Chapter Text
"General Hux, we are detecting large amoujt of energy millions of light years away according to data, this planet is unnamed, what should our next course of action be?" Said one of the staff he couldn't careless the name of
" go there this instant, contact Ren about your discovery , and make him come here this instant" Hux exclaimed with furrowed brows, his ever so handsome face now showing inexplainable
A few moments later supreme leader has finally arrived,
" I have heard of some un-named planet, is this true? " asked ren,
" Yes, yes, you are not deaf, are you? Do i have to repeat myself to you?" Said Hux with sarcasm.
' tch' hux thought, his arms on his back, he looks back to the horizon as the finalizer travels at loght spee towards their destination, this planet was rather small, compared to the other planets they had gone to. No other ships around? This planet seems to be milleniums past.
There are people from there trying to communicate with them, radio waves, how vintage.
" their flimsy attempts are admirable" said hux,
" who are you " their technology is very much lacking, they can't even send a message properly. " What do you want from us" said the voice from the other side, static.
"General Hux, we're detecting an enormous energy signature millions of light-years away," said one of the staff members. He didn’t bother remembering the officer’s name.
"Go there immediately. Inform Ren of your discovery and tell him to come here at once," Hux commanded, his brow furrowed. His ever-composed, handsome face now wore an expression of unexplainable tension.
Moments later, the general kylo ren has arrived.
"I heard there’s talk of some unnamed planet. Is this true?" Ren asked, voice sharp and impatient.
"Yes, yes—you’re not deaf, are you? Must I repeat myself for your benefit?" Hux replied with a layer of biting sarcasm.
Tch, Hux thought, folding his arms behind his back as he turned to gaze at the streaking stars. The Finalizer soared through hyperspace, on course for the distant anomaly.
The planet came into view—small, insignificant compared to worlds they’d conquered before. No signs of spacecraft, no orbital defenses. This world seemed millennia behind in development.
Then a transmission came through—radio waves. How... quaint.
"They’re actually trying to communicate," Hux said dryly. "Their feeble attempts are almost admirable."
A crackling voice broke through the static: "Who are you? What do you want from us?"
Hux sneered. "They can’t even send a message properly," he muttered.
"Go. Communicate with them," Hux ordered with a sneer, motioning toward one of the crew members.
The officer stepped forward, pressing a button on the comm panel.
"We are representatives of the Galactic Empire. We have come to your planet after detecting a significant surge of energy. Identify yourselves."
Kylo Ren could likely sense it too. For as long as Hux could remember, he’d always felt it—the Force. When Ren was angry, it was more than emotion—it was a taste, a bitterness that filled the room like smoke.
Through the viewport, one region of the planet pulsed with energy—blinding and raw, like a beacon. Whatever it was, it wasn’t natural.
"Call reinforcements," Ren said coldly, stepping closer. "We’re going to trap this planet."
Hux turned to him sharply.
"How dare you give orders on my ship, Kylo Ren? Need I remind you—this is my command, and so are the people on it?" His voice was sharp, his brow tight with disdain.
"You speak to me that way, General Armitage Hux?" Ren growled, closing the distance between them. "You forget your place."
"And you forget yours," Hux snapped back, not flinching. "We hold the same rank. Or must I spell that out for you?"
‘Asshole,’ Hux thought bitterly, but kept it behind clenched teeth.
The rest of the fleets had arrived, encircling the planet like vultures. From orbit, the Finalizer cast a massive shadow, eclipsing parts of the planet below. It looked almost quaint from here—its defenses laughable, signals unprotected, open transmissions bouncing through space like desperate cries for help.
Panic was spreading. Hux could see it in their broadcasts—flickering television signals, local news in a panic, governments scrambling. And yet… no shields, no fleet, no resistance. Just fear and confusion.
The planet was now under siege.
But Hux… felt strange. There was something different here—in him. The Force, which he’d always suppressed, always buried beneath military order, suppressant, and reason, was stirring. It wasn’t subtle. It was fluctuating wildly. Powerful. Unstable.
And Kylo Ren had noticed.
“Fuck,” Hux muttered under his breath, pressing a hand to his temple.
Kylo moved closer, the familiar predatory grin tugging at his lips. He leaned in, voice low and mocking. “Feeling alright, General?”
“I don’t need your help—or your constant annoyance,” Hux snapped, slapping Kylo’s hand away.
Without another word, he boarded a shuttle and launched it solo toward the planet below.
Earth.
So primitive. Green, yes—but choking on its own atmosphere. Hux wrinkled his nose. No planetary air filtration? Carbon dioxide levels are far above galactic planetary standards. Disgusting.
He went down to the dockers and rode off onto one of the TIE fighters, to discover what that was about
He flew toward the source of the energy signal, only to find a shimmering barrier surrounding it. Magic? No—something else. Force-sensitive interference? Regardless, Hux extended a hand. With a flick of his wrist, a hole tore open, but it was too small for smooth entry. The ship lurched. Wind howled. But he knew how to fly. He was an engineer, for kriff's sake.
He landed—barely—beside a bizarre structure that looked as if someone had stapled a dozen rooms together at random. Disgusting architecture. Primitive.
People were approaching from a distance, running toward the disturbance.
The ship trembled. He slapped his palm against a console, and it stopped, responding to his anger and command. The hiss of the ramp opening was almost theatrical.
Hux stepped down, cloak fluttering, expression dark and scornful.
The people stood there, staring, young, dressed in strange clothing. Wands? He sneered.
“What are you staring at? Is this your first time seeing a general?” he barked, arms behind his back, brows furrowed in disdain.
He tapped his communicator.
“Finalizer, can you hear me?” Nothing.
“Kriffing great…” he muttered, waving the shuttle ramp shut with the Force.
“Bill? Is that you?” a scrawny teenage boy called out, confused.
Hux’s eyes narrowed.
“I don’t know where I am,” he said slowly, scanning the strange faces with furrowed brows. “What is this place?”
A girl clutched her wand. “Who… who are you?” the red haired girl muttered.
"I am General Armitage Hux of the First Order," he declared, chest straightening, chin slightly raised. These people were primitive—from their hand-stitched clothes to their shoddy little homes. Even his wretched father—whom he loathed with every fiber of his being—would weep in his grave at the sight of this place.
“Bill! You finally came back! How was your trip? How were the dragons you were looking after?” cried a man with blazing red hair as he rushed forward and embraced him tightly.
Hux’s eyes widened in disbelief—before he shoved the man back with the Force. The redhead stumbled, landing on the ground in a dazed heap.
“Rude,” Hux snapped, brushing off his tunic. “Is this how you converse with strangers? Your feeble attempts at civility are laughable. No manners. Pathetic.”
He flicked a speck of dirt from his chest. “This suit is Coruscant leather, hand-stitched. And you dare touch it.” He narrowed his eyes. “And have you not heard me? I am not the ‘Bill’ you keep mumbling about. I am General Armitage Hux—of the great House of Armitage.”
He tried to hold his posture, keep his chin high—but his body betrayed him. He was tired. So, so tired.
"Wow," a girl scoffed. She looked no older than thirteen or fourteen, eyes fierce, voice cutting. "You crash into our land, insult our family, and you’ve got the nerve to call us rude? You’re the one acting like a prat.”
“Ginny, calm down,” said the redheaded boy next to her. “He… he does look like Bill, doesn’t he?”
“Fine, Ron,” Ginny muttered with a huff, crossing her arms. Then Armitage Hux Collapses.
To be continued. Sorry for the poor writing. I am using my phone
Chapter 2: Chapter 2
Summary:
Armitage is weirded out by these primitive people.
Chapter Text
Armitage Hux is the illegitimate son of Brendol Hux, a high-ranking officer in the Galactic Empire and later one of the architects of the First Order. Armitage’s childhood was marked by abuse, neglect, and cruelty, which heavily influenced his obsession with control, order, and military discipline.
Armitage was born on Arkanis, a remote Outer Rim world that hosted one of the Empire’s elite military academies. He was the bastard son of Brendol Hux and a kitchen servant. Because of his illegitimacy, he was mistreated and looked down upon—even by his own father. His father never once showed him any affection, often mocking and belittling him. He considered Armitage weak and unworthy of the Hux name.
He was more interested in his military duties and ambitions than in raising a son. Armitage was often left alone, learning military theory and survival through books and observation rather than formal instruction. Other Imperial cadets bullied Armitage for his bloodline; he is not pureblooded Hux after all, and Brendol rarely intervened—believing that suffering built strength.
Brendol Hux believed the Empire failed because it relied too heavily on emotion, loyalty, and "soft" leadership.
He wanted to rebuild a new generation of soldiers from birth—children conditioned from infancy to serve the First Order without hesitation or compassion. This philosophy became the foundation of the First Order's stormtrooper program.
A boy no older than five trembled as he approached with a tray. His hands shook, and the glass slipped—crashing to the floor, spilling the drink meant for his father and his father's guest.
“I-I’m sorry…” he stammered, voice small and afraid.
Brendol Hux stood tall above him, cold eyes narrowing.
“Pathetic.”
The word dripped with contempt. The look in his father’s eyes said more—disgust, disappointment, disapproval. Armitage shrank under the weight of it.
“I didn’t mean to…” he murmured, head bowed.
A voice from across the room chimed in, mocking.
“Given you found his mother in a kitchen, you’d think your bastard son could at least serve a drink properly, Commandant Hux.”
Brendol didn’t flinch. His reply was sharp, cruel.
“Unfortunately, Admiral Brooks, I’ve yet to discover anything Armitage isn’t utterly useless at.”
Armitage dropped to his knees, desperately trying to clean the mess with his sleeve. His hands were shaking.
“Get up, Armitage!” Brendol barked, yanking the boy roughly by the arm.
Armitage whimpered, tears spilling as he was dragged to his feet. His sobs were quiet, but the shame rang louder than any cry.
Armitage awoke with a start. A sliver of sunlight hit him square in the face, his skin damp with sweat. The first thing he noticed—aside from the throbbing in his head—was the smell. Acrid, smokey... something was definitely burning.
Then he noticed the faces.
Red hair. Freckles. Way too many people staring at him.
Great. A ginger cult.
“Who the kriff are you people? Where’s my ship?” he snapped, instinctively checking his clothes. Still in uniform. Good. At least they hadn’t undressed him.
“Bloody hell, he looks just like Bill,” said one of the twins to his identical twin, reaching toward him.
“Do not touch me. And who the hell is Bill?” Hux growled, swatting the hand away and scowling.
“Oh, he was our older brother. He went far away for his job,” piped up a younger boy, maybe 15 or 16, peeking from behind a chair.
“Where. Is. My. Ship?” Hux repeated, eyes narrowing.
An older woman stepped in, brushing flour off her apron. “My husband’s out looking at it.”
He shot her a look, then glanced out the nearby window—and there it was.
The Finalizer. Still hovering in space like a silent, oppressive god. Just barely visible through the clouds.
“You’ve been unconscious for ten hours,” said Ginny, arms crossed and chin raised in defiance. “Be thankful we didn’t leave you outside in the rain, after the way you acted this morning.”
He didn’t respond. No apology, no thanks. Just a grunt.
He stood, adjusting his coat. Boots still on. Good.
Descending the stairs of this... house—if it could even be called that—he took in the mismatched furniture, the warmth of the hearth, the cluttered kitchen table. It was chaotic. Earthy. Lived in. And entirely foreign to him.
His eyes landed on a mantle clock. Perched on top of it was a nameplate: “The Weasleys.”
Of course it was.
Then his gaze shifted to the table—and he froze.
A spoon, half-polished, caught the light, and in there is a picture. Pale. Sharp-featured. Freckled. Long Hair. Unkempt. It wasn’t his face… but it could’ve been.
Etched on the handle: “Bill.”
His brow furrowed.
"Kriffing shit," he muttered under his breath.
The TIE Fighter was damaged—one of the solar wings was snapped clean off, jutting out at an ugly angle like a broken limb. Just kriffing perfect.
He stormed outside, not caring if the red-haired family's father was still poking around his ship. Let them stare. Let them whisper. He didn’t care.
This was his ship. His command. His failure.
The boarding ramp hissed as it lowered with a tired wheeze.
He stepped inside, boots echoing off the hollow metal interior. Everything felt too quiet. Wrong.
He made his way to the console and flicked the power switches.
Nothing.
Not a flicker of light. Not a single response.
With a low growl of frustration, he turned and stomped back down the ramp. He circled to the side—and then stopped.
There were holes in the hull. Real ones. Not blaster scoring—punched-through metal. Wires hung loose like snapped tendons, some of them still sparking weakly in the afternoon light.
He knelt, brushing a finger along the edge of the torn plating.
Exposed systems.
Crippled engine.
Comms fried.
Flight controls dead.
Just great.
He stood there for a long moment, staring at the wreckage of what had once been sleek Imperial engineering. Now it was just a gutted carcass—and so was his patience.
“Damn, damn, damn!” he roared, slamming his boot into the broken hull. The clang echoed like a curse across the field.
Breathing hard, he extended his hands over the wreck, fingers splayed, eyes narrowed.
And then, it began to rise.
The fractured TIE Fighter groaned as metal strained against gravity, slowly lifting from the ground—hovering mid-air, spinning slightly under his control. His jaw clenched with focus.
Behind him, one of the twins gasped.
“How are you doing that?”
“The Force,” Hux muttered, sweat beading on his brow.
“The Force? Is that like… magic?” the other twin asked, wide-eyed.
Hux shot them a cold, narrowed stare—a silent shut up with no effort to hide the disdain. Then, with a sharp downward motion of his hand, the TIE Fighter dropped to the ground with a heavy thump, dust billowing into the air.
He had to fix it.
He had to contact Ren.
He had to get back to the Finalizer.
The rest of the Weasley family had wandered out, drawn by the noise and the sudden burst of power. They stared at him like he’d just stepped out of a dream—or a nightmare.
Hux turned to them, his voice clipped and urgent.
“Do you see that massive ship hovering above your planet?” he asked, pointing upward.
“I need to get back there.”
The boy who’d spoken earlier just blinked at him.
“So... aliens do exist?” he asked in awe.
Hux didn’t even bother answering. He was already rolling up his sleeves, eyes locked on the scorched metal and dangling wires.
There was work to do.
This strange, primitive world would have to wait.
The Finalizer would not.
"No, we aren’t aliens," Hux snapped, his voice laced with disdain.
"There are planets far beyond this one with cities, governments, entire civilizations. Humans aren’t unique to this world—you’re not the center of the universe. Humanity is a galactic species."
His words hung heavy in the air, and for a brief moment, silence followed. But then—like a crack in armor—a memory surfaced.
His father.
Brendol Hux.
The contempt in his eyes. The way he spoke to him like a tool, not a son.
It came uninvited, and Hux felt the familiar flare of anger crawl beneath his skin. But he clenched his jaw and forced it back down. Control. Always control.
He turned to the red-haired boy—the one who had spoken of “magic.”
"So, what is this magic you spoke so fondly of?" Hux asked, raising a curious brow, trying to sound cold and detached. But truthfully, he was intrigued.
"Oh, this?" The boy grinned and pulled a thin wooden stick from his waistband—a wand.
He pointed it at a nearby rock.
"Wingardium Leviosa!" he declared.
The rock rose slowly into the air, hovering as if weightless.
Hux’s eyes narrowed slightly.
"Interesting," he muttered.
It didn’t feel like the Force. There was no ripple, no echo, no sense of movement in the energy fields that usually accompanied his abilities.
It was... something else entirely.
He folded his arms. "Not the Force. But something close enough."
He was grateful the First Order wasn’t here to see this—him, using the Force openly.
He had spent years suppressing it, hiding it. His father had demanded it. And after Brendol died, Armitage kept suppressing it on his own. Not because of fear—but because of survival.
There were consequences, of course.It drained him. Left him prone to fatigue. Weaker in the presence of Kylo Ren, whose raw power in the Force felt like a constant suffocation, a shadow that pressed against his chest every time they were in the same room.
Suppressing his gift had kept him safe.
But here, on this strange little backwater world with floating rocks and wand-wielding children…
Hux wondered, just briefly, what he might be if he stopped holding back.
“I apologize for my behavior earlier,” Hux said stiffly, standing in the middle of the cozy, cluttered Weasley living room. “And after that as well. I suppose… I’m not used to being away from command. Or being treated like—” he paused, searching for the right word, “—a guest.”
He glanced toward the window, where his damaged TIE fighter still sat crooked in the yard.
“I’ll have to fix my ship tomorrow.”
The Weasleys didn’t seem bothered by his attitude—or his uniform. If anything, they were disarmingly kind. Warm, even. It unsettled him more than he cared to admit.
“Er… so how exactly do you operate that flying thing?” asked the father—Arthur, if he remembered correctly—his tone a mixture of awe and curiosity.
“It takes years of training to pilot a TIE fighter,” Hux replied curtly, though without his usual venom. “Precision. Discipline. Focus. Not something to be learned overnight.”
They chatted a little more after that—mostly about ships and stars. Hux avoided anything personal, sidestepping questions with sharp redirections and icy politeness. But somehow, they didn’t press. They simply accepted his silence.
Eventually, they showed him to a room for the night.
It was simple—shared with one of the boys, the one called Ron. There were posters on the walls, an old trunk, a broomstick leaning in the corner. It was utterly foreign to Hux. And painfully… ordinary.
He sat on the bed, staring blankly ahead.
Warm sheets. Quiet air. No drills. No screaming cadets. No control panels buzzing.
Just the creak of old wood and the distant sounds of a family downstairs.
He didn’t quite know what to do with that.
Armitage Hux sighed, shoulders heavy. He still had Starkiller Base to oversee, repairs to coordinate, orders to give.
But when he blinked—
The room shifted.
The burnt walls of the old house vanished, replaced by the cold, sterile metal of a Star Destroyer’s bridge.
He stood on the Finalizer... or rather, a projection of it.
And across from him, cloaked in black and tension, stood Kylo Ren, staring out at the primitive planet below.
"Ren," Hux said stiffly.
Kylo turned, surprise flickering beneath the mask. "How are you doing this?" he asked.
Hux folded his arms. "I don’t know. And I don’t care. Whatever this is, Commander Ren, I’m stranded on that planet we’re supposed to be conquering. And there’s something else down here... something called magic. Like your little parlor tricks, but weirder."
Ren’s brow furrowed. "Hux... you’re Force-sensitive. That’s the only way this kind of link is even possible. Why didn’t you tell me?"
Typical. Hux wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.
He arched a brow and replied flatly, "Force-sensitive? What next—will you accuse me of worshipping space gods and strangling people for fun like you do?"
He took a step forward.
"You’ve always mistaken discipline for weakness, Ren. Don’t project your instability onto me."
Kylo’s jaw tightened beneath the helmet. "You’re lying."
"And you’re predictable," Hux snapped back. "If I were Force-sensitive, I’d be smart enough not to parade it around like a robed lunatic with temper issues."
The link flickered, the image beginning to fade. Hux could feel the pull of his real body again—smoke, wood, heat.
Before he vanished completely, he added one last barb:
"Now, if you’ll excuse me, some of us have something to do rather than smash things with glowing sticks."
And just like that—he was gone.
Armitage Hux let out a slow, measured breath.
Lying through his teeth was exhausting—but necessary.
He couldn’t let Ren, or worse, Snoke, know the truth. That he’d known about his Force sensitivity since he was a child. That he’d buried it so deep, he nearly forgot what it felt like to reach out and feel the pulse of life around him.
Snoke would use him—turn him into another pawn, just like he did with Ren. A tool. A weapon. And Hux had spent his entire life proving he was more than that.
The thought of having his mind probed, his thoughts dissected like some open specimen on a slab... it made his stomach turn.
That would never be his fate. Not if he could help it.
Not even if it meant lying to Kylo Ren’s face.
Even though he wanted to surpass Kylo Ren—outsmart him, outrank him—he didn’t want to be like him.
Always angry. Always unpredictable. Wielding the Force like a blunt instrument, relying on fear instead of command.
That wasn’t leadership. That was weakness dressed as power.
What would the others think if they found out? If they believed he’d only risen through the ranks because of some latent ability, some mystical advantage?
No. That would ruin everything he had built.
He wanted to be remembered as a man of discipline and precision. A tactician. Someone who earned his position through strategy, loyalty, and knowledge—not through gifts he never asked for.
So he buried it. Like he always had.
Because being feared was easy. But being respected? That had to be earned. That is what's his and kylo's difference, He is respected while Kylo's feared.
(Previous comment deleted.)
Angerika on Chapter 1 Sun 25 May 2025 05:04AM UTC
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