La Grande Odalisque

“Ani, don’t forget about me, Ani…”

“There’s good in him, I can feel it…”

“Let her go, Anakin…”

“You’re so grown up, so handsome…”

“You were my brother, Anakin! I loved you…”

“I see you becoming the greatest of all the Jedi, Anakin…”

“It seems that, in your anger, you killed her…”

“I love you, Anakin.”

With a gasp, Darth Vader shot straight up and regretted his action instantly; the battle for control of Kashyyyk had been a long and trying one, one that he survived with multiple lacerations to his arms and lower torso. He may be the most powerful Force-user in the known galaxy, but unfortunately, even he was subject to injury. It didn’t help that Master Sidious had seen fit that he was to be praised for his victory in Force lighting. “There is glory in pain,” his master had said. “Through strength, you will gain power, and through power, you will gain victory.” Vader knew the Sith Code by heart; backwards and forwards. He just didn’t understand how it related to him being punished for a real, physical military victory. He had won! The only answer Vader had for himself was that his master knew it would be beneficial in the future, or something like that. Often Sidious’ motives mystified him. Vader hoped that soon he would come to forecast his master's oscillating moods

Vader’s body had burned underneath the tough material of his armor. The suit itself was tough, but the material had been faulty and was torn to shreds in battle, exposing his healing skin to unfamiliar air. This made it easier for his master to initiate lightning damage on his person, as he had nothing to protect himself with. The suit he always wore was very sensitive to electronic impulses and was therefore damaged beyond repair in the assault, even with his master’s effort to only harm his living body. Vader remembered barely being able to breathe with his broken respirator on his way to his quarters on the Devastator. He had barely survived the ordeal and he knew it.

It had been almost a week since then. Vader had made a point to isolate himself, not like that was anything abnormal, but he went as far as to cut off his mental link to his master. How he managed to get there was beyond him, as he was borderline comatose with pain, as the piece that dulled his sensitivity to pain had been destroyed and he barely had any limb function. Not one to take a sick day, however extensive his injuries seemed to be, Vader worked on a datapad in his rarely-used bed as soon as he was beginning to heal. He refused any medical treatment from anything living, relying on the small medical droid he kept on hand to tend to the worst of his injuries. He had been working on the thing he often ignored and definitely hated, paperwork, for a couple of days now. He must have fallen asleep while doing so. He hated sleeping, although he recognized it as necessary. Sleeping brought dreams, and dreams bred weakness and doubt where there was no reason for it to exist. Ergo, Vader slept as little as humanly possible, thriving on 20-minute naps where dreams didn’t have the power to exist.

Vader groaned, acutely aware of his pain. He had still been healing from his one-on-one battle on Mustafar, still, and this was a large setback. Obi-Wan Kenobi had escaped with the victory, but just barely. Vader had lost part of his mechanical arm, the one he had spent hundreds of hours tinkering with and advancing to his personal specifications, and his left leg was severed above the knee. What a shame. Mustafar's fiery air had also charred his lungs to the point where he could not breathe without an apparatus, generously supplied by his Master, Darth Sidious. His body was covered in burn marks, skin pink and scarred where the lava had sprayed him. Even with the respirator in his suit, also a gift, breathing and talking were difficult and painful. The suit, designed for protection and mobility, were also of the highest quality, yet moving was still agonizing at times.

The suit didn't just keep Vader alive, but also created an entirely new persona that transformed the body of Anakin Skywalker into the intimidating form of Darth Vader. The costume caused him to become a faceless terror that struck fear into the hearts of sentient beings throughout the galaxy. There was a mystery in his existence, which Vader rather liked, as nobody was sure of his origins or components. He was a monster, a machine, a rare race of humanoid, whatever the galaxy wanted to think he was. He was the Emperor's apprentice, the right-hand man, a military genius who was capable of any horror imaginable. In his quarters, however, Vader relied on a nebulizer-like device that covered his scarred mouth and nose and had to pretend not to notice his torn-up yet toned part-mechanical body. Sad, that such a powerful being was almost completely reliant on man-made materials. The cyborg arm and leg he had were nothing compared to the nebulizer, though. It was, quite frankly, embarrassing and nobody, not even Grand Moff Tarkin, the despicable, nosy man who thought he was the greatest thing since the lightsaber, knew about it. Vader planned to keep it that way.

Vader breathed heavily, trying not to think of the voices that had woken him from his fitful slumber while he rode out the agony of new tears in his barely-healed wounds and the burning of the white light in his retinas, usually covered by the red lenses of his mask. Being without his suit was different and, in some ways, rather uncomfortable. Without his suit, he had no built-in comlink nor audio enhancers, which made everything sound strangely muted. It didn’t help that he couldn’t see infrared and ultraviolet like he usually could, as that was a rather useful tool. Now he would have to use the Force to detect any unwanted company, which was any and all beings. The worst part of having the suit was the inconvenient breathing. Eventually, he assumed, he would be able to breathe normally again, but it would take time. He had enlisted the best chemist in the galaxy to formulate medicated air for his use, as for some reason, Sidious had overlooked that.

The Sith felt like he was suffocating. The nebulizer he wore, however, would only allow a certain amount of air for every intake, so he tore off the damned clear mask that held the healing oxygen. Taking several harrowingly dry but deep breaths, closing his eyes to the harsh light, he ruminated on his dream. The voices he had heard were from lives that were far removed from his own, and long gone. Anakin Skywalker, his mother, and his wife were dead, and the dead man's old Master would soon join them. These beings meant nothing to Darth Vader. Why, then, was he dreaming about them? He never dreamed. It was rather alarming. Was his Master testing his loyalty? His progress in becoming a Sith Lord? Vader knew not what his Master had in store for him next, as he waited upon the Devastator, which was in orbit around the forest planet of Kashyyyk. He had, with a battalion of clone troopers, lead a noteworthy assault on the Wookiee homeworld. The precocious humanoids had put up an incredible fight, but once Darth Vader arrived, they were doomed. Darth Vader recalled each slash of his lightsaber, each fallen Wookiee, every failed attempt to fight him as he opened his eyes, gazing at the blue-tinted hologram of Kashyyyk that was hovering over the desk that sat kitty-corner to his bed.

386 kills in 8 hours. It was an impressive personal record, considering his side was on both the offensive and on the Wookiees' home turf. But nothing, an evil yet victorious smirk tugging at his lips, nothing can stand up to my new Empire. There was no disguising the pride that he held for his creation, and rightfully so. He had finally created a galaxy of peace.

_______________________________________________

Exhausted even after his unusually long rest, the Sith Lord eased out of his bed in his quarters, wincing in pain every bit of the way. He had no choice but to take a breath from the night mask every so often, as the air in the new Star Destroyer was extremely dry and it was hard to fill his damaged lungs with the air. He would bring up the oxygen concentration with Admiral Piett, an extremely vigilant young Imperial officer who Vader had strangely taken a liking to. He knew the admiral could get it done. He had not failed, yet.

He saw no need to hide the fact that he felt every tear, every ripped tendon in his entire being, as his master was nowhere near. Even still, he was embarrassed at his weakness. He had felt worse pain, though, and his flesh arm twitched in annoyance at his own weakness. Rage boiled in his veins and he heard a practical ceramic vessel fly across the room and shatter upon impact with the opposite wall. The vase just so happened to hit a button which, in turn, activated a door in the wall, revealing a droid that took no extra time in spewing out red lasers at the preoccupied Sith. Kriff, he thought grimly. This is the last thing I need today.Hunched over and leaning his side gingerly on the edge of the bed, Vader didn't hesitate and, after activating his lightsaber instantaneously, fought off the craze of lasers without glancing towards the droid. He used the swirling, tumbling Force to sense where the lasers would appear. When he tired of the disturbance, which was rapid, he crushed the droid's metal larynx and snapped the head off with the flick of his wrist. He tried not to groan with the pain. He hated to tear apart a droid that was simply doing what it was designed for, but Vader’s body would have been shredded into medium-well bits had he let it continue.

The duranium body clattered to the floor, following its head, and Vader collapsed in a similar manner next to it, now struggling for oxygen. As calmly as possible, he reached for his night mask. He struggled to reach it, so he called to his hand with the Force. This depleted the rest of his energy as well as the oxygen in his lungs and, holding the mask to his face, he fell on his other side on the durasteel floor. His eyes fluttered, his mind barely staying conscious. The Sith Lord's last glance at the physical world was his chest, blood seeping through the thin fibers from his entire torso, converting the white to a sickly crimson. Worrisome. I really must focus on healing during meditation... Vader mused before passing out.

“You have allowed this Dark Lord to twist your mind, until now...until now, you have become the
very thing you swore to destroy…”

“Fear leads to anger. Anger leads to hate. Hate leads to suffering....”

“Anakin, you’re breaking my heart….”

“Let. Her. Go….”

“You’re fulfilling your destiny, Anakin…”

“I believe you will bring balance to the Force, that you will face your demons and save the
universe...”

“Anakin, come to your senses…”

“Anakin….”

Padmé….