1200 hours; 3,671 years before the Battle of Yavin
Vilontal Estate, Kaas City,
Dromund Kaas.
It was raining today. Just like it was raining yesterday and the day before that, and just like it probably would tomorrow. The people of Dromund Kaas, the heart of the Empire had grown used to the rain. On this jungle planet, it could rain for days at a time. What truly put people on edge were the lightning storms. Huge towers had had to be erected in and around the city to divert their devastating power.
Everyone knew what the cause of the lightning was, but only the chosen few, like six year old Kretok, could feel it. The great lightning storm that often obscured the planet's skies were the result of a thousand years of Dark Side manipulations by the Emperor and his Sith Lords.
The old Sith Lords often marveled at what the machinations of their predecessors had wrought, but to little Kretok, the storms were just annoying. The pelting rain, bright lightning, and loud thunder just meant another day stuck in his stepfather's estate. He had heard stories that children in the Republic often feared lightning and thunder, shrinking back from the bright flashes and loud, rolling, booms.
For Kretok, though, the sounds of thunder were just more background noise.
With a heavy sigh, he stared out his bedroom window to the excavation site behind his stepfather's estate. In the large pit, dozens of slaves toiled day and night to unearth- well, Kretok wasn't really sure what they were digging for. At times, he thought they were just digging to dig. He thought, perhaps not incorrectly, that his father had them digging the massive hold just to work the slaves to death.
He remembered, just a month ago, as he watched a slave slip from one of the higher scaffolds, falling into the deep pit. Panicked, he had rushed to tell his stepfather what happened. Lord Vilontal had been hosting a gathering of the Empire's up-and-coming Sith and Imperial military at the time. When the young Sith had run in screaming, his stepfather's first reaction was to slap the boy- hard.
"Stop your babbling and speak some sense, boy." Lord Vilontal had hissed.
"One of the diggers fell!" Kretok cried. "I think he's hurt." The gathered crowd of who's-who all laughed at the child.
"If the slave didn't want to fall, then he should have held on tighter. You shouldn't get so worked up over the death or injury of a slave, Kretok. Those people aren't like you and me, or the Imperials; they're property. They exist to serve and, when their usefulness has run out, or their incompetence proves to be too costly, they are disposed of. Still, they can be expensive to replace. Especially young and strong ones fit for manual labor, and the pretty ones." Lord Vilontal said. He snapped his fingers, and two slaves approached with their heads bowed.
"Go find out who he was. If he has a wife, girlfriend, sister, kids, or whatever, bring them to me." Vilontal ordered.
"What should we do if he is alive, master?" The human slave said.
"Leave him. No one is to help him, is that understood?" Sparks flew from Vilontal's fingers, a psychotic and predatory smile twisting his scarred face. The slaves bowed and silently walked off. "Now, why don't you go back to playing, Kretok?" The young Sith nervously walked back to his room. That night was devoid of any sense of fun or peace, as screams echoed through the estate into the early hours. Screams of agony like Kretok could never have imagined. That was the last time Kretok ever told his stepfather about anything the slaves ever did.
Still, the slave's loved ones survived, which was something. The slave's wife was assigned as Kretok's personal attendant, whether as penance for her husband's failure, or some sick joke, Kretok didn't know. He also didn't know who the joke was on; her, or him. Kretok took a moment to look away from the digging slaves to cast a glance at his attendant. She survived, but she'd never really live again.
He'd overheard the over slaves talking about that night one morning a few weeks back. One of the up-and-coming Nobles had complained about how loud she was screaming when the Sith were torturing her, so his stepfather had decided to solve the problem- permanently. The slave woman would never speak, scream, drink, swallow, chew, whistle, sing, sob, or shout again. Not with her mouth surgically sealed.
Even Kretok, young and inexperienced as he was, could feel her hate for him, and she was right to hate him. Many were the nights he would awake in terror as he remembered what he'd done. The other slaves blamed him, too. In the past, he'd managed to sneak out to play with the slave children- well, not the twi'lek ones- but now their parents ushered them away from Kretok whenever they saw him.
"Don't go near Kretok," the parents would say. "No telling what he'll say to his father. You don't want to end up like Saathera do you?"
Kretok let out another sigh. Even if the rain did let up, there wouldn't be anything to do besides looking for lizards or snakes. There was a knock at the door, his slave attendant hurriedly opened it.
"You didn't wait for my stepson's permission before opening the door," Lord Vilontal said. "Bad girl." He lashed out in a fraction of a second, slapping her hard. Hard enough to crack something. Saathera fell to her knees, looking up an Vilontal with teary and pleading eyes. Kretok felt bad for the slave attendant, feeling like it was his fault that happened. "Why aren't you out playing, Kretok."
"It's raining." He said.
"Hm. Good point. Surely there's someone or something around here to play with?" Kretok shook his head. "Oh well. It's a good thing, I suppose; come, it's time to train." Kretok grumbled. Training was so boring, and he always good yelled at, no matter how good he did; and he was good, better than the other students, and even a few of the instructors.
"I don't wanna train." Kretok pouted.
"If you hope to do better than the best at the academy, you'll take every chance you get to sharpen your skills; and be thankful for the opportunity." Vilontal snarled. The sociopathic Sith Lord smacked Kretok on the back of the head, hard. "Someday you'll thank me for this, boy." Kretok supposed he was lucky, when he got beat, it was usually just a smack or a slap. The slaves and servants were the ones who had bear the brunt o Vilontal's psychopathic tendencies. Plus, Kretok would eventually be leaving the estate to go train at the Sith academy on Dromund Kaas and, possibly, even Korriban; if they finished it in time.
The slaves, on the other hand, were never allowed to leave- unless they were killed or sold.
"What am I going to be doing today?" Kretok asked.
"I think you're going to be working on your blade techniques today. Your saber instructor has a special surprise for you." Vilontal said.
"A surprise?!" Kretok yelped, excited. "What surprise?"
"Well, if I told you that, it wouldn't be a surprise." The two of them walked down to the estate's courtyard. A large training ring had be created in the center of the courtyard. The instructors and Lord Vilontal didn't bother to cover it whenever it rained, believing that the trainees needed to prepare for rainy and muddy conditions. A few of the trainees had cut themselves badly when they slipped in mud, or when their hands slipped on the training swords.
Hopefully, he wouldn't do either of those today.
"Ah, the last of the would-be's arrives." Kretok's trainer said.
"Indeed, Lord Plutarch." Lord Vilontal said. Kretok was pushed forward, towards the training ring. Reluctantly, he squeezed through the bars, and pushed into the center of the ring. Kretok's stepfather took a seat under the awning to watch the trainees.
"The six of you have shown potential for martial skills, and a natural talent for the manipulation of the Force. Today we are going to try to something different; instead of the usual training blades we've been using, I've created three training lightsabers for top performers in our first exercise." Lord Plutarch said. All the trainees looked excited and eager. All that is, except for Kretok. He raised a red hand, immediately garnering Lord Plutarch's attention. "Yes, trainee?"
"What happens to the bottom three?" Kretok asked. Plutarch smiled, his pale white face made all the more hideous.
"Good question, Kretok. Very astute. The bottom three performers will be on the receiving end of the training sabers." The smiles and jubilee immediately died down.
"Won't that kill us?" Another trainee, a wretched twi'lek with green skin, asked.
"Possibly, if your opponent is particularly vicious. Now, let's begin." Plutarch brought out six training blades, handing one to each student. "Pair up." The students split into three groups of two. "Even Darth Marr doesn't face every threat single-handedly. There will be times where you'll have to fight in tandem with your fellow Sith and Imperial soldiers. As such, you must learn to fight as a team. We'll start simple; I've brought with me three tuk'ata, straight from Korriban.
"Tuk'ata are vicious and fearless beasts, completely relentless, and powered by the Dark Side; just like all children of Korriban. These particular tuk'ata have not eaten in days, and a couple of younglings would do well satiate their hunger." He used the Force to pull the covers off of three cages. The tuk'ata within immediately went berserk. Their eyes were crazed, their fangs bared, snouts twisted and snarling, and their claws sharp. They scratched against the bars of their cages, sending sparks flying.
Kretok had teamed up with another Pureblood, a girl about his age named Nalleria. She looked nervous, gripping the hilt of her blade so tight her knuckles were white. Sweat beaded on her forehead and her eyes couldn't peel away from the rattling cage.
"Get ready," Lord Plutarch said. "In 3...2...1." The doors of the cage opened, the tuk'atas charging out. Nalleria let out a scream, and ran away from the tuk'ata. Kretok braced himself, keeping his blade in front of him. The tuk'ata barreled past him, chasing after Nalleria. The Pureblood girl was fast, but a starving tuk'ata is always faster. The beast pounced, pinning her to the ground. Nalleria screamed as it's razor-sharp claws cut into her.
Kretok acted purely on instinct. He jumped into the air, propelling himself at the tuk'ata. The young Pureblood slammed into the tuk'ata, knocking the canine creature off of Nalleria. Enraged at being pulled away from its meal, the tuk'ata roared and charged at Kretok. Kretok side-stepped to the left at the last second, slashing at the tuk'ata. It howled in pain as Kretok's blade cut into its side.
Kretok himself roared at the tuk'ata, doing something he'd never done before. The Force flowed with his scream of rage and fury, smashing into the tuk'ata, and knocking it back a few steps. The hound looked disoriented, and wasn't able to launch an immediate counter attack. Nalleria finally managed to climb back on her feet, looking ready to get back in the fight. She was covered in blood and scratches, but very angry. His stepfather had taught him early on that anger was good.
"I'm gonna kill it!" She screamed. Holding her blade high, she ran through the mud at the beast, yelling at the top of her lungs. The tuk'ata didn't seem to notice her, even as she drew only a few steps from it. The tuk'ata remained completely focused Kretok, its eyes locking with his. He steadied his blade in front of him, ready to defend himself again. It tensed itself, preparing the charge. Kretok kept his hands steady, gaze strong, and will unbreaking. The tuk'ata sprung, pouring all its strength into this charge.
Suddenly the tuk'ata's eyes rolled back in its head, it tripped over its own legs, and slid towards him, splashing mud all over. A blade was lodged in its spine, between its shoulder blades.
"Kretok, Nalleria, well done." Lord Plutarch said. The fight seemed like it had gone on for hours but, in reality, it had lasted less than two minutes. "You both worked well together, and your natural skills complimented each other. Kretok, I foresee that you could have a strong future following the Juggernaut path. Nalleria, I have little doubt that you'll easily master the arts of the Marauder.
"I also have to ask, Kretok, how long have you been practicing your Force Screams and target refocusing?"
"I haven't my lord." Kretok said. "It just happened."
"Well, if you're able to re-direct an enraged tuk'ata at the age of eight without even noticing, and can blast a target with such a strong scream without knowing how, then you'll be a terrifying force when you do begin to take conscious control of your powers. Nalleria; I was extremely annoyed in the beginning when you allowed the beast to break through your defenses, but you managed to harness your hate quickly. Why did you chose that spot to strike?"
"I didn't think about it my lord, it was just instinct." Nalleria said.
"Impressive. I've seen Sith with years of training unable to hit such a keen and sensitive spot, if they can even identify it. You still have far to go, but you show great potential."
"Thank you, my lord." Nalleria said with a bow. The other two teams were a bit slower, the twi'lek and his partner taking out their tuk'ata last.
"Ten minute break, then we move onto the next exercise." Lord Plutarch said. The blade master exited the ring, moving to talk to Kretok's stepfather. Lord Vilontal seemed pleased as he spoke to their teacher while occasionally glancing over at Kretok. Their break seemed to end quickly, quicker than the trainees would have liked, if for no other reason than it mean three of them could possibly be dying soon.
Lord Plutarch separated the trainees into two groups. Kretok, Nalleria, and a human boy who's name Kretok never could remember were in one. The twi'lek and two human boys were in the other. Plutarch handed the training lightsabers to Kretok, Nalleria, and the boy who was with them. He then paired each one of them up with someone from the other group. To Kretok's annoyance, the twi'lek was paired with Nalleria.
"Your goals are this; if you have one of the training sabers, dominate your opponent. If you don't, defend yourself with all your might, and try to turn the tables on your attacker. Begin." Kretok activated the saber, nearly losing control as the blade shot out. It took all of the strength in his hands and forearms just to keep the blade under control. His opponent, however, had no such problems. The human yelled loud and charged towards Kretok.
Metal clashed against light with a vicious hiss. The human launched an unrelenting assault against Kretok, never giving the Pureblood a moment of respite. Kretok did what he could to block the blows, deflecting a side-slash, parrying an over-head strike, countering a straight stab. Kretok was getting pushed back, and knew he didn't have long to turn the tables before he ran out of room.
Acting on instinct, he lashed out with a vicious kick to the human's shins. The human boy dropped to one knee, getting a powerful back-hand follow-up. The boy started crying and curled into a ball.
"Finish the fight, Kretok." Lord Plutarch ordered. Kretok raised his blade, ready to deliver the final blow. Something within him prevented him from bringing the blade down. As he watched the human struggling and writhing in pain, Kretok couldn't help but be reminded of himself just a few years ago. With a sullen expression, he lowered his blade. The lightsaber retracted, feeling lighter in his hands somehow.
"Kretok!" Lord Vilontal shouted. "Lord Plutarch gave you an order, finish that child! Prove that you have what it takes to be a true Sith!" Kretok shook his head in defiance. Vilontal was on him in a flash, throwing Kretok to the ground with a powerful blow. In a rage, Vilontal closed on the defeated boy, striking the child down mercilessly. "I will not tolerate weakness in my house." Vilontal spat. Kretok shakily climbed to his feet, staring at Vilontal. He was afraid of the evil Sith Lord but, deep in his heart, the seed of hate and anger was growing.
"Plutarch, end this quickly, my patience for these novices is at an end." Vilontal said. Plutarch bowed his head.
1800 hours
Kretok found himself in front of his window once again. The rain still hadn't stopped, it hadn't even lightened up. His slave attendant stood by, silent and spiteful as usual, waiting for some command or order. Kretok drummed his fingers on the window sill, trying to think of something to do. Something started to feel wrong to Kretok, a tingling feeling in the back of his head. He looked around his room, but nothing was amiss.
Pain filled the back of his mind, not his, but someone elses. Kretok spun on his heels to see the face of his slave attendant twisted in agony, a violet lightsaber protruding from her chest. Her murdered pulled the blade from her chest, letting her fall to the ground.
"By the Force I do love that feeling," Lord Vilontal's equall psychotic apprentice, Hellun, said. "You, boy, Lord Vilontal sent me to bring you down to the antechamber."
"No, I don't want to go." Kretok said, backing away from the advancing Sith.
"Well, that's too bad; you're coming with me!" She lashed out and grabbed Kretok by the arm. Kretok bit down on her forearm, hard as he could, sharp teeth and powerful jaws tearing into human flesh. Hellun screamed in pain and began to beat him. The Sith youngling managed to hold on for several blows before finally having to relent. Hellun, however, was a fully-fledged Sith, and they weren't known for their forgiveness. Down the blows came, each one more painful than the last.
Kretok could feel his anger building with each blow. He shut his eye and imagined Hellun gasping for air, chocking on nothing, trying to pry off invisible hands. He heard a strangled gagging sound coming from his attacker in the same instant. Cautiously, Kretok opened his eyes to see Hellun on her knees, gasping for air, and reaching out her hand for help. Kretok didn't know how he was doing it, other than that it was through the Force, or how to control it.
Suddenly, she dropped to all fours, gasping incredibly hard.
"Bollocks to that," Hellun said. "You're too much troubl-" Her hands shot to her throat as she was hoisted into the air. Kretok knew he wasn't the one doing it, this time.
"I told you to bring the child to me," Lord Vilontal hissed. "Yet you couldn't manage it. A little display of skill in the Force, and you try to turn tail and run." She went flying away from Kretok, getting herself impaled on a crimson saber. "I will show you far less mercy then the boy did." Vilontal removed the blade, letting Hellun fall to the floor. The female apprentice was on her knees, barely clinging to life, but was too alive for Vilontal's tastes. He raised his blade, bringing it down on the girls neck, cleanly separating her head from the rest of her body. "And now, you die in shame."
Kretok couldn't believe his eyes. He knew Vilontal was evil, but not so evil was to murder his own apprentice. He had always spoken highly of Hellun, about her skill, her malevolence, her strength in the Dark Side, how she could do great things with her mouth and moaned like a whore; though Kretok had never understood what that last part meant.
"As for you," Lord Vilontal said, looking to Kretok. "You're starting to be more trouble then you're worth." Vilontal grabbed Kretok by the hair, and drug him down to the massive entrance of the estate. "Do you know why I took you in boy?" Vilontal asked Kretok as he drug the boy down the stairs.
"No." Kretok whined, just trying to keep up.
"It wasn't out of kindness, or because I think every child deserves a family, or for the Empire, I did it for me. You see, Kretok, your family, the Sanguine'ar line, has one of the largest holdings in all the Empire. Its future has been in flux since your whore mother was killed, and you're the only heir to it all. By bringing you up, and getting you through your trials so you can claim the title of Sanguine'ar, I'd claim you as my apprentice, and would thus gain direct control over all that your family holds.
"The Dark Council would have no choice but to name me Darth, and my influence would expand exponentially."
Kretok, for his part, had no idea what any of this meant and, right now, he didn't care. All Kretok wanted to do was get out of Vilontal's grasp, having his hair pulled so violently was incredibly painful. All this talk about holds, power, titles, family lineage, it was all just beyond Kretok. He didn't even know his family had an estate, let alone a large one, or that he even had a family. He'd certainly never been in his family's house, mansion, or whatever it was.
The two of them reached the antechamber, where a crowd had gathered. Kretok could feel a large number of Force users in the room, some of them far more powerful than Vilontal. Standing in the very front was a man in yellow-orange armor, a helmet with a single black bar for a visor covered his face, a hood covered the rest of his head, and two spikes shot out from each pauldron.
Slightly behind him stood a woman in purple robes, with a strange hat that had a flat top, and flared up. Like a top hat, but without the brim, and in the same awful coloring. Her skin wasn't necessarily grey, more like silver, almost as if it were made of metal.
"Darth Marr, Darth Mekhis, I'm pleased to see you could make it my lords." Vilontal said, with a deep bow. Kretok recognized them now; Darth Marr was de facto head of the Dark Council, and the member with the longest tenure. Some rumors said he was invincible, but he was known to be undefeated. He was responsible for overseeing the Empire's defense in the ongoing war with the Republic. He was a legendary duelist, ruthless, and stronger in the ways of the Dark Side then almost every other Sith in the Empire; save the Emperor himself.
Darth Mekhis, on the other hand, was not a member of the Dark Council, though likely to be named to a position sooner, rather than later. Where most Sith focused on martial prowess, or unraveling the mysteries of the Dark Side, Mekhis focused her efforts on technological advancement. One of the most skilled weapons systems and naval designers the Empire had ever seen, she also had a fondness of cybernetics.
"Spare us the pleasantries, Vilontal," Darth Marr said. His arms were crossed in indignation. "We aren't here for our health, show us whatever it is you have to show us."
"Of course, my lords." Vilontal said with a tone of aggravated surrender. "I have with me the son of the last Sanguine'ar, Kretok Nameisis."
"And? It seems like the boy wants nothing to do with whatever it is you have to show us." Marr said. "I trust there's a reason you're dragging the next link in the Sanguine'ar chain around by the hair?"
"Of course, my lords. Kretok has shown great potential in his exercises too far, but he hesitates at the final moment; he shows- mercy." Some in the crowd remained began to whisper amongst each other. Mekhis and Marr stood silent. "I have brought you all hear to witness Kretok's first kill, and so that he knows what a true Sith must do."
"Well then, get on with it." Mekhis hissed. Vilontal threw Kretok to the ground, motioning to someone on the other side of the room. The people parted, save for Marr and Mekhis who moved only for the Emperor, letting two Imperials through. They drug a girl with them, possibly fifteen or sixteen. An iridonian, based on the horns. She'd been beaten and abused badly, judging from the bruises and cuts on her face. The Imperials dropped her in front of Kretok, stepping to the side.
"Kill this slave, Kretok." Vilontal ordered. Kretok looked at the girl, shocked, then up at his master, pleadingly. He shook his head. "Kill her now, Kretok." Vilontal said again. Kretok didn't, earning himself a good strike from Vilontal. "You will do as you're told!"
"Why do I have to kill her?" Kretok asked. Vilontal struck him again.
"You will kill her because I tell you to!"
"But I don't want to." Kretok said. Another strike.
"You will not disobey now, in front of everyone. Kill her, or else."
"No." Kretok said. There was no blow this time, no fist striking his face, to kick to the stomach. There was blue fire, Force Lightning. It burned Kretok all over, from the inside out. Kretok screamed in agony.
"Kill her!" Vilontal shouted.
"I don't even know how." Kretok whimpered. It was a lie, but he hoped it would be enough. It was a foolish hope. Vilontal shocked him again, longer this time.
"Do as I command!"
"Why?" Kretok asked. "Why does she have to die?"
"What?!" Vilontal shouted. People in the crowd were starting to laugh, mocking Vilontal. Even Mekhis had a smile on her face.
"There's much defiance in this little Sith, Darth Marr." Mekhis said. "I like him."
"Yes, but defiance must be tempered." Marr countered. Vilontal continued to shock the boy, nearly killing him.
Please, a voice inside Kretok's head said. Killing me will be a mercy for us both. Do not suffer for me, it will do neither of us any good. Kill me, and you at least can escape. Kretok realized it was the girl speaking to him. She wore a pleasant little smile, almost encouraging him.
But I don't want to. Kretok said.
In life, we all have to do things we don't want to, just to survive. Whether you spare me or not won't matter; they'll just hurt me more in the slave pens before they kill me. You've already suffered so much, don't suffer for a dead girl.
I'm afraid.
That's good. The girl said. Don't ever stop being afraid of hurting or killing, it will make you a better person. It's alright, go ahead, it might hurt, but at least I'll see my mother again. Kretok shut his eyes through the tears and through the pain. He imagined the girl's body suddenly going limp, that her heart stopped and she died painlessly. That both their suffering was over.
A gasp shot through the room. Kretok opened his eyes to see the girl on the floor. She stared out blankly, still wearing the smile. Everyone either looked shocked or impressed, even Darth Marr had his arms unfolded for the first time. Kretok felt completely numb, like his entire body stopped. Maybe he'd killed himself, too?
"At last, I was beginning to wonder if it was even possible." Vilontal droned. The numb feeling in Kretok's body was immediately replaced by a burning sensation at the sound of the Sith Lord's voice. He hated Vilontal, almost as much as he hated twi'leks. He heard the grownups talking, maybe arguing. To him, it was all just white noise. Kretok's eyes burned as they stared at the body. Vilontal had made this happen. Vilontal had force Kretok to do this. Vilontal had forced her to be happy with death. All of this suffering was Vilontal's fault.
"I hate you!" Kretok screamed, glaring at Vilontal. He beat his small fists against the Sith Warriors armor, getting nothing but sore hands.
"Good. Finally you begin to show passion and anger; they will serve you well." Vilontal said, smiling almost proudly. "But you forget yourself." Vilontal delt Kretok a strong backhand, knocking the little Pureblood to the ground. "Now shut up, Dart Marr and I are talking." Kretok's face burned, especially in the spot he was hit. He could feel his anger and sadness growing inside him. Lights began to flicker, objects on shelves and on belts began to rattle and shot off, tables and chairs were thrown around the room, even a few tables were hurled through the crowd. Though he didn't know at the time, Kretok was reaching out through the Force, fueled by his grief and anger.
"It seems your stepson is far from finished." Mekhis said.
"I am not his son!" Kretok growled. His voice was so much deeper than it had ever been, and it seemed to echo from everywhere. Would that he could have seen his own face, he would have seen that his eyes emitted a strong red light; a rare trait that only occurs amongst the most powerful of Force users. Kretok shot out his hand, blasting out through the Force. Darths Marr and Mekhis shielded themselves with ease, but Vilontal was forced back several steps despite his efforts.
The non-Sith who got caught in the blast were thrown back, spinning head-over-heels in the air, helplessly.
"That is enough Kretok!" Vilontal ordered. "You will obey me!"
"No!" Kretok shouted. He was acting off pure hate, adrenaline, and instinct. How he managed to throw out several lashes of Force Lightning, he didn't know, but he did. Vilontal managed to block it with his saber, but it was a struggle for him. Ultimately, Kretok just didn't have the stamina to outlast the Lord, and collapsed onto the floor, winded and drained.
"Truly remarkable." Marr said. "Should he survive, he will make a great Sith; perhaps one of the best."
"Indeed, my lord." Vilontal said. The evil Sith lord was grinning from ear to ear, proud and happy from the child's actions. "He is far beyond where I was at his age. I think it will only be a couple of years before he is ready to go to the academy."
"The boy should be sent now, he is more than powerful enough." Mekhis said.
"It is true that he does not want for strength in the Force, and he does seem to be physically strong for his age; but that much power without control is a disaster waiting to happen. You must remember, Darth Mekhis, that it is not your power, if you cannot control it. The boy must learn that control; only then will he be a force to truly be reckoned with."
"I foresee my son having an astounding career as a Sith Warrior, and did you see how he took those lightning blasts, my lords? If that isn't the sign of a Juggernaut in the making, I don't know what is." Vilontal said. He snapped his fingers, and two slaves appeared at his sides. "Take Kretok up to his room, and put him to bed. He has a big day tomorrow."
The slaves bowed, and helped the little Sith to his feet. Gently, lest they earn the ire of their master, they guided him the seeming long (longer then when he'd come down earlier, at least) way back to his room. Kretok's bed had never felt better, and he had never felt more tired. The slaves turned out the lights, leaving him there.
Kretok tossed and turned for awhile in the dark, staring into the blackness. He was so tire, but then why wasn't he able to sleep? Why did he feel empty, broken, inside? His stepfather was proud of him for the first time, even complimenting his skills, and he'd impressed the leading member of the Dark Council. Some Sith spent their entire lives trying to do that. So, why then, was he unable to think of anything besides what he did to that girl?
Every other Sith, acolyte, and would-be acolyte, would have felt proud had they accomplished what he accomplished. Why, then did he feel terrible? Why was he crying? Why, when so many Force Sensitive children would have been excited for the future, was he busy lamenting the present? When would the nightmare end?
Some nightmares never end. I've killed so many more innocent people in my time since then; some were deliberate, targets of my rage and blood lust; some were accidents, collateral damage in an assault, or the victims of mistaken identities; others were simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. I've never felt good about it, not once. My master often called my mercy a weakness, something that needed to be purged. Others have called it a gift, an uncommon trait amongst the Sith and the Empire. Maybe they're right, but that doesn't make me feel any better. Some nightmares never end, haunting us for the rest of our days, and I have so many nightmares.
-Sanguine'ar.