Neither one of them moved when the air became filled with the noise of a small droid army near-instantaneously reacting to Obi-Wan's greeting. The stomping of metal feet repositioning themselves. The ground-shaking thumps of large, spider legs. The whirs and clicks of several thousand machines moving into firing position, aiming an equal number of blasters at the intruders. The Jedi didn't even activate their lightsabers or grace the enemy with even a glance.

The only droids who interested them broke the silence with the rhythmic, mechanical clanking of durasteel feet and claws against a floor of the same material. Anakin and Obi-Wan watched the arm directly ahead disperse at their leader's approach as though Grievous was moving them aside like a sea of metal with a Jedi's command of the Force. His MagnaGuard, all equipped with their signature staff weapons, followed him with three on each side.

Their little greeting party stopped eighty feet away from the Jedi, with only their only movements the nearly imperceptible glances from Grievous' slit eyes. His black cape parted, revealing the six-fingered mechanical hands resembling his original, Kaleesh body. They held no lightsabers, though both of the Jedi caught glances of his hidden collection but faced upward at a 45-degree angle.

"Kenobi, Skywalker, I bid you welcome to Utapau," He bowed, inclining his head to both of them. "As your host today, how may I be of service?"

"Willingly placing yourself under our arrest would be a start," Obi-Wan replied.

"Telling us anything we want to know would work too," Anakin added.

A rumbling, metallic laugh reverberated through whatever was left of his lugs and throat. "Unfortunately, I cannot fulfill either request. But I would be most grateful if you respect my rules as master of the house and promptly die like the vermin you are."

"Guess we're going to be poor guests," Anakin ignited his lightsaber, Obi-Wan did no such thing. Through the Force, Grievous' brief facade of congeniality evaporated and the seething, pure hatred of all Jedi exploded out like a torrent of wind in their faces. The Knights weathered it without a flinch.

The bio-droid's eyes narrowed. "Kill them."

Stepping back to give his bodyguards more space, Grievous melted in the rapidly growing circular room being afforded to the battle at hand. All while the lesser droids kept every single one of their thousands of blasters perpetually trained at the Team. The six Magnaguard stepped forward, first with slow, methodical steps. Their hands activating the currents of each electrostaff, filling the air with a grating, buzzing noise resembling a hive of Corellian raptor-wasps.

Without even looking at one another, Anakin and Obi-Wan both took steps away from another, dividing the enemy force by taking three each. Anakin kept his saber in a perpetual low guard, giving him a posture of laziness or absolute arrogance further enhanced by his immersion in the Force. Its soothing effect relaxing his body until the moment it was necessary to fight. Obi-Wan followed his principle with an even greater display of calm by still refusing to ignite his weapon, even as the MagnaGuard's methodical walk became faster and faster. Particularly his trio, Anakin's were far warier.

Anakin let them get close enough to encircle them, not even bothering to look as they spun and twirled their staffs this way and that. Even their feints failed to elicit so much as a flinch. No, he only responded when the Force said it was time. It came soon enough when the MagnaGuard directly ahead jabbed his weapon forward in a stabbing motion aimed for Anakin's chest. His partner directly behind the Jedi went for the knees while the one to Anakin's immediate right swung to cut off his saber hand.

Instead, the hand shot in the direction of the droid, hurtling him back enough with a Force push. Anakin's saber swung from right to left, smacking the forward attacker to such a degree it stumbled off to the side or suffer a crippling decapitation. The last of them, still going for the knees, was met with nothing but empty air: Anakin had already used the momentum of his swing to perform a quick, spinning jump on the spot. If the last bodyguard attacker had gone for a stab instead of a swing, the Jedi's boot would have landed right onto the staff and left its owner completely vulnerable to a beheading. Not that Anakin couldn't have dispatched all three of them already, they simply needed to keep Grievous distracted for a while longer. Just enough to keep him occupied without annoying him enough to open a thousand droid salvo on them. And so, he feinted a miss, grazing the final guard's shoulder but otherwise letting it retreat to safety.

Obi-Wan smiled blandly at his approaching adversaries, mind clear and accepting to anything and everything the Force willed. He was but an instrument to it and accepted this role with the practiced ease of decades. And so, the Force moved him unscathed through the incoming attacks. If a swing or stab was imminently close to wounding or killing him, the Force made his body move in precisely the right way and the right time to avoid any harm at all. Ducking, crouching, jumping, even positioning himself directly behind his enemies once or twice to make the guards hurt one another. He did not so much evade as almost dance through the fairly impressive series of their electrostaff motions. To the untrained eye, it would appear Obi-Wan was a foolish, self-imposed retreat, constantly giving way to the enemy and delaying the inevitable. But the Force was validating his stance on every conflict: a battle is only ever a distraction and could be countered by another, larger distraction.

These motions continued on and on, Obi-Wan dancing and fully immersed in the Force while Anakin stayed an immovable object, letting the Force guide his body while his perceptions were partially occupied by matters in and outside their vicinity. Their strike wasn't coming just yet, though the Force warned it was one of two events in his near future. One to come soon was an explosion of rage born from Grievous' rapidly growing irritation. Though he did not say it, the General's displeasure with his so-called elite guard grew with every second they were still alive. An explosion they'd have to stamp out by goading his ego.

Anakin acted first on this, sending a flash of warning for Obi-Wan who'd retreated several dozen feet behind him. With a calming breath, the young Jedi let the Force guide his next step. As such, he ducked. A stab from behind intended to pierce his neck instead shoved over a quarter of the staff through the eye socket of a guard attacking directly in front, effectively killing it. The third member, unable to complete his overhead swing, what with his own partners weapon in the way, hastily attempted to use this momentum and switch to a low swing instead.

By the time it was halfway done, Anakin's blade was already clashing at its legs as well as the ones belonging to the recently impaled droid. The next clash on his way back up to a standing position carved both MagnaGuards in two at the waist. The sole survivor jumped backward, expecting a third clash to get it as well. Anakin didn't see the need for it, their fight was already over. The droid, uselessly, tried to perform its standard spinning motions with its staff but with its stabbed partner still lifelessly sticking out from one end, weighing it down, the motion's speed and balance were completely ruined. From crotch to head, Anakin cut the droid in-half at the moment a resounding boom shook the entire hangar.

At the same moments Anakin dispatched his attackers, Obi-Wan did the same, allowing himself to appear captured between the three of them. He waited and waited until the final possible instant to use some of his Ataru training and leaped high into the air and to safety. The three MagnaGuard, as they'd done several times already, struck each other in the heads, shoulders or knees. In the heartbeat it would take for their computerized brains to register what happened and to swiftly recover from it, Obi-Wan already defeated them. With the barest flick of his fingers, a gargantuan crate hanging over the trio was unclasped from the ceiling, crushing them all splattered bits of durasteel. Casually, he walked past his handiwork and joined his former apprentice, sharing brief smiles with him before refocusing on their host.

"Our offer still stands, General," He pleasantly told the scowling droid commander standing scarcely forty feet away. "Surrender and no harm shall come to you."

His scowl deepened, the anger at all of Jedi, but most notably at the two of them, intensifying to even greater heights. A sensation made all the more fascinating in its sheer, almost scorching magnitude when paired with an even greater, guttural laugh of his mechanical voice cords.

"Harm, to me? Fools," A series of loud clicking sounds came from underneath the cloak, alongside the twisting and turning of durasteel plates. With each one, Grievous grew to full height, well over a head taller than either of the Jedi. "I've butchered dozens of your brothers and sisters, I know everything you're capable of and more..."

With a dramatic flourish, the cloak parted open revealing the metal monstrosity underneath, a durasteel frame of skeletal proportions, a perverse replacement for his annihilated Kaleesh body. But it was also the instrument of considerable combative power, as testified by any Jedi skilled enough to survive dueling against the General... Or any evidence left behind by whatever slaughter he'd performed most recently. Even Master Windu could not defeat Grievous in single combat on Coruscant, resorting to removing him from the battle. A luxury neither Anakin or Obi-Wan could afford.

From inside the cloak, a series of sabers appeared within Grievous' hands, touching them caused the General to release a sensation of pure delight and pride temporarily through the Force. Of a hunter running his hands across well-earned trophies. This wasn't what surprised the Jedi, causing the slightest crack in their otherwise perfect demeanors. It was the fact he was holding six blades.

Two he dropped to the ground and with a near-deafening pounding of both clawed feet, grabbed hold of them. The other four were taken by his separated twin hands. A series of snap hisses ignited all six blades and the air around Grievous became a whirl of blinding blues and greens as he positioned each and every single weapon in a different fighting stance all at once. His upper right blade was held in a single-handed overhead Djem So attack stance, his bottom right in a Niman low guard. The upper left blade performed the Makashi salute while the last one entered a variation of the Ataru opening stance. And they knew he was capable of even more.

The Team responded as well, Anakin mirroring Grievous' Djem So stance while Obi-Wan activated his own blade into a Soresu guard. Whatever sly bit of banter at the tip of their tongues evaporated, there was only the silent challenge of their focused looks at Grievous. The General's anger and delight both intermingled as his stomping feet moved forward, slowly, laboriously while his four other sabers spun through the air, continuously altering their stances in ways that would've broken an ordinary person's wrists hands or their entire body.

The two Jedi almost sent reassurances to one another when suddenly Grievous blazed forward with the speed of a starfighter, reducing the meager distance between them to nothing. They had no time to do anything at all but allow the Force to guide them through the whirlwind of strikes sent their way. Anything else would've gotten them both killed instantly or driven insane. With astonishing speed, ferocity, mechanical body to afford both and expert knowledge of the Jedi arts, the area directly in their surroundings became a blinding, migraine-inducing display of blue and green energies whizzing against, past and at one another.

In a tenth of a second, Grievous coordinated and altered his offensive at a moment's notice. A single limb was capable of entirely switching directions, intensities, physical powers and angles of attack. To say nothing of how his body was capable of instantaneous attack and defensive measures, using some blades to deflect whatever useless blow was sent his way while his response was simultaneously sent the Jedi's way. An attack pattern only turned more randomized and fierce by the fact Grievous would suddenly and without even provocation, stand on his proper arms and allow his legs to act as his upper body, even rotating his entire lower half and transforming it into a buzzsaw anything but the absolute defense would've been suicide against. By some vague calculations in the Team's respective minds, Grievous was averaging at the bare minimum of over fifty lightsaber strikes in a single second.

Obi-Wan withstood it all with an unshakable calm. A calm provided by the Force, an absolute trust between a meager servant and a higher power guiding his hand. Moving his blade just quickly enough to divert or outright block any strike sent his way. All while using the absolute minimum of effort required for any movement. If Mace described his style as becoming immersed in Vapaad, then Obi-Wan was immersed in Soresu. Everything he'd learned about the form, from others, and from personal experience, was at the behest of the Force. Yet alone, against a barrage of this intensity, he would have fallen. Even twenty strikes per second from four blades would overwhelm him. But Obi-Wan had Anakin by his side and this, he knew, would be enough.

Anakin weathered the incoming storm with greater issues. He had already crossed swords with Grievous over Coruscant but this was something entirely different. Even with the assistance of the Force, he knew in his less focused mind, he would've lost this duel without Obi-Wan there to take some of the hits away from him. Anakin's trust in the Force wasn't the issue, he let the energies of the universe itself guide him as they saw fit and it wasn't failing him or his Master so far. The problems he faced were born from style and a necessity to keep a shred of focus on matters outside the battle.

Djem So was an aggressive fighting form, based around the idea of defense and then immediate counterattack. Though he was knowledgable or proficient in other combat styles, Form V was his go-to, his first, last and only response. Against an assault of this level, half of his skills were effectively off the table. Trying to counter-attack against Grievous would be suicide, leaving Anakin feeling out of options. The strike team would also hit soon and they had to... forestall any efforts Grievous might take to help or prevent it. Not outright kill him, that would leave them vulnerable to roughly ten thousand blasters and no backup to ease the pressure. No, this problem would require another solution...

It was then, while in the middle of blocking twelve or so lightsaber strikes, Anakin fought the urge to strike himself across the face. Grievous, while still alive, was mostly a machine...


I don't like any of this... Nute Gunray repeated to himself for what must've been the ten-thousandth time in the past hour alone. If he got a single credit for every time the thought or some variation of it ran through his mind since the failure at Coruscant, he would've been able to fund an entirely new fleet of Separatist ships. For all the good it would do them. Being confined to a Consular-class cruiser for days on end did nothing to help the feeling of melancholy washing over him and the rest of the Separatist Council on board.

Palpatine was right there, in their grasp! The perfect means of crippling the Republic and buying the Confederacy much needed political power to maneuver and bring a war to a satisfying turn for them. Yet, at the insistence of Sidious and Dooku, Palpatine was kept above Coruscant where the Jedi inevitably rescued him. All that time and more importantly money spent on nothing at all! Leaving them with no hostage and a Republic more eager to fight to the bitter end than ever before!

Not that Sidious seemed to care when faced with questions on Utapau concerning their progress in the war, he showed his usual calmness, his words laced with promises and assurances that the war was nearing its end. That they would suffer no negative repercussions in the climax to come. Assurances that would have held more weight if Dooku did not leave to parts unknown and the entire Council being stranded on a ship, in a system where the Republic could attack at any moment while there was a perfectly good safe haven for them on Mustafar! Was that more money wasted as well?

The dark mood hung over everyone on the ship capable of feeling one. On more than one occasion, arguments and even an exchange of blows happened between members of the Council. For the past day, they all avoided one another completely, each finding some section of the ship to stand or sit in until the situation changed again. For the better, hopefully, he did not think his rattled nerves could withstand any more disasters...

A loud, blaring noise suddenly exploded throughout the entire ship at once, its inside becoming bathed in intense, red light. It took all the dexterity Nute could muster to avoid smashing face-first into a nearby wall after practically leaping into the air. The doors to his room parted and on the other side stood Hako, his face contorted into a panting fit of worry and one hand desperately clutching his side.

"What is it?" Nute asked, taking a step toward his old friend. "Are we under attack?!"

"Not us..." Haako panted. "Our main force, the Jedi are striking us from behind!"

"What?!"

"L-Look!" Reaching over to a nearby holoprojector terminal, Haako frantically, clumsily even, pressed a series of commands linking the projector to one of their strategic displays on the main assault cruisers. From there, a map of the battle sprang to life, showing a single Republic destroyer leaving hyperspace and opening fire on the nearest cruiser huddling in the dark side of a nameless moon. With an obscene fascination, Nute and Haako both silently watched its turrets open continuous fire, smashing into yet another ship that cast far more than it was worth. The vessel trying and failing to rise as a considerable portion of its engines were devastated in the initial strike alone.

"D-Damn it!" Nute shouted, watching the cruiser lift off then just as quickly descend back onto the moon, exploding into nothingness. "Fight, you fools! Don't let them take us!"

As though his voice was heard across the void of space, the other remaining cruisers did as told, managing to lift off from the orbits of their respective hiding places and engage the enemy properly. Soon, it was five against one and this time, the Republic were the ones sustaining considerable damage. Nute's elation was palpable but short-lived as a basic question entered his thoughts: what was Grievous doing? Why was he taking all of the vessels out from hiding? What if the Republic came at them from more unexpected directions and carved their fleet to pieces like vibroknives in the back?!

"G-Get to the pilot!" Nute turned to Haako, grabbing his shoulder. "Te-Tell him to get us out of here, right now! Punch in the coordinates to Mustafar before-"

"Look!"

Staring back at the tactical display, Gunray watched with an open mouth as the Republic cruiser... Kept flying straight ahead, directly in the path of two cruisers delivering the most damage to it. No matter what their forces sent on the destroyer, it just kept flying closer and closer. It didn't take a strategic mastermind to know at least two of the ships would crash into one another and explode! Who was leading that ship? Was he mad?! Trying to kill himself and his whole crew simply to take out their droids?!

Whether their forces would cut down the destroyer before a collision occurred was something Gunray would never find out. A loud, sickening crunch of durasteel accompanied by the resounding boom of an explosion came from a far end of the ship. Where the engines were. The tactical display died instantly. Haako and Nute took hold of one another to hold tightly as their ship began to shake harder and harder still, as though an invisible force was plucking them from their own hiding spot.

No... Nute thought as a chilling sensation swept over his whole body. It's a tractor beam!


Grievous' leg snapped at Obi-Wan like a viper, blade deliberately pointed downward to strike at Kenobi's leg while three other sabers went to carve him to pieces. Skywalker intercepted these, standing at his old teacher's side and withstanding the attacks, covering for each other still. They were a formidable force, the old Kaleesh warrior begrudgingly admitted, witnessing their considerable defensive prowess first hand for the past few minutes. No other Jedi managed to hold their own against him for so long, save for Lord Tyrannus - though considering him a Jedi would be an insult to the man.

Kenobi's Soresu did remind Grievous of Dooku's own Makashi, the deliberate ease of movement, not a moment wasted, no effort too small or too great. Everything Kenobi did was with calm precision. Skywalker was the weaker of the two, his offensive style deadlocked leaving him performing a decent enough approximation of Kenobi's defensive form, but one which could not withstand an individual assault. There would be no repeat of their clash on the Invisible Hand, Skywalker's fall was a foregone conclusion and the perspiration drenching the sides of his face was all the proof Grievous needed of that.

Deciding that he'd entertained himself enough, the time had come to end this battle and add two more very valuable blades to his collection.

Letting one of his blades seemingly slip out of his grasp, Grievous watched it hang there in mid-air just long enough for Skywalker to take the bait, which he did by counter-attacking for the first time since the beginning of their battle. With a simple wrist flick, Grievous recaptured his blade and kicked Kenobi in the gut, sending him skidding back just long enough for his student to stand alone, mid-attack and nothing else to help him.

Grievous' computerized mind could already calculate what would happen next: Skywalker would move for a ferocious uppercut wing to carve Grievous in half only for three other bladers to lock down his own, leaving three more to cut him down with. And so it came to pass, the Hero with No Fear attacked and in so doing sealed his fate. Then, something else happened, something Grievous did not account for... Skywalker's blade... Shrank?!

Mere moments before it would've gotten locked amidst three of Grievous', the Jedi pressed his lightsabers activation button, letting the blade shrink just enough to pass harmlessly past Grievous' own. Then he pressed it again and the General watched with disturbing clarity as Skywalker's sword returned to full height and very nearly took his entire left shoulder off. Registering the immediate danger, Grievous jumped back only to spot a shadow passing over his head: Kenobi, jumping ahead and over the bio-droid, cleaving the fingers and blade of his upper left hand clean away.

With a guttural growl, Grievous spun his entire torso in a rapid series of buzzsaw motions, intending to cover his front and back against both of the Jedi. Instead of being intimidated by this display, Skywalker rushed headlong into it, pulling his upper body back into a stabbing motion. This attack was but a feint, while Grievous prepared to meet the young Jedi, his Master was the one to block two of Grievous' blades, grinding his teeth and entire body with just enough force to prevent the spinning from happening any more. Skywalker, meanwhile, swung for the General's feet and carved both lightsabers away from them.

Snapping at the Jedi with his newly freed claws, Skywalker jumped aside, as did Kenobi unable to prevent the motors from spinning Grievous' body any longer. Not that the General stayed there himself, leaping closer to one group of droids and putting distance between himself and the Jedi. Though they were noticeably tired, panting and drenched in sweat, Kenobi and Skywalker exuded an infuriating calm. No, not simply calm, but arrogant belief they had defeated him!

The very idea sent a burning pulse of anger to rush through Grievous' entire being, setting even the durasteel frame on fire with pure loathing. Snapping his blades into a ready position, he gave off the impression of moving to attack. In truth, he would use the Jedi's momentary return to a ready stance to address his troops.

Kill them! Kill them both!

The command resounded profoundly in his head... But never came out. Not only did the droids, useless pieces of tin scrap that they were, remain standing there as nothing at all happened... But Grievous' own voice wasn't working! Blinking in surprise and fury, he yelled more orders at them, again and again with nothing to show for it. It was as if someone had turned off his vocal cords! But how could that be- Then his eyes momentarily glanced at Skywalker, and from that arrogant youth's smile, he knew the answer. The bastard had used the Force to damage his body! Grievous had heard of boys prowess with machines, but to rewire Grievous' own settings in the middle of a fight with him was... It was... Insane!

"Surrender, General," Kenobi spoke, the bland smile on his face gone. Replaced by a look of detached finality. "We will not offer this to you again."

His reply was a silent snarl and a lunge. Grievous switched over to a form he'd only recently acquired, the one known as Vapaad from its sole master, Mace Windu itself. It was Juyo taken to its nth degree, aggression and overwhelming force personified. Even Windu himself could not defeat Grievous during their skirmish atop the train and neither would Kenobi's defenses withstand-

Skywalker appeared before him, just as on the Invisible Hand and this time, he did not hesitate to attack. Holding his ground with a look of focused determination, the Hero with No Fear... Lived up to his name, standing there, an immovable object, responding to every single strike sent his way. It did no matter what Grievous did, which angle he struck from, which form he randomly came at him from, Skywalker met it and returned with twice, no thrice the speed and sheer attacking power! In a matter of moments, Grievous was the one who found himself pushed back! Back... To Kenobi who once again moved as silent as a phantom, appearing at Grievous' side and carving his lower right arm away.

Grievous kept lashing out, trying to cut them down, trying to make them pay for this humiliation. For what they, their Order and their Republic did to him and his home. Pure, seething anger overcame all reason, he did not care if he died there so long as he took these two, just these two more Jedi with him to death as well. It wasn't until he heard the hiss of lightsaber carving through metal two more times did a warning register from the computer built into his brain.

Blinking at the four stumps that were once his arms, Grievous realized how true his prediction of death was. Just long enough for a horrible fear unlike any, he'd felt in years to overtake him and long enough for Skywalker and Kenobi to cut his head off.


The sounds of battle echoed throughout the ship, even past the thick doors leading out into the hallway. Nute and Haako sat huddled in the corner, jumping and cowering more and more with every blaster battle and woosh of a lightsaber. Just under the crack of the door, they could see the flash of lights, hearing the clanking of battle droids falling and the barks of Republic forces. Were he in a saner state of mind, Nute would've realized the voices sounded strange, lacking the distinct dialect of Jango Fett found in all clones.

A curious thing he soon ignored when a green lightsaber carved its way through the door, causing him and Haako both to squeal and jump back, pressing their backs against metal as though it would let them phase through it. With every turn the saber did to carve its way into the room, Nute could feel the blood drain from his face, no doubt turning his features into a disgusting orange color. Haako, to his immediate right, panted and trembled as though they were still caught in the tractor beam.

The moments ticked away, the sizzling of a blade against steel continued and then stopped as the sword retreated. Nute and Haako looked at the door, then at one another and then back at the door, expecting it to explode from its carved hinges at any moment. Instead, it fell with a loud clank, the Jedi on the other end pushing it gently inward. The Neimoidians jumped again and huddled closer, staring at the door and then at the Jedi.

If one could call this a Jedi.

Though the robes of his order were present, they were buried under considerable amounts of armor plating covering most of his chest, shoulders, wrists, and feet. The armor was worn, with multiple signs of wear and tear, what robes could be seen were tattered and smudged with mud and who knew what else. With his graying hair tied behind into a bun, the Jedi's scarred, fierce features were fully visible to them. This usually didn't mean much, to Nute, all humans looked the same. But this Jedi... he would remember the piercing gaze in his black eyes and enhanced several scars running down his face.

The Jedi stood there, blade still activated, bathing the room with a green light. On each side, there were troopers standing ready, pointing blasters at them. Not clones, however. A Twi'lek and a Rodian, wearing the same cobbled-together armor as the Jedi. They seemed more like some isolated world's worthless militia force than a Republic strike team.

"Viceroy Gunray, Settlement Officer Haako," The Knight spoke with a firm but pleasant voice, deactivating his blade and placing it onto his belt. His features eased somewhat as he and his men entered the room. "My name is General Rahm Kota, I'm pleased to make your acquaintance."

Before either Nute or Haako could do or say anything, his hands moved in a blur, producing a twin pair of shackles that ensured their hands with loud, almost deafening clicks. "And to place you under arrest."


A/N: As always, my editor Kagari is to thank for tidying up this one but I'd also like to thank Lord Martiya for helping me out with some spacecraft stuff.