53. Found

===Kharath===

Kharath stood motionless, his hands clasped behind his back as he gazed across the smog-choked sky. The city sprawled beneath him, a tangle of metal and concrete, the air thick with the stench of industry. Beside him stood his Chaos Sorcerer, the air around them vibrating with power, the faint hum of the warp ever-present. The sorcerer spoke, his voice low and gravelly, detailing his plans for the future.

"The droid army is progressing well, my lord. Over a trillion units are already in production." The sorcerer's optics gleamed with unholy delight as he continued. "I've modified the design—each droid is smarter, their armor stronger. They will be formidable opponents."

Kharath turned, his eyes scanning the towering figure standing behind him. A B2 battle droid, standing at six feet five inches, clad in black armor etched with blue glowing accents, stood motionless. It exuded an aura of mechanical menace, its glowing eyes scanning the surroundings with an almost human-like awareness.

To the droid's left stood another creation, though this one was far more... human. A clone of a Mandalorian bounty hunter, infused with Chaos magic woven into his very DNA. The clone was well-built, standing at six feet tall, his muscles rippling beneath his armor. Faint tendrils of glowing energy ran beneath his skin, a constant reminder of the corruption that flowed through his veins. Kharath's piercing gaze flicked from the droid to the clone, his mind calculating the outcome of what was to come.

"Fight," he commanded simply.

At his words, both figures sprang into action with unnatural speed. The clone let out a roar, charging at the droid with blinding fury, his fists smashing into the droid's armored frame. The battle was savage, the sounds of crashing metal and tearing flesh filling the air. The clone's strikes were brutal, but the droid was no less relentless, each counter-attack delivering bone-shattering force. The room seemed to tremble with the violence of the clash.

It wasn't long before the droid stood victorious, though it was far from unscathed. One of its arms had been torn from its body, and half of its chest plate had been pulverized. The clone, however, lay in a twisted heap on the floor, his body a mangled mess of shattered bones and torn flesh. Kharath observed the scene with detached interest, his expression unreadable.

"It is… acceptable," Kharath muttered, nodding thoughtfully. "Reduce the armor and decrease motor functions by a percentage. We want this war to last, after all."

He turned away from the gruesome scene, stepping toward the open slot in the wall that overlooked the sprawling city below. The wind carried with it the scent of the decay and destruction that had become all too common. He stared out into the distance, his mind already calculating his next move.

"Reveal yourself on Geonosis," he continued, his voice cold and commanding. "Let the Republic and the Astartes have a target to chase. They will come for you. They always do."

The Chaos Sorcerer bowed before Kharath, acknowledging the order, before silently turning to leave.

Kharath's voice rang out again, more forceful this time. "Boy!"

A figure stepped from the shadows, his presence unsettling in its own right. It was Palpatine, his form shaking ever so slightly, though not from fear. The unnatural changes in his body were becoming more pronounced—tentacles sprouted from his skin, and eyes appeared in odd places across his body. His face, though still familiar, bore the strain of his exposure to the Warp, his very essence warped and twisted by the power he sought to control.

Despite the physical grotesqueness of his form, Kharath was unfazed. With a wave of his hand, a ripple of warp energy passed through the air, and Palpatine's form was concealed beneath an illusion, his hideous mutations hidden from view. In an instant, he appeared as he once did—smooth-skinned, pristine, and regal.

"Thank you, master," Palpatine whispered, bowing deeply, his voice thick with gratitude.

Kharath, however, was less concerned with pleasantries. He turned to face his apprentice, his gaze sharp and expectant. "Enough. Tell me why you are here."

Palpatine's trembling hands gestured toward a holographic projection of the galaxy. A map flickered to life before them, showing the various factions vying for control across the vast expanse of the stars. The majority of the galaxy was colored blue, representing the Republic's domain. Red marked the Separatists' territory, while the green of Hutt Space signified the power of the criminal syndicates, though they both knew the Astartes controlled it now. But Kharath's eyes were drawn to a small, seemingly insignificant section at the upper part of the map.

For a long moment, he stood silently, his mind whirling with calculations.

"Ten years," he muttered, his voice low with a mixture of frustration and anticipation. "Ten years of searching."

Palpatine's smile widened as he pointed to the region on the map, a gleam of triumph in his eyes.

"Here," he said, his voice barely containing his excitement. "This is what we've been searching for."

Kharath's gaze locked onto the location, and his mind seemed to freeze for a moment as he recognized the name written in the stars. A shiver ran down his spine, a realization dawning upon him.

"Mortis," Kharath said, the name slipping from his lips in a whisper. The weight of the word hung heavy in the air.

===Sebastian===

Looking out across the sprawling city that had flourished beneath the massive shadow of the Battle Barge, Sebastian couldn't help but reflect on all that had changed in the past ten years.

First and foremost, their forces had expanded exponentially, thanks in no small part to the influx of Mandalorians who had joined their ranks. At this point, they could probably march into Mandalore and take the planet without firing a single Bolter round. Though, he suspected, that time would come sooner rather than later.

Their empire, which had come to be known as The Imperium, now spanned multiple systems, each more eager than the last to pledge loyalty. Sebastian had always known the potential of this force, but the rapid expansion still amazed him.

He turned away from the view and strode purposefully from the main command center into Raxor's chambers, the atmosphere shifting as he approached. Inside, Sienn was at her post—standing vigil by the Bacta tank where Raxor floated, his massive frame suspended in the healing fluid. She was methodically polishing the Salamanders armor, scrubbing away dried blood and grime with a focused attention that spoke of long practice.

The Twi'lek hadn't left Raxor's side since they had rescued her from Jabba the Hutt's throne room. Since that fateful day, she had been his constant companion—except, of course, when Raxor ventured off-world. But the full nature of their bond remained a mystery to Sebastian, one he had never bothered to probe too deeply.

Sienn turned at the sound of his entrance, offering a brief smile. "Lord Sebastian, it's good to see you," she said, her voice carrying a hint of relief.

Sebastian merely grunted in acknowledgment before folding his arms across his chest, his gaze fixed on the Bacta tank. The sound of Raxor's breathing was almost imperceptible until, as if sensing someone other than Sienn was watching, his blood-red eyes slowly opened, locking onto Sebastian's.

The Astartes' massive hand reached up to deactivate his breathing mask, the hiss of the release valve filling the silence. The fluid drained from the tank as Raxor climbed out, taking a towel from Sienn to dry himself off.

Sebastian spoke without preamble. "It's done. Maximus killed Ziro. Our war with the Hutts is over."

Raxor nodded solemnly, his gaze never leaving his brother. He wiped his brow with the towel before asking, his voice low but laced with curiosity, "When will he be back?"

"Within the hour," Sebastian clipped, his tone short.

Raxor paused, sensing the undercurrent of tension in Sebastian's words. His sharp instincts caught it immediately, and he raised an eyebrow, his gaze sharpening as he studied his brother. "Are you upset that it was Maximus who killed off the species and not you?"

Sebastian snorted, shaking his head as he turned to walk out of the room. "Of course not," he lied, though his voice betrayed his irritation.

===

As promised, within the hour, Maximus returned, his company of Mandalorians disembarking from the ship in an orderly procession. Each warrior shuffled off, the unmistakable sound of their boots striking the ground ringing out, before the imposing figure of Maximus himself stepped off the ship.

The Mandalorians had grown more unified in their service, adopting new traditions to reflect their bond with the Astartes they served. The Mandalorians serving under Maximus had taken to painting their armor the signature colors of the Ultramarines—deep blue with golden highlights. These warriors had come to call themselves The Azure Talons, a name reflecting both the sharp precision of their battle tactics and their unwavering loyalty to their Ultramarine leader.

Sebastian's own Mandalorians, in contrast, wore armor painted in stark black and white, a visual tribute to their connection with the Black Templars. Their new name, The Obsidian Crusaders, matched their dark and unyielding nature, as well as their mission to spread the Emperor's will across the galaxy.

Raxor's Mandalorians, known for their distinctive use of flame-based weaponry, had chosen to paint their armor in dark green and black, paying homage to the Salamanders' colors. They called themselves The Pyro Drakes, a name that symbolized both the fire they wielded on the battlefield and the fearsome strength of their commander, Raxor. Each company, made up of one hundred veteran Mandalorians, took immense pride in their identities, carving out their place as the most prestigious and elite Mandalorian factions the galaxy had ever known.

The Azure Talons, led by Maximus, were famed for their exceptional charisma and swift, calculated battle strategies. Their reputation for tactical warfare had grown to mirror the leadership style of Maximus himself, whom they had come to call The Azure Warden. Under his command, the Azure Talons had become synonymous with precise, overwhelming force, executing maneuvers with surgical efficiency.

The Obsidian Crusaders, on the other hand, were known for their relentless ferocity and brutal tactics. They had begun calling Sebastian The Scarred Blade, a title he had initially resisted. The name had been given in jest, at first, but when Jarek—his trusted second-in-command—had pointed out that the moniker was an apt reflection of the reality: Sebastian, the Battle Scarred Blade of the Emperor himself, he had reluctantly accepted it. Over time, the title grew on him. The Obsidian Crusaders were notorious for their zealousness on the battlefield, often crying out for the Emperor to witness their ferocity as they tore through their enemies.

Meanwhile, the Pyro Drakes had embraced their unique flame-wielding style of combat, earning them widespread recognition across the galaxy. They were celebrated not only for their mastery of flamethrowers and incendiary weaponry but also for their loyalty to Raxor. They affectionately referred to him as The Flamebearer, a tribute to his ability to embody the discipline and fire that was central to their creed. Raxor, in turn, taught them to lead by example, emphasizing compassion and honor alongside the fire that was their trademark. The Pyro Drakes viewed him as their guiding light, following his actions closely and striving to emulate his every move, both in battle and in how they treated those around them.

Each of these elite companies had forged their own identities, bound by their deep loyalty to their Astartes commanders and their shared Mandalorian traditions. They stood as the epitome of strength, honor, and camaraderie, each under the banner of the Imperium that had grown to unite them all.

Maximus surveyed his company for a moment, his piercing gaze sweeping across the assembled Mandalorians. With a simple nod, he gave the signal to dismiss them. Like clockwork, they broke rank, some heading off to mingle with one another while others departed for their own quarters. The hum of conversation and the shuffle of boots filled the air as the warriors of the Azure Talons dispersed.

"Welcome back, brother. It's good to see you," Raxor greeted, his voice warm with camaraderie. He clasped forearms with Maximus in a gesture of respect and brotherhood.

"Likewise," Maximus replied, his tone filled with the familiarity of long-standing friendship. He then turned to Sebastian, who stood a few steps off to the side, his arms folded across his chest. Sebastian didn't offer his hand in greeting.

Raxor raised an eyebrow at the tension, a smirk tugging at his lips. "He's just upset that he wasn't the one to kill off the species," he teased, nodding towards Sebastian. The remark caused Maximus to let out a booming bark of laughter, his deep voice carrying across the courtyard.

"I promise, brother, you'll get the next one," Maximus said, still holding his hand out toward Sebastian in jest.

Sebastian's expression remained hard, but a glimmer of amusement flickered in his eyes. "I'll hold you to it," he grunted before stepping forward and slamming his hand against the Ultramarine's, the sound of their impact echoing like thunder.

"Come. We have much to discuss," Maximus said, his voice turning more serious as he motioned for both of them to follow. He showed them a data pad he had gotten from Teth, and was eager to show them what it held.

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