl pouted and stomped back to the bed, the Falleen prince
turned his attention back to the holoscope. He slit his eyes at the vision of
the scarlet-haired woman standing on the speeder-port of Lord Vader's palace.
"And who is this lovely beast?"
A low, monotone female voice crackled through the his ear. "Lord Xizor."
"Yes, Guri," he answered the comlink implanted in one of his teeth.
"I have her in my sights."
"Send your image."
Another image of Lylla spread across the holoscope’s screen from android Guri's
optical camera. This time, a close-up of her. Xizor’s reptilian eyes raked over
the willowy woman. He laughed softly when he saw the heat that flushed her
ivory bosom and cheeks, and the disheveled mess of her dark scarlet mane. "I
can always recognize a fresh-fucked look," Xizor purred to himself. A snarl
replaced the grin. "Who would have thought that cyborg sorcerer could function
as a man?"
His attention diverted to the signal of the holopad in the center of his
chamber. He stepped inside and to the pad, and immediately fell into a deep bow
as the image materialized. "Your Majesty."
"Rise, my friend," Palpatine’s image croaked, gesturing lightly. "This is a
cordial call. No need for protocol."
Xizor glanced up at the Emperor, a tad unsure, before rising to his feet. "To
what do I owe this… benevolent honor, your Majesty?"
"I take it your network of spies are quite worked up tonight, Xizor," the
Emperor said, sourly amused. "As is your holoscope."
The Supreme Vigo of Black Sun chuckled as he traced an arched eyebrow with a
painted talon. "I'm sure I don't know what you mean, Majesty—"
"You've seen her, Xizor, don't lie to me. You spying on Lord Vader has become
infamous gossip."
Xizor swallowed a bit. "It's harmless enough, Majesty."
"It doesn't concern me, Xizor. What concerns me is that woman."
"Who is she, sire?"
A crooked, sickly smile tipped the Emperor's lip. "Why, Vader's new mistress,
of course."
“Just one mistress? How quaint.” Xizor's brow went up. "I fail to understand
what this has to do with me."
"Xizor," Palpatine began, almost affectionately. "We are friends, are we not?"
"That goes without saying, sire."
"And friends do favors for each other."
Xizor smiled a frosty grin. "Such as?"
Palpatine paused for a moment. “You have received my invitation to the
Coronation Day celebration?"
"Received and replied, your Eminence. It is an honor to be invited—"
"Yes, yes, yes," the Emperor snapped hastily before resuming. "While you are
there, I would require you to pay…special attention to Vader's mistress."
"How special?" Xizor asked quickly
Again, that noxious smile. "I leave that to your discretion, Prince Xizor."
A slow, murky grin curled Xizor's face, and he nodded his head in a bow. "I
live only to serve the Empire, your Majesty."
                                     * * *
The artificial dawn had begun to rise over the Imperial throneworld when Lylla
stepped through her apartment doors. Her servant girl, who had been curled in
front of the door awaiting her mistress' return, jumped to her knees and
immediately bowed to the floor.
Lylla regarded her for a moment before uttering. "Rise, girl. I'll have no more
of that."
The girl sheepishly looked at her mistress, and stifled a gasp at her altered
appearance. She hastily rose to her feet, and took the wrap Lylla handed her.
Lylla stepped into the living room, and looked dreamily out the huge glassine
balcony that overlooked the stunning city-planet. "What is your name?"
This time the girl did gasp, almost dropping the wrap. This was the first time
the Inquisitor had ever asked her name. "Pa…Palissa, my lady."
"It's pretty." Lylla turned to the golden-curled girl. And smiled. “You’re very
pretty too.” Her voice was low and regal. "I have not treated you well,
Palissa. That changes, today.” I have been shown I am better than that. “I will
reward you with quarters of your own. And a pay raise."
"Thank…thank you, my Lady," the girl rasped.
"Do you know how to use the holonet?”
She nodded. "Yes, madam."
Lylla nodded. "For the next two weeks, I shall be very busy. I will need your
assistance in preparation for Coronation Day. I have been invited to the
Imperial Palace." She allowed the girl a gasp before continuing. "I need you to
contact the finest designers on the Throneworld." She smiled. "I will need a
dress…fit for an Empress."
                                     * * *
The Fellenet rains sizzled on Ecchu Shen-Jon’s green lightsaber, while the
drops barely touched the red blaze of Vader’s. The troops of the 501st, keeping
Shen-Jon’s companions at bay in the mud with their blasters, sneaked looks at
the Dark Lord as he dominated the renegade Jedi in their duel. TK7866, the only
trooper to be called by his name Kreel, was in awe of Lord Vader’s speed and
style. He made that miserable Jedi look like a clumsy child.
Shen-Jon parried Vader’s thrust, but didn’t see the rotted tree stump Vader
pulled out of the muck and hurled with the Force. It hit the Jedi in the back,
knocking him into the mud with a wet slurp. Vader encroached on him. “Too busy
performing your circus tricks to train properly, Shen-Jon? I have killed
padawans with more skill than you. You are pathetic, Jedi.”
Shen-Jon shook sense back into his head, and laughed. “I’m pathetic? At least
I’m not a crazy old man’s attack dog, Vader. So, do you get a biscuit for
killing me? A nice pat on the helmet?”
“Neither, Shen-Jon. I get your head.” Vader thrust his arm forward. Shen-Jon’s
lightsaber flew out his hand. The Jedi reached his other hand in front of him.
The saber froze in mid-air, caught in the struggle of the dueling Force powers
of the Jedi and the Sith.
Shen-Jon pulled his arm inward, and the saber slowly inched toward him. Vader
looked to his side at the group of Shen-Jon’s six followers, humans and aliens
of varying ages but all just barely adults. He shifted his hand toward one boy,
no more than sixteen. The boy careened through the air, his throat landing
right in Vader’s grip.
“NO!” Shen-Jon cried.
Vader turned to the Shen-Jon, the boy choking in the vice of his hand, the
pounding rain dripping off his mask and helm. “Let it go, Jedi. And I’ll spare
him.”
The Jedi twisted his face in anguish, and released his Force-hold the saber.
Vader dropped the boy, caught Shen-Jon’s saber, ignited it, raised it like a
spear, and hurled it right into the Jedi’s chest. Shen-Jon convulsed, grabbed
his own saber’s hilt over his heart, and fell forward into the mud. Vader
lurched at him through the ankle-deep mud and, grabbing his hair, he forced the
Jedi’s head up and sliced his saber through his neck.
The group of young people cried and screamed as they watched their leader and
adoptive father fall, clutching each other even as they were held on their
knees at blaster-point. Vader scanned the group for Force-ability. Some had
more than others, but they were all Force-sensitive to some degree.
He walked over and tossed Shen-Jon’s head in front of them.“You have a choice,”
he addressed them. “You may swear fealty to the Emperor, offer your abilities
to his service and live… or, you may die here in the mud on your knees.”
The group all looked at each other, seeking the others’ answers with their
eyes. And it seemed they were all in agreement. A young human girl looked right
at the Sith Lord. “I think I speak for all of us when I say...,” she grinned
maliciously, “Fuck you, Darth Vader.”
“Language." He turned to Sergeant Kreel. “Proceed.” The Sergeant and the rest
of the platoon stepped forward and opened fire. The screams were short-lived,
and rivulets of the band’s blood mixed with the muddy puddles they fell in with
soft splats.
Vader switched his saber off and hooked it back onto his belt. “Sergeant
Krell.”
Kreel stepped forward. “Yes, Lord Vader.”
“Have a cell readied aboard the shuttle with an interrogation droid.”
Kreel looked at the sprawl of the dead, then back at Vader. "My Lord?”
“It is not for them,” he said. “I am going to Holirtown. I am bringing a
prisoner back.”
“Yes, my Lord. Will you require backup?”
“Unlikely.”
Kreel believed him. He didn’t really need them there as it was. “The bodies,
Lord Vader. Burn them?”
“If the flamethrowers will function in this rain. Otherwise do not waste the
charges. Retrieve the Jedi's head and put it in freeze. A gift for the
Emperor.” Vader started walking toward what was left of the washed-out road,
the rain running off his water-repellent cloak as night dimmed over the wet
sloppy mess that was the fishing world of Fellenet.
Holirtown was just three kilometers up the road, a distance Vader could
traverse easily. Even if it was Fellenet’s largest economic center, Holirtown
made Mos Eisley look like a luxury resort. There was only one main road through
the town, with lanes and alleys haphazardly laid out between hundreds of
buildings of scrap metal many years rusted, including the city’s seat of
government (if it could be seriously called that). The town surrounded the main
fishing bay, where fishers from all around the planet brought their catches to
sell to the fish brokers, who shipped them off-planet to the galaxy’s markets.
It was the only municipality built on solid land, unlike the artificial rig-
islands erected all over the globe. The only thing uglier than the town was the
smell of the town as fish blood and guts ran through the streets from the
gutting plant. Vader mused that had Lylla stayed here, her beauty would have
been washed away by drink and disease years ago.
The few public halogens that lined the street barely illuminated the Dark
Lord’s form as he entered the town. The rain still poured heavy, and the
temperature hovered just scant degrees above freezing. One would think the town
was uninhabited had it not been for the loud music and even louder arguing,
fighting, and drunken revels emanating from the scrap-metal domiciles. He was
about to pass a gap between buildings when he stopped and looked. There was a
platform there in the gap, set away from the road. He recognized the platform.
It was the one where Lylla stood when she was sold as a child. Still there.
Still in use.
He saw a lone man in the street to his left, huddled under a hole-pitted
awning. He approached him. The man momentarily forgot the frigid rain he was
trying to escape as he watched the Lord of the Sith come to loom over him.
“The pimp,” Vader said to the crouched man. Thunder crashed above them. The man
flinched, but Vader held still. “Where is he?”
The man fought to find his voice. “You talking about G--”
“Do not say his name in my presence,” Vader’s vocoder reverberated from the
depth of his chest. “Where?”
The man pointed. “The cantina. At the end of the road. Where the hell else
would he be?” Vader started in that direction. The man shouted after him, “Hey,
if you’re looking for a girl, you can do better than the bottom-feeders he
turns out--” Vader never turned around when the man shot up in the air and was
thrown across the street into a pile of scrap and fish guts.
He came upon the cantina. The smoke of glimmer-spice and death sticks seeped
from the windows into the street. Raucous music paired with raucous voices
blared through the door. He raised his hand. The door flew open. Vader stepped
inside.
The place was narrow and long and dark, packed with multiple species, all
intoxicated in some form and to varying degrees. But a conspicuous wave of
silence passed over the crowd when they saw the black mountain of cape, helmet,
mask, and malevolence standing in the entrance. The band stopped playing.
Glasses stopped clinking. Vader’s respirator filled the silence like a noxious
audible fog.
He passed his glare to the bartender. “The pimp.”
The bartender, a half-breed human-Nikto male, backed away from the bar and
thumbed in the direction of the back. “He, he’s back there. In his corner. His
spot.”
The Dark Lord looked back at the crowd. “Leave.”
The place cleared out in a matter of seconds. A mad dash erupted toward any
door available, and even a couple of windows. The bartender leapt over the bar
and out the door, not even bothering to take the night’s till with him. Glasses
crashed to the ground, tables were tipped over, and soon Vader stood alone
amongst the wreckage.
He walked slowly and deliberately to the back of the cantina. There were some
booths and tables tucked away in the corners. He approached the table that had
a man passed out over it. He stepped to the table’s edge. “Out." A young girl’s
head slowly came up from under the table where she had been orally servicing
the inebriated man until it unexpectedly became her hiding spot. She wiped her
mouth, crawled up onto the booth and over the man, and took off running.
Vader turned his attention back to the drunk. “Wake up.”
The man, his red hair streaked with white and thinning badly, snorted awake,
but didn’t lift his head. “What?” he grunted into the table. He was so drunk,
he didn’t even hear Vader’s breathing.
“You have a daughter,” Vader rumbled. “Named Lylla.”
The man’s slumped body bounced a bit on the table as a phlegmy laugh gurgled
through his nose and throat. “Well, there’s a blaster from the paster,” he
slurred, laughing even more at his stupid joke. He reached out his hand to grab
the bottle in front of him, a bottle Vader slid to the other side of the table
with the Force. The man still reached around for it and grew agitated. “Yeah, I
guess you could call her that. I call her the little cunt that killed my
highest-paid girl pushing her outta her. The only thing I got good outta her
was seven thousand credits.” He shrugged, still face down. “Eh, more than I
ever got for the boys. The Kessel mines don’t pay that kind of money.” He
almost reached the bottle. Vader moved it again. The man growled, then laughed
again into the table. He raised his hand and wagged a finger. “Virgins, that’s
where the real money is. You don’t waste fresh tail on one pop-off for a couple
hundred creds. Nah, you sell ‘em to harems. You don’t waste that shit.” He
finally lifted his head off the table. “What, she’s still alive? What’s she to
you--” He stopped when he was finally able to focus his inebriated eyes on
Darth Vader, the Might of the Empire, standing on the other side of the table.
Vader curled a fist at his side when he saw the resemblance. His face was
angular and long like hers, but was almost as scarred as Vader’s from years of
cutting the narcotic known as Black Razor into it. His hair may have been the
same color once, but was now shedding pigment and thickness. He may have been
tall like Lylla, but years of drink, drugs, and disease left him little more
than a skeleton drowning in his clothes.
The degenerate sat up, albeit clumsily, and inched up the back on the back of
the booth. “Hey now, listen-- whatever she did, I got shit to do with that,
alright? I ain’t seen the bitch in twenty years!”
“No. Not since you sold her,” Vader flatly replied. The table launched off the
ground and smashed into the adjacent wall. The pimp screeched and fell to the
ground, scrambling to his feet to run. Vader gripped his neck in a Force-hold
and hurled him across the cantina over the bar. He smashed into the mirrors on
the bar’s wall and fell behind it.
The man howled from behind the bar, “Hey, hey, look-- she got three squares a
day, clothes on her back, and a roof over her head. Hell, she even got off this
shithole of a planet! More than I ever did! She was a lot better off with them
than with me, alright? I DID HER A FUCKING FAVOR!” He sloppily burst up from
behind the bar, where he had found the bartender’s blaster that he now aimed at
Vader.
He peeled off a few shots. The Dark Lord caught the blaster bolts in his palm
as he bore down on him, redirecting the last one to shoot through the pimp’s
shoulder. He screamed as the blaster flew out of his hand into Vader’s and
watched him break it in half. He fell onto his back, and looked up to see Vader
jump over the bar and stalk toward and over him.
Still clutching his shoulder, the miscreant crawled away from him, shrieking,
“Look, whatever she did, I’ll pay for it, ok? I got-- I got creds, right here!”
He stopped crawling just long enough to pull a purse out of his jacket. “Look,
see? There’s more, I can get more!” Vader didn’t stop. The man started wailing.
“Gods, don’t, don’t kill me! I can pay! I swear it! I’LL PAY!!”
He bolted into the air, as if hanging from a noose, and flew to the far wall
and stuck there like he was nailed to it. Vader came back over the bar. He
pulled his lightsaber off his belt. “Yes, you will pay," rumbled the Dark Lord
of the Sith as he came at him with measured menace. "And this is my price.” He
pressed his mask into Lylla's father's shredded, gasping, sobbing face and
forced him to breathe its exhaust. “You will suffer relentless agony one full
day for every year she suffered as a slave. And you will not die until I am
paid in full.” He ignited the saber. “Consider it a bargain.”
Outside, the wet and freezing cantina crowd huddled into each other, whispering
and wondering how they were going to get their cloaks and purses and blasters
and whatnot when blood-curdling screams came out of the tavern, barely muffled
by the thin alumitin door. Many just ran, others too stupefied to move. The
half-human half-Nikto bartender ran his hands through his soaked hair, turned
to the crowd and said, “Closed until further notice.”
 
Next in the Dark Angel Series: Dangerous Games
End Notes
     Vaal was the planet Vader crash landed on after the Battle of Yavin
     in the Dark Horse comic.
     Ecchu Shen-Jon was a character from the Star Wars video game in 1992.
     Fellenet is my own creation. I've never seen a fishery planet in the
     GFFA. I wanted a planet that was the exact opposite of Tatooine-
     - wet, dark, cold, and just as miserable.
     "Arisand" is also a creation of mine. Arisand is a luxury brand, like
     Louis Vitton or Hermes. There is Arisand silk, Arisand furs, even
     Arisand flowers.
     And if you've stuck around this long, the next installment will be
     downright fluffy compared to this.
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