===Nira===
Fire.
Fire and blood.
Fire, blood, iron, screaming, and suffering.
Nira stood, a lone figure in a desolate wasteland. The desert planet stretched out in all directions, its red sands swirling like a slow tide. She couldn't tell if the bloodied hue of the sand was from the countless bodies littering the ground, or if it was the planet's natural color, but one thing was certain—this place was drenched in violence. The smell of death and scorched earth clung to the air.
The battlefield spread before her like a vast, chaotic sea of war. The sight of it filled her with dread. The scale of the conflict was impossible to fathom. Millions—no, billions—maybe even trillions of beings clashed in an unrelenting frenzy of violence. The sound of blaster fire, war cries, and the screech of war machines filled the air. The ground beneath her shook with the weight of titanic forces colliding.
On one side, the defenders seemed to have some semblance of order, though it was fleeting. Jedi warriors, their lightsabers cutting through the air moved alongside legions of white-armored soldiers in perfectly synchronized formations. Uniformed troops from countless unknown worlds stood shoulder to shoulder, their weapons blazing as they fought with unyielding determination. There were the towering Astartes, their hulking frames adorned in different colors and types of power armor. Some of them were marked with intricate symbols of honor, while others had a more mysterious, almost sacred, glow about them.
At the forefront of the Astartes, towering even above them, stood figures clad in golden armor that shone like the sun, they were perfection incarnate, warriors without equal. Their spears and swords cut through the enemy like a blade through cloth, each blow delivered with unerring precision. Their movements, calm and unyielding, betrayed nothing of the storm of battle that raged around them.
She glanced up to see new figures descending onto the battlefield, towering above even the warriors clad in gold.
One of them wore the iconic blue and gold armor of the Ultramarines, his presence commanding as he held a flaming sword high, the flames crackling with righteous fury. With a swift and decisive swing, he cleaved through his foes, each strike leaving a trail of fire in its wake.
Next to him stood another warrior, garbed in dark green armor with a massive lion's head emblazoned on his pauldron. His movements were fluid yet unstoppable, his great sword sweeping through enemy lines with terrifying precision, cutting down all in his path as though they were mere children's toys.
Beside him was another in similar green armor, though this warrior's armor bore golden accents that shimmered. He wielded a colossal hammer, which he swung with devastating power, crushing enemies into the ground with each strike, his movements a blur of strength and might.
From above, a fourth figure descended, his white wings beating the air with a heavenly grace. His golden armor gleamed as if forged in the very heart of the stars, and a holy light enveloped him as he moved, his sword flashing as it smote all who dared approach him.
In the distance, two figures stood apart from the rest—one a warrior of the wolf, his form almost animalistic, clad in rugged armor, his every movement brutal and swift, like a predator on the hunt. The other was a raven, his armor dark and sleek, yet glimmering with an otherworldly sheen. With razor-sharp talons and a cunning mind, he struck down his enemies with a speed that made him seem little more than a shadow in the night.
Finally, there was a streak of light—an impossible blur of speed and precision. His saber flashed as he darted through the enemy lines, a streak of blinding energy, his foes barely registering his presence before they were struck down. He moved like lightning, impossible to predict, a living embodiment of swiftness and skill.
Each figure, distinct and fierce, brought an air of awe and terror to the battlefield, a living testament to the power and might of the legends they represented.
On the opposite side of the battlefield, the air grew thick with corruption and dark power. The ground itself seemed to writhe beneath the weight of the Chaos, and the very sky above darkened as it gathered in unholy formation. The air hummed with the whispers of evil.
A Legion of blood stood at the forefront. Clad in jagged, crimson armor, their warriors were a tide of brutality and fury. They were the embodiment of violence, their blood-soaked chainswords and axes gleaming as they surged forward with maddened speed. Every movement they made was fueled by rage, each strike made with the sole purpose of spilling blood and spreading pain. Their leader, a massive brute with some sort of wiring in his head, was a towering demon of raw, unbridled wrath. His massive, winged form blazed with hatred as he swung his enormous axe, each blow cleaving through the air with the power to shatter mountains. His eyes burned with the insatiable thirst for slaughter, his every motion a manifestation of some dark gods unrelenting fury. As he roared, the ground shook, and the blood of the fallen began to gather at his feet, ready to be spilled anew.
A Legion of sickness followed, a grotesque and bloated army of decay. Their armor was corroded and rusted, and their bodies were twisted, warped by disease and pestilence. The warriors marched forward with a sickening, shambling gait, their bloated forms emitting a stench of rot and death. Each one bore the symbol of their plague god with pride, their weapons corroded and covered in filth, yet they fought with a tireless, relentless determination. Leading them was a tall figure with wings of decay, holding a massive scythe. With a great swing of his weapon, a wave of disease and decay surged forth, turning the earth beneath it into a rotting, pustulent wasteland.
Next came The Legion of sorceries, change, and trickery. Their warriors were draped in flowing robes of ever-shifting colors, their armor adorned with symbols that seemed to warp and twist before the eye. They were a legion of schemers, sorcerers, and deceivers, each one dedicated to the pursuit of knowledge and power, no matter the cost. Their spells crackled through the air, twisting reality itself, as though the very fabric of time and space bent to their will. Among them stood a tall red haired figure with great horns growing from his head. He was wreathed in the flames of forbidden magic. By his side loomed a creature of ever-shifting shapes and patterns. Its massive, birdlike form was a kaleidoscope of color, its wings unfurled like a vast, living tapestry of change. With a flap of its wings, the very air seemed to warp and distort, while its beak screeched with the terrible knowledge of the universe's deepest secrets. Its gaze could unravel minds, and its sorcery could tear the fabric of reality apart.
And finally, the Legion of pain, and pleasure, the followers of excess. Their warriors wore ornate armor, sculpted to accentuate the beauty and elegance of their forms, their every movement graceful and lithe. They fought not just for victory, but for the pure ecstasy of the battle itself—the rush of sensory overload as they reveled in the agony and the triumph over their enemies. They wielded weapons of exquisite craftsmanship, their blades designed to pierce the very soul. Leading them was a massive, serpentine demon of unmatched beauty and terror. Its eyes glinted with an unholy understanding, its many arms wielding whips, claws, and blades that could tear through both flesh and mind alike. With each swipe of its tail, the ground beneath it seemed to pulse with seduction, as if the very battlefield was caught in the thrall of its mesmerizing presence.
More figures followed, but she couldn't comprehend their horror.
The battlefield was a tapestry of violence, decay, sorcery, and indulgence, each of the Chaos legions bringing their own unique form of madness to the fray. The clash between these forces would shape the fate of the world, as the servants of the Dark Gods, their legions vast and relentless, sought to bring about the end of order, to plunge the Universe into eternal suffering and corruption.
"Impressive, isn't it?" A voice, smooth and calm, broke through the chaos of the battlefield, drawing her attention away from the unfolding carnage.
Nira turned to her right, her eyes locking on a man who stood with an air of quiet authority. He was middle-aged, his features strikingly handsome, with long brown hair cascading down to his back. A simple wreath of gold rested atop his head, and he wore a white robe that billowed around him, leaving part of his chest exposed. His arms, defined and muscular, were adorned with bands of gold, and he stood barefoot, his feet pressed into the blood-red sand beneath them.
A faint, ethereal glow radiated from him, an aura that seemed to transcend the world around him. The only word that seemed to fit him was Perfect, though it was unclear whether it described his appearance, his presence, or something deeper still.
"My greatest achievement… and my greatest failure," he murmured, his gaze drawn to the battle below, his voice tinged with a sorrowful weight.
Nira, still transfixed, looked up at him, her confusion growing. "What do you mean?"
He sighed softly, a sound that carried both regret and understanding, as if he had spoken this truth a thousand times. "Contrary to what some of my subjects believe, I am not perfect." His hand gestured toward the battlefield, where warriors from across the galaxy clashed in brutal combat. "I have made many mistakes. But this new Universe…" He paused, bending slightly to pick up a handful of blood-red sand. It slipped through his fingers like time itself, an eternal moment slipping away.
"It has given me an opportunity to make things right," he continued, his voice now filled with a quiet conviction. "To even the playing field. And you," he said, turning his gaze toward Nira, "you are going to help me."
Nira blinked, taking an instinctive step back. "Me? I don't even know who you are?" Her voice trembled with uncertainty, her heart racing as she tried to make sense of what she was hearing.
He smiled gently. "I know. But you will. You will." He looked back at the battlefield, his eyes distant. "It all begins on Geonosis. Go there, and you will find the answers to your questions."
Before she could respond, he stood with a fluid motion, stretching out one hand toward the chaos below. The moment his fingers extended, a blinding explosion of light erupted from the battlefield, engulfing everything in its path.
The brilliance consumed them both, and his words lingered in the air like a soft whisper. "Until we meet again." His faint smile remained, an enigma on his lips, as the light wrapped around Nira, pulling her away into the unknown.
===
Nira was jolted awake, her breath catching in her chest as she gasped, her heart pounding from the vividness of the dream. Her eyes snapped open, and she immediately scanned her surroundings, disoriented. She found herself in the villa—a place of calm and comfort that seemed so distant from the chaos of the dream she'd just left behind. She blinked, the remnants of the dream fading, and rubbed her eyes as she tried to ground herself in reality.
She pushed herself to the edge of the bed, her movements slow and deliberate. Her hair had fallen messily over her face, sticking to her damp skin from the sweat of her restless sleep. With a quiet sigh, she brushed it away and stood, her bare feet meeting the cool floor. She walked over to a bowl of water resting next to a mirror on a small table, and placed her hands on either side, peering into the reflection of her flushed face.
The woman staring back at her seemed unfamiliar, as though the dream had shifted something within her. With a deep breath, she cupped her hands in the water and splashed her face, hoping it would wash away the unease that still lingered from the strange vision.
After a moment, she dried her face with the edge of a towel, her mind still racing as she left the room. The cool night air of the villa greeted her as she stepped into the main quarters. It was quiet except for the soft murmur of voices.
She paused when she saw Anakin and Padmé sitting side by side in the moonlight, their heads close together, whispering conspiratorially. Padmé let out a soft laugh of delight at something Anakin had said, and Nira could see the closeness between them—too much closeness for comfort.
Not wanting to interrupt the moment awkwardly, Nira made a few noises—deliberate enough for them to hear her approach. At once, Anakin and Padmé straightened, quickly putting a little space between them as Nira walked into the room.
"Hey, you two. It's late. Shouldn't you be in bed?" Nira asked, raising an eyebrow as she studied their somewhat flustered expressions.
Anakin straightened, offering a smile that didn't quite meet his eyes. "I couldn't sleep. And Lady Amidala just joined me here a few moments before you did."
"Oh, I see." Nira responded, her tone light, but she watched him carefully as he relaxed, reassured by her seeming ignorance. She wasn't sure what to make of the exchange, but she had more pressing matters on her mind.
"I have to be honest with you, Ani," she said, her voice growing more serious, the playful tone fading away. "I've been... I've been having the same recurring dream, night after night. I'm not sure what it means, and it makes me nervous." Her words felt heavy in the air as she slowly sank into a chair, trying to shake off the lingering unease from the dream. She then recounted the details—everything about the figures in armor, the strange, otherworldly being, and the unsettling sense of destiny pressing down on her.
Anakin listened intently, his gaze unwavering as she spoke, his posture growing more tense. When she finished, the silence in the room was thick, the weight of her words hanging in the air.
"We should go then," Anakin said suddenly, his voice firm.
"What?" Nira blinked, taken aback by his immediate response. She hadn't expected such a decisive reaction.
"If it involves the Astartes, we need to go and investigate," he explained, his expression hardening with resolve. "If there's a connection to what you've seen, we can't afford to ignore it."
Padmé looked between them, a concerned frown pulling at her lips. "Anakin, what are you suggesting?"
"You know exactly what i'm suggesting," Anakin said, his voice a mix of urgency and determination. "If these dreams mean something, if it's leading us somewhere, we need to follow it. Especially if the Astartes are involved."
Nira, still shaken by the vividness of her dream, looked between the two of them. A part of her felt a surge of fear, but another part, the part that had always been curious and driven by the unknown, felt a spark of understanding. She nodded slowly. "Alright. If you think it's the right thing to do... let's go."
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