Well, this is it...
Amylion: Yes, evil me. Here's more.
Part XIII
It was over now. It had ended a mere three days ago. Darth Vader, Dark Lord of the Sith, fallen Jedi, his father, was gone forevermore. With a single stroke of a blade, Darth Vader had been murdered by his own dark child. No resistance had been offered. He had simply stood, waiting to be cut down by the green fire. The shadow that wielded the weapon had shown no mercy.
Said darkness hid in a pitch-black corner – the dark corner he resided in, where he found his only peace, where no one would bother him, where no one could see him break. He rested his forehead against his knees. The position was excruciating – try as she might, Jade – Mara now – had not been successful in convincing him to accept treatment. It was no less than he deserved, of course, for the wretched, sithspawned little creature had done an act so vile that constant agony for the rest of his life could not redeem. Nothing could. In an almost perverse way, the sensation was orgasmic. As it was with potent spice, the more he felt the blinding rush of pain, the more he craved it, the more he longed for. Though it did not bring justice to the worthless little vrelt he was, it brought him satisfaction.
He dug his fingernails into a deep gash on the inside of his arm, raking them across the exposed flesh. A red mist fell across his vision, and he shivered at the disturbing pleasure. The blood, the fluid, deep red blood, it was so beautiful. So pure. So untainted. So unlike the dirty, filthy little sithspawn it flowed within. Beauty of that kind should not be trapped in such a loathsome shell of filth. So he set it free.
As the lovely crimson spilled and hit the ground, he could almost feel a sense of euphoria. It was so blissful, so right. In his ecstasy he could hear someone laughing. Belatedly he realized it was him. And it felt so intoxicating. As he further sunk his nails into his own flesh, he laughed harder. The feeling, it was like delirium. Delicious, ecstatic delirium. The state of letting go of everything, where nothing mattered anymore. The laughter turned to sobs. Nothing mattered, for it was so dark and empty, dark and empty like him. And dead. Everything was dead. Everyone was dead. He was dead, leaving only the dark little thing inside the otherwise empty shell.
The evil little sithspawn was shaken from his musings by the hiss of an opening door. In walked the lithe, leather-clad figure of Mara Jade, red-gold curls trailing behind her like flames. To think that he had somehow captured such a graceful creature. Or perhaps she had captured the worthless, dark little sithspawn. Either way, he could see the love and concern in her gleaming emerald eyes. I don't deserve you.
Mara sat down at his side, draping a slender arm around his shoulder, embracing him as gently as she could. I don't deserve you. I am not worthy of you. Why don't throw me away like we both know you should? Leave me, my love, before it is too late. She kissed him softly, and the darkness couldn't help but return it. He gazed into the emerald depths, finding concern and…fear? Don't be afraid for me. Don't waste yourself on me.
There was something about her; she could read you like a book without so much as a glimpse of your mind. Softly, tenderly, so unlike the assassin she made herself out to be, she spoke.
"You mustn't blame yourself." Such blind devotion. Such misplaced love. He blinked, then averted his gaze to the floor.
"Then who do I blame?" He choked out bitterly. Mara blinked, intelligent eyes bright with sadness.
"Look at me, Skywalker," She said, stroking his cheek. " Sometimes…Sometimes things happen, and…there is no one you can hold responsible." The Dark One turned to stare at her, almost in contempt. You don't understand, Jade. You don't know me like I do.
"You speak of fate. Destiny, perhaps. But you know as well as I do that none of these things are real." She just shook her head, sadly.
"Just know that I love you, Farmboy," Don't call me that. Please don't call me that. He's dead. "No matter what you do. Stab me in the back, and I will still love you. Destroy me, and I will tell you so with my last breath." His eyes burned. How he hated to do this to her, to wound her in such a way. But it had to be done. Please, please forgive me, love.
"No, you don't. Because you can't. Nobody can love a monster." He fought the tears as he said it.
"Don't say that. You know I do. You know I will never forsake you." I wish you would. How I wish that you would.
"No, you don't!" Firmly, this time. How it hurt the filthy little sithspawn to see the pain in those eyes, how it hurt him to be so cold. If only he could take it away, take it all away…Jade shook her head.
"I said I loved you, no matter what. I meant it, Farmboy." I don't want to do this. Roughly, he pinned her against the wall.
"You don't love me. Tell me! Tell me you don't love me," He whispered dangerously, his voice harsh and frigid. Please.
"No," she whispered, tears welling up in those gorgeous if sad eyes of hers. "I still love you." The evil little creature had no choice. / I'm sorry. / He sent. And then he snapped her slender, graceful neck. I'm so sorry. But she remained silent, forever silent, her pale beauty contrasting against the dark floor. It was then that his failure was complete. It was then that he was truly broken. It was then that everything died. A single broken sob escaped him. And he did the only human thing to do. He wept.
It is in the early hours of the morning, just before dawn, the sky still draped in a dark veil. He lurks in the shadows, staring off into the distance, at the vast expanse of buildings. Coruscant never sleeps, but an eerie, funereal quiet hangs over the city. Perhaps it is just his imagination. Below him is an overpass. Further still is a stream of airspeeders, but the traffic is quite sparse. It feels dark. He can't see the darkness, but he feels it. It is familiar – he has felt it before. Except last time it was sinister…evil. Now…he doesn't know. It just feels strange, ethereal…
He looks down again. A lone black-clad figure, pale and wan, stands looking over the edge of the overpass. There is something infinitely sad about him – perhaps it is the way he looks down at the traffic below, or the wistful smile that appears on his face, only to vanish again as quickly as it had appeared. He reminds him of someone. Is it..? No, it can't be him. He's dead. You see him everywhere. Just like Le…He does not think of her much these days, for she, while she maybe still alive out there, somewhere out there, she is just as dead to him.
Yet again he cannot tear his eyes away from the sight below him. The forlorn figure casts yet another mournful gaze over the edge. And then he knows what he is there to do. Somehow he feels for him. There's something about the last dejected look he gives the world. It triggers something familiar, now dormant…Inexplicably he wants to shout out, to tell the sad stranger that he's not alone, to save him. But he can't. His throat feels constricted, closing tighter each time he struggles to form a word. Words can't help him.
From below, he hears the unmistakable snap-hiss of a lightsaber. And yes, he can see the emerald blade from here. Now he knows that there is no doubt it is him. Don't do it. But again, he cannot get the words out. Words can't help him.
And then he sees the blade, thrown high into the air, then falling away, becoming but a speck of green in the myriad of lights below, falling away, out of sight, forever. And, out of the blue, he – It's him, you know it's him – throws a mournful gaze, up this time, as if acknowledging his presence. And then, arms splayed, like the wings of some black bird of misery, he lets go, as if to take flight. But the bird will not soar. The dark bird plummets lifelessly, for no bird can fly with broken wings.
His heart is a void now, yet another part ripped out. All is dead now. So he simply stands, staring off into the nothingness. The sun should rise now. It should, but no golden mist appears over the horizon. He turns to stare at his feet. Something wet hits the pavement, staining it dark. And then another. And another. Like tears from the sky. He can feel them on his face now. They mingle with his own.
"Goodbye, Kid." The wind seems to echo the whispered farewell, and then the words disappear, as if never spoken. The tears are falling hard now. He looks down for one last time, then sprinting off into the distance, never to look back again.