Private Surprise?

[Darth Virelia]

"A contract of blood and sin."

Tags - Adelle Bastiel

The hangar lights hummed like captive insects. Cold illumination swept over the sleek obsidian hull of Virelia's shuttle, as it rested in the shadowed belly of an abandoned mining platform orbiting the red-lit asteroid field. Outside the durasteel viewports, fragments of rock drifted like the bones of a shattered world. Somewhere beyond them, an old pirate fortress awaited erasure.

Virelia stood at the edge of the docking ramp, motionless save for the faint, rhythmic pulse of violet light from the crystal at her chest. Her armor—Tyrant's Embrace—reflected the hangar's dim glow in sharp, predatory planes, casting violet and crimson reflections across the walls. The air around her was taut, like the moments before a storm. She had not brought soldiers, or acolytes, or the obedient machines that usually accompanied her. This time, she waited for one. A professional.

Who that would be, she did not yet know.

The contract had been deliberately anonymous: Clean out the pirate nest on asteroid MX-744. Good credits. No questions. Bring your own guns. It was bait dressed as opportunity. A test disguised as work.

Her claws traced an invisible pattern through the air, and the datapad before her flickered with the bounty's particulars—targets, defenses, expected resistance. All mundane. All beneath her, were it not for the hidden cargo the pirates had stolen from one of her shadow routes. A crate of sealed components—classified, alchemic, and far too dangerous to let the wrong hands keep.

She allowed herself a soft exhale, a near-purr through the modulator of her helm. "Let's see who answers greed first," she murmured.

Outside the hangar, the void was silent—until a faint thrumming began to echo through the docking corridor. A ship approaching. She felt the ripples of intent before she saw the lights.

Virelia straightened, every movement slow and deliberate, six violet eyes flaring awake. She adjusted her hood, her cape spilling down like liquid shadow, and waited—licentious calm wrapped in armor and corruption.

When the ramp finally hissed open, she didn't move to greet whoever came. She only smiled beneath the mask and whispered, almost tenderly,

"Come in, hunter. Let's see what kind of sinner you are."

 

[Adelle Bastiel]

Ship: [Fang-class Protectorate] | Armor: [Durasteel beskar'gam] | Guns: [785MK Firepuncher] [SHUKUR-05 Light Repeater] [SM-10a]



Adelle stared at the datapad as the ship neared the end of its hyperspace jump, reading over the contract again.

Clean out the pirate nest on asteroid MX-744. Good credits. No questions. Bring your own guns.

And the creds were very good. In spite of the contract's anonymity, she'd taken it. There'd been more foundlings lately, and even though she herself was a foundling that hadn't yet taken the Verd'goten, she was an adult that could contribute to Clan Skirata's health. The anonymity gnawed at the back of her mind though. Despite anonymous contracts being almost nearly as numerous--if not more so--as non-anonymous, this one . . . this one bothered her. The amount of creds offered made it feel like a trap. It was certainly out of the way enough. An asteroid in a belt . . . be real easy to cause a starship to crash and call it an accident with no evidence to the contrary.

But foundlings, equipment, housing, food . . . all these required credits. This wasn't just going to help her out, it was helping her clan. At least, that's the thought she used to comfort the misgivings and unease she felt.

The Fang-class starfighter shuddered only slightly as it reverted to realspace, the belt hovering some klicks in front of her. More immediate was the mining platform, dark from abandonment. The coords matched with the platform. A meeting place then, to hash out details with the contracting party. Adelle's unease grew as she guided the ship to the platform's hangar, a chill slithering up her spine. A black shuttle waited inside in the intermittent flickering lights, a hooded figure in black standing below it. Adelle felt some measure of alarm and her mouth went dry although she couldn't place her finger on why.

But she had already committed to the landing procedure. She'd already accepted the contract--as "Senth" the aurebesh letter--and the clan needed the creds. It was too late to back out now.

The landing struts thumped against durasteel and a pressure, Dark and oily, started to weigh on her presence. Adelle clenched her jaw and braced herself. It had to be impossible. It should be impossible. But that presence, that pressure, she'd only felt once before. And the violet light pulsing through the black armor confirmed it.

Not again.

The cockpit hissed as it opened slowly, giving Adelle time to grab and holster her Westar-34 blaster pistol, and place her lightsaber hilt on the mag-plate at the back of her belt. If she was right, then Adelle had done this song and dance with this particular Dark Sider before and there was no way she was meeting with them unarmed. Or unhelmeted.

As soon as the cockpit fully opened, the full weight of the presence landed on her, trying to suffocate and smother. She took a deep breath then climbed out, hopping down from the wing to face the Dark Sider at the edge of the shuttle. Adelle could do this: get the details, get the job done, get paid, and get the hell out.

"Mission details?" she asked. The sooner she got this done, the better.

Darth Virelia

 

[Darth Virelia]

"A contract of blood and sin."

Tags - Adelle Bastiel

Virelia's gaze—six violet facets burning like fractured stars—followed the Mandalorian from the moment the Fang settled. The hiss of pressure equalizing, the snap of boots on durasteel, the low hum of a lightsaber's dormant song—each note composed the prelude she'd been expecting. When the figure stepped from the wing, clad in beskar and control, Virelia almost laughed. Of course it was her.

She didn't. She only tilted her head, the movement predatory and fluid, as if studying some exquisite specimen rediscovered.

"'Senth,'" she echoed, voice velvet and electric through her vocoder, drawing out the false name like an inside joke. "You wear your letters well. I was beginning to think I'd frightened you out of the galaxy for good."

A deliberate pause—long enough to let recognition crawl between them.

Virelia stepped forward, unhurried. Her armor caught the dying light of the hangar, scattering reflections of violet across Adelle's visor like tiny, shimmering sigils. The crystal at her sternum pulsed once, in time with her slow, measured tone.

"The mission," she said at last, as though the word itself amused her. "An asteroid outpost, MX-744. Pirates. Smugglers. Scavengers who took something that belongs to me. We will go together."

She stopped within arm's reach, the hum of her armor bleeding into the air. The scent of ozone and metal, faint spice and danger.

"I need the cargo retrieved intact. Not the crew, not their ships. The crate." Her claws traced a line in the air, like carving the shape of the object from memory. "You'll know it when you see it. It hums."

Her voice softened—warmer, darker. "You'll be paid triple your posted rate. Hazard bonus, of course." A faint tilt of the helm. "And perhaps something rarer, if you impress me."

Virelia leaned closer, the smooth mask mere inches from Adelle's visor. "Tell me, Mandalorian—why come back?" she whispered, silk and sin threaded through her tone. "Was it for the credits, or the part of you that wanted to see what might happen if you didn't run this time?"

 

[Adelle Bastiel]

Recognition and amusement rippled through the suffocating weight of the Dark Sider's presence. So much for trying to keep it professional, to treat it like just another CorSec briefing. Adelle hated the way the helmet moved, as if studying her. The barest hiss of sound came from her own helmet, the only sign of her exasperation. The Dark Sider was sure to turn this coincidence into something more.

"'Senth,'" she echoed, voice velvet and electric through her vocoder, drawing out the false name like an inside joke. "You wear your letters well. I was beginning to think I'd frightened you out of the galaxy for good."

Adelle snorted but bit back a retort. Krayt hadn't managed it and the Firrerreoan mad scientist and crime lord actually had broken her. A Dark Sider that refused to use logic unless it served her purposes and didn't take no for an answer was child's play in comparison. Not that she wanted to see what the Dark Sider would do to "remake" her. Getting broken twice was more than enough.

"The mission," she said at last, as though the word itself amused her. "An asteroid outpost, MX-744. Pirates. Smugglers. Scavengers who took something that belongs to me. We will go together."

Oh Hells no. She'd been hoping for a solo mission. Not... this. This was going to be unbearable.

"I need the cargo retrieved intact. Not the crew, not their ships. The crate." Her claws traced a line in the air, like carving the shape of the object from memory. "You'll know it when you see it. It hums."

So no explosives, no using the Fang-class fighter to soften up defenses, and she'd have to be careful with blasterfire. Probably leave the repeater behind, go in with the Firepuncher for long range, pistol for close to medium. Lightsaber and beskad as backup. Now if the Dark Sider had a layout or better yet, a schematic, infiltration could be planned and this could all be relatively painless.

Her voice softened—warmer, darker. "You'll be paid triple your posted rate. Hazard bonus, of course." A faint tilt of the helm. "And perhaps something rarer, if you impress me."

I'll be sure to disappoint. Adelle bit back the words, instead shifting her weight and moving to hook one thumb in her belt, relaxed and nonchalant. This felt like it was moving along the same lines their last conversation had. And she hated that. Hated how familiar this was starting to feel.

Virelia leaned closer, the smooth mask mere inches from Adelle's visor. "Tell me, Mandalorian—why come back?" she whispered, silk and sin threaded through her tone. "Was it for the credits, or the part of you that wanted to see what might happen if you didn't run this time?"

"Wouldn't you like to know," Adelle said. A response had been expected and of all the things that demanded to be said, she'd settled for this one. A non-answer the Dark Sider couldn't twist or flip, no logic to bend, no truth to warp. The six insectile-eyed helm was very close to her face and the temptation to headbutt, to violently keldabe kiss the Dark Sider was strong. Adelle flexed her left hand and started cracking the knuckles using the fingers while her right hand stayed hooked. Well she was stuck now. She doubted very much the Dark Sider would let her just walk away.

"Do you have schematics? A layout of their base? Or are we," she said with no small amount of distaste, "going in blind?"

Darth Virelia

 

[Darth Virelia]

"A contract of blood and sin."

Tags - Adelle Bastiel

Virelia's laughter was low and molten, a sound that purred from somewhere beneath the armor's modulation, rich and human in a way that unsettled precisely because it shouldn't have been.

"Blind?" she repeated, each syllable uncoiling like smoke. "Never."

Her claws folded behind her back as she began to circle Adelle, slow and deliberate, her cape whispering over the durasteel. The faint pulse of the crystal in her chest washed the Mandalorian's armor in violet rhythm, every heartbeat syncing just a fraction too close. She stopped just behind Adelle, close enough that the heat of her armor pressed faintly against durasteel.

"I have the schematics," she murmured, her voice brushing along the edges of Adelle's helmet, "but you wouldn't believe me if I told you how I acquired them. Let's just say the former owner was… persuasive once his lungs collapsed."

A datapad flickered to life between her claws, its light painting their reflections across her mask. Rows of diagrams—corridors, choke points, and marked energy signatures—glimmered in blue. She tilted the screen toward Adelle, her talon tracing one glowing line. "They've repurposed mining tunnels as habitation sectors. Airlocks here and here. Power conduits here. The central chamber—" a pause, the tone softening to a dark whisper, "—is where they keep my property."

She turned the datapad off, her helm lowering toward Adelle's. "You'll lead," Virelia said, her tone poised between order and promise. "You're quick, efficient. Practical. I prefer to watch the artistry of competence before I decide how best to… refine it."

Her talon lifted, this time to tap gently against Adelle's visor, the faint click of metal on durasteel reverberating in the tight air. "You could have ignored the contract, Senth. You could have stayed planets away and let your little clan scrape by. But you came. You chose to come. Don't lie to yourself and say it was only for credits."

The helm tilted, six eyes glowing brighter. "Some part of you wanted this. The challenge. The risk. The danger of being too close to the thing you swore you'd escaped."

She stepped back, the violet glow dimming to a soft, pulse-like thrum.

"Good," she said finally, smooth and cutting. "Keep that thrill alive, Mandalorian. It'll make you sharper—and I do so enjoy sharp things."

 

[Adelle Bastiel]

"I bet you do," Adelle bit out. Oh she wanted to correct this Dark Sider, set the record straight. Claiming credit for pure happenstance? Unbelievable. But it would draw her in to another pointless conversation where the Dark Sider twisted everything to suit her own narrative. She ground her teeth, recalling the schematics from the datapad. Corridors, or mining shafts if the Dark Sider was telling the truth, branched out from a central room but she had only pointed out two airlocks. That gave the pirates a bolt hole to run to, and it meant that once she started fighting--she seriously doubted the Dark Sider intended to fight based on her words--others from different shafts would converge on her location. Best place to pick a fight would be the central chamber, which was less than ideal. Adelle only hoped that there was other cargo to provide cover.

"Send the schematics to my datapad," she said. "I need them if I'm taking point."

From there, she could upload the information to her HUD and have it somewhere unobtrusive but accessible. The Dark Sider hadn't mentioned any points of entry she preferred so Adelle assumed that would be up to her. Figures she'd be doing all the work. Granted she'd come expecting that to begin with but the Dark Sider looked perfectly capable herself. Some of what the Dark Sider had said she turned over in her mind before it hit her. This was how she was recruiting. Set up a well-paying contract and wait for someone to show up. Use the combat as a trial by fire. Make her decision to keep the poor sap alive or kill them after the contract was complete.

And this time, she was the poor sap.

"I assume you'll be following in that," Adelle said, nodding at the shuttle. She made to cimb up onto the wing of her Fang-class starfighter. Let's see the Dark Sider tap on her buy'ce once she got on top.


Darth Virelia

 

[Darth Virelia]

"A contract of blood and sin."

Tags - Adelle Bastiel

The hum of the hangar deepened as the Dark Lady turned toward her shuttle, each movement deliberate—ritualistic. The glow from the violet crystal at her chest flared briefly, sending soft pulses through the shadows like a heartbeat leaking into the air itself. She didn't answer immediately; she rarely did. Silence, after all, was the most eloquent form of power.

The schematics pinged onto Adelle's datapad before the request had fully left her lips. The transfer was instantaneous, seamless—too efficient to be entirely natural. Virelia had always preferred her own methods of connection. There was no need for words to confirm it.

From below, the Sith's voice slid across the comm channel—distorted, softened, and far too calm.
"Your data is live. You'll find a third route not listed on the original maps. Use it."

On the map, The smuggler's access shaft plunged deep through the asteroid's crust—a forgotten ore vent repurposed into a narrow, ribbed tunnel slick with coolant and dust. Faint radiation signatures appeared from cracked conduits. It led straight beneath the base's reactor—dangerous, invisible, and perfect. No explanation followed. Just static, and the faintest hum of her breathing through the vocoder.

Virelia watched the Mandalorian climb the wing, violet light catching along beskar plates. The reflection bent across her mirrored helm—six eyes watching the hunter from every possible angle, tracking each confident, purposeful motion. Beautiful in its defiance. Predictable in its righteousness.

A taloned hand rose briefly, fingers brushing the air as though sketching something unseen between them. The temperature around the hangar dropped a few degrees. Lights flickered. The power systems of her shuttle dimmed for a heartbeat before stabilizing again.

A small tether—unseen, intangible, but unmistakably there—coiled between them through the Force. Virelia's influence never demanded submission; it invited it. Slow, patient corrosion disguised as cooperation.

Her voice came again through the comm, quieter now, laced with something almost intimate.
"Go. I'll follow at distance. Keep your transponder silent."

The hangar filled with the deep, resonant growl of the ship awakening. The shuttle's engines bled violet light, mist rolling across the deck as systems came online.

Virelia's helm tilted toward the Fang one last time, gaze unreadable behind that featureless mask.

Then—softly, more to herself than to Adelle—came the final murmur:
"Let's see if you still burn when pressed against the dark."

The shuttle lifted soundlessly from the deck, gliding after the Mandalorian into the asteroid belt's fractured abyss, a violet star-shadow trailing in its wake.

 

[Adelle Bastiel]

Crouched and deceptively relaxed, Adelle watched the Dark Sider head towards her shuttle before sliding into the fighter with the ease of someone who'd lived in one. Not for the last time did she feel a twinge of regret for having to leave behind her twintail X-wing with her old Order. A couple switches and the Fang-class came to life again, another flipped the transponder off. She was used to running radio-silent with CorSec but running silent with a Dark Sider set off every common sense alarm in her head.

That tendril of Force the Dark Sider had spun out remained, asking for connection. Adelle ignored it. She had carefully kept herself separate from telepathic bonds like that ever since her return from the Underworld of Coruscant. Not even Na'an had shared that kind of connection with her. Like hells was she going to connect with the Dark Sider.

Adelle tapped on her datapad quickly, guiding the starfigher out into the void with one deft hand, syncing the schematics the Dark Sider sent over with the HUD in her buy'ce. The third route the Dark Sider mentioned looked to be a smaller shaft, tucked away from the main chamber and shafts. Its access point suggested it could be used for secretive means--that suited her, or rather, their purposes. Adelle grimaced at the thought. That was it, all the creds were going to the clan. She'd never get the icy oil slick feel of the Dark Side or the oppressive weight of this Dark Sider off her mind if they stayed in her account.

Navigating the belt was no walk through Dantooine's fields. She was glad the datapad had been quick to sync information before the Fang-class fighter got too far into the floating plane of rocks. Adelle pressed her lips into a fine line, turning all her focus onto the moving asteroids and the sensors she needed to fly through them. The Force helped but it still payed to be alert to the smallest changes. The Dark Sider's presence felt like the weight of a spider on her back where she couldn't reach.

MX-744 slowly floated into view, a massive asteroid with an industrial landing pad next to one of the main airlocks. Adelle kept her distance, flying around to where the alternate infil point broke the surface. A force field flickered over the opening, a sign that the inside was still pressurized with atmosphere. The hole was wide enough for even the Dark Sider's shuttle to land in but the space inside would be tight for two ships. It'd have to do and Adelle had managed tight landings before. She managed to set down with just enough space left for the Dark Sider to land.

The time started now. While the pirates hadn't had windows and her transponder was off, she didn't trust them to not have some kind of proximity sensors or motion sensors around the asteroid. Or even in this barely-used makeshift hangar. Adelle collected the weapons she'd already selected mentally and hopped out of the cockpit as soon as it hissed open. The hangar was clear, thankfully, not even a crate left behind to hide shadows. As soon as her boots hit the ground, she was moving swiftly up the tunnel, WESTAR-34 in hand. First stop: one of the power conduits. Rendering the pirates blind and their sensors useless would give her another edge. She followed the map in her HUD.

A grim smirk played on her mouth. The Dark Sider better keep up. She'd be moving fast.

She encountered no one in the side tunnel--it truly was as abandoned as its dusty hangar made it seem. Her HUD blinked a proximity and motion warning as she came upon the end of the tunnel, a small, twisting crack hidden in shadows. A red dot moved along another shaft that emptied into the connecting chamber. Adelle slowed for a heartbeat, holstering the pistol and drawing the vibroblade. Carefully, she emerged behind the pirate that had the misfortune to be passing by on his way to busier areas. She picked up her pace again, coming up behind the pirate and clamping a hand over his mouth while driving the vibroknife into his neck. Carotid artery, jugular vein, pharynx laceration. Exsanguination in less than a minute. Death in ten seconds. Adelle walked on without pausing, letting the body fall into shadows. The bitter tang of blood on the air reached into her helmet. She adjusted the filter strength.

Her luck held; the shafts leading to the targeted power conduit were empty, save for one unlucky soul stumbling drunk towards her. They dropped, same as the first, as she stepped over to the conduit and popped the panel open. It took a moment for her HUD to highlight which wires she wanted. Two more blips appeared around a corner, approaching her location from the other direction. Adelle pulled out clippers and cut the wire that powered their communications station. Sensors were down. It'd take them a bit to piece together what had happened and then send someone here. Another cut clipped internal cameras. She set the clippers around the wire to the lights. Two pirates, a Rodian and a Duros, walked into view, talking and joking loudly.

"Hey! What're you--"

Adelle cut the lights. Her HUD flicked over to night vision near-instantaneously and she got to work. She smashed the Rodian's head against the wall to her right, dropping clippers to pull the vibroblade again. Concussion, non-lethal, disorientation. Headache, ringing in the ears. Recovery less than a minute. She slid the vibroblade into the Rodian's neck then ducked beneath the blind haymaker from the Duros. Another thrust, up towards the jaw through the trachea and a rough slash across to both free the knife and sever the artery. Not as clean as she'd like but a quick death nonetheless. And no one to sound the alarm.

Four blips on her HUD pinged more pirates in the corridor around the bend, heading her way. Adelle sheathed the vibroknife and unslung the sniper blaster rifle. She turned the corner, shouldering the weapon, and dropped to a knee in one fluid motion. Four bright red bolts flashed the hallway like strobe lights. Four shots found four marks. The report of the blaster rifle thundered in the small confines and echoed away.

"Knock, knock," Adelle muttered. She slung the Firepuncher back onto her shoulder and drew her pistol once more, striding through the shafts. Time to go loud. Clear out the outer shafts as much as possible before heading into the central chamber. Easier to whittle down numbers in small spaces.

And always, the heavy Darkness followed behind her like her own personal stormcloud.



Darth Virelia

 

[Darth Virelia]

"A contract of blood and sin."

Tags - Adelle Bastiel

Virelia's shuttle cut through the asteroid's shadow in silence, engines whispering like something alive. Inside, she stood at the open ramp, the black geometry of her armor bathed in the dim pulse of the crystal at her chest. Through the Force, the Mandalorian's movements rippled like a heart beating in the dark — quick, efficient, beautifully ruthless. The deaths registered as quiet flares of life extinguished. Each one fed the current she drew around herself.

She didn't hurry to follow. She felt every cut, every breath, every pulse of adrenaline as Adelle worked through the tunnels. The tether between them thrummed faintly — not strong enough to control, but enough to taste the flickers of focus and grim satisfaction that rolled off the hunter's mind. It was… intoxicating.

When Virelia finally entered the side shaft, her steps were soundless, the faint hiss of air around her armor the only indication of her presence. Bodies lay where they had fallen — not sloppily, but with the precision of a surgeon. She trailed one taloned finger along a smear of blood on the wall, watching the way it caught the violet light of her armor.

"Beautiful," she whispered.

Her path led her to the central chamber — a vast, circular space lined with half-dead lights and the smell of coolant, spice, and sweat. A dozen pirates shouted, weapons rising, panic already bleeding into their movements. Virelia tilted her helm, six eyes narrowing. The hum that filled the air deepened; the violet light within her chest flared brighter.

She lifted one clawed hand.

The lightning came soundlessly at first — violet-white tendrils unfurling from her fingertips like ribbons of molten silk. Then the chamber erupted in thunder. The bolts arced from pirate to pirate, crawling across flesh and metal, illuminating the space with the brilliance of apocalypse. Screams dissolved into crackling static. The smell of ozone and charred flesh filled the air. When the last one fell, she lowered her hand, the echoes still dancing faintly across her armor.

Silence returned — deep and reverent.

Virelia stood at the center of it all, surrounded by the dead. The crystal in her chest pulsed slow and steady, the light reflecting in pools of blood like violet stars.

Her head turned slightly toward Adelle, the voice that followed a murmur beneath the vocoder — low, intimate, threaded with something dangerous.

"You move well," she said. "Cold. Precise. Efficient." A pause.

She stepped closer, the hum of her armor resonating faintly against the Mandalorian's chestplate.

"It's in you, Adelle. That rhythm — violence made deliberate." Her voice softened to a purr. "The line between duty and hunger is thinner than you think."

Virelia's talon traced the air near the edge of Adelle's visor, not touching — just close enough to feel the static kiss of the Force. "Don't flinch from it next time," she whispered. "You might like what you find."

The violet glow of her armor dimmed again, pulsing in rhythm with Adelle's heartbeat.

Virelia stepped past the fallen bodies, every motion smooth — a waltz among corpses. She moved toward the crate at the chamber's center, its surface still humming faintly with the power she sought. A wave of her hand lifted it effortlessly, letting it hover beside her like a pet orbiting its master.

"Extraction beacon's active," she murmured, voice soft as smoke. "We are going to have to wait a little."

She turned toward Adelle, violet light spilling from her chestplate, reflecting across the Mandalorian's beskar like liquid dusk. "You were magnificent," Virelia said, not mockery but a quiet, almost reverent truth. "Efficient. Fearless. You carve through death as though it were an art form — and it is, you know. You just refuse to admit you're the artist."

She stepped closer, close enough that the scent of ozone and blood mingled with her voice.

"It's a shame," she whispered, "that you'll never see yourself the way I do — in the stillness between breaths, when the galaxy bends around your will."

A pause, then, more tenderly:

"You could be extraordinary, Adelle. But you'll never know how divine you already are."

 

[Adelle Bastiel]

The shaft she'd been in terminated at the central chamber, a dozen red blips on her HUD. Dealing with that was manageable, now that she had whittled down their numbers. Adelle would still have to use the Force--the thought grated, but it could not be helped. Quick steps quietly led her to the end when the Force changed. It charged. And a spike of icy Darkness lanced through her awareness. Deaths. Violent. Painful. Her stride faltered but she pushed on. How long had it been since she felt the Dark Side being used? Not long enough.

She entered the main room as the ice faded to a frosty chill, catching a whiff of ozone and charred fabric before her helm's filter kicked in. The Dark Sider stood in the middle of the carnage like some spectre of Death. Adelle deliberately took slow, deep breaths as her stride slowed to measured steps into the chamber. That was going to haunt her memnii, and if it didn't, it'd be a miracle.

The six-eyed helm tilted her way as she approached, the voice giving out approval. Internally, Adelle scoffed. Precision and efficiency had been drilled into her until it was second nature. The Dark Sider stepped closer to her, the discordant hum of the armor's Darkness passing through her durasteel cuirass. Her words turned along familiar lines as Adelle breathed through the resonance that sought to disrupt or distract. It did not escape her notice that the crystal at the Dark Sider's chest strobed with the same rhythm as her own heartbeat.

A crate in the center of the chamber lifted at the Dark Sider's clawed gesture and Adelle was mildly surprised to find that it actually did hum.

"Extraction beacon's active," she murmured, voice soft as smoke. "We are going to have to wait a little."

Oh that was just kriffing fantastic. Adelle moved to sit down on a crate the size of a footlocker, taking a rag out of a pocket and cleaning the blood from her vibroblade. The Dark Sider spoke of fearlessness, artistry in death, as if this hadn't been a contract but a performance for high society. Adelle took a deep breath and let it out in a long, slow sigh. The praise felt empty and hollow.

"...Don't be so good to me at your expense," she finally said, quietly.

She'd already received higher praise a long time ago. From someone who had seen what laid behind the walls and careful control.

Someone now missing.

"Divinity. Magnificence. Art," Adelle echoed. She chuckled softly, sadly. "I am a weapon. First forged by the Jedi, tempered by tr--struggle, and loaned out to CorSec on the rare occasions they asked. I know what I am and I've made my peace with it."

She looked up at the Dark Sider. "Got an ETA on your 'extraction?'"



Darth Virelia

 

[Darth Virelia]

"A contract of blood and sin."

Tags - Adelle Bastiel

Virelia stood in the quiet aftermath, six violet eyes dimmed to a softer glow, their edges refracting the flicker of dying lights. The hum of the crate filled the chamber, low and steady, like a mechanical heartbeat. She didn't answer immediately. For once, she didn't need to. Silence, in its way, was communion.

When she finally spoke, her voice was lower—less a weapon, more a confession. "You think I don't understand what it means to be forged?" she said, helm tilting fractionally toward Adelle. "You think I don't remember what it is to be shaped by another's will until the shape becomes your own?"

She stepped closer, slow and careful, boots whispering against the scorched floor. "Every blade believes it was born sharp," Virelia continued. "But someone held the hammer. Someone chose the fire. You say you're a weapon; I believe you. You just never asked who should be wielding you all this time."

The words carried no venom—only a strange, quiet certainty.

She stopped beside Adelle, the violet glow of her armor spilling faint light across the Mandalorian's beskar. "I want to control you," Virelia said simply. "It's a need, a hunger. An inbuilt primal lust to dominate and leash all who surround me. That is how I make sense of the galaxy. It's how I keep it from breaking me again."

For a heartbeat, the vocoder softened, almost human. "But I understand why you fight it. Once, I fought harder."

The hum of her crystal deepened, and for a moment her head bowed—not submission, but recognition. "The one who forged me believed control was power. They were wrong. Power is power. You've learned that too."

She turned her head slightly toward the sealed tunnel where the extraction beacon blinked faintly red. "ETA: ten minutes," she said, the practical note grounding the moment. "Enough time to pretend we're not what we are."

Then, quieter—intimate: "You don't need to believe me, Adelle. But understand this—when I look at you, I see something that doesn't break when struck. I envy that."

Virelia let the silence fall again, the hum of the crate and the dying sparks the only witness to truth.

 

[Adelle Bastiel]

Assumptions littered the Dark Sider's argument but there was almost vulnerability there. Certainly an honesty there, if guarded. Adelle sheathed the vibroknife and began to inspect the Firepuncher. She hadn't used it much but her brief time among the Mandos so far and her stints with CorSec taught her to be thorough in weapon maintenance. The Dark Sider stopped next to her and Adelle paused to look up. The twisted kyber crystal sat over the heart of the breastplate like some beacon, pulsing with a shift in the Dark Sider's words. Keeping a powersource that close to the heart was a dangerous risk with little reward. She could only think of a few reasons why anyone would.

She turned her head slightly toward the sealed tunnel where the extraction beacon blinked faintly red. "ETA: ten minutes," she said, the practical note grounding the moment. "Enough time to pretend we're not what we are."

Ten minutes. And she wasn't leaving without getting paid first. Well, she could suffer philosophy and the Dark Sider's natural inclination to try to control her. Or she could try to make this more enjoyable for both of them. Maybe.

"Or we could be exactly what we are. Two people trying to survive in their own way." The inside of the helmet was getting stuffy and Adelle wanted to feel air, even recycled air, on her skin. She reached up to remove it, seals hissing, and pulled it off. She ran a hand through her short and sweaty hair, briefly missing the weight of the length she'd cut off. The stench of burnt fabric and charred flesh still hung in the air, but the pirate base felt cooler than her buy'ce did.

A terrible risk, considering the historic precedence of how touchy this Dark Sider liked to be.

"You don't need to believe me, Adelle. But understand this—when I look at you, I see something that doesn't break when struck. I envy that."

Well, good to know that she was succeeding in hiding her brokenness. Not that most people could come by that information easily: what wasn't hidden behind confidential Jedi Order and CorSec files had been purged by Krayt. Adelle set her helmet down on the crate. There was no need to let the Dark Sider know that though.

"I have a therapy animal," Adelle said. "A spukami. And a real schutta when she wants to be. Keeps me sane. Most days."

That was as close to the truth as she dared get with a Dark Sider Hells-bent on controlling people.

"You got a name or am I going to have to come up with something?"

If she ignored the unbearable weight of the Dark Sider's presence, she could almost pretend to have something like a friendly conversation.



Darth Virelia

 

[Darth Virelia]

"A contract of blood and sin."

Tags - Adelle Bastiel

For a moment, Virelia said nothing. The violet light from her armor cast long, thin shadows across the wreckage, dancing faintly over Adelle's face — no longer hidden behind the visor. She studied her openly now, with that impossible stillness that came from a lifetime of measured restraint. The absence of the helmet had shifted something. The room felt smaller. Quieter.

"A therapy animal," Virelia repeated softly, as though the idea itself was a relic from another life. "I had something similar, once." Her voice carried a strange, raw candor, unvarnished by the usual seduction or command. "Not an animal, though. A voice in my head."

She turned away slightly, her gaze following the pulsing crate hovering nearby, its rhythmic hum mirroring her own breath. "She used to say the galaxy was kind. That power didn't need to be cruel to be strong." A pause. "She received a lightsaber through the heart. I was too different to have any friends."

The admission lingered between them, unembellished.

Then, slowly, she looked back to Adelle — the fractured reflections of the pirate dead shimmering across her black armor. "You ask for my name," she said. "Once, it was Serina. Now, the galaxy knows me as Virelia. The first was a girl who wanted to be good. The second… is what survived her."

The glow at her chest dimmed slightly, the kyber's pulse syncing to something quieter, steadier. "Names are curious things," she continued, her tone still calm, thoughtful. "You can change them, discard them, bury them beneath titles — but they're never truly gone. They cling to you. Whisper to you in the dark."

Her gaze softened, though the weight of her presence did not. "Keep your spukami close, Adelle. The small, honest things are the ones the galaxy will always try to take from you. You'll need her more than your blade."

She took a single step closer, her voice low, even. "And you don't have to come up with a name for me. You already have managed to work around it. You've been doing it since Taris." A faint tilt of her helm, a trace of that violet light catching in her eyes.

"Cold. Detached. Easier to hate. Safer that way."

 

[Adelle Bastiel]

The Dark Sider spoke quietly, her voice and words stripped of the husky sensuality and the expectation of obedience. It rang clear with honesty and vulnerability. She spoke of 'the voice in her head' receiving a lightsaber to the heart, looking as intently at the crate as she had studied Adelle's face in the silence before she talked. Adelle's eyes dropped to the crystal that sometimes glowed like a heartbeat, and felt a weight settle in her chest. She hated guessing right sometimes. And without the seduction or power she usually projected through her voice, the Dark Sider sounded young.

But then, Adelle hadn't been much older, if not the same age, when she had been abducted.

When the violet-eyed mask turned back her way, Adelle met her gaze, feeling the last thing she expected to feel towards this Dark Sider--Virelia, formerly Serina: empathy. She'd survived her ordeals--barely but still survived. Serina hadn't. And the Dark Side had offered a chance at life. If it had been Adelle in her place, could she have resisted making the same decision?

Softness filtered into Virelia's voice as she spoke of Adelle's spukami. Yes, the galaxy did take the small, honest things away, quite frequently. And yet, it was the same galaxy that gave those small, honest things in the first place. If the galaxy did take Phantom away, well-- It was a loss she didn't want to think of but she couldn't say she hadn't thought about. Another name to add to her list.

"And you don't have to come up with a name for me. You already have managed to work around it. You've been doing it since Taris." A faint tilt of her helm, a trace of that violet light catching in her eyes. "Cold. Detached. Easier to hate. Safer that way."

Adelle scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest and looking Virelia in the eye. "Too much effort to hate. I just get annoyed. And safer? Sure. Better, though? That's a matter of opinion."

"I was twenty-one when I disappeared from the face of the galaxy," she said, staring at the floor. It was too late to save Serina--Virelia lived and breathed Darkness. But vulnerability and softness were far too often returned with callousness. "No one knew where I'd gone. My master couldn't even find me. He only knew I wasn't dead." She smiled dryly. "When I resurfaced a year later, they found me in the trash."

"I can remember hating, truly hating, one person." Her voice dropped to a whisper. She could remember her veins burning with the paralytic agent Krayt had injected in her neck, could remember the pressure of his hands on her skin. The pain after. His smug voice in her ears. Adelle closed her eyes against the memory, clenching her jaw, and took a deep breath. It happened. She had reacted. Krayt was dead now. "I vowed to kill him. I succeeded. And it cost me everything."

She looked straight at the strange six-eyed helmet. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she wondered how that worked. "So no. I don't hate. Not even you. I can't afford to."

Adelle looked away, a wry smile on her lips. "Could barely afford to make it to Mando space. Why the hells do you think I'm taking on bounties that sound too good to be true?" she joked.



Darth Virelia

 

[Darth Virelia]

"A contract of blood and sin."

Tags - Adelle Bastiel

Virelia stood very still. For a long time, the only sound between them was the faint mechanical hum of the crate and the soft whine of distant power conduits cooling. When she finally spoke, her voice carried none of the imperious edge that usually cloaked it—only a quiet gravity that made the words heavier for their calm.

"You said twenty-one," she murmured. "I was eighteen."

Her helm turned slightly toward the wall, as if she could still see the place where it had happened, even across time and space. "The Grandmaster of the New Jedi Order—Valery Noble—stabbed me through the heart in the archives on Coruscant. I remember the smell of old stone and dust, the way the light came through the skylights. It wasn't war. It wasn't even judgment." A pause. "It was fear. And a misunderstanding."

She took a step forward, each movement deliberate, measured. "Two Jedi confronted me first. They thought I had fallen. They wouldn't listen... I had made a vow to friends that I would stop. To try to be normal. To live quietly." Her voice faltered, just once. "But when they drew their blades, I defended myself. And when the Grandmaster came… she didn't ask. She only saw the aftermath."

The violet light in her chest dimmed until it was no brighter than a pulse beneath skin. "The saber went through me before I could even breathe. I remember the pain, yes. But more than that—I remember her face. The pity. The certainty that she had done the right thing."

Her claws flexed faintly at her sides, the only sign of emotion she allowed. "She had."

She looked back at Adelle, the six glowing eyes soft, almost mournful.

The silence between them deepened, stretching into something weighty, fragile, and unguarded. Virelia's hands rose slowly to the sides of her helm, talons glinting faintly in the dim light. The hiss of the seals breaking filled the chamber—sharp, final, intimate. She lifted the mask free and set it aside on a nearby crate with deliberate care, as though it were a relic she was tired of carrying.

For the first time, the woman beneath the armor looked real. Her face was heartbreakingly young, untouched by the years that should have passed. Pale skin, smooth and almost luminous against the harsh shadows. Hair of soft, radiant gold spilled free from the confines of the hood, catching the violet glow in shimmering strands. And her eyes—clear, crystalline blue—were impossibly alive, too wide, too innocent for the horrors she spoke of.

Serina Calis.

The contrast was staggering. The Dark Lady of Malachor, conqueror of worlds and breaker of wills, looked barely older than a Padawan. The faint scar above her heart was the only mark that told the truth of her death.

For a long moment, she simply stood there, exposed before the Mandalorian, the ghost of youth and tragedy wearing the armor of a monster.

 

[Adelle Bastiel]

Eighteen. Adelle's breath caught in her throat. Eighteen. She tried to listen through the roar in her ears but every sentence felt like a stone dropping into her stomach. Eighteen, and assumed beyond redemption. Eighteen and slain righteously. What little emotion escaped Virelia's control--a quaver in her voice, a tension in her hands--had not gone unnoticed. Adelle covered her mouth with a hand, staring off into the distance. She hadn't been there--and Virelia herself seemed to think her death had been warranted. But she had to wonder--always, every time she heard of a mistake committed by the Order--if it might not have been prevented. If it had been worth it.

Virelia reached up to her own mask and removed it, reverently placing it on a crate. Adelle sucked her breath in through her teeth; she was still so young. How long ago was eighteen for her? A couple months? Corellia's kriffing Nine Hells, she's still a child. Horror rolled through her as the shock subsided and she put her head in her hands. For all the good the Order could and did do, sometimes, Adelle wondered just how badly they could mess things up. She dragged her hands down her face and stared at one of the distant chamber walls, the rough surface of the asteroid meeting smooth durasteel plating in an abrupt joining.

"You're . . . younger than I initially thought," she said at length. "That . . . That's a hell of a lot to live through at that age."

That was perhaps a poor choice of words, but they had been said and could not be unsaid. Adelle stretched her legs out, pushing down against the flooring. She let silence fall, let the moment sit and breathe, didn't try to lighten the moment. Sometimes it was better to sit in silence and let the weight of the moment be felt. Understood. Shared.

"If," she said, finally breaking the quiet, "we ever meet again, maybe I'll bring Phantom and you can meet her."



Darth Virelia

 

[Darth Virelia]

"A contract of blood and sin."

Tags - Adelle Bastiel

Virelia did not move for a long time. The stillness that fell over her was complete, as if even her breathing had forgotten itself. The glow of the crystal at her chest dimmed to a faint ember, its rhythm slowing, quieting, becoming something like the ghost of a heartbeat that no longer belonged to her. When she finally exhaled, it came soundlessly—only the faintest tremor of air leaving lips that looked too soft, too young, for the history carved behind them.

Her eyes found Adelle's, calm and unreadable. Whatever lived inside those blue depths was neither grief nor anger, but something far older. The expression of one who had moved so far beyond pain that the idea of healing had become foreign.

"I think," she said quietly, "that I stopped being alive the moment they decided I was not worth saving."

She looked down at her hands, at the faint shimmer of violet light crawling across her skin. "Everything since then has only been momentum—an echo of the will to live without the life that once gave it meaning."

Her gaze turned distant, unfocused, as if she were seeing something far away, or perhaps inward, to a place even she could not reach anymore. "There is a moment when change ceases to be possible," she said, almost to herself. "When the self has eroded so completely that even transformation would be a form of desecration. I think that's what I am now. Not healed. Not broken. Just… finished."

The words fell into the silence like stones into deep water—no ripple, no resistance.

"You still have edges," Virelia murmured, looking at Adelle again. "Places that cut, that bleed, that can still be reshaped. Treasure them. The galaxy will do everything it can to grind them down until you're smooth and silent like me."

Her hand rose as if to reach out, but stopped halfway—fingers curling slightly before she let them fall again. "I don't need to meet Phantom," she said softly, a ghost of a smile touching her lips. "She keeps you human. That's enough."

The crate hummed faintly beside them. The light from it painted her face in shifting shades of violet, and in that glow she looked less like a woman and more like a memory refusing to fade.

 

[Adelle Bastiel]

The Healer in her wanted to shout defiance. To say she'd worked a miracle before and that it wasn't impossible for her to do another. To save someone else. But Adelle knew damn well how very close of a thing it had been and how rare miracles actually were. And for every person she had saved, there'd been another she could not. She breathed in deeply, the stale recycled air tainted with burnt flesh and cloth, and sat with her emotions for a moment. Virelia could not be saved, not as far as Adelle knew or at her skill level. And the kind of sentimentality she was letting herself feel right now could get herself killed eventually.

"That wasn't--" Adelle started then raked a hand through her hair with a huff. Honestly she didn't know what she'd been trying to do. Show someone who'd seen a lot of violence at the end of her life a small shred of kindness? Let the walking, hollowed-out shell of Darkness have a taste of humanity again? All of it sounded absurd now.

But Na'an might have tried the same thing. Beneath the steel, she'd always had a soft heart.

Also what did Virelia mean by "She keeps you human. That's enough." The kriff? Adelle rolled her shoulders, stretching out the muscles again. Sitting for so long was beginning to make her body itch again.

Adelle sighed and ran her hand through her hair again, rubbing the back of her head. "She needs to stop trying to steal my Corellian ale when I'm not looking."

By her guesstimation, the extraction they were waiting on would be arriving soon. The time hadn't passed by unbearably.



Darth Virelia

 

[Darth Virelia]

"A contract of blood and sin."

Tags - Adelle Bastiel

Virelia didn't respond right away. Her expression had gone still again—too still for someone so young to hold. She stood near the crate, one hand resting against the humming metal, her gaze distant as if watching something play out in another lifetime entirely. When she finally spoke, her voice carried that strange, quiet detachment that came only after too much reflection—like someone long past the impulse to plead, justify, or dream.

"Every creature clings to the things that make them human," she said softly. "Ale. Laughter. The warmth of another heartbeat. The illusion that we can hold onto what we love without changing in the process. It's beautiful. And it's a lie."

She turned her face slightly toward Adelle, though her eyes seemed to look through her. "I used to believe that humanity was the core of the self—that if I could just protect it, I would stay whole. But the truth is simpler and crueler. We are not static. We are hunger wrapped in skin. We are the need to survive, to propagate, no matter what it costs. Humanity isn't something we keep; it's something we shed, piece by piece, every time survival demands it."

The crystal at her chest pulsed once, faint and cold. "I was forced to shed mine the day I realized I couldn't stop surviving. That was the moment I understood what I had become—a monster, the inevitability behind them. I am the instinct that refuses to die. The part that consumes so that something remains standing when the galaxy burns."

She lifted her gaze again, eyes gleaming faintly in the violet light. "You still have the luxury of love. Of small grievances and stolen drinks. Those are the threads that tether you to yourself. I envy that. But I also know you'll lose them, one by one. We all do. And when that happens, you'll understand why I stopped mourning."

Virelia's tone softened, nearly tender, though there was no warmth in it—only truth. "I know what I am, and what I'll never be again."

She looked back toward the sealed tunnel where the faint red beacon still blinked. "You should keep your spukami close, Adelle. While you still can."

"The small things..."

She trailed off, preoccupied with a better world as the extraction shuttle arrived.

 

[Adelle Bastiel]

Virelia waxed philosphical again but her voice was distant, pensive. The words did not seek to draw Adelle in, to engage or change. It seemed to her that they simply demanded to be spoken. So Adelle listened. She put aside her own beliefs and truly listened, trying to decipher the message buried in the words.

The young woman saved her the trouble.

Virelia's tone softened, nearly tender, though there was no warmth in it—only truth. "I know what I am, and what I'll never be again."

A declaration and an acceptance.

Virelia could not be saved.

She looked back toward the sealed tunnel where the faint red beacon still blinked. "You should keep your spukami close, Adelle. While you still can."

"The small things..."

She trailed off, preoccupied with a better world as the extraction shuttle arrived.

The hum of a shuttle's engines rumbled faintly in the air. Adelle didn't move, still watching Virelia and the unnatural stillness that seemed to flow through her veins like blood. How long had she been in that state, she wondered. Adelle could hardly think of a more painful existence. She pushed herself to standing, stretching out limbs, and picked her helmet up but didn't put it on just yet.

"That's what I appreciate about the Mandalorians," she said. "I may be a weapon still, but I'm allowed to be sentimental."

The thrumming grew into a dull roar as the shuttle came closer. Adelle put her helmet back on, unwilling to face any of Virelia's associates without the protection it offered. She picked up the Firepuncher, clipped it back in its place on her back.

"And who knows? Maybe the galaxy will surprise you," she said, vocoder turning her voice rougher. "Maybe you'll find a small thing of your own. Something to treasure at least for a time."



Darth Virelia