The corridors of the Separatist flagship twisted like the inside of a dying machine.
Red emergency lights pulsed along the walls, bathing the steel passageways in a heartbeat rhythm that never seemed to settle. Every blast door they passed groaned under distant impacts from the battle outside. The entire vessel shuddered as Republic cruisers exchanged fire with its escorts, the war above mirrored by the war within.
Anakin cut through a squad of battle droids with swift, decisive strokes. Sparks cascaded across the floor. Obi-Wan followed, calm and precise, his blade turning blaster fire into harmless light.
"Still think this is just another rescue mission?" Obi-Wan asked, sidestepping a falling droid torso.
Anakin didn't slow. "If it was easy, they wouldn't have sent us."
Obi-Wan allowed himself the faintest smile. "That isn't comforting."
They reached the observation chamber.
The doors parted
And there he was.
Chancellor Palpatine, bound to his chair, flanked by shattered glass and the curve of Coruscant burning beyond the viewport. He looked relieved—too relieved as the two Jedi entered.
"You came," Palpatine said, voice carrying both gratitude and something deeper, something more expectant.
"Of course we did," Anakin replied. "We're here to get you out."
A slow clap echoed from the far side of the room.
Count Dooku stepped from the shadows, crimson blade igniting with a hiss that cut through the hum of the ship. His expression was composed, aristocratic, as if this confrontation were an inevitable appointment rather than a duel.
"I've been looking forward to this," he said.
Obi-Wan inclined his head. "We usually try to avoid your invitations."
The duel began like thunder breaking.
Dooku's movements were elegant, economical—every strike deliberate, every parry calculated. Obi-Wan met him with defensive mastery, turning aside blows that would have split durasteel. Anakin fought with speed and fury, his strikes heavy with the momentum of unspent anger.
For a moment they fought together, blades crossing in synchronized arcs. Then Dooku shifted one precise maneuver, a twist of the wrist and Obi-Wan was hurled backward by a surge of Force energy, slamming against the wall in a rain of sparks.
Anakin felt the shift instantly.
Not again.
His attacks grew faster, less restrained. Dooku pressed him, driving him back toward the viewport, their sabers casting violent reflections across the Chancellor's face.
Palpatine's voice cut through the clash.
"Do it."
The word was soft, almost lost beneath the ringing blades.
But Anakin heard it.
He disarmed Dooku with a final, crushing strike, both of the Count's lightsabers spinning across the floor. The older Sith knelt, unarmed, breathing hard but unafraid.
"Kill him," Palpatine urged, eyes bright.
Anakin hesitated.
The moment stretched duty against impulse, code against command.
Then the blades fell.
Silence followed.
Obi-Wan stirred, groaning as he pushed himself upright. Anakin deactivated his saber, staring at his hands as if they belonged to someone else.
"We have to go," Obi-Wan said, steadying himself. "The ship is breaking apart."
They freed the Chancellor and fled through collapsing corridors, racing toward the hangar as the flagship split under sustained bombardment. Explosions rippled along its spine. Gravity lurched. The entire vessel began to fall toward Coruscant's atmosphere like a dying star.
Anakin piloted the crippled cruiser through fire and debris, dragging it down in a controlled descent that was equal parts skill and madness. When the hull finally scraped the landing platform and ground to a halt, the city erupted in cheers.
The Chancellor was safe.
The war, however, was far from over.
In the weeks that followed, the conflict narrowed. Systems fell or declared allegiance. Trade routes became battle lines. The Separatist leadership retreated into secrecy, moving from world to world like ghosts fleeing daylight.
Then the signal came.
A transmission intercepted by the Jedi fragmented, hurried, but clear enough.
Utapau.
A world of sinkhole cities and sheer stone walls, hidden among Outer Rim coordinates. The trail led there, pointing toward a final convergence.
In the Jedi Temple, the Council gathered beneath the tall windows as dawn light filtered across the floor.
"Grievous is there," Obi-Wan said, standing before the hologram of the planet's scarred surface. "I will deal with him."
Yoda's ears lowered slightly. "Dangerous, this mission is."
Obi-Wan smiled faintly. "It usually is."
Anakin stood nearby, silent, arms folded. He wanted to go. He always wanted to be where the fight was thickest. But this time the Council chose differently.
"You will remain," Mace Windu said.
Anakin's jaw tightened.
Obi-Wan clasped his shoulder as he passed. "Try not to rescue the Chancellor again while I'm gone."
"I'll do my best," Anakin replied, though neither of them believed it.
Utapau greeted Obi-Wan with wind and stone.
The planet's cities were carved into vast sinkholes that plunged miles into the crust, terraces spiraling downward into shadow. The air carried the smell of dust and mineral heat. Clone troopers moved quietly behind him, their armor muted beneath the pale sky.
General Grievous waited among the platforms and pillars, towering above the clones, mechanical limbs unfolding like a nightmare given form.
"So," the cyborg rasped, voice echoing through the cavernous city, "the Jedi return."
Obi-Wan ignited his saber with calm resolve.
"Hello there."
Blaster fire erupted. Clones scattered for cover. Grievous charged, spinning stolen lightsabers in a cyclone of lethal light. The duel raged across platforms and into the depths, sabers flashing against stone and metal, each step bringing them closer to the end of a war that had consumed the galaxy.
Above them, the sky was clear.
But the Force was not.
The final battles were beginning.