=== Raxor ===
Raxor felt the familiar, bone-deep vibration of atmospheric entry ripple through the dropship's hull as Coruscant rose to meet them. The Senate district loomed ahead, and the moment the ship cleared the air traffic lanes he could already hear distant thunder from the direction of the Jedi Temple, heavy impacts, secondary detonations, the unmistakable sound of war.
The hatch blew open, wind screaming into the hold, and Raxor didn't hesitate. He stepped forward and leapt, gravity taking hold as his massive frame punched down through the thin cloud layer, his jump pack flaring just long enough to angle his descent toward the Senate tower's uppermost levels.
The impact was catastrophic. Stone, durasteel, and transparisteel shattered beneath him as he smashed through the roof and crashed into the top floor in an explosion of debris, his armored bulk carving a crater through what had once been a pristine administrative level. He rose from the wreckage almost immediately, heavy bolter already in his hands, as Nira and the rest of the strike force followed him down through the breach, Mandalorians jetting in with controlled bursts while the Astartes simply dropped like meteors. Senate guards barely had time to react.
Blaster fire sparked harmlessly off ceramite before Raxor answered with his bolter, roaring and reducing defensive positions, and the men behind them, to clouds of gore and twisted metal. The resistance collapsed in seconds, the corridor falling deathly quiet save for the echo of distant alarms and the crackle of small fires licking at ruined walls.
He pushed forward toward the Chancellor's office. The doors stood sealed, thick blast plating layered with security systems meant to withstand riots, assassinations, and coups alike. Raxor snorted softly behind his helm, set his heavy bolter down with deliberate care, and stepped up to the doorway. His massive hands closed around the reinforced frame, servos whining as he pulled. Metal screamed. The locking mechanisms failed all at once, and with a violent wrench he tore the doors free, hurling them aside like scrap. They slammed into the far wall and crumpled, leaving the office exposed.
Inside, the space was immaculate, almost serene, polished floors, sweeping windows overlooking the city, carefully curated artifacts and symbols of authority. It felt wrong, untouched by the chaos consuming the rest of the planet. Raxor moved in first, scanning for threats, while the Astartes took up positions along the perimeter, weapons trained on every entrance.
The Mandalorians fanned out immediately, efficient and methodical, ripping open consoles, yanking data cores from their housings, and stacking confiscated slates in growing piles. Cables were torn free, panels ripped from walls, hidden compartments forced open with cutting tools and brute strength alike. If Palpatine had secrets, they would be dragged into the light.
Minutes stretched on as the office was systematically dismantled. Raxor watched in silence, the faint hum of his armor filling the gaps between shouted confirmations and the clatter of torn machinery. He felt like this was all too easy, the absence where something should have been. No panicked flight. No last-minute purge. No traces of hurried concealment. It was too clean. One by one, the Mandalorians began to report back, voices tight with frustration. Financial records. Senate correspondence. Diplomatic channels. Nothing tying Palpatine to Vulkan. Nothing about Kaminoans, relocations, or secret transfers. Just layers upon layers of mundane power, bureaucracy, and carefully constructed power grabs.
Raxor finally stepped forward, boots crunching over shattered glass as he surveyed the ruined office. His jaw tightened beneath his helm. Either the Chancellor was a fool who had nothing to do with Vulkan save for knowing the Jedi had him, or far more likely, he had known this moment was coming and had already erased himself from it.
Raxor felt a low, simmering anger settle in his chest, not explosive, but cold and dangerous. He turned back to the squad, his voice calm but edged with iron. They weren't done yet. Somewhere in this city, the truth still existed. And if Palpatine thought tearing down a few records would hide it, then he had gravely underestimated how relentless the Imperium could be when it decided to dig.
He was turning away from the gutted remains of the Chancellor's office when one of the Astartes paused, helm angling slightly as his auspex flickered. Without a word, the Ultramarine stepped toward an otherwise unremarkable section of wall paneling, the polished surface still pristine despite the devastation around it. His gauntlet closed into a fist, pistons whining softly, and then he struck. The wall shattered, durasteel and circuitry exploding inward as his arm punched straight through it. A startled cry followed, sharp and panicked, and a moment later he dragged a thin, pale woman out by the arm, hauling her bodily from the hidden recess behind the panel and hurling her onto the floor.
Sly Moore hit the ground hard, skidding across polished stone, her composure shattered. She snarled curses up at them, venomous and afraid, one hand scrabbling for purchase as she tried to push herself backward, eyes darting wildly for an escape that no longer existed. The Astartes loomed over her, utterly unmoved, helm lenses burning as he checked the data scrolling across his retinal display. "Confirmed," he said flatly, his voice a filtered growl. "Subject is designated priority target. On the list."
Raxor looked down at her without a flicker of hesitation or interest, the massive bulk of his armor casting her in shadow. "End it," he said, his tone calm, almost bored.
Sly Moore reacted instantly, fear overriding whatever discipline she possessed. She twisted and lunged, trying to slip past the giant looming over her, mouth opening as if to scream or call for help that would never come. She made it exactly one step. The Astartes' bolt pistol came up, and the shot was thunderous in the confined space. The round struck her squarely, detonating in a brutal, final bloom that left nothing but silence and bloody stone where she had been. The echo rolled through the ruined office and then faded, leaving only the hum of damaged systems and the distant sounds of battle elsewhere in the building.
Raxor didn't look back. He turned to the rest of the squad, heavy bolter mag-locked to his armor once more. "There's nothing else here," he said. "The Chancellor is gone, and this place is hollow. We move to the secondary objective." He paused, helm sweeping over his warriors. "Any senators still in this building who might pose a problem are to be eliminated."
The Mandalorians fanned out, weapons raised, while the Astartes formed the spearhead, boots thundering as they moved back into the corridors of the Senate building. Guards who attempted to bar their path were cut down without ceremony, blaster fire answered by bolter shells and volleys that left shattered bodies and scorched walls behind them. Security teams broke and fled when they realized what was coming, only to be hunted down through side halls and living quarters with ruthless efficiency.
As they advanced toward the senate living quarters, the architecture subtly shifted, becoming more opulent, more insulated from reality, wide corridors, private security checkpoints, doors marked with sigils of influence, power, or world symbols.
This was where the Republic's most entrenched figures slept and schemed, far from the rot and suffering below. Some tried to flee when they heard the gunfire, emerging in robes and finery, faces pale with disbelief as armored giants stormed their sanctuary. Others attempted to bargain, shouting titles and threats that carried no weight. Raxor gave none of them his attention. Those who ran were cut down from behind, those who resisted were annihilated, and those who cowered were judged in cold silence before a bolter round or blade ended them.
Fires began to burn where stray shots ruptured power conduits, filling the air with smoke and the sharp tang of ozone.
Raxor slowed the squad with a raised fist as the corridor ahead opened into a wide residential thoroughfare, the polished durasteel floors reflecting the emergency lights that now pulsed through the Senate apartments. His autosenses adjusted, sweeping the space in a heartbeat, and that was when he saw a small knot of figures moving hurriedly toward an emergency lift, surrounded by a thin cordon of security.
Padmé Amidala stood at the center of them, her posture proud despite the obvious weight she carried, one hand resting protectively against her swollen belly. Her guards were tense and frightened, weapons half-raised in uncertainty rather than discipline. Jar Jar hovered close to her side, wringing his long fingers together, while the familiar dome of R2-D2 rolled anxiously back and forth, projecting frantic bursts of light and sound that C-3PO translated in a quavering, high-pitched stream of panic. And there, standing just off to Padmé's flank, lightsaber unlit but hand hovering near it, was Ahsoka Tano, her montrals twitching as she took in the towering armored forms of the Imperium squad.
Nira reacted instantly. Before Raxor could even speak, she stepped forward, her expression sharpening with alarm as recognition struck. "Padmé! What are you doing here?" she demanded, her voice tight, the chaos of the moment bleeding through her usual composure. "You shouldn't be anywhere near the Senate right now."
Padmé turned fully toward her, disbelief flashing across her face. "The Jedi Temple is under attack," she said, her voice strained but steady. "We felt it shake from here. I was trying to evacuate, to get people out." Her eyes flicked past Nira, taking in Raxor and the rest of the kill squad, the blood still fresh on their armor, the weight of what they represented crashing down on her all at once. Her breath caught. "No… no, this isn't—" She swallowed hard, then looked back at Nira, hurt and fury warring in her gaze. "You're behind this. The Imperium is behind this."
Nira opened her mouth, the words already forming, but Padmé cut her off sharply, stepping forward despite the guards' protests. "I don't want to hear it," she said, her hand tightening over her stomach as a wave of pain crossed her features. "I trusted you. I believed you were trying to fight for something better even if it was with these… these monsters. But… Now I see that you are just one yourself!" Her voice cracked, anger bleeding into something raw and wounded.
Raxor watched Nira stiffen, watched the accusation strike deeper than any physical blow could have. Around them, his warriors remained motionless, weapons held low but ready, their discipline absolute. Raxor took a single step forward then, the servos in his armor whining softly as his massive frame moved into Padmé's view. He made no aggressive gesture, no threat; his heavy bolter remained mag-locked to his back, his hands open at his sides.
"Senator Amidala," he rumbled, his voice a low thunder contained behind vox-filters, "you are not our target." His optics flicked briefly to a data-feed scrolling across his vision, names and designations pulled from the Imperium's priority list. Padmé's name glowed there, flagged not for immediate execution, but marked nonetheless. He turned his helm slightly toward Nira. "She is listed," he said simply, not unkindly, as if stating a fact of weather or terrain. "Opposition to the Imperium. Past actions. Political interference."
Padmé stared at him, horror and indignation warring on her face. "Listed?" she echoed. "For what, disagreeing with you? For refusing to bow down to you when you rip people limb from limb?" She drew herself up as much as her condition allowed, chin lifting defiantly. "If that's your justice, then you're no better than the Chaos Gods you say you oppose!"
The Ultramarines tensed at her words, their hands tightening around their weapons.
Raxor held her gaze for a long moment. He had crushed fortresses, burned xenos warbands from existence, and shattered armies beneath his bolter fire, yet standing before an unarmed, pregnant senator, he felt… strange. "I have no orders to harm you," he said at last. "And no desire to." His eyes shifted briefly to Ahsoka, to the civilians clustered behind Padmé. "But this building is a war zone. You should leave. Now."
Nira finally found her voice, though it came out rough, edged with something close to desperation. "Padmé, please. You need to get out of here. This isn't… this isn't personal."
Padmé laughed bitterly, tears glinting in her eyes. "Everything about this is personal," she said softly, then turned away, signaling her retinue to move.
Raxor took a single step toward Padmé as they were about to leave, and then the world simply fell away from him. His knees hit the polished floor hard enough to crack it, the heavy bolter slipping from his grip as his vision tore open, dragging him into a vision.
He stood before a throne of impossible gold, a structure so immense it dwarfed reason itself, its surface etched with sigils of conquest, sacrifice, and divinity. Upon it sat the Emperor, not as Raxor had seen Him in fragments or echoes, but whole, radiant, terrible in His majesty.
This was the moment before the end, before the final march to face Horus, and Raxor felt the crushing gravity of it press into his soul. He watched as the Emperor reached inward and began to carve Himself apart, not with blade or claw, but with will alone. Love was torn free first, cast aside like a weakness no longer afforded.
Mercy followed, then compassion, then benevolence, each severed piece drifting away as luminous shards, screaming with silent agony as they were flung into the void. What remained upon the throne was colder, harder, a being forged solely for survival and dominion, and Raxor understood, this was the birth of the thing that would endure ten thousand years of suffering.
From those discarded fragments, something else took shape. A presence lighter and gentler, but no less powerful.
The Star Child.
He saw it move through time and space unbound, saw it reach into moments long past and futures yet written. He saw it save him, save Maximus, save Sebastian, at the very beginning, unseen hands guiding fate when all should have been lost. And then came the revelation that hollowed him out completely: this was the one who had sent them here, across realities, into a universe not their own, placing them into this universe like pieces on a board far larger than the Imperium had ever imagined.
The vision did not end there. The Star Child fractured once more, deliberately this time, dividing itself into two distinct forms. One male, one female, each carrying half of that vast, impossible legacy. Raxor saw them as he had before, a young man and woman with fire in their souls, their paths converging and diverging in ways that made causality itself tremble. They were not gods, not yet, but they were more than mortals, and the universe bent around them in subtle, inevitable ways.
Then the light collapsed inward, the gold and fire and eternity folding into a single point, and Raxor was hurled back into his body with a gasp that sounded more like a wounded animal than an Astartes.
He knelt there, one gauntlet pressed to the floor, the other to his chest, his hearts hammering as if they might tear free of his armor. The Senate corridor rushed back into focus, the smoke, the distant thunder of battle, the weapons raised in uncertain pause, but his gaze locked onto Padmé Amidala.
Her pregnancy was unmistakable now, not just to his eyes, but to something deeper, something the vision had awakened. He felt it then, a convergence of threads, of futures branching and collapsing around the two lives she carried. This was no mere senator, no name on a list compiled by distant strategists. This was a fulcrum, a living crossroads tied to the same forces he had just witnessed on a cosmic scale.
Slowly, Raxor pushed himself back to his feet, as Padmé turned to look at him.
He looked at her, at the lives she carried, and for the first time since taking the oath of the Imperium, he finally understood a portion of the Emperor's grand design.
===
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