Disclaimer: Standard disclaimers apply. The Star Wars universe, its characters, locations, etc. do not and will never belong to me; neither am I intending to gain profit from writing this story.

A/N: Details, happenings and facts mentions in this story might (and likely will) conflict with facts from the extended universe. There are a number of occurrences I am consciously disregarding in the face of this story. On a side note: even while I am trying to catch up, I have not actively participated in the SW universe for about a decade, so there certainly are many gaps in my knowledge. I ask you to excuse these.

Prologue

Impressive, Vader thought involuntarily.

As he was walking along the extensive corridors, he once more became aware of the enormous dimensions of the Imperial Palace. It was certainly an awe-inspiring building: with an overall height of three kilometers, the pyramidal structure towered in the very center of the governmental district of the Imperial capital. In its shape and color, it showed remarkable resemblance to the Sith Temples which had littered the universe in ages long past - and forgotten widely by the common populace.

To Darth Vader, however, the Sith code was still very much alive, and hence its spirit seeped out of every gap, every corner of the Palace. He was very well aware that the Emperor had consciously chosen an edifice as this to rule over his people; even from a distance, the Palace inspired dark notions, conjured up nightmarish ideas about the proceedings behind its sinister walls.

This notion was only intensified once one was to actually enter. With its disturbingly high ceilings and surgical cleanliness, the sense of vastness was overwhelming. The very walls exuded a degree of power and control that had most men shivering within mere seconds. And the further one progressed toward the top of the building, the more oppressing the atmosphere became.

Vader had seen grown men shuffling nervously out of the elevators, peering around corners as if being watched. Some even failed to fulfill their actual assignment and escaped hastily into the crowded streets.

It seemed that the Emperor's scheme worked flawlessly, Vader acknowledged. For, above all, Palpatine enjoyed the palpable fear he effected in his subordinates. He craved the shivering hands, the shifting eyes, the beads of cold sweat forming on the foreheads of the lowlifes seeking an audience.

Yet what drove a dark pleasure through his master did none of the sort to Vader. The Dark Lord despised weakness, loathed those worms crawling in fear from his mere presence. He inspired fear and enjoyed the feeling of power and superiority it awarded him, but held little respect for those it drew from.

There was little worth in them. What could these people know, completely blind and ignorant to the power of the Force? To most of them, it was petty trickery, an ancient religion that had all but died out - a useless remnant of the past.

Vader angered at the mere thought. All too soon the universe had forgotten about the Force, the very fabric that connected all living things. It lived in blissful ignorance at that which reigned his existence and lead him on his path. He and his master were the only ones who truly understood, the only ones who were granted access to the workings of the universe.

Or so it had seemed.

Until a few days ago, when, during the battle of Yavin, he had suddenly been confronted with a sensation he had not felt in decades. A rippling in the Force stronger than that of even his old master Obi Wan; a rippling incredibly pure and intense, originating from a young Rebel pilot. From the very first second, this boy's existence had troubled him. Not only had he thought that all Force-sensitives had been destroyed during the Purge, but there was a strange sensation surrounding this certain signature that had embedded itself into the back of the Dark Lord's mind. Something about it seemed oddly familiar, reminiscent of another life, another existence attached to a name he no longer bore. It conjured up images he had taken great pains to bury, pulled them from groundless depths. Images of an insolent boy of too much passion and youthful ignorance.

It greatly disturbed him that these fragments should resurface now. That boy's signature brought a deep unrest and raised many questions that Vader was determined to answer.

He would see to it personally.

At the moment, however, he had other duties to attend to. If, in fact, 'duties' was the correct term. Immediately after the news of the Death Star's destruction, Darth Vader had been contacted by the Emperor. There was no doubt he would be held responsible - having failed to retrieve the battlestation's stolen plans and eliminate the Rebel fighters.

His master would have retribution.

Vader arrived at the door of the Emperor's private audience chamber and entered immediately. There was no need of a giving a signal; Palpatine was very well aware of his arrival. In fact, he was aware of his location at all times.

The size of the chamber he entered was only a fraction of that of the public throne room, but was equally intimidating nevertheless. Even despite the almost complete darkness, Vader sensed his master's presence and went to kneel before the ebony armchair.

A moment passed in complete silence. Vader knew that Palpatine was using the Force to read him. He bore it without complaint.

"Rise, my friend", he finally acknowledged.

Vader did as he was told and returned to a standing position, now easily towering over his master. Their positions in the chain of command, however, remained unchanged.

"I have received word, Lord Vader", the old man began quietly, "of the destruction of the Death Star at the hands of the Rebel fleet." His voice was venomous at the last words, and a moment of pregnant silence followed during which he sat up and - supporting himself with his hands - rose from his seat. The small form took a few steps toward its disciple and looked him straight in the eye, a feat made possible only by the half-dozen steps separating the two.

"If I am not mistaken, it was your responsibility to procure and return the stolen plans. It appears you have failed. You have disappointed me, Lord Vader."

He knew the Emperor did not want apologies. He did not care for them. The student had failed the teacher.

"I am aware of my failure, my Master", he replied simply.

"Very well", the Emperor's thin lips formed a sinister smile, "You will receive due punishment."

Vader lowered his head in gesture of acceptance and awaited Palpatine's action, knowing he would execute the sentence without further delay. Having come to know about the fate of Bevel Lemelisk, the original constructor of the Death Star, he strengthened his mind and braced himself against what might await him.

But nothing could have shielded him from what the Emperor had devised.

A searing pain instantly blinded him, and it cost the Dark Lord all his strength to remain upright.

His master invaded his mind, penetrated areas buried so deep that they should never have seen the surface again. Areas even Vader would never have touched. He rummaged around and pulled up piece after piece of unbelievably painful recollection.

A disturbingly cool, vibrant blade swirling through the air, directed at him, effortlessly cutting through his flesh, conjuring up pain in limbs he would never feel again. The mutilated body fell roughly, he was vaguely aware of a presence somewhere close, one that had discarded him like a piece of worthless junk. Yet the horror of his condition swallowed him, engulfed him completely, flames began licking at him, eating away at whatever human shell remained, slowly, deliberately overstimulating every single sensitive nerve until his insides were crying out to him deafeningly. His suffering should not end, however, for after a momentary lapse into complete blackness, he was awoken by his own screams, hoarse but nevertheless thundering. Something was working away at his bones, his skin, his muscles, his nerves. Tissue was being extracted and replaced, bones were dissolved, cold metal being shoved in its place. His own screaming droned out all the noises of sawing, drilling and hammering. There were no sedatives, no kind moments of unconsciousness. There was only an all-overwhelming pain, blanking out everything else. Almost everything else.

"It seems in your anger, you killed her."

Vader's body felt shattered, broken. Every fibre revolted, screamed, as if it were intent to jump through the black armor that had become his new shell. Unbeknownst to him, the Dark Lord had fallen down to one knee, only his sheer will power preventing him from collapsing and crying out. His breathing was rapid, the respirator having trouble adjusting to the extremes.

Inside the helmet, Vader closed his eyes and allowed the Dark Side to feed upon his pain, felt it rush through his veins with unprecedented strength. He did not let the aching go, however, held on to it, slowly feeding his hungry symbiont. A bitter aftertaste remained.

"You killed her."

Vader spat mentally. These images were part of another life. They were not to disturb him.

He pushed them back further, suppressed them with all his might and finally managed to return to a standing position.

His master regarded him with a mixture of curiosity and disgust.

"It appears that Skywalker still has not been banished", he sneered, "His teacher has been destroyed, and so shall he. A Sith cannot delve in the past, for it will lead to failure. I gave you your existence after Kenobi betrayed you. See to it that Anakin Skywalker does not weaken you again."

Vader nodded curtly.

"Yes, my Master."

And so he would. The shadow of Skywalker would be dispensed with.

That name would never trouble him again.