Space Marine in Star Wars

(A/N: Hello everyone, before we get into the chapter i need to update you all on the schedule for this book. Im going to be going back to school for Welding, which im looking forward to. Im still planning on releasing 3 chapters a week, but they might not be every Sunday, Tuesday, and Thursday/Friday. Just wanted you all to know!)

===Maximus===

Maximus's heavy footsteps echoed through the streets of Theed as he walked inside the massive Centurion suit, his mind stretched to its limit.

Stopping at the palace steps, he exited the suit, nearly collapsing to the ground. His body was weary, but his mind even more so. He needed rest, but that could not come until he reunited with his brothers. Through the vox, they had informed him of their battle: they had slain a Thousand Sons Sorcerer, but not without cost. Raxor had lost his left arm, while Sebastian had suffered severe burns to his right arm, chest, and face.

Despite the pain that gnawed at him, Maximus stood tall. He could not allow weakness to take hold. He was no longer the young man who once thought a week of relentless fighting without sleep was exhausting. No, that was the mindset of the weak.

Shaking the weariness from his thoughts, he continued his determined march down the halls of the palace, leaving the Centurion suit outside.

When he reached the medical bay, he found his brothers embroiled in a heated discussion with a group of people, Padmé among them.

"What is the meaning of this?" Maximus's deep, commanding voice cut through the tension.

"They want us to remove our armor, brother," Sebastian seethed, gesturing at the medical droids standing ready. "They want to learn its secrets."

"That's not it!" Padmé interjected, her voice rising. "Look at you both!" She gestured toward Raxor, who was missing an arm, and Sebastian, whose injuries were evident even beneath his armor. "You can't just walk around with injuries like these!"

Sebastian folded his massive arms across his chest. "We have endured far worse."

Padmé opened her mouth to argue, but Maximus stepped in.

"What medical aid do you offer?" he demanded, his tone brokering no argument.

"Brother?" Sebastian began, but the Ultramarine raised a hand, silencing him.

Padmé responded, calm but firm. "Cybernetic implants and medical fluids to regenerate lost tissue," she explained, summoning a medical hologram. It displayed various procedures that could aid his brothers' recovery.

Maximus studied the hologram closely, his eyes narrowing as he assessed the procedures being proposed. The technology was advanced, but it was not the same as the battlefield augmentations his brothers had received over the years.

"We do not need your 'regeneration' devices," Sebastian muttered, a flicker of disdain in his voice. "We are Astartes. Our bodies heal faster than most can comprehend."

Raxor grunted in agreement, though his tone was more subdued than usual. The loss of his arm was a blow, but he wasn't one to show weakness.

Padmé took a step forward, her gaze firm and unwavering. "I understand you're warriors, but your bodies aren't invulnerable," she said. "You can survive injuries that would kill any ordinary man, but even Astartes have limits, right? The treatments I'm offering will speed your recovery, prevent further complications. You won't heal properly if you don't allow us to help."

Maximus stood in silence for a moment, absorbing her words. He had seen firsthand the resilience of his brothers, their ability to recover from wounds that would shatter lesser men. But he also knew that there were risks—risks that came with ignoring the limits of their bodies.

"We will take the treatments," Maximus finally declared, his voice as firm as ever. "But only what is necessary to restore our fighting strength. We are not so weak as to need... comfort."

Padmé nodded, clearly relieved that he had agreed, though she still looked concerned. "I'll make sure the procedures are minimally invasive. You'll still retain your full combat capabilities."

"Good," Maximus said. He turned his gaze to his brothers. "We will fight again soon. Rest while you can."

Sebastian, ever defiant, scoffed but said nothing more. Raxor merely gave a silent nod, his single arm crossed over his chest as he looked at Maximus, a silent promise of loyalty.

"First, we'll need to remove your armor," Padmé said, her tone professional, though there was a hint of hesitation. "I'm sure we can have the droids examine it and figure everything out."

Sebastian shot a sharp glance at Maximus, who gave a subtle nod in response.

"Until the Imperium comes for us, we must make compromises for our continued welfare," Maximus answered, acknowledging his brother's unspoken question.

Sebastian opened his mouth, likely to mutter the word heresy, but stopped himself, his gaze shifting from Maximus to Raxor. With a heavy sigh, he relented. "Very well, brother. I will concede this matter."

The Black Templar reached up, removing his half-ruined helmet. Padmé's face paled the moment she saw him, her breath catching in her throat. His features were disfigured beyond recognition, the scars and damage from countless battles leaving his face a grotesque map of his service to the Emperor. Half of his face was a mixture of metal and flesh, and his bald head reflected the dim light of the room.

Sebastian sneered as he noticed Padmé's reaction. "Never seen someone so ugly?" he taunted, his voice thick with mockery.

Raxor, ever the one to lighten the mood, chuckled. "I think she's just shocked, brother. It's not every day you see someone as disfigured as you are."

Padmé stammered, her face flushing in embarrassment. "I— I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—"

Sebastian's cold voice cut through the air, silencing her. "Enough. It matters not what you think." His gaze hardened as he looked at her. "This is the mark of my service to the God-Emperor. You will show respect for it."

Padmé swallowed her apology, her face still pale, though she kept her composure. She nodded quietly, stepping back.

"Proceed," Sebastian commanded, his tone unwavering. Padmé nodded in response and stepped back, signaling the droids to begin their work.

The medical droids approached with practiced precision, their mechanical limbs whirring as they worked on the Black Templar's armor. Padmé observed them closely, knowing how sacred the Astartes' power armor was to them. She gave a quiet order to the droids to handle it with care, fully aware that the armor was more than just protection—it was a symbol of their faith and service.

The droids struggled at first, the heavy ceramite and plasteel plates resistant to their advanced tools. The process took over an hour, with the droids having to carefully unseal the various components, detaching the joints and plates. The sound of grinding and hissing filled the room as each piece was slowly removed. It was a laborious effort, but finally, with a collective effort, they succeeded. The massive suit of power armor was laid out beside Sebastian's form, its dark black surface glinting ominously under the lights. The droids stepped back once the task was done, and Padmé gave a quiet directive to keep the armor in pristine condition, allowing no harm to come to it.

As the armor was removed, the full extent of Sebastian's injuries became evident. His once formidable physique, now encased in only his black fibro-muscle suit, showed the wear of countless battles. His right arm, heavily burned and blistered, was a gruesome sight, as was his chest, still smoldering with the aftereffects of the Sorcerer's attacks.

Padmé's eyes flicked to the nearby medical equipment, stopping at a large, cylindrical tank filled with a bright blue liquid. She motioned toward it. "It's called a Bacta tank. It will help with your burns and aid in tissue regeneration," she explained.

Sebastian turned to his right, his eyes studying the tank for a moment. It was an unfamiliar sight to him, but he trusted Maximus's judgment. His gaze shifted to his brothers, Raxor and Maximus, who both gave silent nods of approval.

They had fought countless battles, and though the idea of Bacta was foreign to them, they understood the necessity of healing.

Sebastian met their gazes and grunted in acknowledgment. He was used to pain, but this was different. His body had taken so much, yet it still carried on. "Very well," he muttered, stepping forward toward the tank.

Padmé nodded, guiding him toward the large tank. "You will feel a cooling sensation once submerged. It should ease the pain and accelerate the healing process."

Sebastian said nothing, his gaze fixed forward. He was a warrior—pain, sacrifice, and hardship were part of his existence. But even he had limits, and he knew this was the right course.

With a final glance at his brothers, he stepped into the Bacta tank, the blue liquid rising around him as the droids carefully sealed the lid above. The hissing sound of the tank activating filled the room as the healing process began.

Maximus watched silently, his face impassive as always. He had seen his brothers endure unimaginable trials, but even they needed rest and recovery to continue the fight.

Now that Sebastian was taken care of, Raxor stepped forward. The medical droid gestured for him to take the position where Sebastian had stood, signaling the beginning of the next stage. This time, however, the process moved much faster. Raxor's armor was removed with practiced efficiency by the droids, their mechanical limbs working quickly to unseal the ceramite plating, detaching the pieces one by one. Despite the armor's heavy construction, the droids made short work of it.

He stood there for a moment, his massive form now clad only in his subligaculum, which was similarly tight-fitting and functional. The sight of him without his armor was impressive, revealing his imposing frame and raw strength. He stood tall, despite the visible signs of wear and tear from battle. His single remaining arm, though still strong, was visibly damaged, the results of multiple engagements evident in the sharp twists and scars along his limb.

The droid motioned for him to sit in the chair that had been prepared nearby, and Raxor complied without a word, lowering himself into the seat.

Once Raxor was seated, the medical droid began to work with swift precision. It brought forward a series of cybernetic implants, each one designed to replace the lost arm. The implants were sleek and intricate, the mechanical limbs built for strength and functionality, each piece interlocking with the next like a complex puzzle. The droid began the process of preparing the surgical site, ensuring that the integration would be as seamless as possible.

Raxor grunted but didn't speak. There was no need for words—he had already accepted what was to come. His stoic silence remained unbroken, even as the droid began the delicate work of removing the damaged tissue around the stump of his left arm. The process was methodical, the droid's tools working with eerie precision as it carefully prepared his body for the implants. The hum of machinery filled the room as the droid set to work, each movement deliberate and efficient.

The cybernetic arm implants were designed to integrate smoothly with his natural muscle structure, enhancing his strength while providing the dexterity needed for combat. Raxor's gaze never wavered, his focus unwavering as the droid continued its work. He had lost an arm, but he would not be rendered weak. The loss was nothing but a temporary setback; the Emperor's warriors did not falter.

As the procedure continued, Padmé observed from the sidelines, her expression serious but not unkind. She knew the significance of what was happening—Raxor was more than just a soldier; he was a living testament to the resilience of the Astartes. His dedication to the Emperor was unquestionable, and she had seen firsthand how much they had endured.

The droid finished setting the initial implants into place and began the process of locking them into Raxor's remaining tissue, ensuring a secure and stable connection. The work would take some time, but with each passing moment, Raxor's new limb would come to life, ready to serve him in the coming battles.

After a moment, the droid stepped back, its mechanical limbs whirring as it inspected the placement of the cybernetic arm implants. Satisfied with its work, it gave a brief nod to Raxor and motioned toward the second Bacta tank, which had been prepared for him.

"Now, please enter the tank," the droid instructed in its monotone voice.

Raxor gave a low grunt of acknowledgment, his gaze shifting from the droid to the large, cylindrical Bacta tank that stood waiting. The droid had ensured the tank was ready for him, designed to aid in both the recovery of his injuries and the healing of the connection between his body and the newly installed cybernetics.

Raxor stood and made his way toward the tank, his movements fluid despite his new arm. The sight of the tank, though foreign to him, was not one he feared. As an Astartes, he had endured more than his share of pain and recovery, and the Bacta would ease the damage and restore him faster than he could recover on his own.

With a final glance toward Maximus and the still-immersed Sebastian, Raxor stepped into the tank. The cold liquid rose around him, settling over his body and sealing him in with a soft hiss. As the Bacta began its work, Raxor felt the immediate, soothing coolness against his burning skin. His body relaxed as the regenerative fluid began to mend the damage, both to his physical form and the connection between his natural muscle tissue and the new cybernetic implants.

Padmé nodded to the droids, who began sealing the tank. The procedure would take time, but Raxor would emerge with his strength restored, and his new arm fully integrated.

She then turned toward Maximus, motioning for him to step forward, ready to begin the same process for him as she had with his brothers. But to her surprise, the Ultramarine remained where he stood, his posture as firm and unwavering as ever.

"In this new galaxy," Maximus said, his voice deep and commanding, "one of us should remain at the ready at all times. I will shoulder this burden while my brothers recover, and once they are well, I will rest."

"Maximus," she said, "you are no less in need of healing than your brothers. Your mind and body are not invulnerable. You've pushed yourself to your limits."

Maximus met her gaze with a calm but unyielding stare. "My limits are not the same as a mortal's," he replied simply. "I will endure. There is no time for rest when the galaxy burns, especially now that we know that Chaos has arrived."

Padmé hesitated. She had seen the effects of long-term strain on even the strongest of soldiers, but she knew better than to argue with an Astartes when his mind was set. Still, there was a duty in her that pushed her to challenge his decision.

"And what of your brothers?" she asked. "They'll recover quicker if they know you're taking care of yourself as well."

Maximus' gaze softened just a fraction, though his voice remained resolute. "They will recover. I know my brothers well. They will rise stronger, as they always have. But for now, I carry this weight."

He turned away slightly, his gaze directed toward the horizon beyond the palace walls, as if already mentally preparing for the battles to come.

Padmé sighed, knowing there was little she could do to change his mind. She had seen the same determination in his brothers, but something about Maximus' quiet resolve left her with a sense of unease. Still, she knew that these warriors were not like other men. The Emperor had made them as they were—forged in fire and blood, built to endure what would break anyone else.

"You will not rest until your brothers are whole again, then?" Padmé asked, her voice soft.

Maximus nodded. "I will ensure they are ready to fight again. After that, when the time comes, I will take my rest."

She watched him for a moment longer, then gave a quiet nod, stepping back. "Then I will make sure the procedures are ready for when you decide you need them."

Maximus didn't reply, his gaze fixed on his brothers in their tanks. There was a certain strength in his silence, a quiet acceptance of his role in the greater war. His brothers would recover—he had no doubt of that. And when they did, they would fight once more, together, as they always had.

===

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