No matter how many clone soldiers fired the weapons they had trained their entire lives with, the same ones they had pledged to use to fight against the tyranny of the Seperatists, they could not break through the master jedi's defense. Not one even called out for their brothers as clone after clone hit the ground with a thud, faint smoke from the heat of their blasters curling around the dead man's armor. But the clone's deaths were not without successes, lightsabers fell from the hands of their creators, rolling across the blood smeared floor.

The valiant knight could sense it. The lives of his fellow jedi dwindled. So many spirits rejoining the Force. So many people he could not save.

This combat was getting him nowhere. The force pushed the smoke and debris from the air, giving everyone clear sight, all the while drawing their attention to himself.

"Which traitor sent you here? Who would be so cruel?"

His voice crackled with suppressed power, and everyone knew it. When the officers in white did not answer, the hero thrust his hand towards the commander that had talked disrespectfully to him before the fight. His fingers curled and he could hear the man chocking, even inside his helmet.

"Who is behind this?" he snarled, loosening his grip in the force on the man's neck, just enough for him to speak.

"Lord Vader. He commands this legion."

The name was unfamiliar. He stepped forward, hand still raised. "You are one of the Coruscanti guard, under commander Fox," he spoke the name like it had a bitter taste in his mouth, "the other soldiers here are of the 501st. They are my men. Where is this Vader?"

The sorry man was running out of air. "He is here."

The jedi had charged out of the room before the clone fell to the ground. Force speed still charged in the air for those sensitive enough to feel it's energy.

Like a gust of wind, the warrior stopped on the edge of an observation balcony overlooking the training grounds. He and his master had spent countless hours practicing drills on those mats, in that large room. And in turn, he and his Padawan had spent countless hours doing the very same thing.

But a red glow bounced off the walls, giving such a familiar place a sinister illusion. A female togruta was thrown to the ground, her eyes clouded in death throws. The seasoned warrior flinched, but realized the woman was not the girl he had first made her out to be. No, she was on Mandalore, not Coruscant.

"Ah, the republic's greatest general," a voice greeted, "finally joining the real fight."