Star Wars: Slave Of Darkness

Preparing the bath was only the work of a few minutes. In that time, the Sith had stripped out of his armor and body-glove, leaving him clad in a simple shirt and shorts.

Without the ominous robes and armor, the slave thought he seemed…smaller. He wasn't short, but the way the robes had hung on his broad shoulders had done an effective job at hiding just how emaciated he was.

In a way, it was more unnerving to see, not less. He was almost a walking skeleton covered with stringy muscle and disfiguring scar tissue. There were a few "knots" at his joints, but what they were, she couldn't tell. But she did know the tell-tale signs of repeated exposure to lightning, racing up both arms.

Beyond that, there were several spots on his exposed pale skin that had been rubbed raw, to the point of cracking and bleeding. It was likely that he hadn't removed the armor in its entirety for some time, leading to chafing where it had pinched. Sweat, oils, and other fluids had also built up under the body-glove, irritating his skin further.

Now freed from its armored prison, the smell of unwashed human and stars-knew-what-else got worse. The slave nearly lost the battle against emptying her stomach on the Sith's feet. Fortunately for her, he mercifully vacated the bedroom for the attached refresher, a bundle of fresh clothes and a boot knife in hand.

After the door hissed closed behind him, she took a minute to regain control of her stomach. Once that was done, the Zeltron was hit with a new question.

'What do I do now?'

If she left without being told to, that might be seen as being insubordinate by the Sith. Such things were punished, usually with lightning or a zap from her collar.

If she did not report back to the head butler, that would also be cause for a shock. The transmitter could reach her anywhere within the estate.

But she could not simply sit and do nothing. That was a punishable offense, too.

Blue eyes scanned the room, looking for something. A dusty shelf she could make a token attempt to clean. A bed sheet she could straighten.

Her gaze landed on the box she had brought in.

Unfortunately, it only occupied her for a few minutes at best. The clothes were already folded and simply needed to be placed in drawers.

But it was a few minutes where she wasn't at as much risk of electrocution. It also gave her a bit more time to think about how she could avoid trouble. However, it could only last so long before she once again found herself looking for something to do.

This time, her attention fell on the stinking pile of armor. The body-glove she could do nothing about without taking it to the washrooms, but maybe the plates…?

She did a quick inventory of the supply harness she was wearing, swiftly finding a few rags and some cleaning chemicals.

Out of habit, the slave paused, waiting to see if the Sith was about to emerge from the refresher. But all she heard was the light splashing of water.

There was still more time to kill.

A pink-skinned hand reached out for the first piece within reach, one of the vambraces. But something made her stop. She felt…wariness from somewhere. It was faint, too faint to pinpoint.

"Don't touch that."

She froze, her head snapping to the door. It was still shut.

'How did he?'

"I can see through the wall." The Sith answered her unspoken question, his voice muffled by the barrier between them, "And I wouldn't recommend touching that."

'Is he a Miraluka?' The slave idly wondered. He had his eyes covered yet did not seem to be hampered by it.

As her head turned back to the vambrace she had been about to grab, she found herself face-to-face with a talon, connected by a cord to the armor. It was swaying back and forth slightly, as though it were some kind of snake.

It was moving on its own.

Her eyes followed its movement, too afraid of whatever it might do to her. Was this something the Sith was doing? Or was it something in the armor itself?

"Back away." The Sith continued, his voice level and calm, "Slowly."

Gulping, the slave began to inch away from the…thing. Again, it followed the sway of her body as she moved but did not try to get any closer.

Once she was safely back, the two vambraces rose into the air as though gripped by unseen hands, joined by the backplate connected to one of them by a long tube, before settling into a far corner of the room.

"If you still wish for something to do, the rest of the armor has little in the way of surprises."

The slave didn't move for a long moment as the options ran through her head again. This was a trap, right?

It wouldn't have been the first time. Visiting Sith could do what they pleased to the slaves, so long as the damage wasn't permanent. Some days, she was convinced that the sole reason the head butler had purchased her in the first place was to keep their malicious intentions away from the freedmen staff.

Her gaze panned back to the door. He had gone quiet again, save for the occasional splash of water.

A traitorous thought popped into her head, 'But if he wanted to get his rocks off tormenting a slave, why stop the first…whatever that was?'

He could simply be toying with her. Set out the bait for the trap, wait for her to get caught in it before "saving" her, only to set her up for a second trap. But that was much more effort than most Sith would put into torturing someone so far beneath them.

Then again, the reasoning behind Sith cruelty was not always…rational.

Still…she didn't feel he was being cruel or malicious. At least not towards her, anyways.

The Sith had that pool of bubbling anger that all of them did, sequestered in the back of his mind and ready to be unleashed at a moment's notice. Besides the constant threat to life and limb, that was what made Sith uncomfortable for her to be around.

But that anger was muted. Everything about him was muted, save for a sense of bone-deep weariness.

He was exhausted, she realized. The sensation was palpable enough that just being in his proximity was leaving her own limbs feeling heavy.

The slave forced herself to move before she found herself locked in place, cautiously picking up one of the shin guards. She let out a sigh of relief when it didn't move on its own, though she was unnerved by the pulsing sensation beneath her fingertips, and set about cleaning it with the rag.

She wasn't even half-way finished with the piece before the rag was completely dyed red and black.

...

She was working on the front plate of the cuirass when the Sith finally emerged from the refresher. As the door hissed opened, the smell of scented soaps preceded him, a welcome change to what had been clinging to him before.

His old, ragged clothes had been replaced with a black sleeveless tunic and a gray pants, though neither fit him quite right. His hair, though still a haggard and patchy mess, had at least been cleansed of sand, leaving it far more brown than red, and he had dispensed with the stubble on his jaw. 

Scarred and deformed skin remained plain to see, but it had been scoured of grease and grime.

The Sith would still stand out in a crowd with his rough appearance, but he no longer looked like the demon that had startled her.

But what drew her attention were his eyes. The bandages had been removed, revealing half-healed burns across his closed eyelids. It was a horrific injury, but she could already see dead skin peeling away, with new, healthy skin beginning to grow in underneath.

Removing the blindfold had also revealed the slave brands seared into the skin of the Sith's forehead and across the bridge of his nose.

The slave stared at them far longer than she should have as she tried to mentally connect the two contrasting images.

Picking up one of the pieces, calloused fingers glided across the surface of the shin-guard, pausing briefly over each dent and cut. Bringing his thumb up to his mouth, he bit down just hard enough on the pad of the digit to draw blood before bringing it back to the metal. Before her eyes, each blemish began to slowly fill in, repairing the damage.

The Sith repeated the process with each cleaned piece before turning to her. When his sightless gaze focused on her, she realized that she had been staring. A sense of dread filled her as her eyes shot downwards to the floor and she waited.

But the Sith did nothing save to hold out his hand for the armor piece she had just finished. Numb fingers moved to pass it to him.

The silence continued as he worked.

The slave started to wonder if the suspense from waiting, not knowing if punishment was coming, was worse than immediate electrocution.

When he finished, the Sith picked up the body-glove, his nose wrinkling in disgust as the smell hit him. She could see several patches where the material had either been pierced or worn through.

An inexplicable surge of bravery hit her and she spoke without being prompted, "Would you like me to have it washed, milord? Or would you prefer to acquire a replacement from the guard's armory?"

Instinctively, she braced for impact as the not-blind eyes turned to her again.

"Washed, for now." The Sith said after a moment before bundling it up and handing it over. The edges of his lips quirked up, "We'll see if it survives the process."

Her mind boggled that a Sith had just made a joke and no one had died.

Not wanting to take any more risks, the slave bowed her head.

"Take it to the wash. Then use the remainder of the evening as you see fit."

She blinked.

'What?'

...

The slave was still bewildered as she was walking out of the washroom several minutes later after passing the body-glove off to the washroom staff.

She didn't get far before her owner found her.

The Head Butler was an older human with salt-and-pepper hair that was growing more salt every day. He was dressed in immaculately tailored black and gold clothes, well-made but not too fancy.

The wrinkles on his face grew deeper as his face contorted into a snarl, "And where have you been? I have been summoning you for over an hour!"

The slave's spine went ramrod straight at his tone, before she hurriedly moved to bow, "I apologize, sir. I was attending to the Master's apprentice."

She expected an outburst of anger…or something, she wasn't sure. What she felt instead was shock.

She dared a glance up at his face to find him pale.

"He's here? But there was n-" The butler's jaw clenched as he regained control of himself and demanded, "Where is he?"

"In his room, sir. Last I saw, anyways." The slave answered truthfully but gave no more details.

A finger was jammed in her face, "You. Go back to the slave quarters. I will deal with you later. But for now…"

The butler passed her quickly, but not before she heard a dreadful familiar click from the collar. She braced herself once again, ready to feel…

…nothing?

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The first book of this fanfic has been completed on Patreon, you can look it up in the collection alongside the second book. You can visit Patreon if you want to read in Advance.

 [email protected]/Rage_moon