Space Marine in Star Wars

(A/N: This chapter is brutal. Please be aware. Thank you.)

===Maximus===

Maximus exploded forward, his massive frame moving with deadly speed. The ground shook with each step, his hammer held high, ready to unleash destruction. His brothers, followed in perfect synchronization, their weapons primed and their intent clear.

The mercenaries scrambled, but it was too late. Maximus swung his Thunder Hammer, the weapon's weight and power sending shockwaves through the air. With one mighty strike, the first line of defense shattered, mercenaries torn asunder by the force.

Sebastian was beside him, his sword a blur as it cut through the chaos. His strikes were precise, deadly—each swing eliminating any enemy that dared come close. His eyes burned with the thrill of combat, and his laughter rang out, a harsh sound that only fueled the carnage around him.

Raxor, moved with cold precision. His heavy bolter roared as he picked off targets from a distance, his aim unerringly true. He didn't waste a single shot, ensuring every enemy that fell had a reason to.

The palace was under siege, and the mercenaries were no match for the storm that had descended upon them. Each Astartes moved like a force of nature, unstoppable, a whirlwind of destruction that left nothing standing in its wake.

Maximus swung his hammer again, obliterating another mercenary's position. The metallic clang of his blows was deafening, but it was the sound of fear that truly filled the air now—the fear of those who realized too late that they were standing in the path of something far worse than death.

The mercenaries, once confident in their numbers, now scattered like rats, their unity crumbling under the relentless onslaught. Maximus' massive frame surged through the palace, crushing all who stood in his path. His Thunder Hammer cleaved through steel doors, walls, and enemies alike, each strike creating a thunderous echo that sent shockwaves through the halls. The force of his blows was unimaginable, a manifestation of his fury and purpose.

Sebastian, ever the embodiment of hatred, moved with a deadly grace, a storm of flashing steel. His enemies fell without a chance to react, their blood painting the walls as his blade flashed through them with lethal precision. His grin was wide, an expression of pure battlelust.

"Is that all you've got?" he shouted, his voice a growl that reverberated through the palace.

Raxor, moved like a walking tank. His heavy bolter cracked to life again, the deafening roar of the weapon silencing all but the screams of the dying. He didn't need to be surrounded by enemies to feel the thrill of the fight—his satisfaction was in the numbers, the certainty of each kill. Every shot that rang out from his bolter punctuated the silence, each one a death sentence to any fool who dared stand too long in his sights.

The mercenaries had barely begun to regroup when Maximus tore through another group of them. He swung his Thunder Hammer downward with brutal force, the impact sending a mercenary flying across the room, slamming into the stone wall with a sickening crack.

"Don't hold back. Let them feel the full wrath of the Death Watch." Sebastian roared as his little warriors scattered around him.

His laughter was all-consuming, his movements a blur of sword strikes and fluid combat. "Let's make them regret being alien bastards!," he screamed, cutting down two more foes in a single motion.

Raxor moved forward, not a step wasted, his bolter spitting death from afar, each shot lighting up his armor in the darkness. A mercenary tried to duck behind a pillar, but Raxor's shot found him anyway, his body collapsing in a heap.

The palace trembled beneath their fury. Each hallway they passed through grew quieter as the mercenaries fell, their desperate cries echoing against the stone walls.

Maximus paused for only a moment, his red optics glowing in the smoke-filled air, surveying the scene of destruction. The mercenaries had taken too long to respond, and now they were being hunted down like animals by the Death Watch behind them.

The halls of Jabba's palace were littered with the shattered bodies of those who had dared to stand against them and the Death Watch. The scent of blood and burning flesh hung heavy in the air.

One mercenary tried to rush the Black Templar with a blaster rifle, but Sebastian was quicker, his blade slicing through the air in a blur of motion. The mercenary's scream was cut off as Sebastian cleaved his torso in two. He didn't even flinch. The blood sprayed in all directions as he spun, decapitating another enemy in a single, swift motion. "They never stood a chance," he muttered, wiping the blood from his blade with a flick of his wrist.

The palace was falling apart. Every room, every hall, was being ripped apart by the unstoppable force of the Astartes and the Death Watch. The mercenaries had no time to regroup, no time to mount a defense. They scattered, some trying to flee, others trying to regroup, but there was no hope. The three Astartes were everywhere. The once-proud palace was crumbling under the fury of the invaders.

In one of the hallways, a group of mercenaries attempted to take cover behind overturned crates. They fired blindly, hoping to slow down the oncoming tide of destruction. But they were not prepared for the speed and ferocity of the Astartes. Maximus charged, his steps sending shockwaves through the floor, the sound of his boots hitting the stone like the march of death itself. He swung his Thunder Hammer with terrifying force, the weapon crashing through the crates and obliterating the mercenaries behind them. The force of the blow shattered their bodies, sending pieces of them flying in all directions. The remaining mercenaries barely had time to react before Maximus swung again, and then again, the blows relentless, until all that remained was a smoldering wreckage of flesh and metal.

Sebastian was already moving ahead, his grin widening as he cut down another mercenary who had tried to ambush him from the side. With a twisted laugh, he kicked the dying man aside, shattering his chest with the force before charging into the next group of defenders. His sword arced through the air, cleaving through one enemy's neck before spinning around and slicing another clean in half. The mercenaries couldn't even form a coherent defense—they were simply fodder for the storm that was upon them. His laughter grew louder, a manic sound of pure carnage as he reveled in the slaughter.

Meanwhile, Raxor's cold eyes scanned the perimeter, picking off stragglers and eliminating any last remnants of resistance. He fired round after round, methodical and relentless, his bolter a constant stream of death. One mercenary tried to dive behind a pillar for cover, but it was too late—Raxor's sights were already on him, the round piercing the pillar and shattering his skull in the same instant.

The entire stronghold was now in chaos. The once-proud mercenaries, the last vestiges of Jabba's defense, were being wiped out like insects underfoot. There were no heroic last stands, no final defenses. Only death. And the Astartes were the harbingers.

And still, they moved forward.

===Jabba the Hutt===

Jabba sat upon his throne, his bloated form barely fitting in the seat, his green skin slick with sweat under the heat of Tatooine's twin suns. His eyes, glinting with malicious greed, were fixed on the holo-projector that displayed a flurry of reports from his various agents. His hold was secure, his power absolute—or so he had thought.

The reports began to shift from routine updates to something far more concerning. His palace's security had detected multiple intruders—too many to be dismissed as a rogue bounty hunter or a failed assassination. His eyes narrowed, his tongue flicking out to taste the air, sensing something amiss. His eyes blinked, trying to make sense of the situation. His palace was a fortress—how could anyone breach it so easily?

Then came the first blast, the unmistakable sound of violence erupting in the upper halls, shaking the very foundations of his palace. Jabba's tail flicked, a slow, deliberate movement that betrayed his unease. "What is this?!" he croaked to the nearest of his guards, his voice hoarse and guttural. "Get me the security feeds! Now!"

The guard scrambled, rushing to activate the comms as Jabba's gut twisted with a familiar sensation—fear.

The security feed flickered on. At first, it was a blurry image, the static interspersed with flashes of destruction. The thick walls of the palace seemed to tremble with every strike. Then the feed cleared. What Jabba saw made his heart skip a beat, and his fat fingers twitched.

A trio of armored giants—figures in black, green and blue—stormed through his corridors, carving through his guards with brutal efficiency while Mandalorians followed. One of them wielded a massive hammer, the impact of each swing sending mercenaries flying across the room like ragdolls. Another held a sword, cutting through men like wheat before a scythe, their screams echoing in the halls. The last moved with precision, picking off any survivors from afar, his bolter's sound a deafening rhythm of death.

Jabba's eyes widened in disbelief. These weren't ordinary mercenaries or bounty hunters—they were something far worse. The coldness of their movements, the relentless efficiency, told him all he needed to know. They were soldiers. Soldiers who had come to wipe him out.

"No... no!" Jabba roared, his voice a mixture of anger and fear. "I am Jabba the Hutt! I rule this pit of a planet! No one dares—!"

The roar of bolter fire interrupted him. A wave of dread flooded his bloated body, his enormous frame trembling as the distant sounds of battle drew closer. He turned his head to his entourage, his eyes wild with panic. His advisors and guards stood frozen, their faces pale. "Where are my ships?! My forces!" he bellowed, his voice breaking.

But there was no answer.

The sounds of combat grew louder, nearer, and Jabba's confidence began to crumble. His palace, his stronghold, was falling—faster than he could comprehend. The doors to his private chamber suddenly slammed open, and a massive figure appeared in the doorway, blocking out the light with its towering silhouette.

Jabba's heart skipped a beat as he saw the figure, his eyes narrowing.

Maximus.

The towering Astartes stepped into the throne room, his crimson optics glowing like twin fires of death. His blue and golden armor was stained with the blood of Jabba's forces, the echo of violence still hanging heavy in the air. The Thunder Hammer in his hands hummed with a lethal promise of more destruction.

"Jabba the Hutt," Maximus' voice was low, calm, yet filled with an authority that chilled the very air around him. "You're even uglier in person."

Jabba's tail whipped in panic, his massive body squirming uncomfortably. His mind raced, but there was no escape. The Death Watch had come, and their fury could not be halted. His mind flitted to his wealth, his luxuries—his power. All of it was slipping away.

Jabba croaked, his voice weak as he tried to hide his fear beneath the layers of his arrogance as his translator droid spoke for him . "You have no idea who I am. I can make you rich. I control Tatooine! You cannot defeat me!"

Maximus stepped forward, his heavy boots thundering as if to emphasize the crushing weight of his resolve. "We do not seek wealth, worm. We seek your death. And I promise you, it will be slow."

Jabba's eyes darted around the room, his heart pounding in his chest as he realized there would be no bargaining, no escape. The Astartes were not here for gold. They were here for him, and their judgment was swift and merciless.

He raised a trembling hand, trying to summon his guards, his backup, anything to halt the inevitable. But it was already too late. The rest of his palace had been reduced to rubble, his defenses shattered, and there was nowhere left to run.

"Please," Jabba pleaded, his voice growing desperate, "I... I... I offer you everything! Power, riches—anything you desire. Just spare me! I beg you!"

Maximus made no reply as he surveyed the room, his red optics scanning the chains that bound both xeno and human alike. His gaze lingered on the slaves—Humans,Twi'leks, Rodians, and others who had been shackled by Jabba's cruel reign. His hand tightened around the hilt of his Thunder Hammer, his jaw set in grim resolve.

Before the Hutt could react, Maximus moved like a force of nature. His massive frame surged forward, faster than Jabba could track. With a single, thunderous strike, he brought the hammer down on the chain that bound a Twi'lek slave to Jabba's throne, slicing through it and part of Jabba's tail with ease. The girl, barely a young woman, recoiled as the heavy chain was severed. She stared up at the Ultramarine with wide, terrified eyes, but her shackles had been shattered. Her salvation had come.

Jabba's enraged screech echoed through the room. His damaged tail lashed out in a wild, desperate strike, but Maximus dodged it, stepping closer to the throne. The Hutt roared in fury and pain before his bloated, grotesque form swung a fist toward Maximus' head. The strike was clumsy, desperate, but the Astartes was far too quick. He caught the massive hand mid-swing, his armored grip crushing the Hutt's wrist like a vice.

"You're stronger than you look," Maximus snarled, his voice low and filled with venom. "But it doesn't matter. My hatred is stronger still."

With a growl, he clenched his fist, his gauntlet squeezing tight, the sound of cracking bones filling the room. Jabba's shriek of agony pierced the air as his wrist shattered under the strength of the Astartes' grip, the grotesque appendage collapsing into a mangled mass of flesh and bone.

Jabba's massive eyes went wide, his mouth working in a futile attempt to scream, his bloated body quivering in pain. But Maximus was relentless.

Maximus held the Hutt's wrist aloft, his other hand grasping the Thunder Hammer with a brutal intent. He lifted his fist, glaring at the twisted form of Jabba, and without hesitation, drove the edge of his hammer into the Hutt's tail once more. The resounding crack was sickening, followed by Jabba's agonized shriek as his tail was cleaved apart.

"You think yourself invincible?" Maximus spat, his voice dripping with contempt. "A creature of sloth and indulgence. You're a filthy Slaanesh abomination."

Jabba tried to squirm, his thick, slug-like body attempting to twist away, but the Astartes was not finished. Maximus pulled Jabba's mangled wrist toward him, the Hutt's body shaking with pain. With a savage yank, Maximus drove his armored knee into Jabba's bloated stomach, sending the Hutt sprawling back onto the remains of his broken throne.

Sebastian stepped forward, his eyes alight with a twisted glee as he observed the unfolding carnage. He flourished his blade, the gleaming edge catching the light, and knelt before Jabba's trembling form.

"Do you see now, slug?" Sebastian's voice was a venomous hiss. "You should have never slithered from whatever swamp you came from."

With surgical precision, Sebastian drove his blade into the soft, fatty flesh of Jabba's side, carving through it with little resistance. The Hutt bellowed, the air filled with the sound of his tortured cries, but Sebastian did not relent. He twisted the blade, ripping it free, and jabbed again, carving out another cruel gash along Jabba's thick hide.

Raxor, silent as ever, moved around the throne to Jabba's other side. His large hands gripped the Hutt's grotesque form. With a savage jerk, Raxor lifted Jabba's head, exposing the vulnerable skin beneath his chin. The Hutt gurgled and spat, his body trembling in futile resistance, but the Astartes paid him no mind.

Raxor's eyes locked onto Jabba's and then he brought his fist down in a savage punch, his armored knuckles sinking deep into the Hutt's jowls. The force of the strike rattled Jabba's entire body, and a sickening crunch echoed as his jaw cracked, sending a wave of blood and bile spilling out of his mouth.

Jabba's roar of agony was cut short as Maximus seized his throat in a crushing grip. "Begging is beneath you, Jabba. You'll die the way you lived—cowering before those stronger than you."

The Hutt's massive body trembled, his eyes pleading as he struggled to breathe under the weight of Maximus' grip. His tongue lashed out in a final, desperate attempt to strike at the Astartes, but Maximus caught it with ease, his red optics glowing brighter as the Hutt's squirming grew weaker.

Sebastian stood tall, watching the scene unfold with an almost savage delight. "Let's finish it."

Maximus looked at his brothers, a silent understanding passing between them. The Hutt was broken, and it was time to ensure his end was as painful as it was inevitable.

With a sudden, brutal yank, Maximus tore Jabba's tongue from his bloated face, eliciting a high-pitched shriek from the Hutt, the sound deafening in the now-silent chamber. The wretched creature thrashed in agony, but it was futile.

Raxor moved swiftly, his armored boot slamming into Jabba's back with a sickening crack. The impact sent the Hutt sprawling back onto his throne, his grotesque body shuddering with the force of the blow. The bloated slug struggled to right itself, but it was too late. Sebastian stepped forward, his eyes burning with cruel satisfaction as he looked down at the abomination.

"You seem to love chains so much," Sebastian sneered, his voice laced with venom. "So why don't I show you how much I love them as well?"

With a twisted grin, he stomped down hard on Jabba's sagging form, his foot driving into the Hutt's massive gut. The creature gagged, its grotesque mouth working in futile protest. Sebastian reached down, grabbing the chain Maximus had severed earlier. With a vicious growl, he wrapped it tightly around Jabba's thick neck, pulling the cold metal taut.

Jabba's remaining good arm flailed around desperately, trying to grasp at the chain or anything within reach. His bloated face contorted in terror as he realized the inevitability of his fate. But the Black Templar showed no mercy.

Sebastian yanked upward, and the chain dug into Jabba's thick flesh, cutting off his breath. The Hutt gurgled, his eyes wide with fear, but Sebastian merely laughed, the sound cold and dark.

With a sharp tug to the side, Sebastian began to saw through the Hutt's neck with the chain, its jagged edges slicing through the soft, fatty tissue. Blood gushed out in thick, pulsating streams, splattering across the floor and over Sebastian's armor. Jabba's shrieks were drowned in the rising tide of his own blood.

The Hutt's body thrashed violently, but the Black Templar was relentless. He continued pulling the chain, sawing through Jabba's massive neck with brutal precision. The Hutt's writhing grew weaker with each passing moment, his blood now pooling around him, staining the throne room floor.

Finally, with one last, brutal jerk, the chain sliced through Jabba's massive chin. The Hutt's body went limp, his eyes losing their terrified gleam as the blood continued to pour from the wound. The chain slid through his flesh and into his throat, and with a final, savage twist, Sebastian severed the last bit of resistance.

Jabba the Hutt's reign of terror was over.

The room fell silent except for the gurgling of the Hutt's blood spilling onto the floor. Sebastian stood tall, his eyes glinting with satisfaction as he dropped the severed chain to the ground, his foot crushing Jabba's bloated form beneath him.

Maximus, standing in the background, watched impassively, his red optics glowing in the dim light of the throne room. His Thunder Hammer was still gripped tightly in his hand, the weight of it a constant reminder of the power he wielded. He was silent, but there was a cold approval in his gaze.

Raxor, ever the stoic, surveyed the room with his usual impassive demeanor, but his eyes glinted with something darker as he observed the carnage. He said nothing, but there was satisfaction in the way his hands gripped his bolter, ready for whatever came next.

Maximus turned away from the throne room, his voice low and commanding. "The galaxy will remember this day. Jabba the Hutt is dead, and his empire crumbles with him."

Raxor stepped forward, his gaze sharp as he surveyed the room, the remains of Jabba scattered across the floor like a broken symbol of his reign. "Let's finish what we started. We take the rest of this vile stronghold."

Sebastian nodded, his grin never faltering as he sheathed his blade. "Let's burn it to the ground."

The Death Watch outside had finished their work, and the galaxy would never forget the destruction they had wrought. The Hutt's criminal empire was no more, and the streets of Tatooine would soon be free of its foul influence.

As they turned and made their way to the exit, the sound of the palace crumbling echoed behind them. The Astartes had delivered their judgment, and no one would dare defy them again on this planet.

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