Resilience
Ahsoka counted paces as she stumbled through the carnage and rubble left after the destruction she had just witnessed this morning. The planet's sun orbiting over it's now orange sky made the evening's clear. It's evening's glow loomed and covered the destroyed city into an ironic scenery. There was no wind. There was no sound at all. Except for the marching droids scouting the perimeter—and the general barking his commands at his armies.
Fear washed over Ahsoka, realizing in agony how familiar this scenery was to her.
The evening sky. The destroyed city that resembled Coruscant almost too perfectly. It was like the galaxy was trying to give Ahsoka its visual insight the Force rarely did. And she wished she didn't notice it. Everything. Down to the same dead atmosphere she felt when she left with Master Plo Koon from Coruscant. What became of these people was a high possible outcome for the people of Coruscant. Destroyed and butchered by the likes of a cruel monster who took pleasure in carnage and warfare. And there was nothing Ahsoka could do. Not that she could before. But if what Grievous said was true—and that the Republic was truly weak—then no one is safe. Not from the Separatists.
And not from him.
Ahsoka sent a small nasty look in the general's direction—who was speaking with a droid, conducting in conversation too far for Ahsoka's ears to hear. When he was finished, the general made a turn toward Ahsoka. She had enough time to recollect her stare before the general caught sight of it. Thankfully he didn't, yet he still stared after. It was one of those times where their eyes would lock and became difficult to avoid. And as always Ahsoka was left with a cutting sensation right through her chest and down her heart whence the general tore away for a moment before beckoning for Ahsoka to come to his side. Hesitant at first, Ahsoka bid with an abrupt step then settling right behind his back.
"Have you heard word of Dooku's arrival?"
The name jolted Ahsoka's senses. She perked up.
"Yes, sir. He is waiting for your arrival from the Flagship, and he demands that you bring the Togruta female on your return."
"Very well. Report back to Lord Dooku that I will return now."
"Roger, roger."
Turning, Grievous started in the direction most likely where the vessel that will take him to the ship awaited. Ahsoka followed after him with somewhat ease. Despite being spatially aware of her surroundings, there was the rubble and crumbling sidewalks to consider. Ahsoka had to make a hesitant step over a particular part of the pavement in order to keep up on the cyborg's trail. Surprisingly, the general didn't seem to be having the same kind of difficulty as she was.
The vessel was not that hard to miss it was practically the only piece of machinery—aside from the droids—that wasn't demolished to the grounds. Untouched from the calamities that have plagued the city, the ship stood there unscathed from its short voyage with its engines still running in the neimoidian co-pilot waiting from inside.
Ahsoka felt a wave of sudden relief overcome her after the idea of escaping this forsaken city crossed her mind.
Grievous stalked inside quickly, ignoring the quivering neimoidian attempting to greet him, and sat himself comfortably across from the other guest seats. His encumbrance took a seat parallel to him, curled and eyes occupied to the floor. Though the child's behavior has shown an improvement since their departure from the Hutt Palace, the competence this child possesses lacked the comprehension of solid obedience of higher class.
But that part shall be left to his Master's care.
When at last the ship returned to the Flagship floating over the Southern Hemisphere of the planet, Grievous was up and out in a heartbeat. It only dawned on him as he was exiting into the Main Hanger of his Flagship did he recall the existence of his slave. But tiny footsteps coming up after him from a distance assured him she was keeping up. Good. The general was in no mood of having to go back, to do so was such a hassle and a waste of precious time.
From the droids attending the Main Hanger—and the several Neimoidians scattering themselves like moths—stood a perfectly postured Sith Lord waiting patiently at the center. Grievous got to the Sith before he could make a complete turn. Grievous bowed graciously to his master.
"My Lord."
"General," Dooku regarded, "Congratulations on conquering yet another necessary planet to our cause."
Grievous bowed lower in gratitude for his master's praise. And then he turned to Ahsoka, who had managed to keep herself quiet for the remainder of the trip back.
"My Lord, I have brought you the child as you requested."
"Ah, very good. Ahsoka, come along here." Dooku outstretched an open arm, and held the Togruta child in a protective shoulder. "General, continue to the bridge. I will meet you there shortly after."
"Yes, my Lord."
The general was quick to leave. Alone in the Main Hanger, with nothing but the occasional chatter of a few droids, Ahsoka greeted Count Dooku with a hopeful smile.
"Lord Count Dooku—m-my master. . . Master Plo Koon. Is he—"
"Yes, my dear. He is in good care." The Count's beard smiled lightly. His unreadable eyes watching her closely. "But first, I have come for an important issue of dire importance. It appears you must have your records checked."
Ahsoka's montrals twitched. "My records?"
"Yes. You see in order for us to safely commit research, we need to know if there are any . . . dilemmas that may prove lethal."
"O-okay, I guess," said Ahsoka, unable to hide the shaky tone behind her voice. It wasn't that she was afraid. More wary than that. But she kept it up and stuck to the decision of listening. "So what do I have to do?"
"Nothing you would consider frightening. A blood sample is needed. And we must know if you are repellent to certain chemicals—including allergic."
"Ah, well I have no objections," Ahsoka proclaimed. "But, I was wondering—well. . . if I can ask you a question?"
"You may."
"The general," Ahsoka mouthed the word in contempt. "I won't be staying with him any longer, will I?"
"That still depends. Judging by that," he batted his eyes at her neck. The collar glimmered from the lighting provided by the hallway the two were now strolling through. "I'm not sure if now is the proper time. Especially after what I've been told by my general."
Ahsoka halted. Staring wide-eyed. "I—I—I—he—"
"A time ago, we spoke of whence you attempted to escape the general's care after my departure," the human that projected eloquence without difficulty spoke in calm. "Is this true?" he asked, face forward and pace unchanged.
Thinking over her options before choosing the necessary vocabulary to make her mind, Ahsoka felt a nagging thought of not misleading the senior Sith.
"Yes, sir. That is correct," spoke the now forlorn Togruta.
"I see. And the time when you attempted to make yet another escape on the third moon of Vassek. Is this also true?"
"Yes, sir."
"I understand it is nerving to have to give your allegiances to such a. . . being, but I assure you. So long as you comply to these condition, your reward in this effort will not be held in light."
The reassuring tone that reached Ahsoka's ears made her headtails shiver and stripes darken in hue. The thought of being rewarded wasn't exactly the sort of word Ahsoka would use in this kind of situation. The word made all her efforts out to be servitude of a mutt to its master in hopes of getting a biscuit for its troubles. And Ahsoka was no mutt. Sure, she did share an ancestry to a predator species long ago. But her species were more independent including civil than a mangy mutt. And as for the master. Ahsoka had no intentions in sharing her true allegiances to this cause. Her loyalty are with—and always will be—with the Republic.
Passing through a pair of sliding circular-shaped doors, Ahsoka and the Sith Lord that led her entered themselves into a Medical room. There, a medical droid stood erect and fastening itself with the necessary appendages for the recording. Ahsoka gulped after catching eye of the needles strapped to the left appendage.
And when she looked to the gurney that was neatly made for her, she gulped again.
This was too familiar.
Without a fuss, or even a sigh, Ahsoka propped herself on top of the gurney. The Count was pleased with that much. He switched to the droid with the same omniscient behavior that leveled him above any other being.
"Begin the procedure."
"Yes, my lord."
As the droid prepared, the Sith returned to Ahsoka.
"Before I depart to my affairs, how far are you in training?"
"I got the basics down. I think," Ahsoka said truthfully. "However, I'm not particular on any sort of lightsaber form nor technique."
Count Dooku sighed, for the first time Ahsoka saw a shred of emotion come across the man's face. Irritation. "This is problematic. However, this can be overcome once I have the time to fully teach you in the arts of—"
"The Dark Side," Ahsoka cut in aggressively. "B-but you said just testing will be done to me. You spoke nothing of teaching me the ways of the dark side."Ahsoka would say more but a ripple from the Sith's direction enlightened her of an irritation emotion from behind that face. Catching herself, Ahsoka apologized slowly. "I'm sorry. But I don't plan on giving myself up to you further than what I have already convinced myself to."
"Loyal, I can see that." The man assessed. It didn't sound like a compliment at all. "But foolish you are if you think I will allow such talent to be wasted with the likes of the Jedi."
"I'm sorry, sir. But I am not foolish. I'm only sticking to my belief."
"And it is the Jedi who have planted those false beliefs into your mind. But talents you have yet to establish into your own will only disappear and become extinct if you plan on continuing you training with Jedi." He spoke with such displeasure for the Order that it really wasn't that hard to miss. "Under my care, I will see to it that such a child of promise will blossom into the galaxy. And remember Ahsoka, there is still Master Plo Koon to consider."
It literally felt like the air was caught in Ahsoka's throat. She couldn't breathe. She couldn't think. Everything had stopped in her delirium from recalling. All except for her heart which was pounding through her ribcage in an aching rhythm.
"Once you are properly prepared, I will train you as my own. And I strongly hope we won't be having any more of these outburst remarks in my company." Turning in one swift graceful movement, the count reached toward the exit until stopping midway to slight turn his eyes back to Ahsoka. "I will return after you are done. Be a good girl, now." Then he left.
From a safe distance, Ahsoka sighed deeply after feeling the man begin to fade from Force and somewhere else where she didn't have to sense him any longer.
The droid began to advance on Ahsoka rather impatiently, as if it had other matters to attend to. Sort of like the caretaker droid back on the general's castle. She didn't make a fuss. And waited quietly for it to be over and done with. Along with the rest of her life.
Meanwhile, the general was still aboard the bridge waiting for further instructions from his master. As soon as he entered the bridge, Grievous then after took it upon himself to oversee the progress of his crew. Apparently there had not been Republic forces chatter prior to their invasion. As good as it may sound, surprises always tend to pop up here and there. Grievous took no chances. He prompted for double security. Following that, he demanded for additional troops.
And then Dooku came. His eyes looked down on him in disapproval as he stood to a halt at the center of the upper level of the bridge.
"Explain yourself this instant!" the Sith demanded sharply. Unpleased and clearly angry.
But Grievous threw him a convincing confused look. "Forgive my rudeness, my lord. But you are going to have to be more specific."
"Do not play with me, general. What you've done was completely uncalled for."
"From my memory bank, I recall: Congratulations in acquiring yet another necessary planet to our cause."
"If I may ask, what brought your mind to annihilate these people?"
The general removed himself from the Count's piercing gaze to face the screen producing a vivid picture of the planet that he had just invaded. "I acted in accordance of my mandate," spoke the calm general, making sure the careless edge was audible. "I offered the people a chance to surrender and they refused. So I removed them," Grievous stated.
"Without people, this planet would have fewer voices in the political arena," lectured Dooku. "Oh—but of course in your field such political values wouldn't be as interesting as mutilating a dead body. Would it?"
Grievous rolled his head to the direction of his master in disbelief. Neither spoke for that moment before Dooku saw that his general retreated back to the screen in urgency.
"You did—miraculously—bring the planet's leader to urge for vote to divorcing their ties from the Republic and merging with the Separatists."
This time Grievous rose a brow. "I'm gracious to know that you don't find all my efforts in vain," the general flatly voiced.
"I never said I did," Dooku countered as he moved in the area that placed him right of the cyborg general. He monitored the screen. "I only wish you would add more subtlety, but perhaps there is hope for you. "Dooku inched his head so that the general could see his master's attention alter from the screen—to him. "It has become apparent I am free from my political duties—three hours standard at best. During this time, perhaps we can better assess your proficiency."
It took no less than a second for the general to reply to his master's invitation to spar training. At last Grievous had a chance to show Count Dooku the prowess and grace he honed into the very metal body that housed him. At last he could prove to the Sith just how worthy he was to him. Did he have any reason to worry? No, such a distracting emotion would render him useless. There was no need to worry, for it was deemed weakness. To be unfaithful to one's own proficiency would to find one self lacking. And Grievous did not lack. And so long as he didn't fail, Grievous would truly live up to his true purpose: invincible.
Soon after the agreement, Count Dooku made the arrangements for their spar to take place in the Main Hanger in isolation so as to reduce distractions and would-be disruptions. Grievous took to the settings in gratified approval.
"I must prepare. I will be there shortly," was what the dark lord said as he exited the bridge.
Grievous took no time in making last minute arrangements for the B1 battledroids to tend to—adding ferocity to his voice to discourage failure—before departing to the bridge. He spoke to no one as he stalked straight to the Hanger Bay, mind set on being there as soon as possible, ignoring all who attempted to converse, not that that was something to worry over. Unless business was involved, any crew member would be too fearfully intimidated by the general's menacing appearance to attempt to socialize with, droids alike.
Not a single battle droid, maintenance droid, or neimoidian was about in the Main Hanger whence Grievous' arrival. Aside from the transport vessels and recharging droid starfighters dangling from the ceiling in recharge, Grievous was the only patron accommodating the Main Hanger's soundless transparisteel floors. But this was taken as an opportunity to warm up—which Grievous did rapidly.
Drawing two of four of his most prized trophies, both hissing in the air after activation, Grievous performed a routine of warm-ups to mentally and physically prepare himself. If he was going to go head on with his master, then the mistake of hesitation would prove to be fatal, not to mention, punishable. Grievous started with getting in touch with both Makashi and Juyo, or Vapaad—two of the earliest forms he mastered—by drawing himself into positions both forms demanded, then after, striking at invisible enemies with death-bearing blows. Each slash he would add with a more creative follow, and each follow before finishing with yet another anger-driven finish. Each attack was precise, well-thought out, and correspondent with his body. For if either or were not compatible, then Grievous would have a real problem on his hands once he faced Lord Dooku, or worse—on the battlefield against his enemies. Which is why each finishing attack came with a pause to reassess and correct any mistakes, readjustment, then continue again he got it right.
Despite the obstreperous hisses each slash would sound from the lightsaber, the highly attentive audioreceptors the Commander general possessed heard from the main entrance the sound of parting doors, followed by small but allusive footsteps nearing towards Grievous' direction. However general continued without pause; having grudgingly become accustomed to the way the person moved and spoke, Grievous was well aware of who decided to raid on his solitude.
Batting obsessive bright blue eyes in his direction, and even sneering behind his back when he was not looking, the subordinate Grievous unfortunately grew acquainted with, Asajj Ventress, rested her arms on her hips without bothering to offer a pleasant greeting. Not that it mattered. Grievous didn't either.
When she realized she was not going to get a response from him, the Force-manipulating witch breathed, "General," through gritted pure white teeth.
Grievous responded back with a low, "Ventress," after finishing up. Making a complete turn, he faced his rival. Since their last encounter, the Dark acolyte Dathomirian had not changed since their time apart. Dawned in the very same robes and trappings of Sith—more witch-like—cold blue eyes bearing a stare to match his own, her dual lightsabers clipped at her waist for quick reach in combat. Stepping at fair distance from the assassin, Grievous inspected his lightsaber rather than courteously provide the wench his full attention. "Should I even demand the reason why you are on my ship?"
"You're ship, general?"
"Yes. My ship."
"Quite simple, really. Dooku summoned me." Grievous tried to search for any deception, the smallest hint of lie hidden in her words. But what the witch said was, in fact, true. "Had I been informed of your presence, I would have brought you a souvenir. A mutilated body would suffice, right?"
Grievous glared, but his temper was still in check. "Are you capable of such action? Do not make promises you cannot keep," he taunted, savoring the irritated expression of the Dathomirian. It would have to do seeing how his other responsibility was fortunately unavailable at the time.
Asajj neared on Grievous. He allowed her to, eyeing her every body movement and gestures with caution. When it came to witches, surprises always followed. Unfavorable surprises.
"On the contrary, I only wished to improve what scrap of reputation you have left. After all, it appears the only sort of challenge you can fair against are weak civilian," teased Ventress, "While I have bested Jedi by the numbers."
"What a coincidence, so have I." Grievous waved a trophy her way, his eyes gleaming and taunting. "More so."
Ventress snarled. "Don't get carried away, general! And don't you dare carry the idea Count Dooku would train you personally."
"Obviously. Lord Dooku personally informed me that we would share a lesson—alone."
"Your audioreceptors are in need of maintenance—among others—for Count Dooku informed me that we would be sharing a lesson."
"You lie," Grievous rumbled a growl. Until now, it never dawned the general of his master's deception, but after rethinking, the whole isolated lesson proved too good to be true. He should have suspected his master would have wanted to Ventress to take part as well. Betrayed, Grievous' claws clamped into fists, imagining the Dathomirian's neck in his grasp. "You could never hope—or dream—to match my skill. Or think of yourself as Dooku's favorite. Nothing more than a plaything of his whim."
"How dare you!" The witch rasped into her natural witch-like persona. Eyes bright with intense anger, Ventress' fingers twitched eagerly to grasp for her weapons. Grievous likewise. "Are you suggesting my abilities are lacking?"
"You can think what you want. I care not. But in truth I am merely pointing out the flaws in your abilities."
"You blubbering fool!"In five long vicious strides—yes Grievous counted, alerted and aroused for conflict-Asajj Ventress was up against the general face to face. Lips pulled back in a sneer, Asajj didn't try to hold back her hatred for the cyborg. "I am far more superior than you in more ways than one."
"Foolishness." Grievous declined in calm. "You may claim to be who you want to be, but in the end it is I who claims the title as the Supreme Commander of the most powerful droid army the galaxy has ever seen."
The dark witch did not say a word at first; rather, she did something Grievous would never expect the elusive woman to ever accomplish. She turned away. But as Grievous was about to rotate, returning to engaging himself in combat—he could hear the witch mouth, "A title fitting for a droid, no doubt."
Almost instantly Grievous had lashed out for his lightsabers—cutting through the air as if he himself was the lightsaber, until facing Ventress face to face once more with his towering form cast over her. Ventress responded almost as quick as the cyborg Grievous, her lightsaber hilts in her hands, poised gracefully into combat-ready. Thumbs mere inches from pressing the switch that would activate the blade and cut him down in spiteful rage. Both, since upon meeting—and course of events—disliked one another tremendously that it could be considered a passion. But with their orders and superiors to mind, the two were forced to join forces whether they did enjoy each other's company or not.
But if this witch thinks she can get away with this crap then she was sorely mistaken. Grievous had little to no patience for tolerance—especially for this wench.
Closing the gap between their faces by just two inches to provide intimidation to his advantage, Grievous hissed, "Repeat that." Yellow eyes burnt bright, Grievous' eyes grew narrow and feral. His voice a resemblance to that of a Nexu during a hunt in the cool forests. "And you have my word I will make you regret using that disgusting tongue of yours."
Just as Ventress was going to mouth the words that would either save or end her life there and now—the audible sound of lungs clearing could be heard not that far away from the quarrel. The two slowly turned, and saw their Sith master Count Dooku looking after them in deep disapproval.
Grievous was the first to retreat the assassin's personal space. Retracting his lightsabers to his belt, Grievous argued, "Lord Dooku, we—"he eyed for the assassin's reaction"—were preparing for your arrival." The assassin shifted, and nodded. Not bothering to defend his statement.
Poised, unmoving, with his finely-made silken cape pulled to one side in order to reveal his right, the Count simply raised a single brow. "I've sensed enough to process the intentions of you two. So if it is not too much of a request, could you two possible search for some ground rule for I will not tolerate this behavior if it is to continue. "
Grievous inwardly scowled, cursing himself for even thinking about deceiving his Sith master. Having a master aligned to the very fabrications that made the Force graced the general—and any other colleague placing their profession towards the Count's appointment—have come to extreme awareness that any such deception, insignificant or critical, to the Count would result with humiliating expulsion, and an unmerciful punishment.
"My apologies, my lord," Grievous said in quickness. Ventress apologized as well, disrupting her muteness since Darth Tyranus' abrupt appearance. "But if I'm not mistaken, I was sure you meant for the two of us to share a lesson."
"I did. And Ventress."
"Permission to speak, my lord."
"Granted."
"I must decline," Grievous protested.
Grievous angled his mask slightly to see the sith assassin go stiff and stare at him. Count Dooku stared after him as well, eyes flickering with curiosity. "How so, general?"
"I feel more participants would be distracting to the purpose of this sparring lesson."
"Perhaps so," his master confirmed. "But that doesn't mean Ventress would be a distraction. In fact, Ventress—including you—are to spar afterwards for my own analysis. So her contribution is anything but a distraction."
Taking in a resigned stifled sigh, Grievous surrendered to his master's reasons. "As you wish, my lord." As much as he despised Ventress, the thought of her actually contributing anything for the benefit of his master would be a sight he would really like to see.
Dooku stepped to the middle of the arena wordlessly. When he found a suitable area to his liking, Dooku turned silently and beckoned for the general first. "General, step forward," Dooku commanded.
Ready, Grievous went forward, bowed, then settled himself in combat with one fleeting breath. It was all natural to him. Like a prodigy who has mastered the intricacy of a guitarra; Grievous was more adept with warfare and combat as he was with a starfighter.
"Begin."
As if that word was the trigger, Grievous started at the Sith Lord in a heartbeat. He was a flash, his actions precise and his movements just as graceful as the force provided to the Jedi. His first strike was aimed for Dooku's head, which was effortlessly blocked in one parry. The general didn't even see the Sith Lord reach for his lightsaber in spite of the enhanced implants in his eyes. And with his own skill of mastery, Dooku sent a single-handed slash with one step forward, answering the opening the Grievous apparently left. The impact of the human's thrust was too inhuman to outmaneuver, pushing Grievous' entire body backward with his feeting screeching against the floor.
The human paused, then took a step back. He flanked the general in one move.
"Do not allow yourself to be left unguarded. Focus."
Grievous side-stepped in time to face the Count with yet another fierce strike, anger leading it to the very end, striking in vital areas lethal to any normal human—and more than a challenge to inhuman. But with each powerful strike, the Count would easily parry with a twist of a wrist and change in arm coordination, this time not moving a foot. The next move that came to mind was switching lightsabers in a blurr, taking one step back only to answer the Count's ready-stance with an upward diagonal slash. Then after, before Grievous allowed his master to close his eyelids to blink he firmed his footings to approach with yet another attack. Each attack he would face towards his master, unfortunately, was answered swiftly parries and attacks that mangled Grievous' own and send him into a internal fit. Countless times, as he pressed on, Grievous sought restlessly for an opening—a mistake—but none came to. And Grievous was the always the one to feel the brunt of his incapability of overpowering his master.
Once Grievous tried to use the unorthodox where he flipped a yard away just as Dooku went for a sweeping motion that would have decapitated the general from the neck up, landing on one foot at the same time applying his left lightsaber to his free talon swiftly to provide a surprise ambush. The lightsaber came in contact with his master's red blade, with neither weilder allowing the other to overpower. In unison, both opponents fell back from the stailmate. Then they came at each other again—with Grievous the first.
On a second try of a vicious counter attack, just when he was about to intercept the elderly man's second parry, the Count took a step back and gestured to cease. Grievous halted instantly.
"So far you seem to think the best solution in answering a challenge is to rush in blindly rather than assess the opponents weaker points. Remain vigilant more importantly on body movements where it would seem awkward and less aggressive."
The general nodded and pressed again. Continuing his attack, Grievous heeded his master's examination and became more cautious. Still only using two lightsabers, Grievous made an abrupt change and pressed for a sweeping attack requiring him to throw most of his weight into, but not too much to lose footing. Yet with each parry, each low and high strike, the general could not afford himself the victory of even getting the Count to lose his elegant stance—unchanging with each attack he protested, and still very much energy to spare.
Reaching the rounded-edge of the make-shift arena for the two, with Ventress the only worthy audience, the general separated himself from existing distractions and conflicts as to better attune himself more efficiently with his instincts in order to gain any beneficial results. The idea of giving up did not fit into Grievous' vocabulary not because he didn't know how to—but because he simply denied. To surrender now would only bring him shame—and Dooku, whom graciously funded for his general's creation and training. And Grievous was not about to do such a thing.
Between the discernible emotions driving both the general's actions—and the agitation that sent his senses in a flux, the Count had gone and made a very noticeable mistake in his next guard. An opening Grievous did not waste. Willing his powerful magnetized talons to thrust his body at full capacity, Grievous went straight for it after making it seem as if he were attacking from above that would force the Count to raise his red-bladed lightsaber in a high parry stance, and, thus, widening the opening.
In a split second, unfortunately, when Grievous began to think he would surely gain the upper hand, the Dark Lord fell back and lifted a gestured hand to a halt. All the force pushing Grievous' powerful body was too great, and the general made an ungraceful halt that resulted in his talons screeching the metal flooring in high-pitched, but in time to keep from rushing into the Sith.
Lowering his hand, slowly to make the seconds excruciating for the general awaiting his next lecture, Dooku spoke: "You have failed to see what you've done wrong, general. Would you like to explain yourself, or shall I?"
Taken aback, Grievous was unsure of the question. "I'm sorry, but I do not know what I did wrong, my lord."
Adjusting the radius of his antennae audio-receptors out of habit, Grievous caught the faintest sound of a snickering giggle directing from where Ventress stood patiently. When the Count Dooku closed his eyes and shook his head, Grievous sent her an icy glare that made the message clear: Shut your mouth or I will remove it.
"I sensed your agitation as clear as the Force itself. In that state, you made the mistake of giving in to the temptation of attacking even the most obvious traps I have laid. " Dooku began to circle Grievous like a Frist Shark circling it's meal . "You must never be reckless and agitated, and instead allow composure and certainty to take its place. For if you lack both of those qualities, you will surely fail. Am I understood?"
Grievous bowed his head lowly. "Yes, my lord."
"Exellent. Remove yourself for the time being," Dooku threw over his shoulder as he turned on his heels. "Ventress, come forth."
The snake-hissing voice belonging to the Dark Acolyte responded, "Yes," and moved.
Taking the opportunity, as Grievous was about to discharge his lightsaber he made a circle rotation dangerously close to Ventress that could have disarmed her arm for good. Unprepared, the witch flinched and hissed.
"Oh, my mistake," Grievous apologized unsympathetically. His eyes smiling in dark twisted hate. "Must be defected."
Ventress sent him an icy glare, mumbled something too unintelligible for Grievous to understand, before following after her master in scorn. Grievous chuckled to her back and took space not far from where the next spar will take place.
After hearing Lord Count Dooku begin the game, both Ventress and he danced in their own conflicting flux. From the sallow eyes of general Grievous, the spar between the two was intimate in terms of the force
Where Count Dooku found the female was something Grievous could not process a thousand ways. Her abilities were feeble the first time they crossed paths, that was when Count Dooku decided to give the general the opportunity to prove his worthiness. The test: the general was to overcome Dooku's loyal assassin, Asajj Ventress, And Lock Durd aboard the Count's personal vessel. The general had accomplished the task without any complications, having decapitated Durd swifter long before dispatching Ventress unconscious whence he captured her as well. Soon afterward, Grievous would claim the title that would later provide him the reputation as the most feared general soon to come in the Clone Wars. Durd was none too estalgic over the news after his resurface from a week stay in bacta. Ventress' feelings was similar in terms of words, as for the physical approach Ventress wanted nothing more than to rip the general to pieces.
"Halt"
Stiffening his shoulders, Grievous blinked back to the Main Hanger and heard his master's voice lecturing Ventress for a fatal mistake. This time, Grievous smiled and could not help himself from endulging Ventress' foolish mistakes. Superior. Yeah, sure. Grievous inwardly joked.
When finished with Ventress' part of the spar, Grievous stood upright instead of his usual hunch-over posture. In doing so, the Count called Grievous over. Grievous stood next to Ventress, far enough to keep a distance but close enough to get the Dathomirian female unnerved.
"Now, I want you both to spar in order for me to gain a different perspective."
Both Grievous and Ventress agreed and took space in opposite directions. For a moment, Grievous could have made certain of Ventress making on offending disgusted face as they parted ways. In short of his rage, Grievous permitted it.
For the next five seconds.
"Begin."
Ventress was the first to charge. But the situation was so crystal clear that Grievous knew exactly where Ventress was going to strike. Using the erractic and chaotic forms of Juyo against Asajj's Form II Makashi, Grievous was able to deflect her feints and thrusts with ease. Though the form Makashi was a powerful form, there were some weaknesses that played out the demise for Ventress and victory for the general. One: Makashi is most useful when dueling a single opponent. In Grievous' case, he could fair against any challenge as five opponents. And two: the greatest flaw of the Makashi system is its lack of kinetic energy, where precision and blade control hampered the ability to generate momentum its offensive and defensive maneuvers. Ventress' attacks and parries are then proven nothing as Grievous could easily batter them aside and go for the kill with his strong emotions and vicious aggression.
Seeing his next attack, Ventress attempted to enforce a Makashi reposte that sadly ended with Grievous parrying her counter attack and knocking her off her balance with the force of his own erratic move. As unattractive as the attack may have been, it worked perfectly.
Ventress was off the floor in an instant, regaining her composure as she found her dual lightsabers in her hands. The glare she sent afterward was driven with a spitfire of unrestrained anger. Good, was what Grievous thought. The more irritated and agitated she was, Ventress was bound to take riskier approaches that will ultimately leave sloppiness in finesse and blind spots for Grievous to exploit. Victory would surely be his.
And that was exactly what she did. Ventress once again was the first to make the attack. Grievous could see the similiarity of Ventress' use in Dooku's fighting skills. But she was not Dooku. Dooku's skills were more elegant and respective, whereas, the witch's were unrefined and sloppy.
"You are tired," Grievous teased, cutting upward aiming for Ventress' chin. Ventress back flipped in time and stood with both sabers in an X-stance. "Shall we take a break for you to replenish."
"Silence, general," spat Ventress with wild eyes. "Don't you have a child to look after."
The sentence caught Grievous off guard. The responsibility of the child as well as her existence under his command was never made known by the general to anyone. He couldn't pinpoint as to whom would spill such a delicate information. The first assailant he could think of, of course, was that filth Nute Gunray, who had countless times attempted to bring the commander general down since the time of their mutual repugnance.
Grievous came in contact with yet another one of Ventress' vain attacks. Drawing himself up to his weapon, he leered down at the Dathomirian that dared cross him and growled: "What lies do you speak of, witch?"
"I know," Ventress confirmed with surety. "The malevolent general of the droid army is caring for a mangy pup. Oh dear, how pitiful."
Grievous slammed his second lightsaber against Ventress' dual lightsabers. Distressed, Ventress began to have difficulty holding her ground from the added pressure. "Look who's talking. You can't even hold against me, not that you ever could." Count Dooku declared something too incoherent for Grievous to consider as a cease or proclamation. "Your youth is dwindling, Ventress. As is your skill with a lightsaber."
Going in for a sweep—forcing the general to make an upward guard—at the same time Ventress spoke the phrase taboo up the general's mask: "I refuse to lose to a half-droid."
Grievous roared into a rumbling cry as he reached out and viciously clamped the woman's arm and flush into the floor. A sickening crack followed after the Dathomirian's collision on the floor. Ventress at first seemed unconscious, but her lips parted for air and her cold-cruel eyes wide in shock. But Grievous was too lost in his own blind rage to understand the extensive damage he had caused the sith assassin.
"Grievous stop!"
"I warned you to mind you tongue," Grievous viciously roared, ignoring his master's command. "Now you shall pay for your insolence, witch!" Raising his talon-foot over Ventress' head, Grievous would have surely put an end to the reign of Asajj Ventress without hesitation had Count Dooku not intervened. All it took was a gust of lightning that shook Grievous' entire body to reconnect him back from his killing spree. The after-shock of the blast made the air denser and a cloud of smoke emitting from Grievous, particularly the mask holes and beneath the crevices of his chest chamber. Sallow yellow eyes rolled back, the cyborg did not move for what—to him—was too long.
Smoking through his vocabulator, shifting between different audios Grievous could vaguely make out: "Send Ventress to the medic, she may have sustained damage to her spine."
"Roger, roger."
Audible footsteps could be heard from a distance. Only when Grievous could hear a non-mechanical pair of footsteps heading his way did he protest for the polarity of the electro-drivers in his mechanical hands to bring him up to indicate sign of life. Dooku brought himself to look at Grievous for one moment as Grievous gathered himself up before abruptly leaving after the witch without giving his loyal cyborg a good lecture for his unnecessary barbarism.
The general stood where he was, unable to keep himself from shaking uncontrollably. Arching his neck lowly to the ground Grievous clenched his fists as means of restraint, the duranium alloy that was his hands shook in protest from the intense strength. Squeezing his eyes shut, Grievous maintained the anger that was too much for him to restrain and somber. In one jerk, the ground became the means of his anger as Grievous repeatedly scratched and punched until his breath was caught and his eyes simmered into a drooping expression.
He never felt exhausted before, Grievous thought he never could. His eyes were heavy, his breathing ragged hoarse, his arms still shaking, and talons grating the floor. The pit of his heart stung, a feeling he felt unstable. Yes, he pondered. He was indeed exhausted. Slowing his breathing to an even rhythm, a rather comforting feeling rattled up Grievous' spine, and brought his mind to a dream.
"You are such a kriffing lunatic, you know that?"
The male hunter gave a weak shrug to the woman at his side, who was tending to his wounds.
"I'm sorry."
"Sorry, my ass," the woman rolled the brilliant amber-yellow eyes residing behind the karabbac skull mask that covered her face safe for the protruding mandibles—to the gaping wound at his waist. "Look what you've done to yourself. Gods help me, I feel like your caretaker half the time."
"I'm sorry. . ."
The female smacked the ignorant male at the back of his head, though not too hard as to cause any more injuries than he already acquired for the day. "Pay attention, I am scolding you right now. You hear?"
"I'm sorry."
The tired woman breathed, vividly distressed with her companions pig-headedness. "Aye, Sheelal." Arching herself over her companion's chest, carefully moving her arms towards his broad shoulders while avoiding the patched up wounds from the skirmish they've survived minutes ago. Removing her skull off to the side to be forgotten or the next hour or so, the woman placed the temple of her forehead against the smooth bleached texture of the hunter's Muumuu skull mask. "What am I to do with you? You foolish man." Rising up over his body, the woman comfortably allowed herself to indulge in the man's alluring scent, taking in as much as she could to remember it with her for the rest of her lifespan to come. The man in turn rose his chin up to meet her stare, their eyes locked in strong intimacy. The jungle began to stir, the creatures native to these grounds cried too far to pose as a danger. The underside of the jungles trees shadowed the two lovers from the outside, baking them with the captivated heat the trees could trap.
The kaleesh smiled from under his mask, gave his mate a sympathetic the satisfaction of his surrender to her plight, and flickered his gaze to her exotic form. "Stay with me within the bounds of this jungle for all eternity, my love."
Breath caught, the general was left on the floor with an ache that once remained dormant deep within his heart.
Kummar. He spoke the name in delicate soft, having just now barely remembered her existence in his life. It was starting to come back to him in scrambled shards.
In his past mortal life, Grievous dreamt himself slaying a Muumuu with lig swords. At that time, he never harbored a fancy for swords, so the nature of the dream itself bewildered him as to why he would use such weaponry over his favored Czerka Arms outland Rifle. And yet he still ventured to ends of the jungle to fulfill his dream. Whence his arrival, Grievous was stunned to see, instead of he, a Kaleesh woman standing over a freshly slain Muumuu—with lig swords in both of her hands, covered in the blood of the Muumuu. While most would be irate, even insulted, in having their kill taken from them—Grievous was more captivated by the woman's form. After acquaintances were exchanged, Grievous learned the name of mysterious "sellsword" for remainder of his life: Ronderu lij Kummar. From that point afterward, Grievous and Kummar became quick companions, sharing the blood of their kills, journeying their planet endlessly, and teaching one another.
That was long ago. But now the woman Grievous had come to love and cherish was long gone, taken at the hands of the disgusting race his people grew to hate: the Huks. Soulless bugs, the lot of them. And though he got revenge for his love's death, the absence was still there in his grieving heart.
Bringing himself up, Grievous collected his cape and lightsabers and proceeded out the Hanger in melancholic silence. In hopes of forgetting the hurt and pain, Grievous returned to the bridge to regain what little warfare enlightenment he could scavenge.
After passing through the entrance to meet his crew, Grievous regretted coming to the bridge almost instantly. Standing at the center of the bridge, his back facing Grievous, Count Dooku was looking out to the viewport to something Grievous could not see. Grievous walked up behind the Count. Count Dooku did not even turn.
"Better."
"Yes."
"You competence leaves me to question the full extent of your sanity, general." Grievous detected the underlying honesty from his words as his master got right to the point. He only had himself to blame for his incompetence. "More importantly, this constant bickering has me at the end of my rope. Like you, Ventress is as much as important to our cause and shall remain that way until I no longer have any use for either of you."
"I am aware."
"Miss Ventress is currently in the medbay receiving medical attention for spinal damage. You best hope she is in no way impaired from her duties."
Grievous inwardly snorted in giving the witch his best wishes. The only wishes he ever dreamed for Ventress was death and/or humiliation.
"However. . . "
Grievous dared to look up to his master in question.
"You have proven yourself worthy to proceed more delicate tasks." Grievous shoulders stiffened in anticipation after catching ear of the next sentence: "Tasks relating to Jedi involvement in particular—task that will require you to make you're existence known."
Grievous nodded. "I am at your disposal, my lord. Any task given to me shall be completed to the letter." For good measure he added: "I will not fail you."
"According to our spies, there are two positive sightings of Jedi roaming the capital city in Sullust. I want you to leave immediately, find them, and eliminate them."
"It shall be done, my lord."
"The coordinates have already been transmitted to your vessel. Leave at once."
Grievous left instantly to his vessel, making his strides longer in eagerness out of impatience. He quickly jumped into the cockpit of the Soulless One, punched in the co-ordinates, and left to his destination.
Long before the skirmish, tidying herself up from the last testing, Ahsoka had felt a most disturbing ripple in the Force. It was vicious as it tore through the Force in dispassionate convulsions, Ahsoka's montrals even twitched in agitation.
"Your trials are completed, ma'am," the medical droid had said to her before it left to another emergency soon after. "You may rest on the gurney, or perhaps sit on the spare chair if you like. But you may not leave this room."
Ahsoka promised the droid she would just sit, thanking it for the treatment, and sat perfectly still on the only chair in meditation. It must have been midnight by now, perhaps later. Sometimes it was too difficult to predict the exact time zone for Ahsoka to feel, not even the Force could inform her as well. She pressed her forefingers together out of boredome, and thought harder as to the ongoings of the ship. So far, she could interpret that the fleet was still in orbit, still orbiting the decimated planet Ahsoka was forced to witness.
Ahsoka sighed and didn't pursue to close to the planet for fear of seeing something she didn't want to see.
The next thing she felt made her jump in fright. Count Dooku walked into the room just as Ahsoka felt his dark presence through the Force.
The Count regarded her with a half-sympathetic smile. "Hello again," he greeted courteously. "I assume you are finished."
"Yes, sir."
Dooku nodded to her. "Very good." Dooku retreated out the door. "Come."
Ahsoka followed after Count Dooku, having to trot just to keep up with the Sith Lord. "Where are we going?"
The Count face turned into a smile. "You will know soon enough."
I finally added a Ventress vs Grievous bit. Fear not, there will be more Grievous hate Ventress moments soon to come.
For now, ya'll know what to do.
(Review. . . or else)
Latina out.