I’m Star-Lord (SW Xover)

C247 Spoils of War!

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——————

The sky above Geonosis burned.  

Venator-class Star Destroyers hung in low orbit, their turbolasers carving molten scars across the planet's surface as they pounded Separatist defenses into dust. Below, the desert shook under the thunder of artillery, clouds of sand and smoke swirling in the crimson dawn.  

And in the heart of the storm, the 212th Battalion descended.  

Gunships screamed through the hazy atmosphere, their engines howling as they skimmed just meters above the dunes. Inside the lead transport, Peter stood at the edge of the open ramp, the wind tearing at his coat as the battlefield rushed toward him.  

"Thirty seconds!" the clone pilot barked over the roar of engines.  

Peter didn't turn. His eyes were fixed ahead, his senses stretching across the desert through the Force. He could feel them—thousands of droids, marching in perfect, soulless formation.  

Waiting.  

"Remember," Peter said, his voice calm but carrying through the troop bay, "they'll try to flank us the moment we hit the ground."  

The clones shifted uneasily in their seats. A few exchanged glances. They'd heard the stories, of course—the "teenage Jedi" who'd somehow earned a Council seat. But seeing him now, barely a man...  

The gunship shuddered as anti-air fire exploded around them.  

"Brace for landing!"  

The transport slammed into the sand, its repulsors kicking up a storm of dust. Before the ramp had fully lowered, Peter was moving.  

His black lightsaber ignited with a snap-hiss, the dark plasma humming as he leapt into the fray.  

The droids never stood a chance.  

Peter became a blur of motion, his blade carving through metal like paper. B1 battle droids collapsed in sparking heaps before they could even raise their blasters. A group of destroyer droids rolled forward, shields activating—only for Peter to rip their armored plating apart with a flick of his wrist, the Force crumpling them like tin cans.  

Behind him, the clones of the 212th poured out of their transports, blasters firing.  

"Form up on the General!" Commander Cody ordered, his voice cutting through the chaos.  

At first, they expected to protect him. That's how they were trained—cover the flank, and keep their Jedi leader from being overwhelmed.  

They quickly realized their mistake.  

Peter didn't need protecting.  

He moved through the droid lines like a force of nature, his lightsaber a whirlwind of destruction. But more than that—he fought smart.  

"Troopers, left flank!" Peter called without turning, his blade deflecting a hail of blaster bolts back at their source. "They're trying to circle us."  

The clones spun just as a company of droids emerged from a canyon, exactly where Peter had said they'd be.  

"How the hell—?" a trooper started to ask.  

"Just shoot!" another snapped, opening fire.  

As the battle raged, something remarkable happened. Peter didn't just fight—he conducted.  

His commands came seconds before they were needed. His awareness of the battlefield was flawless. When a sniper droid took position on a distant ridge, Peter had already redirected a squad to eliminate it. When a hidden minefield was detected, he'd subtly altered their advance path without needing to be told.  

It was like he could see everything.  

And in a way, he could.  

Peter's Mechu-Deru thrummed beneath his skin, a silent current linking him to the surrounding technology. Data streamed into his awareness—enemy positions, concealed threats, a thousand flickering signals painting the battlefield in vivid detail.  

But it went deeper than that.  

Through their neural chips and advanced stormtrooper armor, he could feel his soldiers—their heartbeats, even their ammunition reserves. Every piece of information sharpened his focus, allowing him to command with near-clairvoyant precision. 

By the time the first engagement ended, the clones' initial skepticism had vanished.  

As they regrouped in the shadow of a downed droid carrier, a veteran trooper wiped soot from his visor and turned to Cody.  

"Commander... are all the Jedi like this?"  

Cody watched as Peter called out adjustments to their formation, his voice calm even as he stood amidst the wreckage of a hundred droids.  

"No, soldier," Cody said quietly. "I don’t think they are..."  

Word spread quickly through the ranks. By sunset, the whispers had become a conviction:  

They'd been assigned the best damn General in the entire Grand Army.

————

Meanwhile…

While the thunder of the Republic’s assault echoed across Geonosis, a different kind of operation unfolded in the shadows.  

The Atlas hovered silently above a derelict canyon, cloaked from sensors as its crew descended upon the unsuspecting droid factories below.  

Iron Man’s repulsors hummed as he landed beside a towering Cybertronian, the crimson and blue armor of Optimus Prime gleaming under Geonosis’ twin suns.  

"Alright, big guy," Tony said, his faceplate retracting to reveal a smirk. "Let’s make this quick and quiet. Peter wants the toys in one piece."  

Optimus gave a solemn nod, his voice a deep rumble. "Autobots, roll out."

Bumblebee and Arcee transformed into their sleek vehicle modes, rolling toward the factory’s service entrances while Iron Man hacked the exterior security grid with a flick of his wrist.  

Inside, Natasha moved like a ghost, her black stealth suit blending into the factory’s dim corridors. Beside her, Mikaela held a blaster rifle, following along as backup.

Not far away, Padmé, dressed not in royal finery but in form-fitting tactical gear, kept watch, her blaster drawn. "Rocket, stop slacking off and get us in already?"

At her side, Rocket worked a portable slicer, his fingered paws flying across the holographic interface as he bypassed encrypted doors.  

"Got it," Rocket whispered as a heavy blast door slid open. "Main control hub is straight ahead."  

Moments later, deep in the factory, Rocket scampered along, his fur bristling with excitement. "Ohhh, this is the good stuff!" he cackled, prying open a panel to reveal a bank of dormant droid control modules. "Groot! Get the lift ready—we’re taking this whole rack!"

"I am Groot," the towering Flora colossus replied, already hoisting a massive crate onto a repulsor sled.  

Nearby, Cosmo levitated a stack of schematics with his telekinesis, his ears perked for danger. Howard and Teefs worked on dismantling a conveyor belt, while Lylla and Floor secured backup data drives.  

"Why does Peter want all this junk, anyway?" Howard muttered, yanking out a circuit board.  

"Maybe he’s building his own army," Rocket mused, stuffing components into a sack. "Or maybe he’s just a hoarder. Guy’s weird like that."

Natasha’s voice cut in over the comms, sharp and no-nonsense. "Focus. We’re on the clock."

One by one, the factories were stripped—not destroyed, but looted with surgical precision. The Atlas’ cargo hold filled with stolen tech: assembly-line machinery, droid blueprints, even intact programming cores.  

As the team regrouped at extraction, Optimus Prime studied the haul, his optics flickering with curiosity. "Peter does not act without reason. There is purpose in this."

Tony crossed his arms, glancing at the distant flashes of battle where Peter led the clones. "Yeah, well, I just hope he tells us what the hell that purpose is before it blows up in our faces."

For now, the mission was a success.  

But the real question lingered—what was Peter planning?

————

Deep within the Geonosian hive command center, the pale glow of holographic displays flickered across the impassive face of Tactical Droid TZ-49. Its photoreceptors dimmed as it processed the latest battlefield reports—or rather, the lack of them.  

"Illogical," the droid intoned, its metallic fingers steepling. "Factory Complex Gamma-7 has gone silent. Yet no explosions were detected."

Another tactical droid, OG-91, scanned the data feed. "Similar anomalies reported at Factories Theta-2 and Epsilon-5. Republic forces are not destroying our facilities—they are infiltrating them."

A third droid, Super Tactical Droid Kalani, stepped forward, its voice carrying cold authority. "This is no random assault. They are targeting our production capabilities with precision. Divert forces from the eastern front—reinforce all remaining factories immediately."

————

On the battlefield, Peter felt the shift in the enemy forces.

His senses, honed by the Force and amplified by his connection to the surrounding technology, picked up the sudden retreat of droid battalions from the frontlines. His lips curled into a sharp grin.  

‘They took the bait.’

"Commander Cody," Peter called, his voice cutting through the chaos of blaster fire.  

The clone commander was at his side in an instant. "General?"

"Tell the artillery teams to focus fire on Sector Theta. The clankers are pulling back to defend their factories—which means their front is about to get very thin."  

Cody didn't question him. He'd learned better in the last six hours. "Yes, sir!"

Within minutes, the Republic's heavy cannons roared to life, pounding the weakened droid positions. Without reinforcements, the Separatist lines crumpled like paper.  

Peter didn't hesitate. "All units—push forward! Now's our chance!"

…

..

.

"They're breaking!" a clone sergeant shouted over the comms, disbelief coloring his voice. "The whole damn line is collapsing!"

Troopers who had spent the battle tense and wary now fought with something new—absolute certainty. 

Because their General had done the impossible.  

He hadn't just led them.  

He hadn't just fought beside them.  

He had outthought the enemy at every turn.

A veteran clone, his armor scorched from near misses, turned to his squad as they advanced over the wreckage of a dozen droids.  

"You ever seen a Jedi like that before?"

The shiny next to him shook his head, eyes wide behind his helmet. "No. But I’ll follow him straight into hell if he asks."

And as the dust settled on the first day of the Battle of Geonosis, one truth became undeniable…

Where General Quill led, victory followed!

————

Days later…

The suns of Geonosis rose on a silent battlefield.  

Smoke curled from the ruins of droid factories, the skeletal remains of tanks and transports littering the dunes. The Separatists had retreated, their forces in disarray.  

The Republic had won.

On the surface, it was a flawless victory.  

But Peter knew the truth—they'd only won the first skirmish in a much larger war.  

The Atlas sat in a secluded canyon, its cargo hold overflowing with stolen technology. Tony and Optimus stood near the ramp, watching as the last of the equipment was secured.  

"You gonna tell us what all this is for yet?" Tony asked, wiping grease from his hands.  

Peter stared at the stacks of droid parts and schematics. "I think you can guess why…"

————

Later, when Peter rejoined his troops…

Captain Rex stood at attention, his helmet tucked under one arm. His face was streaked with dirt and sweat, but his eyes burned with quiet respect.  

"General," he said, his voice rough from hours of battle. "On behalf of the 501st... it's been an honor."

Around them, clones stopped what they were doing, turning to face Peter. One by one, they saluted—not the stiff, formal gesture of soldiers obeying orders, but something deeper.  

The salute of men who'd follow him anywhere.

Peter returned the gesture, but his mind was already racing ahead—to Kamino, to the control hub, to the shadow war only he knew was coming.  

As the twin suns climbed higher, casting long shadows across the sand, one thought echoed in Peter's mind.

‘This is only the beginning…’

————

Hala

Throne Room

The holographic displays flickered in the dim crimson light of the throne room, casting jagged shadows across the polished black floors. Before them, the Battle of Geonosis played out in real-time—Republic forces clashing with Separatist droids, Jedi leading clone troopers into the fray, the first true battle of what would soon be known as the Clone Wars. 

Darth Sidious sat upon the throne, his fingers steepled, his yellow eyes gleaming with cold satisfaction.  

‘Perfect.’

The galaxy was tearing itself apart, just as he had orchestrated. The Republic and the Separatists would bleed each other dry, leaving the pieces for him to claim.  

But patience was key.  

A figure knelt before him—one of the Kree Empires esteemed Accusers, his blue face etched with barely restrained anticipation.  

"The Republic is distracted," Sidious mused, his voice a velvet whisper. "Their armies are scattered, their fleets committed. The Nova Empire stands alone."

The Accusers lips curled into a cruel smile. "They’re weak without Republic support. The Nova scum won’t last a week."

Sidious nodded slowly. "Then let us remind the galaxy why the Kree Empire should be feared."

He raised a hand, and the holograms shifted—showing the borders of the Nova Empire, their once-mighty defenses now stretched thin.  

"Begin the invasion. Crush their outposts. Seize their territories. Let none survive who dare resist."

Ronan bowed deeply. "It will be done, my Emperor."

As the Accuser departed, Sidious leaned back into his throne, his mind already calculating the next move.  

The Nova Empire would be the first.  

Then, the Shi'ar.  

The Badoon.  

Etc. 

One by one, the Kree would consume them all, expanding their dominion while the Republic and the Separatists remained locked in their pointless war.  

And when the time was right—when the Republic was at its weakest, when the Jedi were broken, when the Sith's final enemy stood alone—the Kree Empire would strike.

But not yet.  

Patience.  

The game had only just begun.