Shaak Ti paused at the doorway, her fingers trembling against the panel. "This… feels like treason," she whispered as the door slid shut behind them. Her lekku twitched in unease.
Vader lifted his helmet with deliberate care, revealing the ruin beneath. "Treason implies loyalty to a Republic that was already rotting," he said, his voice rough but disturbingly intimate without the mask. He stepped closer, the floor groaning under his weight. "You feel their lies. I see it in your eyes."
She flinched when his gloved hand touched her cheek, following the curve of her lekku. Her breath caught. "The Council… they trusted me." Even to herself, the words sounded hollow. Heat radiated from him, sharp and unnatural, a weight pressing against her resolve.
"Trust is a chain," he rasped, his human eye fixed on hers while the mechanical one glowed faintly. "Break it." His other hand settled against her back, pulling her to the cold plate of his chest. She didn't resist. The air was thick with the scent of ozone and scorched metal, strangely intoxicating in the sterile quiet of the fortress.
Their lips met—hers yielding, his demanding. It was less a kiss than a claiming, hungry and possessive. Shaak Ti tasted ozone and metal beneath his dark power. His durasteel grip tightened, pulling her close until his armor dug into her flesh. A primal growl vibrated from his chest, deeper than his vocoder's rasp. Raw lust consumed him, fueled by Shu'ulk'Tarath and long-denied desire.
He broke away abruptly. "Kneel." The command vibrated through her lekku. Cold floor bit her knees as she obeyed. His codpiece hissed open, revealing his flushed length. Musk, ozone, and dark energy filled the air. His gloved hand tangled in her head-tresses, forcing her forward. "Suck."
She hesitated. A sharp tug on her lekku banished doubt. She took him clumsily, jaw stretching. Salt, iron, and corruption flooded her mouth. His grip tightened, guiding her rhythm until she choked. His raw groan—unfiltered by the vocoder—sent forbidden heat through her.
She adapted quickly, tongue tracing veins as he controlled her pace. Pre-cum mixed with ozone. His vocoder rasped fragmented sounds of pure pleasure.
Her body betrayed her. Heat pooled low in her belly as her free hand slid beneath her robes. Fingers found slickness between her legs, rubbing desperate circles against her clit. Muffled whimpers escaped her throat around Vader.
"Pathetic," he rasped, vocoder thick with disdain and arousal. His grip tightened on her lekku, forcing her deeper. "A Jedi Master, rutting like an animal." The degradation fueled her fire, fingers moving faster.
He groaned harshly as release surged bitter and hot into her throat. She swallowed convulsively—salt, corruption, Dark Side tang. He held her until the last pulse, then shoved her away contemptuously.
"Up," Vader commanded raggedly, hauling her to her feet. He shoved her toward the durasteel-framed bed. "Hands and knees." She scrambled onto the coarse mattress, scantily clad robes leaving little to imagination. Behind her, his armor clanked against her thighs, shadow engulfing her.
He didn't hesitate. His thick cock pressed against Shaak Ti's tight entrance, slick but resistant. A sharp cry tore from her as he thrust brutally forward—a tearing invasion. Pain blinded her, knuckles white on the bedding as her virginity surrendered violently. He withdrew slightly, then slammed deeper, grinding against her cervix. Pain blurred into shameful throbbing.
"Feel that?" Vader rasped, hands bruising her hips as he pulled her onto each savage thrust. "Feel how you stretch? How your traitorous body *welcomes* this?" His hips snapped forward—wet slaps echoing. "You weep for the Order, yet your cunt grips me like a vise." His voice dropped to a guttural growl. "Admit you want this. Want your conqueror filling you?"
Shaak Ti choked on a sob that sounded like a moan. Pain faded into terrifying fullness and friction. "I...I..." Denial died as he slammed into her cervix. "Yes!" she gasped rawly.
Vader slapped her buttock sharply. "Feel my claim leaking onto your thighs?" His thumb traced wetness down her leg—her arousal mixed with his seed. "Pathetic Jedi. Soaking yourself for your conqueror."
Shaak Ti trembled, forehead pressed into the mattress. Shame burned hotter than the lingering sting on her skin, yet her body betrayed her utterly. A low moan escaped her as Vader withdrew slightly before slamming back into her with brutal force. The friction ignited a coil of heat deep within her, tightening unbearably. Her hips rocked back instinctively, seeking that punishing fullness.
Vader's grip on her hips tightened, metal biting flesh. A guttural groan tore from his vocoder—raw and stripped of modulation. His thrusts grew erratic, desperate. "Take it," he snarled, voice thick with dark triumph. "Take every drop." He slammed deep, grinding against her cervix as his cock pulsed violently. Shaak Ti gasped, arching involuntarily as scalding release flooded her.
Withdrawal came slowly, drawing a shuddering gasp from her lips. Vader kept her pinned, his shadow looming over her trembling form. His gaze locked onto the glistening mess between her thighs—his seed mingling with her arousal, dripping onto the mattress. "See what you are," he commanded, spreading her wider. "Mine."
His hand cracked against her ass cheek—sharp, stinging—leaving a red imprint. Shaak Ti jerked forward, a ragged moan torn from her lips. Vader traced the welt possessively. "Marked," he growled as her hips arched toward the sting. "Inside and out."
**
Shaak Ti lay limp in Vader's arms, breathing shallowly against his durasteel chest plate. Exhaustion dragged her into fitful sleep. The air hung thick with ozone, sweat, and their mingled release. Vader watched her—trembling lekku, tear-streaked cheeks, the red welts rising on her backside. His marks. A profound stillness settled over him, Shu'ulk'Tarath's furnace banked, replaced by dark satisfaction. Her submission had quenched his hunger. His gloved thumb traced a bruise on her shoulder with surprising gentleness.
He held her unmoving, the fortress's distant hum their only company. Her head rested against his shoulder, seeking refuge in unconsciousness. Vader gazed down not with tenderness, but chilling certainty: she was broken. Her spirit fractured, her body claimed. This stillness was Shu'ulk'Tarath's pinnacle—absolute dominion.
Slowly, he disentangled himself. She slumped onto the stained mattress with a sigh. Vader rose, the floor groaning under his weight. He looked down at the tableau of conquest—ripped robes, drying streaks, blooming handprints. His codpiece hissed shut, sealing away the instrument of violation. Silence hung heavy with echoes of choked cries and guttural commands.
He picked up the helmet from where it lay. The obsidian surface caught the dim light, showing nothing back. With a sharp clank-hiss, it locked into place over his scarred face. The vocoder exhaled its mechanical breath, smothering the sound of his own lungs. His world shrank to the helmet's red viewport. Shaak Ti's scent, the heat of her defeat, the proof of his control—gone, buried under layers of steel and machinery. He was Darth Vader again.
He left her quarters without looking back. The door slid shut, leaving her inside with what was left of herself. His steps struck heavy against the empty halls, the silence broken only by the rasp of his respirator. Yet he still felt her. The softness of her body under the armor, the broken sounds she'd made, the heat that lingered on his skin. The mask gave him distance, the cold edge he needed. But inside it, her taste clung—salt, fear, and something he could not quite let go of.
Vader moved down into the command nexus. The glow of the holoprojectors painted his armor in cold blue, stretching his shadow across the walls. He stood at the console, motionless, the silence absolute but for the wheeze of his machine lungs. Then he lowered his guard. Shu'ulk'Tarath. The name pulsed through his mind, heavy and raw. The response was immediate—searing heat behind his eyes, a dark coil sliding into place around his thoughts.
Approval slammed into him, thick and suffocating, coating his mind like hot oil. You have done well, my vessel. The voice rattled his bones, old and alien. You claimed the flesh. You broke the spirit. Shaak Ti is a worthy prize. The pressure tightened, pulling at the memories of her skin, her strangled cries, the heat of her collapse. Because she proves it. Proof of devotion. Proof of strength. Proof you have taken the power I give.
The heat swelled in his chest, hotter than Mustafar's fire. It wasn't pain—it was undoing. His ruined skin shifted, closing, smoothing over like wax poured into broken stone. His vocoder burst with a gasp as tendons snapped into place and cartilage regrew. Strength rushed through his limbs, not borrowed, but his own—raw, familiar, terrifying. He staggered back, clutching the console as the metal bent under his grip. His respirator stuttered, then pulled a full breath into lungs that hadn't drawn air in decades. He tore the helmet off. Cold air hit fresh skin. In the dark glass he saw the impossible: Anakin's face, unscarred, sharp, framed in black hair, eyes glowing black. Not Sith yellow. Midnight-black, like Shu'ulk'Tarath itself stared out through him.
Power trembled through his body, not weakness but release. He flexed his hands—both flesh now, his right restored. The ache of old loss was gone, replaced by a living pulse in every limb. He was whole. He was young. But not untouched. The hair, the eyes—no trace of Anakin's blue, no sign of Vader's sickly yellow. Only the entity's mark, dark as void and pulsing with unnatural life. Its satisfaction coiled inside him, a steady, consuming warmth. This vessel is worthy, it whispered, voice curling through his skull. Wear my sigil.