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Nebula's escape into the uncharted stretches of space was fueled by a single, burning desire: to distance herself as far from Thanos and his oppressive rule as possible. With every parsec she put between herself and the horrors of her past, she hoped to find a sliver of peace or at least a respite from the relentless torment she had endured.
Her ship hummed through the cosmos, leaving trails of light in its wake, no set destination in mind, only a direction—away from her father's territory. Out of Wild Space, past the treacherous expanse of the Unknown Regions, and into the more charted territories of the Outer Rim.
As she navigated the labyrinth of stars, her mind was a whirlwind of emotions—fear, relief, and an indomitable will to survive. The pain from her latest "enhancements" still throbbed through her, a constant reminder of what she was escaping from, but it also served to steel her resolve.
But freedom, it seemed, would not come so easily…
Not long after she entered the border of the Outer Rim, a sudden alarm blared through the cockpit. Nebula's heart sank as she saw the reason: a long blockade of warships arranged in a formidable wall, stretched out before her.
Before she could even think of a detour, the blockade sprung to life, opening fire with merciless precision. "?!"
Her ship shuddered under the impact of the plasma blasts, alarms screaming in protest as critical systems began to fail. The engines, the lifeblood of her ship, took a direct hit, sputtering and dying in a final, defiant roar.
Nebula's heart raced as she braced for the end. Stranded and powerless, she awaited the final barrage that would break her ship apart, expecting to meet her death in the cold, indifferent vacuum of space.
'At least I won't have to worry about returning to the hell anymore…' She thought, but fate, it seemed, had other plans.
Instead of the lethal finish she anticipated, a tractor beam locked onto her crippled vessel, pulling it toward the largest warship of the bunch.
Nebula sat, resigned, in her pilot's chair, her thoughts a mix of apprehension and despair as her ship was swallowed by the gaping maw of the warship's hangar.
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After meeting with Nova Prime, the Jedi starship departed from the Nova Empires blockade, on its way toward their next scheduled meeting, which would no doubt be far more daunting than the last.
Windu turned his gaze to Peter, who sat enveloped in contemplation, a frown marring his features. His brow furrowed, a storm of thoughts raging within him.
"What weighs on your mind, Peter?" Windu inquired, his voice calm and steady.
Peter's eyes flickered with uncertainty before he voiced his concerns, "Do you think we should call for backup? After everything Nova Prime said, the Kree… Ronan and the other Accusers… They don't seem like the type to be reasoned with."
Windu's expression hardened slightly, and after a brief pause, he nodded, "I'll send a message back to Coruscant detailing our situation. But our meeting with the Kree proceeds as planned. Ending this war is our number one priority."
Peter nodded, a resigned expression on his face. Despite the reassurance, a shadow of foreboding clung to him, whispering doubts of the coming encounter with the Kree. 'I have a bad feeling about this…'
…
..
.
With their message to the Republic dispatched, soon enough, the formidable Kree blockade came into view, the atmosphere within the cockpit growing tense in an instant.
Just as they were about to hail them and announce their arrival, suddenly, the closest Kree ship opened fire, a barrage of plasma artillery, streaking across the void with lethal intent.
"They're firing at us!" Peter warned, his worries coming to fruition.
Windu's eyes widened as he took the controls, and swiftly maneuvered the ship, weaving their vessel through the deadly onslaught with unnatural precision and skill, the force guiding him.
Windu's focus was unbreakable, his voice only slightly strained. "It seems Nova Prime wasn't exaggerating..." Each evasive maneuver was accompanied by plasma fire that just nearly missed its target.
As Windu continued to evade, Peter opened a channel, hailing the hostile fleet before them. "Hold your fire! This is Jedi Master Mace Windu and Padawan Peter Quill, emissaries of the Galactic Republic! We are not hostile, I repeat, we are not hostile!"
Seconds later, the ship stopped firing before a response crackled over the speakers. Cold and laced with disdain, the Kree answered. "Jedi. Your reputation precedes you. Ronan the Accuser will receive you, but know this—any treachery will be met with swift and ruthless retribution."
Peter's heart raced at the mention of Ronan's name, his hand instinctively moving to his lightsaber. 'He's here…'
Ronan may not have been one of the strongest villains in the MCU or Marvel, but he was certainly powerful enough, especially compared to Peter, who was just a Jedi Padawan. A very impressive Padawan, but still a Padawan nonetheless.
Peter glanced at his Master, 'Is Windu strong enough to handle him?' He wondered.
If there's one thing that Peter's noticed through his time in the Jedi, it's that they seem stronger than they were in the movies, so Windu might stand a chance.
'It all depends on just how strong this version of Ronan is…'
Windu, sensing his Padawan's surging emotions, spoke, breaking Peter from his thoughts, "Relax, trust in the Force… We walk a path of peace, even if it leads us into danger."
Peter nodded, forcefully calming himself. "Okay, but that doesn't change the fact that they fired at us, which isn't a good sign..."
"I understand," Windu acknowledged, guiding their ship towards the docking bay of the largest warship. "But that doesn't change our mission. Keep yourself under control and remember, fear is the path to the dark side. Fear leads to anger, anger leads to hate, hate leads to suffering. You must rise above your fears..."
Peter resisted the urge to roll his eyes, as he'd heard this countless times in the Jedi temple. "Yes, Master." Nodding his head once again, he prepared himself for what was to come.
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In the bowels of the massive Kree warship, the air was thick with tension and the metallic scent of blood. Ronan the Accuser, a towering blue-skinned figure cloaked in the traditional armor of his people, stood amidst a large room littered with the lifeless, mangled bodies of his own soldiers.
[Insert picture of Ronan the Accuser here]
Before him, a lone Kree soldier knelt, quivering in fear. His eyes, wide with terror, darted between Ronan and the gruesome scene that surrounded him. "Please, Accuser," the soldier begged, his voice cracking with desperation. "I swear, I will never defy your orders again. We… we just couldn't bring ourselves to kill those innocent people..."
Ronan sneered in disdain, his gaze cold and unfeeling. "Mercy," he spat the word out like venom, "is a disease. A weakness that infects the weak-minded, such as yourself. You and your comrades were tasked with cleansing that city of its impurities, purging it in the name of Kree superiority. Yet you chose to defy my orders and spare them… Pathetic."
He lifted his mighty hammer, the Universal Weapon, its surface etched with ancient runes and glowing with a malevolent purple light.
The kneeling soldier's pleas escalated into hysterical begging, his voice echoing off the cold, hard walls of the room. But Ronan's gaze remained unswayed, his conviction unbreakable.
And with a swift, merciless motion, Ronan swung his hammer down. *Crunch!* The sound of the impact was sickening—a wet, crushing noise that signified the end of the soldier's pleas, his head obliterated in an instant.
The body slumped forward, a final, silent testament to Ronan's brutal form of justice, as even more blood pooled onto the floor.
The grim silence that followed was suddenly broken by the hurried footsteps of another soldier. The newcomer froze at the door, horror-stricken by the carnage before him.
Ronan, unfazed, flicked the blood from his hammer with a practiced swing and turned to the soldier, his gaze demanding. "Report."
Regaining his composure, the soldier hastily delivered his message. "The Jedi have arrived, Accuser," he reported, his voice barely above a whisper.
Ronan's eyes narrowed thoughtfully, a dark intrigue flickering within them as he strode from the room, his heavy steps resolute. "Clean up this mess," he commanded over his shoulder, leaving the soldier to deal with the aftermath.
Alone, the soldier eyed his deceased comrades, gulping in fear as he got to work. After all, this could be him if he didn't do as he was told.
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As their ship touched down in the cavernous hangar of the Kree warship, Peter and Windu emerged to a less-than-welcoming sight.
They found themselves encircled by a contingent of Kree soldiers, weapons drawn and aimed squarely at them. The tension in the air was palpable, each soldier's finger seemingly itching at the trigger.
Windu's expression darkened slightly, his concerns beginning to mirror Peter's earlier apprehensions. Yet, amidst the standoff, his composure remained unshaken.
Peter, on the other hand, was a coil of readiness. His hand hovered near his lightsaber, his instincts screaming for action. He was not about to be caught off guard, not here, not now. This second chance at life was precious, and he was determined not to squander it.
Before the situation could deteriorate further, the crowd of soldiers parted like the sea, making way for Ronan the Accuser, his presence commanding attention.
Peter's hand instinctively went to his lightsaber, ready to draw it at a moment's notice. His gaze locked onto Ronan, analyzing, calculating. "…"
Even as their commander arrived, the soldiers didn't lower their weapons, keeping them aimed at the Jedi, awaiting Ronan's orders.
And just as Ronan prepared to speak, a commotion at the far end of the hangar caught everyone's attention.
A group of Kree soldiers were struggling with a defiant blue-skinned little girl, pulling her from a battered ship. She fought back fiercely, wielding electrified batons that dropped soldiers to their knees with every strike.
Peter watched, intrigued and somewhat impressed by her skills. 'She knows how to handle herself well…'
However, despite her valiant efforts, the odds quickly turned against her, and she was subdued by a numerical advantage. With her restrained and immobile, the soldiers who had their a*ses handed to them only moments ago stepped up to get their licks in, kicking and stomping the downed girl before dragging her away by her hair.
(A/N: Yes, she has hair still. Her cybernetic enhancements haven't gotten to that point yet.)
Peter clenched his fists, anger bubbling within him at the sight of the little girl being mistreated so callously. He barely contained the urge to intervene, the force shaking around him.
Sensing his Padawan's rising fury, Windu placed a calming hand on Peter's shoulder, a silent reminder of their purpose and the need for restraint. His gaze, stern yet understanding, conveyed a message louder than words—this was not their fight, not here, not now.
Ronan, having observed the entire scene, finally addressed his guests. "Apologies for the disturbance—and the less-than-cordial reception," he said, motioning for his men to lower their blasters, his tone carrying an unexpected note of civility.
Peter stared at Ronan, skepticism rising, 'What's he up to?'
Accepting Ronan's apology with a nod, Windu maintained his composed demeanor, "It's no problem at all. We understand the complexities of these times and the precautions they necessitate. However, let us be clear: our mission here is peaceful. We seek dialogue, not conflict."
"Yes, of course, please, follow me. We have much to discuss..."
A/N: 1952 words :) I'm writing 3 chapters on Patréon today/tonight, if anyone is interested. Also, GIVE STONES!
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