Hello illustrious fan-fictioners! It took me hours to write the first paragraph, so you would imagine the time-consuming process of writing everything else. So, in this chapt we see Grievous poning Jedi newbs, a discomfited first encounter between Dooku and Athela since her drastic change in appearance, and a rather random scene with some clone trooper people...purely because they're cool like that. Along with that, more Grievous and Ventress bickering to amuse you! What more could ya want? Wait...I don't wanna know. ;) Also note, Grievous's age is mentioned later in this, and since I couldn't find anything official on it, it was an educated guess after estimating the times of all the important points in his life and...I'll shutteth up.

As always: R&R

(I just recently got smart and allowed anonymous reviews, so if your anything like I was a year ago, devoid of an account, you'll appreciate this...)

Chapter 30

Grievous had never been a big fan of waiting, and it was because of this that he found the delay of the Jedi insufferable when the time of their confrontation came around. Prior to the present time, back at the center of operations, he had spoken to Dooku about his stratagem, and the count had seemed, in the least, irritated by it. Of course, it would have been unlike Dooku to feel any other way, so Grievous didn't give it a second thought.

The general stared out over the wide river that the natives claimed separated the planet thousands of years ago. His cold eyes stayed locked on the horizon for any sign of life. When the minutes turned to hours, the manipulative brain in his skull started to think that this was some sort of trick. For just an instant, he took into account that the utterly senseless droids wouldn't be prepared for such an attack if this was just a way to get him out of the camp. Then again...better for him if they were all wiped out, with hopefully Ventress with them. Even if this were true, he knew when to hold his position, with or without an army behind him. But even he would admit that it was taking too long for the Jedi to show up. Surely they weren't that ill-bred to ignore their own word. That was the level of a person like himself, although he did begin to really think about his own mental statement when the ever so proverbial reminder of Athela's situation came to him. Maybe it wasn't true...

"The view here is quite calming isn't it?" A simple comment came from beside him. His head shot towards it; how could he have been so dense!?

Immediately in a sadistic mindset, Grievous took a lightsaber in each hand and prepared to destroy the one who spoke. Subsequently he saw that there were two of them, both wearing the brown robes that he had seen so many adorned in at the battle of Geonosis. The older looking one, presumably the one who had sent the message in the first place, looked about as peaceful as the dead, but the younger one gazed at the cyborg with wonder---the last thing he would have ever thought he would get from a Jedi.

"Someone like yourself must appreciate respite from time to time don't you, General?"

"Silence you insolent filth! Do not ever talk to me like that!"

"Well, I can see already that you are a joy to have around." The voice seemed diplomatic, with what Grievous recognized as a Coruscanti accent to it.

The younger man beside his elder cocked his head to the side and remarked, "He does have a very sad air about him, doesn't he, Ural?"

"Please..." The Jedi said, "Do not complicate matters. Though I must agree with you."

"That, is, enough!" Grievous rasped, clenching the weapons in his hands tightly. "You came here to fight! And you will."

Ural Namashi frowned. "No need to be so bad-tempered..."

"Your Jedi benevolence is skin deep." The general scoffed at the two. "Your true feelings are hatred and disgust; like all your pathetic Council towards anyone who gets in their way. If you knew how I killed all your comrades on Geonosis, you would fear me as all the rest..."

The Jedi still frowned. "I do not fear you, Grievous."

A unambiguous smirk was perceived in his jarring voice. "Well...we will just have to change that won't we?"

*-*-*-*-*-*

The arrival of Count Dooku back on Grievous's command ship was neither expected or anticipated. When she caught word that the count wanted to speak with her, Athela hurried to the location he was said to be at and stopped abruptly in front of the door. She took a deep breath, and entered, keeping her eyes downward. She heard footsteps, and in turn remained silent.

"I see you managed to arrive beforehand. Very wise."

"Yes..." Athela replied, driven to add after, "sir..."

Raising her eyes, she noted Dooku's skeptical expression. He blinked once, his mouth slightly ajar, seemingly trying to formulate words that would justify the impression in his mind. Athela just waited, until in a slightly bothered voice she asked, "What?"

"Oh...Forgive my incredulity, but I---" He searched for an explanation. "Your appearance."

"You wouldn't be the first person."

For one so usually placid, Dooku looked greatly unnerved. Certainly there were many thoughts of a similar nature going through his head in that very moment; even so he suppressed his agitation. Athela suddenly became concerned that she had given one of such a high rank a bad impression...or what notions she had put in his head. She went to speak out for herself and explain, but the count verbalized first.

"So, might I inquire as to who prompted you to go looking like..."---he gestured towards her distastefully---"that?"

"I don't know." Athela said truthfully, a bit too stridently for her own good. All that did was make her receive an even more doubtful look.

"Are you sure about that?" He endeavored, his eyes hard. "Because I seem to recall a time when the military leader of our cause had likewise undisclosed objectives---"

Scowling, she held back a curse.

Dooku shook his head at her, deliberately showing his annoyance. "Now, now, now. There is no reason to be thinking such things, it was only an observation."

Your "observations" are going to be the death of you...

"I do not think so...For you see, I am not so easily fooled by the deceptions of others. I can see right through them, Athela."

"That's very comforting, sir."

The count's features twisted, contorting into something slightly reminiscent of an amused facial expression. "I believe now would be the time to ask a small favor of you..."

*-*-*-*-*-*

They stood not ten paces from each other.

Namashi had not changed his mind up to that point, and still wished to battle formally. So Grievous, knowing that nothing good would come of it if he rejected the offer, consented, despite his raging hatred. The master's equal, Micao, remained a safe distance away, but the general noted that he had placed his hand upon the lightsaber within his cloak, standing by and ready to assist his friend if such a time would come.

Grievous's fingers twitched around the hilts of his lightsabers as he watched in a motionless silence, and the Jedi smiled mockingly.

"Whenever you're ready."

On cue, both the cyborg and his weapons flashed to life, wasting no time. The hiss of the blades filled the quietness when they met; devilishly golden and brown eyes locked. Pulling back one lightsaber while the other stayed securely on the adversary's, Grievous cut vertically at Namashi's chest. Reacting quickly, the Jedi broke the connection between his own blade and the other to save himself at the last second. Grievous cursed and swiftly kicked out, nailing the human in the chest and sending him onto his back in the long grass. Tearing up the foliage with every step, Grievous intently went to bring his talons down on the Jedi's head, but he rolled backwards just before anything could happen.

Getting irritated, Grievous watched Namashi get to his feet and casually brush himself off, as if this was only a game to him, then attack the cyborg again with a certain animalistic brutality that Grievous had seen only in himself. Interested, Grievous crossed his lightsabers across his upper body to avert an attempt to slice open his chest once more. Holding both lightsabers out at his side threateningly, asking, daring Namashi to come closer, he waited.

When the Jedi finally made his move, it was as the general had predicted. Namashi used a force enhanced move to leap well over Grievous's head, taking a downward slash at the strangely shaped skull of the enemy. At the same time did Grievous bring both arms upward simultaneously, trying to catch his opponent in mid-air. Both missed the other by an inch, but provided a very entertaining show for Micao, the blameless onlooker who feared for his friend's life. General Grievous was a practiced fighter---that much the boy knew, and Master Namashi's former strength had waned a little bit more than slightly.

Grievous swung around to catch the blue lightsaber blade on one of his own, and shoved Namashi backwards with all the strength he had. The Jedi anticipated this effort, and pulled away, doubling back from a different angle. Rotating to the left, Grievous attacked with vicious amusement, but only managing to faintly nick the hand in which Namashi's weapon was located. Wincing, Namashi stepped back, but Grievous didn't let him get any farther then he had been, determined not to lose.

"It appears..." Namashi managed a small smile as he spoke, yet he struggled to breath evenly. "...you have no concept of impartiality, General...Perhaps I may have overestimated you..."

"Life," Grievous replied roughly, his eyes burning, "was never fair to me in the first place!!"

That strange feeling, identical to what he had experienced mentally on the clone command ship a month or so back, hit him all over again. Losing all sense of civility---the little that he even possessed---his once adequate assault on the Jedi converted to pure madness. He pounded his lightsabers down on Namashi's over and over, using his own power against the human, whose energy level quickly dropped. Noticing this, the cyborg general ceased his incessant hits, parried around to the side, and slammed into his opponent with as much force as he could gather, catching the Jedi by just an inch. Satisfaction filled his mind when he heard a clear snap from the free arm he had collided with. Pain and serenity were both written on Namashi's face as he made an attempt to flex his hand muscles while blocking another blow from Grievous. When that effort proved unsuccessful, the human yelled something disjointed out of pure frustration and struggled to fend off attack after inhumanly brutal attack.

By that point, Volcom Micao had shrugged off his cloak, readied his lightsaber and ignited it. The blade was of a shiny yellow color, rarely seen except in the possession of the recognized Jedi Sentinels. This, naturally, was the reason it attracted the eye of Grievous, who had been engaged up to that time in the slow deterioration of the other Master. The cyborg, quite intrigued, chuckled maliciously and made for the still integral Jedi. Behind him, Namashi sank to his knees, deactivating his lightsaber to allow for support from his undamaged arm. Meanwhile, Grievous was already contesting Micao---experimenting with the boy's skills. And he certainly had them...

Every little move, Grievous felt, was being analyzed by those prying, green eyes. It seemed, that whatever the general did; whatever move he exploited, Micao was able to somehow prevent. So Grievous tried another tactic that he was sure Micao wouldn't be prepared for. Bracing himself and his lightsabers against the enemies weapon, he shut off the second lightsaber in his right hand. It was to his regret, that he had to drop it to the ground, for if he hadn't, his thought wouldn't have succeeded. Leaning in close to Micao's face, he whispered heartlessly: "I do hope that I will be the one to murder your friend..." The slight flicker of impiety that shone in the Jedi's eyes, and Grievous continued in a persuasive voice, "...and I have such ideas on how I will bring that about..."

Hate was evident in the young man's sudden change in posture, and Grievous knew he would win. In all his forty three years of life, he had learned many things; experienced much, and one of the most imperative ones he had stored in his mind was that, if he broke an opponent mentally, it was only a matter of time until they would succumb to him. And that didn't only apply to fighting...He reflected with a faint amount of amusement, regardless of the present circumstances. Counting the seconds mentally, Grievous concentrated his gaze on Micao's eyes. The bright green irises had contracted, curiously enough, so that the black centers had taken up three fourths of his eyes; over all rather outlandish for a human, unless...

Micao made the fateful mistake that Grievous had been waiting for---a small shifting of his hands on the hilt of his lightsaber. That was all he needed. The cyborg bore down on the Jedi. Making use of his free hand, he unsheathed his claws from the fist that held them, brought them back, and sharply ripped through the flesh of Micao's upper chest, directly over his heart. Stunned, Micao faltered, and between looking at the claw marks through his skin and the inflictor, he was able to spit out: "Wh-what---what are you doing?! That wasn't within the regulations of formal---"

"You foolish boy..." Grievous interrupted, "How long will it take you to realize that I do not keep my promises?"

Again, Grievous slashed at him, this time transversely across the face. Micao yelled something as he felt the razor sharp claws slicing through his flesh, and dropped his lightsaber. He gripped his face---or what was left of it---with both hands, and when he glared up at Grievous, he looked like death. Grievous regarded his work with contented aggression. One of the Jedi's eyes was injured beyond repair, and the general supposed he had caused the sudden blindness almost immediately. The marks went deep; scars that would haunt him for the rest of his days...if he even lived. Deliberating over possible results of leaving Micao conscious for the death of his friend, Grievous shrugged it off, and reinstated that the pathetic creature would be too busy licking his wounds to notice.

Ural Namashi was still alive, as far as Grievous knew, and with murderous intent, he went for him.

Namashi recoiled when he saw the shadow lurking over him. Cold dread overcame him; he had seen what this monster had done to poor Volcom. Grievous only snickered quietly, amazed at what the master had been reduced to. "So..." He purred wickedly, toying idly with the lightsaber handle in one hand, "How would you like to die, Master?" Mocking his victims was always so much fun...

"Our bodies die...but..."---Namashi blinked back an expression of pain---"...our souls live for all eternity..."

"Wrong answer." Grievous snapped, igniting the blade.

From his viewpoint, Micao cried out in horror. But no matter how one put it, he knew that Ural wouldn't be coming back. Through the pain hindering his right mind, he felt the tears streaming down the intact sections of his face. He ran his hands all over his head, all the while keeping his eye on the cyborg, who stood over Ural's body like an animal guarding its kill. Slowly, ever so slowly, Micao bent down to retrieve his lightsaber and began half-dragging himself towards Ural's murderer, whose domed head swiveled this way and that. Snarling, Micao withdrew a second weapon, identical to the first. Holding them with equal force in each hand, he constricted his fingers around them even harder the closer he got. Even when the monster looked his way, startled seemingly by him, he didn't stop.

Grievous watched him struggle in his direction inquisitively, until he was only a few feet away. What caught his attention was that instead of only one lightsaber, Micao had two, much like Asajj Ventress. He didn't get the chance to use them, however, for as soon as he activated them, Grievous acted. He caught both of Micao's wrists, twisting his arms back. Spinning him around then, Grievous hit him squarely in the back of the neck with the side of his arm, knocking him instantly unconscious.

Contemplating the two bodies before him, the cyborg had a feeling that this wasn't the last time he would see Micao, and with another content chuckle, he bent down to the dead Jedi.

The day will not come soon enough...He thought, taking possession of Namashi's lightsaber.

*-*-*-*-*-*

A-390, designated as "Nez" among his friends, raised the electrobinoculars to the dark sheet of lextan that shielded his features, and scanned the horizon for any sign of life. Beside him was his newest subordinate, CT-45\429, who much rather preferred to be called "Corf" over any standard clone number. Not finding anything, Nez looked over to the young soldier, barely out of his fifth year of life, but because of the hastened growth process, he looked around his mid-twenties. Corf, a bona fide war enthusiast if Nez ever saw one, had taken up the skilled job of keeping inventory of all supplies, seeing as his mind had been reported as ten percent sharper then all of the other clones in his lot.

"Any sign of them?" He heard Corf ask, uncertainly.

"No."

"Did they specify what they were leaving the base for, exactly, sir?"

Somewhat goaded into his clipped answer, Nez turned fully to acknowledge the expectant trooper. "No," he repeated, then mumbling, "despite their orders."

Nez crossed his arms and heaved a sigh, frustrated with the lack of success. If the two Jedi weren't found, he might as well just shoot himself and be done with it. His eyes strayed to the other clones strewn around the general proximity, wondering if they were having more success then he and Corf, who had resumed to watching the horizon.

Newbies...Nez thought, shaking his head.

A trooper he knew to be around his age, more commonly known as "Nick"---due to the beat-up condition of his armor---walked up and stood at attention. "Six-seven-three-eight-one reporting. We believe to have found a sign, sir."

"Gather the men, we stay together to investigate." Behind his helmet, Nez's eyes narrowed grimly, "There's something bad out there."

*-*-*-*-*-*

The discovery of the two bodies came as a shock to everyone, and when the find was conveyed to the Jedi Council, theories began to swarm. With the scarcely living Jedi unconscious with paranormal scratch marks all over his face and chest, no one could make a decent estimate as to what exactly attacked him and his comrade. Something else peculiar was found in the examination of the dead body as well. Along with the broken arm, shoulder, and multiple ribs, there was a burnt perforation all the way through where the heart was, arousing astonishment in the minds of the Jedi Masters, as they observed. No regular weapon, even a vibro-blade, could bring about such a perfectly rounded aperture through its victim. And with equally troubled views, they all came to the same dismal conclusion.

Like on the bloody day on Geonosis, the man had died by a lightsaber.

*-*-*-*-*-*

"You mean they are still alive?" Asajj Ventress demanded, almost directly upon the general's arrival back.

Grievous growled agitatedly, plainly giving the freakish woman a warning not to push it. But he should have known that people like her didn't give up so easily, and she followed his hulking form through the small crowd that seemed to always watch for him. She persisted to complain about his "failure", until he had heard enough. Very unexpectedly, he twisted himself around; Ventress came to an hastily forced stop, just inches from ramming into him. Bending down to her eye level, he prepared to say something aggressive, but civil words would not come when the delightful thought of choking the life out of her popped into his head.

Silencing it, he clenched his hands into fists and snarled in a much more unrestrained voice, "I. Did. Not. FAIL!!"

"Didn't you now? How utterly predictable of you to lie like---"

Then Grievous took out Ural Namashi's lightsaber and shoved it in her face, pulling back away from her slightly. "Proof." Was all he said.

Not taking her eyes off him, Ventress cautiously took the hilt and looked it over warily. She then nodded and handed it back to him, noting the way he snatched it from her and stowed it away once more. "And the other...?" She said, raising one thin eyebrow compellingly.

Grievous turned his head away, quite shamefully at that. "He lives." He muttered inaudibly.

"What was that?" The commander put her hand to her ear, mocking him clearly. "I can't hear you! Can you speak up!?"

"He's alive!!" Grievous yelled at her. He afterward continued in a controlled tone. "I left him with his life; I had a feeling I would meet him again someday."

"Well aren't you the psychic." She replied dryly with a roll of her eyes. "Maybe I should tell Count Dooku about your little "prediction", and see what he says about it."

Cackling, in spite of himself, Grievous jerked his head upward in a gesture to go ahead and do just that. "Oh, by all means, please do..."---his laugher died down to a faint, guttural expression of his amusement---"...but expect to lose your head afterward."

Ventress said no more on the subject, knowing that she didn't stand a chance against the indestructible machine, even if they hadn't battled each other yet...

At that point in time, Grievous had went on his way back to his temporary domicile, hoping; praying that Ventress did not follow. He knew it was his own bad luck when she did, and he had to say, "Can you not go and bother someone else, Commander?" He sighed in anger afterward for emphasis. "Your little band of "followers" perhaps? I am convinced they would love having you around."

Her reply was dripping with sarcasm. "No, why would I ever do such a thing, when I know how much you enjoy my being around you." And Grievous had to wonder if that was what she really thought. You are way off the mark then...He imagined. Then again, how could she? Hate had no room for company...

"You are annoying me." Way to state the obvious right there...

Nothing came in reply to this, which satisfied Grievous for the moment. He walked in foreboding silence, his mind wondering to the question of what exactly had come of his ship within the two days he had been gone. One thing was for certain, though---if anything was wrong with it when he arrived back, the Confederacy would be short a couple hundred droids... He smiled mentally at that prospect. As he traveled through the base, his eyes pinpointed a specific droid coming his way. It stopped directly in front of him, and he waited for something stupid to be formulated from its amazingly small memory chip. That never came, instead it stuck out its hand and handed the cyborg a small hologram transceiver, which he turned on with the simple touch of a button. When the miniaturized figure of Count Dooku appeared, Grievous thrust the object at Ventress, who struggled to show her respect for her master and hold on to it at the same time.

Bowing only just, quickly enough to receive a transparent look of disgust from the count, Grievous waited for something derogatory to reach his audio receptors, making clear his equivalent revulsion in the mean time. Dooku addressed his aberrant disciple briefly, saying something that Grievous did not catch, but whatever it was, it made Ventress tense up. The Sith then returned his attention to the general, who stood attentively in grave anticipation. "I trust you dealt with the Jedi?"

It was Grievous's turn to stiffen. "To an extent..." He trailed off, averting the hologram.

He didn't need to see the reaction to know that Dooku was immediately exasperated. "General...need I bring up that it was you who delivered that very moving rejoinder to my reservation," Grievous's head jolted back, and he prepared to answer, but Dooku wouldn't have any of that, "...oh yes...I remember now. You said that I would "I would believe you when the Jedi breathed their last". Now I must ask, how miserably did you fail?"

Across from him, Ventress snickered, notwithstanding her unknown nervousness. Glaring at her, Grievous's eyes silenced her. He began to explain in a barely level manner. "Failure...is...not how I would put it. I killed one, and blinded another...partially. His uncompleted death was my fault, I confess, however I strongly believe that he has a purpose in the future."

Dooku's distorted expression was thoughtful. "Continue." He commanded.

And so Grievous told him all of it, what exactly happened out there on the endless plains. Surprisingly, Ventress neither commented or did anything to show insolence; that pleased Grievous like nothing else. Dooku interrupted him only once to inquire the legitimacy of a prior statement, but other then that: nothing.

"And still, when it all comes down to it, you didn't kill the other when you should have. I never thought I would live to see the day..."

"You just did." The cyborg snapped, ending a conversation that had dragged on for far longer then he had expected. It was in that instant, that a strange desire to speak to Athela came over him. He didn't know why. He didn't even care. He simply wanted to.

"Count," he said, "I wish to talk to...Athela."

It felt discomfited saying her name.