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The days at the Jedi Temple flowed with the gentle rhythm of discipline and learning, but for Peter Quill, they held a restless energy. The whispers in the hallways were easy to ignore, but what wasn't was the changed demeanor of his Jedi masters, Yoda and Mace Windu. Their extra attention and advice, meant as guidance, began to feel more like pestering, a fact Peter couldn't help but notice.
'They must be worried about me after the last mission…' He concluded, both annoyed and touched by their concerns.
During a particularly grueling training session, Peter meditated with dozens of rocks and boulders levitating around him, his focus beginning to waver, not from the physical exertion but from the barrage of wisdom Yoda offered. "In stillness, the Force is most felt. Quiet your mind, you must," Yoda instructed for what seemed like the hundredth time that hour.
Peter, drenched in sweat and exhaustion, barely suppressed an eye roll. While he respected and appreciated his master's concern, the constant coddling was starting to grate on him.
It was at this moment that Nebula entered, her curiosity about the temple leading her to the training hall. "I didn't mean to interrupt," she said, catching sight of Peter's drained expression, Yoda's attentive stance beside him, and the wondrous sight of the floating rocks and boulders.
"Worry not. Finished we are," Yoda said, turning towards her with a gentle nod. "How find you the temple?" he asked, his voice carrying a warmth that belied the depth of his scrutiny.
"It's… peaceful," Nebula replied, her voice softer than usual, a stark contrast to the prickly exterior she typically presented. "Much more peaceful than I'm used to…"
Yoda smiles, masking the pity and sadness he felt for the girl before him, her cybernetic enhancements and guarded behavior spoke far more than any words could. 'Lived a hard life, she has…'
Peter wiped the sweat from his brow as he carefully lowered everything to the ground, watching as Yoda exchanged a few more words with Nebula before departing, leaving to take care of some council business.
"So, how's the exploring going?" Peter walked over and asked.
"It's different here… calming," Nebula admitted, her eyes scanning the training hall, seeing it for the first time. "What about you? Does all this," she gestured to the training equipment, "get tiring?"
Peter laughed, "You have no idea. But it's not just the physical stuff; it's the… mentorship," he said, air-quoting the last word, "that's been a bit much lately."
Nebula nodded, understanding the unspoken strain behind his words. As they began to walk back to the residential area, she hesitated before asking, "Peter, what do you think I should do next? Do you think they'll let me stay here?"
Peter considered her question carefully. "Well, if it were up to me, I'd say you should stay as long as you like. But the Jedi… they're kind folks so they won't throw you into the streets, but I'm not sure they'd let you hang around without a purpose."
Nebula's face fell slightly, "So, what? I'll end up in some orphanage?"
"Maybe? I don't know," Peter shrugged, an idea coming to mind. "But hey, if you're interested, why not ask for some training? I mean, becoming a Jedi might be a long shot, especially with your age and all, but if you're working hard, I doubt they'd find it so easy to send you away.
Nebula mulled over his words, a flicker of hope igniting in her eyes. "Yeah, they can't ship me off to some orphanage if I'm a Jedi, right?"
Peter hesitantly nodded, "Yeah, just don't get your hopes up, okay? I was nine when I joined the Jedi, and they still gave me a hard time about it. But there's no harm in trying, right? If you're serious about this, then Grandmaster Yoda's the one to talk to. He's the most understanding out of everyone."
…
As they reached Peter's quarters, the conversation came to a natural pause. "Thanks, Peter. I'll talk to Yoda," Nebula said, her usual tough exterior softened by the possibility of a future she hadn't considered before.
Peter smiled, "Anytime, Nebula. Just remember… don't get your hopes up too high." He warned, "The Jedi are pretty strict, and we're not even sure if you can use the Force yet..."
With a determined, yet cautious nod, Nebula walked off, leaving Peter alone with his thoughts. 'I just hope I gave her the right advice…' He sighed, heading to his room for a much-needed shower.
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While Peter was dealing with the fallout of his first mission, and Nebula set her sights on the possibility of becoming a Jedi, a sinister plot unfolded far from the Republic. In the heart of the Kree homeworld, Hala, Darth Sidious, the shadowy puppeteer, wove his latest scheme.
Sidious stood at the window of his opulent mansion, overlooking the sprawling cityscape of Hala. The Kree world was a blend of ancient traditions and cutting-edge technology, a perfect hiding place for someone like him.
After his plans in the Galactic Republic crumbled, he sought a fresh start alongside a new identity. And Hala, with its internal strife and political unrest, provided the fertile ground he needed.
Although only a few months have passed, Sidious has already begun laying the groundwork, rising to power slowly but surely.
In his first week on Hala, he was able to find a perfect foothold into Kree politics, the House of Fiyero, a new and growing political faction composed of wealthy and powerful merchants from across the Kree Empire.
His choice to join the House of Fiyero was born out of convenience and shared ambition. The faction's opposition to the Supreme Intelligence, the artificial ruler of the Kree Empire, aligned with Sidious's plans. The AI's cold, logical rule had long been a thorn in the side of many Kree, and Sidious intended to use that to his benefit.
Turning his back from the window, Sidious walked down the hall and entered a dimly lit room, where notable members of the House of Fiyero gathered around a large, holographic map of the Kree Empire. The room buzzed with whispers of coup and rebellion.
"Friends," Sidious began, his voice cutting through the murmurs, "the galaxy is changing. The Republic's alliance with the Nova Empire and their dissemination of Ronan's atrocities have only fueled our people's desire for change." Like a chameleon, he adopted the Kree as his own people as if he were merely changing his clothes. "The Supreme Intelligence's reign is waning to an end. It's time for the Kree to be led by living beings once again."
Murmurs of agreement filled the room. The members of the House of Fiyero were ambitious, to say the least. Corrupted by power, wealth, and greed, they saw the chaos of war as an opportunity to seize control. And with Sidious's guidance, their path to power seemed all but assured.
"But let us not forget," Sidious continued, "the populace is behind us because they yearn for peace. We must be the harbingers of that peace, at least in their eyes. Once we control the empire, the real work begins."
The members nodded, their minds racing with thoughts of power and dominance. Sidious, however, had plans within plans. The House of Fiyero was but a means to an end—a stepping stone to his ultimate goal of reshaping the Kree Empire into a new Sith Empire.
"As for the Supreme Intelligence," Sidious mused, "it is but a relic of the past. A tool that has outlived its usefulness. We will offer the Kree people freedom from its rule. And in its place, they shall have us as their ruling body, the House of Fiyero!"
The room erupted in applause, the members incited by Sidious's words, like sweet whispers empowered by the Dark Side itself. They viewed themselves as liberators, yet in reality, they were merely tyrants consumed by their own thirst for power.
Sidious smiled, his gaze returning to the holographic map. The pieces were moving according to his design. The Kree, tired of endless war, were ripe for manipulation. And with the House of Fiyero under his influence, it was only a matter of time before his plans came to fruition.
And as the meeting drew to a close, Sidious retired to his private chambers, his mind already on the next phase of his grand scheme. The fall of the Supreme Intelligence and the rise of the House of Fiyero were but the beginning. In the shadows, the Sith Empire would rise anew, with Sidious at its helm.
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As Darth Sidious laid the groundwork for his empire on Hala, another dark figure moved pieces across the chessboard of the Galactic Republic.
Darth Plagueis, the Sith Lord shrouded in secrecy, had faced setbacks, but none so severe that they could extinguish the dark flame of his ambition. The loss of Sidious as a pawn had been a blow, but in the aftermath, he found an asset of unparalleled value—Count Dooku.
Dooku, a former Jedi of noble birth and considerable power, had become Plagueis's apprentice. His loyalty, whether born of manipulation or genuine belief in the Sith philosophy, was unwavering. And this loyalty was crucial for Plagueis's future plans.
His failed attempts to transfer his consciousness into a human body to infiltrate the highest office in the Republic had been a setback, yet it had not deterred him. If anything, it had sharpened his focus on the need for a trusted apprentice to operate in the political arena—a role Dooku was born to play.
Today, Plagueis's eyes were glued to a live broadcast from the Senate, where Dooku was about to make a speech that would mark the beginning of their new strategy.
In the Senate chamber, Dooku stood tall, his voice resonating through the grand hall. "Esteemed senators, I come before you today to question our Republic's involvement in the Kree-Nova war," he began, his words carefully chosen to sow seeds of doubt and discontent. "Our great Republic has always been a beacon of peace and democracy, yet we find ourselves embroiled in a conflict not our own."
"Furthermore," Dooku's gaze swept across the room, making eye contact with senators from various systems, ensuring his message was felt personally by each. "We must confront the bantha in the chamber—the rampant corruption and stagnation that plagues our Republic. How long have we sat idly by, as bureaucracy and corruption erode the very foundations of our democracy?"
A heavy silence fell over the chamber, the uncomfortable truth of his words settling in the hearts of many present. "Look around you," he continued, his voice rising, "at the countless representatives more interested in lining their pockets than serving the common good. This war," he gestured emphatically, "is but another example of their greed."
Dooku paused, allowing his words to permeate the thick atmosphere of the Senate. "The Kree-Nova conflict has diverted our attention and resources away from addressing the urgent needs of our own citizens. While we meddle in external affairs, collecting profit off war and death, our people suffer from poverty, starvation, inequality, and neglect."
The senators, once murmuring among themselves, now sat in rapt attention, some visibly uncomfortable, others nodding in reluctant agreement. Dooku had touched a nerve, calling out the unspoken truth of their collective failure.
"It's time for change," Dooku declared, his voice firm and resolute. "Time to return to the principles upon which the Republic was founded. We must cleanse the rot from within our ranks, streamline our processes, and refocus on the core values of justice, peace, and democracy. Only then can we truly say we serve the will of the people."
Whispers filled the chamber, some in agreement, others in dissent.
Dooku's confidence was unshaken as he continued, "Moreover, the actions of our own Jedi, specifically Master Windu and his Padawan learner, have raised grave concerns. Their involvement in the demise of Ronan the Accuser, though celebrated by many, must be scrutinized. Was their act not one of aggression, unprovoked and unjustified by the standards of the Jedi order?"
The chamber erupted into a riot of voices, the controversy Dooku had ignited spreading like wildfire. Senators debated among themselves, the implications of his words not lost on them. The Jedi's role, always meant to be peacekeepers, was now cast into doubt by one of their own.
Meanwhile, Darth Plagueis watched, a thin smile creeping across his face. Dooku's performance was more than satisfactory; it was a masterstroke. By questioning the Jedi's actions and the Republic's corruption and stagnation, Dooku had begun to pave his path to political influence, a path that Plagueis intended to exploit to the fullest.
Plagueis's plans required patience, subtlety, and a keen understanding of the dark side's ability to manipulate events from behind the scenes. Dooku was his voice in the Senate, a harbinger of dissent that would, in time, allow the Sith to control the Republic from within.
As the broadcast ended, Plagueis turned away, his thoughts already on the next phase of his plan. The galaxy was a board, and every piece was moving according to his will. The Jedi, the Senate, and even his runaway pawn Sidious, were but players in a game they had yet to fully comprehend.
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As Count Dooku finished his grand speech, three figures stood before a large holo-screen, their expressions a mix of concern, offense, and confusion.
Yoda stroked his chin thoughtfully, his eyes narrowed as he pondered the implications of the speech they had just witnessed.
Mace Windu's brow was furrowed, his stance rigid with indignation at the audacity of Count Dooku's words, even if he did agree with a good portion of what was said.
And then there was Peter, who watched with a perplexed look on his face, trying to piece together the unfolding events.
Peter's mind raced. Dooku's speech was stirring, incendiary, and not at all what Peter remembered from any Star Wars movies he'd seen. 'I think he does give a speech, but that doesn't happen until the clone wars. And at that point, he was already a Sith…' he wondered silently if Dooku had already fallen to the Dark Side.
Peter began to fully understand that the timeline—or perhaps the very fabric of this universe—was altered by the melding of the Marvel and Star Wars universes. He sighed as he realized that his future knowledge might not be as reliable as he expected it to be.
As the broadcast concluded, Yoda turned away from the screen, his gait slow and contemplative. "Worrying, this development is," he murmured. "A meeting with Count Dooku, I have. Speak to him, I will."
Peter's interest piqued. Here was his chance to see Dooku in person, to gauge for himself whether the man was indeed a Sith. "Mind if I join you, Master Yoda? I'd like to meet the man who called me out live on the holonet," Peter asked, his request laced with genuine curiosity.
Yoda paused, peering up at Peter for a moment. "Hmm, accompany me, you may," he finally consented.
Windu, still visibly annoyed, chose not to join them. "I have matters here that require my attention," he stated firmly, clearly not interested in seeing Dooku.
As Yoda and Peter stepped out of the temple, the bustling atmosphere of Coruscant greeted them. The city-planet's endless skyscrapers bathed in the twilight of the setting sun, casting long shadows over the streets below.
Standing at the front gate of the Jedi Temple, they waited in silence, the air thick with anticipation.
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As they awaited Dooku's arrival, the serene skyline of Coruscant was interrupted by the descent of an unfamiliar ship. Its design was foreign—insectoid, aggressive, unmistakably Chitauri.
Inside, Gamora stared out of the window, her gaze fixed on the planet below. The determination in her eyes was as sharp as the edge of a knife, awaiting the moment when she would see her sister again.
Behind her, Corvus Glaive and Proxima Midnight exchanged looks of dark amusement, their sadistic smiles hinting at the chaos they intended to unleash.
A/N: 2722 words :) Long boy…
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