He realizes it's going to be a lot longer when he's no longer in his room.
"I hate surprises," he sighs, and he opens his eyes to look at his new surroundings. He's still floating, and surprisingly calm.
Three die before his sense of touch returns. His feel of the Force expands, languidly, slowly, and it's like he's a child again, only able to fumble at the things near him. But fumbling lets him know where they are, where he can slice, where he can shock, where he can grab with the Force - he's just as strong, he's not as weak as a padawan, he just feels like one - and snatch and toss.
He picks one of them up, flings them into another, and fries them both. He slices another in half. Another loses his knife and the arm attached. Another is kicked with enough force to break several ribs, and then he is impaled by his red lightsaber. Oh yes, now is the time for dual wielding. Fuck diplomacy, he is going to kill them all.
Neither one of them is breathing, but this doesn't seem to slow them down.
He kills the ones that can still fight. He kills all but one of the ones who can't. He stalks towards the last, growling. With two slices, he removes this person's limbs. He'll live long enough for his purposes. Probably. He turns off his lightsabers. He leans over his victim, snarling. It's time for some diplomacy of a different sort. He grabs his head with both hands, and reaches into it with the Force, and rips his language from his head.
This sort of thing is already painful. He's not feeling merciful. He makes it worse to get what he wants faster, he will not be stranded on some strange out of the way murder-cult planet and not know the language. He. Will. Speak it.
"—would go a lot quicker if you'd tell me how to kill you," the corpse is saying.
The robed man whimpers with terror.
"No? Then I will just have to experiment."
And he has the language. Excellent.
"Want help? We can try lightning," he growls, in English, releasing his language victim. He draws his lightsaber - red, it seems wrong to use the purple one to kill an unarmed (ha) prisoner - and kills him. "Or my lightsaber. Either."
Thoughtfully, he reaches down and breaks the robed man's neck. The body goes limp, but the head is still animate, and grimacing with terror.
"Evidently not that. Mm. If you're not planning on doing anything with that knife, could you give it here?"
He reaches out with the Force, looking for the knife.
"Oh," he says. He retrieves it from where it is stuck in his side. "Yeah, sure." He tosses it corpse-ward.
"I don't advise touching his blood," the corpse adds as an afterthought. "He fed it to me to turn me into a vampire. The exsanguination was probably also a critical step, but there's no point in taking chances."
He picks his way to a place that has the least amount of blood on the floor, and sits. And breathes. And - not much else, actually, to the casual viewer.
He's distracted by his experiments, though. Removing considerable amounts of blood from the vampire's body does not seem to have killed him. Next, Mark tries dismemberment. The knife is not the best possible tool for this job, but it seems rude to interrupt... whatever the recently stabbed man is doing about his recent stab wound.
He'll be sitting there for a while. Injuries like this are kind of fiddly.
The vampire's head is not quite fully detached from his torso - but there is a clear air gap between the two ends of his severed spine - when head, torso, and pile of vampire parts all explode into dust.
"That was unexpected," remarks the blood-covered man with the knife.
"Wow, yeah. Convenient, though. Sort of."
"Anyway. Decapitation is apparently the trick," he says. "Welcome to wherever the fuck we are."
"Thanks. I take issue with the cultural introduction here of stabbing. Let's not. Hello, I'm -" He hesitates, then smirks and shakes his head, apparently amused with himself. "Revan. Nice to meet you, wish it were under better circumstances, where the fuck are we? Some weird backwater planet of murder cultists?"
"And I'm Mark. Pleased to meet you too. From the short conversation I had with this clod," he gestures at the dusty puddle of blood all around him, "before he temporarily murdered me, I believe we're on Earth, but it can't possibly be the Earth I grew up on because the Earth I grew up on did not contain vampires or magic."
"That name is completely unfamiliar to me. Uh, is it in some obscure planet in the Outer Rim, or further out?" Pause. "... Actually. I bet you haven't heard of - Coruscant, Corellia - The Republic?"
"Coruscant, probably. But we're kind of everywhere and history's a bit shoddy sometimes, so no one knows for sure. Did they originate on Earth for you?"
"Hmm. What's the interstellar neighborhood like? Any interesting species? Do you have hyperspace?"
"The number of colonized planets is in the hundreds - maybe a hundred and fifty or two hundred. Preexisting life on a few, but nothing sapient other than humans. I don't know what you mean by hyperspace but contextually I suspect we don't."
"A hundred and fifty or two hundred," breathes Revan. "I'd feel trapped. Nothing other than humans? That's. It seems - boring, lonely maybe. Uh, no offense. Hyperspace is - well, sort of weird to explain. If you have a hyperdrive, you can enter hyperspace and move many, many times the speed of light. Lets you travel all over the galaxy, but if you get your calculations wrong and stray too close to a star or something you have one very short, but very bad day."
"Commence feeling trapped," says Mark. "I think is pre-Jump Earth. One inhabited planet. Wormhole jumps are our version of faster-than-light travel."
"Ugh. One planet. One? One. Ick. It's like Rakata all over again. Human edition. And this time with no ship that'll be repaired. I don't know how everyone hasn't gone mad."