Deception | Anakin Skywalker x Reader

|19| The smell of death

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2.4k words

Warning: Violence, torture, murder

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Vader's POV

My fist collides with the side of Darius' face and he screams in pain, the slash across his cheek growing deeper as I pull my arm back and punch him over and over again. I stretch out my fingers, hearing the faint pop of my joints cracking, and watch blood that isn't mine drip off my gloves. I grasp his chin with my metal hand, looking as my grip on him smears his own blood across his face, and tilt it painfully so that he is forced to look at me. He flinches and I hear a short inhale of breath.

I reach my other hand out and, using the force, I bring my lightsaber to my fingers, feeling the press of the hilt against my gloved palm. The look on Darius' face changes, much to my pleasure, from one of pain to one of horror as he notices my hand reaching out. I notice his wide eyes quickly glance at his own disfigured hand, three of the fingers missing from when he pissed me off a few hours ago as this little torture session was just beginning, and then back up towards the blade.

"Wait! Stop! Please," from the way he says please I know it's his first time using the word. I scoff inwardly. The thing with slavers, and people like Darius in general, is that saying please has no effect on them. The bastards will still treat you like shit no matter how much you beg. How many times had I said it to Watto, only for him to ignore me? I was a child and he still disregarded my pleas. This is for all those times. "I'll tell you whatever you want to know." The desperation in his tone is disgusting.

"And what exactly do you think I need from you?"

"Nothing, my lord. But I do have information that you might find useful."

"I highly doubt it. Killing you would be much more useful to me. Well, it will make me happier anyway."

"But I told you! It was all an innocent mistake." I lift my lightsaber hilt closer to his face, letting the cool metal graze against the ragged flesh covering his cheekbone. He struggles in my grip, causing my brain to unhelpfully supply the image of chains rubbing against Rex's wrist, holding him in place as bolts of electricity shot towards him, the voice of my master sending me away so that he could personally deal with Rex's insubordination alone, the ear splitting screams that could be heard in the corridor as I walked away.

Rex had told me, before we had even taken one step into Emperor Sidious' throne room on board the Death Star, that whatever I was told to do I should do it. He claimed that he deserved the punishment because it had been his mistakes that had made the mission a failure (which I tried to disagree with but he wouldn't let me speak) and so I did as I was told, leaving him behind to face the Emperor's signature punishment alone. I hadn't realized how difficult that would be until I had to walk away to the sounds of one of my closest friends screaming in pain.

I know the suffering that Sidious can cause people, and while he has done so much for this Empire, a thing I greatly respect him for, I can't help but think of my own scars, the raised bumps of badly healed flesh put on my body by him.

But the only reason Rex is in trouble is because of this man in front of me. Rex's pain is not the fault of my master. It's the fault of Darius.

"Please, let me go. I have a family!"

"I had a family once." I drop my hand from his face, and he breathes a sigh of relief. I can't stop the menacing laugh from escaping my lips. "Oh, I'm not letting you go."