A brief apology, here. If I could, I would hold off on posting this story for some time to come. This story is designed to provide insights and clarifications that come sometimes closer towards the endings in some of my prior stories, two of which are still very much works in progress. However, with an upcoming expansion in the works, I wanted to respect Bioware's story enough, to introduce the story of one of my absolute favorite characters, now and not too late. I will continue to work on all my character-focused stories in the weeks and months to come, I promise you all.
Please NOTE: Khyriel Phyre is my darkest character. He reached darkside 5 very soon into Chapter 3 and well before the conclusion of the SWTOR character story for the Imperial Agent. Not that every one of his choices was darkside! He sometimes surprised even me as I was going along. I can't count how many times in the course of playing his story, that I had to hit "escape" because I could tell that "just isn't what Khy would do", shrug. But he is very, very dangerous, can be incredibly ruthless and cruel and manipulative - for those who've played D&D a time or two, he's my lawful evil guy. An outright assassin, if you will.
That means there's loads of violence, some really ugly events including rape and child abuse, and tons of strong language in the course of this tale. Those can be sensitive subjects, so I wanted to be honest right upfront and just give everyone some heads-up.
Finally, please remember I have no claim to any of Bioware's story-telling. They're writers of some great stories! And all the characters that I describe in this story ultimately belong to Bioware and Electronic Arts. Kudos to them for such amazing work! You guys rock!
With all that said ... let me introduce you to my Khyriel, now.
Lucian believed in control. That a man's control conveyed strength and sheer, unmitigated capability, no matter the challenge facing him. It's when he lost control, that a man was weak, when he became ineffectual and inept. That's when he could be ruined, brought low and finally, ultimately broken. Lucian had always refused to give anyone that much ability over him. Ever.
It's why he stood there now, straight and tall in front of the dark surface of the rain-saturated windows overlooking the cityscape. Kaas City stretched out in a wide expanse, with rain that fell steadily down over the reaching buildings. Lights from far-off windows twinkled against the dark gloom of the sky, until the structures looked like burning fingers clawing out from the confines of the planet itself. Like a struggle for mastery over the elements themselves, wrangled from the harsh, wet climate and from the twisted creatures that called it home. Driven to prove their own power and strength, it seemed like. And damn anyone who tried holding them down, holding them back. The landscape itself was testament to those values of strength and control, it seemed.
Lucian inhaled slowly, concentrating on the rhythm of his own breaths. He even counted them, one after another, and slowly. Fighting to preserve his balance, his hard-wrought sense of purpose and design, because he refused to lose that much of himself to her right then. He only needed enough balance to finish the night's business. Just enough, to bring him closer to the end of this tired night, and the goal she was forcing on him. Balance, so that she wouldn't win against him even after she achieved her ends, here. She wouldn't be singing to him of some win, wouldn't crow with pleasure over this night, he'd see to that. Bad enough she had this much power over him, that she gained this much from him. He hated it!
No. His balance and control, his mastery over himself and what was of real value to him – none of those things had anything to do with her. She was nothing, even! Just … nothing. And he would see to it that she understood that much, before it was done for good, too. That was the promise he gave himself, that helped ground him, center him finally. It was just enough, at least.
The bitch.
"Let's get on with this, dear husband. You know what will happen otherwise."
Lucian slowly dragged in another long breath, before slowly exhaling. He remarked, almost idly so that she wouldn't know how damned agitated he was, that she'd won another moment's upset from him. But he didn't bother hiding his disgust, though. If he could cram it straight down her slender throat, in fact, that's what he would do without even blinking. "If I were you, wife, I'd forgo speaking or making any sound. If you value anything from that part of my anatomy, mind you. Because I swear, hearing you breathe makes both my testicles shrivel in the most vivid determination to avoid you."
"Your crudeness only belies the attractiveness of your heritage, Lucian. I certainly wouldn't care to lie here on this bed for anything else, mind you. You're nothing more than some stud animal, a base thing. That is your sole value." Karen's voice continued grating on every nerve he possessed. He would think she'd abide by whatever warnings he provided, if only to get this evening's … work finished, at least. But she kept making atrocious noise. How in chaos' name would he manage this, if he couldn't maintain a semblance of readiness, even?
His daughter's face swam through his mind suddenly, so small and gorgeously perfect. The way her eyes would shine, like the moons that rose over the darkest edges of the night sky. She was watchful and observant, even at her tender age. Not even a year old and she was already exacting in her demands, so that items moved, danced in her gaze while she lay there watching. Like she was trying to prove to her own self she was capable of such remarkable feats, of awesome control over the magnificent virtue of the Force that resided in her small body. Karen had actually delighted loudly over the tiny infant, "She'll be incredible! They'll sing her name, only watch and you'll see for yourself! My daughter!"
But Lucian just laughed, "No. Look at those eyes, those perfect little brows all scrunched up just so. She's most obviously my daughter, Karen. You can't even find some smallest hint of you in her."
"I hate you so, Lucian! Hate you."
"That was what you decided months ago, though. I don't care so much about you, that I'd even bother hating you."
Now, though. Now Lucian hated her. He hated her for forcing him this low, that he had to even walk into this room let alone crawl across her bare body there on the bed. He hated her for every word she uttered, every mocking glance she tossed him that he'd been forced here. Most of all he hated her for the fear that twisted his guts into the worst knots, the fear that bothered him every time he thought how he might lose his daughter if he didn't give Karen what she demanded, if she did as she'd threatened and took his own girl child so far from him. Karen, who stamped her prettiest, daintiest foot on the floor right there in front of his desk as she swore at him, "Cross me and by the time you manage to convince some stupid law official you can even see her again Lusiel will have already been crafted, terribly taught how to utterly despise you. With marks aplenty across her backside so that it sticks firmly in her mind! Don't think we can't do it, Lucian! She will be made as I see fit, and there will be nothing you can do in time. Nothing!"
He considered yet again the chance he might succeed in flat out killing the bitch. There were any number of means he was dreadfully familiar with, even people who would help him do it, given the asking. Favors he was owed, friends who would look the other way. Or they might lie on his behalf, their respect for him was that great. But the risk was tremendous, considering the vulturous slime that was her family. Ah, Pella Hejaran – just as cruel as her sister but better in control of her senses. No, Pella would never stop looking for answers, would look and look. She might only kill him outright, for the possibility alone and without any proof. Not that he cared so much for his own neck, because the uniform he wore so proudly showed more than anything the preparedness he felt considering his end.
But she would look. And eventually she would find the truth. She would find Tamerie. And she would find his Kastiel, who was just as tiny, beautiful and precious as her sister. His own Kastiel, that the Empire would call lesser, lacking, for being born from a slave woman without any hint of the force ability her older sister demonstrated with every wisp of air she loosed. And that even before they called her bastard. But Kastiel was his joy of a girl, all perfectly bright, whipcord strong with a mind that snapped and twisted behind her dark eyes that followed him whenever he managed to steal away to lose himself in them.
His daughters, his children! Protecting them was every thing important, more precious a task than the duty he offered the Empire, more than anything! He could not risk them, not now or ever! Without them, there was nothing worth going ahead for, nothing worth having in anything of his world. He would do anything to keep from losing them. Even this.
Lucian hung his head down, methodically pulling against the sleeve of the pale white shirt he was wearing. Moving mechanically - by rote, just to get the task completed. He pushed back the fabric of his sleeve until it was bunched solidly over his elbow and he could see the arteries and veins that criss-crossed over his forearm in pure red-purple health. Lucian ignored Karen's huffed impatience from behind him, her cloying presence with that indelibly sweet scent she preferred sprayed all over herself. He swallowed, rather, refusing to spew the bile that rose in his throat as he depressed the injector against the tender skin of his arm, felt the warm rush of the medicine through his muscles and blood. Lucian sighed as his body tightened. His systems thrummed, and his groin became hot and heavy, ready. And Lucian dropped his head down, whispering so quietly that even the Force itself couldn't have won his deepest pain right then, "Tamerie."
Karen hissed suddenly, loudly, "You'll do it, Lucian. Don't think to be intransient at this point! It won't be you who pays the price this time, I swear it! I will have another one like her, I will! Everyone will know how great I am, how important. You're nothing but the seed that I need, that's all, damn you!"
Lucian turned blindly, his gaze focused on the shadowed recesses of the room. Not the beautiful woman sprawled naked across the plush cushions of the bed, the long tresses of her beautiful blonde hair spread in a waterfall all around her. He stepped closer to the bed, glanced down over her splayed limbs, the pale smoothness of her thighs spread wide for him. He moved slowly, not looking at her face, her eyes. Like a machine, he thought. Lucian grunted, reached out to grab the soft flesh under both her knees so he could roughly yank her towards the edge of the bed. Karen gasped as her hands flew out to scrabble over the blankets for desperate purchase, but he didn't care enough to soothe her sudden fear. Not even when she whimpered, worried he'd be abrupt, without care for her comfort. Did she imagine crazily that he would bother to stop long enough to ensure she enjoyed a single ounce of pleasure from the act? The thrill of hatred warmed his stomach again, burned through everything as he finally glared down at her. And he thrilled when he saw her staring back at him, scared and shaking.
She should be, he thought. Lucian growled down towards her, his fingers biting into the sides of her thighs, "I told you. Shut. Up. I can not stand to listen to a single sound coming from you, Karen. Only be gratified I'm finally hard enough to get this done, rather."
Karen narrowed her glorious silver-blue eyes back up at him. Diamond eyes, he once called them. He hated every glance she tossed his way, now, until he almost thought how much he'd like to carve them from her face and give them over to one of the pirate crews that hunted the damn gemstones at every chance. He far preferred the sweet looks Tamerie gave him, the ocean-bright blue eyes that had enchanted him the first time she stumbled against him and, startled, looked up when he caught her so she didn't fall. There was real life in Tamerie's eyes. Not the cold, human-less threat that sliced him every time Karen so much as looked in his direction. How deeply he hated Karen, hated her …
"You speak like you have some choice, here. You will do as I say, Lucian! You'll do it, you'll give me what I want! Hurry and do it! Do it, damn you!" She raged enough that spittle actually formed at the corner of her mouth. She finally looked as ugly as he thought her. He looked away from her face, focused on the parts he needed to join. Mechanical motions, like a machine. Like a machine. That was the refrain in his head as he moved into position. Because he couldn't stand to remember how it was he was forced to do this. Forced! She was forcing him! Damn her to chaos and back again, so that he could send her there all over again! Damn her to every single hell imagined on every world!
Lucian sneered coldly down into her cold, angry eyes. "You will never be any sort of mother to this child, Karen. You think I'm some stud to seed? Maybe. But you're little more than a box that will hold the child long enough he's big enough to rip himself loose of your nasty grip! They will always, always be mine. Never yours!" His hands tightened against the soft skin behind her knees, until she could feel bruises actually forming, there. Her eyes flew wide open and she screamed in terrified horror at the deadly promise in his gaze. And that was before he finally rammed himself inside of her as hard as he possibly could.
He loved him, the moment that his son opened his eyes to blink up at him from the cradle of his arms where they'd placed him.
He didn't really expect the feeling. And perhaps he should have. He loved his daughters, after all. Loved them with fervor, with a passion unmatched by any feeling he'd given anyone. But he'd welcomed their births, even enjoyed making them. Not this one, not this child. Making him was a forced thing, involved someone threatening him and demanding the making. Watching Karen growing round with this child was a maddening experience, until every sight, every smirk she tossed at him made him want to scream from the memory.
But then Tamerie had touched him. She strived to comfort him, and it was the sweetest balm. Tamerie was the one who sang to him of his son's potential. She imagined his name, called him by it. One of her old gods, she told him. A fierce protector, winged, with fire in its eyes always burning bright with determination. "Khyriel's enemies ran from his battle frenzy, his loyal march onto the field in defense of the god he served," Tamerie whispered the stories to their daughter, until Kastiel's eyes grew brightly shining with fascination. Tamerie was certain of his own child's value, even when himself only wondered how he could see him and not remember who'd mothered him. Tamerie told him, "She is nothing. Certainly no mother! Not to this child, not to any of yours."
But still. He thought he'd only tolerate the babe. Thought he would tolerate him long enough that he'd use the child's affections against his wife, use him to prove his own self the victor, the winner in the game of control their marriage had reached. Perhaps somewhere along the way he might grow to care for him, he thought. But he doubted that more often than not, if he were truly honest with himself. No, he threw himself more into anticipating Tamerie's pregnancy, rather, enjoyed the precious curve of her stomach as his twins still grew in her. But not Karen, never Karen!
And then Khyriel was born, and the medics carried him out to him. They placed the baby boy into his arms, and he looked down towards his son for the first time. Looked down at Khyriel and watched him open his eyes for those first moments of his life. "My own eyes," he whispered down at him. Khyriel only blinked up at him, still wet from his birth so that the sparse tufts of black hair on his head clung wetly to his tiny head. The baby didn't cry, only settled there against his father's warmth as if he belonged and well knew it. He only looked up at the world, at his father - with utter acceptance and belief, as if all the months of doubt and anger and fear meant nothing at all – and Lucian loved him utterly.
He loved him from the smallest curl of wet hair on top of his head, all the way down to the wiggle of those tiny toes on the ends of such small baby feet. He loved him as much for every moment he'd wondered if he would love him, if he could love him that much. He loved him just as much as he loved his daughters. And sometimes, in the years that followed, he wondered if he loved him even more. Because no one of his children ever needed that more than Khyriel.