Cynical Entity [Flashback]

[Philosoraptor]

Song Inspiration - "Cynical Entity" by Aversions Crown

Nine Years Ago, Tattooine, in the desert someplace

It was hot, dry, and insufferable on the planet of Tattooine. With the day growing to its peak, Fred’erick was on the prowl. He was angry, infuriated – some filth had the nerve to steal from his estate. He had left his homestead – Cuore della Pura – in the Capital, Korriban. “Blasted insect can’t run away.” He said, seething with rage as he trekked through the dunes.

What had been stolen was Davrik’s, Fred’erick’s father’s, lightsaber – a piece of history in their family that had been passed down from Lord-Patrician to Lord-Patrician of the house for hundreds of years. Granted, Fred’erick could’ve cared less for his father’s things – but it was still his property, property of House Marcuse-Skree. He had managed to track the damn thing to Tattooine after several weeks and was hot on his trail.

The thief, a Zabrak slave, was just out of his range. “Run faster, see where that gets you, filth!” He leapt up into the air, charging down to tackle the fleeing slave. “Mine!” He growled, his saber clashing against his father’s saber. “What?!” He exclaimed as the slave stood up, wielding the lightsaber as though it were second nature.

“I will not be taken down by you, Sith.” The slave said defiantly. Fred’erick gritted his teeth. “That stance,” he said with a bit of joy in his voice. “Are you…you’re a Jedi…” He all but growled. With a boisterous laugh, he charged after the Zabrak Jedi (former slave), putting pressure on the man with the force. “Taste death!” But, the slave was quick, just barely dodging the attack, though he was being weighed down by the force.

Sadly, Fred’erick knew he would be ending the battle shortly. He turned, surprisingly agile here, and thrust his saber through the Zabrak’s back. “Never defy me, mongrel.” He pulled out the lightsaber from his torso. Unsatisfied, he began carving into the man’s body, skinning him in the process. “Don’t! Ever! Test! Me!”

A few minutes had passed since the death of the Zabrak, and Fred’erick sat there on the sandy ground – channeling the dark side in order to compose himself. He normally was not one to meditate, though he’d recently taken it up. His masters in the Brotherhood had ‘advised’ him into becoming one with the Dark side – to call upon the spirits and ghosts of his ancestors. He was basking in the warmth when a presence forced him to open his eyes. “Another approaches?”



@Dark child

 

[Dark child]

The dry, hot air burned in his throat. It held no smell, no taste, yet felt like smoke as he breathed it in, reminding the boy of fire and, more specifically, flames against the Dathomir sky. A fire which he had caused weeks ago, one that should not have had any meaning to him, but it did. Where elation should have been, only confusion remained. Many had died that night on Dathomir, something that should have brought him joy, instead, he felt empty. Empty except for the words of the hunter, the reptile, the killer who had came after him under the light of Dathomir's moons. ~You need guidance.~ The voice of the deceased man plagued his thoughts, the grainy voice of a reptile. ~They would have you as you are. You would not need to change.~ Xanthier's hand clenched into a fist, so much so that his filthy fingernails nearly dug into the skin of his palm. The barabel bounty hunter had been right all along, but for the wrong reasons. The boy was devout in all that he believed, and he was certain of one simple truth, he was justice, he brought peace everlasting to all who had ever fallen under his blade. He did not need to change, the Empire did. The Empire who brought only suffering and agony to all under it's rule. Surely it was better to die then to live in a world controlled by the Sith. Life without pain is what Xanthier delivered. Innocence meant nothing to the twisted youth, if he could kill every citizen of the Empire and let them rein over a pile of corpses he would, but he was nothing, an insignificant gnat. This feeling of meaninglessness followed him wherever he went, as did his anger. Anger for the the things he could not change, for the justice he deserved. No matter how many lives he took he would never be satisfied. To Xanthier, happiness only existed in the form of the Empire crumbling into nothing, the name of the Sith fading in the wind...

Breath after breath the boy exhaled hot air as he made his way towards the crest of the dune. In the distance, voices could be heard, the voices of those who he sought. He had come to Tattooine for information, but information wasn't free. Many prices could be paid for goods, but Xanthier preferred one method above all else- threats. Back in town, several bodies lay baking in the hot sun. Some had known nothing about what the dark haired boy wanted to know, but that was fine with Xanthier, if anyone deserved death it was those who lived on Tattooine. Slavers, those who traded bodies for credits and those who turned a blind eye, none were innocent. He knew, more then most, how horrible life in chains could be.

The pleas of those he had killed had eventually led him here, the open desert. News had spread around town that a pureblood Sith had traveled East in search of someone. Xanthier was going to find out who, but more importantly, he was going to make this pureblood beg for mercy after he found out anything of value about the Empire from him.

Purebloods were rare in places like this. Xanthier imagined that the Imperial was a slaver, probably here to do business with the locals. The boy couldn't wait to make him scream.

Finally coming over the crest of the dune Xanthier discovered that it was not an estate that the voices had hailed from, instead, it was a junkyard, half buried in the sand. What could a slaver be doing in a place like this?

As Xanthier jogged down the opposite side of the dune, he felt the sweat in his hair evaporate almost instantly. The heat was so intense inder the twin suns that any exposed moisture dried very quickly. His tattered undergarments stuck to his skin with sweat and a trail of sand cascaded down with him as he ran down the dune.

Coming to a pause at the bottom he heard the last few words coming from behind a pile of wreckage.
"Never defy me, mongrel.”
Came the snarl from behind the heap of metal.

“Don’t! Ever! Test! Me!”
The angry growls accelerated into a crescendo of sickening slashes, a noise that Xanthier was all too familiar with- a saber searing flesh.

Xanthier's hand slowly made it's way down to the holster attached to his belt, the metal hilt of his lightsaber nearly burned his skin as he lifted it from it's sheath, his eyes never leaving the corner of the junk pile.

Slowly, he crept closer, primal instincts kicking in his weathered boots made almost no sound as they crunched on the soft desert sad beneath. He was no longer searching for an insignificant Imperial, this sounded like a Sith. Caution was of utmost importance, but he could not mask his presence with the force. the boy knew nothing of the horrible taint he carried with him, and when the pureblood called out, he nearly stumbled backwards.

The Sith knew he was there, and now it was only a matter of time. Desperate to think of something, Xanthier grabbed a piece of sheetmetal that lay next to him, and chucked it over the top of the pile. It flew low enough that the Sith should not have been able to see it, but hopefully it would provide some sort of distraction.

Spoiler

The old Xanthier. And by that I mean younger since he'd be about fifteen.

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