Author note: After nearly 45k words, being on its 8th chapter, and having been on and A03 for just a little over a year…I'm finally treating y'all to some Grievous action. Yep, finally. There'll be plenty more in the future, trust me! Ventress as well. I also hope the previous chapter wasn't boring. It took me three months to fully revise and get it right.
I also just wanted to give a big warm thank you to all my followers and the reviews you guys have left. I neglected this story for far too long, and I appreciate that you guys stuck around and remained patient with me. Your dedication and warm comments have made me inspired to write and edit like hell in these challenging times.
Thank you all very much.
Chapter 7~Blood Earth
The Commander's blue form flickered before him, and even though he wasn't looking directly at her, he could feel her eyes gazing at him penetratingly through the screen.
"You're kidding me."
"I'm not," he responded blandly, hiding the tremble from within. The walls of his shuttle shook violently around him, his fingers grasped tightly on the shuttle's steering cage. "Does it look like I'm joking?"
"Wh—why are you doing this?" She was absolutely stymied.
The shuttle rocked. "It was an emergency summoning by Dooku. He sent me a holo-message just as nightfall was hitting. I had to leave right away."
He knew she was waiting for him to explain in more detail, but he instead focused on his current situation: maneuvering away from the immense Republican ships that had begun to blockade the circumference of Geonosis. He had been detected, and was being pursued by a small group of X-wing fighter jets. They weren't shooting, but he didn't see what was stopping them.
Maybe they didn't see him? Blast it! Of course they do!
"Well I—do you need me to send reinforcements?"
"No!" he cried back, the rattling resonating within his aural sensors. "You'd be going against the orders of Dooku AND the encampment will be discovered in a heartbeat!"
The Commander's face slowly went from puzzlement to aggravated enmity. "Let me ask you something, General. Do you plan on making it through this mission alive?"
Her voice was still. Too still.
He looked down at her, staring into her eyes.
"Why are you asking me such a question?"
She blinked. "Answer mine, first."
The General sighed unconventionally. "Yes, I do. Of course I do!"
"Do you plan on coming back to Hypori?"
"Of course."
"And do you think that maybe the Republican fleet that currently on your tail knows where you came in from, and where you'll be returning if you can make it through?"
Grievous felt his heart freeze in its place, but this wasn't the time for him to be pondering over the situations of the future…because from what it looked like at the moment, there was a pretty good chance there was no future for him. He also knew her question contained multiple sub-texts and quandaries—and she, herself was just as worried as he was.
"So, would it just be best if I died?" he joshed, but his voice lacked tone or bite. He was sure he sounded more concerned than anything, and the rattling and shaking occurring around him wasn't helping the matter.
Ventress shook her head. "Not really. If you died, then I'd be stuck alone dealing with Dooku and the others."
"A minor inconvenience, then?"
"To put it lightly," she said. "But in all seriousness General, what are we going to do if you make it back to Hypori with this Captain?"
The General was jolted unexpectantly forward, his abdomen slamming against the steering axel. He had, without realizing it, accelerated the shuttle just as a plane flew right in front of him, diving fiercely below it. He repressed a sharp cry of pain as he sat himself upward to face the Commander, who was looking back at him now with surprise.
"This...this is something I'm going to have to discuss later on with you…when I return," he said quietly, his bony fingers shaking against the gage.
"What's the status on Captain Dofine?" the Commander asked, changing the subject to business.
Grievous shook his head, running his hand over the slight dent on his middle. "Last I heard, the Republic discovered the coordinates of his battleship and are advancing toward him as we speak. The Captain detected incoming hostiles on his radar and sent a message to his cousin for aid. I have heard nothing from the Captain directly, yet. He could be dead for all we know."
"I guess you'll find out," she said, smiling in an unreadable manner. She crossed her arms over her breasts. "Did you bring any droids with you?"
"No."
The smile completely disappeared. He heard her mumble "Oh my gods" before steadily sighing.
"Do you bring droids or reinforcements when you go on an assassination mission?" He asked her, goaded by her mumbling.
She laughed. "No, but I've never found myself in a situation where I need to rescue a person whose being pursued by a plethora of Clone armies on a war-torn planet that's currently being occupied by Republican forces. It's a safety precaution, not an undermining of your power."
The scarlet redness of Geonosis was quickly filling up the pilot window, contrasting sharply with the onyx black of the universe. Grievous squinted, his head already beginning to hurt as he felt a creeping irritation in his eyes.
"I'll be fine," he stated without thinking beforehand. The shuttle's computer showed that he was nailing the coordinates where Captain Dofine's Lucrehulk ship was located, much to his relief.
He saw her from the corner of his eye merely shaking her head but remained silent. Her arms fell to her sides and she interlaced her fingers together in a cool, conducted manner.
"I wish you the best of luck, General," she bid serenely.
Grievous nodded, and hoped she understood the indication for her to leave. She did, cutting the communication and soon dissolving away, leaving him now completely alone in his mission. A sharp bang had him fidgeting uncomfortably in his seat, before he calmed himself down and gradually accelerated the shuttle downward. The X-wing jets were still buzzing around him like drone bees preparing to kill their queen, which also personally served as a grim reminder of how the Geonosians most likely had to break their chains away from the tyranny of the Republic.
Pushing Hypori and its new insectoid inhabitants out of his mind, he leaned back against his seat and put the shuttle into hyperdrive, sending him into a jolt before the ship was sent flying into Geonosis' thermosphere, carefully maneuvering through the laser fires of the jets that barely skimmed the exterior. Grievous ignored the throbbing in his cerebral cortex as he continued his hasty descent onto the planet, continuing at a speed that was much too fast for such a small, weaponless ship to take. He had to lock his fingers on the gage to keep himself from being thrown brutally out of his seat in a disproportionate heap on the ground, bumping and vaulting in different directions as he penetrated the world's atmosphere. As the rusty terrain became clear in his vision, a beam of plasma shot from the X-wing that decided to pursue him this far down in it, colliding with the back of the shuttle.
A loud blast resounded through his aural sensors, followed quickly by a loud, resounded ringing and sending a ferocious tremor through the small space of the ship. The General was lodged forth from the pilot's chair and crashed head-on into the glass, severely breaking it. His whole body trembled violently, his vision faded and blurry. A ghastly smell of charred metal and burnt hydraulics permeated what little was left of his olfactory senses, as well as the ever-pervasive feeling of falling, falling, falling into an abyss with no control and those last fleeting seconds feeling like hours…
No. Not now. Not again!
The sands of Geonosis were getting ever-so close to him now. Mustering up all his strength, he threw himself away from the now-useless instrumentation panel and onto the ground, digging his taloned fingers into the steel floor, fervently pressing his upper body against it to keep him from scooting forward and landing into the glass. The back of the shuttle was completely mangled, twisted, and currently burning. Stands of melted alloy began to goop onto the floor and dribble slowly downward, gradually inching toward the cockpit and sizzling along the ground.
The heat and foul odors being emit was already too much for him to bear. Kicking himself forward, he pressed his feet against the pilot chair for stabilization. Cautiously moving one clutched hand away from the steel earth, he reached down toward the belt tightly secured around his waist and pulled his lightsaber gradually away from its protective casings. Keeping his eyes warily steady on the copious amounts of dripping metal coming towards him, he fingered for the button, and a long, green blade broiled forth, illuminating the cabin with its jade glow.
Holding it cautiously away from his body, he pulled his other hand securely over the lightsaber's handle and flipped himself over onto his back. Squeezing the back of the pilot's chair with his toes, he arched his mid-section away from the shuttle's quivering wall, and without preamble, thrust the lightsaber through the flimsy material.
Blocking out the molten alloy smell, he gripped the handle with both hands and began to slice a circular opening through the metallic barrier. A plume of sparks fell down beside him as he spliced the blade through the molten, now orange-tinted perimeters of his incisions. He kept himself hyper-focused on his work, holding in his breath as his heart steadily beat within his quivering breast.
When he completed a full, rather uneven circle highlighted by its auburn heat, Grievous raised one leg slowly up from the pilot chair and ferociously kicked at the center, sending the cut metal flying completely out and into the desert of Geonosis. A fierce wind blew within the cabin, the uncontrolled speed of the shuttle only gaining in momentum with each passing second. The General hesitantly studied the terrain. This was his only chance, and the dangers within the shuttle only seemed more pervasive with every given moment.
Turning himself away from the scorching metal that trailed behind him, he dragged his body toward the opening, balling his legs underneath his torso. Squinting away the desert sand that flew in, he flung his cape behind him, and leaped ceremonially from the ship.
His arms and legs outstretched as he fell swiftly to the desert bottom, the feeling of warmth beating upon the earth and his own body spread a lot more pleasantly than the sweltering hotness that developed within the shuttle's cabin. Pushing the button on his saber so that the blade once again disappeared, he hesitantly closed his eyes and prepare for a sharp impact, which came much more quickly than he anticipated. He landed abruptly and toppled down a steep hill of coarse, sandy mineral. No matter how hard he tried to wrangle his digits in to stop himself from moving, it was only proven futile from the sand's loose compactness and he merely continued to fall down the slope at a great speed until he landed chaotically on the flat land below.
Grievous' heart pulsated along with the ringing that wouldn't stop. His proprioceptive sensors were currently jumbled in many distinct parts of his body, bringing in phantom pains and aches that previously merely lingered in what was left of his organics.
The General lay there silently. The X-wing had obviously flown off, probably thinking that his body was now currently being crisped up inside a completely destroyed shuttle in the middle of a desert planet that was being devastated from the inside out.
Being burned alive. Wrecked transport. Desert planet.
Grievous cursed and smacked himself for letting his mind wander. He couldn't think about that again. Not now. He attempted to distract his mind, with something as trivial as…his robe. His cloak, during this whole ordeal, had managed to stay tied firmly around his collar, yet was now filthy and torn. Inspecting it carefully, he discovered flimsy strands of liquid alloy had hardened and were trailing vulgarly near the bottom of his cape. He twisted a strand feebly around his finger to inspect its viscosity and simply sighed, letting his now damaged cape fall unevenly around his ankles.
Cautiously regarding his surroundings, he carefully stood up and rose to his natural height, brushing the sand out from between his joints. A vast red desert terrain lay sprawling in his wake, smooth as glass yet rippling with geological splendor. Layers of vermillion and ochre pillared rock built upon itself continuously in grand formations, twisting upward into imposing, pointed spires, uniting with the darkening sky. The landscape remained undisturbed, tranquil and intimidating in the nocturne.
The General looked around at the nature around him, transfixed by its solemn landscape. It was swathed in silence, grim and foreboding, until it was so rapidly disturbed. He could hear it all in the distance, far, far away yet loud and resounding. Gunfire echoing from beyond. It came in uneven bursts, and was nowhere near him from what he could determine.
Grievous sighed. This is what I came here for, he thought wistfully, running his fingers smoothly on his lightsaber belt. Another round of shots fired, followed by an echoed shout. The General tensed, but didn't hesitate to move toward the source. He sprinted quickly, barely making a sound or leaving a mark as her traversed the vast terrain. The sun beat upon him, but the warmth he had felt earlier than beginning to fade away, replaced with a near-night coolness. He could see fine in the dark, deliberately missing over every bump, crack, or rock that lay in his path as he plowed on.
The gunshots came once again, much louder than before. He had no idea where he truly was, but from the navigation inside his now obliterated shuttle had shown, he had to be very close to Captain Dofine's battleship. At least that was a convenience. He kept his ground low as he continued on, keeping himself absolutely silent as he did so.
Instinctually, he began to fumble around for his lightsaber, before his mind kicked in and pondered over the idea. He still had to keep himself subtle, and pulling out a weapon such as a lightsaber so soon was only asking for trouble, especially since he was so close to both a warzone and a Separatist ship.
Watchfully, he uncurled his fingers from the handle and pushed it daintily back into its secure pouch. No. Not yet.
A group of soldiers in the distance screamed.
He didn't have to walk on for much longer before he saw a flotillin of Republican airships docked awkwardly in a shallow canyon, mostly small yet in their great numbers their size made no matter. They had to be the ships the Clones had arrived in, but it was still a surprise to the General just how many of them there were. He surmised that each ship could hold hundreds of soldiers, and since there were hundreds to thousands of ships…
Grievous wasted no time in standing around, carefully hiding himself among the spiraling edifices of the Earth, peering down to see many clones engaged in combat with squadron's of B1's and B2's, but he didn't stick around to see the results. One doesn't have to see results if you can clearly hear them, the General thought pensively, smelling the burnt metal and blood that rose through the air and mingled together in an unearthly unification. He stayed outside the perimeters of the canyon opening, maneuvering his way behind the natural geology before he was on the other side, where he began to run.
The General's heart pumped furiously as he ran, faster than he had ever ran in his life. He ignored the frantic throbbing as he pulled his cape along his sides, continuing to the jutted rock formation straight-shot in front of him, immense pillars binding together in wax-like foundations. Grievous' heart skipped a beat when he saw it: there, within the pillars, located securely within the outcrop near a deep, opalescent riverbed was Dofine's Lucrehulk, sitting there like a lone grave in a forgotten cemetery.
Grievous made his way over, looking around for no unexpected attacks from the other side. It seemed odd that this enormous Separatist battleship was out here in the middle of the desert, seemingly unscathed. The message he got from Dooku was that the Captain had been discovered, but there were no signs that the area had been remotely touched. Strange, but there was a possibility that the Count had been wrong…or that Dofine was being held hostage.
As he got closer, he saw three tall figures patrolling the ship's perimeter, holding some kind of rifle upright toward the sky. Grievous squinted and thought that he was seeing Clones, but upon closer inspection, he saw that they were a trio of Neimoidian gunners, most likely sent out by the Captain to report back if they saw even the faintest glimpse of a Republican. Feeling somewhat relieved, he strode over to the ship, but was suddenly held at gunpoint by one of the Neimoidian's.
"Freeze…don't move!" the gunner warned maladroitly, gaining the attention of the other two Neimoidians. "Drop your weapons t'is instant!"
The General casually rested his arms against his sides.
"Hands up! You're disobeying authority!"
Grieovus narrowed his eyes. "I believe the correct term is 'Greetings General Grievous. We were expecting you around this time'," he retorted back.
The Neimoidian's cheeks began to turn a bright shade of green. He pulled his bottom lip under his teeth and stared at Grievous wide-eyed.
"You—you are General Grievous?"
The General sighed, already exasperated. "Who else do I look like?"
The gunner shook his head, letting the arm holding his pistol drop down to his side. The other two Neimoidians stared at him in both surprise and awe, forgetting to snicker at their comrade's obstinate awkwardness.
"Well excuse me sir," the Neimoidian said apologetically. "We had no idea you were a clanker."
One of the mercenaries standing behind him gasped softly, not hiding the shock in his face. The General stared penetratingly down at the gunner, who was still looking back at him both sheepishly and uncomfortably.
"What did you…?" the General rumbled. "Are you denoting to me the term you use for our battle droids?"
The gunner realized his mistake, covering his mouth and shaking his head again.
"Oh no no no, sir. I didn't mean t'at. You're a cyborg, yes—"
"How observant of you."
"—and I was referring to your armies. Not…not you, sir. You must t'ink I'm so disrespectful. Oh, shame on me! Shame on me!"
"Please ignore comrade's insulting babblings," one of the Neimoidians standing behind him finally spoke up. "We must be coming off to you as a bunch of ignorant fools." He saluted, as did the silent Neimoidian next to him, who had been clearly expressive in his fellow soldier's idiocy. "We were instructed by our Captiain, Lushros Dofine to guard t'is perimeter and keep a watch out for your arrival." The Neimoidian looked calm and conducted, but something in his voice trembled with fear.
Grievous nodded, glad to hear that Dofine was still very much alive. "Will you lead me to your Captain? I have some matters to conduct with him instantly."
"Yes, of course," the mercenary said promptly, leading Grievous with respect inside the ship, which was enormous and dim on the inside, as well as cold. Very cold. The soldier took him down several long, humongous, meandering corridors lined to the brim with important technology and equipment.
Many Neimoidian legionnaires silently roamed to and fro, looking either lost, distracted, or uptightly peevish. Several of them paid little attention to the General as they passed by, but he could feel their piercing stares once they were out of his overall sight, sometimes hiding in the little nooks and crevices of the hallway as he went by to avoid him. Many had begun to even whisper in their own tongue, believing that he had been far out of earshot to catch that they were talking about him. Grievous tried to ignore them as he was lead on, keeping his eyes dead ahead until they reached the main piloting chambers of the ship, where a tall, unorthodoxly dressed Neimoidian stood with his back toward them, seeming to look down at a series of technical equipment that lay on the navigation gages.
"Captain Dofine," the mercenary said momentarily. "General Grievous is here, behind me."
The other Neimoidian turned keenly around, regarding the General's presence with a faint nod. He clasped his well-manicured fingers together in front of him, keeping his posture perfectly straight.
"Very good, Kasii," Dofine said quietly. "Very good, very good. You may be dismissed now."
The officer saluted before turning around and heading back out into the corridors, the doors behind him sliding automatically shut once he had completely departed, leaving Grievous and the Captain completely alone. The Captain merely stood in his place for a moment, regarding the General with interest before he approached the cyborg with his hand extended forward.
"It is an honor to be working wit' you, General," the Captain said straightly, a faint smile carefully spreading onto his face. "Captain Lushros Dofine at your service an' disposal."
Grievous looked down at the Captain's hand, reaching out for a handshake. The General was so bewildered that a Neimoidian of all races was signifying a partnership with him, that her merely kept staring at Dofine's hand in silence until the Captain spoke up.
"Is t'is rude of me?"
The General detected nothing caustic or demeaning in Dofine's tone, but it was still too difficult to tell. Neimoidians were terribly good at being passive-aggressive.
"Why do you say that?" he asked.
Dofine pulled his hand subtly back. "Some cultures find certain t'ings rude or disrespectful t'at other cultures don't t'ink twice about. Like for instance, Gen'Dai find it rude to make direct eye contact wit' one another. I was wondering if I was doing something t'at insulted you." The Neimoidian sounded strangely apologetic.
Grievous shook his head. "It's not that, it's just…" he didn't want to say it, but it had slipped out of him before he had realized it.
"What is it?" the Captain inquired. The General spoke apprehensively.
"It's just that I'm not used to Neimoidian's extending themselves out like that to me."
He had expected Dofine to be insulted, or even yet, curse at him like Gunray had mustered the courage to do. Instead, much to his surprise, the Neimoidian emit a throaty chuckle.
"Shake my hand. I promise it won't sting," was all he responded with.
Grievous reached out and grasped the warm hand, but hesitantly. Though this Neimoidian seemed much different than many others he had encountered, he still held doubts within him. He knew the Captain could detect this as well, by the unsure look he had on his face. They finished their handshake and the General began to discuss business.
"Why are you still on Geonosis?" he inquired.
The Captain sighed quietly. "Long story short, business negotiations I was involved in on t'is planet went downhill, as well as my squadrons of B1's and some of my Neimoidian gunners. I was asked by Dooku to Command t'is ship to Geonosis, even though I was against it originally. The conflict stirring here was like a kettle ready ta' burst. T'at's why the others were able to leave earlier. I did not have t'at choice. I had to oversee my mercenaries and t'e remaining Battle droids we sent out, as well as make attunements for t'is ship."
"Is this ship damaged?" the General asked. From the Neimoidian's calm tone, he would have expected a different answer than what he received instead.
"Somewhat, yes," the Captain admitted, "but nothing big enough t'at we cannot fix. We will surely be able to traverse far, still."
"It doesn't look to be in bad shape."
"Like I said General, it's nothing big ta' worry about."
"Last I heard from Dooku, he said your crew had been discovered."
The Neimoidian nodded, remaining stone-faced. "We have, t'at doesn't mean they're going to attack us right off t'e bat. We caught t'ere ships on our radar, so I'm surmising t'at they've caught us on theirs, too."
"I don't see what's stopping them from ambushing us."
"T'ree things General, and t'at's Battle droids, running out of resources, an' t'e death of thousands of Clones all rolled into one. Too much distracting t'em right now."
Grievous nodded, but didn't feel satisfied with Dofine's answer. He was just surprised and relieved that Dofine and his crew had manager to stay alive on this worn-torn planet for this many days and nights.
"Have you been attacked at all?" he queried, beginning to wonder if coming to Dofine's aide had been pointless.
The Captain thought silently for a moment, before responding collectively. "Yes, but not here."
"What do you mean by that?" he peered.
"Well General," Dofine orated nonchalantly, "me an' several of my men were wandering aroun' the area, since we discovered t'at t'ere was an abandonded Geonsian base camp near us, in t'at canyon you passed by. I had one of my officers guard t'e ship while I was away. We t'ought we could maybe find some firearms, or ammunition, or at t'e very least some food. As we peered around t'e area we heard Clones stalking behind us."
"A lot?"
"A dozen or so."
"Then what happened?"
"Well, t'e told us to freeze in place. T'ey recognized our race, an' I knew t'ey were going to arrest us. Obviously, I didn't comply. You see, Clones t'ink kind of alike, and start shooting where t'eir other comrades start shooting, even if it's not correct—like our droids, in some way." He mused.
"Are you saying you were able to shoot them all?"
The Captain pointed to a good-sized black firearm that lay against the wall, with the safety turned on.
"T'at thing is a beauty, General. I've had it in my possession for years, an' so far it had not failed me. I made sure my men were to receive similar bearings"
"I'm assuming you suffered some casualties."
"A broken arm for one, maybe."
Grievous squinted. "No."
Dofine nodded. "Yes, General. We got t'em all an' ran. T'ere was so much distraction down below nobody pursued us."
"I don't believe you didn't lose any men that time."
"It's t'e truth General," Dofine spoke coolly. "T'ese men, t'ey are trained well. I lost some earlier on t'ough when some of my officers tried wandering a few miles away for rations inside t'e abandonded drone hives in t'ose rock spires."
"When did this all occur?" Grievous inquired, enacting Dofine's state of affairs in his mind. It made no sense. Neimoidian's weren't known to be fearsome or stoic, let alone courageous in a situation like that. They were very good liars, however. He decided to play along, to see just how far Dofine would go with it.
"Just yesterday, General."
"Where did it occur?"
"I told you General," he said, "in a cave in t'e area of t'e canyon."
Grievous nodded. "Why didn't you just stay behind in the enormity of your ship and send your men out, instead?"
"Because t'at was the first time in days I wandered outside t'e perimeter of this god-forsaken ship," the Captain spoke with heat in his voice, recalling the memory. "I also didn't t'ink t'ey could do it without me."
"Are you the brains behind the operation?"
"Every Captain, General, Commander, whatever t'e moniker t'ey're given, is a leader of t'eir people in war, no matter the situation. I am not here to enable them, but to have t'em learn and know what t'ey're fighting for. I am an experienced man, and t'ey need to me to give t'em t'e instruction, before t'ey can do it t'emselves, completely independently."
Grievous looked at Dofine, somewhat surprised by the Captain's words. Dofine remained quite still-faced.
"An' now, well, we'll see what happens," the Captain gravelly concluded.
The cabin had become rather dark, the only source of light being red filtering in from the window like a muslin curtain, reflecting off the murky colors of the dim Lucrehulk. Grievous felt a stinging sensation in his retina, slowly accumulating in his optic nerves. He felt his left eye begin to twitch, and he hoped the Captain wasn't noticing his subtle shakiness. Dofine seemed to simply look on, his own ruby-colored eyes glittered uncertainly in the garnet light.
"'T'is planet is war-torn," Dofine said lucidly, turning to look back at the vermillion sands. "It is at t'is point beyond saving." He sat down and folded his hands onto his lap, still keeping his gaze directed away. "General, where are we going after t'is?"
Dofine seemed to automatically resort to believing they would make it out alive. The General surmised they would, yet he had expected the Neimoidian to panic, instead. Grievous locked his gaze on Captain's shiny black blaster rifle.
"The planet of Hypori, north. Near the droid factory."
"Hypori."
The Captain's tone remained undeterred, his voice not indicating if he was making a statement or asking it as a question. Wanting to remain professional, Grievous took the ambiguous response as both.
"We have a settlement there. It's a camp for the Geonosian's who ventured with us to employ under Tambor."
Dofine turned back to look at Grievous, his eyes wide with perplexity. "You managed to establish a Geonosian outpost on Hypori?"
"Yes."
Dofine's expression's went to softly smiling before turning stone cold in an instant.
"I think I already know what your concerns are," Grievous spoke, taking side-glances at the Captain to not appear uncouth. The pinching feeling in his retina still hadn't receded.
"T'e Republican blockade…"
"Now know we're on Hypori because Nute sent a freighter to the planet, under Dooku's command," Grievous finished.
The quiet tapping of the Captain's foot stopped. Grievous passed him another side-glance. The Neimoidian had closed his eyes, and was rubbing his forehead with his temple whilst murmuring quietly to himself in his native tongue, too quietly for Grievous to pick up, though he heard Nute's name uttered after some very unappealing sounding words. After a moment he remained silent, then sighed a steady sigh before opening his eyes and looked up at the General. He rose back to his postural stance.
"T'ey will certainly know now, as t'is ship will be on t'ey're radar an' t'ey'll figure out where it's going. I t'ink maybe we should t'ink about moving the settlement somewhere else on t'at planet."
Grievous pondered over the situation before a series of beeps emitted from the ship's large navigational computer. Dofine excused himself briefly and went over toward the source of the sound. Tapping a few control prompts onto the screen, a large blue projection mapping the whole Lucrehulk beamed from the control panel. The Captain quickly scanned the map, but it didn't take him long to see what the issue was: a series of red dots clustered tightly together in the far southwestern corner inside one of the cargo bays.
Dofine kept his eyes on the dots, watching them precariously. Most of them remained flashing in their area, then some began to move further out, whilst some began to disappear. Grievous planted himself alongside the Captain.
"What does this mean?" the General asked, knowing full-well the answer.
The Captain regarded the cluster of dots for a moment more before nodding his affirmation and a response. "Infiltrators."
Suddenly the whirring of the automatic doors of the cabin opened, followed by hurried footsteps. Surprised, the General looked behind him. A small, slender officer dawned in a mechanic's apparel rushed into the space, gripping a rifle fervently in his stained fingers. Sweat beaded and poured down the Neimoidian's face, the fabric under his arms stained with perspiration. He stopped to catch his breath, his eyes remaining as wide as freshly cut beryl's.
He regarded Grievous with wide, frightened eyes for a moment before turning his attention to the Captain.
"Captain Dofine! T'ere are Clone armadas making our way to t'e ship from the Western side! T'ere infiltrating from t'e cargo bay!"
"Can you surmise how many?" the Captain inquired, keeping his voice at bay, though his eyes, too became large and wide with concern.
"Tens! No, hundreds! Hundreds of them! So many!"
"Did you see any of them?" Grievous demanded. The young man turned a quivering stare toward the General, looking Grievous up and down from head to toe.
"Who are you?"
"Don't be impertinent and ignore my question. Answer me!" he ordered, his voice gradually raising.
"Grievous—" Dofine butted in, but neither the General or the officer heard him.
"Yes, a lot of us saw t'em!" the officer said agitatedly. "We saw t'em approaching the ship, now t'ey're intruding! I'm sure t'ey've shot fellow men as we speak!"
The General was about to respond, but Dofine cut himself in.
"What's your name, boy?" the Captain asked.
"O-Officer Lunn Minai, at your service, Captain."
"Minai, I want you to round as much of your fellow Engineers as you can, t'en head over to t'e East docking bay."
"Y-yes, Captain."
"I want you to head over to finish up t'e repairs in t'e docking bay wit' your fellow men. Make sure your weapons are ready and loaded. Some of t'em, if t'ey're big in number, may try to sneak to t'e other side. T'ey will shoot you first thing, so make sure you get the glimpses of t'e whites of t'ey're armor before t'ey even get a chance to see you."
The officer nodded his head, then Grievous spoke up once again.
"There is absolutely no remorse involved in this, or empathy. They have slaughtered thousands of people already, so you cannot feel any compassion towards them when you get the chance to shoot one, because I warn you, they will not be feeling the same toward you. We want you to remain stoic and on your toes, so turn yourself around toward the door and go!"
The officer fervently nodded, gave a hap-hazard salute before rushing out the door, into an eerily quiet hallway.
"You needn't to snap," the Captain said.
The General kept his eyes on the door, as if the adversary were to strike out at any given second. "I don't want them to waste time. They can't be questioning when we're in this kind of situation."
"Understood, General," the Captain acquiesced uncertainly, heading back near the control panel.
Grievous wearily scanned the room, listening in for gunfire, yet still couldn't pick up anything. The enormity of the ship made hearing the whole perimeter of it near impossible. He felt a strange pinching feeling come back again, but he knew, this time, that it was a bigger reason than the color red.
"I am going to head over to the Western side of the ship," Grievous said, this time putting his full thoughts into it. He heard manicured nails against metal stop in place right after his proposal.
"What? I was going to head over to t'e West side."
Grievous rested his arms placidly to his sides. "I think it would be better if I did it."
"Why? You don't know how to navigate through t'is ship."
"I have been in a Lucrehulk before, like this one."
"You don't have any qualms about doing t'at? About going down t'ere?"
Grievous closed his eyes. "No," he purred. "I think I may have a plan in store."
The Captain put down the pad he had grasped in his fingers and made his way over to the General's side. He opened his eyes again. "Oh? Let's hear t'em."
Gently, Grievous pulled back the robe away from his body to reveal the lightsabers he possessed in his belt. As he did so, he could feel the Captain quickly running his gaze on his metalloid physiology in a curious manner. Dofine must have realized he had averted eyes away briefly, because he soon conducted himself properly once again.
"I have been trained in the lightsaber arts from Dooku for years now," the General spoke placidly. "The training involves more than dueling with a lightsaber. As I am not Force-sensitive, I have had to result in other tactics to seize upon the adversary. I feel that the training I have received, and my previous experiences before this, are more than proficient. I believe I should head there to assist the mercenaries and pick off the Clones, while you and your men get this ship ready to leave."
Dofine nodded but looked incredulous.
"Do you feel t'at a lightsaber is as proficient as a heavy-caliber blaster-rifle?" the Captain questioned.
It sounded insulting, yet the General knew that Dofine was trying to think pragmatically.
"If you're fast and agile enough," Grievous responded confidentially.
Dofine looked down at Grievous' lightsaber belt, silently pondering the matter. A loud blast pinged against one of the metal walls of the conjoining hallways, before disappearing as soon as it had erupted. Both men jumped in their place, fixing their eyes toward the doors.
"We don't have much time to stand around and ponder," the Captain spoke abruptly, walking over to retrieve his firearm. "I put my trust in you. Head over to t'e West cargo bay immediately. If you see any of my men in t'e hallways on your way there, which I'm sure you will, tell t'em to head over to systems navigation so t'at Captain Dofine can give t'em orders." He went over near the navigation panel and pulled a small object away from the piloting control board. The Captain came back over to the General and held the object out to Grievous.
"A navigation pager," Dofine said matter-of-factly. "We'll be able to stay in contact that way. Don't lose it." Grievous regarded the small piece of technology aloofly before storing it away in a pocket within his belt.
"I will be sending battle droids at your disposal once I can page them from the Eastern side. Now," the Captain affirmed. "You must go."
Grievous responded in assertion before making his way out into the hallways.
"Good luck, General," the Captain bid before the doors closed behind Grievous' back, leaving him alone in the eerily noiseless atmosphere. The area around the navigation room didn't belong in a hallway, but was instead in a central chamber where the hallways surrounding him ended. He stood in the very center of this complex, making his current position vulnerable. He consulted a map of the ship, at least glad to possess a memory in these types of situation as near-photographic. If only it served its purpose well in other situations, he thought briefly. The whole thing was vast. Th General was in silent awe by the complicated nature of its hugeness, going this way and that way and branching over there…
He heard a small thump and vigilantly made his way down the empty hallway to the right. Letting the map of the ship form completely in his mind before making rash decisions, he walked on carefully, keeping his back close to the wall and his unignited lightsabers near his chest, rubbing his thumb protectively to the button without applying pressure. From what was given on the map, he seemed to be heading toward what was the closest to being the center of the vessel. Putting himself in that susceptibility to danger would have frightened him all those years ago, but now, it came upon him as if he was simply being asked to run off some papers to the secretary. He wasn't sure what it was, but he found himself pondering little over the situation of what could happen and instead focused on what is going to happen…and that was him knocking the heads off some Republicans and foreseeing that the ship launch itself successfully to Hypori.
It didn't take him to traverse far before he began to hear the chaos. There were screams, gunshots, foul smells seeping into the air. He quickened his pace, running into many mercenaries that were attempting to escape the disorder. Grievous stopped them and repeated Dofine's instruction, which was often responded with a nod and a flee, or quirked brows and avoided eye contact. He didn't appear to be well-received, but at least they were listening to him. He doubted any of these men were to go against the orders of the Captain. Most of these mercenaries appeared to be fleet engineers, as evidenced by their attire and their aloof reactions upon being ordered to repair the Lucrehulk's apparatuses.
As he continued down, he heard two soldiers speaking amongst each other after he had spoken with him. "Since when did t'e Captain start allowing droids to be t'e second in command?" one chided. "How very lowly of him. I know he's desperate at t'is point, but goddamn."
Grievous stopped in place and turned to watch their backs as they turned sharply down the hallway. Both wearing blue uniforms with red belts and adobe-beige pants, the one making the comments wearing a jet-black scarf. He'd remember that for future reference.
The smells only grew stronger the farther he went in, and once he got to the center, he was surprised to see that it was empty. The sounds and scents originated from an antechamber just right near him. Grievous was about to make his way in until he heard footsteps coming sharply in his direction. All simultaneously. Following his reflexes, he leapt to an indentation above the foyer entranceway, climbing higher and higher until he was clinging to a series of ventilation pipes on the ceiling, throwing his legs over so that he was splayed abdomen-down on the rods.
He held his breath still as he watched it all play out, second by second. A squadron of what he counted to be two dozen Clone Troopers marching from the foyer into the central sentinel, not stopping until a series of shouts rung out from behind them. They turned and were faced by six Confederate officers. The mercenaries were greatly outnumbered, and Grievous could see in their eyes they realized their fate was sealed. Though they shot down two Clones, the Republican soldiers hailed their ammo onto the Neimoidian' s, finishing their duel in just a matter of five seconds, give or take. The officers fell unmoving in their own pools of acidic blood that splattered onto the floor and on the walls behind them. The General looked at their bodies before turning his attention back to the Clones, who made their ways to a locked-off room and quickly inputted a code, before they successfully entered, the door shutting automatically behind them.e
Grievous recalled the room they had entered from the map and his eyes grew wide in realization. Computational and Integrated Systems! They're going to attempt to disable the ship's system software! Realizing their time was limited greatly, he began to wrangle himself down from the ceiling, digging his talons into the idents of the wall until he heard more footsteps approaching the central chamber once again. He remained still and saw that more Clones had arrived, this time approximating 30 to 34. The white armor plates completely shielding their bodies were shimmering with green and red blood, with little bits of ganglia clinging to it. Some had black scorches on their breastplates, but mostly appeared to be unharmed.
If he listened closely enough, he could hear a heartbeat…all their heartbeats. He picked it up and listened for their fear. Some were better at masking it than others, but it was there. He could feel it. They stood in place, on some kind of guard, surveying the room as they remained in position. Some however, were beginning to migrate around the huge area, some even began to approach the radius underneath where he was occupying.
Grievous could feel his own heartbeat begin to build up. There were many of them, all armed and mostly unscathed. He had fought in wars all his life, but not at a level this heavy in number and quick in attacking with advanced weaponry. A dread began to pervade him as he clung to the wall, obscuring himself in shaded darkness as the Clones approached him closer, blissfully unaware of his presence. His fingers gripped deeper into the walls of the craft as they simply explored, his cape beginning to rustle in a crisp air that blew through the ship.
Then when he looked down and they were right below him, surveying the location with a reserved disposition, his mind shifted. The predisposed thoughts and fears flew away from him, replaced with a slowly bubbling anger and eagerness for combat. Something within his brain began to pinch him, seeming to squeeze harder and harder until what was left of his precautions completely abandoned him and replaced it with a slowly-accumulating fury. He was ravenous. Ravenous for a fight. For them all to be dead by his own blades.
The Count was standing next to him as he ravaged through a squadron of B1 battle droids, his own vehemence slowly unleashing itself like a rolling storm. The B1's unleashed mechanical groans and shrieks as he sliced them to pieces from all different directions. Dooku merely watched, nodding his head every now and then, looking nonchalant about what was occurring. Once Grievous had sliced the head off the last standing droid, watching as it fell clunkily over with a topple, the Count unhesitatingly approached him.
"I feel a fury bottled within you, General," Dooku said, looking at him with tired eyes. "It seems to be greatly assisting you in your combat."
He had no idea how to respond to the Count, who now began to show a faint crooked smile upon his impassive face. The Count knelt and picked up the decapitated head of a B1, never taking his eyes off him.
"I say let's continue with it."
Glancing briefly beneath him, and with a shallow breath, he swiftly removed his fingers from the wall and fell many feet onto the ground, crushing the two Clones investigating his perimeter underneath his feet.
One emit a broken scream as the sounds of metal hitting bone cracked loudly through his aural sensors. The other lay still and broken, soft like jelly. Blood began to quickly accumulate beneath both Clones, aerating between the General's toes. Grievous quickly lifted up his foot and stamped all his weight furiously onto the still thrashing Clone, feeling his toes squish through mushed bones and torn viscera as the Republican soldier gave one last gurgle and soon lay as limp as his comrade.
The room fell into an unabashed silence, before a shout erupted from the group.
He merely stared into them, his golden reptilian eyes blazing with brazen ferocity. The Clone Commander of the squad took a sharp step back and aimed his gun at the General.
"Droid!" he yelled abruptly, then began to fire.
What seemed to happen next all came naturally to him, so suddenly, so physical, so perfect.
He left the moment the ammo had left its cartridge, leaping high into the air and twisting himself around so that he was back on his feet. In the instant his feet left the ground, he seized the lightsabers from his belt and ignited them in a whirl.
The Clones seemed to regard him in stillness for that one moment, pondering over the situations that just occurred, then hailed a torrent of ammunition upon him. He swung his lightsabers violently around him, deflecting their blasts and guiding his body away from the constant outpourings. Moving his arms in accordance to his gesticulations, he slowly made his way over to the Clones, who had now scattered in many directions of the room in an attempt to target an area he wasn't aware of protecting. He could see them dart out the corner of his eye, placing themselves behind him where his eyes couldn't perceive. Grievous chuckled inwardly at their attempts of diversion. This was going to be entertaining.
Keeping himself alert, he leaped once again into the air and brought both his lightsabers down upon two unlucky Clones who just happened to be in his eye of target. The green and blue blades penetrated through their armor like hot butter, coming out through their back. Their soft gasps were stifled by the raucous blaster-fire that remain contained in their room. Grievous continued to deflect as he threw the soldier's bodies off the blades, landing dead on the floor. He surged forward and ripped a clawed foot clear through the armor of a Trooper, crushing into his chest and ribs. The Clone began to cough violently as the General swung his leg around and knocked the soldier onto the floor, breaking his neck and smashing into the helmet of the comrade next to him. Even amongst the constant gunfire, he could hear the sickening snap of their bones as they collided powerfully with the floor.
Grievous dove partway up the wall, and all in one motion jumped right off and spliced right through the helmets of two Troopers who fired nearby. Before they could bring their reflexes to scream, he drew a blade back and impaled it thorough their torso's, lightning quick. A rather brave Clone who had stood witnessing him during that pandemonium leapt violently forward, leaping off the ground in a complex, obviously much-practiced motion. Just as quick as Grievous was with his lightsabers, the Clone shot a blast toward the General's abdomen, before diving swiftly between his legs and landed safely on the other side.
Grievous maneuvered out of the way before the ammo could him, feeling its heat skid past his hip and land with a loud bang on the blackened floor. Before he could completely turn around to face the adversary, the Clone once again shot, this time cauterizing Grievous on the back of his foot. The General fell hard on his side, still swinging his green lightsaber at the slowly-dwindling ambush.
"He's down! Get him, men!"
Grievous saw the Clone in the corner of his eye loading another cartridge into his blaster. Locking a venomous gaze onto the Trooper, he ferociously swung his legs out beneath the Clone's feet, knocking him down with a thud. The Clone lay there almost dazed, and before he could think again about what was to happen, the General was upon him, digging his taloned feet into the Trooper's breastplate.
The Trooper emit a loud croak before attempting to thrash his way out of the General's locked grasp on him. Grievous kept to his side for a moment, before rolling onto his back and lifting his legs in the air, the Clone gasping and writhing in Grievous' clutch. Shifting a bunch of weight onto his back, the General pulled his legs back, arched his spine against the ground, and surged forward. Flipping himself forward onto his feet, the Clone's body smashed violently onto the ground, Grievous bringing down his full weight, crushing his chest cavity into fragments.
Some of the Clones screamed. Other wretched. Most continued to shoot on command. Grievous regained his posture and settled back into the gist of the fight.
He danced in a mad rhythm, his mechanical tendons rolling with each move, flexing against artificial nerves and muscle. Some of the Clones began to move precariously away, but they didn't appear to resist. Grievous felt everything was coming in one large motion. His lightsabers, hands, fingers, feet, and legs were always smashing against a body, or deflecting laser shots that didn't ever seem to come close to grazing him. He stabbed chests, beheaded bodies, crushed ribs, broke necks, tore, split, rip, disembowel, nothing seemed to scathe him. Blood and spilt insides splattered onto him like wallowing tides. Men kept coming, but they fell just as quickly as they had begun, until they altogether lay either dead at his feet, or had retreated from wherever they had come from.
"Send reinforcements."
Grievous heard the abrupt voice and saw the Commander speaking through a holocomm, his body tense with anxiety that continued building up. The General didn't hesitate for one moment to bound forth and slam the Clone Commander into the floor, knocking the wind out of his lungs and the helmet rolling onto the floor, falling into the collection of Neimoidian corpses and spattered gore.
Grievous was on his knees, his hands pressed strongly onto the Commander's chest, looking at his exposed face. An olive-skinned human male stared back at him, his silver-armored chest breathing steadily underneath he General's slender fingers. Terrified brown eyes met tawny ophidian ones, and in an instant, the Commander's face shifted from despairing to downright shock.
"You're not a…"
Before he could finish his sentence, the General had stabbed him in the chest, feeling the blue lightsaber sink into the sinewy flesh. The Commander's face remained in a shocked freeze-frame, before he gave one last intake of breath and lay still on the floor. To be sure he wasn't fooling, the General slit his throat open and watched as dark blood pooled out of the dead man's esophagus and bubbled from the corner of his lips. He remained there for a moment before standing up to examine the carnage around him.
Almost fifty Clones lay sprawled around the perimeter. He hadn't realized how many had been coming and going during his onslaught. He saw the blood, the bodies, the slaughter. An unholy stench was wafting through the air, fresh and disgusting. He looked upon himself and saw that he was covered in corporeal fluids, something that hadn't touched him since…
He was interrupted to the sound of an incoming call from Dofine's pager. Grievous eagerly took it, still eyeing the bloody mess around him.
"Greetings Captain Dofine," he stated, taking side-glances at the now-quiet antechamber.
"What's the progress, General?" the Captain's staticky voice inquired.
Grievous picked a strain piece of pink tissue off his breast and flicked it onto a decapitated Clone's leg. "In the central cavity of the ship, near the Computational and Integrated Systems security unit and antechamber labelled Foyer no. 11, we have six causalities on our side and ninety-five deceased Clones."
"When you mean casualties, do you mean organics, General?"
"Yes," Grievous avowed.
The Captain went silent for a moment, and Grievous thought at first he had ended the call. "fifty-five dead Clones and only six causalities on our side," he iterated in disbelief. "Are t'ese number skewed?"
"I can make the approximation that I'm correct, Captain, but it's rather difficult to count all the dead men with all the strewn body fragments."
"T'at's not funny."
"I'm serious, Captain Dofine," Grievous stated. "It's a bloody mess down here."
"My gods, what t'a hell happened? Did you witness?"
Grievous nodded, though the Captain could not see. "I witnessed, and I participated."
"Who assisted you?"
"Nobody, Captain. I sent many men to you and a bunch are still clustered in the Southwest Cargo Bay."
Another long silence, this time proceeded with a sigh.
"This isn't humorous, General."
"I'm not lying to you, Captain. I didn't realize how many there were until I finished off their Commander."
"How in t'e world did this all occur? One man against ninety Clones? I know you're not made of flesh and blood but…" he faltered, then stopped himself. "On t'e map I'm seeing a series of dots in t'e Integrated Systems unit, speaking of which."
"I saw a squadron of Clones infiltrate it," Grievous spoke, glad that the Captain was professional enough to avoid a personal conflict in their treacherous situation. "They manage to acquire a security code."
"How…?" the Captain began to ask, then realized there would be no answer to that. "All hands-on deck at t'is point. My men are fixing t'e engines, but t'ey won't work if t'e software is corrupted or destroyed. I will be sending down some of my engineers at once. If only we had some Geonosians on t'is ship…" He sounded strangely calm. "My battle droids are one t'eir way, t'ough it may take t'em some time to reach you."
"Why are they conglomerated in one area?" Grievous pondered aloud, not even realizing it until Dofine responded.
"T'ey are usually in the Eastern side, away from the organic troops. T'ey can be so frustrating…oh, how ill-prepared I was," the Captain said vaguely.
"Since you're sending me to the Integrated Systems room, I'm going to proceed to the Southwest Cargo Bay. I'm not hearing much activity, but I've got a sense."
"T'is has all happened so fast, General. Most of my men still haven't even made it here or t'ere yet."
"I can see," Grievous said with an air of frustration.
"My troops are getting down t'ere as fast as t'ey can. Be careful, General."
"Lushros, I have this sense," Grievous suddenly forewarned, "and it's not positive. I think your men should try to fix the engines as fast as they can and get them started. We cannot stay here for much longer."
"I, we are trying our best, General. I understand t'e concerns you have. I will notify you when we have made timely progress. I don't t'ink it'll take long at all."
"I hope you mean that," Grievous expressed impatiently. "I need to go, Captain. Your competence on this mission has been more than satisfactory."
Dofine gave an ambiguous nervous cough/laugh before disconnecting. Grievous slid the device safety away and made his way into the hallway that lead to the Cargo bay from his current location. He drew his lightsabers up and debated whether to have them ignited, but he instead kept them clutched fervently in his hands as he continued his way down, until he came around the corner and heard commanding voices echoing about on the other side.
Keeping himself as low a profile as a seven-foot bone-white cyborg was able to do, he pressed himself against the wall and entered what was the Southwest consignment bay of the ship, the place of infiltration for these Republicans. He was standing on a great mezzanine that overlooked the complex, yet from the height of it he was able to examine his environs while not being seen right off the bat.
Below were many crates and other methods of storage that were stacked neatly away within lofty shelves inside the compound. Right near the hefty cargo were amassed Clones, all scattered around and seeming rather disturbed. Grievous saw many bodies of mercenaries and other Troopers on the floor, lying dead at Clone's feet. He wondered if some of the crew had gone into hiding, for the many different hiding spots posed made that conjecture seem plausible, if one was aerobic or crafty enough.
Fortunately, he was both. Slowly edging his way to the farthest end of the mezzanine, carefully regarding his surrounding, he prudently grasped at a large metal storage shelf that held hundreds of crates and hoisted himself onto it. He crouched behind a large box before a squadron of Troopers walked past his ledge.
"I wonder why General Yunei is having us infiltrate the Eastern barracks," one Clone protested to his fellow brothers.
"Don't you ever listen?" the Trooper next to him chided. "The General said the droid army is stationed in the East barracks. If we can dismantle them quickly enough, we should be able to pull apart this ship piece-by-piece."
"And what of the other mercenaries?"
"Droids are more sundry in number. A few Neimoidians will be easier than hundreds of B1's and Super's."
The objecting Clone laughed anxiously, and their talk continued as they walked away from his earshot.
Hurry up, droids!
Grievous continued to crawl along the shelf, obscuring himself behind stacks of crates. His metal digits and talons clicked quietly against the steel ledges. He attempted to figure a way to go in for a good kill, his mind attempting to push him out in the open for the execution. Grievous had to force himself to stay in place to properly strategize what his next moves were going to be. With or without droids at his disposal, what was to occur next seemed to be circumstantial.
As he began to strategize, he heard a strident voice talking within the external chatter of the Clones, crystalline and clear.
Grievous' thoughts came to a sharp halt at the sound.
"I want you to infiltrate the Eastern bay and move on South from there," the voice said. "This ship possesses many valuable resources that will indeed be useful in the future." Then, he quickly proceeded it with "Their alliance to the newformed confederacy is a hostile crime."
The General slowly stood from his crouched stance and glanced over the side of the crate stack to determine the owner of the voice. Whoever was speaking sounded both very authoritative yet rather tranquil, like Captain Dofine's.
Standing there, a mere few hundred yards away from him, was a Jedi.
Grievous stared fiercely. He should have known.
The Jedi General appeared to be a young human male, with pale skin and a cropping of disheveled hair. His robes were tattered, brown, and coated with red sand. From his rather tousled appearance, Grievous surmised he had been on Geonosis for quite some time, and that it was roughing him up considerably. He could see the dark circles underneath the Jedi's eyes and the look of disappointment that was beginning to infuse his pasted-on smile. He seemed to be maintaining his composure, still looking astute over his Clone underlings.
"Roger, General Yunai," a Clone affirmed before leading the group out of the cargo bay and to an exit right near where Grievous had entered, making it one of the last group of Clones to abandon the area. The General watched the Trooper's stalk away before turning his full-on attention to the Jedi. General Yunai began looking cautiously around him, picking up on something the others were and had not.
Grievous mustered a smirk beneath his mask. He seems to be sensing something 'off'. Why don't we go and help him out?
The droid General, taking one last quick survey, stood his full height and walked to the edge of the shelf, where he squatted back on his knees and lowered himself quietly to the floor, landing ceremoniously on his feet, right behind the sensing Jedi. This was going to be fun.
"I'm ready for my orders, General Yunai," Grievous hissed assiduously.
The Jedi quickly turned around with a stunned look on his face, which registered quickly to confusion upon glancing at the tall cyborg.
"What are you?" the Jedi inquired.
Grievous took a step forward. The Jedi took one back and brought his unignited weapon near him.
"I believe the correct phrasing is 'Who are you'," Grievous purred.
The Jedi was already scanning his body to see if he was armed. However, he almost had the entirety of his body cloaked, which registered as inconvenience on the Jedi's face.
"Fine then," General Yunai said. "Who are you?"
Grievous let his hands slip from his cloak. The Jedi quickly glanced down, seeing he was carrying no firearms.
"You can call me Grievous."
General Yunai was now making eye contact. "Interesting name. What is your affiliation here?"
"Excellent question, Jedi. As a matter of fact, though we weren't expecting you so soon, I believe one of my occupations is to eliminate you from this ship."
The Jedi took another step back. "And how do you plan on executing that?"
The General couldn't hold himself back. In in one quick motion he shed the cape out of his way, yanking his lightsabers from his belt, and ignited them. The Jedi's eye grew wide in perplexity. Grievous laughed quietly and crouched close to the floor.
"Why, by executing you of course," he declared, then bound forward to the Jedi General.
General Yunai leaped to the right, igniting his own lightsaber in the process. Grievous stood up and faced the Jedi again.
"You side with the newly formed government," Yunai spoke heavily, then leaped over toward Grievous, clashing his saber with the droid General's. "You are a traitor."
Grievous spun completely around before striking toward the Jedi's wrist. The Jedi General blockaded Grievous' hit and went up for Grievous' abdomen, but the droid General deflected and surged forward, knocking Yunai backwards. Tightly gripping his saber, the Jedi locked his gaze into the General before Grievous aimed down for his feet. The Jedi leaped upward, rolled onto the floor, and rebounded right back up, this time distancing himself away from Grievous.
However, the droid General saw right away what the Jedi was to do, and he bound toward the organic General with both his lightsabers twirling rapidly around him. The Jedi held his own blade in front of his chest, swishing it forward to quickly knock away Grievous' quick-coming blows. Frustration became evident on the Jedi's face, who was now dodging to and fro to escape from the droid General's onslaught. He managed to find a second to escape from it and shifted off to the side, still swinging his lightsaber aggressively around. He rushed toward Grievous and swung at his body, yet the Separatist merely clashed against it or pirouetted his legs and limbs away from the blow.
Yunai dodged Grievous' body as he came running forward, and before the droid General could turn himself around, the Jedi began to grasp him steadily with the Force.
Grievous felt that horribly soft yet coiling feeling of the Jedi's symbiotic energy grasping ahold of him like tendrils. Dooku had gripped him with it several times, violently driving it against him and Ventress. It was mainly a disgusting feeling. It stripped of his power and gave his enemies the unfair advantage of knowing what he was going to do. This wield of energy was extremely powerful, but Grievous had been specifically trained to try and avoid these scenarios from happening. Like the headlights of a vehicle freezing a small rodent in the middle of a road, he had to try an avert his enemies from resorting, no, even thinking about applying their energy onto him.
He struggled to break free. Yunai brought him back towards him, before smashing his body into a crate.
Grievous' cranium harshly made contact with the thick wood, bring forth a throbbing pain and an accumulating rage. As he grasped his head with his fingers, he felt the energetic fronds coming forth to claim him once again.
The droid General roared and bound onto his feet, dodging a violent Force-push into a stack of fuel rods. He dove toward Yunai and swept his foot under to knock the Jedi onto his back. The organic General leapt up, only to be swiftly pummeled to the ground by Grievous' metal fist.
The Jedi fell on his stomach, and something within him cracked. The droid General picked up the sound more so than the Clone's he had slaughtered in the central foyer, and it brought him the closest to smiling that his fractured jaw would allow him. General Yunai faintly grunted and backed away from Grievous, pointing his lightsaber at the Separatist's mask. Grievous ignored the threat and came running over, aiming his lightsabers at the Jedi's broken chest. Yunai coughed and jumped onto his feet once again, colliding his weapon just in time with the droid General's.
"I will kill you with one of those control rods if I must," the Jedi rasped.
Grievous pushed their interlocked blades closer to Yunai's body.
"How very unpacific of you, Jedi," Grievous roused, pushing his weight into his arms. "I sense something stirring from within. You are furious."
"You don't possess the Force, you know nothing!" the Jedi snapped. "You're just projecting yourself."
"I don't need to possess the Force to know," Grievous said, keeping their blades securely dovetailed. "You know General Yunai, I didn't think it was often a Jedi would send his men to infiltrate a ship for wealth or material gain."
"I have no idea what you're talking about," Yunai exclaimed. "I'm attacking because you're supporting an autonomous government! You're at war with us!"
There was something about the Jedi's voice that was tinged with a venom, something heavy and terribly warped. Grievous construed that something about Yunai was amiss, and his behavior like a…
Yunai's eyes widened.
"No! I am not one of them!" the organic General hissed, reading into Grievous directly. "I am the General of this Cline armada for the sake of the gods!"
"I don't know if you are one of them, but you may be shifting over unconsciously."
General Yunai looked disgusted, squinting from the green light of their blades. "You just think that because that's what your influenced by."
"I have my reasons for thinking certainly about everything, General," Grievous susurrated.
"Yeah? You and everybody else!"
"Please, keep talking. It reveals a little more of yourself with each sentence."
"And you're about as easy to figure out as a braindead droid! I lead this army here in an attempt to dismantle your foolish establishment. I walked miles upon miles in a desert to get here, I—"
Grievous' eyes glowered, bringing his mask dangerously close to the binding green light. Enough was enough. He had had his fun. "Goodbye, Dark Jedi."
In a flash, he pulled his top lightsabers from the interconnected blade lock, and pierced the organic General through the lining of his abdomen.
Yunai's eyes went wide and watery, watching as Grievous ripped his own saber out of his clenched fingers. Though his eyes didn't shut, the last thing the Jedi saw were the audacious eyes of the droid General, unblinking and shining with victory. Seeing that the organic General had stopped moving, he tucked the Jedi's lightsaber firmly into his belt.
Grievous looked upon the body until he heard hundreds of more feet approaching near him, all stopping dead in place near his area.
"General Yunai!"
Grievous looked up and saw a whole other armada of Clone Troopers, lead by a Commander who stared in horror at his leader's corpse.
The General's heart began to pound.
The Clone Commander took one last look at the Jedi before he aimed his blaster at Grievous. "Fire at your will, men."
Like a crack of thunder, the armada all shot toward the General, expecting an imminent death, only to have the blasts ricocheted back at them from the General's now ignited sabers. His limbs moved as fast as the ammunition left their cartridges, dodging and contorting until some of the Clone's fell dead from his deflections. Some of the Troopers, like before, began to scatter throughout and try to aim from a spot he couldn't possible see. It was pointless.
Grievous continued with his ministrations as heard the clanking of hundreds of metal feet drumming the ground all concurrently, followed by raucous laser fire. The droids had finally arrived.
Like on what he had briefly witnessed on the fields of Geonosis, a tension had already stirred.
Squadrons of many classes of B1 and B2 battle droids advanced upon the Clone infantries as Droidekas rolled into the combat and positioned themselves in place. Grievous saw that the feet on many of the battle droid's were covered in blood, which was trailing in gory footprints behind them. Two B1 Commanders stepped forth from the group, their yellow chests coated in bodily matter.
"Fire!" One shouted, and what followed was a cacophonic boom of advanced militia weaponry being discharged at once.
The pandemonium between the two partied that ensued was almost blinding. It escalated into such intensities that Grievous wasn't the center of attention from the other side. He rushed over toward the droid troops and pulled one of the B1 Commanders aside, trying to mask himself in what little shadow was inside the Cargo bay.
"What's the status on the Clones who attempted to enter the East foyer barracks?" Grievous inquired, shouting over the loudness that condensed and resonated within the complex.
"Status on Clone armada: terminated," the Commander finalized.
Grievous felt imminent relief flood through him.
"I must check the status of the Clones who have entered the Integrated Systems Unit. I am ordering you and your brother model to Command the other battle droids while I am away."
"Roger, roger," the B1 Commando affirmed, saluting the General, before making his way back into the battlefield.
Grievous watched the happenings before him before he slipped out of the Bay and back within the central complex of the ship, where the bodies still lay. Just as he entered, a gathering of Neimoidian engineers emerged from the left, right from the Systems Unit. Though they had seen the gore already before they had entered, a couple of them gave off quiet wretches upon seeing it again.
"G-General," one of the engineers stammered, clearly taken back by the cyborg's appearance.
Grievous approached the frightened man, noticing that it was the same engineer who had warned him and Captain Dofine of the incoming infiltration. He was wielding his heavy-caliber rifle, as were the other engineers.
"Did you catch them?" he queried, indicating the room they had emerged from.
The engineer stared on for a moment, before quickly nodding his head. "Yes. T'ey were attempting to destroy t'e system's main computers. We got 'em, General."
Seeing this Neimoidian here seemed to mean one thing only, but Grievous decided to ask, anyways.
"I thought you and your fellow men were supposed to be repairing the engines."
Though it seemed foreign for him to be doing so, the Neimoidian gave an awkward smile.
"Captain Dofine said me and my men have repaired it sufficiently enough to blast t'is ship to Hypori once we can dispatch t'e last of t'ese sons-of-bitches."
"And do you, yourself inference that to be true?" Grievous asked.
The engineer, this time, nodded assurdely. "Yes, General. More t'an so. I'm sure we could take her to Cato-Neimoidia but…" he stopped himself and simply sighed.
"Where are the rest of your men?"
The Neimoidian's chest puffed. "T'ey're on t'eir way. T'e squadrons will be here at any minute now."
Though it was nearly difficult, Grievous managed to slightly smile beneath his mask.
The Clones had been greatly outnumbered.
