===Maximus===
A day had passed since Maximus and Raxor had departed from Mandalore, returning to Tatooine to find their Battle Barge once again surrounded by the repulsive Xeno filth known as the Jawas. As their boots landed on the arid desert sands, their blood began to boil with the anticipation of battle. This was not the first time these scavengers had dared approach their ship, but it would certainly be the last.
But as the duo approached, it became clear that the Jawas had only just arrived. The Battle Barge stood defiant, the wreckage of their earlier skirmishes barely touched by the scavengers. But that didn't stop the two Astartes. Their fury ignited the moment their optics scanned the scene. They had been disrespected—violated—and nothing would sate their rage but the eradication of every last one of these vermin.
Their anger flared when they found one of their brothers—another Ultramarine—being dragged away from the ship, his armor torn and battered, pieces of it scattered across the sand like discarded refuse. The scavengers had desecrated the body, stripping it of honor.
"We will avenge this slight a thousandfold!" Raxor roared, his voice thick with fury. He reached down, grabbing his heavy flamer, his grip tightening around its trigger. Flames erupted from the barrel, engulfing the nearest Jawas in an inferno that turned their bodies into charred husks in seconds. The heat of the flames turned the air to a searing haze, and the sand beneath their feet began to melt into glass.
Never before had Raxor felt such a savage joy in the slaughter. He swept the heavy flamer from side to side, setting fire to anything that dared cross his path. Jawas screamed as their flesh bubbled and popped under the infernal heat, their grotesque forms disintegrating under the onslaught of fire.
Maximus was not far behind, his optics narrowing as he zeroed in on the creatures with the cold, calculating focus of a predator. His bolter roared to life, sending explosive rounds into the scattered masses. The Jawas who were lucky enough to avoid the flames were soon torn apart by the brutal force of his bolter fire. Their fragile bodies exploded in showers of blood and viscera, littering the desert with mangled remains.
As Maximus moved forward, the sound of his chainsword revving to life cut through the chaos, its whirling teeth eagerly tearing through the air before they sank into the bodies of the Xeno filth. The noise it made was an echo of death—like a scream they would never escape. Each swing of his chainsword sent a Jawa flying into the air, their bodies torn apart in mid-flight before falling in pieces to the ground. The desert became a graveyard of mangled corpses and scattered limbs.
"Where do they keep coming from?" Maximus shouted through gritted teeth, his voice thick with a rage that was impossible to contain. His eyes scanned the horizon, searching for the source of this infestation. "We must find where they originate from, and burn it to the ground!"
The sound of a speeder bike's engine hummed in the distance, cutting through the crackle of gunfire. Maximus's enhanced senses immediately locked onto the movement. It was just the wind at first, stirring the sand. But then it grew louder—the unmistakable sound of fleeing Jawas, likely trying to summon reinforcements.
Without a moment's hesitation, Maximus's massive frame exploded into motion. His legs powered him forward, each step sending ripples through the sand as he charged across the desolate wasteland with astonishing speed. His bolter barked again, each shot bringing death in a thunderous, unstoppable wave. The remaining Jawas fled in every direction, but they were no match for his relentless pursuit. They were mere animals, no better than cattle to be slaughtered.
Raxor was hot on his heels, his heavy flamer spitting out flames that consumed the landscape, turning the fleeing Jawas into ash before they could even think of escaping. One of the speeder bikes, attempting to flee, was blasted into molten slag by Raxor's flames. The riders screamed in terror as they were consumed by the inferno, their charred remains joining the growing pyre of destruction.
Maximus reached the fleeing Jawas first, his gauntlet snapping forward to crush the front of the machine before he stomped on the skull of the one who had fallen under his boot. The sound of cracking bone echoed through the desolate landscape, and he turned his steely gaze toward the others, his voice a deep growl. "You invoke my ire, you filthy scum!"
Before any of the remaining Jawas could respond, a massive shadow blocked out the sun. Maximus's gaze snapped upward, his eyes narrowing in recognition. A massive ship was descending toward the battlefield, its engines roaring as it cut through the Tatooine sky.
It was Sebastian—the Black Templar, leading his fleet of Death Watch ships, having abandoned their base on Concordia to join the fray. The craft descended with a thunderous crash, shaking the very ground beneath their feet as it hovered hundreds of feet in the air. The Death Watch ships descended in perfect formation, the sound of their landing reverberating through the air.
Sebastian stood at the open ramp of his ship, the light of the setting sun glinting off his massive sword and shield. He surveyed the carnage below with a quiet, burning fury. His eyes locked onto the Jawas still fleeing in all directions, and a cold smile tugged at the edges of his lips.
Without a single word, the Black Templar leapt from his ship, as if he were a god of war coming to pass judgment on the wretched creatures below. The impact when he hit the ground was catastrophic. The Jawas around him were instantly obliterated by the sheer force of his landing, their bodies turned into mush beneath his massive boot.
With a roar of fury, he swung his sword with brutal efficiency, cleaving through the Jawas like they were little more than paper. His blows were fast, precise, and utterly merciless, each one sending the Xenos flying in a shower of blood. But the true terror came when he grew bored of swinging his sword. With a cruel smile, he began stomping on the squirming Jawas beneath his boot, crushing them beneath his weight. The sound of bone and flesh being broken underfoot was deafening, and it sent a wave of satisfaction through his bloodlust.
"Kill them all!" Maximus shouted, his bolter never ceasing its thunderous fire as he cut down another fleeing Jawa.
The Death Watch, having landed alongside their Mand'alor, wasted no time. Uncertain at first, they followed his lead without hesitation, unleashing their fury upon the remaining Jawas. Using their jetpacks to soar above the battlefield, they rained blaster fire down upon the creatures with terrifying precision. Each shot was calculated, each kill a masterwork of deadly efficiency.
Sebastian, still standing amidst the carnage, raised his sword high, his voice booming through his comm-link. "No mercy. Purge them all."
Maximus joined him, the rage still burning in his chest but now tempered with a dark resolve. "They dare take what is not theirs? This isn't the first time they've been here, but it will be the last!," he roared, his words a promise to both his brothers and the enemies who had dared to desecrate their ship.
The Jawas, already broken and scattered, had no chance of escaping the onslaught. One by one, they were picked off, their bodies falling like ragdolls to the sand. The Death Watch and Astartes moved with deadly efficiency, eliminating every last trace of the scum. Raxor's flamer continued to roar, turning the desert into an glass, leaving nothing behind but the smell of burnt flesh and the echo of screams.
Raxor let out a laugh of pure exhilaration as he strafed the ground with his heavy flamer, sending waves of fire across the desert. The Jawas screamed in terror, but it was brief. The fire consumed them with ease.
"Be cleansed in the purifying flames of my hatred, you filthy abominations!" Raxor yelled, his voice full of savage joy as his heavy flamer continued its fiery rampage.
With the last few stragglers fleeing in all directions, Maximus took a slow, deliberate step forward, his voice commanding. "Hunt them down, but leave one alive to lead us to its nest!"
The Death Watch, now fully in sync with the Astartes, turned their weapons to the final survivors. There were no more screams, no more resistance. Only the sound of blaster fire and the hiss of flame as the last remnants of the Jawas were eradicated.
As the smoke began to settle, the three Astartes stood tall amidst the destruction, watching the blackened desert. The wind picked up, blowing ash across the battlefield, and for a moment, all was silent save for a single sandcrawler desperately fleeing from the sight of the massacre, off to where the Emperor only knows, though his angels would find out soon enough.
"This planet is ours, and we will slaughter anyone who dares stand in our way!" the Black Templar roared at the fleeing mass of metal, his arms raised wide in defiance as he looked about the battlefield where the Mandalorians were gathering.
"Clean this filth with fire, then meet us at the Barge!" Sebastian commanded, his voice unwavering. Without another word, he and his brothers turned, beginning their march toward the wreckage of the ship.
The Death Watch, accustomed to the unspoken urgency of battle, responded to their leader's command without hesitation. Their armor-clad figures moved with disciplined precision, igniting their jetpacks as they took to the sky with an almost practiced ease. The roar of their wrist-mounted flamers filled the air, flames dancing and crackling as they descended upon Jawa corpses. The fire spread like a cleansing tide, consuming everything in its path. What was once a scavenger's den of vermin was now a charred and barren wasteland, with only the smell of burnt flesh and the heat of the flames lingering in the air.
Maximus and his brothers forged ahead. Their heavy boots sank into the scorched sand, the heat from the battlefield radiating upward, but they paid it no mind. Their mission was far from complete. As they walked, the horizon ahead of them flickered with the last embers of the firestorm, the glow casting long shadows against the jagged silhouette of their Battle Barge, still standing resolute despite the chaos surrounding it.
Maximus's gaze hardened as he took in the sight of their ship.
His helmet turned to the horizon, the battlefield still burning, the dust rising in waves, but his voice was sharp with authority. "We have more work to do. This world will be a fortress. A reminder to all who challenge us that there is no mercy, no respite, and no escape from His will." His words were more than a command—they were a vow, a promise to the enemies of the Imperium that none would threaten them again.
The Astartes continued to advance, their footsteps leaving deep impressions in the sand, each step echoing the silent fury within them. The Death Watch had already begun the tedious process of securing the area, ensuring there would be nothing left for the Jawas to scavenge. Precision and efficiency were their trademarks, and they worked without pause, moving through the wreckage with a grim determination.
Upon entering the Barge, the atmosphere shifted. The massive door swung open, revealing the interior, which had remained undisturbed by the carnage outside. But as they ventured deeper into the ship, a heavy silence fell over the three Astartes. The walls, once a symbol of power and pride, now stood as a mausoleum to their fallen brothers.
The bodies of the Astartes lined the narrow corridors in a reverent procession. Each warrior, though lifeless, remained in the honor of their order. Their power armor, once gleaming, was now darkened by the dust of the inevitable passage of time. Their hands were crossed over their chests, the silent posture one of respect, one of eternal duty. Their helmets remained in place, their faces obscured, as though they were still guarding their comrades with their final breath.
Maximus paused, his gaze sweeping over the fallen. A deep, somber silence filled the air as he took in the sight of their brothers, now lost to time and battle. The faint scent of oil, blood, and fire clung to the air, mixing with the acrid smell of burned flesh from outside, creating an atmosphere thick with loss. It was the scent of war—of men who had lived and died for the Emperor.
A rare moment of solemnity touched Maximus's voice as he whispered, "My the Emperor take you to his side," his tone low but filled with respect. It was a rare show of emotion for a warrior so hardened by years of battle, but in the presence of his fallen brothers, it was a necessary pause. His helmeted head tilted slightly in reverence, a silent tribute to those who had gone before him.
Beside him, Raxor stood with his posture rigid, his silent demeanor betraying nothing of his thoughts. His piercing eyes now carried a shadow—a subtle hint of regret. But even in the face of such thoughts, he remained silent, offering his own form of tribute in his unyielding presence.
Sebastian, ever the bloodthirsty monster, did not speak, but his cold, unwavering gaze swept over the room. His eyes narrowed as he assessed the situation with military precision. He had fought alongside these warriors, and though his emotions were not as easily read, there was a reverence in his stillness. The Black Templar knew that every fallen brother was a link in the chain of the Imperium's legacy, and their sacrifice was never taken lightly. His mind, however, was already turning to what came next. A warrior always looked forward, even in the face of loss.
The room felt heavier now, the weight of the fallen pressing down upon them. The air was thick with the presence of those who had sacrificed everything. In that moment, the Barge felt like more than just a ship—it was a tomb, a place of honor, and a reminder of what had been lost.
===
The Death Watch had finished purging the last of the Jawa filth, their jetpacks kicking up clouds of sand as they touched down before walking to the three Astartes within the hallowed interior of the Battle Barge. The Mandalorians moved with their usual disciplined grace, their helmets scanning the scene before them. Their eyes flicked over the dozens of fallen Astartes, their bodies arranged with reverence along the ship's darkened halls, a solemn tribute to the warriors who had perished.
The Death Watch exchanged quiet, knowing glances, their postures stiff and disciplined, but their gazes betrayed an unspoken question—a silent curiosity as to the nature of the scene.
Sebastian's voice broke through the heavy stillness, calm yet commanding. "These are hallowed halls," he declared, his tone carrying the weight of authority. "You will treat them with the respect and dignity they deserve." His eyes swept across the corridors, meeting each of his warriors' gazes briefly.
Maximus, standing a few paces away, gave a sharp nod, his own gaze flickering over the fallen warriors. There was a fleeting moment of quiet reflection, but it was brief. The dead had been honored, and it was time to move forward. His expression remained hard and unyielding as he turned to face his brothers.
Without another word, Maximus stepped forward, the weight of his armor seeming to reverberate with each heavy footfall. The sound echoed down the cold metal corridors, filling the silence with a grim authority. He moved toward the bodies of his fallen brothers, his posture respectful, but determined. Beside him, Sebastian followed, just as solemn. Together, they began the laborious task of moving their fallen brethren to their quarters, their movements practiced yet reverent. Every step was deliberate, every action mindful, as they transported the bodies of the fallen to rest.
Maximus turned to the rest of the gathered warriors as he worked, his voice low but still commanding, cutting through the silence. "Sebastian and I will begin moving the bodies to their quarters," he said, his eyes flickering momentarily to Sebastian, who nodded in agreement. "Raxor, you'll assess the operational status of the ship. See what functions remain intact. The rest of you—begin an inventory of the ship. Catalog everything you find. Report your findings to Brother Raxor. If you come across anything you don't recognize, ask him. He will explain."
Raxor, ever the embodiment of efficiency, gave a curt nod. Without a word, he turned on his heel and moved toward the massive lift that led to the control room. The steps of his armor rang heavily in the hall, the heavy sound matching the resolute nature of his stride. There was no hesitation, no indecision—he was focused, singular in purpose. His mind already raced ahead to the repairs that were needed, assessing the situation with military precision as he moved.
The Death Watch responded to the orders without hesitation, moving with the discipline that was their hallmark. Some of them began immediately sorting through the wreckage of the ship, identifying components, and grouping various supplies. Others spread out, examining the areas of the ship that had been damaged during its crash.
Meanwhile, Maximus and Sebastian continued their somber work. They moved with reverence and efficiency, each body handled with the utmost care. Their footsteps left deep impressions in the dust-covered floors as they carried their fallen brothers, laying them to rest in the designated quarters. The weight of the task was never lost on them. Each warrior, each brother who had fallen, was a reminder of the cost of war, but also a testament to the unyielding resolve of the Astartes. The honor they gave to the dead would not be forgotten, for it was through such acts of reverence that they carried on the legacy of those who had fought before them.
Back in the control room, Raxor stood before the diagnostics console, his eyes scanning the flickering screens with a practiced gaze. The ship had been through hell, but it had not been destroyed. Yet, the damage was evident. The systems were barely functioning, their screens dull with static and sparks. But there was still life here. A slight smile tugged at Raxor's lips beneath his helmet as he ran a quick diagnostic check. The control systems hummed back to life, the lights flickering on in faint bursts of electric blue.
"This will do," he muttered to himself, his voice barely audible beneath the whine of the ship's power core. A plan began to form in his mind—fix the critical systems first, then work outward to ensure that every last function of the ship would be operational once more.
Meanwhile, the Death Watch continued their meticulous work in the ship's corridors. Every compartment, every piece of equipment, was evaluated with the same efficiency that had been instilled in them from the moment they had donned their Mandalorian armor. The wreckage of the Barge, though disheveled, would soon be sorted, cataloged, and made ready for use once more. Nothing would go to waste. Each piece of salvageable material was accounted for, every precious resource seized before it could fall into enemy hands.
As the last of the fallen warriors was carefully placed to rest, Maximus turned toward Sebastian, his helmet turning to meet the Black Templar's gaze. His expression was grim, determined, the weight of leadership pressing on him in these trying moments. "When this is done, we fortify this ship. No one will dare approach it. No one will think to challenge us again."
Sebastian's gaze was cold, his jaw set in a firm line as he looked out toward the ship's ruined structure, his voice low but full of unshakeable resolve. "We'll make sure of it," he said, his words a simple promise.
With the Battle Barge's restoration underway and their enemies vanquished for now, the Astartes and the Death Watch stood ready to fortify their new stronghold. No one would challenge them here. The galaxy would soon learn what it meant to face the might of the Emperor's finest.
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