I’m Star-Lord (SW Xover)

C66 Bounty Acquired!

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The icy winds of Contraxia whipped around the ship as it made a graceful descent, cutting through the thin atmosphere and coming to rest in the center of the snow-covered town. 

The landing was smooth, the ship's engines sending swirling snowflakes into a frenzied dance around the landing site. It settled just outside the neon-lit facade of the Iron Lotus. 

As the ship's ramp lowered with a mechanical hiss, a group of intoxicated Ravagers, their senses dulled but instincts sharp, took notice. 

They lacked the usual coordination but were drawn to the ship by a mix of curiosity and the inherent opportunity for mischief. Their eyes scanned the ship, noting the absence of any Ravager Clan symbols—a detail that marked the newcomers as potential targets.

Peter was the first to step out onto the ramp, his iconic mask in place, shielding his features from the biting cold and prying eyes. He surveyed the scene with a calm confidence. 

Behind him, his crew filed out—Groot's towering figure, Cosmo's eager stance, Howard adjusting his grip on his Tommy gun, and the ghostly Revan, his hand grasping his lightsaber.

The surrounding Ravagers tightened their grip on their weapons, their drunken stupor slightly lifting at the sight of the odd-looking group. Whispers circulated among them, their initial intent to rob intensifying by the moment.

Peter's gaze landed on the nearest Ravager, a burly orange-skinned man with tattoos all over his face and body. Without an ounce of fear or wariness, Peter stepped forward. "Is Stakar Ogord here?" he asked, his voice carrying clearly over the wind.

The question seemed to freeze the air itself, the Ravagers exchanging nervous glances, weighing their response. This hesitation stemmed from their knowledge that Stakar, a feared Ravager clan leader, would not take kindly to anyone harming his guests. 

But that hinged on whether these newcomers were actually Stakar's guests. 

One of them, braver or perhaps more foolish than the rest, stepped forward. "What business you got with Stakar?" he demanded, his voice rough.

"Not your concern," Peter replied smoothly, his smirk hidden behind his mask. "Just here to collect a bounty."

At his words, a collective murmur rose from the Ravagers. This stranger was no guest of Stakar's; he was a bounty hunter, an enemy. 

This realization shifted the balance, their faces twisting into smirks of anticipation. Killing or capturing these bounty hunters could curry favor with Stakar.

One of them finally spoke up, his tone mocking, rifle in his hand. "You might be looking for Stakar, but you ain't gonna meet 'em the way you hope to."

Peter's eyes narrowed slightly. "Really?" he quipped, but before the tension could escalate, he raised his hand towards the man who had spoken. The Ravager suddenly choked, dropping his rifle as his feet lifting off the ground, an invisible force constricted his throat.

"I'll ask nicely one last time," Peter's voice turned cold, a sharp turn from his earlier cordial tone. "Is Stakar here or not? I don't have all day."

The other Ravagers watched, frozen between fear and shock, as their companion flailed helplessly in the air. Gasping and clawing at his throat, the man finally nodded vigorously, managing to wheeze, "Inside, he's inside!"

"Thank you," Peter said, his tone light again. With a casual flick of his wrist, he snapped the man's neck with a gruesome crunch. 

As the Ravager's lifeless body thudded against the snowy ground, unmoving, a palpable shockwave of fear and rage rippled through his comrades. Their initial hesitation evaporated, replaced by a primal thirst for vengeance. The icy air of Contraxia crackled with the tension of imminent violence.

Without warning, a Ravager charged, his cry slicing through the cold air. Peter, swift as the biting wind, raised his hand, sending a merciless surge of invisible force that slammed the attacker's chest, caving it inward and sending him hurtling into a nearby building. His body made a sharp cracking sound as it collided with the metal wall before slumping over into the snow, dead.

As his second victim lay motionless, Peter turned back to his crew. "Remember, no mercy for Ravagers." he reminded them. "They're nothing but murderous psychos, and those are the good ones."

Instantly, the rest of the Ravagers surged forward, weapons drawn and grim expressions etched on their faces. They moved as a formidable, unified force, intent on vengeance.

Groot's form swelled, his wooden limbs stretching and twisting into fearsome weapons. With a deep, resonant groan that seemed to echo the groaning of old trees, he swept two Ravagers off their feet, their bodies crumpling under the massive force. 

Another limb shot out, sharp as a spear, impaling a foe through the chest. The Ravager gasped, his eyes wide in shock, as he was hoisted and then discarded like a rag doll.

Beside him, Howard, the trigger-happy duck, cackled maniacally as he unleashed a barrage of bullets from his Tommy gun. The air filled with the sharp scent of gunpowder and the harsh cracks of gunfire. 

Each bullet found its mark, rendering bloody havoc upon those it struck. Ravagers fell one by one, their attempts to advance halted by the relentless onslaught.

Amidst the chaos, Cosmo's presence was almost serene. Her eyes glowed with a fierce, otherworldly light as she focused her telekinetic powers. 

She lifted a cluster of Ravagers, suspending them in midair as they flailed helplessly. With a flick of her head, she sent them hurtling towards the ship's hardened hull. The impact was sickening—bones broke with crisp, clear snaps, and none rose again.

With a hiss that sliced through the clamor of battle, Revan ignited his lightsaber. His figure, both spectral and daunting, charged headfirst into the waves of enemies. This was his first real confrontation in thousands of years, making it hard to suppress the bloodthirsty smile that spread across his face.

His blade's eerie red glow cast long, dancing shadows as he moved with lethal grace. Each swing was a death sentence, slicing through armor and flesh with equal ease. Limbs and heads separated from bodies, falling to the snow in a grim ballet of destruction.

Although Peter could have simply sat back and let his crew handle them, his deep-seated grudge against anything related to Ravagers drove him forward, his powers surging through him with the force of a tempest. 

He choked, crushed, and hurled his enemies with mere gestures, his control over the Force absolute. A Ravager, attempting to sneak up on him from behind, was lifted into the air, his neck snapping before he could even scream.

The battle, though brief, was a spectacle of brutal efficiency. And as the last of the Ravagers lay defeated, the silence that fell was heavy, punctuated only by the soft sound of falling snow.

Peter turned to his crew, nodding a single time. "Alright, let's clear out the rest of this place and grab Stakar. We've got royalty waiting on us…" They moved as one towards the Iron Lotus, their figures disappearing into the dimly lit entrance, leaving behind the carnage of their victory.

…

Inside, the atmosphere was stifling, thick with the scent of fear and desperation. The once-vibrant establishment was now a grim scene of dominance and depravity.

Peter's eyes scanned the room, noting the naked, disheveled, beaten, and violated state of the women who worked at the brothel, as well as the cruel glee on the faces of Stakar's Ravager clan as they lounged carelessly around the room. 

It was very clear what these pirates had done, and are still doing. 'These sick b*stards…' Peter's jaw tightened, his heart rate climbing with each desperate cry that reached his ears.

Suddenly, a piercing scream cut through the murmurs—more agonized than the rest. Peter turned sharply towards the source, his gaze landing on a group of Ravagers crowding around the bar. At the center, a female bartender struggled fiercely against the clutches of her assailants, her clothes tearing under their brutal grip.

The sight ignited the already simmering rage within Peter, his eyes flickering a dangerous shade of yellow. With a swift, sweeping gesture, he unleashed a devastating force push. 

Immediately, the assailants were ripped away from the woman, their bodies contorted unnaturally as they smashed into the nearby wall, which crumbled under the impact, burying them beneath the rubble.

The bartender, now free, stumbled towards the exit, her expression one of shock and relief. Peter watched her escape, then spoke to his crew. "Get the rest of these women out of here," he commanded, his voice dangerously calm. 

Howard opened his mouth, probably to object, but Peter turned just in time, his eyes glowing beneath his mask, silencing him before he could utter a single word. "I said, get these women out of here, I'll handle the rest…" Peter repeated, his tone leaving no room for arguments.

Revan nodded firmly at Howard and the others. "Do as he says," he urged. As the crew hurried to assist the remaining women, Revan placed a supportive hand on Peter's shoulder. "Give 'em hell, Peter."

With the women on their way to safety, the tense silence was suddenly broken by a curious voice from the back of the room. "What was that noise?" The question was followed by the sound of approaching footsteps and the clattering of weapons.

Soon enough, Stakar Ogord emerged from the shadows, flanked by the rest of his clan. Some were barely dressed, hastily grabbing their weapons, their expressions a mix of confusion and anger. 

They stopped short at the sight of the devastation in the brothel, their eyes narrowing as they took in Peter's lone figure, awaiting their arrival. 

"End of the line," Peter muttered under his breath, his voice barely above a whisper, the power of the Force pulsating around him like a visible aura. He could feel every heartbeat, every tremble in the room—the fear was palpable, and it fueled him.

With a swift motion, his hands extended forward, fingers splayed. A wave of telekinetic energy blasted through the room, tearing tables from the ground and smashing them against the walls. Screams filled the air, not just of terror but of agony, as Ravagers were caught in the invisible storm.

One burly Ravager, his face contorted in rage, charged at Peter with a raised blade. In a fluid, almost serene motion, Peter twisted his hand, directing a surge of Force lightning. 

The electrical arcs danced violently around the assailant, enveloping him in a crackling blue net. The man's scream was cut short as he collapsed, smoke rising from his charred body.

As his body hit the floor, Peter's attention snapped to the next threat. Two Ravagers, thinking there was strength in numbers, advanced with a coordinated attack. Peter's response was brutal—lifting one with a focused telekinetic grip, he used the man as a human shield against the other's blaster fire before hurling him aside like a broken doll.

The gunfire ceased as the second attacker met a swift end under a barrage of debris Peter manipulated with a mere flick of his wrist. Sharp fragments of broken furniture became lethal projectiles, cutting through the air—and flesh—with ruthless efficiency.

The room was chaos, but every move Peter made was calculated, each step taken with purpose. He moved through the brothel, a specter of vengeance, his powers leaving a trail of destruction and death.

Amid the carnage, Stakar Ogord finally stepped forward, his expression a mix of disbelief and fury. He watched as his clan was decimated, his rage boiling over. "Who are you!" he roared, advancing with his weapon drawn.

Peter turned, his eyes meeting Stakar's. "Your turn," he said flatly, but his tone suggested it was anything but a fair fight. With a motion of his hand, he unleashed a torrent of Force lightning. 

The electric current enveloped Stakar, throwing him back against the wall. The smell of singed clothing and flesh filled the air, but Peter held back just enough to keep him alive, the sizzling sound of electricity a constant undercurrent to Stakar's agonizing screams.

As Stakar writhed, Peter approached, his face close enough for his foe to see the yellow glow of his eye beneath the mask. "I may not be able to kill you, but I can sure as hell make you want to die," he whispered, before stepping back to allow Stakar a moment of reprieve—a moment to witness the destruction of everything he held dear.

One by one, Peter dealt with the remaining Ravagers. Each encounter was brief, violent, and final. He moved through them, a force of nature, unstoppable and unforgiving.

Finally, as the last of the Ravagers fell, Peter grabbed Stakar's battered body, caked in the blood of his comrades, and dragged him toward the entrance where his crew awaited.

Howard, upon seeing Stakar's condition, grimaced. "What the hell did you do to him?! We need him alive, Peter! Remember the bounty?"

Peter glanced down at the unconscious form of Stakar, then back at Howard, a slight smirk returning to his features. "It's not his blood," he replied as he walked off, dragging their bounty back to the ship. 

A/N: 2227 words :)

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