Chapter 39: Victory at Christophsis
The battle paused.
Not stopped. Not finished. Just… paused.
War had a rhythm to it. You started noticing that after enough blaster bolts flew past your head. The noise came in waves. Screaming engines, artillery, blaster fire, explosions—and then, occasionally, a weird quiet where everyone on both sides sort of stopped for a minute and tried to figure out what the hell just happened.
Rex collapsing an entire crystal tower across the avenue had apparently qualified as one of those moments.
The street inside the shield dome looked like a scrapyard that had lost a fight with a demolition crew. Droids in pieces everywhere. Broken crystal slabs. Melted scorch marks running across the pavement like someone had tried to draw modern art with a plasma torch.
Clones moved through the wreckage resetting defensive positions, dragging wounded troopers behind cover, checking rifles and ammunition.
The shield still hummed overhead.
And right in the middle of all that—
Anakin Skywalker sat on a supply crate while a medic tried to sew his face back together.
“This is unnecessary,” Anakin muttered.
“Hold still, sir.” Kix leaned closer with the stitching tool.
“I am holding still.”
“You moved.”
“I breathed.”
“Breathing moves your head.”
“What? No, it doesn’t! Are you sure you’re not just terrible at your job?”
Kix didn’t even look impressed.
The medic had the calm patience of someone who had probably stitched together half the battalion by now and no longer had the emotional bandwidth for Jedi nonsense.
“You’re getting stitches whether you like it or not, General.”
“I’m fine.”
“Tell that to the open wound over your eye, sir.”
Anakin scowled.
Across from him, Obi-Wan stood with his arms folded into his sleeves, watching the procedure with the quiet interest of someone observing a mildly educational nature documentary.
“If you prefer not to receive stitches, Anakin,” Obi-Wan said pleasantly, “I recommend not getting your face cut wide open in the first place.”
“It wasn’t my fault!” Anakin glared at him.
Obi-Wan’s eyebrow lifted slightly.
That was the Jedi Master equivalent of a full laugh.
“Oh?”
“Ventress threw sand in my face with the Force. It was completely unavoidable.”
“…that feels very avoidable.” I blinked.
“It wasn’t.”
“If you say so.” I leaned against a broken crystal slab and crossed my arms. “That doesn’t really explain the cut, though. Pretty sure that sand isn’t that sharp.”
Anakin pointed vaguely at the half-finished wound near his eye. “Yeah, well, apparently this sand had crystal shards in it.”
I paused.
Okay.
That was actually a little unfair.
Christophsis was made out of giant crystal formations. The streets were basically one giant geology lesson waiting to happen.
Still.
“Sounds like you got pocket sanded by a Sith.”
“That’s not funny.” Anakin glared at me.
“It’s a little funny.”
Kix pressed the stitching tool against the edge of the cut.
Anakin hissed through his teeth.
“I told you to hold still.”
“I am holding still!”
“You just moved again.”
“I flinched.”
“That counts.”
Obi-Wan watched the entire exchange with the faint, satisfied patience of a man whose terrible student had finally encountered consequences.
“You’re enjoying this.” Anakin pointed accusingly at him.
“I wouldn’t say enjoying,” Obi-Wan replied mildly. “Let’s call it… educational.”
Anakin’s scowl deepened.
“Next time I see Ventress,” he muttered darkly, “I’m choking and then stabbing her.”
Ahsoka stood a few meters away cleaning scorch residue off her lightsaber hilt. Looking very prepared to use it. “That seems excessive,” she said.
“She threw sand in my eye.”
“That’s still excessive.”
“Did you see the sand?”
“I saw the part where you walked straight into it.”
Anakin turned his glare on her.
“Traitor.”
Ahsoka didn’t even look up.
Maris walked over at that exact moment.
She stopped beside the group, surveyed the scene for about two seconds, and then turned toward Obi-Wan. “Can we trade Masters?”
Ahsoka’s hand shot up instantly.
“Yes.” She nodded rapidly. “Yes please.”
Obi-Wan closed his eyes.
Not dramatically. Just the slow, tired blink of a man who had spent the last several years supervising the most chaotic collection of Force-sensitive teenagers in the galaxy.
“No.”
Maris tilted her head slightly. “Why not?”
“Because that is not how Jedi mentorship works.”
She considered that.
Then glanced toward Ahsoka again.
“I tried.” Ahsoka shrugged helplessly.
Obi-Wan pinched the bridge of his nose.
War, apparently, had not reduced the Jedi Order’s ability to become deeply dysfunctional.
Behind us, blaster fire cracked in the distance as clones traded cautious shots with droid patrols probing the barricade line.
The temporary lull in the battle clearly wasn’t going to last much longer.
“There.” Kix finished the final stitch and leaned back slightly.
Anakin reached up immediately.
“Don’t touch it,” Kix said.
“I’m checking it.”
“You’re going to tear it open again.”
“I’m not.”
“You absolutely are.”
“…fine.”
Anakin lowered his hand slowly. He still looked like he wanted to stab someone. Which, to be fair, was a fairly standard Skywalker emotional baseline.
Boots crunched across shattered crystal nearby.
Captain Rex approached the group, helmet tucked under one arm. His armor looked even more scorched than usual, dusted with white crystal powder from the tower collapse.
He stopped beside Obi-Wan.
“General.”
Obi-Wan turned slightly. “Captain.”
Rex glanced once toward the distant glow of the shield generator further down the avenue.
Even from here it was hard to miss. The massive projector loomed over the battlefield like some kind of ugly mechanical monument.
Still running.
Still protecting the entire droid formation.
“We found something,” Rex said.
That got everyone’s attention immediately.
“What kind of something?” Anakin asked.
Rex crouched slightly and tapped a cracked section of pavement with the toe of his boot.
“Maintenance conduit.”
I frowned.
“For the generator?”
Rex nodded.
“Scouts spotted the access point a block over. Runs underneath the street grid straight toward the projector.”
That was…
Interesting.
Ahsoka stepped closer.
“So we could sneak under the shield?”
“Not quite.” Rex shook his head. “It gets close to the generator housing, but someone still has to get topside to sabotage it.”
Which meant—
Everyone in the little group looked toward the distant projector.
The humming shield dome overhead flickered faintly as artillery outside the barrier continued hammering against it.
None of the shots got through.
They wouldn’t.
Not until the generator went down.
Which meant someone had to walk straight into the middle of the droid formation and break it from the inside.
Again.
Anakin stood up from the crate.
The stitching over his eye pulled slightly.
He didn’t seem to care.
“Well,” he said.
His grin looked dangerously familiar.
“That sounds like a job for us.”
And just like that—
The lull in the battle was over.
…
The grin on Anakin’s face should have come with a public safety warning.
I’d seen that expression before. Usually right before something exploded.
Sometimes before something exploded twice.
Rex didn’t look nearly as enthusiastic.
“The conduit entrance is about a hundred meters back,” he said, crouching beside a chunk of fallen crystal and sketching a rough map into the dust with the tip of his knife. “Maintenance line. Narrow. Probably not designed for traffic, but we can move a small team through it.”
The lines he scratched formed a crude grid of the surrounding streets.
At the far end he drew a rough circle.
“The generator.”
Even from here you could hear it. A deep mechanical hum that vibrated faintly through the ground.
That ugly machine was the only thing standing between the Republic and breaking the droid army’s defensive line.
Obi-Wan studied the map quietly.
Then he glanced toward the generator.
Then back toward the lines of droids visible down the avenue beyond the wreckage.
The gears in his head were almost audible.
Finally he nodded once.
“I believe we can work with this.”
“That sounded suspiciously like a plan.” Anakin folded his arms, the fresh scar above his eye somehow making his usual scowl look almost respectable, instead of just petulant.
“It is a plan.”
“Should I be worried?”
“Only if you plan on improvising.”
Anakin looked personally attacked.
Obi-Wan ignored him and turned slightly toward Rex and the surrounding clone officers.
“The droid command post is located approximately two blocks beyond the generator,” he said calmly. “Which means they are currently operating under the assumption that we remain trapped behind their shield.”
“They’re dug in.” Rex nodded slowly.
“Precisely.” Obi-Wan clasped his hands behind his back, adopting the relaxed posture of a man explaining a particularly dull lecture. “I will approach the command post.”
“…you’re what?” Anakin blinked.
“I will surrender.”
The silence that followed was impressive.
Ahsoka stared.
Rex stared.
Several nearby clones stopped pretending they weren’t eavesdropping.
I stared.
Maris didn’t even blink.
“That is the dumbest thing I’ve heard all day.” Anakin leaned forward slightly.
“It’s a bluff, Anakin.” Obi-Wan sighed the sigh of a man who had raised a particularly difficult child, who continued to live with him well into adulthood. It was a very painful sigh.
“I figured that part out.”
“Good. Then try to keep up.”
He gestured toward Rex’s crude map.
“If their command structure believes the Republic is willing to surrender the position, their attention will shift. Confusion. Verification. Negotiation.” His finger tapped the circle representing the generator. “Which will provide us a brief window.”
Understanding spread across Rex’s expression.
“A strike team.”
“Exactly.”
“Now you’re talking.” Anakin’s grin returned instantly.
“Don’t get too excited.” Obi-Wan gave him a very pointed look. “You and Ahsoka will take the conduit.”
“Yes, Master.” Ahsoka straightened immediately. She might like to hide it behind being the ‘sane’ one, but she’s just as much of an adrenaline junkie as the rest of us. Trust me. I could feel her eagerness.
“You will exit near the generator housing, sabotage the projector, and collapse the shield.”
Anakin cracked his knuckles.
“Finally.”
“However,” Obi-Wan continued smoothly, “the droid army between here and the generator will still exist.”
Right.
That part.
Because while Anakin and Ahsoka crawled through the underground maintenance tunnel and Obi-Wan walked off to commit the most polite fake surrender in galactic history…
Someone still had to fight the entire front line.
Rex was already turning toward the clone officers.
“We’ll push the avenue,” he said. “Advance under cover once the strike team gets close.”
Clones began moving immediately.
Orders passed down the line.
Weapons checked.
Positions adjusted.
The moment of stillness that followed the tower collapse was evaporating fast.
The battle was waking back up.
Maris stepped forward before anyone could say anything else.
“I’ll lead the advance.”
The statement landed like a thrown knife.
Simple.
Flat.
Completely serious.
Rex blinked once.
Ahsoka looked between Maris and the approaching droid lines.
“Are you sure? That’s… a lot of droids.”
“Yeah. Droids.” Maris shrugged slightly, completely unconcerned. “It’s like fighting tirelessly of grass with a lawnmower.”
Fair point. (Not that I’ll ever tell my droids that.)
Unfortunately, there were a lot of them.
Which meant—
Right.
Great.
Fantastic.
Apparently my survival instincts had decided to take the afternoon off.
I stepped forward beside her.
“I’ll go too.”
Ahsoka turned toward me immediately.
“You don’t have to—”
“Yeah, I do.”
Because if I didn’t, then there would have been exactly one Padawan marching on this battlefield. And her name wasn’t Skywalker, so I don’t think plot armor would favor her.
Letting Maris charge the entire droid line alone while I stood behind the crates pretending to supervise felt… extremely cowardly.
Also stupid.
Also like something she would never let me forget.
So.
Here we were.
Maris glanced sideways at me.
A faint smirk touched the corner of her mouth.
Didn’t say anything.
Didn’t need to.
Obi-Wan studied both of us.
It was a long look.
Not angry.
Not disapproving.
Just… careful.
Like he was trying to measure something he couldn’t quite see.
For a moment I wondered if he could feel it.
The other side of the Force.
The one Maris and I had spent months learning how to hide. Korriban, the Force Order, they still lingered somewhere under the surface of my thoughts. Quiet. Cold. Patient.
But Obi-Wan finally nodded.
“Very well.”
Relief wasn’t quite the right word for the feeling that followed. More like… acceptance.
The shape of the battle had settled.
Three directions.
Three gambles.
“I will proceed toward the command post and initiate the surrender negotiation.” Obi-Wan calmly stated.
Translation: walk into the middle of the enemy army and start talking.
“You two will take the conduit and disable the generator.” He gestured toward Anakin and Ahsoka.
Anakin ignited his lightsaber with a snap-hiss.
The blue blade hummed eagerly in the dim light under the shield.
Ahsoka rolled her shoulders and clipped her own sabers to her belt.
Then Obi-Wan looked toward the avenue.
Toward the ranks of battle droids slowly reorganizing beyond the wreckage.
“And the rest of us,” he finished calmly, “will keep them busy.”
Rex slid his helmet back onto his head.
“Clones, on me!”
The troopers snapped into motion.
Lines forming.
Blasters rising.
The low mechanical chatter of the droid army echoed down the street as their scanners picked up the sudden surge of activity.
The pause in the battle had lasted maybe ten minutes.
That was generous.
Maris ignited her lightsaber.
The blue blade carved a bright line through the dusty air. Even is she wielded it like a serial killer.
A few nearby clones glanced at it.
Nobody said anything.
By this point the war had gotten weird enough that a particular aggressive lightsaber-wielder probably ranked somewhere below “entire tower falling out of the sky.”
I reached for my own weapon.
The familiar weight settled into my palm.
Funny thing about war.
You could know exactly how insane your life had become…
…and still step forward anyway.
Across the street, the first wave of B1 battle droids began marching toward the Republic line.
Blasters lifted.
Targeting sensors flashed.
“Advance!” Rex’s voice barked across the comm channel.
And just like that—
The battlefield split three ways.
…
The clones were charging again.
Ventress watched them from the shattered balcony of a half-collapsed crystal structure, arms folded loosely behind her back as the white-armored soldiers advanced through the ruined avenue below.
They had enthusiasm, she would give them that.
Unfortunately enthusiasm was not a substitute for intelligence.
“Pathetic,” she muttered.
The shield generator hummed behind the droid lines, projecting its shimmering barrier across the battlefield. Republic artillery continued hammering uselessly against it from outside the dome.
Inside, the clones were running out of clever ideas.
Which meant they had apparently settled on dying bravely instead.
Battle droids shifted into firing positions along the barricades. Blasters lifted in mechanical unison.
The first volley cracked across the street.
Several clones dropped instantly.
The rest kept coming.
Ventress tilted her head slightly.
There it was.
The familiar ripple in the Force.
Jedi.
Of course.
They always arrived right when the Republic ran out of better options.
She pushed away from the broken railing and stepped down into the street, red lightsabers snapping to life in her hands as she moved toward the advancing line.
Perhaps this charge would be more entertaining than the last.
Her boots crunched over shattered crystal as she emerged between the droid ranks.
Blaster fire streaked overhead.
Clones ducked behind broken columns and blasted back.
And then she saw them.
Two figures moving ahead of the clone line.
Young.
Smaller than the knights she usually fought.
Ventress’s smile widened slowly.
Padawans.
“Oh,” she murmured, igniting the second blade with a pleased flick of her wrist. “How delightful.”
The first one rushed her immediately.
A pale girl with short dark hair and a blue lightsaber already cutting through the nearest battle droids with alarming speed.
Aggressive.
Direct.
Not the cautious defensive style the Jedi Order usually forced on their students.
Interesting.
The second figure followed close behind.
A boy roughly the same age—
—and the weapon in his hand made Ventress stop for half a heartbeat.
The blade ignited with a flat, violent snap.
Not blue.
Not green.
Black.
The blade burned like a crack in reality, edged with white energy that hummed with a tone Ventress had not heard in more than a year.
The Darksaber.
Her smile faded slightly.
Well.
That was… unexpected.
The girl reached her first.
Ventress met the attack easily, crossing one saber to intercept the blue blade while the second spun low toward the girl’s legs.
The Padawan twisted sideways with surprising speed, avoiding the cut by a hair’s breadth and countering with a vicious downward strike aimed straight at Ventress’s shoulder.
Ventress leaned back.
The blade sliced through empty air inches from her face.
Aggressive.
Very aggressive.
The girl pressed forward immediately, attacks coming faster now. Brutal. Precise. Not the flowing defensive patterns of a temple-trained student.
She fought like someone trying to kill her.
Ventress parried three rapid strikes and stepped aside as the second Padawan entered the fight.
The black blade came in low.
Ventress caught it between her sabers.
The impact vibrated up her arms.
She stared.
Up close the weapon was unmistakable.
Flat blade. White edge. Ancient design.
“Where…” Her voice lowered slightly as she studied the weapon. “Did you get that?”
The boy didn’t answer.
Didn’t boast.
Didn’t threaten.
He simply twisted his wrist and slid the blade free before stepping back into position beside the girl.
Ventress narrowed her eyes.
The girl attacked again.
Not alone this time.
The boy moved with her.
Not behind.
Not ahead.
With.
Their strikes overlapped in a way that made her instincts prickle.
Two attacks from different angles.
Different rhythms.
Different styles.
Yet perfectly synchronized.
Ventress retreated one step.
Then another.
Her sabers spun defensively as she studied them more closely.
This wasn’t normal.
Padawans didn’t fight like this.
They fought too carefully. Too predictably. Too desperate to prove themselves.
These two moved like predators who had hunted together before.
The girl vanished.
Ventress blinked.
Not fast.
Not blurred.
Gone.
A ripple brushed against the edge of her senses an instant before the blue blade came screaming toward her spine.
Ventress spun and barely caught the strike in time, sparks exploding between the blades as the girl reappeared behind her like a phantom.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
Ventress pushed them apart with a burst of strength and circled slowly.
“What are you?” she asked lightly.
The girl said nothing.
The boy remained silent.
“You certainly don’t fight like Jedi.” Ventress’s smile returned, thin and sharp.
The boy lunged forward again.
Ventress met him head-on, locking blades with the Darksaber as the girl circled to flank her.
Up close she studied him.
Young.
Too young for that level of control.
His strikes were precise. Efficient. No wasted movement.
Disciplined.
Not the reckless aggression she expected from children.
Yet not Jedi either.
The blade twisted against hers, forcing her to shift her stance.
Ventress leaned closer.
“You shouldn’t have that weapon,” she murmured. Her gaze flicked briefly toward the blade.
Pre Vizsla.
What an incompetent waste of a warrior. Couldn’t even defend himself from a child.
The girl attacked again.
Ventress disengaged just in time to block the incoming strike, their blades crashing together in a shower of sparks.
The two Padawans pressed forward again.
And again.
Ventress’s smile faded completely.
Because the longer the fight continued…
…the stranger it felt.
Their coordination wasn’t just good.
It was unnatural.
They moved like mirrored shadows.
One attacked.
The other cut off the escape.
Every strike flowed seamlessly into the next.
Years of practice.
Years of fighting side by side.
Ventress reached into the Force.
Just for a moment.
Just enough to feel them.
And froze.
Something was wrong.
Their presences were there.
Bright.
Strong.
Young.
But layered beneath that—
Something darker.
Faint.
Hidden.
Two shadows coiled beneath the surface of their light like reflections in black glass.
Ventress’s eyes widened slightly.
For a moment a dangerous thought flickered through her mind.
Two Sith?
Impossible.
Count Dooku would know.
He would absolutely know.
Which meant—
Her hesitation lasted less than a second.
It was still enough.
The boy slipped inside her guard.
The Darksaber slashed across her sleeve, slicing fabric and drawing a thin line of plasma burns across her arm.
Ventress leapt backward instantly, sabers spinning defensively as the two young fighters pressed forward together.
Now she was smiling again.
But it wasn’t amusement anymore.
It was interest.
Because whatever these two were…
They were not ordinary Jedi.
And Ventress had the sudden, unpleasant suspicion that this battle had just become far more complicated than she had planned.
…
The maintenance conduit was exactly as unpleasant as Ahsoka had expected.
Dark. Narrow. Full of ancient dust and humming power lines that vibrated through the metal walls like a distant swarm of angry insects.
Also crawling with clones carrying enough explosives to remove several city blocks from the map.
Which was reassuring.
In a deeply concerning way.
Ahead of her, Anakin crawled through the tunnel like a man who had never once encountered the concept of claustrophobia. He moved fast, confident, occasionally glancing over his shoulder to make sure the commandos were keeping up.
Ahsoka followed close behind, ducking beneath a bundle of cables.
“You’re enjoying this way too much,” she muttered.
“Of course I am.” Anakin’s voice carried easily down the narrow passage. “We’re about to blow up the biggest target on the battlefield.”
“That’s not the part I meant.”
“Oh.” He glanced back at her with that grin again. “The sneaking part?”
“Yes.”
“It’s tactical infiltration.”
“It’s crawling through a maintenance pipe.”
“Same thing.”
Ahsoka sighed.
Behind them the clone commandos advanced in disciplined silence, armor scraping faintly against the walls as they carried crates of detonators and shaped charges toward the generator core.
The tunnel angled upward.
Light appeared ahead.
Anakin slowed, raising a hand.
The team stopped instantly.
He leaned carefully toward the grated opening at the end of the conduit and peered through the narrow slats.
Ahsoka edged closer behind him.
The shield generator dominated the plaza outside.
Up close it looked even bigger.
A massive lattice of armored supports surrounding a glowing central column that pulsed with energy powerful enough to hold back an entire artillery barrage.
Battle droids stood guard around the perimeter.
B1s.
Several heavier units.
And—
Ahsoka groaned quietly.
“Droidekas.”
Two of the destroyer droids rolled slowly around the generator’s base, shields flickering faintly as their sensors scanned the surrounding streets.
Anakin tilted his head thoughtfully.
“Well,” he murmured.
“That’s inconvenient.”
“That’s one word for it.”
He pulled back from the grate and glanced toward the commandos.
“We’re going loud.”
The clones nodded once.
Charges were passed forward.
Detonators checked.
Rifles raised.
Anakin ignited his lightsaber.
The blue blade lit the cramped conduit with a sudden sapphire glow.
Ahsoka ignited hers beside him.
“Ready?”
“Always.”
Anakin kicked the grate out.
Metal shrieked as it tore free and clattered across the pavement.
The battle droids turned immediately.
“INTRUDERS DETECT—”
Blaster fire erupted.
The commandos poured out of the conduit in a tight formation, rifles barking as they cut down the nearest B1s before the droids could fully react.
Ahsoka vaulted out behind Anakin, her lightsaber flashing as she deflected a volley of incoming shots back into the droid line.
The plaza exploded into chaos.
“MOVE!” Anakin shouted.
The commandos sprinted toward the generator supports while Ahsoka and Anakin surged ahead of them, sabers cutting through the first wave of droids.
Blaster bolts flashed across the open space.
Two clones dropped as return fire stitched across the ground.
The droidekas reacted instantly.
Their spherical frames snapped open as they deployed into firing position.
Energy shields flared to life around them.
“Great,” Ahsoka muttered.
Twin cannons roared.
Anakin didn’t slow down.
Of course he didn’t.
He ran straight at them.
“MASTER—”
He leapt.
Ahsoka watched in a mixture of horror and reluctant admiration as Anakin launched himself upward with the Force, clearing the droidekas’ firing arc and landing directly on the armored structure of the generator.
Blaster fire chased him up the metal supports.
He ignored it.
“This is so much fun!” Anakin shouted.
Ahsoka rubbed her temples for half a second before sprinting forward again.
Of course it was.
Of course he was enjoying himself.
Behind her the commandos reached the base of the generator.
“Charges set!” one of them shouted.
Explosives were slammed against the armored housing, magnetic clamps locking the devices into place along the structural joints.
Blaster fire intensified.
More droids flooded into the plaza.
Ahsoka spun through the incoming fire, deflecting bolts while the clones worked.
A droideka rolled toward the demolition team.
Its cannons roared.
Ahsoka dove in front of them, her blade catching the incoming bolts and sending them ricocheting wildly across the pavement.
The commandos finished planting the last charge.
“Detonators ready!”
“Master!” Ahsoka shouted, looking up.
Anakin was halfway up the generator tower now, clinging to a framework of armored plating while slicing into the main housing with broad, violent strokes.
Sparks sprayed into the air.
“Almost there!” he yelled back.
Another droideka opened fire.
The commandos scattered for cover.
Ahsoka deflected three bolts and barely managed to duck the fourth as it blasted a crater into the ground beside her.
This was getting bad.
Fast.
Above them, Anakin tore a section of the generator casing free and tossed the heavy plate aside.
The glowing core inside pulsed brighter now.
“Got it!”
He reached inside the exposed compartment and yanked free the detonator relay by hand.
The cables sparked violently as they tore loose.
“NOW!” he shouted.
The commandos hit the triggers.
The charges detonated all at once.
The explosion ripped through the generator housing like a thunderclap.
Metal supports shattered.
Energy surged wildly through the exposed core.
Anakin dropped from the structure a split second before the entire tower erupted in a blinding column of fire and electricity.
The shockwave blasted across the plaza.
Ahsoka hit the ground as debris rained down around them.
For one heartbeat—
Everything went silent.
Then the shield above the city flickered.
The enormous dome of energy shuddered once.
Twice.
And collapsed.
Far beyond the city walls—
Republic artillery opened fire.
The first barrage screamed overhead like falling stars before slamming directly into the exposed droid formation.
Explosions rippled across the battlefield.
Battle droids vanished in clouds of fire and shattered metal.
The defensive line disintegrated almost instantly.
Ahsoka pushed herself up slowly, ears ringing as she stared at the burning wreckage of the generator.
Anakin landed beside her in a crouch, grinning like a man who had just won a particularly exciting game.
“Told you that would work.”
Ahsoka stared at him.
Then at the flaming crater where the generator had been.
Then back at him.
She sighed.
For a brief, shining moment, she strongly considered asking Maris again if they could trade Masters.
Then again…
Obi-Wan had apparently allowed Maris and Ben to charge a droid army by themselves.
Maybe the entire Jedi Order had collectively lost its mind.
Behind them, the clones surged forward as the Republic offensive roared back to life.
And somewhere across the battlefield—
Two Padawans were still fighting a Sith.
…
Obi-Wan Kenobi had been in worse positions.
Admittedly, not many.
The ray shield dome shimmered overhead like a massive translucent prison, sealing the Republic forces inside the Separatist kill zone while droid artillery methodically reduced their defensive positions one block at a time.
Strategically speaking, it was an excellent trap.
Morally speaking, it was exactly the sort of thing that made Obi-Wan dislike the Separatists.
Across the shattered plaza, the source of his current predicament stood atop a repulsor platform with all the smug theatricality one would expect from a being who had just successfully cornered a Jedi.
General Loathsom was an unpleasantly shaped Kerkoiden whose armor seemed designed specifically to make him appear taller than he actually was.
Which, given Kerkoiden physiology, felt particularly unnecessary.
Obi-Wan stood calmly in the middle of the plaza with his hands folded neatly inside his sleeves.
Behind him, battered clone troopers held the remaining defensive line.
In front of him, rows upon rows of battle droids aimed blasters in polite anticipation of his surrender.
The Force was unusually quiet.
Not silent.
Just… distracted.
Somewhere in the city, Anakin was undoubtedly doing something creative.
That was rarely comforting.
“Well?” Loathsom’s voice echoed smugly across the plaza. “Have you reached a decision, Jedi?”
Obi-Wan inclined his head slightly, as though carefully considering the question.
“I have indeed.” He lifted his gaze politely. “However, before we proceed, I do have several terms.”
Loathsom’s thin smile widened.
“Terms?” The Kerkoiden laughed softly. “You are in no position to negotiate.”
“On the contrary,” Obi-Wan replied pleasantly. “Surrender negotiations are notoriously delicate matters. One must maintain certain standards.”
Behind him, one of the clone commanders shifted slightly.
Obi-Wan raised a subtle hand without looking.
The clone stilled immediately.
Excellent.
Time was precious.
Every second mattered.
Somewhere beyond the shield dome, Republic artillery was waiting for the barrier to fall.
Somewhere inside the city—
Anakin, Ahsoka, and an unfortunate number of demolition charges were attempting to make that happen.
Which meant Obi-Wan’s current responsibility was quite simple.
Stall.
“Very well,” Loathsom said impatiently. “State your terms.”
Obi-Wan cleared his throat politely.
“First,” he began, “I will require assurances regarding the humane treatment of the Republic prisoners.”
“Of course.”
“Second,” Obi-Wan continued, “the clones under my command are to receive full medical attention for their injuries.”
Loathsom waved a dismissive hand.
“Yes, yes.”
“And third…” Obi-Wan paused thoughtfully.
The plaza was quiet.
Blasters remained trained on him.
The ray shield above continued humming steadily.
Still active.
Still very much intact.
“…I would prefer a moderately sized cell,” Obi-Wan finished. “Preferably with natural lighting. I find extended confinement rather unpleasant otherwise.”
Loathsom blinked.
“What?”
“Come now.” Obi-Wan smiled mildly. “One simply must think of long-term repercussions.”
Behind him, the clone commander coughed.
Obi-Wan resisted the urge to glance back.
He longed for the days when his biggest concerns were fussing over reckless children. Though, he supposed that, at least, has changed very little.
Ben had always possessed a remarkable talent for finding trouble. Maris had a remarkable talent for encouraging it. And Ahsoka—
Well.
Ahsoka was now being trained by Anakin.
Which meant the Force alone knew what sort of chaos the three of them were currently generating somewhere across the battlefield.
Loathsom cleared his throat loudly.
“Are you finished?”
“Not quite.” Obi-Wan folded his hands again. “Fourth, I would appreciate access to reading materials. Something historical perhaps. Your people have such fascinating military traditions.”
The Kerkoiden stared at him.
“You are negotiating the terms of your imprisonment.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Obi-Wan offered a patient smile.
“Preparation is the foundation of successful diplomacy.”
Behind him, distant explosions rumbled faintly through the city.
Obi-Wan felt the disturbance through the Force like a ripple across still water.
Interesting.
Something large had just happened.
Loathsom leaned forward on his platform.
“Enough of this. You will surrender your weapon and kneel.”
Obi-Wan tilted his head slightly.
“I’m afraid that would violate the fifth condition.”
“There is no fifth condition.”
“There is now.”
Loathsom’s eyes narrowed.
“And what is this condition?”
Obi-Wan considered for a moment.
“Tea.”
The Kerkoiden blinked again.
“I beg your pardon?”
“If I am to surrender,” Obi-Wan continued calmly, “I would very much like a proper cup of tea beforehand.”
Silence spread across the plaza.
Even the battle droids appeared confused.
Behind him, a clone made a strangled noise that might have been laughter.
Loathsom’s patience finally snapped.
“This is ridiculous! You are surrounded! Your forces are trapped beneath my shield! You have no leverage whatsoever!”
Obi-Wan opened his mouth to respond—
—and the sky flickered.
The enormous ray shield dome shimmered violently.
Every head in the plaza turned upward.
The energy field crackled once.
Twice.
Then it collapsed.
The shimmering barrier vanished like mist under sunlight.
For a single stunned heartbeat—
Nothing happened.
Then the distant thunder of Republic artillery rolled across the horizon.
Loathsom’s expression collapsed into horror.
The first barrage screamed overhead seconds later.
Shells tore into the exposed droid formations surrounding the plaza.
Explosions erupted in a chain reaction of fire and flying metal.
Battle droids disintegrated.
Armored walkers toppled.
The carefully arranged kill zone dissolved into chaos.
Obi-Wan slowly looked back at Loathsom.
“Well,” he said mildly, brushing a bit of dust from his sleeve, “this does appear to complicate matters.”
The Kerkoiden gaped.
Obi-Wan straightened slightly, serene composure returning like a familiar cloak.
“In light of this development,” he continued pleasantly, “I believe it is now my turn to discuss terms.”
Another artillery barrage detonated behind the droid lines.
The surviving battle droids began retreating in disorganized clusters.
Loathsom’s repulsor platform wobbled as nearby explosions rocked the plaza.
Obi-Wan offered the Kerkoiden a polite smile.
“Shall we begin with the subject of your surrender?”
…
Ventress was smiling.
That was probably a bad sign.
Her red blades spun lazily in her hands as she circled us through the wreckage of the plaza, pale eyes flicking back and forth between Maris and me like a predator deciding which prey looked tastier.
Blaster fire cracked somewhere beyond the ruined columns. Clones shouting. Droids answering in that cheerful monotone they always used right before trying to murder someone.
But right here, in the middle of the shattered street, the war had shrunk down to three people and a lot of broken crystal.
Maris shifted beside me, blue blade angled forward. “She’s stalling.”
“No,” I muttered, tightening my grip on the Darksaber. The black blade hummed softly in my hand. “She’s thinking.”
Which was worse.
Ventress wasn’t breathing hard.
Wasn’t frustrated.
If anything she looked curious.
That was the problem.
Curious Sith lived longer than angry ones.
She stepped forward suddenly.
We moved at the same time.
Maris came in high.
I went low.
Ventress twisted between us like liquid shadow, one saber catching Maris’s strike while the other slammed into mine.
The impact jarred up my arm.
She was strong.
Stronger than she looked.
“You two really are fascinating,” Ventress murmured as our blades locked. “So young…”
Maris shoved harder. “You talk too much.”
Ventress laughed softly and disengaged.
We pressed the attack immediately.
Blue and black blades cut through the air in perfect rhythm, forcing her backward across the cracked pavement.
She parried.
Dodged.
Countered.
But she wasn’t smiling anymore.
Because she could feel it now.
The same thing she’d noticed earlier.
The rhythm.
The coordination.
Two people fighting like they’d trained together for years.
Which, technically, we had.
Ventress slid past another strike and glanced at the weapon in my hand again.
The Darksaber.
Her eyes narrowed.
“It truly is a work of art,” she said quietly.
“Yeah.” I shrugged slightly as I advanced again. “I’ve been hearing that a lot lately.”
Maris snorted.
“Perhaps I’ll show it off to the droid-general, after I pluck it off your corpse.” Ventress blocked another strike and spun away—and the sky flickered.
The ray shield dome above the city crackled like a lightning storm.
Every instinct in my body snapped toward it.
Ventress felt it too.
Her head tilted upward just as the massive energy field shuddered once.
Twice.
Then vanished.
For half a second the entire battlefield went quiet.
Then the first Republic artillery shells screamed overhead.
The explosions started a moment later.
Ventress looked back at us.
Not angry.
Not surprised.
Just… calculating.
Across the city, the droid formations were already beginning to break under the sudden bombardment. Blaster fire intensified. Clone troopers surged forward through the collapsing lines.
The battle was over.
She knew it.
We knew it.
Ventress lowered her sabers slowly.
For a moment I thought she might try something desperate.
Instead she studied us.
Really studied us.
Her pale eyes moved from Maris to me and back again, like she was committing our faces to memory.
“You two…” Her voice was quiet now, thoughtful in a way that made the back of my neck itch. “…are going to be a problem.”
Maris tilted her head. “We get that a lot too.”
Ventress smiled faintly.
Then she stepped backward into the drifting smoke—and vanished.
Not running.
Not scrambling.
Just… gone.
Maris lowered her blade with a sharp exhale. “Oh come on.”
I blinked at the empty street.
“That’s it?”
“That’s it?!” Maris echoed, throwing her hands up. “I was winning!”
“You were not winning.”
“I was about to win.”
“You say that every time.”
“I was!”
She kicked a broken piece of crystal across the street in disgust before deactivating her saber with an irritated snap.
The sounds of battle were fading now.
Blaster fire gave way to cheering.
Clone troopers were pouring into the plaza from three different directions, driving the remaining droids back toward the outskirts of the city.
A few surviving Separatist transports were already lifting into the sky.
Retreat.
Christophsis was ours.
Captain Rex emerged from the advancing clone line, helmet tucked beneath his arm as he surveyed the battlefield with the calm efficiency of someone already organizing the aftermath.
“Push them to the perimeter!” he shouted to a group of troopers. “Don’t let them regroup!”
The clones answered with enthusiastic cheers before charging after the retreating droids.
Maris watched them go, still looking annoyed. “She ran.”
“Smart of her.”
“I hate when villains do that.”
“You’d do the same thing.”
She considered that.
“…okay, yeah.”
The distant rumble of artillery faded as the Republic forces secured the city.
More clones arrived.
Medics.
Engineers.
The battlefield slowly transformed from chaos into controlled victory.
Obi-Wan appeared a few minutes later, walking through the smoke with the same calm composure he somehow managed even in the middle of a war zone.
Maris straightened slightly.
“Master.”
Obi-Wan gave her a quick once-over, making sure she still had all her limbs. “Padawan. I trust everything remained under control?”
“Mostly.”
His gaze shifted to the Darksaber in my hand.
A faint, complicated expression flickered across his face.
Then it vanished behind his usual polite calm.
“Ben,” he said simply.
“Master Kenobi.”
Before he could say anything else, a familiar voice cut across the plaza.
“Did you see that explosion?”
Anakin Skywalker strode into the square looking entirely too pleased with himself, Ahsoka trailing behind him with the exhausted expression of someone who had been forced to supervise his ideas for several hours.
“The whole generator just—” Anakin spread his hands dramatically. “—boom.”
“We noticed,” Obi-Wan replied dryly.
Ahsoka pointed at him. “He jumped on top of it.”
Obi-Wan closed his eyes briefly.
“Of course he did.”
“It worked!” Anakin protested.
Maris crossed her arms. “You blew up the shield generator?”
“Yes.”
She scowled at him. “You ruined my duel.”
Anakin blinked.
“You were dueling someone?”
“Ventress.”
“…oh.”
Maris pointed accusingly. “I was about to win.”
Anakin looked at me.
I shrugged.
“Debatable.”
The clones around us were celebrating now.
Victory chants.
Helmet knocks.
Someone had started dragging captured battle droids into a growing scrap pile.
Christophsis was saved.
For today.
I turned slowly, looking out across the ruined city.
Smoke curled into the sky.
Blaster scorch marks covered the crystal streets.
Clone troopers moved through the wreckage like ghosts in white armor.
Victory felt… strange.
Not wrong.
Just incomplete.
Because beneath the cheers and the celebration, the Force still felt uneasy.
Like distant thunder you could hear long before the storm arrived.
The war had started early.
The timeline was already off the rails.
And if this battle had proven anything…
It was that changing the future was a lot harder than I’d hoped.
Behind me, Maris and Ahsoka were arguing with Anakin about who had technically ruined whose plan.
Obi-Wan was attempting diplomacy.
Rex was organizing the clones.
Christophsis had survived.
For now.
But as I watched the smoke rise over the battlefield, the uneasy weight in the Force refused to fade.
This was only the beginning.
We won the battle.
But the war waged on.