A/N: Shut up. Quit griping. And blame for the fact that I didn't update this sooner. I've had this written for months now, but the stinking document editor/uploader was being a jerk. So here it is; hope it was worth the wait. ;-)

Douze: The Fates at War

The maw was Death, thick, crackling blue, with chain-lightning teeth. Obi-Wan Kenobi stared into its raging depths and knew: this was the Harvester of Souls. Time slowed as it flash-burned the air of the passage, but Obi-Wan was not even trying to avoid this maelstrom; it would be pointless. Even if he could step forward and to the left, into the antechamber, he would still be incinerated. Instead, he smiled softly as he realized that he was finally going to have peace, cool, unending quiet. Like he'd always wanted. He flicked his saber in a Jedi salute, and closed his eyes. Finally.

Suddenly, he felt the force of a shockwave blast against him, hurling him down the passage. A shrieking, electric wail roared in his ears as he slammed down hard against the floor, tangled in a heap with the suddenly scattered security force. He opened his eyes.

He was alive.

A stream of warm blood trickled down his upper lip, and he swiped at it, rising, nonplussed by the sudden silence. His gaze raced back up the twenty feet that he'd been hurled.

All along the walls, the steel had been scorched black by the power of the Force, right up to the place where... the hall crossed with the antechamber. Less than a foot in front of where Obi-Wan had stood. Anakin stood twenty feet back from that, eyes fixed upon a smoldering heap of... something... lying in the hallway.

Robes tattered, skin blistered by the strength of the Dark Side - it was the Jedi Master Yoda, unconscious, unmoving.

It all became clear to Obi-Wan: in the last inches of space between himself and Anakin's attack, Yoda had flown in from nowhere and interposed his body, his mind, his will, between Obi-Wan and impending death. The little alien had surely thrown every ounce of the Force he had into containing the blast; otherwise, he would be nothing more than a pile of cancerous ash. Gratitude flooded the Jedi Master, and he hurried forward. "Yoda!"

Anakin, opposite Obi-Wan, dropped his shoulders and hunched, eyes narrowing. Then, he moved.

His saber twitched into his hand, blade bright, and he bore down upon the fallen alien. Obi-Wan reacted, his own saber flashing to life. The Force suddenly flowed back into Obi-Wan, and he struck. At the same instant, Anakin ducked and threw himself into Obi-Wan with enough force to bowl them across the hall.

The two grappled for control, rolling back across the ground, suddenly breaking, rising. They split, Obi-Wan falling back toward the blast door, Anakin stepping toward the antechamber where Yoda lay. Anakin spared an annoyed glance for the fallen Jedi. "That was... impressive."

Obi-Wan eyed him and fell into a ready stance. "Most impressive."

Zeta-01 could not believe what he was hearing. Well... he could believe it, but he was choosing not to. Three Jedi, all in the same place. Such a thing hadn't happened since the Purge. And to top it off, one of them was the erstwhile Anakin Skywalker. That man had a bounty on his head so high that anyone who collected it could have bought an entire star system. Huh. Too bad we can't collect in the line of duty. Maybe a commendation in it, though.

Turning, he glanced over to Zetas Twenty-Six and Twelve. Cowering against the wall before their armorplast visages was a terrified communications technician, face lacerated and bruised from multiple crushing impacts, probably from Twelve's hard fists. Still, some questions aren't yet answered. With a few button presses, he pulled out of the cam system, rose from the damaged chair, and stepped across the security room. "Pick him up," he ordered. Zeta-80 stepped forward and hauled the miserable Alderaanian to his feet. One didn't even bother to ask the man anything; he simply kicked him in the groin and, as the victim slumped, he pounded his fist into his chin, jolting the tech further. "Now, enlighten me," Zeta said, turning sideways, facing away from the tech. "What was the purpose of this facility?"

The man hauled himself to his feet, arms locked in Eighty's implacable grasp. Terror filled his eyes, but he said nothing. Zeta scowled beneath his helmet. "Don't make me hurt you," he muttered, dangerous.

That gave the tech some balls, apparently: "Go space yourself, you Hutt-screwing schutta."

Suddenly, the tech was pressed up against the wall, and Zeta-01's wrist vibroblade was humming dangerously close to the victim's eye. "Hutt-screwer, eh?" He paused as the tech whimpered softly, fear bleeding off of him.

Zeta-01 put the grill of his mask close to the tech's ear and solemnly whispered, "You don't know what the word 'screw' really means. Let me show you."

"That was a waste of a good vibroblade," Twenty-six muttered, a mixture of admiration and disgust in his voice. "How do you do it, Boss? I'd have to get myself a new one; I'd be traumatized every time I used it."

"Damn... that was harsh, sir." Twelve intoned. Then, the clone laughed: "Think he'll talk when he wakes up?"

Zeta-01 toed the limp, bleeding man and flicked blood from his gauntlet. "Probably singing like a soprano in a Bith opera. Don't care, just as long as he sings the tune I want."

Obi-Wan Kenobi and Anakin Skywalker faced off, sabers ready. They stepped back and forth, looking for openings, but their sabers did not clash. Even so, the steps had a musical quality to them, a rhythm. This was the duel to end all duels, for the Fates, grim and bloodthirsty, gathered on the wings of the Force, coming to watch this symphony perform, each supporting his own actor in the drama. This was their struggle: the duel of fates.

Obi-Wan Kenobi had been credited with being the master of the form of Soresu. It was a simple, understated style of fighting, suave and debonair. His stance, his steps, were the strings quietly laying a dark, brooding line of tension-filled melody, a simple, repeating line of notes in the bass clef. His calm smile was the harp, rising and falling, a hint of personality in the gloomed song that their fight was weaving.

Anakin Skywalker was proficient in all styles, but his favorite was Djem-So. It was an arrogant, brassy style on the outside, with clever, subtle harmonics within. His quick, confident steps were the woodwinds, quickly weaving a melody to intermingle with the strings of Obi-Wan's harmony. Then: he exploded in an attack, the trumpets of the piece, a blaring crescendo that brought this battle to an opening.

They practically danced back and forth along the hallway, sabers blazing blue in the air, flashing, flickering, the crashing cymbals. Obi-Wan spun, lashed out at waist height. Anakin caught the blow and leaped, spinning, throwing that scintillating grace note: the reverse kick. His former master bent back, the kick flying over his head, now counter-attacking ferociously. Now, strike, strike, strike, the pizzicato effect as Anakin drove Obi-Wan back, a punch of timpani as Obi-Wan slammed an elbow into the side of his apprentice's head, side-stepped the charge.

They clashed again, sabers locked in a high, unwavering note, then, breaking as Obi-Wan threw a low kick that buckled Anakin's knee. The Chosen One dropped, ducked his head as Obi-Wan's blade whizzed past, scorching a few locks of hair. Now Anakin returned the kick, and Obi-Wan twisted to one side.

They split again, rolled away, and came to their feet. A pause, and their dark melody quietly began to build once more. Anakin's bitter rage was growing, like the blare of a trombone, roiling and thick, the finesse gone. Obi-Wan deflected the blows with grace, parrying, now suddenly on the attack, a flashing series of blows, like notes spidering across the neck of a viola. And now Anakin returned the blows, and the intensity grew, filling the hall with clashes of the Force, reaching a fever pitch, like a sudden key change.

Now Anakin was dominant, the brass of his thundering blows and whipcrack kicks drowning out Obi-Wan's shuddering strings, embodied in his light footwork and graceful deflections. Then, Obi-Wan took control again, a Force push catching Skywalker's feet, tripping him up: the victory of the strings, suddenly mingling with another timpani-rumble as Kenobi brought his boot slamming down into Skywalker's chin.

The Chosen One was down.

Kenobi took two steps and his saber was at his erstwhile apprentice's throat. "It's over, Anakin."

The hate in the young man's eyes stabbed at Obi-Wan's heart.

"No… no, it isn't."

Suddenly, Kenobi was reeling back down the passage, stricken by an invisible hand, and Anakin was flipping back, his saber coming to his hand. But to Obi-Wan's surprise and dismay, Skywalker did not attack him. Instead, he leaped over and boot-pinned the now stirring form of Master Yoda to the floor. His saber carefully slid underneath the alien's jaw.

Oh, Obi-Wan thought. Oh.