Tempest

"It's been so long since we were last together," whispered the specter, its seductive lilt drawing a slight sigh from the old man's lips.

It was just him now—Organa, the pestering Padme; even lapdog Mas Amedda had taken his leave. Rare solitude allotted him a private moment; in it, he felt the incessant thrumming of her whisper in his ear, beneath his skin—she was everywhere.

"You would like to have me again, wouldn't you?" she teased, her wan tendrils snaking around his waist; he shivered. "Just like old times, when we snuck into Plagueis's room that night and—"

"Enough," growled the old man, squeezing his eyes shut in both impatience and jilted lust—of course he wanted her again. Her kiss was a toxin that seeped into his veins and rendered him her marionette; it seized control of his body and forced him under her thumb. Her touch sparked avarice in his innards, a fever he couldn't cure until he had pinned her.

There was a time when they were frequent and brazen in their affair. He'd allow—yes, even invite her—to ravage him, to purge him of all rational thought.

She'd hypnotize him, and he'd swing, hack and cleave his way through hordes of weak Jedi. As their blood ran rich beneath his feet, she would reward him with new heights of pleasure, granting him any of his wicked wishes.

But those days were over. He had grown busy in the Senate—there were too many schemes for him to orchestrate, too much that couldn't be left to chance, especially now.

There was no longer time for her.

Luckily, that was about to change. Grievous and Dooku had done their jobs—the Senate was weak, and more than that, the Jedi no longer trusted them. The Council was unraveling, and young Skywalker's morals had warped much quicker than he'd thought. They were on the cusp of a revolution, and she'd be right beside him as the first tongues of fire lapped at the dying Republic.

Still, she persisted. Impatient, she laid a tainted, wisped kiss on his cheek.

"Don't keep me waiting," snapped the voice with a darker edge—she was never one for patience.

"Just a little while longer," he begged, fending off another wave of desire, "We will have our time. I promise."

~x~X~x~

Coruscant's lights glimmered below, an endless expanse of winking fireflies. In every direction, towering spires stretched in neat rows, their stately silhouettes marred by tawdry neon advertisements of nearby cantinas. Black velvet spanned the sky, flecked with brilliant white pinpricks of the stars above.

He stared at the city below, a vicious smirk stealing his face. Agitated energy stirred in his veins, a message from the Force—the time had come. His senses heightened—the hairs on his nape rose, and he could hear purposeful footsteps echoing just outside the building's doors—they were here.

"Are you ready?" she asked, cupping a hand over his ear.

"I've always been," answered the old man, running a finger over the familiar hilt of his lightsaber.

"All these years, all this planning—at last, your empire is born."

His smile widened. He could sense the determination of the approaching Jedi, the indecision that haunted young Skywalker as he entered an airspeeder.

"Come, Apprentice," mumbled the man, sending a silent message to the conflicted boy; he would rule with him soon.

The footfalls were closer now, thundering in his ears. He tightened his grip on his weapon and spun his chair to face the door.

"Now," she began, softly kissing his cheek; it was intoxicating. "Now, you may have me."

Roughly, he thrust his tongue into her mouth—her touch incited roiling bloodlust, an inconsolable rage that ached to be quenched. Her kiss was anything but loving, and he clawed madly at her ashen flesh. Abruptly, she halted—the alusteel doors parted, and four incensed Jedi Masters stalked through, led by Mace Windu.

"Master Windu," mocked the old man, a tinge of amusement in his voice, "I take it General Grievous has been destroyed."

There was no answer. Windu was fierce—with a steely disposition and strong grasp of the Force, it was almost a pity that he would die—almost.

"I must say you're here sooner than I expected."

"In the name of the Galactic Senate of the Republic," announced Windu, drawing a purple lightsaber from his belt; two greens and a blue followed from the other Jedi. "You are under arrest, Chancellor Palpatine."

"You won't stand for this, will you?" she goaded, wrapping her sinewy arms around his neck; his desire to kill grew stronger. He made no answer to her question, but asked one of Windu.

"Are you threatening me, Master Jedi?" snarled Palpatine, palm hovering above his saber.

"The Senate will decide your fate," said the Jedi indignantly, nearing him.

"I am the Senate."

"Not yet."

The old man rose, slamming the button of his weapon—a pillar of crimson light leapt from its sheath. "It's treason then."

"Enough talk; it is time. Go, I am with you."

With a lurid, vengeful shriek, he was at their throats, relenting to the woman who assumed control of his body. She was desperate, even wanton—kissing him madly, raking skeletal fingers through his hair and across his chest. In turn, Palpatine rammed his weapon into the chests of both the Zabrak and Ikotchi, relishing their groans of defeat. He parried a blow from the Nautolan, exploited his momentary carelessness, and slashed his stomach. The scent of seared flesh fueled his rage, and he fixed his full attention on Windu.

The Jedi Master's skills were honed by years of practice. Palpatine gritted his teeth and attacked with a flurry of shien strikes—Windu predicted them all.

Blow to the head: blocked.

A slice at the arm: parried.

Swipe at the leg: returned.

So it went. The two battled, a tangle of wills and a clash of ideals.

"Come on," cried the siren, frustrated, "You can fight harder than that. Perhaps you need a little…motivation?" Palpatine's eyes widened as she ran a supple hand along the length of his back. Hate rippled down his spine, and energy coursed through his body. Sensing his increased strength, she gave him a single command.

"Kill him."

With renewed vigor, the old man devised a plan. Anakin's anxious aura buzzed stronger now—the young Jedi was not far off. Windu struck at him again, but his saber bore the brunt of the blow. Their blades crossed, purple strained against red. The Jedi Master's eyes bored a limitless anger into Palpatine's, whose icy blues radiated pure malice.

Palpatine only blocked Windu's attacks now. Anakin had found them, and the conflict in his spirit was the cue for the old man to act.

"You've earned this," cooed the charmer, sliding a hand between his inner robes.

Palpatine fell back, pretending to defend himself with lightning. Falling against a unipaneled window, he feigned weakness.

"Anakin," he said, appealing to the torn youth, "I told you it would come to this. I was right! The Jedi are taking over!"

Skywalker and Windu argued—something about 'justice'—but Palpatine didn't give it his full attention. Rather, he was focused on the escalating actions of his seductress. She had climbed on top of him, her raven locks gently brushing against his cheek. Her azure eyes were alight in lust; her red lips pouted.

"Tell me what you want," she sighed, tugging at the confines of her violet bodice; she knew he loved purple—it was the color of royalty. He had no time to respond—the tension in the room had reached its zenith, and it was imperative that his performance be compelling.

"Anakin," gasped Palpatine, allowing the lightning to warp his face and reveal his true eyes. "He is a traitor!"

"No, he is a traitor!" wailed Windu, visibly struggling to keep Palpatine's true power at bay.

"Anakin," appealed the old man, allowing his real xanthous eyes to shine through. "I can save the one you love. You must choose."

"Anakin, don't listen to him!" shouted Windu, barely holding his own. But it was too late; Skywalker's spirit was already blackening.

"Almost there." The siren loosed her dancer's skirt, her lithe legs bracing against his chest. She laid lingering kisses on his shoulder, her breath hot on his flesh. Palpatine's thirst grew, but he intensified his efforts and pled with his future apprentice.

"I cannot hold much longer. I am…too weak. Anakin—"

Windu cut him off, pointing his glaring lightsaber at the downed Chancellor. "I am going to end this once and for all."

"You can't!" cried Anakin frantically. "He must stand trial."

"He can't. He has control of the Senate and the courts. He's too dangerous to be left alive," refused Windu, raising his arm to strike Palpatine. The old man smiled—Anakin's eyes betrayed him.

"I'm too weak. Don't kill me, please!" screamed Palpatine, staring triumphantly at Windu and glancing shortly at Anakin.

"It's not the Jedi way. He must live—I need him!"

Windu ignored the boy's request, and moved to kill the Chancellor.

Contorting his now-grotesque face into a grimace of agony, he whispered: "Please, don't."

"That was good, even for you," she purred, and lowered herself onto Palpatine; his skin was sticky with excitement. "One last task…"

Anakin acted swiftly. In one fell swoop, the young Jedi butchered Windu's arm, garnering an ear-splitting yowl of pain from the Korun master.

Palpatine wasted no time, and sent bolts of lightning from his fingers that peeled the skin from Windu's bones. The force of the blow propelled the Jedi out of the gusty, open window and into the chaotic Coruscant below. He was a howling speck, falling further and further away—a relic of a decayed republic.

"Take what is yours." With a hoarse sigh, he allowed his hands to roam her body. Slightly flared hips with a striking face and cruel eyes—she was his. A millennium of planning, a millennium of restraint had finally paid off.

"What have I done?" Anakin's voice was full of sorrow, and his face even more so.

Palpatine answered snidely. "You're fulfilling your destiny, Anakin. Come, my Apprentice; learn to use the Dark Side of the Force."

"I will do whatever you ask, my Master." He was broken, and hate roosted in his eyes.

"Good…good."

"Just help me save Padme's life—I can't live without her."

"That power, only one has achieved," said Palpatine, delighting in the flash of hatred that crossed the new Sith's face. "But if we work together, I know we can discover the secret."

"I pledge myself to your teachings."

"The Force is strong with you. A powerful Sith you will become. Henceforth, you will be known as…Darth Vader."

"Finally," she moaned, pleasured by his resolve; she pulled him in closer, their bodies entwined. "We will rule as one." A rotten smile graced Palpatine's lips, and he nipped greedily at her neck, paying no attention to the blood he drew.

"Thank you, my Master," managed Skywalker, attempting submission, but his burning disdain was apparent.

Palpatine gave him only one corrupted word: "Rise."

Anakin obeyed, and the old man gave the new Dark Lord his assignment. When he was alone again, Palpatine called quietly to the darkness.

"My Love."

The siren answered.

"Your only." She laid her head against his chest, savoring his hateful heartbeats. Palpatine simpered—her viciousness knew no bounds. Even now, she drummed a new plan in his head.

"An Imperial battle station larger than a moon."

She was perfect, and her absence only made his affection stronger. His ruthlessness was fueled by her lust, and she never, ever got her fill. There was always more to be conquered—another figure to assassinate, another planet to crush underfoot. He had no choice but to yield to her wishes, and there was nothing he loved more. Too many had sought her, mesmerized by her promises of dominance; he knew better. She could be bested only by him, and even he took precaution.

He was the first to truly name her. She'd been called by many things—Influence, Imperium, Supremacy, even Evil—but those weren't right.

To all, but especially to him, she had only one title: "Unlimited Power."

A/N: Hooray for one-shots! Hope you guys enjoyed it. Please let me know what you thought :)

Thanks for reading,

~L.L.