Conflicted: A Reylo Fanfic

Vengeance

Cerisse let loose a terrifying howl of rage and lashed out at the nearest stormtrooper, reaching out with her fist to crush him in her Force grip. She couldn't see his face contorting in fear and pain behind his helmet as she squeezed the life from him, but she could feel it in his mind, and that was just as gratifying. Sensing the edge of death approaching, she released him abruptly, reluctantly recognizing that the random slaughter of troops was simply not good for their numbers. Disregarding him as he slumped to the floor, Cerisse turned aside to complete her journey through the hangar.

She had been tracking the effects of her disc since the Force-sensitive had first activated it nearly a standard solar day ago. As was her usual practice, she had responded to the disc's summons as quickly as possible. A happy convergence of circumstances—her relative inactivity, close proximity to the disc's site, and ready access to a fast ship—meant she had arrived on Galea and at the trap itself within an impressively short amount of time. But, highly surprisingly, she had nevertheless missed her prey.

Through the residual presence collected by the disc, Cerisse had learned that her mark was a human female and that she was exceptionally strong in the Force. So strong, in fact, that Cerisse had known instantly the disc's effects would cause her death within a handful of hours. The fact that there hadn't been a body for her to claim on Galea, while annoying, had therefore been of little concern. Though not a particularly common occurrence, Cerisse had located her spent discs without their attendant victims often enough to know it simply meant her mark had not been alone when encountering the trap. Given the disc's effects, it was really no set back at all and so Cerisse had left the planet with no worries.

By the time she was back in space, however, the circumstances had changed.

Once activated, Cerisse's discs maintained a constant link between her and her prey, informing her of its progress. Everything had been proceeding as expected...until suddenly it wasn't. It was as her shuttle escaped the planet's gravitational pull that Cerisse had become aware that her victim was somehow combating the disc's lingering effects. Lacking sufficient skill with the Force to discern any specifics, Cerisse knew only that this especially strong Force-sensitive was fighting a spell that no one—no one—had ever managed to fight before. The novelty of the situation incensed her. And, by the time she had landed in the hangar and disembarked her shuttle, the unthinkable had happened and her trapped prey had broken free. She didn't know how such a thing could be possible, and it only angered her all the more. Even nearly crushing a random stormtrooper had not alleviated her rage.

Cerisse felt more than saw Captain Phasma fall into step beside her. Gritting her teeth in annoyance at the limitations of this ridiculous helmet she was required to wear as a Knight of Ren, Cerisse turned her head to regard Phasma for a moment, who mirrored her motion. The pair walked in silence, chrome alongside black, both their capes flowing out behind them. And Cerisse both noticed and appreciated the sight of various troopers and underlings scurrying out of the path of their long, powerful strides. Eventually, Cerisse tired of their unspoken game and abruptly pulled Phasma aside, the two of them ducking into an isolated computer bank.

Casting outward with the Force into the darkened space, Cerisse quickly verified they were quite alone then promptly drew off her helmet as Phasma did the same. The two tall, powerful women stood exposed before each other only a moment before they were kissing ravenously.

"You've been away far too long, Cerisse Ren," Phasma chastised.

In response, Cerisse deliberately bit her lip and snarled, "Shut up."

Their assignation, however, was necessarily brief. Not only was Phasma on duty, but Cerisse also felt a great measure of urgency to discuss recent events with the Emperor. The physical release shared with her lover in a dark closet, however, helped. And, after all, Phasma was right: she had been away far too long. Cerisse leaned forward to nip at Phasma's chin, reveling as she always did in the sight of her deep violet skin against Phasma's pale flesh.