The Weaving Force: Chapter 149

Chapter 149:

Have you ever seen a Jedi lose hope?

I have.

I was there that day.

I was there… the day Yoda died.

—

Pre Vizsla 

It wasn’t night on Coruscant.

Yet Pre Vizsla could barely see the sun beneath the smog, the darting shadows of fighters, and the colossal bodies of the capital ships fighting in orbit far above.

In a matter of hours Coruscant had descended into hell. A nightmare landscape where even the constant drum of turbolasers, blaster fire, missiles, explosions and crackling flames was drowned out… by the single crawling echo of horror filled screams. 

Pre watched it all through the windows of his ship, flying straight towards the Senate Rotunda dead ahead.

He looked away from the carnage. As much as he loathed the weak and pathetic Republic and should be enjoying their long deserved ruin, he couldn’t find any pleasure in it, not here, not now, not when Death Watch and Mandalore were less than a pale shade of what they should have been.

The weight of the Darksaber resting at his hip as always felt… heavy at his side. 

He turned his eyes to the computer, looking through the target list that had been forwarded to him by Trench. The Admiral wanted a very specific list of senators eliminated, people that could rally the Republic after today. People who might still have a backbone.

He filtered through the names, and the images next to them. Bail Organa, Mon Motha, Garm Bel Iblis, Amidala… Alexandria…

He’d sent more than one assassin to deal with that blasted schutta. None had ever succeeded, let alone returned. 

She was crafty, but if he found her in that Rotunda, he doubted there wasn’t any amount of craftiness that a dozen beskar covered Death Watch couldn’t solve. 

“My lord Mandalore.”

It was Tor who called him, and Pre turned his head looking at one of his last remaining lieutenants. “What is it?”

The man held up his vambrace, the holo flickering as he turned it on. 

“Sir, just had this footage forwarded. Think you’re gonna like this.”

His voice was a gleeful, savage thing, and Pre couldn’t help but feel his curiosity spike as he stood and marched over, leaning down to peer at the grainy blue image.

It was footage, taken from a battle droid along the front lines, already advancing on the Senate Rotunda. They were fighting clones, but… 

“What am I looking for here, Tor?”

Obligingly, with a toothy smirk, the man enhanced the image, and Pre squinted to try and see it. 

When he finally did, he felt his breath catch.

There, past the droids, past the sea of armored white soldiers, past the flashes of red, past the panicking, worthless civilians, even past the blue of a protective Jedi blade… he saw her. Clear as day and unmistakable.

Satine Kryze.

She was here. She was on Coruscant.

She was vulnerable. 

And she was within reach.

“Mandalorians!” He barked, and his men shut up instantly, helmets coming onto their heads, weapons primed. They recognized what they heard in his voice.

“New orders!” He snarled, affixing his own helmet with a hiss. “We’re going hunting!”

—

Weber

The rifle’s kick was almost soothing, the push against his shoulder a comfort. The sight of his target, even though it was one of his own brothers falling at the end of his scope… reassuring. 

Weber was inside the Temple, safe behind the structure’s own shield and Force only knew how many feet of duracrete between him and everything charging them right now. 

The legion was in a fighting retreat, one line pulling back to hardpoints before turning to cover the retreat of the next line before those who retreated did the same, rolling back the line meter by meter as the Coruscant Guard and worse, the CIS, began to take over the skies. 

Jedi Generals were like beacons on the field, their sabers telling everyone where to rally… or where to shoot.

But beyond the immediate chaos of the battlefield in front of him, Weber could see past it, literally, towards the city itself and the dangers creeping forward like the tide.

Heavy walkers, tanks and artillery units were lumbering their way up the causeways leading to the Temple. Droid dropships and gunships were dumping hordes of battled droids wherever they could, either in the city centers to kill civilians and set up staging grounds, or already marching in armored columns wherever they’d cleared a path to get to the Temple. 

There were no legion fighters in the air anymore, only brainwashed brothers and clankers. Hyena bombers were releasing payloads into legionnaire and Guard ranks alike, drawing ever closer to bombing the Temple itself as the anti-air defenses were getting more and more overwhelmed. Across the city, Munificents, now underneath the envelope of planetary shielding, were carpet bombing Coruscant indiscriminately, pillars of black smoke and an aurora of fires blanketing the horizon. He could only imagine the death toll.

In all of this mayhem, in all of this carnage, was it any wonder that focusing on just his target, on the jolt of his rifle, was a comfort?

He squeezed the trigger again, the weapon kicking into his shoulder as another one of his brothers died. 

Another squeeze, and another died.

Corporals, sergeants, lieutenants, captains. He singled them out, taking them down. His brothers weren’t like droids. Take out the commanders… his brothers get less effective. So that’s who he prioritized.

He normally kept count when facing clankers. It was always fun when his brothers compared kill counts later.

He didn’t keep count here, didn’t know how many brothers died at the wrong end of his rifle before Guelzo’s voice crackled in his ear. 

“Noble, we’re regrouping at the eastern promenade, acknowledge.”

He and his brothers sounded off, with Weber quickly gathering up his rifle and gear before heading out.

—

By the time he made it to the rendezvous, Asimov and Pratchett were already present and he could hear the calls through the former's radio equipment.

“More coming in from the right!”

“Cover General Vebb!”

Wolffe joined them, several of his brother medics rushing through the hall with hover stretchers being dragged behind them, Jedi and wounded brothers laying on them. 

“Move! Droids just hit their flank, now’s our chance to pull back!”

“Where is that transmission coming from?” Wolffe demanded. His brother was covered in red and gore, the color standing out against the white of his armor. 

“Defense grid nine.” Asimov answered quickly.

Grid nine. Southern side.

“This is Arc-77 Fordo. We’re being overrun. I repeat, we’re being-”

The transmission didn’t cut off so much as Fordo simply stopped speaking, a deluge of blaster fire and explosions bursting through the line, like the whole army from all sides were shooting all at once. Weber could only hope Fordo was still alive and if he was, was giving as good as he got.

He didn’t have long to dwell on it, though. Guelzo, Cid and General Dallon marched in at that moment.

“Asimov, I need an uplink to Master Poof, Gallia and Billaba.”

His brother did some fiddling with the comm unit. “Got ‘em, ma’am.”

The three aforementioned Masters came online. At a glance, Billaba was on the front lines, or near it with her legionnaires. He could hear the sound of blaster bolts and her lightsaber was lit. Gallia was with Master Allie, so likely helping in the healing ward and Poof was in the command center. 

Weber knew that Yaddle was in the Temple, but he didn’t have the foggiest notion of where she was.

“Air support is gone.” General Dallon said, cutting straight to it. “Between the droids and the Guard, even I can barely fly out there. Master Poof, what are the readouts telling us?”

“The Coruscant Guard has fully mobilized; all forty eight million troops, along with their heavy armor, ships and artillery contingents. The CIS forces are still comparatively small, but they are growing rapidly.”

“How many CIS ships are in system now?” Billaba demanded, features grim. 

“Sensors show approximately two hundred and seventy three ships. All known classes. It’s the single largest CIS fleet we’ve ever seen deployed. They’ve brought the last known Lucrehulks on record. Twelve in total.”

“Shit.” Vicky hissed, “That might be enough droids to actually overwhelm the defense force even if we weren’t killing each other. ETA on reinforcements from outside the system?”

“Unknown.” Poof winced. “When this began, we blocked all outward communications from the Coruscant Guard, and they’re doing likewise to us. With the confusion along the chain of command, we can’t predict who the surrounding system reinforcements will actually side with, us or the Guard. If they’re even aware of what’s happening, they’ll be finding out about it from someone other than us, and who knows when that might be.”

Master Gallia pulled herself away from the patient she was helping treat. “We have to find Amidala. We won’t survive this unless we can get the Guard to stand down and that can only happen if she rescinds the orders!” 

“Our last confirmations stated that Master Skywalker and Master Hebert were going after her.”

He saw Miss Dallon relax at the words, however slightly. In truth, Weber felt it too. If they could trust anyone to get the job done, it was Miss Hebert.

“Alright,” The General sighed, nibbling on a fingernail as she thought. “Our forces have mostly pulled back into the Temple. Between the shield generators, the walls and the choke points, we can hold for a while-”

There was a rumble, the Temple shaking all around them as artillery fire struck the outer shields and the shield generators shuddered. It looked like their chipped brothers were eager to test the General’s assertion. 

She pushed through the distraction, ignoring it. “But I’m gonna need updates. Myself and the Silver Wing can redeploy quickly so, Master Poof, tell me where I need to-”

She trailed off, looking past them and up. Weber followed her gaze as he heard someone else mumble an almost dazed ‘What the hell is that?’ somewhere nearby.

When Weber finally saw whatever it was, he still wasn’t clear on what exactly he was looking at.

It looked like an obsidian diamond, hanging in the air, red veins pulsing along its black surface.

Looking around, he saw more of them, crawling out of vents, air ducts and maintenance droid tunnels. 

He didn’t know what they were, and that made them enemy assets.

His brothers agreed with him.

“Troopers!” Guelzo roared, his voice bouncing off the walls. “Secure those unknowns!”

Several of his brothers, specifically demolition experts judging by the color of their shoulder pads, began to advance, carefully. 

Then, a warbling sound echoed through the halls. A sound straight out of Weber’s nightmares.

His brothers noticed too.

Someone barely managed to shout the warning before the warbling shrieks cut through the stillness and a black dragon smashed its way through the wall at their sides.

“SITHSPAWN!”

General Dallon rocketed over Weber’s head, her kick crashing into the black dragon’s skull like a thunderbolt, Weber feeling the crack of the thing’s bones as it vibrated through his own body. It reeled, the warbling cry screeching out in pain before its tail whipped out, lightning fast, its tip carving through a marble pillar before the General caught it one handed, letting him and his brothers open up on the horrible beast.

Just like on Geonosis, their blasters pelted off it like rain, but this one was smaller, weaker. Just going off from memory, Weber would almost peg it as being half the size of the Geonosian monstrosities. 

The beast opened its maw, and Weber didn’t need any warning before he was ducking into cover.

“GET DOWN!” Guelzo yelled, seconds before the beast spewed a cloud of toxic gas, belching it onto a column of clones and Jedi.

Weber had never wanted to see men melt inside their armor after Geonosis.

Sadly, that wish wasn’t coming true.

Like a shrieking missile, the General came crashing down from overhead, both feet crunching into the beast’s skullcap, at the spot between its skull and vertebrae, sending the monster crashing into the ground, the bones shattering with the sound of a grenade going off.

The body kept twitching, kept moving and lashing, but there was no will behind the movements, no target. It was a corpse flailing in its final death throes before it realized it was dead.

“General Dallon!” Guelzo called up to her.

The General looked down. “Guelzo.” She panted, and Weber saw something in her expression he didn’t like… “Guelzo… I couldn’t sense it! I couldn’t sense it at all!”

Weber’s brain caught at that statement, confusion muddling his mind before more warbling cries echoed through the halls and they heard the unmistakable screams of terror and the chaotic sounds of battle all around them. 

If General Dallon couldn’t sense them… they had no idea where these monsters were, how many there were… or how strong they were… and they were loose inside the Temple.

Shit. 

—

Sian Jeisel

By every metric, they held the advantage here.

Master Yoda, Master Vos, Master Kolar, Master Tone and herself. Jedi Masters against a single Sith. What’s more, a Sith that hadn’t even been able to defeat a single, non-Force-sensitive opponent.

Certainly, she’d heard that the Senator Alexandria was a near-human species from Master Dallon’s elusive homeworld and had abilities similar to Master Dallon… but she was still just one woman. 

Now… against Jedi Masters, one of them being Master Yoda… their victory should be a guarantee.

So why… why could she not shake this awful, cloying dread?

“Stay back, Senator, you’re injured.” Master Tone said, interposing himself between Alexandria and Sidious. Sian dared a quick look at the woman, seeing her left arm twisted all the way back, a spiral fracture of the humerus if she recalled her anatomy lessons accurately. Not a completely crippling injury but painful, given the beads of sweat dabbing the woman’s brow, a typical pain response in humans and near-humans. 

She pulled her thoughts away from the woman, hearing the snap hiss of her fellow Masters’ sabers activating. She joined them, green light bathing the side of her face. 

She turned her eyes to Palpatine. To the Sith. 

His yellowed eyes darted between them, his features twisted with hateful disdain, tension tightening his body like a coiled spring.

But in the Force, in the Force it was far worse.

There was a blackness to him. A roiling, baleful energy that covered him like a poisonous shroud. Even drawing near him made her stomach twist with sickness. She could almost smell the corruption in the air like miasma. 

Then, there was no warning, no sign.

The man just moved.

With a howling scream that reverberated through her mind and threw every instinct into confused mayhem, the Sith lunged through the air, too fast to perceive.

He was in front of Kolar.

The Jedi Master tried to move, to adjust his blade and defend himself. Too late. Too slow.

The red blade cut Kolar in half. She heard his breathless gasp of what must’ve been shock, or pain, before the pieces of his body fell to the floor with meaty, sickening thumps.

Then Master Yoda was on the Sith Master, a green whirling dervish of slicing blades and fluttering robes. She rushed in after him, trying to attack from the flank as Vos charged in from the other side with a roar.

She drew close, but Master Yoda and Sidious’ blades moved so fast she couldn’t tell where one strike ended or another began, green and red lines crisscrossing the space between them.

There, an opening.

She lunged.

She barely caught the streak of red in her eye before a blow nearly knocked her saber out of her hands, sending her reeling, and the flash of saber striking saber right beside her face was almost too quick to perceive as Master Yoda intercepted the decapitating blow with his own blade.

She tried to press forward, to push for the opening she was sure was there before she saw the Sith’s free hand snake out, grabbing Master Vos by the face before practically throwing him into her path, cutting her off before a kick sent her fellow Master sailing into her, nearly knocking them both over. 

She felt her heart drop into her stomach, fear cutting through her as she lost sight of the Sith, pulling Master Vos out of her line of sight, only to see Yoda and Palpatine still exchanging a flurry of saber strikes. Streaks of red and green, flashing with the static discharge of clashing saber strikes was almost one continuous drumming note.

There was a sound of tearing metal above them, causing her eyes to snap upwards only to find the whole ceiling collapsing directly overhead.

She and Vos reached up, their strength holding the weight aloft.

Then her world was pain.

Lightning crackled over her body, forking corruscating energy lancing through every fibre of her body.

She spasmed, her teeth clenching, not letting her scream, her chest hitching, not letting her suck down a breath.

Her eyes opened, watching the metal weight rushing down to crush her.

Then, the pain was gone, vanishing, and Sian could breathe again, her body collapsing onto the metal floors, blurry vision spying the small form of Master Yoda holding back the lightning, blue lights and long shadows dancing through the outline of his silhouette.

She found her wits, acting fast to once more stretch out her hand.

The mass of metal slowed, wobbling in the air but… holding, however tenuously.

A shadow darted out of the dark, blood red blade in hand, rushing towards the exposed Grand Master.

It was then, as fear lanced through her chest and sheer panic threatened to steal the breath from her all over again that she realized…

‘We’re a liability!’

Master Yoda could fight him.

Master Yoda could win.

But not while he was busy constantly saving them!

'We’re going to get him killed!’

The blade swung, a flash of red in the blackness and she reached, fumbling for her own saber to throw it, to try and intercept, to do something, to not let Master Yoda die right in front of her while she did nothing but cause it!

Her blade never made it.

Neither did Sidious’.

The red blade crackled and spat discharges of plasma, its edge sizzling against the hand that caught it in the air, fingers gripping tight as Alexandria pulled the weapon aside and wheeled forward with a kick, whose concussive force she could feel from here with the air pressure as it cut through empty space straight towards Sidious’ head.

The Sith’s blade retracted, the weapon vanishing with barely a whisper of sound before he twisted his body, barely avoiding the strike that sundered the ground like a cannon shot as Alexandria’s toes struck the metal floors. The Sith danced free and leapt back as the woman stood and Master Yoda lit up his blade once again. 

—

Cad Bane

He was in pain.

Every part of him… hurt.

As he came to, Bane felt blood drying on his face, the dark green of it having dripped down into his jacket. 

His vision was blurry as he looked around the wreckage of the freighter. Flames burned and crackled from exposed power lines and leaking fuel cells. Several of the droids were strewn across the grounds, inactive, if not in pieces. He didn’t see the Patrolian, though Durge was already stomping his way across the hollow of the crashed ship.

Bane began extricating himself from where he’d landed, feeling every muscle protesting as pain lanced through his side.

He looked down, pulling his coat open to see a sliver of metal sticking out of him, far too close to something important for his comfort.

“Shit.” He growled, fishing for some stims and pain killers.

Durge marched up to him. “The Weequay’s dead.” The Gen’Dai muttered. “Patrolian’s half dead.”

They didn’t matter. “Amidala?”

“Not a hair out of place.”

If he had eyebrows, they’d be paying penthouse fees.

There was a shriek outside, he recognized the sound of a LAAT gunship. 

He pulled the stims free, jabbing himself in the arm, drug fueled strength filling him as he stood up. “Get the droids, stall them. I’ll get the hostage.”

Durge turned away, stalking towards the two MagnaGuard droids. The brute wasn’t a tech, but hopefully the things only needed to have their restraining bolts removed to boot up. If they didn’t, Durge was durable enough to stall a freakin’ battalion on his own.

Reaching Amidala, in spite of the situation, Bane had to scoff. She really did look completely unharmed by the crash. Whether it was freakish luck or something else he didn’t know, but he didn’t let himself give a damn. 

Releasing her safety harness, he grabbed the dead eyed woman by the arm. “Stand up.” He said.

Obediently, she did as instructed and Bane had to resist the urge to sneer.

Enslaver Toxins were always the worst sort of poisons, and he had a feeling whatever Sidious concocted was particularly nasty, given the foundation was the Waters of Truth.

Still, not his problem, and it was going to be useful. Dragging a deadweight hostage wasn’t exactly fast or easy, especially when injured, stims or no stims.

He heard the snap-hiss of lightsabers, red blades lighting up as the Hunter droids rushed out, and the MagnaGuards booted up as blasters began firing outside. 

“Move!” He barked.

—

Fives

His boots hit the ground a second after General Skywalker and General Hebert.

And immediately they were under attack.

The Jedi Hunter droids poured out of the wreckage with blades alight and metal bodies glinting in the sunlight. There were at least a dozen of them and General Skywalker charged straight in, Fives and his brothers opening fire after him. 

Blaster bolts splashed off the things armor like raindrops, and Fives regretted not having a slugthrower right then as the blasted clanker closed the distance and lunged for him. 

He tried to backpedal and pull away, but the blasted thing was faster than it looked, slicing off the front half of his DC-15.

He snarled, swiveling the rifle around and swinging it like a club at the droid’s head.

No good.

The droid nearly cut off his whole damn hand for his efforts and Fives’ backpedalling didn’t end with him getting run through only because of Echo throwing a heavy rock onto the droid’s back, making it stumble.

His brother fired into the impact point, hoping the rock had cracked the cortosis lining.

It hadn’t and the droid whirled around, throwing one of its sabers, the blade actually clipping his brother in the shoulder with a cry of pain. 

Five drew his DC-17 and the heavy, well built pistol doubled damn good as a club.

With a roar, he cracked the gun across the back of the droid’s skull and the solid hit did indeed crack the cortosis shell.

The droid tried to turn again, swinging its blade and Fives ducked under it, tackling the droid and stomping on its still armed hand with one foot, the other stomping on the skull, cracking the cortosis shell even further as he shot his blaster pistol straight into the downed droid’s skull plating, each blue bolt just barely missing Fives’ toes as he shot again and again and again, forcing the heat to melt through the plating.

“PADME!”  

The General’s shout made Fives snap his head up, watching as a Duros made his way across the shattered grounds, the senator in his grasp, a gun to the back of her skull. 

Then, a tearing pain ripped through his calf and Fives howled in pain, looking down before firing again and again and again as the droid’s claw ripped and tore at his bleeding leg.

The pain made him lose his strength and his balance, and with a grinding screech of metal gears the droid threw him off and Fives was rolling aside as that lightsaber came in for a swing while they were both on the ground, just narrowly missing the red blade.

The droid started crawling towards him, sharp, jerky movements that gave Fives the impression of a horror vid before Echo came in again, stomping on the metal monster’s back before smashing the butt of his rifle down into the thin vents along the underside of its back and unloading a whole clip into it’s vulnerable wiring. 

The monster went still.

Fives panted, “Thanks.” He breathed. 

Echo knelt in front of him, pulling a bacta patch from one of his utility pouches. “Come on,” His brother said, beginning to unwrap the patch. “Lets-”

That’s when two tall metal behemoths smashed their way out of the freighter’s wreck.

They were huge, long limbed things. He’d never seen this model, but they reminded him of that cyborg, Grievous, and both of them rushed to intercept General Skywalker.

Echo and the others leveled their blasters on the things-

And then the other monster showed up.

Fives had never fought Durge himself on the frontlines, but he’d heard enough stories from the other legions that he’d recognize the Gen’Dai horror when he saw him.

A mass of writhing flesh rushed forward like an oncoming train, battering aside two of Five’s brothers. Echo tried to bring his rifle to bear only to be snatched up by a tentacle’d limb, the flesh constricting around him.

“NO!” Fives shouted, crawling for Echo’s fallen rifle to try and shoot the regenerating beast.

He moved as fast as he could, stumbling, crawling, trying to hurry, even as he heard his brother begin to scream and the groaning of armor as it buckled and folded.

Then, his brother and a heap of still twitching, wiggling flesh crashed down on the ground in front of him a split second before his whole world was swallowed by the skittering chitin and deafening roar of swarming insects.

Fives couldn’t see, could barely hear, but he knew it was alright. He felt something grab him, pulling him by the back collar of his armor before he was yanked out of the swarm, back towards the gunship. Echo and a few of his brothers followed suit, the less densely packed swarm around them still obscuring them, but it let them see at the very least. 

Fives could see Durge roaring, his body undulating and spreading out in anger and pain as insects bit and clawed and stung every bit of exposed flesh they could find, tearing and ripping at the body that just kept regenerating as it thrashed and flailed about, wildly searching for something he could kill to make it stop.

Fives didn’t bother with him. That Gen’Dai could, and had, shrugged off an orbital bombardment at least once before. He didn’t know what they had that could take him down, if they had anything at all, but he wasn’t gonna waste time on him when there were still other priorities. 

He peered through the mass of bugs but could barely make out anything. He spoke out loud, knowing she’d hear him. “General Hebert, those new models, we still have a gunship! Give me a target to paint!”

It was a line of fireflies that told him where to look. 

He lowered the target finder along the right side of his helmet. 

“Gunship one, painting target, copy.”

“I copy, Fives. I see it.”

“Well, I don’t want to.” He answered with a vicious smirk. 

—

Obi-Wan

With a swipe of his hand, Obi-Wan sent the rocket off its course, twisting its trajectory to the side and up, its payload blasting open a hole in the hallway wall and ceiling directly ahead of them as he charged, rushing to close the distance on the line of clones blocking their path.

There were six clones at the end of the halls, DC-15 blaster rifles set to full automatic fire, bathing the length of the space between himself and them in a rain of blue blaster bolts.

Obi-Wan’s blade was a living shield in front of him, blue meeting blue, deflecting shot after shot. The rain parted, a knife slicing through flimsiplast as he swallowed the distance.

The men were disciplined and well trained. They didn’t panic, they adjusted their formation like the textbooks and simulations said they should, and Obi-Wan knew those textbooks by heart.

Which meant he knew how to get past them. 

The first clone found his rifle cut in half before the pommel of Obi-Wan’s saber cracked into his helmeted cheek with a shattering of laminate armor. The man reeled, dazed, and Obi Wan took the moment to yank him off his feet with the Force, using his body as a second shield and hazard, cutting off fire from the rear most clone before he threatened to bowl over the third in the line by throwing the body into him.

That clone ducked, the body sailing past as Obi-Wan’s freed hand ripped the blaster rifle out of the second clone’s grip before he sliced off that clone’s arms and threw the rifle into the fourth man’s face.

The sixth and fifth were finally able to take their shots.

Two bolts sailed out of two rifles, and two deflections sent those bolts straight through the eye and chest of the third and fourth. 

One second later, Obi-Wan threw his saber past the fifth as he dodged, and lodged it in the chest of the sixth.

The fifth tried to take one more shot before Obi-Wan pulled the saber back.

The clone didn’t realize the danger before the blade passed through his neck and shoulders. 

He fell down dead, and Obi-Wan took a moment to catch his breath, heart pounding under his ribs as the adrenaline still rushed through his body. 

It was hard now… hard to keep focus… hard to… 

“Senate Control.” He called into his comlink as the Mandalorian Royal Guard, Satine and the senators accompanying them cautiously entered the hall after him. “Senate Control, do you copy?”

The answering communique was filled with the background noise of blaster fire. The fighting must have already pushed into the hall. Defensible or not, Obi-Wan knew they could not hold out forever. Not with their limited numbers.

Even so, Master Halcyon did answer him. “I read you, Master Kenobi.”

“Master Halcyon.” Obi-Wan breathed the man’s name, almost asking him if he could confirm the opposite of what Obi-Wan knew to be true. If the man might… lie to him. 

But he didn’t. He pulled himself back, focusing on the objective in front of him as he looked to Satine. 

“Master, I have Duchess Kryze of Mandalore, and Senators Organa of Alderaan and Mothma of Chandrila with me.” He said. “The clones have cut us off from the hangar bays. We’re in hallway G-37, fourth sublevel.”

The Corellian Councillor thought, holding his silence for a moment. “You’re trying to reach the maintenance tunnels.”

“It’s our best chance.” He said. “Even if we got a ship, we might be targeted by the clones, or now the Separatists, and we might not have control of the planetary shield. If…” He paused, hesitating. “If the worst has indeed happened… we must secure contingencies. Sidious cannot be allowed to capture all those who would oppose them today.”

Again, Master Halcyon held his silence, a heavy thing.

“They’re killing them, Obi-Wan.” He finally said, voice grave. “The clones aren’t taking prisoners… they’re murdering the senators.”

He bit back a curse, Satine and Organa’s horrified intakes of breath cutting through the silence. 

“I understand.”

“I’m opening maintenance tunnel eighteen. It's the one nearest to you, three more sublevels directly below. Take the stairs-” A blast of some kind sent a screeching feedback howl through the line. “Hurry. Once the chipped clones take this position, they’ll control the lockdown and then you really will be trapped. Get the Duchess and senators out! Don’t let him win!”

“I understand.” Obi-Wan repeated, fingers tightening over the comm, eyes clenching shut. He buried the emotion deep inside, swallowing it all down.

This… would be the last time he’d speak to this man.

“May the Force be with you, Master Kenobi.”

“And with you, Master Halcyon.”

—

Komari

She watched him, eyes fixed on the little scanner he had in his hands and following it as he pocketed the device once more. 

“You always made it clear you hated this place. Grievous, the droids, whoever was giving the orders.” His words almost sounded far away, like she was hearing them while submerged underwater. “Not a lot of things can make someone stick to a fight with people they can’t stand. So-” He shrugged. “I had a hunch.”

A hunch…

Her chest clenched tight, almost smothering the words before she found her voice and forced it out of her. “So what happens now?”

“First, you tell me what we’re dealing with?” He said. “Shock prods? Neural compulsion?”

The answer spilled from her lips, almost like relief even as it twisted her insides into knots. “A bomb.” 

She couldn’t see his face, but that didn’t matter, the flinch was obvious. “Shit…”

He trailed off, clearly thinking. “Location?”

“Dead center.” She said, “Between the lungs, heart and spine.”

The Mandalorian leaned forward, hands resting on the console as he sighed. “Damn girl… Who the hell did you get involved with?” He shook his head, she couldn’t help the sardonic laugh that slipped out of her. 

“Same person you’re involved with.” She gestured to the screens that even now showed the chaos and death spreading across the whole of the planet. “The man that caused all this.”

He looked to the screens for just a second before shaking his head. “Doesn’t matter. More complicated, but doesn’t change things.” He muttered before straightening up to his full height. “I’ve isolated that signal. A bit of time, some specialized equipment; I can mimic it, long enough to at least get a droid to yank it out of you.”

“Surgery will set it off-”

He scoffed. “Again, I’m a Mandalorian. You think we don’t know a Slaver’s tricks? Hell, you think he’s the first bastard that’s tried to pull that crap? No system is unbeatable.” 

Could this… could this really be happening?

She licked her lips. “What if… what if he sets it off?”

He paused, before pulling out the small scanner once again, examining it. 

“Don’t think he’ll be doing that.” He said.

She blinked, confused and surprised. “Why?”

“The signal.” He said. “Its constant. That’s not something you see with bombs set to go off with a flick of a switch. Not unless you want to make it stupidly expensive for no real reason other than money to burn, especially since it’s coming in regular intervals.”

“What does that even mean!?”

He didn’t quite shrug. “At a guess… it's not a switch or a button or a manual detonation. This guy set it up to his own heartbeat.”

She felt herself go still.

His own heart beat- could-

Yes… yes he would do that…

“That-” She felt tears burn at the back of her eyes, fists clenching in rage. “That fucking bastard.”

It wasn’t enough to hold her on a leash. It wasn’t enough to torture her. It wasn’t enough… even in death he’d be spiteful enough to make sure she was never free.

Ramah turned away, “Come on. Best to use the chaos while we still can.”

Her heart stuttered and lurched in her chest, almost like the bomb was trying to go off prematurely. “Why are you doing this?”

He stopped at the shredded doorway, not turning to look at her.

Finally he seemed to slump where he stood, shoulders sagging. “Like I said-” His tone almost sounded rueful. “I’m a Mandalorian. Doesn’t mean I’m an asshole.”

She wanted to say… something, but the words, if not scrambled in her mind, fighting to get out first were stuck in her throat and before she could push past her own hesitation, her own mess of feelings, his Commlink crackled.

“Al'verde, contact incoming!”

A cold feeling spread through her insides, a sense of danger prickling at the back of her mind, making the hairs on her neck stand on end as something drew closer fast- something dangerous.

“Who?” He asked. 

“IFF’s a civilian ship, but it just made a sharp turn and is making straight for us. ID codes mark it as ‘Stalker’

—

Anakin

He could see almost immediately that these droids were a product of Grievous.

They moved like him. Fought like him. A copy-cat program that emulated the CIS’ cybernetic monstrosity.

But they weren’t as fast. They weren’t as strong. Perhaps, on any other day he might’ve had trouble.

But today, Grievous himself could have been in front of him and Anakin would have torn the cyborg apart.

With a roar, he literally ripped the entire freighter to shreds, down to its individual component pieces and catapulted them, like bullets out of a rail gun.

They ripped through the nearest MagnaGuard like armor piercing bolts through cheap tinfoil, the new model jerking and spasming as its programming and processor didn’t fully realize it was dead, long limbs jerking, eyes and servos sparking before it collapsed.

The other droid had torn a slab of duracrete from the ground, hiding behind it like a shield and Anakin charged it like a man possessed, eyes fixed on Padme and the Duros trying to get away.

Then the bugs came. He saw the tunnel made for him with his physical eyes, the path she was giving him to slip past the new model and reach Padme. 

He didn’t need any other incentive.

—

Fives

The missiles shrieked out of the launch bays, howling with trails of fire before smashing into the new model, tearing it apart with two direct hits as the bugs had kept the projectiles hidden until it was far too late.

The fireball bloomed outwards like a mushroom, and Fives saw the flames swept up in an invisible hand, twirling and dancing in the air before the fires settled, dancing and swirling around… General Hebert.

The woman was walking forward, marching slowly towards the mass of flesh that was Durge.

The Gen’Dai saw her, she let him see her. Fives knew damn well she wasn’t seen unless she wanted to be. 

Her lightsaber was drawn, the golden blade looking almost comically small next to the oncoming rush of mass and muscle bearing down on her. 

Then, just a foot away, it was like a train smashing into an unbreakable, immovable wall. The Gen’Dai slammed into something that just wouldn’t budge, a shield of invisible energy surrounding the woman as tentacles crashed and slapped the space around her, trying to find some kind of breach to attack.

Her saber swung

And Durge screamed as he was swallowed by flames. 

—

Cad Bane

Bane wasn’t stupid, not by a long shot.

The second he saw the bugs beginning to swarm, he knew his chances of getting out of here had just dropped to near zero.

Hell, his chances of not dying had dropped to near zero.

He’d heard the stories about the Jedi that could control bugs, none of them pretty. Even without that, Jedi preached passivity all day, but those lightsabers weren’t for show and whatever Amidala had said had caused a hell of a shit storm.

Hell, he wasn’t even sure if they wanted her alive, but she as a hostage was the only card he had to play.

So he thought fast, mind scrambling for a solution, an out.

He pulled out his holdout blaster, a small peashooter, really. Wouldn’t even burn through half-decent bantha leather, but it would serve its purpose.

“Take it.” He demanded of the dead eyed senator who obeyed. “Press the barrel to your head.” 

The swarm that had been rushing forward seemed to buzz angrily and he spat out his next words as quickly as he could, shouting them to try and carry over the droning buzz.

“If even a single bug stings me, blow your fucking brains out!”

The swarm backed off.

Bane didn’t smile, couldn’t afford to, he wasn’t out of this yet, not by a long shot.

That feeling was compounded a thousand fold as Bane saw, through the swarm, Durge.

The Gendai was burning.

The same Gendai that had survived everything from lightsabers, to blasters, to a damn near orbital bombardment, who was all but completely immortal was being calcinated, his body disintegrating in blackened flakes and cinders. 

Bane’s fingers tightened over the grip of his blaster.

The swarm swelled, undulating around him before it parted, almost spitting out a Jedi Bane recognized from the ads, Skywalker; the Laughing General.

Didn’t look like he was laughing now.

The man looked at Amidala, then the gun she was pointing at her own head. He caught the brief flash of horror there before he rounded on Bane. The General’s eyes almost seemed to glow as he glared at Bane, and the Hunter knew enough about humans to know rage, held in check by fear. “What have you done!?”

“Enslaver Toxin.” He answered simply; no real point in hiding it.

The horror came back, if Bane had to describe the look on his face, haunted was probably more fitting.

“Which one?” The Jedi hissed.

Bane debated, just for a moment, on if he should say or not. Didn’t take him long to figure he should. Telling them would clue them in that he’d give the woman back… if they were reasonable. He could still walk out of here.

“Ran a test.” He said. “Employer made something custom. Chemical mix was built on a Tears of Truth foundation.”

Skywalker looked stricken, Tears of Truth were one of the rarer enslaver poisons he’d ever heard of. Only religious nuts and high rise Hutts with money to burn got their hands on it. 

Reason it was so nasty, and expensive, was that it’d give you an obedient slave, sure. It’d also burn out their brain after a few hours or days without treatment. Making the careful balancing act of doses a show in and of itself. 

Something custom with it though… he wasn’t sure how long Amidala had, or even if it was reversible at all. He had to leave before anyone found out that outcome, good or bad.

He kept his blaster fixed on the woman’s head. No way he’d miss at this range, and he was faster than any Force trick the Jedi could pull. “Here’s what’s gonna happen-” 

He didn’t get to finish the demand.

A turbolaser came down behind him with the fury of an angry god; Bane stumbled forward, turning to see the massive Conqueror class ships were finally in place to begin their bombardment. 

In a few minutes, this continent would be melted glass.

The rush of superheated air knocked him off his feet, the swarm of bugs burning from the blast. Amidala pitched forward, beginning to fall before Skywalker pulled her forward with one of his Jedi tricks, the woman sailing through the air and into his arms and Bane felt rage spike.

Down a hostage- he’d have to settle for a distraction.

He threw the incendiary grenade, and lined up his shot. He wasn’t stupid enough to let the Jedi toss it back.

The bugs moved, rushing to obscure his sight, to interfere, but Bane couldn’t miss. Not at this range.

Perhaps, if the Jedi had been focused on him, things would be different.

But he wasn’t. He was focused on the woman, in ripping that gun away from her head, in saving her.

All he could see was her, until it was too late.

Skywalker saw the approaching danger, Bane could see it, that moment where he didn’t think he just acted, shielding Amidala with his own body a second before Bane shot the nade and the liquid fire poured over the man.

He howled and Bane could almost hear that agony screaming through the ages as the man began to burn.

And then, before Bane could even think about running- the Swarm rushed onto him, swallowing him whole.

In Bane’s last moments of life… he’d wish he’d had saved one incendiary for himself. 

—

Yoda

He needed to bring this to a close. 

When he’d first joined the battle, it had been a battle between equals.

Yoda couldn’t say that now. 

He did not know what was going on in the world above, but he could feel it. The shroud of death, that had been like an oppressive veil over the sun, now blanketed the world above them. People, Jedi, non Jedi, Clones and everything else in between were dying at an exponential rate, and even as he tried to shunt the worst of the sensation out of his mind, Yoda still felt their pain, their fear, he still felt himself losing his breath while Sidious, Sidious reveled in it.

He needed to end this!

His lightsaber flickered and flashed through the air, a thousand strikes delivered and a thousand strikes parried. The Sith Master was just as fast, just as strong.

The other Masters had long since realized the futility of trying to close the distance here, any misstep, any wasted movement would end in a death he couldn’t afford to protect them from, even their attacks with Telekenisis, or other mid range tools threatened to be redirected, to just be another tool in Sidious’ arsenal. 

The only one who dared risk helping was the Senator of Mandalore, but even she was leery, fully aware that she was as much a danger to Yoda himself as she was to Sidious.

But, the physical battle was merely a pale reflection of their struggle amidst the currents and tides of the Force. 

And even there, Yoda could not claim a victory.

Sidious’ power swelled and undulated. An ocean roiling amidst a storm before Yoda’s eye, vast and fathomless a boundless well of strength to keep pulling from where the Grandmaster felt as though he were drowning on dry land. 

And like that… Yoda realized what was happening. What the Sith had done.

His eyes widened, the dawning horror creeping along his expression, and Palpatine’s answering smile as he drank in the horror was all the more cruel. 

Sidious moved. The momentum and nature of his strike shifting and with power that even the Grandmaster felt irresistible, Yoda was thrown aside like a fledgeling Padawan against a battlemaster, his defenses pierced like they weren’t even there, throwing him with such strength and power it was outright disorienting, and he didn’t even have the presence of mind to even try and arrest his movement before his body slammed into the metal walls of the facility, his lightsaber falling from his grasp as the air abandoned his lungs.

“MASTER YODA!”

The voice was distant, an echo bouncing through the hollow cavern of his mind, only faintly did he recognize the voice as Master Sian.

He tried to move, tried to rise but only barely made it to his hands and knees before it was too late.

Sidious moved.

It was a living shadow, a sentient death made manifest. One moment he was in one place, the next, standing behind Master Tone.

Alexandria moved-

And with a gesture, the powerful woman was slammed into the metal floors, steel folding around her hand and feet as she tried to push herself back up, her body being crushed into the ground.

Master Tone turned around.

Sidious’ hand pressed gently into the man’s chest.

And it was over.

Tone’s body broke with barely a touch, bones shattering, blood vessels rupturing, Yoda saw it all in the tapestry of the Force as if it were in slow motion. A frame by frame holo-film.

Worse, he could see why…

Death.

Every death. 

His eyes traveled downward, to the very floors beneath their feet, down, deeper still. A ritual. Carved into the flesh of the planet itself fueling the Dark Side. The Sith. Every single death in the world above, captured. Devoured.

His ritual on Dathomir, against the red witches of shadow writ large here, on Coruscant.

As they fought him, he’d been stalling for time. Growing stronger.

Every clone, every Jedi, every single living creature upon this planet.

Fuel. Fuel for the fire.

Fuel for the endless Hunger.

And in that moment, Yoda himself knew fear.

“Tone!”

Master Vos charged, eyes alight with defiance, green blade flashing as Master Tone’s body crumpled. Its bones turned to silvers and shards, his blood bursting from every pore of his skin. And even his soul too, was snared and consumed screaming into the howling void where Yoda was helpless to do anything to save him.

Vos roared as he swung, and with a flash of red, blade and limb were no longer attached.

Yoda watched the tumble of the severed limb, even as he tried to find the strength to stand, to stop yet another from fueling the monster in front of them. 

Vos, for all his own horror, his own fear and pain as he realized what happened… tried. He still tried. His remaining hand tensing into a claw as he lunged for Palpatine’s throat, trying to literally tear it open with bare fingers.

The second limb joined the first.

And Yoda heard him laugh.

Vos died a second later.

The Grandmaster reached his feet, pulled his Lightsaber back onto his hand and lunged.

Sian’s hands came up, the Force gathering with haste at her command, her panic, too slow.

Yoda’s blade swung down, intercepting the rising red before it carved the Master from hip to shoulder, his body straining to hold back the strength behind the strike.

Sidious’ yellow eyes leered through the dark. “So Noble. So dependable Grandmaster. I wonder-”

The Darkside roiled around them, past him, and Yoda heard Sian gasp as she was slammed into the ground. Held in place by invisible, unbreakable chains.

“How dependable really?’

Yoda saw the man’s hands rise, fingers crackling, and when the lightning burst out Yoda’s blade was blasted out of his hands, his Force shield cracking and straining under the relentless stream of power that had no end even as his own strength waned.

The lightning forked and danced and seethed its way past him.

He heard Master Sian scream in pain.

Her scream was long and loud, dragged out with agony and anguish that was amplified, and as much as Yoda tried to push back, to widen his shield and protect her from all of it, the protective bubble he had was barely more than a crumbling shell, cracking and breaking with every passing second as it was.

“Heh-heh. Not so reliable in results if not at least good intentions heh.” The Sith taunted.

Then, a freight train smashed into him.

The ruined body of steel and twisted metal screeched as it grinded across the metal floors, grinding and buckling and tearing. In spite of the danger, Yoda turned, looking to the Master he’d been trying to protect, his eyes widening in despair and sorrow.

Sian’s arms were a ruin of burnt flesh, electric scarring crosscrossing up her bare limbs as her body smoked and sizzled, the tears leaked from glassy eyes as she swayed and lulled listlessly where she knelt.

Then an arm, as solid as a durasteel bar coiled around his waist.

And Alexandria was rocketing into the skies. 

“No!’ The Grandmaster cried, reaching for the young Master, refusing to abandon her, to abandon her to the hell that awaited her as mere fuel.

“I’m not giving you a choice!” The woman answered, tightening her already unbreakable hold.

“You have no choices.”

The voice cut into their minds, invading thoughts, cutting through sense, Yoda felt Alexandria twist, physically shielding him with her own body instants before he felt the swell of the darkside and the lightning returned.

Again, Yoda tried to shield her, to envelop her in his own strength and protection but the power arrayed against him felt bottomless and Alexandria’s pain bloomed across her thoughts like a flare, her voice crying out in pain as she was sent crashing back down to the grounds below.

And even then, she still had the presence of mind to turn, to take the brunt of the impact, their bodies tumbling helplessly before he was thrown from her grip, rolling end over end across the shattered grounds. Before he came to a stop.

He heard her breathing, panting as she lay on the ground.

He felt the shadow looming over him. 

“Needing protection… old friend…” Sidious snorted. “The best of the Jedi.”

Yoda struggled to his feet, standing before he turned and looked at the man.

He beheld something… inhuman.

Sidious’ skin was plaid, a grotesque deformity of wrinkles and scars. The death he fed on was accelerating his own death. A force of entropy, of destruction, wreaking havoc on the monster’s own body even as he held himself together through rage, hate and spite.

The Dark side swirled around him, it was him. In all its horror and all its ruin.

An amalgamation. A culmination… of all the Sith that came before him.

And in that moment, a brief instance of clarity… the Grandmaster saw it…

“You will not win.” He declared, a firmness in his voice he could not have felt a moment ago. “You can never win.”

Sidious’ answering smile was cruelty itself. 

“I already have”

The hands rose again, fingers crackling with lightning.

Yoda closed his eyes for the final time