**Chapter 670: The Dragon's Maw**
**Scene 1**
**Coruscant, Republic Military Headquarters, War Room**
**High General Valentra POV**
It had been a hard day. A long day. The longest day of his life — and the lives of many others in this room.
High General Valentra stood at the head of the massive holographic war table, the glow of countless tactical displays casting harsh shadows across his face. Around him, dozens of admirals, generals, and senior officers worked in a controlled frenzy, voices overlapping as reports flooded in from every sector.
The grand Separatist offensive — what Dagon had grimly called the "Dragon Strategy" — had been bold, ruthless, and utterly devastating. A coordinated multi-front assault designed to crack the Republic's spine. But Dagon's counter had been something else entirely. A trap laid across the Inner Rim and Core systems in the shape of a dragon's maw — choke points, rapid-strike fleets, gravity well ambushes, and overwhelming firepower at every critical junction.
"The strategy worked," Valentra murmured, almost to himself.
A young admiral stepped forward, datapad in hand. "General, fresh reports from multiple fronts. The Dragon Strategy has succeeded beyond projections. CIS fleets have been routed and destroyed at nearly every choke point. The formation held — the enemy was funneled exactly where we wanted them."
Valentra nodded slowly. "Casualties?"
The admiral swallowed. "We lost a total of one hundred and eighty Venators, thirty-five Accumulators, four hundred and fifty CR90 corvettes, one Allegiance-class battlescruiser heavily damaged and currently crippled, ninety Arquitens-class light cruisers, and over two thousand pilots confirmed dead."
A heavy silence fell over the war room.
"But the victories…" the admiral continued, voice rising with cautious hope, "over fifteen thousand eight hundred CIS warships destroyed. A mix of heavy and light vessels. It looks like the Separatists will be forced onto the defensive for a long time."
Valentra exhaled slowly. "Good. That gives us breathing room. We can finally start rotating crews, reinforcing depleted sectors, and… breeding room for new clones if necessary."
One of the senior staff officers leaned over a secondary display, frowning. "General, this data from the *Olympus Mons*… it must be corrupted. Look at the number of hyperspace jumps in a single day. Can a ship really survive that kind of punishment?"
Valentra stepped closer. The officer zoomed in on the report.
"Four thousand kills," the officer read aloud, disbelief clear in his voice. "A mix of light and heavy warships. All in one day. The ship was jumping in, striking, and jumping out repeatedly across multiple systems."
Another general — older, with a scarred face — shook his head. "That's not a ship. That's a ghost. Dagon's turning the *Olympus Mons* into something the CIS can't predict or counter."
A female admiral nearby crossed her arms. "We need to ask — did Kuat send that ship to support Corellia? Because if they did, they've been holding out on us."
"No," Valentra replied firmly. "As far as we know, Kuat didn't send it. The size alone is larger than anything Kuat has ever built. Nearly twice the length of a standard Mandator and heavily armed. Fast, too."
"Sir," another officer interjected, "did the Senate even authorize construction of a vessel that size? That kind of firepower in private hands…"
Valentra gave a tired smile. "It's probably General Dagon's doing. He's the only one who could pull together the resources to build something like that. And with Sienar-Jaemus Fleet Systems essentially being his company now… well, let's just say the Senate doesn't always know what happens in the Outer Rim shipyards."
A ripple of uneasy laughter spread through the room, quickly dying as the weight of the day settled back in.
One of the younger admirals spoke up again. "Still… four thousand kills in a day. If the *Olympus Mons* can do that, what happens when the *Annihilator* is fully operational?"
The war room fell quiet once more.
Valentra stared at the glowing map of the galaxy — at the shattered remains of the CIS offensive, at the glowing marker representing the *Olympus Mons* still moving through contested space.
"Then the war changes," he said softly. "And may the Force help us all when it does."
**Scene 2**
**Coruscant, Republic Military Headquarters, War Room**
**High General Valentra POV**
The conversations continued late into the night. Officers debated logistics, reinforcement schedules, and the political fallout of the day's events. Valentra listened to it all, occasionally offering quiet guidance.
"—we should push the advantage now," one general argued. "The CIS is reeling. If we strike hard at their remaining strongholds—"
"Too risky," another countered. "Dagon's Dragon Strategy worked because it was precise. Overextending now could let them regroup."
Valentra raised a hand, silencing the debate. "We hold the line for now. Reinforce the Core and the Hydian Way. Let Dagon finish cleaning up the remnants in the Mid Rim. When he returns, we'll plan the next phase together."
A comm officer approached, looking nervous. "General, updated casualty figures from Brentaal IV and Selonia. The MC80s and X-wing squadrons performed better than expected, but we still lost forty-three Venators across all fronts today."
Valentra nodded grimly. "Record it. And make sure the Senate gets the full report — unedited. They need to understand what this victory cost."
As the officer left, Valentra turned back to the main holomap. The dragon's maw was slowly closing. The CIS offensive — their greatest push yet — had been broken.
But at what price?
He thought of Dagon Marek — the man who had become both the Republic's greatest weapon and its most dangerous wildcard. The white-haired Jedi with eyes like crimson stars, commanding fleets that defied every known rule of warfare.
Valentra sighed.
"The war isn't over," he murmured. "It's only beginning to change."