Jedi Insurgency 236

Corpses, body parts, and discarded weapons were scattered along this long, wide hall at the depths of the Imperial Palace. Where six months ago, the majority of corpses lining these expansive corridors were robe wearing monks, the tables had been turned, and now it was the white plastoid wearing clones that had fallen. 

The Darkside rippled in pleasure at all the death and carnage that had taken place within the Imperial Palace. An intoxicating invisible poison empowered the runes upon the Grievous clones’ metal carapaces, empowering them further. Meanwhile, the Jedi felt their already weakened powers slightly diminish. Those who were close to falling began to have their personalities change. One or two Jedi who accepted their inner darkness experienced a power boost more than twice their past peaks, accompanying this change was a mindless bloodlust. 

Standing tall, twenty-four towering figures strode through the wreckage and ARC trooper remains with total disregard for their so-called comrades. One unit's clawed foot crushed down upon a helmet, not even bothering to break his stride, or step over the corpse. Their forms were angular and monstrous. Blackened duranium coated their limbs, whilst reinforced torsos came colored in matte obsidian armor. Each one carried the skeletal, predatory outline of a nightmare reborn. The genius of the Apathecarium had edited Grievous’ memories so that he became a loyal killer. Meanwhile, Cronal, one of the Emperor’s Hands had inscribed foul sorceries onto their armor. 

General Grievous, that technological terror of the Clone Wars had had his greatest weakness-a susceptibility to Force attacks-virtually removed. It would take at least three or four Master-tier Force abilities to break through those wards. Especially on a planet such as Coruscant, where the Darkside Nexus was particularly potent. Advanced cybernetics that cost nearly 100 million credits to manufacture, each one of these clones was worth the price of two Venators! 

Their eyes burned with a cold, mechanical hatred as they ignited their sabers in unison.

The corridor flooded with a hellish kaleidoscope of light. Synthetic red crystals activated, and crimson light reflected off their black armor, promising a violent murder. 

A shriek of servos tore through the air, and then they moved. 

At the forefront of the Jedi vanguard, Kirak Infil’a stepped forward to meet them. His face was locked into an expression as stoic as a block of wood, yet this time, his eyes did not behold an ant, no! Instead, the fires of excitement flashed behind his eyes. Like a blacksmith beholding a raw lump of metal, this secret battlemaniac foresaw a new method to warp the Force, and treated these potent enemies as an anvil to create his masterpiece. 

Swinging his blade  in a crushing arc, his muscles coiled and released with devastating force. The first Grievous clone met him head-on, using all four blades to slam down, with the intent of overwhelming this shorter man. 

The impact was titanic, sending shockwaves across the corridor, directly shattering a massive pillar they were standing next to. 

Kirak's strike slammed into crossed sabers, and for a moment, the corridor seemed to tremble under the sheer force of it all. Beams of plasma crackled loudly as the Jedi Master drove forward, his strength monstrous, his presence overwhelming. Large chunks of stone crumbled all around them, and dust clogged the air. For a second, all that could be seen of these two combatants was the four red beams blocking Kirak's singular green. 

The Grievous clone countered with a flurry of attacks, his four arms splitting wide, blades whirling into a storm of death. He maintained the cross block with the top two arms, whilst retracting the other two. One went in for a forward stab, whilst the other bent down at an awkward angle at the knee. 

Instead of retreating, Kirak stepped into the blade's path! 

His movements were explosive, and brutal. Each and every strike carried with it bone-breaking power. He caught one mechanical limb mid-swing, his free hand gripping duranium plating with impossible strength, he then ripped it free with a wrenching twist. The limb tore loose in a spray of sparks. He then lifted his foot-a limb that had often stepped across burning hot coals that could melt a droid-and he stomped down at the lightsaber aimed at his knee. Kirak's skin sizzled, yet his own might, and the enhancements of the Force kept him whole, locking the blade in place. 

“HUAH!” The black clad figure snarled in mechanical rage, his vocoder nearly malfunctioning, such was the amount of decibels he put into that wordless hatred. 

Kirak answered with a silent downward strike that bypassed the clone's guard, splitting its torso open like kindling. Flexing his fist, he frowned, feeling as if he was close, but wasn't quite there yet. Looking up, four more Grievous clones had singled him out, rushing at him all at once. A grim smile spread across the old man's face. No words left his lips, but his eyes burned with the spirit of battle. He had exiled himself from the Order due to this condition of his, but when he had received an invitation from that legendary General, his curiosity had been piqued. Meeting the 16 lightsabers head on, a slow, dark chuckle left his lips. This was it, this was what danger tasted like. 

Meanwhile, the rest of the Jedi were doing their best to fend off the new enemies as best as they could. 

Obi-Wan Kenobi stood at the heart of it all. Although his lightsaber was always moving, he remained calm, and composed, a true pillar to rely upon amid the storm.

His blade moved in tight, perfect arcs, each motion precise, and economical. Where Kiram was a hammer, Kenobi was an unbreakable wall. The Grievous clones converged on him in pairs, then trios, their attacks relentless, mechanical, and inhuman. 

He gave ground deliberately. Each step was measured, the length, and position of his foes was taken into consideration as he formulated his battle plan. Form III, Soresu excelled at tiring an opponent out, and then striking them at their weakest. Or in the case of a tireless machine, it also excelled at waiting for the proper time to strike, and exploiting any flaws. As such, Obi-Wan was playing the waiting game, engaging the enemy in a test of patience. Although he had nearly died to Grievous several times in the past, he now had a measure of the man, and wasn't troubled in the slightest when facing four at the same time. These last six months hadn't been spent entirely moping, and he had put in many a good hour training, and meditating with Qui-Gon. 

Twirling out of a stab, several blades crashed against his guard in a relentless barrage, attempting to run him through. However, his defense held. He was practically impenetrable, due to his excellent footwork and ability to parry. The invisible Force barrier around him was beginning to finally take effect, shimmering against several hits. Since he had preserved this shield during the fight against the ARC troopers due to his impeccable deflecting skills, he now used it to bait a ‘sure hit’ to the skull, only to slice the offending clone in half at the chest. Burnt orange metal slabs clattered to the Palace floor, but Obi-Wan didn't have time to celebrate as the three remaining opponents came in fast. 

A saber thrust for his throat coming up at an awkward angle. A spinning overhead strike aimed at the crown of his head. A third blade darted low, to which he pivoted, letting it pass within a hair’s breadth of his robes.

“Patience.” He murmured under his breath, voice calm even as death howled around him.

Bending low, he forced two clones to collide with one another, and whilst they were tangled for that brief 0.8 seconds, he struck. 

A single, swift motion was all it took. His blade slipped through a gap in their defense, severing a joint at the elbow. The limb fell away, spinning, and in the same breath he pivoted, removing a clone’s head in a clean, controlled arc.

Another replaced it instantly, swinging down at Obi-Wan's exposed back. The [Energy Resistance] shield Jax & Yon had applied was fading by now, and he wouldn't rely upon it. Performing a trick similar to his first duel with Maul, Obi-Wan pulled the discarded lightsaber from one of the severed arms of a downed clone, and drew it towards him. Whilst four crimson blades descended towards his back, a surprise red beam of plasma struck the interloper in the back of the head, piercing his brain. 

As it collapsed to the ground dead and lifeless, Obi-Wan regarded the single black clad cyborg remaining. “You droids all look the same. How am I supposed to remember which one is a threat?” 

Upon hearing his sarcastic wit, the remaining cyborg lunged at him in a fury filled rage. 

As it stabbed forward with all four lightsabers, a small gap was left in his defense. Of course, Obi-Wan didn't have a long enough wingspan to swing his own lightsaber into that gap…but he didn't need to! 

Pointing his finger forward, a bolt of [Judgement] crackled forth, and Lightside lightning struck Grievous's chestpiece, forcefully breaking through the runes, and bringing him to a standstill as his power bank went dry. Obi-Wan casually pushed the hunk of metal over, and blew the tip of his finger as if it were hot. As the cyborg's body loudly collided with the floor, the Jedi Master smirked. “Another happy landing.” 

Elsewhere, Taron Malicos fought as if he were a Dark Jedi, there was nothing restrained about his actions. 

He moved through the battlefield with a predator’s grace, his strikes unpredictable and vicious. Where other Jedi attacked head-on in a straightforward manner, Malicos slipped between enemies, making them strike one another, using their momentum to his advantage.

A Grievous clone lunged at him, to which he met it not with strength, but deception. Stumbling forward as if he had tripped, he left a glaring opening. Panic flashed across his face, and the wildness of his beard helped sell the act. 

The clone committed, swiping down with all its blades, intent on overwhelming the offbalance Jedi Master with brute force. 

Malicos twisted at the last second, his blade snapping upward in a savage thrust, tossing his saber forward with the Force, making his green lightsaber pierce through the clone’s eye socket before it could land its attack. 

As the black clad figure toppled forward, another G-unit stabbed at his back. Dusting off some debris from his shoulder, Malicos had subtly worked his Telekinesis on a damaged, nearby pillar. Ten thousand pounds of solid marble came crashing down, flattening the attacker like a pancake. 

“Come now.” He said in a patronizing, almost amused tone, addressing the remaining two G-unit's that were in front of him. “You’ll have to do better than that.”

He reached out with the Force, not to shield himself or heal his allies, but to crush. A nearby clone faltered mid-stride as invisible pressure clamped down on his chassis, joints screeching under the strain. Although Sith runes flared, resisting this attack, Malicos was a Jedi Master, one pulling upon the Darkside whilst near a powerful Darkside Nexus! Although the armored figure could still move, his steps were jerky, as if he had input lag. Malicos closed the distance and carved it apart in three brutal strokes. Twirling his blade, he eyed his remaining foe with a cocky glint in his eye. 

Around them, the wider battlefield erupted.

The remaining Jedi weren't having it as easy as these three Masters, many of whom were fighting just to stay alive. 

The corridor opened into a massive chamber beyond, and there the full scale of the assault revealed itself.

Endless ranks of the Coruscant Guard surged forward, their bolts constantly shooting suppressing fire over the heads of the Sith warbeasts.

This small horde of slobbering horrors crashed into the Jedi line like living nightmares. Hulking, twisted creations of alchemical horror, their bodies were stretched and warped, like a toy that had been burnt or abused by some boy. Their flesh was fused with unholy spells, each one birthed from the sacrificial torture of 1,000 souls, the Force flowed through their veins, fueling them towards murder. 

One tore through a Jedi Knight before he could react, its clawed limb punching clean through his chest. Another slammed into a group of Padawans, scattering them like leaves before stopping to feast on a corpse. 

Howling shrieks, screams, and all sorts of frightening calls left the mouths of these beasts as they made their advance. Uncaring for any damage that might be sustained, many a monster uncaringly threw itself onto a lightsaber if it meant wounding a Jedi. 

A young Knight raised her blade, unfortunately she was too slow, as the beast tore her in half.

At the center of it all, Shaak Ti stood like a calm eye within the storm. Where chaos reigned, she brought order. 

Her movements were fluid, almost gentle, each motion a perfect expression of skill. Her blade wove through the battlefield with grace, deflecting blaster bolts, turning aside strikes, guiding the flow of combat like a conductor performing a symphony. 

A warbeast lunged at her, its body covered in hardened scales, and spraying hot saliva across the floor as it lusted after her flesh & bones. 

At the last possible moment, she stepped aside, her blade tracing a single, elegant arc that opened the creature from throat to sternum. It collapsed at her feet, and she paid it no further though as the momentum from her strike was already flowing into the next movement.

Her presence steadied those around her.

Despite this, the thick press of bodies could not be discounted, and the weakest of the Jedi Knights began to be whittled down one by one. 

A Jedi Knight fell to a flurry of mechanical blades, cut down before he could even cry out. Another was overwhelmed by sheer numbers, dragged beneath a wave of hungering jaws, vanishing from sight.

The Order was being pushed harder and harder. They were on the brink of collapse, yet they did not break.

Kirak roared again as he crushed another Grievous clone, his strength unmatched.

Kenobi stood firm, an unyielding bastion against the storm.

Malicos carved a bloody path through the enemy ranks, his methods as ruthless as they were effective.

Shaak Ti moved like a living embodiment of the Force, serene amid the carnage.

Other Masters stepped forward, carrying the burden of stabilizing the front lines. 

But for all their efforts, the Dark Acolytes were still hanging in the back, awaiting the proper time to launch an ambush, all too happy to sacrifice all the warbeasts, G-units, and clone troopers in the world so long as they could tire the Jedi out. 

If the Jedi were to seize victory, the status quo could not continue. 

Obi-Wan grimly glanced around the battlefield, and briefly made eye contact with Shaak Ti. A brief understanding passed between them. They would have to fight to the source of the Darkside Nexus, and leave someone behind to hold the line. 

The question was…who would play the role of sacrifice?