Disclaimer: Who doesn't own anything? I don't!
eris86 - Thanks for thereview! I figured when I set out thatusing a bunch ofbackground characters would end up in a lack of popularity, but we have a couple of cameos today. I hope you keepenjoying it!
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5. The Temple Fight
T240, known as Terreio to some, strode through the temple with a group of three other clone troopers and shot anything that moved.
The Jedi went down in scores, their flashy lightsabers no match for hundreds of blaster rifles. Acrobatics and Force-hurled objects might work wonders against droids, but against a breathing, thinking creature that could dodge and adjust his method of attacks, such tricks did little good. The further the clones advanced into the temple, the more woefully inadequate the grand, ancient warriors of the Republic appeared.
Terreio did note that many of them were young; the temple had been emptied of its more seasoned warriors for much of the war. Still, he'd expected more of a fight from the Jedi.
To their credit, not one of them tried to run and hide. Knights and older padawans charged straight into the line of fire, sometimes taking out five or more clones at a time. This was expected and accepted: each and every soldier knew that a Jedi, armed or not, had a distinct advantage when taken on one at a time. The only way to defeat such a fighter was with a group.
Terreio and his group took care to constantly shift the aim on their weapons, creating an uneven stream of fire that not even a Jedi could hold off forever.
His quartet took out a grizzled-looking Wookiee with little effort. "This is almost too easy," D-234 said as the alien collapsed into a pile of smoking fur. "That's seven."
"We'll go to the outer sparring chambers next," Terreio said. "Call for backup – Lord Vader said there may be several hiding in there."
"You won't need backup," a voice said from above him.
Terreio's head had barely tilted back to examine the source of the voice when something blue and glowing flashed right before his eyes - and then through them.
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Joclad Danva stood over the four fallen bodies, his lightsabers poised overhead to make a final, decapitating blow if one of them moved.
None did. His gaze roamed over the empty corridor, sensing destruction and death from deep inside the temple. This little bunch had wandered the great corridors alone, and made easy prey for a Jedi perched atop the statue of Bastila. Stragglers. Must be the clean-up crew, he thought, spinning the green blade almost languidly as he lowered it. The rest are further inside...
He needed only to follow the outbursts of shock that jolted through the Force. No Jedi ever expected a clone to turn against him, and the sheer size of the temple did not allow any sort of alarm to sound with great effect.
Not that anyone ever dreamed such an alarm would be necessary…
Joclad sensed the grim reality of the situation as he ran through vast corridors now lined with bodies: they simply were not ready. Revolt, mutiny, and murder had not occurred to even the greatest of the farseers.
He'd leaped from the wrecked remains of the transport directly into a war zone. His senses, bolstered by the hundreds of other Force-strong individuals in the temple, shied away from strange holes in the Force where identifying signatures had once been. It felt almost like Depa's reflective presence, but the more he studied it, the more he realized it was simply empty instead of silent.
"Come with me," he implored whenever he came across a Knight or padawan hiding in the shadows. "Come with me! We'll cut them off before the next level!"
Always they followed the fabled Code-breaker, willing to hedge their lives on his aggression. Oh, how they finally appreciated that aggression.
But they always fell, and he did not.
Some part of him knew it was too late, but Joclad fought on. It was all he knew to do.
Death. He felt it all around: in the Jedi, in the clones, in the younglings cowering behind pillars or in darkened rooms. In strong Knights, seasoned warriors who fought for their lives and lost them.
Anger sparked deep inside. He ignored it.
Clones ahead. He did not give them the benefit of spotting him. He simply swung around the corner and brought his blades down hard and fast, striking them to the floor. No clone stood half a chance against a Jedi prepared for him, least of all Joclad Danva, master of teräs käsi and one of the best fighters in the entire Order.
He whirled effortlessly, knocking back a stream of laser fire. He swept into the crowd of clones, a single blue beam of energy splitting one man in half as Joclad kicked aside another. "I fought with you," he said as he sliced them to pieces. "We fought with you – and this is how you repay us?"
The anger crept up through his veins, fueling his attack and scattering bodies. It at once numbed him and exhilarated him.
I shouldn't be killing them this way. The dull efficiency with which they carried out their jobs spoke of something much higher in control here, something Joclad could not hope to understand. They are pawns, he realized, parrying two shots and taking off the man's arms and part of his neck. I should not blame them.
But blame them he did, bolstered by growing rage as he passed dead and dying compatriots. The carnage grew worse as he pressed deeper into the temple, where Jedi - at last alerted to treachery - had made courageous and ultimately futile stands.
Statues and pillars lay scattered across once-pristine floors. His home lay in ruins already, stained with the blood of both its inhabitants and its invaders. Somewhere in the distance, Joclad sensed great power – darkness that he tried to lock onto. It produced only a seething hatred that welled up and clouded away everything in his vision, everything except these soldiers he'd almost come to admire – traitors—
"You're nothing!" He snaked through a cluster of them, his lightsabers punching in and out in an intricate blue-green pattern. "You think you can stop me? I'll destroy you!"
He moved too quickly for the clones to lock onto him, dodging between laser bolts and leaping from man to man, sometimes alighting on their helmets as he ran them through. He landed on one's shoulders, and used the clone's surprise to pitch himself forward and down. Blue plasma jabbed into the clone's chest, and the blade slid through what remained of him like a hot knife through soft jam as Joclad sprang forward to decapitate another.
There were so many of them… so many that he'd already killed – remorse – but so many more killing everyone he knew – not if I kill them first—
--I am killing living beings, I shouldn't be doing this, I'm a Jedi—
--they want to kill me—
Peacekeeper, not killer…
He left clones broken and smoking on the marble floors, desperate to reach the main group.
But then he cut through two clones standing guard at the entrance to the temple's greatest foyer…
The statue of the Last Seeker lay in shattered pieces on the floor, the victim of explosive power. Beneath its heavy fragments, Joclad saw arms and legs and faces frozen in eternal shock.
He let go of his lightsabers and stumbled forward, the Force holding the blades in their position. The Last Seeker – Depa's favorite statue, and somehow by default, his. Seeker, how can they… the Sunrider and the Seeker? He nearly tripped over a body. Don't look down, don't look down… Oh, who am I kidding?
He looked down.
Master Pablo-Jill lay crumpled at his feet, lightsaber still firmly in his hand. Joclad closed his eyes and wavered. He knew Pablo-Jill well enough: the great peacemaker of Ord Mantell, and a fellow survivor of Geonosis… a hero, stopped by a mere rifle.
How can this be? How can any of this… He avoided the body, moving farther into the foyer and clutching at his head as dull, pounding agony erupted there. Like watching clones die on a battlefield, he realized, but I'm killing them… and everyone else… and me… .
The shot came from nowhere, striking his right side. He wheeled around and called one lightsaber back to his hand, staring at this one clone who dared to take him on.
He deflected two more bolts as he strode toward the soldier, but felt another hit his arm. He stared at the clone, almost amused that this replica thought it could stop him. "You think to kill me?" The pain in his arm only strengthened his anger and allowed him to ignore the familiar wound as he had not been able to do on Geonosis. The clone kept on firing, but now Joclad sent the shots arcing away wildly. Simply deflecting a laser bolt back at the shooter was no longer good enough.
Joclad held out his hand, and the clone jerked forward. "I'll make you eat that blaster," he growled, pushing the green blade through the armor's mouthpiece.
The clone jerked once and dropped. Joclad called his other lightsaber to his hand and clenched his teeth as his arm and side burned with fresh wounds, and he called on the Force to dull the sensations.
It helped only marginally, not that it mattered. He could not stop and try to heal himself. Not in all of this.
So he defied his pain as he defied all else, and dashed on.
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Cin Drallig grasped Serra's upper arm when she made to further chop at an already stilled body. "Leave it. We have others to help."
"They will not require your help," a cold voice informed him.
Serra's back stiffened.
Cin slowly turned around, shocked that his senses had failed him so completely. Who was this creature hiding in the shadows, darkness swirling around him? He must have seen the entire fight and scarcely cared to help his men, who now lay inin in pieces on the polished floor.
A Sith. Only a Sith could do such a thing.
The man emerged into a narrow shaft of light, and Cin's features tightened almost imperceptibly. Anakin Skywalker, the Council's precious Chosen One and Obi-Wan Kenobi's dearest friend -- Anakin Skywalker, now no more than a Dark Lord to face down. "Good evening, Skywalker," he said, lifting a cautioning hand to Serra. "When did this happen?"
"Probably all his life," Serra growled.
Skywalker came forward, lightsaber in hand. "What she said."
Cin kept his hand out in a placating gesture. "Serra, remain calm, this is no time to--"
"To blazes with calm!" Serra sprang toward Skywalker even as Cin shouted no, a lightsaber clenched in each hand. Skywalker ignited his own saber, and the grin that crossed his face struck something deep inside Cin Drallig's rusty sense of foresight.
Neither he – nor his apprentice – would see another sunrise.
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Joclad leaped over a group of tiny figures and tried not to look.
Just younglings. He didn't know them – anything that short made him nervous – but who could kill younglings? Why?
Pawns. Pawns. Pawns. He ran, focusing in on a patch of light against shade directly ahead. Jocasta Nu and Rickon, Kit Fisto's latest padawan, held their own in front of the archives against a rapidly diminishing group of clones.
The clones are not pawns. They do this by choice.
Fury. Joclad had known the emotion by name only until this very moment. Physical agony melted away in its presence.
He soared into the fray, and green and blue blades sent armored limbs flying. One clone backed away, repeatedly firing at him as Joclad bore down with murder in his eyes. He swatted away the shots with disdain and took off the clone's head for it. The body wavered, and then toppled.
He stared down at the corpse, certain that he shouldn't be feeling this sense of... triumph... but not entirely sure he wanted to banish it just yet.
"Joclad Danva. You always did relish showing off."
Jocasta's voice shook him slightly, and Joclad moved to the fallen archivist. His lightsabers stayed in the air, circling a wary perimeter around the two. Joclad touched the woman's head, sensed the severity of her wounds, and sighed. "You've never had anything nice to say to me."
She smirked at him, and then turned her head, looking over at the fallen Rickon. "Never give into your anger," she said, the words as clipped and proper as ever. "You still need to learn that."
Joclad's fury withdrew briefly, but continued to lurk at the edge of his mind. "I still need to learn many things."
He could not help but look at the wounds. If he'd been a better Jedi, interested in skills beyond those of a warrior, perhaps he could have helped the old reet. At the very least, he could have stabilized her enough to transport her to a real healer. Then again, no healers graced this level of the temple, and if they did, they fought for their own lives. Joclad held his hand over the largest of the burns and tried to mold the Force into a bandage. It resisted.
"I'll be fine," Jocasta said. To his great shock, she pushed him aside and stood up, her critical gaze calm and flinty. "Knight Danva, if you insist on running about the temple trying to save us all, I suggest you get on with it and stop dallying here."
Joclad looked at the blaster burns on her midsection. "Master Nu, I don't think—"
"Stop arguing," she commanded. "I am still a Jedi Master and you are a Knight, and you've received your orders."
"But you're—"
"MasterDanva," Rickon whispered. Both Jocasta and Joclad looked down in surprise, unaware that the boy was even alive. Joclad reached out, but found his immediate perceptions dulled.
He tried again, and felt like he was muddling through a swamp. He covered his now-pounding hurt with his right hand. "Jocasta, what's happening?"
"Something has drawn a veil over the Force," Jocasta said quietly, kneeling beside Rickon. Joclad stood uneasily behind them, his attention flickering about in search of new threats. Fine: he could fight without the Force's intervention – he'd done it often enough on Bunduki.
"Master Drallig needs your help," Rickon said. His eyes, already glassy, seemed to look through Joclad. "He and p...Padawan Keto are... are trying to hold them back, but there are so many..."
"He came here to tell me that," Jocasta said, her hands over the boy's forehead. "Go on, Rickon. Show Knight Danva what you saw."
He followed the boy's line of thought to one of the exercise rooms, where seven Jedi held off clones and - who was that dark figure? Better yet, what?
A sense of urgency nearly sent Joclad running. I have to go there! Now!
Jocasta's clear voice issued one order:"Who is the dark one, Rickon?"
Rickon's eyes threatened to roll up into his head, but he was able to send them one hazy, insubstantial image: tousled blond hair, a blue lightsaber, and dark tabards.
...Skywalker?
"Chosen One," Rickon whispered. "Master Danva, help us. They can't stop you..."
Rickon's entire body shook, and went still. Something clanked on the floor, and Joclad looked down to see that the padawan's small lightsaber had slipped out of his grasp.
Jocasta stared at it.
Smarting side forgotten, Joclad grabbed the old woman and shook her. "Where is Master Windu? Kit? Where are they?"
"They went to speak to the Chancellor," Jocasta said, her hand resting on the old hilt that she still kept on one hip. "They never came back." She turned to him, and suddenly looked impossibly old. "Skywalker's betrayed us."
Joclad nodded. Somewhere nearby, Cin and Serra stood against an impossible foe. In that case, there was only one thing to do. "I'll kill him."
Jocasta scoffed. "He's too strong for you…."
Anger simmered inside him again, easy to call upon. "We'll see about that."
"Arrogance always thrived in Master Drallig's apprentices…" Jocasta's sharp tone changed abruptly as she caught onto his intention. "…Joclad, wait, you won't reach them in time—"
Her warning fell on deaf ears. Joclad snatched his lightsabers from midair and broke into a run.