The Sith Suck
Jack of Blood and Chaos in Star Wars.
A long time ago in a galaxy far far away… I was having some conflicted feelings about my day.
On the one hand, I was finally free after spending nine and change years as a Darth Plagueis's combination prisoner, apprentice, and object of study.
On the other hand, in addition to powering the sorceries keeping me trapped here, said late and debatably lamented Father was also responsible for providing me with all the necessities of life. Which, in the case of my disembodied Dark Side spirit self, included a steady supply of force-capable spartoi clones to possess.
Force-capable spartoi clones that were made on-site in a special facility that is now on fucking fire.
So yeah, in conclusion: Bane-ite Sith are the fucking worst.
They're almost always angry, often including being angry that they're angry; they let petty rivalries interfere with the glorious progression of Science; and they have this bizarre obsession with ruling the galaxy despite how much that honestly just sounds like volunteering to do more work.
And worst of all, they have no respect for such sacred concepts as Family.
Case in point, after committing patricide, my adoptive brother, Darth Sidious, sent my idiot nephew, Darth Maul, here to ruin all the things.
I mean, yeah, he also sent him here to kill me, but so far he hasn't had nearly as much luck at that as he has breaking my toys.
"Fight me!" Said idiot nephew demands for the umpteenth time as he chases me down the hallway connecting what used to be the cloning labs, and yes I am still salty about that, to the rest of the facility.
"No!" I shout back, also for the umpteenth time. Then I have all the regrets because it turns out I actually needed that oxygen I just wasted for the whole running away thing I'm doing. I lean into the dark side a little more to compensate, channeling the anger I feel about how doing so will hasten the breakdown of my no longer replaceable body to push myself into moving even faster.
Somewhere in the midst of doing the mental math on how little time I have left, I hatch a plan. It's not a good plan, but even with it technically counting as suicide it appeals to both the dark side of the Force currently coursing through my veins and the petty spite I'm naturally prone to.
Reaching the turbolift, I pause just long enough to flip off Maul before smashing a force-augmented fist into the control panel.
"Sreabhann mo chumhacht tríd!"
My body dissolves into force lightning, flowing up the circuits to the hanger bay up on the surface of the misbegotten hellhole some ancient Sith decided would make a great place for a secret research base.
Rematerializing, my body makes sure to inform me that it objects, strenuously, to the experience, and I've definitely cut its remaining shelf life down from weeks to hours, but far more importantly I've also broken the entire lift system and secured a significant enough lead on Maul to steal his fancy stealth ship and fucking leave.
The feeling of his rage echoing through the force as I engage the hyperdrive is incredibly satisfying, and I draw on the last fumes of vitality left to me to reach out and send back the closest equivalent to neener neener that I can manage as my vision darkens and body slumps dead in the pilot's chair.
With no next clone available, and feeling remarkably content with my last act being to yeet a giant monkey wrench into Sidious's stupid 'Grand Plan,' I don't bother trying to abandon ship and instead just settle in to embrace eternal slumber of the force.
Which makes waking up a few days later rather baffling until my tongue finds my fangs and a ravening hunger I haven't felt in almost a decade hits me.
I hope Maul packed some lemonade somewhere on this boat.
He did!
I'm still disowning his entire lineage from Sidious on down though.