Interlude: The Clone Wars - 4 (Patreon)

Interlude: The Clone Wars - 4

Komari Vosa

She remembered the first that turned.

Not their names, of course. They weren’t important enough for that. 

But no, she remembered them. Because it was the Masters that broke first.

The Masters. 

Then the Knights.

The Padawans were last.

Perhaps Sidious took amusement in doing things in that order. Perhaps the Masters were just that fragile or the Padawans just that resilient. 

Or perhaps that’s simply how the Force deigned it to work out. The whims of the supposed universe at work. 

Some died, of course. Many even.

But more than a few survived what he did to them. 

Twisted. Broken.

But ‘survived’ regardless. 

Another tool in the box. Another weapon to draw on.

In the end, of the seventy or so survivors from Geonosis, forty-nine were left and… usable, once Sidious was through with them. 

Not Sith. Not really. He taught them nothing, even less than what he taught her, or Tann or Jorus. 

But he found uses for them regardless.

The first eight had been the strongest. The most ruthless and driven. 

By the end, they wanted to break the Jedi.

That had led to Jabiim. 

It was the only battle that came close to what Geonosis had been. The only conflict that tore apart both sides so thoroughly.

Those eight had been on Jabiim. 

They hunted down the Padawans before going after their Masters.

It looked like it would have been a Separatist victory. A notable one, too.

Then, Hebert arrived. 

Komari had long since become desensitized to displays of power. Sidious, Dallon, Windu, Yoda. They all outclassed other Force users in a way that couldn’t entirely be put into words.

Hebert had added herself to the list that day. And added a new name to go with ‘The Infernal’.

The Huntress.

The footage was stitched together from a dozen droid feeds, but it was clear enough.

Sometimes Komari liked to watch it, imagining Sidious at the receiving end of it. Perhaps the fire, perhaps the insects, perhaps the telekinesis. Or even just the good old fashioned lightsaber through the chest.

Wishing never made it happen, of course.

But she wondered, genuinely, if she could do it.

Or Dallon. Or Yoda. Or Windu. Even her replacement, Kenobi, sometimes wandered through her fantasies of a dead Sith Master.

Then she would remember who held her leash. She remembered just how powerful he himself was. Not just physically, not just in the Force, but all of the soft and unseen power he had quite literally at his fingertips, power that, at this point, no single entity in the galaxy could contend against. Not the Republic, or the Jedi, or anything.

And the fantasy would slip away…

For a time.

But, it would always come back. 

Because after a while…  survival alone just wasn’t enough. 

It wasn’t… 

You can only survive for so long before almost anything else is worth more.

Which brings her… here… now. With a choice in front of her.

It wasn’t often her Master would dedicate so many resources to ONE thing, to one single loose end.

The fallen Jedi, a Separatist invasion force. Herself.

And even the Jedi killer, Grievous. 

He wanted this dealt with.

More than that, he needed it dealt with. 

That told her there was a weakness. A mistake that had been made somewhere that she wasn’t privy to.

A vulnerability.

And her choice was cradled in her hand, rolling softly between her fingers.

And the choice, when it came… was surprisingly… easy.

Because survival alone… just wasn’t enough anymore.

Her comlink opened, and she sent a single, encrypted message along the only other connected unit.

The word was simple.

“Dathomir.” She whispered, sending off the message, then crushing the device underfoot, before moving to ready herself for the task ahead.

It was too late to stop it.

But not too late to leave a trail to be followed.