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For Valentine; Healer, heal thyself
Mar. 20th, 2019 02:51 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
starcrossedspyHe wasn’t quite sure how it happened. The rogue Mandalorian fell, toppled to the ground in his dying breaths and his automated turrets kept firing. And he, so focused on the well-being of his friend and his apprentice, somehow had a lapse. Maybe he was exhausted from the battle. Maybe seeing one foe fall had been enough of a relief. Maybe he misjudged the state of said apprentice’s health. Either way, one second he was collapsing, and the next, the turrets had focused their fire on their next target: Natirru himself.
He wasn’t sure how Oberon - or Xalek, for that matter - could do it. How they could keep an eye on the battle in spite of their pain, for as much as he liked to think he had high pain tolerance, it was all he could do to grab every unused injector, call every charged probe, release as many nanobots as he could to keep himself conscious, sinking to his knees as he continued to draw fire. Some of it glanced off the probes, some of it he managed to twist away from, in those moments of awareness. Some of it was dutifully absorbed by his one shield generating probe.
It felt like forever. But he knew if he fell, Valentine was next, and while he had great power, he would not survive this onslaught alone. Valentine was the only hope of this ending favorably. He would never be able to launch an offensive like this. Never be able to stop those turrets.
And when it was over, when the sound of turret fire and Force lightning faded into a silence punctuated by the pounding of his pulse and his labored breaths, as his focus wavered, a wave of nauseating dizziness overcame him, and he slumped sideways onto the deck, mind swimming as he tried to assess his injuries. High on a combat adrenal and with his own adrenaline running strong, he knew he wouldn’t be able to tell by feel what kind of shape he was in yet. And yet, he could not lift his head. He was numb to all the pain, but he had no strength. He was trembling. Pain he wasn’t processing. He was bleeding. Laying in a small puddle of it, source unknown or perhaps many. He couldn’t tell. How bad was he? He couldn’t tell.
He wasn’t sure how Oberon - or Xalek, for that matter - could do it. How they could keep an eye on the battle in spite of their pain, for as much as he liked to think he had high pain tolerance, it was all he could do to grab every unused injector, call every charged probe, release as many nanobots as he could to keep himself conscious, sinking to his knees as he continued to draw fire. Some of it glanced off the probes, some of it he managed to twist away from, in those moments of awareness. Some of it was dutifully absorbed by his one shield generating probe.
It felt like forever. But he knew if he fell, Valentine was next, and while he had great power, he would not survive this onslaught alone. Valentine was the only hope of this ending favorably. He would never be able to launch an offensive like this. Never be able to stop those turrets.
And when it was over, when the sound of turret fire and Force lightning faded into a silence punctuated by the pounding of his pulse and his labored breaths, as his focus wavered, a wave of nauseating dizziness overcame him, and he slumped sideways onto the deck, mind swimming as he tried to assess his injuries. High on a combat adrenal and with his own adrenaline running strong, he knew he wouldn’t be able to tell by feel what kind of shape he was in yet. And yet, he could not lift his head. He was numb to all the pain, but he had no strength. He was trembling. Pain he wasn’t processing. He was bleeding. Laying in a small puddle of it, source unknown or perhaps many. He couldn’t tell. How bad was he? He couldn’t tell.
