Original Sin

[Darth Acera]

Her hand was still around his neck, her grip neither loose nor firm. It was simply there in case the need to exert her control arose. It had been necessary the night before. It had also been overpowered for a time before her will reasserted itself. It was as though some horrid tragedy was played out, with two creatures of equally fierce and feral drive clashing in a test of strength that proved both - yet neither - to be the victor.

She bore the marks of his savagery as much as he wore hers - bruises, bite marks, red welts where fingernails had pulled at flesh. Each body was a testament to the beast that both had released during the course of the night. The pure anger that had been released had become something to be fed upon, to nourish the animals that so thrived upon conflict.

The two monsters had gorged themselves. They had raged at each other. They had overpowered, and been overpowered.



Acera felt his neck in her grasp as she came out of the world of slumber, and her fingers tightened only slightly at the remembrance of the previous night. She bared her teeth. With an impatient growl the Lupine rolled away from the body beside her, releasing her hold to throw her legs over the side of the bed while in the same motion rising to sit.

The once smooth skin of her back was a map of ugly welts and scratches.

"Get up."

The order, spoken with a voice that seemed to contain a multitude of others, was directed at the form which still lay on the bed.

[Vega Van-Derveld]

There was little she could have done to make Van-Derveld more repulsive than he already was, yet she had accomplished it. The furrows and slashes to his chest had drawn blood, but with a sourness to it, like she'd burst the skin on a piece of rotten fruit. His flesh was scarcely his own now, so much of it replaced by synthetics and circuitry, but she had left her mark wherever she could. Naturally, he had repaid her in kind.

Though reluctant in his obedience, Vega did as he'd been asked, rising from the bed. His robes had been torn away in the fury of the previous evening and now lay scattered in tatters about the room, but modesty did not concern him. He stared at Acera's back - at his handiwork, the sight and scent of it stirring the beast again - with those dead eyes of his, the colour of dirty ice.

“Yes.. master?”

[Darth Acera]

Her body, though protesting under the weight of a thousand pains, did as her mind instructed. She stood, and for a brief and glorious moment the Sith reveled in the agony of her transgressions. She rolled her shoulders, taxed muscles moving beneath battered skin. So exquisite and forbidden, yet she had partaken with wild abandon just as he had.

She turned then, to face him and look upon her masterpiece of torn flesh and unforgiving metal. He had been so merciless in using the advantage of his prosthetic additions.

She held her own broken gaze with his, a diseased yellow locked with pale death, and for half a second Acera considered rekindling the terrible flame that she felt flicker within his stare. She let him look; let him take in each and every mark that had made her - for one night - his and his alone.

She could sense his hesitation, and her head angled up, eye still holding his stare.

"I can feel your reluctance."

One arm lifting, the Lupine ran her fingers along the edge of her collarbone and across a series of indentations that had been left by his teeth.

"You are not satisfied with your craftsmanship?"

[Vega Van-Derveld]

His lips curled into a sneer, showing sharp teeth that were still stained with dark blood. When he spoke, the mechanised drone of his artificial voice - free from any hint of human emotion - somehow made his words all the more menacing.

“Satisfaction, contentment,” he spat on the ground, the distance between them shrinking with each prowling step.

“I could tear out your heart with my teeth and still, I would not be satisfied.”

His pulse quickened as he pictured snapping her ribcage open and, after devouring her from within, sucking the slick wetness of her blood – the blood of his own kind – from his fingertips.

[Darth Acera]

His thoughts played out before her, paraded in the open as if she were watching a holovid, and Acera felt her pulse quicken. She let him draw close, let him speak his words with synthesized, emotionless finality. His scent, so primal, filled her world. He was so different than her own Master - far more full of the wildness and beastly tenacity that she now knew to be so ingrained.

With Van-Derveld, Acera had finally allowed herself the reckless abandon that she had never fulfilled. Their hearts beat as one, yet they were so distanced from one another. It was enticing and alluring. Intoxicating.

"Satisfaction is for the weak-willed... "

Fingers hooked like talons, she grabbed hold of his wrist, pulling him close. Her eye, so scrutinizing, traveled from the pallid tint of his chest up to his jawline, then to his face. He hungered - she could feel it. And in her own perverse way she returned the emotion with her own.

She pushed him away.

"Dress yourself."

[Vega Van-Derveld]

To the touch, he was as cold and rough-hewn as stone. The shove barely moved him, his gaze never wavering. He would not be the first to look away or back down. Though his modesty and vanity had been left behind in a frost-bitten cavern on Hoth, along with the mauled remains of the men he had once called brothers in arms, he was proud. Too proud, perhaps. He clamped his icy fingers around her throat and drew a breath in between his teeth as he felt the throb of her jugular.

“No. I am not done with you yet, a'kha'ri.”

[Darth Acera]

She felt his fingers encircle her neck, felt the malice and unquenchable desire budding within his chest like an exploding star. The muscles of her neck corded, straining against his hold. She felt his body against hers, pressing close as if to suffocate her very being with simple proximity. Acera closed her eyes as she threw her head back, mouth open and both arms going up to grab at both sides of his face.

She flooded his mind with a passion that was bourne from rage. There was no move made to dislodge his grip, rather she sought to overload him. To flood every one of his nerves with such wondrous and ectstacy filled torment. And as he had pushed against her, she now pushed back.

They were two bodies, one mind, and equally imposing wills that demanded to be obeyed.

"A'kha'ru," she growled out, her hands beginning the telltale shift into massive, unforgiving paws. And as she spoke, her voice changed as well, become throaty, raspy, and utterly undeniable as she strained against his hold, bringing their faces ever closer.

"... you forget your place."

[Vega Van-Derveld]

Even as the overwhelming agony began to force him to his knees, Van-Derveld would not relent. He embraced the pain and pulled his master down with him, his cheek pressed hard against her own, against her scar. The smell of her, the taste... His chest shuddered with a ragged breath that wheezed and rattled through his voice-box as his fingertips dug into her shifting flesh, the other hand tangled with her hair.

“Ah, but you make it so easy to forget...”

[Darth Acera]

She felt herself fall with him, pulled once more to inviting bedsheets and a tangle of limbs that were as constricting as they were freeing. Vega Van-Derveld was relentless in his insatiable hunger, and the Apex Lupine allowed him to take from her. But, the price that she demanded in return was just as costly.

His iron grip would not be denied, and her own hands, stopped mid-shift, gripped his head with a hold that left no question as to her own feelings.

He was a tool, a curiosity. A deviation from the norm. Vega Van-Derveld, who's own ancestor had been one of the Drei Mordor, was her plaything. And she, a Lupine from the Apex Losstarot House, was for this moment, his.

And as their lips met once more in a fit of enraged release, she snapped her teeth down on his tongue as a painful answer to his words.

[Vega Van-Derveld]

An observer would have been hard-pressed to say where one ended and the other began. They were creatures in a state of flux, of constant metamorphosis. In that savage embrace, a hand could become a paw, a mouth a muzzle, sinew and bone as malleable as clay. No touch was tender, though neither one would take the final fatal step and destroy the other. In the end, it was exhaustion that emerged the victor though even as they lay motionless, they were still locked together, poised to begin the fight anew.

This time, it was Vega who stirred first. He shrugged into what was left of his dark outer-robes and looked over his shoulder at Acera. He'd left her with a crescent-moon of bite marks on her neck, not unlike the sickle-shaped brand stamped between her shoulder blades.

“You brought me here for something more than this.”

[Darth Acera]

Her body shuddered, imperceptible except to those who knew what to watch for, and as she rolled over, Acera reached out to trace a finger along the back of his neck - along one of the few exposed tokens of her less than gentle ministrations. She felt his body stiffen at her touch as he struggled to hold himself in check, and her lips spread in a delighted, carnal grin. He would receive no more of her harsh attentions this day - indeed, it was a possibility that he would never again feel her flesh melded so perfectly with his ever again.

Their time together had been a flight of malignant fancy fueled by indignant rage and the need to mate with the only one of her species who would give to her what she so maliciously desired, and would also endure what she was compelled to inflict.

The shared pain that they had delivered upon one another was something so singular. Something that only another Lupine could complete.

"I brought you here for many things."

Like some languid piece of flotsam she moved, savoring each sting of disturbed, tender flesh.

For the second time she allowed her lower half to fall over the edge of the bed, and with as little ceremony as he, Acera began to dress. Their union had been one of convenience in its' own right. Wonderful, heretical, yet utterly perfect. But now, with mid-morning fast approaching, it was time to push her toy from the edge that she held him from.

"You will meet my own Master."

Tugging at the lower hem of her uniform tunic, Acera turned a sidelong glance to Vega. Her Vega. Her eternal tie to the Drei Mordor.

"You will meet him, and understand your role in the times to come."

[Vega Van-Derveld]

His master's keeper. The one who held her leash. As strong as she was, even she needed guidance. Had it been Acera's own choice to introduce her mentor to the monster she kept as a pet – or had he uncovered her deception? Vega angled his head left then right, rolling his shoulders with a crack of bone and the faintest of mechanical whirrs. An ugly sneer passed over his lips and wrinkled the bridge of his nose, as though he could smell something rotten.

“My role,” he repeated. “I won't be made a pawn.”

[Darth Acera]

"Of course you won't."

Acera turned to look at him, her eye cold in its' assessment of the monstrosity of flesh and mechanics that was before her.

"You are more than that, and I have made sure that you know the history of our kind so that you may fully grasp your potential with a firm grip and so that your enemies will not slip through your fingers... "

She gave a thin-lipped smirk.

"... again."

Moving to a small mirror - one of the few wall adornments in Vega's quarters - she inspected the bite mark on her neck. A moment later she buttoned the top of her uniform neckline and his gift of marred flesh was covered up.

"We all have a role to play in this war, and if we wish to come out as the victors, then we must do what we must. Each of us."

Her hair was pulled back, tied loosely with a thin leather strap, and without looking back to him the Lupine started for the door.

"Be at my quarters within the hour."

[General Dan]

Acera having her own creature at her disposal was certainly an outcome he had expected. Indeed, it was inevitable in the learner's attempts to usurp the master that this would come to pass. Of course, only the most insecure would discard one or both outright for this betrayal. No, the introduction of this underling would leverage either Acera's own advancement as his apprentice, or usher in a change in another direction.

Dan sat at his desk, hands clasped together before him, ready to be shown what his apprentice had been up to.

[Loklorien s'Ilancy]

Did she expect him to be so patiently waiting? Perhaps. In some ways her Master was predictable in such things, and as the door to their quarters closed behind her, s'Il stared at him with a cold eye from across the room. It was deep into midday, and her absence the previous night she knew was a glaring thing.

Her stance shifted only slightly as she took a step forward, and as she passed through the living area she began the seemingly normal task of unbuttoning her uniform jacket.

"Where is my daughter."

A useless question, as she knew that both Teagan and Wyl were present at the small school that'd been formed on the Dauntless for those crewmen whose families had joined them.

But, it was still a question that she wanted an answer to from his own mouth.

[General Dan]

"Teagan's doing her lessons."

Dan played the act of civility, since she was interested in playing it as well.

"I expect her home later this afternoon, about the same time as usual."

He reclined in his seat somewhat.

"I've taken steps to prepare my task force for a more...independent mission. I'm assuming you're about to tell me some good news."

[Loklorien s'Ilancy]

At that she gave a raised eyebrow, her path turning to the doorway that lead to the hall and ultimately, the bedroom they shared. That he chose to engage in the farce was amusing, and as the jacket came off to expose the still tender wounds of the previous night along her neck, s'Il reached up with her free hand to untie the leather wrap holding her hair back.

"Good news," she began, pausing in the doorway to turn on her heel and face him, jacket folded over one arm.

"And what would constitute 'good news' for you."

[General Dan]

"That your schemes against the Jedi are prepared to bear fruit, and that you're bringing your dark adept pet for my inspection?"

He raised an eyebrow at the sight of the visible wounds she bore.

"So, tell me."

[Loklorien s'Ilancy]

"Both."

And turning back, s'Il left him alone as she shut herself away in their room. She wished to change into a fresh uniform, and the solitude would be a welcome thing, even if the only thing separating her from her master was a single door.


Forty-five standard minutes passed before she emerged once more, her body fresh and clean, her wounds washed and tended to. Some had already begun to heal, though it would take longer for others to do so, and as she left the bedroom, fingers closing the last clasp on the neckline of her jacket, she turned her eye to Dan who was - as usual - still sitting where she'd left him. She moved to stand beside his desk.

If there was anything that she wished to say, the sound of the door chime interrupted, and the Lupine angled her head slowly around to look at the closed door for only a moment before uttering her next words.

"Enter."

[Vega Van-Derveld]

The door slid aside to reveal a figure in a hooded cloak.

As the door hissed shut behind him, Vega dropped his hood to his shoulders. Unlike his master, he wore no mask of civility when in the company of others. There was no disguising what he was. The light within Acera's quarters only made him appear all the more grotesque, deepening the hollows of his eyes and highlighting the blue veins that bulged beneath his skin.

He strode towards the desk where his master stood and met her eyes – sharing a moment of unspoken loathing and longing – before sinking to one knee. He did not like being called to heel, but he would play along. For now.

“My master.”

[General Dan]

Well, it appeared house-broken at least. Dan watched as it knelt, letting it linger submissively for a moment before finding the charade boring.

"Rise."

Every inch of Vega Van Derveld looked abused and neglected. In a way this gave Dan some peace of mind, but in others, it annoyed him. Was he expecting Acera to give him something more?

"How long have you been my Apprentice's plaything?"

[Vega Van-Derveld]

He rose as commanded, now fixing his empty eyes upon the elder Sith. Though his expression and voice were lifeless, Vega seethed beneath his skin.

“I am no one's plaything.”

[General Dan]

"You're implying you are something else? Something with purpose?"

Steel could be felt in Dan's voice as his palms flattened on the table. He leaned in, scowling.

"The Apprentice of my Apprentice, perhaps? Choose your words carefully, Vega Van Derveld."

[Vega Van-Derveld]

In the silence that followed, the only sound was the wheeze and whine of Vega's machine-regulated breathing. He met Dan's scowl with a soulless stare.

“That is for my master to decide.”

[General Dan]

He mulled over the creature's words, a slight smile beginning at the corners of his mouth. Leaning back in his seat, he broke eye contact with the younger Lupine.

"And what does your master say?"

It wasn't a question for him to answer. No, Vega had said what was necessary to spare his life, or at least to defer control of it to Lok.

[Loklorien s'Ilancy]

"He is a herald."

Her back straightened slightly, and s'Il folded her hands behind her back as her chin lifted in something akin to pride.

"A Messenger of Death that will be given to the Masters of the Wheel whether they wish to have him or not."

[Vega Van-Derveld]

It had been a revelation to learn that the Jedi were within their reach, gathered together like sitting mynocks no less. Even the wretched Tarkin woman was there, his master assured him; the one who had quite literally cost him a leg. Since their first encounter on Doldur, Vega had become stronger and more focused. If Navaria Tarkin was the best the Jedi had, he would cut through them all like a well-honed blade.

“I will be their doom.”

[Loklorien s'Ilancy]

Her eye swept from Dan to Vega, the cold blue cutting into him as she watched him. He was as ready as he would ever be; his hatred of Master Tarkin driving him to ever achieve more. That much she had seen and used.

And now she would unleash him; she would let him commit every terrible act of visceral carnage that she knew he craved.

"Go then. I have had a ship prepared for you. Everything that you will need awaits you."