The Weaving Force: Chapter 41 (Patreon)

Aras:

“Only one of us in danger at a time.”

He’d promised her that.

He kept that promise.

He hadn’t fired a single shot- not until she was on the evac-shuttle headed towards The Ch’u’igar; towards captain Cadera, where she’d be safe.

Him; he would stay.

He hefted his heavy repeater up, unlocking its forward grip, setting the but of the weapon onto its custom cradle at his waist as he turned to join the fight.

Quenlos Torald spotted him. The comm specialist was beginning to set up a proper relay, surrounded by three guards; just in case.

“Ahh the kandosii Aras. You didn’t accompany your riduur?” he asked; the question belying a teasing note - one Aras was sure he would be hearing well into the future from many Di'kut.

He ignored the question. “The Jedi. Where are they?” he asked, instead, his voice rumbling out of the sealed helmet.

Quenlos, at least, knew when to pay attention to the task at hand. A holo-map bloomed up from his wrist-mounted projector.

“The station is enormous. But far as our scans picked up, the Jedi are mostly clustered here.” He pointed. A junction, two levels below them, near the center of the derelict.

“They’re trapped. Ray shields and blast doors,” Quenlos continued. “We have a team headed towards the engineering deck. Supposedly there’s other Jedi down there fighting. We’ve got another team with a slicer droid trying to see if they can just cut straight to them, but there’s heavy fightin’ that way. The Bando’Gora don’t want no one lettin’ those Jedi out.”

Then that’s where he was headed.

He started walking.

“I’ll be sure to regale your beloved with tales of your heroics,” Quenlos called after him.

Aras grunted. ‘Di'kut.’

He caught sight of the boy, Dennis, and his partner, Rugess, both near their ship.

As soon as the boy saw him, he straightened, standing and moving to check his weapon. Ready to follow him.

“She would not wish you hurt,” was all he said as he began to walk past. The boy was more  man than boy, now. It was not his place to coddle him.

“Not planning on it.” He shook his head. His armor was dented, burnt and scarred from the fighting.

Many close calls.

“But one of the Jedi here… I know her. We know her,” the boy emphasized, and Aras realized he meant Hannah knew this Jedi, rather than Rugess. The boy lifted up his weapon. “So I ain't leaving ‘til this is done and we can talk with her.

Aras turned, eyeing the boy. He could not see his face, but by the way he stood, his voice… This was about something more than a mere girl that he knew.

“And your ship?”

“Rugess will stay.” He nodded towards the Bith who nodded back very quickly. “We can use it as an emergency med station and transport to get out if things go pear shaped.”

Aras shrugged. “Very well. Do not fall behind and do not get yourself killed.”

“Roger roger.” The boy saluted, half mockingly as they exited the hangar bay to round the first corner, the firefight in the halls still erupting with flashes of red, yellow and green.

Aras finally caught sight of the dogs that had shot at his riduur.

Rabid mutts like these needed to be put down.

He leveled his heavy repeater and started firing.

(X)(X)(X)

Dooku

In spite of the fact that their battle was limited to this chamber at the heart of the station; the tides and eddies of the Force allowed both him and Sidious a modicum of awareness of the battle beyond its walls.

As such; the both of them felt when the tide turned.

Dooku was still worried about Anakin, still aware that something was deeply troubling his young student; but he could see now a fervor to Sidious’ attacks, a desperation that wasn’t there before.

Soon, whatever had waylaid the Jedi Masters would be cast aside, and his fellows would be here; as powerful as the Sith was, he could not contend with the full unbridled might of Six Jedi Masters at once.

And the Sith knew it too.

But that was a double edged blade.

It gave Dooku a strategy, a way to win; just hold out long enough and Sidious would either be killed, or be forced to flee, which would merely get him killed later; with his identity exposed, all Dooku needed was to survive.

But that fear, that desperation and the anger that came with it fueled the Sith’s already tremendous power in the force.

Every blow felt heavier, the choking miasma of the Darkside almost felt like a physical enemy in its own right and Sidious’ relentless assault grew more frenzied, and it was all Dooku could do to keep up with the raging Sith.

His blade deflected a thrust, the kinetic force allowing him to reposition the tip for a counter of his own, jabbing forward towards the Sith’s face only for Sidious to sidestep, lightning fast, slipping past Dooku’s guard to press his palm forward into the Count’s chest.

The force push, slammed into the aging Master like a hammer, shattering the protective bubble he held over himself like it was flimsiplast as he was sent flying off his feet, slamming into the far wall with enough force to knock the air from his lungs.

He sensed Sidious approaching fast, relentlessly hounding him for that killing blow.

Dooku reached up, to the far rafters above and with a tremendous pull, tore metal from its moorings, snapped bolts in two and ripped the entire upper catwalk down to bring it crashing between himself and the Sith to give him time to recover.

Metal screamed and shattered, he stood, sucking down air until his chest was no longer on fire with pain as Sidious, lifted the shattered debris and hurled it in Dooku’s direction, turning his own defense against him.

The Count coiled himself in a telekenetic shield, battering aside the most dangerous projectiles and ignoring others; he didn’t have the raw power to match Sidious in the force, so he did not bother trying to contend with the raw power it took to lift and manipulate the entire structure.

As he tore and cut metal apart, mounds of shattered steel falling all around him, he realized his mistake too late.

He caught sight of the Sith, and through the mask he saw Sidious’ eyes shining with malevolent glee as his hands crackled with lightning.

Dooku tried to move, to escape.

Too late.

The cage of steel he’d inadvertently helped create for himself slammed shut, a thousand pieces of torn metal and shattered debris coming together like a tomb, surrounding him in its cold, unyielding walls.

Then; the lightning came.

(X)(X)(X)

Komari Vosa

Her legs shook as she tried to stand, every breath was agony, and her arms felt as weak as noodles.

She sucked down a breath that tasted like blood, coughed and felt the muscles across her whole torso jump and contract in cramping pains - a lance of barbed wire, lightning and fire piercing straight through her core. How damaged were her insides?

It felt as though a single wrong step would tear up… whatever was left.

She focused on the pain, the rage, the fear, channeled it, harnessed it, let it flood her mind and suffuse her senses. Pain begets strength. She’d learned that long ago.

Her vision cleared. Not completely, but enough. She held her blade up, the movement of her arm making her ribs protest with yet more pain; her arm nearly fell all over again before she mastered herself and held it steady.

It was all the invitation her… replacement needed.

He lunged forward, and she saw a living ghost in his movements. Stance and form near flawless in its mimicry, to the point that she knew what maneuver he would do before he even finished… not that she could do much to stop it.

The tip of his blue blade snapped against the middle of hers, whiplash quick, the speed and force sent her weapon off to the side as he tipped the blade down to cut at her wrist in a single instant.

She lowered her arm, trying to step back, to gain some distance, but the wall she’d crashed into was still very solid behind her.

Her replacement once again realigned the tip of the blade, now moving to slice her arm off at the shoulder.

With no other choice beyond losing a limb outright, Komari lunged to the side, throwing herself off the walkway.

For a brief instant, the less-than-standard gravity almost made her wonder if it would soften the blow enough so that she wouldn’t feel it.

Then her shoulder met unyielding steel walls.

She stumbled, her whole body rocked, and the pain of everything hit her all over again as she tumbled out of control, before she hit the maintenance corridor far below the engineering catwalk like a sack of bricks. The metal chamber ringing like a bell with the sound of it.

She struggled to breathe; her vision swam.

She couldn’t win this.

She would be beaten… beaten by her replacement, and dragged before those hypocrites and cowards on the Council. Carted in there like a trophy for him to show Dooku like a good little lap dog.

The rage, of the indignity of it all burned like a furnace in her chest.

But fire could only burn for so long before it consumed the fuel around it, and she had precious little kindling left as she was now.

She twisted her head, searching for something, some answer… something she could use.

—-----

Obi-Wan

Perhaps, as little as a year ago, Obi-Wan would have told himself he was not angry.

Perhaps, as little as a year ago, he would have handled this better. Be able to release his emotions into the Force as he was taught, and deal with this placidly without even the barest hint of anger carving into the edges of his mind.

But this wasn’t a year ago.

And he was angry.

He’d never seen Anakin so afraid, so… terrified. His hand crushed, lightsaber destroyed. And Hebert…

They were not, perhaps, close, but he considered her a friend of sorts, as well.

Dead now, for all he knew.

So yes… he was angry.

And even as he focused on his breathing on releasing his emotions into the force as he was trained, he could still feel that steady thrum of what a Jedi shouldn’t feel pulsing through his veins as he stepped over the railing to descend into the darkness below.

The glow of his blue blade dimly illuminated the gloom. The silhouette of the Sith woman came into view as she limped down the corridor.

His boots struck the ground. “I will ask one last time-” he offered; he wasn’t sure how genuine the sentiment was, or if it was mere obligation that made him speak. “-surrender.”

The woman could barely muster the strength to turn around, her lightsaber hilt, still un-lit, nearly hung from her fingers.

“I won’t be beaten by a cheap replacement,” he heard her snarl.

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow, curious as to what she meant, but not enough to let it distract him.

The woman’s red blade lit up, bathing her side of the room in a bloody haze, and Obi-Wan saw what she was leaning against.

His eyes widened, alarm shooting through him as he rushed forward to try and stop it-

Too late.

Her blade swung and the massive powerline feeding the station’s gravity systems was sliced in two with an explosion of sparks and lightning.

Immediately, Obi-Wan felt weightless, the impact of his legs pushing him up off the ground in an uncontrolled tumble.

The woman leapt at him with a roar.

The Jedi Knight placed his blade in the right place, intercepting her strike easily, but the pure force of her swing catapulted him backwards with no way to oppose the oncoming force. And as he was sent careening down the maintenance corridor, scrabbling for some sort of hold, she was prepared for her gambit. Grabbing hold of a crevice in the wall, she pulled herself upwards, ascending to the floors above to make good on her escape.

By the time he stopped himself and rushed to catch up, Obi-Wan knew she’d be long gone.

(X)(X)(X)

Miss Militia

The shuttle flight back towards The Ch’u’igar was fast, barely three minutes after lifting off the hangar bay floors, they were touching down in the larger ships loading bay.

“Easy sister;” Korin Saxon- the medic that had accompanied her back towards the ship hovered at her side, making sure she kept her footing as they stepped off the ship.

Her wrist was broken, as were two of her metacarpal hand bones and her olecranon and radius.

In short, she wasn’t going to be using her left arm for a while without Bacta.

Even so, when she stepped off the shuttle and caught sight of Alexandria, all thoughts of heading towards the Medbay evaporated from her mind, making a beeline for the woman as Korin cursed in surprise somewhere behind her, rushing to catch up.

“Hannah.” Alexandria nodded, her features stern as they usually were. “I’m glad we made it in time; where’s Kronos and Rugess?”

“They stayed behind to secure the Vista.” She explained. “They weren’t injured like I was.”

Alexandria nodded, as if that explained everything. “Good. Captain Cadera is coordinating the assault from the bridge, I should return there and you need to visit a medbay- now.” She turned, ready to march away when Militia reached out with her good hand, grabbing hold of the older woman’s shoulder, stopping her.

“There’s more.” Hannah said. “We found someone else. Another Parahuman on the station.”

For the first time in a very long time, she saw genuine surprise flit across those implacable features.

(X)(X)(X)

Aras

The fighting was thick here.

He and the other members of the Vanguard could at long last, see the ray shields that had trapped the Jedi Masters; and even the Jedi Masters beyond it.

The monks were kneeling, perhaps meditating, perhaps manipulating their strange magics;

Whatever they were doing; it did not matter, not until they could free them and take the station.

Which meant they had to get past this last holdout.

The Bando’Gora here were desperate, frenzied. They knew that freeing those Jedi meant the battle was lost and so they fought all the harder to stop it. Fanatical devotion, drug fueled frenzy, whatever it was; it was the Beskar clad fist that was going to punch through it.

At the speartip of their attack was a Tothlothian, another Jedi. Her blade acting as more of a shield than a sword, driving forward to make space for his clanmates and fellow Mandalorians behind her.

Even so; their progress was slow, glacial even. It had been too long since the Mandalorian’s had fought something like this, tied to Satine’s pacifist government.

He tried to remind himself that wasn’t a failing; but it was difficult in this moment.

He would remind them.

With a howl of screaming Jet engines, his jump pack flared, carrying him in the low gravity to the ceiling, one arm catching himself to shove himself downward as the other one pulled the trigger on his repeater.

The Bando’Gora, surprised by the sudden height advantage, took too long in adjusting their aim and others simply scrambled for new cover, realizing that there was now nothing between them and a very large gun.

The Heavy repeater opened up with bright flares of fiery red, three men were cut down in an instant; multiple breaches to their suits and bodies killing them as Aras hit the floor.

One of the assassins that had thought he’d gone unnoticed came from the large Mandalorian’s right; where he thought Aras couldn’t defend with his right arm needing to hold the heavy repeater.

With a huff of air, Aras ducked and shoved himself forward, the full weight of his armor and body crashing into the Assassins diaphragm with shoulder and elbow, knocking the wind out of him hard enough to make him lose his grip on his vibro-sword as he smashed the smaller man’s body into a cargo crate hard enough to collapse the metal in on itself like cheap tin.

The man crumpled to the floor; gasping for air that Aras made sure wouldn’t come as he turned, punching with his left hand hard enough to shatter the mask that kept the fool breathing at all.

He ignored the assassins panicked, dying spasms as he turned again, laying down suppressive fire from his new angle, letting his hollering, hooting brothers, rush forward with their own Jetpacks. Rifles firing, blades flashing.

Two shots cracked into the shoulder and back of his Beskar armor, making him stumble forward before he turned, taking a split second to find his target before  out of his left gauntlet a wire hook shot out, piercing the dog at the shoulder before Aras yanked him forward, the man’s full weight crashing onto the ground as the massive Mandalorian reeled him in like a fish on a hook. His armoire boot rising before crunching down onto the back of his neck.

He didn’t move much after that.

A hail of Blaster bolts fell over him like rain, making him stumble and reel as his Beskar took the worst of it, giving him enough time to duck into cover.

That’s when the Gravity cut out.

He almost didn’t realize it at first, it was someone else who shouted the order across the radio;

“MAG-LOCKS!”

His Boots clamped down onto the floor, but as he had to reach up to hold his cover in place; preventing it from floating off- an idea occurred to him.

He deactivated his locks,

Then grabbing hold of the heavy iron crate that was his cover- Aras lifted the near weightless thing until he found the proper angle.

And he activated his jetpack.

The rocket engines shot him forward, and the slab of heavy iron took the brunt of the startled blaster fire as he shot past the barricade of Bando’Gora assassins.

Straight towards the ray shields.

He deactivated his jetpack as he adjusted his position, back against the slab as he grabbed hold of his heavy repeater.

The crash shoved the air from his lungs, but it didn’t matter. He took aim; the derelict’s power systems were clearly failing; it wouldn’t have backups, redundancies.

Just one, barely functioning power line.

He fired up, into the armored ceiling where the conduit fed into the shield.

Metal burst apart and warped, for a moment he wondered if the old steel would hold up, and he’d just committed a very foolish suicide in his hopes for a quick victory.

But then, with a burst of sparks and crackling lightning;

The ray shields died.

Behind him, Aras heard the signature snap hiss of four lightsabers igniting-

He grinned a savage grin beneath the armor of his helm.

Parjir

(X)(X)(X)

Anakin

Anakin had flown with Victoria before. He more than most, had a fascination with flying; and while he loved speeders, ships and all manner of transports that he could pilot… he could never have passed up the opportunity to take to the skies like Victoria did if it was ever offered to him.

So he’d flown with her before, she even let him ‘sit’ on her back, cross legged as she carried him in a steady circuit around the temple. If he closed his eyes he could pretend he was the one flying.

It’d been exhilarating.

But nothing could compare to the frenzied, desperate flight he experienced now. Vicky tore through the station with enough speed it physically hurt Anakin’s remaining fingers to keep hold of her; his shoulder and arm screamed in protest, every muscle cramping up as whiplash and raw speed threatened to tear him off of her.

But he didn’t couldn’t complain. Taylor wasn’t breathing. She wasn’t breathing!

When they reached the ship, the artificial gravity pulled him down, making his legs hit the deck and his body followed, falling onto his one hand and knee, shattered limb still cradled to his chest.

Vicky turned, panting with exertion, concerned for a second before he waved her off- “Go- get her to the med-bay!” He shouted after her.

The airlock took an eternity to pressurize and seal; and before the door was open Vicky had torn off her helmet, running down the hall with tears in her eyes as she rushed to try and save Taylor.

Anakin stayed there for a moment catching his breath- just… breathing.

The moment of stillness quieted his mind.

And that… let him feel.

His eyes snapped open; something, not quite alarm but not simple surprise either; cut through his thoughts as he turned his head, looking past the bare walls before him; towards Taylor.

Something moved in the force.

Something… vast.

Reaching. Pulling. Holding.

Speaking.

He stumbled to his feet, shambling after Vicky on unsteady legs.

As he made his way further into the ship, he could hear Vicky’s cracking voice.

“Tay- You have to wake up. Please please just wake up for me.”

Her pain washed over him, like a tide swallowing a rock. It sent him reeling, unused to such raw, unfiltered emotion through the force. And still that… thing that presence remained. Shining like a star as it hovered above.

Vicky was openly sobbing now. And Anakin almost feared walking into the medbay, almost feared seeing it for himself. But still his legs marched him forward. If it was guilt, a desire to help, or mere curiosity to try and see this… thing that gave him the strength to open the door; he couldn’t say.

Still he walked in.

Vicky’s hands were gripping the side of the bed, the metal buckling and denting under her grip as her breathing shook; eyes shut tight.

Pain shot through Anakin’s mind nearly making him cry out as something turned and looked at him.

Intrusion

He fell to his knees, the gaze, burning, overwhelming and sightless- it hurt seeing it. Being seen by it.

He felt it then, its tendrils seeking entry into his mind, prodding at his defenses.

No!

Like a bulwark of solid durasteel Anakin slammed the strongest shields down over the fortress of his thoughts that he could muster, sheer brute force power rebuffing the attempt of- whatever this was.

Surprise

…

Analyzing

The coiling tendrils grew in intensity, battering at the walls, seeking entry and Anakin strained to rebuff them.

He imagined Obi-Wan in that moment; the implacable defense of his Soresu, always ready and intercepting any attack before it’d even been launched.

Master Dooku; with quiet stern judgment overseeing all his efforts and forcing him to do better.

…

Analyzing

‘No!’ He repeated.

This time- he pushed.

The thing was driven back; its power receding like the tide. He sensed its surprise; its caution.

Then… it retreated, as though it’d never been there at all.

Anakin felt cold sweat at his brow and heard the gasp from Vicky that made him look up.

Taylor’s hand had reached over, gently gripping the blonde girl’s own fingers, easing her deathgrip on the bed.

“Don’t cry-” The quiet girl faintly demanded. “Don’t like it when you cry.”

Vicky let out a warbled, laugh, the other hand rising to cover her mouth. “A-answer me sooner then you big idiot. You scared me.” She sobbed.

“Sorry- Knew you’d save me.”

“... Of course.” Vicky sobbed, both hands grabbing hold of Taylor’s own limp one

Anakin, still kneeling by the door, was glad Taylor was ok…

But whatever that thing was- he knew it wasn’t gone…

Just hiding.

(X)(X)(X)

Plo-Koon.

As the last of the Bando’Gora fell or were captured, Plo-Koon knew they needed to make haste.

The pain he felt radiating from the heart of the station was now clear, piercing through the shroud of the Dark Side into all their minds.

Master Dooku was losing this battle.

He did not exchange pleasantries with the Mandalorians- much as he might wish to avoid offenses- (it had been many years after all since Mandalorians fought alongside Jedi and to alienate them now would be the height of stupidity) right now; Dooku needed their help.

Master Piel and Yaddle rushed ahead, the two smaller Jedi Masters propelling themselves with Force leaps, made even faster and greater by the lack of gravity. He Billaba and Yaddle followed closely behind, running with all the speed they could- and behind them the Mandalorian warriors; with a great beast of a man at their head weapons ready.

The Blast doors were sealed shut- thick durasteel that would take far too long to cut through.

“Gallia, Billaba, help me lift it!” He demanded, holstering his blade as his hands reached out, grasping the edges of the door with the Force as he felt Masters Billaba and Gallia do the same.

With a heave accented by buckling, groaning metal, the blast door slid open, its center caving inwards as it was lifted inch by agonizingly slow inch.

As if the door itself had been damming the flow of Dark Side energies, the wave of it crashed into the five Masters; making Plo feel sick and twisted before he lifted his shields to rebuff the sickening feeling.

Blue flashes crackled through the opening in the door and the snaps of lightning echoed clearly through their ears.

He felt for Master Dooku’s signature in the force.

There, a flickering candle trapped in a hurricane, struggling to endure the whipping winds.

Then…

It flickered out.

Master Yaddle was the first into the room, sliding through the smaller opening as only someone of her size could- Master Piel followed her a second later.

Plo put all his effort all his strength into lifting the heavy doors faster, Adi and Billaba increased their efforts as well.

Finally it was enough to duck through a squad of Mandalorians, ordered by the larger one- rushed in, crouching low to enter the breach.

“Go!” Master Billaba demanded. “We can hold this!”

Plo nodded, trusting his fellow masters as he released his hold over the door that could withstand the whole asteroid collapsing on it as he re-lit his blade and followed the Mandalorians.

Entering the room; Plo found chaos.

Master Piell had rushed forward, battling blade to blade against a dark robed figure, Yaddle had rushed to Dooku’s side, attempting to save the Masters life, Plo saw his old friend, covered now in horrific wounds and electrical burns, near buried in a mound of twisted steel.

The Mandalorians spread out rushing to try and surround the Darksider; Plo charged in to help Master Piell who was quickly getting overwhelmed by the skilled and powerful darkside user.

The robed man turned towards the rushing Plo- barely even sparing the Mandalorians his attention and Plo saw past the mask, burning yellow eyes.

The Darksider’s clawed hand reached out and Plo could almost see the protective shield around Master Piell pop like a soap bubble, the Darksider pulling the Master off of his feet and throwing him towards Plo, who reached out and physically caught the tiny Master in his arms.

The Darksider turned to flee.

A hail of blaster bolts erupted from the Mandalorian behemoth, his heavy repeater spitting out red fire that Plo saw the Darksider cast aside with Teutaminis before yanking the heavy repeater out of the Mandalorian’s hands.

More blaster bolts came from his fellows, but were stopped mid flight like a curtain of bloodied droplets before the Darksider sent them all hurtling back at their senders; dozens of bolts slamming into beskar armor and through void suits as their Mandalorian backup was sent reeling.

The large one charged, activating his jetpack and drawing a blade as Master Plo set Piel down, rushing to join the foolhardy man’s daring.

The black robed man reached out, grabbing hold of the large Mandalorian  in a telekenetic hold, stopping him dead in the air, jetpack still howling with straining engines.

Plo felt the darkened tendrils of Force energy reaching up towards the Mandalorian’s head, seeking to twist and break and  upped his speed his own lightsaber blade lashing out.

The red lightsaber crackled against his in a perfect parry, throwing the Kel-Door Jedi Master off balance and nearly slicing him in half with the follow up swing Plo was barely able to dodge.

Blades clashed, weapons crackling in the air, Plo recognized in these few exchanges that this truly was no mere Darksider; no fallen Jedi or cultist.

This… monstrous, hateful entity could only be a true Sith.

The realization unnerved him, unbalanced him. While he’d never outright dismissed the allegations of Master Dooku and Obi-Wan that the Sith had returned, after so many years of no true evidence to back up the allegation; he’d begun to doubt.

The Sith, sensing his sudden lack of focus, drove forward, his red blade a whirling dervish of death that left Master Plo nearly overwhelmed, as it was all he could do to see to his defense. It was like battling Master Yoda; only this time, the intent to kill behind those swings was all too real.

A line was suddenly coiled around the Sith’s wrist, his whole arm and blade yanked to the side, away from Plo and towards the Mandalorian.

Plo swung, seizing the opening for everything it was worth.

Lightning crackled out of the Sith’s fingers smashing into the Mandalorian warrior, sending him flying back just as Plo’s blade was stopped, held firmly still in a telekinetic, ironclad at the Sith’s side. Rage and fear made him powerful.

With another crackle of lightning Plo was driven back, the storm of energy clawing at his personal force shield through the protective barrier that was his lightsaber, held fast against the onslaught.

Plo was driven down to one knee, sliding back even as he tried to hold his ground against the overwhelming might of the Sith.

Then, it was gone, Plo looked and found the Sith turning, fleeing.

He moved to stand; unsure if he would or even could give chase before Yaddle’s small hand grasped at his shoulder.

“No.” She said as the door was finally creaked fully open, its locking mechanisms breaking under the strain and Master Billaba and Gallia walked through, helping Piel stand once more. “Dangerous he is.” Yaddle warned. “Victory; uncertain it is. Better to take confirmation back to the Council. Too high a price for it- we have paid.”

He wondered what she meant- then he understood.

Plo-Koon turned his gaze away from the fleeing Sith and Master Yaddle, back towards the unmoving body of Jedi Master Dooku.

(X)(X)(X)

And so we've reached; the end of the fight.

Not much to say here, we lost Dooku; Tay nearly died, Queen was clearly pulling some shenanigans and the Council can no longer deny the existence of the Sith.

Oh and the Parahumans are aware of eachother. That also happened :3

Here is the discord link for those of you who want to discuss the Patreon chapters without needing to worry about spoiling things for anybody:

https://discord.gg/crDxw2Xg