(A/N: Hey guys! Finals are done, and I passed all my classes! I'll be going back to my original schedule of 3 chapters a week! Also, sorry for the late upload, i fell asleep while doing my last readthroughš)
=== Raxor ===
The planning chamber had always felt imposing, its vaulted ceiling humming with the low thrum of engines buried deep within the flagship's armored spine, but tonight it carried a pressure that pressed on every chest in the room. Raxor stood near the back at first, heavy bolter mag-locked to his back, arms folded across the furnace-warm plates of his Salamander armor. Around him, the Imperium's senior leaders gathered. Sebastian with his storm shield resting against one boot, Nira poised and silent with her hands clasped tightly behind her back, Korrin at Raxor's shoulder. The Grey Knights, silver runes glowing faintly beneath the chamber's stark lighting.
Bo-Katan hovered near Dooku, though the elder Jedi carried an expression that showed he was not truly here; he was still wrestling with the confrontation Maximus had left behind. And Maximus himselfā¦ he filled the center of the room with the kind of fury that shook a hall long before he spoke a word.
He didn't waste time. He stalked up to the central projector and activated it, the hologram flaring to life in a wash of blue that swallowed the room in cold light. Coruscant materialized before them, its shining towers, its nested rings of traffic, and at its heart the twin pillars of galactic power: the Senate building and the Jedi Temple.
The chamber fell silent.
"We move on Coruscant," he said, voice low but cutting clean through the hum of machinery. "There is no waiting. There is no further diplomacy. Vulkan has been kept from us.." His gauntlet curled into a fist, the metal joints grinding like distant thunder. "The Republic, the Jedi, all of them have chosen to deceive the Imperium. They chose war."
Maximus expanded the map, isolating the upper portion of Galactic City. Bright markers flared across the display, tracing troop paths, potential landing zones, and kill-corridors in pulsing lines of crimson.
"We divide into two strike forces." He pointed to the eastern half of the projection, where the Jedi Temple rose like a giant waiting to be toppled. "The primary force will descend on the Temple. Sebastian, Dooku, and I will lead the assault. We break through their defenses, eliminate resistance, and seize their archives." His eyes burned brighter with each step. "Tython exists. They've hidden the coordinates for centuries. They will yield themā¦ or they will burn with their secrets."
Maximus shifted the map again, this time to the Senate district. Its spires glimmered beneath the holographic glow, deceptively peaceful.
"The second force," he continued, and Raxor felt every gaze in the room swing toward him, "will strike the Senate directly. Raxor, Nira, you two will command this team."
Maximus expanded their strike path, a focused, brutal thrust straight through the Senate's upper levels. "Your mission is to destabilize the Republic before they can organize a counterstrike. You will locate Chancellor Palpatine's office. Extract every piece of intelligence you can find. If killing him is possibleā¦" He paused, letting the implication resonate. "Then you end him."
Even Dooku looked away at that, though he said nothing. Nira inhaled a slow, controlled breath, her composure smooth but cold as the chamber's steel floor.
Raxor simply nodded. "Understood."
Maximus stepped back from the projector. The map of Coruscant lingered in the air, blue light flickering across armor, robes, and faces hardened by tension. "The moment we make planetfall," he said, "the Republic will have no choice but to show us who they truly are. Either they return Vulkanā¦ or we tear down everything they have built to prevent them from hiding another Primarch ever again."
He let that settle before turning his gaze toward the tall, silver-armored figure seated near the end of the table. "Brother-Captain, the floor is yours."
Brother-Captain Arcturos, cloaked in runes and purity seals, rose with the smooth, disciplined efficiency of a man carved from steel and ritual.
With a storm of quiet psychic might simmering beneath his skin, he crossed to the central strategium table and set down a long adamantium case.
"As Captain Maximus has said," Arcturos began, voice deep and measured, "this campaign is unlike any we have faced in this galaxy. Over the last few days, with the aid of Master Dooku and the other force-sensitives under our protection, we have tested the limits of this world's psykers or its so-called Jedi."
He braced both gauntleted hands on the case, eyes sweeping across the room. "What we have learned isā¦ troubling. Once, it required five to eight of their order to bring down one of us. Now? A single Jedi, depending on their skill, stands equal to an Astartes. Someā¦ exceed even that."
That revelation rippled through the room. Sebastian leaned forward with a low growl in his throat. Raxor stiffened. Dooku's expression tightened as he folded his arms behind his back.
Arcturos continued, unfazed. "The escalation is undeniable. Their power is growing at a rate that suggests outside intervention and manipulation from the beings known as the Ones." He paused, letting the weight of that implication sink in. "But the Imperium has faced psykers of far greater strength. We have brought low daemons and warp-touched monstrosities through relics and science refined across millennia."
He clicked open the case.
Within, nestled in padded onyx lining, lay a single bolter round, sleek, obsidian-black, its casing etched with sigils that seemed to pulse faintly with their own life. Arcturos lifted it with reverence and placed it upon the table where the light caught its edges.
"This is an adaptation of an ancient Black Templar design," he said. "A bolter round once known as a Witch Bolt."
Sebastian muttered an approving grunt.
"These rounds," Arcturos went on, "release a hyper-volatile anti-psyker toxin on impact. It severs a creature's connection to the warp, or in this case, the Force, rendering them unable to channel their abilities for several minutes."
He began pacing slowly. "Our tests show that while Jedi are more resistant than warp-psykers, the rounds are effective. Not for longā¦ but long enough."
He turned back to the projector and with a gesture brought up a new hologram, this time not a map, but the looming image of a missile the size of a dropship. Its warhead glowed with runes similar to the smaller round, but far more intense, like a caged star struggling to break free.
"This," he said, "is the Null-Lance. A single macro-charged Witch Bolt payload. When deployed over the Jedi Temple, this warhead will detonate above the structure and release a wide-area psychic disruption field. Every force-sensitive within a five-mile radius will be severed from their power for approximately fifteen minutes."
A hush swept in. A heavy, almost physical silence.
"Fifteen minutes," Arcturos repeated. "That is the window during which Team Alpha will breach the Temple, neutralize all resistance, extract the coordinates of Tython, and withdraw."
His gaze shifted toward the opposite table where Raxor sat, arms folded over his wide chest. "We have also prepared a limited number of personal Witch Bolt rounds, scaled for heavy bolt pistols. They will be issued to Team Beta. Raxor, they will be entrusted to you."
Arcturos finally returned to his seat, armor whispering as he settled. "That is all. The Imperium has armed you as best it can. May the Emperor guide our hands."
Maximus rose again as the room returned its attention to him, the holomap flickering between his features. "You have heard what tools stand at your disposal. This mission carries weight beyond any battle we have fought here. Vulkan will be reclaimed. And the Republic will answer for this betrayal."
He swept his eyes across every face, Astartes and Jedi, Mandalorians and commanders alike. "Steel yourselves. Gather your legions. Sharpen your blades. This is not just a strike. It is a reckoning."
The lights dimmed as the projector faded, leaving the room awash in shadows and grim determination.
"Prepare for war," Maximus said softly. "We leave soon."
=== Ahsoka ===
Ahsoka eased herself toward the edge of the infirmary bed, her remaining hand braced against the sheet as the medical droid hovered close, its arms angled to catch her if she slipped. The scars of two battles weighed on her all at once, her missing arm, the shortened lekku that still throbbed sometimes during meditation, the deep burn across her abdomen, and the blaster wound in her thigh that had left the muscle stiff as stone.
Recovery felt like wading through sand some days, each motion a reminder of how much she had lost and how much she still had to reclaim. The droid clicked instructions in its monotone, guiding her through the motions of shifting her weight, planting her feet, and steadying her breath before she rose. The air in the room smelled faintly of sterilizing agents and the soft hum of bio-monitors created a strange, almost meditative rhythm that she had grown used to over the past weeks.
The door slid open with a soft hiss, and everything about the space seemed to brighten as Anakin stepped in. He was quick to cross the distance between them, flashing that lopsided smile she'd known since she was a child, though the shadows under his eyes told her he hadn't slept well.
He didn't say anything at first, he just rested a hand lightly on her back and relieved the droid with a quiet, "I've got her." The droid drifted away without protest, and Ahsoka leaned into Anakin's support as he guided her to her feet. His touch was careful, almost too gentle for someone who moved through battlefields with such ferocity, and together they began a slow walk along the polished floor of the recovery wing. Each step pulled at the stitches along her abdomen, but she forced her breath steady, matching her pace to the rhythm of his.
Anakin waited until she seemed balanced before he spoke, his tone softened by something she couldn't quite place. "I wanted to tell you before I left," he said, eyes fixed on the distant window rather than her. "The Council has assigned me to accompany the Chancellor on aā¦ special mission. Off-world. It's supposed to be discreet, high priority, and we'll be out of the Temple for about a week."
Ahsoka felt a prickle run up her spine. A week wasn't long, but it felt like a lifetime when something about this assignment already smelled wrong.
She tightened her grip on his arm, not out of pain, but instinct. "Something about that doesn't sit right," she murmured, searching his expression for confirmation of the unease churning in her chest. "You can feel it too, can't you? This missionā¦ it doesn't feel like a diplomatic escort. It feels like something's being hidden." Her voice wavered ever so slightly, the uncertainty she had pushed aside for days finally surfacing. She hated feeling weak, hated feeling vulnerable, but with Anakin she didn't bother to mask it.
He paused their slow walk, turning just enough so that he could look her in the eyes. "Yeah," he admitted, the word heavy and low. "I do feel it. There's something off about the whole thing. The Chancellor didn't explain much, and the request to bring all meā¦ it's unusual." He let out a slow breath, the conflict in him tightening his shoulders.
"But whatever this is, I don't want you worrying about it. You're safe here. The Temple's med wing is one of the most secure places on Coruscant." He tried to make the words sound solid, but even he didn't believe them fully, she could tell by the slight tremor in the Force around him, like a chord pulled too tight.
Ahsoka lowered her gaze for a moment, studying the floor as they resumed walking. "I still don't like it," she whispered. "It feels like everything's moving so quickly latelyā¦ like the galaxy is shifting under our feet." Her hand drifted to the fresh bandage at her thigh, the wound still a vivid reminder of how close she had come to not standing here at all. "I know you'll come back, but I justā¦ something's wrong, Skyguy. I can feel it."
Anakin softened at the nickname, and the edge in his posture eased. "I know. I feel it too." He gently adjusted her weight as she winced through a step. "But listen, I won't leave you completely alone here. I already asked PadmƩ, Qui-Gon, and Obi-Wan to visit while I'm gone. I thought it might help keep your mind off everything, even for a little while."
Ahsoka managed a faint smile, though her eyes still carried worry. "Maybe I could visit PadmƩ instead," she suggested. "I've been cooped up in this place for too long. Getting outside, even just for a short trip, might help." She tried to make it sound casual, but they both knew she was grasping at any sense of control in a situation rapidly sliding out of her hands.
Anakin chuckled softly, shaking his head in mock exasperation. "Only you would look at a busted leg and a half-healed stomach and say you're ready for field trips." But there was warmth in his voice, a flicker of pride even, and he supported her a little closer as they circled back toward her room. "We'll see how you're doing in a day or two. If the healers clear it, maybe you can make that visit. PadmƩ would like that."
As they reached the bedside once more, Anakin helped her ease down onto the mattress, careful not to disturb the bandages. She settled back against the pillows, breathing out slowly as the tension in her body unwound bit by bit. He lingered beside her, visibly torn between duty pulling him away and something deeper urging him to stay.
She gave him a small, tired smile. "Justā¦ be careful out there, okay?"
He reached out, brushing his fingers lightly against the edge of her remaining lekku, a gesture of reassurance, one he only ever gave when words fell short. "Always," he said. But behind that promise, she felt a storm brewing. And as he stepped away toward the door, Ahsoka couldn't shake the feeling that this might be the last quiet moment either of them would have for a very long time.
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