Decimation: That was the only way to describe Starkiller Base. It was not only what it had achieved but also how it had ended. Stormtroopers, First Order base staff and contracted base staff; all wiped out in a matter of moments. Maybe it was fair considering the atrocities Starkiller was responsible for.
The air reeked of smoke and burning remains but the dogfight still raged above: The Resistance versus the First Order; it was only a matter of time before one side folded. The trees shook, the ground quaked, pockets of snow erupted into geysers of powder and what little wildlife called the planet home scattered with no hope of escape. The panicked pounding of hooves, paws and pads rang through the woods accompanied by the alarmed calls and screeches as mates and offspring tried to find each other. Packs were separated, mothers were torn from their young; the weapon that resided inside made sure of it.
The sky eclipsed for a second time but the same triumph as the first would not happen; quite the opposite and many things that day would never be the same again. When the sky dimmed, it had spelled out an ominous prophecy. It was only just beginning; this war, this battle between light and dark, between good and evil, order and discord.
Amidst the hysteria, a towering figure trudged through the snow, bundled in a thick, black greatcoat; he searched for something or rather, someone. Eventually, he found what he sought: a mangled pile of mismatched rags; broken, bleeding and defeated. With difficulty, the healthier of the two gathered up his colleague and hauled him back to a waiting ship just before the ground cracked. When the planet started to crumble, there were scrambles in all directions to flee but most were in vain; unforeseen by the dark and prayed and fought for by the light. There were very few survivors of Starkiller; those who did survive were the very essence of the First Order and the Resistance.
While Kylo Ren was being stabilized en route to the Supreme Leader, General Hux gazed vacantly out the dusty window of the small carrier he had commandeered; the only thing he could find to fit the purpose of recovery and an unknown distance of travel. He watched as everything he'd worked for, everything he'd striven tirelessly for since he was a teenager go up in smoke; or dissolved into trillions of pieces, whichever one preferred and it seemed to only be a minor inconvenience to his master whose sole focus appeared to be the Knight. Armitage couldn't help but be dismayed but found himself striving to obey regardless.
The coordinates were unverified; they just came to him. He had spent so long disregarding the "Force" as a fantasy but that particular incident made it somewhat more difficult to brush aside though then was not the time. When they finally did touch down after seemingly hours of autopilot and hyperspace, they found themselves on terrain overly similar to Starkiller; perhaps the Supreme Leader had chosen the planet for the weapon based on his preference in climate. There were no parting words between him and the Knight as the injured one dragged himself away to an inaudible calling and left the General standing in the icy sleet. It was then, unfortunately, that the redhead was set upon.
With a savage snarl and a crunch of snow underpaw, a Jakobeast of impeccable camouflage burst from its disguising surroundings and launched itself before he could wrangle his blaster free. The beast, strayed from its pack, hunted alone out of desperation before it complied itself with starvation and isolation but prolonged that fate by a one-in-a-million meal. Hux met the powder-coated ground with a low grunt, all the while grappling for his only line of defence that his fingers didn't seem to want to enclose upon; his trusty blaster. Stunned and disordered, he turned just in time to see the tusked and horned creature rush him again but this time, with an agonizing and relentless crushing of its jaws into his forearm from above. His scream became swallowed by the snow drenched atmosphere and with no one for miles (Kylo Ren could have been anywhere by then), there was no one to help him anyway.
The hot crimson splattered in a horrifyingly beautiful contrast on the colourless landscape and with the smell of blood fresh in the air and well absorbed to the monster's taste buds, its spurred attack runs would continue until there was nothing left to attack. With that in mind and the creature off on another blood-fuelled rampage before it came to claim him again, he edged away. Blurs of shaggy grey-white fur bobbed in and out of the distance as it prepared to close in again with the intoxicated howls ringing in his ears; he needed to find somewhere, anywhere.
The hollow materialized from nowhere as the draining life-force began to hit him hard; some other creature opted to aid him accidentally by abandoning its burrow to a gratitude it would never understand. On his belly and smearing the ground with blood like some morbid snail-trail as he heaved himself, the process was slow but it seemed the Force intervened again when the animal left him to that, undisturbed. Cramped, filthy and as cold as the outside, he forced himself deeper while the sounds of the thundering Jakobeast overhead shook loose debris from the tunnel; it was only a matter of time before the brute followed the scent and clawed him out. Fighting for consciousness between the cold, blood loss and shock, Armitage Hux sluggishly pulled his recently-ripped Garberwool greatcoat closer around his form, almost thankfully for the merciful placement of a random shelter. Digging in his pocket but so uncoordinated, it took longer than it should have to retrieve his com device, a scarcely used one with something of a secret status.
"M….Mort?" Armitage's stomach plummeted at the jumbled static crackling over the piece of almost obsolete equipment. To go outside was to subject himself to attack again but the signal was impeded in his shelter; death was almost a certainty for the General. "Mort?!" Armitage tried again helplessly but didn't have long to be desperate or dejected when the massive, pulverizing paw of the Jakobeast tore through the safeguard above his head (like a cat scooping into a fishbowl) and shredded through the soft flesh of his face. There was no time for pain or anguish or despair; everything extinguished.
Was he awake? He couldn't be sure. He'd never quite felt like he did now; what floating on a cloud must have felt like. Still in darkness, Armitage felt a brush of tenderness ever so gently on his cheek; carefully avoiding any damaged patches though where those were, it was impossible for the male to tell. However, out of sheer self-preservation and after years of reflex training, the source in the shape of a wrist was snatched.
"Baby?" That voice... "Baby, it's me." No... He must have died huddled up in that Godsforsaken hole; he'd convinced himself he would never hear it again lest it be a trick of his own mind, enticing him to succumb to death in his brief fits of consciousness. But...
"Less..."
"Sweetheart, I need you to stay still." Though still shrouded in oblivion, she sounded clearer and nearer; involuntarily, his grip tightened on her wrist. "You're on a lotta drugs right now, you're in really bad shape. The droid's tryna get you sorted but I'm here, love; I'm not goin' anywhere." That beat up old hunk of crap they kept in the cargo hold? He would die for sure.
"Less..."
"Shhhh... It's okay... I gotcha..." Another voice came from the void, one mechanical in nature and unemotional in tone.
"Probability of death is 2,851 to 1-"
"I swear to fuck, if you give me one more fuckin' probability, I'll fuckin' scrap you!" Were he physically capable or not terrified of something he didn't know yet, he might have laughed. She had a short fuse; particularly when she was angry, frustrated (her accent tended to intensify also, as did her brother's) or afraid. He had seen her angry and frustrated before, sometimes with him but never afraid; if Nalesse was afraid, he had every reason to be too. "Mort?! The fuck are you?! Did you find one?!" Somewhere, a com added a third voice on the loudspeaker function, one that even in his drug addled state knew to be uncharacteristically cold and focused.
"I'm just touchin' down now; I got one."
"Thank fuck, get up here."
Armitage didn't question the nothingness that still enveloped his vision, that shielded him from his companion; his senses and his reactions numbed. The clasp on her wrist was wiggled free in favour of a comforting hold and a genial squeeze which he returned out of fear.
"I'm goin' nowhere." The promise was resolute, her breath and hair tickling his face from her close proximity was welcome and the kisses were reassuring. "I love you and I'll be here, no matter what happens."
However, even in his stupor, he wasn't too drugged to know that action was prompted by the entry of two more sets of footsteps to the room; one more reluctant than the other.
"Nice'n'easy, that's it." The voice from the com reminded the petrified Twi'lek medic with a loaded blaster to his back. "Don't do anythin' stupid now; if he dies, I send you with him for company. Just think about your family, yeah?" They were not above this; kidnap, blackmail and even murder to protect one of their own. The medic received a droned synopsis of Armitage's condition from the droid, eying him over nervously as he pulled a pair of gloves from his bag; the bag Mort demanded he bring.
"That's an Imperial uniform." The Twi'lek observed with dread of the tattered remains of the once proud outfit and the insignia that represented his life's work; resistance had been predicted, hence the blaster.
"No, it isn't." Mort replied sedately as the medic turned to argue the point, despite his trepidation.
"Yes, it is! I can't and I won't-!" His resolve must not have been very high since his sentence was cut off and his mouth dried by the mere sound of the blaster's safety clicking off.
"No. It isn't." Mort gestured the barrel of the blaster back to his fallen associate while his sister looked on, unfazed by such extreme methods. "Think about your kids, Doc; they'll want t'see you in one piece tomorrow when they get up. So do what needs to be done and they can do just that." It seemed by the way the Twi'lek slinked back to the scarlet stained redhead on the bed that those closest to him were more important and now, he would do what it took to protect them; he and Mort were not too different in that respect.
"I need a clear space." He murmured to the fierce looking female at the bedside but refused to even glance in her direction out of timidity; he focused on the wounds, mind calculating his equipment and if he would indeed have enough. "I need to be able to move about freely if I am to-"
"I'm his wife." Armitage couldn't see if the medic recoiled from the sheer venom laced into those three words but he knew (had it been directed at him) that he would have. "I'm not goin' anywhere." The haughtily defiant reply and indignant toss of her head was expected; some show of insolence always was when tempers and emotions were running high. The medic simply shrugged, he had given them fair warning.
"Well..." Punctuated with the snapping of the sterile gloves onto his sapphire hands, the medic dived right in with Mort's warning in mind; if saving an Imperial meant he could see his children in the morning, any unofficial vows of restricting care from the opposite side was forgotten. "I hope you have a strong stomach."
When Armitage woke again several hours later, the darkness was more controlled with the lights simply off and the room cool for his welfare. He recognized the feel of his own bed; not his officer's cot, but his own marital bed complete with the smaller form of the wife he constantly pined for. A set of preserving arms encircled his torso and kept him close out of paranoia; even though he was significantly bigger than her and always her protector (when he managed to slip away for a night or a few hours, not that she needed protecting) but tonight, she was the guardian.
"You a'right?" The change in the tempo of his breathing had given him away though there was no way for him to know if she had been asleep or not; he tilted his head back enough to spy her but something felt... wrong.
"Still dazed." He answered tiredly, opting to keep his voice as low as hers to avoid disturbing the peace of their bedroom though he suspected he couldn't speak any louder if he tried. "What happened?"
"Well..." He felt her straighten somewhat and pursed his lips at the relieving crack of her back; yes, she was as unladylike and un-Imperial as they came, just the way he liked her. "Put it this way, there's Jakobeast pelt, tusks and horns going on the market tomorrow." Her wakefulness became apparent by her lighter tone and comfort-seeking wiggle in the bed; Armitage's head found her chest where his own comfort was completed and normality began to flood back. Not that they were normal. Companionable silence settled once more while his wife alternated between nuzzling and kissing his face, only in the unaffected areas; that is, before she addressed the Bantha in the room. "The last time you were home, I put a tracker in your com; Mort told me not to but…. It's not that I don't trust you or didn't trust you but…. All is as the Force wills it…."
"Nalesse…."
"I know you think it's stupid, you've told me enough times." She let that subside, wetting her lips while her husband dozed in between sentences. Her voice hollowed as the bone-chilling scene replayed in her head; action had never evaded Nalesse Du Sade until that moment when all she could do was wail while the others took aim. "I'm glad I did it. When we got there, it was throwing you around like a ragdoll; I genuinely thought I was a fucking widow. Your face, your head, your arms, your legs, your torso…. The droid almost malfunctioned when it scanned you-"
"You mean like it did when Mort broke his toe? It's getting better."
"Hey, we can't all afford the Imperial medical droid units. Ye change them like I change knickers, I can't even name a model." The argument was pointless but perhaps it was better than admitting there was a bigger problem; it was, however, inevitable. "Look, love…." The sigh was heavy, hesitant and resigned; Nalesse was not usually a procurer of the truth but circumstances dictated. "The medic did what he could but…. He couldn't save your left eye." That sense of misplacement resolved itself when those words were uttered. Gingerly, a bandaged hand lifted to the gauze covering the stuffed but otherwise empty socket; the remainder of the drugs forbidding him from differentiating his sensations and disorientating his system.
"Did Mort kill him?"
"No, he let him go when you stabilized but uhh…. We won't be coming back here again for a while." Suddenly fidgety, Armitage squirmed to sit up and with a dry, excruciating sob, he managed to do so; much to his wife's fret. Stinging, stabbing, twinging, cramping and every other type of pain simultaneously flooded his nerves, pricking and poking like white hot needles; the full extent of his injuries still unknown but ever an Imperial man, pain was simply physical and could be overcome. "I would've helped you sit up if you'd told me."
"I needed to do it myself." He rebuffed (typical Imperial pride) with echoes of trauma still embedded in his voice and the minute adjustment in his position certainly didn't help; appreciatively, he sank back into his wife's waiting arms where the kiss almost made the strain worth it.
"You won't be doing anything for a while, I hope you know that," She warned and he could feel the arched eyebrow burning into the side of his head. "No sex for a long time, either."
"Hardly fair." The protest was mild though he suspected as much; he could barely move in the slightest without affliction, never mind fuck her the way she needed.
"Yeah, well, you can't even keep your head up without help, let alone keeping something else up."
"How crude you are." He sniffed, then gagged on the inhale at the whiff of anti-septic radiating from himself; his brief moment of humour spoiled by the assault on his nasal cavities. "Lights, thirty percent." Concerned, Nalesse watched while Armitage winced as the lighting fixture fulfilled its command and encroached on his unaccustomed and sensitive vision. He ignored the burning in his skull and pushed the threats of his aching neck muscles to turn and take her in properly. Looking back at him (albeit tainted with unease) were eyes of the most extraordinary shade of lavender; the first thing he'd noticed when she dumped a decapitated head on his desk some five years previous. Her skin like fresh milk, white and unblemished held an arrangement of the most prepossessing features; all framed by a mass of inky coils that always managed to get in the way but she refused to tie them up.
The extremity in her looks; her eye colour, the paleness of her skin and the darkness of her hair were all consistent to one condition: Alexandria's Genesis. The symptoms continued beneath her clothes; no hair below her neck, no menstruation (though still fertile and they combated that accordingly) and an extended lifespan of approximately one hundred and fifty years. But Nalesse still only graced thirty while her husband neared thirty-five.
"I just... I can't believe we were fighting and I nearly lost you." It was immaterial, it was trivial and most importantly, it was over but it still niggled at her that if things had happened differently, her husband would have died in the middle of a stupid argument. The regret was obvious in that beguiling face but Armitage was quick to soothe her.
"I did what my duty dictated." Was there really a way to condone Starkiller? "I understand what the route meant to you but I couldn't have you in the firing line as well."
"It was my fault." She conceded apologetically with a soft waft of air being churned by her hair; such an admittance was rare. "I was being selfish; I was thinking only of our routes and what was easier for us, you had a battle to win and it wasn't fair for me to pick a ridiculous fucking fight like that."
"Darling..."
"No; look, it's done now. I don't want to revisit it again, particularly with what nearly happened. I just don't know what I'd do if something happened to you..."
"You need not think on it anymore." He mumbled with an amicable squeeze to her hand, accepting the roundabout apology without drawing her attention to it and therefore wallow deeper. Fatigue started to wade in again and it was enough to change the subject.
"You're exhausted." She remarked with gentility and an almost pitiful grimace after he'd stared longingly for a while. "You're drugged and you're still in heaps of pain; sleep it off and we'll talk about what to do about your eye tomorrow." The last kiss of the evening was savoured; an old habit from when he would leave early in the morning and leave her to sleep while he returned to his duties. "You'll see me in the morning." His smuggler assured him as they settled again, wrapped up in each other's security; that night would mark the beginning of something he'd coveted for a long time. "I love you, big guy. Rest, you're not going anywhere; you're all mine now."