=== Raxor ===
The towering Salamander had stood beside Maximus and Sebastian as Nira delivered their orders, each of them reassigned across the galaxy to gather their legions.
Raxor had expected the same. A directive to mobilize. A world to purge. A campaign to command. But instead, she turned to him with soft eyes and a quiet voice.
"Raxor," she said, her voice full of compassion. "Walk with me."
He tilted his head ever so slightly, surprised, but nodded. His heavy steps fell in perfect rhythm beside hers as they moved from the grand hall, down the quieter corridors of the command center. The clank of his ceramite boots echoed sharply against the pristine flooring, contrasting with her lighter steps and the occasional hiss of the ventilation systems.
They walked in silence for a time.
It was Nira who finally spoke.
"Sanguinius has taught me a great deal these past months," she began, her voice thoughtful. "About the Imperium. Its strength. It's pain and it's hatred."
Raxor remained silent, allowing her to continue.
"I understand that the Imperium's survival in your galaxy meant no compromise… sacrifice. I know that, for thousands of years, humanity has been taught that Xenos are to be feared, hated… exterminated." She stopped beside one of the wide viewing ports that looked out upon Invictum Aeternum. "But here, things are different."
The hulking Astartes regarded her from the side, his yellow eye lenses fixed on her slim form silhouetted by the moonlight.
"I've know this galaxy," she went on. "It's chaos. It's cruelty. But also its beauty. And I want to change things here and now." She looked up at him. "I want the Imperium to be different in this universe. To be better."
Raxor's voice rumbled like an underground volcano, deep and slow. "Compassion is a noble ideal, Grand Regent… but the Imperium is forged in war. In pain. The Codex and our teachings are clear."
"I know," she said quickly, stepping closer. "And I'm not asking you to forget your teachings. I'm asking you… to remember your Primarch."
That made him pause.
She placed a hand over her chest as she continued. "Sanguinius spoke to me of Vulkan. Of his kindness. Of his love for humanity. Of how even in the darkest of wars, he protected the weak with fire and fury."
"I've seen that same spirit in you, Raxor. Ive seen the records of when you protected the innocent civilians during the Mandalore campaign, when no one was watching." Her voice softened.
His massive form tensed. She noticed.
Her eyes narrowed. She took another step forward, her voice dropping to a whisper. "What about Sienn, Raxor?"
His head snapped slightly in her direction.
A long silence hung between them. A charged stillness filled the air.
"I don't know what she is to you," Nira said gently. "Friend. Servant. Companion. But I know she matters. And if she does… then you've already changed."
Raxor turned his gaze away, down the hall, his jaw tight behind his helmet. "…You need not continue," he said at last, his voice quieter, subdued. "I understand."
A small smile crossed Nira's face. She placed a hand on his gauntlet. "Good."
They stood together for a moment longer before she spoke again. "Your Mandalorians need you. Go. Help them. Be their flamebearer."
He bowed his head. "As the Emperor and his Regent will it."
He turned and strode away, his footfalls echoing into the corridor.
===
The door to his private quarters slid open with a hiss, revealing a chamber filled with trophies and memories. The skull of a Hutt rested on a plaque. Tribal banners of Mandalorian clans hung from the walls. And there, on a small pedestal beside his meditation corner, was a simple scarf, red and gold, made of soft Twi'lek fabric. Sienn's.
He stared at it for a long time.
The door behind him opened again.
Sienn stood there, her lithe form draped in modest clothes, her lekku twitching slightly. She looked at him with concern in her violet eyes. "You're leaving again."
"Yes," he said.
A silence fell.
She stepped forward, standing barely to his chest, her voice quiet. "You never say goodbye."
He looked down at her, emotion simmering behind his helmet. "I will return."
"You always say that, too."
He reached up and removed his helmet with a hiss of pressurized air, revealing his dark skin, rough features, and deep, fiery eyes. He gently reached out and placed a hand on her shoulder.
"I must serve," he said simply.
"I know," she replied. "Just… come back."
"I always do."
===
The shuttle hummed with power as it broke through the swirling blues of hyperspace, returning to realspace above the war-torn skies of Ryloth. The arid, mountainous world spun slowly beneath them, a sphere choked by ash-colored clouds, its jagged terrain marked by the wounds of battle. Fires dotted the land like embers of a dying flame, and even from orbit, Raxor could see the scars etched into the surface.
Inside the shuttle, the Salamander remained silent. His crimson eyes burned behind his helmet, the emotionless ceramite visage betraying nothing of the anger brewing within. As a Salamander Astartes, he had been forged in flame and wrath, tempered by compassion, but ever ready to strike. And here, above the enslaved world of the Twi'leks, righteous fury stirred within him.
The shuttle hissed as it docked into the strike cruiser's hangar, a sleek, angular warship painted in the deep green and obsidian of the Pyro Drakes, his Mandalorian legion. The hangar bay was alive with activity: Mandalorians in heat-hardened armor checked their jetpacks, prepared weapons, and readied drop pods for deployment.
As the shuttle ramp descended, Raxor stepped out, towering above the gathered warriors.
"My Lord!" came a familiar voice.
He turned to see Korrin, his second-in-command. The grizzled Mandalorian stepped forward. His helmet was clipped to his side.
"Welcome back."
"What's the situation?" Raxor rumbled.
Korrin's face darkened. "We've sent three scout teams to the surface. Only one returned. They say the Separatists have the capital locked down, orbital guns, patrols, work camps. The Twi'leks are in chains. They're being... herded. Forced to mine, manufacture, and die."
Raxor nodded once and strode past Korrin toward the inner corridors. The Mandalorian fell into step beside him.
"Who's commanding the droids?" Raxor asked.
"We don't know. The scouts couldn't get close enough to identify any leadership. No known Separatist general was logged entering the system. Whoever it is, they're staying buried."
Raxor growled. "Then we'll drag them out from whatever hole they're hiding in and burn them alive."
They stepped onto the command bridge moments later. The room was darkened and functional, like everything aboard the Pyro Drake's flagship. Tactical readouts glowed on the command table in the center, projecting a detailed hologram of Ryloth. Red marks showed Separatist strongholds. Blue pulses flickered at the edges, pockets of resistance, quickly diminishing.
A Mandalorian officer turned and saluted. "Lord Raxor. We've identified primary anti-air batteries here, here, and here." The officer pointed to three zones ringing one of the main cities. "The droid patrols are tight. No civilian movements allowed. They're executing prisoners en masse every two days."
"Casualty reports?" Raxor asked.
"Unknown. Thousands, at least. Entire Twi'lek villages have gone dark. Our last transmission from one resistance cell ended mid-sentence... then static."
Raxor's voice was cold steel. "Begin mobilizing the Pyro Drakes. I want fire teams in drop pods within the hour. Korrin, you're with me. We land at the heart of one of their fortresses and cut down any in our way."
Korrin nodded. "You sure you want to hit such a target first? It's one of the most fortified locations on the planet."
"That's why it will break their morale when we take it in a single strike," Raxor said. "Let the rest of the planet see what happens when you defy the Imperium's wrath."
The bridge crew snapped into action as Raxor and Korrin turned and made their way to the drop pod deck.
The staging area thundered with movement. Rows of Mandalorians lined the hangar, their armor a fusion of Mandalorian craftsmanship and Salamander iconography. Green and black plates adorned with runes, vambraces shaped like flames, and helms bearing the snarling drake-maw of their namesake. They carried flamethrowers, heavy blasters, and other exotic weapons designed for both efficiency and terror.
Raxor's heavy boots clanged against the deck as he made his way to his personal pod. Korrin was beside him, double-checking the power cells on his special rifle.
"We hit hard and fast," Raxor barked to the assembled Mandalorians. "We strike the heart of the beast and tear it open. Every slave pen we find, we break. Every droid we see, we destroy. No quarter. No mercy. Let the Separatists remember the fury of one of the sons of Nocturne!"
A roar erupted from the Pyro Drakes, a chorus of jetpacks igniting, armor clashing, and warriors howling their war cries into the smoky air of the hangar.
Raxor, Korrin, and four other Elite Mandalorians stepped into the pod that had been prepared for them. The Salamander locked his massive form into place, as across from him, Korrin grinned as the doors hissed closed.
"It's been too long since we fought side by side," Korrin said.
"It has. But don't let that distract you from our goal." Raxor said.
The red lights of the pod flickered as the countdown began. Five seconds. Four. Three.
The clamps released with a massive clang, and the pod descended into free fall.
The pod shook violently as it screamed through the atmosphere of Ryloth, trailing fire like a comet of vengeance. It smashed into one of the larger Separatist defense towers near the heart of the occupied city, metal shrieking as it tore through ferrocrete and durasteel supports. The impact sent cracks spiderwebbing through the structure, causing entire segments to shudder.
With a hiss of steam and the mechanical groan of decompressing hydraulics, the pod's doors blasted open. Raxor was the first out, his heavy boots slamming onto the fractured floor of the tower interior.
Behind him, Korrin emerged, the barrel of his custom melta rifle glowing faintly orange from the heat. The other four Pyro Drakes followed, all clad in distinct armor styles but unified by their insignia and purpose.
Suddenly, the telltale clank of metal feet echoed down the corridor.
"Contacts. Two squads. B-1 battle droids," Korrin muttered, already leveling his rifle.
The first squad rounded the corner just in time to meet oblivion.
WHOOMPH! The melta rifle unleashed a column of superheated plasma, instantly melting half the droids into glowing puddles of slag. The rest barely had time to lift their weapons before a flurry of wrist rockets, plasma bolts, and flamethrowers tore through them. One Mandalorian even used a thermal vibro-axe to cleave a B-2 droid in two.
"Move!" Raxor barked, charging forward like a battering ram.
They stormed through the tower's winding halls, blowing through bulkheads and annihilating any resistance with disciplined brutality. Raxor's heavy bolter roared in his hands, sending explosive shells into enemy formations, turning every droid into mangled heaps. He waded through the wreckage, molten metal splashing against his greaves as he stomped on droid heads and crushed torsos beneath his boots.
When they reached the main level, they blasted open the final door and stepped out into the streets.
Hell awaited them.
The city was a fortress. Turbolasers scanned the skies. Armored transports rolled down boulevards. Droid fighters zipped overhead. Thousands, tens of thousands, of droids clogged every street, manning barricades, marching in formations, or patrolling the rooftops.
Korrin's visor flickered red. "Looks like we kicked the hornet's nest."
Raxor raised his heavy bolter, locked eyes with the oncoming waves of droids.
Then the slaughter began.
A dozen B-2s charged from the left. Raxor turned, and in a single thunderous burst, obliterated them with mass-reactive rounds. One shell struck a power core.
BOOM!
Vaporizing a chunk of the building and sending shrapnel screaming in every direction.
Korrin activated his jetpack, arcing high above the street and raining down molten death with his melta rifle. A vulture droid swerved to target him midair, but one of the Mandalorians launched a grappling cable, latched onto the vulture's wing, and shot the other end into the stone beneath him, causing it to crash into a tower with a brutal crack.
The squad of Pyro Drakes surged into the fray beside Raxor, using flame projectors to incinerate droid platoons in narrow alleyways. Screams of superheated metal echoed through the streets as melting droids writhed in digital agony.
"Left flank! Reinforcements!" one Mandalorian shouted.
A massive AAT tank rumbled toward them, flanked by spider droids.
"Clear a path!" Raxor roared.
He charged forward, grabbing a damaged B-2 by the neck, using it as a shield as the AAT fired. The shell impacted the droid body, sending both it and Raxor flying back into a wall. But the Space Marine rose, scarred, smoking, but unbroken. He activated his jump pack and soared forward, landing atop the tank. With one mighty stomp, he punched through the armor before dropping a melta bomb straight into the hole he had made.
The tank exploded beneath him in a fiery bloom.
Meanwhile, Korrin and two others stormed a turret nest atop a rooftop, turning the heavy weapons toward their former allies and unleashing hell. Twin-linked blasters mowed down squads of droids below as explosions rocked the surrounding buildings.
More droids poured from hangars, tunnels, even sewers, but it didn't matter.
They moved through the city like an unstoppable wildfire. Every corridor became a kill zone. Every street became a grave. Plasma, fire, and steel rained from the heavens as Pyro Drakes deployed in strike pods around the city, flanking the enemy and tightening the noose.
Droid command posts were breached and annihilated.
Control towers fell.
Sniper nests were silenced with missiles.
The Twi'leks, caged in slave pens, watched in awe as their mechanical overlords were reduced to scrap. Hope, long extinguished, flickered back to life.
And at the heart of the battlefield, Raxor stood among the bodies, smoke curling from his armor. His heavy bolter clicked empty. He dropped it, then drew his chainsword and activated it with a snarl before jumping back into the fray.
===
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