The blood on Starkiller's gloves had turned crusty and dark when the holo unit finally sparked to life. Out of the pale glow came Vader's helmeted head, silent, like a statue chiseled from ice. "Finished," Starkiller muttered, working his rigid hand open. "Vos is out of the picture, gone for good."
Vader skipped the evidence this time. The vocoder hummed deep, almost curious, like a beast acknowledging its young after a successful hunt. "It's clear to you now," he murmured, voice trailing off slow and hazy. "The blade aimed at your weakness? It's the only one that matters."
Starkiller snorted hard, picking up the stale whiff of scorched air left on his suit - Quinlan Vos had crumpled hours ago. No yelling came, no fresh orders or challenges; what settled was quiet, dense, full of unspoken truth. Vader had learned that lesson a while ago. Felt it like he'd sensed the blaze on Mustafar long before droids stitched his body back together.
"Your blade doesn't shake from fear anymore," Vader said - his voice still cold metal scraping stone, though maybe softer now. A faint push brushed Starkiller's shoulder, as if someone laid out a dark cloak instead of flinging it at him. "You won't bow to any master, yet you will walk just behind as my shadow, silent and close. Like a knife slid unseen into space's blind spot - one that thinks itself untouchable." They both knew what this meant: not a student shown to the Emperor, but a hidden edge waiting near his neck.
Starkiller turned his head - careful, quiet - like a nexu creeping through shadows. "So tell me, Vader... which throne's got your attention this time?" He dared ask it; after all, the stink of burned skin clinging to his suit gave him some leeway. The holo stuttered, then for one split second the outline twisted - not from glitchy signals, but like something huge and starved slipping under existence itself. "Fools sit on thrones," Vader answered at last, voice thick with hidden truths. "Before it shrieks, the galaxy will twist in delight - and you'll stand beside me while I forge its awakening."
The vocoder couldn't cover the hunger on that last word. Starkiller knew the sound - heard it from bounties muttering over pay, junkies hushed about their fix. Yet this felt worse, somehow. Like engine noise right before ripping through hyperspace. His hand twitched, remembering the broken grip of Quinlan Vos's saber like a ghost pain. "An assassin doesn't need plans," he said slow, eyes stuck on Vader's faceplate for any tiny move.
A moment froze - not with motion, but a sharp stillness, like the signal hesitated at Vader's next words. "Yet even a blade feels its wielder," he said, each syllable crawling along Starkiller's back like cold metal. That faint weight returned to his shoulder - this time no nod of praise, just silent claim. Around them, the air prickled, charged with burnt sparks and something else - a warm spice, familiar from Mara Jade's skin after her... sessions under their Master. "You'll carry out my purpose," Vader went on, voice sinking low enough to shake Starkiller's bones. "Not for power or rule but for tearing apart every lie called holy."
The transmission broke loose. Breathing out, Starkiller moved his fingers - they were still sticky from Vos's blood - as he thought about when Vader's gear began carrying that same spice-oil smell.
---
The air inside the Star Destroyer's quiet room felt different - not just pressure, more like tension held in place by silence instead of sound. Vader stayed motionless near the middle, shadows pooling around him while his gloved fingers eased open one by one, as if testing weight. Crimson flickers of Force Lightning curled across his palms, shifting on their own, alive like embers breathing. They snapped and popped softly, nothing like Sidious' jagged fury or Dooku's icy grip - this was slower, deeper, personal. This flash zipped - sharp, constant, breathing - same shade as a saber's heart dipped in gore. Not merely flaming - it devoured. Every split tendril probed the sky like emptiness between the stars.
No Sith ever seen in history held strength quite like this one. Not even the most ancient holocrons buried on Korriban spoke up - no hint, no clue - about crimson lightning crackling from hands. This force was tied to legends lost with time, secret sects bowing before entities far predating the Rule of Two. Wielding such raw energy didn't just mean mastering darkness - it meant surrendering your core to an old, hungry presence. Vader curled his fingers slowly, feeling energy rise along his arms - no burn marks, nothing charred. Not a hint of strain showed; the force moved through him smooth and quiet, like it belonged right where it was. A faint grin tugged at his lips behind the helmet. That old presence had given this to him, its whisper creeping into his thoughts like fog seeping across stone floors. Power came with delight now, tangled close, impossible to pull apart.
The feeling woke up an ancient thing inside. Back then, rage was dull and plain - a way to crush stupidity using chokeholds or wild violence. Those Death Star builders felt it hard. Yet today? Red sparks drifted slow across his fingers, making him nearly laugh at how things changed - power strong enough to burn steel, yet zero urge to fry some shaking underling who messed up a form number. Calm down, whispered Shu'ulk'Tarath, its tone low, smooth, humming just behind his thoughts. Your past anger blocked true craving. Yet that made sense - he'd once been harsh, but his current calm power felt darker, deeper. Though wild before, now he took time, and enjoyed each move more.
Ord Mantell's darkness stayed close. While Mara dug her nails into his skin inside the warehouse, breathing hard beneath her - he remembered how Shaak Ti gasped when he touched her head ridges barehanded, real flesh instead of metal gears. These thoughts wore him thin, made the little nasty joys he use to enjoy feel flat now.
The red lightning curled closer to his arms when Mara Jade entered, moving slow, sure - like someone who'd already figured out how he'd react. Her skin still carried that mix of hot oil and dampness from earlier. "Called for me, Vader?" she said low, fingertips brushing his chest armor, hunting those secret clips - the ones she once opened with nothing but her mouth.
He grabbed her wrist just as she reached for the first seal, red sparks jumping across their palms - no pain though. She gasped, not scared, yet feeling that strange heat on her skin, soft and teasing, almost intimate. "Wrong idea," he muttered, tone rough near her ear. Darkness pressed close, heavy like sweat after reckless choices. "This time, it's about power, not charm." Mara flickered an eye open, mouth curling slightly - one corner amused, one doubtful. "Men cry plenty when I'm done with them," she shot back, twisting her hand, testing his hold. "Just depends whether they're begging or moaning."
Vader let go, while the sparks faded slow, making her skin prickle. "A blade in shadows takes one life," he muttered, moving back - maybe to breathe, maybe to study her better. "But a tempest wipes out armies." Mara shifted her arms loose on purpose, though her gaze stayed locked on his stance like prey reading danger. "Don't care about whole troops dying," she whispered, edging nearer once more. "Only the ones you name." That admission crept into the air, heavy with what wasn't said: she'd built her mission from his commands, yet changing it now made her feel lost.
He gripped her chin, lifting her face. "Palpatine's killers won't care whether you're happy as my little pet - they'll cut your throat all the same." His voice held no warmth, just like the black space beyond the window. Shaak Ti knew this truth already - she'd lived it years back, shaped by Jedi tests, hardened through battle. What she needed now wasn't strength, but release - the sweet break from who she used to be. Yet Mara? She grew up in secrecy and sudden violence, skilled, sure - but only in a few ways. The contrast stood out sharply - Shaak Ti dropped with calm, much like a dying star folding inward. But will Mara snap hard when pressed just beyond her edge.
The red lightning flickered between them again, dancing along her collarbone this time, teasing without biting. Mara shuddered—not from pain, but from the way it seeped into her nerves like wine, intoxicating and heavy. "You want me to… fight like *them*," she breathed, lips curling around the word like it was a poison she wasn't sure she could stomach. Her fingers twitched at her sides, itching for the familiar weight of her dagger rather than the untamed storm Vader offered. His grip tightened just shy of bruising. "Fight like *me*," he corrected, the vocoder dropping into that register that vibrated through her ribs. "Or die like the rest of the galaxy will when the reckoning comes."
She exhaled sharply through her nose, catching the scent of ozone and something darker beneath—something that reminded her of the way the air smelled after a lightsaber cleaved through flesh. Her stomach tightened, but not with disgust. With hunger. The realization hit her like a blaster bolt to the chest: she *wanted* this. Not just the power, but the way he looked at her now—like she was more than a knife in the dark, more than a warm body in his bed. Like she was something worth shaping. "Fine," she muttered, jerking her chin free. "But when I burn my first city down, you'd better be there to watch."
Vader's head tipped a little, those red eyes flashing like they almost liked what they saw. A spark zipped between his fingertips, flared up, then died out - after that, the room felt heavy, buzzing without sound. No words came. None were needed. His palm rested on her lower back - no force behind it, no direction, just ownership clear as day. Mara grinned sideways, shifting her stance while shadows wound round her slow, sniffing at her edges like curious fumes. It seemed unlike anything she'd known. Not just his lover now - almost breathing, murmuring hopes in a tongue her body knew before her thoughts caught up.
She moved her fingers slowly, picturing how heavy that energy would feel resting in her hands - not small controlled flashes, yet something wild flooding out. That idea oughta make her nervous. But her heart sped up instead, warmth spreading deep inside. Vader ran his thumb down her back through the suit, steady, almost thoughtful.
"Stay sharp," he said quietly - low so the machine noise didn't twist his words much. "Darkness isn't just some tool. It's what you want made real." His touch dipped further, cupping her ass. "Same as this right here." She gasped; she pressed her fingernails hard into her skin. Of course, he'd obviously turn the class into something dirty, into something filthy.
She shut her eyes, pulling at the dark strands curled inside - less the sudden rush of steel biting deep, more the simmering craving she saved for when Vader's plating clattered down. Power stirred, crawling up her arms in red coils. Like holding a vibroblade for the first time - wild, sharp, totally under her grip. Sparks jumped from her fingertips, tracing her flesh without pain. A grin tugged at her mouth. "Could be worse," she said, twisting her hands to see the bolts twist and flare.
Vader stood close, radiating heat like a fire fed by pride, his palm pressing the back of her neck while his fingers curled into her hair. "Once more," he said, the sound humming deep in her chest. She followed without pause, pushing energy forward - mixed with how his lips had felt against her skin - into the burst that crackled from her hands.
Light surged wilder this round, staining the steel walls blue. When the bolt hit the target now, the surface didn't merely burn. It dripped down, gathering into a shiny puddle that glowed red. Her chuckle came slow, rough at the edges. "Think Sidious knows you're teaching me how to use his favorite toy?"
Vader's hand clamped down, yanking her tight to his armored front. "Sidious," he growled near her ear - the voice modulator dropping so low it prickled her skin - "can't even picture how we'll play with his toys." Sparks flickered in her palms, ignored now as his warmth seeped through - metal heated like real muscle underneath. She turned her neck slightly, baring her throat without a word, daring him. Air rushed through the respirator - not that dry, broken rasp anymore, but thicker, damp. A sound laced with iron stink and the sour-sweet trace of Shaak Ti's sweat when he'd railed her to the point she forgot her own name.
***
The quiet inside the Rogue Shadow's cabin was heavier than empty space, interrupted just by the soft drone of hyperdrive systems or a rare ping from PROXY's checkups. Staring into the glass, Starkiller saw himself distorted through blurred ribbons of stars, questioning when that mirrored face no longer matched Galen Marek. He used to feel sorry for stormtroopers - mindless followers - now he became what he pitied the most, another mindless follower of Vader; worse, it reminded him of charred meat each time he thought about it.
It hit - sudden, icy. Not just empty space cold, but something far older creeping up his back like a snake from under the world. Lights on the panel stuttered. Juno's words broke apart mid-sentence, each sound stretched out weirdly, like seconds were snapping. "Starkiller - ?" Then her voice tore into noise, falling apart. The window wavered, stars smearing sideways like paint brushed wrong - and just like that, the cabin vanished.
Kashyyyk's damp breeze clung close, thick with mossy decay plus a whiff of sea spray. Towering wroshyr trunks rose all around, their gnarled roots spreading wide - like tendons beneath old skin.
Dad stood there - no ghost this time, no hazy vision - but flesh-and-blood true, wearing a Jedi robe slung over strong arms, hands calloused from teaching kids how to fight. He looked just as he did back then - the guy Starkiller saw crushed by Vader's grip when barely able to walk. His hand jerked up, reaching for a blade that wasn't there, heart slamming into his chest like it wanted out.
"What're you doing here?" The question clawed its way out, rough with doubt and a shaky spark of maybe. His dad let air slip through his teeth, slow on purpose, that quiet filled with time gone by. "You got fed a story soaked in blood," he said, tone flat though pain twitched deep in his stare. He moved nearer; Starkiller flinched - no fear, just the smell being off. No cold steel like Empire halls, instead old hide, body heat, and soil, kind of like Wookiee homes they once guarded. "Vader didn't just take you from me," the man whispered. "He took what was real."
Starkiller clenched his teeth. A ghost touch lingered - Vader's hand on his shoulder, once a chokehold on a scared kid, then the hold of a lord on his tool. Yet now it felt different. "Prove it," he muttered, half daring, half begging. His dad's face warped - not smiling, no - but like someone pulling a blade from their gut. Then came the voice, rough and low: "Go to Kashyyyk." He reached, tried grabbing Starkiller's arm, yet passed through like mist. Everything jolted. Giant trees blurred into noise. "Tread where I failed. Uncover what he hid under the soil."
The cockpit slammed shut around Starkiller with a kick that left his head spinning. Juno Eclipse kept her gloved hands near the dash, eyebrows pulled low under her short, messy hair. She didn't shout - but her tone carried weight, like she was holding everything together by thread: "You… stopped moving."
He shook it off, focusing on now instead of whatever nightmare had him frozen. The face staring back at him through the glass looked familiar again - cold stare, old wounds, no trace of the kid who once cried when Vader lit up a practice blade. "Head to Kashyyyk," he muttered, ignoring how Juno's hand crept close to the red medical box bolted next to her chair.
PROXY sparked awake in the copilot seat, lights flickering from blue to shaky yellow. "Galen - your body's screaming panic. Maybe you should - "
One glare from Starkiller cut him off. The bot hesitated just a second, then bounced right back. "Oh. Yeah... Kashyyyk it is!" His servos hummed as he keyed in the coordinates with a theatrical precision that made him look like a protocol droid desperately trying to prove he was up to the task of combat logistics. "Though I should warn you, Imperial patrols in that sector have increased by thirty-eight percent since our last visit. Perhaps a disguise? I could project a convincing—"
Juno gripped the yoke harder, fingers whitening under her gloves. "This isn't some fake holo-show, PROXY," she said short and tight. Yet her thumb kept tapping the thrusters - fast, sharp - giving away how wired she felt. Her eyes stayed forward without a single glance at Starkiller. Just his blur in the window's glassy shine, since locking gazes could wreck the thin leash on her nerves. "Blockades don't care about costumes - they hunt signal tags, not skin." The droid's lenses flared amber, head canting with a quiet hum. "Right then - what if we..."
"Plot the route," Starkiller said - not harsh, not soft, just solid, like an order carved from cold metal. Juno hesitated - barely a second - then punched in the numbers with the exactness burned into her by long years under strict command. Her lips pressed tight. A thought hung on her tongue, stuck between what her duty and something deeper, wilder - a thing they both felt but couldn't name without ripping open wounds still sealed shut.
***
The air carried Alderaanian jasmine, slipping past silk-covered walls into Bail Organa's quiet room - thick enough to dull the sharp tang of the buzzing holoprojector nearby. Ahsoka Tano, once Jedi but now something else, traced a finger over an encoded datapad; its pale light crept across her head-tails in flickering waves. Words blinked on and off: Cell Gamma-9 exposed. Need evac. People involved: two healers, one hacker. Urgency level: critical. No identities given. No locations shared. Just another whisper in a war nobody would own up to.
Bail's ring hit his cup two times, ice cracking softly inside. That beat wasn't random - it was a hidden call for help, passed off as fidgeting. In the window's glow, he seemed tense, like someone trained to carry stress like fine fabric - neat, quiet, noticeable only if you've seen him under pressure before.
"Normal routes are blocked past the Hydian," he murmured, tracking a far-off speeder's trail like it could reveal enemy watchers. "But there's a smuggler down in Malastare's gut that runs cargo no matter how messy it gets."
Ahsoka kept her eyes down. As her thumb moved along the edge of the datapad, a dried blood smear - a stranger's, never her own - marked the shell. "Talk about the slicer" she stated flatly. Each word was short, measured - not peaceful like a Jedi's tone, yet sharp from years of having to be right. Lately, that difference made all the difference.
Bail breathed out through his nose, barely louder than the hush of evening gardens beyond the sealed walls. "Former Imperial logistics officer. She defected after her squad burned down a farming village that refused to give up Separatist stragglers." His thumb kept circling the glass. "She's skilled enough to understand the limits of what she knows."
The screen glitched when Ahsoka pulled up the hidden file - star paths drawn in soft yellow light, branching off until they vanished into nothing. Routes to Gamma-9's supplies, shifted around more than once. Her head-tails quivered slightly, tuned to a sound no one else caught, just as Bail's secure line pinged - not once, but two quick beats. An alert masked as noise.
He kept his face blank, yet his fingers curled harder around the glass, giving it away. "That pilot from Malastare you used," Ahsoka muttered, eyes stuck on the shifting dots. "Either someone got to him… or he wants credits. Out there, under Imperials, makes no real difference."
Bail exhaled again, quieter than the wind drifting through Alderaan's night gardens beyond his sealed window. "Greed always shows signs - compromise just leaves bodies behind." His thumb traced the rim of his glass, leaving a damp ring after each turn. "We'll need to ditch the Hydian Way entirely."
Ahsoka gave a quick nod, fingers already tapping fresh course data into her device without pause or second thought. Then the pad pinged - an alert from some hacker labeled Mynock-7. Up popped three bright dots showing hidden supply stashes scattered across the Corellian Run. No labels attached. No voice tags either. Only grid markers and a narrow four-hour break before Imperials cycled their patrols.