A/N: Yes, I do play SWTOR, just not often. Still, this is one of my favorite video games. (Since my opinion may seem absurd to some viewers, know that I am not much of a gamer.) Even if its storylines may be inferior to other Star Wars content, I still find it enjoyable.

The gloomy night sky of Dromund Kaas was, as always, starless. Rumbling clouds perpetually brought about darkness to the jungle world, and with the deafening cymbal's clash and brilliant flash of white light erupting from the desolate grey, Elar'a knew a thunderstorm was soon due.

Good— that meant she and Lish'a could finally get a bath, even if it were from a downpour.

Master's been mean. Why can't we even shower? The smell is terrible! Though deemed more physically incompetent than the average slave and thus permitted to toil less, Elar'a's pungent clothes were still smothered with sweat, dust and grime from work on Lord Grathan's luxurious estate. Her nails were crusted, and her shabby smock tattered, and for the Emperor's sake, she and Lish'a were considerably malnourished. Some of the slaves (usually the ones who had lost their offspring to other Lords and Moffs and what-not) were kind enough to share with the five-year-old twins, but most of the time, it was every person for themselves.

Elar'a and Lish'a held a different situation, of course. Ever since their father's death at the hands of their Master, they'd vowed to be together and support each other 'til the end of His Majesty, their Immortal Emperor. They shared their precious food, warmed each other when the Dromund Kaas night-air was too chilly, comforted each other during sickness, and embraced one another in times of distress. Some of the other slaves admired them for their close bond, while a few of the more aspiring ones took this as a weakness.

(With a lack of proper equipment, severe pneumonia without medical treatment, and an emaciated body, their mother had died during childbirth... but from what the Master told them, she had been weak, right from the start. Their father had been stronger. At least he had fought for his freedom. At least he tried to break his chains.

(Out here, in the dire realm of their slavery, there was no tolerance for fragility and impotence. Either you work and maybe kill, or you get whipped and suffer decapitation. Survival was harsh, and fate was indifferent.)

Boom... CRASH! Like the awesome rage and might of their Glorious, Omnipotent Emperor, the fearsome lightning stuck once more. Faraway, Elar'a thought she'd heard the piercing shriek of a vine cat.

Lying beside Elar'a on the dampening grass outside their musty, decrepit tent, Lish'a shuddered and curled up in fright, a strand of blonde hair dangling down onto rosy, even if ample no more, cheeks. Green eyes locked with matching green eyes as those quivering lips softly inquired, "do you think we should stay outside? Master wouldn't be pleased if we get sick and can't work tomorrow."

In her mind, Elar'a could not suppress a snarl—

Master... Master... Master... always a Master. Can't she see that we must show defiance to break our chains? I love her and all, but if she keeps bowing down, she'll just be a hindrance! And then I'll have to stay with her...

But I won't break my vow. I at least have that amount of decency.

She would not forget the bonfire, the holding of blood-ravaged hands as they solemnly pledged to His Revered Majesty: "Free together!"

"Nah, I think we'll be fine... I'll cover for you if you get sick, okay?" Despite Elar'a's frustration with Lish'a's cowardice, she flashed an assuring smile, patting her twin's thin shoulder. Through their strange bond, the raven-haired child nudged at her sister's mellow (weak... weak! Pitiful! Abiding, conforming to those stupid, snotty slavers! I can keep her safe for now, but what would she do on her own!?), green-blue-hued presence. Gradually, she felt that bluish tinge trickle back. (Finally! She's learning how to do this! Finally!)

Elar'a allowed herself a grin. Once they were strong enough, they could shatter their chains. They would slay their way to liberation.

They always said we were special, that we had what they called "the Force", the "Dark Side"... that's what the Sith use, right? We'll escape together. We'll be free together, dominating the galaxy as the good Sith—not the bad kind that punish and starve and beat us, no! —, purging every existent iniquitous Hutt-slime!

I've already killed one of them. I'll kill another. I'll kill more. I'll kill the last existing slaver in the whole wide galaxy, so we can be safe.

Their howls of misery and suffering will be a fabulous harmony to our laughs of glee!

The plump droplets began tumbling from the sky, dripping onto the overgrowth. Feeling the rain dance on her skin and wash away the dirt, Elar'a pounced up from the ground, then offered a sullied hand to Lish'a.

The hands that reached back were already clean from the rain's bath (how!? Elar'a could not help but wonder incredulously).

"C'mon. Everyone's in their cots right now, let's climb up the hill and try to see The Wall!"

Her twin gladly took it, and together, in the rain, they lurked out from the slave campsite. Elar'a loosened her tightly bundled hair, letting the thick raven locks fall down her shoulders. The water was beginning to drench their clothes, but she'd been practicing her extraordinary abilities, and if she could get it to the right amount, maybe they'd be able to dry the rough and patchy cloth...right?

Above, the lightning was growing fiercer than what any recent thunderstorm had brought. The dazzling white blaze, as if tendrils of the illustrious Emperor's wrath, seemed quite like what she had used on the first slaver she'd ever decimated...

Blinding purple lightning extended out from her tiny fingertips in a fit of acute fury and boiling hatred and hurdled towards the foe. Instantly, the obese swine plummeted to the ground, involuntarily convulsing as the arching electric curls slithered up his body and sucked away at the blood, injecting the veins and flesh with its lethal venoms. As the slaver pleaded for the young yet revenge-lusted child to stop, Elar'a had cackled and mocked at the begging victim.

As blood-shot, bright green eyes morphed into a vivid and sickening yellow-orange glow, she only let the lightning intensify.

All that practice on those wild beasts weren't for nothing, and today, for the death of their Father and the attempt to corrupt her virginity, HE WILL PAY—

He had been the menace that day, but who is the Victor now!?

The lightning encircled the man, shooting up the spine, sprinting to the brain and heart and other major organs, setting aflame the fat-choked arteries, igniting him from the inside—

When she was finished, all that was left of the slaver was a heaping mess of sizzling, unrecognizable flesh.

At the sight, she flexed her fingers and tried to ignore the singed fabric of her rough gloves... then found that she could not contain her delirious, overjoyed laughter.

Together they'd made their way up the hill—it wasn't the highest spot nearby, for the trees and durasteel-clad buildings seemed to loom on for eternity—, where a fatigued, bleary-eyed Lish'a settled down and watched the Wall's officers and soldiers bumble with activity.

Meanwhile, Elar'a blithely whirled around in the downpour, letting the raindrops fall down her skin. As she twirled and giggled in joy, she proudly chanted her favorite Code, the one in which she had, unlike the code slaves were forced to follow, contemplated considerably on:

"Peace is a lie, there is only passion!"

Perched atop one of the large, mossy boulders, Lish'a let out a sigh of exasperation; her twin may buy into this whole power ordeal to get them out of slavery, but what good was a rebellion against the Sith? The better way was to compose peace, to attempt and negotiate their way out, or maybe use a mind-trick! (She had seen Sith use them before! They were fascinating and definitely more useful than brutal power, and since it only required a wave of the hand, it was probably much easier than retaliating with a fight! Knowledge and patience are more useful and desirable than what brutal force would ever be...) However, there was no use in stopping Elar'a; if this was what she believed, then so be it. As long as they are unhinged of shackles together, anything was fine, and anything was worth it.

Behind her, as she marveled at the roaring sky, a prideful Elar'a continued incanting:

"Though Passion, I gain Strength!

Through Strength, I gain Power!

Through Power, I gain Victory!

Through Victory, my Chains are Broken;

The Force shall Free Me!"

A/N.

I'm not sure how to feel on this one. It's... perhaps subpar to some of my other works, but at the same time I felt the need to write it.