Birth of the Sith Vampire's Code

In the darkness of the night, a lone figure stood amidst the sprawling carnage in the light of the Hapan moons. A white saber waved in the reflected light as if it was the scepter of the famed angel of death from Hapan mythology. The incarnadine color of the blood from the bodies was reflected in the figure's normally-steely eyes, as befitting her wrathful mood. Without the thoroughly feminine face and body, the woman was an exact copy of a young version of her most powerful ancestor, Anakin Skywalker.

The black-clad woman examined the adversaries whom she slew, hoping to find peace after her stormy rampage. Those political enemies who murdered her love had been slaughtered like the animals they were on the inside, but the killer could find no peace. The torment of losing the only man she had dared to love only grew stronger as she scanned the men who were unfortunate enough to be tortured before their deaths.

The woman thought she would be satisfied with her work, but instead, every ounce of pain she had inflicted had been reflected back at her and permanently tormenting her shattered heart. Shattered dreams and hopes seemed to rise from the dead bodies' nostrils and pelt her with arrows designed for the sole purpose of shattering one's mind. Even the face of the man she loved rose from the earth and screeched insults at the woman.

"Kyril, please! It's me! You're hurting me!" The woman half screamed and half pleaded as tears and sweat rolled down her flawless skin. Knees dropped to the grassy floor as the woman's two hands each gouged out a fistful of blood soaked dirt from the wet soil beneath the dead bodies. "Kyril, my dear, you truly don't mean what you said, do you? Ahh, why?"

The woman emptied one of her hands and punched the mixture of blood, water, microscopic animals, and roots beneath the carnage as teardrops landed on the back of the hand.

There is no peace, there is torment.

The woman heard a strange, mysterious voice whisper the words into her ears and smiled as she accepted them. She knew that her disagreement with the Jedi with whom she once trained had deeper roots than her taste for political power, even though she did not think so at the time she left the Jedi. Those Jedi had not the slightest clue about how wrong the very first part of their code was. Anger and lust, the woman's two strongest emotions, had not only existed but tortured people and drove every last vestige of peace away from the Skywalker descendant.

The woman accepted the teaching with ease, for it made sense to her more than the Jedi Code ever did. There was never peace, but there always was emotion. Because emotions always played a key role in torment, it was safe to say that the words from the unknown stranger only made sense.

How could those ignorant fools who call themselves Jedi Masters not see this? Sithspit, my father was even on that council! The woman wondered. She was only eighteen years old, much younger than the Jedi on the Council, yet she had already seen the nonexistent truth behind the lie that they call the Jedi Code. She had anger, she had hatred, she had love, she had jealousy, and she had not, since she was born, had a single second without the torture of having emotions.

There is no teacher, there is ignorance.

The mystical voice spoke again and the woman once again accepted without argument. Because no one amongst the Jedi Masters was willing to open their eyes to the naked truth, not even the greatest of the great, Kyp Durron and Jacen Solo, who had unlocked all the secrets of the Force, there were no teachers. When there was no one to teach, ignorance was notoriously widespread.

"This isn't right." The woman muttered as a gust of wind blew forth her light brown tresses. She had seen how anger helped her to level her adversaries with her searing, silver blade and she could not stand and watch as those fools on the Jedi Council vehemently denied what she uncovered.

There is no serenity, there is passion.

The fiery red of blood burned in the woman's eyes. A distant passerby might label the expression as one of wrath, but a close examination of her eyes revealed the fires of passion that burned in the once-serene eyes. The occasional black specks in the close-up view of the woman's eyes were like the ashes of the serenity that she once had about her. Serenity was consumed completely in the wildfire of passion that, alongside anger, drove the woman to slaughter en masse.

The fires of the passion with which she hated her lover's killers and with which she loved her Kyril had spread throughout the woman's body as the last vestige of her youthful serenity was destroyed. There was a mental explosion as every part of the woman's mind and personality caught fire. Within minutes, every recognizable aspect of the woman was dead.

On the outside, the woman's face merely reddened, as if the firestorm raging within her was nothing but a bit of summer heat. The woman rose and threw her hair back wildly when her head finally emerged from between her shoulders. The next day for her was anything but uneventful, but she had no distinct memories of the battles that followed.

A gust of cool wind sharply whipped her face and the Skywalker descendant saw that she was falling, most likely falling to the physical death that was bound to follow her emotional death.

A bone-crunching fall eventually ended the wild ride in the sky and gave the woman injuries not even the strongest could survive. Death was completing itself. She struggled to open her eyes. Much to her disbelief, she saw a magnificent figure approaching.

"Anj'd'mort." The ex-Jedi muttered the name of the Hapan Guardian of the Grave. She felt sharp things sink into her soft neck and braced herself for the darkness of death. However, rather than meeting sleep, the woman met modification.

The ex-Jedi felt a coldness that she had never felt before spread through her body and welcomed it. Wherever the dark coldness touched, changes occurred. The first were in her teeth. Beautiful and straight rows of white became pointed, yellow-tinted, predatory fangs. Her gray eyes became reflections of the moon's color. When her transformation was complete, the woman looked at herself in awe.

"Why? This is not death. I am to die, am I not?" The woman asked herself as soon as the imposing shadow of her sire disappeared from her sight.

There is no death, there is the night.

The Jedi-turned-vampire gave a fanged grin as she heard the fourth line from the mysterious stranger who had been whispering into her ears. She realized that she had already died, for her body was no longer alive by medical standards, but there was no death because she was still consciously thinking and moving. The woman felt a sense of completion as she muttered all four of the lines verbatim in the order in which they were given to her.

Cool winds lapped her ashen ears and apparently carried with them the demons of the darkest winds. The sharp ears of the vampire, used in conjunction with what was left of the woman's Force abilities, picked up whispers of the deepest agreement from the winds. The Force, in its simplest and most enjoyable form, was the satisfying work of slaughter by the thousands.