A/N: Well, hello again, folks. I wanted to say thanks to all of the people
that are reading this, whether or not you are reviewing. Knowing that one
person gave me a comment (Even though it was my best friend, and I forced
her to do under threat of cookie deprivation) it keeps me going to know
that even one out of the millions of readers are here right now. I didn't
do this story for entertainment, anyways. I just wrote it for my own
twisted pleasure. So, anyways I'll keep the star warning up for places I
seriously don't want anybody under 17 reading.
Chapter 4!!!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
How long had it been? He didn't know. Hours had turned into nothingness, and days had become months. All he understood was the pain, and the agony, and the ceaseless suffering he was forced to endure throughout the arrays of questions he refused to break under. His body bled hard, and then stopped, and then another day of torturing would come, and he would bleed again. Maul huddled in a compact lump of bones and flesh against the cold walls of chrome that had become his dwelling. Raphael left him alone in the day, but then when he returned from important business matters, the Sith would become his 'stress relief'. And now the dark jedi knight was sick. Figuratively, he inferred that his wounds had become infected, and then returned the favor by killing him from the inside out. He coughed, and blood stained his lips undefinably. He probably wouldn't last much longer here, but it was all the better. No sleep came to him now, for he was plagued with fevered dreams. Dreams of Raphael digging into him roughly, and the torture......
%%%%%%%%%%%%%%
"Arise O humble warriors. Your humility is unneeded in my halls." Shegorad said with a soft smile. The four Jedi rose as she commanded, but the two masters continued on with bowed heads.
"Your grace is present, as ever." An aquatic-suited alien commented with a half-hearted raise of the lips, and he bowed his sleek head low. He nodded to his female padawan, and she followed his heed perfectly with an exact imitation of what he had just done.
"You flatter me, Vespasian." The queen replied kindly, and turned to his apprentice, who refused to meet her gaze. "And you, noble child, are as polite as your caretaker." The girl looked up finally, and her cold blue eyes feigned thanks. She, unlike her master, was much of a humanoid water- species.
At this, the other Jedi master came forward with his hands hidden beneath the rims of his cloak, and bowed in recognition to the royalty. "Forgive me, Queen Shegorad," He began, "But might we begin our original affairs tomorrow? Our apprentices, like us, are weary from travel, and we ask humbly of your permission to retire for the night."
Shegorad sat upon these words for a moment, and slowly nodded. "Go ahead, master Obi-Wan. We shall begin the meeting tomorrow. Rest easy, friends of Yoda." And watched with sincerely feigned pleasure as her guests bowed once more, and were escorted by two Khajiit towards their sleeping quarters.
It was deep into the night, and Vespasian sat quietly meditating with his padawan. They had remained silent like that for nearly three hours now, and he could feel within his mind that Anamaria, his apprentice, was becoming fidgety. He opened his puritanically blue eyes, as did she, and watched her with a slight smile on his amphibian-like features.
"Padawan," He began, "Usually you can meditate for four hours before losing patience. What is the matter?"
Anamaria did not speak for a moment, contemplating her master's words. When she did verbalize, however, it was a slightly worried whisper. "Master, I feel as though this Queen is not revealing something to us. I sense a great disturbance very close by; as if the force is agitated......"
Vespasian nodded slightly, and stood. "Yes, padawan. I sense this as well. Someone is probably being interrogated by her son at this point in time. I am sorry to say that she prefers the more painful methods of questioning prisoners of war here." He watched Anamaria's face contort with unshed pity, thinking of the poor souls that were unlucky enough to cross the queen's bad side.
"But master...... I feel as though it is something more than just an innocent by standard...... it seems as though the life I sense is connected somehow with the force. And yet...... it is not." She replied softly. Her gray eyes were clouded in deep thought.
Vespasian thought upon this for a moment, staring at the starless sky that was Gattaca's. He allowed himself to pry through every life spirit he could sense inside this castle, but could find nothing of what his apprentice had spoken of. "Are you sure?" He asked the girl gently, not wanting to worry her.
Anamaria nodded, sure of herself. "Yes, master. I am positive." But the amphibious being that was her guardian shook it off. "Let us worry no more of matters such as these, my young padawan. We have an early morning tomorrow, and I think it is best that we rest now." To his impressively hidden shock, she nodded without rebellion.
"Yes, master. I believe you are right." She said, and after moving into her room, shed her robes for a more comfortable night shirt. Shutting out the painful images that had forced their way into her mind, she turned off the light, and fell asleep.
The girl dreamed that she was walking. Down, down deep into a tunnel that led god-knew where. Somehow, something was calling her. Not a voice, but a feeling. A feeling of excruciating sadness, fear, suffering, hate, and pain. She walked for what seemed like ten minutes, perhaps more if she were counting, but it didn't matter. Here, what mattered only was the dream.
Anamaria allowed the aspiration to guide her, and walked until there came before her line of vision, many rows of small cells. They spanned the entire length of each side of the wall, and prisoners within them were most definitely not in the best of conditions. Some were paired in cramped spaces, and disease could spread like wildfire if given the chance; but this was not where Anamaria stopped. The dream walked her towards the back end of the hall, where a lone door sat, just screaming for her to open it. And she did. What met her eyes was a small hallway, and then another door at the end. Just one. She was beginning to become frightened, but her phantasmal reality refused to let her stop, and she strode towards the cell door with ease.
There was nothing within the cubicle, but relinquished darkness. However, when she looked closer, she could see the faded outline of someone, or something propped against the chrome wall. She wondered for a moment if the figure was alive or not, and she called to it in an attempt at solving this particular riddle.
"Hello?" She called softly. The somber chassis didn't move. Louder again she tried. "Hello?"
This time, there was a response. The silhouette moved, and she saw it look up at her. Oh how she wished it had not.
Haunting yellow eyes stared into hers from the void beyond the bars separating them, and it closed the demonic ocululae for one long moment. Anamaria, dazed with fear, backed away sharply, and into the nearest wall. However, she was too curious to run now.
The figure opened its eyes again, this time slanted with obvious sadness. It stared so pathetically at her, that she could not help but believe that this were an innocent prisoner of the Queen Shegorad. Valiantly, it attempted to stand, and meet her, but ended in failure. Instead, it closed its auld eyes for a moment, and when they opened yet again, it spoke.
"Please...... get out...... of here......" The voice was no more than a soft whisper, dry from obvious lack of water. Anamaria stared confusedly for a moment.
"Why......?" She asked, kneeling down against the titanium bars. Her counterpart closed his eyes again, and this time did not bother to open them.
"Because...... he'll kill you too......" He whispered, and was suddenly stricken with a violent array of hacking coughs. Anamaria became fearful, not for her own life, but for her opposite's. He sounded sick. Very sick.
"Okay, don't worry. I'm going to get help......" She said, spurred upon the edge of the moment, and prepared to stand, when she noticed the blood staining her bare feet.
"Ana?" Came the soft voice beside her. The girl opened her eyes with a jolt, noticing that she was in her own room. Or at least her quarters. The voice that had come from beside her was nothing less than Anakin's, and he was standing at the side of her bed with his sleeping robes clutched between his young fingers.
Anamaria stared at the dark form beside her, and immediately sensed the waves of fear, and slight guilt emitting from him. Smiling, the young Jedi-in-training moved over so that she, and her fellow padawan could lay beside each other.
"Had a bad dream, Ani?" She prodded gently, and wrapped a dark arm around him. The little boy nodded slowly, and snuggled up against her. Further, the girl urged him to speak. "What about?"
Anakin paused for a moment before continuing. His voice was sad, and his eyes were, too. "I saw a man......" He said quietly, "And he was hurt. He kept coughing, and shaking like he was cold, but I didn't do anything. I just watched him......" The little boy paused, hesitating.
"And then there was blood...... some other people came in, and they started to hurt him more. When they got done, he was crying, and I started to cry, too. Then I woke up......" Anakin stopped, and looked at his friend with confused blue eyes. "I knew him, Ana." He said in a hushed whisper, "I remember him from last year...... he killed Qui-Gon-Jinn." (A/N: spelling?)
Anamaria did not speak for a long moment. Her eyes were hazed in a thoughtful trance, and the reply to the frightened boy was only one of: "It was only a dream, Ani. Go to sleep." And sleep the boy did. But his opposite lay awake as silent tears fell down her tanned face. Tears of regret, sorrow, and most of all, pity.
%%%%%% (A/N: Serious torture scene here!)
"I'm going to ask you once more, retched trash!" Raphael cried to the ceiling, "Where is Sidious?!"
Darth Maul replied to nothing, even hanging over thirty feet above their heads. Nigh had he spoken a single word since arriving here over three weeks ago, and no attempt of theirs had promoted breaking him into revealing their precious information. Today, they were trying something new.
Hanging him over their heads like a pinata.
When the Sith did not answer, the prince raised his many-ringed hand, and the Khajiit guard next to him let go of the bungee rope. This caused a simultaneous reaction of having their prisoner dead drop thirty-and-a-half feet until his body hit the floor with a sickening crack of bone. Maul gasped, the wind knocked out of him, and felt the break of his safely guarded ribs.
Before he could catch his breath, the Khajiit pulled hard on the rope again, sending the painted warrior soaring into the air.
"Having fun yet?" Raphael cried again with a sneer. Maul spat, and the glob of saliva fell directly upon the royalty's boot. He leered triumphantly.
However, the prince was not so amused. He watched quietly as the watery fluid, mixed with a nasty array of yellow phlegm, and blood trickled down his newly cobbled shoe, and dribbled seamlessly upon the floor. With tranquilized apathy, almost as if the calm before the storm, Raphael looked up so that his colorless eyes met the Sith's, and spoke sedately.
"These shoes are fine tattoinian leather." He said, "They are worth more than your leg, and it is in this way that you shall pay me back for them."
Maul barely had time to decipher this before an unseen pressure slammed against him, and he smashed violently into the stone walls. So hard in fact, that it forever more indented his body into it. Somehow, however, amidst the pain, and fever, he was able to look down, and see his captor's hand raised with his palm out.
'Dear God......' He thought, the horror of reality sweeping into him, 'The whelp can tame the force!' And struggled valiantly against his unseen bonds. With a power like such, Raphael could most definitely hit the Sith where it really hurt.
"Yes......" The prince sneered, noticing that his pet understood the truth now, "I am the keeper of such authority, and you are not." He seemed to be sing-songing in mockery, "I'll squeeze every last one of the bones in your leg until they're ground to dust." He clenched his fist together, and Maul suddenly felt a seething pressure begin to build in his left shin. The force that once so desperately buzzed around him moved down, almost defiantly, to the cold-hearted prince's designated area. It built in on itself until the coerce had traveled all over his aching embodiment, and Maul fought back the overwhelming urge to scream his sore lungs out.
Raphael, amused at his prisoner's willful attempts to defy him, clenched both of his fists so that they were parallel to each other, almost as if he were holding a pole. Loud enough so that the warrior could hear him, he began to sing eerily.
"The foot bone's connected to the shin bone...." And he swerved his hands, twisting the pole. Maul felt the pressure rise to an unbearable level in his leg, and his tibia crunched until it snapped in half. He bit his tongue until he tasted hard copper in his mouth, and still, his captor continued.
"The shin bone's connected to the..." He paused for effect, "...Knee bone." Raphael pretended to hold a round object in his right hand; his left hand wrapped around it, and he twisted the invisible kneecap like a stubborn faucet. Maul's eyes shot open as he felt it bend with the prince's movements, snapping each tendon one by one like string. Each sent a shockwave of pain into his brain, and he swore he could feel the blood from each cord running into his body like a speeder full-force. His leg was becoming purple from internal bleeding, and the sheer cruelty of its demise.
Raphael smiled wickedly, and gasped as if he had just noticed what he'd done. "Oh my!" He exclaimed in mock sympathy, "It seems as though you've broken yourself! Perhaps I should fix that damaged leg of yours......"
In one fluid movement, the prince mimed grabbing a lever, and pulled hard.
Darth Maul was in such a daze of feverish pain, and agony, that he hardly noticed as the severed bone of his shin wrenched through the multi- colored flesh. Only when he felt the hot tendrils of blood cascading down his skin did he realize what happened, and the full extent of it hit him like an oversized sack of limestone.
His lurid eyes shot open, glazed slightly in shock, and he uttered the first sound he had ever made within these black walls.
A scream.
Twisted with agony, and torment, it escaped his mouth, paired up with a choking gush of bile, and wretched humiliation. Raphael smiled, satisfied with today's results, and lowered his ringed hand down to his side. The Sith fell limp, and his body peeled from the wall like a sticker, falling down to the prince's feet. He lay there, shaking with shock and fever, before his wicked tormentor motioned airily to the horrified Khajiit beside him.
"Stand him up, and make him walk back to his cell. If he falls, flog him twenty times. If he tries to escape, slash him within an inch of his god- forsaken life. I have important business to attend to, so if you will excuse me." And without a second glance at the wounded creature spilling lifeblood at his now-ruined shoes, he turned with a whirling of his mantle, and disappeared out the door.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A/N: Whoo! There's a scene for ya! We must wonder if Anamaria will ever save our beloved evil Sith before he dies. Present for flamers: Have fun! Chapter five coming soon to a website near you.
HAPPY CHRISTMAS, AND A MERRY NEW YEAR!!!
Chapter 4!!!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
How long had it been? He didn't know. Hours had turned into nothingness, and days had become months. All he understood was the pain, and the agony, and the ceaseless suffering he was forced to endure throughout the arrays of questions he refused to break under. His body bled hard, and then stopped, and then another day of torturing would come, and he would bleed again. Maul huddled in a compact lump of bones and flesh against the cold walls of chrome that had become his dwelling. Raphael left him alone in the day, but then when he returned from important business matters, the Sith would become his 'stress relief'. And now the dark jedi knight was sick. Figuratively, he inferred that his wounds had become infected, and then returned the favor by killing him from the inside out. He coughed, and blood stained his lips undefinably. He probably wouldn't last much longer here, but it was all the better. No sleep came to him now, for he was plagued with fevered dreams. Dreams of Raphael digging into him roughly, and the torture......
%%%%%%%%%%%%%%
"Arise O humble warriors. Your humility is unneeded in my halls." Shegorad said with a soft smile. The four Jedi rose as she commanded, but the two masters continued on with bowed heads.
"Your grace is present, as ever." An aquatic-suited alien commented with a half-hearted raise of the lips, and he bowed his sleek head low. He nodded to his female padawan, and she followed his heed perfectly with an exact imitation of what he had just done.
"You flatter me, Vespasian." The queen replied kindly, and turned to his apprentice, who refused to meet her gaze. "And you, noble child, are as polite as your caretaker." The girl looked up finally, and her cold blue eyes feigned thanks. She, unlike her master, was much of a humanoid water- species.
At this, the other Jedi master came forward with his hands hidden beneath the rims of his cloak, and bowed in recognition to the royalty. "Forgive me, Queen Shegorad," He began, "But might we begin our original affairs tomorrow? Our apprentices, like us, are weary from travel, and we ask humbly of your permission to retire for the night."
Shegorad sat upon these words for a moment, and slowly nodded. "Go ahead, master Obi-Wan. We shall begin the meeting tomorrow. Rest easy, friends of Yoda." And watched with sincerely feigned pleasure as her guests bowed once more, and were escorted by two Khajiit towards their sleeping quarters.
It was deep into the night, and Vespasian sat quietly meditating with his padawan. They had remained silent like that for nearly three hours now, and he could feel within his mind that Anamaria, his apprentice, was becoming fidgety. He opened his puritanically blue eyes, as did she, and watched her with a slight smile on his amphibian-like features.
"Padawan," He began, "Usually you can meditate for four hours before losing patience. What is the matter?"
Anamaria did not speak for a moment, contemplating her master's words. When she did verbalize, however, it was a slightly worried whisper. "Master, I feel as though this Queen is not revealing something to us. I sense a great disturbance very close by; as if the force is agitated......"
Vespasian nodded slightly, and stood. "Yes, padawan. I sense this as well. Someone is probably being interrogated by her son at this point in time. I am sorry to say that she prefers the more painful methods of questioning prisoners of war here." He watched Anamaria's face contort with unshed pity, thinking of the poor souls that were unlucky enough to cross the queen's bad side.
"But master...... I feel as though it is something more than just an innocent by standard...... it seems as though the life I sense is connected somehow with the force. And yet...... it is not." She replied softly. Her gray eyes were clouded in deep thought.
Vespasian thought upon this for a moment, staring at the starless sky that was Gattaca's. He allowed himself to pry through every life spirit he could sense inside this castle, but could find nothing of what his apprentice had spoken of. "Are you sure?" He asked the girl gently, not wanting to worry her.
Anamaria nodded, sure of herself. "Yes, master. I am positive." But the amphibious being that was her guardian shook it off. "Let us worry no more of matters such as these, my young padawan. We have an early morning tomorrow, and I think it is best that we rest now." To his impressively hidden shock, she nodded without rebellion.
"Yes, master. I believe you are right." She said, and after moving into her room, shed her robes for a more comfortable night shirt. Shutting out the painful images that had forced their way into her mind, she turned off the light, and fell asleep.
The girl dreamed that she was walking. Down, down deep into a tunnel that led god-knew where. Somehow, something was calling her. Not a voice, but a feeling. A feeling of excruciating sadness, fear, suffering, hate, and pain. She walked for what seemed like ten minutes, perhaps more if she were counting, but it didn't matter. Here, what mattered only was the dream.
Anamaria allowed the aspiration to guide her, and walked until there came before her line of vision, many rows of small cells. They spanned the entire length of each side of the wall, and prisoners within them were most definitely not in the best of conditions. Some were paired in cramped spaces, and disease could spread like wildfire if given the chance; but this was not where Anamaria stopped. The dream walked her towards the back end of the hall, where a lone door sat, just screaming for her to open it. And she did. What met her eyes was a small hallway, and then another door at the end. Just one. She was beginning to become frightened, but her phantasmal reality refused to let her stop, and she strode towards the cell door with ease.
There was nothing within the cubicle, but relinquished darkness. However, when she looked closer, she could see the faded outline of someone, or something propped against the chrome wall. She wondered for a moment if the figure was alive or not, and she called to it in an attempt at solving this particular riddle.
"Hello?" She called softly. The somber chassis didn't move. Louder again she tried. "Hello?"
This time, there was a response. The silhouette moved, and she saw it look up at her. Oh how she wished it had not.
Haunting yellow eyes stared into hers from the void beyond the bars separating them, and it closed the demonic ocululae for one long moment. Anamaria, dazed with fear, backed away sharply, and into the nearest wall. However, she was too curious to run now.
The figure opened its eyes again, this time slanted with obvious sadness. It stared so pathetically at her, that she could not help but believe that this were an innocent prisoner of the Queen Shegorad. Valiantly, it attempted to stand, and meet her, but ended in failure. Instead, it closed its auld eyes for a moment, and when they opened yet again, it spoke.
"Please...... get out...... of here......" The voice was no more than a soft whisper, dry from obvious lack of water. Anamaria stared confusedly for a moment.
"Why......?" She asked, kneeling down against the titanium bars. Her counterpart closed his eyes again, and this time did not bother to open them.
"Because...... he'll kill you too......" He whispered, and was suddenly stricken with a violent array of hacking coughs. Anamaria became fearful, not for her own life, but for her opposite's. He sounded sick. Very sick.
"Okay, don't worry. I'm going to get help......" She said, spurred upon the edge of the moment, and prepared to stand, when she noticed the blood staining her bare feet.
"Ana?" Came the soft voice beside her. The girl opened her eyes with a jolt, noticing that she was in her own room. Or at least her quarters. The voice that had come from beside her was nothing less than Anakin's, and he was standing at the side of her bed with his sleeping robes clutched between his young fingers.
Anamaria stared at the dark form beside her, and immediately sensed the waves of fear, and slight guilt emitting from him. Smiling, the young Jedi-in-training moved over so that she, and her fellow padawan could lay beside each other.
"Had a bad dream, Ani?" She prodded gently, and wrapped a dark arm around him. The little boy nodded slowly, and snuggled up against her. Further, the girl urged him to speak. "What about?"
Anakin paused for a moment before continuing. His voice was sad, and his eyes were, too. "I saw a man......" He said quietly, "And he was hurt. He kept coughing, and shaking like he was cold, but I didn't do anything. I just watched him......" The little boy paused, hesitating.
"And then there was blood...... some other people came in, and they started to hurt him more. When they got done, he was crying, and I started to cry, too. Then I woke up......" Anakin stopped, and looked at his friend with confused blue eyes. "I knew him, Ana." He said in a hushed whisper, "I remember him from last year...... he killed Qui-Gon-Jinn." (A/N: spelling?)
Anamaria did not speak for a long moment. Her eyes were hazed in a thoughtful trance, and the reply to the frightened boy was only one of: "It was only a dream, Ani. Go to sleep." And sleep the boy did. But his opposite lay awake as silent tears fell down her tanned face. Tears of regret, sorrow, and most of all, pity.
%%%%%% (A/N: Serious torture scene here!)
"I'm going to ask you once more, retched trash!" Raphael cried to the ceiling, "Where is Sidious?!"
Darth Maul replied to nothing, even hanging over thirty feet above their heads. Nigh had he spoken a single word since arriving here over three weeks ago, and no attempt of theirs had promoted breaking him into revealing their precious information. Today, they were trying something new.
Hanging him over their heads like a pinata.
When the Sith did not answer, the prince raised his many-ringed hand, and the Khajiit guard next to him let go of the bungee rope. This caused a simultaneous reaction of having their prisoner dead drop thirty-and-a-half feet until his body hit the floor with a sickening crack of bone. Maul gasped, the wind knocked out of him, and felt the break of his safely guarded ribs.
Before he could catch his breath, the Khajiit pulled hard on the rope again, sending the painted warrior soaring into the air.
"Having fun yet?" Raphael cried again with a sneer. Maul spat, and the glob of saliva fell directly upon the royalty's boot. He leered triumphantly.
However, the prince was not so amused. He watched quietly as the watery fluid, mixed with a nasty array of yellow phlegm, and blood trickled down his newly cobbled shoe, and dribbled seamlessly upon the floor. With tranquilized apathy, almost as if the calm before the storm, Raphael looked up so that his colorless eyes met the Sith's, and spoke sedately.
"These shoes are fine tattoinian leather." He said, "They are worth more than your leg, and it is in this way that you shall pay me back for them."
Maul barely had time to decipher this before an unseen pressure slammed against him, and he smashed violently into the stone walls. So hard in fact, that it forever more indented his body into it. Somehow, however, amidst the pain, and fever, he was able to look down, and see his captor's hand raised with his palm out.
'Dear God......' He thought, the horror of reality sweeping into him, 'The whelp can tame the force!' And struggled valiantly against his unseen bonds. With a power like such, Raphael could most definitely hit the Sith where it really hurt.
"Yes......" The prince sneered, noticing that his pet understood the truth now, "I am the keeper of such authority, and you are not." He seemed to be sing-songing in mockery, "I'll squeeze every last one of the bones in your leg until they're ground to dust." He clenched his fist together, and Maul suddenly felt a seething pressure begin to build in his left shin. The force that once so desperately buzzed around him moved down, almost defiantly, to the cold-hearted prince's designated area. It built in on itself until the coerce had traveled all over his aching embodiment, and Maul fought back the overwhelming urge to scream his sore lungs out.
Raphael, amused at his prisoner's willful attempts to defy him, clenched both of his fists so that they were parallel to each other, almost as if he were holding a pole. Loud enough so that the warrior could hear him, he began to sing eerily.
"The foot bone's connected to the shin bone...." And he swerved his hands, twisting the pole. Maul felt the pressure rise to an unbearable level in his leg, and his tibia crunched until it snapped in half. He bit his tongue until he tasted hard copper in his mouth, and still, his captor continued.
"The shin bone's connected to the..." He paused for effect, "...Knee bone." Raphael pretended to hold a round object in his right hand; his left hand wrapped around it, and he twisted the invisible kneecap like a stubborn faucet. Maul's eyes shot open as he felt it bend with the prince's movements, snapping each tendon one by one like string. Each sent a shockwave of pain into his brain, and he swore he could feel the blood from each cord running into his body like a speeder full-force. His leg was becoming purple from internal bleeding, and the sheer cruelty of its demise.
Raphael smiled wickedly, and gasped as if he had just noticed what he'd done. "Oh my!" He exclaimed in mock sympathy, "It seems as though you've broken yourself! Perhaps I should fix that damaged leg of yours......"
In one fluid movement, the prince mimed grabbing a lever, and pulled hard.
Darth Maul was in such a daze of feverish pain, and agony, that he hardly noticed as the severed bone of his shin wrenched through the multi- colored flesh. Only when he felt the hot tendrils of blood cascading down his skin did he realize what happened, and the full extent of it hit him like an oversized sack of limestone.
His lurid eyes shot open, glazed slightly in shock, and he uttered the first sound he had ever made within these black walls.
A scream.
Twisted with agony, and torment, it escaped his mouth, paired up with a choking gush of bile, and wretched humiliation. Raphael smiled, satisfied with today's results, and lowered his ringed hand down to his side. The Sith fell limp, and his body peeled from the wall like a sticker, falling down to the prince's feet. He lay there, shaking with shock and fever, before his wicked tormentor motioned airily to the horrified Khajiit beside him.
"Stand him up, and make him walk back to his cell. If he falls, flog him twenty times. If he tries to escape, slash him within an inch of his god- forsaken life. I have important business to attend to, so if you will excuse me." And without a second glance at the wounded creature spilling lifeblood at his now-ruined shoes, he turned with a whirling of his mantle, and disappeared out the door.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A/N: Whoo! There's a scene for ya! We must wonder if Anamaria will ever save our beloved evil Sith before he dies. Present for flamers: Have fun! Chapter five coming soon to a website near you.
HAPPY CHRISTMAS, AND A MERRY NEW YEAR!!!