Dark Robe, Dark Soul

by Ki

Archive: yes. M/A archive. Personal homepage.

Series: NONE. Completely standalone.

Pairing: Qui/Xan, Qui/Obi.

Rating: R.

Warnings: AU. Very dark. AU. Torture. Violence! (Take heed!)

Again: DARK!

Disclaimers: George Lucas owns the boys. I don't write for profit.

Dedicated to the Broken Circle peeps.One Dark!Xani coming up!

"Is a spider evil because it spins its webs and catches its prey for 
sustenance?"
--- Xanatos, Sith apprentice.

The darkness whispers. It hisses, murmurs and moves. It is alive, a creature created by its own volition. As I walk down the corridor, I can feel its breathing. My skin responds with its usual goosebumps, but I also welcome it. I have grown immune to its cold heat.

I finger my robe, admiring its velvety dark fabric. My fingers enjoy the smooth texture. It is expensive, this dark robe. A price has been paid with the sacrifice of blood.

A plaintive wail stops me in my path and I turn to my right, seeing a misshapen creature clutching the bars of its cage, its knuckles deathly white. Its sunken eyes plead for mercy, pools of light fading with dwindling life. I lift up my hand, extend a finger and place it on my lips. The creature whimpers and backs away, curling up into a fetal ball. It has been an imp once. Now, its entire body is a twisted gnarled shape. Yes, "shape" is the right word to use, for it is always changing, forced by the Darkness. Even as I watch, the creature begins to spasm, screaming in a high-pitch voice, its limbs contorted and wracked.

Such is the joy of watching torture. I walk away, leaving the creature behind. Its sobs lessen as I head for the main antechamber. Then as I near the door, I glance over,wave my right hand and the sobs adruptly cease. At least death is the next best choice for the imp.

Now, for my greatest pleasure... I place my palm on the door. The unseen door guardians sense my presence, recognize it and the lock clicks. The hinges creak and the door opens with the familiar sweet scent of burnt flesh. I smile to myself, drawing up my hood. My Master is already here, his robed figure standing before the iron-barred cage.

Oo, he is angry. I can feel the dark waves emanating forth from his body like some heat-wave. I pad in, bowing to him. I cast a glance at the prisoner who glares back at me with his bright eyes.

I halt, staring back at him unafraid. I was once like him. Angry. Bitter. Hate. Ah, the words flow down my veins. Guttural words, best voiced with the back of the throat.

"He is awfully resistant," my Master say, in his deep voice. His arms are folded across his chest.

The prisoner spits and the glob lands squarely on my Master's face.

The next thing I know is the prisoner being flung against the wall. I can hear his spine breaking.

"Xanatos," my Master say and I bow lower, my dark robe rustling. "The negotiations are getting nowhere."

I permit a small smile on my lips. My Master's eyes glisten and he reaches out his hand, touching my cheek gently. Without warning, the hand hits and I spin, wincing in pain. I draw myself up painfully, tasting the blood in my mouth. I have bitten the inside of my cheek.

"You have failed me, apprentice."

"I will make him speak, Master." I say, articulating my words very carefully. I move forward and kneels in front of the cage. My cheek stings but I choose to ignore it. Instead, I focus on the body on the floor. Broken as he is, his eyes still burn with revulsion and anger.

"Obi-Wan Kenobi," I use a matter-of-fact tone. "You are very brave for a Jedi, having passed our 18th level of torture."

A ragged sound, like a chuckle. "Thank you for your compliment."

What spunk. I shrug and snap my fingers. The bruised and torn body of Obi-Wan, best apprentice of the Jedi, begins to slid forth. Soon, it rests next to the bars. He is trembling, I can see. Not with pain or fear. Outrage. He would have made a good Sith. So resistant to pain.

He was captured on Coruscant, on the very same day we carried out the first invasion. He fought courageously with his lightsaber. Very courageously.

It was also the same day when my Master removed his disguise.

I slide a finger past the bars and stroke the flesh. "Beautiful skin. You must have been very handsome, Obi-Wan. All the girls must have loved you. "

Behind me, my Master shifts slightly. I can feel his banked rage, like a thunderhead.

"Even the men loved you, Obi-Wan. You must be something, Jedi."

He clenches his teeth and looks away. He is naked and his skin bears the last imprints of the wax drip. The raised white spots look exquisite on his otherwise flawless body.

A low growl. My Master is restless. I glance over my shoulder. "Do you want to take your pleasure on the prisoner? He's ready now."

My Master draws down his hood, revealing the silver-streaked mane. The trimmed beard.The lupine features. His blue eyes crackle.

There is a low long-drawn out moan from Obi-Wan. I grin. His Master. My Master. Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn. Darth Imat of the Sith.

Deception is one of my Master's special skills. He has fooled every nincompoop in the Jedi Temple. Honestly, he has fooled me before.

The lupine features become acute as my Master kneels before the cage. Ah, the predator in his full terrifying mode. The shielded claws about to extrude. You can't run, Obi-Wan.

My Master's large hand reaches in and grabs hold of Obi-Wan's organ. The Jedi cries out.

Silently, I withdraw from the antechamber as Obi-Wan's cries begin. For some strange reason, I am intolerant when it comes to my Master sharing his body with Obi-Wan. My Master is mine alone. I will have the pleasure of touching him alone. I will kiss, lick and caress him myself.

As usual, the darkness skitters around me. Live, thirsty and hungry. I walk toward the Hall, smoothing my dark robe with my hand. There is an annoying hardness in my pants, an indication of my own pressing need. Later, I tell my body sternly. Later.

I nod curtly at a group of Dark adepts and they whisper my name. Xanatos. Xanatos. Imat's apprentice. The next Sith Lord. Soon, my Master has told me once. Soon. With a smile, I step onto the balcony, taking in the view in front of me. Black onyx spires jab towards the sky like skeletal fingers. They glitter dimly in the faded sun. There is fog swirling around. Combined with the still-burning fire of the Sith Temple, it has turned into a miasma. It flows around, past the black serpent guards. I can hear the low rumbling and snarling from the winged Dark minions gathered below the balcony. A rush of air causes me to duck; something black and powerful has taken off from its perch. A black dragon, genetically engineered by Sith scientists.

Enough of daydreaming. I return to the antechamber quickly.

My Master is there, still nude. His skin glimmers with perspiration. He looks magnificent. A hunter in triumph. I gaze at his half-erect organ and smile to myself. In the cage, Obi-Wan is unconscious. A livid bruise is spreading insidiously across his back. On his buttocks, there are streaks of red blood.

"Master," I bow. My Master, Imat, has that hungry look on his face. Ah, my Master with his aristocratic face, twisted by the Darkness in him.

We have frenzied sex right in the antechamber. I welcome the agony. The pleasure. The soul-numbing joy that comes with the climax. As I collapse, my body slick with sweat, I can hear my Master's ragged breathing.

I can also hear a low moaning. It sounds like sobbing as well. The voice of the lost, the hopeless.

Obi-Wan.

Oh, sorry, Obi-Wan. I am sorry to break your pretty little bubble. I am sorry that your dear beloved Master is my Master.

I chuckle softly and kiss my Master full on the lips, making sure that Obi-Wan sees it. I want it to last, this knife turning in his gut.

But then, am I evil? I relish in the thought. Is a spider evil because it spins its webs and catches its prey for sustenance? Enough. There are Sith philosophers who can argue with the apologetics. Not me.

As I close my eyes, feeling my Master's heartbeat next to me, I can hear the darkness. Whispering. Weaving its web around us. Weaving around me.

-finis-