Disclaimer: I don't own Vampire Hunter D or Star Wars. They all belong to their respective owners. No money made here.
Warnings: Spoilers for RotS-ish
Author's Notes: So, yeah, this is based more of the Light Novels of Vampire Hunter D—the side of it that is VHD—than the anime, as it uses terms from the novels for the particular character I used, as well as one other term. Written for HC-Bingo's April Amnesty Challenge using the prompt "experiments by evil scientists."

The Death of Anakin Skywalker

The pouring rain tore at his dead and dying skin as the sky moved slowly by overhead. In his delirious state, he reached out with his still attached metal arm, trying to swat at the raindrops as if they were nothing more than bothersome flies. His mind was in a fuzzy, confusing swirl that was every bit as painful as his damaged body. Vaguely, he was aware of one thing very clearly.

Despite his own tenacity, Anakin Skywalker was dying.

He remembered Mustafar. He remembered fighting Obi-Wan, traitorous Obi-Wan. He remembered slaughtering the Separatists for his new master. (Palpatine was leading his floating carrier, but he was beginning to be unware if that was real or not. Was the newly crowned Emperor really with him? Had his master really come for his mangled remains?) He remembered Padme.

Padme! He groaned with the thought, swatting at the rain again as he was struggling to sit up, to get away from this grim entourage. He had to get to Padme! She was still on Mustafar, wasn't she? No, perhaps not. Where was she? Why wasn't she here? She was alive, despite the fact that he had… He had choked her. He groaned again, this one louder.

His funeral procession continued on.

#

He watched with ancient eyes as the Emperor left what remained of his new Sith apprentice in the operating theater. Anakin—he was told the young man's name had been—appeared to be struggling against the droids trying to aid him. The door to the observation room opened, and Palpatine swept into the room. The Emperor paused in the darkness, staring at him while he observed the droids trying to do their work.

"I'm told you're called the Sacred Ancestor on your planet, yes?" Palpatine asked.

He grinned, sweeping his ebony black hair over his shoulder with a single flick of his ghostly pale hand. He turned, and the Emperor seemed momentarily taken aback. The deformed man recovered quickly, and the Sacred Ancestor was impressed, ever so slightly. After all, it took most mortals much longer to recover from seeing such impossible beauty. Glowering, the Emperor pursed his overly wrinkled and scarred lips.

"I was also told that you could aid me in regaining the apprentice I have worked so hard towards making," he snapped. "I would make your claims quickly. Lord Vader is dying. And despite my talents with the Force, the time frame in which to merely keep him living is closing."

The Sacred Ancestor glanced back through the window, and the droids were now busy attaching legs and machinery to Darth Vader—as Palpatine insisted he be called, evidently—continued to struggle. He grinned, allowing his fangs to flash briefly.

"Bring me a vial. I have a proposition for you, Emperor Palpatine," he said.

#

These damned droids! They poked and prodded and cut at him, adding to his pain and his rage and his confusion. He swung at him as hard as he could with his only remaining arm, until that—like his legs (how did he have legs?)—were clamped down to the table on which he lay. He was weak, and that angered him most. He tried to reach out in the Force, to feel his wife, to find his master, but he couldn't focus. A new jab of pain, and new whirling thought, would interrupt his concentration, and he would be thrown back into the immediate present.

And then, suddenly, Palpatine was at his side. A droid was above him, cutting into his chest, and he roared and struggled. He felt something warm wrap around him, like a soothing blanket. The Force. His master was trying to calm him. This was followed by a pinch in his flesh that, amongst the rest of his pains, he only barely noticed. He felt something cold and only mostly liquid being forced into his body. He tried to speak, but the flames had claimed most of his vocal cords. But Palpatine seemed to recognize the effort.

"Still your thoughts, Lord Vader. All will be well."

He struggled, but something felt… off. He was still in pain but it was… deeper. And it was moving, clawing deeper into his being. He roared against it, struggling against his clamps. He felt Palpatine move away, and he wanted to cry out for his master, to ask his questions. Where was Padme? Where was she? But, after a moment, Palpatine was gone, as if he had never been there at all. Meanwhile, the pain consumed him, and his thoughts refused to form.

#

Palpatine stood beside him, a snarl planted firmly on his face. "His life is still fading."

"It is a process," the Sacred Ancestor replied, the very picture of calm. "It will take more than a single vial of my blood."

"Then, why, precisely, did I only have one vial? Was I not clear when I said that time was of the essence to try out your little science experiment?"

The Sacred Ancestor was beginning to not like the way this mere mortal was talking to him. But he took a breath. He knew that this particular OSB had everything he might need to complete his goal, to leave a perfect heir to his own empire—of sorts—on his home planet of Earth, a being barely marked by the weakness that vampires experienced. Of course, if this was successful, then Anakin Skywalker would be coming with him. But Palpatine need not know that at the moment. He checked on the droid's progress with Lord Vader. Another arm had been attached, and they were finishing on the chest plate. The Sacred Ancestor held out a hand, and Palpatine placed a vial into it. The vampire slid a nail over his wrist.

"Time for our next dosage."

#

Whatever the droids were doing to him, Anakin could feel it coming to a close. But the pain was not leaving him. His skin was raw, and he had feeling that most of the dead layers had been peeled away sometime during his deepest delirium. He could feel something being encased about his body, and now all of his body, save for his head, was clamped securely to the table. He was still weak, and all he could do was flail his head about. The droids were working their way up his body, but, vaguely, heard Palpatine speaking to them.

In the next moment, he was next to Anakin again, and, again, there was that small pinch and the feeling of a thick cold liquid being forced into him. He tried to struggle once more, to protest. He was feeling weaker all the time, and he had a niggling thought that whatever his master was giving him wasn't helping.

A fresh new burst of pain hit his already scathed, raw chest, and he tried to scream, spreading the hurt to his vocal cords and face. He was dying. Despite all the work, he knew that this was what death felt like, and that they had not been able to stave it off.

#

Palpatine burst into the observation room, his anger not even attempting to be veiled. He snarled at the Sacred Ancestor, who returned the look with one of mild curiosity. With a gnarled finger, the Emperor indicated the Sith Lord beyond the glass.

"His midichlorians are dying!" the dark lord snapped. "My apprentice is getting less and less so by the moment! I was not informed that this would be a side effect of this… this… experiment!"

The Sacred Ancestor swept by the Emperor, unconcernedly, pausing in the doorway. "Yes, I had wondered if that would be a side effect."

Palpatine made an animalistic noise, shaking his head. "I'm doing this my way. I will have Lord Vader by my side!"

The vampire answered with a nonchalant wave of his hand. "He was not becoming as I hoped. Do what you will with this shell of a man."

"But, what of the vials? He could be permanently weakened!"

"Nonsense. It would have taken at least three vials of my blood to make any changes permanent. Do what you will with your own little experiment."

With no other words, the Sacred Ancestor swept from the room, vanishing quickly beyond. Palpatine lost no time and returned to the operating room just before they were fitting Lord Vader with his new, gaunt mask.

#

In the middle of his meditations, Lord Vader often recalled that pain he felt within the operating theater. His master never spoke of the mysterious liquid, and he never asked. His life was pain now, locked within the hulk of the suit that kept him alive. But, for all of that, the pain that he had experienced that night, when that liquid was put into him, was never felt again. He wondered what would have become of him if the liquid had continued to be applied. What fresh Hell would he be living then?

fin