Star Wars: Tales of a Star Dragon
Short Story: Beginning of the Clone Wars
(PSA: Story is an Isekai Star Wars Fanfiction)

Floating in the frigid, boundless cosmos, the hulking frame of a Separatist Lucrehulk battleship resembled an automated colossus. The ship's angular, utilitarian contours starkly juxtaposed the streamlined, ornate profiles of the Imperium vessels encircling it. The Lucrehulk, erstwhile an emblem of terror and subjugation, now drifted inert and disabled, its formerly vibrant hangars and control hubs transformed into hollow, reverberant vaults of broken parts.

Aboard the Imperial flagship, a vessel of dark iron and towering spires, a Duinuogwuin by the name of Ancalagon stood on the bridge. His formidable figure silhouetted against the harsh glow of the viewscreen as he stood on his forelegs and hindlegs in the shadows. The dragon's eyes, burning with an intense, otherworldly light, were fixed on the Lucrehulk. The bridge hummed with activity, the air thick with the scent of ozone and the whispered prayers of the Tech Priests who tended to the ship's systems.

Once a human from the distant time of Earth in the year 2023, he had been transformed, his essence fused with the celestial might of a dragon. His formidable figure, now a towering blend of scales and shadow, was silhouetted against the harsh glow of the viewscreen.

The flagship was a Dreadnought of incomprehensible size, a cathedral of war and devotion that bristled with weapons and dripped with gothic ornamentation. The Gloriana-class Battleship's hull was adorned with rows of skulls, each a trophy of past victories, and its spires reached out like clawing fingers, hungry for the next conquest. Around it, the Imperium fleet hung in formation, a grim armada of Battleships, Cruisers, and Destroyers, their hulls painted in the stark red and black of Ancalagon's scales.

Ancalagon's thoughts drifted back to the past. It had been a challenging decade for the dragon, particularly in his quest to establish his Imperium, from inadvertently transforming mechanics into Tech Priests to subsequently liberating a multitude of slaves at the behest of young Anakin Skywalker following the battle on Naboo.

Rather than let Anakin be taken by a newly knighted Obi-Wan, the dragon took Anakin and raised him before the Jedi or Sith could influence him. Gradually, he had adhered to the young boy's wishes; letting the boy choose freely while teaching him the dangers of The Force and its effects on the galaxy. While Ancalagon claimed planet after planet, Anakin learned politics, statecraft, and how to influence without resorting to conflict. The liberation of countless thousands of slaves was a dream the young boy had, and Ancalagon made sure to let the boy have it.

Since then, the dragon had spent that time meticulously expanding his forces, liberating countless souls from the shackles of the Zygerrian Slave Empire, the grinding poverty of industrial worlds, and the hellish conditions that had been their fate. With the Spaarti clone cylinders he had taken long ago, Ancalagon had revolutionized his army. By mixing all clone cylinders with Ysalamiri DNA, he had mass-produced humanoid and his own clones without the risk of Force Madness… creating a vast, unyielding force.

The Imperium had grown rapidly, bolstered by freed slaves and clones alike. Even drakes, fearsome creatures bred in the Spaarti cloning facilities, now fought alongside the Imperium forces. With this newfound might, the Imperium had swept through the Gordian Reach, claiming territory after territory in less than a decade. Ancalagon's vision of a united Imperium was becoming a reality, a testament to his unyielding will and strategic brilliance.

Even Anakin matured through the experiences of Ancalagon's grand campaign. Though not constantly involved in battle, the boy had become exceptionally strong as a Force wielder, a fighter, and a leader. His skills had been honed not just in the heat of combat, but also in the quieter moments of strategic planning and diplomatic maneuvering. Anakin's growth was evident in his ability to inspire loyalty in both the freed slaves and the clone soldiers, further cementing the Imperium's unity and strength.

Ancalagon turned to the Tech Priest standing beside him, the priest's mechanical eyes glowing in the dim light of the bridge. "Prepare a boarding party," he commanded, his voice resonating with authority. "We will take this Hulk and replicate it's designs for our Forge Worlds."

The Tech Priest bowed, his mechanical limbs whirring softly. "As you command, Omnissiah," he replied, before turning to relay the orders to the rest of the crew. The bridge hummed with renewed activity, the Tech Priests and servitors moving with purpose and precision.

In the docking bay of the Battle Barge, a Stormbird assault ship sat poised, its engines humming with restrained power. The ship was a brutal, efficient machine, its hull adorned with the iconography of the Imperium and bristling with weapons. The boarding party, a contingent of Space Marines clad in power armor, stood in formation, their bolters held at the ready.

Ancalagon strode into the docking bay, his footsteps echoing against the cold metal deck. The Space Marines, genetic soldiers made from the DNA of Anakin Skywalker himself, stood at attention. There were many of them whom carried giant kinetic rifles, where each bullet had the force of a thermal detonator. These bolters were standard armament for each of these Space Marines, each ready to charge into the fire and destroy all that resisted the might of The Imperium.

The Stormbird's ramp lowered with a hiss of hydraulics, revealing the dark interior of the ship. Ancalagon stepped aboard, the Space Marines following in his wake. The ramp closed behind them, sealing them in the cold, metallic embrace of the ship. The engines roared to life, and the Stormbird launched, surging forward on a pillar of fire.

The journey to the Lucrehulk was brief, the Stormbird slicing through the void and the debris of broken Separatist ships with unerring precision. As they approached the battleship, the Space Marines prepared for breach, their bolters locked and loaded, their chainswords humming with deadly intent. Ancalagon stood at the fore, ready to stomp over Super Battle droids and crush every obstacle in his path.

The Stormbird slammed into the hull of the Lucrehulk, its breaching spikes punching through the metal like it was tissue paper. The ship shuddered as it forced its way into the battleship, the hull groaning and protesting under the assault. The ramp lowered, revealing the dark, smoky interior of the Lucrehulk.

Ancalagon led the charge, his roar echoing through the corridors like a primal battle cry as he surged forward. The Space Marines, clad in their black and red power armor, followed closely behind, their bolters launching devastating projectiles that obliterated all in their path. They cut down the few remaining battle droids with precise, merciless efficiency. The droids tried to bar their path or attempted to fire off blaster rounds in a futile attempt to halt the inevitable, but the Space Marines were an unstoppable force, leaving only shattered metal and sparks in their wake.

Nothing could stop the initial assault made by Ancalagon and his Killteam of towering bulwarks. Where a turbolaser turret activated and fired, a Space Marine Chaplain bearing the power of The Force simply crushed its barrels with a simple flick of his wrist. Should an AAT or a Heavy Mounted Vehicle activate, several plasma bolts or a hail of Heavy Bolter rounds were enough to render the bigger vehicles inoperable or broken in a hail of parts and melting metal.

With the first strike on their section of the Lucrehulk successful, Thunderhawks began sweeping into the hangar bay unopposed. Amidst the wreckage of MTTs, AATs, and shattered droids, Ancalagon watched the Thunderhawks touchdown and their bay doors yawned open. Each Thunderhawk revealed fifty soldiers clad in leather, their faces obscured by gas masks, armed with lasguns and shovels for melee combat. In one swift motion, the soldiers Ancalagon identified as Krieg troops, flooded into the vessel.

The Imperium's troops surged through the Lucrehulk, their advance unstoppable and persistent. With the efficiency of a finely-tuned engine, they commandeered the docking bays, the buzz of activity supplanted by the unsettling quiet of triumph. The control rooms were next to fall, the formerly bustling hubs of the ship now reduced to empty husks, their observation windows broken, exposing the frigid void of space. The engine rooms yielded to the assault, the core of the Lucrehulk's power now motionless, its expansive machinery quiet and inert.

In their wake, the Space Marines left only devastation behind, a testament to the might of the Imperium. The last remaining CIS crew members were gathered in the central hangar, their faces ashen with terror and defeat, the fire in their eyes quenched by the inexorable advance of their foes.

Ancalagon stood in the heart of the Lucrehulk's bridge, his gaze sweeping over the banks of controls and displays. The Tech Priests moved in, their mechanical limbs interfacing with the ship's systems, their eyes glowing with the reflected light of data streams. They worked with swift, efficient precision, their chanting filling the air as they communed with the machine spirits.

Slowly, the Lucrehulk began to come back to life, its systems rebooting, its engines humming with renewed power. Ancalagon watched, a sense of satisfaction washing over him. This was the power of the Imperium, the power of his will made manifest. He had taken a symbol of the enemy and made it his own, a testament to his might and the indomitable spirit of his people.

As the Lucrehulk's systems came back online, the Tech Priests began to extract the data from its memory banks. The secrets of the CIS, their strategies, their weaknesses, all of it flowed into the Imperium's databanks, a wealth of knowledge that would fuel their next conquests.

Ancalagon turned to one of the Tech Priests, his voice firm with command. "Send a message to the fleet," he said. "The Lucrehulk is secure. Prepare to move out. The Gordian Reach is ours, and we will not relinquish it."

---

Another excellent Commission Piece made by  Pixel_pip ! This is a fanfiction story set in the Naboo Crisis where the protagonist is a reflavored Star Dragon of the Star Wars Universe, who was once a human who got nuked on in the onset of WWIII. A little comedy for you in case you don't want to read like 40k (yes, I made the joke lol) words of story to get to there buuut, the reason why there are Tech Priests/Warhammer 40K themed people and ships in this universe...

The Main Character accidentally altered the minds of Engineers and Mechanics while using The Force.

Mechanic: Is doing something.
Dragon: Has a thought.
Mechanic: "From the moment I understood the weakness of my flesh, it disgusted me."

Still, once when I have finished posting the art pieces I have commissioned, I will soon start posting my stories!