Story summary: Luc’s first battle under General Coria Lanels doesn’t go as expected.
Warnings: Y’all. This fic is A LOT. Descriptions of violence, fairly intense descriptions of PTSD and survivor’s guilt, suicidal ideation, descriptions of gore. Also lots of political commentary in the form of some fucked up visions. Probably a dark fic
Author’s note: This is a really heavy fic. Seriously, head the warnings. It’s also got a lot of elements from Ep 7 of The Magnus Archive. I recommend listening to that first, but it isn’t a requirement. Thanks to the amazing @book-of-baba-fett for beta’ing this for me!
Luc knows it’s going to be a rough battle.
As they wait in the drop ship, he can see several of his men turn their heads to the side. It’s almost as if they’re straining to hear something like a faint tune carried on the breeze, even though the only source of air is the wind whipping past them. Luc can hear it too. He hears it every battle, every scuffle, every time someone draws blood.
Sometimes he thinks he’s the only one to hear it and survive.
Someone places a hand on his shoulder. It’s not a comforting hand but a grounding one. He knows who it is; it’s too light to be the heavy hand of one of his vod. General Coria Lanels dips her head in his direction.
“It’s going to be rough.” Her voice is low, so low he almost misses it due to the howling of the wind. Was she... Was she listening to his thoughts? He tries to keep his expression impassive despite the fact he’s wearing his bucket. General Lanels shakes her head. “Don’t worry, I didn’t listen. I don’t... I don’t do that.”
She presses her lips together in a thin line before looking out at the fast approaching drop point. The way she turns her head makes the scar running down from her ear and neck, disappearing into her robes, more prominent. She clears her throat.
“I hear it too. The song. The piping. It’s not the same for me I don’t think, but I can. I can hear it.” She looks at him again. For a second, Luc thinks she’s going to cry. It’s at odds with what he’s heard about her.
Luc doesn’t know much, just information from whispers. She went dark but came back. He’s also heard she’s fucking General Kenobi, and that’s why the Council trusted her enough to give her a command of her own. Luc doesn’t believe that for a second. The Council needs every Jedi they can get to lead, even the ones who might be rotten.
He doesn’t think she’s rotten. A rotten person wouldn’t look like they wanted to cry right now. He doesn’t necessarily believe she’s good either. His company are the survivors, the ones who get out of impossible situations. They get lu- They’re fortunate, supposedly.
General Lanels is their third general. The first one died to Ventress and the second died making sure they could get out of a collapsing building. He wonders if General Lanels was assigned to them because the Council thought they’d survive if she did something... rash.
He notices she’s tilted her head. It’s the same way several of his men have, as if something is calling. Luc realizes with a start it’s the same thing he had been doing when she came by. Did she hear it too? Did she hear The Piper? He’s never seen The Piper, only heard its song carried through the air. Even on the stillest of planets, no wind for relief against scorching sun, he’s heard the tune as if it was being carried on a faint breeze.
General Lanels shakes her head. She squeezes his plastoid covered shoulder once.
“Be careful out there.” He only picks up what she’s saying because he can read her lips. He nods, unsure of what to say. She steps away and heads towards the cockpit, no doubt intent on talking to the pilot.
“You too.” He finds himself mumbling to himself as he watches her go. It’s only fair. Not because she told it to him first but because if she can hear it too, she needs the false sense of security the phrase gives.
Luc is careful. It’s still almost not enough.
The target is a Seperatist outpost. The briefing said it was one of the larger manufacturing plants, which is why both General Lanels and Kenobi were sent. He thinks General Skywalker is following behind as well. The plan is for General and Lanels and Luc’s company to sneak in while General Kenobi’s company provides distraction out front. Luc gets the sneaking suspicion General Lanels is more fond of close combat.
They get in almost without incident. He gets his confirmation about General Lanels when one droid manages to escape and almost sound the alarm.
Almost.
The droid got away from his men, and Luc himself was preparing to take the shot when General Lanels grabs it and snaps its head clean off with her bare hands. He doesn’t know where she came from; she had been on the other side of his men when they noticed the droid sprinting away. All he knows is suddenly she was on the droid, and then electricity lit up the room.
Even though it’s just a droid, he still winces. Something about the way she did it, the loud snap and pulling the head from the body with the wires dangling from it like blood vessels, makes his stomach turn. She turns back to the company. Her eyes are alight, and Luc wonders if she’s succumbed to the music.
They go further into the building. Several more groups of droids fall easily underneath their guns and the General’s lightsaber. Even though they’re in a metal building, he can still hear the tune. It feels as if the player is in the building with them as it seems to reverberate throughout the entire structure.
It puts Luc on edge. He feels as if he’s walking into his own death. It’s never been like this before, never felt as if The Piper was specifically calling to him. He was just someone who heard it but somehow lucky enough to survive. Well, if you can call surviving some of the atrocities he’s seen lucky. Luc doesn’t think it is.
The music swells to a crescendo when they walk into the main room. It’s almost deafening. Luc can see several of his men tilting their heads. One almost seems to sway to the invisible sound. General Lanel’s face goes sheer white.
Luc knows he’s going to die here.
The walls suddenly to start to rattle and shake. Luc sees at least three Droideka, two Scorpnek’s, and Maker knows what the fuck else. It almost feels as if they walked into a factory; droids seem to be pouring out of every corner, every hole in the wall, every space possible. He knows even more are on the way because he can hear clanking and the annoying voices of all kinds of droids coming towards them.
The three Droideka roll to a stop in front of the company. They start to speak, but Luc can’t hear them. All he can hear is the Piper. He looks towards General Lanels. She nods, once.
All hell breaks loose.
Luc can’t keep track of what’s going on. All of his men raise their blasters at once and fire. The room lights up, awash in blaster fire from both sides. They run forward. He can feel it thrumming through the air and through his bones. His command knows just as well as he does that this... This is the place they’re going to die.
Luc also knows deep within his bones they’ll destroy this place.
Everything becomes a blur. All he can smell is the blaster fire, all he can hear are the sounds of droids and blasters and General Lanel’s lightsaber. It feels strange, like a fever dream. He moves on reflex. He can sees some of his men fall, but he doesn’t allow himself to grief. He can’t allow himself to grieve. All he can do is push forward. He watches droid bodies fall. He’s so focused on the fight, on surviving, he doesn’t hear the beeping.
He does hear the groaning metal.
Luc looks up.
“BOMB!”
Shit. Fuck. Shit fuck. How did they not notice the bombs planted around the room? Were all the droids meant to be a distraction?
The bomb blows. The structure creaks and groans. Luc looks to General Lanels. He doesn’t know why; he just has to look at her. Their eyes meet. He knows what happens before it hits him. She does too from her scream and the look on her face.
Three large support beams fall. It almost seems like they hurtle towards him in slow motion. Luc knows he can’t move in time. All he can do is watch as they collapse.
He doesn’t remember much after one of the beams drives through him. Just pain, excruciating pain that makes him howl wordlessly. Shock sets in almost instantly.
He remembers the War, though. He can never forget it.
It’s as tall as him yet somehow lankier. It, not by virtue of gender distribution but by virtue of amalgamation, stands in front of him. The sounds coming from it are awful. He sees his brothers faces. One is screaming a defiant war cry, summoning his courage in the face of his death yet he never dies. He sees the face of another brother sobbing. No words come from him. His tears are made of oil and blood. Water floods from his mouth, the oceans of Kamino pouring from his open maw in a wave and a waterfall at the same time.
He sees a droid. The neck of the clanker is barely attached to the body. He hears it babble “roger roger” over and over, sparks flying from the severed wires reminiscent of veins. To the left side of it, he sees another droid head, one of the larger battle droids. Its babbling provides depth to the piping, making the song reverberate inside of Luc’s bones.
Another head is behind the other four. He can’t see it, but he knows it’s human. Not like him. Old and withered, charred beyond belief and scarred. It has horns, it has tattoos, it has a mask, it has a cloak. He thinks it’s the one physically playing the pipes. He wonders. Is that head just the Sith? Or would he find the likeness of politicians on it?
It has so many hands. Most wield blasters or rotary guns, some are droid arms with weapon implants. He sees lightsabers, red and blue and green, a variety of colors, swinging. Some clap politely as if they’re listening to a speech. The smell of burnt flesh fills the air. Luc knows when he wakes the smell will never leave him.
The music doesn’t just come from the one face. Each one provides their own part, adding a horrible depth, one in any other circumstance would be a cacophony. Yet it blends together to provide the awful tune. The rushing water and droids beeping and scream of rage and politicians clamoring blends together in this awful piping sound.
He tries to scream. All five heads tilt in unison. A snarl fills the air but not from him or the War. The snarl is like that of an animal trying to claw its way from inside a humanoid throat. The War turns. Luc can’t see what It regards. He can hear the crackle of a lightsaber, of a blaster. He can smell blood. He can’t explain it, but it smells like the blood of the innocent and the blood of the wicked. The energy rolling off of it makes his head spin. Senseless. Needless. Whatever ever it is, it is built on violence and carnage that need not have happened. It is a conglomerate of rage with no place to go but out, rage so strong no bottle or morals can contain it any longer. It is violence for the sake of violence. The War has its purpose, it can be traced to creators. This thing... It’s not an animal, it’s too human and clever to be an animal. Its rage is too random to be an animal.
The War’s mouths all open at once. Luc closes his eyes. He wishes he could cover his ears, but he knows it wouldn’t do any good. All he can listen to is the piping and the all too-human noises of senseless fury. He doesn’t understand what they say, but he knows when they reach an agreement.
Everything goes black.
The first thing he becomes aware of is sound. Luc hears voices. He wants to reach out to them, but he can’t. His arm won’t work. Nothing in his body seems to work.
The scream of metal makes him want to vomit. Luc feels pain unlike what he’s ever felt before to the point where his world is nothing but that pain.
“Luc.” General Lanel’s voice is close. “Luc, I’m getting you out of here. I’ve got you.”
“Coria.” Is that General Kenobi’s voice? “I don’t think-”
“Trust me!” An edge of rage creeps into Coria’s voice. She reaches out and touches Luc. He doesn’t know where, he thinks from his shoulder. “Luc, this is going to hurt. I’m sorry.”
He screams.
The next thing he becomes aware of is the smell of bacta. It surrounds him entirely. Something is on his face. A mask of some sort, he thinks. Luc moves his left arm to try and grab it, but he can’t. He doesn’t even feel his shoulder swing. He feels bones rotate within its socket, but he can’t feel anything else. Panic surges through him. He snatches the mask off with his right hand and forces his way to the surface.
“Commander!” Dreamer, he thinks it’s the voice of his medic at least, yells. “Luc, don’t. You can’t-”
He slips back into the tank before he even gets his neck over the edge.
Luc is lucky to be alive. At least, Dreamer tells him so. Cody tells him so. General Kenobi even says so. Luc doesn’t feel so lucky. As a matter of fact, for once, he feels the opposite of his name. He’s cursed. He should not be alive; he should be dead with so many of his men.
They give him a new arm. It doesn’t feel right. He doubts it ever well. Forty percent of his abdomen is now metal and wires and scar tissue. One beam split him into five pieces. A line of machinery runs through his navel, from one side to the other. It’s not a straight line but jagged, starting at his left hip and going to just underneath the right side of his ribcage. Another runs slightly crooked to that, cutting his left shoulder to right hip.
He’s lucky to be alive. Lucky. The word, his name, spins around in his head. He hates it. He hates the word, the meaning, the implication. He resents it. The fury blazes inside of him as Dreamer carefully explains everything he needs to do to get his body back into working order. He wishes he could burn a single word alive.
He fucking hates Coria. He hates her more than he hates the word. She’s the fucking reason he’s alive.
“She held you together with the Force.” Dreamer explains as he wipes blood away from the juncture of Luc’s mechanical arm and fleshy shoulder. “You shouldn’t be alive. She kept your guts from spilling out.” Dreamer lifts his head. Tears are in his eyes. “Luc, I saw your lungs. Your body didn’t fit together so I saw your lungs. You were still breathing.” He chokes. “You were in five pieces, and she kept you alive.”
Dreamer looks away, clearly too overcome with emotion. Luc doesn’t say anything. What can he say? He wishes he died? This isn't a fucking life. What good can he do when he’s five pieces of a man fit together like a goddamn jigsaw puzzle?
General Lanels visits him.
She stands at the edge of his bed. Luc can’t sleep. Between the constant pain and nightmares, sleep is impossible.
She watches him. He glares back at her.
“I fucking hate you.”
“I know.”
“What the fuck did you do to me? Why would you do this to me?” Luc’s words tumble from him. “You’re fucking sick in the head, you know that? You’re a goddamn monster. I bet you got off playing Maker there. I should have died! I should be dead, and you... You fucking bitch! You’re a cunt and a murderer and I never should have met you. You should have died in the Chopani sector. You’re a waste of space and mother’s love. I should strangle you right now.” He trails off into a laugh. It’s unhinged and broken. He can’t stop it. The laugh won’t stop. He couldn’t prevent it if he tried.
General Lanels doesn’t say anything. His meager cot creaks as she takes a seat on the end of it. She stays silent until his laughter stops.
“You saw the Piper.” It’s not a question but a statement. General Lanels looks at him. “I never met him. That’s not my role. My fate.” She purses her lips together. She dips her head and laughs. The noise she lets out sounds just as crazed as his but controlled. It’s no more than a few seconds. Somehow, hers is more bitter than his.
“It’s not funny.”
“It’s not.” She turns her head towards him. “For what it’s worth, I don’t think I marked you. My slaughter isn’t...” She takes a deep breath. “I’m senseless violence. You’re the War. We’re born of the same thing, you and I. But we’re not the same.”
“No shit.”
General Lanels shifts. He watches her, wary. She unravels her robes and then her tunic. Underneath the moon glow, he sees scars. They litter her body like constellations. One stands out to his eyes. Well, it’s a set. They run parallel to her spine, one on either side. Luc knows whatever it was cut her like the beam cut him. He can see her lying on the ground of Chopani, body split into three pieces.
How does he know that? How did he know about Chopani? How does he know she died there, covered in dirt and mud and blood, her own and others?
“I’m not made of what you are now.” She fixes her tunic once more. “I use this war so I don’t... It helps me control what I am. I’m not perfect. I’m better than I could be, though.” Coria looks at him. She’s not General Lanels in this moment but something else. He can almost seem repressed and bottled rage underneath her skin. He thinks of her veins shattering. Luc can see it, the memory of her destroying that droid now different. He knows the fury in her veins ripped her apart, and in turn, she ripped everything around her into pieces.
“We’re not the same.” Luc doesn’t snarl. Instead, he stares at her. He still hates her, could kill her in this moment. Something stays his hand. He thinks it’s recognition. She’s not him, but she’s the closest thing to him he’ll ever meet.
“If it helps, you’ll die when this war does.” Coria doesn’t look at him. “I don’t know when it’ll happen, but I know it will.”
Luc doesn’t say anything. It’s a comfort to know he will die. He wasn’t sure he could anymore.
“I hope you’re ripped apart.”
Coria laughs.
“I think I will be.”
They don’t say another word to each other. Instead, they sit together in the shitty tent. Luc still hates her, resents her for saving him. He can’t bring himself to act on it, though. If he did, who else would he have like him?
He doesn’t know what he is anymore, but at least he isn’t alone.
