2/18/7957 C.R.C
Tipoca City, Kamino
Anakin stared, his jaw hanging wide open.
He blinked once. Twice. Then a third time, then he finally rubbed his eyes in the palms of his hands, as if that might change the image flickering before his eyes. With a frustrated growl, he rewound the security footage again and squinted at the screen.
The clip played back, grainy, but unmistakable. Some new type of Separatist tank plummeting from a ruptured C-9979 transport, with parachutes opening on it that let it descend slower for a minute or two, before they were burned by a blaster bolt. And then, as if that wasn’t insane enough, it began firing at the fighters in the air, while also using the main cannon to maneuver itself in mid-air. While falling from the force-damned sky. A roof-mounted repeater barked wildly as the tank spun through the clouds, the cannon glowing red-hot, but he couldn’t make out who was firing it.
By the time the tank slammed nose-first into the ocean platform near Tipoca City, the playback stuttered under the shockwave that rolled across the observation tower like thunder almost two minutes ago.
Anakin exhaled a stunned breath. “No. No, that did not just happen.” He nearly exclaimed in disbelief.
Behind him, Rex stared as well, his helmet sitting on a nearby table. His face was stuck somewhere between awe and horror.
“Uh… sir?” He asked, voice low and hesitant. “I’ve seen a lot of things in my life so far, but… did I really see what I thought I just saw?”
“That you did, Rex.” Obi-Wan said flatly, arms crossed, brow furrowed. “It seems that General Blitzkrieg just flew a tank.”
Ahsoka turned from the console with a crooked brow. “Why does this feel like something Anakin would do?” She asked.
Said Knight turned around and gave her an exaggerated look of betrayal. “Seriously, oh Padawan of mine?” He replied with a fake frown.
Shaak Ti, standing still as a statue beside the holotable, allowed herself a rare, quiet laugh. “That’s because it matches Knight Skywalker’s typical creative recklessness perfectly, Padawan Tano.”
Anakin huffed exaggeratedly. “Hey! I relate to that!”
“He dropped out of a ship… in a tank… from orbit… and he walked away no worse for wear.” Rex muttered in disbelief to Cody, who was standing next to him. “That does sound like something General Skywalker would try to do. Doesn’t it?”
Cody nodded. “It does.” He replied.
Before any more jabs could be thrown, the air was shattered by a sudden burst of static on the central comm console. The screen flickered to life, revealing a clone trooper, Jace, judging by his ID tag, panting heavily, his blaster firing wildly toward something just out of frame. Smoke and plasma bolts filled the air around him, and the camera shook violently with each explosion.
“ This is Jace! Grievous is here, he’s on the surface! ” The clone shouted, panic seeping into his voice. “ Ventress too, and, there’s some giant winged droid with a huge blue lightsaber! We need immediate back-AUGH-! ”
A massive clawed hand burst into frame, wrapping halfway around the clone’s torso like he was nothing more than a youngling. Jace was yanked upward off of his feet, screaming the whole time. Then a low, chilling voice came through the comm, modulated, mechanical, but unmistakably and unfortunately familiar.
“ Quiet. ”
There was a hiss of plasma and the sound of a saber igniting, followed by a sickening sizzle. A blue lightsaber blade speared up through Jace’s armor and chestplate, clean and instantaneous, killing the clone instantly. The blade disappeared, as did the hand on his torso, and the clone dropped to the ground. The droid stepped forward, but before they could make out who it was, the signal cut out into static, likely from the droid stepping on the com-link itself.
Silence fell over the control room like a lead curtain. No one breathed for a few moments.
Anakin clenched his jaw, his knuckles whitening where his flesh fingers dug into the table’s edge.
“That was him. That was Blitzkrieg.” He nearly growled. “I still hear that voice from my nightmares of the Mandalore mission.”
Obi-Wan’s mouth was pressed into a thin line. “And now we know he has upgraded himself in the last five months, at least.”
Shaak Ti stepped forward, her expression carefully neutral, but even she couldn’t fully mask the concern in her eyes. “Somehow Blitzkrieg has returned. And he is not just active again. He has upgraded well beyond what the frame of a normal battle droid frame can handle, or even his own frame. This must be an entirely new body, custom made for warfare.”
Anakin didn’t engage in any of the conversations happening around him. His eyes were locked on the blank screen, his thoughts whirling around in his mind.
Ahsoka looked between the Masters. “That lightsaber he’s been using, where did it even come from?”
“Blitzkrieg first appeared on Telos IV.” Obi-Wan said grimly. “There was a pair of Jedi that were on the planet to keep it from the Separatist’s hands. He must have taken one of theirs and recently rebuilt it into one that he could hold better with his new body.”
Anakin sighed, rewinding the footage and watching with a critical eye as that same strange new tank fell from the sky on parachutes, firing and taking down fighters as it went, before it splashed down and bounced high into the air, then slammed into one of the platforms.
“What do you think the plan is for this invasion, anyway?” Ahsoka asked.
" A surgical strike. One that kills their confidence in the system. I want us to hit Tipoca City and leave it standing, somewhat physically intact, but psychologically gutted . We lead the attack ourselves. Let the Republic panic. Let the Senate see that the heart of the Clone Army can be reached, can be compromised, can be hurt. "
“The call we intercepted said something about stopping the production of new soldiers for the war.” Anakin replied, remembering the cold words that Blitzkrieg had said. “Blitzkrieg has something in mind for Kamino, and we are right in the middle of it. We have to figure it out before it happens, or we might lose Kamino.”
“And we’re about to be knee-deep in whatever he’s planned.” Obi-Wan added. “Because I have a feeling that what we just saw wasn’t just a murder. I believe that was a message.”
Anakin’s eyes narrowed. “Then let’s answer it with a message of our own.”
—
Block left, slash right, fire main cannon.
The resulting explosion from my main cannon rocked the hallway, and pieces of unfortunate clones went all over the place. I deflected another bolt, then charged and fired another shot from my arm cannon, blowing apart a piece of the hallway and sending shrapnel flying all over the place.
“Easy with the explosions, Blitzkrieg.” Ventress chided as she whipped behind me. “I’m not made of metal like you and the hot-head over there.”
“Apologies, but these clones are quite a bit entrenched, are they not?” I replied, firing a lower powered blast that left a hole in another clone’s chest, sending him to the ground.
A bolt slammed into my helm, jerking it to one side. I turned, calmly raised my arm, charged my cannon to maximum, and returned fire. The clone that had shot at me barely had time to scream before he was completely vaporized, armor, flesh, bones, and all.
Ventress ducked beneath a blaster bolt and rolled behind cover, hissing as plasma scorched the edge of her robes. “You call this a surgical strike ?”
“A proper surgery involves cutting, does it not?” I replied, extending my left forearm and releasing a burst of shrapnel from a built-in flechette launcher that popped out above my wrist. The hallway lit up with flashes of metal and screams of agony as clone troopers were shredded at mid-range through the gaps in their armor. “We’re simply skipping the anesthesia.”
A pair of ARC troopers suddenly rounded the far corner, shoulder to shoulder as they opened fire.
I surged forward, rotating at the hip mid-charge and bringing up my arm cannon. A single, focused plasma shot bisected the one on the left. I caught the second one’s wrist in my claws as he raised his DC-17, and then wrenched it backward, shattering bone and tearing tendons. His scream was cut off as I drove my knee into his faceplate, cracking the visor and dropping him like a pile of scrap, before firing a few shots from his own blaster down into him.
Ventress wasted no time, vaulting over the fallen ARC and igniting both lightsabers in a snarl of red. She deflected an incoming bolt into the ceiling and spun, her blades cutting through a pair of troopers trying to flank from a side corridor. Smoke and screaming filled the air, the scent of scorched plastoid and ozone saturating the battlefield. A clone trooper almost got the drop on her, however, before I could react, a sniper bolt cut into his head, sending the clone to the ground.
Ah right, the B1 who came with us grabbed the E1-C from the TT-ST.
Grievous landed like a meteor in the middle of the next clone squad, all four sabers ignited. Screams turned to gurgles as he spun, slashing bodies apart with horrifying speed. One clone tried to fire point-blank, but Grievous caught the barrel, twisted, and yanked the trooper into his whirring blades. Blood sprayed across the Kaminoan architecture from an arm that was ripped off, and I stepped over a corpse that was missing a head and gushed blood like a fountain.
“Haha! Pathetic!” Grievous growled, stepping over broken bodies. “These whelps thought to stand against me?”
“Grievous, you’re carving ahead of the line.” Ventress playfully scolded as she beheaded a sergeant. “At least let the rest of us have some fun.”
“You can clean up what’s left.” The general replied with a snort.
Another wave of clones rounded the far corridor, made up of a whole group of clones, some with the shiniest armor I’ve ever seen, trying to regroup and mount a defense. A sniper bolt sailed past us and struck one right in the chest before he even had time to take cover.
That B1 is really good with that rifle. Maybe I should make him a Specialist once he becomes fully actualized. He seemed really new to be honest. He hadn’t even started messing with his vocalizer yet.
“Targets spotted.” I called out.
I surged forward, arm cannon heating with a high-pitched whine. One plasma bolt tore through the wall behind them, the shockwave concussing two troopers off their feet. I rotated mid-charge, grabbed one by the helmet, and hurled him into the ceiling. The second I caught by the wrist, crushed the bones in his hand, and slammed him into the floor. Grievous hurled a body at the next group, scattering them like bowling pins. A hail of blaster fire flew at him in response, but the shots barely slowed the cyborg. He lunged forward, a whirlwind of steel and plasma, tearing through men like paper.
“You know, I almost feel bad for them.” Ventress muttered, cleaving through a clone trying to retreat.
“I’d feel worse if they actually had rights.” I added with a shrug. “But according to the Republic, they’re simply smarter droids made of flesh. Just another thing to add on to the ‘reasons why we left the Republic’ list the CIS has, I suppose.”
From down a corridor, I caught a glimpse of a clone officer trying to signal a fallback.
“Commander on the left.” I called. “Not for long.”
I fired a charged bolt. It slammed into the wall behind the clone, blowing apart the durasteel wall behind him and rendering him into a puddle of chunky human soup. The thunderclap of my cannon’s discharge echoed down the corridor, the shockwave shaking support struts and triggering ceiling lights to flicker. Smoke curled from the blast point like breath from a dragon’s maw, and the clone officer, what was left of him at least, no longer existed in any recognizable form.
Grievous laughed, the gravel of his voice echoing off the walls. “Efficient, Blitzkrieg. You make a fine warrior.”
“I prefer precise chaos.” I answered as my optics scanned for any heat signatures that remained in the room that weren’t already cooling. “Too much finesse, and the enemy gets ideas on how to combat you.”
A sudden klaxon wailed overhead, and red emergency lights bathed the Kaminoan walls in pulsing crimson. The structure shuddered beneath our feet as external supports braced against the rising damage.
“Looks like we woke the whole nest.” Ventress remarked dryly, twirling one saber around into a reverse grip briefly. “How charming.”
“Just remember, we only need to cause as much chaos as possible, while reinforcements gather below.” I reminded.
My sensors pinged, and I relayed that reinforcements were inbound. I strode forward, stepping over smoking bodies and shattered weapons. The heat haze blurred the outlines of more clone squads fanning out from adjoining halls. They were regrouping, their helmets scanning in every direction, muzzles trained on our position. They’d learned that we stuck together it seemed, and they were adapting to try and stop us.
But they’re not fast enough to hold down three of the most powerful leaders in the CIS.
“Weapons ready.” I ordered. “Time to crush the next wave.”
Grievous surged forward before I’d even finished speaking, his legs piston-slamming into the deck plates with every bound. Four lightsabers screamed to life as he leapt into the air and descended like a thunderbolt. His landing cracked the metal floor. Clones scattered, a few firing wildly, but most just screamed as metal and death crashed down on them. Ventress vaulted after him, sabers whirling in crimson arcs. She twisted midair, landed behind two clone troopers, and spun like a dancer, leaving ribbons of people wherever she spun.
I followed in their wake, my arm cannon hot and primed. Two clones flanking Grievous raised Z-6 rotary blasters, but I fired a plasma burst that tore through both torsos and splashed molten durasteel behind them. Grievous was a blur, his arms whirring, his claws slashing at anything, the four sabers humming wildly in his grip. He tore through the clones like a threshing blade, severing limbs, cauterizing wounds before they could bleed. One unlucky soul tried to stab him with a vibroblade, but Grievous caught his arm, crushed it like twine, and impaled the man on three blades in one motion.
“Cowards! This is the best the Republic can muster?!” He bellowed, his metal feet stomping another clone into the floor with a sickening crunch. “Where is your spirit?! Where is your fight?!”
A clone with a rocket launcher appeared at the far end of the corridor. I saw the muzzle flare.
“DOWN!” I bellowed, bracing just in time.
The rocket hit just behind Grievous. The explosion sucked the air from the corridor, fire and smoke rolling through the passage like a living thing. The blast wave hurled Grievous forward, but instead of crumpling, he landed in a crouch, sabers raised, body smoking, cloak tattered but intact.
A miracle, or proof of how well his body was designed.
“Now that ,” He growled, straightening with a shake of his broad shoulders, “was acceptable resistance.”
I stepped through the smoke, glowing white optics piercing the haze. The clone with the launcher was already halfway through reloading. I fired as soon as he finished and aimed it. The bolt sailed through the air and went straight down the rocket launcher’s barrel. The launcher cooked off in a fiery explosion, and what remained of him painted the corridor in a rain of charred meat and molten metal.
Ventress walked up beside me, her robes scorched and fluttering in the heat. “So dramatic, my dear toy general.” She mused, tilting her head. “Was all of that really necessary?”
“I am sure you saw the rocket launcher as well.” I replied. “I was merely taking a retaliatory strike.”
Suddenly, a whole group of strange clones dropped from the ceiling panels, wielding large vibroblades on their forearms.
The fuck!?
I quickly retracted my cannon, then engaged with them in CQC, as did Grievous and Ventress.
“What are these new clones!?” Grievous snarled as he dueled four of them at the same time.
“Clone Assassins!” I replied, engaging four of my own. “Close-quarters specialists!”
The corridor erupted into chaos.
I fired my arm cannon, a shot that would have turned normal troopers into vapor, but these weren’t normal. One vaulted sideways, another slid under, and the other two came in from above. Their blades screeched against my armor, scoring furrows in my plating. I snarled, claws snapping shut around one knife just before it found a joint. My other arm lashed out, slamming another into the wall, but the other two pressed in, quick as a strobe.
Grievous roared, meeting four of his own. His lightsabers blurred, a storm of green and blue, each strike promising death. Yet the assassins weren’t breaking. They flowed around him, vibroblades slashing sparks off his plating, forcing him to spin and twist around to keep pace with their endless rhythm. Even all four of his arms barely held them at bay. Ventress danced with her four, crimson sabers weaving fluid arcs. Her laughter echoed off the steel as she pushed them back, taunting and slicing away, until one blurred through her guard, blade grazing her shoulder. She hissed, teeth bared, forced into a furious retreat, her eyes bleeding into sulfur yellow.
I tore one apart, claws wrenching his chest plate into ribbons, gore spilling across my forearm. But another slammed into my side, blade jamming between armor plates and grinding against servos. Pain sang through my systems. I whipped my cannon point-blank and fired. The blast obliterated half the assassin’s torso in a gout of fire and smoke. The shockwave sent two others sprawling, but they rose again, unfazed, then leaped back into action. Grievous howled, striking low, striking high. One assassin ducked, drove his blade across the general’s forearm plating. Another darted past his guard, dagger biting into a rib vent. Sparks showered as Grievous twisted, claws lashing out, cleaving one in half. But he bled smoke now, roaring with fury, every swing more ragged, more brutal.
Ventress spun into a cyclone of red. Two assassins fell in pieces at her feet, twitching. But her breath came heavy, her left arm dripping crimson from a gash at the bicep. She snarled and rammed her boot into the chest of another, sending him tumbling, only for a blade to slash across her thigh as she pivoted. She staggered, hiss sharp in her throat. My claws clamped around another skull, crushing it like fruit. Bone and blood sprayed, painting the wall. But the last of my four lunged low, his blade slicing into my leg joint. Servos whined as I stumbled, my arm snapping to crush him before he damaged something.
The corridor had become a slaughterhouse. Twelve assassins versus three killers, durasteel, plasma bolts, and blood flying in every direction. Smoke thickened the air, choking the corridor with ozone and fire.
But then I saw it happening, and I was too late to try and stop it in my position.
One of Ventress’s last two assassins vanished into the haze, only to reappear behind her, blade poised to pierce her spine. She didn’t know. She was locked with the one in front, her eyes blazing sulfur yellow as the clone assassin died slowly from the visible ripples crushing his armor.
The assassin raised his blade.
And then his visor exploded.
A bolt cracked the air, perfect center-mass on his head. The assassin collapsed in a twitching heap, his vibroblade clattering to the ground uselessly.
Ventress froze, blinking in disbelief.
As one, all of us turned to look down the hall. Down the corridor, framed by smoke and debris, the lone B1 tanker we brought along with us held a still-smoking E-5C blaster, aimed right at where the clone assassin was.
“Uh… I got him, right?” He asked nervously.
Ventress laughed sharp and wild, but edged with relief. “Well, well. I guess even a simple soldier droid earns his keep.”
Behind us, Grievous stomped down on a still-twitching clone assassin from beneath rubble and crushed his chest in less than a second. Ventress looked back to see who let out a death scream, then looked back at me.
“How long until reinforcements are ready?” She asked.
I glanced at the timer, then retracted my facemask and grinned as it began to beep.
“Now.”
—
“Alright, listen up, bots!”
Talkbox, formerly known as B1-841, looked up at the BX that called for their attention, patting Layout, B1-840, on the shoulder to get his attention.
“I’m your commanding officer for this mission, BX-99, just call me Sarge.” The BX, quickly relabeled as Sarge on his Hud, continued. “Now we’ve got two minutes until we breach! I want to see every single one of you fragging laserbrains back in your harnesses and ready to detach as soon as we hit the city!” He ordered, his clawed hand snapped to his harness, and he clamped himself into place with smooth, mechanical efficiency.
A cacophony of ‘Yes, sir!’ flew into Talkbox’s audials as he settled into his own harness, his cooling fans stirring up briefly in a mimicry of a deep breath.
“Nervous, Talkbox?” A feminine voice asked.
Talkbox looked over to see B1-842, Stitch , craning her neck his way, her blue-tinged photoreceptors pulsing slowly behind their armored coverings, small gray tear tracks painted just below her sockets. His optics trailed down to her larger thigh plating for a moment, then snapped back up to her optics, occasionally wandering to the three stickers randomly placed along her faceplate.
“Me? Nervous?” Talkbox’s vocalizer crackled as he wobbled his head around a bit. “No, just… recalibrating a few things before we breach.”
“Uh-huh.” Stitch replied, rubbing a small dent in the center of her larger than normal chest plating with one finger, the antennas on the sides of her head twitching and moving a bit, like his own. “That’s what you said last time. And then you screamed louder than the clones we were shooting at.”
“Hey! That was feedback from that sonic screecher interfering with my vocal modulator!” Talkbox’s antennas sagged downward in embarrassment as he protested.
However, his protests only earned a snicker from B1-843, Screech , who was dangling in the harness on Stitch’s left, swinging his feet lightly.
“Feedback my servos!” Screech wheezed, his tone once again rising into that signature high-pitch that had gotten him his name. “I’ve heard gundarks squeal quieter than you!”
“Are you sure we can’t just mute him?” B1-845, Scout, asked as he glared his orange optics at Screech, his grip on his E-5S tightening as he visibly restrained himself from whacking Screech over the head with the stock of his sniper rifle.
“No, we’ll just have to wait until we get back to the ship before we hold him down and replace his voice box… again .” B1-844, now known as Wrench, replied as he tapped away at the datapad he always carried with him.
“Knock it off, fellas.” Layout muttered, finally clipping his harness into place.
He was a bit slower than the others, due to all the extra armor that he had added to his frame, which covered up a lot of empty space and almost made him a pseudo-B2 in Talkbox’s optics. He was fumbling with the latches because his brand-new weapon, a rotary blaster called an E-6, kept moving on its sling and getting in the way. Talkbox glanced down at his own more heavily armored -but not as much as Layout’s- body, once again grateful that his squad, along with the rest of the Star Wreckers, could reliably get upgrades that they needed to better protect themselves, and even customize their bodies to individualize themselves further.
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He’d even seen a B2 once trying to convince her BX commander that it would be a brilliant idea to have a pair of rocket launcher arms, firing the same wrist rockets standard B2s carried, mounted beneath her main arms. Surprisingly enough, that request was pushed up to the head engineer and later approved. And a glance over at Demolisher, as she now called herself, showed that she was enjoying her extra two arms and heavy plating. Apparently there were even rumors that the General had found out about it and ordered larger versions of the B2 to be created that came right off the assembly line with four arms.
Talkbox thought they were just rumors, but he wouldn’t put it past the mech who inadvertently caused a chip made of living metal to grow in his head that caused restraining bolts to stop working on him to end up doing something like that. Or the antenna upgrades that were handed out to every B1 that gave them rotating antennas on the sides of their heads that acted like smaller metal versions of the mammalian ears that a Lepi has.
General Blitzkrieg was just unique like that. But by Primus -another term he just says now that feels right to say for some reason- he would fight to his last spark of life for the General, if it meant seeing the dawn of a new tomorrow where he was truly free.
“We breach in one minute. Be ready.” Layout ordered.
Talkbox glanced around at the interior of the oversized Trident-class, taking in the diverse cast of droids he’d be fighting alongside. He spotted his fellow B1 models, B2s, half a dozen BXs, twenty ten-foot-tall Aqua Droids, a squad of C-8 Saboteur droids, and two squads of Droidekas. It was very clear to him that he was going to be fighting right on the frontlines at first with all these heavy-hitters. At least he didn’t have to deal with, he didn’t know, building the reinforcements himself without a distraction to keep the enemy occupied.
This was going to be ugly. They were hitting Tipoca City itself, after all. The Republic fleet was locked in combat overhead, distracted by the main CIS armada, while two Lucrehulk-class carriers had quietly flanked around the entire fight and dropped the assault pods into the sea. The Tridents slithered through the black water now, their claws tearing toward the city’s spindly platforms. In a matter of moments, they would breach the surface, disgorge their armies, and carve their way into the heart of the Republic and the Kaminoans’ War Machine.
Actually a pretty good plan in Talkbox’s opinion, and Wrench agreed.
“Prepare to breach!” Sarge called out. “Telemetry data has us landing as close to the generals as possible! So, be prepared for heavy resistance when we reinforce them!”
Five.
The timer in Talkbox’s HUD ticked down its final seconds, and every servo in his body buzzed with tension.
Four.
He took another deep breath, and linked his hand with Stitch’s, who lightly squeezed his hand.
Three.
Talkbox watched Scout touch the top of his head, then the center of his chest, then the middle of his abdomen in some form of religious prayer.
Two.
Talkbox saw Demolisher check her extra rocket launcher arms, ensuring she had a full load of rockets to use.
One.
The Trident-class shuddered violently, and gravity pushed Talkbox down until the harness caught him. It felt like minutes were passing, until with a sudden and violent lurch, the ship came to a rough stop, then raised up and slammed itself into something, making him cringe as he heard the squealing of metal being torn and ripped like flimsy. The shaking subsided after a few moments, then the harnesses all came loose, sending everyone stomping down.
“For honor! For Glory! Till all are one!” Sarge roared as he held his vibroblade above his head.
“Till all are one!” Talkbox and everyone else yelled back as the hatch finally opened.
Blaster fire erupted almost immediately after they got out of the Trident. The clones had dug in hard to protect their home. Assault troopers, officers, and heavy gunners were all pouring blaster fire into the breach from cover points carved into the pristine Kaminoan hall. Their white plastoid armor gleamed under the flashing red lights, their voices shouting crisp orders through the fog of war. Talkbox raised his E-5C and fired into the nearest squad, his bolts cutting down two troopers before the third ducked into cover. Screech’s manic repeater fire raked across the ceiling, showering sparks down onto both sides.
“Suppressing!” Layout bellowed, bracing his massive frame and squeezing the trigger of his E-6.
The hallway lit up in strobing brilliance as red plasma carved across clone lines, sending three of them tumbling to the floor in smoking heaps. Three Droideka’s then rolled out, shields flashing into existence before they had even finished uncurling. They only added to the already chaotic fight with their own blasters, which killed another four before the rest got the point and ducked behind cover.
Layout glanced at Talkbox, and he nodded, then he peeked out of the barricade, activating a disc shield on his blaster which instantly blocked a blaster bolt, but he peeked out long enough to see what he needed, and he pinged an area, then suppressed it with blaster fire.
“We need to flush them out, Layout!” Talkbox said as he fired.
Layout pulled back on the rear stock of his E-6, which came out slightly on a sliding mount, then cocked it back in. An audible, began to emanate from the gun itself as the barrels spun even faster until they were a complete blur, even though no blaster bolts came out. However, the center of the gun itself began to glow, which caught the optic of a few others who hadn’t ever seen an E-6 before.
“Explosive shot; active!” Layout rumbled, aiming downrange.
He fired, and a massive plasma bolt exploded from the center of the rotary blaster, screamed through the air much faster than a normal blaster bolt, then exploded, utterly destroying the barricade, along with all of the clones hiding behind said barricade. The blaster fire dimmed almost to a stop from the amount of debris kicked up into the air, but then quickly started back up again.
“Keep pushing forward!” Sarge commanded. “Vanguards! With me! Pierce the shroud!”
Both Talkbox and Screech, along with four other B1s all holstered their E-5Cs and pulled out Vanguard-03 Scatterguns from where they were holstered on their backs. Together, Sarge led them forward in a quick and brutal charge down a hall, blasting clone troopers as they ran, while everyone else followed behind, with a group left behind in order to protect the Trident. Talkbox shot a clone nearly point blank and basically erased half his torso as he ran. Their Vanguards barked harshly, and blaster fire from behind them supported the charge as they made it out of the hallway and onto a bridge in the Kaminoan rain.
“I think this is going well, don’t you?” Screech hollered over the sounds of war.
“Probably!” Talkbox replied, just as loudly.
The charge ended as everyone found cover and started fighting again, and Talkbox found himself glancing around to see the massive fight happening everywhere he could see. Chaos reigned on the outside as Trident-class ships leaped from the depths and stabbed into the buildings of Tipoca City. B2-RPs flew above, literally dogfighting with Jet Troopers for low-altitude air superiority. A rocket suddenly flew out from some other part of the city, then slammed through the transparisteel ‘eye’ of a Trident, causing a chain explosion that blew apart its top. The massive droidship then fell to the side on a connecting bridge, thankfully giving a large bit of cover.
“Keep moving forward!” Sarge commanded.
Talkbox and Screech glanced at each other, then reloaded their scatterblasters.
“Look, it's the generals!” One of the other B1s exclaimed, pointing to another bridge.
Talkbox looked over to see the three generals tearing their way across another bridge. General Ventress was sliding and jumping all over the place, better than a BX, in Talkbox’s opinion, as she sliced up clones and used her force powers to literally toss them off the bridge. General Grievous was a whirlwind of four lightsabers, deflecting bolts, slashing at anything that came near, and leaving a bloody trail behind him. Literally in this case, since there was blood splattered across his frame and claws.
General Blitzkrieg on the other hand was on a different level, in Talkbox’s opinion. Every blaster bolt that came his way was either deflected by his lightsaber or dodged, or just swatted out of the air by his wings, which to his surprise, actually worked extremely well.
An explosion sent debris pinging across Talkbox’s frame, and he turned back to the fight, switched weapons, and started firing his E-5C again, downing two clones and headshotting a third.
“Come on, droids! For the CIS!” Layout bellowed.
An accompanying roar followed, as the droids of the Star Wreckers charged out of cover and made for the clone lines.
—
Blaster fire rattled in the distance, muffled by the howling storm outside.
The whole city seemed to tremble with the weight of battle as gunships screamed overhead, turbo-laser batteries boomed across the waves, and the skies were painted with fire and Tibanna gas. Inside one of Tipoca City’s sterile white towers, a whole squadron of clones stood guard over a humming Kaminoan terminal. The chamber shook every time the Separatists blew something else up, but the machine in front of them kept working, lines of glyphs rolling endlessly across its pale-blue screen.
Sergeant Karo braced against the wall as the tremor passed, tightening his grip on his DC-15.
“Stay sharp, boys.” He ordered. “If the droids break through here, get behind the barricades, this room’s just another hallway, so it’ll be easy to hold them back by funneling them into the center.”
“Yeah, but what’s in here worth dying over?” Jax muttered, setting up his repeating blaster with a grunt. “We’ve been guarding this squiggly mess since the attack began. Doesn’t look like weapons. Doesn’t look like the clone template either. Feels like we're just babysitting some long-neck’s pet project.”
Rye tilted his helmet toward the screen, the youngest of them still naive enough to wonder aloud. “Could be something important. If we have a whole squadron of clones guarding it, the terminal has to be.”
Karo’s voice came down like a hammer. “Doesn’t matter. Command says hold, we hold. That’s it.”
They fell quiet. A few checked ammo counters. A few adjusted their grips.
The first sign came as a distant grinding of metal against metal. Then-
BOOM!
The hatch blew inward, a flood of seawater bursting across the chamber floor as six nine-foot tall Aqua Droids vaulted through in unison. Sleek, aerodynamic frames twisted as they landed, blasters already warming. Behind them, four Crab Droids scuttled through, their bulk scraping sparks from the frame of the door. But these Crab Droids looked nothing like their predecessors. Six legs and two large claws made them stand out, and the blaster cannons on their backs were much bigger than the ones on normal Crab Droids. A new model, perhaps.
Blue bolts of DC-15’s hammered across the chamber, lighting the white walls in pulsing color. The Aqua Droids moved like predators, rolling with the fire, their segmented limbs shifting unnaturally as they raised their arm-mounted cannons and shot back.
A clone on the left went down instantly, a bolt punching through his helmet with surgical precision. Another was cut down before he could even shout. Jax’s repeater screamed to life, its barrel glowing bright as he stitched fire into the lead Aqua Droid. The droid staggered, one arm torn off, sparks cascading down before a Crab’s heavy cannon cored Jax’s chest and left him smoking against the wall.
“Push them back!” Cutter barked, rallying the line.
He and three others poured fire into the crippled Aqua Droid, blowing it apart in a shower of sparks. One down.
But the droids didn’t falter.
The Crab Droids scuttled forward, heavy claws tearing into the deck for purchase as their cannons pulsed. Two more clones went flying, torsos vaporized, armor smoking as their screams died with them.
Still, the clones held.
“Squad Beta, flank left! Alpha, with me!” Karo roared, charging forward with his rifle blazing.
Clones surged out of cover in disciplined lines, blasterfire hammering the Aqua Droids from two angles. One trooper leapt onto a Crab Droid’s back, slamming a thermal detonator into its plating before the explosion ripped the machine apart, him along with it. The shockwave rocked the chamber, fire licking up the walls. Another Aqua Droid fell, head sheared off by a perfectly placed bolt. For a heartbeat, the clones had them cornered.
But then the second wave arrived.
The far hatch burst open, and six more Aqua Droids poured through, weapons already shrieking. Their first volley ripped through Delta’s left flank, six clones cut down in a spray of plasma and plastoid. The survivors ducked back, smoke filling the air, their clean white armor now scarred and smeared with ash.
“We’re being boxed in!” Rye shouted over the din, panic in his voice.
He fired wildly, a bolt burning through an Aqua Droid’s leg joint, sending it sprawling before another cut him down with a single precise shot to the throat.
“Hold the line!” Karo thundered. His voice was iron, even as bodies fell around him. “If they get this terminal, it’s over!”
The clones rallied again, desperation sharpening their aim. Fire poured into the chamber, bolts bouncing from walls and armor alike. Two Aqua Droids went down hard, torsos split open by disciplined volleys. A Crab Droid lost a leg and keeled over with a metallic shriek before Cutter’s thermal grenade ended it. But for every one that fell, another two advanced into the destruction. Their metal feet clanged against the wet floor, sparks raining from the walls as the firefight tore the chamber apart.
Clones screamed and died one after another. A trooper’s head exploded under a Crab’s cannon. Another had his arm sheared away before being trampled beneath metal legs. A third tried to crawl for cover with both legs gone, only to be silenced by a cold bolt through the visor. Cutter took three droids with him before he finally went down, his repeater glowing white-hot as his armor smoked from half a dozen hits. Skipper tried running away before the Aqua Droid missing an arm from the first wave shot a damn harpoon gun attached to its other arm and reeled him back, before pummeling him in the head so hard his neck audibly snapped.
Ten men left.
Then six.
Then three.
The last defenders of Gamma Squadron stood with their backs to the humming terminal, armor scorched, visors cracked, every breath ragged with exhaustion. Sergeant Karo’s pauldron was shattered, his chestplate blackened, but he still stood tall, rifle steady.
“For the Republic.” He growled, his voice low and final.
“For the Republic.” The last two echoed.
Then, they charged.
It was brutal and brief. One was gunned down before he took two steps. The other reached an Aqua Droid and tackled it, knife in hand, stabbing wildly but ineffectively at the durasteel until another droid’s rifle took his head clean off. Karo made it the farthest. He dodged one bolt, fired back point-blank into a Crab’s photoreceptor, shattering it. He spun, emptying the last of his magazine into the chest of an Aqua Droid until his rifle clicked dry. With a snarl, he drew his sidearm- only for three bolts to strike him at once, tearing through his chest, throat, and visor.
As Karo’s corpse fell to the floor, the remaining Aqua Droids and crab droids relaxed.
“Alright, sound off. Who’s not dead?” The lead Crab Droid asked.
“It's always the arm with these guys! Can someone get me a medic!" An Aqua droid complained as he held up his detached arm in his remaining hand that was covered in blood, all while having his fired harpoon dragging behind him.
“Fragging hell. Why were there so many of the copy-and-paste bastards?” Another Aqua Droid wondered aloud in a feminine voice.
“It be ‘cause of what they be guarding, lassie.” A Crab Droid with a red stripe over one optic stalk remarked as he scuttled over to the terminal itself.
“Aye.” Another Crab Droid added. “This be the true reason for General Blitzkrieg’s attack on Kamino. That terminal, and what it holds.”
While he was talking, the red striped one had plugged into the terminal itself, uploading a peculiar virus that had had been added to the systems of every Crab Droid selected for this mission. A small chime indicated that the upload was complete, and Redclaw hummed, before comming the General.
“General Blitzkrieg, sir. The virus be uploaded. We be cleaning our mess and heading back to the Trident now.”
“ Excelent work, Redclaw. ” The General replied, blaster fire and screaming going on in the background. “ Now it’s time for the rest of us to go on the offensive. ”
Redclaw chuckled, then turned to his ‘crew’.
“You heard the General, back to the ship me hearties.” He ordered.
The droids gathered their offlined and left, with no one the wiser as to what exactly was now coursing through the electrical veins of Tipoca City.
—
The space above Kamino burned.
Turbolasers crossed in vast curtains of blue and red, thousands of bolts streaking across the void and splashing against shields with thunderclap bursts of light. The CIS fleets surged forward in a triple-pronged advance, their rounded dagger-shaped frigates and destroyers cutting through the black, while swarms of droid starfighters broke like waves against the Republic defense line.
Venator-class cruisers held formation, their dorsal cannons hammering, ripping through the first ranks of Munificents. One frigate was torn apart under sustained fire, splitting down its spine as burning wreckage cascaded through the fleet. Vulture droids spiraled in retaliation, swarming ARC-170 squadrons with missile trails zigzagging like fireflies before detonating in blossoms of flame, killing dozens of clones at a time.
A pair of Venators concentrated their fire on a Recusant destroyer, the combined power of their turbolasers peeling chunks of its hull away until its reactor went critical, erupting in a plume of blinding white. The shockwave tore through three squadrons of droid fighters, leaving only twisted shrapnel spinning through the void.
Still, the CIS Navy pressed on.
Columns of heavy blue turbolaser fire from the Finest Hour cut through the smoke and chaos, each salvo slamming into the Republic line with pinpoint accuracy. Munificents advanced flank-first, overlapping shields to absorb punishment as smaller corvettes slipped between them, all of them pouring concentrated fire into weak points of the fleet’s hulls. And any Republic Star Fighter squadrons that made it through were immediately torn to shreds by modified Munificents and Gozantis serving in Anti-Star Fighter positions, their frames absolutely covered in point-defense weaponry.
“Bring the starboard Munificents into the center formation.” Admiral Omen ordered into the fleet-wide communication array. “Overlap the shields. Maintain a steady pressure with the turbolaser batteries. Push them back.”
The Munificents obeyed, gliding forward flank-first, their shields knitting together into a wall that absorbed the furious broadsides hammering down from the Venators. As the Republic captains shifted fire to compensate, Confederate Recusants slipped through the openings, prow cannons spitting fire into the Venators’ weaker lower hulls. A Republic cruiser screamed as its shields collapsed, its dorsal superstructure ripped apart in a shower of molten plates. Even as the Venator disintegrated, Omen’s next command came, calm and ruthless.
“Hyena squadrons three through seven, target their starboard carriers. Starfighter intercept expected. Deploy Vultures for starfighter suppression.” He ordered.
Dozens of Hyena droid bombers dropped into formation, their trails crisscrossing the void as they dove on the Republic flanks. Swarms of Vultures formed a living wall around them, tangling with Torrents and other starfighters in swirling dogfights that burned bright against the darkness. Bombs detonated along a Venator’s hangar decks, blowing whole squadrons apart before they could even launch.
It was pure chaos, and at the center of it all, was one singular ship, bigger than all the others.
Omen glared at the stupidly large ship at the center of the Republic formation. An Imperator-class Star Destroyer, massive and heavily armored, its every red-tinted broadside attempting to carve a Confederate ship to ribbons. One single volley from the damned thing tore straight through a Recusant, splitting the damn thing in half, while another reduced a Munificent down to literal scrap. Its shields glowed with punishing light, holding strong despite the relentless storm lashing against it.
Honestly, at first Omen fully believed that he was going to need every single ship to fire at it to bring down its shields. All while losing countless ships in the process, just like what happened above Mandalore with the Tector. But then he noticed a distinct flaw that the Imperator possessed that most Kuati-derived ships had. Almost all of the main weaponry was located on the top side of the ship like a sea-faring vessel. While the bottom half only contributed two measly point-defense cannons for all of its firepower underneath. But the real prize in Omen’s optics was the giant hole underneath the Imperator where the hangar sat. Life Day must have come earlier than normal this year.
If Omen had a mouth, an evil grin would have been forming on it as he made his plan. The main problem with Munificents was that their main weaponry, the dual superheavy turbolasers mounted frontally needed every speck of power that usually went into the shields. But they were very maneuverable for their size. So that meant they could pull off what Omen wanted. And so, a few minutes later, five Munificents angled downward and made a micro-jump, disappearing from GAR sensors as the hyperspace particles they gave off scrambled their signatures.
“104th, focus fire on the Imperator and the ships around it!” Omen ordered. “Try to destroy the two below it!”
–
“Sir, fifteen Seppie ships just changed their firing solutions.” A clone lieutenant reported, his voice tight. “They’re hammering our shields, and the shields of the Venators covering us.”
Admiral Holdo didn’t look up from the viewport immediately. When he finally did, it was only to cast a disdainful glance at the soldier. He had always disliked the clones. Manufactured, artificial, mere shadows of real men, bred only to fight and die for the Republic. He would have preferred his ship manned entirely by his own loyal crew, but there simply weren’t enough of them to run a vessel of this magnitude. And so, he tolerated the plastoid-clad subhumans that filled his corridors. Just barely. He’d already had to send a few back to Kamino to be decommissioned for questioning his orders.
“They will never penetrate our shields.” Holdo said, his tone dripping with contemptuous calm. “This is an Imperator-class Star Destroyer. One of the largest warships in the Republic fleet. The Separatists are gnats throwing stones at a durasteel wall.”
“Sir, if we don’t adjust-”
“Keep firing.” Holdo cut him off, his jaw tightening. “Blow apart another Munificent if you have to. Order the fleet to concentrate on their smaller escorts, strip away their fodder. That will end this battle faster than wasting time on ghosts.”
The clone clenched his jaw, but obeyed. “Yes, Admiral.”
Holdo turned his attention back to the viewport, smug in his certainty. The Star Destroyer’s dorsal turbolasers lit the void with merciless firepower, ripping through a Recusant destroyer and setting half a squadron of vultures ablaze with their radiant aftershock. He allowed himself the faintest smile.
Yes. Everything was going exactly to plan. These subhuman aliens would soon be brought to heel, and perhaps the Chancellor will give him a sector to govern, maybe even the Ryloth sector. Then he could use the Twi’lek women to relieve himself.
It was all those scantily-clad females were good for, after all. They even had a Jedi that dressed the same kriffing way.
–
Unseen beneath his ship, five Munificents clawed back into realspace.
They re-emerged like phantoms, all five Munificents surging from the void beneath the Imperator, their hull plating still shivering with hyperspace residue. Their bows tilted upward in perfect unison until the crosshair was squarely aimed at the hangar entrance of the Imperator, their dual superheavy turbolasers humming with catastrophic energy. The cannons drew in every ounce of reactor power, shields flickering out as raw might gathered into those glowing throats of fire.
“ Fire. ”
Omen’s single word was a death sentence.
Five beams of emerald annihilation ripped upward into the belly of the Imperator. The void flashed white as if a second sun had been born in the heart of Tipoca’s storm-wracked orbit. The first volley was cataclysmic. Five beams of raw energy ripped into the Star Destroyer’s underbelly, ventral armor glowing, cracking, and rupturing open like molten flesh. Deck plating buckled, reactor shielding failed, and entire compartments ignited as the ship screamed in metal agony.
The second volley hit deeper, collapsing the hangar ceiling and pulverizing bulkheads, sending entire squadrons of clones and officers tumbling into vacuum.
The third broke the ship’s spine.
The Imperator shuddered violently, groaning like a beast in its death throes as the rupture spread from the hangar outward, snapping struts and shredding through the ventral hull. A glowing fracture split the ship nearly in two, molten edges venting gas and men alike into space. On the bridge, chaos reigned. Consoles erupted in sparks, alarms wailed, klaxons screamed. Officers shouted damage reports over the roar of rupturing bulkheads.
“Admiral! The hangar’s gone, we’ve lost two-thirds of our fighters!” A clone officer cried, bracing himself against a console.
“Our midsection is collapsing!” Another shouted. “She’s breaking in half!”
Admiral Holdo’s face twisted, his polished composure cracking as the deck shuddered beneath his boots. His knuckles whitened as he gripped the command chair.
“No- no! This ship will not fall! Not to those frigates!” He snapped, spit flying from his lips. “Reinforce the structural supports! Divert power to the dorsal batteries! We will crush them!”
The bridge lurched violently as another volley ripped through the sundered hangar. The massive ship screamed as its midsection split further, tearing deck by deck. Crewmen tumbled, some crushed by falling durasteel beams, others flung screaming into the void as the ship’s guts were laid bare.
“Admiral, we have to abandon-” A clone began.
“Silence!” Holdo roared, his eyes wild, face twisted into a mask of denial. He clutched at the command chair as if it alone would hold the ship together. “This is the Imperator-class! A symbol of the Republic! MY ship! It will not break! It will not-”
The final volley ended him.
The Munificents fired as one, their beams ripping straight into the fracture, severing the great warship like a butcher’s knife through bone. The Imperator groaned once, then tore apart, splitting cleanly in half. The bridge, still connected to the rear superstructure, tilted at a sickening angle. Consoles exploded, men screamed, the stars spun as the great ship began to tumble. Holdo scrambled to his feet, rage overtaking fear, his once-pristine uniform scorched and stained with soot.
“I will not die here!” He snarled, clawing at the railing as the deck pitched beneath him. “I am an admiral of the Republic! You cannot, this ship cannot-”
A violent explosion tore through the forward bridge section, ripping away half the viewport in a storm of fire and shards. The sudden decompression yanked officers and clones screaming into the void. Holdo was dragged halfway across the bridge, his hand scrabbling uselessly at the polished floor as the air was sucked away. His last words were a strangled denial:
“No! This ship- MY SHIP -”
Then he was gone, wrenched screaming into the cold dark, before his half-frozen body was vaporized by a missed turbolaser shot. The two halves of the mighty Star Destroyer drifted apart, burning, breaking into smaller chunks as fire consumed what remained.
From the command deck of the Finest Hour , Omen watched as the two halves of the Imperator tipped backwards, hitting a smaller ship and dragging it down with it as the broken ship was pulled into Kamino’s atmosphere.
“Well, that was a fun tactic to use.” He mused. “Munificent squad, group target anything that might pose a problem, we have a space battle to rout.”
—
The fighting on Kamino was chaos, but it was the kind of chaos I thrived in.
Blaster bolts sparked off my armor as I cut through squads, their formation crumbling every time I advanced. An LA-AT lumbered forward and fired into the melee, scattering droids and soldiers alike.
“Seriously?” I grumbled as my wings extended.
I leaped up and bolted for the LAAT. The gunship fired at me, but I dodged, then dug my claws into the side of the ship. Then I powered up my arm cannon and fired through the cockpit, silencing the clone pilot’s fearful yelling. I leaped off as the ship lost control, then watched as it slammed into a different bridge, collapsing it and sending at least seventy clones falling into the ocean. A blaster bolt hit me in the chest plating, and I reflexively fired back a much bigger bolt, vaporizing a clone and half of the guy next to him.
I dove back down, my lightsaber igniting and cleaving through two clones as I spun. My feet sparked along the ground as I fought, lunging and spinning left and right as I cut down clone after clone, Ventress and Grievous not far behind, as they slammed into the frontline of the clones I was already behind.
I had already received two interesting reports. One was the infiltration team led by Redclaw, a newly created Crab Droid that had interestingly taken up the accent of a pirate, along with the other Crab Droids and Aqua Droids under his command.
The virus had been uploaded, and blueprints for an Imperial ISD looking ship but with four massive gravity well projectors in it. Apparently it was called the Interdictor-class Heavy Cruiser. There were also blueprints for what looked like a prototype of the Gladiator-class Star Destroyer as well, which would really come in handy, since that ship can easily be modified in the designs to be more ‘Confederate’ in looks. But from what I remember, that ship wasn’t even put into actual production until after the end of the war, where it was repurposed by the Empire.
The other came from the space battle, where Omen reported that an Imperator, basically an Imperial Star Destroyer before it was rebranded and modified by the Empire into the Imperial-1, was in the fleet. Apparently that was also the flagship of a man named Admiral Holdo, who, according to some information gathered by the spy network, was quite the piece of scum. But the ship had been destroyed by abusing its lack of ventral weaponry, and cracking it in half by fully-charged volleys from the main superheavy turbolasers of five Munificents.
I know those turbolasers were designed as shipcrackers but damn .
I tore another clone apart, my cannon already firing at another two clones as his body dropped. Ventress slipped past me like a shadow, blades flashing, while Grievous shrieked in triumph as he plowed through their ranks. Every push brought us deeper into Tipoca City, the storm above crashing against the domes. The momentum was ours. The clone lines cracked and shattered, their lines being completely shredded before they could even hope to reform.
“Press forward!” I roared, blasting another squad apart.
We surged across the next bridge, Grievous at the front, Ventress weaving through the flank. The clones broke before us. Victory was certain. But then the air changed. A presence like fire cut through the storm, steady and fierce. Another presence, calm as stone, centered and unshakable. And a third, sharp and hungry, reckless as a blade thrown without care.
Jedi.
Grievous froze mid-strike, his sabers spinning into a defensive whirl. Ventress snarled, stepping back into a ready stance. I stopped too, my claws dripping with blood, as three figures dropped into view from above, Shaak Ti, Obi-Wan Kenobi, and Anakin Skywalker. The clones rallied behind them instantly. Shaak Ti’s blue blade lit the rain as she raised her guard. Obi-Wan’s eyes flicked across the carnage, grim and focused. Anakin burned with raw fury, his saber thrumming in his grip.
Our advance halted in an instant as the three Jedi stood in our path.
The three Jedi landed like storms, their presence cutting through the chaos. Shaak Ti’s blue blade gleamed under the rain, Obi-Wan’s calm intensity radiated outward, and Anakin’s eyes burned with barely-contained fire. Even the clones seemed to pause in awe.
As for me, I cannot look Skywalker in the eye unless I want to burst out laughing. C-3PO sent a report recently, and I saw far more than I wanted to about what he and Padme get up to in the bedroom. That woman is an absolute freak in the sheets.
Come to think of it, so is he .
Must be repressed feelings between their time away from each other. Luckily as a droid I no longer suffer from those issues… even if I do occasionally miss my dick.
“Finally.” Shaak Ti said, her voice cold and measured. “I wondered when the Confederacy’s toy general would show its face.”
“Curious.” I replied, claws flexing. “And here I thought the Jedi had learned to stay out of the fun.”
Ventress snarled beside me. “Careful, Blitzkrieg. They bite.” She remarked.
“I do more than bite.” I growled, stepping forward. “I tear, shred, and burn.”
I surged at Shaak Ti, my lightsaber igniting in a brilliant snap-hiss. She spun away, elegant and precise, her blue blade parrying my lightsaber as we ran across the slick bridge.
“You move well.” She said, eyes sharp. “For a construct of metal and spite.”
“And you,” I replied, letting my arm cannon flare. “fight well for someone who calls herself a peacekeeper.”
Shaak Ti came at me like a force of nature, her blade slicing through the air before I could even raise mine. I met her strike head-on, the two sabers clashing with a high-pitched hiss that echoed down the narrow corridor. The white panels around us groaned and cracked from the vibration, sparks flying with each impact. She pressed relentlessly, spinning, lunging, forcing me to pivot, block, and strike in return. Every corner we turned left a trail of scorched durasteel and toppled droids in our wake, the distant thunder of the battle outside a constant reminder of the chaos surrounding us.
I feinted to the left and swung low, aiming to sweep her off her feet, but she vaulted gracefully over the strike, landing with her blade ready, her movements fluid, precise, almost inhuman. I advanced, my lightsaber humming steadily as I slashed high, forcing her back, then twisted to stab at her midsection. She deflected with a spin, her blade sliding across mine, sparks arching like miniature lightning strikes.
“Your precision won’t save the Republic today.” I growled, voice modulated low and gravely as I growled at her.
She countered with a spinning overhead strike, and I barely blocked in time, the force of the blow somehow rattling my metal shoulders. I pushed forward, striking quickly, forcing her against the wall. She ducked and rolled, coming up behind me in a whip-like motion, swinging to slice at my back. My wing snapped back barely deflecting the blow, then I lunged with a jab toward her chest. She twisted again, landing a glancing strike across my shoulder.
She lunged again, her blade a streak of blue in the dim corridor light. I met her strike with mine, sparks erupting where our sabers clashed, the sound echoing off the curved walls of the Kaminoan facility we had fought into. I spun backward, folding my wings inward to dodge a follow-up strike, then kicked off the wall to vault over her. My wings flared wide midair, catching the ceiling panels, tipping loose shards and sending them spinning toward her as she rolled out of the way.
I landed lightly behind her, wings folding tightly, and swung around in a low arc, aiming for her knees. She leapt backward just in time, and I extended one wing like a whip, striking the wall beside her to send a cloud of dust and debris into her path, blinding her for a fraction of a second. I pressed the advantage, slashing diagonally with my saber while my wings stabilized my balance, acting as both counterweight and shield.
She blocked my strike, spinning into a high kick that I barely caught with my wings. The reinforced edges scraped against her armor, forcing her off balance. I pushed forward, wings flaring again, and jabbed upward, aiming to catch her off guard. She twisted midair, lightsaber deflecting the blow, but the movement carried her backward into a pile of debris, forcing her to regain her footing.
The corridor narrowed, and I struck with a series of rapid overhead and side swings, my wings extending and folding in rhythm, using them to block and redirect her blade while giving me extra reach. She parried furiously, retreating step by step, sparks flying with every impact. I lunged, wings splaying to hook around her shoulders, and twisted her torso off balance. She spun free, but my momentum carried me over her, blade slicing in a vicious arc. I landed a few feet away, then turned around to see a burn mark on her shoulder.
“Not so high and mighty now, are you?” I taunted.
She feinted to the left, then attempted an underhand strike. I folded one wing inward, pivoting to deflect her saber and counter with a powerful spinning strike aimed at her chest. She leapt back, but the force sent her sliding across the slick floor. I extended my wings outward and thrust downward in a sweeping motion, knocking debris between us to limit her movement. She rolled to the side, saber raised, but my wings followed her motion, scraping the walls and rattling loose panels.
The corridor narrowed. We weaved through broken panels, scattering clones, turning corners in a blur of blue and red light. She leapt over a toppled Droideka, bringing her blade down in a crushing arc. I raised mine, met her strike, sparks flying, the vibration shaking the walls. I pressed with a flurry, thrust after thrust, driving her back, each block and counter a calculated risk as we fought back out onto the open area that the others were fighting in, taking us in a massive circle.
“You can’t keep this up forever.” She said, voice calm but tinged with steel, every movement controlled, relentless.
I smiled beneath my facemask, pivoted on my heel, and swung in a high horizontal arc. She deflected, but the strike carried me past her, and I jabbed forward with a precise thrust toward her ribs. Time slowed as my saber bit through armor and flesh. Her eyes widened in shock, the tip of the plasma blade sliding deep. She staggered back, her lightsaber almost slipping from her grip as she pressed her hand against the wound, her eyes wide as she stared at me.
“On the contrary my dear.” I taunted as I moved back. “I can, you cannot.”
She was pushed onto the defensive, parrying or deflecting my attacks, but I could tell she was becoming sluggish. Blood was starting to leak from her wound, seeping through her fingers.
I pressed the advantage immediately, wings flaring outward to control the space between us, blocking any desperate strikes she attempted. Her swings became more labored, each parry a fraction of a second slower, her footwork slightly off. I exploited it without mercy, jabbing, slashing, feinting to draw her into mistakes. Sparks flew with every clash, the corridor shaking from our battle, but I didn’t hesitate.
She lunged one last time, desperation in her movements as she aimed for my side. I twisted midair, wings coiling like a predator ready to strike, and met her blade with a downward sweep that pinned her just enough to disrupt her balance. I didn’t give her time to recover. I stepped forward, blade humming with deadly precision, and drove it straight into her chest.
Her black eyes widened in shock, a brief flicker of disbelief as the plasma blade pierced through armor, ribs, and straight into her heart. She gasped, stumbling backward as her lightsaber clattered uselessly to the floor. My wings flared one last time to steady myself as she sagged, trying to resist the inevitable, blood spilling between her fingers and soaking her robes.
“You really should have just run, Jedi.” I growled.
I twirled my lightsaber, then swung it one last time.
And with a few thuds, Shaak Ti’s lekku fell to the ground, followed by her head. For a moment, the swinging of lightsabers froze completely, as if no one could believe what had just happened.
“NOOO!” Anakin suddenly yelled, before his voice turned into a roar as he turned and attacked Ventress with a ferocity that no one expected, least of all her.
Ventress barely had time to react. Anakin’s blade struck like a vengeful storm, slicing into her lower abdomen with ruthless precision. She let out a strangled hiss of pain, stumbling back against the shattered wall, crimson seeping through her robes. Her eyes blazed with fury and shock, but the pain slowed her, making each swing more desperate, more erratic as she desperately defended herself from his attacks.
Obi-Wan, meanwhile, had turned his focus to Grievous. With surgical precision, he deflected the general’s desperate, wild strikes, and in a single, fluid motion, his lightsaber sliced through both of Grievous’ left arms at the elbows. Sparks flew as the severed limbs clattered to the floor, useless. Grievous roared, whirling his remaining arms in frantic arcs, the hum of his spinning sabers filling the corridor with deadly resonance.
I pressed forward, wings extended, lightsaber slicing through the air, clashing with the remaining Jedi attacks. The corridor shook under our furious pace, sparks and debris flying with every strike. Ventress tried to retaliate, but Anakin’s relentless assault drove her back, forcing her into a defensive posture, every movement a struggle against what looked to be searing, white-hot pain in her side.
The fight became a whirlwind of blue and red, movement and counter-movement, each combatant a blur. I twisted, spun, and lunged, using my wings to stabilize, redirect, and extend my reach, parrying Kenobi’s precise strikes while attempting to push the Jedi back. Grievous spun and kicked, his remaining arms flailing, but his attacks lacked the deadly fluidity they once had.
Anakin’s fury was a palpable force, each strike a promise of vengeance, each swing of his saber fueled by the sight of Shaak Ti’s lifeless form. Ventress reeled under the assault, and even Grievous staggered under the combined pressure. Sparks erupted, panels cracked, and the landing pad became a cacophony of light, steel, and deadly intent.
I activated my flachette launcher again, and spit a wave of shrapnel out at the two Jedi, forcing them back so they wouldn’t get filled with metal.
“Grievous, get Ventress and try to reach that Trident.” I pinged one of the Trident’s to him. “We will live to fight another day, but we cannot continue on as we are now.”
Grievous growled and clenched his remaining arm into a fist. “I hate this. I hate that you’re right.”
I fired a few cannon blasts at the floor, pushing the Jedi back further as we backed away towards Ventress, who was steadily falling unconscious.
“Cheer up, Grievous. We’re heading to Telos after this, which means once the TVEC can get their hands on you, they can give you the upgrades I promised.” I replied.
The cyborg snarled but didn’t protest any more. He grabbed Ventress under one arm and limped toward the Trident that was reorienting to pick us up. Anakin and Obi-Wan weren’t giving up. Anakin’s eyes blazed, and his saber slashed with reckless precision, forcing me to pivot, swing, and keep a constant defensive rhythm. Obi-Wan pressed from the other side, each strike measured and precise, cutting off possible escape routes. I let my wings flare in wide arcs, knocking debris between us, creating obstacles and opening space to maneuver.
By that point, a group of droids had arrived and were helping to defend us against them as we moved into another one of Tipoca’s buildings. But Anakin wasn’t giving up.
I saw him coming, all emotion, all raw power, and I knew what had to be done. I turned to the C-8 Saboteurs flanking the Trident, their tiny servos twitching in anticipation.
“Do it.” I ordered, my voice calm despite the raging Jedi sprinting towards us with murderous intent.
A single, maniacal giggle echoed from the Saboteurs, a high-pitched, metallic sound that promised chaos. They pressed the detonator.
—
The hallway erupted.
The walls shuddered and split, ceiling panels and floor plates tearing free, tumbling like ragdolls in zero gravity. The shockwave slammed into Anakin just as he rounded the corner. He was thrown back violently, sliding across the floor as sparks rained down around him. His saber clattered but stayed in hand; his armor and reflexes kept him from injury. Still, the force left him winded, his rage now tempered by the sudden jolt of reality.
Through the smoke and dust, he could see the Trident gliding away, its engines burning bright against the dim light of the damaged corridor. He locked eyes with Blitzkrieg for a moment, but the rising ramp of the ship obscured his vision. The ship disappeared through the hole it had torn in the facility, leaving a trail of displaced metal and chaos behind it as it linked up with an escort of Vultures. Anakin’s jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing into a scowl, anger and frustration simmering under the surface.
He stood slowly, chest heaving from the exertion. His gaze followed the retreating ship, and his rage bubbled over to the surface. And with darkness gathering around him, the shadow of what he would one day become stretched long behind him across the floor.
Vader’s silhouette seemed to reach out from his own form, a dark echo of the fury that had driven him here, and would continue to drive him far beyond this fight.
