emile fischer

Xaash: Thank you... Master

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Xaash was ready. She was quite mature, quite old, and had passed her last tests. The droids and critters of its last masters were no longer up to it. Even by surprise, even when she slept, no one could triumph over her anymore. Korriban was waiting for him.

The young 14-year-old Sith was going to leave Dromund Kaas for the first time, and return to her native land to follow the teachings of the overseers. In just a few hours, she would be in an Imperial shuttle, leaving the soil of the capital, and could only return victorious.

It was Lord Zash himself who had come to tell him. Finally, after eight years of training, she was ready. The sweet golden-haired lady had entered her battle arena, and held out her hand to him. The sith the child was living with at the time waited at the entrance, kneeling and silent. The woman Xaash hadn't seen in almost 7 years must now be in a really high place.

The young child retracted her sabers and came to hold her hand, curious. The sith who had saved his life long ago hadn't aged a bit. Her smile was still as white, her outfit, impeccable as usual.

“Take your things my child. You will go to Korriban tomorrow at dawn. »

About twenty minutes later, she was in her room, depositing her few belongings in a big gray bag, on which was printed a big Kirll (the letter "K" in Aurebesh), as well as a number. There were a few holo-discs, a health pack including some medpacks, bandages, thread and a needle, and some credits from his current master's pocket. She folded up the beautiful Revanite outfit that Zash had just given her – a congratulatory or farewell present, but beautiful, resembling her usual kind of homespun – and put it in her bag. Although during the first days on Korriban the students didn't have access to any of their belongings, she knew that later on, she would have access to them. Finally, she took her two swords, her oldest companions, and was about to put them down too...but her hands stopped above the bag.

A vicious smile appeared under his nose. Oh, she wasn't done with them here, she would need them tonight. Xaash put them on his bed, and pulled out the Revanite bure. The pale little Sith brandishes the outfit like a petty Alderaan would do with her first birthday dress. It was time to go dancing.

Seven hours before scheduled departure. Dromund never actually sleeps, but everyone has to close their eyes at one time or another. In the city lit only by a few lampposts and a series of thunderstorms, a shadow slips out of a window, and weaves its way between the buildings. She leaves the building that has housed her for the past few months, and rushes silently towards a fortress at the back of Kaas City.

This fortress... is that of Rylthe Althe.

The infamous pure-blooded sith walks through his basements, an old tablet in his hand. His look is tired, dark... After the departure of his slave, his titles, his power and his fortune, he lost everything. Everything except life.

Straight out of the darkness, a streak of red light severs his knees, and the poor tyrant falls on what's left of him, screaming like a piglet. He screams, agonizes, cries, and his hands wade through his blood, then he looks up at the dark hallway in front of him. First, he sees nothing... then a small child advances, her gaze hidden by a thick hood. When she steps into the light, and lowers herself to the level of the old Sith debris, the expression in Rylthe's eyes changes from intense pain...to deep fear.

Xaash stares at the red man for a long time, without saying a word, without expecting any in return. That face...she never thought she'd see it again. For a long time she had feared him, then she had hoped never to have to meet him again... but this night... she admired this spectacle. The same face... but never the same look again.

The pale sith felt the hatred rising within her. All the atrocities she had suffered, the torture, the constant humiliation, the hunger and the cold she had experienced here, all came to mind.  After a moment, she felt one of the veins in her left eye burst. The same one that had exploded under the blows of an iron whip eight years ago. Rage rose to his head, and finally… his beautiful green eyes tinged a powerful red.

Rylthe, still paralyzed but having now forgotten his pain, spat his "so pure" blood on the face of his former slave. But she didn't care. Little Xaash's gaze grew darker and darker, more and more hateful, long before he had the courage to do that.

She took her sword from her belt, and activated the plasma blade, which came to lodge in the head of her victim, disintegrating her nose and the center of her brain, to emerge at the back of her bald head.

She stood still for a moment, savoring the sweet sound of blood crackling against the hot sword.

"...Thank you..." she said in a calm voice.

" ...Master. she finished looking much darker, disgusted, ironic, pulling her saber back abruptly, and letting the corpse crumble in its blood, its head, mouth open, creaking against the stone floor.