Brakiss responded before Zekk was fully aware of the action. His cool expression fractured, transforming into that hideously beautiful demon that terrified Zekk so, and Brakiss struck out with his foot, striking Jinks hard in the side of the head. The impact sent the young rogue flying into the wall, where his head struck the concrete. He fell back on his side, motionless. Still as a corpse.

Zekk’s eyes widened in shock, and he rounded on Brakiss with vehemence. "Master, you’ve killed him!"

"Serves the scum right!" Brakiss shouted back in outrage, and he lashed out at Jinks again, this time striking him in the gut with the toe of his boot. Jinks awoke from his stupor to be violently sick on the cell floor, retching up both the water he had just ingested and blood, blood that tainted his lips an unnerving shade of red.

Zekk felt a wave of nausea grip him at Brakiss’ brutality, and he grabbed his master by the arm and sharply whirled him around. He met the vicious cerulean of his former mentor’s eyes. "For the love of God, Brakiss, stop already! Enough is enough!"

"My, aren’t those words familiar?" Brakiss seethed at him venomously, his eyes darkening a hue too dark to be the product of simple, mortal rage. Zekk winced at the allusion and took a step backwards, but found that the wall of the prison cell stood in his way. On the floor, Jinks struggled to breathe, clutching at the manacle around his throat.

Zekk glared at Brakiss, all of his former admiration for the Sith lord dissipating with the alacrity of the changing winds. His eyes were cold and callous, and he sneered in response, "I bet this really gets you going, doesn’t it? Seeing people in pain, bloodied and battered at your merciless hands… it really does it for you. Well, I’ll tell you something. I’ve tolerated it for long enough. I watched you do it to Jacen, and that ripped me apart. I won’t watch you do it any longer." His hand flew to the lightsaber at his hip, and in seconds the weapon was ignited; a scarlet blade sliced through the air, hissing and crackling in the dank cell. He set his jaw in grim determination. "One thing will keep me from killing you here and now, Brakiss," he said softly. "One thing: mercy. Take that manacle off of his neck and give him some proper medical treatment. Be someone similar to the man I used to admire so greatly."

"Oh how eloquent," Brakiss mocked, then looked Zekk up and down dubiously. "How absolutely moving. Tell me, Zekk, did it never occur to you that perhaps the person who was once so kind and generous to you was an illusion? A farce to win you over?"

"Then I guess Kehrik was right," Zekk answered grimly. He tightened his hold around the hilt of his lightsaber. "You are nothing more than a murderer."

"And that would make you the advocate of a murderer," Brakiss responded, his eerie calm settling over his chiseled features like a lull between storms. Brakiss narrowed his eyes and curved his thin lips up into a triumphant smile at the wince that flitted temporarily across Zekk’s features. The Sith lord came ominously closer to Zekk, closer still, until they were merely centimeters apart, their eyes burning into each other like flaming embers.

Zekk’s cheeks colored with his barely contained rage. "I hate you," he breathed with all the rancor he could muster.

Brakiss smiled, his demeanor cool and unruffled by the words. He lifted one hand to delicately brush a strand of Zekk’s almost black hair out of his eyes, then leaned in to brush his lips across Zekk’s. As he drew back, he chuckled darkly.

"Mm. And I love you." He placed on hand on his apprentice’s chest, staring into his eyes with sickening infatuation—

Zekk gasped in shock, then agony, as the fabric of his shirt burned away beneath Brakiss’ fingers. His skin was next, smoldering to a raw red as Brakiss dragged his coal-hot fingertips down Zekk’s chest. Brakiss’ cerulean eyes were livid in their madness, his wide, animate smile that of a lunatic’s. Finally, Brakiss ripped his hand back and laughed; the noise grated against Zekk’s senses like an out of tune piano.

"Kill me," he taunted, still chuckling darkly. "Erase me from your memory. Pretend that I never existed until the end of your days. But each night before you fall asleep, you look at that mark. It will tell you what your silly, childish mind refuses to acknowledge: that you are, and will forever be, my Darkest Knight."

Zekk clutched at the scalding wound, felt the warmth of the blood as it flowed over his fingertips, and stared at Brakiss in horror. "You’re mad!" he breathed.

"No," Brakiss answered, still smiling widely, "not mad. Just very… very… determined to get what I want." He gestured with one hand to Jinks, who clutched at his head and stomach in agony. "See to him if you want." With that, the Sith lord glided out of the cell, his footsteps heard echoing down the corridor until they faded into an uncomfortable silence.

Zekk looked at the blood that covered his trembling hand, then at the wound on his chest. It was not deep, but it stung like a bee’s sting and would soon become infected in the sordid environment of the basement. Zekk looked at where Jinks lay and knelt beside him. He picked up the canister of water and unscrewed the cap, offering the liquid to the rogue.

"Here," he offered quietly. "Drink."

"Thanks," Jinks croaked in response and accepted the canister with a shaken smile. He sipped it weakly, then closed his eyes and leaned back against the cell wall.

Silence ensued. Zekk knelt in the filth and kept a careful vigil over Jinks while he dosed. The dark-haired young man reminded him of Jacen, and that brought on a wave of emotions that Zekk was unprepared to face given his current state. He closed his eyes and tried to will away the thoughts. Kehrik had promised to take care of Jacen the day Zekk left with Brakiss for Endor.

Zekk had no choice but to trust him.

He was beginning to drowse himself when Jinks voiced a soft noise of discomfort as he awoke. Jerking himself back into alertness, Zekk reached for the canister of water again, but Jinks caught his wrist in a sluggish movement, stilling him.

He grimaced and murmured, "Don’t bother. Water’s not helping anymore."

"You’re dehydrated," Zekk pointed out, "and feverish. You need clean water, and this is the cleanest that I can offer."

Jinks shook his head weakly and closed his eyes. His face scrunched up in a grimace again and he gingerly touched his abdomen. "Won’t help," he repeated, his voice strained.

Zekk scowled. "Stop being stubborn and drink the damn water!" he persisted. "Do you want to die or something?"

"No, actually, I don’t want to die," Jinks snarled in response, then seemed to regret the action. He tensed, then tried to relax his muscles, hissing between clenched teeth, "But I don’t seem to have much of a choice in the matter, do I?"

"You’ll die if you don’t get some liquid into your system," Zekk repeated almost desperately.

"Water’ll just speed up the process," Jinks sighed, clenching his eyes shut. "I’m bleeding inside."

Zekk blanched and looked at where Jinks’ arm covered his stomach. Jinks followed his gaze to his abdomen, then shook his head quickly as Zekk reached for his arm, murmuring weakly, "Don’t. Just… don’t."

Zekk sat back onto his heels and stared at Jinks, feeling more helpless in that one moment than he had ever felt before in his entire life. He gnawed at his lower lip, then offered, "Can I do anything for you?"

"Find Rusty and Freigo," Jinks mumbled and tilted his head back against the cold stone wall. He let his eyes close and exhaled slowly. "Get ‘em out of here."

"And you?" Zekk asked, cold dread settling in his stomach. "What shall I do with you?"

"Who really cares?" Jinks asked with a miserable little laugh. "Just get them off this planet."