=== Wilhuff Tarkin ===
Smoke drifted through the halls in thin gray veils as Tarkin walked through the Mustafar central facility. Alarms occasionally sputtered to life before dying again as damaged systems struggled to maintain control of the complex.
Behind him marched nearly three hundred clone troopers, their white armor blackened in places from the fighting, rifles held at the ready as they swept through junctions and blast doors. Just minutes earlier, Tarkin had executed the first squad of clones who had arrived at the platform, men who had witnessed far too much, men who saw what had truly happened to Chancellor Palpatine.
The new detachment now following him had been given a very different story, delivered with the firm authority of a senior Republic officer.
"The Imperium murdered the Chancellor," he had told them without hesitation. "They threw him into the lava during their assault. Jedi Knight Anakin Skywalker survived the attack and is currently engaging the enemy. Your orders are simple. Assist Skywalker. Eliminate all Imperium personnel."
The clones had accepted the directive without question. Orders were orders.
They were halfway down a wide industrial corridor when the first contact occurred. One of the troopers at the front raised a hand suddenly, signaling a halt. The small army froze as a towering silhouette appeared at the far end of the hall, walking slowly through drifting steam and sparks. The figure was enormous, easily twice the height of a normal man. The warrior moved through the side chambers and damaged consoles as though searching for something, or someone.
Blaster bolts erupted in a focused barrage, dozens of rifles unleashing at once in disciplined synchronization. The corridor filled instantly with searing blue light as bolts hammered into the Astartes' armor. Atlas reacted with frightening speed, turning and raising one armored arm in an instinctive defensive posture, but there were simply too many shooters and too little cover. Bolt after bolt struck the same points along his torso and joints, burning through the ceramite. The Astartes staggered backward beneath the relentless assault, sparks bursting from his armor as the focused fire found its mark.
Even then he refused to fall easily.
Atlas roared in fury and attempted to advance, each heavy step shaking the floor beneath him as he pushed against the storm of energy. One clone was too slow to reposition and the giant reached him, smashing the trooper aside with a single brutal swing that hurled the man across the corridor. But the volley never stopped. The clones tightened their formation, rifles locked steady as their commander barked for sustained fire.
Within seconds the armor began to fail.
Blaster bolts punched through exposed seams and joints, burning into flesh beneath. Atlas faltered, his advance slowing as the concentrated barrage forced him to one knee. Another volley struck his chest plate in unison, and the great warrior finally toppled backward with a thunderous crash that echoed down the hall. Smoke curled upward from his ruined armor as the firing ceased.
For a moment none of the clones moved.
Then Tarkin stepped forward, glancing down at the fallen giant. The Astartes lay motionless, armor scorched and riddled with glowing impact marks. Whatever mission he had been pursuing in the labyrinth of corridors had ended here.
"Leave it," Tarkin said calmly. "We have more pressing matters."
They continued toward the platform.
When they emerged onto the open deck overlooking the lava sea, the scale of the destruction became immediately apparent. Sections of railing had been torn away entirely. Deep gouges and impact craters scarred the ferrocrete surface. Burn marks and melted metal traced the path of a duel fought with terrible intensity. The air itself smelled of scorched ceramite and vaporized blood.
Two figures remained at the center of it all.
One lay on his back where he had fallen, enormous even in death. A blue lightsaber still protruded from his chest, its blade deactivated now but the hilt still jammed where it was against the ruined plating.
The other figure lay several meters away.
The young Jedi Knight who had once been hailed as the Republic's greatest champion now lay twisted on the deck, his body ravaged by burns and mutilation. His left arm was completely gone from just above the elbow, the limb torn away entirely during the final moments of combat.
His face was worse. The lower half of his jaw had been gone, leaving only a mangled ruin of charred flesh and exposed bone beneath. His hair and scalp were blackened by burns, and his breathing came in wet, broken gasps.
Tarkin approached slowly and knelt beside him.
For the first time since arriving on Mustafar, a faint hint of emotion crossed the officer's face, as he examined the damage. Skywalker's eyes were open, wide and unfocused, staring into nothing as shock dulled his awareness of the world around him.
"Prepare a transport," Tarkin ordered calmly without looking back. "Secure the platform and sweep the surrounding structures."
"Yes, sir," several clones responded immediately, moving to obey.
Tarkin leaned closer to the broken man before him. Anakin's gaze drifted slightly, finally settling on the officer kneeling beside him. Recognition flickered faintly behind the haze of pain and shock, but he did not speak. He could not.
Lowering his voice so that only the ruined Jedi could hear, Tarkin spoke quietly.
"You have made quite the mess of things, Lord Vader," he said.
Anakin's breathing hitched faintly.
"You destroyed Palpatine's design," Tarkin continued, his tone almost conversational despite the carnage around them. "The Republic was meant to be destroyed. Instead, you shattered his carefully laid plans in a single reckless act." His eyes studied the broken man thoughtfully. "Which leaves us with a rather interesting problem."
He leaned even closer.
"Now you must step up," he whispered. "You will take his place as Emperor."
Anakin's gaze trembled, though whether from pain or anger, Tarkin didn't know, nor did he care.
Moments later a team of clone medics arrived, kneeling beside them. They moved quickly, applying emergency sealant to the catastrophic wounds and injecting stabilizing compounds into his bloodstream. A breathing apparatus was fitted over what remained of his mouth and nose, helping regulate the ragged airflow that kept him alive.
"Vitals critical but stable," one medic reported. "We can move him."
Above the platform, the thunder of engines echoed as a Republic gunship descended through the smoke and landed with a heavy metallic thud. Its ramp lowered immediately.
The clones lifted Anakin carefully onto a stretcher and carried him toward the waiting craft while medics continued their frantic work to keep him alive.
Tarkin rose and followed them toward the ramp.
Just before boarding, he paused.
His gaze drifted back across the battlefield one final time.
The Salamander still lay where he had fallen, enormous body unmoving, armor blackened and broken by fire. Nearby, the cracked helmet rested where it had rolled during the final moments of the duel.
Tarkin walked back across the platform slowly and picked it up.
The ceramite was heavy in his hands, its surface scarred by battle and heat. For a moment he studied the lenses, imagining the warrior who had worn it and the devastation he had wrought before finally falling.
"A remarkable specimen," Tarkin murmured quietly.
Then he turned and carried the helmet with him up the ramp.
The gunship lifted moments later, rising away from the burning world of Mustafar as it began the long journey back toward Coruscant.
=== Maximus ===
Maximus stood near the forward bulkhead, one armored hand resting against the wall as he stared at the faint glow of distant stars through the small viewing slit. Across from him stood Sebastian. Neither spoke. Words had little place in moments like this.
Then the vox crackled.
"My lords," the pilot called from the cockpit, his voice cutting through the quiet. "We are receiving a priority signal. It's Imperium encryption, originating from a vessel en route to Mandalore."
Maximus straightened immediately while Sebastian turned toward the cockpit. "Put it through," Maximus ordered.
The transmission came through in a brief burst of static before resolving into a simple recorded message. There was no ceremony, just the voice of an Imperial pilot delivering information that struck like a hammer blow.
"Tatooine is lost. The Grand Regent has secured Padmé Amidala along with several other high-value individuals. Immediate evacuation was successful." A pause followed, and then the final line. "Raxor of the Salamanders has remained behind on Mustafar to delay Anakin Skywalker and ensure our escape."
Silence swallowed the hold.
For a moment neither of the Astartes moved.
Then Sebastian turned sharply and strode toward the cockpit with such force that the deck trembled under each step. The Black Templar did not slow as he reached the doorway. "Change course," he said, his voice like iron dragged across stone. "Now."
The pilot hesitated only a fraction of a second before nodding. "Altering course to Mustafar immediately."
The Thunderhawk banked hard, engines roaring as the ship pivoted away from the Tatooine trajectory and accelerated toward the volcanic world where the final stand had been made.
The journey passed in a blur of silence.
Maximus watched Sebastian the entire time. The Black Templar stood unmoving near the ramp, his hands clenched so tightly around the hilt of his sword that the armored fingers creaked against the metal. The fury and dread radiating from him were palpable even through the ceramite shell. Maximus knew what Sebastian was thinking because he was thinking it as well, Raxor would never have stayed behind unless there had been no other choice.
Eventually the planet filled the viewport.
Mustafar was a scar in the galaxy, its surface glowing with rivers of molten rock that carved through blackened terrain like veins of fire. The Thunderhawk descended through ash clouds and heat shimmer, the pilot guiding it toward the coordinates transmitted in the message.
"There," the pilot said quietly.
The platform appeared below, broken and scorched from battle. The Thunderhawk touched down hard, landing gear slamming into the ferrocrete with a heavy metallic crash. The ramp had barely begun lowering before Sebastian was already moving.
The Black Templar burst from the ship the moment the ramp struck the deck, sprinting across the platform with terrifying speed. His massive boots thundered across the metal as he searched the battlefield desperately, eyes scanning the wreckage.
Then he saw him.
"RAXOR!"
The shout tore from Sebastian's throat as he dropped into a slide across the scorched deck, coming to a halt beside the enormous form lying on his back. The Salamander looked as though he had been through the forge of a dying star, armor cracked, limbs ruined, chest plate shattered where the lightsaber had pierced through. Sebastian ripped his own helmet free and cast it aside without a thought, falling to his knees as he leaned down and pressed his bare ear against Raxor's lips.
"Come on… come on…" he muttered, his voice shaking. "Breathe, brother. Just breathe."
There was nothing.
Sebastian lifted his head sharply, refusing to accept the silence. "Raxor, come on!" he barked, grabbing the hilt of the lightsaber still embedded in the Salamander's chest. He wrenched it free with a furious motion and hurled it aside, the weapon clattering across the platform before skidding to a stop near the edge. Without hesitation he began tearing at the shattered chest plate, ripping broken ceramite away with brutal strength until the ruined armor finally gave way.
"Stay with me!" he shouted, already placing both gauntleted hands over the Salamander's chest. "Do you hear me? Stay with me!"
Sebastian began chest compressions, the motion almost absurd given the scale of an Astartes body and the catastrophic damage it had endured, but logic had no place in what he was doing. He drove his arms downward again and again, each push rattling the broken armor as he tried desperately to force life back into a body that had already given everything.
"Get up!" he demanded hoarsely. "You stubborn bastard, get up! You don't get to die here!"
Maximus had stepped off the ramp by then.
He walked toward them slowly, every step heavy as he took in the devastation around him, the scorch marks from lightsabers, the gouges from titanic impacts, the faint trails where Raxor had dragged himself back onto the platform. When he reached them, he removed his own helmet, revealing a face carved from stone yet filled with sorrow.
He placed a hand gently on Sebastian's shoulder.
Sebastian slapped the hand away violently and rounded on him with burning eyes. "Don't!" he snapped, his voice cracking as he turned back to Raxor's body. "He's not gone! Not yet!"
And he resumed the compressions with renewed desperation.
"Come on, brother… come back to us," Sebastian pleaded, his words growing less controlled with every passing second. "You promised we would fight together again. Remember? Mandalore… the next campaign… you said you'd be there."
His voice broke.
"Don't do this," he whispered, leaning down again as if hoping to hear the faintest breath. "Please… don't do this to us."
Maximus said nothing. He simply stood over them, watching the Black Templar, one of the fiercest warriors in the Imperium, reduced to a grieving brother begging the dead to rise.
Sebastian kept going.
Compress. Compress. Compress.
Eventually his arms slowed. Then they stopped entirely. He stared down at Raxor's ruined chest as if expecting it to rise on its own, as if the Salamander might suddenly gasp and shove him away with a laugh.
It never happened.
Sebastian's shoulders began to shake.
The realization finally broke through whatever wall of denial he had built around himself. His hands fell from Raxor's chest and he staggered backward, collapsing onto the deck with a hollow clang of armor. Tears streamed freely down his face as he stared at the broken body of the warrior who had held the line alone against a Sith Lord and a world of fire.
"Brother…" he whispered weakly.
No answer came.
===
discord.gg/vDrfkXnDe2
If you enjoyed this chapter, maybe consider leaving me with a couple of your power stones? I promise I'll take good care of them:)