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Peter watched through the ships sensors as three more Nova recon fighters disintegrated under concentrated Kree fire, their burning debris scattering across the Graveyard Belt.
"It has to be a trap!" Admiral Tal slammed her fist on the tactical console. "Full retreat! All ships fall back to defensive formation!"
Peter remained still, his fingers brushing the faint tremor in the Force. There—beneath the chaos of battle—a cold, familiar pulse.
Dark side energy.
'There's at least one Sith in the Kree Armada…' Peter realized. 'But is it Sidious or another one of his lackeys?'
"Negative on the retreat," Nova Prime said calmly.
The bridge crew turned as one. Tal's cybernetic eye whirred as she focused on her. "General, with respect—"
Nova Prime Irani Rael's hologram flickered to life beside them. "Execute Phase Two."
Tal stiffened. "My Prime, we're losing scouts by the dozen! We need to—"
"I gave an order, Admiral." Irani's voice carried the weight of centuries of royal authority. "All starfighter squadrons deploy under General Quill's command. Immediately."
A chorus of protests erupted from the Nova commanders.
"You're putting our entire air wing under a Republic outsider?"
"He's barely more than a boy!"
"This is madness!"
Peter ignored them, already striding toward the hangar bay. Behind him, Gamora and Nebula fell into step, their excitement palpable.
"I've never flown starfighters in actual combat before," Nebula remarked, her fingers twitching at her sides.
Gamora checked her blaster with a smirk. "Jedi training simulations don't count."
Peter tossed them each a flight helmet. "Just listen to the Force. It's better than any flight computer."
As they entered the bustling hangar, hundreds of Nova pilots scrambled to their ships. The sleek, golden N-12 interceptors hummed to life, their curved wings glowing with energy. Peter's own customized fighter waited at the center—a Republic ARC-170 modified with stolen Kree thruster tech, its black hull scarred from his time on Geonosis.
Over the squadron channel, a Nova wing commander's voice crackled: "All units, this is Gold Leader. Prep for formation—"
Peter overrode the frequency. "Forget formations. Forget protocols. Just follow my every move as best as you can, understand?" He ignited his engines with a roar. "Let's show these blue motherf*ckers what happens when the prey bites back."
The hangar bay doors yawned open, revealing the swirling chaos of battle beyond.
Gamora's fighter pulled alongside his. "You have a plan, don't you?" Her sisters following soon after, the same questioning look in her eyes as well.
Peter's targeting computer lit up, dozens of Kree signatures appearing among the asteroids. He reached out with the Force, feeling their movements through the force—and the perfect weak points in their trap.
"Oh," he said, flipping the weapons safeties off, "I've got a few ideas."
The starfighters shot into the maelstrom.
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The Nova armada surged forward like a golden tidal wave, their battleships' sleek hulls gleaming under the dead star's pallid light. Formation perfect. Discipline absolute. Every gun battery primed, every shield generator humming at full capacity.
From behind the jagged asteroids, from within the swirling dust clouds of long-dead planets, the Kree fleet erupted. Not the scattered remnants of a retreating force—three full attack groups, their crimson warships materializing like ghosts from the void. Turbolaser fire lanced out in unison, a storm of emerald death that turned the blackness of space into a lethal kaleidoscope.
The first Nova cruiser died instantly, its shields buckling under a concentrated volley meant for a ship twice its size. For half a second, its golden hull held—then the reactor core breached, and that was it.
*Boom*
"Evasive maneuvers!" Admiral Tal barked, her cybernetic eye whirring as it tracked the incoming trajectories. Too late. A plasma torpedo slammed into her flagship's engines, the impact sending a shudder through the entire vessel. Alarms wailed as atmosphere vented from the lower decks.
On the bridge of the Dawn of Xandar, Nova Prime Irani Rael stood motionless, her hands clasped behind her back. The holographic casualty reports flickered before her—ship after ship blinking out of existence. A young lieutenant turned to her, his face ashen.
"My Prime, Admiral Tal's fleet is falling back! The Kree have us encircled—"
Irani didn't blink. "Order all forward batteries to maintain fire. Divert secondary power to shields."
The lieutenant gaped. "But our flanks are exposed! If we don't—"
"Hold the line." Irani's voice could have cut diamond. She didn't raise it. She didn't need to. Around her, officers stiffened, their fear hardening into resolve.
On the viewscreen, another Nova cruiser vanished in a fireball.
Irani's fingers tightened. "Buy them time."
Somewhere in the chaos, Peter's starfighters were moving.
And the Kree had no idea what was coming for them.
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The asteroid field loomed before them like the shattered bones of some ancient giant. Peter's fighter skimmed along the surface of a tumbling planetoid, his HUD flickering as the dense mineral deposits scrambled his sensors.
"Gold Squadron, stay tight," he murmured into the comm. "Follow my lead."
Behind him, two hundred starfighters weaved through the debris field—Republic ARC-170s flying wing-to-wing with sleek Nova interceptors. The Force hummed in Peter's veins, painting a three-dimensional map of safe passage through the chaos.
Gamora's voice crackled over the channel, tense: "Quill, there's no visibility in here! How are you—"
Her protest cut off as she barely avoided a spinning chunk of durasteel.
"Stop thinking," Peter said, banking hard around a jagged outcrop. "Feel the current. The Force will guide you."
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Kree Mothership—Judgment.
The war room hummed with the cold efficiency of impending victory. Holographic displays painted five Accusers in ghostly light as they watched the Nova fleet burn.
Vorrath the Unbroken stood motionless, his cybernetic implants pulsing with sickly yellow energy. The dark side coiled around him like a second skin, whispering of the Nova's destruction. Yet his brow furrowed as he studied the tactical readouts.
"They fight too boldly for being outmatched." His voice was like the grinding of durasteel gears.
To his right, Lyssa the Calculating's fingers danced across holographic controls, her sharp eyes missing nothing. "Their starfighters never launched." A manicured nail tapped empty hangar bays on the scans. "Where are—"
Klaxons shrieked to life.
The deck plates trembled as the Judgment's AI voice boomed: "Massive fighter swarm detected. Bearing 227-mark-41. Emerging from dead star gravity well."
The main display flickered—then showed the nightmare unfolding at their rear. Five thousand starfighters poured into the battlefield like a metallic hurricane, their engines flaring as they split into perfect attack formations. At their head flew a single black ARC-170, its modified frame cutting through the chaos like a blade.
Peter's ship.
Korath the Bloodied snarled, fresh scars stretching across his face as his lips peeled back. "The Jedi led them around our flank!"
The ship rocked violently as the first proton torpedoes found their mark. A secondary explosion rippled through the lower decks as the engine arrays took critical damage.
Zyra the Silent's hood trembled, her whisper making the air itself frost over. "I feel them... the Jedi reek of the Light." Her skeletal fingers clutched at her robes as if physically ill from their presence.
Vorrath's fist smashed down on the comm panel. "All batteries, rear defense! Scramble interceptors! Protect the engine core!"
Drokk the Relentless hefted his massive double-bladed hammer, the weapon crackling with barely-contained energy. "Enough of these games. I'll crush their skulls myself."
Without another word, the five Sith-Accusers moved as one, their dark cloaks billowing behind them as they sprinted for the hangar bay. Outside the viewports, the first wave of black-hulled Kree Shadowfighters detached from their racks, their wings unfolding like the claws of some great predator.
The hunt was on.
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The black ARC-170 screamed through the debris field, its twin ion cannons spitting blue lightning. Peter's targeting computer screamed warnings as a Kree destroyer's point-defense lasers tracked his approach. He didn't need the sensors - he could feel the turrets cycling, their targeting matrices aligning in the Force milliseconds before they fired.
"Now!" Peter yanked the stick left as twin ion bursts lanced out. The blue bolts curved unnaturally around the destroyer's hull, slamming into its shield generators in a cascade of sparking ruin.
Across the comms, Nova pilots cheered as the massive ship's defensive screens flickered and died.
Gamora's voice crackled through the static. "Shields down on target alpha. Moving to engage escort group." Her N-12 interceptor danced between crimson laserfire, emerald bolts from her cannons punching through frigate engine nacelles.
Nebula's fighter streaked past in a blur of violet afterburners, her ship's belly guns shredding a Kree torpedo platform. "Primary targets marked. Nova bombers, you're clear for run."
The tide turned in seconds.
Kree formations collapsed under the sudden crossfire, their neat battle lines dissolving into chaos. Nova capital ships pushed forward through the gap, their golden hulls gleaming in the firelight of dying Kree vessels. A garbled transmission cut through the combat chatter:
"—repeat, they're inside our—" The Kree admiral's voice dissolved into static as his ship vanished in a fireball.
Peter's celebration died in his throat. The Force screamed a warning.
Three black shadows fell upon the battlefield.
Vorrath's fighter moved with impossible precision, its dark side-enhanced systems predicting every Nova evasion pattern. Squadron after squadron died screaming as his quad lasers found weak points no organic pilot could detect.
"Jedi..." Lyssa's whisper slithered across all comm channels, her ship's systems overriding targeting locks. Peter's console exploded with warning lights as his missile tracking failed.
Nebula barely rolled clear as Drokk's seismic charge detonated where her fighter had been. The shockwave sent her spinning through the wreckage of a Kree corvette. "What the hell?! These aren't normal pilots!"
Peter's fingers flew across the controls, rerouting systems manually. "Check your scanners," he barked over the comm. The readouts showed nothing unusual about the pursuing Kree fighters, but his gut churned. "They're not just pilots - they're Sith! Don't engage alone!"
Gamora's fighter banked hard right as emerald laserfire grazed her shields. "That explains the unnatural flying."
Nebula's guns blazed as she took cover behind a spinning planetoid. "So we kill them harder."
The trio shot through the debris field in perfect sync, using the chaotic terrain to their advantage. Peter felt Vorrath's dark presence locked onto his tail, the Sith-Accuser's rage pulsing through the Force like a bleeding wound.
"Alright, you blue bastard," Peter muttered, diving into a narrow tunnel of colliding asteroids. His HUD flashed collision warnings as the spinning rocks scraped his shields. Vorrath followed without hesitation, his black fighter matching Peter's moves with eerie precision.
At the last possible second, Peter kicked his thrusters to full burn and pulled up hard. Vorrath's fighter shot past beneath him - straight into the tunnel Peter had just fired a proton missile into.
The explosion turned the asteroid corridor into a crushing vortex of molten rock. Vorrath's ship disintegrated in the maelstrom, the Sith's final scream cut short by the Force.
One down.
Across the battlefield, Gamora danced with death. Lyssa's fighter matched her move for move, the Sith's laughter echoing through jammed comm channels. "You fly well... for a corpse."
Gamora didn't respond. She rolled into a suicidal dive toward a drifting cruiser wreck, pulling up at the last instant. Lyssa followed - straight into Nebula's waiting torpedo lock.
"Say hello to hell for me," Nebula snarled, firing.
The explosion painted the asteroids crimson.
Two down.
Then the universe went wrong.
Zyra's ship pulsed with a strange dark energy, a wave of distortion rippling outward. Every fighter within range spasmed - systems failing, engines stuttering. Peter's console erupted in sparks as his ship slowed to a halt.
"EMP?!" Peter guessed but the diagnostics showed something worse. "Reboot systems now!"
Before anyone could respond, Korath's fighter streaked past in a suicide run - straight at Peter's ship. "Oh shit…'
A/N: 1990 words :) Ps- I'm releasing a new story today. It's called Demon Heir! I'll post here when it's out so you guys can check it out. This story will still continue as well, so don't worry 😉
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