The Weaving Force: Chapter 112 (Patreon)

Chapter 112:

Hannah:

It had been a long, long time since Hannah had been in a situation like this. Well over a decade by now.

She didn’t miss it.

But… it was like slipping on a well worn, familiar pair of shoes.

Afterall, one doesn’t ever forget the horror and carnage at the aftermath of an Endbringer battle. 

The war on Geonosis had been raging for well over a month now, and the torn and shattered men of the clone legions were now a regular sight in the halls of their medical fleet ships, ferried in a constant stream of evac shuttles and volunteer ships that extracted them from the planet. Sometimes having already been treated, other times still bleeding, still screaming. 

It had taken just three days of being cooped up in here before she’d volunteered to help the doctors and Jedi healers. 

It took two more before some of the men under her command followed her example. 

As she walked the halls now, many of the clones that lay in the hallways of their overcrowded ship smiled gratefully, greeting her. She’d saved quite a few of them and made a point to check on them at least once a day, doing the rounds through the halls and rooms of the ship.

There was Duster, Trapper, Blast, Bells, Thoughts, others that she had to call by… well… their numbers because they didn’t have names. 

But she learned their names, pegged them to individuals that were altered through scars, bandages, missing limbs, hair cuts, or even just the way they smiled.

Clones could be very different from each other. 

Today, as she made her way through the ship, she wasn’t entirely surprised to see a familiar face in the halls.

She was, however, surprised at what exactly the woman was carrying. 

“Master Fay,” She blinked. “Where did you get cookies?” She asked. 

The Master of the Mandalorian Enclave and head Jedi healer turned her head, smiling as a clone delightedly plucked the offered chocolate chip cookie out of her fingers. “I made them, of course.”

Wait…

“Where on Earth did you find the ingredients?”

The woman’s smile brightened with an inner delight. “The Force provides.”

Hannah was… fairly sure that wasn’t how it worked. 

The woman held up her tray of confectionery “Cookie?”

In spite of her doubts, Hannah reached out and took one… or two…

The woman made really good cookies.

Fay’s smile was as pleased as Hannah had ever seen it, marching forward down an adjacent hallway to bring her offerings to more of the clones. 

Each one, even the grievously wounded, seemed to brighten at the woman’s arrival. It was almost as though the woman was a genuine ‘fey’ from the stories back on Earth. Enchanting hearts and banishing ails. Hannah didn’t know which one the clones enjoyed more, the woman’s cookies or her conversation.

“How are the Jedi casualties?” She found herself asking. From the estimates she’d read, there were well over forty million clones deployed to fight the ground war on Geonosis. The Jedi were a comparative drop in the bucket, numbering barely more than a thousand. 

But even so, she’d already seen at least a dozen Jedi injured, if not dead. That didn’t speak well to their attrition rate down there.

Confirming her thoughts, Master Fay’s smile dimmed, then vanished entirely with a shake of her head.

“Master Windu informed me just two days ago that losses were… acceptable.” She said.

She didn’t sound as though she agreed. 

Hannah frowned. “Acceptable losses is the first step on a very, very treacherous road.”

Fay’s smile returned ever so slightly. “You sound like Alexandria.”

Hannah wasn’t surprised Alexandria would say it. She was surprised that she would say it to Master Fay, though. “We walked that road together… for too long, I think. She more than I.” She admitted with a somewhat helpless shrug. 

“And now my fellow Jedi too are walking it.” The healer lamented. 

Rounding another corner, they found yet another one of the healers, or, Hannah should specify, the Padawans meant to help the healers. A young girl named Barriss. 

“Master Fay.” The girl’s prosthetic legs clicked on the metal floors as she moved. Her steps were light, but it was impossible to not hear their distinct ‘clink’ as heel or toe landed. “Ummm… Where did you get cookies?” She asked.

Again, Hannah cast a suspicious, leery eye over the Jedi Master.

“The Force provides.”

“Ummm…” Barriss’ features scrunched up. That’s not how that wor-”

The girl’s statement was cut off by a sudden hustle and bustle of rapid movement, boots of hurried, rushing men hitting the floor. 

Pilots.

Hannah brushed past Fay and Barriss, making her way towards the hallway behind her. She faintly heard Barriss’ surprised ‘oh’ and felt more than heard Fay walking after her.

As she reached the junction, a figure damn near ran across too fast for her to see, but she did see him. 

“Dennis!”

The man stopped, nearly getting bowled over by the others behind him for his error. “Move it!” The other snarled, pushing past him. Dennis looked annoyed, but shouldered and muscled his way over to her. 

“What’s happening?”

“Fleet just got a major priority hail groundside.” He panted. “They’re calling in every single volunteer and pilot they can pull together for an emergency lightning evac and close fire support run.”

“Broken Arrow?” She asked. That wasn’t the term for it in this galaxy, but it was how it was commonly designated on Earth. Dennis would know.

He nodded. “We’re not sure what the hell happened, but a whole clone legion seems to have just been wiped off the fucking map!”

That… was troubling, but it still didn’t explain something. 

“You look more troubled than I thought you’d be.”

Dennis’ mouth twisted. “Miss M., Anakin’s 501st was deployed with that legion.”

—

Sev’rance Tann:

She sensed immediately what had occurred. The swell of dark side energy as nearly half a million souls blinked out in an instant. Gone between one second and the next, followed by the immediate, overwhelming horror of those left behind.

Sidious had never wished for her to know of the clone contingency orders, but the clones had not been his creation. His machinations to alter the generations of clones being produced after the third generation ordered by Sifo-Dyas. That had required some discreet assistance and string pulling.

Things she had been able to provide.

He’d never told her the orders, but she had enough leverage over enough of the moving pieces to know what they were.

Order 20, the order for a clone to self terminate, had been a calculated… gift, given to Bulq. Not in a way that would lead back to her, of course, but she’d expected the fallen Jedi to use it if he was ever discovered in his sabotage efforts. A way for him to deliver as much damage as possible before he was captured, or more than likely, killed.

She hadn’t expected him to be quite so inept as to be discovered this early, but it was done all the same. 

“Comms officer.”

“Yes, Lady Tann?”

“Broad sweep over Republic channels. How much chatter are they flooding my airwaves with?”

The Republic fleet glimmered in the distance. The Corellian high command was still leaving them by themselves, clinging to their Praetors. A solid month of work and one of them was only now beginning to function again. Once it was back online the board would change, and she could no longer sustain her fleet actions here. She’d need to retreat.

Her own fleet had dwindled. From the hundreds of vessels she’d had at the start, now she could barely count on ninety-eight fully functioning ships. A much, much smaller force to the comparative six or seven hundred for the Republic, but between supporting their ground forces, protecting the Praetors and protecting the medical fleet, they were stretched thin. Too thin to safely mount an assault, especially while she held her fleet over stretches of the planet that still held formidable anti-orbital firepower to back her up, and yet too large for her to attack either. 

An annoying impasse.

At least… mostly. 

After a moment, the comms officer gave her an answer.

Two seconds after that she gave her next order. 

—

Pre- Vizsla:

They could not fail here.

He couldn’t fail here.

The Death Watch was the righteous path; the only true path for the Mandalorian people to walk, to take hold of the legacy of their great ancestors and traditions. 

But right now; it was dying…

Satine’s, or that is to say Alexandria’s edict, stripping Mandalorian’s found in support of him and his had shaken them- no Clan, no Honor, no Legacy, no Pride. Nothing They would be left destitute. Bereft of everything that defined them as ‘Mandalorian

Even their Beskar could be stolen from them. Taken from their cold corpses, not even returned to their rightful place amidst the vaults of the Clan with nary a word of protest of Satine’s false Mandalore.

The Price of failure, of affiliation, was too high. 

Especially when failure seemed to be more likely than not these days.

All because of one… Jedi.

What had once been staunch allies and men ready to support the cause, now left his summons unheeded, they waffled and hid behind the trappings and comforts of Satine’s false regime, hesitated where before they all but shouted their support from the skies.

His remaining supporters hung on by a thread in their dedication now.

One more failure, one more defeat especially with him here… would spell the end of any hope of restoring the Mandalorian people to what they were. 

Watching the storm rolling in across the horizon, crawling its way across the dry dunes and steppes of the Genosian desert, Pre wished more than anything else for it to arrive. To finally see it done. The thing the Genosian’s had created with Mandalorian research and toil, Grievous; was a monster. 

A monster like Dallon.

He’d seen it. Thirty Jedi. Half a hundred of his own countrymen at their back- and he’d ripped them apart.

They never stood a chance.

And now, all he had to kill… was Dallon.

It could win. 

It had to win. 

If it didn’t then Death Watch and Mandalore itself died here.

—

Knight Lumas Etima

“SITHSPAWN!!!”

The raw, terrified scream, didn’t register in his mind when he heard it- he didn’t quite understand the words themselves. As though his mind refused to absorb and process the statement.

And then; monsters burst out of the blackness.

Lumas felt his very being recoil, his own body betraying him as he unwillingly stepped back, all but hiding behind the line of clones surrounding him.

The clones didn’t hesitate.

They fired, blue bolts strobing the inside of the cave.

And he saw more of the beasts.

They were all mishapen, horrid things; twisted, malformed bodies- none resembled another next to it. Some were small and lithe, others hulking behemoths that let bolts wash over them like rain drops, shrugging off the massed fire as they crashed into lines of Clones and crushed them under claw and foot.

Lumen had time to see one of the large monsters reach, snatching up one of his fellow Jedi, even as she plunged her lightsaber in the thing’s hand. The woman was screaming, in either fear, or pain, or defiance; he couldn’t tell- not before the monster’s teeth bit down and severed the top half of her torso from the rest of her body.

Then Lumas only had eyes for the thing attacking him.

It was small, a full head shorter than him, one arm a sharp grasping talon with too long fingers with too many knuckles, the other a prehensile whip, lashing through the air. Its knees were backwards; the claws curving along the bottom of it were long, curved and wicked.

Its mouth was that of a lamprey, taking up the whole of its face. He saw no eyes, no nose, no ears and still Lumens knew that it could see him, that it was focusing on him. 

The thing screeched spittle that burned like acid where it touched on his robes and face spraying him as it lunged. Lumens brought up his saber, slicing at that whip like arm only to feel actual resistance from its flesh and body. The Saber couldn’t burn through, not completely, and yet still the thing yowled in pain, backing away, several clones firing on it as it dodged and weaved between blaster bolts with an impossible swiftness.

He heard the deafening screams of… everyone around him. The sheer noise of blasters, lightsabers, screeching monsters and his own pounding heart making it impossible to think, to understand anything at all.

And then came the buzzing.

The thing’s claws lashed out, its long, dagger like blades, slicing one Clone to ribbons, its taloned foot tearing a rock out of the floor to catapult it into the skull of another clone, crushing armor and bone in a single blow before it lunged at him again.

One more time, he tried to bring his saber to bear, but this time, the monster was ready; dudging under his swing, it slipped past his guard- its teeth biting down at Lumens elbow , tearing off a chunk of flesh that left the knight screaming.

He pushed the monster with the Force, only to feel that energy slip around him, like water sliding off of silicon finding no purchase and he realized; with new horror… what this thing was.

Not just Sith Spawn. 

A Force eater.

A thing to devour force sensitive beings. 

Its teeth dug in, burning acid was its saliva and Lumens howled in pain, plunging his Lightsaber awkwardly into the monsters chest and still it wouldn’t let go, even as his Clones found an angle and shot desperate blaster bolts into its exposed back.

He felt the monster go limp, and still its teeth dug in, still it gnawed and chewed.

He fell to the floor with it, his flesh still caught in its mouth, two of the Clones rushing to his side to help him pull it off.

Then there was another, a mishapen monster with one overly large arm, with the head of a reptile and a mouth that was too large for its body with too many teeth. It crushed a Clone under its meaty fist  and bashed another into his fellows as it roared, at him, rushing to kill him and him alone. 

That’s when the bugs came.

The swarm fell on him biting, clawing stinging- the monster yowled in pain, trying with its simple mind to bat away the swarm, punching and swiping at the air around it before bugs poured down his throat.

Lumens watched it choke, and sputter, its chest hitching and twitching as it tried to suck down air that would not come.

“Get this off of him; hurry!” One clone demanded of his brother, the man’s fingers trying to physically pull apart the mass of needle like teeth.

Lumens felt them, each individual tooth as it was pulled free of his flesh.

Even so, what was left behind was a ruin, his arm hanging by a literal thread of stringy muscle and skin, looking at it made the pain so much worse, and yet he knew beyond any doubt that he had to get out of this place. To leave and never look back into this dark, twisted world or it would consume him. 

“Come on sir- we’ve got to GRAH!”

The Clone was suddenly cut off with a sharp scream, forks of lightning bursting across the surface of his armor and flesh; Lumens scrambled for his saber with his one remaining arm, the second Clone grasping his rifle before his neck was seized in a grip that choked him for just a split second before his neck was snapped.

“Pathetic.”

Lumens felt his heart stop in his chest.

His eyes trailed up.

Still on his knees, he recognized the man that stood infront of him, surrounded by insects that were held at bay in a perfect sphere from his body. Black robes, pale skin, pale hair.

And eyes that burned yellow and red in the dim light.

“To be incapable of overcoming even this…” His voice was seething with open, naked disdain. His too gaunt, too thin features too palid flesh seemingly ghoulish and dead in the long shadows cast over his face. “-and you call yourself a Jedi.”

He raised his hand, lightning crackling along skeletal fingers.

The young Knight tried to defend himself-

There was no point.

The cascade of lightning smashed into him with the overwhelming force of a landslide, his whole body exploding with pain and his mind assaulted by the certainty of hate and wrath, weaponized into a jagged, heartless blade.

“Leave him alone!”

The air left his lungs, a scream that would not come caught in his throat, his body was pushed and scraped across the floor as it was physically dragged across the ground.

The outpouriong ceased, and Lumens felt himself able to breathe, a voice cutting through the hazy, fading world.

“Leave him alone!”

“Your fight is with us, traitor.”

“Master Unduli, Master Fisto; hmpf. Is she hiding now I wonder.”

The last thing he heard was the sound of igniting sabers. 

“I wish I’d… never come here.”

—

Plo Koon:

“WHAT HAVE YOU DONE!?”

It was rare; genuinely, for Plo Koon to have ever felt genuine horror in his life emanating from somewhere deep within him.

But right now, watching and seeing well over a dozen clones  give a single, silent salute, and then in unison pull their blaster pistols from their holsters and place them against their own skulls- there was no other emotion within him beside that single, overwhelming sense of pure horror.

A little over a dozen clones that did not obey the ‘Order twenty’ including 3636 scrambled for the weapons rack, pulling free their rifles and leveling them at Master Bulq even as Plo felt the all encompassing echoes of the hundreds of thousands of deaths tearing through the Force in a single overpowering instant.

He understood what that meant; the unfathomable, wanton, pointless cruelty of it all.

It wasn’t just the men in this room.

It was… all of them.

His entire Legion.

Six hundred thousand men

Snuffed out with barely a whimper

“What have you done?” He repeated, his voice a broken whisper.

Bulq turned, staring at him with a look of utter disdain, and like a flower unfolding to reveal a poisonous rot at its center, Plo Koon felt the veil lift, the shroud falling away to let him breathe in the noxious putrid miasma of the Dark Side rolling off of the weequay.

A Council member…

A Jedi high council member…

And they’d been blind to it.

Another entered the room. Galdos. Bulq’s Padawan.

The boy’s eyes burned, yellow embers stoked by the fires of war… and hatred.

“You’ve corrupted your Padawan.” It wasn’t realization. It was barely even a statement. He said the words, almost to himself, a confirmation. An understanding of how deep their failure as Jedi truly went.

He drew his lightsaber.

Bulq was a Jedi Master. The man that had helped Master Windu perfect his Vaapaad; one of the most renowned swordmasters of his generation, if not the entire era.

And Plo knew it didn’t matter… he had no choice.

He had to stop him here.

—

Dennis:

They broke the atmosphere with seven hundred other ships of all makes and models. From the Republic’s LAAT gunships to Corellian freighters, from fighters and bombers to the private ships of the cobbled together militia that had come to answer this desperate screaming cry for help.

What Dennis saw on the final approach would stick with him for the rest of his life.

It was an ocean of droids surrounding small, desperate pockets of white. Clones were huddled together in clumps, sometimes using the corpses of droids or even their fellow clones as cover. The battle had devolved into a desperate fight of a hundred isolated units.

Rugess was listening to the comms through specialized headphones made for Bith, but even Dennis could hear the absolute deluge of desperate cries and harried calls while sitting across from his co-pilot.

“My god.” Hannah breathed behind him. “The numbers-”

“Yeah.” Dennis grunted, holding tight on the shaking steering yoke of the ship as they plunged through the cloud cover. “It's one thing to hear the droids outnumber the clones a hundred to one, it’s another thing to see it.”

Her grim silence was answer enough.

…

“Christ, how the fuck are we gonna find him?” He whispered, despairing at the thought that they might return to Mandalore with only the horrid news that Shmi’s son was dead.

He didn’t want to do that. Not for anything. Shmi was a strong woman, but Dennis truly wasn’t sure if she was strong enough to hear that. 

“That way.” 

He turned his head, finding Master Fay pointing to Dennis’ right, just over Rugess’ head. 

“You’re sure?” He demanded.

“From what I’m sensing, I agree.” Ventress chimed in, sitting near the back of the cockpit by the door. 

That was good enough for him. 

He banked the ship right, following the direction Fay had pointed towards before blasting forward with all speed. 

He saw the first of the close in support runs, fighters strafing droid lines, bombers dropping payloads that could wipe city blocks, towering walls of plasma and flame going off mere few feet from the clones, even as LAAT gunships and volunteers touched down in desperate rescue in literal touch and go maneuvers, clones and Jedi piling into open landing bays and boarding ramps before the ships had to take off.

He saw more than one get shot down by well placed rockets or missiles. He saw another lurching in the air, mobbed and swarmed by Geonosian fliers that tore its engines off before it crashed in flaming wreckage across the droid ocean below. 

Still, fire rained down from the sky, still the clones fought back; fought back and died in droves. And still, the droids moved implacably, inexorably, forward.

They simply did not care how many losses they suffered. 

In that moment, the true horror, the true inhumanity of this war struck home, and Dennis felt violently sick to his stomach.

“There!” Hannah suddenly pointed over his shoulder, dragging his mind to the present. 

He looked.

Like the others, he saw an island of white amidst a sea of encroaching metal. Red and blue bolts crisscrossed the space between the two forces, a thin line of Jedi sabers surrounding four or five hundred men on a small rocky hill.

Dennis didn’t see Anakin, too many blue blades, too much chaos; but Hannah said she saw him and that was good enough in his book. 

He flicked his comms on. 

“Any nearby support receiving this message this is Lancer Class vessel, callsign Stalker, we’re approaching grid 2204-789, have well over a hundred people that need evac, need close range fighter, bomber support and additional ships to pull these guys out over-”

There was a crackle of static, and Dennis was afraid for a moment in all the chaos that no one heard him, or were too busy with a million other calls just like his.

Then, the line crackled again.

Roger that Stalker; this is G-1 Liger Tail, squad’s coming in on your six. Covering your approach. Let's rescue these boys and make a new scrapyard on this rock.”

—

Anakin:

“I repeat, we require Close range support on our position; E-one-five-zero-dot-two-two-seven-seven”

Anakin heard the frating shouts of his comm officer howling into the holo receiver, barking out coordinates as gunships, fighters and all manner of craft zoomed overhead but he didn’t have time to pay attention beyond that. “Hold! Tighten your formation!” He roared to the Jedi at his side, the first and last line of defense to try and save the clones who, behind the cover of lightsaber blades returned fire in a final, desperate hope that they would be rescued in time.

The droids that had been on the cusp of retreating, of breaking had seen the… madness of a half a million clones suddenly drop dead and had, just like that rapidly moved to redeploy, it was all Anakin could do to assemble a small fighting force of the tattered remnants together before they were being assaulted on all sides with no way to escape. 

His own saber flicked out, the Soresu allowing him to weather a storm of blaster bolts and return them into the graven mass of droids that tried to advance on him, standing on a taller stone to draw the enemy eyes to him. Already he could see Jedi Hunter droids being redeployed, advancing through the ranks to reach them, even as fighters and bombers strafed the sea of metal soldiers 

“Levi alpha-five-six-zer-”

One of the Jedi hunters reached the line, its red blades lashing through the air that Anakin’s face occupied a second ago before, all grace and poise be damned Anakin drew a rock the size of a melon into his open hand, grabbed hold of the metal monster and caved its skull in with a savage series of blows, each impact trembling up and down the limb.

He panted and gasped, sweat flicked hair sticking to his forehead and neck; Clone Blaster bolts surged outwards, the muzzles glowing cherry red, the barrels beginning to warp

“They’re getting closer at three one five degrees, at zero five zer-”

There was a howling scream of engines, and the fighters and bombers that swooped down were close enough that Anakin felt as though he could reach out and touch them, dropping ion and proton bombs close enough that the shock wave knocked the Laughing General off his feet

There was a howl of engines directly overhead, the wind pressure pushing men down to the ground. Anakin looked up, the Stalker hovering over his head, its ramps opening up even as its turrets let loose poison green lances of fire.

“GET IN!” Dennis shouted, standing at the foot of the ramp, shooting with his own blaster Pistol, Hannah just above him, a green heavy repeater canon that she was mounting resting at the mouth of the entryway.

“Go! Go! Get on!” He roared, men and Jedi both scrambling to obey. Some carried wounded, others nothing but their weapons  but Anakin knew there simply wouldn’t be enough room for all 

There was no time for an orderly ‘file’ no time to tell people how many would fit, Dennis likely counted the men that marched past him and gave the order to start pulling up, the ramp still open. 

The Clones understood, so did the Jedi, even if Anakin felt their collective despair all but drowning them as the ship began to rise. 

Dennis still hung out the side of the ramp, reaching down one hand towards Anakin specifically to try and lift him up.

Anakin shook his head. 

He wasn’t leaving his men.

He sensed and saw the fury in Dennis’ face, teeth bared in a snarl. “SKYWALKER TAKE MY FUCKING HAND!”

And again, all Anakin could do was shake his head.

He knew the Stalker, knew its systems, its layout almost by heart.

So it was easy to use the Force to activate the ramps control module to get it to start closing.

Dennis looked startled, the ship beginning to rise faster as no doubt Rugess assumed the closing ramp meant it was time to go. 

“No, fuck ANAKIN!”

‘Sorry Dennis.’ He lamented, swallowing with an all too dry throat. ‘I’m not leaving my men.’ 

—

Obi-Wan:

Breaching the walls of the plant, his men poured into what looked to be an assembly line area, droid parts hung from mechanical limbs above, reactors and power stations still hummed with power.

“Commander Cody.” He called. “Spread out, assault in all directions room by room, they’re to set charges as they go.”

“Yes sir-”

“My my.”

Nearly a hundred guns snapped upward, Obi-Wan merely raised his eyes; finding none other than Komari leaning over the railing of a high catwalk. 

“And here I thought Jedi didn’t do wanton destruction.” She noted drolly. 

“Its hardly Wanton. I’m being very specific and downright restrained really.” He quipped back.

Eying the room, he found it empty… suspiciously empty. 

“Hmmm. Commander Cody- new orders.”

“Capture or kill sir?” Cody answered.

“Don’t get so ahead of yourself-”

Cloaking fields came offline-

And his men were suddenly in a firefight. 

—

CT: 8855429 ‘Slipstream’:

People said he was the General’s first guard; the one that had her six in the worst of their firefights.

It was laughable really.

He followed the General because that’s what they were meant to do. It was their purpose. Follow the Generals of the Grand Army; obey their orders. 

Sure, being next to Dallon might get you in the heaviest fighting, but was there anyone you’d rather have next to you than someone who shrugged off an orbital bombardment?

But guarding her? 

Protecting her?

It was ludicrous to even consider.

He watched the storm drawing in close, and, in spite of himself, it was an awe inspiring sight. A sheer wall of roiling sand, hundreds of meters tall. It looked like a monster set to devour the world whole in its gaping maw. 

When it washed over them, all Slipstream could hear were the howling winds and the cacophonous, rain like pings and clinks of rough, coarse sand impacting his armor.

It almost sounded like rain.

Environmental seals kicked in, cutting off the armor’s wearer from the hazards of the outside world. Mandalorian’s took a great deal of pride in their armors for a reason.

He knew that most in the army weren’t so lucky.

Engineers and astromechs had scrambled to activate environmental shields and protective fields. There were a few sections safe from the worst of it; but not all.

Everyone else had to scramble for whatever protective gear they could get their hands on

Mostly rebreathers and specialized visor that would let them see in the blinding sand. 

Many a brother were going to have to fight without their helmets.

Shortly after the sands cast the world into dull ochre shades of brown and shadow, did the calls come in.

Contacts. Contacts all along the line.

The priority call came in just minutes later. Then another, and another.

Plenty of sectors calling for help.

But one in particular had multiple hails going out more and more every second.

That one took priority. 

“Lets go.” The General ordered.

She didn’t have protective gear. Claimed she didn’t need it, and he believed her.

When she walked out into those howling sands, it didn’t seem to bother her at all.

She flew, and they followed after her on wings of fire.

They reached a battle line in disarray, the Trenches already stormed by Jedi Hunter droids, B-1’s B-2’s and-

“Eyes up!” He called through their own private comms. “New Model sighted”

It wasn’t the droid, or the Cyborg, Grievous, but something else, tall and bipedal. It looked as robust as a B-2 but more biomechanically capable. Its movements, demonstrated by the skill and precision it was wielding that electro-staff with. 

And then, beside them-

“Mandalorians?” Someone  whispered over the line.

“Death Watch” Commander Aras corrected, Slipstream couldn’t tell what he was thinking and that made him nervous. 

The General dove.

They followed.

She descended on the new droids, one catching sight of her, raising its weapon to defend itself before the General simply twisted mid air in a corkscrew, the unexpected angle of her movement letting her slip past the weapon to grab the droid by the skull in a seemingly upside down hold.

Didn’t matter though.

Sheer strength and force folded the droid in half, the back of its skull literally shattering like an egg over the hard dirt, the other droids rounding on her before she used the lifeless corpse of her victim to smash another into the ground before abandoning her hold and accelerating in a blur of white and gold her elbow and shoulder crashing into a third droid hard enough to cave its entire torso in on itself. 

Then the Mandalorians turned; leveling their weapons and firing on her.

That’s when her wings made themselves known.

“Defend the General!” Slipstream barked into the line, and weapons spat bolts of green and solid slugs across the deserts, Mandalorians returning fire as Beskar plate stood up to Beskar plate in an out and out slugging match. 

The General rushed forward, smashing into the center line with the force of a bomb going off. A fist smashing a helmet and the skull beneath it into crumpled tin, her Saber shattering the leg bones of another man as he tried to block a downward strike.

Slipstream saw a shadow move in the twisting sands. 

“Genera-”

He never got to finish. 

The shadow lunged, swallowing the distance with impossible speed, nothing that large should move that fast, and its sabers whipped out just as fast, blue and green; Jedi sabers.

His General dodged, slipping away just a hairs breadth from the strike, close enough that Slipstream was sure it should have taken her eyes.

But it didn’t.

Then she struck back.

And for the first time in his life, Slipstream saw something actually stop the General’s saber with its own, lightsabers crackling with bright discharges where they connected and locked together pushing against one another.

Or more accurately- someone capable of pushing against the general. 

The Cyborg was a monster of metal, standing next to her, disproportionate in its size; like a wookie standing against the Jedi master Yoda.

It must’ve been ten feet tall, a body that somehow reminded him of reptiles and insects, bones and sinew; Slipstream could almost hear the snarling growl of its servo motors and machine muscle cables.

And that was all he could see before both began to move.

The exchange of blows was powerful enough that he could almost feel the impact in his chest even from this distance. The metal monster’s twin blades never stopped moving, never stopped striking, a whirling flurry that offered no respite or even room to breathe.

The General blocked one strike and dodged another. Weaving in and out, twirling and twisting in the air with a preternatural, uncanny ability to just miss the swiping blades.

But her returns, the titanic blows that would shatter limbs and break bodies were blocked this time. Force exchanged with force as the metal beast relentlessly advanced and pursued her.

“Pay attention to your own battles!” Aras roared and Slipstream pulled his attention away from the clash of the monsters of the battlefield.

Mandalorians and Silver Wings kept exchanging fire. The Mandalorians were more experienced; knew how to fight in and how to exploit Beskar better.

But the Clones had trained together for every moment of every day for the whole of their lives. 

That made it an even fight

“SAXON!”

The roar cut through the noise of the battlefield and the deafening howling of the winds. Slipstream turned his attention towards the source, finding a Mandalorian in the cobalt blue of the Death Watch; wielding… a lightsaber.

But it wasn’t like anything that Slipstream had ever seen before; a shard of midnight black that devoured light.

The Mandalorian reached up, pulling free his helmet.  “I am Pre of house Vizsla.” The man pointed with his weapon. “Your Clan has already sworn fealty to my cause. I would not see your blood spilled on this battlefield against your kin. Join me!”

Slipstream felt his body stiffen, an unease settling in his mind. 

Subtly, he shifted his rifle, pointing it at the gap in the armor… just at the base of Aras’ spine.

The commander stood quiet for a moment, as if considering the offer.

“Have you not heard of the Duchess, and Alexandria’s edict?” The man finally answered, his low, rumbling voice somehow overtaking the cacophony of it all; his hand rising to the hilt of the colossal blade strapped to his back. 

“Any you have in your ranks with the name Saxon… are no longer Mandalorians. They are no kin of mine.”

Slipstream felt the unease uncoil from his chest, his weapon lowering ever so slightly as Vizsla’s fists tightened.

“You will not treat with me then?” The Mandalorian tried one more time. 

“Why?” Aras gripped his greatsword in both hands. “Words are wasted breath; between the condemned and his executioner.”

—

Luminara Unduli:

She was surrounded by a gallery of fresh horrors.

The Sithspawn monsters seemed almost numberless. The call to retreat had been sent and still Clones and Jedi were scrambling to pull away as the tide of monsters rushed forward. Hebert’s swarm, and Hebert herself were holding the beasts back, trying to buy time for all to get out of this nightmare realm. To give them a chance to regroup and reorient their lines to properly fight back.

And yet, still they could not risk Jorus escaping, running away.

If mere months had corrupted him so much, had caused him to create thiese abominable monstrosities… what would a year do? Two? Four? How many more would die. 

Even so, even knowing it was her duty… she felt her hands tightening over her saber hilt, a knot of leaden fear in her stomach.

This was not the Jorus she remembered.

He’d always been curt, taciturn with exacting standards and open disdain for anything that did not meet those standards. But this was something far far beyond that. 

This was hatred. Raw and unbridled. It oozed off of him, even as it suffused and consumed him. 

The man’s skin hung off of his bone like a too loose cloth; his face was carved with jagged lines, hollow cheeks and sunken eyes; more skeleton than man.

And yet still, she knew that he was more powerful than he’d ever been.

Even with Master Fisto here beside her, a talented swordsman in his own right… she was unsure if they could win, not without Master Yoda here.

“Don’t worry,” Master Fisto whispered at her side, no doubt sensing her trepidation. “We need only hold out until Master Hebert arrives.”

Hebert…

She’d fought Jorus before. Some said she defeated him even when she was still a Knight. 

It felt… off putting to be relying on -hoping- for she of all people to be their rescuer here.

Even now she could see the insects swarming around Jorus, held at bay by a sphere of entropic force power that made her mind recoil at the mere touch of it. It ate life. Insects died quickly, but she could only imagine the long term damage it was doing to Jorus himself. 

Even so; egardless of how quiet he was, Jorus heard him, scoffing as he flourished his lightsaber. 

“So quick to rely on the crutch. The Jedi have indeed fallen far.”

And then there were no more words. 

Jorus lunged for her, and his speed was so blinding she was nearly bisected outright, only Master Fisto reacted in time, stepping between the two of them, his saber catching the Sith’s as Luminara rushed to join him.

Jorus shoved Master Fisto aside, his blade meeting hers-

And then the dance was joined in full.

She struck from one side, Master Fisto from the other, Jorus answered with blade and Sith sorcery, Lightning, tongues of flame danced in the air, a pale mimicry of the inferno Master Hebert could make; life devouring energies lashed out from the man’s body like hungry serpents, leaving bleeding scars in the oxygen itself before they were mended. 

That red saber carved jagged lines around the man, so swift were his movements that she felt as though his blade was everywhere at once, attacking and defending in the same breadth against two skilled Jedi Masters.

One of his Monsters lunged out of the shadows. 

Master Fisto turned, dodging away, rushing to defend himself as the thing’s jaw snapped and bit down.

This time, it was no crude, mishapen construction, Its pody was symmetrical, proportional and right. Scales gleamed like midnight oil in the dim light, red eyes blazed like embers in the gloom, and its teeth dripped with poison.

This was no amalgamation of parts and foul sorcery… but a beast that Luminara recognized from her studies of the ancient wars.

The monster hissed, glaring at Master Fisto and breathed out a cloud of poison, chasing after the Nautolan as he backed away;

A Hssiss. A Dragon.

Pulled from the era of myth and legend from the ancient wars against the Sith Empire at their height, the monster screeched with a warbling cry, echoed by others within the black cavern.

And suddenly, she was alone against him.

Jorus pressed the attack, Luminara shifted her stance into the purely defensive Soresu as a storm of strikes and thrusts sought to carve her to pieces. 

It was all she could do, her mind pulling inward, her full focus entirely devoted to her own defense.

And it still wasn’t enough.

She felt the first breach in her defenses as his saber cut into the meat of her left arm. Another as it burned a lone across her shin.

Again and again her defense was breached, tiny wounds and cuts slowing her, the pain nearly crippling and still she dared not stop.

It was only later that she realized…

He was toying with her.

He could have breached her defenses whenever he wished. 

He simply enjoyed the sight of her pain.

As she realized it, she saw the moment he caught that she knew.

And the game was up.

“UNDULI!” She heard Master Fisto’s desperate cry, aware that he was rushing to her side.

For him, she raised her blade one more time, trying to defend.

There was no point. 

There never was.

—

Anakin

After Dennis left, Anakin felt as though he was fighting on that rock for a half dozen lifetimes before another rescue vessel arrived, two LAAT gunships, miraculously empty were the next ones, a few dozen more clones cramming into its open bay. 

Ever smaller did the circle grow- until finally, the last ship- a Corellian civilian freighter managed to touch down, the clones and Jedi piling in and it too filled up before the last man could fit inside.

He would be left with nothing but a dozen men.

A death sentence.

“Go sir! You’re not meant to die here!”

He didn’t know the soldier’s name, or even if he had one. It was one of a million identical brothers, faceless and bodiless. His armor was cracked and breaking apart; and still he shoved Anakin onto the on ramp of the ship two Jedi pulling at his robes to help keep him there as the ship lifted off and he saw the last of the Clones left behind cut down mere seconds after, surrounded on all sides and torn to pieces by the implacable force of droids.

Anakin turned, finding, to his surprise, Ferus Olin had been one of the Jedi grasping at his shoulder, making sure he wouldn’t jump off the still open ramp.

They’d never liked eachother; a mutual feeling stemming from when they were both just kids.

That didn’t seem to matter much right now

They flew over the battlefield wreathed in pillars of flame and plasma, dunes were glassed, molten slag still smoldered, glowing red like giant embers. The daylight skies had darkened, stormy clouds gathering overhead with the atmospheric disturbance of so many ships breaching the atmosphere, blotting out the sun alongside the pillars of black smoke.

It felt as though he’d stepped through reality and into a nightmare realm.

Even now he could still see the final few holdouts in the distance, the last of the surviving clones selling their lives as dearly as they could. 

There would be no rescue for them. The ships were already retreating already pulling away, their missiles spent, their bombs delivered. 

Those were his men down there. His and Master Plo…

Master Plo.

Anakin’s eyes moved searching, squinting through the smoke and the heat haze.

The Juggernaut command tank was still there, standing like a tower off in the distance.

The ramp began to close, the ship beginning its ascent and Anakin turned and rushed as quickly as he could towards the cockpit.

Many of the men recognized him, Jedi and Clones alike, each stepping aside, letting him through.

The cockpit door was locked, with a wave of his hand, he unlocked it, the red light turning green as the metal slab whooshed into the wall. The pilot did a double take as he caught sight of him, balking. “Hey who the hell are you? Crew members only.”

Anakin didn’t have the time, or the desire for a conversation. 

“You’re taking me to that tank you see there–” He said, pointing just past the cockpit’s leftside window, bending the pilots mind and forcing him to obey with a brazen mind trick. 

The Co-pilot scoffed. “Look, buddy we’ve got-”

“I’ll take you to that tank I see over there.” The pilot said dully, limbs woodenly moving to obey as his partner snapped his head over to stare at him.

“What the he-”

“And you won’t ask questions.”

“I won’t ask questions.”

Both men under his thrall, Anakin focused his attention towards the lone, solitary tank, a sea of dead clones littering the area around it; dead at their stations.

He prayed to any deity or Force given miracle that would listen that Master Plo at least was alright.

—

Dennis:

“I’m gonna fucking kill him!” Dennis swore

“Calm down.” Hannah urged

He bit down hard on the urge to lash out. ‘You fucking Calm down’ was on the tip of his tongue, held back only by the love and respect he had for the woman as they climbed up, through the cloud cover and into the inky blackness of space. 

The Stalker felt heavy and almost sluggish with the sheer weight of passengers inside it, Clones were almost lying on top of eachother and flicking through his security cams, he saw Master Fay already moving as best she could to treat the worst of the wounded, negotiating through the halls and tightly packed crowds. 

On his sensor screen there was a stream of pings and communique’s, hundreds of ships rising up, out of the atmosphere in similar states, filled to the brim with wounded Clones and Jedi.

Rugess spoke up, identifying a priority hail-

“Patch it through.” Dennis sighed.

“Identified IFF: Callsign Stalker- this is the heavy cruiser Knight of Coronet, we are transmitting docking bay codes to you and are requesting an assessment of your on board situation. How many wounded and passengers do you have-”

“That’s not one of the medical frigates.” Asajj noted. 

“Standard procedure with a sudden overwhelming influx of injured.” Hannah commented beside the younger woman. “Spread the injured to other, less dedicated facilities that can feasibly handle them to avoid overwhelming the primary staff or depleting their resources. I’m sure that once they’re stabilized the worst of the injured will be transferred to the medical fleet while the others with minor injuries will simply be treated by the crew wherever they initially wind up.”

The time manipulator sighed. “Knight of Coronet, copy. We have around…” He hesitated, looking towards the others “I wanna say… thirty? Forty passengers?” Rugess shrugged, Ventress made a bit of a face before acknowledging with a ‘So-So’ gesture with her hand. “Sorry. Didn’t exactly have time to pull a roll call.”

“Roger that Stalker- How many injured on board?”

“I personally counted at least five with severe injuries, but I’m sure nearly all of them are at least somewhat banged up.”

“Understood, medical staff is on standby please proceed to-”

His sensors blared out a warning and he had a split second to understand what exactly was about to happen. 

“Oh that cunt!”All at once, the entirety of the separatist fleet leapt out of the void in a micro jump, turbo laser batteries and missile bays opening up on the Republic fleet as hangar bays opened and vomited out thousands of fighters.

Immediately he could almost feel the commlines exploding; he could guess what they were saying. Over seven hundred calls calling out alerts, asking for backup, explaining that their missile pods were empty; that they had wounded on board. 

The Republic fleet answered quickly in turn, scrambling more fighters. But the rescue sortie would be caught dead center of the clash forced to cut through two proverbial trains crashing headfirst into eachother.

“Everybody get strapped in; this is gonna get rough.” He flicked on the intercom. “Everyone on board, get yourselves secure ASAP we’re about to have a rough ride-” He hung up, faintly hearing the commotion in his halls, the Clones might not know exactly what was happening, but he could appreciate their quick obedience right now.

Eyeballing his speed, and the speed of the approaching vulture fighters and interceptors, they had about three minutes.

The Republic would be here in five. 

He was right.

Even with his thrusters at full burn he was forced to bank hard to avoid blaster fire, dodging and weaving through the empty void of space, what few fighters they had that were still combat capable being swarmed by seven or more vultures, tearing each unit apart; freighters filled to the brim with wounded soldiers exploded in plasma wreathed fireballs, bombers with no bombs to deliver were caught out, ripped to pieces by droids that pounced on them like vultures on carrion. 

Dennis grit his teeth, a white knuckled grip on the controls his heart in his throat, not for himself necessarily- he’d died before. For Rugess, Ventress, Miss M and even Fay behind him. They were counting on him to get them out of this and frankly he wasn’t sure he could deliver.

Rugess spoke up at his side, a warning-

Dennis’ eyes flickered over towards the sensors, finding the shadow of the massive capital ships closing in, adding their turbolaser fire to the mayhem. 

Something struck, slipping past the aft shield and rocked the ship, the whole thing shuddering and fighting his grip as he yanked, turning hard enough that it must’ve hurt the people in his landing bay, but better hurt than spaced.

The Vulture overshot past him, and Dennis pulled a turn that sent red warning lights blaring across his screen as he forced himself to get behind the fucking thing, firing off his forward turbo lasers right into its backside, ripping the vulture apart with a green and red explosion that tore the thing to pieces.

The Republic fighters joined the mayhem, rushing past him like a rushing cavalry charge smashing into a rushing cavalry charge. As many friendly IFF pings as his sensors caught he caught just as many winking out of existence, the space surrounding him filled with fire, shrapnel and death. 

Then as he moved to keep flying towards the safety of his own encroaching fleet- his ship shuddered to a dead stop, his whole body lurching forward before being slammed back in his seat hard enough to knock the breath out of him.

“What the fuck Dennis!” Ventress shouted behind him. 

“It wasn’t m- Tractor beam.” He realized mid sentence, eyes wide as dinner plates his and Rugess’ hands flying across the controls. “They have us in a fucking tractor beam!”

Rugess corrected him. 

“The fuck you mean not just us!?”

But he looked at his sensors; finding that his friend was right. 

The Capital ships were tugging multiple vessels back towards them, reeling them in like fish on lines before the Republic Fleet could fully deploy into range. 

“It seems that they’re after the vessels with Jedi.”

Dennis whipped around, looking at the absurdly serene image of Master Fay who sat placidly beside Hannah. 

“How would they even know in all this chaos what ships have Jedi?” Hannah questioned. 

Master Fay, for once, wasn’t smiling. “It seems- that there is a sith aboard their vessels. Though if such is true… why not simply kill us? Why go through the effort of capturing us?”

“Don’t know, don’t care. Just have to get the fuck out of this.” Dennis answered, gritting his teeth behind closed lips, the wheels in his brain turning.

“How many Jedi did we pick up?” He asked the room in general. 

“Counted five.” Ventress answered immediately, “Not including this one.” She gestured towards Fay.

Dennis frowned, eying the Jedi Master. 

“You’re the head of the Mandalorian Enclave… think you can open a line to that Rancisis Jedi guy leading the fleet?”

Fay blinked. “Yes, of course- why?”

That’s all he needed to hear. “Alright- new plan.”

—

Plo Koon:

Bulq barely paid the clones a single thought, even as the men fired on him the Master reflected their shots back at them with contemptuous ease, barking a sharp order at Galdos to ‘deal with the chaff’

The disregard, the open disdain for the lives of the men he bade his apprentice to take…

Bulq’s strikes were ceaseless, swift as a raging river and powerful as a collapsing mountain. Within the first few exchanges Plo’s limbs already ached and both his body and his mind nearly recoiled in the face of the fallen Master’s overwhelming onslaught and pure, unfettered bhatred intermingled with the perverse sick joy of finally being able to be free of his restraints…

He’d fought against the Vaapaad form before, but this was not Windu’s Vaapaad; the saber form had given way to raw savagery, a seething blood thirst in every swipe of the blade; where Windu’s form was a measured, controlled strength, this surrendered to an unfettered abandoning of all restraint.

Plo knew Bulq was stronger than him; the better swordsman.

But in this moment he was also weaker than he’d ever been.

Plo shifted his stance; leaning into the strong defenses of his preferred Shien form, shunting aside the harsh blows even as his limbs sang with pain at every impossibly heavy impact, his power in the Force coiling around himself like a living shield the battering storm of Dark Side energy sliding off of him like tides smashing themselves against the shore. 

Their sabers clashed so frequently Plo had to rely on the Force itself to guide his defense, his sense of sight quickly growing disoriented under the strobe like effects of their clashing blades; the sounds of the weapons drowning out the chirp of blaster rifles and the screams of the dying clones that tried to hold off Galdos, buying Plo the precious few seconds with their lives that could make all the difference.

Bulq’s fury grew, as Plo’s defense held a fire, roaring within a furnace-

It was his weakness.

For a fleeting instant; the swordmaster’s rage got the better of him, an over extension, and as soon as the error was made, Plo could see that Bulq realized it too and tried to correct it-

Too late.

The Kel dor pivoted, from defense to offense immediately, his first swing nearly bisecting Bulq as the fallen Master lunged backward to gain some distance, avoiding the blow, but Plo followed him, his saber still pointing out to his side and behind him from the first swing.

Bulq tried to counter, to take advantage of the ‘opening’ but Plo was faster, his left hand whipping out, lightning fast to catch Bulq by the wrist, arresting the swing before it even started as he swung with the saber to decapitate the fallen Jedi.

Bulq ducked under it, Plo’s swing going wide, but mid swing Plo transitioned int an elbow strike that cracked down into Bulq’s eye socket-

The weequay howled in pain, now half blind he lashed out, desperately with a Force push that drove Plo back, the Kel Dor stumbled before arresting the forced movement and answering with his own telekentic push in kind. 

He breached the disoriented Master’s personal defenses with comparative ease, sending the man hurtling across the tank’s interior to crash into a comm station, his lightsaber making the panel explode.

Bulq fell to the ground on his hands and knees, but still his hands rose in reflex, saber deflecting three blaster bolts fired by the Clones that tried to seize the opportunity.

Then the Clones started gasping, dangling in the air as they clawed at their own throats. Plo heard one neck snap, then another- the third man visibly straining to resist.

The weequay’s rage, his fear, his desperation made his strength in the Darkside swell and undulate, suffocating in its volume as Plo centered himself- finding once more the calm serenity he needed to bring his own power to bear

‘Electric judgement’

The bolt of yellow lightning poured from Plo’s fingertips, thunderous crackles and chirping snaps lancing through the air between them as Bulq’s eyes widened, bringing his saber up to try and defend himself.

Still the lightning found its mark, crashing into, and then overwhelming the Master’s defenses, leaping up and around the saber blade to burn and sear across Bulq’s flesh, marking him forever as the welts and charred flesh grew across his face, and hands, his robes burning as the Light side of the Force found its enemy and unleashed its full power against it. 

“Look out General!”

Plo whirled to the side, blue saber catching the yellow gold of Galdos’ parrying the blade before he stepped forward into the boy’s guard, his shoulder slamming into his diaphragm and his leg coiling behind one of Galdos’ to trip the youth as he stumbled back, teetering off balance.

Plo hesitated; just for a moment; an instant.

It was a Padawan, the fault didn’t lie with him- but with the Master that corrupted him.

And then he pushed his sentiments aside, realizing that there was no choice. There was no alternative.

If he fell here, the Order might never know of Bulq’s betrayal until another calamity occurred.

He had to stop him here.

Plo’s blade struck.

Galdos, young Galdos, yellow eyes wide with a primal animal fear, tried to bring his saber up to defend.

Plo was stronger.

Blue crashed against yellow and kept going shoving both Blades down, into the boy’s face and chest carving him into too many pieces as his body fell like a meat sack on the floor

GRAH! 

The roar was a fleeting warning, and Plo only had time to turn around to face Bulq once more before a burst of Dark Side Lightning struck him full on, launching him back as the Master’s newfound rage and grief compounded his strength even further.

Plo stumbled back, falling on one knee, a hand clutching at his chest as he managed to bring his Saber up to help deflect the outpouring of raw hate formed into an attack. 

The pain stole the breath from his lungs; his heart thundering erratically in his chest-

And then Bulq was on him. 

Plo’s defense was harried, weak. His arms trembled under the powerful onslaught of blows, his legs shook with weakness and adrenaline; his vision swam, trying to keep up with the rampaging dervish that was Sora Bulq.

The fallen master had surrendered himself fully to his fury, raw aggression dominating his every movement and thought, the openings were present but Plo’s body was too slow to seize them.

He kept backpedaling, trying to gain some distance, to gain room to breathe, his strength in the Force slipped through his grasp with the overwhelming sensations and near panic that took hold as he recognized the increasing danger.

But still Bulq was on him, Bulq pursued him. The flames had spilled out of the furnace and was now an overwhelming inferno that surrounded Plo, raced down his airways with every breath and suffused his being

He blocked one strike, two, three, five, eight- each strike stronger than the last and each defense growing ever weaker, ever slower.

Then- Plo couldn’t breathe.

His free hand grabbed hold of Sora Bulq’s wrist, trying to stop him from dragging the blade now running Plo through upward and into his chest cavity. His own wrist was seized, preventing him from retaliating against Bulq as the weequay squeezed tight, the unnatural strength of the Dark side letting him snap the bones in Plo’s wrist like twigs as his lightsaber clattered to the floor.

Plo tried to suck down a single breath, finding it impossible.

Then, came the lightning. 

Needles of agony slipped between muscle fibers, rusted nails bridged the gaps between his bones, acid flowed through his veins in the place of blood, fire boiled his eyes in their sockets.

It was excruciating, all encompassing, and Plo realized-

I’m going to die.

There was no pity to be found in Bulq’s eyes. No remorse. No sudden realization. Only a satisfied smile, creeping along the edges of his lips that he likely didn’t even realize he held.

There was the snap hiss of a saber being activated, and Plo faintly recognized the sight of Bulq’s eyes widening in surprise before he had to turn to defend himself, leaving Plo tocollapse on the ground beside so many of the dead that served under him.

His vision grew dark, shadows dancing along his sight.

But still, Anakin shone like a brilliant star in the Force, staring down the fallen Master.

—

Sera Keto:

Master Billaba had deployed her, and several of the remaining knights to back up Victoria and her unit as soon as it was confirmed she was facing the Cyborg Grievous.

But in truth, even as they arrived and engaged in the battle, Sera knew there was almost nothing she could do here, besides getting in the way.

At most, they could turn the fight between the Mandalorian Death Watch and Victoria’s wings solidly in their favor, a half dozen Jedi Knights and Masters was a force to be reckoned with, regardless of how many losses they’d endured.

But Victoria, and that metal monster?

It was like watching Gods clashing.

Every blow thundered through the air and shook the earth, every movement was a blur of speed and preternatural skill with a blade that left even a prodigy like her in awe, wondering how the woman she would call a friend had so rapidly slipped past and overtaken her skill. 

Then- she felt it. A great tremor in the force. A disturbance. A profound sense of loss.

And Victoria went still. 

Then she screamed.

There was a raw pain, a sudden fury in her voice. The sound itself somehow carrying a palpable damaging presence that made even Grievous reel and knocked men and droids to the floor.

—

Kit Fisto

He held his twin blades aloft breathing heavily, oily sweat marring his brow and tentacles.

He’d always considered himself a decent Lightsaber combatant.

It said something in this moment, even wielding both his and Luminara’s saber that he felt little better than a Padawan. 

Jorus, gaunt and thin and weak as his body portrayed him to be, looked utterly unflappable by contrast, amused and prideful as ever.

“To think-” the man began. “That once you were under consideration for a seat on the Council. I suppose you meet their standards.”

In spite of himself, the Nautolan let himself smirk. “We can’t all excell at Mediocrity quite like you Jorus.”

He saw Jorus’ features twitch, no doubt the dig getting under the overly proud man’s skin.

Fisto hoped he wouldn’t come to regret that in these next moments.

An angry sith was a stronger Sith.

And he didn’t need to give the man any more advantages. 

Jorus stepped closer, and in spite of himself, Master Fisto took a step back.

Then… heat. 

A sudden, roiling heat bathed the cavern, a faintly glowing light of flame, shining brighter and brighter drew close, the Sithspawn, the dragons and the monsters hissed and shied away from the light as Jorus turned his head.

“Ahh. It seems she’s decided to join us at last.”

Seconds later- she arrived, fires dancing in the air around her, the insects buzzing alongside the flames.

“It’s good that you’re alive.”

Her voice was strange, a monotone flat that set Fisto’s teeth on edge.

A second later he realized she wasn’t talking to him. 

“Oh?” Jorus asked. “And why is that?”

Master Hebert’s yellow saber seemed almost gold, as fires began to gather, coalescing around her body to leave her wreathed in flame

She didn’t answer him.

And as the cavern erupted, swallowing the whole of it in fires that sent Fisto reeling back, and burning smaller, weaker beasts that drew close, he noted that, despite the power… there was a wrongness to it. An empty deadness in the Force emanating from her.

“Because I intend to burn you. Blood, flesh and soul. Until there’s nothing left to put on the Funeral pyre.”

— 

Anakin

Anakin felt something in his body twist, a black seething hatred uncoiling like a serpent within a heart that punched inside of his chest cavity like a hammer, every strike pushing a black, oily rage through his veins as he stared at Master Bulq and the fallen Master Plo.

“Skywalker.” Bulq sneered, eyes glowing yellow. “What was it you said? About my reputation as a swordmaster? Repeat it for m-”

Anakin didn’t let him finish, suddenly having closed the distance  his saber coming down, forcing Bulq to defend, nearly breaking the surprised Weequay's guard as Anakin’s face, deformed in a rictus of uncommon anger  sneered at the corrupted Master.

“No.” The Knight said simply pointing at the man with the tip of his blade “I think I’m just going to kill you.”

(X)(X)(X)

I apologise for the delay in this chapter; it was meant to go out this morning but for some reason I got an annoying formatting error where I was seeing actual lines of 'code' between the lines of the story itself, like when things are bolded or italicized or whatever you could see the 'commands' present and that never happened before.

So it had to get fixed, hence the delay.

But anyway; not gonna lie, this chapter was meant to be the concluding chapter. But Dennis; seeing as how he couldn't start until AFTER the events of the previous chapter, meant that this one got way too long and so had to be cut in half.Next chapter will be the conclusion of the Geonosis Campaign and I'm sure you'll have LOTS to talk about. Now, just a heads up for those of you that might have forgotten; once the Geonosis campaign is concluded and I deal with the aftermath- I'm going to go on a fairly extensive break/hiatus both to give myself some downtime from weaving force and recharge my batteries AND to also finally finish and get my own original work published.

So around 2-3 more weeks/updates for all of you.

For those of you interested in said original work, early access to the first hundred pages of it is available in our publisher tier and I'll be exploring options to make the whole book available here for those of you who already belong to the publisher tier when the book releases in full.

Thanks all for reading and enjoying the fic, I hope to catch you all in the next one Peace.