Space Marine in Star Wars (Warhammer X Star Wars)

(A/N: Ive decided to make Nira's master Dooku instead of Plo Koon.)

===Dooku - 10 years later===

As Dooku walked through the corridors of the Jedi Temple alongside his apprentice, Nira, his thoughts wandered back to the past decade of her training. When she had been taken as his apprentice, she was told that she lacked a strong connection to the Force. Despite Dooku's encouragement not to lose heart, she only saw minimal progress in her Force abilities. However, she poured herself into honing her swordsmanship, and under Dooku's tutelage, she became a skilled duelist.

Dooku remained silent as they walked, though he stole a glance at his apprentice.

"You seem troubled. What is on your mind?" he asked.

"I've been reflecting on the past years, Master. So much has changed since I first joined the Order," Nira replied.

"Indeed. Change is a constant. Yet, much still remains to be done," Dooku remarked as they continued onward.

Entering the main chamber, Nira spotted Anakin and Qui-Gon approaching from the Council chamber. Upon seeing each other, their faces lit up with wide smiles, and they quickly closed the distance to greet one another with a warm embrace.

"It's so good to see you again," Nira said, her voice full of joy.

"How was your mission? Come, tell me everything," Anakin said, leading her away after a quick glance toward the two masters for approval.

Qui-Gon and Dooku exchanged a brief but affectionate embrace.

"It's good to see you again as well," Dooku said.

"Likewise. Things have been going well. Obi-Wan recovered from his coma three years ago, though he's not quite the same. He still struggles with haunting visions at times, but he is making progress," Qui-Gon explained, walking alongside his former master with his hands clasped behind his back.

"And the Order?" Dooku asked, his voice soft but probing.

Qui-Gon paused, visibly conflicted.

"Master Windu is still pushing for intervention, though the Astartes war is nearing its end," Qui-Gon answered.

"I see," Dooku said, his expression pensive. His gaze shifted toward the two apprentices, still deep in conversation. "I must speak with Master Yoda."

Qui-Gon nodded, understanding. As Dooku made his way toward the Council chamber, he found the old Grandmaster not within, but instead meditating in the temple gardens, seated before the ancient Uneti tree.

Not wishing to disturb him, Dooku quietly knelt beside his former master and entered into his own meditation.

After a long pause, Yoda spoke, his eyes still closed.

"Clouded, the future is. Wrong, the past has been."

Dooku said nothing, only listening intently to his former master's words.

"Ahead of us, many futures lie. Difficult decisions must be made."

At last, Dooku opened his eyes, studying the serene face of the Grandmaster.

Dooku remained still, his gaze fixed on Yoda. The temple garden was tranquil, but the future ahead was anything but.

"Difficult times lie ahead, Master Yoda," Dooku said, his voice low, yet deliberate. "The Order is changing, and it seems there is little room left for the peace we once held dear."

Yoda nodded slowly, eyes still closed. "Change inevitable it is. Not always for the better, though."

Dooku's thoughts shifted, his mind turning to the upcoming question that loomed over the Jedi. "The seat of Grandmaster. The time to choose a successor is approaching. I feel it, and I know you do as well."

A long silence followed, Yoda's silence more telling than words. The decision would be monumental for the Jedi Order, and the future of the galaxy could hinge on it. Finally, Yoda spoke, his voice carrying the weight of ages.

"A decision, difficult it will be," Yoda murmured. "Two paths before the Order. Both strong, both tested."

Dooku's brow furrowed, though he remained calm. "Master Windu's methods... they are far more aggressive than mine. His vision for the Order—focused on intervention, military strength, the direct approach. He will take the Order down a path of rigidity and control. He sees everything as a matter of duty and obedience, a strict adherence to the letter of the law. The galaxy is in turmoil, and he would impose order through sheer force, through unyielding authority. He believes the Jedi must wield the power to impose peace. While I, on the other hand, believe in more subtle guidance, in ensuring that the Force remains the core of our actions, not an instrument of war."

"True, steadfast, he is," Yoda said slowly. "Rigid, he is. A warrior's heart, he carries. In times of conflict, his strength shines. But the Order, guided by him, might grow cold. Unyielding. Emotion, rejected. Balance, lost in a sea of control."

Dooku met Yoda's gaze. "I understand the need for caution, Master. But if we allow the galaxy to spiral into chaos unchecked, can we truly call ourselves protectors of peace? Windu's belief is that intervention is necessary—he believes the Jedi must do more than watch., and I agree with him."

Yoda considered this for a long moment, his ancient face lined with thought. "The Jedi, guardians of peace we are, but not rulers, not soldiers. The temptation to take up the blade too quickly, dangerous it can be."

"Yet without action, peace may slip beyond our grasp," Dooku said softly, his voice firm with resolve. "Mace Windu may be a man of action, but I am a man of balance."

Yoda's gaze softened, though his expression remained thoughtful. "Balance... Yes, a difficult thing to maintain. Mace, strong in the Force, but unyielding. You, wise, but too lax at times. Both have strengths, both have flaws."

Dooku's expression darkened slightly as he allowed himself to wonder if the decision would truly be his. "Perhaps I am too lax. But the galaxy is not a place to be forced into submission, Master Yoda. The weight of leadership, the seat of Grandmaster—it should not be taken lightly."

The old Master nodded in agreement, his voice becoming more measured, as if contemplating every word before speaking it aloud. "Choose wisely, the Council will. The future, uncertain it is. Hope, in your wisdom, I place. The Order's fate, intertwined with yours, it may be."

Dooku said nothing, lost in thought for a moment. The burden of leadership was heavy, and the choice of who would guide the Order in the coming years was a responsibility that no one could take lightly. He looked once again at Yoda, seeing in his master's eyes not just wisdom, but a deep, unspoken understanding.

"The choice will be made," Dooku said finally, his voice steady. "And I will stand by it, regardless of the outcome."

Yoda's gaze softened, his expression unreadable. "Whatever the choice, my old apprentice, remember this: The Force does not belong to the Jedi alone. It is in all things, in every moment. Keep that in mind, always."

Dooku paused, a slight shift in his demeanor, a quiet resolve settling in. "Master, there is something I must say. The Jedi... we have been too rigid. Too detached. For far too long, we have held ourselves above the emotions that make us human. But how can we protect the galaxy, Master Yoda, if we do not feel its pain? If we cannot understand its suffering?"

Yoda's eyes flickered open, meeting Dooku's gaze with a quiet, probing intensity.

"To feel is not to lose control," Dooku continued, his voice steady. "If we shut ourselves off from the Force's deeper currents, if we cut ourselves off from attachment, from the very emotions that make us whole... How can we stand as protectors? The galaxy is not made of rules and laws—it is made of people, of lives bound together by hope and fear, by love and loss. If we cannot embrace those emotions, if we cannot walk alongside those we protect, then what are we really defending? A cold, unfeeling existence?"

Yoda studied him for a long while before speaking, his voice measured. "Emotion, a powerful ally it can be, Dooku. But also a dangerous one. The Jedi must maintain harmony with the Force, not let emotion rule them. Attachment, too, has its dangers—leads to fear, fear to suffering."

"I know the dangers," Dooku replied, his voice firm yet tempered with a quiet wisdom. "But I believe that a Jedi should be allowed to grow—allowed to form attachments. Only then can we truly understand the lives we are meant to protect. Not by cutting ourselves off, but by living fully within the Force, and the galaxy. We are not above it, Master Yoda. We are a part of it."

Yoda was silent for a long moment, the weight of the conversation hanging heavily between them. At last, his ancient eyes softened slightly.

"Perhaps... in time, you may be right. But remember, Dooku—balance you seek, not chaos. The path you walk, keep true to it, always."

Standing, Dooku bowed to his Grand Master before taking his leave. He turned slowly, his cloak flowing behind him as he made his way down the tranquil path of the temple gardens.

===Maximus===

The air crackled with the hum of power as Maximus advanced, his Thunderhammer crackling with lethal energy. The trail of blood he followed was thick and winding, leading him to a hollow nestled within the jagged rocks. He entered, his heavy footsteps echoing in the confined space, his red optics glowing menacingly in the dim light.

There, in the shadowed recesses of the hollow, lay his target—Ziro the Hutt, hunched and writhing in pain, his tail a mangled stump. Leaning against the body of another Hutt wrapped in cloth, Ziro trembled, his glistening eyes wide with fear.

Maximus stood tall, towering over the Hutt, his power armor gleaming with cold purpose. The crackling energy of his Thunderhammer flickered in the shadows, an extension of his intent.

"No more running," he intoned, his voice deep and unwavering.

Ziro recoiled, the pain in his body evident, but the fear in his eyes eclipsed all else. "No more... Just leave me be," he pleaded, his words trembling with desperation. "I promise I won't leave this planet. Just let me live."

Maximus' eyes narrowed, cold as the void. "It is far too late for begging now."

The Ultramarine's words extinguished any hope left in Ziro's heart.

"You are the last," Maximus continued, his voice a grim monotone. "And with it, my oath is fulfilled."

Ziro's breath caught, his grip tightening on the body in front of him, the final remnants of his kind. "No!" he cried out, the desperation in his voice rising. "You will never wipe us all out!"

Maximus' expression did not shift. His voice remained the same, unyielding and resolute. "Nal-Hutta is no more. Exterminatus. You are the last."

The words hung in the air like a death sentence, and the Hutt's pleas grew frantic. But Maximus was unmoved. The finality of the moment settled over them both.

"In all my long life, I have never had the honor of being the one to exterminate the last member of an entire species." Maximus' voice dropped, his tone now colder than the void between the stars. "Let that thought be your last as you are dragged to hell."

With a single, swift motion, he raised his Thunderhammer. The sheer weight of the weapon seemed to distort the air itself, and then, with a deafening crack, he brought it down.

The force was overwhelming. The Hammer collided with Ziro and the body he clutched to him with such power that it shattered everything in its path—bones, flesh, and the very earth beneath them. The sound of the impact echoed through the cave, and when the dust settled, nothing remained of the Hutt or the body but a ruin of gore.

Maximus stood there for a moment, his hammer still crackling with the energy of its devastating strike. The battlefield was silent now. The war was over. The oath fulfilled.

Turning slowly, Maximus walked out of the hollow, the echo of his footsteps mingling with the crackling of his Thunderhammer. As he emerged, he found his company of Mandalorians standing in a loose formation, waiting for him. Their armor gleamed in the dim light, a testament to their hardened presence, and they stood at attention as their leader approached.

Maximus gripped his Thunderhammer by the handle near its head, lifting it high with a fluid motion. His voice rang out across the desolate landscape of Teth.

"It is done! We have purged the Hutts from the galaxy!" he declared, his tone carrying the weight of the victory, the finality of their mission.

A roar of approval broke out from the Mandalorians, their voices echoing across the barren land as they cheered. They surged forward, embracing each other in a whirlwind of celebration. For the Mandalorians, this was more than just a mission completed—it was a hard-earned victory, one that signified the end of a long and bloody chapter.

Maximus stood at the center, watching his men rejoice, his expression unreadable but his posture relaxed for the first time in what felt like an eternity. The weight of his mission had been heavy, but now, it had been fulfilled.

The cheers of his warriors filled the air, and the bonds between them grew stronger, sealed in the fires of battle. Maximus allowed himself a rare, fleeting moment of satisfaction. The galaxy had been cleansed of a menace, and his warriors had proven themselves.

The Mandalorians' celebration raged on, but Maximus knew this was only the beginning. There were always more battles to fight, more wars to wage. For now, however, they had earned their victory—and they would savor it.

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