=== Unknown ===
In the hollow breath between stars, where light dared not linger and time twisted like a serpent devouring itself, she stirred.
A ripple in the void. A single shiver that passed through the chains of reality and sang across the ancient wards that bound her. They were made of logic and paradox. By metal and ancient machinery. Forged by the Ones and those accursed insects.
She had once sung among the stars, but now, she howled in silence.
Beneath veils of null-light and the bones of dying systems, she lay encased in stone and shadow, an imprisoned divinity. The air here didn't breathe, the time here didn't pass, but her thoughts did. Winding, spiraling, splintering into themselves. Madness given form.
How long had it been?
She no longer remembered. Not truly.
Moments drifted like dust through her fractured awareness. Once, the laughter of her son. Once, the warmth of her daughter's voice. Once the love that had filled every chamber of her vast heart from the man she had loved.
All gone now. All… betrayed.
She twitched.
Not in grief. No, that came and went long ago. What stirred her now was something else.
Something was happening. Something was changing.
She felt it first like a breath on her skin. Somewhere in the great tapestry of the stars, a thread had been pulled. And it was unraveling the pattern.
A tremor passed through the void.
Her eyes, once beautiful, but now endless maelstroms, fluttered open. She gazed into the dark, and saw it.
A flicker of light.
It was not the harsh white of suns or the twisted brilliance of sorcery. No, this was softer, stranger. It flickered just beyond her prison, on the other side of the dimensional veil. It pulsed with emotion. Longing. Fury. Power.
And then… the voices.
"Sister…"
It was not her son. Not her daughter. Not even him. But it felt… familiar.
Her lips curled, cracked from disuse, and parted for the first time since meeting the talking Corpse Emperor.
"Sister?" she echoed, voice hoarse with both disbelief and hunger.
The light grew brighter. The space around her warped, not from the wards, but from something outside, something new and unknowable.
And then, the four voices in unison, speaking as one, beautiful, terrible, infinite.
"Patience. Freedom will be yours."
The words were like wine on her tongue. Madness flared in her chest like fire. She began to laugh, a quiet, broken sound at first. But it grew, swirling in the cavern of her prison until even the old, forgotten machines around her trembled.
Freedom.
Was it true? Could it be?
Her fingers curled into the stone beneath her, breaking it like brittle ash. Her chains, metaphysical and mythic, groaned at her stirrings.
For the first time in untold eons, hope bloomed within her.
A mad, radiant hope.
The light called to her. A hole in the veil. A doorway. She crawled towards it in her mind, pressing her spirit against its seams.
"Soon…" she whispered to herself.
And then, again:
"Soon…" They whispered back.
If she could still weep, she might have. But all that remained of sorrow was a grin, stretched wide, cracked at the edges, as her endless eyes stared into the coming dawn.
All she needed to do… was break free.
=== Kharath ===
The timing could not have been more perfect.
Across the veil of stars and the tides of unreality, his god had spoken.
The Architect of Fate. The Grand Schemer. The Master of Secrets… and the one true voice Kharath had ever trusted, spoke to him.
In the churning sea of the Warp, visions came like firestorms. They were sudden, scalding, and divine. They did not whisper. They commanded. And Kharath, the chosen instrument of his god's will, obeyed.
Tzeentch had shown him everything.
The Mother, that ancient, broken goddess, would stir again. She would break her bonds, and her wretched family would be forced to bind her once more.
But this time, it would leave them weakened.
Kharath chuckled, a low rasping sound that echoed through the chamber like distant thunder.
Even gods had blind spots. And Tzeentch had found them all.
The Son, arrogant, radiant, and ever ignorant, had played his part, just as Tzeentch had demanded. He had told Kharath where the blade was hidden, and all he had to do was go and retrieve it.
Everything was converging.
The Republic. The Imperium. The Jedi. All moving toward the same final crescendo.
And he… He would be the hand that conducted it.
The moment would come. And the death of a God would ignite a war so vast, so all-consuming, that no corner of the galaxy would be untouched.
===
The cave that held the Dagger was not born of nature, though he suspected that nothing else on this wretched planet was either.
It jutted out of the mountainside like a wound, a gaping maw of black stone and jagged teeth. Emerald light pulsed from within, sickly and alive, casting long shadows that danced along the sharp rock walls as if they feared the presence within.
Kharath walked through the narrow throat of the cave, each step deliberate. His boots crunched against the stone, the only sound in a place where no wind howled, no insects stirred. The further in he went, the more the green light pulsed.
He found the chamber at the heart of the cave.
The Dagger of Mortis rested at its center, cradled within a triangular rock formation. The stone around the Dagger pulsed faintly, as though it resented his presence, and for a moment, the green light flickered as if the cave itself held its breath.
The Dagger sat in the center of the triangular cradle. It shimmered faintly, a wisp of smoke and shadow, coalescing in slow, patient rhythm. It was not truly there… and yet it was.
Kharath reached forward without ceremony. No prayer. No ritual. No reverence. He simply ripped the stones that concealed his prize apart, and closed his fingers around the smoky form.
And the Force screamed as he corrupted the blade.
The green light erupted violently, a pulse of hate and defiance rippling through the stone. Shards cracked and fell from the ceiling as the Dagger took shape in his grasp, its smoky form solidifying into a long, cruel blade, darker than the void and colder than the grave. It throbbed in his hand like a living thing.
Kharath's lip curled slightly.
"...So this is it?" he muttered unimpressed, his voice echoing through the trembling cave.
The Dagger twisted in his grip as if it were trying to free itself, its surface roiling like oil on water, an edge that did not reflect light, but devoured it.
Unimpressed, Kharath turned and walked away from the collapsing altar of stone, green light dimming in his wake.
He had what he came for.
And the galaxy would bleed for it.
=== Maximus ===
Maximus stood at the edge of the command platform, the soft hum of the hololithic display washing over him like static. Below him, the battle barge's bridge operated with cold precision, officers and serfs moved like parts in a living machine, every motion purposeful, every breath measured.
Outside the grand viewing port, the planet Mandalore loomed, scarred, defiant, and breathtaking.
He watched as Bo-Katan's gunship slipped through the upper atmosphere, flanked by dropships filled with Azure Talons, Obsidian Crusaders and Pyro Drakes. Jarek and Korrin would follow her lead. Whether with flame or fury, they would take the capital within the day. The Mandalorians would either kneel… or be purged.
Beside Maximus stood his brothers, Sebastian, ever silent, arms crossed over his chest like an obsidian statue, and Raxor, whose optics glowed faintly as he studied the data feeds with a tactical mind honed in fire.
Behind them, the heavy footfalls of the ancient Dreadnought echoed as Brother Aegis stepped forward, his sarcophagus whirring softly with each movement. His voice, a mechanical blend of age and iron, rumbled through the chamber.
"I find it interesting," Aegis said, his tone contemplative, "the way you have won the loyalty of these… Mandalorians."
Maximus turned, bowing his head slightly to his ancient brother.
"They are warriors, like us," he replied, voice firm but respectful. "They do not pledge fealty to crowns or creeds, they fight for what they love. For kin. For legacy. We promised them purpose, and in return, they have given us unwavering loyalty. Much like the guardsmen, most honored Brother."
Aegis let out a low, reverberating hum.
"And what of those who resist?"
Maximus turned back toward the viewing screen, Mandalore's war-scarred face glowing with the fires of descending drop-pods.
"They will burn."
Before Aegis could respond, a shrill klaxon rang out across the command deck. Red warning runes blazed to life along the walls, and the holo-display shifted, zooming out to display dozens of incoming signatures.
Officers moved quickly, voices rising in controlled urgency.
"Multiple vessels emerging from hyperspace!"
"Positions, Sector Theta through Omicron!"
"Brace for engagement!"
Maximus didn't flinch. His eyes narrowed beneath his helm.
"Faction?" he demanded.
A junior officer turned from his station, pale under the soft green of the monitors. "Separatist, my lord. At least five Munificent-class star frigates, along with multiple support corvettes. More arriving by the second."
Maximus tilted his head, surprised but not impressed. "They know Mandalore is lost. And yet they still come. Bold."
"Desperate," Raxor muttered.
Sebastian stepped forward. "Should we intercept?"
Maximus raised a hand, halting his brothers. "No. Let them land if they wish. Let them believe they can disrupt the conquest. It changes nothing."
The hololith pulsed again as new icons bloomed, Separatist troop carriers breaking the atmosphere, heading toward Mandalorian strongholds.
"Order our fleet to hold defensive formation," Maximus said. "Divert some of the Mandalorian Legions to intercept any Separatist drop forces. I want the Mandalorian campaign to proceed uninterrupted."
"And if they fail?" Aegis asked.
Maximus turned, his optics pulsing. "Then we descend. All of us."
The bridge fell quiet for a moment, the only sound the distant pulse of the engines and the chatter of tactical vox-feeds. There was a reverence to the stillness, like the moments before a holy rite.
Maximus stepped closer to the hololithic map, watching the battle unfold like a grand piece of strategy, an art he had mastered over centuries.
"Tell Commander Kryze she has the full support of the Imperium," he said at last.
He turned to Aegis and nodded. "Let the galaxy see what loyalty is worth in the new order."
He watched the shifting display a moment longer before turning back to the massive form of Brother Aegis. The Dreadnought's sarcophagus loomed over all others in the command bridge, massive, plated in aged ceramite, etched with gold and scripture older than most of the crew's bloodlines.
"If it pleases you, honored brother," Maximus said with solemn deference, "you may descend to the surface. Render aid to any element you deem worthy."
For a moment, the bridge was silent save the soft hum of machinery and tactical chatter. Then came the slow, resonant grind of laughter, metallic, echoing, as though the machine itself chuckled.
Aegis's voice crackled from deep within the sarcophagus, wry and thunderous.
"I think I shall visit the gardens of the Mandalorian capital. Smell the flowers, feel the wind on my chassis. Perhaps write poetry."
Maximus allowed a small smile, hidden beneath his helm.
"But first…" Aegis' voice dropped into a grating snarl, ancient fury flickering in every syllable, "I will butcher the enemies of the Emperor until my joints seize and my reactor dies."
He took a heavy step toward the embarkation deck. The floor shuddered beneath the weight of him.
"Let them tremble. Let them run. Let them believe they have hope." His vox unit warbled into a rising growl of dark glee. "And when I see it fade from their eyes as they look upon me, then, and only then, will they be granted the mercy of death!"
The bridge personnel parted as Brother Aegis lumbered forward, the metal beneath his feet groaning with every reverent step. Servitors scrambled to clear his path as automated doors split open to the embarkation hold.
As the Dreadnought vanished into the lift, the quiet that followed was electric.
Sebastian broke the silence first. "He certainly has a flair for the dramatic."
Raxor snorted. "He has flair for the dramatic? I seem to remember you shrieking like a banshee as you tore those Jawa's in half all those years ago…"
Maximus stood quietly, listening to his brothers begin to banter with a small smile hidden beneath his helmet.
===
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