Chapter 10 – Showdown on Felucia, Part II
And now the second part of the previous chapter!
Gee, what else is there to say? Well, I guess the story may take a little longer to complete than I would have originally planned, but that's because I had to take an unexpected break from drafting the story.
tyuo: thank you! Regis is, as I mentioned earlier, an original character so it means a lot that you think so! 3
Okay, here's an update; so as of the 9th of August, I'm back to writing the story! Hope you enjoy Part II of Showdown on Felucia!
Grievous' eyes widened in disbelief. What had just happened?! Why hadn't the lightsaber cut through? Regis' fingers closed around his lightsaber and he slipped under the lunging form of Grievous to end up behind him.
Incensed, the cyborg General whirled around, bringing up his blaster to fire off more shots. Jumping to his feet, Regis spun his lightsaber, easily deflecting the energy bolts. In response, Grievous withdrew his sabers again, feeling cheated of a victory and pressed forwards. His aggressive attacks forced Regis back – but then the Jedi switched his lightsaber from his right hand to his left and began to fight using a from that Grievous did not recognize, the armguard he was now using to block and deflect blows from Grievous' crippled left side. Grievous, meanwhile, was growing angrier every moment this battle dragged out.
Why wouldn't the Jedi just die already?!
It wasn't so hard to give up, was it?
He growled as their blades locked once again. Both tried to push the other back through sheer force; in this aspect, Grievous had the upper hand. He forced the Jedi back a few steps. Gritting his teeth, Regis struggled to match Grievous' strength. The cyborg was stronger than he was, and if he let this stalemate continue, then Grievous would surely overwhelm him. Regis' gaze happened to stray downwards as he looked for something he could use. It was then that he saw the scorch marks below Grievous' right knee joint and an idea popped into his head.
He let his right hand – the gauntleted one – drop from where it was holding his lightsaber's blade and clenched his hand into a fist. Regis then dropped down into a crouch, much to Grievous' surprise, the General lurching forwards now that the opposing force was suddenly gone. Without a moment's hesitation, Regis drove his fist into Grievous' right knee even as one of the cyborg's lightsabers scored a shallow line that just missed his right eye. There was a crunch as metal connected with metal and Grievous' foot abruptly buckled from the blow. Grievous pitched forwards into the ground, his remaining three arms halting his fall. Looking over his shoulder, Grievous lashed out with left leg, feeling some amount of satisfaction as the kick connected and the Jedi Knight was thrown backwards.
Laughing, Grievous didn't let his various injuries slow him down as he scuttled towards Regis. Flipping back to his feet, he raised a blue lightsaber in his left hand, holding it over the Jedi. There was a triumphant gleam in his eyes as he prepared to bring it down on the Knight now at his mercy.
"This is where your story ends, Jedi scum," Grievous said gloatingly at the helpless Jedi.
Regis could do nothing but stare at Grievous' somewhat scorched faceplate and – behind it – those unfeeling reptilian eyes. He couldn't move; he was pinned below one of Grievous' feet and his lightsaber lay too far out of reach, having been thrown aside as the cyborg's kick had connected with him. But even as Regis' eyes met Grievous' own, he felt no fear: instead, he felt acceptance.
He was going to die, but for some reason that didn't bother him.
"It was a good fight," Regis admitted. "Do your worst, General."
Saying so, the Jedi closed his eyes and awaited what seemed to be the inevitable.
With a guttural snarl, Grievous brought his lightsaber down on the unarmed Jedi, aiming to decapitate him. He was lost in his own world, now; only he, his lightsaber and the Jedi existed. He didn't see the clone – didn't hear his cry of anguish as the blade cut down. He didn't even see that his own droid forces had been destroyed and the clones, advancing on him, had come to a halt at the sight of what they would have thought was their General's last moments.
All that mattered was killing the Jedi.
And yet…
And yet he found he couldn't.
The humming energy blade came to a screeching, abrupt halt a fraction of an inch from the Jedi's throat. It was close enough that the Jedi would no doubt feel some pain, but it was also far enough that it wouldn't simply slip downwards and kill him. All that Grievous needed to do was to push downwards ever so slightly. That was all it would take. Why couldn't he do it? Why, indeed?
Perhaps it was because the fog of battle had lifted; perhaps it was a moment of weakness. But even though he tried to push away his thoughts, Grievous knew why he hesitated. He knew what it was that stopped him. Because when he looked down at the helpless young Jedi, he did not see him as he was; no – instead, he saw himself. He saw what was a younger version of himself: how he had once been, before all of his upgrades, before all the changes that made him what he was now.
And though he didn't know what it was that made him see it, this image was nevertheless powerful enough to stop him from killing the Jedi. Grievous saw his hand – and in turn the blade – tremble. Why? Why did his mind betray him? Why didn't it let him carry out this one, simple task that he had done countless times before?
Yet before he could debate it further, a blast struck his head, narrowly missing his eye and instead ricocheting off his faceplate.
Grievous' head snapped around and his eyes immediately fell on the ranks of clone troopers still advancing cautiously towards him. At their front was their Commander, bedecked in white and maroon armor. The cyborg general glanced around, quickly spying the clones that had slowly encircled him – even the ones in the trees had their blaster rifles trained on him.
The clone Commander took a few more steps forwards, two DC-17 blaster pistols in hand as he looked unflinchingly at Grievous.
"Consider this your only warning," the clone said. "Put your weapons down, or we will open fire."
"Ha!" Grievous scoffed. "You fools think you can defeat me?"
He then noticed one clone had a rocket launcher that was pointed his way. But even so, Grievous was still confident about his odds.
By now, Regis had opened his eyes. He turned his head, immediately spotting his men.
"Commander!" He exclaimed. "What are you doing?!"
"No disrespect meant, Sir," the Commander responded. "But we felt it was a necessary interference."
Grievous was now certain that he could not kill Regis, and he didn't fancy being taken prisoner by the Republic, either. So he surreptitiously activated his commlink, the transmission he knew, would be picked up near-immediately by the B-1 droids manning the bridge of the Destroyer. The order would be given to dispatch a shuttle with a Vulture droid escort at once. Now, it was only a matter of time. And that would mean Grievous would need to get to high ground fast. It was in that split-second, though, that he happened to glance at the landing craft to one side.
His eyes narrowed craftily.
"You're outnumbered!" The clone barked. "Drop your weapons!"
Acting quickly, Grievous hefted up Regis in his left foot, his talons holding the Jedi by the bottom half of his face before transferring his throat to a free hand. He ignored the shouts of alarm from the clones and Regis' futile attempts to free himself. The Jedi was young. He was panicking. And Grievous had long since learned that when Jedi panicked – no matter whether they were Knight or Master – they wouldn't use the Force. It was like they forgot they could. Grievous looked around at the clones, even as he ignited a lightsaber that he held close to Regis' face.
"Put him down!" The clone ordered.
"Make me, clone," Grievous laughed, all the while stalling for time.
Where was his shuttle?
"You have until the count of three," the Commander called out. "One…"
They should have been here by now!
"Two…"
Where were they? And then more derisively: This clone doesn't seriously think he could subdue me, does he?!
"Three."
Neither side had moved. Grievous still held Regis by his throat, lightsaber below the Jedi's eye. His own shuttle was yet to appear.
"You had your chance," the clone muttered with disdain. "Open fire!"
Grievous couldn't believe these clones.
They would open fire in him even when he had their General captive? Even though he was essentially holding the Jedi up as a human shield? Just what lengths were they willing to go to in order to capture or kill him?! Didn't they care if they shot their Jedi, too?
Blasts were fired his way. Grievous – instead of simply using the body of the Jedi as a human shield – spun the lightsaber he still held, deflecting the blasts away from him. So focused on this task was Grievous, that he failed to notice the clones in the trees as they took aim at him with their blaster rifles.
He didn't see Captain Diaz signal his men to fire.
Cables struck Grievous with alarming accuracy; the clamps attaching themselves to his armor plating, with some going so far as to even pierce it in places. There were fifteen cables in total – two sank into each of his legs, one even slipped between the armor plates to embed itself in the machinery beneath. Of the remaining eleven, three struck his back, holding fast, and the remaining eight wrapped themselves around his arms.
Grievous roared in anger, dropping Regis as the cables attached to his arms were pulled.
The clones in the trees were well-prepared, though, having attached the ends of the cables to the trees themselves. No matter how much Grievous struggled to free himself, even with all of his strength, he could not hope to break free on his own. Regis scrambled back as Grievous thrashed and fought against the now-secure cables. Commander Kray hauled the young Jedi to his feet before signalling to his men.
"Set your blasters to stun; we're taking this clanker alive!" He ordered.
Stun blasts were fired through the air and at Grievous, striking him dead-on.
The General snarled, his fierce struggles, though were already beginning to lessen as the stun blasts interfered with the workings of his mechanical body and even what was left of his organic one. He was just on the verge of losing consciousness when a clone suddenly yelled.
"INCOMING!"
"Look out!"
Then came the sound of heavy blasterfire quickly followed by explosions. Grievous heard the roar of a fighter's engines as it zoomed overhead, shouts and blasts filling the air as the Vulture droids began to circle back for a second run. Grievous himself crumpled to the ground, finding some of the cables that had been securing him had been sliced through by the Vulture droids' blasts. Snatching up his fallen lightsaber, he sliced through the remaining cables and fumbled to activate his communicator, his mind a muddle of lucid thoughts. Finally, the comms were online.
"Er, General, there seems to be a lot of fire down there; I don't think we'll be able to land the shuttle," said one of the droids piloting the shuttle.
"Forget landing!" Grievous rasped. "Lower the ramp and stay close to the top of the landing craft, understood?!"
"Roger roger."
Stowing away the commlink, Grievous leapt up onto the side of the landing craft. The leap wasn't as high as it would have been if his foot wasn't damaged, but it still got him nearly a third of the way up. From there, he dug his claws into the metal and made his way to the top. The clones had no time to deal with him; two droid gunships had deposited their load of Super Battle droids to keep the Republic troops busy. On top of the landing craft, Grievous saw the shuttle making its approach, the ramp lowered and extended as he had ordered.
It slowed down and Grievous readied himself as it drew nearer.
The shuttle flew by and Grievous' limbs powered him up into a jump so powerful it seemed impossible. He landed on the ramp with a loud crack and a scrabble of claws. But then he was inside, and he was safe.
Grievous sank to the floor with an exhausted groan.
The battle had taken its toll on him, and Grievous looked a wreck – his armor plating was dented and pierced in some places; across his chest-plate was a neat slash from the Jedi's lightsaber and his left foot was looking a little worse for wear. He was racked by a sudden spasm of coughing, and when he was done, slumped against the wall behind him.
And then, closing his eyes wearily, Grievous drifted into grateful unconsciousness.
Well, what do you know? – this chapter was less than 2200 words – what a surprise. Thanks for reading, anyway!
So, for a quick recap – Grievous and Regis' duel continues! After some fighting, he is able to disarm the Jedi but hesitates when trying to deliver the killing blow. Regis' clone battalion then intervenes, and nearly succeed in capturing the Separatist General. But Grievous – of course – gets away.
Well, you gotta hand it to Grievous – he's great at escaping.
Until next time, folks, stay safe!