Disclaimer: I own nothing in the Star Wars multiverse save a lovely little square centimeter of sand on Tattooine that I think you might be interested in... Those who don't like morbid fics, beware! Warm fuzzies are not in abundance here. Rated for an unusual amount of fascination with innards.
"And in the end, as darkness takes me... I am nothing."
Malak stared up at her with empty eyes, his frail-looking body still holding together somehow after their brutal fray. Blood was oozing from a number of wounds across his head, chest, and legs-- wounds that had not been inflicted by her lightsaber, oddly enough. Indeed, she had long since returned her blood-red lightsaber to its wonted spot at the belt on her hip, and was now holding her favorite vibroblade to her former friend's throat in its place. It was already stained with gallons of blood-- blood of innocents, of enemies, of companions... All destroyed by her hand. This death, so long-awaited and deeply-desired, she knew, could only be executed with this blade; her only confidant.
Her once bright, laughing green eyes-- now turned a sickly, depraved shade of yellow-- narrowed at Malak, who was somehow still holding on to the last threads of life, expecting some sort of response from her one way or another. She had already made an attempt at telling him that, since he had been too weak to accept the role of Master and thrive in it, it was only natural that he die for his ignorance; yet somehow, this hadn't been enough for the man that she had once called both apprentice and friend. He still wanted more from her; as he always had, she suspected, and always would-- even in restless death.
Finally, irritated with the sound of his ragged, metallic breathing echoing throughout the enormous room, she plunged her blade through his neck and dragged it down until it met his sternum, watching the resulting cascade of his rich, red blood with a morbid sort of fascination and ensuring once and for all that no other sound, no other lie, and no other excuse would escape his wretched mouth again. The feeling of slicing his contemptible throat with a true, physical blade was absolutely euphoric; no lightsaber could ever achieve that feeling, that wonderful sensation of rending flesh and bone with something so refined, so perfectly in harmony with yourself that it seemed only an extension of your own arm... She remembered the feeling from long ago, when she had removed his jaw for another transgression, petty though it had been in retrospect; perhaps that was when the true obsession for blades had begun? Revan allowed herself to revel in the glory of his death and the memory of times long past for only a moment before she roughly kicked his body off her blade with one of her finely-polished boots. With a sadistic grin, she wiped the blood from her blade off on his corpse and flipped her long, midnight-black hair over her shoulder with an imperious shake of her head.
"Yes, Malak, you are nothing," she finally responded with a cruel hiss, emphasizing each word with a harsh, bitter tone whilst sheathing the vibroblade on the slender hip opposite her lightsaber. "And now I realize that you always were." Slowly, she lifted her old cowl back over her head and proceeded to stalk silently out of the room.
Unfortunately, her remembrance of old times had brought her back to a far more unpleasant subject; the man who had abandoned her only a short time ago. Carth. The very name left the bitter taste of bile on her tongue. She had loved him. She was able to admit that now, for some unknown reason. She'd wanted him to join her on her galactic conquest; Bastila was, perhaps, a more suitable apprentice, but Revan had been seeking something so much more than that. Something she had possibly never had, but had always dreamed of. Something that she once believed that she had found in the charming, paranoid pilot who had long been at her side, trying to warn her of the coming darkness. She had ignored him, then, telling him that she would never fall; how naïve and foolish she had been. Just like so many of the Jedi; just like him.
Her footsteps resounded through the empty corridors as the Star Forge began blaring some sort of alarm; Bastila had caught up to her, babbling something about the Republic's imminent loss and their glorious future ahead. The harsh tones coming from both siren and apprentice were enough to drive Revan insane, and so she quickly clapped a hand over Bastila's mouth to attempt to shut out the noise and constant, inane drivel that seemed to continually spew from her oral cavity these days; the dark side had changed her for the worse. Her apprentice seemed momentarily both offended and fearful, but it faded as soon as it had come, presumably aided by the bond the two of them shared, and they both resumed their seemingly endless walk in relative silence. She could hear Carth's voice echoing in her mind, admonishing her for treating the woman so harshly... and that was the most deafening noise of all.
Finally, they had arrived at the docking bays. Revan was going to reclaim her control over the Sith armada, and destroy the Republic's meager forces once and for all. However, a gasp from Bastila nearby caused her to stop dead in her tracks as she noticed the source of her shock. It was him. Carth. Standing right before her, looking as haggard and worn as his favorite orange jacket. She had to struggle to keep herself from immediately running to him and bawling her eyes out, begging to him for help, for forgiveness, for his light... But she knew that she could never go back. Not now, after all that she had done. The darkness had utterly consumed her now, and, she realized as she stared upon the face of the man she once loved, she didn't want to go back.
He had shown his weakness.
But now he was speaking, his voice multiplied a thousand times over in her mind, echoing endlessly. He was pleading with her to go with him, begging her to give up the darkness. The noise; it was a constant rush of words; hollow, empty, meaningless... and yet, they threw her resolve into chaos as soon as they touched the barrier around her mind. The sound of his voice was smothering her with her own guilt and his silver-tongued lies.
She screamed in a desperate attempt to end the cacophony of his voice.
"No more words! No more," she howled, drawing her vibroblade without any form of conscious thought. Before she could even register what was happening, her blade was buried deep into his chest and her eyes, now spilling over with furious tears, were level with his soft brown orbs. She watched him fade away with a cold detachment, her mind not able to comprehend anything but the words he had whispered as his lifeless body had slumped to the floor.
"I love you."
Revan watched, entranced, as the blood seeped from his mouth. She had loved him once, she knew. He had loved her in return. It didn't matter. Nothing did, really-- she would destroy the Republic, as she had wanted, and then, she realized with a cold, mirthless smirk as she stood from his remains, she would destroy herself.
"And in the end, as darkness takes me," she murmured with a flat, icy tone that even seemed to take her young apprentice by surprise. "I am nothing."
She finally understood.