The Eternal Emperor

The air was thick with death. The Blue Shadow Virus clung to every surface, a faint, sickly-blue mist swirling in the sterile halls of Tipoca City. Kenobi's breaths came shallow, his rebreather doing its best to filter out the lethal pathogen, but the weight of the duel pressed heavily on him, making each gasp feel harder to take. The sound of his boots scraping against the sleek, white floor was drowned by the metallic cacophony of General Grievous, who advanced relentlessly, his mechanical limbs clanging with unnatural precision. 

Kenobi pivoted sharply, his lightsaber intercepting a spinning blade from Grievous' dual-wielded sabers. The force of the impact jarred his arms, the power behind Grievous' strikes far greater than anything a human opponent could muster. Sparks flew, casting fleeting shadows on the curved walls of the hallway. Kenobi gritted his teeth, his mind calculating the next move, but there was no time to think. Grievous was already bringing another blade down in a brutal arc. 

The Jedi flipped backward, narrowly avoiding the strike. His boots found brief purchase on the wall as he pushed off, flipping again to land further down the hallway. His lightsaber hummed to life, ready to meet Grievous' onslaught once more. 

"Persistent as ever, Kenobi," Grievous growled, his deep, rasping voice echoing ominously. The General strode forward, swinging his sabers in a deadly dance. "But you grow tired. I can hear it in your breaths, see it in your strikes. How long can you last?" 

Kenobi said nothing, keeping his focus honed. The constant retreat was costing him energy, and Grievous knew it. The hallway stretched endlessly before him, its polished floor reflecting the blue haze of the virus. Emergency lights flickered overhead, casting an eerie glow on Grievous' durasteel form. The mechanical monstrosity loomed larger with every step, his cloaked figure a stark contrast against the sterile Kaminoan architecture. 

Grievous lunged. Kenobi parried low, sparks cascading as their sabers clashed again. The sheer weight behind Grievous' strike forced Kenobi to slide back several feet, his boots screeching against the smooth floor. He countered with a precise jab aimed at the General's midsection, but Grievous twisted unnaturally, his torso rotating as his clawed foot lashed out. 

Kenobi barely ducked in time. The talons grazed his rebreather, and for a split second, panic flared in his chest. One tear, one malfunction, and the virus would do its work. He swung his lightsaber upward in a defensive arc, forcing Grievous to pull back momentarily. 

The battle pressed on, every moment a desperate fight for survival. Grievous was relentless, each swing of his lightsabers accompanied by a guttural laugh or taunt. "You cannot win, Kenobi. The Republic cannot win. Your precious Jedi are falling—one by one!" 

Kenobi's focus wavered as the Force shifted suddenly—a chilling loss rippling through him like a cold wind. He stumbled, his lightsaber missing a block as he narrowly evaded the follow-up strike. Shaak Ti. 

The realization hit him like a blow. He didn't need confirmation. The distinct void left by her presence in the Force was unmistakable. He felt the loss deeply, a wound that momentarily broke his concentration. 

Grievous didn't miss the falter. With a predatory grin, he pounced, his lightsabers descending in a punishing strike. Kenobi threw himself backward, his body hitting the floor with a painful thud. His lightsaber flew from his grasp, skidding across the hallway. Grievous advanced, each mechanical step resounding like a death knell. 

Kenobi pushed off the floor with one hand, twisting his body mid-air to avoid Grievous' downward slash. The blade struck the ground where he'd been moments before, sending a shower of sparks into the air. As Kenobi landed in a crouch, he called his lightsaber back to his hand, the weapon igniting in a flash of blue. He swung upward in a desperate arc, locking blades with Grievous, the full weight of the General pressing down on him. 

The durasteel monstrosity loomed over him, his fiery yellow eyes boring into Kenobi's. "I had heard," Grievous sneered, his voice dripping with malice, "that you Jedi can feel when one of yours falls. I guess it hits harder the closer you are, doesn't it?" 

Grievous leaned in, pouring more weight into his blades. The strain was evident on Kenobi's face as his knees buckled, the floor cracking beneath them from the pressure. 

Suddenly, Kenobi's comm crackled to life. 

"This is Commander Hael to all squads. Transports are in the air. Prepare to pull out. Their bioweapon has overrun the main spire and is slowly enveloping the City. Kamino is lost. We will collapse the main spires to deny any intact facilities to the enemy. This will take down the supporting spires as well. Prepare for emergency pickup." 

------------------------------------ 

The bridge of the Pride of the Core was alive with quiet, restrained energy. Officers moved with precision, their voices muted as they coordinated the massive battle group under their command. Despite the constant hum of activity, the atmosphere was heavy, shaped by the mood of the man seated at the center. 

Lelouch vi Britannia, draped in the pristine white uniform of his rank, leaned his head against his hand, his dark hair casting faint shadows over his sullen face. His hypnotic purple eyes stared ahead, unseeing, lost in thought. Though he sat as the undisputed master of this warship—the largest and most heavily armed the Republic had ever fielded—it was clear his mind was elsewhere. 

The contrast between the bustling bridge and the silent command chair was striking. The officers tread carefully around their general's apparent dissatisfaction, whispering their reports and instructions to avoid drawing attention to themselves. It wasn't fear, exactly. It was an unspoken respect, coupled with a collective desire not to worsen the strange air of melancholy surrounding him. 

To Lelouch's right, Captain Fordo stood rigid, a model of clone discipline. Yet there was something almost imperceptibly out of place in the ARC trooper's bearing. To anyone else, Fordo's stoicism would seem unbreakable, but Lelouch sensed it—the faintest trace of happiness radiating from his stalwart companion. Fordo's emotions glimmered like sunlight peeking through a cloud, and it was enough to amuse the chaos lord in Lelouch's mind, whose laughter echoed faintly in his thoughts. 

Lelouch closed his eyes for a moment, suppressing the urge to react outwardly. The Pride of the Core was Kuat's latest pride—a gargantuan warship bristling with unmatched offensive and defensive capabilities, its towering frame a clear statement of dominance. But the very gesture of its construction felt more like a chain than a gift. Gone was the sleek efficiency of his Excalibur, the automated systems he could control at his fingertips. This vessel was a monument to brute strength, its design favoring overwhelming power over nuance. 

His musings were interrupted by the faintest flicker in the Force—an unseen ripple that caused his lips to curve faintly into a knowing smile. A moment later, an officer approached, saluting crisply. 

"General," the officer said, his tone reverent but professional. "We've just received confirmation from our forces on Kamino. The evacuation is complete, and the planet is being abandoned. All units are requesting clearance to engage." 

Lelouch nodded, his mind returning to the moment. Rising gracefully from his seat, his voice was calm yet resolute as he spoke. "Very well. Relay the order. Launch the offensive." 

The officer saluted again and hurried off, and Lelouch's gaze shifted to the viewport. Outside, the Venator-class Star Destroyers of his fleet maneuvered into perfect formation, their sleek, dagger-like shapes flanking the behemoth. Light cruisers darted between them, their smaller frames weaving gracefully through the protective screen of the capital ships. 

--------------------------------------- 

The wind howled across the crumbling platforms of Tipoca City, carrying with it the acrid stench of the Blue Shadow Virus and the scorched metal of countless destroyed droids. The stormy seas below churned violently, mirroring the chaos above as debris rained down from collapsing spires. 

Inside the open hatch of a LAAT/i gunship, Anakin Skywalker knelt near the edge. 

His mechanical hand gripped the arm of Obi-Wan Kenobi, who dangled precariously over the edge. 

Kenobi's breathing was labored, his body battered from the duel with Grievous. The Jedi Master glanced back at the cyborg general, who stood motionless on the crumbling platform behind them. Grievous made no move to pursue, his yellow eyes glowing faintly as he watched with an almost mocking stillness. The general's cloak swirled in the wind as he turned away, vanishing into the smoke and fire of the collapsing city. 

Kenobi let out a shaky breath of relief as Anakin pulled him up with surprising ease. "You're getting old," Anakin said with a faint, mischievous smile. 

Kenobi managed a snort despite his exhaustion. "Funny." 

The doors of the gunship sealed with a hydraulic hiss, cutting off the howling wind. Kenobi slumped onto the floor, taking a moment to catch his breath. Around him, the gunship's interior was alive with the chatter of clone troopers and the hum of equipment. 

"General," the pilot's voice crackled over the comms. "You'll want to see this." 

Anakin helped Kenobi to his feet, and the two made their way to the cockpit. The sight that greeted them through the viewport left them momentarily speechless. 

Instead of the chaotic battle they had expected, the sky was dominated by a single, colossal warship. The Pride of the Core loomed over the battlefield, its immense hull lit by the fire of countless turbolaser batteries. Waves of energy lanced out from its guns, tearing through the CIS fleet with terrifying efficiency. 

The Separatist ships, even their massive Lucrehulk battleships, seemed pitifully small against the behemoth. The Pride of the Core chewed through the enemy formation as if they were nothing more than an inconvenience. Its escort fleet of Venators and cruisers focused on the smaller vessels and droid fighters, systematically dismantling what little resistance remained. 

Behind the Republic fleet, a massive convergence of transports carried the evacuated forces from Kamino, their engines burning brightly as they fled the dying planet. The Pride of the Core shielded them like a wall, ensuring no Separatist ships could pursue. 

Kenobi stared at the sight, his expression unreadable. "A bit overkill, don't you think?" 

Anakin folded his arms, his eyes fixed on the monstrous warship. "Overkill? No such thing in this war." His tone was calm, almost detached, but there was an edge to his words that Kenobi couldn't quite place. 

As the gunship joined the convoy, the battle outside continued unabated. The Pride of the Core was a living symbol of the Republic's might, but to Kenobi, it also carried a silent weight—a reminder of the escalating cost of the war. For a moment, he wondered if they were still fighting to protect the Republic or simply to destroy their enemies.