===Nira===
As Sebastian was hurled out of the arena by Grandmaster Yoda's powerful Force push, Nira rushed to Anakin's side, helping him steady Padmé as she stumbled to her feet. The chaos of the battle raged around them—blaster bolts flashing, lightsabers clashing, and the roar of distant beasts echoing across the stone walls.
Before Nira could speak, a fellow Jedi sprinted past, tossing her a pair of lightsabers. She caught them with practiced ease, their weight familiar in her hands. Without hesitation, she ignited one and sliced cleanly through the binders around Anakin's wrists. Sparks flared as the metal restraints fell away.
Then, without waiting for thanks, she used the second blade to sever her own shackles. The cuffs dropped into the sand, and Nira launched herself into the fray, spinning her saber in a blur of light as she joined the fight, her focus sharp and resolve unwavering.
The air was thick with smoke, dust, and the electric hiss of dying circuitry. Nira surged into the heart of the melee, ducking under a sweep from a super battle droid's arm cannon just in time. The bolt sizzled over her head, melting the stone where it struck. These upgraded droids were stronger, their plasma weapons more volatile than standard blasters—deadly even against lightsaber-wielding Jedi.
To her left, clone troopers in white armor advanced in formation, their rifles barking as they laid down suppressive fire. The Jedi fought in fluid motion beside them, weaving through the storm of chaos with practiced grace. But the battlefield was far from orderly.
A sharp hiss and thundering boom drew Nira's attention upward as a squad of Mandalorians jetpacked in from above, their armor painted black. They opened fire indiscriminately—on clones, droids, and Jedi alike. Blue plasma bolts rained down from their rifles, turning the battlefield into a three-way brawl.
Nira deflected a shot aimed at her head, spinning and slicing clean through the torso of an advancing battle droid. She gritted her teeth, ducked behind a fallen column, and tried to make sense of the chaos.
"Anakin!" she called out through the smoke. Waving him and the Senator over towards cover.
Before Anakin could respond, a Mandalorian slammed down near Nira, vibroblade flashing. She barely brought her saber up in time to parry the strike. The Mandalorian pressed in with brutal strength, forcing her back.
Sparks screamed from her saber as it clashed against the Mandalorian's vibroblade. The warrior was relentless—armor-clad, visor dark and unreadable. He struck again and again, hammering at her defenses with brutal precision. She gritted her teeth and dropped low, pivoting on her heel. With a flash of silver and green light, she swept the Mandalorians legs out from under him and drove her saber down into his chest plate. The metal buckled under the heat and weight of the strike, and he went still.
She exhaled sharply, heart pounding. There was no time to think. Another droid opened fire from behind her. Nira spun, raising her lightsaber just in time to absorb the bolt, though the plasma's heat burned her arm even through the Force.
"Hold that line!" came the barked command of a clone officer over the comms. "Push them back—section four is falling!"
A moment later, Anakin and Padmé came into view, sprinting from cover with blaster fire trailing them. Anakin was carving through droids like a whirlwind. Padmé, dirt-smudged and fierce, fired her blaster with dead aim, dropping two B2 droids with multiple precise shots to the head.
"Nira!" Anakin shouted, ducking beside her behind a chunk of broken pillar. "They've overrun the gunships—Yoda's trying to regroup Jedi to the south entrance!"
An explosion tore through the far wall of the arena. Dust and flame belched outward as a Republic gunship went up in a fireball. The shockwave sent clone troopers flying and staggered the two Jedi off their feet. Through the haze, she spotted a Mandalorian with a shoulder-mounted rocket launcher taking aim at another ship.
"I've got him!" she growled, leaping into the air. She flipped over a pair of battle droids mid-flight, slicing one apart and landing hard in the sand beside the Mando. He turned to face her, rocket launching with a loud fwoosh—but she slashed upward, cleaving the rocket in midair. The explosion lit the sky above her in brilliant orange, and the blast flung them both backward.
She landed hard, ears ringing. The Mandalorian was getting back to his feet when a blue lightsaber streaked in from the side and took him down.
From their new vantage point, they could see the battlefield more clearly. Smoke drifted in curtains across the arena. Dozens of Jedi were still fighting, some alone, others in small groups surrounded by droids. Clone gunships strafed overhead, returning fire, but many had been brought down by Mando rockets or plasma turrets. It was a battlefield on fire, and no one had control.
"We've got to fall back to Yoda's position," Nira said.
Padmé joined them, panting, her blaster low. "Then we'd better move now—there's more of them coming."
Nira turned toward the south gate. The corridor was choked with smoke and laser fire, but it was their only path out. She and Anakin took the lead, lightsabers raised, slicing a path through the droids as the three of them pushed forward.
They were within sight of the archway—freedom just ahead—when a deep, metallic howl split the sky.
FWOOOOOOM!
A massive impact rocked the ground. Stone cracked. Dust exploded upward. A drop pod, larger than anything Nira had ever seen, slammed down before the exit like the fist of a god. The sheer force of the landing sent battle droids flying, and crushed some beneath the impact.
With a hiss of pressurized air and the clank of metal, the pod's doors blasted outward in a cloud of steam. From within, giants emerged—hulking warriors clad in cobalt-blue ceramite, their armor etched with gold trim and the insignia of a white 'U' on their shoulder plates.
"FOR THE EMPEROR!" the Ultramarines bellowed, their voice amplified like thunder.
Bolters barked. Explosive rounds tore into the droid ranks with terrifying efficiency, blowing apart even super battle droids in bursts of molten metal and limbs. One of the Ultramarines leveled a melta cannon and fired—an entire squad of droids vanished in a pulse of white-hot light.
"Ultramarines?" Padmé asked, eyes wide.
A chainsword revved, screaming like a beast, as another Ultramarine waded into the fray, carving through droids with brutish, mechanical strikes. The Mandalorians turned, and a triumphant roar tore through their ranks.
Nira took a cautious step forward, still stunned by what she saw.
"We need to leave, now!" She said, grabbing Padmé by the wrist and yanking her towards one of the ships about to take off.
The Republic gunship roared to life beneath them as they entered, its engines straining as it lifted off from the shattered arena floor. Inside, Nira slumped against the durasteel wall, sabers deactivated but still clenched in her fists. Anakin sat beside her, sweat-streaked and smirking through bruises, while Padmé caught her breath across from them, gaze locked on the chaos outside.
The bay doors slid open for a moment, letting in the roar of battle—and a view none of them would ever forget.
Geonosis was aflame.
Where once there had been only sand, stone, and Separatist strongholds, the sky now boiled with fire. Enormous battle barges—impossibly massive, gothic in design, bristling with weaponry and pulsing shields—hung low in the atmosphere like floating cathedrals of war. Their broadside cannons unleashed planet-cracking fury, each blast hammering the surface with the force of a meteor strike. Great towers of flame and smoke rose wherever their wrath touched down.
Squads of Thunderhawks streaked through the haze, deploying more Ultramarines into the thick of the fighting. Dreadnoughts marched across the plains in the distance, each step shaking the very bones of the world.
Nira stood slowly, moving to the edge of the open bay door. The force of the wind whipped at her cloak, but she couldn't look away.
"They're not just reinforcements," she murmured. "They're an entire army made of war."
But then—beyond the hellstorm of artillery and fire—something else stirred.
The strange green glowing ships.
Pale green energy lanced upward from the massive crescent-shaped vessel beyond the primary Separatist lines, striking a Battle Barge. The massive ship spiraled, trailing smoke, before crashing into the dust.
Figures began to emerge from the other worldly vessels. Sleek, skeletal forms, glowing from within with an unnatural light. Silent. Unhurried. Death given form.
They marched in perfect formation, untouched by fear or chaos, phasing through stone and flame alike. Where they walked, the ground seemed to decay—life itself retreating in their presence.
Nira frowned. "What are those?"
Padmé stepped beside her, voice quiet. "Droids?"
"No…" Nira whispered.
Anakin's jaw clenched. "Another faction. Another enemy."
One of the Ultramarine ships above was hit by a blast of green energy so massive it carved through its void shields like paper. The explosion lit the sky. Even the Imperium's war machines were not invincible.
As the transport banked away toward the safety of the Republic lines, the battlefield below continued to change. Republic walkers and clone troopers retreated from the front as Mandalorians regrouped. Separatist droids, and Republic forces now found themselves between two new, terrifying forces—caught in a war far beyond anything they'd prepared for.
===Sebastian===
"Damn," Sebastian growled, voice rough as gravel.
He shoved aside a slab of broken rock, dislodging debris and chunks of ceramite from his battered form. Dust swirled in the air, tinged with smoke and the scent of ozone. Blood—his own and not—ran in thin rivulets from the rents in his armor. The Black Templar had blacked out after the little green Goblin had hurled him like a broken toy. The impact had knocked the world from his vision, and only now was the pain returning with clarity.
He forced himself upright, gritting his teeth as his joints protested. His left gauntlet hung useless, little more than ruined metal and shattered servos. With a grimace, he tore it off and cast it aside. The chestplate followed, half-melted and scorched, barely clinging to his body. He breathed in the acrid air through his broken helmet, chest rising and falling with mechanical rhythm, and surveyed the battlefield.
The sky was a hellish panorama of falling stars. Imperial and Necron ships plummeted from orbit, burning as they breached the atmosphere, raining death in fiery arcs.
To his right, a Thunderhawk had crash-landed amidst the ruins of a shattered mountain side. Its fuselage was torn open, flames licking at its side. The crash had turned the ground into a graveyard—scattered bodies of Guardsmen, torn apart mid-flight, and broken Astartes lay strewn around the smoldering wreck.
His boots crunched over shattered stone as he approached the wreckage. The Black Templar's gaze fell upon one of the fallen: a lone Ultramarine, pinned beneath a jagged spear of plasteel that had pierced through his torso. His armor was caked in soot and blood, his helmet removed, cradled in one hand. His other arm trembled weakly at his side.
Sebastian moved toward him, resetting his dislocated shoulder with a wet pop and a grunt of pain. He dropped to one knee beside his cousin.
"Cousin," the Ultramarine choked out, voice like wind over a broken vox-caster. Blood flecked his lips.
"Rest, cousin," Sebastian said, resting a hand lightly on the dying man's chest plate. "Help will be here shortly."
The Ultramarine gave a weak smile. "Don't lie to me… Black Templar. No one is coming."
Sebastian didn't answer. There was no need. The silence around them spoke loudly enough—the quiet that follows a massacre, broken only by the crackling of fire and the distant thunder of falling warships.
"Just… make sure they receive the proper rites," the Ultramarine said, voice barely audible now as his eyes drifted over his fallen brothers.
"I will. You have my word," Sebastian said, his voice low, resolute.
The Ultramarine's eyes turned back to him. A flicker of peace crossed his features.
"Then… go now. I go to rest in the Emperor's embrace."
Sebastian held his gaze until the light in the Ultramarine's eyes faded. He stayed there a moment longer, head bowed in reverence. Then he reached up and gently closed the man's eyes, whispering a quiet benediction in High Gothic.
"May your soul be judged worthy. May your deeds echo in the halls of Terra. The Emperor protects."
The Black Templar stood, shoulders squared despite the pain, and turned his gaze to the rest of the dead.
The low whine of jet packs pierced the smoky air, followed by the roar of thrusters as dark-armored figures descended from the ashen sky. Sebastian turned, watching as a squad of Obsidian Crusaders landed in a staggered formation, kicking up dust and debris around them. At their head was Jarek.
"Lord!" Jarek called, rushing forward the moment his boots hit solid ground. "I'm glad to see you're still standing."
"As am I, Jarek," Sebastian replied, still looking out across the battlefield. "What happened after I was thrown from the colosseum?"
Jarek's expression darkened as he spoke. "The fighting continued. More Astartes began falling from orbit. They came down like fire from the heavens. The colosseum didn't stand a chance. They overwhelmed the droids in minutes—tore through them like wet parchment."
"And the Jedi?" Sebastian asked, narrowing his eyes.
"They fled. Most of the Republic forces pulled back once the slaughter began. Took to their transports, headed to reinforce other zones, I assume." Jarek's voice held a trace of disdain.
Sebastian's jaw tightened. "And the Sorcerer?"
Jarek nodded grimly. "He fled as well, Lord. Coward didn't stay to face the fury he stirred. We spotted a cruiser escaping to the east. Could be him."
The Mandalorian captain reached behind his back, unclipping a long, cloth-wrapped object from his magnetic harness.
"I picked this up," he said, unwrapping the cloth with care to reveal Sebastian's weapon. The massive, blackened blade etched with Templar runes and blood-grooved for war. The sword had seen centuries of battle, and bore the scars proudly.
Sebastian accepted it with something close to reverence. His hand closed around the hilt, and the blade hummed with faint power as it recognized its master once more. He looked it over in silence, then turned his gaze to the ten Crusaders standing at ready behind Jarek—silent, disciplined, waiting for orders.
He took one last look at the field of the dead behind him.
"Come," he said, voice low, steeled with purpose. "Glory awaits."
He rested the blade across his shoulder.
"We have a Sorcerer to kill."
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