Bab 39: Star Wars Jump Chapter (Formerly The End and the Beginning)
While the rest of the galaxy struggled under the reaper assault, the upper crust of the Krogan race and I found ourselves camping out on a little world known as Utukku.
The place sucked, a real life finds a way desert planet. Blazing hot in the day and freezing cold at night. Everything on this world is leathery, gnarled, and tasteless.
But we didn't come here for the natives. The reason every clan chief, mercenary warlord, and cutthroat businessman and their krants came to this dust ball is to participate in a near religious experience, the hunt for the last rachni Queen.
In the games the reapers make rachni forces whether Shepard spares the Queen on Noveria or not, which is bullshit by the way. Here, Space Momma let the rachni loose on the galaxy and they got caught by the reapers and used to breed an endless supply of tentacle monster turned bio turret soldiers.
We could be out on Palavin fighting the reaper ground forces, or Earth, or any number of worlds, but we are here to destroy the rachni like our ancestors before us. We constantly rotated teams entering the cave system that worked as a hive for these wretched creatures. Every team carried with them a full tank flamethrower to burn through the webs and fields of eggs, the rest battled the warriors the twisted Queen breeds constantly for her reaper masters.
Progress was slow as we respected the powerful cannons the reapers mounted onto their monstrous servants. Those bastards possessed pinpoint accuracy and enough firepower to tear the more squishy races in half with one shot. Every krogan too stupid or too slow died.
Despite our losses, you'd be hard pressed to find a more merry gathering in the galaxy. We feasted and drank constantly and told the stories of our ancestors and ourselves as we conducted this great hunt.
Over the course of a few days we wore out the Queen's wretched cunt by slaughtering her children faster than she could birth them. We pushed deeper and deeper into the cave system, encountering less and less resistance until finally we entered the main chamber and found the warped and chained rachni Queen as she shook in terror at our coming.
She could have convinced the Space Momma easily to let her go again, but not us. Her dying wails as we burnt her alive filled our ears as music and the sweet perfume of her burning flesh lifted up through the caves as a burnt offering to the krogan who came before us.
The rachni may come again one day, but none can deny that Overlord Grunt would waste the opportunity for the spectacle they provide.
I spent the rest of the war against the reapers fighting their ground forces in wildly successful battles. The discipline shown by the Tankgrown meant I had no problems with the geth mass producing the M-92 Cain. With those weapons spread out among our forces we had no problems bringing down the Destroyer class reapers. It was almost laughably easy. In the game Shepard destroyed one with a single shot of her Cain, and though we rarely repeated that lucky shot, it was very simple to target the leg joints of the Destroyers to slow them down long enough to aim a kill shot or ten.
I imagine the bigger reapers would love to support the baby reapers we slaughtered en mass, but the Sovereign class reapers were locked in stalemate battles against the fleets of the Council Races. We would eventually lose these battles, but every day we bought brought the Crucible project closer and closer to completion.
Without Cerberus doing their dirty work and providing them information, the reapers had no clue about the construction of the superweapon and we had no issues gaining the resources needed to complete the project. Hell, everything went so smoothly that I was genuinely taken by surprise when Liara contacted me about the fleets marshaling to deliver the galaxy's largest microphone to the Citadel.
A few hours later and a red wave of energy blasted through the entire galaxy. My gear restarting after the wave passed over me indicated we had achieved the best possible ending, total reaper destruction and minimum interruption in our technology.
I am not afraid to admit that the defeat of the reapers left me a little depressed. We'd done a clinic on the reapers and achieved the biggest upset in the history of the galaxy, but where exactly did I fit into a galaxy without a war of annihilation to win. For two years I had abandoned reason and knew only war, and war is not a great resume builder.
'Hello, I am really excited for the opportunity to work for this company.'
'It says here your a veteran. What skills did the army teach you that will help you in the workplace?'
'Well… I can hunt dudes down and kill them.'
'I just don't see you finding our company a good fit. Thank you for applying.'
My situation wasn't near as bad as the vast majority of veterans considering my fallback job of Supreme Leader of a race of savage lizard men, but without a clear enemy to fight my Bobby B leadership skills left much to be desired.
I got really excited about going to the Citadel to but heads with the Council about krogan expansion off Tuchanka until I realized that by outing all of Cerberus's operative and agents, the Shepard clone wouldn't be making any assassination attempts until she broke out of her supermax cell. At least Shepard had called for a neat party with all her former teammates at the luxury apartment Dave gave her after he retired to live out the rest of his life in peace with a certain academy headmistress to keep him company.
I was having a decent time, right up until I realized I kinda didn't like half of these people. At least I finally got Vega to stop bothering me when I broke his record for pull ups. With one hand. While Jack, Miranda, Tali, and Liara hung onto me.
Jack and I had to leave early when I drunkenly decked Javik for describing the Normandy as a worthy vessel defiled and debased by the many disgusting sexual acts carried out by me and the female crew members.
"Sorry… I ruruined the parrrty." I slurred to my gorgeous and kickass wife.
"Fuck that guy." Jack shook her head, "Why is it that everyone with four eyes are total assholes?"
"Dunno." I answered as she lead me to our hotel bedroom and stripped us both of our apparel.
"Alright Big Boy, rise and shine. Mommy needs her fix." Jack encouraged my pipe and I would never fail to rise to the occasion for her.
I couldn't tell if it was the perfect amount of ryncol or the worship of my many believers guiding my hips, but that night I brought intense sexual satisfaction to Jack like never before. I could think of nothing other than shaking my hips just right until I finished and then the felt the existential horror of what I achieved as my release tore open a portal to another dimension beneath us.
I'd triggered the Random Ryncol Effect.
Jack came to much later than me and I handed her a hot wet towel from a steamer unit full of them and a glass full of liquor. Not for the hair of the dog specifically but more to wash out the taste of disgusting slug man.
"The fuck happened and why do I think I'm a really old slug gangster?" Jack moaned then dry heaved at the smell in the room.
"There is good news and bad news." I told my lover, "What do you want first?"
"Good news." Jack responded while she washed the grease and viscera of our first kill in this universe off of her.
"We both got boosted some extra Class 1 lifting power and a fat stack of durability and regeneration and like a thousand years to our lifespan." I told my confused lover, "Eating people is what passes as leadership in these parts so now we are in charge of a huge crime family. Better yet the galaxy is heading for war after some corpo scumbags attacked a world known as Naboo. War Jack, my favorite pastime. I am so excited. Thus ends the good news."
"The fuck does any of that mean? And what's the bad news?" She questioned as she gargled the Star Wars equivalent of whisky.
"The bad news is that we have travelled to a different universe and will never see any of the people we care about ever again unless we get super lucky or somehow become powerful enough to both figure out where our reality is and how to get there. Also we do not gain more power by eating more people. I tried. Also there are space wizards in this galaxy. Thus ends the bad news."
"I feel like everything you have told me is batshit crazy." Jack stated, "You are either fucking with me or have some explaining to do. And what the fuck is going on with my chest? Holy shit my tits are huge," She juggled her now enormous and perfect breasts, "and they feel real." she stood up and looked down at herself, "Why do I look like Wonder Woman?"
"Last night we triggered what the ancient krogan scientists named the Random Ryncol Effect. TLDR: my dick is now an interdimensional transportation device fueled by liquor and calibrated by pussy. When we arrived to this world we were overcome by a case of RRE Interdimensional Munchies where we murdered and ate the first person we found, gaining both his knowledge and power."
"Fucking metal." Jack commented while lifting and spreading her ample and powerful ass cheeks.
"Yes. The RRE is very metal. Only one recorded case ever returned to our verse. Scientists described his DNA as topsy turvy quantum fuckery."
"Is that why I am so much bigger?" Jack asked.
"We both added some mass, you especially. You've gained 20 centimeters in height and - please don't freak out - now weigh over 190 kilos."
"I don't look that dummy thicc." Jack shook her head.
"You are still trim despite gaining a significant portion of contractile tissue on a diet of fat slug man. The generous expansion of your breasts will have to be studied in much greater detail as often as possible."
"You always told me I was perfect." Jack needled me.
"I don't know how, but fate has poured more perfection on you and I am going to be the Mayor of Titty City."
"How are you going to do that?" She teased in a breathy and husky tone.
"Long story short. Dong on titties."
PERTIMBANGAN PENCIPTA 
JManM
JManM Sorry to everyone who was hoping that Grunt would spend sometime building the krogan into a glorious empire, but I don't know how much more I could have foreshadowed Grunt being a shit peacetime ruler.
I couldn't honestly figure out how to do a satisfying war against the reapers as I am inherantly a character writer and ship to ship space combat is only interesting to me in movies.
On the plus side we are starting Star Wars now. Grunt and Jack landed in Jabba's bedroom soon after the events of the Phantom Menace.
I will spend more time describing the various settings and side characters but do not expect me to wax poetically about the types of ships and weapons found in Star Wars. I am not going to do a deep dive into fifty years of EU just to get the minor details right. The major contributor of content is going to be the research I can do on the war they are going to have to fight against the Hutts and the the cartoon Star Wars: The Clone Wars.
Send me any deets on characters you think should be involved in the war on the hutts and I will see what I can do.
The best part about killing Sheev will be the fact that Ray will never be born. Fuck Disney. I am out.
Bab 40: This is My Dust Ball
"Take us back." Jack demanded after we finished a thorough exploration of her incredible acreage.
"Can't. No ryncol." I told her as I donned a robe that was once a silk tapestry.
"Then make some." She insisted.
"Don't know how." I admitted.
"You can make power armor that magically increases the muzzle velocity of your guns, but can't brew ryncol?" Jack inquired in an accusational tone.
"Both of these things can be true at the same time." I answered, "I was made to drink ryncol, not brew it."
"So now what?" Jack sought direction.
"Now we crack down on Jabba's lieutenants and ensure the credits keep flowing in the right direction."
"I am down with the gambling, the drugs, the bounty hunting, the piracy, and the racketeering, but in case you have forgotten… a fat chunk of the revenue stream is Jabba's slavery operation!" Jack yelled, "We are not going to become the batarians of this galaxy. I fucking outright refuse to be that scummy."
"I feel you. I hear you. And I understand." I put my hands together like I was praying then opened them up like a slippery used car salesman, "But I raise you the point that some people deserve slavery."
"Bullshit." Jack denied.
"Tusken Raiders." I countered.
"Ah shit." Jack muttered, "Fuck those dudes. 'The water is ours given to us by our gods. Now die.' I can't believe you just convinced me to become a slaver so easily."
"It helps when you have a whole species full of assholes to deal with and a constant demand for slaves." I told her, "It will be way more work than the lazy bastards are used to, and we'll take a hit to the profit margin because of it, but it both makes us money and gets rid of a huge problem for us. Win win winning."
Bib Fortuna was a real treasure. The guy had everything we needed to take Jabba's place as a crime lord already planned out. Almost like the guy hoped Jabba would one day die and he could rise up. He knew everyone to lean on and who to make examples of and by the end of the week everyone on Tatooine knew that I was Jabba's son by a lesser krayt dragon. He died when his sexual appetite turned to greater krayt dragons. So tragic.
It was raw bullshit and the only people who actually believed it were the people who saw me in person. I really did look like a hutt fucked a krayt dragon. All krogan do.
To get everyone on board I broke the bank and invited the who's who of my new subordinates and the big wigs of the Grand Hutt Council to Jabba's lavish funeral. I ordered forty days of world wide morning for my 'father' with a week of feasting following Jabba's closed casket ceremony.
Really it was just a rouse while Jack and I armed up and an opportunity to get the sand people right where I wanted them. They laughed the envoy I sent all the way back to my palace, giving great offense to the revered memory of Jabba the Hutt and providing me an emotional reason for why we would be waging war on the dusty fucks. The banta jockeys have insulted the mighty hutt race for the last time.
I think I have developed a love of roleplaying.
I hunted down the greater krayt dragon that killed my father and what a fight that was. Bastard was big as a thresher maw and spat acid too. I killed it using vibro bladed throwing spears. It sounds simple and it is. Despite its size, despite its strength, despite its scales physics is a mean bitch.
I can throw a spear really hard. Class 5 strength chucks a 6 kilo javelin at ridiculous acceleration. Pack all that force into the point of a spear and make that spear vibrate furiously and you arrive at the reason I put a duplex nail head on the end of all my javelins. Killing the legendary beast was as simple as sinking a basket full of javelins into its neck and waiting. The hardest part was pulling all my spears out.
At a later date the pearls of the krayt dragon that killed Jabba would net me a hefty sum in an anonymous auction.
Though I invited the other four members of the Grand Hutt Council to attend, the only hutt that came was my great uncle Ziro Desilijic Tiure. Though born of the prior generation, the purple slug controlled far less of hutt space than Jabba. His lack of success is likely what drove the man to gather dirt on all the various hutt operations, what he lacked in business sense he made up for in intrigue to a certain extent.
Ziro was either here to snatch up a chunk of my inheritance or to evaluate me for the council.
"Little Nephew Grunt." he greeted with false cheer in his high pitched voice as he joined me at the head table of the feast, "Such a shame, Jabba's passing, but not nearly as big a shame as him denying me time with my Little Nephew."
I get it bro. You are a 4 meter long big ass slug man. But do you even care that I am the one who has to look down at you cause half your length is dragging ass.
"Meeting the rest of the family was always something father held over me." I spoke to my 'great uncle' in Huttese, copying Jabba's drawl like I have six hundred years of experience talking like this, "It was always just out of reach. Prove you are smart as a hutt and we will go to Grandma's house. Prove you're strong as a hutt. Tough as a hutt. Live as long as a hutt. Always another condition beyond."
"It is quite rare for a hutt hybrid to come to term." Ziro soothed my fake frustration, "But it sounds like you passed Jabba's tests. Very good little nephew. Did Jabba teach you how to run his empire? There is quite a bit to running such a vast expanse of space."
"I know how what needs to be done and how to meet Jabba's commitments and who those commitments are to." I assured the slick and sleazy slug, "The credits won't slow down too much."
"But you still expect the credits to slow down?" Ziro inquired about one of the only subjects that mattered to the hutts any more.
"An opportunity has arisen to mix business and pleasure." I told him, "An investment in Tatooine and a trimming of an over bloated roster."
"You have my full attention." He said as he sipped a glowing green martini.
"I commanded the sand people to weep for my father's passing and they had the audacity to laugh." really had his ear hole now, "So for the next few years I will focus my full slaver fleet right here at home. They were to weep for 40 days, and now they will weep for a thousand years as they toil away under our yoke, the entire species."
"Quite ambitious." Ziro stroked my ego, "But the sand people have always been more trouble than they are worth."
"True, in pure credits it will be a loss." I told him, "But as I said, the roster is getting a bit too bloated for my liking and the ones who make it through this trying time will be harder for it. I'd rather have 10,000 hard veterans than 20,000 limp wristed sissies."
"So true." Ziro agreed, "Good help is so hard to find these days. I can see the wisdom in raising them in house."
Ziro and I went back and forth over the course of his stay in my palace and I couldn't help but like the guy. Cowardly, petty, and weak, but a terrific conversationalist. I'd find out later that despite his act like an uncle trying to weasel his way into a position of influence he was actually evaluating the truth of my claims and competence. He admitted that he believed me to really be Jabba's son due to my consistent speech patterns and intimate knowledge of Jabba and his businesses. He also failed to find anyone who countered my claim, everyone too scared of me to blab. That earned me big respect as credits are silver, but silence is golden.
With the hutts backed off for now I was able to launch my war against the banta jockeys. Leading my men in raids daily, I tempered my forces in violence, proved myself as a warrior and a leader, gained a tremendous amount of low investment high yield cattle in the form of the bantas they used for transport, replaced my varren packs with their domesticated massiffs, stockpiled slug throwers and other various weapons, lowered the planet's water consumption, and solidified the loyalty of everyone on Tatooine who suffered at the hands of the Tusken Raiders… so everyone.
Obviously the violence went both ways as the sand people upped their attacks on the civilized people of this desert world, but my absolute control of the sky and their complete inability to hide from sensors made any attempt by them to build up sufficient manpower to threaten a major settlement an open invitation for me to lead a devastating strike against them.
It took us years to hunt down all the Tusken Raiders, years in which Jack and I gained a reputation as bloodthirsty and capable warriors, even more so with the limited hunting of krayt dragons. Jabba knew just how many he could kill without cutting off his supply in the future, a practice I kept up as the pearls commanded a hefty market price.
The banta jockeys actually started turning us a nice profit as well once we perfected breaking them into obedient slaves. They required very little sustenance and could survive very harsh conditions making them perfect for the various agrarian colonies in the outer rim. By the start of the Clone Wars I'd sold the lot of them.
Just after the second anniversary of Jabba's funeral, (A holiday in the territory I commanded) the Grand Hutt Council asked me to take up my father's seat. I liked Marlo and Arok and their traditional Italian gangster schtick. Gorga was to much an accountant for me to and him to click and Oruba saw the grossest hutt I'd ever seen.
When not conspiring to commit crimes or destroying the sand people, I was busy mining phrik. It was a bitch and a half to mine the nearly indestructible material, but a few kidnappings from Shu-Torum got us the information we needed. I always laughed with my brother about how lightsaber resistant materials were always super rare and unobtainable unless you were the bad guys fighting against the Jedi, then the stuff is low hanging fruit.
Well now I am a Star Wars bad guy and I have one of the only two known phrik deposits in my backyard.
I think I will take an order of indestructible sword and shield with my invulnerable armor. You know what, make that two orders. Can't have the wife left out.
PERTIMBANGAN PENCIPTA
JManM
JManM
Well, I am fairly certain I have subverted expectations with this chapter. It seems like every SI Star Wars fic I read has the MC clutch their pearls in outrage at the hutts and their slavery. Then the story wastes a bunch of chapters detailing the hero White Knighting across the galaxy saving a bunch of people I don't give a shit about and virtue signalling how big a holy roller he is.
I give you Slaver! Grunt and Jack delivering street justice to the subhuman mongerloid shit cultures in space. I am an Imperialist bastard - I know - but I will hold that not all cultures are equal and that some cultures should be destroyed until someone proves to me otherwise.
You can shoot me all the Mandalorian 'But they are honest and keep their word' bullshit you want. They are honest assholes and their words are always die non sand person swine! Fuck those guys.
Status Power Mingguan
200+ Peringkat
Power 
0 Power
stone 
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