“Deeaa!” he cried in his native tongue and brought his fists down on the behemoth’s forehead, shattering his skull, thus killing the beast himself. Blood and brains oozed forth from the wound and stained Khameir’s hands. He was breathing quite heavily as he stared down at the mess he’d created. A sensual rush of excitement shivered up his spine and he arched backwards to meet it. A strangled cry of sadistic pleasure tore from his throat and erupted into a triumphant roar. Always after a victory, a Zabrakian warrior would howl his accomplishments to the sky, alerting his fellow warriors of the enemy’s death.
Khameir’s roar died abruptly and he climbed off of the dead alien. He growled deep in his throat and stalked away from the scene. A speeder was parked against the curb, its driver flipping through a magazine. Khameir slammed his palms against the hood of the speeder, alerting the driver.
“Take me to the large building north of the Jedi Temple,” Khameir ordered harshly. The driver nodded quickly, afraid of his latest passenger. Khameir grunted and climbed inside the cab. It roared to life and sped away at top speed towards Palpatine’s personal building.
* * *
Khameir strode into his quarters when he arrived back at the building and fell forward onto his bed. The blood of his enemy still stained his fingers and palms. He fisted them tightly, allowing the dried blood to chip away onto his bedcovers. An overwhelming sense of victory permeated his mind and made him smile slowly. Truly, he had felt the full power of his control over the Dark Side. It excited him, seduced him better than any female of his race ever could. He was willing to become its slave if it meant feeling this supreme rush of ecstasy once more.
With a ragged sigh, Khameir rolled over onto his side, his hands beneathe his chest. The thrill remained with him and teased his senses. The sudden urge to mate came to his mind; he growled against the aching developing in his loins. He curled into a fetal position and tried to will the feeling away. Many of his race’s males would have had a mate by now and here he was on a planet that offered no female from his species. A whimperlike growl emitted from his throat as he curled up tighter. He would have to suffer through this feeling everytime he succeeded in something. Everytime he killed he would have to relieve himself in other ways. Just as well. No female would want him because of his inadequacies as a fine Zabrakian male.
Whimpering once more, he fell into a deep sleep.
* * *
Khameir awoke to the sound of his chamber doors swishing open and the rustling sound of Palpatine’s robes. He sat up in bed and rubbed his eyes free of sleep. Palpatine appeared in the doorway, one hand resting against the doorframe. He stared at his disheveled apprentice.
“Good morning, Khameir. I heard you had quite the night last night,” Palpatine remarked. Khameir nodded slowly. “I also know of the beast you killed. He was a problem down there for many an alien and human. I am quite pleased with your accomplishments. It is time to give you the title I promised. But,” he added, “it will have to wait until I return from the Senate. News of a new ruler on the planet Naboo has reached my ears and I am eager to hear of who they have chosen. Clean yourself up and train in the correct facilities. I’ll join you later.” With that, he turned and left.
“Yes, my master,” Khameir responded, his head bowed. He yawned and stood up, stretching as he did so. His clothes were rumpled and useless as well as reeking of cheap alcohol. He grunted and stripped quickly. Striding naked into the washing room, he hopped into the shower stall and turned the hot water on. He stood there with his head in the spray, staring down at his feet. His hair streamed over his shoulders in strings, dripping water onto the floor. He turned his eyes to look at it then clutched a handful of it in one hand. For a long time, he’d thought about losing his long hair. Perhaps now, with the prospect of his new title in view, he would have to adopt a totally new look. Yes, he decided, I must change completely in order to embrace my new identity.
Satisfied with his decision, he washed quickly. He woud have to visit a local haircutter’s today while Palpatine was away. He finished and stepped from the stall. He snatched up a towel and rubbed himself dry. He turned to stare into the mirror set above the sink. His yellow eyes stared back at his reflection. What should he do with himself?, he wondered, turning his head this way and that. He plucked at his small yet sharp horns with his fingers, thinking. He was always rather proud of his horns’ hardness and decided he would have to display them. His long hair prevented this. Frowning at his reflection, he removed his hand from his horns and gazed into his own face. He didn’t look quite as fearsome as he would’ve liked. Something would have to be done about this as well.
* * *
Khameir emerged from the haircutters completely shorn of his long hair. His horns had been polished as well and they gleamed richly in the sunlight. He smoothed his hand over his now bald head and smiled, pleased with the results. Now to do something to prevent it from ever growing back. He eyed the neighboring shops and grinned broadly when he spotted a tattoo shop. Without a second thought, he strode across the walkway and into the shop.