I’m Star-Lord (SW Xover)

C251 Kree Squashed

Check out early access chapters on my Patréon, currently 14 chapters ahead! 

——————

"Oh, shit…"

Korath's fighter suicide-bombs straight into Peter's ARC-170, the cockpit bursting into flames.

*Boom!*

"Peter?!" Gamora and Nebula's worried screams echo through his earpiece. Both sisters witnessed the collision, their hearts dropping.

Seconds before impact, Peter slams the eject button, heart hammering. The seat rockets him into the void.

Space engulfs him, silent and endless. Debris from his shattered fighter spins past, catching the dead star's pale glow. His body drifts, weightless and exposed.

Peter's hand snaps to the button behind his ear, his Star-Lord mask materializing over his face, sealing with a hiss. Oxygen floods his lungs, sharp and cold.

"I'm… fine…" Peter's breath rasps, loud in the mask, as he replies to Gamora and Nebula's worried shouts.

The silence of space presses in, deafening. Frost begins to claw through his Jedi robes.

"Peter? Where are you?"

"Are you okay?"

The sisters call out to him, shocked to hear his voice, as they thought he died when his ship exploded.

Peter wants to answer, but before he could, his mask's HUD flashes with red warnings.

[Oxygen holding at 65%]

[Temperature dropping!]

His fingers tingle, the cold biting deep.

Peter closes his eyes, the Force surging within. He senses the battle's chaos—Nova fighters weaving, Kree Shadowfighters hunting. It's a storm of death.

Zyra's dark presence slices through, cold and calculating. Drokk's rage burns, a brutal pulse in the Force. They're out there, working in tandem as they pick off Nova starfighters, one by one.

Gamora's signature flares, bright but frayed. Nebula's is steady but stretched thin. They're fighting, doing their best to hold the two Sith at bay, but unable to make much headway without Peter's help.

His chest tightens, resolve igniting. The cold numbs his limbs, but he's not done.

After all, Star-Lord doesn't quit.

He opens his eyes, the battlefield vivid. Laserfire streaks silently, asteroids tumble in slow chaos. He's vulnerable but not helpless.

A jagged piece of his ship floats nearby. Peter grips it with the Force, ready to strike.

The mask's oxygen gauge ticks down, a quiet threat. Time's slipping away.

Kree fighters turn, their sensors locking on. Peter's lips curl under the mask. 'Bring it,' he thinks.

Kree Shadowfighters streak toward him, crimson hulls flashing in the darkness. Their sensors lock onto the lone Jedi drifting in space. He's prey, and they're predators.

Peter's black lightsaber ignites in his hand, its dark blade humming faintly in the vacuum of space.

The first fighter dives, cannons blazing emerald bolts. Peter reaches out, telekinetically hurling a chunk of debris. It smashes the cockpit, sending the ship spiraling into an asteroid.

Another Shadowfighter fires, lasers slicing the void. Peter's saber flashes, deflecting the bolts back. They slam into the second ship's engines, igniting a silent fireball.

A third fighter swings in, targeting him. Peter's Mechu-Deru hums, sensing its systems—targeting locks and weak joints. He reaches out, closing his hand into a fist, crushing its hull. The pilot's silent scream is sharp in his mind.

"Not my best day," Peter mutters, "but I've had worse."

A fourth fighter charges, aiming to ram him. Peter flips mid-space, boots slamming onto its wing. He tears the canopy open with a Force pull, ejecting the pilot into the void.

His Mechu-Deru pulses, mapping the fighter's tech. He senses a fifth ship on its way but uses the info from the fourth ship to overcharge its weapons array with just a thought.

*Boom!*

The fifth ship explodes in a fiery bloom, shrapnel scattering.

Nebula's voice cuts through, faint in his earpiece. "Stay alive, Peter!" Her urgency grounds him, a tether in the chaos. "We're trying to get to you!"

More Shadowfighters swarm, their formation tightening. Peter's HUD blinks—oxygen at 55%. He needs to move faster.

He spins, saber slashing a stray missile. Its explosion lights the debris field. Nonetheless, the Kree keep coming, undeterred.

Peter's senses sharpen, Mechu-Deru painting every ship's flaws: a weak fuel line, a fragile sensor pod. He's a hunter now.

A fighter dives, cannons roaring. Peter flings it into another, both erupting in flames. The wreckage drifts, deadly and silent.

Another wave approaches, their signals loud in his mind. His chest heaves, the cold biting deeper. He can't keep this up forever.

His mask's HUD flashes red, urgent. Oxygen drops to 45%, body temperature critical. Frost creeps over his robes, stiffening the fabric.

Peter's reflexes dull, his body sluggish. The void's grip tightens relentlessly. He's running out of time.

He reaches out with the Force, seeking warmth. A faint heat sparks in his core, but it fades. The effort leaves him gasping, drained.

The battle shifts in his senses. Nova fighters falter, their formations crumbling. Kree Shadowfighters press harder, closing the noose.

Peter's heart pounds, fear creeping in. He can't die here, not now. Gamora and Nebula are counting on him.

His HUD blares another warning. The cold saps his strength, vision blurring.

He scans the debris field, desperate. A Kree Shadowfighter banks, cannons glowing for another pass. That's his shot.

Peter grits his teeth, resolve surging. He'll take that ship or die trying. It's his only way out.

The Force hums, weak but enough. He locks onto the fighter, its systems flickering in his Mechu-Deru. He has to act now.

The Shadowfighter dives closer, unaware. Peter's fingers twitch, ready. This is it—live or die.

He locks onto the Kree Shadowfighter with the Force. It lurches toward him, caught in his grip. The pilot's panic spikes, sharp in his senses.

The fighter's cannons blaze, shots spraying wide. Peter yanks the canopy open with a fierce gesture. The pilot tumbles into space, gone.

Peter leaps, the Force guiding him. He lands in the cockpit, sealing the hatch. His hands hover over glowing Kree controls.

Mechu-Deru surges, his mind probing the alien tech. Systems flash—thrusters, weapons, sensors. He rewires them, making the ship his.

The controls hum, unfamiliar but yielding. Peter's tech affinity recalibrates the interface. The fighter feels alive, an extension of him.

He tests the thrusters, banking hard. A missile streaks past, narrowly missing. Peter pulls a sharp barrel roll, heart racing.

The Shadowfighter's weapons light up, cannons primed. Peter grins, the cold forgotten. "Back in the game," he mutters over the comms.

He dives into the fray, asteroids blurring past. Laserfire crisscrosses the Graveyard Belt, chaotic and deadly. His stolen fighter weaves through it.

Gamora's fighter appears, hull scarred. Nebula's trails, thrusters flaring violet. They're battered but holding strong.

"Peter! Took you long enough!" Gamora snaps over the comms. Her voice carries relief, edged with fire. Nebula sighs in relief, a rare smile on her face.

Peter locks onto a Kree fighter. "Had to make it dramatic," he quips. His cannons roar, blasting the enemy's wing apart.

The Shadowfighter dances, Kree tech sleek and deadly. Peter's Mechu-Deru maps every system, exploiting every advantage. He's in control.

A Nova squadron rallies behind him. Their signals pulse, renewed hope. Peter's presence shifts the battle's tide.

He scans the chaos, senses sharp. Zyra's dark pulse lingers, Drokk's rage closer. This fight's far from over.

Peter banks hard, dodging debris. His grin returns, fierce and alive. He's not just surviving—he's fighting to win.

He scans the battlefield, the Shadowfighter's sensors painting a vivid map. A gap in the Kree formation glints—a destroyer's fuel cell exposed. He seizes the chance.

"All Nova squadrons, target that destroyer!" he orders. "Hit the fuel cells, now!" His voice crackles over the comms, sharp and certain.

Nova fighters pivot, diving toward the target. Their torpedoes slam into the destroyer's core. It erupts in a blinding fireball, scattering the Kree line.

Cheers flood the comms, Nova morale surging. The Kree formation wavers, ships drifting out of sync. Peter's grin widens—he's got them.

Zyra's fighter pulses, dark energy rippling out. Nearby Nova ships sputter, systems failing. Her EMP-like power is a real nuisance.

Drokk's massive fighter barrels through debris, aiming for Peter. His brute fury burns, a storm in the Force. Peter braces, senses sharp.

Gamora's voice cuts in. "We've got your back." Nebula's fighter banks, flanking Peter in perfect sync alongside her sister.

Gamora and Nebula dive, drawing Zyra's fire. Their fighters weave, lasers grazing their shields. Peter locks onto Drokk, cannons primed.

Drokk's ship charges, disruptors blazing. Peter rolls, dodging, and fires a precise volley. Drokk's fighter explodes, his rage snuffed out in an instant.

Gamora and Nebula press Zyra relentlessly. Gamora's cannons cripple her engines; Nebula's torpedoes finish her. The last Sith-Accuser's ship burns, gone.

Peter takes charge, voice commanding. "All squadrons, form on me!" He leads the Nova fleet, targeting Kree ships one by one.

A Kree frigate falls, its hull shredded. Peter's fighter dances, blasting a corvette's bridge. Ship after ship crumbles under his lead.

Nova cruisers join, their golden hulls gleaming. The Kree fleet fractures, ships fleeing. Peter's strategy unravels them.

On the bridge of the Nova command ship, Nova commanders freeze, eyes wide. Holographic displays flicker, showing Kree ships exploding under Peter's lead. The air hums with disbelief.

Vell, a grizzled skeptic, grips the console. "Impossible," he mutters, voice hoarse. His cybernetic eye whirs, tracking the carnage.

Admiral Tal, once dismissive, stares at the tactical map. "He's tearing them apart," she says, awe creeping in. The bridge crew exchanges stunned glances.

A young officer whispers, "He's just a Jedi, right?"

Peter's Shadowfighter dances on the holoscreen, leading Nova squadrons. Kree frigates burn, their formations unraveling. The commanders' doubts crumble, replaced by thrill.

Irani Rael stands apart, her smile quiet but radiant. She believed in Peter from their first meeting years ago. His slaying of Ronan had sparked her faith.

Now, that trust blooms, vindicated. She recalls Peter's brash confidence when they first met, his youthful defiance. He's truly grown into a leader beyond her hopes.

Meanwhile, the Kree, once formidable, are breaking. Their crimson ships scatter, numbers dwindling with each fiery blast.

Peter's battlefield awareness and leadership seem to turn the tide almost immediately. Under his command, the Nova fleet becomes unstoppable.

A Kree battleship looms, cannons roaring. Peter dives, torpedoes locking on. Its reactor bursts, lighting the Graveyard Belt.

Nova pilots cheer, their voices electric. "General Quill!" they shout, awe replacing doubt. 

Peter's myth grows, undeniable.

Nebula's fighter pulls alongside, scarred but steady. "Not bad, Peter," she says, smirking, her sister stopping beside them as well.

Peter scans the battlefield, heart pounding. The Kree retreat, their fleet in tatters.

He senses a lingering shadow, faint but dark. Sidious' influence, somewhere out there. This battle is won, but the war looms.

"All ships, press the attack!" Peter orders. "Finish them off!" His Shadowfighter leads, cutting through the chaos. The Nova army follows, mirroring his every move.

Irani's voice breaks through, calm but proud. "Well done, General Quill."

As the battle ends, the surviving Kree ships either shatter or scatter in a frantic bid for survival, retreating in defeat.

A/N: 1833 words :)