I’m Star-Lord (SW Xover)

C217 Phantom Menace Begins

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Inside Gulda’s Throne Room…

Gulda the Hutt slumped on her golden throne, surrounded by the lifeless bodies of her guards. Smoke curled through the room, and only a handful of her servants remained, trembling in fear.

Tony, Natasha, Mikaela, Rocket, and Groot surrounded her, weapons drawn. The air was thick with tension as Gulda shifted uneasily, her beady yellow eyes darting between the intruders.

In a desperate move, she rumbled in deep Huttese, her slimy lips curling into what passed for a grin.

The Twi’lek interpreter, chained to the throne, relayed her words with a shaky voice. “The great Gulda offers you wealth, ships, and power—whatever you desire. Just spare her life.”

Rocket rolled his eyes. “Geez, I’ve never heard that before.”

Tony scoffed. “Right, because trusting this space slug-thing sounds like a solid plan.”

Natasha kept her blaster trained on Gulda, her voice low and cold. “We’re not here to bargain.”

Gulda’s oily smile twisted into a frustrated sneer as her offers fell on deaf ears. Realizing bribes wouldn’t save her, she barked a harsh command in Huttese.

The few slaves left in the room lunged forward in a desperate, suicidal charge.

Rocket grinned maniacally. “Alright! Now we’re talkin’!”

With a roar, he fired his bazooka. The explosion sent bodies flying, crashing into the walls with sickening thuds.

Natasha and Mikaela ducked behind cover, firing precise shots at the remaining attackers. Natasha moved with expert precision, each shot dropping a target before they could react. Mikaela, though still nervous, kept up, her aim improving with each blast.

Groot surged forward, his limbs expanding. He snatched a guard mid-stride, impaling him on a sharpened branch. Another enemy swung at Groot from behind, but the tree-like being smashed him into the floor with a heavy branch.

“I am Groot!” he bellowed triumphantly, throwing the body aside.

Rocket loaded another round into his bazooka, laughing. “You know? I think I’m starting to like this planet!”

Amid the chaos, the Twi’lek interpreter tried to flee, her chain rattling as she struggled to escape. But the chain snapped taut, yanking her back toward the throne. She choked, collapsing onto the floor, gasping for air.

Gulda roared in fury at the Twi’lek’s cowardice, furious that her slave dared to flee rather than sacrifice herself.

The fight ended in moments, the room falling silent except for the crackle of flames. The group closed in on Gulda, step by step.

Realizing she had no escape, Gulda shifted her massive form, her voice desperate and pleading in Huttese.

With a snarl, Groot stepped forward and rammed a thick branch through her torso, pinning the Hutt to her throne.

Gulda let out a guttural scream, blood pouring from her mouth. She gasped, repeating a phrase over and over in Huttese, her body convulsing.

The Twi’lek slave, still gasping from the chain’s pull, raised her head. “Wait! She’s trying to say something!”

Rocket, unfazed, aimed his bazooka at Gulda’s head. “We’re done talkin’.”

The Twi’lek scrambled to translate. “She says if wealth and power don’t interest you, maybe… maybe information will.”

Tony arched an eyebrow, glancing at the others. “Information, huh?”

Rocket rolled his eyes and tightened his grip on the bazooka. “Nah. Still don’t care.”

He was just about to fire when slow, deliberate footsteps echoed from the hallway.

The group turned, weapons raised, as Peter strolled casually into the throne room, dressed in scavenged clothes. He stepped carefully over bodies and puddles of blood, his face twisted with mild disgust.

Peter wrinkled his nose at the carnage. “Eww… This place is a mess.”

The group stared at him, dumbfounded.

Rocket groaned, lowering his bazooka. “Of course, you show up now.”

Seeing Peter arrive, Mikaela suddenly broke into a sprint toward him. Tears welled in her eyes, the weight of everything she had gone through—fights, fear, and the surreal reality of killing multiple people—finally crashing down on her.

Before Peter could react, Mikaela threw herself into his arms, clinging to him tightly. She buried her face against his chest, her breath shaky as she whispered, “Thank god you’re here...”

Peter’s gaze softened, and he gently wrapped his arms around her, holding her close. “It’s okay,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing. “You did good, Mikaela. You’re safe now.”

For a moment, the chaotic world around them faded away, and Mikaela melted into his embrace, taking comfort in the presence of the man she loved.

Natasha watched their reunion, a flicker of jealousy stirring within her. But after a moment, she pushed it aside, understanding that Mikaela needed this. Natasha was no stranger to life-or-death situations and the weight of taking a life—but Mikaela was different.

As he held her, Peter glanced toward the throne where Gulda lay, writhing in agony as blood trickled from her mouth and the gaping wound in her side. “So,” Peter called over to her calmly, “what’s this information you were talking about?”

Gulda’s slimy yellow eyes flicked up, gasping for breath. Her gaze locked on the lightsaber hilt at Peter’s belt. A flicker of hope sparked in her gaze—a Jedi. She knew Jedi were supposed to be merciful, peaceful. If she gave him what he wanted, she might survive.

The Hutt rumbled weakly in Huttese, gesturing toward her Twi’lek interpreter.

But before the interpreter could relay her words, Peter raised a hand, cutting her off. “Nah. You tell me yourself,” he said, his tone flat and unyielding. “This whole interpreter song and dance is annoying.”

Gulda sneered, refusing to break tradition, her pride still clinging stubbornly to her.

Peter sighed and gave Groot a subtle nod.

Groot didn’t hesitate. His wooden limbs twisted and expanded, driving deeper into Gulda’s bloated form. The Hutt howled in pain, writhing and gasping as the sharp wood pierced deeper, pinning her to the throne with even more force.

“You wanna try again?” Peter asked, his voice calm but with an edge that sent shivers through the room.

Gulda’s pride cracked. The unbearable pain broke through her stubbornness, and she finally rasped in Galactic Basic. “Please… stop… I’ll talk…”

Rocket chuckled. “This is my kinda negotiation…”

Gulda coughed, blood dripping from her swollen lips. Her slimy gaze flicked toward Peter, still in disbelief that a supposed Jedi would stand by and allow such treatment. “You… you’re no Jedi…”

Peter tilted his head slightly, unfazed. “Is that your information? Because that doesn’t sound very lifesaving to me. It's not even accurate either...”

Realizing that her only chance at survival hinged on cooperation, Gulda shifted her massive body slightly and reached toward the armrest of her throne. 

“!?” The group tensed, ready for a trap.

The Hutt pressed a hidden panel, and the throne rumbled as a small compartment opened. A hidden holoprojector emerged, humming to life and casting a pale blue glow across the room.

Rocket leveled his bazooka, muttering, “This better not be a weapon.”

But instead of an attack, the hologram flickered to life, revealing the earlier conversation between Gulda and Count Dooku.

The room fell silent as Dooku’s imposing figure appeared within the projection, his voice cold and deliberate.

‘Oh, this is certainly interesting…’ Peter thought, his eyes trained on Dooku. 

“We’ve granted you power, Gulda. Now, it’s time to repay your debt.”

The group listened as Dooku’s threats echoed through the room. He spoke of his mysterious master, the one who had secured Gulda’s rise to power—and of the consequences if she failed to comply.

“It is time for the Hutts to step into a larger role. Your people will increase your pirating activities—not just along the outer rim but into the Mid Rim and Expansion Regions. Cause disturbances. Draw the Republic’s attention and ensure their focus remains… divided.”

“Cause disturbances. Push into the Mid Rim and Expansion Regions. Keep the Senate divided, keep the Republic preoccupied.” Peter pieced it together, his thoughts racing. ‘But what’s he really planning? And who’s pulling the strings? Is it Sidious? Or is there another Sith I don’t know about?’

As the recording ended, the hologram fizzled out with a soft hum, leaving the room heavy with the weight of the revelation.

Peter crossed his arms, his expression unreadable. “Well… that’s not exactly the kind of information I was expecting, but it’s not bad either.”

Rocket tilted his head, his bazooka still resting comfortably on his shoulder. “So… can I shoot her now?” he asked with a mischievous grin.

Peter gave a casual shrug, smirking. “Sure, why not?”

Gulda’s eyes bulged in panic. “Wait! No! We had a deal!” she bellowed in Huttese, her swollen body writhing against the throne as the Twi’lek interpreter repeated her desperate plea in Basic.

Peter’s expression remained calm as he stepped closer to the dying Hutt, his voice low and cold. “I lied.” He smirked, meeting her terrified gaze. “And besides… it’s not like I’m a Jedi. Why would I keep my word?”

A dark glee spread across his face, the words laced with sarcasm.

Gulda let out a guttural scream, cursing Peter in Huttese. “You’ll burn for this! You—”

Her words were cut off as Rocket, cackling with glee, pulled the trigger.

The room shook with a deafening blast as the bazooka fired. The explosion was instant and grotesque—Gulda’s massive body erupted, splattering the walls, floor, and everyone nearby with sticky, greenish-black Hutt guts. Chunks of flesh and viscera coated everything in sight, filling the air with a rancid stench.

The Twi’lek interpreter let out a piercing scream, collapsing to the floor as she scrambled to wipe the thick slime off her skin. She gagged in horror, her body trembling as she sat in the middle of the gore-strewn throne room.

Rocket whistled, clearly satisfied with the result. “Man, I love this job.”

Natasha flicked a piece of slime from her shoulder, rolling her eyes. “Disgusting.”

Mikaela wiped her face with a look of pure revulsion. ”yuck…”

Peter only smirked, unbothered by the carnage. As the chaos settled and the group caught their breath, Tony’s gaze shifted toward Peter, his brow furrowing as he noticed Peter’s odd, mismatched clothing.

“So…” Tony crossed his arms, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “What exactly are you wearing?”

Peter glanced down at the scuffed jacket and slightly too-tight pants he had scavenged from the ship. He gave the ensemble a once-over before looking back at Tony with a shrug.

“It’s… a long story.”

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On Naboo, in the Queen’s Bedroom…

The soft glow of the sun filtered through the elegant drapes, casting a peaceful ambiance across the lavish room. Padmé Amidala lay nestled beneath the silk covers, her heart fluttering with excitement as she reached for her datapad from the bedside table.

This was her favorite time—when she could steal moments away from the demands of royal life to contact him. The man who made her feel more alive than any title or duty ever could: Star-Lord.

A soft smile curled her lips as she tapped the screen, initiating the video call. She adjusted her hair, smoothing it down with a nervous flick of her hand. But as the datapad tried to connect, the screen flickered oddly.

“Hm…” Padmé frowned, tapping the device again, wondering if there was some interference. She tried a second time, the connection stalling once more, making her bite her lip. “Come on… don’t do this now…”

Just as she was about to try again, the room dimmed, and the soft light streaming in through the windows vanished. Her heart skipped a beat as the world outside plunged into shadow.

Padmé sat up, her brow furrowed. Rising from the bed, she moved toward the balcony doors, her bare feet silent against the polished floor. She pulled the delicate drapes aside, unlocked the balcony doors, and stepped out into the fresh air.

What she saw stole the breath from her lungs.

The tranquil sky above Theed was gone, replaced by the ominous silhouettes of massive Trade Federation ships. Hundreds of them hovered ominously above the city, their colossal forms blocking out the stars. Bright lights flickered along their hulls, and from their open hangars, waves of droid soldiers descended toward the streets below.

Padmé’s heart pounded in her chest as the realization set in.

A full-scale invasion.

From her vantage point, she could already see battle droids landing in formation, spreading through the city with mechanical precision. The distant sounds of panic began to reach her—shouts, alarms, and the faint echoes of marching droid feet.

Her breath caught as she stared, frozen in disbelief.

Suddenly, the sound of hurried footsteps broke her trance. She turned to see Captain Panaka burst into the room, his expression grave, his chest heaving from the sprint.

“Your Majesty!” he called urgently, his voice laced with tension. “We must move quickly—Naboo is being—”

Padmé’s voice, tight with fear but steady, cut him off. “Invaded.”

Panaka gave a grim nod, stepping closer to her. “We need to get you to safety. Now.”

Padmé glanced back toward the darkened sky, her heart sinking deeper into her chest.

The invasion had begun.

A/N: 2200 words :)🚨🚨

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