**Chapter 283**
The battle above Christophsis ended not with a final clash—but with silence.
Where once a massive Confederate fleet had loomed, now there was only ruin.
Broken hulls drifted slowly in orbit, their once-proud forms reduced to jagged carcasses of durasteel. Fires still burned in the vacuum, venting atmosphere and debris into the void. Munificent frigates floated lifelessly, some split clean in half, others hollowed out by precision strikes. Even the mighty Lucrehulks—symbols of CIS dominance—hung crippled, their circular frames shattered, their cores extinguished.
The *Repulse* was gone.
So were most of its escorts.
What remained… was nothing that could fight.
On the bridge of the *Terminus*, Dagon stood with his hands clasped behind his back, staring out at the aftermath. His expression was calm, almost distant—but beneath it, the Force still echoed with the remnants of the battle.
Pain.
Fear.
Victory.
Loss.
All of it lingered like a fading storm.
"Status," he said quietly.
Sumeragi stepped forward, datapad in hand.
"Enemy fleet has been reduced to non-combat capability. Remaining vessels are either disabled or retreating in disorganized vectors. No coordinated resistance detected."
Dagon nodded once.
"And the surface?"
"General Loathsom initiated a full-scale assault shortly after the blockade collapsed," she continued. "However, without orbital support, his forces were exposed. Republic ground units counterattacked within the hour."
A second officer spoke up.
"Intercepted transmissions confirm heavy CIS losses. Droid command structures failed after multiple command nodes were destroyed in rapid succession."
Dagon allowed himself a faint exhale.
It was over.
"Seven days…" he murmured.
Christophsis—secured.
Not weeks.
Not months.
Seven days.
Even by his standards, it was efficient.
Behind him, another officer hesitated before speaking.
"General… we are detecting multiple escape pods launching from remaining CIS vessels."
Dagon didn't turn.
"Vectors?"
"Scattered. Some are heading toward the planet. Others are attempting to clear the system."
A pause.
"Orders?"
For a brief moment, silence filled the bridge.
Then—
"Destroy them."
The words were calm.
Cold.
Final.
The officer blinked.
"Sir?"
Dagon turned slightly, his gaze sharp.
"CIS doctrine includes deployment of commando sabotage droids via escape pods. They are not retreating—they are repositioning."
He stepped closer to the viewport, eyes narrowing slightly.
"They don't play by rules."
A beat.
"Neither do we."
The hesitation vanished.
"Yes, General!"
Moments later, the void lit up again—not with battle, but with execution.
Turbolasers fired in controlled bursts, targeting the small, fleeing pods. One by one, they vanished in brief flashes of light—gone before they could reach the surface.
Sumeragi watched silently for a moment before speaking.
"Some might argue that's… excessive."
Dagon didn't look at her.
"Some might argue that letting even one of them through could cost thousands of lives on the ground."
A pause.
"No risks."
She inclined her head slightly.
"Understood."
—
On the surface of Christophsis, the war ended much the same way.
Abruptly.
Decisively.
And without mercy.
The crystalline cities—once under siege—now stood scarred but intact. Smoke rose from distant battlefields where the last remnants of CIS forces had been crushed under the relentless advance of Republic armor and infantry.
AT-TE walkers moved through the streets like iron giants, their cannons still warm from combat. Clone troopers secured positions, sweeping for any remaining droids or hidden threats.
There weren't many.
Most had already been destroyed.
General Whorm Loathsom stood at the center of it all—surrounded.
His once-proud army was gone.
His command structure—obliterated.
His final assault—crushed within hours of its execution.
He stood tall, even now, blaster lowered but not discarded, eyes burning with restrained fury as Republic forces closed in.
A squad of clone troopers approached, weapons trained.
"General Loathsom," one of them said, voice filtered through his helmet. "You are under arrest by order of the Grand Army of the Republic."
Loathsom let out a low, guttural chuckle.
"So this is how it ends."
His gaze swept across the battlefield—the wreckage, the fallen droids, the advancing Republic forces.
"You fight well," he admitted. "I will give you that."
Another step forward.
"But this war is far from over."
The clones didn't respond.
They didn't need to.
"Drop your weapon," the trooper repeated.
For a moment, it seemed like Loathsom might resist.
Then—
Slowly—
He let the blaster fall.
It hit the ground with a dull clatter.
"I surrender," he said.
Not in defeat.
But in acknowledgment.
The clones moved in, securing him quickly and efficiently.
As they led him away, Loathsom glanced once more at the horizon.
At the Republic banners rising where CIS ones had once stood.
"…Enjoy your victory," he muttered.
"It won't last."
—
Back aboard the *Terminus*, Dagon watched the final reports come in.
"Surface secured," Sumeragi confirmed. "General Loathsom has been captured. Remaining droid forces have been neutralized or deactivated."
Dagon closed his eyes briefly.
The Force was… quieter now.
Still vast.
Still present.
But no longer screaming.
"Good."
He turned away from the viewport.
"Begin transition to occupation protocols. Establish defensive perimeters around all major cities. I want anti-air and orbital defense systems operational within the next twelve hours."
"Yes, General."
"Coordinate with Skywalker's forces," he continued. "Ensure supply lines are secured and stabilized. Christophsis must be able to sustain itself."
Sumeragi nodded, already relaying orders.
Dagon paused for a moment, then added—
"And assign additional security to key infrastructure. If even one sabotage unit made it through…"
"It will be handled," she assured him.
He gave a slight nod.
Then, almost as an afterthought—
"…And send a report to Coruscant."
A faint smirk touched his lips.
"I'm sure they'll want to celebrate."
—
Hours later, as the dust settled and the Republic solidified its hold on Christophsis, the political machine would begin to turn.
Reports.
Commendations.
Recognition.
And inevitably—
Names.
Anakin Skywalker.
The Hero With No Fear.
The face of the Republic's victories.
Dagon leaned against the railing of a quiet observation deck, staring out at the stars.
"…He'll get the praise," he muttered.
Not bitter.
Just… factual.
Skywalker had been visible.
Dramatic.
Heroic.
Everything the Senate loved.
Everything the public needed.
Dagon?
He operated in the shadows.
Where victories were calculated, not celebrated.
Where outcomes mattered more than appearances.
He exhaled slowly.
"…If only he could keep his mouth shut."
A faint shake of his head.
"And if only his secret wife wasn't neck-deep in politics."
Padmé Amidala.
Senator.
Loyalist.
And one of the most influential voices in the Republic.
The irony wasn't lost on him.
Nor the danger.
Because secrets like that didn't stay buried forever.
And when they surfaced—
They didn't just ruin lives.
They reshaped wars.
Dagon straightened, pushing the thoughts aside.
It didn't matter.
Not yet.
What mattered was this—
Christophsis was secure.
The route was open.
The campaign continued.
And somewhere out there—
The next battle was already waiting.