[Fic] Consumed (KotOR II)

[Emalin]

A/N: This fanfic began as a mere retelling of the Atton vs. Disciple duel. Over the course of its writing, however, it grew into something more, digging deeper into DS Atton's and LS Exile's minds until it became the story you're reading now. I hope it provides you not only with entertainment, but with food for thought. PLEASE NOTE that after the first post, the PoV alternates between Atton and the Exile. I've provided headers to indicate when it changes.

 

 

 

 

Consumed

 

 

You’re walking through the cathedral-like room, looking around in concern, your stance agitated. Oh, how sweet. You’re looking for her. Like any gentleman would.

 

My cracked lips twist in a smile as I watch you from behind a pillar. Some Jedi. You have no idea I’m watching your every move—and no idea you’re about to die.

 

When you start walking my way, I freeze every muscle of my body. Just like my old Sith masters taught me, I become as still as the statues in this room. My thoughts burn with the longing to step out as you approach, to thrust my saber into your gut and watch as your life and hopes spill out of you like blood.

 

But that’s not the climax I want. Every revenge story should have a striking ending. You’ll learn why you must die . . . and then you will, slowly and agonizingly. Besides, every gentleman deserves some last words.

 

I sense you pass by me. Slipping away from my hiding place, I glide after you. My footsteps are nonexistent, my breathing quieter than a corpse’s as I slip from shadow to shadow. I’m amazed by how naturally my assassin training has returned to me. Maybe I’ve always been a Sith at heart.

 

Suddenly, you stop, alerted to my presence. I’m so frustrated I want to spit, but I decide to snag this opportunity. Before you can turn around, I slink over to stand behind your shoulder.

 

“Hey, kid.”

 

Startled, you whirl around to face me, a response that’s more satisfying than a swig of juma. But when you see me straight on, your reaction has me drunk with pleasure. Translucent eyes—ash-gray skin—yeah, I know what I look like. One hundred percent Sith. But, like I care now.

 

“Atton?” A flurry of emotion crosses your face. “The Exile. Where is she?”

 

Of course you would ask about her. I shrug. “She’s safe. You don’t need to worry about her. You never did, really.”

 

Not like I did. You never cared about protecting her. You stole her from me.

 

But there’s no twinge of regret now, no flame of jealous anger. Only a gnawing hunger . . . a craving to kill.

 

I smile at the familiar feeling. It’s been too long, ol’ pal.

 

Striking a careless pose, I begin to circle you. Though I keep my voice casual, every word drips with my hatred for you—my enemy, my prey.

 

“You know how long it’s been since I’ve killed a Jedi? You get a taste for it, you know. I killed a bunch here on Malachor, while the planet was dying. Killing a half-Jedi like you should hold me over until the next one comes along.” I turn suddenly to face you, and my cloak snaps at the motion. “They always do, you know.”

 

Like a true Jedi wannabe, you stand your ground. Good; at least you’re no coward. That would wreck our whole climax.

 

“Atton”—is that a quaver in your voice?—“Kreia is using you.”

 

A memory pierces my thoughts. One of a witch clawing into my mind, breaking, destroying, pillaging. Then, a memory of her smiling coldly at me in her quarters as I’m shaking with rage, with pent-up tears . . . because of you.

 

Grimacing, I throw up an extra mental wall. You’re insightful, kid, but you’re no Master.

 

“Really? I had no idea.” My laugh makes you flinch. “Everyone uses each other, kid. And if she’s using me to kill you, as I see it, I really don’t lose anything.”

 

Except one thing.

 

Like a spark, the thought threatens to reignite the ashes of my feelings. I direct it instead towards my hunger for your blood.

 

“I already lost what mattered to me,” I say darkly. “I wanted to protect her . . . to help her . . . and then you show up, playing hero.” Fingering my saber, I growl, “Fine.”

 

“Atton, the feelings between the Exile and I—”

 

“Doesn’t matter. Not anymore. I had forgotten how much I hate Jedi. And the less of you that are in the galaxy, the better.”

 

My avowal of hatred acts like the wind on this planet—a brutal wind, but cleansing. It sweeps away the dead ashes of my feelings, leaving nothing but a vacuum. I’m left cold, numb, with no feeling at all.

 

I smirk at my victory. Now I can have my climax with no more blasted interruptions. I flick my saber on, unleashing the blood-red blade. It hisses like a viper in my hand.

 

“Ready to die, kid?” I ask tauntingly.

 

Your every muscle stiffens. Your eyes flame. What, are you angry? Are your Jedi delusions destroyed so easily?

 

No—you’re not angry. What are you, then? Your eyes are so bright I can’t look at them.

 

“I won’t fight you, Atton!”

 

Rage blossoms in me, but I cloak it with a cold expression. So . . . a Jedi to the last. “I don’t care. I just want you to die.”

 

With a single bound, I cover the distance between us.

 

Your saber clashes with mine in a blinding flash of green and red. I laugh. So much for Jedi pacifism.

 

Then, demons rage within my chest. Wolves howl in my ears. A similar howl escapes my throat, and all my demons are let loose. My mind is lost to the passions of battle. Hatred. Power.

 

The power of the Dark Side consumes me.

[CSI]

Nice...I like it...DS Atton? I like this idea...

 

But however it must be based on cut content of Female Exile in K2...

[Anakin Skywalker]

I agree, this has the potential to become a great fic....

[JediAthos]

I like it as well...it helps that I never liked Disciple anyway

[HK-42]

Good Job. DS Atton is a good idea, just as CSI said.

[Diego Varen]

Yes, this is Cut Content from TSL. It only happens with a Female Exile who has more influence with the Disciple than Atton. Same for males, who if they have more influence with Visas, then Brianna will fight her. Good Shortie Emalin. And I've always like DS Atton. He was a good apprentice for my DS Female game.

[Emalin]

Thank you all for the comments! I've always found DS Atton to be creepy, yet fascinating. I'd often find myself wondering what goes on in his head -- hence this fic.

 

By the way, Part Two should be posted within the next couple of days. (How many parts will there be? I really don't know!)

 

 

EDIT: @ CSI below

You know, that's quite the idea. I'd have to find the dialogue for the scene....

[CSI]

Next time try DS Handmaiden vs. Visas...

[Emalin]

Woo-hoo! After more than a week of procrastination (a bad habit of mine) with spurts of frenzied writing, Part Two is written. On my last week of break, too! I'll try to write up Part Three in a reasonable amount of time, but, at this point, school looks pretty unpredictable.

 

Oh, and please note that the PoV is no longer restricted to Atton's.

 

Thank you to all who have been reading!

[Emalin]

------

Exile

------

 

 

Please tell me this isn’t happening.

 

I drop my head back against the wall behind me, growling in frustration. Then I peek cautiously around the corner to double-check. Yes, they’re there. Two Sith, robed and masked in black, are guarding the door into the next room. The room I need to pass through.

 

What is it about dark, palatial academies that attracts Sith like juma flies? Oh, yeah. They’re Sith academies. Before I can rail any further, I suck in a deep breath and stop myself. No. There is no emotion, there is peace.

 

And, with that, I step out coolly from my hiding place.

 

At first they don’t notice me. They seem locked in a heated argument, their voices hissing angrily at each other. But as I walk down the grand hallway, my footsteps echoing, the red floor lights casting silhouettes of me in every direction, they notice me. And they recognize me instantly as a Jedi.

 

For the Order.

 

I ignite my silver lightsaber, prepare mentally for battle—

 

—Until I’m broadsided by a mental alarm. A vision. Two men fighting, one dark-haired, one light-haired. They’re in a large room with a high ceiling supported by pillars. The sound of their clashing sabers echoes . . . echoes . . . echoes . . . .

 

Atton? Mical?

 

And just as suddenly as it came, the vision’s gone.

 

I’m stunned, speechless, until a searing revelation tears through my heart. “No!”

 

I’ve been so blind. I could’ve stopped this. I could’ve—

 

When a red energy beam fills my line of sight, Force precognition is all that saves me from getting my head sliced off. With an anguished cry, I turn on my enemies, my every strike desperate, unstoppable.

 

Please be there when I get there. I can save you. I can save you.

 

 

 

------

Atton

------

 

 

I smile at you in mock pity. “No one can save you.”

 

I’ve just cut off your hand, and your scream was music to my ears. I’ve just kicked away both halves of your severed lightsaber, and your look of despair was a feast to my eyes. Now I’m holding you up, both hands crushing your throat. Only the Dark Side could give me this strength. Another reason you Jedi won’t survive this millennium.

 

Your face turns blue; your remaining hand claws feebly at my fingers. I simply laugh and let the seconds tick by. Ten seconds, twenty seconds. Then I’m ready for the big finale. Reigniting my red blade, I bring it up close to your face, let you recognize it as your last sight in this life. And then I laugh. I can’t help but laugh.

 

“Wanna know what it felt like when you waltzed onto the Ebon Hawk?”

 

My blade stabs you in the heart. Swiftly and brutally.

 

“Like I lost that.”

 

You take a deep, shuddering breath. Agony ripples through you, like shockwaves from the stab wound, and I revel in the feel of it. Then the light flees from your pretty-boy eyes, and when I let go of your throat, your body falls to the floor with a heavy, fleshy thud.

 

Another Jedi passes.

 

For what feels like centuries, I stare down at you, your corpse awash in the red light of my saber. Then it hits me. I realize what I’ve just accomplished, and a rush of vicious glee fills me with heat.

 

It’s done. You’re dead, at my feet, by my hand!

 

Something burns me from the inside, begs me to move, to fight. Next thing I know, I’m slashing the air so fast that my blade’s a wall of red light. I don’t know how long I do it, but when I make my end strike—a swift uppercut—I let loose an Echani battle cry. “Ai!”

 

The vaulted ceiling echoes back: “Ai! Ai! Ai!”

 

Then all’s silent.

 

I stand there, staring upward, my breath coming in deep chugs. The burning feeling smolders away.

 

It’s done . . . I’ve killed you.

 

What I’ve lived for since Dantooine is done.

 

What I’ve lived for.

 

What I’ve . . . .

 

For some reason, I pause. The thought hangs in my head. And then . . . the unexpected happens.

 

I feel empty. Like the bottom of my insides fell out. My eyes look at everything—the floor, the walls, the ceiling, your corpse—as I realize I hadn’t planned beyond this moment. Now that you’re dead, I can’t think of anything to live for.

 

It’s like a blaster bolt to my brain.

 

No purpose.

So empty.

 

Kreia didn’t tell me I’d feel so empty. She lied to me, the witch!

 

They all lied to me. Kreia, Pretty Boy, the Exile. Just like a Jedi to lie. They lie, they manipulate. Kreia manipulated me. The Exile . . . she manipulated me.

 

I hate her.

I hate her!

I hate them all!

 

Rage. Hunger. They sear my gut, shoot down my limbs, set my blood on fire. A voice whispers to my mind.

 

Kill Jedi again.

 

It’s my own voice, but darker. Full of power. My heart pounds in my ears; I find it hard to breathe.

 

You hate them, so kill them. Hunt them down wherever they’re hiding. Strangle them all with your bare hands.

 

It dawns on me. Of course! This is the answer, the perfect climax. When I was an assassin I had a vision, a purpose, but I buried it years ago during a flimsy guilt trip. Now it’s come back to embrace me again, like a long-lost lover. Ironic, but perfect.

 

You know what else is perfect? I’m gonna embrace it right back.

 

And it can all start here.

 

My lips warp into a voracious grin as the face of my next victim hovers before my eyes. Impulsively, I kiss my saber, envisioning doing the same to her as she lies dying. Then I slip away to conceal myself . . . and wait.

 

Oh yeah, she’s coming to me. Even now I can sense her presence in the Academy. Soon she’ll walk into this room, where she’ll get the shock of her life.

 

Heh. The whole thing’s twisted.

 

I laugh as I melt into the shadows behind a pillar.

 

I can hardly wait.

[The_Catto]

I enjoyed it heaps. I too, had a great dislike for the Disciple also lol, didnt like him at all really ... But anyways ... great work, lookin forward to the next part!

[Diego Varen]

Is Part three the final part? I'm looking foward to more Emalin and I agree with you about school. And Mr_BFA, the Disciple doesn't deserve all the hate he gets. He is useful, honest, unlike that GO-TO.

[CSI]

I like the second part. When will you post Third part? Just remember: You did a terrific (By this, I mean great) job on the fic. You have potential.

[Emalin]

@ Mr_BFA

 

I'm glad you enjoyed it! I like Disciple, actually -- but Atton has more character, so I like him more. Meaning I write about Atton more. And, unfortunately, Atton hates Disciple. So... It's in my head to someday write about Disciple and give him some character. But how to do that? No clue!

 

@ Pottsie

 

Well, it feels to me like Part Three should be the final part. But...as far as "beats" of the plot go, I'm not sure yet. I'll have to follow my instincts as I write.

 

@ CSI

 

Thank you! Yay! Part Three hasn't even been written yet, so I dunno how long it will take to get posted. Just think WIP...WIP...

 

By the way, I've been dying to read everyone's fics. I hope to do so soon.

[CSI]

No problem and looking forward to seeing your third part.

[Dark_Lady]

This is incredible. Honestly. Simply incredible. I can't wait for more.

[Jae Onasi]

I'm working on catching up on my fic commenting--You do a great job of creating tension. Cut the dialog tags as much as you can--sometimes it slows down the dialog itself. First person-present is extremely difficult to write in, and you're pulling it off pretty well.

[Bee Hoon]

I really enjoyed your fic! I shall await part 3 with bated breath:) DS Atton is really creepy... O.o

[Emalin]

------

Exile

------

 

 

I approach the regal door, sleek and black like obsidian. My gloved hand grips the hilt of my saber. The aura of the room beyond screams of the Dark Side, and yet, on its ages-old bloodstained floor, there’s a fresh stain, so strong that I can smell it.

 

This is the room of my vision.

 

As I step up to the door, a barrage of negative emotions slams against me. Anger. Fear. Despair. I shut my eyes, try to remain stalwart, even as grief claws at me from within.

 

One of the men in my vision has died. When I walk through this door, whose glassy, unseeing eyes will be there to greet me? Whose saber will be humming in his hand? I could stretch out with the Force, find out from here.

 

But I think I already know.

 

A desperate, out-of-breath feeling rises in my chest, but I push it away, then pull open the door and enter. My eyes are met by a grand, pillared chamber with a vaulted ceiling. Its floors and walls bear the same resemblance to obsidian as the door; red lamps glow on the walls, and red floor lights cast shadows behind every pillar.

 

Except for my own breathing, all is quiet.

 

An apprehensive buzz starts at the base of my skull. Ignoring it, I step out into the open, daring all the forces of darkness to attack me. Then I notice the body sprawled out in the middle of the floor, and my greatest fears are realized.

 

Atton is gone.

 

Mical—dead.

 

All at once, the room fades away. It’s just me, Mical’s lifeless body, and a heart that feels like it’s been torn out while it was still beating.

 

Somehow, my feet carry me to where Mical lies on his side. I stand over him, numbly observing his wounds. His right hand is missing; I notice it a couple of feet away. When I walk around to see his face and chest, I learn how he died: a stab wound in the heart. Bruises on the neck.

 

At least Atton did not do anything worse to him.

 

I don’t feel anything, though, no sadness or pain. Not until I reach down and brush a strand of blonde hair out of his face. Not until I let my eyes linger on that face, which was so kind in life. Then, one by one, other faces materialize before me.

 

Bao-Dur, who took his last, shuddering breath before I stumbled out of the wreckage of the Ebon Hawk.

 

The Jedi masters—Vrook, Kavar, Zez Kai-Ell—whose very life-forces were sucked out of them by a fallen Kreia while I lay unconscious.

 

All the Mandalorians and Jedi who died by my hand, sucked into this merciless well of gravity known as Malachor, all because of one order I gave.

 

And now . . . Mical. Because of my own blindness.

 

Atton.

 

I'm too late. Everything is my fault. I’m the death of the Force, of everyone I care about.

 

It’s like Atris said. I should’ve died that day on Malachor!

 

My vision blurs with tears. My shoulders heave as I try to control my emotions, but I can’t; the dam must break at last. So I collapse on my knees and let it break. My sobs are loud. Angry.

 

“How many?” I cry to the ceiling. “How many more must die before this ends?”

 

“Every last one of you Jedi.”

 

By pure reflex, I jump up and turn, igniting my saber. Atton.

 

But when I see him, standing only a couple of strides from me, it’s like slamming into a permacrete wall. The only thing I can feel is agonized horror, keener than a saber’s bite.

 

Atton’s face. The last time I saw it, it was natural and handsome. Now there’s no other way to describe it than as the face of a corpse. His skin is ash-gray, in some places clear like ice. His veins are purple and bulging, the roots of his brown hair gray as if withered by dark energy. But none of it—none of it—compares to the horror of his eyes.

 

Where I should’ve seen warm, hazel gateways into the soul, I find cold, colorless orbs brimming with hatred, murder, and lust. All of it focused through two little black pupils. Focused on me.

 

The sight freezes my heart to the core. He knows it does, and he chuckles. The sound is inhuman.

 

“My face scares you? Heh. Scared him, too.” He gestures carelessly to Mical’s body. “But, like your dear Pretty Boy learned, I’d have it no other way . . . sweetheart.”

 

The endearment rolls off his tongue like a drop of acid. When he steps forward, I jerk my lightsaber up to his throat.

 

He stops short, his eyes glowing almost amber. Then he assumes a casual air, chilling in its casualness.

 

“Aw, c’mon, sweetheart. You know you’re just putting off the inevitable. Can’t you feel the power of this place? It’s draining you. Just like I knew it would. Soon you’ll be on your knees before me, while I’m growing stronger and stronger.”

 

He circles me like a firaxan shark. Though I keep my saber focused on him, something about his voice makes me tremble. His voice has changed. It’s deeper, darker. And I do feel weaker, like his words have sucked something out of me.

 

“Why”—my voice breaks—“why are you doing this?”

 

“Tsk, tsk. My dear, you should know that already, smart as you are. Or is it a great monologue you want?”

 

He turns away with a bitter laugh. For a second I think he won’t answer. Instead, he engrosses himself in twirling his saber in his fingers. Clockwise. Counter-clockwise. Upwards, downwards. I find the motion mesmerizing, eerily so, until he speaks.

 

“ ‘Dancing in the shadows for your favor.’ Yeah, I overheard Kreia that day. You think a scoundrel like me can’t eavesdrop now and then? . . . But she was right, you know. I was a fool. Left myself wide open for a betrayal. And that’s exactly what I got.

 

“Get the picture yet, sweetheart?” He turns back to me. “Or do I have to carve it into your chest? Not that I won’t do that anyway.”

 

He’s insane. The thought brings me a thrill of horror, and my breath quickens.

 

“Atton, you’re wrong. I never betrayed you. Kreia lied to you. She used you to kill Mical, and she’s using you now!”

 

“Kreia! It’s always Kreia, Kreia, Kreia. ‘Kreia did it, it’s Kreia’s fault.’ Well, you know what? I don’t frippin’ care, and I’m gonna slit her throat soon enough.”

 

Then he spears me with a look of feral, tangible, hopeless hatred. “But you . . . oh, I would’ve died for you, you know. I worshipped the ground you walked on . . . thought maybe you were different from the rest of those Jedi. I was a fool!” he spews suddenly. “You led me on and manipulated me, all for your righteous little quest. And then he comes along, a new pawn at your disposal, and guess what? I’m out the airlock!

 

“You were never different from them, Exile! They lie, they manipulate, they murder innocents, and so do you! I’m dead inside because of you, and when I run you through, it’ll be nothing but justice for what you did to me!”

 

His raging shouts deafen me; his tear-filled eyes burn holes in me; I can’t tell if I’m really on my knees, or if it’s just a trick of my mind. When at last he stalks toward me, murder written plainly on his face, I’m ready to surrender to him—to let him do what he wants with me. I can’t fight him. The pain is too much.

 

What have I done? Oh, Atton, I never told you. I’ve failed you.

 

Oh, Atton, I love you.

 

Shutting my eyes, I open myself to the Force and scream.

[The_Catto]

!!!! Another brilliant piece of writing!

It had me on the edge of my seat even when I began reading the first line!

 

The way you have Atton's hurt, anger and sadness drift through to the reader is ingenious.

I loved the parts before this and I still love reading it now.

Excellent work.

 

The darkness is invigorating!

[Bee Hoon]

Aaaaah Atton! Don't let it be too late for him! I can't decide who's in the worst position, the exile or Atton. Or everyone else. Sigh.

[kotor_freak]

Great, absolutely great. Seriously. The suspense and drama was excellent

 

Basically clawing my leather seat to shreds wanting to know whats going to happen

 

Brilliant piece of work.

[Emalin]

Thanks, guys! After reading your comments, I'm getting excited about this fic again, which is an awesome feeling.

 

The darkness is invigorating!

Pahaha! Yeah, that smiley looks amazingly like this fic's writer as she's writing it.

[Meowster]

Wow! I love how you've incorperated the cut content, and have expressed Atton's complete turn to the dark side. I do feel sorry for poor Mical however...

 

One thing I noticed, (and not sure if its wrong or right) is that you said: Well, you know what? I don’t frippin’ care

 

Is frippin' right? Just wondering...

[Emalin]

Is frippin' right? Just wondering...

Yes, that's a legitimate Star Wars swear word. Originally I had Atton say "frakkin' ", but then it struck me how similar that word is to one of our Earth curses . . . eh heh heh.

 

Thanks for commenting!