Okay, so I lied. There will be one more chapter=)
I am sooooo unbelievably sorry about the lateness of the chapter, but, after an ice storm in early Feb., my laptop, having died when the power went out because the battery decided to stop holding a charge say a year ago, when the power came back on, I was crushed to discover that many of my programs, including my w.p., internet (both cable and modem), would simply not work! No matter how many times I smacked it, it refused to respond lol. So, now that I am armed with a brand spanking new laptop with Microsoft Word working ( I was using Word perfect on my other, then pasting it onto notepad and saving there, but because Notepad refused to italicize anything, I had to use the ** to indicate emphasis) I can now use the italicize command. I am happy=)
Reference to "Rime of the Ancient Mariner" in the first paragraph.
Thank you to: Obi the Kid, Freakizimi, Ginger Ninja, sliverrain, silverrain (on caffine=), BlueElli, Little Dove, Steph, trigger, ~Becky~, Enigma Jade, Sentimental Star, Emma, BlazerAkila, and wicked+elve
Everyone has been so unbelievably supportive, foremost of all my beta, MaraJade and Soda Baron, both of whose suggestions will be placed into effect as soon as I find the time (and ability) to transfer all my documents from my old computer to my new one.=)
One side note: This chapter is a bit more graphic than the others…at least the first half is. Please remember that.
Death and Life-In-Death had thrown dice for the young Jedi and his master and it appeared that Death had made fast the claim to his trophy, leaving Life-In-Death to work her torture on the one who remained.
Time had run into one insufferable moment, suspending indefinitely what was and creating an effective barrier to all that held any potential of relieving Obi-Wan of any amount of torment he was suffering.
Moments after his own weapon cut down the one for whom Obi-Wan would have willingly endured lifetimes of torture—the knowledge that it was not by his hand did little to comfort the boy—before the residual echo of his anguished cry had ceased to bounce from wall to wall, the padawan tore his gaze from the quickly spreading pool of blood and fixed it upon the first area of the wall at which, when looking from his chained position, he was unable to catch even the merest glimpse of the physical remnants of the nightmare he had just suffered through.
Even with his eyes averted, Obi-Wan dry heaved at the combination of the pungent odor of the life blood which he knew was still spilling from his slain master and at the perpetual replaying of the evil he had witnessed seconds before. The guard who had so crudely wielded the lightsaber also deemed the instant cauterization much too bloodless for his tastes and took it upon himself to rectify this problem. Instead of making a swift, clean, one-time cut, the man deactivated the 'saber about three-quarters of the way and, drawing out a small, dull, generic dagger, hacked through the remaining tissue.
Demar, of course, had been delighted by his soldier's initiate and, grinning madly, offered a twisted form of praise, insisting that the guard—whose weak protests that he had done nothing that warranted such kind words were belied by the poorly concealed mirror of his superior's grin—had a natural talent for torture and, being only seventeen, had ample time to go very far.
The padawan's momentary respite from his visual anguish was short lived. Demar had not gone to the trouble of capturing and killing this man for Obi- Wan to remain unbroken because he had spared himself the sight of the blood trenched head and body, each now a separate entity of the other.
Following his captive's anguished stare, in one fluid motion Demar bent down, grabbed the decapitated head, and strolled over to the section of the cell on which the padawan's eyes had desperately fixed themselves. He knelt, disregarding the grime clinging to the hard floor, and stood the head up in a manner most similar to that of a person having just acquired a display piece and trying to discover the best possible way to show it off. He turned it left, and then right, tilted it up, and played with the style of the hair a seemingly endless amount of times before settling on a final position. The head leaned against the wall, hair matted and slick-looking, the glassy eyes unfocused but never-the-less were open and rested on the boy who, either by the Force or his own unrelenting horror and disbelief, could not turn away. Perhaps the worst aspect this event, the more terrible than being force to witness his master's demise, was the fact that Obi-Wan had no closure. The Force suppression collar prevented him that reprieve, denied him the sensation of his master's passing. To him, Qui- Gon was still alive.
Demar observed the boy as he slowly release his slight hold on him and, satisfied that the boy's gloriously unshielded pain would keep him in that position for hours, walked silently behind the boy, taking no chances at pulling the padawan out of his self-induced trance, and towards the door, paying no mind to the pools of blood he treaded through.
As he ascended the metal stairs, leaving a slick marker on every stair, though each decidedly fainter than the last, Demar palmed open the door, threw a half-glance back at the two who stood rigid next to the body, and casually spoke, but continued into the hallway, "Do something with that, would you?"
* * *
Having made his way through the narrow, winding passages of the ship, Demar stopped abruptly, having reached his destination. A half suppressed grin played on his lips as he palmed the latch and strode into the room, pleased to note the sudden silence of Force whispers in his head, indicating that his orders for the activation of the Force inhibiting rods, which actually lined every chamber and hallway of the vessel, but specifically the ones embedded in the walls of this chamber had been followed.
Depressing a button on a small, nearly undetectable black box, which was perfectly camouflaged against the man's entirely black ensemble, Demar closed his eyes and breathed an almost euphoric sigh as the Force rushed back, flowing through him, caressing him. When the initial moment of indescribable pleasure passed, Demar opened his eyes and calmly met the glare of the Jedi with whom he was nose to nose.
A mocking smirk twisted his lips as Demar spoke, "Did you enjoy the entertainment?"
A brief flash of fury spiked in Mace's eyes before he buried it under the infamous Jedi stoic image and responded with only the merest traces of both enragement and pity tainting his predominantly placid voice, "You are quite possibly the sickest man I have ever had the misfortune of encountering. It's you and your kind who prove that, unfortunately, there will always be a need for the Jedi."
Demar's smirk morphed into a flat out grin as he answered, delight creeping into his words, "Then it was a success? Excellent."
Shifting his gaze past the one who stood within arms length to a figure standing rigidly as it stared up at the computerized image of the battered child whose eyes had not shifted from the horrifying display they had been cemented to before his captor left, Demar spoke a bit louder, but with the same quality of glee in his question, "And you, Master Jedi? What is your opinion of my amusement?"
Qui-Gon turned slowly; taking extra time to assure that his anger was in check before he met the gaze of the man whom he had witnessed nearly, he prayed not totally, destroy his padawan. Despite his lifetime of teachings on emotional control, Qui-Gon could not keep the anger from shaking his voice, "What did you do to him?"
"Oh, so very many things, but I'll assume that you're referring specifically to the little performance you just saw. It's quite ingenious really. You see, that man," Demar nodded to the image of the severed head of a red skinned Marchaka male with cropped green hair which, at the moment, was the center of Obi-Wan's attention, "he's you."
Pausing in an effort to gauge the light-skinned master's reaction, Demar frowned when none was forthcoming, but continued his explanation.
"You see, I have developed a drug, hallucinogen to be specific, which, with the aid of a slight Force suggestion, has the ability to make anyone see anything. Anything that I desire, of course. Until now, I had been using it solely as a pleasure device verses a torture method. A kind of reward for my subordinates' loyal, if you will. And, though it goes without saying, a form of ecstasy for myself." He paused a moment, apparently remembering one of his experiences with the drug for an irrational grin couple with a soft, guttural laugh escaped before Demar regained his composure.
Refocusing his eyes on Qui-Gon, Demar went on. "I have to say, the raw agony which blanketed the room, assuring me that the drug had fulfilled its purpose, was possibly most magnificent feeling that I have ever experienced."
A pensive mask replaced the grin as Demar took a step closer to Mace who had remained silent during this entire revelation, a step closer to Qui- Gon. "Tell me, Qui-Gon, how did it feel to watch your student suffer like that? To be unable to comfort, to soothe him as his mind was shredded by the sight of the brutal butchery of the one to whom he was closest. Of the one he thought of as his father?"
The brief mixture of surprise, fury, and disgust graced Qui-Gon's face, a reaction which thoroughly amused Demar. Laughing at Qui-Gon's naiveté, Demar force words out between gasps, "You didn't realize that? And yet, you consider him your son? The feeling's there, buried deep under all your excuses and denial. Even non-Force sensitive would be able to detect it, it's so obvious."
Surprise gripped Qui-Gon again, this time confined to his eyes as he realized that, yes, he did consider Obi-Wan to be his son. He always had.
As Demar continued to amuse himself with Qui-Gon's revelation, Mace seized the opportunity to make a grab for his lightsaber which, oddly enough, had not been taken from him. His movement was thwarted, however, his hand frozen just as his fingertips brushed the cold metal of his 'saber.
Demar's black eyes hardened as he turned his attention to the Jedi directly in front of him. His voice soft and icy, as he spoke barely above a whisper, "Tut, tut. You didn't really think that this would be that easy now, did you?"
One more chapter, one more major twist coming soon…Hopefully. I feel like crap, but that, in this respect, will probably be a good thing. When I'm sick I get bored more easily and have the time to deal with the boredom in a way that I want to. So, as soon as I stop giving off enough heat to warm a small house, I'll finish the last chapter. As always, be good little Jedi and review…You know I love them!
I am sooooo unbelievably sorry about the lateness of the chapter, but, after an ice storm in early Feb., my laptop, having died when the power went out because the battery decided to stop holding a charge say a year ago, when the power came back on, I was crushed to discover that many of my programs, including my w.p., internet (both cable and modem), would simply not work! No matter how many times I smacked it, it refused to respond lol. So, now that I am armed with a brand spanking new laptop with Microsoft Word working ( I was using Word perfect on my other, then pasting it onto notepad and saving there, but because Notepad refused to italicize anything, I had to use the ** to indicate emphasis) I can now use the italicize command. I am happy=)
Reference to "Rime of the Ancient Mariner" in the first paragraph.
Thank you to: Obi the Kid, Freakizimi, Ginger Ninja, sliverrain, silverrain (on caffine=), BlueElli, Little Dove, Steph, trigger, ~Becky~, Enigma Jade, Sentimental Star, Emma, BlazerAkila, and wicked+elve
Everyone has been so unbelievably supportive, foremost of all my beta, MaraJade and Soda Baron, both of whose suggestions will be placed into effect as soon as I find the time (and ability) to transfer all my documents from my old computer to my new one.=)
One side note: This chapter is a bit more graphic than the others…at least the first half is. Please remember that.
Death and Life-In-Death had thrown dice for the young Jedi and his master and it appeared that Death had made fast the claim to his trophy, leaving Life-In-Death to work her torture on the one who remained.
Time had run into one insufferable moment, suspending indefinitely what was and creating an effective barrier to all that held any potential of relieving Obi-Wan of any amount of torment he was suffering.
Moments after his own weapon cut down the one for whom Obi-Wan would have willingly endured lifetimes of torture—the knowledge that it was not by his hand did little to comfort the boy—before the residual echo of his anguished cry had ceased to bounce from wall to wall, the padawan tore his gaze from the quickly spreading pool of blood and fixed it upon the first area of the wall at which, when looking from his chained position, he was unable to catch even the merest glimpse of the physical remnants of the nightmare he had just suffered through.
Even with his eyes averted, Obi-Wan dry heaved at the combination of the pungent odor of the life blood which he knew was still spilling from his slain master and at the perpetual replaying of the evil he had witnessed seconds before. The guard who had so crudely wielded the lightsaber also deemed the instant cauterization much too bloodless for his tastes and took it upon himself to rectify this problem. Instead of making a swift, clean, one-time cut, the man deactivated the 'saber about three-quarters of the way and, drawing out a small, dull, generic dagger, hacked through the remaining tissue.
Demar, of course, had been delighted by his soldier's initiate and, grinning madly, offered a twisted form of praise, insisting that the guard—whose weak protests that he had done nothing that warranted such kind words were belied by the poorly concealed mirror of his superior's grin—had a natural talent for torture and, being only seventeen, had ample time to go very far.
The padawan's momentary respite from his visual anguish was short lived. Demar had not gone to the trouble of capturing and killing this man for Obi- Wan to remain unbroken because he had spared himself the sight of the blood trenched head and body, each now a separate entity of the other.
Following his captive's anguished stare, in one fluid motion Demar bent down, grabbed the decapitated head, and strolled over to the section of the cell on which the padawan's eyes had desperately fixed themselves. He knelt, disregarding the grime clinging to the hard floor, and stood the head up in a manner most similar to that of a person having just acquired a display piece and trying to discover the best possible way to show it off. He turned it left, and then right, tilted it up, and played with the style of the hair a seemingly endless amount of times before settling on a final position. The head leaned against the wall, hair matted and slick-looking, the glassy eyes unfocused but never-the-less were open and rested on the boy who, either by the Force or his own unrelenting horror and disbelief, could not turn away. Perhaps the worst aspect this event, the more terrible than being force to witness his master's demise, was the fact that Obi-Wan had no closure. The Force suppression collar prevented him that reprieve, denied him the sensation of his master's passing. To him, Qui- Gon was still alive.
Demar observed the boy as he slowly release his slight hold on him and, satisfied that the boy's gloriously unshielded pain would keep him in that position for hours, walked silently behind the boy, taking no chances at pulling the padawan out of his self-induced trance, and towards the door, paying no mind to the pools of blood he treaded through.
As he ascended the metal stairs, leaving a slick marker on every stair, though each decidedly fainter than the last, Demar palmed open the door, threw a half-glance back at the two who stood rigid next to the body, and casually spoke, but continued into the hallway, "Do something with that, would you?"
* * *
Having made his way through the narrow, winding passages of the ship, Demar stopped abruptly, having reached his destination. A half suppressed grin played on his lips as he palmed the latch and strode into the room, pleased to note the sudden silence of Force whispers in his head, indicating that his orders for the activation of the Force inhibiting rods, which actually lined every chamber and hallway of the vessel, but specifically the ones embedded in the walls of this chamber had been followed.
Depressing a button on a small, nearly undetectable black box, which was perfectly camouflaged against the man's entirely black ensemble, Demar closed his eyes and breathed an almost euphoric sigh as the Force rushed back, flowing through him, caressing him. When the initial moment of indescribable pleasure passed, Demar opened his eyes and calmly met the glare of the Jedi with whom he was nose to nose.
A mocking smirk twisted his lips as Demar spoke, "Did you enjoy the entertainment?"
A brief flash of fury spiked in Mace's eyes before he buried it under the infamous Jedi stoic image and responded with only the merest traces of both enragement and pity tainting his predominantly placid voice, "You are quite possibly the sickest man I have ever had the misfortune of encountering. It's you and your kind who prove that, unfortunately, there will always be a need for the Jedi."
Demar's smirk morphed into a flat out grin as he answered, delight creeping into his words, "Then it was a success? Excellent."
Shifting his gaze past the one who stood within arms length to a figure standing rigidly as it stared up at the computerized image of the battered child whose eyes had not shifted from the horrifying display they had been cemented to before his captor left, Demar spoke a bit louder, but with the same quality of glee in his question, "And you, Master Jedi? What is your opinion of my amusement?"
Qui-Gon turned slowly; taking extra time to assure that his anger was in check before he met the gaze of the man whom he had witnessed nearly, he prayed not totally, destroy his padawan. Despite his lifetime of teachings on emotional control, Qui-Gon could not keep the anger from shaking his voice, "What did you do to him?"
"Oh, so very many things, but I'll assume that you're referring specifically to the little performance you just saw. It's quite ingenious really. You see, that man," Demar nodded to the image of the severed head of a red skinned Marchaka male with cropped green hair which, at the moment, was the center of Obi-Wan's attention, "he's you."
Pausing in an effort to gauge the light-skinned master's reaction, Demar frowned when none was forthcoming, but continued his explanation.
"You see, I have developed a drug, hallucinogen to be specific, which, with the aid of a slight Force suggestion, has the ability to make anyone see anything. Anything that I desire, of course. Until now, I had been using it solely as a pleasure device verses a torture method. A kind of reward for my subordinates' loyal, if you will. And, though it goes without saying, a form of ecstasy for myself." He paused a moment, apparently remembering one of his experiences with the drug for an irrational grin couple with a soft, guttural laugh escaped before Demar regained his composure.
Refocusing his eyes on Qui-Gon, Demar went on. "I have to say, the raw agony which blanketed the room, assuring me that the drug had fulfilled its purpose, was possibly most magnificent feeling that I have ever experienced."
A pensive mask replaced the grin as Demar took a step closer to Mace who had remained silent during this entire revelation, a step closer to Qui- Gon. "Tell me, Qui-Gon, how did it feel to watch your student suffer like that? To be unable to comfort, to soothe him as his mind was shredded by the sight of the brutal butchery of the one to whom he was closest. Of the one he thought of as his father?"
The brief mixture of surprise, fury, and disgust graced Qui-Gon's face, a reaction which thoroughly amused Demar. Laughing at Qui-Gon's naiveté, Demar force words out between gasps, "You didn't realize that? And yet, you consider him your son? The feeling's there, buried deep under all your excuses and denial. Even non-Force sensitive would be able to detect it, it's so obvious."
Surprise gripped Qui-Gon again, this time confined to his eyes as he realized that, yes, he did consider Obi-Wan to be his son. He always had.
As Demar continued to amuse himself with Qui-Gon's revelation, Mace seized the opportunity to make a grab for his lightsaber which, oddly enough, had not been taken from him. His movement was thwarted, however, his hand frozen just as his fingertips brushed the cold metal of his 'saber.
Demar's black eyes hardened as he turned his attention to the Jedi directly in front of him. His voice soft and icy, as he spoke barely above a whisper, "Tut, tut. You didn't really think that this would be that easy now, did you?"
One more chapter, one more major twist coming soon…Hopefully. I feel like crap, but that, in this respect, will probably be a good thing. When I'm sick I get bored more easily and have the time to deal with the boredom in a way that I want to. So, as soon as I stop giving off enough heat to warm a small house, I'll finish the last chapter. As always, be good little Jedi and review…You know I love them!