===Raxor===
After the Astartes had thoroughly dismantled Jabba the Hutt's forces, Raxor's eyes scanned the now quiet, decimated palace. His helt's vox-link buzzed as the Death Watch dutifully moved through the palace, ticulously collecting anything that could prove valuable. Raxor's attention, however, was drawn to the grand throne of the late Hutt, its obscene, oversized bulk sitting in mockery of its previous occupant.
The Salamander moved closer, his armored boots clicking on the stone as he approached a hidden switch beneath the ornate chair. A soft, chanical hiss echoed through the chamber as the floor grate slowly revealed a yawning black pit that seed to devour the very light around it. The ominous dark void sent a chill down his spine, but his resolve remained unbroken. As the grating shifted, a faint, eerie growl emanated from the depths below, making Raxor pause for a mont.
Nearby, a Xenos by the na of Bib Fortuna had been captured, quivering in fear. With a swift motion, Raxor grabbed the creature by its throat, lifting it off the ground to force an answer. "What lies beneath?" Raxor growled through his vox, his voice chanical and cold.
The alien's eyes widened, terror painting its face. "A creature of imnse size," Bib stamred, "the Rancor. It devours any who fall into its grasp."
His long, unnerving lekku twitched nervously as he spoke, eyes wide with fear.
"You must understand," Bib began, attempting to placate Raxor. "I was forced to serve Jabba for years. I don't know much of this creature—only that it is a beast of legend."
The Astartes regarded him with cold disinterest. "It will be your death then. So we may learn more of what lurks below." The finality in Raxor's tone was unmistakable. With a brutal shove, he pushed Fortuna toward the open pit. The Twi'lek flailed, screaming, but there was no escaping his fate. The pit swallowed him whole, and a horrid sound—the tearing of flesh and bone—was heard as the Rancor seized its prey.
Raxor watched dispassionately as the creature's massive jaws worked their grisly task, dragging Fortuna into the depths. Blood splattered against the stone walls of the pit as the beast's growls reverberated through the chamber.
Maximus and Sebastian stood off to the side, casting a passing glance toward the slaughter. Maximus, his voice booming through his helm's vox, spoke without a hint of remorse. "Let's not waste ti here."
Raxor's spoke through the comm-link, sharp and calculated. "Agreed. I'll remain here. You two continue onward."
Maximus and Sebastian moved on, their booted feet thudding heavily across the floor as they headed deeper into Jabba's lair. The two of them would eliminate the remnants of Jabba's forces and ensure that nothing was left of the criminal empire. Their path was already set, and Raxor knew they would leave no stone unturned.
With a grunt, Raxor turned back to the room. The slaves—frightened, disheveled—huddled together in the corners of the chamber. His eyes scanned the room for any sign of resistance. He knew the Astartes didn't co to negotiate or coddle. Their purpose was destruction and, where necessary, annihilation.
He gave a silent nod to the Death Watch mbers, signaling them to release the captives. They moved in, thodically executing the orders without hesitation. His thoughts, however, were already on what ca next.
And then it happened. A low growl echoed again from the pit. Raxor's gaze drifted back to the pit as he carefully dropped a lta bomb into the dark hole. The explosion was swift, devastating, obliterating whatever remained of the monstrous creature. The shockwave rattled the room, shaking loose debris, and then silence returned—this ti, a far more final silence.
Turning back to the remaining slaves and criminals who still cowered in the dimly lit halls of Jabba's palace, Raxor's eyes locked onto them.
"Where are you from?" Raxor asked the young woman who had been seated on the throne, the one Maximus had freed.
She trembled, clearly terrified of him, but he knelt, his presence imposing yet patient. Slowly, he reached up to his helt, and with a soft hiss, he removed it from his head.
His blood-red eyes t her erald green ones. For a mont, her fear began to fade as she realized he appeared more humanoid than monstrous. His towering fra and harsh features remained intimidating, but there was a strange familiarity in his gaze that cald her.
He extended one massive hand to her, watching as she flinched at the motion. But after a long, hesitant mont, she gingerly reached out and took hold of one of his imnse fingers. With a careful, steady pull, he lifted her to her feet.
"You don't need to be afraid anymore," Raxor's deep voice rumbled. "You're safe."
The woman nodded, though her fear had not entirely dissipated. She turned and shouted sothing in her native tongue, perhaps to others still hidden within the palace, before following after Raxor as he stood and turned toward the stairs.
Raxor gave a sharp glance to the Death Watch, who had moved in to surround the freed slaves. "Watch over them," he commanded, his voice unwavering. "Carry those who cannot carry themselves."
Without hesitation, his soldiers moved into position, ensuring the captives were kept safe as Raxor led the way. They ascended the stairs, the sound of their heavy boots echoing through the stone halls.
By the ti they reached the hanger, Raxor's mind was focused—his senses alert. He turned the corner, and there they were: a massive ard force, clearly waiting for them. A jagged line of rcenaries lined the periter, weapons at the ready.
"So this is where you've been hiding while we killed your master!" Raxor shouted, his voice cutting through the tension of the mont.
The roar of his heavy bolter filled the space, and with brutal precision, the first wave of rcenaries fell, their bodies torn apart by the storm of explosive rounds. Raxor's massive fra moved like a juggernaut, unstoppable and relentless as he carved through the opposition.
The Death Watch followed closely behind, their blasters echoing through the hanger as they laid down suppressive fire. The rcenaries scattered in an attempt to regroup, but Raxor was already on them, his bolter a symphony of death.
"Brothers, I found them in the hanger!" Raxor called out over the comm-link, his voice a steady growl.
After a mont, the ceiling of the hanger exploded downwards as Maximus and Sebastian fell onto the ranks of rcenaries below them.
The battle raged on, the clash of fire and fury filling the air. Raxor fought with purpose, each shot calculated, each swing of his bolter sweeping across the remaining rcenaries. The space between him and his targets was a blur, and before long, the hanger had been turned into a battlefield littered with the bodies of those who had dared to defy the wrath of the Astartes.
As the last rcenary crumpled to the floor, Raxor's golden optics scanned the battlefield, ensuring no one was left to challenge them. The silence that followed was absolute, broken only by the sounds of Raxor's brothers securing the periter.
Raxor lowered his bolter and turned to his soldiers. "Gather the refugees," he ordered. "No one is to be left behind."
He glanced back at the slaves, now free from their tornt. The woman from the throne stood among them, her eyes wide with a mixture of awe and gratitude, though fear still lingered in the depths.
"Move," Raxor commanded once more, his tone final. "We're leaving."
===
Standing outside the ruined palace, the Death Watch thodically took inventory of their haul. The freed slaves were separated from the captured rcenaries, the forr ushered into one group while the latter were bound and prepared for transport. The once grand palace, now afla, was a testant to their success. The air was thick with the acrid scent of smoke, mingling with the faint remnants of bloodshed.
The three Astartes stood apart from the others, their gaze fixed on the burning remains of Jabba the Hutt's stronghold. The fire illuminated their grim silhouettes against the night sky, casting long shadows that seed to stretch across the battlefield.
Sebastian, still clutching the severed head of the Hutt, raised it high, a twisted trophy. "It was a good hunt," he said, his voice low but filled with satisfaction as he held the grotesque head out for his brothers to see.
Raxor nodded in acknowledgnt, his red eyes narrowing as he surveyed the destruction around them.
"Indeed," Maximus said, his voice asured, though there was an edge of approval in it. He turned his gaze back toward the palace. With a press of a button in his gloved hand, the landscape erupted into violent chaos.
The palace exploded in a blinding burst of blue fire, the shockwave rattling the ground beneath their boots. A trendous roar of destruction filled the air, and the sky was briefly obscured by a cloud of fire and debris.
Sebastian couldn't contain himself. He let out a deep, guttural laugh, his voice almost gleeful. "Now that's a proper end to it."
Raxor's gaze remained steady as the last of the flas danced in the night. The shockwave had passed, but the silence that followed was deafening in its finality. He remained unmoved by the spectacle, his focus already shifting to the next task ahead.
Maximus, however, seed montarily entranced by the devastation. The flas reflected in his optics, and there was a subtle smile beneath his helt—a rare mont of satisfaction.
"Let's move out," Maximus finally said, his voice cutting through the lingering echoes of destruction.
The Death Watch moved with precision and purpose, their boots clanging on the scorched earth as they began to organize the refugees. Raxor's sharp eyes scanned the crowd, ensuring that none of the freed slaves were left behind or at risk. The rcenaries, bound and subdued, were being herded into one corner, their fate sealed. The Death Watch thodically set to work, their disciplined actions leaving little room for error or hesitation.
He stood with his arms folded, his golden optics sweeping over the remaining civilians. The flickering flas of Jabba's forr palace illuminated the scene, casting long shadows over the scattered remnants of life. The sky above was dark, thick with smoke, but the steady glow of the fire lent the scene an almost surreal, apocalyptic aura.
"Make sure they are all accounted for," Raxor ordered one of the Mandalorians, his voice as unyielding as ever.
They moved with grim efficiency, helping to escort the refugees toward the waiting transport shuttles. Each person carefully led toward safety. The rcenaries who were still conscious were loaded onto a separate shuttle, ready for transport to whatever grim fate awaited them.
As the final slave was ushered into one of the shuttles, Raxor nodded once more. The last traces of fear in their eyes were beginning to fade, replaced with cautious hope. This wasn't their final destination—it was rely a step in the journey to safety. The Death Watch would ensure their security until they reached the Battle Barge, where they would be sheltered and given the chance to rebuild.
With a chanical hiss, the airlocks of the transport shuttles sealed behind the last of the refugees. The crew was ready to depart.
"Move out," Maximus commanded, his voice unwavering.
The rumble of engines echoed through the night as the shuttle's engines ignited, a massive thrust propelling the vessel into the air. Raxor felt the tremor of the engines in the ground beneath his feet as the massive craft rose. The world below them shrank, the towering inferno of Jabba's palace now just a glowing speck in the distance, fading away into nothingness.
As the battle barge ca into view, Raxor's gaze softened just slightly. The sight of the looming warship was a reminder of the force to be reckoned with, not only in battle but as a symbol of salvation to those in need.
The shuttle docked smoothly within the vast hangar of the Battle Barge, and as the airlocks opened, the refugees slowly disembarked, unsure of their future but certain of one thing: they were no longer at the rcy of Jabba's cruel reign.
Maximus, his armor still spattered with blood and ash, gave the newcors a brief glance before turning toward Raxor. His voice solemn but filled with a rare softness. "The dics and supply teams are ready."
Raxor nodded, his expression unreadable beneath his helt. "Good. We will see to it that they are given shelter and food. They'll need ti to recover."
They stood apart from the others, their gaze distant as they watched the refugees being escorted deeper into the ship. Raxor could see their expressions—fear, uncertainty, and an underlying gratitude. The Death Watch had torn through Jabba's empire like a storm, but for these people, the storm had passed. They now faced the daunting task of rebuilding their lives.
He didn't care for sentintality, but he knew the truth of what they had done. They had freed them from a tyrant's grip, even if the Astartes' thods were brutal, their purpose clear.
"Move them quickly," Raxor said to a squad of Mandalorians. "Ensure they are settled. We have much to prepare for."
One of them nodded, stepping forward with renewed focus. "We'll get it done."
===
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