Silas Skywalker- The infant

Got it. I'll refine the chapter while keeping its length, pacing, and dark tone intact. Here's the improved version:

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3 Years Later – Lower Floors of Gardulla the Hutt's Palace

In a dilapidated chamber with grimy, sand-caked walls, two malnourished boys sat on a tattered straw mattress, surrounded by nearly thirty sleeping slaves. One had slightly blonde-brown hair and piercing blue eyes, while the other had medium-length, glossy brown hair and eerie yellow eyes that seemed to glow when looked at for too long.

"Silas… w-when's mom coming back? She won't be long, right?" Anakin's voice was small, uncertain, almost desperate.

"She'll be fine, Anne," Silas reassured him, using the nickname Anakin only allowed him to use. "She's not working in the throne room today—Gardulla sent her into town for supplies." He spoke calmly, though he didn't mention the truth: many slaves who entered Gardulla's throne room never came back.

His Hunter's Sense pulsed outward, painting a detailed three-dimensional map of the palace in his mind. It had evolved to the point where he could survey the entire castle with a single pulse, revealing every hallway, every hidden chamber, every guard. He had long since grown numb to the horrific sights it showed him—slaves being detonated by their collars for Gardulla's amusement, creatures torn apart by gladiators, bodies discarded like trash.

This was the world they lived in. But not for much longer.

"Silas, what's wrong? Are you hungry again?" Anakin asked, concerned. He had noticed Silas skipping what little food they were given unless it contained meat.

Silas blinked, his mind shifting back to the present. "I'm fine, just thinking."

"Fine…" Anakin sighed, clearly unconvinced but too exhausted to argue.

Silas remained quiet, but inwardly, his excitement was building. Tonight was the night. He had been waiting for the perfect moment, and now it had arrived. He sent out another pulse, confirming what he already knew—there was only one guard outside instead of the usual three. Gardulla had left this morning and taken extra security with her.

It was time.

"Are you bored, Anakin?"

"Hm?" Anakin glanced at him before slumping. "It's always boring here, Silas."

Silas smiled, a perfectly innocent expression. "Great, because I just thought of a game. Close your eyes and turn around."

Anakin frowned. "A game?"

"I promise it'll be fun."

"…Okay, but we have to be quiet. The others are still asleep."

Anakin obeyed, closing his eyes as instructed.

Silas stepped closer. "Now, count to three."

"One… two… thr—"

CRACK.

Anakin crumpled onto the mattress, unconscious.

Silas caught his brother's limp form, carefully laying him down before whispering, "Sorry, Anne. You're not old enough to see this."

He turned toward the sleeping slaves. His golden eyes flickered in the dim light.

He was starving.

A black tendril, pulsating with eerie red veins, extended from his arm and coiled around the nearest sleeping body—a young girl, no older than twelve. Her breath was steady, peaceful.

Silas hesitated for only a moment. Then, with a swift motion, his hands snapped around her throat.

CRACK.

Her body twitched once, then went still.

The tendrils surged forward, engulfing her body. The moment she merged into him, his mind exploded with foreign memories.

He saw her first steps.

He felt the lash of a Gamorrean's whip against her skin.

He drowned in her hatred for her masters.

He lived her final moment as she lay down to sleep, unaware she would never wake up.

"Ahhh—!" Silas clenched his head as a storm of emotions threatened to overtake him.

It was worse than he expected. Much worse.

The game version of this power had never depicted this.

He forced himself to focus on the benefits. His body thrummed with energy, every cell vibrating with new strength. If before he had the physicality of an underfed child, he now felt as strong as a healthy thirteen-year-old.

But the guilt gnawed at him.

I've killed before… but they were all criminals. Cops. Soldiers. Never… a child.

A long, cold breath escaped his lips.

No. This is just the beginning. Nothing will hold me back.

His hesitation burned away, replaced by ruthless determination. He moved toward the next target.

Twenty-six more to go.

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Ten Minutes Later

Huff… huff… Silas stood in the center of the blood-soaked chamber, his small body drenched in sweat.

The straw mattress, the walls, the floor—everything was painted in crimson. But there were no bodies. Not a single corpse remained.

He staggered to the rusted sink attached to the wall. With a casual motion, he ripped it off with his bare hands.

He smirked. Super strength. It wasn't much yet—he was probably only as strong as two fully grown men—but it was enough.

Testing further, he tossed a cheap ring from one of the consumed slaves into the air. It fell in slow motion.

His reaction speed was enhanced.

He closed his eyes, recalling every face he had devoured. His flesh twisted, bones shifting, muscles reforming. In seconds, he had taken the exact appearance of an old man from earlier.

Perfect shapeshifting.

Then, with another thought, his body rippled and returned to normal.

His grin widened. I can take their memories, their skills, their bodies.

Unfortunately, these slaves had nothing worth taking in terms of skill, but he had one last source of power. His Hunter's Sense revealed a lone Gamorrean guard stationed outside.

He moved to the door, smoothing his expression into that of an innocent child. Then, he slowly pushed it open and stepped out into the dimly lit hallway.

"Uhm… e-excuse me, M-Mr. Guard…" Silas shuffled forward, voice trembling as he hugged himself. "T-the old man in the slave quarters isn't waking up… c-can you help him?"

The pig-like alien sneered, barely sparing him a glance before shoving him to the ground. With a grunt, he lumbered past Silas and pushed the door open.

Then he froze.

The walls dripped with fresh, wet blood. The floor was soaked in red.

But there were no bodies.

The Gamorrean inhaled sharply, realizing too late—

Silas had already moved.

His arms twisted, morphing into writhing black tendrils streaked with glowing red veins. They shot forward, latching onto the guard's throat.

"Guhh—!" The creature gurgled, clawing at the tendrils constricting his windpipe.

Silas' voice was eerily soft. "It's alright. Everything will be over soon."

The struggle lasted a mere two minutes before the Gamorrean fell limp. His body melted into Silas, merging into his very being.

New memories. New instincts.

Hand-to-hand combat. Knife-fighting. Guard patrol routes.

And something even better.

A new sensation flooded Silas' body. His arms twisted, contorting into massive, pulsing claws—black as night, veins of red glowing ominously beneath the flesh.

His grin stretched wider.

"With this… I can finally move on to Stage Two."

His golden eyes flickered toward the pile of explosive slave collars stacked in the corner.

It was time to leave a his own message for Gardulla.