Chapter 115: Operation Nightfall

Caleb Dume flopped back on his bedroll, a holocron in his hand and a grin on his face. Life was good. He had only been fighting in the war for a few months, but they had been the best months of his life. Which was off for a Jedi, he supposed, but he felt that he finally found his place. Temple life was fine. Too peaceful for him, he supposed, and it let his mind wander, made him question everything, not in defiance, but because he needed to know why. Why the Council did the things they did. Why the Jedi were forbidden from emotions. Why they served as warriors now when the Jedi stood for peace. Why, why, why, all the time, so much that it had made him somewhat infamous among his peers.

Which is why his Master had given him the holocron. So that he could study the place of questions and peaceful dissent within the Jedi Order, so he could rise up through the ranks and obtain mastery without the stigma of renegade, without having his motives questioned, so he could be viewed not as an upstart, but as wise. Master Billaba had said she chose him for his inquisitive nature, so there must be something to it. Perhaps her brush with the Sith Lord Kenobi made her believe the Jedi needed to change. Perhaps the raw, terrifying power of the man made her question her ways, made her realize that the Sith had changed, and so must the unchangeable Jedi. He'd have to ask about that too.

Caleb looked over at the clone captains as they sat talking and his Master, the woman sitting and silent as she meditated, and he felt a swell of pride within him to be her student. That she was even out here again was a testament to the strength of her will. What the Sith had done to her wasn't something that anyone could recover from, and not only had Depa Billaba recovered, she had returned to the war with a Padawan to keep her focused. Everything was right with the world. It was where he was meant to be, out in the galaxy, fighting against evil, righting wrongs, helping to defend the innocent...good work. It would be over soon, of course, but he was just happy that he had the chance to make his way.

They had liberated Kaller from Separatist control just that morning, had met with an insufferable government official by noon, and that afternoon, they had gotten the news. General Grievous and Commander Offee were dead. The only real, viable threat the Separatists had left was Obi-Wan Kenobi, and while Caleb didn't underestimate the powers of the fallen Jedi, an entire war couldn't be run by one man. It just wasn't possible. Not when he had nothing to work with. Not when he had no General, no support, no allies, no friends. Caleb frowned as he felt a twinge of sympathy stir within him. No wonder Kenobi sat in darkness, the man was alone, had lost so much. He had heard the Masters talking when the Duchess of Mandalore died, had known that she was with child, and everyone knew who had fathered the child upon her. He had seen Quinlan Vos rant and rage against the Council in support of the Sith Lord, even before he had fallen himself. Alone...

As a Jedi, Caleb would never truly be alone, and he was uncertain what that was like. It must be lonely, a feeling that he had never truly felt. All he had to do was close his eyes and reach out, and the presence of a thousand Jedi brothers and sisters would surround him in the Force. Obi-Wan had been a Jedi once, so it was said, and he wondered how anyone could choose the loneliness of the Dark Side over the warmth and comfort of the light. The questions came rapidly. How had he fallen? Why had he fallen? What was the problem, where was the crack in his armor that allowed darkness to seep in? He clutched his holocron tighter and smiled as he looked upon it. He'd have to meditate on it. After he asked his Master, of course.

Caleb smiled at Commander Styles as he grabbed a flashing comlink and walked out of the light of their fire to answer it, the clone smirking gently and saluting the young teen. Caleb wondered what would become of the clones now that the war was coming to a close. Or the Separatist worlds, what would happen to them? Would they be accepted back into the Republic? Would they be punished for their part, forced to pay reparations for the damage done and the lives lost? And what of Obi-Wan Kenobi, what would happen to him?

He supposed that the Sith Lord wouldn't go down without a fight. They certainly wouldn't be able to capture him. But what if they did? What if they could subdue him, detain him, what would happen? Would the Republic try him for his crimes? Would the Jedi get custody of the dangerous Sith? Would they question him, interrogate him, torture him? It wasn't the Jedi way, but Kenobi had caused them pain and suffering without end, and Jedi tempers had risen because of him. They may very well turn his vaulted Dark Side against him. Or could he be saved? Redeemed? Turned back to the light? And would the Jedi even try? Caleb didn't know, but to him, it seemed as though death would be the most merciful thing. Maybe he'd even get a chance to talk to the Sith Lord, though he suspected he wouldn't get any answers to his questions. Nobody would feel safe if the Negotiator was allowed to speak. Even confined, he'd have to be contained, blindfolded, and gagged for anyone to feel he wasn't a threat.

He'd have to ask about it later. For now, he was simply content. Life was good.

Depa Billaba suddenly shot up, her eyes wide and her lightsaber in hand, and sensing her distress, Caleb quickly scrambled to his feet as well, fumbling for his lightsaber and lighting the blue blade. "Keep close to me, Caleb, focus and don't stray," she commanded, her voice hard, and he nodded, quickly looking around to see the danger she sensed, saw the clones pointing their weapons, and quickly turned to see what they would be engaging.

Nothing.

There was nothing save for the thick woods behind them, and Caleb slowly looked back at the clones, his Master facing them with her lightsaber poised and raised defensively, and he realized where they were aiming. Their blasters were pointing at them.

"Execute the Jedi!" Commander Styles shouted, and in the next moment, the air was filled with the streaks of blaster fire as the clones, their loyal soldiers, their valuable friends rained death upon the Jedi they had served with. They retreated, keeping up a defensive position as the clones relentlessly pursued, and fear kept Caleb fast, adrenaline pumping through him faster and stronger than the Force did. But fear also disrupted his focus, confusion clouded his ability to act, and more than once, Master Billaba had to step before him to deflect shots that would have slipped past his guard, shots that would have been fatal. It was too much. They were going to die. The Jedi had been betrayed, and they were going to die.

"Caleb!" Master Billaba shouted, rushing to guard him when his foot had slipped in the slick mud. "Caleb, run. Hide, save yourself!"

"I-I'm not leaving without you!" he stuttered, and he meant it. Run? How could he? He had felt a connection all those years ago as she lay in a bacta tank, her mind shattered with no hope of returning. He had always believed in her, had known deep inside him that she would pull through. The Force wouldn't have been so cruel to let her survive Obi-Wan, Jedi betrayer, only to have her fall to yet another betrayal, this time at the hands of her own soldiers, right? Right?!

She stepped before him again when he just stood there, shocked and confused, her saber trailing green in the air as she defended her student. "Run," she snapped, "or fight, but just don't stand there!"

"Y-yes, Master!" And he did. He stayed by her side and fought. Fear turned into horror as clones began to die, their shots deflected back at them or a mad rush put them too close to a lightsaber. These were his friends, the people he fought beside, and he was killing them! Tears began streaming down his face. This was nothing like fighting droids.

"Widen the perimeter!" Commander Styles shouted. "Surround them, don't let them get away!" Out in the shadows, Caleb could see the clones moving to do as they were told, rushing to flank them, then surround them.

"There's too many of them," Depa said, her voice strong and firm and fearless, and Caleb never admired her more than he did right then. "Soon they'll cut off any escape. Caleb, this is a battle we cannot win." She looked at him then, his beloved Master, and smiled. "You need to run." She turned away from him, her lightsaber raised and moving to defend him. "Go. I'll be right behind you."

She was lying to him. Caleb could feel it. It was the first time she had ever lied to him...and Caleb turned and ran anyway, his face streaming with tears as he realized what that meant. He scrambled up the nearby hill toward the thick forest beyond, his feet slipping in the slick mud and grass, his lightsaber in hand moving almost as if on its own as it knocked back the shots that were fired at him. He could hear the clones shouting to concentrate fire on the Padawan, to not let him escape, to shoot him down, execute him, and with burning lungs and a heart that was pounding in his throat, he made it to the top of the hill and locked back just in time to see Master Depa Billaba get gunned down by her own men, the clones standing over her body and unloading their blasters into her already still corpse. They were shouting, running, coming after him. Caleb Dume shut off his lightsaber, rushed into the forest, and didn't look back again.

The Dark Side roared around him, howling in triumph as the light was extinguished, the ripples of what had been done heralding the coming of night, and Obi-Wan had never felt so powerful. Once, long ago, the Dark Side had seduced him, not just with power but with the intoxicating rush of euphoria that rushed through his blood like an intoxicant, a drug, a poison, beautiful and addicting and orgasmic in its intensity. And like any addiction, the longer he stayed in darkness, the more it took to make him feel as good as he had the first time. More darkness, more blood, more murder, more manipulation, more dominance, more beings to fall submissive and obedient at his feet, and it was never enough. In time, it became difficult to feel it without Sidious' touch in his mind, and these days, he never felt it at all. Grief had put the hole in him, and madness had burned away his need to feel that bliss at all.

But he felt it now.

Kenobi rested one hand on the flight console before him and the other covered his eyes as he moaned, his body desperate and aching for contact like it hadn't since his Satine was murdered. Passion gave way quickly to lust, filling the void within him with a boiling need for power, for death, for a body beneath him to take him within them, willing or not. It was an addiction that couldn't be sated, one that he didn't know he still had, and all of it brought on by the darkness that came from the deaths of the Jedi. Even Yoda likely lay dead, the Jedi, not the rancor, his warning heeded too late, sidious' revenge occurring too fast, but it didn't matter to Kenobi. He had been waiting for this moment. The ultimate revenge of the Sith, the howling of the Force as it plunged into darkness, the extinguishing of the light, the end of the stale and stagnant Jedi, those pitiful wretches that never knew how weak, how corrupted they had become...

So why did it feel so...wrong?

Something was off in the Force. Something that went beyond the tears caused by the deaths of a thousand Jedi. This wasn't about the Jedi, this was about Darth Sidious. Something had gone wrong with his Master, something had happened to him to change him physically. He saw it, felt his displeasure in the Force, and that's when the feeling began. He had wanted more time, and it was suddenly gone. Something had forced him to execute Order 66. But what.

"You know," Cody drawled next to him, the clone tied tightly in the copilot's seat, "if you keep moaning like that, I think I'm going to get pregnant." He flashed Kenobi a wide, pleased grin when the Sith looked at him with eyes so dilated, the only thing that could be seen was a thick, red rim around wide black pupils. "Unless...that was your intent when you tied me up, my love..." He shrugged and laughed softly when Kenobi sneered at him. "It would be really awkward to explain that to your twins, sir."

"You know why I did what I did, Cody," Obi-Wan whispered, a slight smile on his lips as he leaned back, shut his eyes, and dove deep into the Dark Side, sinking to the bottom of its depths in an attempt to clear his mind of the intense high he felt, but it did little good. Even here, the currents of the Force were strongly pulling at him. If he was feeling the effects of the dying of the light so strongly, he could only imagine how powerful Darth Sidious had become. "Think how bad you would feel if you shot me in the head."

"I don't feel any different, sir," Cody said firmly. "The order is in effect, isn't it? When will we know if I'm safe?" It was a real concern what would happen to his clones when the order was executed. There was a possibility that the biochip implanted in their brains before birth would activate the clone initiative, but faithful Cody was experiencing none of the symptoms that he observed way back when he first turned the 212th Attack Battalion into the Shadow Legion. More likely than not, his manipulations had not already tripped the order, but disrupted the biochip entirely. Obi-Wan tightened his fist in the air, and the bindings that held the clone snapped.

"We should have removed those biochips," Kenobi growled as he grasped the controls and eased the Umbra out of hyperspace, the blue and white fading as the stars snapped back into place, and beautiful Raxus hung in space before them.

"Speaking of which..." Cody drawled as he rubbed his wrist. "My boys that infiltrated the 501st said one of their captains discovered the truth about the clones."

"Did they shoot him?"

Cody shook his head. "No, it seems him and a small group of his fellows had something of a panic about it and went looking for a way to disable it."

"Did they tell anyone?" Cody just shrugged. "Maybe that's why my Master executed the order so suddenly. It's unlike him to be so hasty. This feels like something in his plans went wrong and he had no choice. Exposing what the clones are designed to do would destroy all his plans. Someone must have been close."

"So what happens now?" Cody asked, and Kenobi leaned back in his seat and took a deep breath to calm himself and bring the roaring Dark Side back into his control. It effortlessly did his bidding, the ferocious beast's roars quieting into gentle purrs as it curled up around him, a dragon of smoke and flames that grew supplicant under his touch.

"Now, my Master will take control of the Senate, abolish the Republic, and establish the Empire. With the Jedi destroyed, there will be nobody to oppose him. By now, the droids have been deactivated, so the only army that remains it the clone army."

"And the Mandalorians," Cody said softly, and a slight smile tugged at the edge of Kenobi's lips, but it was hollow.

"Yes..." he said softly. "And the Mandalorians, provided Bo-Katan did as you two discussed."

Cody grinned and threw his hand up in a mock salute. "All hail the Empire! Peaceful Mandalore honors the glorious regime that ended the Clone Wars!" He groaned as he stood, and chuckled as he adjusted the blasters strapped to his leg and him, and checked that his lightsaber was secure on his belt on his lower back, the ship slipping into the atmosphere of Raxus and swiftly heading toward the capital. "While the warriors retreat into their territory, Hutt Space is too big and too wild, and Jabba is willing to provide cover in exchange for protection."

Kenobi frowned. He didn't like working with a Hutt, and he really didn't like Mandalore sacrificing glory for safety, but he had little choice. Sidious' first order of business would be to destroy anything that could stand in opposition to him, and another Empire would be unacceptable. The only thing to do was give Hutt Space back to the Hutts and rule from the shadows. As he had always done. As the Sith had always done. Until he was ready, until Sidious lay dead, the name of the game was survival.

He brought the ship down to the palace, the hangar open and expecting his arrival, and when he had landed and powered down the engines, he gripped the control console, his eyes closed and his hands shaking, the feel of the Dark Side again rushing through him like wine and spice and sex. This was...a very dangerous state to be in, control so very difficult to maintain, the will to maintain control slipping away like water through his fingers. It would have been so easy, so satisfying, so liberating, to just let go, let the Dark Side take him away, the rush of power and perverse pleasure washing away all the pain, the grief, all his losses...

"My Lord?" Cody asked softly, laying a hand on the Sith's back and feeling his shoulders tremble, his back expand and contract with fast, ragged breaths. "Are you alright?" The Sith Lord nodded, but said nothing else, and Cody frowned. He was not alright. "I can go in there and take out the garbage, if you like."

"This is my task, Cody, Lord Sidious gave the task to me." Cody frowned even deeper. Kenobi had often described the Dark Side as a drug, as a fickle mistress, as a wanton whore in an attempt to explain the Force to a man who could not feel it. If any of that were true, then Obi-Wan had just gotten a massive dose, had taken her against the wall at a party, had an orgy with all her friends. And Darth Sidious was his dealer. Her jealous husband. The brothel owner. Power came at a price, and it had to be paid to Sidious, the man who would be Emperor. Obi-Wan talked about killing him, about breaking away, but Cody was worried about his ability to do it, especially when the Master seemed to be overwhelmingly strong, and would now be only stronger. The bond between Master and Apprentice, it seemed, ran deep. Something needed to break it, and it needed to break soon, or Cody would die trying to find a way to free his Lord. His King. His friend.

"Is all...this," Cody said, almost spat, "because of what is happening?" Kenobi slowly nodded, his breathing slowly evening under the clone's touch, drawing steady strength from the stalwart man.

"The completion of the Sith Imperative..." he muttered. "The revenge against the Jedi, the rise of the Empire, the fulfilment of the will of the Force...it's intoxicating."

"Can Sidious control you like this?" Obi-Wan sucked in a sharp breath and held it, his hands gripping the console tightly. He could, and Kenobi knew it. Stay close enough to Sidious, and he could easily fall under his sway, especially now when the Force ran black. Close himself off to the Master, and he could simply pry him open again. Maybe he was strong enough to resist now. Maybe he would be strong enough when he grew used to the rush of power that now fueled the Sith, when the pleasure dulled, when the euphoria waned. But that was the plan, wasn't it? When he was strong enough, kill Darth Sidious. Rule by his side until then, learn all he could, grow stronger under his guidance, and when the time was right, and only then, strike him down.

Unless he chooses Skywalker.

The feeling returned, the deep unease, the feeling of wrongness, and Kenobi pushed it aside, pushed everything aside and focused instead on the bleeding wounds that lay within him.

Satine. His son. Quinlan. Ventress. Grievous. Barriss.

It became something of a mantra, a calming chant that cleared the haze in his mind, sank him down deep within pain and past even that until numbness began to set in. He was ready, sure of foot and clear of focus, and he stood, placing a hand on his lightsaber and heading toward the boarding ramp.

"Come with me," he whispered, and with a nod, Cody followed him out of the ship, across the hangar, and into the palace. The walked slowly and in silence, the Sith calm and focused in cold and bitter rage, the fire and passion in his blood turned to cold and frigid anger as he focused on the grief that fueled his power, not on the euphoria that resulted from it. A short time later, the doors hissed open, and Kenobi and Cody stepped inside a large conference room, the Separatist Council sitting around the table that occupied the expansive space, and as he entered, the Council rose from their seats.

"My Lord," Nute Gunray said, his voice quivering with fear. "Lord Sidious said we are to surrender. The war is over, and we will be left in peace."

It was funny, really, but Obi-Wan didn't laugh. "Cody, seal the doors." His eyes slowly roved the room, taking in the surroundings more than the nervous occupants. The doors through which they entered was the only way in or out. It was a dead end, as it were, and that thought did make Kenobi laugh, his soft, melodic chuckle amplified by the large, vaulted ceiling, the whirring of the doors as the locking mechanism engaged sounding right before the hiss and thrum of lightsabers filled the air.

"I would have you all know that I take no pleasure in this," Kenobi said softly, slowly advancing upon the nine terrified members of the Separatist Council, the tip of his red blade dragging upon the ground and leaving a train of sparks and molten metal in its wake. "Except for you, Gunray. I will take immense satisfaction in your death."

The rest was just screams and begging and pleading and the mad rush of a people with no means to defend themselves as lightsabers bit through them, cutting holes and gashes and severing limbs, bodies hitting the walls when thrown by the Force, other hanging in the air from nothing at all as they writhed in pain or choked. There was no challenge, no satisfaction to be had here, no strength to be drawn from the limbs and heads of the weak as they fell lifeless and bloody to the floor. Obi-Wan wasn't even present as he slaughtered them, was deaf to their crying and attempts to bargain or seek understanding.

Instead, he thought of Grievous, the cyborg he hated for a long time, had come to respect as a commander, if not a warrior, a man of dauntless ambition who sacrificed his body for betterment, gave up his frail organic form for a body faster, stronger than he ever could have had on his own. He thought of Barriss, a girl he had first seen when she was but a child, and he was still a Jedi. A girl that grew into darkness on her own, and one that he had been swift to rescue from death at the hands of the Republic.

They were both dead now. Obi-Wan grieved them, certainly, but he was less upset than he thought he would be. So little mattered now. Their deaths certainly made it easier for him to cut through the defenseless Separatist Council. If they, a General and a Dark Jedi, could die so easily, what did it matter if these insignificants should fall? What did the lives of Po Nudo and Senator Tikkes matter when Grievous died like he was nothing at all? Why should Shu Mai and Passel Argente live when Barriss Offee lay dead? Darth Lumis thought of Quinlan Vos when his red blade sliced through San Hill's elongated Muun cranium, when the darksaber struck open Wat Tambor's pressurized suit and drove through the green skin of his fragile, exposed body. He thought of his son, who had died inside his dying mother as swiftly slicing blades cut Poggle the Lesser into pieces before he even hit the ground, as he watched Rune Haako's red eyes melt under the heat of lightsabers as they thrust through his skull.

And Satine, dear, sweet, suffering Satine, his first failure, was with him as he lifted Nute Gunray into the air and choked the life from him. If she couldn't live, why should this worm, why should anybody.

Obi-Wan only stopped when he heard Cody calling for him, and he looked to find Gunray not just choked, but pulled to pieces, the pallid green of Neimoidian blood splattered all over the floor and a nearby wall. As he caught his breath and calmed his racing heart, he reached out to soothe the Dark Side away from its cold fury, and moments later, he was in control again.

"You alright, sir?" Cody asked softly, approaching the Sith Lord with caution, and Obi-Wan ran a hand through his hair, a look of disgust on his face as he surveyed the mess.

"I can't lose anyone else, Cody," he said firmly, his voice filled with steel and resolve, unwavering in its conviction. "I've lost so much, I can't do this again."

"You won't have to, sir," Cody said, a small smile on his face. "And it will please you to know that your mistress had reached out to Bail Organa. Seems like she can have the twins on Alderaan." The Sith Lord started to protest, but the clone quickly cut in with, "Sir, nowhere is going to be safe. Sidious will hunt for Padmé, and when they're born, he'll hunt for her children too. You know he will. She's important to Skywalker, and the twins are important to you. He'll sense it, and he'll use that against you, just as he always has."

"At my Master's side," Kenobi calmly explained, "I can protect everything I care about. When Sidious joins me on Mustafar, he and I will establish a new Empire, I'll kill Skywalker to solidify my place as apprentice, and with him dead, Padmé loses all value to him. She can just...fade away into obscurity on Alderaan while I focus on killing my Master."

"...and if Sidious doesn't choose you?" Cody asked calmly, and Obi-Wan tensed.

"...I'll think of something." His task here was done, in any case, and he was wasting time. He rushed out of the room with Cody close on his heels and they quickly made their way to the Umbra. If he was fast, he could make it back to Mustafar before Sidious arrived and pack up everything important to him and send them off to Alderaan, at least for a time. There would be time to work things out on the way back, but he couldn't shake the feeling of unease he felt as he boarded his ship and left for Mustafar.

The Jedi were not, as Sidious had said, caught off-guard.

Anakin had been displeased from the very beginning, the swell of strength he felt only fueled by his quickly growing anger. His Master had been angry when he had sent him off to kill the Jedi, though Anakin sensed that a great deal of the anger wasn't directed at him, but elsewhere.

"Evidence!" Sidious had snarled at him before he left. "Lumis wouldn't have been so careless!" It was an insult, Anakin knew, and had been meant as such, and it only strengthened his resolve to kill Kenobi. First, though, he had to kill the Jedi. All of them. Pawns of the Sith, corrupted from within, every single one must be destroyed to ensure that the contagion didn't resurface in the future, that all traces of poisonous Kenobi had been wiped out completely. The parents that had birthed him were dead. His friends, his allies, his vile spawn and his Mandalorian slut, all dead. All that was left were the Jedi and the man himself.

When he arrived at the barracks, the 501st was armed to the teeth and ready to serve, ready to follow their commander, ready to execute the Jedi on sight. Rex wasn't there, and that had rankled Anakin. The fool clone must have still been on Kamino investigating what had gone wrong with Fives. It was no matter. He had the rest of the mighty force, and there were thousands of them. One clone, no matter how valuable, wouldn't be missed. The marched up the steps of the Jedi Temple under the cover of night, the rhythmic pounding of thousands of armored feet all in step behind him as Darth Vader drew closer and closer to the top of the steps, to the grand entrance to the Temple, to the deaths of the thousands that were inside. They were to be caught off their guard, taken by surprise, unaware that their plans had been uncovered, that their treason had been revealed, that their crimes were now to be punished.

And when Anakin came into the Temple with an army at his back, he was met by a hundred Jedi Temple Guards.

Someone had warned them.

His rage spiked, and taking both his lightsabers in hand, Vader exploded with fury heedlessly slashing at the Jedi Guards as the clones opened fire, each death fueled his hatred, each time his strikes were warded away, his hatred grew, and within minutes, the Dark Side was so powerful within him, so fierce, that he felt like nothing could stop him. And nothing could. One by one, the guards fell, the constant barrage of blaster fire and the swift, deadly blades too much, even for them, and yet the fight dragged on, far longer than Vader anticipated, far longer than he would have liked. But in the end, even the most stalwart succumbed, even the strongest fell before his blades, and when the Jedi lay dead, Vader couldn't help but laugh, made and drunk with the power of it all.

He continued on through the Temple, the clones rushing forward to deal with any threat they saw, and Jedi they found trying to run, anything living that Vader didn't rush for first. Their boots echoed in the halls as they went, screams bouncing off the walls, the roar of blasters deafening, and slowly, Vader cut his way through every elderly Master too old to serve, every knight returned to find some peace from the war, every Padawan that foolishly thought they could stand before him, every initiate that fancied themselves a hero, and every confused youngling, uncertain of what to do in the absence of the Masters. All of them fell before his blade, young and old, without mercy, without pity. What would these children do anyway? Without the Jedi, these children were orphans, abandoned by parents to the cold, uncaring arms of the Jedi, and now, they were all gone. Killing them was a mercy, though Vader felt none as he cut his way through them.

The path they cut through the Temple was a slow one. There were stragglers all over, yes, those that tried to run, those that tried to fight, but mostly, there were Jedi Temple Guards. They never rushed at them, never attacked, merely stood their ground and defended, cold and calm and resolved. None of them survived, but none of the fights were easy either, and by the time Vader had reached the heart of the Temple, by the time he and his thousands of clones had swept through, hundreds of Jedi lay dead. Hundreds, when there should have been thousands.

Most of the Jedi were out of the Temple, of course, fighting in a war they didn't know was over, dying in a blaze of pain and betrayal, a fitting end for traitors. Nearly all the Knights, all the Masters able to fight, every single Padawan, all deployed to the Outer Rim Sieges, so their absence was accounted for. The Jedi Temple Guards lay dead by the hundreds as did foolishly brave or rightfully frightened initiates. But the younglings...the younglings...

The younglings were gone. Not all gone, of course. There had been rooms full, several dormitories crowded by the terrified things, but in the final accounting, less than half of the thousand Jedi children lay dead. Vader could feel rage, hot and painful, pulse within him, his pace growing faster as he strode through the Temple with renewed vigor. They hadn't searched the entirety of the massive compound just yet. If they were there, they would find them, and if not...

Clones roamed the city in search of Jedi. Where could a confused and scared Jedi child turn to? They would be hunted down and killed. It was only a matter of time. Soon, his task would be done. Soon, Vader would fly to Mustafar to put an end to Darth Lumis. Sidious had sent Kenobi back home to Mustafar where he still had things he may wish to defend, where his focus may be divided were his final possessions threatened. It was the only advantage the Master could give Vader, but it wasn't his only advantage. He wasn't riddled by grief like Kenobi was, his mind hadn't been torn apart by insanity, and Darth Vader was fighting for something too. He was fighting for Padmé. And nothing would keep him from that. Kenobi no longer had such a powerful motivator, not anymore.

His lightsaber cut through more Jedi as he passed, too old to be younglings, too young to be Padawans. Their training didn't matter. Their age didn't matter. They would die all the same. The Jedi would die, Padmé would be saved, and Obi-Wan Kenobi would be slain. Tonight, it would all be over.

Ahsoka awoke to the sound of screams, to the tugging of the Force upon her mind, to the oppressive weight of the Dark Side upon her, filling her head with more pain than the shoulder that was healing. She knew this feeling. She felt it on the Enigma when Plo Koon was killed. When Master Quinlan was slaughtered. When Anakin Skywalker took the ship by storm and killed everyone. Even her. Especially her. The lone survivor of a cruel fate that sacrifice had allowed her to avoid. She jumped to her feet, wincing in pain as she hit the ground, but it was reflexive. She felt no pain. Only the rush of adrenaline and the Force and something beyond terror pounding in her head. She had to get out. She had to survive. It's what he Master wanted, what her Master commanded, his final directive to her before he was slain.

So she ran, fast as her legs could carry her, away from the sounds of shooting and screaming and lightsabers thrumming and clashing, but the sounds echoed through the vastness of the Temple, seeming to come from everywhere at once, fear and confusion doing nothing to help her muddled senses. She placed her hands to her auditory canals, picked a direction and ran, ignoring the pounding of her heart in her head and the shock of her bare feet upon the cold ground with each step she took.

She saw the clones first, the distinctive colors of the 501st upon their armor, their blasters raised and shooting, and she rushed toward them, longing for help from the soldiers she had served with so often before. She came to a swift, silent stop, her feet burning as she slid, when she saw the clones firing at a group of initiates, children not yet old enough to see battle or death, lightsabers clutched in their hands as they tried to defend themselves, their fear and panic making them easy prey for the ruthless clones. Ahsoka dashed to a nearby wall and plastered herself to it, holding her breath when she found she couldn't breathe silently, standing still in the shadows as the clones began to fan out and look for more Jedi. Silently, she inched along the wall, felt it turn sharply into another passage, and she ducked around the corner and ran.

She didn't know how far she went, had no concept of the passage of time, but the Temple had never felt so large, so dark, so frightening, and she was quickly turned around. Where was the way out? There were many exits, why couldn't she find a single one? She ducked into countless passageways and hallways and rooms, rushing through some of them and ignoring the dead upon the ground, immediately turning away from others when she saw clones on the opposite end, and her legs nearly gave out from under her when she heedlessly dashed down a hallway and was met by the cold, expressionless masks of a line of Temple Guardians, the hilts of their double bladed lightsabers clutched unlit in their hands. Ahsoka swiftly turned to run from them too, fearful and untrusting of anything and everyone, but one had quickly reached out to wrap his hand firmly around her wrist, and she clapped her free had over her mouth to keep herself from sobbing.

But the end didn't come. No lightsabers hissed to life, no one moved to execute a fatal strike, to leave her for dead as she had seen so many Jedi on the ground that night. He simply pulled her back, the others parting to allow her past, and then he let go, the line closing back up when she stood behind them.

"Go," he said, his voice calm and cold and resolute. "Master Yoda is waiting."

Nothing more was said, and for a moment, Ahsoka just stood there and stared stupidly at their backs, the Guardians still as statues as they did their duty, and in a daze of fear and weariness, Ahsoka Tano walked down the hallway, her feet dragging against the floor when she lacked the strength to lift them. It felt...calmer here, she thought. Dark, yes, but there were no bodies here, no carbon scoring on the walls from plasma rounds, no thrumming of lightsabers, no screams, no dying. Not yet, in any case.

When she entered the room at the end of the passage, her heart nearly stopped as she looked upon a group of Jedi younglings, perhaps fifty of them and not a single one older than seven, from the look of it. They stood huddled together, creatures from a dozen different species, big eyes wide and filled with terror, the older ones carrying much smaller ones in their arms, and Ahsoka felt cold wash over her. They were all going to die. The Temple was crawling with people that wanted them dead, and while the room they stood in wasn't a dead end, it may as well have been. They had been herded here, had fallen back to this place with the Guardians to protect them, but that wouldn't be enough. The thought left her immediately when a soft rapping upon the hard stone of the floor drew her attention, and she swiftly turned her head to look down at the small, diminutive Yoda, the creature looking more weary than she had ever seen him, but a small smile came to his lips when he looked upon her.

"Ahsoka Tano," he said softly. "Good to see you, it is."

So many questions rushed through her, so much fear and doubt and grief, and the only thing she managed to gasp was, "What are you doing here!" He smiled at her, so gently it almost hurt, and she could feel her fears leave her just from being in his presence.

"Warning, I had, about the end of the Jedi," he said quietly, sadly. "Steps, I have taken, to save what I could." He frowned and looked away, his ears lowering. "But time, I did not have. Too quickly, this has happened."

"This is my fault," Ahsoka gasped. "I gave the proof against Anakin to the Council, I did this!" Yoda's stick clattered to the floor, and he grasped the Togruta's hand between his, and with a shuddering sob, Ahsoka fell to her knees and silently began to cry.

"More complete, the Sith's plans may have been, if more time, they had as well, hmm?" He shrugged softly. "Dwell not on what could have been, Ahsoka. In the present, you must be."

"We're going to die," she gasped, and Yoda's hands tightened around hers.

"Perhaps," he said softly. "But friends, the Jedi have. With Luminara, I worked, to save the younglings. Not all," he frowned, "but some."

"Save them," she gasped. "How. The streets are crawling with the Coruscanti Guard, and they are all clones. Have they turned against us as well? What chance do children have against that!" This time, faster than she could see, Yoda's stick suddenly flew to his hand and struck her in the head.

"A chance, we have given them," Yoda rasped. "Turned, the clones have, against the Jedi. But hope, the younglings have, where none, there was. Orphans, they are, in need of relief, and a friend to orphans of war is Bail Organa. A friend to orphans is Mandalore." Ahsoka's eyes widened in sudden understanding, and she stared at him for a long while, gasping in disbelief.

"Obi-Wan," she whispered. "Obi-Wan warned you, you're working with him." This time, she smiled, warm and genuine and bright. These children were being shepherded as refugees. It may not work, they may be caught and killed, but there wasn't much to distinguish these children as Jedi, not when they had barely been trained, not among the tens of thousands she had helped in her work with the relief programs. Mandalore had a history of adoption, and they had taken in thousands of children orphaned because of the war, so many now with new families, so many that were being now trained in the art of the fierce combat of the Mandalorians. This wasn't just good will. This was an army. This could work.

"The last of the younglings, these are," Yoda said softly. "Save them, we must. To Luminara, to Bail Organa, we must deliver them." The screams returned, the sounds of lightsabers igniting and clashing echoed down the hall, and Yoda's hand trembled. "Out of time, we are," he muttered. "Guide them safely, you must, Ahsoka." He let go of her hand and stood to face the hallway, and Ahsoka stood, her legs stronger than they had been, the burning in her chest replaced by cool, calm resolve.

"No," the Togruta said firmly. "I don't know where they're going, and there's no time to explain it to me. You take them." She looked down the hall so she didn't need to look at Yoda, but she could feel his eyes on her. She could see the blue blade cutting down the Temple Guardians, could occasionally catch a glimpse of Anakin's face, the glow of his yellow eyes. "They'd have no chance with me. At least with you, we know they'll survive." Still, Yoda didn't move, and she clenched her jaw tightly. "Master Yoda, please," she said desperately. "Good people died to save me, and it wasn't worth it, but it will be if I can keep Anakin from getting to you and these children. Go. There I think there's only one person in this galaxy that Anakin wants dead more than me, and he's not here. I'll keep him busy long enough for you to escape."

Yoda reached up and grabbed her hand, but she didn't look at him. She didn't need to. She was right, and he knew it. Perhaps Yoda could kill Anakin, but one death wouldn't make up for the deaths of the fifty children in the room who would certainly die if he stood to hold his ground. The Jedi were done. All that was left to do was save the remains.

"May the Force be with you, Ahsoka Tano," Yoda said softly, and he let go of her hand, turning to quietly usher the younglings into one of the adjacent rooms to hide while Ahsoka cleared them a path. She took a shaking breath as she looked over her options. They weren't good, but if she could lead them down the hallway opposite of where Yoda had hidden the children...she frowned. That wasn't good enough, that hallway led nowhere she hadn't been before, nowhere but to the dead and the clones that hunted for the Jedi. If-

"Ahsoka." She winced, her eyes quickly looking down toward where the line of the Temple Guardians lay dead, and Anakin Skywalker stood, eyes blazing and lightsaber in hand, and she could feel the wrath pouring off of him. The hallway would have to do. Without a second look back, Ahsoka ran, as fast as her legs could carry her, her new determination, her new focus strengthening her connection with the Force and giving her strength and speed she never had before. She could hear Anakin howling in rage, commanding the clones to not let her escape, not to let her out of their sight, to focus their efforts on her, to catch her no matter the cost.

She never looked back. She didn't need to. She could hear hundreds of pounding feet behind her, could feel bursts of plasma flying around her, could hear the thrum of Anakin's lightsaber as he followed, could feel the weight of the Force being thrown around her as Skywalker used everything he could to slow her mad dash, but she always managed to keep one step ahead. The Force was guiding her every action, every reaction, every move, every step, and with her focus returned to her, she found her way through the Temple, her feet light and swift and now, remarkably, putting distance between her and the furious Skywalker. Survive, Ahsoka, she told herself, at all costs.

For as long as she could, in any case. She knew she wouldn't survive. Maybe she could get away from Anakin Skywalker, but there was no escaping the clones, the soldiers that swarmed the streets of Coruscant, not when Skywalker was on her like this. She might be able to lose herself in the city, for a time, but with Anakin after her, there was no avoiding it. She was going to die. But she was going to make Anakin work for it.

She burst out of the Temple, leaping down entire flights of stairs at a time, the shock of the landing rushing through her body, and Anakin's screaming following her as she disappeared into the city. She ducked and dashed through streets and alleyways, panic gripping her as she ran into patrols of clones, their weapons raised as they hunted for Jedi that tried to escape, and she wondered how many of the children had actually managed to get away. She would have killed the clones that stood in her way if fighting wouldn't have slowed her down, if a trail of bodies wouldn't have led directly to her, if she didn't have the raging howling of a Sith Lord echoing through the desolate streets as he hunted her, blind but persistent in his fury. She could hear the clanking of armor as they closed in on her, as they honed in on her location. It would be over soon, but the longer she ran, the longer she fought, the greater chance that Yoda had to guide the younglings to safely. This was what Plo Koon and Quinlan's death had bought. The lives of children and the hope for the survival of something that once was, and that was enough.

She skidded around a corner and shot down the narrow alleyway, and she barreled right into the cold, white and blue armor of a clone, and she fell to the ground, hissing in pain and dazed from the impact. She tried to rise, but found she couldn't. Fear had left her, but so had her strength. This was how she died, and she accepted it. Jaw clenched and eyes narrowed in defiance, she looked up at the helmet of the clone commander that stood before her, weapon in hand, the blue pauldron of office over his shoulder, the distinctive blue markings on his helmet that distinguished him from his millions of brothers. She knew this clone and the squad that stood behind him. Rex, Anakin's personal commander. She had fought beside him before, and she wouldn't look away now.

Rex reached out, and gently took her by the hand, and said not a word as clones in his squad surrounded them.