I’m Star-Lord (SW Xover)

C252 Sidious’s Very Bad Day!

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——————

Weeks after the first decisive victory, Peter’s war against the Kree is a relentless firestorm. Nova and Republic forces follow, unstoppable with him leading them. The Kree are bleeding ships, and he’s the blade.

Not letting up, Peter hides Nova cruisers in a glittering asteroid fog, their hulls cloaked by dust. Kree supply ships blunder in, and his squadrons pounce, crimson wreckage bursting like fireworks under their ambush.

During the many battles, Peter’s Mechu-Deru made constant progress. He could even listen in on enemy comms with it, a capability that proved invaluable to him as a commander. 

He became so skilled at using it that he could now lock onto a nearby Kree command ship’s strained reactor. With a focused thought, he triggered an overload, causing the reactor to erupt in a silent, fiery explosion. 

*Boom!*

The enemy’s comms erupted in chaos, and Peter smirked. ‘Mechu-Deru is seriously overpowered…’

At the outer rim of Xander’s Solar System, he plays the Kree like a fiddle. He baits their fleets with ease, then hits them hard before they can even understand what is happening. Their ships spiral, crashing in fiery arcs.

Gamora’s squadron slices through Kree defenses, her ship a beacon to everyone who followed her into battle.

Nebula’s fighters dart like vipers, violet thrusters leaving trails. Her cold precision mirrors Peter’s plans, shredding Kree formations with ease. 

In a Nova war room, Peter leans back, grinning. “They keep coming, but they’re scraping the bottom of the barrel at this point,” he mutters, a small smirk on his face.

Gamora nudges him, eyes glinting. “You know, Peter. The Nova pilots are carving your name into their cockpits.” 

Nebula rolls her eyes, but her smirk betrays her pride.

Peter shrugs, his smirk widening ever so slightly. “Well, it’s not like I can stop them.”

After every battle, Nova pilots would shout his name, “General Quill!” They began to revere him as some sort of god of war and victory, their voices rising like a chorus. So It was no surprise that the pilots would carve his name into their ships, believing it would bring them good fortune.

Though it was unusual, he had earned their trust, battle by battle. Victory after victory. 

————

Hala

In a hidden Sith stronghold, deep in the Kree homeworld, Sidious broods, his black robes pooling like a liquid shadow.

Holo-displays flare, showing Kree fleets in tatters. Crimson ships burn—Nebula Veil, Xandar, Krylor—crushed one by one.

Sidious’ yellow eyes smolder, rage boiling. His five Sith-Accusers—Zyra, Drokk, Korath, Valthor, and Syris’ are gone, killed in battle. 

‘Useless,’ His hands grip into tight, infuriated fists. ‘Why am I cursed with useless apprentices?’

Each loss stabs Sidious’ pride, a wound deeper than defeat. He clenches gnarled fists, knuckles cracking.

He knew exactly who was responsible for his current predicament. “Peter Quill…” The name belonged to a young Jedi who had risen through the ranks, a name he had heard many times before but had not taken as seriously as he should have. “It seems I have underestimated him…”

The boy was unnatural and dangerous—a Jedi who defied all logic.

The Kree, his puppets, crumble. Nova’s golden fleets dominate, and Quill’s myth grows. 

‘I need an ally…’ 

The war had worsened to the point that, to turn the tide, Sidious would have to seek aid from neighboring empires.

He despised asking for help, viewing it as a profound weakness, but what choice did he have? After all, victory outweighed his pride.

His mind churns, sifting options. Fringe warlords, Separatist remnants, even Hutt cartels…

He envisions Kree fleets reborn, Peter Quill a broken husk. 

As Sidious schemed, suddenly, a shadow stirs from the doorway. A figure emerges, gaunt and tall, with a skeletal frame draped in flowing black robes that shimmer faintly. His pale, almost translucent skin stretches over sharp cheekbones, and his piercing, ink-black eyes glint with cold intelligence.

Ebony Maw

"I see you’re in quite the predicament," Maw said with a cordial smile. "But I believe I can be of some help."

Sidious stiffened, unable to sense this stranger’s arrival. “Who let this intruder in?” he demanded, glaring at the guards, who flinched under his gaze. 

"I let myself in," Maw purred, his voice a honed edge. "I come bearing the will of the Great and Bountiful Mad Titan, Thanos. Nova’s defiance will be ground to dust beneath his might—but you? You may yet kneel… and pledge your fealty."

“Insolent cur!” Sidious roars, voice shaking the chamber. “Guards, kill this wretch!” 

Elite Kree warriors charge, vibroblades flashing.

Maw’s eyes gleam, unperturbed. With a casual wave, he telekinetically flings the guards. They crash into walls, bones snapping, bodies limp.

Sidious leaps from his throne, fury unleashed. Crimson Sith lightning erupts from his hands, arcs screaming, the air scorched with dark power.

Maw doesn’t even flinch. In return, black lightning bursts from his hands as well, fierce and unrelenting. It smothers Sidious’ attack with ease, striking the Sith body.

Sidious convulses, lightning searing his flesh. He collapses then and there, robes smoking, screams choked by pride. 

Maw halts, satisfied, his smirk cold. “Thanos’ will is absolute,” he says. “Submit, or be erased.”

Sidious writhes on the ground, his body wracked with pain, his pride shattered just as thoroughly as his defenses. The acrid scent of scorched flesh lingers in the air, and his yellow eyes burn with humiliation—but also a flicker of calculation.  

He had not expected this.  

Ebony Maw looms over him, his skeletal fingers steepled in mock patience. "The Mad Titan does not suffer defiance lightly," he murmurs. "But he rewards loyalty... generously."  

Sidious’ mind races. Thanos. The name alone carries weight—a warlord of unparalleled brutality, a conqueror who is said to have control over much of the unknown regions and wild space outside the Galaxy. 

If what Maw says is true, then Sidious has just been handed an opportunity.  

A slow, jagged smile splits Sidious’ face.  

"Tell me more," he rasps, pushing himself up with trembling arms.  

Maw’s lips curl. "Thanos seeks balance. The Nova Corps, your persistent little Jedi, their defiance—it is an imbalance. One he intends to correct." He steps closer, his voice a whisper. "But he is not without mercy. Pledge your forces to his cause, and you will be granted a place at his side... when the universe is remade."  

Sidious exhales, the gears of his mind turning. He had planned to scour the galaxy for allies, but here stood one—far more powerful than he had anticipated. 

The sole inconvenience was enduring the charade of submission—for now. But Sidious had every intention of rewriting the hierarchy… in due time.

"Very well," Sidious hisses, rising to his full height, his voice dripping with dark amusement. "I accept your master’s... generous offer."  

Maw bows slightly, his grin widening. "A wise choice."  

————

The Nova Command Center hummed with an uneasy silence—with the Kree threat temporarily subdued, the reality of Peter's inevitable return to the Republic loomed between them.

Irani Rael stood at the head of the war table, her regal bearing softened by exhaustion. Beside her, Vell—once skeptical, now a fervent believer—leaned forward. "You saved our core worlds, Peter. No diplomatic platitudes will cover that debt."

Admiral Tal, her uniform singed at the cuff, didn’t bother with decorum. “The Kree are regrouping beyond the border. They’ll come harder next time. We need you—*here*—as our linchpin." Her voice was raw, a soldier’s plea.  

Peter shifted, the weight of their stares pressing in. Gamora stood at his right, her posture relaxed but eyes sharp, while Nebula lingered near the doorway, arms crossed.  

Irani stepped forward, her voice quiet but carrying the gravity of a planet. "Peter," she began, and the use of his full name made his spine straighten. "If you would be willing to stay, the Nova Corps will name you General. Full command. Your own flagship." 

A hologram shimmered to life above the table—a sleek, silver destroyer, its prow etched with Nova’s emblem. "Gamora, Nebula—elite squadron leadership. No outsider has ever been offered this honor."

The room held its breath.  

Peter exhaled, running a hand through his hair. "Damn. That’s one hell of an offer." He grinned, but it didn’t reach his eyes. "But I’ve got duties back with the Republic."

‘I have too much on my plate right now…’

Gamora nodded, her voice firm. "Nova’s fight matters. But the Republic is at war as well." There was no apology in her tone, only fact. “Were needed there…”

Nebula scoffed. "So we just leave them to burn?" Her fingers tapped against her bracer, a restless staccato.  

"We’ll come back when we’re needed," Peter said, locking eyes with Irani. "I promise."

The Nova Prime studied him, then gave a slow, resigned nod. "You’re a man who keeps his word. That’s enough."

Peter flashed a smirk, deflecting the tension. "I’m not signing a lease. But hey—save me a parking spot, alright?"

Laughter rippled through the room, brittle but real. 

As they turned to leave, the holo-screens caught Peter Republic ships setting off—a fleeting golden streak, already racing toward the next storm.

————

Peter stands on the bridge of his republic warship, Nova Prime’s airspace long behind them. His decision’s made. The Republic army can head home—he’s got other plans.

“Are you sure about this, General?” Captain Rex asks, his helmet held under his arm.

“Positive,” Peter says, grinning. “Take everyone back. Tell Yoda I’ll check in soon.”

Rex nods, saluting crisply. The Republic fleet hums, ready to go. 

Peter’s path lies elsewhere.

He turns to Gamora and Nebula, waiting by a sleek, custom shuttle. “Ready for a detour, ladies?”

Gamora raises an eyebrow, intrigued. “Where to?” Nebula’s glare softens, curious despite herself.

“Knowhere,” Peter says, eyes glinting.

“”Nowhere?”” The sisters repeat in confusion. 

The ship's engines roar, lifting off from the warship’s hangar, clones saluting as they depart.

In hyperspace, Peter leans back, the shuttle navigation already set. Stars streak past, a blur of possibility.

Nebula polishes one of her spare knives, still confused. “So… how are we going nowhere?” Her sister nods, wondering the same thing. 

Peter chuckles, “I guess you’ll see when we get there.”

…

..

.

Knowhere looms, a colossal space station city floating in the void, its surface a patchwork of neon and steel. Gamora’s jaw tightens; Nebula stares, silent.

“Welcome to Knowhere,” Peter says, banking the shuttle toward a docking bay.

They disembark, Knowhere’s chaotic pulse hitting them. Alien merchants hawk wares; holo-signs flash.

Gamora whistles, impressed despite herself. “This place belongs to you?”

“I Inherited it after killing the previous owner,” Peter corrects, striding forward. “Come on, I’ve got to check on my new droid factories!”

“”Droid factories?””

A/N: 1800 words :)