Star Wars: Eyes of God Chapter 12 - Varkis Voss

The underlevels of Coruscant never truly slept, but in the bowels of the Blood Oracle's lair the atmosphere was thick with a large sense of paranoia and fear. Deep in the central sanctum, a lqrge room adorned with holographic displays and walls etched with symbols that glowed like fresh wounds, sat the boss himself.

Varkis Voss, the self-proclaimed Oracle of Blood. He was a towering figure, a human twisted by cybernetic enhancements and other illegal tech, his skin pallid and veined with black ichor from experimental serums, eyes glowing a sickly red from implanted optic. Scars crisscrossed his bare, muscular chest like a map of conquests, his voice was a gravelly rasp that echoed like a death rattle.

Voss wasn't just a gang lord; he was a visionary sadist, a man who reveled in breaking minds and bodies, often forcing his victims into intense degradations before the kill—stripping them bare, making them beg for mercy while he toyed with their forms. Kneeling before him on the cold floor, bound in energy cuffs were three of his lieutenants, a sly Twi'lek female named Tyra, her lekku twitching nervously as sweat beaded on her azure skin, her low-cut top clinging to her full breasts that heaved with each panicked breath. A Zabdak enforcer called Gruk; and a wiry human slicer, Jax.

They had been dragged here on suspicion that one of them had leaked shipment details to a rival crew, a rat gnawing at the Oracle's empire. Voss paced slowly around them, making them nervous as all hell, not saying a word to them, just tracing lines across his blaster pistol.

"Please, Oracle," Lira pleaded first, leaning forward as if her curves could sway him. "I've been loyal since the day you claimed me, remember the nights in your chambers? I serviced you without question, took your cock deep, swallowed every drop. I'd never betray that."

Gruk grunted in agreement, his Basic mangled. "Me no rat! Me smash enemies for you, break bones, rip guts! Loyal, always!"

Jax nodded frantically, sweat dripping from his brow. "It's not me, boss! I sliced those Republic codes for you last week, got us that confiscated spice haul without a hitch. Why would I turn now? I've got implants linked to your network; you'd know if I whispered a byte out of line!"

Voss stopped pacing, his red eyes boring into each of them like lasers cauterizing flesh. He holstered the blaster for a moment, folding his arms across his chest, and began to speak. "Loyalty... ah, what a fragile, intoxicating elixir it is. It binds us tighter than any chain, sweeter than the finest spice coursing through your veins, more potent than the rush of power when you crush a rival beneath your heel. I've built this empire on loyalty; the Blood Oracle thrives because each of you, my chosen vessels, swore oaths in blood, promising to bleed for me, to die for me."

"Loyalty is the currency of our world, more valuable than credits or spice, for without it, we are but scattered vermin scrabbling in the dark, waiting for the boot of the Republic or the Hutts to descend. I have rewarded loyalty with riches, with pleasures untold—Lira, those nights you speak of, where I bent you over my throne and fucked you raw until your screams echoed through the halls; Gruk, the feasts of flesh and bone where you gorged on the remains of our foes; Jax, the neural highs I gifted you, plugging you into simulations of endless orgies, cocks and cunts enveloping you in ecstasy. Loyalty begets such gifts, fosters trust, weaves the web that ensnares our enemies."

He paused, his lips curling into a cruel smile that revealed teeth filed to points, like a predator savoring the hunt. "But betrayal... oh, betrayal is the venom that corrupts the blood, the rot that festers unseen until it consumes all. A rat in our midst doesn't just steal scraps; it invites the exterminators, the Jedi with their self-righteous views and their clone slaves. It questions every oath, every shared secret, every moment of vulnerability we have shared with each other. And now, here we are, with whispers of betrayal reaching my ears.... shipments ambushed, safe houses burned. One of you is the rat, squeaking secrets into the void."

The three protested again, each one trying to convince the boss of their innocence.

"But in the end," he continued, drawing the blaster, "it doesn't matter who the rat is. What matters is that doubt has crept in, a shadow on the loyalty I once held sacred. Any one of you could've been the rat, that's enough to make you all be guilty..."

Without another word, he fired, first into Lira's chest, the bolt searing through her top and blasting a smoking hole between her breasts; then Gruk, the shot punching through his thick skull; finally Jax, a  hit to the groin that made him scream in agony, cybernetics sparking as he clutched his ruined manhood, efore a second shot to the head ended it, his body slumping in a twitching heap.

Voss holstered the weapon, stepping over the bodies with indifference. "Loyalty restored... for now."

He looked over to one of his aides. "Clean this shit up, scrub every last ash and bloodstain until this floor shines like a Hutt's slime trail, or you'll be joining them in the incinerator."

The aide grunted in terror, scrambling forward with a cleaning supplies, sloshing solvent over the charred remains as Varkis turned away, settling back into his throne with a satisfied sigh, the durasteel creaking under his bulk. He reached for a crystal decanter on a side table, pouring himself a generous goblet of deep crimson wine, a vintage Corellian reserve, pilfered from Granno's private stock, the late boss of the Brood syndicate, his once-fierce rival who'd ruled the mid-level slave lines with an iron fist. At least, until Varkis had hired that slippery bounty hunter to off a minor traitor in his ranks, and the hunter—Kyle, was it?—had gone rogue, voluntarily slaughtering Granno and his inner circle.

Varkis savored the irony with each sip, the wine's rich, velvety notes of bloomberry and spice coating his tongue, a trophy from the conquest that had folded the Brood into his empire without lifting a finger—well, almost, save for the credits he'd promised the hunter, which he'd had no intention of paying.

Varkis looked up from his goblet, yellow eyes fixing on another underling as he swirled the wine, "What's the status on the bounty we placed on that hunter? The one who did the Granno job for us? We can't have loose ends dangling, especially ones we owe credits to," he asked.

The Pantoran swallowed hard, his voice cracking as he delivered the bad news, shifting on his feet like he expected a bolt to the chest. "Boss, it's... not good. Kyle's wiped out all the hit squads we sent—every last one. He's disappeared now, gone deep into the underlevels, no trace on cams or informants. He's been as slippery as a mynock in oil."

That ignited a fury in Varkis, his face twitching as he slammed the goblet down, wine splashing like blood across the throne's arm. "Disappeared? Killed all of them? That little shit was supposed to be an easy mark, hunt him down, gut him, save us the payout! You're telling me he's out there?" He surged to his feet, while picking up his signature weapon, his gravity-hammer.

"I expect him dead soon or it'll be your head rolling next, mounted on my wall with your cock stuffed in your mouth as a warning to the next incompetent fuck who fails me. Get out there, burn the underlevels if you have to, bring me his corpse, or don't come back at all and make sure to kill that stupid bitch Zarni while you're at it!"

"Yes sir!!!" The Pantoran said before quickly running out of the room.

_____________________________________

Kyle lounged in the cavernous gloom of an abandoned warehouse, the air thick with dust and the faint metallic tang of rusted machinery, his ass planted on a scavenged sofa that sagged under his weight like it was about to give up on life. He swirled a fancy alcoholic drink in a cracked crystal tumbler, some high-end Corellian brandy he'd lifted from one of the chop shops.  The burn down his throat was smooth, warming his stomach as he watched his four shadow clones hustle like droids, hauling crates of stolen droid parts, credit chips, and miscellaneous loot across the floor, stacking them in neat piles that would fetch a decent price on the black market if he fenced them.

He sighed, leaning back with the tumbler balanced on his knee, his mind replaying the past few days, he'd been raiding the various Razor Claw chop shops across the level. But for all that blood and effort, he'd only scraped together around 100,000 credits, a pittance that barely covered basics, let alone a new ship, the lightsaber rebuild, or that Aratech suite where he'd pin Zarni down and fuck her senseless.

"There has to be a better way," Kyle muttered to himself, taking another swig, the brandy doing little to dull the frustration knotting his gut.

Even with that cash, he could snag some decent equipment, but after scoping out the casino run by the Venom Sisters, his confidence had tanked. The place was a fortress disguised as a casino: layered security fields, armed droids patrolling every corridor, biometric locks on the vaults, and guards who looked like they ate vibro-axes for breakfast. Way tighter than he'd expected, nothing like the pushover chop shops where a quick Almighty Push could turn thugs into wall paste. Even geared up, he doubted he'd slip in, crack the safe bulging with spice profits and gambling hauls, and ghost out without ending up as a smear on the floor.

Kyle slumped deeper into the sofa, pouting like a kid, arms crossed over his chest as he stared at the clones working.

One clone paused mid-haul, setting down a crate with a thud and turning to him with a mocking whine, hands clasped dramatically. "Aww, poor boss only has 100,000 credits."

Another clone chimed in, wiping fake tears from his eyes as he stacked a pile of circuit boards. "Oh no, can someone not rob a bank? Boo hoo, the big bad casino's too scary for little Kyle."

The third clone joined the fun. "Woe is me! All that loot and still can't get a decent fuck, Zarni's gonna laugh her ass off when she hears you're too chicken for the big score."

The fourth laughed, juggling a couple of credit chits like they were toys. "Yeah, boss, maybe stick to rat puppets, Stuart could probably put out if you asked nicely."

Kyle rolled his eyes, the teasing hitting too close to his own self-doubt, and with a flick of his chakra, he dispelled them all in a poof of smoke, the clones vanishing like popped bubbles. Alone now, he set the tumbler aside and rubbed his temples, considering his options. He couldn't summon his own army of shadow clones, not yet anyway; his chakra reserves let him crank out maybe four or five at best before he blacked out, and that wouldn't cut it against the casino's defenses, his clones would pop under turret fire. Should he give up, stick to smaller targets like more chop shops or petty heists, grinding out creds the slow way?

"Fuck no," he shouted into the empty space, his voice bouncing off the walls. "I'm not gonna let those Venom Sisters get one over on me! Bunch of spice-slugging bitches thinking they're untouchable."

He pulled out his datapad, scrolling through the data spike from the info broker, maps and intel flickering in holographic blue: guard rotations, vault specs, even some weak points in the outer perimeter. He pored over it, trying to puzzle a way forward, but nothing clicked, the security web was too tight.

Eventually, he tossed the pad aside with a frustrated growl. "I'd need an army to get through that damn place."

Kyle sat there in the dim light, staring at the stacked crates, until a slow realization dawned, creeping across his mind like an explosion, a wicked smile forming on his lips as the pieces slotted together.

"I need an army..." he murmured, the words hanging in the air, and then he started to laugh, a low chuckle building to a full-throated cackle that echoed through the warehouse.

...

Kyle bounded across the underlevel rooftops with renewed energy, his laughter still echoing in his mind like a mad scientist. But that was for tomorrow; tonight, he needed rest, credits tucked securely in his coat as he dropped down to street level and slipped into the motel's lobby, the clerk too zoned out on spice to notice him pass.

Pushing open the door to their room, the familiar stench of damp carpet and grim smell hit him, but his eyes locked on Zarni lounging on the bed, her lithe body sprawled out in nothing but a skimpy tank top and shorts that rode up her thighs, revealing the smooth curve of her ass cheeks peeking out. She was glued to a flickering holo show on the battered projector, some trashy upper class Coruscant soap opera with over-the-top drama, people fucking and betraying each other in equal measure. She sat there watching as she sipped from a tumbler of cheap synth-whiskey.

Zarni glanced up, her eyes narrowing as she paused the holo, the frozen image of a Twi'lek mid-orgasm. "Well, look who decided to grace me with his presence. How's the grand master plan going, rat-boy? We any closer to that Aratech suite, or am I doomed to another night in this shithole?"

Kyle grinned as he leaped onto the bed beside her, the mattress groaning under his weight, their bodies bouncing close enough that his thigh brushed her bare leg. With a casual wave of his hand, he used the Force to yank her drink from her grip, floating it smoothly to his own palm, taking a swig of the burning liquid while winking at her outraged expression.

"It's going great," he said, handing the drink back with a chuckle as he leaned in closer, inhaling her citrus-scented skin from the earlier shower. "In less than a week, we'll be out of here, swimming in credits, upgraded to that suite with the zero-g jacuzzi and sheets softer than a Hutt's belly. Trust me."

Zarni arched an eyebrow, her doubt plain as she set the tumbler aside and propped herself up on one elbow, her tank top slipping just enough to tease the swell of her cleavage, the fabric straining against her perky tits. "Oh yeah? You've been saying that for days, and all I've seen is you coming back smelling like blood and rat fur. What's got you so confident now, did Stuart finally evolve into a money-printing machine?"

Kyle laughed, reaching out to trace a finger along her thigh. "Don't worry about the details. Soon enough, I'll have you spread out on the comfiest bed in the galaxy, legs wide, pussy dripping wet as I fuck you."

Zarni grinned.

"Promises promises."

(AN: So we are leading into the master plan, ngl it's the reason why the chapter was shorter than usual. Because I had a pretty good idea for what Kyle should do next. Anyway next few chapters we will have our boy gain his second Rinnegan ability.)