===Maximus===
Standing to the side as the delegation from Naboo debated their next course of action, Maximus watched silently. The large double doors at the far end of the room opened with a heavy creak, and the unmistakable sound of armored footsteps echoed across the marble floor.
The room fell silent, every gaze turning toward the new arrival. A massive figure strode forward, clad in black and white power armor, the design familiar yet imposing.
Maximus straightened instinctively, his posture firm and unyielding. He crossed the room without a word, his heavy boots clicking sharply against the floor. When he reached the Astartes, he did not hesitate—gripping the other warrior's forearm in a firm clasp, a greeting both ancient and respected.
A loud crack of power armor resonated as their forearms locked.
"It is good to see you, brother," Maximus said, his voice low but full of relief. "I feared the worst when we were lost in the Warp."
Sebastian, the towering figure before him, let out a low rumble of approval. "Emperor be praised," he said over their private vox channel. "I kicked up quite a fuss when I awoke, but I found help in the most unlikely of places."
Maximus raised a brow, his expression turning serious. "Elaborate."
"I'm not sure of everything that's transpired, but there was a man named Sidious who helped me. He claims to be working to purge the corruption from the Senate that runs this world." Sebastian paused, then added with a hint of suspicion, "But I'm not entirely sure how much we can trust him."
Maximus hummed thoughtfully.
"Sidious?" Maximus repeated, his tone measured. "Tell me more of him."
Sebastian's gaze flickered, his armored helm tilting slightly as if scanning the room for unseen threats before his eyes locked onto Jar Jar Binks. "He's a shadow in this galaxy, elusive and hidden behind layers of deceit. But he's offered his assistance in ways I haven't expected. He says he's been manipulating things from the shadows—pushing against the corruption in the Senate, even waging a war behind the scenes. He's not a man to be trusted easily, but I... I can't ignore the help he's given me."
Maximus considered this, his gaze flicking briefly to the nearby Naboo delegation, who still stood uncertain, murmuring amongst themselves. Their discussions were likely meaningless to him at this moment, but his mind was focused.
"Trust is a weapon, Sebastian," Maximus finally said. "And every weapon has its price."
He stepped back slightly, allowing his brother space. "We will need to tread carefully. If Sidious is indeed a force for change, there are risks in allying ourselves with him—risks far greater than we can afford."
Maximus clenched his fist, the sound of his gauntlet scraping across his armor a familiar comfort. "Then we will make our own path. If Sidious is a tool to be used, we will ensure he does not become one used against us."
There was a brief pause, a stillness hanging between them as the weight of their next actions settled into the air.
Padmé and the rest of the delegation exchanged uneasy glances as the towering Astartes in black and white armor stood beside Maximus, the weight of his presence unmistakable. There was an unmistakable tension in the air, and the sight of the superhuman warrior stirred an apprehension none of them had expected.
Padmé, ever composed despite the situation, was the first to speak. Her voice was calm but curious as she addressed Maximus directly. "Maximus? Who is this?"
The Ultramarine turned slightly, his attention returning to the gathering as he nodded toward Sebastian, who stood like a silent sentinel at his side. "Ah, this is Brother Sebastian of the Black Templars. He specializes in close quarters combat." he said, his voice steady and confident, yet with an undertone of something deeper—an understanding that spoke of years of brotherhood.
Maximus looked toward the gathered delegation, his stance unwavering and sure. "Now that we have reunited, we can return to your planet, and free you from the blockade that surrounds it. Unless you still wish to speak in front of this corrupt Senate of yours." His voice rang out, the final words laced with quiet contempt, a subtle reminder of the power he and his brothers wielded.
The delegation, still reeling from the presence of the two Astartes, exchanged uncertain glances. But it was Padmé who spoke, her voice measured, though tinged with skepticism. "How can you be so sure that you can win?" she asked, a small frown pulling at her lips. "It's only you three against an entire army of battle droids."
Her question hung in the air for a moment, the weight of it pressing down on the Astartes.
Sebastian, who had been staring distastefully at the corner of the room where Jar Jar lingered, turned his gaze back to Padmé. His eyes glinted for a moment, then the silence between them was shattered as he suddenly began to laugh.
It started as a low, rumbling sound, the kind of chuckle that seemed to rise from deep within his chest. The noise grew steadily, escalating into a booming, almost primal laugh that shook the room.
Padmé blinked in surprise at the sudden outburst, taken aback by the sheer volume and force of it.
Sebastian's laugh echoed through the room for a moment before he finally regained his composure. He looked at Padmé with something akin to amusement.
"She doesn't know the strength of the Astartes!" he said, his voice full of a grim, yet almost affectionate pride.
Maximus turned to Sebastian, his expression calm but his eyes filled with a quiet understanding. There was no anger in the brother's laughter, no mockery, just the pure, unbridled confidence of a warrior who had seen the impossible become reality time and time again. He looked back at Padmé, his tone steady, unwavering.
"We are not merely three," Maximus said. "We are the Emperor's chosen. The battle droids are machines—programmed to obey. They lack the will to fight, to survive. And they certainly lack the will to win."
Sebastian, now composed, folded his arms across his chest as he added, "We are the Emperor's fury incarnate. Three of us? That's two to many to turn the tide of any battle."
Padmé frowned, trying to reconcile the words with the reality of the situation. The image of battle droids—seemingly endless in number—clashed with the confidence of the two superhuman warriors standing before her.
"And you expect to face this army alone?" she asked, her voice tinged with disbelief. "Just three of you against an entire fleet?"
Maximus's gaze hardened, his voice taking on a more serious edge. "We are not alone. The Emperor stands with us, and it is His will that guides us. But do not mistake our size for our strength. In the heat of battle, our foes will know what it means to face the Emperor's warriors. We are trained to fight, to endure, to overwhelm. The droids are a threat, yes, but they are nothing compared to the true enemies of mankind."
Sebastian, his expression now one of quiet intensity, spoke again, his voice almost a growl. "You see, battle droids are made to fight in large numbers. They have no soul. No ambition. No fire. When we fight, we fight with purpose, with a power beyond mere flesh. And the droids will learn that, very quickly."
Padmé looked between the two Astartes, her mind still processing the enormity of what they were suggesting. There was a grim certainty in their words, an aura of power so palpable she could feel it.
She shook her head slightly, trying to focus on the facts. "I still don't understand," she said softly. "How can you be so certain you can succeed? The blockade is vast. The droids, the Federation—they won't simply roll over."
Maximus's gaze softened for the briefest moment. "Victory is not always assured by numbers, Padmé. It is the will to fight that matters. The droids may have numbers, but they lack resolve. What they face is more than mere combat—it is a storm of fury and faith. And in the end, the Emperor's wrath is not something easily endured."
"And I do love a good fight," Sebastian added, his tone brimming with the excitement of battle yet to come.
Padmé took a deep breath, weighing their words carefully. There was no arrogance in them, only certainty—a certainty that could either be a boon or a curse.
Finally, she looked back at Maximus and Sebastian, her expression now one of determination, if still a small bit unsure. "Very well, then. I will trust you—for now. But the stakes are too high to leave anything to chance. We'll need every advantage we can get if we're to defeat the blockade. I still wish to address the senate."
Maximus nodded. "We will give you that advantage—and more. But go on and plead your case to this Senate. It will only show you that we speak the truth."
As the weight of the situation settled over them all, Padmé understood that the fate of Naboo, and perhaps the galaxy itself, was now in the hands of these formidable, yet enigmatic warriors. The question remained: Would the Astartes truly be the saviors they claimed to be, or would their fire burn too hot, consuming everything in its path?
===Palpatine===
Palpatine sat in the dimly lit confines of his office, his fingers lightly steepled in front of his face as he listened to the conversation of the Astartes and the Queen making plans for Naboo's liberation through a listening device. The subtle power play of the moment was not lost on him—how the galaxy's fate seemed to shift with every word spoken. His lips curled into a faint, calculating smile. The Astartes, so powerful, so zealous... they were far more useful than they knew. It would only be a matter of time before they became instruments of his design, tools to further his hidden ambitions.
But before he could fully solidify his thoughts, an unexpected sensation struck him like a bolt of lightning, sharp and overwhelming. A sudden, intense pain flared in his head, causing him to clutch his forehead with both hands, his breath hitching at the unexpected agony.
And then, it happened. A thousand voices, speaking in perfect unison, seemed to echo in his mind, filling the room with their presence.
"Sheev Palpatine."
The sound of his name reverberated inside his skull, an unnatural, disembodied chorus that made his entire body stiffen. He gasped, his fingers tightening around his head as the pressure mounted.
With a pained groan, he lurched forward, his chair skidding back with a loud scrape against the floor as he forced himself to stand. His vision blurred, and for a moment, the walls of his office seemed to ripple with the intensity of the voices, their weight pressing against his very consciousness.
"Be calm." The voices spoke again, this time softer, yet still relentless in their insistence.
But the command only brought more pain. His mind felt as though it were being pulled in two, the mental strain unbearable. He staggered backward, his breath quickening as the sound of his own heartbeat thundered in his ears.
He let out a howl, clutching his head with desperate intensity, but the pain only seemed to grow worse, gnawing at his every thought. For a fleeting second, he wondered if this might be the end. But no—he had survived worse, and he would not be defeated by something so trivial as this.
The pain escalated as if to mock him for his thoughts. His knees buckled under the strain, and he collapsed, his hands still locked in place around his forehead. But through the agony, the voice continued, its presence both foreign and omnipotent.
"You crave true power."
The words cut through the storm of pain like a blade, their meaning seeping deep into his subconscious. Power. It was always power—what he sought, what he had always desired. To rule, to control, to shape the galaxy into his own vision. The voice seemed to know his every thought, his every hidden desire.
The tension in his skull built to an unbearable crescendo. He gasped, his body rigid, every muscle locked in place as though the pain were going to shatter him from the inside out. But then, as suddenly as it had come, the pressure vanished. It was as if something had released its grip on him, and the silence that followed was profound, even deafening.
Palpatine collapsed back into his chair, his breath ragged as his mind swam with the remnants of the encounter. His eyes widened, his pulse racing as he tried to regain control. For a long moment, all he could hear was the sound of his own breath and the distant sound of the device.
Then the voice returned, not with the same intensity, but with an undercurrent of something far more seductive.
"I can give you everything you want, and more." The voice said.
Palpatine's hands trembled, his palms slick with sweat as he gripped the arms of his chair, the very fabric of his being still reeling from the psychic assault. His head was spinning, his thoughts scrambled and unfocused. He had felt fear before, but this was something different—an alien sensation that made him feel small, insignificant. The sheer power he had just witnessed threatened to unravel him, yet he forced himself to steady his breath, to cling to his control.
With great effort, he found his voice, hoarse and strained, like a man emerging from a nightmare. "Who—who are you?" he asked, his voice cracking under the weight of the question. His mind swirled with uncertainty, still reeling from the experience. The headache had passed, but its echoes haunted him, the searing intensity of it lingering just beneath the surface. His heart raced, and his mind screamed for answers.
The reply came as a thousand voices, cold and detached, filling every corner of his mind in perfect unison. "It matters not who I am."
Palpatine recoiled slightly, the words cutting through his thoughts with chilling precision. There was something unsettling in the way it spoke, as if it existed beyond time, beyond the need for mortal identity.
"But if you truly seek to know me," the voices continued, "seek out Kharath, and leave those corpse-worshipping fools to their own devices. They matter little in the grand scheme of things. Only you matter."
The name Kharath echoed in his mind, an unfamiliar word, foreign and heavy with significance. A surge of curiosity—and something darker—flared within Palpatine. He had long dealt in shadows, manipulating everything and everyone, but now, it seemed as though something far greater than mere politics or Sith power was offering him something more. Something more primal, more dangerous.
Palpatine's pulse quickened. The voices were speaking to him as though he were chosen, as if he alone held the key to something beyond his wildest dreams. The sensation was intoxicating, yet terrifying. He had always sought power, but now it felt as though power itself was seeking him.
"Kharath…" he murmured under his breath, the name slipping through his lips like a secret that only the truly powerful could understand.
The voices grew softer, more intimate, yet still laced with an underlying authority. "Yes. Kharath. He will show you the true path. The path to unlimited power—true power, beyond anything the Jedi, the Sith, or even those foolish Astartes can offer. They are distractions, mere tools in the hands of lesser beings. But you, Sheev Palpatine, you are destined for greatness. Embrace it."
The temptation was unbearable. For a moment, the idea of leaving behind his ties to the Sith seemed almost... right. They were nothing but a crumbling, ancient order, tied to ideals that had long lost relevance. The Astartes, too, were but another weapon to be controlled, and the Jedi weren't even worth thinking about. The galaxy's future was a canvas, and Palpatine, now more than ever, saw himself as its artist, poised to reshape everything in his image.
He closed his eyes, fighting to maintain his focus. The voices were right, in a way. The Sith had their limitations. The Jedi were blind. Even the Astartes, for all their might, were bound by their rigid codes and oaths. But here was a power that was beyond all of them. The promise of something deeper, something more… primal.
And then, another thought clawed its way into his mind, icy and resolute.
"The Astartes, the Senate, the Jedi—none of them matter. They are nothing. I am everything."
Palpatine opened his eyes, his lips curling into a cruel, knowing smile. His fingers slowly relaxed their grip on the chair, as though releasing an invisible weight. The voice in his mind wasn't just a call—it was an opportunity. The galaxy was shifting. The droids, the blockade, the corruption—it was all a game. A game he had played for years. But now, the stakes were higher. And now, he had a new card to play.
A pulse of excitement rushed through him. He felt his mind snap back into focus, every thought now crystal clear. He stood slowly, a sense of purpose filling him as the weight of his decision settled around him.
The galaxy would kneel before him—not the Sith, not the Jedi, and certainly not the Astartes. Him.
"Embrace it, Sheev. I can give you all the power you crave. Just reach out, and take it."
===
If you enjoyed this chapter, maybe consider leaving me with a couple of your power stones? I promise I'll take good care of them:)