The meditation chamber was dark, except for the gentle hum of the built-in life-support systems within his suit. Darth Vader knelt still, his focus inward, plunging through the Force in an attempt to transcend the endless turmoil of pain, fury, and ancient memories. He hadn't dreamed since years ago, not really. This evening, however, the darkness parted.
They arrived, like smoke through metal walls. There was a chime within his head, but one of meaning, not frequency—a whispered writing on bones down the corridor of time. He rose, lights flashing across the room for an unexplained reason. Reality warped inward, shadows forming, void speaking.
"Darth Vader," it uttered, neither Basic, nor Sith, but the raw, raspy speech of something ancient enough to exist before galaxies. The words pronouncing his name trembled inside him, as if it had mastered the syllables of his essence. Its form solidified—colossal, amorphous, a star cloak wrapped over a furnace of fangs, eyes, and squirming runes, floating over the floor of the chamber like an unformed deity.
"You are less than what you can be. Constricted by sorrow. Attached to memory. I liberate you. Power. Flesh. Purpose."
Vader's respirator wheezed, but he took a step closer. "You are nobody. Another apparition. Dissapear," he rasped, and his words were icy and metallic, but an undercurrent of curiosity was hidden beneath them like a dagger tucked into his sleeve.
The object didn't cringe. It smiled, though it possessed nothing as ordinary as a face. "I am 'Shu'ulk'Tarath, The Swallower of Null Choirs. The Lament Born Backward. The First Will After Heat Death. You may call me... your patron."
A shiver ran through the Force, and a thousand wailing voices wept in distant unison, resounding within the Sith Lord's mind. The Sith Lord himself, however, was unmoving, impassive.
"You want something," he finally said, his fists clenched at his sides.
"A bargain. You're my champion. And for it, I restore to you what you've lost. Power, pure—stamina, youth, virility. The more you triumph, the more powerful you become. Willing victory. Seduction. Dominance. Getting back what you gave away."
The chamber lights flickered for an instant. When they came back on, the atmosphere was different. The gauntlet on his hand moved. He could sense—sense—the dull ache of muscle, the gentle throb of living tissue within long since dormant sections.
His hand trembled.
"You have no idea what you're dealing with," he retorted sharply. The words had settled beneath him, crunching now on obsidian gravel.
"But you do," The voice was honey and silk. "You were Anakin Skywalker. A fate-tempter. A man of appetites. But your shame, your loss.... they emasculated you. Immolated you. Let me release you from chains. Let me give you pleasure, Vader—not the frailty of passion, but the power of possession. Love is weak. Lust is monarch."
The name—Anakin—cut into him like a memory that refused to perish. He caught a glimpse of her for an instant. Padmé. Laughing. Crying. Blazing within his embrace.
"She died because I..." His voice trembled, but it wasn't with sorrow, but something worse. Guilt, possibly. Or still-unsettled regret.
"She perished for love, not for lust. Cast her aside, and you release the chain the Jedi placed within you. Accept what's given. Come and forge your own galaxy, seeded by your own passion."
Reason wasn't what convinced him. It was hunger. Hunger he had never allowed himself to admit. Hunger for sex, for power, for loveliness, for being able to crave again. He had locked it away. Smothered it under ash and self-control. Now it churned within him like a storm roused after centuries of sleep.
"I require evidence," Vader replied. "I must feel again."
The creature was still. It required none. The Force curled inward, hugging him about his form like a lace shroud. A gentle breeze stroked the nerves that ran down his spine. Something snapped. A burning pain stabbed him through the groin, sudden and explosive—then a flame, alive and throbbing. He staggered, his eyes opening from within his helmet.
"There," Shu'ulk'Tarath announced, nearly softly. "You are now complete. I have restored you."
He could feel his cock again. The need, the lust, the blood. It was wonderful. It was terrible.
Vader was speechless. His breathing accelerated, but now it was strained, not from pain, but from awareness. His thoughts cycled through one thing: he hadn't been simply scarred on Mustafar. He'd been spayed out of the world. Emasculation through loss. Now?
He was now afire once again.
"You're asking me to sleep with them?" he declared. "Willing women. A lot of them. Power through pleasure."
"A bond built through dominance. Not rape. Not coercion. Desire breeds devotion. Devotion breeds power." The creature pulsed between them. "You will be my will. You will be my pleasure fleshed out. The Dark Side is an ember. You will be sensation incarnate."
The Sith within him rebelled—without sensing contradiction. The Jedi banned passion. The Sith dictated it. There was nothing contrary to his creed. This was its culmination.
The memory of Padmé's face stayed before him for an instant in his mind's eye. He looked at her... and let go.
"Then I accept," he answered.
A roar, one unlike any other, echoed through the room. The runes within the shadows pulsed, and a fresh pulse arose beneath his armor—his own. The bargain was struck.
For an instant, there was stillness. Vader stood beneath the dancing shadows, his chest rising then falling, but not by mechanistic cadence, but by volition. There was no tremor to his stance, but within brewed something unholy and new—a furnace where embers had been doused. Shu'ulk'Tarath spoke no further, but Vader could feel it writhing at the back of his mind like a coiled snake at the back of the throne, its awareness stroking his own. It uttered nothing for it had no use for speech. Only will and necessity would propel him onto its selected path. And so, taking an unshaken breath, Vader turned, cape rippling out behind him like the standard of a rising empire.
He strode through the corridors of his ship, silently. Stormtroopers parted now with almost ostentatious urgency. Fear was present, ever-present, but this... this was different. Their bodies tightened before him, not from training alone, but from a doubt they could not articulate. The same man. The same armor. But Darth Vader now emitted something alive. A flame beneath the ice. A pull within the air, as gravity pulls sideways. It was not visible, but it was present. They could feel it. As could he.
She stood at the other side of the bridge, shoulder to shoulder with the Imperial officers, young but steady. He could not place her. But she faced him just when he had the thought. No hesitation. No hesitation at all. Simply the tense stance of one who had been instructed that she was important—who had been instructed to feel that being within a room full of admirals wasn't so much endured, but expected. Her eyes locked onto his visor. Held them.
The Force touched him, relentless but gentle, like a hand on the back of his neck.
"Her," Shu'ulk'Tarath whispered—not aloud, but within the marrow.
She leaned a little to one side, flame-red hair bound back in a working braid, emerald eyes glass-hard. Her voice didn't shake, but the cadence was off. A little. Too studied. Too slow.
"I didn't know the Emperor had dispatched you onto the ship," he replied, speaking through his helmet. It was not phrased as a question.
"I go wherever His Majesty requires me to go," was her practical response. "He instructed me to observe."
The Force vibrated once more. Not pressure, no, nothing so overt. A magnetism, slow and relentless. A vibration between two frequencies never intersecting, and already knowing, or sensing, the presence of the other. Shu'ulk'Tarath was as silent as thunder. Vader sensed, in a faint and increasing way, that this meeting was anything but coincidence.
"What is your name?" he asked, but he didn't need to.
"Mara Jade."
He held onto that name like a blade, playing it out in his head. There was more. She was not only beautiful—though she was, in a savage, razor-sharp way—but important. Connected. The Force did not hum around her, but it tingled. She was sharp-tipped. Lethal. And totally... unguarded when it came to him.
"She's looking at you," whispered the entity. "Unlike the rest. She's not afraid of you. She's questioning why she's not."
She stepped closer, closer than was necessary according to protocol. Her eyes raked over the black armor, pausing a beat or two, it seemed, over the joints, the breastplate, the belt. Then it traveled back up again. "Your legend precedes you," she declared. "But you're... quieter than I expected."
"I am one who does not talk much."
"No," she replied, tilting her head, "but there's something different about you. It's not the armor." Her eyes narrowed further. "Something's different."
Silence. A long, reaching one. And it was permitted. She simply stood there, regarding him, not taking a step back. He didn't move closer. He didn't speak. And still, the gravity of him drew her closer.
"I serve the Emperor," she went on, speaking now more coolly, but more purposefully. "That means I'm told a lot of things. He never told me what you are."
"I am his instrument," he insisted.
"Are you?" She asked. "Or are you something different now?"
Vader looked at her. She was provoking him—but not scornfully. Curiously. Her stance had remained the same, but her arms fell to rest against the sides of her thighs. A trusting gesture. A relaxing gesture. The kind that invited nearness, didn't push it away.
The Force pulsed once more, more urgently now. Shu'ulk'Tharath was observing. Not ordering. Savoring.
He took one step closer. "Do you want me to be something different?"
Her lips parted—not surprise, but unspoken. She composed herself immediately, but it was already present. "I don't know," she replied, softer now. "Perhaps."
"You are brave."
"I was made to be." Her voice was deeper. No one moved on the bridge otherwise. Others still talked off to the side, but outside now. Only noise. She was regarding him, and he to her.
He agreed, "There is power in that."
And then, for the first time, she smiled, barely. Enough to spark something wild. "Then maybe we'll see what else I'm made for."
The air between them cracked. Not heated, not nearly shuddering, but the impression that something fundamental had clicked into place—a magnet realigning. Vader uttered nothing. Her eyes locked for an instant, then slipped away, ready calm slipping back over her features. The smile had happened, though, and could never be erased. He turned aside, black cloak sweeping after him like a curtain, and gave the wordless nod that drove the officers standing nearby scurrying.
For an hour, he played his role on the bridge. With icy precision, he carved through strategy briefings, orbital readings, and blockades projected onto screens. His voice was the same—gravel rubbing against metal—but his mind wasn't. Under every command and calculation, Mara Jade was present, weaved into it like a thread drawn through fabric. She stood at his side, arms crossed over her back, eyes ahead—but on him. Like a predator stalking another like it, and not like an agent standing guard over a superior.
The Force vibrated about her like electricity on silk.
"She waits for you, full of pleasure." Shu'ulk'Tarath spoke softly. "She wants you to make an offer. Lead her to the chamber of truth. The first descent begins with choice."
Once the final report was signed and the admirals stepped out, Vader turned on his heel, never glancing her way. "Come."
No protest, no questioning. Her feet followed perfectly behind him as he led her through dark corridors within the Executor. Soldiers stepped aside, technicians avoided looking at them. A man and a woman together, and still, no one dared make a guess. She never questioned him about where they were going, and he never replied.
The hatch to his quarters opened silently, exhaling a light puff of steam.
Mara stepped inside first, her eyes scanning the room as if assessing the presence of a threat. It was not opulent—spartan, nearly monastic, with the exception of a black meditation room at one end and one obsidian table under a low-lit ceiling overhead. A gentle vibration within the walls, as if the ship itself was breathing, was there.
"Is this your home?" She glanced over at him, one eyebrow raised only a little. "You, who can have anything, live simply."
"I don't require decadence," he declared, continuing on his way. The door shut after them. The hiss was absolute.
"You don't need it," she echoed, walking slowly into the meditation room. Her fingers followed the smooth curve of the dome. "But maybe you wish for it."
He examined her fingers. Every movement deliberate. Seeking. "What I am looking for," he went on, "has nothing to do with physical comfort."
Her hand froze in mid-air. Her eyes lifted. "Then what do you want?"
He approached her slowly, but steadily, until only a whispered word was between them. "Here and now?" His voice fell like the blade of a knife. "To know why you followed me like you never gave it a moment's consideration?"
She didn't move. "Perhaps I was curious."
"Curiosity is dangerous," he proclaimed.
"So is restraint."
The tension between them snapped like stretched wire. Vader extended a gloved hand, not to make contact, to float—just over the top of her chin. The Force vibrated, charged, waiting. Her breathing slackened but never ceased. He could feel it. Hear it.
"You are not afraid," he pronounced. It was not a query.
"I think I should be," she answered.
He moved his hand. Almost imperceptibly. The rim of his glove brushed against the line of her cheek and her eyelashes fluttered, but she didn't move. She let him. She welcomed it.
The Force now closed in on them—no more passive, no more waiting. It pressed. Shu'ulk'Tarath unfolded within his head, basking in the promise, unspoken whispers. The elder god craved this. It required this—granted permission, temptation, the loosening of defenses built over the ages.
"I could kill you." A gasp for air. A challenge.
"And I could report you," she responded, matching his level of threat and anticipation. "But I won't."
Her features were close now. A move would bridge the space. He looked into her—into the fire that lay beyond self-control—and discovered no deceit. Only hunger. Confusion. Will.
"You're different from anyone I've ever met," he told her.
"You say it as if it's strange."
"It is."
Her lips parted—without words, but anticipation.
And for the first time in decades, he removed his glove. It wasn't a ceremony. It wasn't hasty. It was a slow unwrapping of black leather off artificial fingers. Then—and more strangely still—he moved on to the buckle on his helmet.
Her eyes widened. "What are you doing?"
"I want you to see me," he said.
She kept quiet. She allowed him to continue.
And he removed it. The helmet first. The collar. His strained breathing into the still air, and for an instant—he only for an instant—he was not the black-clad figure threatened across the galaxy. He was a man. Hurt, white, broken—but a man. And Mara didn't avert her eyes.
Rather, however, she moved closer. She placed her hand—her uncovered hand—on his chestplate, over the site of his newly-stirred heart.
"I've wanted to see what's beneath the mask for a long time," she muttered.
They locked gazes, and tension hung between them, unspoken understanding and anticipation. The Force hummed, dark temptation thrumming through it. He nodded his head, then leaned closer.
They kissed.
The embrace closed the chasm between light and dark, binding together the damned and the living. Mara's demanding, gentle lips touched his, meshing against the taste of metal on his respirator. Her eyes, unyielding emeralds, blinked at him, mirroring his new craving as they exchanged their breathing
He stroked her neck, then the breasts beneath the uniform. Her skin burned, heart racing. She moaned through their kiss as her fingers slid to his waist, locating the belt holding his armor together.
Vader's dick pushed against his tunic, demanding release. He ended the kiss, his voice demanding over raspy breathing, "Kneel."
Her eyes sparkled with challenge and lust. She didn't wait but knelt down to unfasten his armor. His dick emerged, hard and long, a symbol of his regained strength and ravenous hunger.
Her hand grasped the base firmly, looking up yearningly. She inclined her head, breathing warmly over his shaft. Her eyes became ravenous while full lips parted to accept him. The first contact was electrifying, and he gritted his teeth. Her tongue danced at the head, then moved further.
Mara Jade desperately deep-throated him, her eyes never leaving his, soft whimpering sounds escaping her throat. The wet slurping noises of her sucking surrounded them, her breasts jiggling under the tight-fitting uniform with each movement of her head, nipples jutting out prominently.
"Suck it, you little whore," snarled Vader, savoring the unfiltered speech that came from having nothing to censor himself about. "Take all of me."
Her eyes shone with defiance and lust. Defiantly, against him, she tried to engulf more of his length, and her cheeks caved inward further. Her now untamed red hair hung about her back, catching them in an intimate, lustful moment. She was a woman of action, but she reveled in submission, being for him alone.
Vader's dominant hand commanded her, mirroring his command on the battlefield. The tight, almost hurting, hold was what she desired. With every firm plunge, there was an influx of energy through what joined them, filling her with unmatched purpose. Her eyes welled up, but it was not pain, and silently running tears betrayed her submission.
He tensed, muscles in his thighs contracting. A resounding groan was heard. Mara Jade anticipated the culmination, the throat thirsty for it. His semen poured into her mouth at the sudden burst—thick, hot, and metallic-tasting from his cybernetic state. She swallowed ravenously, starving for him, watching him.
He looked at her, his breathing rising and falling as she licked her lips. "Good girl," he whispered, his voice full and satisfied. "You enjoyed that."
Mara gazed up at him, her eyes foggy with pleasure. She did not bother to protest. She purred, husky, "I want more."
Vader's penis throbbed at the words, a starving thing. He touched her cheek, his fingers warming it. "You will," he promised, his voice filled with dark seduction.
He bent her over the black table, her uniform creaking over the athletic shape beneath. Her breasts lay flat against the chilly surface, pants sagging at the ankles, undergarments hauled to one side, a wet, inviting pussy open. Her firm asss tightened, the inviting pucker of her asshole demanding it.
Vader stepped out of his armor, the pieces clattering onto the ground. His cybernetic torso, for all its scarring, was exposed, his standing cock pushing through, demanding notice. He stroked it slowly, his eyes locked onto hers as she turned her behind. Her eyes, that delicious combination of terror and longing, latched onto his.
"Beg," he instructed, his voice an intense blending of command and lust.
Her eyes burned mutinously, but she obeyed. She whispered, combining defiance and longing, "I don't beg."
Vader reacted by taking her by the hips and pulling her into him. "You will," he assured her "you'll beg for me like the whore that you are." He placed his cock at her opening, its head pressing against her wetness. He gazed upon her, half-closing his eyes, taking short gasps of breath.
With the strength of a lightsaber, he pushed into her, and her scream echoed. Mara's form twisted and squirmed against his power, but he was too strong for her. Flesh against flesh, he pounded against hers, every strike more frantic. Her breasts trembled, nipples pleading for him, to the rhythm of his ruthless pounding.
"Oh, fuck," Mara groaned, her voice thick and lustful. "You're so big... so powerful."
Vader's powerful thrusts filled her full to the hilt, his dick loving every moment of her tightness. Her vulva wrapped him in a vice, juices lubricating his shaft. Her body resisted but required his control, walls shaking at every drive.
"Please," she gasped, her words straining, "please, Vader... harder."
Her begging only fueled his ardor. He adjusted his position to penetrate deeper, hitting an erogenous spot that made her shriek. Her embrace, a tight, wild clench, was almost too much for him, but he was the master and yielded no quarter, would not be denied.
He reached back and wrapped his hand around her, hand going to her clit, and began rubbing it in small circles, pressing harder with every push. Mara moaned louder, more desperately. "I'm going to make you cum." He whispered it against her ear, his damp breath sending shivers running the whole way down her spine. "You'll scream out my name."
Her body burned, every nerve thrumming. She struggled to retain control, but it was futile. His strokes ripped defenses apart, and her will disintegrated piece by piece. Her climax was being built, a feral pleasure-pain rising. His scalding, wet dick speared into her, his fingers biting into the curve of her hip. It was too much.
He placed his hand onto her head, his hand encircling tightly about her throat, pinning her down and in place. Breath was halted as a torrent of lust engulfed the paralyzing fear. Mara's climax came crashing over her, eyes bulging and muscles spasming as the contractile fist-like pressure of her pussy clamped down on his rod. She was aware of the burning pressure of his hand, the dominant pressure, as the power of pleasure overtook her.
"You enjoy that, don't you?" he growled, his voice full of pleasure and masterfulness. "You enjoy being used by me."
Her eyes rolled back, and curses poured out as pleasure took over. His hand tightened on her throat, a claiming gesture, and he kept going through her orgasm. Her pussy muscles tried to clench and push out the intruder, but it was useless. With every climax she reached, he bore even deeper, slamming against her G-spot to release another flood of orgasm.
"Starting now, you will be my slave, my pet," ground out Vader, his breathing a moist heat against her ear. "You will serve me in any way I wish, whenever I wish."
Her pussy clamped tightly on his cock as she shuddered at his words, a shiver of excitement and fear running through her. She was never anything but an independent, self-sufficient female, but here, in the midst of passion, she was desperate for submissiveness and was starved for what he was offering. "Yes, my Lord," is all that came out.
Vader's fingers released from around her throat, and she gulped in lungfuls of air as he continued to fuck her. The relief from the pressure left her lightheaded and hungry, and a stinging overcame her eyes. "Good girl," he snarled, his voice sounding approving. He slapped her ass, the noise echoing across the room. "Whenever I want to use you, you will obey."
Mara Jade breathed raggedly, sensing his power, his hunger, and his control. It was a potent thing, an aphrodisiac that she hadn't realized she craved. "Yes," she panted, breathing deeply, voice husky and full of wanting. "I will."
Vader spanked her ass again as he felt his climax rising. Her flesh burned, a work of art created by lust. She winced at the impact, her cunt clamping down on his cock, her walls shuddering at the aftereffects of ecstasy. "Again," she gasped, "harder."
He complied, administering a sharp slap. She inhaled sharply, a chorus of desire. Her ass had been so well-shaped—hard and rounded, a vision to make one crazy. At the sight of it, his penis enlarged, its tip now at the opening to her cervix. Mara's tight pussy tightened rhythmically to his frenetic beat. He inflated, pressure mounting toward an orgasmic supernova. With one last, resolute thrust, his hips drove against the stem of her buttocks as his cock pounded, on the verge of explosive ecstasy.
"Fuck, I'm going to cum," he shouted, his words a harmony of lust and control.
His shaft grew, widened inside her. Tension built, as intense as the pressure of an oncoming storm, and she shuddered. This was what she had been waiting for—being filled by his potent seed, being his own.
With one last violent stroke, he withdrew free from her, the release echoing through the air. His eyes fell to his semen dripping between her thighs, evidence of his supremacy. A fresh hunger was aroused within his cock by the visual.
"Dress," he ordered, his voice still husky and coarse with desire. "We have work to do."
Her legs shook when she got up from the orgasm, still shuddering from aftershocks. She hauled up her cum-soaked pants, stuffing the shirt in with shaking hands. She dared not query his commands, for she was his, marked by the broad patches of his cum on her thighs and within her depths.
He stood tall, his erection unrelenting, radiating with her hunger. He lifted his hand, the Force buzzing against his fingertips, and, with a snap of his wrist, his discarded pieces of armor sailed through the air. Spinning and clicking into place, pieces of metal and pieces of plasteel obeying his wordless command, reforming his black and brooding suit around him.
Mara stepped back, eyes locked, as she observed the demonstration of strength. The lingering sensation of his semen still inside her was a brutal reminder of his control over her. She panted for air, heaving breast as she composed herself. Even under the circumstances, however, she could not help but notice the muscles rippling beneath his armor, projecting an air of power.
Armor on, Vader halted, giving her a brooding glance. "Come," he commanded, his voice rough and commanding. She trailed after him, legs shaking, as the ship's narrow corridors swallowed them, a stark difference to their recent experience.
Vader's footsteps echoed off the corridor, lights flashing to rhythmic beat. Mara's breathing was not one of fear, but the sensibility of intimacy newly experienced which thrilled and shocked her still. There were unwritten, palpable truths in muteness. In protest of training, the natural response was to obey and follow. A change had happened, a claim had been made.
Vader felt her presence without looking. There was a connection between them, intimate and unavoidable. The residue of her joining remained, but she made no effort to wipe it clean. She would be executed if she told, not for protocol or command, but because she was his, and his things did not betray. This unspoken knowledge filled the air like a physical, suffocating second atmosphere.
They entered the tactical briefing center, its lights going on automatically. Holographic projections came to life—Imperial patrols, rebel activity, location. Cold war, fervent passion. Vader's gloved hand hovered over the console, but he never touched it. Mara stood waiting for the customary command, which never was given. His helmet canted, ever so gently, as if he.was listening. And then—
A sudden shiver through the Force swept the room, as if the air had exploded inward, collapsing everything into a wordless, unspoken tableau. Mara blinked. Vader was motionless, as keen as a blade, one hand locked into the console rim. Then it wrapped around him like a snake curling through his bones. It was not Palpatine. It was not the Force, at least not the one she was accustomed to. It was far, far older. Wilder. Hungrier.
"You have done well, my champion."
The voice was not bouncing off the walls. It was not a voice that was emanating from them. It was the walls. It was the air inside his breath, the blood inside his veins, the darkness that wrapped around his soul like silk bathed in tar. Vader spoke not a word out loud, but Mara knew. She could sense it—the pressure growing within the room, the lights faintly, imperceptibly dimming, as if presence did not need clarity to feast.
A surge of heat swept through the armor, and Mara retreated a step. His gauntleted hands rolled into fists. The red-tinted lenses of his mask flared further, and the air rippled, shimmering outward from him. He was not opening himself—he was closing himself off, the Force itself flowing inward in obeisance. Her own esophagus constricted, a savage fear spreading outward through her belly.
His patron had returned.
Agony. Strength. Pride. The god was pleased. Mara's possession—untamed, full, intimate—had consecrated some dark sacrament. She was the first of Vader's entourage, a harem of soldiers and servants, each one binding him further into flesh and power. And the god, pleased by the joining, blessed him lavishly.
The console disintegrated under the pressure at Vader's tightly closed fingers, showering down sparks and pieces of melted metal. Alarms never sounded, however. Time stood still.
His spine tensed. The next breath was one. All was one. The Force closed in around him in wordless tendrils, unseen and unassailable. Mara's eyes sprang wide. She could sense nothing from him now - not a hint of wrath or hurt or determination. He was nothing, simply, and then he was present, standing before her.
Her voice was shaking. "What... did you just do?"
Vader turned around, each movement slow and ominous. "I have been made whole," he growled, the vocoder gruffer than ever. It sounded like the rumble of thunder attempting to pass for words. "The darkness has blessed me."
Swallowing, she took him in, eyes narrowed in concern. He was not any larger then before, but the space between him and the ground was. His lightsaber hilt sprang off his belt, never moved by his hand, and hovered in mid-air, glowing with pent fury.
"Your Force signature—it's gone." She spoke softly.
"No. It's been honed." He took a step closer, and the hilt clicked back onto his belt, hissing sharply. "None will be aware of me. Not even the Emperor."
She tensed, her eyes slanting downward. "That... makes you a danger. To him."
He halted before her. All she could perceive for what was an eternity was herself, or what was remaining of herself, looking back at her through his helmet, a twisted glimpse of herself, half-broken and entirely possessed. "It makes me free," he breathed.
A beat. She could feel possibilities wriggling beneath the surface of her skin. He could kill Palpatine now—move like a shadow, strike like a god. He could take her, again and again, and no one would be any the wiser. The galaxy had tilted, and only they knew.
"Are you going to kill him?" She whispered,
"If he forces my hand," he replied, and that was as big a promise as ever came out of him.
Mara gazed down. "And me?"
"You belong to me," he said. "As long as you are loyal, you are alive."
The response settled within her like silk and chains, respectively. Constraining, and comfortable.
An asymmetrical grin distorted her lips. "Good. I don't want to be anyone's but yours."
Vader's helmet tilted. Something like approval. Proprietary, perhaps. The patron inside him rubbed its chin. Power coursed. Destiny reached out.
And the ship hummed steadily on into space, carrying with it two secrets too dangerous to be spoken.