=== Maximus ===
The stars streamed past the viewing port like frozen trails of fire, caught in the stillness of hyperspace transition. The battle-scarred strike cruiser, flanked by a formation of smaller escort frigates.
Inside the primary war chamber, Maximus, clad in his full armor save for his helmet, stood at the hololithic display. The green world of Kashyyyk rotated slowly in the projection above the table, surrounded by several Republic insignias. His expression was unreadable. A carved sculpture of war incarnate, with golden laurels affixed to the side of his pauldrons and a shoulder cape draped behind his burnished ceramite form.
Raxor and Sebastian stood nearby, their own helms removed, resting in the crooks of their arms as they looked at the map as well. Behind them, ten towering Ultramarines, Maximus' Honor Guard, stood in absolute silence, statues of discipline and perfection, each marked with service studs and purity seals denoting centuries of warfare. Their bolters were mag-locked to their backs, but tension clung to the room like mist.
"I still say we should have glassed this system and moved on," Sebastian muttered, dark eyes scanning the projection with contempt. "Peace talk with vermin is a waste of breath."
"They are not vermin," Raxor replied, his voice low and gravel-edged. "They are desperate. That makes them dangerous."
"That makes them weak." Sebastian turned to Maximus. "You know what they are. Cowards behind bureaucracy, false warriors coddled by treaties and complacency. The Jedi talk of peace while they throw children at war."
Maximus didn't immediately answer. His eyes remained fixed on the map of Kashyyyk, the green, forest-choked planet slowly growing larger as the ship exited hyperspace and approached its orbit.
"They are weak," Maximus said finally. "But weakness does not make one unimportant."
He turned from the projection, facing his brothers.
"We did not come here for peace. We came here to buy time. The Imperium is scattered across this galaxy. The Emperor's vision cannot unfold if we are caught in endless skirmishes. A few words now may save us decades of attrition."
"And our worlds?" Raxor asked.
"Ours," Maximus said. "Conquered by the bolt and flame. Let them come with their treaties and signatures. Let them recognize what is already fact. We do not ask for rule. We declare it."
The words rolled through the chamber like thunder, and even the Honor Guard straightened.
Sebastian frowned but said no more. The truth was undeniable. Despite his disdain for diplomacy, the Imperium needed this window. Their grip on newly conquered systems would be cemented through this farce of diplomacy. The Republic's acknowledgement, however begrudging, would sanctify the Imperium's claim in the eyes of its people.
"Do we trust this 'Chancellor'?" Raxor asked.
"Of course not." Maximus answered.
He stepped forward, towering above the hololithic projector as it flickered, displaying incoming orbital data. Several Republic ships were already in orbit, broadcasting formal recognition of the truce zone. Jedi starfighters hovered among them.
"And if it's a trap?" Sebastian asked, eyes narrowed.
Maximus gave a lazy smile. "Then we do it your way."
"Emperor, please let it be a trap." Sebastian said, turning and bowing his head in prayer.
Silence passed between them, broken only by the low rumble of the cruiser's systems engaging for re-entry.
The Battle Barge bucked slightly as it breached the atmosphere, and through the narrow viewing slit, the green canopy of Kashyyyk's vast forests came into view, endless jungles stretching across continents, towering wroshyr trees like spires of nature defying civilization.
Maximus took one last look at the planet below before turning and striding from the war chamber, his Honor Guard falling into step behind him, bolters at the ready.
===
The hangar deck of the Barge thundered with activity. Servitors moved around, fueling and preparing Thunderhawks as techmarines performed final rites of machine-spirit appeasement. The Gladius Victoris, the personal Thunderhawk of Maximus after his elevation, stood ready at the edge of the hangar's massive atmospheric shield, its wings spread like an iron bird of prey poised to strike.
The boarding ramp clanged down, and Maximus strode across the deck with the others. His cape fluttered behind him like a banner, and his brothers flanked him, followed by the ten Ultramarines of his Honor Guard.
The Thunderhawk itself was a thing of brutal beauty. A massive, armored slab of Imperial engineering, painted in Ultramarine blue with golden aquilae etched along its hull.
The interior was dark, lit only by lumen strips and the ambient glow of dataslates lining the inner walls. Racks of weapons were locked beside each crash bench, though the Astartes brought their own. They did not expect peace, and were not foolish enough to come unprepared.
Maximus took his place at the head of the craft, standing tall even as the Thunderhawk's inner systems rumbled to life.
"Vox clear," came the voice of the pilot, a mortal crewman who sounded more awed than afraid. "Atmospheric entry vector locked. Touchdown zone has been confirmed by Republic envoys. Escorts inbound."
Maximus gave a simple command. "Begin descent."
The Thunderhawk lurched slightly as its engines roared to full power, anti-grav plates whining beneath the weight of ceramite and steel. The ship lifted from the deck in a controlled burst of force, the hangar's blue atmosphere-field flickering as the gunship punched through it into the void.
Kashyyyk loomed below them like a living cathedral of vast greenery. Towering wroshyr trees blanketed the world's surface, their branches forming natural skybridges and canopy towers. Beasts the size of tanks roamed unseen beneath the foliage, and the cries of the wild echoed even through the gunship's reinforced hull.
As they broke the atmosphere, turbulence clawed at the Thunderhawk, but it was nothing to the warriors aboard it.
Inside, the Astartes remained silent.
Then, Sebastian spoke, his voice low and disdainful. "Look at it. A world that clings to nature while calling itself civilized. I see no walls. No fortresses. Only vines and filth."
Raxor snorted. "The trees themselves are fortresses, Sebastian. Do not mistake greenery for softness son of Dorn." He said with a smile.
The Thunderhawk descended like an iron comet through Kashyyyk's atmosphere, its engines roaring across the sky as it punched through cloud banks heavy with jungle mist. Below, the terrain gave way from endless green to the golden-white of a beach stretching for miles. The waves of Kashyyyk's vast ocean lapped against the shore, serene and powerful, as seabirds scattered from the downdraft.
Maximus stood at the fore of the gunship's hold, unbowed by the thunderous turbulence. His Honor Guard stood behind him in two disciplined columns, weapons locked to their armor but ready to be drawn at a moment's notice. Sebastian and Raxor flanked him.
"Five seconds," came the pilot's voice over the internal vox.
The Thunderhawk rumbled as it touched down, its landing gear sinking slightly into the warm sand. A cloud of white dust and salt-laden air blasted outward from the ship, shrouding the beach in a fog of churned wind.
The ramp began to lower.
Sunlight flooded the hold, golden and harsh, reflecting off the ceramite armor of the Astartes like firelight on ancient statues. Wind rushed in, carrying the briny scent of the sea and the faint, humid aroma of jungle blossoms. In the distance, the vast green of Kashyyyk's trees loomed like giants watching from afar.
Maximus stepped forward. His boot hit the sand with a soft crunch, and the noise seemed to silence the waves themselves for a heartbeat.
Behind him, his Honor Guard followed with grim, wordless precision.
The surf crashed against the shoreline to their right, indifferent to the tension growing thicker with each pace forward.
Ahead, a long pavilion of pale Kashyyykian wood and silk, gently swaying in the breeze, had been constructed not far from the tree line. Towering tropical flora loomed beyond, but it was not the jungle that held the Astartes' attention.
It was the men and women standing before the pavilion.
Chancellor Palpatine stood tall in the center of the gathering, robed in his usual regal garb of crimson and gold. A practiced smile graced his face, but the faintest strain at the corners of his mouth betrayed his true feelings. He was flanked by senators and ambassadors, as well as Jedi.
There were many.
Mace Windu stood at Palpatine's immediate right, his expression granite-hard, his arms crossed, eyes never leaving Sebastian, who strode beside Maximus.
Anakin Skywalker stood nearby, shoulders tense, hands flexing at his sides. Beside him stood his apprentice, Ahsoka, as well as his old master, Qui-Gon Jinn.
To Palpatine's left stood Padmé Amanda, her stern eyes flashing with trepidation as she took in the Astartes that approached.
To her left stood Cin Drallig, the Jedi Battlemaster himself, hands behind his back, projecting the posture of someone ready to strike in the blink of an eye.
Anger flared in each of them as they remembered the Temple Massacre as they looked at the monster known as Sebastian, the one who had torn through the Jedi Temple, cutting down padawans and masters alike.
Not one Jedi bowed. Not one greeted them.
Palpatine's smile stiffened. His eyes swept the Jedi with a flash of subtle disappointment.
"Compose yourselves," he said, his voice stern and sharp enough to slice the humid air. "You are Jedi Masters, not squabbling younglings. You will remember why we are here. This is a council of peace."
Mace Windu's jaw clenched, but he said nothing.
The Astartes came to a halt a dozen meters from the pavilion. Maximus stood before them, haloed in the golden light of the sun that hung high over the ocean horizon. For a long moment, silence held the beach in a vice.
Then Palpatine extended a hand toward the pavilion's table, a low structure of carved wood with smooth stone benches set on either side. Ornate goblets and a pitcher of water sat at its center, a mockery of civility amid the storm of hatred and distrust.
"Captain Maximus," the Chancellor said, "you honor us by coming. Please."
Maximus stepped forward, his every movement like a tectonic shift. He said nothing as he approached the table. The Jedi tensed as he came closer, their bodies nearly vibrating with restrained aggression.
Sebastian didn't help. He scanned the gathered Jedi like a predator, his hand never far from the hilt of his power sword, his storm shield magnetized to his left arm, radiating brutal intent. Raxor's heavy bolter whirred slightly as its servos adjusted in the humid air, aimed downward but ready.
Maximus reached the table.
He stood still for a moment, then deliberately, slowly, reached up and removed his helmet.
The ceramite hissed as the seals disengaged. A faint puff of vapor escaped. Then the helm came free, revealing his face beneath.
He set the helmet down upon the table with a thud that echoed louder than the waves.
To the Jedi, it felt like a provocation. A challenge.
Why would he expose himself? Unless…
Anakin took a step forward, but Qui-Gon laid a steady hand on his arm.
"Wait," his master whispered.
Palpatine smiled tightly and gestured again. "Please, sit."
Maximus did, the bench groaning beneath his weight. The ten Ultramarines behind him remained standing, still as statues, hands ready to draw.
Mace Windu's eyes locked on Maximus, but the Ultramarine ignored him. He stared directly at Palpatine.
"Lets get on with it."
Palpatine gave a gracious nod, but his fingers twitched slightly at his sides. He knew what this was, a show of force. The Astartes had played the hand carefully. If they'd refused to come, they'd be the aggressors. If they showed weakness, they'd lose credibility.
But instead, Maximus had shown strength.
And more than that, confidence. The kind born from knowing your enemy could do nothing to stop you.
"You've taken many systems," Palpatine began. "Your soldiers march unopposed on worlds once firmly in Republic and Separatist control. You have crushed all resistance with stunning speed and efficiency."
"You speak of these victories as though they are crimes," Maximus said coldly. "We did not come to this galaxy to suffer weakness. We are here to conquer it."
Palpatine inclined his head. "And yet, you agreed to this meeting."
Maximus smiled slightly, though it was not warm. "Even we get tired of slaughtering nothing but fodder."
The words hit like a thrown gauntlet.
For a moment, the Jedi behind Palpatine bristled, Anakin stepped forward a half-step before Qui-Gon's steady hand restrained him again. Cin Drallig's eyes narrowed, and even Mace Windu's posture subtly shifted, hand inching toward the hilt of his saber. But Palpatine raised one hand, commanding silence.
The Chancellor's demeanor grew colder, the smile melting from his face like frost under sunlight.
"So, we speak plainly then," Palpatine said, voice edged with steel as he motioned Padmé forward.
Padmé stepped forward and entered the conversation, sitting next to Palpatine. She was not clad in ornate finery, but in a simple formal robe of midnight blue and silver, her hair done in Nabooan braids, her face composed with diplomatic calm. Despite the towering Astartes, despite the armored honor guard and the Jedi bristling with tension, she showed no fear.
Maximus's gaze flicked to her, measuring.
"If it ends the bloodshed," she said, her voice clear and strong, "then even if it is the worst outcome, the Republic is prepared to let you keep the worlds you've taken. Systems like Nevarro, Mandalore, Malastare... They are yours, if it means we can have peace. True peace. Not a ceasefire built on distrust, but stability for the citizens still living in fear on both sides."
Maximus leaned back slightly. He folded his hands on the table before him, his expression unreadable.
"I must thank the Republic," he said finally, his voice dripping with icy sarcasm, "for its benevolence. It warms my gene-forged hearts to know that the Republic is so generous in allowing us to keep what we already claimed through blood, fire, and sacrifice."
Sebastian snorted darkly, arms folded across his chest. Raxor's armor growled as the heavy bolter adjusted ever so slightly behind Maximus. The Honor Guard remained statuesque, but their eyes glowed with eerie calm.
Maximus leaned forward slightly, his face shadowed under the pavilion's canopy, lit only by the blazing sun.
"Let us not pretend this is a negotiation between equals," he said. "You did not summon us, we allowed you to speak. The terms of this ceasefire benefit us more than you. The Imperium has no need of the Republic's permission to hold dominion over what we have conquered."
He gestured vaguely, one armored hand motioning toward the stars beyond the horizon.
"Our presence in your galaxy is no accident. Every day your people bend the knee to the Emperor's rule. The ceasefire, if agreed upon, is a gesture of kindness our part. A pause. It gives us time to bring order to the worlds that now fall under our banner."
Palpatine's jaw tensed.
Padmé tried again, more softly now, her hands clasped together. "And what of the people on those worlds who do not want to be under your rule? There are entire systems who remain loyal to the Republic. They have families. They want their lives back."
Maximus's eyes flicked to her, and though his tone did not rise, it gained weight.
"They are ours. Citizens of the Imperium now—by blood and decree. You speak of choice as if your Republic ever truly gave it. You reaped obedience through commerce, through propaganda, through the lie of peace. We offer something greater, order and unity under the Emperor's will."
He looked then to Palpatine.
"You ask that any who wish to return to the Republic be allowed to go."
A beat passed.
"The Imperium does not give up her citizens without a fight, Chancellor. You may as well ask a world to give up its sun. They are no longer yours to bargain for. They are subjects of the Emperor, and they will die for Him as we have. If you wish to take them back—"
He leaned in.
"—then come and take them."
Palpatine stiffened, his hands folding over the table, and even Padmé let her gaze fall, knowing how quickly tensions were fraying. The Jedi Council members remained silent… for a moment.
But then Mace Windu clenched his fists.
He stepped forward, his voice carrying through the sea air, laced with barely contained anger. "You follow a cruel and deluded tyrant who sends monsters to do his killing while he hides behind titles and myths."
He glanced toward Sebastian, his tone turning venomous. "I remember the corpses at the Temple. I remember the broken bodies of my friends and family! And I remember you, Black Templar! Your so-called Emperor sounds like nothing but an evil vile man who i would die before serving!"
The air went still.
Even the crashing waves seemed to falter.
The Astartes were silent… unnaturally so. The very insult was so vast, so offensive, that their minds took a second to process it. That Windu would say anything about their Emperor…
Sebastian roared, a bestial, wrathful cry that sent birds scattering from nearby trees and caused the sand beneath his boots to vibrate. His power armor whined under the pressure of his rage as he drew his power sword.
"HERESY!"
In unison, the Ultramarine Honor Guard moved. They raised their bolters with precision, locking aim on every Jedi present, servo-motors humming in readiness.
Then a cold, suffocating void blanketed the area.
It was the sudden, terrible absence of the Force.
The Jedi gasped, some of them stumbling, others dropping to one or both knees. Anakin groaned, pressing his hand to his chest. Even Windu faltered, his body briefly shaking as though gravity had thickened around him.
Maximus started to stand.
Helmet in hand, he slowly placed it upon his head, the ceramite locking into place with a hiss of air and a heavy clunk. His presence, already towering, seemed to double, then triple. He took a single step forward, and with it, expanded the unnatural aura of his Blank soul, a dome of psychic silence, draining everything from the air but dread.
Light seemed to flicker and began to bleed in the pavilion.
Even Palpatine stepped back, fear momentarily passing across his otherwise impassive face.
Maximus now loomed, his full height casting a shadow over the delegation gathered.
"I have suffered your insolence for far too long." He hissed.
He took another step forward, the very sand trembling beneath his armored tread.
Windu, to his credit, stood his ground. With great effort and with shaking hands, he reached for his lightsaber and ignited it in a flash of violet. The blade screamed to life, humming defiantly against the oppressive silence.
Maximus didn't flinch.
He lifted his right hand, and caught the blade in his armored gauntlet. Sparks flew as the blade ground against the ceramite, but the armor held. His gauntlets had been reinforced for this exact reason.
Windu stared up in shock. The saber didn't bite. It barely scratched.
Maximus lowered his head slightly, his voice barely more than a growl as he tried in vain to keep his anger in check.
"How dare you speak of my Emperor!"
The words trembled with restrained fury, and for a heartbeat the beach fell silent… until the dam broke.
Maximus's head snapped up, optics glowing like twin furnaces. The restraint evaporated from his voice, replaced with a thunderous bellow that seemed to shake the very air around them.
"HOW DARE YOU SPEAK OF MY EMPEROR! YOU INSOLENT WRETCH! I SHOULD RIP YOU LIMB FROM LIMB FOR THAT ALONE!"
"You, a child of a dying order, would lecture ME on cruelty? On sacrifice? You know NOTHING of sacrifice! You know nothing of what it costs to hold the line against annihilation!" His voice cracked with rage. "You call HIM a tyrant? My Emperor!? He who bears the wounds of countless millennia! He has held back the void with His bare hands while vermin like you quibble over politics and peace treaties!"
The Jedi stood silent, stunned. Even Anakin, fists clenched at his sides, looked to Windu with uncertainty.
Maximus's voice dropped to a dark snarl, his words laced with contempt.
"Do not dare to speak His name. You are unworthy to even whisper it."
The lightsaber sputtered. Windu tried to pull it back, but Maximus didn't let go.
"You want peace?" Maximus said, turning his head toward Palpatine. "Then you will earn it."
He turned fully back to the Jedi.
"I will accept a truce on one condition."
His voice boomed now, a voice used to addressing armies, to delivering judgment over worlds.
"A death match. Your Grandmaster, Mace Windu," he pointed with his free hand, "against my brother, Sebastian, of the Black Templars."
Gasps and shouts broke out among the Jedi.
Sebastian stepped forward, eyes glowing like coals, chains on his armor rattling with the rage barely held in check. "I will show your Order what becomes of those who spit upon the name of the Emperor."
Maximus let the saber go, watching as Windu stumbled back. His face was a mask of fury, but beneath it was something else: the realization that he may have just made a critical mistake.
Palpatine raised a hand, but no words came. The moment had already spiraled far beyond his control.
Maximus turned, gesturing for his warriors to lower their weapons and march back towards the ship. They obeyed, though their eyes never left the Jedi.
Maximus stood tall, his gauntlet still steaming from catching Windu's lightsaber.
"Prepare your champion!"
The force of the shout shattered the stunned quiet, his voice echoing across the white sands, into the jungle beyond, carried to the skies as if even the stars were meant to hear it. The weight of the words dropped onto the Jedi like slabs of iron. Mace Windu, still seething, didn't speak. His jaw clenched, his lightsaber flickered slightly in his grip.
"You have one week," Maximus snarled, turning toward the Republic delegation, his gaze sweeping across the Jedi and Senators like a judge surveying the guilty. "One week to ready your so-called Grandmaster. One week to whisper prayers to whatever powerless Force you worship. One week to prepare for the judgment of the Emperor's wrath!"
Palpatine opened his mouth to speak, but Maximus didn't let him. He stepped forward again, his voice rising like the swell of a warhorn at the dawn of battle.
"We shall meet on Yavin, newly conquered and stained in the blood of your soldiers. There, under our banners, your Grandmaster will face the Black Templar in single combat. Let the stars witness your courage... or your cowardice."
He gestured to Sebastian, who strode up beside him, unflinching, his eyes burning with zealous fire. The black cross of his Chapter stood bold across his white pauldrons, and his blade hummed in the growing wind.
"And until that day. Until that hour, do not speak of peace. Do not send envoys. Do not ask for mercy."
Maximus's voice was a low snarl now.
"You thought the slaughter you've seen was bad?"
He raised his right arm high, pointing an accusing finger at the delegation of Jedi and senators.
"Now you will see true war! You will witness the fury of the Emperor's angels in full."
Sebastian took a step forward, his voice barely human, warped by wrath and holy zeal.
"We will show you what it means to wage war against the Imperium of Man. We will show you what it means to insult the Emperor's name."
"Blood will run in rivers," Raxor added coldly. "You will beg for the mercy of extinction."
The Jedi stared in silence. Even the wind seemed to hesitate.
Behind Maximus, the Honor Guard moved as one, forming up in parade formation, a wall of ceramite and discipline. Their bolters clicked, readied for war. Their glowing eyes shone through their helms like torches lit in a dark temple.
Maximus raised his helmet slightly, just enough for his voice to carry clear and unfiltered, rage laced with iron.
"We will see you in one week, Chancellor. And only after one champion lays dead shall we speak of peace." He spat.
With that, he turned, the sand beneath his boots cracking with each footfall. The Honor Guard pivoted on cue and followed their commander, weapons held high. The war-beaten Thunderhawk in the distance roared to life, its engines kicking up clouds of sand and salt.
===
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