=== Raxor ===
Raxor's jump pack roared once, a controlled burst that hurled his massive form back up through the shattered architecture of the Senate building, scorched stone and twisted durasteel rushing past him as he rose. He landed hard in the upper corridor where the ambush had begun, boots magnetizing with a heavy clang as he absorbed the impact, the smell of ozone and blood still hanging thick in the air. The corridor was a mess, the remains of Mandalorians and Astartes alike scattered where Darth Jar Jar had cut them down with obscene ease. For a moment he stood still, chest rising and falling as his autosenses recalibrated, then he strode to one of the shattered windows and looked out over the cityscape below.
Just in time, he saw the emergency craft lifting away from the Senate complex, its engines flaring as it angled hard into the sky. Even at this distance, he could make out Padmé's distinctive silhouette through the cockpit transparisteel, her retinue packed around her as the ship vanished into the traffic lanes of Coruscant. Raxor did not pursue. He simply watched until it was gone.
He moved back down the corridor, past the fallen bodies of his kill team. The sight of them tightened his jaw, Astartes who had fought hundreds of battles for their cause, Mandalorians who had sworn their lives to the Imperium, now reduced to broken armor and still bodies.
It was among them that he found Nira. She was slumped against a fractured support pillar in another room, armor scorched and cracked, her breathing shallow but steady. When she looked up at him, there was pain in her eyes. "Sanguinius needs rest. Ever since Mortis his spirit has been strained. Protecting me took a lot out of him." she said quietly, to which Raxor nodded once.
They found others as well. One of the Mandalorian techs had survived by sheer luck, armor caved in but systems still functional, while one of the Astartes lay propped against the wall, his massive frame unmoving except for the faint rise and fall of his chest. His armor was torn open in places, blackened and split, and even through his helm Raxor could hear the ragged rasp of his breathing. He was alive, but only just.
Nira knelt beside him, placing a hand against his pauldron in a gesture that was almost gentle. She looked back up at Raxor. "Take the Mandalorian and return to the Chancellor's secret office. Squeeze whatever remaining value you can. Ill stay behind with the wounded."
Raxor did not argue. He turned, motioned for the Mandalorian to follow, and reignited his jump pack. They dropped back down through the fractured levels of the Senate building until they reached the hidden office once more.
The Mandalorian wasted no time, kneeling beside a half-exposed data conduit and plugging his tablet directly into the system. Lines of encrypted text scrolled rapidly across the display, his fingers moving with practiced speed as he bypassed security measures layered atop one another like traps within traps. After a few moments, he frowned and shook his head. "Nothing concrete," he said. "No direct references. He wiped this place clean."
Raxor stepped closer, looming over the tech as he studied the screen. Then the Mandalorian hesitated, eyes narrowing as a different set of data surfaced, fragmented communications, heavily encrypted, routed through half a dozen shadow channels. "These… these might be something," he added slowly. "Messages. Old ones. Still locked tight, but the Imperium might crack them with time."
That was enough. Raxor gave a single nod. "Take everything," he ordered. "All of it." The Mandalorian complied immediately, initiating a full data siphon as Raxor turned to stand watch.
The Salamander watched the last lines of code scroll across the Mandalorian's tablet before giving a single, sharp nod. Making their way back to the top, they saw Nira kneeling beside the fallen Ultramarine, her hands slick with blood as she worked to keep him conscious, her face pale but composed in that way Raxor had learned meant she was holding herself together through sheer will.
Raxor opened a channel on his vox and reported in. Maximus' voice came back through the crackle of interference, confirming that the Temple objective was complete and that they were already exfiltrating. Raxor informed him of the losses, of the Sith Lord in the Senate, of Padmé's escape. There was a brief pause on the other end, then Maximus acknowledged it all without comment, only telling him to hold position, that they were inbound. Almost on cue, the distant thunder of engines rolled through the structure, growing louder until the reinforced transparisteel window vibrated under the wash of retro-thrusters, and a Thunderhawk slid into view, its hull scarred and blackened, its ramp already lowering.
The dead were lifted and carried with reverence despite the chaos, massive Astartes laid carefully within the transport alongside fallen Mandalorians, each one a silent testament to the cost of the mission. Raxor climbed the ramp last, turning once to take in the corridor where everything had gone so catastrophically wrong, where visions had shattered his understanding of duty and faith alike, before the ramp hissed shut behind him.
Inside the Thunderhawk, Maximus stood braced near the bulkhead, his armor stained with Jedi blood, thunderhammer resting against his shoulder, while Sebastian loomed nearby.
The Thunderhawk lifted away from the Senate, banking hard as it climbed through Coruscant's smoke-choked skies toward orbit. Below them, the districts burned and reeled. Raxor took his place among the others as the battle barge came into view.
Maximus reached out and placed a gauntleted hand to Raxors shoulder. "Worry not brother," he said firmly. "We will find him."
=== Anakin ===
The hum of the ship felt louder now, a grinding presence that seemed to crawl under Anakin's skin as Coruscant rushed toward them.
He stood at the comms station, shoulders tense, fingers flying across controls that refused to respond, each failed attempt tightening the knot in his chest. No signal, no return, no flicker of acknowledgement from the Temple or the Senate, just empty space and static.
He tried again and again, forcing himself to slow his breathing, telling himself there was a rational explanation, that the interference would clear, that someone would answer if they just got close enough.
"Damn it," he snarled, slamming his palm into the console. The metal casing rattled, lights flickering briefly before stabilizing. He dragged a hand down his face, fear beginning to coil in his chest. Something was wrong. Not just wrong, catastrophically wrong.
Behind him, Palpatine watched from his seat, hands folded calmly in his lap, a gentle smile on his lips, though Anakin couldn't see it.
"Whats wrong, my boy?" he asked gently, as if they were discussing nothing more serious than a delayed transmission.
"The comms are dead," Anakin snapped, turning to him. "Temple, Senate, emergency channels, nothing's going through. I can't reach anyone."
"And Padmé…" He stopped, eyes wide with worry. "She's still in the Senate apartments. The Imperium wouldn't—" He cut himself off, as if doing so could make the idea untrue. "They wouldn't target the Senate."
Palpatine's eyes widened, just slightly, the picture of surprise. "Padmé is there?" he said, his tone sharpening with concern. "Anakin… if the Imperium somehow learned of Vulkan's location, and I fear that may be the case, they could very well have struck both the Temple and the Senate."
The words hit Anakin like a physical blow.
"No," he breathed, color draining from his face. He turned and stumbled toward the viewport, staring out into the rushing stars of hyperspace. His hands trembled as they curled into fists. "No, no, no…"
The ship lurched subtly as it reverted to realspace.
Anakin's breath caught.
Below them, Coruscant sprawled in endless layers of light and steel, and from its heart rose two vast pillars of smoke. One from the familiar spires of the Jedi Temple, its once-pristine towers scarred and burning. The other from the Senate District, black smoke clawing at the sky like an open wound.
"No…" Anakin whispered.
He spun toward the cockpit. "Take us down. Now! Straight to the Senate building!"
The pilot hesitated, instinctively glancing toward Palpatine. "Chancellor?"
Palpatine stepped forward, his expression grave but resolute. "You heard General Skywalker," he said firmly. "Do as he says."
"Yes, sir," the pilot replied, hands snapping back to the controls.
The ship banked hard, engines roaring as Coruscant rushed up to meet them. Anakin gripped the edge of the viewport, eyes locked on the burning skyline, fear and fury warring inside him. Padmé was down there. The Temple was burning. And somehow, impossibly, everything was unraveling all at once.
Palpatine stood just behind him, close enough that his presence pressed in like a shadow.
Even before the ramp had fully lowered, Anakin tore at it with the Force and his bare hands, metal shrieking as it buckled outward. Smoke rolled across the pad in thick, choking waves, carrying with it the acrid stink of burning durasteel. He didn't wait for clearance, he was already running, boots pounding against the deck as his heart hammered in his chest like it was trying to break free.
"Padmé!" he screamed, the name ripping itself from him like a prayer and a curse all at once. His eyes darted across the skyline, to the Temple spire where fire licked along shattered windows and great sections of the façade had collapsed inward. "Padmé, please… please be alive."
Behind him, Palpatine stepped down from the shuttle, his cloak stirring gently in the heated wind. One of his red-armored guards moved quickly to his side, leaning in close, voice low.
"Is it ready?" Palpatine asked quietly. "Yes, Chancellor," the guard replied. "Very good. Let us proceed then."
Palpatine exhaled slowly, as though steadying himself.
"Anakin," Palpatine called, urgency creeping into his tone now, "you must be careful. The building is unstable. There may still be—"
The words were swallowed by a thunderous sound.
A roar erupted from deep within the Senate complex, vast and all-consuming. The world seemed to lurch sideways as a massive explosion tore through the heart of the building, a rolling detonation that punched outward in a sphere of fire and pressure. Light flooded everything, a blinding white that erased color, shape, and sense in an instant.
"Chancellor!" the guard shouted.
He lunged forward, slamming into Palpatine with enough force to knock them both off their feet as the shockwave hit. The landing pad buckled, duracrete fracturing beneath the impact as debris screamed through the air like shrapnel. The guard curled around Palpatine, armor shrieking as it absorbed the worst of it, fragments of stone and metal bouncing off his back in violent bursts.
Anakin never stood a chance.
One moment he was sprinting forward, staring at the burning Senate tower, the Force howling warnings in his mind, then the explosion hit him full on. The blast picked him up like he weighed nothing, and hurled him backward across the pad. He felt himself spin, the world tumbling end over end, pain flaring white-hot through his side as something struck him midair. His body slammed into the deck with bone-rattling force, the impact driving the breath from his lungs in a strangled gasp.
"Padmé!" he screamed, or thought he did. He couldn't tell anymore.
Fire washed over the pad, heat searing his skin even through his robes. His vision blurred, the edges darkening as ringing filled his ears, drowning out the distant shouts and alarms.
Anakin tried to move. His fingers twitched uselessly against the scorched deck, strength bleeding out of him as darkness crept in from the corners of his sight. The last thing he saw was the Senate spire collapsing inward, fire and smoke billowing skyward like a funeral pyre for the Republic itself.
Then the world slipped away, and Anakin Skywalker fell into blackness.
===
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:)