And so this was the end to the Underworld King’s reign. The crunch of bone as his bare back crashed against the wall. Half a laugh, half a groan echoing out through the large, empty dark room in some planet that probably didn’t matter. Drops of his saliva jumping off his tongue, the lukewarm trickle of his clear blood sliding lines down his tattooed, pale chest.
“Oh…” The Don moaned out, his hands being bound upward on the wall like a sex slave. He leaned in towards the large, bulky man holding him back on his right, some of his spit getting all over that perfectly ironed Republic security force outfit. “Oh, you, you, you…you better kill me now.” He breathed the words almost like a man sweet-talking into a tryst, though each word was dripping with the bite of poison. “If I do not die today…I will come back and I pound into your asshole like a gay Kath Hound claiming his bitch.”
The man looked at the other to his left, his face was a blend of concern and disgust, the utter opposite to the angry and hungry face of the Don, what with his eyes ever dilated and mouth agape. “Let’s uhh… Just gear this guy in.” The two men picked up their carbonite rifles off the ground and aimed the barrel at him. There wasn’t a trace of fear to be found on the Don. He closed his eyes, cocked his head up and waited for it, like a man who had just leaped off a Coruscant skyscraper and gave himself to his fate.
“Your asshole will be bleeding when I’m back…” Those cheeks puffed with a smile. The last sound of his cackle was mowed over with the cold spray of carbonite washing all over his body. There was only one thing he could think about in that last moment.
It was just a week before the accident.
The Black Sun’s space station out in the far reaches of the Unknown Region was almost a city of its own - the haven for the most powerful, influential underworld organization in the entire galaxy. The entire station was almost always resounding with the sounds of men laughing and drinking and thinking of new ways to get more money and more power, along with the screaming of women and men taken as slaves and the processing of spice. The exquisite aroma of Deathsticks, Glitterstims and Giggledust was thick in the air, as it should have been.
There was one of fifty places to always find the Don. But his second favorite, was the club-cantina Ceryss. The boom of bass was so loud and so stellar that it made the heart dance to its beat and drowned out any problem you think you had. The erratic flash of lights that responded to the music could only be experienced at its purest form if the strongest of spices had left your nose burned. A second of orange light, a second of darkness, a second of red light, a second of darkness.
The very back of the club had a private area that few in the galaxy could ever hope to see. Past the Twi’lek, Nautolan, Togruta, Zabrak, and even Devaronian dancers of both genders and their drunk, lusting patrons was a pair of stairs on either side guarded by two blood-starved Wookiees. There were two three people who they would move out of the way for without a thought passing their heads - the Don, the love of his life Reyvan Ceryss and the love of his life Raellyn Ceryss.
The curving stairs led up to a small, square area that had pink silk curtains on either side instead of blast doors, with three of the most expensive white couches ever made stretched the length of the three walls. As a hand parted the curtains into the area, however, they would find Don Krizzt strung over the ground with his legs hanging atop one of the couches.
The area was strong with the scent of Death’s Dust, one of the Don’s biggest addictions, aside from his mirror. All of the couches had pouches of the golden dust stained on their seats, all over the floor, all over his white button-up shirt and bedding his face. But something was wrong. There wasn’t so much as a twitch of his visage, his eyes dilated and unmoving, his fingers without the slightest move, and his mouth was stuck wide open with those diamond teeth of his shimmering in the randomized flashes of lights.
The clear blood of his species was slithering down his nostrils.