C37 One Down…

C37 One Down...

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A/N: 2 Chapters!

The aftermath of Master Yoda's display of power hung in the air, a silent testament to the force wielded by a Jedi Grandmaster at his peak of power.

Even now, Peter still could hardly believe what he'd just witnessed. 'I wonder how Yoda would fare against Thanos...'

However, the brief moment of wonder was shattered as Corvus Glaive and Proxima Midnight emerged from the wreckage of their ship, their eyes blazing with fury and vengeance.

Corvus, his spear gleaming with a malevolent light, locked eyes with Yoda, a silent vow of retribution in his gaze. Proxima, sword in hand, turned her deadly intent towards Peter, the sharp edge of her weapon promising a swift end.

"Why is she looking at me like that?" He asked aloud, jokingly gesturing to the little green alien beside him. "It was him that sent you two flying, not me. I don't even know this guy, we just met a few minutes ago..."

Count Dooku, a bystander who was thrown into this mess without a clue as to what was happening, scoffed at Peter's behavior, "Ah, the Jedi way I recall so fondly: quick to cast aside their own comrades. I see some traditions never die..."

Rolling his eyes, Peter quickly countered. "I'm sure you'd know all about casting your comrades aside," he retorted, his joking demeanor vanishing.

With an air of thinly veiled disdain, Dooku turns to face Yoda, ignoring Peter once again. "I believe I'll leave this..." he gestures to the chaotic battle ensuing around them, "mess in your capable hands."

With a final, dismissive glance between Peter and his former mentor, Dooku turns on his heel and strides away, the very picture of indifference, unwilling to lift a finger in support of the Jedi order.

Peter watches him go, then looks back to Yoda, his expression a mixture of disdain and contempt. "So, that guy used to be your student too, huh?" He asked, a clear disapproval in his voice. "Where do you think you went wrong? Or was he always such a cowardly little pr*ck?"

Momentarily disturbed by the callus departure of his former student, Yoda focuses on the immediate threat. "Concern ourselves with my wayward pupil later, we will," he states, turning to face their adversaries with a calm resolve. "First, deal with them, we must."

Peter nods, understanding that they didn't have much time for talk. "But you noticed it too, right?" He asks, nodding towards Dooku's retreating figure.

Yoda glances at his retreating disciple, a frown marring his usually serene face as he recalled the sliver of rage he released. "Yes, worrying, it is. But first, deal with what's in front of us, we must."

Before more could be said, Proxima, with a growl of impatience, launches herself forward, her blade cutting through the air with deadly precision. "Enough stalling!" She shouts, her voice ear-piercing. Corvus, not a heartbeat behind, follows with his spear, the tip glowing ominously.

The abrupt aggression left no room for further discussion as both Peter and Yoda turned serious, tightly gripping their lightsabers as the force flowed through them, empowering their bodies.

The ground seemed to tremble beneath Proxima and Corvus's feet as they charged forward, their speed and ferocity a blur to anyone watching.

Peter readied himself, his lightsaber humming dangerously as Proxima appeared before him, her sword slicing downward. "Ugh!" But Peter was quick to block, his muscles straining as the ground beneath his feet cracked under the strength of her blow.

The clash was thunderous, a symphony of sparks and power. Peter, despite his training and abilities, found himself struggling to keep up with Proxima's relentless assault. Her swordsmanship was impeccable, each strike a deadly dance that he barely managed to parry or dodge.

Nebula, her breaths shallow and ragged from the fight, paused for a moment, her gaze locked on Gamora's. The battlefield around them seemed to fade into silence, waiting for her response. The moment stretched, filled with the possibility of forgiveness, of a new beginning.

But then, the air shifted, the weight of years of pain and betrayal pressing down once more. Nebula's expression hardened, the brief flicker of connection giving way to the cold, familiar wall of resentment.

"It's too late to be sorry, Gamora," Nebula said, her voice laced with a bitterness that cut through the brief silence. Her hand clenched into a fist, the tension in her body coiling like a spring.

Before Gamora could react, Nebula's fist connected with her face once again, a physical manifestation of the hurt and anger that lay between them. The impact sent Gamora stumbling back, her face dripping blood as a cut open up over her eye.

The battle raged on, their bodies bruised and battered, a physical manifestation of the emotional scars they bore. The intensity of their fight brought them to the brink of exhaustion, each move slower, more labored than the last. Their once-powerful strikes now barely had the strength to push the other back.

As the final blows were exchanged, the air around them seemed to still, the only sound that of their heavy breathing and the soft thud of their fists. And then, as if by an unspoken agreement, their anger spent, their bodies gave way to the exhaustion and pain that had been building.

In one last, simultaneous effort, Nebula and Gamora lunged at each other, only to collapse into a heap on the ground, unconscious, the weight of their grievances still lingering in the air.

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Back at the heart of the battle, Peter and Yoda found themselves locked in a dance of death with Corvus and Proxima. Each fight the complete opposite of the other, as Peter remained defensive, barely surviving each clash, while Yoda's every move seemed to overwhelm his opponent, making it look rather easy.

Proxima's blade, swift and merciless, sought to find a chink in Peter's scrambling defenses. But, fueled by a combination of fear, adrenaline, and determination, he kept her at bay, his lightsaber moving in arcs that mirrored the desperation and hope that drove him.

"Quit running you little bug!" She shouted as she swung her sword, a manic smile on her face.

Yoda, facing Corvus, was a whirlwind of motion. Despite the disparity in their sizes, the Jedi Master's agility and mastery of the Force rendered him a formidable adversary. Corvus's spear, usually deadly in its precision, was constantly moving to block Yoda's swift and continuous strikes.

"Slowing, you are." Yoda commented, which only seemed to infuriate his opponent.

And in a fluid motion, Yoda exploited a fleeting gap in Corvus's defense. With a swift arc of his lightsaber, he severed Corvus's hand, sending the spear clattering to the ground.

Instantly, the battlefield fell silent for a heartbeat, the significance of the moment hanging heavily in the air.

Locked in a clash with his opponent, Peter saw his chance. The spear, Corvus's weapon of choice, lay on the ground, its master disarmed and reeling from the loss. With Proxima's sole focus on him, Peter seized the moment.

Tapping into his most powerful ability, Peter discreetly extended his hand towards the fallen spear. The spear rattled against the ground as if caught in an unseen grip before it shot through the air toward his target, guided by his will.

Proxima, caught off guard by this unexpected maneuver, barely had time to register the danger. "?!"

The spear, propelled by Peter's telekinetic pull, found its mark, impaling her from behind. "Aaarggh!?" The force of the impact drove the breath from her lungs, a look of shock and betrayal etching her features as she stumbled forward, her eyes wide with the realization of her impending death.

Peter heaved a few breaths before holding up his middle fingers. "F•ck you... *heavy breaths* You, ugly b•tch."

As Proxima collapsed, blood pooling around her stiffening body, Corvus's eyes widened in alarm. "Proxima?!"

A/N: 2059 words :)