Summary: Luke hadn't had anything to do in his more lucid moments than stare at that damn altar and feel dread coiling in his empty stomach. His fate had been laid out for him to see and there was nothing he could do about it.

Just a heads up, this one is dark and kind of gruesome. Read at your own risk.

Cult

Luke was in pain.

It had become part of his less-than-willing routine over the last week. At least, he thought it was a week. It was hard to keep track of time when drugs were clouding one's mind. Sometimes minutes felt like hours and hours, dragging by so slowly that he wanted to scream. Other times, he could blink and realize that somehow, in the process of blinking, ten hours had passed without him realizing it.

The lack of control had been the worst part, he thought distantly. A week of starvation was definitely a close second though. Until now, at least.

Now it was worse.

He was in a dark, crudely made circular underground room that Luke was certain must be the entrance to the first level of Hell. It was surprisingly hot and it smelled of death and rot and suffering. The beheaded and decomposing corpses of previous victims were stacked gruesomely in a far corner of the room like firewood. The space itself was very dimly lit, having only old fashioned torches lit with fire lining the walls every few feet. A cage that had been fashioned out of some sort of wood was constructed in the corner and it had been more than effective at keeping him trapped inside as he was drugged and starved.

He hadn't eaten since he'd been caught, deliberately weakened to a point that even if given the chance, even if he still wanted to - he wouldn't be able to fight back. Which was exactly what they wanted.

The native language of the reptilian-esque humanoids who held him captive was a strange series of clicks and whistles that he couldn't make out. They could speak Basic - and had, once or twice. But it was crude, at best, and it was obvious that they didn't like it.

The fact that they seemed to view him as something far less than sentient didn't help much either.

Luke didn't know what they wanted or what purpose they had for him or really even how they had caught him. That part of his memory was fuzzy. All he knew was that they were Force sensitive to some degree and that they were deeply entrenched in the Dark Side. It was a cult of some kind.

He knew that because in the center of the room itself was an altar.

Luke hadn't had anything to do in his more lucid moments than stare at that damn altar and feel dread coiling in his empty stomach. His fate had been laid out for him to see and there was nothing he could do about it.

It was a long slab of crudely cut rock, topped with wooden boards that were old and rotting and soaked through with both old and fresh blood. It gave off an air of evil that made him shiver whenever the Force was within his reach. Boney white skulls which had been neatly skinned of flesh and thoroughly cleaned outline the altar itself, with small dark red candles sitting in the space between each of them.

Luke shivered, chest heaving and sweat dripping down his face as he tried to control his emotions, if only to try and distance himself from the pain he was in. Part of him wished for the oblivion of the drugs they'd forced on him now - but he wasn't being allowed to tune out of this.

They'd dragged him out of his cage and thrown him on the altar, stripped almost completely naked and had his arms stretched above his head. The humanoids were far stronger than he was and his struggles hadn't prevented them from pinning him to the altar with dagger-like weapons that were six or seven inches long that were ruthlessly slammed through the palms of his hands, almost down to the hilt.

The pain was an awful, miserable, pulsing sort of ache. His prosthetic hand hurt even worse than his flesh one did. The false nerves were sending violent pain signals up and down his entire arm and it wouldn't stop. It was like being electrocuted with a live wire and he knew he was crying, even as he did all within his power to hold completely still.

It was hard to do as he was being used as a canvas of sorts and had been for hours.

The leader of the group was a frightening being - large, muscled and heavily scarred at the same time. Luke had gotten the sense once or twice that he was old and cruel and good at whatever it was he did. He was a being that had no empathy inside him and that scared Luke more than anything.

Every so often, when Luke dared to crane his neck and look anywhere other than at the ceiling above him, Luke would catch glimpses of the knife that was steadily carving an intricate and painful symbol into the center of his chest. Every so often, a filthy, blood-stained rag was drawn harshly across his skin to clear the blood off and it hurt like hot fire every time. Then the awful, calculated carving of his flesh began again. And again and again… until finally, it stopped abruptly.

But not because they were done.

Luke felt weak, faint and dizzy from blood loss and trembling from the constant onslaught of pain... but he recognized that the cult's attention had been pulled elsewhere because they all abruptly stood up straight, clicking and hissing in agitation and anger. Luke let his head lull to the side, brow furrowing as he recognized a new sound that came to him as though it were from far away.

Breathing. Repetitive, rhythmic breathing. He knew that sound.

In… and out. In… and out. In… and out.

A strange sort of darkness came over him at the same time that an enormously tall, ominous black figure appeared in the doorway. The newcomer was staring at him - Luke could feel it and knew he was angry. Horrified. Relieved that he wasn't too late. The darkness in the room curled around him, almost protectively… and for the first time in days, Luke felt the faint stirrings of hope begin to burn inside him.

His father was here.

The leader stepped away from the altar and bared his teeth, his reptilian-esque eyes flashing with rage at the interruption. The Force, distant though it seemed, felt cold and tense.

"Get out," he hissed in Basic. "It is ours."

"No," Vader said very, very quietly. He stepped forward, with murder and hatred visible in every inch of his being and Luke watched as he ignited his lightsaber. The red blade had done awful things and represented death... but today, it seemed to promise safety. "You have someone that belongs to me."

A/N I came very, very close to making this its own story. But... it was intended for Moments and I don't have a better title. XD

Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed it!