ld1449

The Weaving Force: Chapter 147

Added 2025-10-30 23:26:33 +0000 UTC

Chapter 147:

I was there when the first shots were fired.

I was there when the battle started.

You asked me which side I was on. If I was chipped or Legion.

Doesn’t matter… answers the same for both of us.

We’d all seen battle. We were made for War.

Coruscant wasn’t war.

Not by the end.

Coruscant… is a nightmare I don’t think we ever walked out of.

Excerpt: How Liberty Almost Died, The Clone Wars documentary

Subject: CT-231091 "Icemate"

Date: 6/14th 22:15 pm, Galactic Standard Time

—

Dennis

Standing here, in the Jedi Temple, Dennis recognized this.

He recognized what he was seeing, even as his conscious mind didn’t quite understand what exactly had just happened.

As he walked quickly through the halls of the Temple, he took note of the Jedi around him and for the first time, really looked at the Jedi.

He didn’t see any Padawans.

Surrounding him were hardened, war made veterans, with lightsabers rather than datapads, with armor rather than robes. Jedi Generals gave quick instructions to cadres of clone troopers, and men moved in a rush of armored boots and charging blaster rifles.

And even so, he recognized this. He remembered this. The feeling in the air.

It was one his most vivid memories, of course it was, because it was one of the worst too.

The air felt charged, not something like fear, no. That would be simple. Not with grim determination. Those things were present, yes, but no.

Dread.

What he felt, what he could see, was sheer dread.

That same dread born from the anticipation of inevitability, that he himself had felt… back home.

Back on Earth Bet.

Every time an Endbringer was approaching.

He could see that in the Jedi now. In the way they moved, how they carried themselves. It was unmistakable.

Whatever broadcast Palpatine had made with that senator, shit was about to hit the fan.

“What the hell just happened?” He asked, rounding on Vicky, and when she looked at him, it was with an expression that was almost a cold slap to the face with just how much she reminded him of Alexandria of all people in the moment.

Pushing past his own shock, he pressed for an answer. “What the hell did they just do?”

“The clones.” She answered, and quickly gestured to the back of her head. “The clones stationed on Coruscant all have control chips in their heads.”

Dennis’ eyes widened, a very clear, very scary picture suddenly taking shape in his head.

“Oh, fuck.” He hissed.

“He gave them three orders.” Ventress demanded. “Which ones?”

There was a laugh, a low chuckle off at the side, and he didn’t have to look to know that Maul was smirking. “I’ll guess ‘kill the Jedi’ as one of the options.”

“You want a prize?” Vicky bit out, glaring out of the corner of her eye. “Are you going to be a problem?” She asked, rather directly.

“You have enough of those on your hands.” The Sith seemed to be relishing this, but then he frowned. “No. My interest is in getting my brothers and sisters out of here safely. Your deaths are already decided.”

“Gee, thanks a lot.” She scoffed. “Not sure how exactly you’re getting them out.”

“Either I cut my way through and force a path… or we all die.” Maul answered blithely.

“You two are downright cheerful.” Dennis muttered. Vicky shrugged in answer before turning back to Dennis. “The other two orders were to capture members of the Senate and take full control of all orbital assets and space around Coruscant.”

Suddenly, punctuating her words, something rumbled in the sky overhead. He almost thought it was a thunderstorm before he looked up, and noticed the strike of orbital fire raining down and impacting the planetary shield, the bursts of fire and rippling electric blue forming an impromptu aurora in the skies above.

“They’re trying to bomb this place.” He gaped. “We’re surrounded by civilian structures.”

“Civilian structures far enough away that they’re willing to risk the ‘minor’ collateral casualties.” Maul drawled.

Dennis winced. ‘Far enough away’ barely qualified with how much damage an orbital bombardment would do, especially when it was something presumably powerful enough to punch through the Jedi Temple’s own shield generator.

“Master Dallon!”

The shout was delivered by a young Jedi Knight rushing up to them. “Master, non-legion clones are gathering in force along the north side!”

“Its barely been three fucking minutes.” Dennis hissed.

“Clones have been training and drilling their whole lives.” Vicky answered, and right in that second, she looked every bit the general the propaganda reels showed her to be.

Her feet left the ground, rising slowly at first, like a beast waking up before she flew up into the sky to fly over the Temple and reach the other side quickly enough.

—

Ahsoka

She was on the bridge, talking to Rex when the broadcast started. She watched alongside him and his brothers, listening with dread laced horror and creeping realization as they heard the orders, as they all heard the orders.

Ahsoka stared at Padme in the hologram. Just by the woman’s face staring blankly, passionlessly, with empty eyes and no emotion even in the Force, she knew something wasn’t right. That something other than Padme had done this.

But that didn’t matter, not to the rest of the world.

The orders had been given. She heard them; they all heard them. Broadcast across every channel across the entire system..

It felt like only seconds, or maybe a window of eternity had passed before the alarms began blaring.

The clones on the bridge began acting, or maybe she just broke out of her own head enough to recognize their work and shouted reports.

“Coruscant Guard Fleet moving into formation.”

“Contact with ground control established, Coruscant garrisons have control of sixty-seven percent of anti-orbital guns. Confirmed. We control planetary shields groundside, deploying. We’re cut off from the surface and so are they-”

“Guard Fleet scrambling fighters.”

“Receiving orders from Master Tiin to form up around the 57th’s flagship for defensive actions.”

“Receiving hails from the Guard Fleet-”

It was a bombardment of noise and chatter, constant stream of information and calls for orders pulling her every which way.

For a moment, she felt overwhelmed, realizing that this was really happening. That everything, the war, the Sith, the Jedi, everything might hinge on this moment.

Her chest seized up, locking the air that she tried to suck down somewhere in her throat as she trembled.

“General.”

Rex’s hand on her shoulder was somehow both gentle and firm, she didn’t even need to turn and look at him to know the expression he wore.

“You’ve got this, General.” He whispered, low enough that only her sharp hearing could pick it up.

She reached up, squeezing his hand in thanks before she stepped back up to the command dais.

“Get the Resolute into formation with Master Tiin. Tell all pilots to get ready to scramble fighters and bombers. I want two troop deployments made ready, one for boarding actions, the other for planet side ops.”

As the orders flowed out of her and the ship began its slow, ponderous movement to link up with the rest of the fleet, she felt the last of her fear ebb away, vanishing like grains of sand beneath the tide of her own building confidence and surety.

Master Skywalker trusted her up here, so she had to trust them to do their part down there too. It was just that simple, everything else was a distraction.

—

CT-1249

“I can’t stand this.”

1249 said the words as he glared at the holoscreens. Across every display, all he could see were his brothers fighting each other. Killing each other. All because of the fucking chips, puppeting his siblings like droids.

“I know.” Commander 5890 muttered beside him. “But we have a job of our own to do here.”

“Sitting around, guarding a frakkin satellite dish halfway across the planet?” 1249 bit out with more acid in his voice than what was prudent when addressing his commanding officer. “This is bantha dung. Our brothers are dying. Our generals are dying!”

His other brothers, spread through the security room, didn’t openly agree with him, but the tense, heavy silence now suffocating them was enough to tell him what they thought.

5890 turned his head, looking towards the others in the room before he scowled. “This isn’t a vid watching party. Everyone, back to your posts, we’re not in the direct danger zone but this is still a potential target! You’re on the damn clock!”

However grudgingly, the unit was disciplined, helmets were put back on, weapons checked and men began filing out. Even 1249, after another second or two of staring at the battle on the screens, reached for his helmet.

Grabbing hold of it, his wrist was seized by commander 5890.

“I get your frustration, believe me.” The commander said, his eyes hard as he glared at him. “But everyone is frustrated, and I don’t need you riling everyone up more than they are. We were assigned to guard this post and we will do that. You jeopardize that, I’ll toss you in the brig or say you’re chipped and damn well shoot you myself. We clear?”

“We’re bloody useless here!” He groused back, glaring at the still flashing monitors.

Coruscant had about a half dozen planetary shield generators spread out across the entire planet. The generals had dispatched one battalion to each of these targets, ostensibly to hold them in case they were targeted.

But they weren’t being targeted. The Temple and Senate were. And the fleet… if the fleet battle was lost then he could see sense in holding the generators but for now it was just… maddening.

“Are we clear?” 5890 asked again, his voice carrying a very real edge of warning.

4621 forced himself to nod, pulling up his helmet with his other hand and placing it over his head. “Yes, si-”

He saw something, a fleeting wisp of shadow out of the corner of his eye. He almost dismissed it, but then, thought better of it and actually turned his head and looked.

He barely had time to register the sound, and then the flash of red, before the saber cut his head from his shoulders.

—

Komari

She didn’t give either clone time to scream, and caught both helmets and bodies with the Force before they could thud against the floor, setting them down gently with barely a whisper of noise.

There was a small battalion of clones just outside. She did not need anyone checking ‘odd sounds’.

Even so, she only had a few minutes before someone looked for the CO.

Luckily, a few minutes was all she needed.

She made her way over to the door, overriding the controls to seal it tight. The clones would realize what was wrong before reinforcements arrived, but every little delay would help.

As soon as the door was tightly sealed she made her way over to the console, pulling free the designated long range communicator, encrypted to hell and back and near impossible to trace, even here.

She spoke three simple words.

“Grievous, I’m in.”

After a brief moment of tense silence, she got an answer in the cyborg’s rasping voice.

“Confirmed.”

—

Vicky

She rose above the Jedi Temple, taking in the chaos beginning to unfold across… everywhere that she could see.

From one end of the horizon to the other, she could see clone gunships, starfighters and bombers moving through the air towards them. She could hear the Acclamators charging their generators and engines in a mad scramble to get off the ground, or at least charge their turbo lasers and other weaponry to retaliate.

Ahead of her, an army of white armored troopers gathered in battle array, deploying heavy gun emplacements and portable shields for cover, with radio and heavy weapon teams setting up.

She’d seen her own battalions do this countless times, but never had she been on the receiving end of it.

Ahead of her, the legionary clones were fewer in number, but neither the Jedi nor the clones had been idle these few months. The space between the outer ward and the Jedi Temple entrance had become a fortified kill zone. Towers were manned by sharpshooters, blast shields rose up out of the ground like traffic barricades to give cover, hover mines, discharge traps, even a swarm of automated blaster drones.

“We’ve got your six, General.”

She recognized Weber’s voice crackling through her ear and she wondered where the sniper was, but his assurance alone told her that all of Noble Team were already in position and in her command, whatever it may be.

She spied the red splash of color that singled out Commander Thorn in the mob of red and white armored bodies across from her.

With a howling screech of jetpacks, her silver wings flew up beside her. All twenty of them, their armor shining in the high Coruscanti sunlight.

There was another rumble above, a stronger one, and she looked up to see the planetary shields still taking a battering, discharges of blue electricity showing the energy transfer as turbolaser fire broke over it like rain on an umbrella.

The General in her told her to order the attack, to hit the opposing force before they had a chance to properly set up. Cause as much damage as possible with as little warning as possible.

They were outnumbered, but they had an army of veterans against comparatively green units.

If she ordered the attack, even with the number disparity… they might win.

But the other part of her, the Hero, the Jedi, the one that knew the clones here weren’t even in their right minds… it hesitated.

Down below, as the seconds ticked by, Thorn pulled free a loudspeaker.

“Stand down.” The Commander called. “You are not part of our orders, brothers. I repeat, stand down. We have no wish to kill you.”

Not a single clone moved.

“Ma’am.” She recognized Guelzo’s voice this time. “Requesting permission to give enemy combatants a chance to surrender. Maybe the chips aren’t working in some.”

It was a fool's hope… and yet.

—

CT- 4621

The orders ran through his mind, over and over again on a loop.

Execute Order 63.

Execute Order 64.

Execute Order 66.

Three Orders, three tasks for the Coruscant Guard.

Seize control of the Senate Building and the senators.

Take control over orbit and airspace

Execute the Jedi.

The orders, the reason for them, didn’t make sense. He didn’t know why Senator Amidala had given them, but she’d given them. They were clear.

And good soldiers followed orders.

Commander Stone, Thire and Thorn would lead the three pronged attack. Stone would take control of the Senate, Thire, already in orbit when the orders had been broadcasted, was already taking command of the fleet assets…

And Commander Thorn would take the Jedi Temple.

Within seconds, entire legions, millions strong, were getting themselves armed, armored and loaded onto gunships. With a city encompassing an entire planet, their bases across said planet were numerous, with each individual garrison able to mobilize in a rapid response in just under a minute before scrambling out to join the various rendezvous points to concentrate their forces.

Heavy weapons and artillery weren’t yet deployed, but they would follow right after, six minutes for the Senate Building, nine for the Jedi Temple.

4621 dared a glance through the small slits along the gunships side panels, and a swarm of similar vessels, their number almost literally beyond count stretched as far as his eyes could see, swarming like a horde of locusts about to descend on a field.

Turning and looking out of the main viewport, the Jedi Temple came into view.

It was an imposing fortress. Anti-air guns bristled along the battlements, the shield generators were already up, creating a visible shimmer, like a heat haze surrounding the structure. Landed Acclamators and other air power of the legion bound clones were already beginning to scramble, though the Acclamators would still need significantly more time to power up, enough time for heavy weapons to get here and ground them permanently.

The orders were starting to make a lot more sense now.

Why else would the Jedi be so ready for a fight, if they weren’t looking to pick one?

The ship began to descend, the rapid drop making 4621’s stomach do a little flip in his gut as they began to lose altitude. The nose dipped, letting him spy the rapidly gathering army at the outer perimeter of the Jedi grounds, facing off against… their brothers.

Damn them.

Damn the Jedi for making brother fight against brother.

The doors opened. “Go!” Their pilot, Sky, barked once, and he and his squad scrambled out, boots hitting the ground, rifles ready.

Emplacements were being set up, heavy weapon teams and engineers forming a rough fortified line.

4621 spotted Commander Thorn, his red armor a distinct splash of color amidst the ocean of white. The Commander called out into a loudspeaker, his voice giving a momentary feedback whine as it translated through helmet and speaker both.

“Stand down.” The Commander called. “You are not part of our orders, brothers. I repeat, stand down. We have no wish to kill you.”

One brother from the opposing front stepped forward. 4621’s helmet optics focused on him, zooming in as much as it could and he felt his heart freeze in his chest.

He recognized this brother.

Very few clones wouldn’t recognize him.

Guelzo. Guelzo of Noble Team.

4621 was too far to hear what words were being said, and he envied his brothers that were standing next to Commander Thorn in that moment, but he could imagine mutual pleas for surrender, justifications, and dictating standing orders.

In the end, he doubted it’d make a difference.

Their brothers had their orders and he, along with Thorn and everyone on this side, had theirs.

Then, she showed up.

He’d seen holos of her, heard all the legends and tall tales.

But he would admit, he wasn’t quite ready for the sight of her when she descended from the sky, the Silver Wing Guard right behind her hovering on wings of fire as they leveled their guns down at the Coruscant Guard arrayed in front of them.

Her white Jedi robes and hair caught in the wind, and he could understand why his brothers in the legions called her the vision of victory.

He saw her mouth moving, but damn if he was too far to listen in.

But he did hear something else.

“Sir, I have the shot.”

4621 had to fight the urge to snap his head to the source of the voice and give the whole thing away, managing to limit himself to just barely tilting his head so he could just see the heavy weapon team with a setup just to his left.

That gun could shoot a rocket that would crack through the hull plate of a Venator.

More words were exchanged and he saw the moment when Commander Thorn had had enough, the loudspeaker falling to his side, and pulling out his gun.

“Take it.”

The screech of the rocket was only just audible for a second before it flew dead straight and true. He followed it with his eyes, or tried to, only just managing to see Dallon’s hand reach out in a split second, barely a fraction of an instant before the rocket struck her dead on, almost looking like she was trying to catch it.

The fireball swallowed her, and he knew it couldn’t be over, he knew it couldn’t be that simple.

And yet, nothing even remotely mortal should have survived that.

Then, in the next second, she flew out of the flames, the smoke and the dust trailing after her as her blade lit up like starlight at her side, her Silver Wing Guard right behind her as they charged into the teeth of their guns.

Jedi lit their lightsabers across from them and joined the charge, their legion brothers right at their backs as fire began lancing between the two armies.

All units, engage, fire at will, fire at will! Get around Dallon, focus your attacks on the Jedi and the legionaries! I want that temple leveled before the day is done!

He didn’t know if that would be enough. They outnumbered their legionnaire brothers manyfold, and the Jedi even more so. Especially once they took orbit control and the Senate attack was done and the troops there came to join them.

But even so… he didn’t know if they could win.

But he didn’t need to know.

Because good soldiers. Followed. Orders.

As he brought up his gun to fire, he could almost swear he heard a voice, because it could only be her voice, in his mind, projected across all that could see her, seconds before her blade cut off Commander Thorn’s arm at the shoulder.

You missed.

—

Cad Bane

“Sithspit, what the Corellian Hell is going on!” Shahan screeched as the ship, far too large for such hasty maneuvers, jerked to the side, the turbulence lifting Bane off his feet before the floor came rushing back up to meet him.

He stumbled, nearly falling flat on his face before catching himself on one of the MagnaGuards. Durge placed his hands up, pressing them into the ceiling, physically holding himself steady as everyone else rushed to secure themselves.

If you could throw open a sliding door, Bane would have done exactly that as he burst into the office. “The hell is going on!?”

“Clones are going fucking crazy, that’s what!” The Shahan said, one hand securing more belts and locks on his harness as hundreds of clone gunships flew straight past, above, below, in front and behind them. Their numbers seemed endless. “Has to be an incoming Separatist attack.” He said.

He settled himself in the copilot seat and navigated through the rapidly congesting skylanes of Coruscant.

He looked at the sensors, quickly inputting some filters to single out only clone gunship IFFs in their range. Navigation pegged it as seven thousand and change. And that was just what was in range, who knew how many were mobilizing.

More than that, the long range sensors were already picking up readings of weapons discharge and energy spikes in the direction of the Jedi Temple.

People were beginning to panic, as people did. He’d already seen more than one near miss and they flew past one actual crash, or at least its aftermath, that just congested the lanes more, caused more delays and thus, caused more panic.

He reached over to the holo, switching it on and flicking through channels. News feeds and talking heads were all but bleating into whatever microphone and camera they had on hand, some already trying to fly over the combat areas before they were turned away by the clones.

He wondered how long that tolerance would last, before a blaster was pulled to make the point stick.

There was a rumble in the skies above and Bane leaned forward to look up, past the windshield.

“Planetary shields up.”

“What?” Shahan shouted before checking his instruments. “If that shield is up we can’t leave!”

He frowned. Could all this be to track down Amidala? Doubtful.

This was getting far too out of hand far too quickly. Just what the frak kinda job in all the Corellian Hells had he gotten himself mixed up in?

“Keep going for the evac point.” He ordered. “If the shield isn’t down or something doesn’t change, we improvise. But for now, stick to the plan.”

“Got it.” He didn’t sound happy, he wasn’t either, but for now, it's not like they had any better options.

—

Obi-Wan

Immediately, evacuation orders were given, senators were allowed to leave while orders were barked to clone squads and battalions to secure the emergency exits and landing platforms.

Obi-Wan knew he had other duties, other responsibilities. The 212th was still back at the Temple, the Negotiator was in orbit, and Master Yoda and Windu had already declared they were leaving to pursue Palpatine.

He could have gone to any one of these, tried to make himself useful to the greater whole rather than a select few here in the Senate.

But he couldn’t. Almost immediately, as soon as the broadcast giving those cursed orders left Padme’s mouth, Obi-Wan cut a straight line, as fast as he could, directly towards Satine.

He knew it was stupid. It wasn’t the Jedi way and every second he was escorting her to her ship alongside her bodyguards, a part of him kept repeating that this was a waste of not only a Jedi but the very needed power, strength and leadership he could provide literally anywhere else.

And still, he walked beside her.

The Mandalorian honorguard moved like a well oiled machine. Hannah and Aras took up the rear and behind them, following somewhat closely behind too, were Bail Organa, Iblis and Mon Mothma.

It made sense. Satine, even without him here, had the strongest force with a cadre of fully armed and armored Mandalorians.

If nothing else, their presence soothed his guilt at his selfishness in guarding the woman. Protecting not just Satine, but three of the most influential and powerful senators, all of whom were now enemies of Palpatine, who had the evidence to back it in the future, was a different story entirely.

Other Senators were, for lack of a better term, panicking, almost running through the halls in an attempt to escape the building. With Palpatine’s broadcast of the orders, Aayla and himself had decided to let them escape. The whole point of holding them here was so that they’d hear that Palpatine was a traitor. They had, from the Bantha’s mouth no less. And knowing that the Coruscant Guard was on their way in force… The Jedi and the clones here couldn’t defend them. Not with the Temple itself soon to be under attack and many of them leaving with Master Yoda and Windu to pursue Palpatine.

Letting them go, letting them try to escape and save their own lives was the least they could do.

Already, the barely contained panic was beginning to give way as the halls congested and the landing platforms were choked up with every single senator, worker, and public sector worker calling for their private shuttles and speeder cars to help them get away. Satine was not a member of the Senate and as such, had access to a VIP hangar adjacent to the Rotunda complex. It let them bypass much of the crowding, but not all of it.

Some senators, people Obi-Wan did not recognize at a glance, tried to ‘hitch a ride’, following after Senators Mothma, Iblis and Organa, but clones of the 212th under his personal command rebuffed them. He could not rule out any infiltrators or assassins, not in the Senate, the heart of Palpatine’s power, and he would take no risks at this juncture.

As they just reached the outermost halls, just a few hundred feet shy of the private hangars, that’s when they first heard the sounds of blasterfire.

That panic brewing just under the surface exploded into outright pandemonium.

People screamed, people started to run, the clones taking up the rear were forced to bring up their rifles to deter the onrush of civilians, aides and workers.

He was listening in on comms, here on the ground and in the fleet above, updates provided by Cody.

“Planetary lockdown is in effect.” He said, loud enough for those around him to hear but not loud enough to carry. “Shields are all deployed.”

“That means we can’t leave.” Satine pointed out, only for him to shake his head.

“No.” He said. “I’ll provide you with a clearance code. Hail the shield control with this, you’ll be let through.”

“Hail the- You’re not coming with us!?” For all that they snipe at each other, she balked at the notion, eyes wide, shining with worry. He shook his head again. “Obi-Wan, this planet will be a war zone.”

“I will not leave my fellow Jedi or my legion while I run.” He answered pointedly and she seemed to catch herself.

“No… no, you can’t. And it was selfish of me to suggest otherwise.” She sighed. “Just… be careful.” She pleaded as they reached the VIP hangar.

He smiled at her, and couldn’t help but tease, “When am I not?”

The moment, if you could call it that, seemed to be ruined as she rolled her eyes and scoffed.

They marched into the hangar, the clones of the 212th securing the door behind them.

The Kom’rk sat there like an arrowhead, silver and royal blue colors of house Kryze decorating its hull, the night owl symbol of the house emblazoned on its side.

Its engines were already warm, its ramp descended. The pilot had been waiting for them

Then, the hangar bay doors were blasted open.

The explosion sent a rippling shockwave of concussive force down the length of the chamber, almost physically punching him in the chest. He rushed to catch Satine before she fell from the force, only the Mandalorians in their heavier beskar plate seemed to hold their feet steady.

Clone gunships rushed inside through the cleared space, chipped clones of the Coruscant Guard leaping from open hatches.

There were shouted orders to stand down, to drop weapons, and lay down on the ground flying every which way, to the point he didn’t even know who was saying what.

And then, someone spotted him.

“JEDI!”

And all hell broke loose.

—

Alexandria

She flew down.

Down, down, down into the depths of the world. Down where no sunlight had touched for tens of thousands of years. Down where heat and cold were governed by machinery, exhausts and power relays rather than the presence of sunlight.

Down into the depths, where no power ran through ancient derelict lines anymore, where even metal had given way to age, decay and the passage of time, where columns of dust and twisted waste metals formed the ground that she could see beneath her, and the only source of light were the fiery furnaces that forever burned away the toxic refuse of a million, billion creatures that called this world their home.

The machinery’s noise was distant, ancient barriers and sound dampening fields keeping the unending grind from shaking the walls around them apart. As such, even as she saw billions upon billions of tons of metal and garbage being processed, she barely heard a single sound.

As she flew, she felt the changes in temperature, places where the heat of the machinery turned spots muggy and cloying with suffocating pressure, and others where the utter lack of sunlight frosted the walls with sheets of thin ice.

And then she saw him.

Palpatine stood with his back to her, dressed in a heavy black robe, his head of white hair still visible as he tapped away at a terminal that was far too new, too modern to not be something he’d placed here recently.

“You would be the first to arrive, wouldn’t you?”

She could hear the amusement in his voice, it carried impossibly far. Was that a product of this place? Some tech? Or the Force?

Regardless, she slowed her flight, hovering upright as she descended down to get closer. She could accelerate again in the blink of an eye and be no less deadly.

He turned around, facing her, truly facing her for what was probably the first time.

She stared back.

“You’re planning to kill them all.” She called down, watching as his smile, his true smile, in all its twisted, malicious glee, slipped onto his face, a sheer joy at finally being seen. “Not just the Jedi,” She pressed. “But the Senate, too.”

“Even more.” He gloated with a rueful chuckle.

“Once they’re dead… a power vacuum." She surmised. “Or even worse, the narrative can be whatever you want it to be.”

He just laughed, his hands rising in that little, slow clap that was so familiar between them.

Then, he turned away, and pressed a single button on that terminal.

She didn’t hesitate, didn’t allow herself to let the opportunity slip by.

She dashed forward like a rail gun shot, her body damn near breaking the sound barrier in the barely fifty foot distance between them as her fist rushed dead onto the back of his skull with all the force she had available to her.

She saw his body move, preternatural speed letting him duck forward, leaping away as her fist and body smashed through the terminal, shattering it into a million pieces.

But whatever he’d done, it’d already started.

Little pinpricks of red light, like beady red eyes in the gloom, lit up all around her. And amidst the piles and piles of refuse and junk bound for the furnaces, an ocean of red came alive.

Then, they began to rise.

They weren’t droids, they were drones.

Rough, diamond, almost organic looking drones rose in the air, red lights pulsing along their bodies each one no bigger than her forearm. Hundreds, thousands of them.

A bomb? Some kind of trap?

No, whatever they were, they suddenly started flying up, away from her, up towards the surface.

Towards the Jedi, and the Senate.

To the people he wanted to kill.

Off in the distance, she heard a series of warbling, shriek like cries that she recalled immediately from the after action reports of Geonosis.

Sith Spawn.

There was a laugh to her left and she turned her attention back to Palpatine who drew up his hood, his smiling veneer being swallowed by shadow.

He spoke his next words slowly, as if savoring each one. “I will miss you…”

She saw the yellow bleed into his eyes., fingers crackling with sparks of lightning.

“When you’re dead.”

She shot forward.

And then, her world became crackling forks of lightning and pain.

It was a pain she hadn’t felt in nearly fifty years. The weakness, the nausea, the unending agony of treatments and tumors and sickness, the slow creeping darkness as her lungs burned and her chest hitched trying to force down a breath, clawing of spiders in her throat and the flashes of her final nerves firing behind her eyes and pain.

Her teeth clamped down, her body seizing up, her flight faltered and lurched, stumbling through the air before she hit the ground in a tumble.

Then, she forced her body back under her own control, forced her eyes to open, her head to turn, to find her target.

Palpatine poured on the lightning, and the pain almost seemed to double before she made herself move, to keep herself going. Recognizing that her body was still undamaged, that this couldn’t stop her… not unless she let it.

With a roar she punched down into the metal flooring, her fist making the earth tremble beneath her, the lightning coruscating through her body into the steel before she ripped out a chunk of it, hurtling it at the Sith Master.

And the lightning cut off, Palpatine dodging the car sized slab of metal as Alexandria took a moment to catch her breath.

Lightning blasted from his fingertips again and she rushed out of the way, her heart still pounding under her ribs and chest heaving with deep breaths as the adrenaline coursed through her insides.

He glared at her from under his hood, and she ground her teeth, clenching her fists.

“You’re going to need a bigger gun.” She taunted.

Palpatine’s lips curled back, either a snarl or a smile, she couldn’t quite tell.

—

Yoda

He could feel the world in the Force surrounding him.

Past the buildings and duracrete, past the steel, the wires and silicates. Past the droids, engines and oils.

Death, its creeping shadow was enveloping Corruscant.

It was the clones that were dying, yes, candleflames burning out in the winds, but the Jedi too. They were not candles but torches, guttering and howling in the tempest.

There is no Death. There is only the Force.

But he could feel that something was wrong. Something was happening.

And he knew that the worst still was yet to come.

Yoda had the experience of centuries, there were few things in this galaxy he hadn’t seen. That included despots and madmen with nothing left to lose and all the levers of power to pull.

It would be worse when that madman was a Sith.

Amidala’s orders to the clones were not the end of his gambit, not by far.

It needed to be over before it got that far.

A sudden burst of blaster fire pulled him from his musings, Master Kolar leaning forward to peer through the small slits along the side of the gunship door.

“Pursuit craft!” He said. “Torrents, V-wings and Arcs!”

There was a sudden blast of fire, the brush of heat, even from this distance, and the radio on his gunship burst to life.

“Mayday, mayday! Red Four, engines hit, engines hit, we’re going down!”

Yoda caught a glimpse of their sister gunship descending in a trail of fire and black smoke.

“We have to lose them.” Master Vos declared.

“In a gunship!?” The clone pilot snarked back. “I’m flying a brick, sir, they’re flying actual birds. No way am I losing a V-wing in this.”

In spite of himself, Yoda found himself smiling just a bit at the clone’s snark. And a voice in his head, which sounded suspiciously like Master Dallon, snarked back. ‘Not with that attitude.’

But still, his smile slipped from his features, mind working quickly as the ship shuddered and banked sharply to avoid more blaster fire.

Then, the radio crackled again, Master Windu’s voice being the one that spoke through it.

“Master Yoda, we’ll provide a window.”

Red Two, flying just ahead of them, pulled back hard, almost coming to a full stop as they zoomed straight past and Yoda’s sharp ears picked up the discharge of missile pods and the firing of the underside laser pods as Master Windu engaged.

Still, craft pursued, Yoda could sense them behind him.

With a thought, with focus, he reached out, isolated targets standing out clearly amidst the chaos and the backdrop.

He pulled with the Force, and bending them through the air like children’s toys the fighters suddenly banked hard into each other. Yoda pretended he couldn’t hear the clones' screams as they were engulfed in flames and crushed under horrendously folded metal.

Both vessels fell in balls of flaming wreckage, chasing them down, down, down into the waiting dark.

—

Guelzo

As blaster fire glanced off his beskar and he returned fire, Guelzo couldn’t help his mind to wander, however briefly, as he recognized that fighting with Miss Taylor, or Miss Dallon, there was no comparison. Not even to each other.

Fighting alongside Miss Taylor was like fighting next to a storm, a Force of nature that consumed and devoured the whole of the world around you.

Fighting next to Dallon… it was like walking in the shadow of a titan, or a colossus of myth.

You could see the destruction, the power and fury… but you could never reach her. Never truly fight shoulder to shoulder with that distant figure.

Because she was just too powerful, too far away. Both of them were.

An army was bearing down on her.

An army was breaking against her.

She swooped down into the mass of bodies, shattering armor, cleaving apart torsos, severing limbs. She was unstoppable, implacable, and all he and the others could do is try and keep up, to keep charging in after that titan in the distance of the horizon.

“ON WINGS OF FIRE!”

The battle cry roars from the sky and her Silver Wings charge into the maw of answering blaster bolts, blue shots pelting over their beskar armor like rain drops as they crashed into the disorganized lines. Scattershots, thermal detonators, vibroblades and flamethrowers teared into their brainwashed brothers as they rushed to catch up to their general, heedless of danger.

He and the rest of Noble were not as flashy, nor as loud, it wasn’t in their doctrine, or their nature. Too much like Miss Hebert. But they did their part, they moved at the tip of the spear. Because they had a job, too. Protect the younglings, protect Miss Dallon. And they wouldn’t fail.

He drove forward, rushing to make it towards a forward heavy gun emplacement. He knew the MO: set up, dig in, push out. They were only on the first step, and the heavy repeater was nearly in place for the second. He couldn’t let it happen.

His brainwashed brothers were forming a cordon around the heavy gun, seven men.

A Clone Captain is the one that greeted him. The man’s blaster rifle barked, and Guelzo trusted his armor to take the damage as he activated his jump pack, burning fuel propelling his beskar clad body forward to crash shoulder first into his brainwashed brother’s chest, shattering his armor.

His shoulder smarted, but his brother was sent flying back, ribs likely broken as Guelzo leveled his rifle onto another, firing a quick burst into his side, feeling the impact of something on the back of his head before he turned, wrist mounted ion blaster sending bolts of lightning through a third.

The heavy weapon team were pulling up their own weapons, abandoning the cumbersome repeater to try and defend themselves.

He didn’t bother fighting them, just tossing a concussion grenade.

They tried to scramble away. Too late.

The blast went off as the rest of the armored tide pushed forward and past him.

Guelzo scanned the battlefield, helmet uplink highlighting targets. He started barking out orders, marking priorities and his other brothers, not from Noble, rushed to obey, following his lead. Asimov was right behind him, keeping an uplink to central, giving tactical updates on reinforcements, deployments and damage to the Temple

Weber was far behind them, but his shots cracked open helmets and killed chipped commanders in one shot, covering the men that were pulling back the wounded for Pratchett and the other medics to treat.

Only Cid and Wolffe were in the thick of things ahead of them, diving into the breach. Cid’s shotgun and heavy armor soaked up blaster fire as Wolffe moved like a dervish, vibroswords tearing through the ranks.The blood and gore coated his armor, the snarling visage on his helm making him look genuinely wild even in the midday sun.