Akythe Saraqael knew that she
had made a deal with the devil, from the moment she saw him in the
black skull-like mask. She walked through the very essences of the
holy ground of hell. The flames of Mustafar lapped and roared as
the thirteen year old walked past, her hand already drawing a
weapon created from sin. Swearing fealty to a sith — what.
a. shame. Surely, this deal she made would be the cause of her
demise.
the bitter tang of death clung to the walls of the intercepted
rebellion cruiser, the air stagnant and unmoving and no longer
alive with the sound of blasters and
screams.