Star Wars: Dark Angel's Embrace

In Memory of Moisie

Date: Three Standard Months After the Destruction of Death Star I

Like scarlet specters guarding the maw of the dimensional hells, the quartet of the Emperor's Royal Guard stood noiseless and inert on either side of the massive five-meter tall obsidian door. Planted several meters before them, the squad of eight Imperial Black Hole stormtroopers stood just as rigid and silent, blasters poised across their armored chests, their buffed black armor mimicking the gleaming onyx floors beneath them. They had stood like this, facing each other, opposing chess pieces controlled by similar hands, expressionless, solid, and undaunted by the howls of torture that had been coming from the other side of the colossal doors for the last several hours...

Beyond the doors lay a chamber carved of the finest obsidian in the galaxy, scores of meters wide as it was high. The far wall of the massive room was one huge window that looked out across the Imperial Throneworld's soaring skyline, the city-planet once known as Coruscant. The floors, laid with the same polished stone, caught the diminishing light of the setting sun and glistened like a pool at midnight. The room was devoid of any furniture, save for two objects. One was an enormous onyx chair centered in the window, the Emperor's throne; the second, an immense durasteel X-shaped brace jutting from the shimmering floor. The chamber would have almost presented an atmosphere of dark serenity, had the effect not been marred by the shrieking, thrashing bulk of Darth Vader.

His limbs stretched wide, Vader hung from the brace, held there by thick durasteel spikes bolted through his cybernetic wrists and ankles. 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, marring its sheen. Between his hoarse, tortured cries, Vader's chest quaked and heaved with frantic attempts to override his respirator and take in desperately needed air on his own, but to no avail. The crease of his helm cut into his skull base, and the underside of his breathing mask sliced across his already scarred face with every thrash and seizure; but these small lesions 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 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. The hours of administering the Force-lightning torture had been 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.

"NO! NO, PLEASE! MOTHER!!! NO GODS, PLEASE, PLEASE! 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 that ricocheted off the frigid obsidian walls, Vader's enormous hulk lurched forward off the cross. 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 smoldering, 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 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!" His roar suddenly 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 resplendent bass, now hoarse with misuse, 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 with passion, 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 want, desire, and doubt spun over Sidious's psyche, and the Emperor wrought his brow in angered bewilderment.

"Why, Sa,thraxxx?" Vader's chest constricted. "How could you...want...a monster? You want the darkness...are you...like me...inside? Are you a ...beast?" Vader's mask rolled from side to side, his massive chest heaving slowly, rhythmically. "A beautiful beast...?"

The swelling bulge stretching Vader's codpiece did not escape the Emperor's attention either.

Rage roiled through Palpatine's insides, 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 off the walls as the Emperor's tendrils ripped from his mind, his whole mass convulsing and twisting. With a small, tired wave of his hand, the Emperor released the bolts through Vader's limbs, and they slammed back into the onyx brace. Vader slid hard to the floor with a resounding crash. With great effort, the Dark Lord pushed himself into a fetal fold, his helm 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 through his respirator.

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's helm sunk even lower. The shrill, childish staccato that had wracked his voice during the torture was gone, and his resonant bass, albeit rasped, had returned. "I deserve no forgiveness, my Master, that I know. I underestimated the Rebels' tenacity, and I 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. "Materials can be restored. Men can be replaced, as there is never a shortage of those ravenous for power and privilege. And even such achievements as a Death Star can-- and will-- be built again. 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 keepSECRETSfrom me?"

Vader's chest seized clear through to his shoulders. Having no recollection whatsoever of the waking nightmares, fear and desperation twined through what remained organic of his body. What had his master seen? "My Master, everything I own, everything I am basks in the glory of your dominion. 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 mask 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's eyes clenched behind his optic screens, and he 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. He set to appease his master, as the practice now had become rote. "I thought it of no importance, Master. An opportunity presented itself. I...took it."

"I see." Turning, the Emperor slid slowly across the gleaming floors back toward the staircase in his creeping manner. He ascended silently to stop in front of the massive window, leaving his hulking apprentice kneeling and penitent for what seemed to be an eternity of quiet. Finally, the Emperor spoke. "Is it a male or female?"

Vader raised his helm to peer at the Emperor. A small smile tugged, albeit painfully, 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, attractive race, that." Turning over his shoulder, the Emperor asked, "Tell me, boy...has she seen your face?"

Vader swallowed his degradation down to the depths of his bowels as he answered softly, "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 fortitude in this lover, isn't there?"

"Yes, Master," Vader replied dully before raising his mask to glare directly at his master and adding as firmly as he dared, "She is... unique."

"Indeed?" Palpatine snarled quietly. A pause. "Who is she? Anyone from court? An officer? A noble?"

"No, Master. She is the newest Enforcer in your Inquest Corps."

"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."

"Does she love you?"

A pause. "No, my Master. She offered herself as a means of promotion."

Palpatine raised a hairless brow once more. "Indeed. Well, if she is not a courtier, she certainly behaves like one. Offering sex for promotion? Yes, it seems you have chosen wisely...so far." Slowly, he came around the dais to seat himself on the throne. Easing himself back and heaving a satisfied sigh, Palpatine held his kneeling apprentice in his eye before he commanded, "I will meet this lover, boy."

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."

The black dome of Vader's helm rose again to meet his master's glare. "Watch me with her? I...do not understand, Master—"

"Oh, of course you do, child." Rising from his throne, Palpatine again descended toward his apprentice. "When you leave here, you will summon her to you. And you will open yourself to me as you rut." Again, the dim chuckle frothed from his decrepit throat as he leaned down and cradled Vader's mask within his hands. "I must determine if she is worthy of you, boy. I cannot have my heir apparent cavorting with little more than a gutterslut now, can I?"

Behind his optic screens, Vader closed his eyes. 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 explained 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 air of the throneroom, slinking across the floors and ceiling. "I can feel your hate, boy," Sidious croaked, caressing Vader's mask. He took back his skeletal hand, enfolding it into his voluminous sleeve. "Now go." He turned away. "And do not dissatisfy me."

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 enormous doors. With an exhausted wave of his hand, the doors slowly opened to his bidding, the massive hinges shrieking throughout the chamber.

As he stepped out into the glistening foyer, the doors crept shut...and Vader slumped to his knees, falling forward on his elbows. Although the Emperor's scarlet guard never moved from their posts, Vader's Black Hole Troopers rushed to their fallen Master. It took four of them, on either side of Vader, to hoist him back to his feet and hold him steady. The Dark Lord pulled all the power of the Dark Side into his weakened body, enveloping his limbs with its energy, to hold him erect.

It was then he heard the stray thought of one of his Troopers slide across his consciousness—

*So, the all-powerful Lord of the Sith isn't so powerful after all.*

Vader raised his mask, slowly, toward the Trooper standing behind the three others before him. He raised his arm, still in the grasp of his troops, in front of him, and curled his gloved hand into a fist.

The trooper suddenly dropped his blaster, the clang of it ricocheting through the cavernous halls, as his hands went to his throat. He staggered backwards, writhing and jerking, his sick gasps for air squeaking through his helmet's vocoder. Hitting a wall, he slid to the floor, thrashing, choking, trying frantically to remove his helm, until his armored body stiffened with one last seizure, and then slumped still on the cold floor.

The effort put forth was too much, too soon. Vader stumbled slightly, still in the clutches of his troops. He turned his mask slightly to one side. "Take me back to my fortress," he ordered quietly. "Commander."

A Black Hole Trooper with a red slash painted across his chest plate stepped forward. "My Lord?"

"See the body is disposed of accordingly, and have a fresh recruit sent from the Clone Facilities to replace him." He raised his mask slightly as he fought to take in a much-needed breath through his respirator. "You and a complement will then go to the Inquest Corps Headquarters...and bring Enforcer Sa'thraxxx to me."

* * *

The POP of the old man's shoulders being pulled from their sockets was plainly audible in the blaring white room. His screams were further amplified when the bindings around his ankles lurched forward, snapping his aged hips and knees loose from their joints.

"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 upon rotated forward, gears whining, bringing him to eye level with his inquisitor. Despite his agony, he glared a hole through the back of his torturer's skull. She stood with a relaxed, casual air, her back to him, her long hands set upon the lazy curve of her slender hips. 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.

"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. 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—"

Her willowing height and those elegant 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 NOT speak until I give order! And 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. Now I will ask you again—who was your Rebel contact onboard that ship, and where was it rerouted?"

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 savage shocks of electricity through the electrodes clamped on the old man's nipples and privates under his tattered clothing.

Screams pealed off the barren walls once again, the old man thrashing in spite of his broken limbs. 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 so delightfully stubborn," she chuckled, dropping the joint and crushing it under her boot. "And your tenacity for a man your age impresses me...but not terribly so." 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.