Maul's Journal. File 3: Red Handed, Black Hearted.

Author: Andrea Evans

E-Mail: cardassifan@eudoramail.com

Rating: NC-17 for sex.

Characters: Darth Maul

Disclaimer: Yes, George, I fully acknowledge that Maul's yours not mine
(and godknows I'm not making any money out of him),
but if you treated him a bit better maybe we wouldn't be quite so driven
to fill in the blanks...

Archives: DMEB, Sith_Chicks, others please ask.

Summary: The fourth* of a series of short vignettes from various points in
Maul's life.

*Yes, the fourth.  The files start counting from 0, the Prologue.


-=============================|<]oo###oo###=###oo###oo[>|=============================-

I remember it as though it was yesterday, even though it was in my
fifteenth year.
I had already shaken the dirt of my homeworld forever from my boots three
years
ago.  Three years I had spent quartered in a succession of hard, sterile
rooms, on
cloaked ships and uncharted moons.  Even the simplest things in this new
life were
wonderful to me in those years, child of a savage world that I was.

On shipboard, the cold of space haunted me.  The yawning void I could sense
surrounding the thin metal shell was an unfamiliar, looming presence: eager
to suck
the breath and warmth and life from my body.  Most would have been frightened,
but I was exhilarated by the constant awareness of danger.  I welcomed the
chill
that traced my spine whenever I looked out into space.  The ever-present
threat of
swift, sudden death only made me feel all the more alive.

I had never been happier in my life, than when Sidious first started to
train me.  An
endless panorama of powers and skills was revealed to me, and I hungered to
master them all, take Sidious' dark might and make it _mine_.  My every waking
moment was another lesson in shadow, in power and passion and pain.  Even in
sleep the training continued.  He showed me how to leave my body behind,
sent my
naked soul forth into the direct embrace of the Dark Side.

...No.  There _are_ no words to describe the ultimate perfection of that
oneness.

Under his pitiless hand, I grew in might and knowledge daily, drinking in his
teachings with a speed that I think surprised him.

I _know_ I felt surprise from him, on at least one occasion.  No, stronger
than
surprise.  Shock, and just the faintest hint of fear.  He hid it instantly,
of course, but
ahhh, his fear was an elixir of which my soul drank deep.

I remember it well.

I had returned to my flesh after a soul-journey I later learned had lasted
a day and a
night.  Never had the Darkness held me so long.  When I lifted my head, the
bases
of my horns were throbbing, as if my very brain pulsed with the might of
the new
wisdom the Dark Side had given me.  I flipped to my feet, my exultation too
great
to be contained in silence.  I flung my arms high, snapped back my head and a
shout of triumph burst from me.  A shock physical in its intensity rocketed
through
my body, seeming to burst from my heart and pour along my outstretched arms.
Before my wide eyes, lightning burst from the tips of my fingers, slashed
through
the air like electric serpents.  Bright pain lanced at me from my
fingertips, but in
that sublime moment pain itself was only exaltation in another form: I
embraced it
eagerly, absorbed it, as the lightning ceased and the afterimages etched
webs of
darkness across my seared vision.  I clutched my aching hands to my chest,
smelled
the smoky scent of burned flesh.

When my eyes cleared, I could see that the skin at the very tips of my
fingers, just
under each talon, had been seared by the fierce power as it had burst from my
body.  Each fingertip was marked with a disk of brilliant red: the skin had
been
cleanly burned away.  My blood oozed slowly from the wounds, creating a single
glittering bead of scarlet on each fingertip.  ...Sidious said once that my
species has
one of the swiftest known rates of healing, and when I was turned loose on
live
sparring partners, I had soon realized the truth of his words.  ...Now,
even as I
watched, the bleeding stopped, and I obeyed ancient instinct and licked the
blood
away, revealing smooth new skin.  But the skin was as red as if it still
bled: the red
of my own blood, my naked tissue, without the layer of jet black pigment that
normally cloaked it.

My healed fingertips gleamed as if they had been dipped in fresh blood.  As I
studied the effect, a slow smile of pure joy stretched itself over my face.

The lightning had vaporized the pigment from my flesh.  And I realized what
that
meant.  I could take this body, this black canvas that would allow no dye
to show,
and make of myself a work of art unprecedented in all the long history of my
species.

A new power: a way to lash out and kill without weapons, without even touching
my prey.  And a way to enter fully into the proud heritage of my kind.  It
is no
wonder that Sidious sensed my joy, came rushing toward me through the
corridors
of the ship, until he strode into my room at that moment.  In response to
his silent
question, I simply held up one hand, reached deep inside myself for the hot
core of
power I had just discovered.  With a sudden *crack* lightning leapt from my
fingertips, clawing across the intervening space toward him.  Instinctively he
snapped his head fractionally backward, a tiny flinch accompanied by a
blink of
shock and fear that was sacred elixir to my soul.  The next moment I let my
lightning die, leaving silence and shadow in its wake, and he was his usual
calm self
once more, for all the world as if nothing had happened.  But both of us
knew that
was a lie.

"Very interesting, my Apprentice." he said coolly, "I see you are making
excellent
progress.  Now, you need to learn control..."  One white fist clenched,
hidden by
his robe, and the unseen grip of the Force closed around my throat, hauled
me after
him as he turned away, sweeping out of my quarters toward the practice
floor.  But
even in that unkind grasp, with the prospect of even more brutal lessons to
come, I
smiled.

Oh yes, master mine, the time when I am strong enough to ...replace you, will
come, and sooner than you hoped.

***

That night, as I scrubbed the sweat of the day's training from my skin, I
found my
gaze tracing the familiar contours of my body with new intentness.  Plans and
patterns coiled in my brain.  What would I do?  What sigils would I
inscribe on my
flesh?  What meaning would I give to my body?

I stepped out of the shower, wiped off my skin, padded naked into the
bedroom.  I
sat down on the bed and stared at the scarlet marks on my fingertips.  My
gaze was
so intent that my sight moved beyond the physical, and I found myself
staring at
my own aura.  A flare of blood red that surrounded my flesh like a corona
of fire:
leaping and shifting with my moods, a blaze of _life_.  I could even see
the flux my
spirit created in the Force: the fine mist of Darkness that poured into me
constantly.  I watched in pride, beheld the lens of my will focusing that
diffuse,
ever-present power into jagged tentacles of absolute blackness.  They seethed
around me like a snakepit of shadow, coiling and twisting, in constant,
restless
movement.

Inspiration struck me, and all at once I knew what I would do.  I would
make my
body into a portrait of the Dark Side itself: burn into my flesh an image
of my truest
soul, to strike fear into even non-Force sensitive eyes.  My hide would
glow with
the blood-red flame of my aura and writhe with the jagged, sinuous
tentacles of
Dark Force that I control.

Savagely, I smiled, and held up my hand, reaching deep inside, summoning that
savage power.  A single streak of lightning leapt from my fingertip, and I
focused
that flare, directed it down until it touched my other hand.  Pain, pain
and the dim
scent of burning, as the crackling thread of violet-white seared a line
down the back
of each finger.

I inhaled the smell of my own burning flesh, and found it good, even as my
spirit
flared, stoked by tingling agony.  My eyes narrowed to slits, my senses
swimming
in the heady combination of power and pain, until I lifted that burning
brand away
from my skin.  I lingeringly licked the blood away, to reveal the patterns
branded in
healing flesh.  Ahh, how rich the taste of my own hot blood, how soothing
the rasp
of my tongue against newly scarred flesh.  Fine, jagged lines of scarlet
trailed down
the backs of each finger, their shape a homage to the lightning that could
leap from
my touch at any time.  And a patch of skin, new and smooth and blood red,
covered the back of my hand.  Inside it were lines of black where my fire
had not
encroached: they writhed in a complex sigil, an invocation in the forgotten
Sith
script of the power to destroy.  I turned my transformed hand to the light,
studying
the design, savoring the fading throb as the last of the pain retreated
before the
healing.  A smile touched my lips, as I remembered that in Galactic
Standard, a
human language, to be 'red handed' is to be found guilty, originally of
murder.  And
then, I called lightning from my other index finger, turned my attentions
to my other
hand.

All night long, I suffered, and gloried and was transformed.  Dim, subtle
smoke
from my skin coiled invisibly into the air, rich Sith incense of agony
eagerly sought
and embraced with joy.  All night long I burned, on a slow pyre of my own
making.  Lightning gradually licked its way up my arms, drawing patterns that
flowed like flame, following the hard, etched bundles of muscle,
emphasizing the
bulge of biceps.  I left my throat free of marks, allowing a triangle of
pure black to
extend down the center of my chest, over my heart, recalling the line from
the Sith
Code: 'I am the Heart of Darkness'.  I burned a broad V-shape down from the
points of my shoulders, scarlet flanking that black, but left sly tendrils
of black to
snake across my seared pectorals, toward my nipples and navel.  The red V
extended downward, across hard, defined stomach muscles, leading the eye
downward...

But I lifted the fire from my flesh when the point of the V was at the base
of my
cock.  No.  I would leave _that_ until last.  I traced the angular crests
of my
hipbones in lightning, widened the burn down the thick bundles of thigh
muscles,
blazing down the length of my legs in patterns like leaping tongues of
flame, like
twisted coils of smoke.  On the bony upper surface of my feet I charred
more sigils,
invoking the trampling of foes.

I closed my eyes, fighting back the rising ecstasy, reaching for a tighter
grip on my
control.  I extended the reach of my power, sent the lightning arcing over my
shoulder, a cruel whip of pure Force, lashing my own back, drawing on that
pulsing
canvas in fire and scars and Dark power.  My mastery of this savage lash would
have to be precise; I must position it with my mind alone, not with my
eyes.  I
flayed my whole back, burning it with an inverted triangle of blazing pain
from
shoulder to shoulder, stretching down to the small of my back.  Inside that
red field
an angular pattern of blackness fanned outward, like feathers, like blades:
the wings
of Korah, the Azarbrak spirit of Death.

Coils of red and black poured over my hips and spiraled round the hard pads of
muscle at my ass, and then I reined in the arcing whip of lightning, forced
it down
again to a fine, surgical blade of searing Force.  I considered my face, at
last.  My
high cheekbones, the curve of my brow, the point of my chin, all these were
bathed
in fire and pain and blood-red scars.  Untouched black skin leapt jagged
across my
cheeks, writhed like tendrils of the Dark Side toward my three frontal horns.
Around their bases I drew the leaves of the Surhe vine, which slithers
stealthily
through the jungles of my home to ensnare and strangle its prey.  I left my
eyes
surrounded in blackness, to symbolize my resolve to let my vision be guided
always
by the Dark.  Similarly, my nostrils were left black; the Shadow sustains
me more
crucially than air, and I will be one with it when I breathe my
last.  Remembering my
first tattoo, I drew the fangs of Shepassh, the dragon of sweet, seductive
lies, on
my lower lip and showed his own forked tongue extending down onto my chin.
And I traced the diamond crest of Rathamah, the demon of Fear, between my eyes
and extended it down the line of my nose.

I had been stretched on this rack of pain and power and pride all night
long: animal
quivers of strain ran down the long bundles of muscle in my legs, and the
hot salt of
blood and sweat stung my newly scarred skin.  And all that time, I had been
hard,
hard as a rock, my shaft jutting so fiercely it touched my belly.  I'd had
to shove it
aside as I completed the burning of my lower stomach; the pain of that
wrench only
stoked the blaze of my power all the higher.  Now I reached out, sliding my
hands
down to cup my balls, massage them down a little from where they'd been drawn
up tight into my body.  And then I called the lightning hissing and blazing
from both
index fingers.  At the first touch of that fire to the exquisitely
sensitive skin of my
balls I collapsed, falling to my knees with a crash, then jolting onto my
back as a
shout tore its way past my clenched teeth, the first sound louder than
panting I had
made all night.  Somehow, somehow I rode the waves of agony and bliss that
crashed over me, though they almost threw me out of my incandescent flesh
completely.  Somehow I managed to focus that fire, burning tight, coiling
spirals
around my balls.  The spiral: ambiguous image of both the vortex of lust, the
inescapable inward suction, and the whirlwind of destruction, reaching
outward to
kill.

Then, for a moment, I paused, my chest heaving as I dragged air past a
throat tight
from fighting down screams.  Then, I surrounded the base of my shaft with both
hands, and pressed fire deep into my throbbing length, seared new scars slowly
upward toward the head, following the ridged contours of flesh and the
branching
of veins.  Lightning lines sizzled and grew, images of my blazing Force, as
jagged as
broken dreams, as sharp as desire.  I could feel the night's agony and
bliss rising in
an unstoppable tsunami, following the brutal flaying torch of my power, rising
toward the bared and throbbing head of my cock: the only part of me without
the
black pigment, that showed the red of my blood naturally.  And then, the
building
flood of agony and Dark ecstasy crested over my head, and crashed down on me,
overwhelming me.  I threw back my head and screamed at the fullest stretch
of my
lungs as the four streams of lightning that had been crawling up the sides,
the
upperside, the underside, of my shaft, all met in single incandescent flare
at the
head of my cock.

My whole body arched and thrashed, jolted by the spasms that wrung burst after
burst of come from me.  I heard a savage hiss and smelt sweet fumes, as the
first
pulse went up in superheated steam.  I was bathed in hot rain as scalding
splashes
spattered my upturned face, my throat and chest.  Until finally, the roaring
crescendo of Dark might ripped the last shreds of control from me, tore me
free of
my body and flung my soul out into the endless void.

***

I awoke, covered with the dried blood of my birth.  The child I once was, the
creature of unmarked velvet-black skin, had died, been burned slowly to
death.  I
was the Phoenix, arisen from my own dull ashes into new and fiery glory.  I
was a
living portrait of the Dark Side: every inch of me written with a paean in
praise of
the Sith.

I wondered at first why in all that long time I spent on the brink of
absolute pain
and absolute bliss, Sidious did nothing.  But then I realized: he did not
want to.  I
think he was waiting to see if I had chosen an ordeal too great for my
strength.  I
think part of him was hoping I would fail, that the power would blaze
beyond my
control, burn me to my bones.  I think he was even afraid to intervene,
lest that
power be turned on him.

I rolled to my feet, padded naked to the mirror.  The image of my Sith power
stared back at me.  Vivid, blood-red and twisting, jagged coils of
blackness.  And
slowly, slowly I smiled.

-=============================|<]oo###oo###=###oo###oo[>|=============================