[SEASON ONE, COMPLETE]
❛There's a word for us in Mando'a... 𝕹𝖆𝖗𝖚𝖉𝖆𝖗. Temporary ally. That's what we've been since the beginning... right?❜
• A bounty hunter encounters an enemy she's stumbled upon one too many times, though this particularly...
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Chapter Twenty-Three: 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖗𝖎𝖘𝖊. word count; 9.5k
note: i apologize for the prolonged wait on this one! it's a long one... i promse this is as long as i'll ever go! 😂 i'm actually really glad i split this one from the previous chapter. also, due to its lengthiness, i'm completely certain there's a fair share of errors and misspelled words. it was definitely a pain to edit so i doubt i've gotten them all! either way, i hope you enjoy this one.
Each stride deeper into the sultry sewers were absolutely agonizing, even despite Cara directly by your side and assisting you to continue forward. Several prolonged, wearying minutes had already flown by while your team wandered aimlessly through these damned tunnels, searching for the said Mandalorian covert Din had urged you to visit. The entire place was a kriffing maze you failed to navigate, and that exasperated you to the core.
Your steps were rather slow and drawn out. Still, with each second that ticked by, you attempted to pick up the pace slightly. With one arm slung around the woman who supported you, the other clutched tightly and firmly around your torso, as if that would cause the insistent searing pain there to miraculously cease. According to Cara, all those desperate attempts to revive you had resulted in cracking a couple ribs. You had no idea that was possible, actually—it had surprised you significantly.
And there was that sealed off wound in the center of your chest. The fact that its bleeding halted didn't impede it from stinging and irritating you to no end. The IG unit's useful bacta spray had proved extremely helpful in aiding the gash to clot and begin the healing process earlier than usual, though.
Still, your mind couldn't quite comprehend the fact that you'd managed to survive a blaster bolt straight through a lethal and vulnerable spot—your chest. Sure, the armor was (thankfully) present and prevented further injury from the harsh impact the bullet caused. But it'd been so damn close to your heart—it was a miracle you were alive right now.
Not only that, but your muscles ached like the seven Corellian hells, exhaustion was beginning to overwhelm your every sense and action, and your back was unbearably sore from... well, you'd been sent soaring backwards twice, and landed harshly on your back... twice.
To add to that, everything that recently occurred to you was still perfectly present on your mind, replaying over and over again countless times, as if your brain wanted to torture you with memories you now longed to forget as soon as possible. That suffocating sensation of being utterly incapable of forming the slightest breath, your nose swamped by the metallic scent of blood, feeling the tepid liquid pool up in your throat until the only thing you tasted was, again, blood, already beginning to drown you, and being entirely helpless to act or do anything except accept the fact that you were going to suffer an abhorrent death... That was appalling.
