Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Summary: KotOR and GotG (movie) X-over. A clash with fate sends a dark stranger to a galaxy in turmoil. There, the Revanchist is willing to go to drastic measures for the sake of freedom, of justice. Dire circumstances force Revan and the gloomy Kree to cooperate - and sharing feelings for the same woman might make it all quite complex.

Rated: Rated T due to violence. I might need to shift the rating up to M during later chapters, but let's get this started with this.

A/N:

I saw the Guardians of the Galaxy film a while ago and was heavily inspired by Ronan the Accuser. He was pretty awesome as a villain and the way he was portrayed as a Kree fanatic in the film kind of made me feel that there is something more below the surface. I wanted to dig deeper into that. I guess I also wanted to write something a little bit more straightforward and faster progressing than my other KotOR-project, 'The Pawn'. As a result I came up with this Mandalorian war era action/adventure/love triangle story (and I still don't know how that happened...).

Yes - this is a Star Wars KotOR and Guardians of the Galaxy (movie) X-over. This is located in the KotOR universe and the timeline starts during the Mandalorian Wars, at the height of the Mandalorian onslaught, with Revan commanding a portion of the Republic fleet. Or, in Ronan's case, immediately after the ending of the movie. Do I even need to say that this contains spoilers for the movie?

After being face-to-face with his own mortality, Ronan finds himself (painfully) in the galaxy far, far away...and so it begins.

Strongly AU, artistic freedom will be taken where needed. This story ignores the Revan book (as do all my KotOR fics).

As usual, any feedback is highly appreciated.

And on with the story…

I Am Justice

by ajaton

Chapter 1: The Kree

It was a flash of purple light. No – the soul of the universe itself was purple. It was chaos in its rawest form.

And red, hungry, throbbing pain. The feeling of his skin peeling off; muscle and finally bone being exposed and melting, until nothing remained.

And the thought of the utmost defeat.

…And death.

It was over. The petty Peter Quill had won. He and his motley crew of pathetic beings had managed to shift the odds to their favor. Odds he never knew even existed.

He had been so close. And he had lost.

It was over.

"Sir, we've detected an explosion on the surface," his com crackled.

"I saw it, Lieutenant," he replied. "Take a group down. Check it, get a visual. Proceed with caution. If it's of Mandalorian origin, do not let them expect you coming."

If it's Mandalorian they bloody expect us coming.

The man's voice did not give out much emotion due to the vocalizer integrated to the Mandalorian mask fully obscuring his features. But mentally he was cursing. The mask was a threatening sight, painted with colors of blood red and obsidian – the clan colors of its original carrier. For him, it was a symbol. And for many – he was a symbol.

The tall man, clad in his unique set of armor, was standing by the large transparisteel windows located at the end of the bridge of the Republic Interdictor-class cruiser, the Justice. Like the mask, his armor was one of the distinct external aspects he was known of among allies and enemies. It did not characterize him as a practitioner of any certain form of combat, but rather seemed to contain essences of many within its construction. Alerted by the recent and yet unsolved disturbance, Revan felt the tingle of grim anticipation inside his gut.

His mind was furiously calculating possibilities. A majority of the almost sixty navy officers stationed at the Justice's bridge showed slight signs of concern. Their emotions were near effortless for Revan to read, but he shut their auras outside of his mind and had the peak of his concentration directed towards the face of the moon.

…Had the Mandalorians been able to slip under his radar? Had the fleet lost its cover?

Was the plan about to shatter?

Revan, a Commander at the Republic Navy, the Revanchist and a Jedi Knight, had sensed the lone disturbance in the Force mere minutes ago. It had been a single spike, but its intensity so fierce and aggressive that it could have pierced through the thickest metal. Both instinctively and guided by the Force he had turned his eyes towards the surface of the nearby moon. And although they were far in the orbit, he had been able to distinguish a lone flash of light and fading boundaries of an expanded ball of fire.

Revan stood still, his arms crossed over his armored chest and his eyes restlessly sweeping across what he knew to be the lush green surface of Antar 4. Looking almost tempting like a sweet and ripe fruit when bathing in sunlight, like a glimpse of a fertile paradise, Antar 4 was far from being so. Although once an ally of the Republic and not officially claimed by Mandalorians, the moon was sitting so close to the exact heart of the war that it was not a safe zone. Far from it. And yet there they remained.

The orbit of the small moon circling the mother planet, the gas giant Antar, which was a pale orb looming in the distance, had been their station for two days. The strong electromagnetic currents of Antar 4 distorted a majority of signals and the magnetic signature emitted by a spaceship, a group of ships even. By positioning the fleet to the orbit, almost dangerously close to the moon's surface and slowly following the darkened night side of the small moon with minimum power, they were hidden. The entire fleet of ships disappeared from any sensor's sight. It was like a sensor jammer of godly extent – no, more a vicious cloaking device never seen before. By constantly re-calibrating ship computers they were able to adjust to the never endingly changing environment and monitor their surroundings.

But there were risks and they were huge.

Someone could have said that it had been an insane plan. Insane in the exact same manner someone proceeding to pet a Krayt Dragon on the head would be described. Or moreover, someone providing a dental job for a Krayt. Hell – Revan would have said it himself had the initial idea not been his or had he not seen that there were no other ways.

The stakes were high. Ultimate.

And he knew that they were going to get nothing more than this one shot. This one bullet. This one lunge towards the heart of darkness. The one opening amidst the almost imperforable wall of defense.

Eventually, everything would come down to timing.

It was a good location, yet far from perfect. But it was as satisfactory as it was going to get. The moon was habited and although once a part of the Republic, the bulk of Mandalorian fleets had swept past only days ago. It was likely that Mandalorians were monitoring the area. It was only a matter of days or maybe even hours until their cover would be blown. Revan not was not an optimist; he was a realist and understood mechanics of probabilities.

Strategically sometimes gains outweigh risks. That is the target, which should be sought, should be aimed for, and Revan knew it. Looking at pure and brutal mathematics this was not one of those cases. They were expected to be seriously outnumbered and outgunned.

Everything would come down to timing.

To the element of surprise.

He would have never taken this route unless he saw that there was a chance.

...And likely this was their only chance.

They all were tense and stressed, mentally and physically prepared to jump into the battle at all moments. Mandalorians were advancing towards the core like a restless tide, which had washed everything away in its wake. They had battered the Republic navy to pieces at Commenor. They had shredded the Republic defense forces at Exodeen. Ships were burning to nothingness. Citadels were bombed to dust and only glass craters remained where once stood buildings.

But this was not it. The actual objective of Mandalorians. These had been only preparations for the upcoming.

Revan was certain of the next target. It was deep in the core.

The twenty-six Interdictor-class cruisers stationed on the orbit of Antar 4, each carrying over three thousand Republic soldiers, was a formidable fleet even on its own. But it was far from enough, far from what he expected to need. There were another twenty Interdictors and dozens of Hammerheads en route, only a day's worth of hours away.

They had to wait. They had no other options.

How the events were going to unfold in the core depended solely on how well they were able to time their next offensive.

"Any signs of Mandalorian movement?" he asked although he already knew the answer.

"No sir. We don't detect anything," the intelligence officer stated looking at her screens.

What in the Hell that was then?

He did not need to wait long for the answer. The operation had lasted only barely an hour when his com activated again.

"Sir, there is a survivor," the Lieutenant reported.

"A humanoid. Of unknown affiliation."

He was floating. Embraced by the whitest of lights.

"Get it off!"

First he understood that there was something wrong. It was one of those primal instincts that all beings are capable of. Even in his current state he was able to decipher this.

He knew that something was terribly amiss. Out of place.

It was more of an intuition, not a coherent thought.

And yet he clung on to it.

"…broken. A blood sample is…"

The blood he did remember. How it had boiled inside his veins. As if it had been heated acid.

And just like acid it had eaten its way out...

"Reaction is positive… Increase the…"

…And his skin had ceased to exist.

He remembered watching his hands burn away when the purple flame engulfed them.

White-hot heat. It had played patterns on his skin. Sharp talons had shredded flesh. Millions of blade-edged teeth pulverized the bone.

But the pain was not significant.

…The matter that he had failed in his task was.

"Brain functions are… Should I…?"

"Put it on. As a precaution until…"

He had failed.

What he had seen as the salvation had exploded into his face. The answer – the resolution had betrayed him. His people. The cause was lost.

…Shattered. Gone.

He felt the fingers of his right hand clench into a fist.

"He is reacting to the physical stimulus."

"I'll sedate him."

Voices. Discussing. And like a wall closing in the present moment was there. It was with him.

Now!

All instincts screaming of red-edged danger and fresh rage flaring inside his mind he sat up with fierce speed. Blinking once when his eyes found their ability to see, his vision locked immediately to a hand and fingers bent around a syringe. And he lunged forward to lock the wrist inside his grasp. It was a human hand. Pale skin, five fingers.

Weak.

He bent the hand around with ease until the needle of the syringe penetrated the human's skin at the chest and he punched the piston aggressively down with his left. The substance left the syringe and entered the circulation of the man who was able to heave out a wailing sound before hitting the ground.

"Do not toy with me," he heard the growl leave his lips, voice coarse.

"Do not move!" the commanding, but apparently shocked shout came from behind him… And he turned his head towards the voice to see a barrel of a pistol pointing towards his chest.

A petty object held with two hands by a small human female.

Grimacing due to frustration he dropped down from what he had perceived to be a bed. Felt his feet and knees touch the cool floor and winced due to a sensation of pain somewhere at the back of his mind, which he utterly ignored. And taking cover by the bed he pushed, with both hands and with all of his strength – to see the bed slide and hit the opposite wall with a loud clank.

The female screamed the exact moment when she was slammed between the bed and the wall. Her second scream was a high-pitched one and it followed the first when he closed the distance and twisted the pistol from her hand. It was of unknown design, but he located the trigger with ease. Without hesitation or remorse he turned the direction of the barrel around and pulled the trigger. The pistol spat once, one blue ray. She fell down, mouth yet screaming but not making any sound.

He heaved in a long, heavy breath. Filled his lungs.

This was the first time Ronan had an actual opportunity of thinking.

He was inside what appeared to be some sort of a medical room. It was small, brightly lit, housing only a utility table full of equipment, the bed and what had been three monitors. Now two of them laid shattered on the grey floor. The people he had taken down did not seem heavily armored. Possibly the were only members of medical staff. He did not recognize their uniforms, nor the insignia.

The interior of the room was very plain and very functional. Everything screamed 'military' to him. But the lack of guards was intriguing.

If he was held by the Nova Corps, they appeared to be so incompetent that it was almost an insult.

This was the moment when he distinguished the slight sensation of pressure on his skin, circling his neck. He had a collar – as if he was a dog. An animal. A pest. The dry snap of the metallic collar was a satisfying sound when it broke down under the force of the rage-fuelled pull of his hand. He let the broken equipment fall to the floor and never took another look at it, disinterested to contemplate on the means of his apparent humiliation.

And there was more. His armor was gone. Stripped away. Only plain, gray trousers covered his body. Chest bare, no shoes. Unarmed and almost naked. This was not a good start for a battle.

The stinging pain was more pronounced now. It followed the full length of his left arm and he had to drop it to hang like a useless broken prosthetic, leaving the right to handle the pistol. In addition there was something wrong at the left side of his chest. Breathing felt heavy. As if he had to use more force in order to fill his lungs with air. It was not a promising sign. Not by any means.

…And why did he recollect his own demise? Because he had died, hadn't he? The Terran, Peter Quill, had directed the Infinity Stone's power towards him. At him.

Peter Quill – he had categorized the thief as someone so insignificant that he would not have requested for the name unless Gamora had not decided to deflect to the company of the Terran.

The Stone… The Stone had destroyed him in the same manner as it was supposed to destroy Xandar in his hands.

…Did it not?

Ronan pushed the confusing train of thought to the back of his head. Now was not the time or the location for these useless ponderings – they did not take him anywhere. He had to move. It was likely that the female's screams had been heard and the room was about to be filled with soldiers. He was not planning to stand and wait to be restrained and put down like a beast.

He had to locate where he was and find a way out of this facility.

…He would walk out even if he had to destroy everything on his way.

Clutching the pistol in his right hand he stepped out of the room… just to notice that he was undeniably late. A woman with a long blond ponytail and brown light battle suit was closing the distance, followed by two men clad in orange-brown armor with rifles in their hands.

"Hold still Chiss!" she shouted…

…A grimace revealing his teeth he took the aim and fired the pistol; once, twice, three times.

…To see the men fall down due the the perfect hits to their chests.

…And to witness the woman toss the ammo of blue light spat out by his pistol away with a swing of a glowing sword of green energy.

That was unexpected, he thought and pulled the trigger again a few times to unleash a rapid series of ammos. The hissing and humming beam of energy danced in the female's hands like the movement of the blade had been magically pre-programmed to meet his attack with infallible certainty. Each and every single shot he fired bounced off the green cylinder; each and every single shot missed his target. It was like a green wall of energy. A translucent wall.

I do not have time for this!

Ronan decided to close in and take her down in hand-to-hand combat. He sprinted towards the woman whilst holding the pistol in front of his face, looking through the sights and keeping the opponent occupied with a continuous flow of ammos flying through the air.

She held the blade with only one hand, he noticed. The left one was at her side, fingers rising as if in a salute. It was almost an unnoticeable gesture –

- But he fell down on his knees right in the middle of a step when an invisible force kicked his chest and the air inside his lungs was lost just like his balance.

The second punch of a nonexistent hand was directed to his left side with perfect accuracy and he felt his ears ringing. Momentarily he staggered, feeling the pain in his ribs flare.

Somewhere he found the strength yet again and was quickly on his feet. He dodged the green blade, feeling the heat slip past his skin only millimeters away and went for her hand. A growl leaving his lips he pushed the hand holding the weapon and its wielder against the wall. Lifted her up until her feet lost their contact with the ground. Looking straight into the eyes of his opponent, a grim smile spread on his lips although the injured parts of his body protested by sending sharp spikes of pain.

The eyes of the woman did not meet his. Instead they drifted to focus at something behind him.

Shit.

He cursed mentally when the first ammo hit him. He lost control of his arms when the second one hammered into his flesh. Freed from his grip, the woman dropped down to her feet with agility identical to a feline creature. The third ammo bit him to his back and made him fall to his knees.

He felt dizzy, unable to focus his eyesight and collapsed on to his side. The world shifted, faded away.

His officers had reported that the prisoner refused to answer to any questions. Usually interrogating captives was not a task Revan took – there were dedicated officers for that purpose. But this time he had decided to make an exception.

The man sitting calmly inside the holding cell was an interesting sight. He appeared to be somewhere in his early to mid thirties – in case human age could be used to describe the age of the being, which clearly did not belong to the human race. He was very tall and in excellent physical condition, although heavily bruised under the vibrant light blue skin - reminiscent to multiple fractures his body had contained when they had recovered his unconscious form at the site of the assumed crash landing.

And he was still injured; a majority of the fractures only partially healed due to the incomplete, interrupted healing process. Likely it must have hurt like all Hell, pulling a half-functional body like that around. Certainly he was still in pain due to the lack of medication. But it had been solely the man's own choice so feeling compassion would have been a waste of Revan's time.

The most intriguing part of the stranger's appearance was the black paint, which had not faded the slightest during whatever ordeals the man had gone through before being transported to the ship and after that. It covered approximately half of his face in a form of some bizarre mask of war. It went around both of his eyes – those were two piercing dark blue, purplish tinted spots in the darkness - and up to his forehead. It followed the shape of his cheeks with two uneven lines, as if those had been drawn with a rough hand. His jaw and lower lip were painted completely black.

The blue-skinned man had not reacted to Revan's presence in any distinguishable manner when he had entered the room. Nor there was even the mildest change in his behavior during the two minutes Revan merely observed. The male sat his back straight, his head up high and eyes fixed to the wall at the other side of the room. It was a proud and bold pose. No fear.

Revan took a chair and sat in front of him, in the exact line of his sight. They would have been face to face, had there not been a blue-shaded force field separating them.

"Initially they thought you were a Chiss. But your blood sample indicates otherwise," Revan said.

The man did not react. Revan did not need to rely on the Force to read signals of rage, anger and fury. They were central feelings dominating the man's tense posture in addition to his aura.

"What are you?" he asked.

His medical staff had analyzed the man's blood sample. They had been unable to make a connection to any known race of humanoids. This fact combined with what Revan had seen in the ship's security footage concerning the incident at the Justice's medical deck was enough to grab his interest.

The man clearly was Force blind. There was no contradictory evidence. But the speed of his reflexes had been far above the typical humanoid range, as if the Force had fuelled his actions. And the fact that he had resisted multiple stun bolts was quite a feat, Revan had to admit. Everything combined, he had to evaluate the potential threat related to this stranger who had proceeded to storm his ship. He had to figure out the man's connection to Mandalorians and, most of all, his objective.

…And the man kept his silence. His face was a mask of stone. The black and the blue completely still, completely unresponsive. Only the purplish eyes were a mirror for the rage boiling inside his mind.

"I do not take it lightly when my crew is attacked," Revan stated, letting steel slip into his voice.

The man remained silent for so long that Revan did not expect him to answer. But this time he did. His voice was very low, it held power. It seemed to come somewhere very deep inside his chest.

"You mock me. With the mask. With your fear." Open disdain twisted the male's lips.

"I do not fear you," Revan stated and stood up.

Revan walked calmly towards the controls of the force cage and inactivated it. The blue cage blinked and disappeared. The man did not seem to react to the recent turn of events, but Revan expected to have gained his full attention.

The Jedi Knight sat again to the chair in front of the man.

"Let's go through this very clearly. You attacked my crew. You are in extreme luck that the blaster you stole was set on stun – I hardly believe it was intentional. Usually I would let beings like you rot at some remote Republic prison facility, because the likes of you do not belong aboard my ship."

He did not get a reaction.

"But yet again you are in luck. We are nowhere near a prison asteroid and my staff keeps telling me that throwing someone out of the air lock is inhumane."

Still silence. No shift in the intense stare of the purplish eyes.

"So only this one time I am offering you the opportunity to provide an explanation. Just this once. Who are you and who in the bloody Hell do you work for?"

The man blinked. Once. Twice.

"You do not know who I am?" he finally asked.

Now there was also something else than boiling rage present.

Revan shook his head from side to side.

"Wouldn't have the reason to ask, would I?" the Jedi replied.

Yes – there was something. A slight change in the man's demeanor. A hint of uneasiness. Like he had lost a small fraction of those steel strong foundations that kept his posture up and proud.

"Where am I?" he asked.

A/N2: This was extremely fun to write and hopefully you enjoyed reading it. What do you think? Please let me know.