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sithologist · 3 days ago

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Herald of the Empire

Chapter 2

warnings: mentions of blood, medical debt 💀

masterlist + synopsis

Xucphra Corp. Medical Station - Mygeeto System

Xucphra Station was a medical outpost orbiting an uninhabitable planet in the Outer Rim. It was a beautiful space station; white durasteel lined the exterior rings orbiting a central spire, its many transparisteel windows glinting in the light of the nearest star. There was always a steady stream of spacecraft flitting around its perimeter. Republic transports, emergency vessels, and the occasional Xucphra freighter to bring in more Bacta. Xucphra Coorporation controlled much of the supply of the miracle drug around the Galaxy, and funded the activities and research on this remote station. The station itself was an experiment: Xucphra’s stated mission was to simply provide advanced care to those who were far away from the Republic’s resources. A noble calling, for sure. However, this care came at a price. A high price. You may survive whatever injury landed you here, but Xucphra Corp would ensure that it ruined your life nonetheless.

“You're up early.”

Xanthe looked up from her monitor when a voice called out from the office doorway, where Metie, one of her many coworkers, stood, backlit by the sterile hallway lights. Metie was Mirialan, one of the few non-human employees on the station. She wore the same blue-and-white coveralls that were standard issue on the station, with a matching headscarf concealing her hair. A single, tiny diamond was tattooed above her nose. The younger woman gave Xanthe a knowing look. “Or… please tell me you haven't been up all night.”

“I couldn't sleep,” Xanthe replied, avoiding Metie’s brown eyes and directing her gaze back to her computer. She was telling the truth. “Plus, I wanted to get ahead on the accounts today.” This was not the truth. Xanthe’s accounting work for the station was as tedious as could be. She was good at it, but she hated it all the same.

Metie sighed and shook her head, disappointed but not surprised. “Anything major overnight?” she asked, walking over to peer over Xanthe’s shoulder. The monitor displayed a long spreadsheet, names and numbers keyed in with the utmost attention.

“No. Just one late surgery,” Xanthe replied, pulling up the newly-filed report. “Third-Degree burns from a Tibana explosion. He's lucky it wasn't any worse. Epidermal reconstruction was successful. A few days in a Bacta tank, and he should be walking again.”

Metie winced. “A few days? That's got to be expensive.”

That's the point, Xanthe thought, but she kept the sentiment to herself. “Is the mess hall open? I need a Caf before Dr. Kendall wakes up.”

“I think so. Let's go see.”

More than happy to take a break, Xanthe powered off her computer, rising to her full height. She groaned and stretched both arms above her head, lacing her sore fingers together. Her shoulders popped in protest, every joint in her body aching from the ordeal just two days before. Metie stared at Xanthe, studying her face, where three Bacta-patches covered up the newest wounds. Metie knew better than to ask about it, which Xanthe appreciated. She knew the young Mirialan must be curious. What trouble had Xanthe gone through to make a little more progress on her mortgage?

Seven years ago, Xanthe found herself in a Bacta tank here on the station, where she stayed in a coma for more than a month. Upon waking up, Dr. Kendall, the lead doctor and manager of the station, informed her of her options. One: She could pay off the sizable medical bill, either today or within a year with no interest. Two: She could agree to a Xucphra “mortgage,” where she would work for them for a set amount of time to pay off the debt and all the accrued interest. Or… Three: They would alert Republic authorities of her inability to pay, and she would be arrested and punished for her delinquency. Xanthe was a penniless child at the time, and didn't even understand the language yet. She didn't understand what was being asked of her. In the end, she had no choice but to agree to the mortgage.

Once the accountant was finished calculating everything, Xanthe learned her fate: the month inside that Bacta tank translated to three decades of servitude.

Life on the station was tedious, but not all bad. Employees were given a place to sleep, regular meals, and even access to rental ships if they needed to travel. Of course, none of this was free, and the cost of food and fuel was factored into your mortgage payment. For the particularly enterprising, Xucphra allowed their employees to take outside assignments: bounties, protection, even thievery. They were more than happy to look the other way. This extra income could take months off of an employee’s mortgage. Of course, in Xanthe’s case, this didn't help as much, but it was nice to see the number go down, if only by a few days. However, the number could just as easily go back up, for a number of reasons.

Later that morning, Xanthe was summoned to Dr. Kendall’s office.

“Xanthe. Thanks for making time for me.”

“Of course.” She sat down across from Kendall, who was still wearing his surgery scrubs after his shift in the operating room. His office was lavish compared to the minimalist aesthetic of the station, and even the guest chairs were soft and extravagant. Xanthe let herself sink down, enjoying the momentary comfort. “What is it?”

“I'm telling you this so you can announce it to the others,” Dr. Kendall started, picking up his datapad and scrolling through it, seemingly uninterested in their conversation. “It'll require some… tact.”

“What happened?”

“Well, put simply, we're going to need to adjust all our active mortgages. The Senate passed a new law last night. Interest rates are going up, and Xucphra wants to get ahead of it.”

“... Get ahead of it?”

“Right. I wish there was another way, but we still need to follow Republic regulations.” He sighed and put the datapad down, finally looking her in the eye. “They'll take the news better if it comes from one of them. And of course, you'll need to work late tonight on the adjustments.”

Stunned, Xanthe didn't respond for a moment. Kendall gave her his signature faux-sympathetic look. “I'll make sure you get a bonus for the extra work.”

“... Right.” Xanthe finally nodded and stood up, smoothing out the front of her uniform. “I'll get started after lunch.”

“Thanks, Xanthe. I appreciate you!”

Kendall knew he could rely on her for this sort of thing. Xanthe’s dynamic within the workforce was unique. No one else had a mortgage as long as hers, and it wouldn't be long before she would become the most senior employee on the Station, second only to the lead Doctor himself. The other employees regarded her with a mix of both respect and pity, both of which Xanthe despised. She never wanted the responsibilities that came along with this position, and hated the taken-aback looks she’d get whenever someone learned about her long mortgage. Because of all these factors, the task of announcing policy changes, for better or for worse, usually fell to her. This time was no different.

“What?! What do you mean, ‘adjust’? ”

“Don't tell me they're increasing our mortgages!”

“This isn't what I signed up for!”

“Do they think they can just keep us here forever?!”

“Quiet!” Xanthe raised her voice slightly, the sound echoing through the small mess hall where the employees took their meal breaks. The growing storm of protests eased at her voice, leaving only a few hushed whispers in its wake. Xanthe sucked in a breath and crossed her arms, her brow knotted into a stony frown.

“I know this is a shock. I'm not happy either. But please just be patient. I'm running the adjustments tonight, so tomorrow morning we’ll know exactly how much longer the mortgages are going to get. It might just be a month or two for most people.”

“A month or two?” one of the men echoed. “I have a wife and kid who need me home!”

“Like I said,” Xanthe replied. “Be patient.”

“Easy for you to say,” someone else grumbled, a younger man with black hair. Waylen Cam, Xanthe thought. He was newer to the station, and had a relatively short, four-month mortgage. “You have years left.” His words send a rumble of agreement through the group.

Xanthe clenched her fists at her sides. “Months, years, what difference does it make? We’re all going to be affected by this.”

Waylen scoffed. “Yeah, right. It doesn't affect you nearly as much. You might as well be a Xucphra slave at this point-”

She had enough. Her hands flashed from her sides, and she grabbed the man by the collar. He let out a strangled yell of surprise, raising his arms to shield himself. Xanthe ignored the gesture. With all her strength, she yanked him forward by his uniform, and with a resounding BAM, smashed her forehead into his. She released her grip, and Waylen went flying away, collapsing on top of one of the tables. The mess hall was completely silent now, save for a moan of pain from Waylen.

Xanthe felt unnaturally calm, despite the angry outburst. She sighed, closing her eyes for a moment. Her forehead stung slightly, but the pain was almost pleasant. She opened her eyes once again to glare around at the group.

“...Any other questions?” Silence. “Good. If you do, take them to Dr. Kendall. Or the Senate. I don't care. I don't have answers.”

With that, Xanthe turned and stomped off. She escaped to one of the curved hallways, only stopping when a familiar voice called after her.

“Xanthe? Xanthe! Wait!”

She turned to see Metie jogging after her. The Mirialan skidded to a stop, a concerned look on her face. Xanthe half-expected her to scold her for her outburst, but Metie merely pointed at her forehead. “You're… bleeding.”

Xanthe reached up to find that the patch on her forehead had been detached after the impact against Waylen’s head. A thin trickle of blood ran down to the bridge of her nose from the raw bruise on her forehead. “Dammit.”

“Here, bend down. I got it.”

Xanthe did as she asked. Metie reached into the pack at her waist, pulling out a fresh Bacta patch, and deftly replaced the old one and stemming the bleeding.

“... Thanks. Sorry for lashing out like that, I bet that wasn't pleasant to watch.”

“He deserved it,” Metie replied, giving her a smile. “Everyone knows how hard you work… let me know if there's anything I can do to help.”

“I appreciate it.”

Metie’s mortgage was two years long, and she was about a year along. Xanthe could feel the deep sadness in her chest, where she bitterly missed her parents. I hope this interest adjustment won't extend her stay too long, Xanthe thought as they parted ways. She deserves better.

Xanthe stayed up late that night, as ordered, typing away and glancing between monitors, which displayed the accounts of all of Xucphra's current debtors and the new ruling on interest rates. After a few hours and many cups of Caf, she finally hit “run” the program she set up, turning the monitors off and leaving the office. The station was quiet at this time, only essential staff tending to current patients. Xanthe made her way to her quarters, and collapsed into bed without bothering to change. It wasn't long before she drifted off into an uneasy sleep.

She did not rest for long. Something was writhing underneath her. Xanthe looked down to see the body of that cloaked, faceless guard, convulsing like a dead fish as her vibroblade bled him out onto the tile floor. She gasped and scrambled away, but it was too late; her hands were warm and sticky with blood, the front of her uniform stained bright red. She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head, her panicked breaths becoming shallow.

No, no, this is a dream, it isn't real, I'm home, I’m in my room, I'm safe-

Then, she felt those cold, gray fingers on her face, over her skin, inside her mind. That cruel, chill laugh echoed everywhere. There was nowhere to hide.

Show me… everything.

With a shrill scream, Xanthe ripped herself from the clutches of the dream, finding herself sitting up and panting for breath in the familiar darkness of her room.

After collecting herself for a moment, she turned on the lights and stood up. She was sweating profusely, spurring her to strip off her uniform and stagger into the bathroom in her underwear. She splashed her face with cold water a few times, letting the faucet run as she stood there, hunched over the sink, her bruised forehead resting against the cold metal mirror.

Xanthe’s reflection looked terrible, her body bruised and sore from her recent ordeal. She reached up and peeled off one of the patches on her cheek, revealing the lightsaber burn underneath. It was mostly healed now, she could already tell that it would leave a scar, joining the white patch across her nose and the deeper, hidden one down her chest. An eternal reminder…

It doesn't feel real. All this talk of mortgages and debts and interest rates… Soon, none of it will matter for me.

Xanthe still didn't know who Hego Damask really was, or what he wanted with her, but she knew she couldn't run from him. And in a way, she didn't want to run. All things considered, this was the chance she was waiting for this whole time, despite the ball of dread that slowly coiled its way into her gut. Ignoring the sensation, her gaze drifted down her reflection to her chest, to where a deep, long scar marked the spot over her heart. She sucked in a breath as the memories flooded back, memories that she had buried away until Damask tore them back to the surface. It was the reason why she was in this situation to begin with. The reason why she was in so much debt; but also the reason why she was alive in the first place.

Maybe he can teach me how to use this power. The Force. The Dark Side.

The temptation was strong. Deep in her heart, Xanthe knew nothing good could come of this path, but she had already taken her first steps. Two people were dead by her hand.

If I could just become a fraction as powerful as him… no one can hurt me again. No one can control me again.

Resolute in her decision, Xanthe returned to her bed, falling into a more restful, deep sleep.

Exactly a week after that fateful meeting, the job offer came. Just as Damask promised.

“An accountant for Damask Holdings?” Dr. Kendall said, incredulous as he read over the letter on his datapad. “How did you manage that?”

“I've been an accountant here for ten years,” Xanthe replied plainly. “I have the experience. It must have impressed them.”

“Sure, sure… I'm just surprised that they're willing to pay off your entire mortgage,” he said, shrugging and signing the letter. “Well, what can I do? I hate to lose you, Xanthe.”

“I hate to go,” she lied. “I've left instructions in my office for whoever takes over the position.”

“So responsible!” Kendall smiled, the saccharine expression making her stomach turn. “Look at you now… when we first met, you couldn't even read or speak our language. And now…”

“Well, a lot has changed.” Xanthe smiled and stood up, eager to get out of there. “Take care, Doctor.”

“... You too.”

As Xanthe turned away, she sensed his facade fall, his smile hardening into a scowl. Frustration, bitterness, anger… she thought, letting the door slide closed behind her. He just lost a long-term asset. That's all I am to him. Yikes… I can't get out of here fast enough!

Metie was waiting for her at the docking bay, where the daily transport had just pulled up. She gave Xanthe a strained smile, reaching out to squeeze her hand. “Good luck out there,” she said. “I… I'll miss you.”

“I'll miss you too,” Xanthe replied, truthfully this time. “Stay strong, Metie. You’ll get out of here in no time.”

Metie’s expression brightened slightly, and she nodded.

“You're right… I’m happy for you Xanthe.”

And with that, she waved goodbye, the transport pulled away, and Xanthe left Xucphra Corp. Medical Station behind forever.

#star wars #star wars fanfiction #oc: xanthe #darth plagueis #sheev palpatine #HotE

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sithologist · 3 days ago

Text

Herald of the Empire

Chapter 1

warnings: descriptions of blood and violence

masterlist + synopsis

Scipio - Albarrio System

33 BBY

The clouds parted as a single ship broke through the atmosphere and shot down towards the snowy white surface of Scipio. The ship, an older model of V-Wing, creaked softly from the effort, still cooling down after a short hyperspace jump from the neighboring star system. On board, a single pilot leaned forward in her seat slightly, looking over the landscape as the ship made a slow, winding approach. The dashboard beeped softly, the tempo of the tones increasing as the old navigation system zeroed in on a specific set of coordinates. The wings of the ship shifted, increasing the drag as it slowed to a hover, kicking up snow and gravel as it prepared to touch down. Scipio’s horizon was marred by ranges of tall, steep peaks, but there was a small plateau here, seemingly perfect for a landing. The ship whirred and creaked once more as its landing gear heavily impacted the ground, almost as if it were letting out a groan of effort. But it was done, and as the ship powered down, the cockpit unsealed itself and swung open, allowing its pilot to emerge.

Xanthe Daivik slipped down from the cockpit, landing with the crunch of gravel beneath her boots. She shuddered slightly as the chilly air hit her face, and she pulled the flaps of her wool cap down around her cheeks. This was her first time on the planet, but she was prepared for the cold. She wore a thick parka over her blue-and-white coveralls, with a scarf wrapped loosely around her shoulders and gloves that tucked into her sleeves. Xanthe straightened up and scanned the area, green eyes trained on every detail around her as she ascertained the situation.

My coordinates were correct. But there's nothing here. Am I missing something?

Xanthe was used to secrecy in her line of work. She was a thief- no use denying it. It was less lucrative than bounty hunting, but it was the perfect fit for her particular skill set: stealth. She could make herself disappear- not literally, of course, but in a way that helped her slip on and out of places she wasn't supposed to be. Vaults, expensive ships, homes. And of course, the last step of any job was to discreetly drop off the spoils, a dead drop as those in her field called it. She never met any of her employers. Either she found them, or they found her on the DarkNet, a vast network beneath Republic control. However, even with all those past jobs under her belt, Xanthe never had one quite this vague. She wasn't even sure what she was supposed to do, other than fly to this spot. But the payment- and the hefty advance she received after merely accepting the job- would hopefully make the trouble worth it.

However, it wasn't long before her thoughts were interrupted. With a sharp chirp , her wrist-mounted ComLink demanded her attention. Xanthe frowned, lifting her arm and pulling her sleeve back to reveal the device. A call? Now? She thought. Maybe it’s my employer. I don't know how they would have gotten my information, though. After a brief moment of hesitation, she pressed the button to accept the call.

“Hello?”

The voice that rang out was husky and nasal, warped by static and some sort of electronic feedback. Xanthe stiffened. A voice changer?

“Xanthe Daivik,” the voice said. “I apologize for the secrecy around this assignment. I am sending you coordinates along an encrypted channel to your ComLink. Not far away is the estate of Magister Hego Damask. Your assignment is to assassinate him. If you do not wish to carry this out, you should leave. However, if you complete this task with the utmost discretion, your debt to Xucphra will be fully eliminated. That will be all.”

And with that, the call ended. Xanthe stood there in stunned silence, staring blankly at her wrist, still raised. Then, it fell, her arms going slack at her side, her mind whirling into motion as she considered her options.

Assassinate? Assassinate?! That's not the kind of job you just spring on someone! I'm a thief, not a hitman!

She could go home now, and forget this ever happened. She already received a sizable advance for this job, so it wouldn't be a total loss. But doing so could put her in danger. She had no idea who this Damask figure was, but if he was a Magister, and lived here in a luxurious estate on Scipio, he was probably one of the Muun involved with the Galactic Banking Clan. If she left here with knowledge of a plot to kill Damask, someone could be sent after her to ensure that she didn't raise an alarm. But maybe she was overthinking it. She had no reason to say anything to anyone. Surely her shadowy employer knew that.

Her ComLink chirped again, and as promised, a set of new coordinates popped up, plotting a trail to Damask’s estate. Xanthe gulped, glancing up at her ship.

I should leave. I don't want to get involved in this. Or…

She grit her teeth and readjusted her scarf, wrapping it once more around the bottom of her face, both for warmth and for discretion.

… I’ll at least scout the place out. I don't want to make a hasty decision either way.

Despite the low temperature, it was a nice day, or as nice as you could hope for on Scipio. Xanthe zoned out to the steady crunch of her boots as she made the hike over the rocky path, checking her ComLink’s display now and again to make sure she was on-target.

Maybe Damask is a horrible guy, she thought. Maybe killing him would be justice. Or… or maybe he's actually good. And someone bad wants him dead. damn it, I wish I had the chance to look him up before this. Xanthe never paid much attention to politics or financial news. She knew next to nothing about the dynamics of the Banking Clan, and didn't have a clue as to who her employer might be. There was no foundation on which to build any assumption about the situation.

Or, maybe they're both bad people. And I'm just caught up on some aristocratic feud.

She huffed to herself, starting to climb up to a ridge, red stone visible beneath the grey gravel and white snow. When she reached the top, Xanthe paused. She now had a good view of the valley below, and there, nestled on the cliff side, was a huge estate. Slowly, she knelt, then lowered herself prone to the ground. Xanthe reached under her parka and pulled out a pair of macrobinoculars, holding them up to her face. She zoomed in on the building, scanning its exterior carefully. It resembled a stack of elegant discs, layered upon each other, light glinting off its large windows. A large landing pad stretched out over the valley, where a speeder was parked. Just a speeder, no sign of any larger ships. One of Xanthe’s fingers rolled over the top of her macrobinoculars, finding a switch, which she clicked once. The view shifted to an array of green and black, slightly warmer variations dotting the screen: thermal view. She quickly spotted three blotches of orange and red within the house, all situated close together towards the edge of one of the larger discs.

Three life-forms, Xanthe thought, her heart sinking. Seems like an awful lot of house for three people. She imagined Damask now as a loner; maybe his house staff were all droids. Then who were the two others? A spouse? Maybe… children? No, the heat signatures were too tall to be children. Two guards, then? Bodyguards. Xanthe cursed softly at the thought. They would have to be taken out, too.

She dropped the macrobinoculars from her face, staring out over the valley at the home in silence. The mysterious voice behind that call still echoed between her ears, one particular sentence repeating over and over.

“Your debt to Xucphra will be fully eliminated.”

The thought was tantalizing. Xanthe almost couldn't believe that an opportunity like this had presented itself to her. Almost. Yet, here it was, within her grasp. Freedom was so close, she could nearly taste its sweetness on her tongue. An equation formed in her mind, a conclusion that solidified what she had unconsciously already decided.

Three lives in exchange for mine, she thought, cold resolution beginning to flow through her and strengthening in her chest. Three lives equals one. Is my life worth three? Who am I to say that it is? But also… who am I to say that it’s not.

Xanthe sat up, stowing the macrobinoculars away, and pulled out her blaster. It felt cold and heavy in her hand, but she knew she could trust it. That, and the vibroblade strapped to her belt. Xanthe already knew she was capable of this, and now her heart was set. Nothing was going to stop her.

I've killed someone for my freedom before, she thought. She rose to her feet, readjusting her scarf so only her eyes peered out from under the cap of her hat. And I can do it again.

The outside of the estate didn't seem to have any camera or patrol droids. Xanthe snuck up to a door near the base of the building, a side entrance for deliveries, she assumed. Keeping herself pressed against the wall, she reached into the pack strapped to her hip, and pulled out a small, circular device. She reached down and pressed it against the door’s mechanism before activating it. The device whirred softly, orange lights spinning on its face. Then, with a satisfied chirp, it lit up with green. K-Chunk. The door’s heavy lock rumbled as it unlocked. Xanthe let out a soft breath and stowed the device away in her bag, before unclipping the satchel entirely from her belt. She set it down at her feet, where it would stay until she was finished, leaving only her blaster and her vibroblade on her waist. It would be easier to move like this, easier to run, if needed.

Before she went inside, Xanthe took a moment. She closed her eyes and unclenched her fists at her sides, a long breath trailing from beneath her lips. The moisture clouded the air in front of her, before being lost to the chill once more. She imagined the rest of her body disappearing into a similar mist, both body and soul invisible to the world. No, one with the world. She was part of it, and it was part of her. She was simply letting the universe engulf her, to shield her presence from detection.

Xanthe knew the word for the power she had: The Force. She didn't understand it well, and the opportunity to learn more was never offered. All the same, she used it now, letting herself harness its power to hide her as she prepared to kill.

She was utterly silent as she padded her way through the halls, approaching the room where the three heat signatures were last seen. There was no sign of life anywhere, not even a droid. What a miserable, lonely existence, Xanthe thought to herself. Maybe I'm doing him a favor by ending it. Although, the mansion might be worth the isolation.

Finally, she slowed to a stop in front of a tall doorway, closing her eyes for a moment. Yes. Here they are. Three beings were within, she could feel them in her attuned state. Two of them seemed on-edge, tinged with boredom, but the third was calm. Xanthe opened her eyes again, then pulled out her blaster, finger on the trigger. She took a deep breath, opening her eyes at last.

Freedom. Freedom is worth three lives.

Two hooded figures whirled around as the doors slid open, and Xanthe stepped inside as if she belonged there. Within an instant, she had scanned the room, taking it all in before she began her attack. This was an office, it seemed. Sparsely decorated, but that fact was made up for by the huge windows that took up the entire back wall. A long desk sat framed by the window, a single figure sitting there, his hands still typing away at his datapad. Hego Damask, Xanthe thought. He was Muun, with grey skin and golden eyes, dressed in a conservative black robe, a black headpiece perched above his tall forehead. He wore some sort of mechanical apparatus over his mouth; a breathing aid? Doesn't matter. He won't need it soon, Xanthe thought, tearing her eyes away from the Magister. The guards would die first.

Her blaster already raised, she fired off three shots into one of their chests. He gasped and collapsed backwards onto the long desk, right in front of Damask. She turned her blaster on the second guard, but he was ready. Xanthe fired two more shots, but he simply raised his hand and deflected it away. Huh? How’d he do that? she thought, taken aback. Special gloves? Or- no, he couldn't be-

He pushed his hand forward, and Xanthe was blasted away by an unseen power. She grunted as she hit the ground, but rolled back onto her feet within a moment. The Force? Why does Damask have force-sensitive guards? she thought. She didn't have much time to adjust to this new discovery, as the guard pulled out a new weapon, and with a flick of a switch, ignited a bright red blade.

A lightsaber? She had never seen one turned on in real life, only knew that they were the weapon of choice for the Republic’s Jedi Order. The man stepped towards her, easily deflecting the flurry of blaster shots she sent his way. Xanthe barely jumped back in time to avoid the swipe of his blade, which sliced off the barrel of her blaster with ease. He made another swipe at her head, but she ducked and rushed at him, slamming into his torso with all her body weight. He grunted as both fell, turning his blade to stab at her again.

Xanthe managed to grab his wrist, but not before the burning hot light glanced off her cheek. She cried out at the searing pain but didn't let go, grappling his legs with hers to keep him from getting up.

For a few long moments, the two were locked together, wrestling for dominance, until the man surged with strength, managing to get the upper hand. He jerked to the side, rolling them both over, and Xanthe’s head slammed into the tile floor.

Dazed, she barely managed to keep her grasp on his wrists as he strained, his blade inching closer and closer to her neck, searching for a quick end to the fight. Xanthe grit her teeth, knowing that one moment of weakness would give him the leverage to turn the weapon downwards once again. For the briefest of moments, she wondered if it would be better this way. It would be so easy to just let go and let the blade slice down. She was tired of fighting, tired of always doing someone else’s bidding.

Is this it, then? Is death the only freedom there is for me?

Someone else may have resigned themselves to their fate at that moment, but not Xanthe. Anger- no, rage roared to life in her chest. It rolled off of her in waves, and the guard visibly recoiled at the sensation. Xanthe’s jaw clenched , her grip on his wrists tightening tenfold with newfound strength, the strength to fight, the strength to live.

The power within her surged. With guttural, primal yell, Xanthe released it through her palms, shooting a flurry of pure lightning into the man on top of her. His lightsaber clattered away, deactivated, as he was blasted across the room before hitting the long desk with a loud crack. But that wasn't enough; he was convulsing randomly, still alive, his skin sparking as the electricity made him seize up. Xanthe sat up, deftly pulling her vibroblade from her belt: her last weapon. With impossible precision, only made possible by this heightened, enraged state she found herself in, Xanthe threw the blade, and it found its mark in the man’s chest. He let out one single final gasp, then slumped lifelessly against the desk, blood already pooling beneath him.

Slowly, Xanthe stood up, panting softly. She didn't have time to analyze what she had done. There was one last loose end.

Hego Damask was still sitting at his desk, silent and still as Xanthe killed his bodyguards. His expression was unreadable beneath his breathing mask. Maybe he was in shock. Everything happened so fast. She kept her eyes on him as she bent down to retrieve her blade. Despite the fact that she nearly died just now, she felt… calm. Not the warm kind of calm you feel when everything is right in the world. This was cold. This was the type of calm you felt when you were in control. If she wasn't as calm, she might have felt a pang of guilt at the sight of the clearly-old and decrepit being behind the desk. No. Xanthe only thought of the fact that Muun had three hearts. Would she have to stab all three? Or would one be enough?

“... You have… good instincts.”

It took Xanthe a moment to realize that Damask was speaking, his voice warped by the mask over his mouth. The sound made her freeze in place, recognition flaring up. Several thoughts flooded her mind at once. His voice was calm, as calm as she felt just a moment prior.

Damask stood. Even slightly hunched over he was tall, his silhouette slightly darkened by the light of the window behind him. His golden eyes almost seemed to glow, and they were trained on Xanthe’s.

His voice… I've heard it before… the voice from the ComLink. Xanthe put the pieces together quickly. He… he's the one who ordered the assassination. This is-

This was a trap, but she realized it a moment too late. Damask’s wrist twitched, and Xanthe was sent flying once again, with a much stronger force than before.

She slammed into the back wall, which violently knocked the air from her lungs before she could scream. Her knife clattered to the ground, too far for her to reach. Xanthe coughed and wheezed as she collapsed to the ground, her entire body shaking from the impact.

Move! Get up! Run! she thought desperately, all illusion of control shattered. She tried to sit up, pulling her scarf from her face as she attempted to gulp down air to replace that which had been knocked out of her. But the motion proved to be too much; she collapsed again, letting out a weak, wheezing breath. No, no, no… he set me up… he's a psychopath… what kind of person orders their own murder? Is this some kind of sick joke for him? A chance for him to flaunt his power?

Damask must have been concealing it before, but his power now rolled off of him in waves, nearly darkening her vision. Xanthe’s stomach turned. He was like a black hole, a dark pit that drew in the Force, compounding it into impossible densities. This was a being unlike anything she had ever seen.

“You killed my two Acolytes with no hesitation. You're a special breed of killer, aren't you, girl?” Damask was walking towards her now, kicking her fallen blade out of the way. “And that lightning… that's an advanced technique. Do you practice in secret?”

Despite her shaken state, Xanthe managed to turn over and crawl, barely listening to his words. Damask paused his approach, then let out a rattling sigh.

“Nevermind. Perhaps I was a bit rough. Come here; I'll make it easier for both of us.”

He extended his hand, and she felt the Force grab hold of her again. Xanthe gasped and tried to scramble away, but it was no use. She was pulled across the floor, towards him, and up onto her knees. She tried to jerk herself free, but she was frozen in place, bound by unseen power.

Damask reached down and pulled off her cap. Her short, choppy hair fell out and over her face, the silvery-white color streaked with red blood from where her head hit the wall. He studied her for a moment, then lowered his hand to her face, until his cold, gray fingertips hovered over her forehead. Xanthe’s panicked glaze flickered upwards to his hand, then back to his face. It didn't matter if she wanted to curse at him, or beg for her life. She was powerless.

“Show me… everything.”

Before Xanthe could even think about resisting, an unrelenting flurry of sensations, images, and memories flooded her mind. Her vision went dark, and she opened her mouth to try and scream. It was no use. Every moment, every single detail of Xanthe Daivik’s life flashed across her psyche, until she was sure it would break.

Then, as soon as it began, it was over.

Damask released her, and she collapsed back onto the ground. She laid there, limp, eyes glazed as she stared at the ceiling.

Everything… he saw…

All she could hear was a high pitched ring in her ears, echoing in and out of focus. Then, another sound seeped through. It was a cold, cruel sound. Laughter.

Damask was laughing. Laughing at her.

“How delightfully pathetic!” Damask chided. “I was wondering what kind of person would go along with this assignment. Now I see… It’s been a while since I've met someone so power-hungry.”

Xanthe didn't answer; she couldn't answer. She could barely pay attention to what he was saying. A tiny spark of rage attempted to take hold on her chest, but it fizzled out.

He's laughing… at me…

“A life so entrenched in fear and desperation… the dark side of the Force has grown strong within you. Yes… I suppose you're the best I could hope for.”

His laughter died down. Xanthe slowly regained her senses and sat up, wheezing softly and rubbing her temple. Damask’s back was turned to her as he made his way back to his desk, casual as could be. Xanthe wanted nothing more than to launch herself at the Muun and throttle him, but she was far too weak. She was painfully aware of that now.

“Who… who are you…” she breathed out, blinking heavily as she tried to focus her vision again.

“Listen carefully, girl,” he said, ignoring her question. He sat down in his chair again, lacing his long fingers together. “You will go back to your ship, and leave Scipio. You will not speak a word of this incident to anyone. In a few days, you will receive an offer of employment from Damask Holdings, and travel here for more instruction. Am I clear?”

After a moment, Xanthe shook her head.

“No… why would I… why would I-”

“ Why would I ever work for you? Frankly, you don't have much of a say,” Damask replied bluntly. “Ignoring that factor, however… If you do as I say, not only will I pay off your debt, but you'll be compensated handsomely for the rest of your life. That's what you want, correct? Freedom?”

He was right. He had plucked that desire straight from her mind, and Xanthe hated it. But… he was still right, and she would be lying to herself if she denied the fact that she was the slightest bit intrigued. This was an extremely powerful being. He could kill her; but instead, he was offering an opportunity. One she may not get again.

Damask sighed at her silence. “I'll give you a week to calm yourself,” he said. “Now, begone .”

Begone. The word echoed between her ears, and she was suddenly on her feet. In a wordless daze, Xanthe turned and walked out, not coming back to her senses until she was once again standing next to her parked ship.

She gasped, and fell to her knees, hands shaking and mind reeling from the ordeal. Xanthe sat there on the cold Scipio ground for a long time, alone with her thoughts, her heart hammering in her chest. Finally, she rose to her feet, and pulled herself back into the cockpit of her ship. Almost in a trance, she powered up the ship, lifting off and making her way into the atmosphere.

Freedom…

She was terrified. She was angry.

Xanthe Daivik smiled.

#star wars fanfiction #HotE #star wars #oc x canon #oc: xanthe #star wars oc #sheev palpatine #darth plagueis #I write way too much #oh well

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