Space Marine in Star Wars (Warhammer X Star Wars) Chapter 126 126: 123. Twisting Fates (End of Arc 3)

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=== Nira ===

Mandalore's sun burned high over Keldabe's skyline, washing the city in hard light and long shadows. Smoke from distant forges curled through the air, mixing with the hum of speeders and the sharp, clipped voices of Mandalorian rchants haggling in the streets.

Nira moved at Maximus' side, her robes drawn close, the subtle gleam of her armored bracers hidden beneath. Even here, among her people, her presence drew glances. A forr Jedi now Imperial Regent walking with one of the Emperor's Angels was not a sight easily ignored.

They walked shoulder to shoulder through the wide market avenue, datapads in hand, their conversation clipped and professional.

"…if the northern sectors can re-route the supply lines through the secondary do, we can free up at least three more transports a day for troop movent," Nira said, scrolling through the numbers.

Maximus, massive even in this city of warriors, gave only a grunt, his version of approval. His deep, modulated voice vibrated through his helm. "Adequate. But the eastern platforms remain vulnerable."

"I know," she replied, her brow furrowing. "We'll have to—"

She stopped mid-sentence.

A tremor ran through her. Barely noticeable at first, a flicker in her step. Then her breath hitched.

Maximus turned his head slightly, the whine of his armor's servos soft in the din of the street. "Regent?"

Nira's datapad slipped from her fingers, clattering to the walkway.

Her knees buckled.

And then the scream ca.

Windows shattered in the nearest buildings, alarms shrieked, and people scread as the Force and Warp detonated outward.

A shockwave ripped through the street. Stalls splintered, ferrocrete cracked, entire ships above were hurled into the walls like toys.

Maximus was thrown off his feet by the sheer debris caught in its wake. A slab of stone, easily the weight of a tank, slamd into him and carried him through a vendor's durasteel shelter, crushing it like foil.

For a mont, there was only chaos. Civilians fled in every direction, Mandalorians shouted orders, blasters were drawn, and at the center of it all, Nira convulsed violently on the ground, eyes rolled back white, her body arching, the very air around her screaming with pressure and heat.

Maximus's massive silhouette burst from the rubble. Dust cascaded off ceramite plating as he straightened. He surveyed the destruction in a single glance before he saw her.

The combined powers howled from her in waves, wild and uncontrolled.

Another surge, larger than the first, tore through the plaza. Entire sections of ferrocrete lifted like they were suddenly weightless, then smashed down violently.

But as the wave reached Maximus, it died.

His null-aura spread around him like a suffocating void, swallowing the Warp, devouring the Force. To onlookers it looked unnatural, a bubble of stillness in the heart of a storm. Lightning-like arcs of raw psychic energy simply fizzled out at its edge.

He began to move, boots pounding through wreckage.

He reached her, kneeling beside the writhing woman, her breath ragged, blood trickling from her nose, veins glowing faintly with residual energy she didn't seem aware of.

He placed one massive hand on her shoulder.

Instantly, the convulsions ceased.

The psychic storm collapsed in on itself like a dying star, leaving behind only silence.

Maximus looked around the ruined street. Mandalorians and civilians stared from behind shattered walls and overturned speeders, fear in their eyes.

And then light.

A soft glow of pure golden radiance began to manifest in the air before him.

At first it was a shimr. Then a silhouette. Then wings, vast and magnificent unfurled.

Maximus froze. His transhuman hearts actually skipping a beat.

It was Sanguinius.

The Great Angel himself, serene and terrible in equal asure, stood before him.

"Maximus," Sanguinius's voice carried through the plaza like a hymn in a cathedral, quiet yet echoing in every mind that heard it.

"There is no ti. Take her. Return to the battle barge at once."

There was no question. There was no pause, no need for further words.

Maximus stood, scooping the Imperial Regent into his arms with the care of a man carrying a sacred relic rather than a mortal. Her head lolled against his chest, her breath faint, her aura eerily quiet after the storm that had ripped through the city.

Without a backward glance, he began to run.

And when an Astartes runs, cities make way.

His boots cracked ferrocrete. Shattered glass broke farther underfoot. Speeders swerved to avoid him as he tore through the streets, Nira cradled against his armor, unconscious but alive.

He had no idea what was going on, but his questions could wait.

Above them, Mandalore's skies were suddenly alive with dropships, fighters scrambling, alarms still wailing. But Maximus didn't slow.

A transport ship waited on the far platform, its crew startled by the sight of a Space Marine charging through the crowded docks, carrying a woman who monts ago had leveled half a district.

The Ultramarine leapt the last ten ters, landing with a boom on the ramp.

"Back to the Barge!" he barked.

The hatch slamd shut. The engines roared. The transport peeled off the platform, rising into the Mandalorian sky.

=== Dooku ===

The command deck of the strike cruiser was quiet, save for the low, steady hum of its engines and the soft chi of status runes along its walls. Dooku stood over a wide hololithic display, its ghostly blue light reflecting against his sharp, aristocratic features. Around him, Ultramarine tacticians and senior officers waited as he scrolled through integration models, each one detailing another conquered system slowly being woven into the vast, grinding machine of the Imperium's reach.

He had always been a man of vision, but the scope here, planetary governnts, supply chains, cultural erasures, it was sothing even he occasionally found daunting. And yet…necessary. Order required control. Stability required inevitability.

He gestured with a gloved hand toward one projection.

"If the resource levies on Soryn IV are accelerated, the governor will resist, but if we replace the officer corps first, the transition will be clean within two cycles."

An officer nodded, taking notes.

"Once that is complete," Dooku continued, "their industry can be diverted to—"

He stopped.

A flicker. Like static in the Force.

His fingers twitched involuntarily.

"Lord Dooku?" one of the aides asked, stepping forward.

He inhaled sharply, as if the air had suddenly thinned. His knees buckled. The hololithic display flickered wildly as Dooku fell forward onto it, scattering projections into chaotic fragnts of light.

"Lord Dooku!"

He hit the ground hard, his body jerking violently as if struck by unseen lightning. A deep, guttural sound tore from his throat, not quite a scream, not quite a growl, as the Force inside him convulsed.

And then the room erupted.

The first wave tore through the command deck like a hurricane. Data-slates, weapons, even the great, bolted consoles were wrenched from their mounts, hurled like toys against the walls. Officers were thrown across the room, one man striking a steel column with a sickening crack. Even the Astartes were thrown off their feet.

Warning klaxons wailed as the environntal controls spiked under the sudden stress.

"Seal the deck!" soone scread.

But it didn't matter. The Force wasn't rely active here, it was raging.

Dooku's body convulsed on the deck plating, his elegant robes torn, blood flecking his lips as a second, larger wave of psychic energy exploded outward from him. The very tal beneath him groaned under the invisible weight pressing outward in every direction.

A suspended tactical array tore loose from its moorings and crashed to the floor, narrowly missing a cluster of officers who scrambled desperately toward the exit.

"Evacuate the command deck!" an Astartes roared, pulling a wounded man to his feet as sparks rained from burst conduits.

The seizure worsened. His back arched violently, limbs stiffening as his eyes rolled fully white now. Veins pulsed dark against pale skin, and for a fleeting, terrible mont, it looked as if his body might tear itself apart under the sheer stress of whatever storm was ripping through him.

Then, it all went still.

Everything, every flying shard of glass, every groaning piece of tal, even the hum of the ship itself, seed to pause.

Dooku went utterly still, lying motionless amid the destruction, chest rising only faintly, his eyes still closed.

The blast doors hissed open.

An Ultramarine entered, seeing so of his brothers getting to their feet.

A crimson wax-sealed purity scroll swayed gently from his pauldrons and he entered the destroyed room.

The warrior took in the chaos with one sweep of his genetically enhanced eyes, consoles ripped from their mounts, officers bloodied, smoke curling from shattered displays. His gaze locked on the fallen count imdiately.

Without a word, the Astartes strode forward, servos hissing, boots crunching over shattered ferroglass. He knelt, scooping Dooku's limp form up as though the once-proud noble weighed no more than a child.

"Clear a path," the Ultramarine's vox-filtered voice bood.

The Officers, so stunned, others bleeding, scrambled to comply, pressing themselves against buckled walls as the giant turned toward the exit.

"Get us to the planet's surface, now!" He commanded as he passed the ship's crew.

The marine moved quickly, his bulk oddly graceful, navigating fallen beams and sparking conduits without pause. The dicae decks were several levels below.

Behind him, the command deck lay in ruin, the heart of an Imperial ship reduced to debris and confusion in less than a minute.

The Ultramarine did not speak as the dicae bay doors parted before him. He simply laid Dooku on the treatnt slab, his massive gauntlets surprisingly gentle, then stepped back, helm turning slightly as if listening to sothing before replying.

"Indeed brother. Send a ssage to the Imperial Regent, she must—" He was cut off by the brother he was speaking to. "Understood." He simply replied.

The dicae staff sward in, their hands a blur as tubes were connected, diagnostics initiated, auspex readings calibrated. Data-slate screens flickered with streams of vital signs, while the low hiss of administered stims filled the chamber.

Through it all, the Ultramarine stood at the edge of the room, silent and unmoving. The glow of sterile lun strips reflected off the ceramite of his armor, turning him into a statue of blue and gold among the frantic motion.

His visor remained fixed on the still form of Count Dooku, the once-proud Jedi now lying pale and motionless beneath the dicae's hands. This man had served the Imperium with devotion.

He would stand vigil.

For Dooku was more than an ally. He was a man of principle, a servant of order, and the Imperial Regent "father".

He would watch. He would protect. Until Count Dooku rose again.

=== Anakin ===

Anakin Skywalker strode through the Jedi Temple's halls, boots striking the stone with a steady rhythm. His face was composed, but inside his thoughts churned like a storm-tossed sea.

Palpatine's words lingered, each one a seed of doubt beginning to take root.

He tried to force it from his mind, tried to focus on the duty before him, but duty felt hollow now.

He passed other Jedi in the corridor, masters, knights, padawans, all exchanging polite nods, offering greetings. But then… sothing shifted.

A flicker of movent in the corner of his vision. A sharp exhale, like soone was struck in the chest.

He turned just in ti to see a young Knight stumble, eyes rolling back, body seizing. Another followed. Then another.

In monts, the great Temple echoed with cries, screams and the sound of bodies striking marble, the thunderous crash of furniture hurled by invisible hands.

Jedi all around him convulsed as the Force went wild, like a great beast suddenly wounded, thrashing in agony. Power poured out of them, uncontrolled, surging like a tidal wave through every corridor. Holocrons shattered. ditation spheres spun wildly, then burst. Statues cracked, then toppled.

And then it hit him.

Anakin felt the first wave as an endless flood of power pour into him, burning through nerves and sinew, singing in his bones like molten iron.

His knees buckled. He hit the floor, hands gripping the polished marble as if it could anchor him against what was coming.

A scream of sheer exertion tore from his throat as the Force raged through him.

He roared, and the great doors of the Temple shuddered, then cracked. They collapsed inward in a thunderous crash, their massive fras twisting like soft tal.

Stonework above began to crumble. Massive slabs broke free, hurtling downward, only to strike an unseen barrier, a shimring bubble of pressure surrounding Anakin, the Force itself warped into a protective sphere.

The stones struck, and turned to powder.

The Jedi that had collapsed around him were thrown backwards. So were too close, and their forms turned to ash in the flash of power that radiated outward with each pulse of Anakin's scream.

Then ca the second wave.

It hit like lightning from every direction, a detonation of pure, cosmic force, ripping through the Temple with a sound of a god's dying heartbeat. The marble beneath Anakin cracked, spiderwebbing in every direction.

Anakin roared again, eyes wide, veins standing out like cords, his entire body thrumming with the power pouring through him.

And then… silence.

The pressure bled away as suddenly as it had co. The hum faded. The marble stopped trembling.

Anakin collapsed forward, catching himself on his hands, arms shaking with exertion. Sweat dripped from his brow, dotting the cracked stone beneath him. His chest heaved.

Slowly, he lifted his head.

Where once there had been order, ditation chambers, quiet halls, calm masters, now there was ruin. Smoke drifted lazily from shattered columns. Fires sparked where conduits had ruptured. Dust hung in the air like a fog.

And scattered through it all… was the ash.

Ash of his fellow Jedi that had surrounded him.

Anakin stared, throat tight, heart pounding.

He had no words.

Only the fear of what he had done.

=== Palpatine ===

The Chancellor's office was quiet, the steady hum of Coruscant's skyline muffled behind layers of transparisteel. Palpatine sat alone at his desk, hands folded, expression serene to any who might look in on him. But behind his still features, his mind raced.

Sches upon sches, threads upon threads, all leading to the sa end. The balance of Mortis would soon collapse, and the galaxy would fall neatly into their grasp. The Jedi? Pawns to be sacrificed. The Imperium? A beast to be manipulated until it destroyed itself. And Anakin Skywalker…

Ah, yes. Skywalker. So close now. So malleable.

But as Palpatine leaned back in his chair, savoring the vision of the future, sothing shifted. A ripple in the Force, subtle at first, like a tremor through glass. His eyes narrowed.

Then it hit.

The ripple beca a tidal wave. Invisible weight slamd into him, hurling him back from his chair, crashing him to the floor. His composure shattered instantly as a scream tore from his throat, high, raw and inhuman.

He clawed at the carpet, fingers digging furrows as his body convulsed, writhing under the surge. The Force wasn't rely brushing against him, it was tearing him open. Ripping through every careful illusion, every mask of control.

His skin bubbled, stretched. His jaw unhinged into a monstrous rictus. His eyes flared molten yellow, then deeper, black shot through with burning crimson as more appeared. His body elongated, muscles distending, bones reshaping. Warpfire burned beneath his flesh, tearing at the fragile shell he had crafted to walk among mortals.

The monster beneath was forcing its way out.

He gurgled, choking as his throat split into ragged ridges, his scream warping into sothing guttural and alien. His hands twisted, claws sprouting from fingers that tore gouges into the floor.

The doors to his office burst open. A Red Guard stepped inside, pike in hand, his voice urgent.

"Chancellor! My lord—!"

The guard never finished.

The sheer pressure of the maelstrom rolling off Palpatine crushed him where he stood. His body collapsed with a sickening crack, armor buckling, and bones snapping. The corpse was hurled back into the wall with enough force to crater the durasteel.

And still Palpatine writhed, every nerve afla. His monstrous form lood taller and taller, a grotesque parody of the man he had once appeared to be. He could feel it, the Warp tearing open around him, his true essence spilling free, finally unbound.

But then, the second wave ca.

It was like being struck by lightning a thousandfold.

Power seared through him. A surge of purity so absolute it was agony, stripping him, clawing at every mutation, burning away every tendril of taint.

"No—!" he shrieked, voice a wet rasp as his warped mouth snapped and reford, bones breaking backward into human shape. He felt the claws rip from his fingers, flesh knitting where corruption had torn it apart. His towering, monstrous bulk shrank, folded, and snapped back into the frail disguise of flesh and bone.

He did not choose to return. He was forced.

Every change the Warp had given him was peeled away, not gently, but violently, as though the galaxy itself demanded he wear the mask of Palpatine again.

His body convulsed once more, and then he collapsed onto the cold floor, a frail, broken old man once more.

He lay there, chest heaving, sweat pouring down his brow, his throat raw from screaming. His hands trembled as he tried to push himself upright, but they gave out.

Pain. All he felt was pain. A kind he had not known in decades.

Palpatine, master manipulator, future Emperor of the galaxy, lay gurgling on the floor of his office, barely able to breathe.

And for the first ti in years… there was fear in his eyes.

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