As had been decided by the Triad, while a few Alliance spacecraft faked an attack on an Imperial shipyard, the bulk of the Alliance's fleet gathered at a rendezvous point in a system near the Coruscant system. Then, when the time came, the Alliance ships made a jump into hyperspace. After finally coming out of hyperspace in front of Coruscant, they found a sizeable Imperial fleet waiting for them.

They were ready for us, Wedge thought to himself with a sense of dread. Our diversion was pointless. But he supposed it shouldn't have been a surprise—there were far too many people involved in this offensive not to expect there would be at least one spy in their midst.

But there wasn't much time left for thinking. Garm Bel Iblis began spewing attack orders, and Wedge took in a deep breath, steeling himself.

"You ready, fighter squads?" came General Lando Calrissian's voice over the comm. He had been given direct control over the Alliance's fighter pilot squadrons, though he could of course be overruled by the needs of higher-ranking men such as Bel Iblis. "Darklighter Squadron and Silver Squadron, flank me. We're going for some of the big boys. The rest of you, run interference for our capital ships till I tell you otherwise."

"Did you hear that, Darklighter Squadron?" Wedge said with a tight smile on his face. "Let's help the man."

The fighting began in earnest, swelling more in intensity as each minute passed by.

Though Wedge absolutely hated it, men had already begun to die.


Anakin inhaled deeply as he guided the Imperial shuttle—which wasn't meant for maneuvers like the ones he was putting it through—toward Coruscant. It was just like in his vision.

Laser bolts flashed through space above the giant city-planet. The battle for Coruscant was underway.

Already, conflagrations were spreading on capital ships, and ripples in the Force had begun to indicate the slowly rising death toll. There would be no holds barred at this fight.

Anakin felt the despair that had come over him during his vision rise up again. How could the struggling Rebellion defeat the Imperial fleet? The Empire had concentrated everything into its Imperial strength—Anakin's own defection had meant nothing in the greater scheme. The Emperor had the galaxy's greatest military minds working under him. How could the might of his Empire be overcome by such a ragtag group?

But even as he thought about the hopelessness of the space battle, he found his attention drawn to the city-planet. It was there that the biggest source of darkness could be found. It was there that a black hole in the Force called to him. It was there that Palpatine—and the Dark Side—awaited him.

He stared down at the planet as he moved the ship closer to it. He had to dive into that black hole to save the galaxy. He had to face it and allow himself to be swallowed—but he needed to maintain a grip on himself…needed to make sure he would return. Though he would be surrounded by darkness, he couldn't let himself become darkness again. If he fell once more, it would be impossible to return to the Light.

He glanced beside him at his son, who was staring anxiously out the viewport at Coruscant. Anakin swallowed. He had to be strong for his son. He had to.


"All right! Let's move!" Han yelled, waving a hand forward. He and his ground troops surged forward toward the Imperial Palace. There, Stormtroopers were awaiting their arrival, lined up like white statues, ready to face their opponents and die in the effort. It was night outside in Imperial City, but there was no missing that white armor.

"Find cover where you can!" the Corellian general shouted to his men over the roar of blaster bolts. One man glanced at him, as if to say no one actually needed the reminder.

He threw a grim look at Chewbacca, who had his bowcaster raised and was methodically picking off Imperials. There were so many of them that they were hard to miss. Their perfect lines were now starting to break, and they had begun looking a little more like giant white-carapaced insects than military men.

Shooting his blaster with wild abandon, Han took in a deep breath. "Ready the detonators!" he commanded. He hated this tactic—it felt like they were fighting dirty—but all the stealth in the galaxy wasn't going to help the Noghri if they couldn't get into the Palace. He had great ground troops at his disposal—the Wookiees looking the fiercest of all—but they really needed to get through the front door. Inside, they would need to be more careful about causing explosions, lest they bring down parts of the building. For now, however, it was the best strategy they had.


Anakin guided the shuttle toward the four Jedi Temple spires, his heart heavy. The Force was almost screaming Palpatine's presence to him. He was in one of the ruins of the Temple. Specifically, the Emperor was in the southeast tower. The High Council Tower.

Just thinking about where Palpatine had chosen to place himself made Anakin miserable. The southeast tower was the spire which had once housed the Jedi High Council. As a result, it had served as the location of some painful memories for Anakin.

So much had happened in the High Council Chamber. In that room, the Jedi had refused to train him. Then, when he had been trained and was placed on the Council by Palpatine, the Jedi Council members had refused to make him a Master. And finally, when he had felt the entire galaxy crumbling around him as the Dark Side clenched him in its talons, he had slaughtered helpless younglings.

As he set the shuttle down on the remains of a landing platform, he glanced backward at Obi-Wan and Yoda. Their facial expressions were serious and sad. They must have been remembering their fallen comrades. Did they remember, too, the beacon he had modified so many years ago to call Jedi to their doom—the beacon he had meant for Jedi to follow in the belief that it would lead them to a safe haven…only for them to discover death at the hands of the 501st Legion?

He and Palpatine had tainted the place, had spilled innocent blood and spread darkness throughout the tower. And now, Palpatine wished to bring them back to this wretched site—wished to remind Anakin of what he had done, of the lives he had ruined.

But Anakin was here to make sure Palpatine didn't destroy any more lives. He would help defeat the Emperor, even if he had to die to do it.

A hand touched his shoulder, and he turned to look at Obi-Wan.

"Are you ready?" the older man asked softly.

"Yes," Anakin said. "Let's go."


Leia and Mon Mothma sat in the War Room, anxiously listening to communications from the Alliance fleet above Coruscant.

Every now and then, they would receive an encrypted message giving them a few more details from Garm Bel Iblis or one of the men on his ship. But though the two female members of the Triad could offer strategically significant suggestions if they so desired, their strengths were political, not military. Their powers would be needed most after the fight—not during it.

"Ah, Sithspit. We just lost Wilt," a voice said grimly over the communications unit. Leia thought it belonged to her brother's friend Wedge. "Mixus, go help Sonatta! She's under some heavy fire."

Leia clenched her fists. She felt so helpless. She wished she could have gone to the battle herself. But there was always a chance they would have to evacuate Yavin IV—and if so, Leia and Mon Mothma would be desperately needed.

So she just continued to listen to pilots' chatter, her heart heavy.


Bel Iblis stared out the viewport on the bridge of his flagship. The Star Destroyer that Intel believed belonged to Thrawn was shooting at Alliance ships. Thrawn's messenger Pellaeon—if the man had indeed come from Thrawn—had said the alien commander would turn on the Empire when the time was right. Was Thrawn truly just biding his time? Or had it all been a lie?

In hopes that Thrawn really did intend to defect, Bel Iblis was keeping ships away from Thrawn's Star Destroyer in as inconspicuous a way as possible. With the capital ship actively firing, it was a somewhat difficult task, but Bel Iblis did what he could.

He couldn't help but wonder—what if he had been taken in by a lie? Would the Alliance fall because of his stupidity and gullibility?

He took in a deep breath. He would do anything he could to stop that from happening.


Anakin led the way to the High Council Chamber. Any of his companions could have done it just as easily—even Artoo knew the way—but he was the one who had brought this mess upon the galaxy. As a result, he should be the leader of the effort to clean it up.

When Anakin walked into the chamber, his chest tight with regret and anticipation, he noticed immediately the monitors and communications equipment scattered throughout the room. Though it was night and the large windows afforded little but the general glow of Coruscant, there were tiny blinking lights on consoles everywhere. What had once been a place of peace and knowledge had been turned into a dark war room.

In the middle of it all, seated in a chair that was the duplicate of the one Grand Master Yoda had once sat in, was Palpatine. His eyes were scanning the various devices in front of him and his voice was directing ships involved in the battle happening above the planet. He seemed utterly unconcerned that his greatest enemies had just entered the room.

After a few seconds of silence during which Anakin fought desperately with his anger, Palpatine gave a sinister grin and flicked a switch on one of the consoles. "Grand Admiral Thrawn, I relinquish command of Imperial forces to you temporarily. My special visitors have arrived."

"Understood, Your Highness," came the cool reply.

Palpatine gave the newcomers his full attention. "So, you have seen fit to visit me at last," he sneered. "How do you like my command center?" He gestured at the room. "I have made some…improvements since the last time you were here. Master Yoda, I must admit, I had thought you would be dead by now."

"Have you no respect?" Anakin said in a low voice as he took a few steps forward.

Palpatine's expression was venomous. "I might say the same for you, Vader—"

"Anakin!"

"Vader," repeated Palpatine, his glowing eyes glinting. He shifted his gaze to someone behind Anakin. "Mara Jade, I see you have brought my enemies to me at last." His eyelids drooped a little as he concentrated. Anakin could feel him touching Jade's Force sense. "But, Mara, I see you have done the unexpected…Could you truly have fallen in love with one of the men you must kill?"

Anakin turned to stare at Jade. She was fighting to keep her face blank, but her chin was trembling, and Anakin got the sense that she was about to fall apart. Palpatine had long before created a bond between himself and the young woman which was hard to break. Anakin did not know what would happen if that bond was strengthened once more—where would Luke be then?

"Come—stand by my side again, Mara Jade," Palpatine said. His voice was deceptively soothing, a poisoned honey that lured the insect in only to encase it in destruction. "It is where you belong."

"Monster!" Anakin growled suddenly, charging forward with Qui-Gon's saber lit.

He saw the despot lift and hand and wave it, and then he crashed into the wall, and darkness enveloped him.


Grand Admiral Thrawn stared out the viewport of the Star Destroyer, watching as the casualties slowly mounted, as the fiery beams flashed from one ship to another. The struggle was nowhere near over.

"Are our men in position?" he asked quietly.

Pellaeon, though he had seen many space battles before, was nervous. This was it. This was the big one. Everything was riding on what happened at this fight. "They are," he confirmed. His voice, he was proud to note, bore no trace of the anxiety he felt. He watched and waited for his commanding officer to speak again.


Luke made an angry Tusken hand motion as he watched his father slump to the floor. That wasn't supposed to happen.

He shook his head, which was being afflicted by a mounting buzzing, and then he lit his saber and ran toward Palpatine, though he was more conscious of his surroundings than his father had been. Alongside him was Artoo, the little droid shooting forward with an arc welder at the ready.

Suddenly, a figure jumped in front of Luke and blocked his blow with two sabers. Palpatine's villainous face was bathed in a blue glow from the light of the weapons, and Luke glared at his new opponent. The Skinwalker.

An abrupt noise tore Luke's attention away from the Skinwalker. Palpatine had pulled out a red lightsaber and plunged it into the center of the astromech droid.

"No!" Luke bit out, furious. But the Skinwalker was pressing him away from the Emperor, and he was forced to fight.

Luke parried a blow and then slashed at his opponent, who flipped backward. The Skinwalker's hood fell down, but Luke couldn't see, as the man leapt up onto a console and then came crashing down with a kick.

Luke dodged the kick and the two sabers which flashed, and then his opponent paused briefly—just long enough for Luke to see his face.

It was his own.


The Falcon rocked beneath a heavy blow. Cursing to himself, Lando reached forward and upped the power to the rear deflector shields.

On the communications unit, Wedge Antilles was expressing his own frustration. "Dark Four, get outta there!"

"I can handle this!" Dark Four said confidently. "Seven's covering me."

"I said get out of there!" the leader of Darklighter Squadron spat.

"Shields—shields are failing," Dark Four said, all traces of bravado gone, only fear left behind in its wake.

"Seven, are you—"

The blip on the screen that was Dark Four disappeared.

"Blast it," Wedge Antilles growled.

Lando took in a deep breath. "Dark Leader, Silver Leader, get your squads ready for a strafing run on a Star Destroyer."

"We need some help here," Admiral Ackbar suddenly cut in, sounding less than tranquil.

And then it was Garm Bel Iblis's voice speaking. "Go for the Victory-Class Star Destroyer attacking the Mon Calamarian ships."

"Roger that," Lando confirmed. "Ready, men?"

"Ready," chimed in the two squadron leaders.


As Luke fought with the Skinwalker, Obi-Wan and Yoda talked to Palpatine.

Obi-Wan was frustrated with Anakin for having charged forward blindly like he had—it was like fighting Count Dooku on Geonosis all over again—but he buried his frustrations to concentrate on the Emperor.

"Surrender, you must," Yoda said solemnly. It was in vain, of course—they all knew that—but a Jedi could not simply attack. It was the Jedi's place to defend.

"I'm afraid I cannot do that," Palpatine told them, his expression dark yet almost gleeful. "You see, my Empire is far stronger than your Republic could have ever hoped to be."

Obi-Wan shook his head. "You're wrong. Your reign of evil is over, Palpatine."

"No," said the tyrant, his eyes glowing in the dimness of the room. "I'm afraid you're wrong. My reign has only just begun!" And then, with a sudden blaze of red, he attacked.


"Give orders to the first group," Thrawn said calmly, his glittering red eyes staring out the viewport. "The time is now."

"Yes, Admiral," Pellaeon acknowledged. He took in a deep breath. This was it.


The Skinwalker—Luke's clone—jumped through the air again, flipping and landing beside the unconscious Anakin. He turned and lifted his sword, preparing to part the man's head from his body, but Luke growled and bore down on him, the buzzing in his head growing stronger.

The Skinwalker thrust away his desperate blow and forced Luke's lightsaber upward with one of his own blades. And then the second of his blades came hurtling upward and sliced off Luke's mechanical hand at the wrist.

Crying out, Luke brought the stub of his arm to his chest. His eyes—filled with fear and dread and perhaps even a desperate plea for help—flicked to Mara, who had been frozen in indecision the whole time. She stared back at him, but he was forced to look back at his opponent before he could try to understand what that look meant.

The Skinwalker had a dark half-smile on his face.


Han was proud of his men.

They fought valiantly, bravely. Wookiees, humans, and Noghri surged forward, surrounding the remaining Imperial forces outside the palace. The Wookiees—fierce, fearless, proud—roared at the Stormtroopers in indignation.

Han pressed forward, only to cry out as pain flared in his side. Holding his arm over his wound, he fell to his knees. A nearby Noghri killed the man who had shot him, and then the Noghri dropped down beside him to say in his ear: "General, are you all right?"

"I've been a lot better," Han grumbled, wincing as he tried to stand. Waving a hand dismissively, he said, "Go! Go!"

The Noghri looked at him—evaluating his condition, perhaps—and then nodded and left.

Chewbacca, however, suddenly noticed his friend and came to him. He growled and started to pick Han up.

"Chewie," Han protested, "no! Go fight! Forget about me! I'll just slow you down."

But the Wookiee put the man over his shoulder like a sack of vegetables and then lifted his bowcaster in the air and began shooting.

"I can walk, you know," Han grumbled.

The Wookiee just growled again.


Mara had watched the lightsaber battles raging before her with the greatest of trepidation. She knew it was time to decide once and for all. She had to choose between her old master and her new friends.

The answer should have been clear—she had come to hate her servitude to that monster—but he had instilled in her such fear and such a sense of duty that she felt paralyzed, as if making any sort of choice one way or the other would utterly destroy her.

But when that clone cut off Luke's hand—and Luke looked at her with those begging blue eyes—she knew her choice was made. She realized it had been made even before she walked into that room.

She ignited the lightsaber she had made on Dagobah, and she stepped forward, ready to attack the clone.

The clone, with a sinister grin on his face—Luke's face—which didn't look like it belonged there, met her blade with his two blue ones. He stared back at her with Luke's eyes—yet they weren't Luke's…Luke's eyes could never be filled with such coldness as that which filled this clone's. Knowing that, she didn't hesitate to attack him.

Slash, swipe, parry, thrust—forward, she moved. The clone danced backward and then suddenly pressed forward, his two blades a blur in front of her eyes as she was forced to retreat. From the corner of her eye, she saw Luke moving to retrieve his lightsaber. That heartened her, and she went on the offense once again.


Leia listened with a heavy heart as yet another casualty was reported over the communications unit. She gave Mon Mothma a helpless look. Had this been a pointless battle?

"Don't worry," the older woman said soothingly. "We haven't lost yet."

Leia nodded in acknowledgement, wishing she could absorb Mon Mothma's confidence. But more than that, Leia wished she could be in direct contact with Han. If only she knew exactly what was happening on the ground! If she had a way of knowing, she felt certain it would make her feel better.


They fought as one.

When one of the clone's lightsabers came flashing down, either Luke's or Mara's came up to meet it. When one of the clone's sabers thrust forward, either Mara or Luke brushed it aside.

It didn't matter that the clone had two weapons or that Luke had only one hand. Luke and Mara's Force bond brought the two together, melding their Force senses into a single mind. It was like two waves crashing against one another—the waves should have clashed, each decreasing the power of the other due to their opposing directions, yet that wasn't what happened. The two waves combined into a tsunami, creating a seemingly impenetrable wall of force and power.

They drew on each other's instincts, covering each other's weaknesses. His cool soothed her fire; her reflexes quickened his limbs. The clone, in contrast, was all chilling fury, unfocused yet undeterred. He swung his sabers and tried to push them back…but was instead pushed back. He was losing.

Beside Luke and Mara, another battle raged. It was hard to miss the red flash of Palpatine's saber against Yoda's and Obi-Wan's blades. Though seemingly old and decrepit, Palpatine was agile, drawing on the Force to make his body perform the impossible.

But Palpatine—for all his concentration on acrobatics—was more than aware of what was happening between Luke and Mara. And he taunted them: "So, Mara, you have bonded with Skywalker's whelp, have you? Is the power of the flesh enough to overcome your old ties?"

Mara's face tightened as she fought not to respond, yet there was a crack in her concentration. Her Force bond was slipping.

Obi-Wan spoke to Palpatine calmly for her: "Their bond is filled with Light and purity. You may not taint it, Palpatine—no matter how hard you try."

"Is that so?" sneered the Emperor. A flash of a mental command came from him, but Mara's danger sense reacted too slowly.

The clone kicked out as she was sweeping aside his blade, causing her to stumble. And then he Force-pushed her into one of the windows, bashing her head against the clear surface. Bright lights exploded in front of her eyes. She brought a hand up to her head, and it came away wet. She slowly dropped to her knees, too lightheaded to stand.

She could feel a blaze of anger from somewhere, but she was unable to concentrate on where it was coming from. Her head wound was throbbing. Was she going to die?