#i will catch 1 fish and go run it to the comm center and be disappointed 90% of the time

[mappingway]

i’m fishblind

[capricornus-rex]

Someone Left to Save (15)

Cal Kestis x Reader

Requested by Anon

Summary: The Mantis crew arrives to the capital of Ulfin, in the planet of Pevera, under siege. They meet the local rebel cell spearheaded by the former Republic admiral, Jax Beneb, who seeks to destroy the Empire’s occupation that was aggressively imposed upon while exploiting the planet of its natural resources. A plan is devised to destroy the Imperial’s main base of operations—as well as their influence—in the planet; however, it was a do-or-die mission that you and Cal had gotten yourselves caught in.

A/N: I’m almost done!! :D This was really a trip both in the story itself and getting the chapters published. Thank you to everyone who kept staying tuned to the story even if my predicament forced me to slow down my upload frequency. If you guys enjoyed most of the story, then all the trouble I went through was worth it! :3

Tags: Force-Sensitive! Reader, Inquisitor! Reader, Jedi! Reader, Fake Death, Jedi turned Inquisitor, Seduction to the Dark Side, Turn to the Dark Side, The Dark Side of the Force, Aftermath of Torture, Torture, Psychological Torture, Redemption Arc! Reader, Possible Redemption, Premonitions

Also in AO3

Chapters: 1 – 2 – 3 – 4 – 5 – 6 – 7 – 8 – 9 – 10 – 11 – 12 – 13 | Previous: Part 14 | Next: Part 16 | Masterlist

15 of ?

The plan's going swimmingly. Cal hasn't been caught yet.

He had sensed that Cere prayed he needn't to use his saber prior to his inevitable stand-off with you. So far, he's keeping true to that prayer. He carves a path to the nearest entrance he can find, from there, he discovers the southern exit; taking the posted Stormtroopers by surprise, he incapacitated them quickly befire they even realize what's standing in front of them.

"Cere, I'm in the building—I went through the southern entrance," Cal softly spoke through his comm.

"Copy, I found my way in the eastern wing," Cere explains that she managed to get her hands on one of the computers, splice it and fish out a lot of info. "I'm patching in the map to you, BD should've picked up the file by now."

Instinctively, BD-1 flashes the holomap in the air as soon as he received the data; it shows the locations of Cere, Cal, and their two respective destinations—the medical bay where the child is kept and the hangar where the presumed transport ship should be parked. There's a large, empty gap between where Cal stood and the hangar itself.

"I'm looking at the map now. There's a bit of distance to the hangar, it's on the upper levels too," he softly trailed off at the last word.

Cere noted the fading out of his voice, afraid that she's lost contact, "Cal?"

The boy blinked several times to return to reality. He stutters in his apology for spacing out.

"What's wrong?"

Finally, he opens up about his theory about the transport ship, he adds the lone TIE Fighter he spotted earlier and the underlying possibility that the pilot is you—not knowing that you really are. Cere considers the theory but preferred to go with the original plan; if the transport is truly a decoy, then they'll have to move fast in catching up to you before you even hop into the TIE Fighter with the child—assuming that your TIE Fighter is in a completely different hangar.

The silence of their conversation's conclusion was followed by the gloomy, ominous humming of the corridor that laid in front of Cal's eyes. The stale air that entered his lungs put a tugging weight on him, this place carries a certain degree of corruption that it's simply foreboding to anybody—most especially the Jedi. The sole thought of rescuing you is what kept Cal going; he stalked through the corridor, feeling for any activity in the intersections before going around the next corner.

Eventually, he's halfway into his destination but it seems Cere still hasn't put her diversion in motion. 

Cal peeks over the corner to find a cluster of Stormtroopers—a mix of regulars and scouts—in his path. Two scouts block the path midway while the rest of them stay by the door at the end. He hugs the wall, tugs the saber off of his belt, he stares at the weapons around his clammy fingers; after one deep breath, he bolted out of nowhere and rammed his way through, the dazed troopers barely made a proper aim—some cut close to Cal, others he banked right away. 

"It's a Jedi!" One trooper yelped the obvious.

The redheaded Jedi spotted one of the troopers making a run for a button on the wall. Outstretching his arm with his open palm, he hauled that particular trooper away from the button and then towards him, within a saber's reach he was cut down.

"I can't do this by myself!" The surviving scout trooper whimpered out loud, the warble in his voice huffing through his helmet.

The poor scout braved in charging towards Cal, charging up the electric current on his baton, but was denied a shot by a single, successful parry and then the Jedi followed up with an attack—cutting the enemy down instantly. He now stands before a large, sealed door, he checks the map once more and sees the distance between him and the hangar has shrunken. In the next second, a blaring alarm howling across the complex startled him.

"That ought to be Cere, I hope she has the kid."

Upon opening the door, Cal discovers the elevator lobby—which also serves as a control room. Two troopers had their backs turned to him, manning the computers, while a single KX security droid paces back and forth but its scanners immediately detect Cal's presence—causing its head to jerk to the boy's direction, while its emotionless eyes lit up the moment it saw Cal, the troopers felt the abrupt rise of tension and were alerted by the sight of a Jedi in the room.

"Inferior Jedi!" The KX droid monotonously groaned as it raises a pair of fists, ready to swing it down and bash the Jedi's skull.

Fortunately, Cal evaded the clobber and singes the droid's leg joints, literally bringing it to its knees. Shielding itself with its arms proved useless as the Jedi slices the torso in half, leaving only himself and the troopers. The skirmish was done in five minutes, the boy scrambles to the elevator and slams the button of the hangar's floor number. As the turbolift ascends, Cal takes the time to check on Cere, he kept calling, but there was no answer and he gives up when the elevator gradually slowed down.

The rumble signaled that he's reached his destination, the narrow door retracted into the frame, revealing Cal the vast space of the hangar—each wall was lined with light to medium ships, sitting at the center of the hangar is a transport ship, his ears prick up at the faint wailing of a child.

"Oh no…" he thought. "Cere's too late!"

He ran to the ship, the wailing got louder, then his eyes widened at the discovery: a comlink lies on the floor of the entry ramp, a prerecorded soundbite of the cry plays on loop.

It's a trap!

Behind his head, the baritone humming of a spinning saber flings itself towards him, he spun and deflected it at the nick of time—returning it to the sender: you, perched atop the hangar platform, waiting for your prey to take the bait and then strike. You catch your saber in mid-air while descending from the upper platform with a feathery grace. Striding closer to him, he sees you completely without the helmet for the first time: hair fashioned into an elaborate braid, the tail rests on one shoulder, and loose, wispy fringes frame your face.

"I see you've set off my trap," you pointed out, holding the saber close to your face.

"I knew you'd pull a stunt like that!"

Your eyes lit up, impressed with Cal, "Well, you've become quite smarter than I expected!"

Both Inquisitor and Jedi circled slowly against one another, not knowing who's chasing whom, gentle threats exchange with pleas of coming home only to be received with a hard "no," the tension grows in this wide, open space. Cal decides it's now or never, he attempts to talk it out of you.

"[Y/N], let's come home,"

"This is my home."

He hints at the somber tone of your sentence, almost as if you don't mean it at all, and he believed the insincerity of those words. You mask the denial by making the first move in the fight. The swirl of blades caught Cal off-guard, resulting to a flimsy block on his end; he moved away from the ship, luring you into the wider space for a better fight,  not that it changes much on each other's chances of winning this skirmish.

You barely paused from moving—a tireless lightning rod in human form—the swordfight pressed on in the hangar. For each time Cal struggled to put some distance between you so he can take a second to breathe, you always caught up to him—your frenzied eyes were always the first thing he notices the moment you start to dart towards him, with your arm prepped for an overhead strike and ready to attack. The strike lands, you withdrew and quickly follow up with another—thrusting your saber, he parried it with a subpar flourish and you staggered him with a strong Force push.

The boy flies to the farther side of the room, in your peripheral vision his lightsaber clatters away from him, his hand desperately pats the floor in search of the weapon while he had his eyes glued to you—closing the space at a fast rate. Still lying on his back, he affords a split second to catch a glimpse of his saber and pull it towards him; his own blade hovers mere inches above his neck when your strike landed as you crouch on top of him, bearing your weight on him while you've got him pinned down.

"I almost kind of like this position!" You crowed mischievously.

"[Y/N], please!" He pleaded again.

Without your helmet, Cal saw the life in your eyes better—if he saw wrath the first time, now he sees the misplaced anger and sorrow, the exact same feeling he found during his meditation. He even spots a hint of pink swelling beneath the rims of your eyes.

Has she been… crying? He pondered in that small window of time.

"You don't have to do this—your pain isn't strength!"

Your eyes flared again, but with denial you bellowed, "You don't understand the power that the Dark Side has given me!"

Generously, you withdrew, flipping away from him and landing in the same cat-like grace, giving him a chance to scramble back up on his feet. There was a time for a breather, enough for both. Again, the two of you slowly circle one another while a hostile air hangs over your heads, you point your saber at him.

"I didn't want to be as weak as I was before," you gesture your arms wide open. "And here I am."

"The [Y/N] I know was never weak to begin with,"

You paused in your tracks, slowly angled your head to face Cal, absorbing the empathetic gentleness in his voice. He could make his way through your heart faster than you could build a wall between the two of you. Unconsciously, the atmosphere seems to turn docile.

"I hate it when you patronize me!"

As quick as lightning, you attempt to execute a dashed strike but this time, Cal was prepared for it and he had been anticipating such an attack—he's been reading your every move up until you paused to banter with him. You strike again.

One.

Two.

Slash.

And another.

You jab, but he blocks. Another, and he prevails.

Eventually, he gathered enough strength and momentum, and became at par with the pace and dexterity of your technique. The clashing of sabers became more violent and heavier as the moves from both Jedi and Inquisitor became more pronounced—a contest of brute force. This sudden burst of strength wasn't much of a surprise, you keep up the assault and Cal surely isn't backing down—nor does he plan to.

A single beep of his comlink rings, "Cal, the child is secure! I'm coming for you!"

Cal saw your wide, aghast eyes glimmering with fear and panic, and perhaps a desperation that translates to "I need that child back!" which he felt all at once in that piercing glare when you shot him a look—with your bared teeth and furrowed eyebrows. Heeding to your lessons you, weaponized your emotions against the Jedi, you became a dagger in the wind—amplifying the heaviness of your strikes when it lands and the litheness of your body when eluding his saber.

Cere comes rushing into the hangar, saber and blaster in each hand, reassuring Cal in mere seconds that the child has been brought home.

"The Mantis should be on its way here by now," Cere whispered, her voice shuddered at the words.

She glanced to her side and then fixated her eyes to you—dressed in Inquisitor's garments from the neck down. In your periphery, you saw her blaster hand tremble with fearful disbelief; a secretive smirk played on the corner of your lip, as if to ridicule her shock, her first-time reaction amused you.

"Long time, no see, Cere." You crooned.

"[Y/N], good gods…"

"Oh come now, don't act so surprised. This is your second time anyway!"

A second Jedi wasn't any difficult, thought it's a fresh challenge instead of the typical one-on-one.

"Amazing, I get the privilege of seeing a cut-off Jedi fight firsthand!"

During Cere's attack that you held in a block, you examined Trilla's hilt up close—she had likened it with her old hilt by covering the sleeve with leather wrappings—you glanced at yours in its original form: blood red beams gleaming menacingly on either end, mingling with the purified, ice white blades.

You had to give Cere some credit, even after all these years of being voluntarily cut off from the Force, her muscle memory of combat is intact, incorporating her rugged style with a blaster.

"Impressive," you hummed after a parrying strike, and then another. She quickly switched to her blaster and shot twice, much to her dismay you've banked them seamlessly. "Most impressive."

Cere comes charging at you, ready for a jab, and you'd parry; just when Cal thought you have your attention to her, he attacks—more or less, attempt to—from behind but you duck and twirl, evading his lightsaber and planting a kick on his shin. This dynamic of alternating between the two Jedis lasted for more than a minute, a medley of attack patterns used against you—a handful of which have dealt damage on you, some missed you, but you enjoyed this death-defying thrill, it livened you up in this dull hangar.

Your mischievous, insidious grin stretched across your face melted when the entire hangar rumbled under your boots, explosions roared behind your ears; while holding your ground, you turned to find the source of the sound and found portions of the building are being reduced to shrapnel and inferno. Cere steals your smile and paints it with triumph on; you're not even that mad, you shoot her with a snarl of your lip, catching on with her little game, all the while impressed.

"Oh joy, you'll experience how I actually nearly died!"

You pulled away violently from the tangle of blades, pommeled Cere across the jaw with your own hilt, and pushed her at a certain distance.

"[Y/N]!!"

As the ceiling above your heads crumbled and rained dust, your lightning-fast flurry of the lightsaber did not waive; the boy didn't want to be outmatched—he cannot afford to, now that they're all standing inside a building on the verge of collapse—his dexterity and nimbleness spiked, adapting to your own caliber. Cal wanted to finish this as soon as possible, and he had to think fast; in his peripheral vision, he sees Cere bringing herself back up on her feet, dazed from your hit across her face, and then understood the gravity of her damage.

The garrison begins to collapse, any moment the entire roof will fall over your heads if neither Jedi nor Inquisitor shall stand victorious in this duel. In a final, colossal clash of lightsabers, both youngsters were encased in the sheen of their luminous weapons.

“[Y/N], come on, let’s go home,” Cal pleads once more.

“I can’t—” you choked, tears didn’t hide themselves from Cal, they streamed down your cheek as the stability of your grip fluctuated—influenced by the medley of emotions storming every fiber of your being. “I don’t belong there anymore!”

Despite the sheer intensity, Cal’s voice remained soft and gentle to you, as it always has. In a last-minute resort, he encourages, “You always have belonged with us, and we’re waiting for you to come home.”

Another tear streaks your face, your eyelids drooped, and then spoke in the most defeated, somber tone.

“It’s too late for me now, Cal.”

The crumbling ceiling groans, your eyes roll up and saw the reinforcement beam give way to two colossal chunks of debris plummet in a 50-foot drop from the ceiling straight down to a docked TIE Fighter.

“CAL, LOOK OUT!”

He didn’t fully see your reaction at the last minute; you pull him in and then push him away, but in turn,you got yourself closer to the blast radius. The hot wind picked you up into the air and flung your to the floor like a ragdoll, hitting your head upon landing, rendering you unconscious.

“[Y/N], NO!”

A sharp, piercing noise shrilled in Cal’s ears—all the other noises and voices are reduced to echoing gibberish, even Cere’s calling of your names—straight ahead, he saw you lying unconscious on the floor, covered in debris. He desperately crawled towards you, blatantly ignoring the hollow calls ringing behind his ears; he cradled you in his arms, ignoring the crackling heat flaring near his cheeks.

“[Y/N], come on…” he stuttered. “[Y/N], stay with me… I’m not leaving you a second time!”

He shakes you to coax you into waking up, he could’ve sworn he felt your body shuffle in reaction, he placed his forefinger and middle finger on your neck and found a pulse. He snaps his fingers and BD pops out a stim, he injects it straight into the flesh of your upper arm—you jolted and sucked in a lot of air at the same time, as if emerging into the surface from underwater.

Indeed, you were alive, but relatively weakened by the blast. Your voice saying Cal’s name was drowned out by the roaring flames and the thundering collapse of the garrison.

“Cal, we have to go now!”

Bursting with adrenaline, he scoops you up into his arms and followed Cere to the escape route; evading all the explosions as much as possible and keeping the enemy encounters to a minimum. Although, the evacuees are confused whether to engage the intruders—and presumably, in their heads, rescue the Inquisitor from the Jedi, but they’re felled by either the blasts or Cere’s blaster.

Speeding through the corridors, Cere led Cal to an open docking platform. The Mantis waits at the edge of the catwalk in a fly-by, lightly swerving to dodge blaster fire from the ground, and the entry ramp hangs open.

“Come on, you guys!” shrieked Greez.

Merrin waited by the frame of the entry ramp, the strong wind of the ship and the environment whip her fringes as she feels for balance while getting farther out. On the other hand, Cere and Cal—with you still in his arms—are almost to the edge of the catwalk.

“Come on, you have to jump!” cried out Merrin from the ramp.

Cal assessed the gap between the platform and the ship, it was a risky jump—one miscalculated step equaled to a hundred-foot doom.

“They’re gaining on us!” Cal screeched.

“You go on ahead, I’ll cover you and catch up!”

The boy paced back for momentum, buckled his knees when he slightly crouched, he fixed his grip tighter on you, and trusted his heels as he propelled the balls of his feet off the floor. The Mantis hovers at a considerable height by the edge of the catwalk that won’t send anyone hanging onto the edge of the ramp for dear life.

The soles of his boots planted flat on the metal floor and briskly trotted inside, settling you down gently on the couch, and then he joins Merrin by the ramp, watching Cere blast at the incoming Stormtroopers.

“Cere, let’s go!”

The woman produced a detonator out of her belt pouch and set it off. As a finisher, she gathered all the strength in her throwing arm, the bomb rolled towards the Stormtroopers’ feet and encased them in a cloud of fire and smoke. She quickly turned tail and made the jump, she scrambled on fours to get inside the ship and Cal slams the door button once she’s in.

“Punch it, Greez!”

Greez cranked the hyperdrive lever and sent the Mantis flying out of Jeddah, leaving the garrison crumbling to its destruction in their wake.

[tippystreasurebox]

FAB Five Feb 2020 - Gordon

Wooo! Made it just in time for his birthday!!!! :D

This is for @gumnut-logic and her amazing prompt challenge!!! Hopefully, it turned out okay! 

Prompts: “How did you do that?” and Can’t

~*~*~*~*~*~

"How-" a grunt of effort as the elder brother untangled more of the twisted metal and cables with the grip of his exo-suit. Virgil gave an apprehensive groan as he watched the fingers continue to twitch through the small opening in the debris. "How did you do that?"

"Hey," Gordon wheezed through the comm, "would you've - preferred a smooshed bro - instead?" The fingers flexed again as the blonde let out a pained cry.

"Quit moving, Gordon," Virgil ordered gently, the worry seeping into the way he tore at another piece of the shattered remnants of observation bridge. Fires still raged a few decks down in the large ocean liner, the heat and smoke an ever present reminder for the engineer of his time limit. Thankfully, the fires up top had been extinguished. "John? What's the status on the passengers?"

"You've got all but one lifeboat clear." The astronaut answered with the steadiness Virgil needed. "The last one is having difficulty launching."

A growl as he threw another chunk of metal - too small - glaring at the rest of the structure that needed to be moved in order to get to his brother. How many people were left?

"There are one hundred thirty-two waiting to board," John answered his unspoken question.

"Damn it -" he wanted to rip the whole metal disaster away, but with one frustrated pull, it shrieked in warning and Virgil was forced to let go.

"Virg - get the boat down," Gordon urged, knowing the torture a decision like this one would be for the engineer. "I'll be here when you get back."

As if to add emphasis to the need for haste, the ship leaned as plumes of smoke and bright orange erupted from her side. She was going down and if Virgil didn't do his job, the people they'd come to rescue could die.

"You better be," he took the few seconds to remove his hand from the exo-suit and gently grabbed hold of the one sticking through the debris.

Gordon squeezed, shakily, "oh yeah - thought I'd check out the - buffet." Another squeeze and he let go. "Not goin' anywhere."

And that was the problem.

"I'll be back as soon as I can," heavy foot falls sounded over the deck as Virgil ran for the lifeboat John had indicated on his map, keeping the comm line open for Gordon's benefit and his own.

Virgil had prepared for chaos, but was met with the frantic worry of mostly crew and the boat's captain. The man was working at the controls with another officer, trying to disengage the supports. The relief when iR arrived was palpable and Virgil went straight to work on the problem as the group moved away to give him room.

"International rescue," the captain breathed. "We were able to get one of the releases, but this one's jammed."

Looking at the piece preventing the lifeboat from descending, Virgil made a quick decision. "I'm going to have to cut it from the ship and lower it down manually. That'll be the fastest." He was already activating the laser cutter, his claw grabbing the cable before the boat could be damaged in the fall. He grunted as the cords extended, slowly lowering the craft until it hit the water and the bright orange shoot inflated up to the deck.

"That's it!" The captain cheered. "Thank you, we have it from here."

Virgil gave the briefest of nods before turning to head back to Gordon. Two steps and the boat listed again, the rear dropping into the churning waters and it was the startled cries that forced the engineer back to the group. Most were piling into the escape tube, but a few had lost their footing and were sliding along the deck.

"John!" The engineer called with a distinct edge of frustration. "This ship's about had it! Any news on Thunderbird 1?"

"Scott's still dealing with the cave in," John answered, calmly. "Alan's on his way with a pod, but it'll be another twenty minutes."

"Lady Penelope?"

"Still in Peru. She's doing her best to end the talks," there was a 'but' hanging off the end of that sentence. Her work was currently keeping a group of immigrants from being sent back to their country where death was waiting for them.

"Vitals?" He made it to the first crewmember, shifting them to the railing so they could make it back up.

"Steady," and for his benefit, John threw their little brother's suit information up over his wrist. The beat was as the astronaut indicated, though the pressure had dropped.

Alright, four more and get back to him, Virgil caught another as his cable he'd attached farther up continued to extend. The third clung to that one and he swung them both to the side. The last two had hit a set of stationary deck chairs and Virgil quickly collected them, reversing his grapple to bring them back to the lifeboat.

They were down to the last group before the engineer felt comfortable leaving them again, giving the captain a wave before climbing up to Gordon's location.

"Hey, Fish," his breath was short as he turned the corner, catching sight of the smoke overtaking the front of the ship. "You with me?"

"Can you believe - they don't have any pineapple on the buffet?" A laugh that turned into a pained grunt and Virgil was searching for the hand. Fingers were clenched as Gordon struggled to regain his senses.

"There'll be plenty at home," he began sizing up the job, the ship's new angle adding a new level of difficulty. Virgil also couldn't decide which to worry about more, the rising water or the flames cresting the bow. Their options were minimal. And they were going to hurt. "Gords, I'm gonna have to cut the section on top of you and move it as one."

"It's all you, bro," his voice held a smile Virgil wished he could see. "Go for it."

He didn't need any further permission as he aimed for the lower side of the bridge, right of his brother and smoothly seared through the bent metal. His heart buckled with the loud crash of the structure.

"Gordon?!"

"Good, I'm good -" the aquanaut choked out, obviously just as alarmed. "Just a bit more - snug."

"New plan," Virgil dislodged his arm from the exo-suit, bringing up the controls for his 'bird. "John, I'm taking back control of Thunderbird 2."

"FAB," the icon went green as John released the 'bird.

His girl descended through the smoke to hover over his shoulder and with a flick, two magnetic grapples connected with the piece of metal he meant to remove. "Gordon, can you get your arm back through? Once I make this next cut, I plan on moving the debris fast. I'd rather you not be hanging from it."

His brother didn't answer, but the grunts of effort were audible. Eventually, Gordon let out an exhausted sigh. "Yank away, Virg."

A second to reconsider, but there were hisses echoing around them as the ocean flooded the fire-consumed decks. No more time to rethink this. The glow of the red beam reflected around the broken ship, metal melting as it swiftly moved from left to right.

And then, Virgil was watching and listening. Watching the chunk of debris pull away. Listening to the shriek of metal and wood over the cry in his helmet as Thunderbird 2 dragged it over the deck. Seeing the bright blue and yellow.

And he was running through water, sliding to reach his brother's side. Pain was etched across the blonde's features, but he still managed a thumbs up and lopsided smile.

"Going home, now?" Gordon looped his arm around Virgil's neck as he lifted him from the water. The way the blonde's eyes rolled before his helmet fell back and his arms lost their hold sent Virgil's head screaming.

"I've got him! John?" He was trudging up the deck that was quickly submerging, the fire and smoke gone.

"Blood pressure plummeted, but the suit's not detecting any major injuries at the moment." John's words were met with a shuddering gratitude. After all, there had been no time to check his brother before scooping him up. Virgil's mind had already ticked off so many potential injuries that could have been made worse with that choice.

"I need you to take Two again," he spoke as he made it as far up the sinking ship as he could, the water on his heels. John did as requested and the grapples holding the bridge were released. The platform came down a second later and with as much precision as the astronaut could muster from space, he brought Thunderbird 2 down to the edge of the ship. Virgil let his laser cutter make quick work of the railing before carefully leaping into his 'bird.

The next few minutes were a blur, but they all centered around his movements. Get to the med bay, scan Gordon as he began to wake, calm said brother as he came to in pain and crying until he could fight the disorientation and realize what had happened and where he was - all in a matter of minutes that drained them both.

"Thanks, Virg," Gordon whispered with the drowsiness of a kid who'd played too hard for far too long in the pool.

He paused in his ministrations of the brace to the sprained knee, still baffled that it hadn't been worse - the bruising to his abdomen, however was still worrying him. A wavering smile was aimed at the half lidded amber eyes and Virgil let his bare fingers brush through the unruly blonde waves.

"You know I've got your back. Now, lay still. We'll be home in a coupla minutes and a nice, comfy infirmary bed." The smile remained as he went back to his work.

"Ech - not comfy. Wanna sleep in my room." The whine was accompanied by a groan as the brace snapped shut. "Please?"

"Tell you what, your abdomen comes back clear and I can give you the okay," which was going to be a hard no for at least a day. "I'll see about getting you to your tacky palace."

"Promise -"

"Cross my heart."

[blue-mint-winter]

SW prompts -- I enjoyed very much your twisted Daala and Kyp thing. So perhaps more of that? Or generally something with Daala being not incompetent for once would be nice.

After so long, I finished this story! Thanks for the prompt!

FFnet link: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12777283/1/Night-on-the-Knight-Hammer

Summary: AU of Darksaber. Kyp is captured by Daala’s forces again.

It’s long and contains torture and other dark stuff, so I put it under the read more, if you prefer reading on tumblr. I can also post on ao3 if anyone requests it.

Night on the Knight Hammer

.

Even before his formal training, Kyp Durron followed his instincts, the subtle nudges that saved his life countless of times in the mines of Kessel. After he became a Jedi, he heard Master Luke always saying to trust in the Force. Kyp felt and believed that the Force had some destiny in mind for him, so it was only natural that he followed its call.

Now it led him and his closest friend, Dorsk 81, into the Deep Core systems. Rumours were floating around about the Empire mustering its forces and preparing another attack and as the Jedi, they had to get to the bottom of this.

That’s how they found the nexus station where the Imperial troops gathered. Kyp and Dorsk 81 blended in the crowd at a rally to gain more information on the enemy’s plans before they returned to the New Republic with the warning. At least that was the plan before the one behind the attack was revealed.

Kyp saw that angular, cruel face multiplied around him on the vidscreens, the face that still haunted him at night, and then he saw red. Admiral Daala couldn’t possibly be alive!

But, against all odds, there she was—standing proud, looking over her cheering troops as she delivered the speech that declared the New Republic’s imminent destruction at her hands.

Kyp couldn’t take it. He shouted—out of disbelief, shock, and sheer revulsion—and drawn attention to himself and Dorsk 81. The stormtroopers swarmed the two Jedi, who tried to run, but soon their path to the docking bay was cut off. Kyp slashed around madly, causing carnage among his enemies.

“Run! I’ll hold them off!” he yelled to Dorsk.

“Kyp, I can’t leave you behind!” his friend protested.

Kyp used a Force push to clear the way. “Go! You have to warn the Academy!”

Dorsk reluctantly ran off. Kyp stayed behind to prevent the stormtroopers from going after his friend. He grinned ferociously and used the tip of his lightsaber to make a circle around himself, keeping the enemies at bay.

“Come on! Bring it on!” he challenged them.

They didn’t charge at him. The Force warned him about an incoming attack and he turned around to block it, but instead of a blaster bolt, he was caught in a net. He cut through it, but more came at him, binding his limbs. He trashed like a fish out of water, trying to free himself, then he felt a prick on his neck. Tranquilizer! He realized as his body became sluggish and unresponsive and he fell unconscious.

The stormtroopers quickly took his weapons and commlink. They slapped the binders on his wrists and ankles and gagged him. One could never be too cautious with those crafty Jedi.

“The Jedi was taken into the custody, Admiral,” the Sergeant reported.

“Good. Bring him to me,” Daala replied. She changed the channel on her comm. “This is Admiral Daala to all the ships—catch the other Jedi! I don’t want him to leave this system. Shoot him down if you have to, just don’t let him leave! Daala out.”

Her attention was drawn to the group of stormtroopers carrying the prisoner towards her. Daala easily recognized the boy who had once gotten away from her. A full-blown smirk appeared on her face. It seemed the fate was in her favour today. She wouldn’t have to pick through the ashes of Yavin IV to find his remains. Instead, she would exact her revenge on him at her own leisure.

Daala licked her lips and ordered the young Jedi to be shuttled on board her Super Star Destroyer, recently rechristened as the Knight Hammer.

.

A boot in the gut revived him instantly.

Kyp groaned and reflexively tried to curl up, but the tight restraints didn’t allow him to. He opened his eyes, disoriented, and saw the ceiling of the Imperial holding cell.

Must be a bad dream, he thought groggily.

Another heavy stomp to his stomach had him gasping for air. The pain took away his ability to think for a short while as he fought through it. He was going to have a big bruise there, but at the moment that was the least of his worries.

“I assure you all of this is real, Jedi. Or would you like my men to kick you again?”

The sound of that woman’s voice had a better sobering effect than a thousand kicks. Kyp whipped his head to the right. Daala was standing there flanked by two stormtroopers, her lips crooked in a cruel amusement as she gazed at her helpless prisoner.

“You,” he ground out with loathing.

“That’s admiral Daala to you, Jedi scum,” a stormtrooper said and made to kick him again, but Daala raised a hand to stop him.

“It’s fine. We know each other,” she said. “Don’t we, Kyp?”

Hearing her say his first name so familiarly filled him with disgust which in turn made him angry.

“You tortured me!” he spat out. Daala quirked an eyebrow.

“It was only questioning. Believe me, you haven’t seen any real torture… yet.”

Kyp gave her a scorching glare as he simmered in his rage.

“How are you even still alive?” he asked sourly.

“I could ask you the same,” Daala neatly deflected. “But it doesn’t matter anymore. I have you in my hands now.” And that she decided about his life and death went without saying.

“When’s the execution?” Kyp cut to the chase. “You can ‘question’ me all you want, I won’t tell you anything, so you might as well stop wasting both of our time.”

Daala put a cold hand on his cheek and stroked his skin lightly. Like he was a fucking house pet. “Don’t be so sure of yourself. There are many other methods of… persuasion,” she said silkily as her thumb rubbed at his lower lip.

Kyp glared but she held his gaze easily, showing that she wasn’t scared. After a long moment, she deliberately stepped away.

“Get him up,” she signaled to her troopers. “We’re going for a walk.”

The Jedi couldn’t quite bite back a groan of pain as he was forcefully stood up. He was frogmarched out of the cell into the stark corridors of a star destroyer.

“Where are you taking me?” he asked when he recognized they actually left the cell block. He turned his head back to see Daala who was right behind him, but the trooper on his left ‘corrected’ his posture with a smack.

“No moving,” the guard warned.

“Walking is moving!” Kyp protested.

A hard hit on the ribs was the answer.

“No talking back.”

Kyp kept silent, having learned his lesson.

The ride on the turbolift was uncomfortable. The space was too small and Daala breathed down his neck. Kyp tried to inch away from her, but quickly gave up when the guards noticed. He definitely didn’t want to get punched for nothing. He was smarter than that!

He could have attempted meditation, however a hand on his back deprived him of all the serenity he could muster and replaced it with a growing dread. His heart thudded in his chest as the hand slid down along his spine teasingly. It stopped at his lower back and his fervently hoped this was the end and she only meant to scare him… but then the hand moved down and pinched hard. Kyp yelped in surprise.

“Quiet!” the stormtrooper barked at him.

Kyp nodded, wide-eyed as the hand felt him up, grabbed and squeezed aggressively until the turbolift stopped the ascent and the door opened.

They arrived on the bridge.

Daala smoothly passed by him and took the lead. Kyp knew he didn’t imagine that smug smirk on her face.

“Admiral,” the captain greeted her.

“At ease,” she said and gestured for the guards to bring Kyp closer.

They were at a viewport overlooking a green-blue globe with a very familiar shapes of landmasses.

“Do you recognize this planet?” she asked.

Kyp swallowed thickly.

“No, not really.”

Daala gave a signal to the guards and one of them swiftly hit him while the other kept him upright.

“Even if you weren’t lying, it would interest you that we tracked your Jedi friend’s ship here.”

Kyp didn’t take the bait and stayed resolutely silent, focused on breathing evenly as he managed the pain in his center.

“Khomm… Such a pathetic little planet, full of pacifists and cowards. What would a Jedi need there?” Daala tapped her chin in a mock-consideration.

If Dorsk 81 is on the planet, he can hide. Stormtroopers won’t be able to tell him apart from the other Khommites, Kyp thought hopefully as he reached out in the Force to his friend. He got a vague blip of a presence but it was enough to fill him with relief. As long as Dorsk 81 was free, he could send the message to the Academy and the New Republic military.

“You won’t find him,” Kyp said with renewed confidence.

Daala’s eyes lit up, like she was just waiting for this moment. “Give me the mayor,” she ordered the comm specialist on the bridge.

The screen was turned on, showing the face of Kaell 116, the political leader of the Khomm capital.

“Admiral,” he said with a respectful bow.

“Did you find the criminal?” she asked immediately. Of course she wouldn’t be interested in exchanging pleasantries with those beneath her.

The Khommite didn’t look happy about the small snub, but wisely didn’t react. “Yes, he is transferred into the hands of your men as we speak.”

Kyp couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Khomm willingly collaborated with the Empire! They gave up one of their own, their only pride, just like that?

“You traitor!” Kyp blurted out with utter disgust.

“We’re merely protecting ourselves from outside interference in our way of life, Jedi Durron,” Kaell 116 rebuked the accusations stoically. “Our planet is neutral in galactic conflicts, so we’d like your fleet to leave as soon as our business is concluded,” he addressed Daala, who gave a short nod.

“Oh, we will leave as soon as possible, Mayor, you can rest assured.”

“Then thank you, Admiral, and good day to you.” Kaell 116 gave another bow and the transmission ended.

Daala looked at Kyp with gloating. “You were saying?” she asked and he just glared at her darkly. She won this round.

The admiral pivoted on her heel and marched smartly to the command chair, arms behind her ramrod straight back. The catwalk in the center of the Star Destroyer’s bridge must have been built for the sole purpose of the Imperial command taking walks above the heads of their officers and basking in the sense of power granted by the elevation. Daala certainly took full advantage of the ship’s architecture to exert her complete authority.

She sat in the command chair and crossed her legs. Her boots were polished to the highest shine, which could have blinded Kyp when he was brought by the guards to stand next to her.

Why didn’t she send him to his cell? Staying there in silence, surrounded by his enemies, the young Jedi swallowed down the rising uneasiness. He touched the Force, but it only carried a vague sense of threat. His connection was only tenuous after the beating he had received and he suspected they might have drugged him to dull his extra sense.

Finally, a comm officer turned around. “M'am, the shuttle with the prisoner has docked. He is unconscious.”

“Very well. Put him in the brig. I will deal with him later.”

“Yes, m'am.”

Daala caught Kyp’s stare and smirked knowingly. He was hanging onto her every word and while he was unsure of what she was planning, except knowing that it had to be nothing good, he was relieved to hear his friend was alive.

“Now then,” Daala said in a pleasant, light tone that gave Kyp chills. His bad feelings intensified and the Force swirled in foreboding.

Daala stood up fluidly and activated the comm.

“To the Imperial fleet: this is Admiral Daala speaking. Our time of revenge has come. The weak New Republic and its pathetic allies won’t be able to stop our march of fire and blood as we retake the stolen territories and return them to the Empire. This is the place of the first strike, the first victory. Prepare to commence the orbital bombardment. Target: Khomm.”

“No!” Kyp jolted forward, but the guard’s strong grip restrained him. “You said you’d spare them! You can’t do this!” He would have said more but two merciless punches took out his ability to talk. He sagged in the crushing hold of his captors.

Daala gripped his chin and made him look up at her. “You have no idea what I can do, Jedi. But you will learn,” she spoke with a dark promise in her tone, then let him go.

Kyp glared a hole in her back. “Imperial… liar…” he wheezed out.

She turned to him, eyes flashing dangerously.

“I didn’t lie. I just never said we’ll leave after destroying the planet,” Daala corrected him. “Besides, isn’t this something you would do? I know how you treat your enemies.”

Kyp bristled in outrage. “I’m not a sadistic monster like you,” he spat out.

“Tell that to Carida.”

The words lashed him like a whip to the face. Kyp broke the eye contact and folded in himself.

“It was different,” he said stubbornly.

“You mean more destructive? Causing the star to go supernova was a bit of an overkill, but all in all it was an effective measure. You wiped them all out in one hit. Aren’t you a good little Jedi?” Daala patted him on the shoulder in mock congratulations.

“Khomm doesn’t have any military defenses. They aren’t a threat to you. You don’t have any reason to destroy it, just your own desire to kill,” Kyp accused, finally looking up.

“They are a bunch of cowards and backstabbers. They didn’t even blink when they sold out one of their own. I have no doubt they would do the same to me as soon as the fleet makes the jump. And I will not risk this whole military campaign by showing something as useless and dangerous as mercy.” She said the last word with a contemptuous sneer.

“Admiral, the fleet is ready to fire,” her aide informed.

Daala nodded. “To all ships: fire on my command.”

Kyp cast a desperate look to the green planet visible out of the viewport and grasped at the Force, but he was too weak. The harder he tried, the easier it slipped from his grasp.

“On my count: three, two, one, fire!” Daala gave the order and the turbolasers of every ship in the fleet answered her call. Kyp watched helplessly as the deadly beams pierced the atmosphere and rained on the planet’s surface.

Khomm burned beneath his feet and he could do nothing to stop the carnage. Kyp could only look down with his fists clenched so hard he was bleeding. He felt the tremors of the thousands of deaths tear through the Force as he bore a silent witness to the massacre. It was different than Carida—there had been only a short while of panic, the heightened sense of fear among the Imperials, then a flash and a terrible silence. Here the screams of pain, fear and confusion never stopped echoing in the Force. Every second, Kyp heard new voices as the kill count grew.

His vision blurred and he realized he was crying. But these were the tears of anger, of frustration. He failed as a Jedi and as a sentient being. Khomm was on his conscience just as much as Carida. If he’d only been more careful, he wouldn’t have been caught, wouldn’t have alarmed the Imperials to his presence at the rally. Then they wouldn’t have followed Dorsk 81 to Khomm. The planet was attacked because of Kyp’s incompetence, because he didn’t learn serenity and when he’d seen Daala, he hadn’t contained his reaction like a Jedi should have done.

“M'am, the infrastructure of Khomm is destroyed in 82%,” the aide spoke.

“Can they send a hyperspace transmission?” Daala asked. She tapped her fingers on the armrest of her chair as the officer checked in the data stream from the sensors.

“No, m'am, all the centers capable of the off-world communication were annihilated.”

“What about ships, do they have any they can send with a message?”

“We destroyed the cosmoport. The inhabitants didn’t travel much outside of the system and all the ships equipped with a hyperdrive were registered and assigned a spot in the hangars. They should be under the rubble and if any can be repaired, it would take months.”

“Good.” Daala received the report with a pleased nod. “Stop the fire. Let’s save the energy for worthier opponents,” she commanded.

“Oh, so next time you’ll attack a kindergarten?” Kyp asked loudly.

The whole bridge stilled in silence, gaping at the Jedi and his audacity. But he was beyond caring. He might be called suicidal but he just no longer cared. He glared at the admiral fiercely and caught a twitch of annoyance on her stony face. It was gone in a flash, but he still basked in the immense satisfaction at causing it.

Then Daala threw back her head and laughed. It wasn’t forced, just an outburst of pure amusement at his expense and what was worse, he had no idea what she found so funny. It was Daala, after all.

A creeping worry came over Kyp and stripped him of his short-lived bravery.

“As a matter of fact, yes, this is exactly what I am going to do, little Jedi,” Daala finally told him. “I will attack the kindergarten you came from. The Jedi Academy on Yavin 4. And you will watch it burn just like you watched Khomm.”

The horror shone in his eyes and filled her with a sadistic delight. She gestured to the guards.

“Escort the prisoner back to his cell.”

Kyp didn’t struggle when the stormtroopers pulled him to the exit. They retraced the path from the bridge to the jail area, then threw him inside his cell. Kyp stumbled and didn’t catch his balance because of the stuncuffs. He fell face-first on the floor. The door hissed shut behind him, plunging him into the familiar darkness.

The young Jedi rolled on his back and sat up. He felt around for the wall, scooted closer and leaned against it, pressing his throbbing temple to the cold panels for relief. He was sapped of energy, physically and mentally, but too afraid to sleep. Whenever he closed his eyes, the images of Khomm’s destruction haunted him. He still heard the pain in the Force, tasted the copper of blood and bitterness of ashes left by Daala’s rampage. The sensations were even stronger now…

It took Kyp an unknown amount of time (in the dark-shrouded cell it lost its meaning anyway) to realize what this meant. The Jedi let out a surprised soft gasp, then smiled and stretched his thoughts in the Force. It felt more tangible, even if his hold was tenuous and clumsy. He used it to search for Dorsk 81 and to his relief he detected the sleeping presence of his friend nearby. He nudged it, but it remained placid, so he concluded that Dorsk 81 was most likely heavily medicated. On the other hand this meant the other Jedi was still unharmed.

With a renewed hope Kyp put his concentration on the binders.

After a few failed attempts, he slumped over. He was still too weak to open them. But he got nothing else to do, so after a period of rest he went back to trying.

The door hissed open and Kyp shielded his eyes from the bright light that spilled into the cell from the hallway. He heard a droid buzzing. A cold shudder went through him.

“No! Stay away!” he shouted, scrambling back as the Imperial interrogation droid floated closer to him. It was a black ball, just like the one they used on him when he’d been captured in the Maw and, according to Daala, 'questioned’ him. He remembered the injections, electroshocks and the paralyzing pain in every part of his body like nothing he’d ever experienced…

“Get away from me!” Kyp screamed and kicked out at the droid when his back touched another wall. He was backed into the corner, with no way to escape.

The droid clicked menacingly as it dodged the blow, then flew even closer, extending an arm with a needle. Kyp was afraid if he punched at it again, it would not hesitate to jab him with whatever drug it had there. Instead, he reached for the Force desperately. If he managed to shove the droid hard enough, it could get destroyed. Force push was so much easier than taking off the binders, it didn’t need any precision, it could work if he just concentrated…

As he thought that, the droid emitted a high-pitched sound that stunned him for a few precious seconds. Kyp saw the needle coming for his neck, felt the prick on his skin…

Then there was only an excruciating pain.

Something soft was pushed into his mouth and muffled his howling. He barely noticed the stormtroopers grabbing him by the arms and dragging him out of the cell. Everything became a blur of light and dark and the neverending hallways, but above that was always the pulsing, unrelenting agony.

At some point he must have passed out, because a torrent of icy water woke him up. He coughed and sputtered, shivering as the coldness soaked him to the bone. Kyp was bound to a chair in a dark room. The only lamp inside shone right into his face.

“Too bright,” he croaked and licked his lips. His throat was parched.

“Good. We’re not here to make you comfortable, Kyp. By the way, how are you feeling? Any pain?”

Kyp focused and realized that the pain was gone. “Just thirsty.”

“Let me get you some water.”

There was a sound of turning a tap and pouring water into a cup for a few seconds, then footsteps getting closer.

“Here, drink.” The cup was pressed to his mouth.

Kyp opened his lips, but before he could get a sip, the cup was taken away.

“Sorry, changed my mind. I can’t make you too comfortable.”

“Give me my water,” Kyp growled. The guy was playing games with him and it was pissing him off.

“Your water? You must mean the Empire’s water. My water. Nothing here is yours, Jedi scum,” the man sneered. Then his voice turned contemplative. “But, I suppose this water could be yours. A trade. What will you give for it?”

Now Kyp understood his angle. “How about my undying gratitude?” he tried sarcasm.

A hard slap was his reward. “Wrong answer. Where is Luke Skywalker?”

The question surprised the young Jedi. They wanted his master?

“You’ll never beat him,” Kyp said confidently.

“If you’re so sure, then no harm in telling us and getting the water.”

Kyp considered for a moment, but he was distracted by a loud gulping.

“Aaahh, this was refreshing! You sure you don’t want to drink? I think I’m going to get another cup.”

The sound of water so close by, but still outside of his reach, was maddening. Kyp’s throat was as dry as a sandpaper and with every second the Imperial’s suggestion sounded more logical. Really what was the harm in telling something insignificant if it could get him something he needed to survive? Even Master Luke would understand, he was from a desert planet, so he knew the importance of water.

“He’s travelling, I don’t know where.”

“Interesting,” the Imperial said, but didn’t come with the water.

“Hey, I told you!” Kyp raised his voice in frustration and it made him erupt into a fit of dry coughing.

“You didn’t tell me anything, so you don’t get anything.” The interrogator’s boots scuffed the floor as he walked up to Kyp. “The question is: where is Luke Skywalker?” he whispered into Kyp’s ear.

“I don’t know! He was going to different places!”

“Where? Try to remember. You can do it. Where did he go?” the man encouraged him.

“I think… Dagobah. It was days ago.”

“And then he will return to Yavin 4?”

“No… he was going to more places strong with the Force, but he didn’t say where.”

“Come on, where do you think he would go? Think.”

Kyp thought. His head felt warm and fuzzy, but he thought.

“He had a vision on Hoth once. He told us.”

“Dagobah, Hoth… where else would he go?”

“I don’t know. Byss maybe? There aren’t many places like that. Please, just give me the water. I really don’t know anymore.” Kyp pleaded with a scratchy voice and coughed. He tried to swallow, but it was painful because he had no saliva in his mouth.

“Alright, you earned your drink. Bottoms up!”

Finally, finally the cup was pressed to his mouth. Kyp greedily took a huge swallow of the drink. The warm wetness slid down his throat turning it into a burning inferno. Kyp spluttered and spat it out.

“What is this?!” Kyp cried out.

The liquid left a bitter and salty aftertaste in his mouth. It was simply disgusting.

The man burst out laughing. “I told you, this is my water.” The amusement in his voice was driving Kyp crazy.

“It’s not water!”

“It was when I first drank it.”

“What do you-” Kyp cut himself off as the realization finally dawned on him. The bile rose to his throat and he swallowed painfully. “Oh, kriff no… You’re sick!”

The officer didn’t take offense this time. He seemed downright cheerful, in a sadistic sort of way.

“Want to finish it? You won’t get any real water… unless you talk.”

After that the interrogation continued, but Kyp learned his lesson. He fell once for the Imperial’s games and he’d be damned if it happened again. He didn’t trust himself to speak, the risk of something slipping out was too great, so he chose to clamp his mouth shut. He ignored the insistent questions as he tried to connect with the Force and gain strength from it despite the punishing blows he received. Not even the interrogation droid got anything but screams from him as it put him through all kinds of excruciating, inhuman pain known to humans.

Kyp steadfastly refused to speak.

He didn’t know how long he was tortured. He almost passed out a few times, but the interrogation droid wouldn’t allow it, jabbing him with stimulants whenever he started drifting away. The only brief moment of relief happened when the Imperial decided to move him out of the chair to a standing position.

At some point the lamp was turned away and he could see the room. It was drab and the furniture was bolted to the floor, so he wouldn’t have been able to throw it using the Force. The face of the Imperial was entirely unremarkable. He wouldn’t turn heads on the streets of any world. The only thing that set him apart was the sadistic glint in his mud-coloured eyes.

In the middle of yet another session the door was unexpectedly opened. Kyp looked up, hoping against hope, and for a second it seemed to him like a scene from a dream. It appeared as though his prayers were finally answered and the powerful silhouette framed by the light in the doorway came to save him.

The officer turned around too. “What is this disruption? I am doing a delicate work here…” he began saying irately, then caught himself as he glimpsed the person that strode inside confidently. In the same moment Kyp recognized her too and his hope shriveled up and died.

“A-Admiral! Please forgive me, I-I didn’t expect,” the Imperial stammered in a fluster.

“I don’t expect you to have the ability to anticipate my comings and goings, Lieutenant.” Daala waved away his apologies. Genocide put her in a good mood.

“No, of course, m'am.”

“Bootlicker,” Kyp rasped.

“You speak only,” the man said deceptively calm as he came closer, “when you’re spoken to!”

The punch almost turned off the lights for Kyp, but he didn’t lose consciousness. His brain was rattled from the blow and his hearing resembled an old commstation with constant buzzing and losing signal for a while before it stabilized and he could listen to the conversation again.

“I need results, Lieutenant,” Daala said sternly.

“Admiral, this Jedi is very resistant, but with enough time I’m sure I can get him to talk.”

“Your methods are insufficient. There must be a change in our approach,” Daala mused as she took in the sight of the prisoner. He was standing, stripped down to his undergarments, the rest of his clothes laying around him in tatters. His arms were pulled taut upwards and chained to a durasteel bar in the ceiling. His ankles were also chained to the floor. The middle of his body was mottled with dark bruises, welts and cuts and his back wasn’t in any better condition as she found out when she circled him slowly.

Daala came to a stop right in front of the Jedi. Kyp returned her gaze.

“Admiral?” the lieutenant called.

Daala ignored him. Her hand turned Kyp’s face and she examined the black eye he now sported.

“Does it hurt?” she asked mildly, even though they both knew that she didn’t care about it.

“Not as much as the sight of your face.”

Kyp’s whispered insult met a retribution when Daala drove her sharp nails in his sore flesh. He hissed from the sting. She released him after a few seconds and returned her attention to her underling.

“Lieutenant, please remind me, did I tell you to hit the prisoner in the face?”

“No, m'am.”

“Then what were my orders?”

“… To hurt him only below the neck.”

“Are you not able to follow such simple instructions?” she asked scathingly.

The man gave a flurry of apologies and justifications, but she didn’t seem interested in hearing them. “No excuses. You are dismissed, Lieutenant.”

“If I may ask, who will continue the interrogation?” he dared to question, apparently worried about someone else getting his job and doing it better.

“None of your business,” Daala replied but she was looking at Kyp in appraisal. “Now get out.”

“Admiral,” the officer saluted and hurried out of the cell. He didn’t want to risk angering her any further.

“Finally alone, just the two of us,” she said to her prisoner. “Just like in the old times.”

Kyp grimaced at the reminder of his last stay in her cells. The expression pulled on his aching skin, so he stopped.

“Do you remember my offer from back then? It’s still open.” She slid her gaze down his stripped body, clad in nothing but underwear. It felt like she was touching him, sliding her mental fingers all over his skin. Kyp squirmed, wishing for clothes to hide him from her predatory gaze.

“And my answer is still no,” he said.

“I can change your mind. Teach you obedience,” she remarked with a smirk like she knew something that he didn’t and put a hand on his abdomen. He tried to back away from the touch, suck in his stomach, but she just pressed it a little harder. Her hand rested there like a brand. Then she stroked down to the hem of his underwear. Kyp tensed, dreading what she would do next. Daala looked at him piercingly. His fear spurned her on.

“I remember what you liked,” she said and moved her hand lower, cupping him possessively.

“No! Stop it!” Kyp cried out, thrashing in his shackles, not caring how much it hurt, as long as it would get her hand off him. But instead she grabbed him by the balls so hard that he yelped like a beaten dog and stopped struggling. He was panting harshly, tearful eyes wide with fear as he was aware of her crushing grip.

Daala leaned in. “Last chance. Surrender to me.”

Kyp gulped. “No,” he said, holding his ground, but only because letting her win was ten times more terrifying than any other fate she’d come up with for him.

“Then you will suffer,” she sneered and twisted her hand.

Kyp yowled in pain as he saw dark spots. His body tried to instinctively fold in and protect itself, but the restraints didn’t let it. Even after Daala let go, the pain stayed and even intensified for a while before it began to dull. His eyes were stinging with tears as he looked at her in defiance.

“You can torture me… all you want, Daala… but you won’t get anything from me,” he said.

“I have other means of persuasion, Kyp.” Daala clicked on her commlink. “Bring in the other prisoner.”

Kyp’s heart dropped.

The stormtroopers dragged Dorsk 81 into the cell. He looked like he went through hell, his face was covered in dried blood from the huge cut in his forehead. He was limping on his right leg. They strapped him to the same chair Kyp had woken in.

Daala paced before her prisoners, assessing them. They were both softened up by now. They might claim they could resist her forever, but their spirit was already weakened.

She stood in front of them, Kyp to her right and Dorsk 81 to her left.

“The rules are simple. I will ask you questions and you will answer them truthfully. Disobedience will be punished.” She nodded at the two stormtroopers and they took places behind the prisoners. Kyp heard the buzzing and felt the current that made the hair on his back stand up. He could guess what would be done to him if he didn’t answer.

Kyp looked at Dorsk in desperation and saw him try to smile. He took strength from his friend. They were in this together and they wouldn’t say a word no matter what happened.

“First question is: how many Jedi are there?” Daala began the interrogation. The prisoners remained silent. “Durron, answer me,” she ordered. Kyp didn’t reply.

“I see you are eager for your punishment. Shock him.” Kyp tensed in preparation of another dose of pain but to his horror Daala pointed to her left.

“No!” A surprised scream tore out of Kyp’s throat when the electricity surged through Dorsk 81’s body. He watched as his friend screamed himself raw, overtaken by mad convulsions. Dorsk 81 was like a puppet on a string, contorting unnaturally depending on the whim of his torturer.

Kyp glared fiercely at Daala. “Stop it! I didn’t answer, not him!” he shouted in anger.

“And he’s paying for your disobedience,” she replied.

After a few more seconds she gave a sign and the electricity stopped and fizzled out. Dorsk 81 slumped forward as if his strings were cut. If not for his harsh, nasal breathing, Kyp would have thought the worst.

“That was just a little demonstration. A few more shocks like that and he will die,” Daala explained. “Now talk.”

It was more than clear that she would be glad to administer the shocks herself if Kyp didn’t comply. And yet, he couldn’t just break his loyalty to the rest of the Jedi. He found himself trapped between two terrible choices and no way out. Despair settled over him.

“Well?” Daala prompted.

Kyp slowly opened his mouth.

“Don’t! Don’t… tell her…” Dorsk 81 suddenly rasped.

“But you’re hurt! You’d die!” Kyp protested.

“Don’t worry… I can take it…” Dorsk 81 raised his head slightly and attempted a crooked smile.

“Let’s test that theory,” Daala interrupted. She nodded to the stormtrooper who activated the torture mechanism in the chair.

For ten seconds Kyp watched in horror as his friend was suffering unimaginable, cruel torture. He felt Dorsk 81’s pain through the Force, waves after waves of agony crashing into him and his own nerves responding in a sympathetic reaction. When it stopped, he was on the verge of tears.

“Dorsk 81!” he called out.

“I’m… fine…” his friend replied weakly, like it took all his strength to say so little.

Daala chuckled. “So deluded. You Jedi greatly overestimate your abilities. This is why you’ll get wiped out again.” She turned to Kyp. “Are you going to give me the information or do you prefer to watch your friend’s brain frying? I can do this all day long but I doubt the Khommite will survive it.”

The overwhelming helplessness threatened to overtake him. He destroyed so many people’s lives, killed his own brother. Letting his best friend die like this made less sense with every moment.

“No matter what you do here, the Jedi Academy will be destroyed. The only one you can save here is your friend here. Choose,” Daala pressed.

“No!… Kyp… trust… the Force…” Dorsk 81 said with difficulty.

Kyp reached out. The Force was shifting around him restlessly and slipping from his grasp like an eel. He realized there would be no miraculous rescue this time, no daring smuggler would bust the door open and let him out and no Jedi Master would hear his cries for help. He looked at his mangled, barely clinging to life best friend and swallowed thickly.

“Okay… I’ll tell you what you want, just don’t hurt him,” he said quietly.

“Kyp, no!” Dorsk 81 stared at him in disbelief and betrayal.

Kyp lowered his head in shame. “I’m… I’m sorry. I can’t let you die here.”

“Betraying the Jedi for a friend. How sweet,” Daala mocked.

Kyp didn’t have the strength to answer. Daala looked him over.

“Very well. If you lie, he dies.”

Kyp nodded sharply. He knew she would execute Dorsk 81 without hesitation.

“Start talking,” Daala ordered.

And to his eternal shame, Kyp broke for the second time under the Imperial interrogation and told her everything he knew.

At first, he grappled for words and stumbled over them a lot, but the longer he talked, the easier it became. Sometime during his interrogation, Dorsk 81 was carted away to a different cell because he was protesting too much. Kyp was glad—he couldn’t stand his best friend witnessing this.

Talking so much wasn’t good for his throat and he was wrecked by a dry cough.

“Can I… have some water?” he requested between coughing fits.

“You have to ask me properly,” Daala told him.

“Please, can I have some water, Admiral?” Kyp tried again.

She shook her head. The corner of her mouth turned up in a wicked way. “No, this is wrong. Repeat after me: Please, can I.”

“Please, can I,” Kyp said.

“A low, pathetic Jedi trash,” Daala said, watching him with cruel amusement. Kyp became red in the face, but repeated the insult obediently.

“Have some of the precious Imperial water.”

He had no problems with this part.

“Mistress Daala.”

His eyebrows shot up. She wanted him to call her 'mistress’?! Kyp couldn’t get out this word.

“Keep going, you were doing so well,” Daala encouraged him.

“I’m not calling you that,” he rasped.

“Too bad. Then I’m not letting you drink.” She smiled predatorily, showing him teeth. “And I should probably check in on the other Jedi.”

Kyp lurched in his bonds as he realized his mistake. “Wait! No, please, no!” When she didn’t react, he gave in to the desperation. “Mi… Mistress!”

Daala chuckled, enjoying his degradation. “Not so stubborn anymore.” She sidled up to him and ran a hand down his side. Kyp shuddered in revulsion, but didn’t protest. “So you can learn. That’s a start.” She was too close, looking him straight in the eye. He saw the craziness lurking behind the toxic green of her gaze. “I have a lot to teach you, Kyp,” she whispered, stroking along his jaw with a fingerpad.

Imagining what kind of depravity she would subject him to had Kyp wishing for his death, only the concern for Dorsk 81’s fate stopping him from doing anything reckless.

So instead, the broken young Jedi bowed his head in defeat. “Yes… Mistress.”

Daala smiled widely.