=== Dooku ===
From the edge of the landing pad, Dooku watched the survivors gather in wary clusters, their grief hanging over them. He folded his hands behind his back and turned slightly toward the armored figures waiting at his signal. "Bring out the supplies," he ordered. It was a small gesture, he knew that, but small gestures were sometimes all that stood between despair and collapse, and the Jedi before him stood perilously close to the latter.
The Ultramarines moved at once, their massive forms striding forward as they carried pairs of enormous cargo crates down the ramps. Each crate hit the ground with a dull, heavy thud, drawing attention despite the Marines' efforts to be unobtrusive. Dooku could feel the tension ripple through the crowd as eyes turned toward the armored giants, fear and resentment warring openly on the survivors' faces. He could hardly blame them. To these people, the Imperium was evil. It was the fire in the Temple halls, the death among the Council chambers. No amount of food would erase that. Still, he hoped it might dull the edge.
One of the Marines stepped forward and keyed open the crate nearest him, the seals hissing softly before the lid lifted to reveal stacks of preserved ration packs and crates of fresh produce, fruits carefully stabilized for transport. A murmur ran through the crowd, hesitant and uncertain. No one moved at first. Then, from between two robed Masters, a small figure emerged, a youngling girl, her robes too large for her, her dark hair tied back with a simple cord. She stopped several paces away from the Marine, staring up at him with wide, frightened eyes, as though expecting him to strike her down simply for daring to approach.
Slowly, the warrior reached up and unsealed his helmet, lifting it free and tucking it under one arm. His face was scarred and weathered, marked by old burns and healed cuts, but his expression softened as he crouched slightly. He reached into the crate and pulled free a round Meiloorun fruit, its skin pale and unassuming, and held it out to her in an open palm. "It's for you," he said, his voice deep but gentle.
The girl hesitated, her gaze flicking between the fruit and the Marine's face. When she didn't move, the Marine knelt fully, bringing himself closer to her height. With an exaggerated motion, he took a bite from the fruit, chewing thoughtfully before nodding to himself. "See?" he said, swallowing. "Perfectly safe." He reached back into the crate, took a second fruit, and held that one out to her instead. After a long, trembling moment, she stepped forward and accepted it with both hands.
She bit into it cautiously, and immediately screwed up her face as the sourness hit her tongue. The Marine barked out a surprised laugh. "Ah," he said, amused, "that one's unripe. Happens sometimes." Without hesitation, he held out the fruit he'd been eating. "Trade?" She glanced up at him, then nodded and handed hers back. This time, when she bit into the sweeter fruit, her eyes lit up. A quiet, delighted sound escaped her before she could stop it.
The Marine took a bite of the unripe one and winced, his expression contorting just enough to draw a giggle from the girl. "Emperor preserve me," he muttered theatrically. "That one bites back." Her laughter grew, soft at first, then freer, and something shifted among the onlookers. Dooku saw shoulders ease, saw Masters exchange uncertain glances, saw another child inch closer to the crates. The Marine smiled down at the girl, just a small thing, but genuine.
Qui-Gon watched the exchange at the crates for a long moment, the sound of a child's laughter cutting through the low murmur of grief. Qui-Gon turned to Dooku, hands folded into the sleeves of his robes, and inclined his head just enough to signal a private word. "Walk with me," he said quietly. Dooku hesitated only a fraction of a second before falling into step beside him, the two of them moving along the edge of the pavilion where the noise of the camp dulled to a distant hum.
They walked in silence for several paces, the weight of history heavy between them, before Qui-Gon spoke. "You don't have to stay with them," he said at last, his voice even but earnest. "You could leave the Imperium. You could come back. You still belong with us." He glanced sideways at his former Master, searching his face for some sign of doubt, some crack in the resolve he feared he would find unyielding.
Dooku did not slow, nor did he look at him at first. When he finally spoke, his tone was calm, almost weary. "I fundamentally agree with them, Qui-Gon," he said. "With what they are trying to do." He stopped then, turning to face him fully. "They act. They do not drown themselves in endless debate while the galaxy burns. They are brutal, yes, and I will not pretend otherwise, but if I am being honest, the galaxy needs a brutal wake-up call. It has grown complacent. Rotten. The Jedi debated while corruption festered in the Senate, while monsters hid behind titles and procedure."
Qui-Gon's brow furrowed, but before he could answer, Dooku glanced around them, his eyes sweeping the nearby tents and clusters of Jedi to ensure no one was close enough to overhear. Satisfied, he lowered his voice. "There is more," he said. "Something that concerns me greatly." He met Qui-Gon's gaze now, his expression sharpened by old suspicion. "I have heard whispers. Of a Sith. One pulling strings behind the scenes." He paused, letting the implication settle. "We both know Kharath did not orchestrate all of this alone."
Qui-Gon felt a chill run through him, and Dooku pressed on. "When the Black Templar first arrived on Coruscant, years ago, I spoke at length with Sebastian," he said. "In confidence, he told me that he was aided by a man who identified himself as Darth Sidious." The name hung between them. "At the time, the Imperium dismissed it. To them, the Sith were insignificant compared to the Chaos Sorcerers they had faced across countless wars. A minor threat. An annoyance."
Dooku's jaw tightened. "That view is changing. There is a growing realization among the Imperium's leadership that the Sith may have been in league with the Sorcerers from the very beginning. That this Sidious was not merely exploiting chaos, but helping to shape it." He exhaled slowly. "If that is true, then the Republic, the Jedi, the Imperium. none of us are truly in control of this war."
Qui-Gon opened his mouth to respond, the Force stirring uneasily around him, when a shadow passed over the encampment. Both men looked up as a massive Republic dropship broke through the clouds, its hull gleaming in the light. The ship slowed, then opened its belly, releasing a swarm of smaller troop transports that fanned out as they descended toward the landing pads. A murmur rippled through the camp, growing quickly into excited voices. One of the Jedi Knights pointed skyward and called out, relief plain in his voice, "The Republic! They've come to help us!"
The first transport touched down with a thunderous hiss of repulsors, its ramp slamming into the stone of the landing pad as dust and loose leaves were kicked outward in a wide ring, and then another followed, and another, until the sky above the encampment was crowded with descending hulls. The mood shifted almost instantly as hundreds of clone troopers poured out in disciplined waves, white armor gleaming, blasters already in their hands rather than slung at ease. They spread, fanning outward, boots striking the ground in perfect unison as they advanced toward the pavilions, and it was then, in that breath between hope and dread, that Anakin Skywalker stepped forward from between the ranks.
He moved, his cloak barely stirring, his presence in the Force sharp and oppressive in a way that made Qui-Gon's skin prickle. Dooku was mid-sentence, still watching the clones with a frown of confusion, when Anakin came to stand beside them. "Anakin," Qui-Gon said, turning to him with a tight smile that never quite formed, "do you know what's happening here?" There was no answer. Anakin did not look at him, did not acknowledge the question at all, and when Qui-Gon shifted closer, concern deepening into alarm, he saw it, the molten yellow glow in Anakin's eyes, bright and unmistakable.
"Anakin…" Qui-Gon began, his voice breaking just slightly, but Dooku had already turned, his own confusion sharpening into sudden clarity. His gaze dropped, and his breath caught in his chest as he looked down to see Anakin's lightsaber buried to the hilt in his abdomen, the blue blade punching clean through him, its light flickering against the crimson lining of his cloak. For a heartbeat, no one moved. Dooku's mouth opened as if to speak, but no sound came out.
Qui-Gon reacted on instinct alone. "What are you doing?!" he shouted, grabbing Dooku under the arms and wrenching him backward as Anakin withdrew the blade in a smooth, almost casual motion. Qui-Gon shoved Anakin aside with a burst of the Force, sending him stumbling back a step, and lowered Dooku to the ground, pressing his hands against the wound in a futile attempt to staunch the damage. Around them, the camp froze, the sound of laughter and murmured conversation collapsing into stunned silence as dozens, then hundreds, of Jedi realized what they were seeing.
Anakin straightened slowly and turned to face them all. His voice carried effortlessly across the encampment, stripped of the warmth they had once known. "You have betrayed the Order," he declared. "You have betrayed the Republic." He swept his gaze across the gathered Masters, Knights, and terrified younglings. "You were prepared to join the Imperium. To hand the Republic's future to monsters." His jaw tightened. "That cannot be allowed."
Several Jedi cried out in protest, others stepping forward instinctively, but Anakin raised one hand. "Execute," he said.
The clones moved as one. Blasters came up in a single, perfectly synchronized motion, and the air was instantly filled with screaming blue bolts. The first volley tore through the crowd, cutting down Masters and Knights alike before many could even draw their blades. Bodies fell where they stood, robes igniting, pavilions erupting into fire and chaos as younglings screamed and scattered. The sound was deafening, blaster fire, collapsing fabric, the cries of the dying, and the smell of scorched flesh filled the air.
"No!" Qui-Gon screamed, his voice raw with disbelief and fury as he ignited his lightsaber and rose to his feet, placing himself between the nearest clones and Dooku's fallen form. He cut down the first trooper who came too close, then another, green light flashing in furious arcs as he fought with a desperation born of utter horror. Around him, the encampment became a slaughterhouse, and above it all stood Anakin Skywalker, unmoving, watching as the Order burned.
The response from the Imperium was instantaneous and overwhelming, as bolters were raised and roared in the same breath. Mass-reactive rounds tore into the advancing clones, detonating inside white armor and flinging bodies backward in sprays of shattered plastoid, entire firing lines collapsing in seconds under the sheer violence of it. The sudden thunder of bolter fire drowned out the crack of blasters, and for a fleeting moment the Jedi encampment became a war zone caught between two annihilating forces rather than an execution ground.
The Space Marine who had shared fruit with the youngling moved without hesitation. His helmet snapped back into place with a hiss of seals, and he stepped in front of the small girl just as a clone rushed them. The Marine drove a boot into the trooper's chest with such force that the armor imploded, the body coming apart in a red mist before it hit the ground. He seized two more clones by their helmets, smashing their heads together with a wet crack before letting them drop. His chainsword screamed to life in his grip, teeth chewing through armor and flesh as he carved a bloody path, but then a heavy blaster bolt struck him square in the chest, the impact slamming him off his feet and skidding him across scorched stone.
For a heartbeat it looked like he would not rise again. Then he moved, slow and stubborn, dragging himself upright as clones closed in around him, firing point-blank. Blaster bolts punched into the weaker joints of his armor, burning through cabling and ceramite, staggering him as sparks and smoke poured from his chestplate. He would have fallen then, should have fallen. The clones were ripped from their feet and hurled away as if struck by an invisible wave, smashing into pavilions and stone with bone-breaking force.
The Marine looked up in disbelief and saw the girl standing there, small hands raised, her face twisted in fear and concentration as she unknowingly reached into the Force. Forcing himself fully upright despite the smoking crater torn into his chestplate, he scooped the child up with one arm and turned, sprinting for the ship as bolter fire thundered behind him. Other Astartes closed ranks around them, forming a moving wall of ceramite and gunfire, cutting down clones by the dozen even as more transports screamed in from above.
The cost was brutal. A rocket streaked down from one of the descending gunships and struck a Space Marine square in the torso, the explosion tearing him apart in a flash of fire and shrapnel that rattled the landing pad. Another Marine fell moments later, a single lucky blaster shot punching through his eye lens and dropping him mid-stride. The Marine carrying the child did not slow. He reached the ship, secured the girl inside with a gentleness that seemed almost impossible given the carnage outside, then turned back into the storm.
He hauled his fallen brothers one by one, massive armored bodies dragged through smoke and fire, loading them aboard even as blaster bolts ricocheted around him. Mandalorians fought alongside the Astartes in a blur of jetpack fire and wrist-mounted weapons, cutting clones down at close range, their armor streaked with soot and blood as they refused to yield ground. Still the clones kept coming, endless ranks spilling from the sky.
The Marine rejoined the fight, charging forward and cutting through another knot of troopers before he saw Dooku's body lying amid the chaos. At the same moment, Anakin Skywalker turned toward him. For a fraction of a second, their gazes met, the Marine feeling the crushing weight of the Force around the man. Anakin began to walk toward him, lightsaber ignited, cutting down a Jedi Knight who tried to bar his path without even breaking stride.
The Marine did not challenge him. He seized Dooku's body, lifting it as if it weighed nothing, and retreated under covering fire, bolter rounds roaring past him as he reached the ship once more. Behind him, Anakin finally entered the fray in earnest, blue blade flashing like a scythe as he cut down any Jedi who dared stand against him. Master, Knight, youngling, it made no difference. Those who crossed his path fell, the screams of the dying swallowed by blaster fire and the roar of war, as the Order's last refuge burned under the weight of betrayal.
Qui-Gon stood amid the ruin like a man wading through a nightmare he could not wake from, his green blade moving almost of its own will as he cut down clone after clone, their bodies falling around him in smoking heaps. The Force howled in his senses, thick with pain and death, and everywhere he looked there were bodies, friends, students, children. His breath caught in his chest when he saw Quinlan Vos sprawled across the ground, eyes glassy and unseeing, his body twisted where blaster fire had cut him down. "No…" Qui-Gon whispered, the word torn from him as if it might somehow undo what had already happened.
Grief threatened to swallow him whole, and for a moment he surrendered to it, cutting through the clones in a haze of anger, every strike fueled by horror and disbelief. Then, suddenly Anakin was standing in front of him, blade ignited, eyes burning with a molten yellow light that made Qui-Gon's heart lurch. Their lightsabers crashed together with a violent hiss, green and blue locked inches from Qui-Gon's face, sparks spraying between them as the Force surged wildly around the two of them.
"Why did you betray the Republic?" Anakin demanded, his voice low and shaking with barely restrained fury, the words bitten off as if they burned his tongue. "Why did you abandon it? Abandon all of us?"
Pain flashed across Qui-Gon's face, raw and unguarded, and for a moment his strength faltered beneath Anakin's relentless pressure. "We didn't," he said hoarsely, forcing the words out as he held the lock. "Anakin, listen to me. We didn't betray anyone. You're being lied to, manipulated. This is the Sith, it has to be. He's twisting what you see, what you feel. Please—"
"Enough!" Anakin snarled, his power spiking like a storm breaking loose. He drove forward, sheer brute force slamming into Qui-Gon and forcing him back step by step, the ground cracking beneath their feet. "You're protecting them. Protecting the Imperium. I trusted you," he hissed, eyes blazing brighter as he shoved Qui-Gon off balance and brought his blade down in a crushing arc.
Qui-Gon barely managed to deflect the strike, his arms trembling under the onslaught, when suddenly Anakin was ripped sideways, torn from him by a powerful tug of the Force. Obi-Wan appeared at Qui-Gon's side in the same instant, face pale and drawn, eyes wide with shock and fury. "Master, move!" Obi-Wan shouted, seizing Qui-Gon by the arm as another wave of clones surged forward.
Before Anakin could recover, Obi-Wan dragged Qui-Gon toward the Imperium ship, its engines roaring as it began to lift off. Blaster fire streaked past them, bolts slamming into the hull as the ramp started to close. Anakin staggered to his feet and turned, reaching out with the Force, his face contorted with rage as he tried to pull them back. The air between them screamed with opposing wills, but Obi-Wan planted his feet and hurled everything he had into the leap, hauling Qui-Gon with him as they vaulted onto the ramp.
The ship shuddered violently as it rose, the ground falling away beneath them. The ramp snapped shut with a thunderous clang, sealing them inside just as Anakin's furious presence slammed against the hull. Qui-Gon collapsed to one knee, breath ragged, his lightsaber flickering out as the weight of what had just happened crashed down on him. Obi-Wan knelt beside him, one hand gripping his shoulder, the other clenched into a trembling fist.
Outside, Alderaan burned in betrayal and blood, the once-peaceful courtyards now choked with smoke, fire, and the bodies of the fallen. Anakin stood amid the devastation and looked up as the Imperium ship tore free of the sky, its engines screaming as it unleashed missiles into nearby Republic craft, detonations blooming like dying stars before the vessel vanished into the clouds. The roar faded, leaving only crackling flames and the distant screams of the wounded. Slowly, Anakin lowered his gaze, his molten yellow eyes passing over the corpses scattered around him, Masters who had taught him, Knights who had fought beside him, younglings who would never grow into the Order they believed in.
"Burn them all," he said quietly, carrying no hesitation and no regret.
The clones obeyed without question. Incendiaries ignited across the courtyard, fire racing over robes and stone alike as thick black smoke began to rise into the Alderaanian sky. Anakin turned away from it all, every step carrying him farther from what he had been. He boarded his ship without looking back, the cockpit sealing around him as the engines powered up.
Moments later, the craft lifted off, leaving Alderaan to its flames as he set a course for Coruscant, his path now fixed and unyielding. Whatever remained of Anakin Skywalker stayed behind in that burning courtyard, while something colder and darker flew onward, ready to kneel before a new master.
===
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