Kylo Ren left His Supremacy's chamber with no shortage of blatant haste. No featureless mask could hide his anger, and that was just how the Supreme Leader wanted it. Let him keep simmering.
His quarters were elsewhere on the icy planet, deep in one of their fortresses at a depth most did not know about.
There wasn't much to his room. Just a mat on the floor, a stand, a holo-projector. Given the largest broadcast station in the galaxy was just destroyed, he'd not use that for much recreation.
He took off the stupid mask. More like threw it against the wall nearest him, putting the Force of a Third Arm behind the throw, and another voice atop his own scream.
"Master Ben, you know I cannot stand it when you - "
Kylo Ren turned at the mention of his name. His wrong name. The one that, even now, he rejected. One arm was up, and he wanted the gelden droid to suffer.
But no matter how his dedders twisted, how his hand shook, it would make no difference. The protocol simply stood there, stupid grated oyos wide as ever, that prissy little dome of his not banged up nearly enough to the Knight's liking.
"Ren. Kylo Ren. You will address me as such." He drew his lightsaber. Ignited the first blade. The crossguards followed, and he raised the crimson flames to the old protocol droid. He'd been created when his own grandfather had been born, or so some stories went. The poor rusty bastard himself certainly couldn't, not with all the memory wipes to make him forget what he'd seen. The early battles of the Trade Federation, the Clone Wars, the war against the Empire. A retelling of the life of his grandfather, completely forgotten. Even to a brill no stranger to the Order's views on history, that was an atrocity. A suffering. All that gone because of maintenance, because of the need to keep quiet.
But no. He lived on. As Terror Troopers. As the Knights of Ren. The entirety of the First Order. They preserved, and they advanced. The galaxy was just too stupid not to resist. Or so they claimed, and it was partially true.
"You've forgotten who you were. If you want to live, you'll remember who you are."
The blade just kept humming. Nar, screaming. It was yelling for blood. Metal. It threw rollen stars against the shiny gelden frame, and the occasional spark shot out to grab a flake of metal or two.
He moved the blade a little closer.
Flustered, but without stutter, afraid to raise his vox again: "Master B - ... Master Ren, I really must protest this treatment. I simply wish to ascertain what I'm to do for you, that's all."
He moved the blade just a little closer.
Pulled it away. He'd left a mark on the droid, silver flakes and some deeper, grimier discoloration. With that he deactivated the lightsaber and waited for the wild blade to die. The crossguards went first, the long rollen blade lost its fire and retreated inward to the hilt. Disappointed.
He said not a word to the droid. Not right away, anyway. He did not move, and the protocol droid was scared to do so first.
Finally, Kylo Ren spoke.
"Get me some tea. And deliver a message to Voskr." That stupid little wave of his stupid little arms.
"Oh, right away! And... what is the message you want me to deliver, Master Ren?"
"I'll tell you when I send you out. Tea. Now."
C-3PO half-nodded, half-bowed to the latest in his family of masters, and shuffled away with the numerous little squeaks and clanks of fast-moving metal feet.
In the meantime, he dropped his lightsaber to the floor, uncaring. If anything would destroy it, he'd simply rebuild it with a few more spare wires. And if the cracked crystal flared up and burned him, he'd rebuild it again.
He hated the First Order. Snoke. Serbris Ren. Hux, the "General." Hated them all.
Well, not all of them.
The girl. He didn't know what she'd call herself, if she even had a name. He should've felt her. In the end he did, but not soon enough. Almost like the whole world was laying false tracks, obscuring the animal that had walked the trail. And when he'd seen that forever-damned Hunter try to lay harmful hands to her...
It was his mistake. And he'd paid the price. Just as they would for existing. For tormenting him. Her. Tormenting the whole galaxy since the time the Red Sith could throw sticks, and the galaxy could toss them back. All of them, suffering as their victims had suffered. That was vengeance he would witness, when the time came.
He looked down at the lightsaber. Two of the external conduction coils, meant to shave off excess heat into a wider field, had come loose. He picked it up, and with a casual stroking of two fingers to the air, righted them. Secured them back in their fasteners with a clik.
The idiotic droid was back, tray in hand. If he'd been on a schedule, he was right on time.
"Your tea, Master Ren. Might you tell me of your message now?"
Kylo Ren looked up, grabbed the tray from a distance and bringing it to rest on the floor. He didn't want to touch the antique.
"Tell him to meet me outside the Noulr'Isht gates at Heldown. His usual attire."
"Yes, Master Ren. Right away!" And he scurried off out the door. For a droid, he radiated terror and frustration like a beating corazor.
Kylo waited until he was gone to kneel forward and pick up the cup. Lifted it to his mouth and took a tentative sip. It scalded, just as it was supposed to. He gulped it down. Again. Again. His throat burned, but by the end he could hardly feel any of it.
Why am I doing this?
The little voice inside was not his own.
You're to suffer, that's why you're here. And in the end, if my promise remains true, you'll be rewarded for it, and the rest of the galaxy will, too: with a peace greater than any First Order rule, any Republic, any Empire. You will be Mine. Go towards it, My Love.
He nodded omnidirectionally. Stood up. He was not trained in the ways of timekeeping, so he looked on a First Order 30-cycle clock. Heldown soon.
He picked up his broken mask and threw on the cloak. Keeping up appearances, after all.
...
Snoke took more visitors in the next day or two. A Terror Trooper escorted Fieldmarshal General Armitage Hux to a meeting with His Supremacy, and he accepted them into his mostly featureless throne room. What would follow was a greater punishment than Kylo's invisible pain.
The corpse's breathing was somehow heavily labored, yet completely nonexistent.
"Ah, General, My Son. And another of my trusted Sons: the sturdy Terror Trooper!" He leaned in close, taking special note of the black armored figure, the assorted mechanical elements fusing flesh to machine. This Trooper, however, seemed to be one of the lower levels, not outwardly augmented that one would know. But the staller and visil were the same, it would appear as a frightening reminder of what was, what would be restored.
"Thank you, you may go." He mouthed something else without voice, a tricky feat with only half a whole mouth:
He mouthed Voskr, my most trusted Son.
The Terror Trooper made its exit discreetly, would listen to the rest from outside. But it had places to be.
His Supremacy Snoke keyed in a command in his throne. Now, straight to the point.
"General. I wish to inform you that you have outlived your usefulness. You will be relieved of command shortly."
This was transmitted as raw audio feed to closed comm circuits from Wun to Juno. However, some things simply cannot be carried as waves, especially not with the recent destruction of a place with such a purpose. Such as the sudden shock and confusion in Hux's eyes.
This is what the whole system will hear:
"Father, I don't understand. Why?
The corpse laughed, more a rush of air than anything. But it was genuine amusement he felt.
His Supremacy checked the readouts on his oversized stone chair again: everyone was hearing this.
"Because I said so, child. Your authority has been relished by the Order, but you were never permanent."
The normally wide mouth and thick lips became a trembling line holding back sickly rage. The Supreme Leader kept going.
"You were never a permanent fixture, My Child. Always, the Inner Spires of the Order have been called so for a reason, but most are of the Third Oyo, and it is they who will inherit the universe. In the Grand Scheme of that, what are you, my Son?"
Oyos clamped shut for a moment. Oh, what a child he still was!
"Your Brothers will be taking control from you over the Order, as will I. You've served us well, Armitage."
Now, as a child, he lashed out through tears, clenching shaking fists as the center of his world denied him.
"Don't do this! No, I won't have it. I am Fieldmarshal General of the First Order, that's what you made me!"
"And I can unmake you. I am Supreme. Your Supreme Leader. Father to my children in the First Order. You are but a child to me."
No one would say why, for no one knew him, but a masked Terror Trooper harbored a hate in his corazor for the rebuke being broadcast through every speaker in the whole system. He cared not for either of them much.
It was around the time the Supreme Leader started displaying his powers in audible fashion that Terry turned out. He began walking away from the nearest amplifier and down the corridor, staying close to the darkness when he was closest.
If a group of the enhanced soldiers were to pass nearby, he would slip in, pretending to be one of the Vader lookalikes. He wore the same armor, sure, and remained anonymous, because the Terries were so easy to become anonymous with. Because it suited him, simple as that.
He had a meeting to reach. He made it there, keeping himself to himself and keying the airlock code to open the inner door, close, open outer door, step outside.
From here, Starkiller fumed red through the clouds. Whatever ice could crystallize became biting shrapnel carried sideways by wind and tossed about.
The other mask of a Knight of Ren greeted him. Kylo Ren. A blackened cape wanted to billow, but buckled under its newfound weight in that stabbing current of cold air.
And it was Kylo Ren who spoke first, modulated, distorting a young baritone into an old, mechanical contrabass:
"We move soon."
Silent.
"We have to retrieve the girl. You have to."
Silent.
"That fool's finally getting what's been coming to him. And soon they'll all get what's coming to them."
"I am aware" the other Knight replied. "He is not our Father."
Kylo Ren nodded.
"Serbris can't harm her. Make sure of that."
Nod.
"Good. We may have time yet. Keep your ear low, keep it open."
Nod.
"We're doing the most important thing this galaxy has ever needed."
Slowly, drawling, Voskr Ren replied: "I know."
...
A/N:
Imma back. With questions I'm curious to hear responses on, no less:
Music. Y'all music fans? Nine Inch Nails, Swans, Cryoshell, Hildur Guđnadóttir, heard of any of those? That, plus some select Star Wars tracks by John Williams, and rearrangements. And choral music. If you want to try experiencing the story as I try to write it, I suggest giving a listen.
And if not, I'm curious to know what the music of this fic is to you. What do you think of as you read it? Is it Gothic? Really flashy and modern? Big, grand? Small and intimate? More sci-fi and hi-tech, or more mystic and fantasy? These are the real questions, people, and I've got more!
Accents. I've started to fancy meself a linguist, and for better or worse it's really bleed through, from First Order vocabulary reforms to some Chiss stuff you'll see later. On that topic, how do you hear the accents of the reimagined/original characters?
For example, let's say this Rey has some combination of Welsh and Russian accents: a reluctantly sing-songy, ultimately forceful way of speaking with lots of stressed syllables and punchy consonants. I don't know why, but it seems to fit. Of course, everyone has their own preferences. And really, I'm curious to hear thoughts on these subjects.
That, and this is still fun to write. Some surprises waiting later on, I think. And bloodshed. Thank you to all still reading, you're my motivator to get things done.
Stay safe, stay sane.
XÞ
