Battle On

By Seabreeze

Bloodlust

A/N: As the story description states, this is the first of a collection of one-shots dealing both with the fact that the Exile is a Jedi Warrior (I know that's not the correct term, deal with it) and also the fact that there are some… "feelings" between her and Atton Rand. All of these will take place after the end of KOTOR II.

Disclaimer: LucasArts, Obsidian, etc., own characters and situation and all that. Is writing disclaimers a rule written somewhere? I'd assume by being a member of a site for FAN. FICTION, it would imply that I understand I did not create these characters… oh, disclaimers, the bane of my fanfiction-writing existence.

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A Jedi was not a Warrior. A Jedi was a keeper of peace, a beacon of light in a world tainted by dark. A Jedi drew her light saber of necessity, when the only way to reinforce the light in the world was to strike the dark. A Jedi did not use her light saber out of anger, vengeance, fury, or fear, but only as a last resort to protect the light.

At least, that was how it should be.

But revenge and fury were difficult to ignore when a particular exiled Jedi found herself upon a ring of slavery on Taris – sexual slavery of women and children. She had stormed through the seedy, otherwise abandoned apartment complex, blasting open doors for skinny, dirty, frightened people and declaring their permanent freedom. She had not bothered with the guards – her pilot and head mechanic had grimly taken them out – for they, as base as they were, were not the source of her trembling fury.

Her blood boiled as she watched the final group of young women and children scatter away from her, and she had tonelessly asked the Zabrak to see what he could do for those he found outside the complex. He had nodded and turned away to do her bidding without comment, grimly wondering if the Ebon Hawk's pilot could rein her in. If anyone could, it was him, but even so, he had never seen his General so blank, so frozen-white-hot.

It was not difficult to find the headquarters of the operation.

Two connected rooms full of "business men" and their henchmen, all unprepared for a furious, deadly Jedi and her scowling, blaster-wielding pilot to serve them their doom.

She did not act purely out of revenge.

There was a light side and a dark side; the Jedi and the Sith. But even the Sith could be motivated by good, even Sith could work to change the world for the better. Her pilot was proof of that.

And then there were people like these slavers, taking advantage of the innocent, the poor, the helpless, the afraid, in the worst possible way, to make a few extra credits. There was no light in them, for no good in their hearts, no matter how small, would allow them to ruin the lives of innocents for their own profit.

Sith could see the errors of their ways; could turn around and walk willingly back to the light. Those, however, who were motivated purely by their own personal greater good, would never turn back to the light, for they saw that the light was selfless and loving, and they simply could never be that way.

It was not revenge at all, truly, but execution.

She became a blur of robes and flashing light saber blade, taking down several thugs in a matter of seconds. Each swing, each slice, each kick, stab, parry, felt delicious in her muscles. Her blood sang at the tension she felt in the hilt of her light saber each time its blade met resistance in the bodies of the slavers. She moved so quickly she felt she had utterly lost control, and yet with each swing, another fell to the floor loudly.

It took her a while – or perhaps she was moving so quickly it only seemed a while – to realize that the sounds of her pilot's blaster had joined the symphony of death in the rooms. They battled back to back, as always, a multi-faced killing machine. They were unstoppable – she was unstoppable. She was ruthless, merciless, and deadly fast. There was no time for excuses and reasoning because there was no excuse, no reason, she would ever accept. She leapt through the air and dealt each victim several blows – suffering was not necessary, only immediate death.

"We've still got thirteen left, and I'm running out of ammo," her she heard her pilot's voice drift over her left shoulder, and became irritated with the softness of it.

"Leave them to me, then." She snarled through her teeth, and flew immediately back into action, twice as fast as before. She was an efficient machine: leap, stab, roll, slice, stab, leap, swing, duck, pierce, swing. Five down. She could take a million more. She battled on, taking out six more, and Atton caught one trying to ambush her from behind. The last piece of scum slavery stood huddled in a corner, and she approached him like the calmest, deadliest of predators.

"Please, you don't understand!" the beast of a man sputtered, sobbing at his imminent death.

Her eyes did not flicker once as she put the blade of her light saber clean through his chest, and his last cry gurgled sickeningly in his throat.

She crouched beside his useless body, panting as her head swam. The rush, the thrill! And she had gotten not nearly enough, she could take on anyone, an army of Sith Lords… her veins seemed electrified, charged to kill and kill and stop for nothing or no one, not even injury or her own death… the intoxication was overpowering –

"Uh, Exile?" Her pilot's voice interrupted the flow of pure emotion raging her body. She felt she might explode; the nervous voice infuriated her when there was so much power inside of her – there was no room for doubt or fear, not with this explosive magic racing her veins. She heard him step up behind her and felt an urge to attack him; not to hurt him, of course, but she knew he would put up a fight that might come close to satisfying her.

"What?" she snapped.

"You're acting… strange. Is everything alright?"

It was as if everything clicked cleanly into place. She stood and turned, abruptly, grabbed the front of his shirt and yanked him to her, crushing his lips down upon hers. He made a muffled noise against her hard lips and fell rigid with shock, but she did not notice or care.

It was even better than fighting, this particular thrill. The electricity flooding her veins was replaced with heat so hot her lips, fingers, very soul burned. He had been off-limits, even in her own mind, from the start, and now she waged war on the barriers that kept her away from him and reveled in the fact that doing so felt as good as she'd always imagined.

The attack she made on his mouth, so one-sided at first, began to turn tides as he stood his ground, crushing her body to his with his arms. The battle front was pushed and pulled back and forth in the space between their lips, and neither was afraid to use every weapon they had to gain the upper hand – tongues crashed like waves, teeth sunk roughly into lips and pulled just enough for pain to register before it would be soothed away by a brush of tongue or soft, cracked, pink flesh. The heat was excruciatingly pleasant and wonderfully overwhelming.

They broke apart suddenly, gasping for breath. Her pilot stared at her in amazement, dazed and unable to keep the lust and emotion out of his eyes. She stared at him, her eyes returning nothing, before kissing him fiercely one last time.

"Let's go find Bao-Dur."

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A/N: please read and review. Next chapter: Warrior's Regret.