Beautiful. Completely and utterly beautiful in every sense of the word. The brilliant neon lights of the Nogatan cityscape extended beyond the horizon, where cold Axiom steel met the sanguine dusk sky. It was an image that would forever be imprinted in his mind's eye; the flawless vista that could extend as far as the eye could see, marred only by the enveloping plexiglas window of the elevator.
Crossing his arms, they grey-eyed man shifted his weight against the dense viewing port and rolled his head back until crown of his head touched something solid. His figure was that of a man who carried the weight of a world on his shoulders, perhaps moreso. A weight that threatened to break him in two. Hard lines beyond his years had formed at the corners of his eyes, lines created out of the pragmatism that had been demanded of him in the past weeks. Sadarii and he now openly rebuked one another, blood had been spilled, and more was sure to spill in the days to come. Then it was only a matter of time before the de facto pseudo-Emperor retaliated en masse. Like an animal, he would be goaded out into the open, if only to offer the hunter a cleaner and more precise kill.
No number of ill-attempted machinations or turncoats could keep Pollux from his goal, the usurper would simply die. It was no more complex nor simple than that. Certainly it could be said there were personal motives, and it would go without saying that he disagreed with the man on countless ethical and moral levels, but these did not come into play.
As a man, Troy believed in the divinity of the Axiom. He believed it had a destiny and a purpose that went beyond what the average man could grasp. It was an autocratic regime of proud men and virtuous women, the needs of the individual always came after duty to the state. In this sense, he was a patriot. And proud one, at that. Not to say that he was single-minded in his devotion. He held his own ambitions, aspirations and would go to even greater lengths to see them realized than perhaps even the most fork-tongued Sith the temple produced.
But he would not compromise himself in the process.
He had gone to a great, many pains to find the weak links in Vakar's ramshackle foundation on which he attempted to build this new, and from Pollux's view, dystopian society which was rapidly coming into conflict with the old. Lydeck was alive, he was alive and that fact alone would turn the entire tide of this civil war. Several pricks in the right places would see the revolutionaries falter, then it would simply take a strike to the head. But like all things, measures had to be taken.
With skilled coercion, several of Sadarii's lowly Krullian converts and non-commissioned officers had provided necessary information. Critical troop and fleet movements, blockaded entry ports, munitions stockpiles, all of which was required to optimize this final, decisive strike that would see a return to political normalcy on Nogatan. The grey-eyed General had roamed the city's underworld for weeks, committing what could only be called petty treason to provide this means to an end.
It wouldn't be long now; this informant would provide another proverbial piece of an ever-growing puzzle in an all too important race to see who could complete it first. Yet even now he found himself.. troubled. His mind seemed to pull in a dozen different directions as he stepped out of the elevator and broke into a brisk stride, his designation being the apartment at the end of the hallway. It wasn't long before he reached it. Salt and iron, blood, the scent seeped from every crevice of the door, through the rusted hydraulics, it assailed his augmented senses with a very practical malice. Something had gone wrong, very wrong. Reaching to the small of his back, the grey-eyed fellow slipped a single index finger though the trigger guard of a lone pistol, which he drew up and under the jacket draped over his right arm. His free hand worked in slow, deft motions.
A keycard's swipe had gained him entry to the dark interior of the apartment complex. After several moments, he found it quite apparent that he was not the only person in the room. Some slight shuffle in the darkness, a scent..
Feminine.
Familiar.
It was faint, mixed in with the rancid backwash of the nearby gore, but it was there. The jacket no longer hang over his arm, but tossed aside on a nearby table; he brought the gleaming silver weapon eye-level. A menacing shadow clung to his frame.
"Show yourself," said the grey-eyed man.
Pollux stood where he was; the only movement from his body was in his arm, his thumb jerked forward and back in a single motion. A metallic click broke the silence, indicating the pistol's hammer had been drawn and ready to deal death to the first being its barrel was directed at. Leaning forward out of the darkness, a cloaked figure brought its hands to the hood that concealed its face, drawing it backwards..
The woman was Sovereign Protector Winter Tel'ana.
She was clearly shocked to see him here, but he himself was unsure whether to be bemused or angry interference. The death of the informant was a minor thing, the loss of the information the informant knew was something else entirely. This single, brazen act of crazed, misplaced initiative, would likely set back the entire counter strike on Sadarii by weeks, maybe even a month. It occurred to him that she knew nothing, and probably took the known Krullian for exactly what he was.. an enemy, rather than an asset. Sighing in mixture of mirth and frustration, he took a step forward.
"That will be far enough," she said, coldly.
At this, he arched a single, dark brow, "How much do you know?" Clearly she knew nothing, the death of the informant proved that, if anything.
"Everything."
He found himself caught sidelong by this answer; the idea that she had done something so remarkably foolish intentionally seemed a bit farfetched, but not out of her nature. The fact that she was susceptible to dramatic changes in mood at a moments notice had not been something he hadn't taken note of. Though if she knew everything, she knew everything. There would be no need to explain.
He shrugged lightly, "Then I suppose there isn't much room for words?"
"I suppose not."
Her tone still bothered him, something was either being not touched on or entirely ignored. He would make a point to ask her about it, later. Pressing his thumb firmly down upon the weapon's hammer, he pulled the trigger, allowing him to slowly ease the metallic piece down to the firing pin manually. Rendering it no longer armed, though loaded. He was troubled by the fact that only a moment ago, it was honed upon her cloaked figure with the intent to kill.
"I removed the charge."
Now he knew her intent was malicious, she intended to kill him, for whatever perverse excuse her mind could muster. The entire idea that she "removed the charge" was preposterous, of course, considering that anybody who even remotely grew close to him, knew of his distaste for conventional blasters and preference for slugthrowers. Twelve rounds, twelve slugs, twelve chambers.. no charge.
He stared at her in simple distaste, his weapon hung at his side. Mentally he still refused to believe she was going through with this.
"I loved you, Troy, but you've changed into something that I cannot forgive," she said, solemnly.
Her red eyes met his, in an attempt to convey some domineering aspect of authority or judgment; but were no less than crushed in his gaze. Whatever words were spoken between the two at that moment, passed through some unnatural bond. A bond born of her draining his lifeforce; which he had willfully given, to save hers. With these silent, unspoken words said, the grey-eyed man turned on heel and faced the door.
"You have betrayed our Emperor, our cause, and everything that we stand for. For that, I find you guilty based on the undeniable evidence in my possession; and by the power vested in me by Brahlis Lydeck, I sentence you to die." From his perspective, it seemed like the words rolled off her tongue with relative ease.
With a shake of his head, he murmured, "You wouldn't."
By the time the words left his lips, he was already in pain. It seemed as if the very floor he was standing on had burst into an inferno, the rubber soles of his boots practically liquefied in the flash-combustion as they melded to his flesh. The General had been shot, stabbed, electrocuted, strangled, bludgeoned, poisoned, asphyxiated and mauled, but no word in the tongues of basic, Cheun or Serrocin could describe the agony he was in. Every nerve in his body cried out for mercy, begged to be delivered from this pain as the flames lapped up his legs and began to consume his torso.
He walked forward, though he was unable to feel anything below the waist. Somehow he managed to find himself appalled through the endless onslaught of pain as the smell of his own burning flesh reached his nostrils, though it didn't last. He sprawled forward as his legs buckled beneath him, that was when the agony, the true agony, began. A pain so consuming that you lose the ability to think, to breathe, to reason.
Your entire world is encapsulated in that very moment where all you feel, is pain.
Clenching his eyes shut, he attempted to keep himself from being blinded. Any tears evaporated instantly before the ducts themselves were seared beyond repair. His dark, ebony hair combusted. His brow, lashes and stubble were gone. He could feel the flames gnawing at his body, devouring it, immolating it. Every attempt to inhale and cry out in pain was rewarded with swallowing bits of his incinerated tongue and the harsh, unforgiving heat filling his lungs. He would keep his pride, even in death, even unintentionally.
A single hand clasped over his shut eyes, his fingers squeezing so tightly that for a moment the pain in his temple was greater than anything the flames could provide. Trying desperately, so desperately, to protect this one sense. His ability to see. His ears had burned away, he could no longer hear. His nose was burned away, he could no longer smell. His tongue was burned away, he could no longer taste. His nerves were burned away, he could no longer feel.
He could no longer feel?
It was true. The flames had ravaged his body to such an extent that he could no longer feel. It was at that moment, that Pollux realized he was going to die. By sheer force of will he forced himself to stand again, managing two steps, before being shoved by an unnatural energy across the room. His arm snapped away at the last moment to see Tel'ana, with her arms extended, pushing him out of the far window.
The glass was thick, but his body propelled through it with ease. He was certain a few larger pieces had found their mark, but even if they did, he couldn't feel them. Mortal wound upon mortal wound, it no longer mattered. Because he was falling.
Falling.
Falling.
His eyes scanned the sky, the Nogatan afternoon had given way to the night. The stars were out, and they were brilliant. He shut his grey eyes for a moment, thinking he should rest a bit before admiring them again.
Pollux died a hundred feet above Nogatan in the embrace of the air, before he could finally find the right words.