Octuptarra Droids.
Some called them Tri-Droids.
Many called them instant death.
Jedi General Mon’grel Kbatha called them an annoyance.
And two were now standing in his way.
He had not sensed them at any point prior, which was somewhat surprising giving their immense size. Mon’grel assumed they must have been tasked with remaining completely stationary, most likely a final line of defense shielding the command outpost.
He prepared to dodge a flurry of missiles, however, the Octuptarras only swiveled their bulbous heads to aim their smaller cannons at the man who now threatened to trespass into their sacred territory.
Kbatha surmised they must have long since run out of larger ordinance. It was only logical given the elongated duration of the battle for Mygeeto, and the presumably, hopefully dwindling resources of the Separatist Alliance.
Still, even now, the Octuptarras were a rather substantial impedance to the 73rd’s progression, an impedance that was especially difficult to deal with due to the potent biological agent contained within their “heads.”
Mon’grel had heard the reports. These three-legged insectoid-like droids were the embodiment of spite. Once destroyed, their “head” released a toxic fume with long-lasting effects that coated the entire area surrounding its final resting place. The clones’ new Phase II helmets were designed to filter out most of this gas, but it would be slightly more detrimental to Mon’grel’s own health, as well as any natives who may still be hiding nearby.
The Jedi General took a deep breath, picking one of the two tall droids to deal with first, and made his move.
Charging at the Ocuptarra on the left, he attempted to amputate one of its legs. However, on both his first and second approaches, he was forced to leap back, suppressed by heavy fire raining down from both tripods.
On his third rush, he managed to evade the streams of lethal energy and draw near to one of the droids. In response, the Tri-Droid raised its closest leg with the clear intention to stomp out the Jedi’s life.
Swinging upward to meet the mechanized foot’s descent, Kbatha managed to glance the appendage, severing a chunk vertically, although it was not deep enough to divide the entire low portion of the leg. This did, however, weaken the integrity of said leg enough that when the Octuptarra brought all of its weight down, the limb began to spark and bow, causing the droid to readjust its stance and giving the Jedi the precious window he had been looking for.
Thrusting his body upwards with the Force, Kbatha landed gently on the beam that connected the leg’s two knee joints. He swung his blade downward, slicing his perch in two as he leapt up once more. As he ascended to the uppermost portion of the droid, it began to tip, falling laterally towards the bridge. The aging Jedi Master flew up past droid’s beady red sensors, hewing one of its blaster cannons in the process.
His feet briefly connected with the Octuptarra’s head as it began to spin rapidly, a last ditch effort to disrupt its assailant. But with one final bound, Kbatha made his dismount, severing the other two cannons during his rapid descent.
He tucked his body and rolled, bracing himself with a blanket of Force as he landed from the 15 meter freefall. Regaining his composure almost immediately, Kbatha turned and took hold of the collapsing droid with invisible strings. In his mind he envisioned tendrils of energy snaking themselves around the collapsing droid, each strand applying just enough pressure as to not distract him from the others. With some strain, he redirected the Octuptarra’s fall, causing it to clumsily topple over the edge of the bridge. The droid plummeted head first into the abyss; the toxins housed within no longer of any concern.
Before he could even grasp at reprieve, Mon’grel was caught off guard by another stream of large blaster bolts. Striking the bridge directly in front of him, he was knocked off his feet, a mixture of burning rubble and freezing ice bespattering his face.
Now decentralized and on his back, he managed to block the incoming blasts with his lightsaber, but was now trapped in a battle of attrition that he could not win.
He could possibly deactivate his lightsaber and roll, risking a shot to his back, as he ran past the droid and on towards the mission’s finish line. Or, he could lift himself to his feet and try to press closer to the droid, pulling off a similar maneuver to the one he had just executed. However, he could tell he was still ever so slightly dazed from the blast moments ago, and disorientation was not something he could easily factor into such a precise operation.
He wasn’t sure which route was most optimal, but he needed to do something. He needed to prove to his padawan that he was a Master worth following. Worth respecting. Worth simply listening to. And losing the fight with one measly lump of metal was in direct opposition to his needs.
His padawan was risking everything for the mission, and Mon’grel knew he needed to risk everything for his padawan.
Deflecting the continued blasts from the Tri-Droids alternating blaster cannons, Mongrel pursed his fuzzy lips.
He would run.
He would let his men deal with this infernal machine. That’s what they were here for. If he could get past it, he would race to meet Chell. They would finish the enemy’s commander together. All would go according to plan, and then some.
He just needed to-
Something like a massive flare suddenly illuminated the entire bridge, soaring well over Kbatha’s head, burning with a fizzling scream and elucidating the enemy’s final position not but 400 meters ahead.
In an instant, the pink ball of fire struck the remaining Octuptarra in the rounded hip joint connecting the droid’s head to the leg closest to the bridge’s edge.
“Great shot!” Kbatha heard a voice cry out, turning abruptly to see Commander Frank hastily approaching his position. Behind him were fifty soldiers, followed by two Saber tanks, with a Trident bringing up the rear.
The Tri-Droid screeched as it began to topple to its left, electrified ligaments tearing and snapping as its balance was completely lost. The explosion had somehow barely missed detonating the droid’s eleventh-hour biochemical surprise. Whether a stroke of luck or the skill of his clones or the will of the Force, or maybe a little bit of all three, the final towering enemy tumbled over the brink, briskly swallowed by the glacial chasm.
The Clone Commander rushed over to help the Jedi General up, “you okay, sir?”
Mon’grel stood to his feet, dusting off tan robes which were instantly coated in more clingy flakes of ice. “Yes Commander, fine. Any word from Chell?”
“Yes sir, Arc Squad emerged about a minute ago and have engaged the Tactical Droid’s entourage. They asked us to deal with the enemy’s AAT, which should be happening right about-”
Frank glanced back at the Trident just as all three of its cannons launched a concentrated burst forward.
“Now.”
In the distance a shrouded enemy erupted, the explosion highlighting his apprentice’s present location.
Buckshot laughed as the rest of Pulsar Squad grouped up on their General’s location, “looks like we’ve got this in the bag!”
“Did you inform him, sir?” Moon asked Frank, who was holstering his blaster pistols.
“Was just about to,” the Commander said, turning to the Jedi, “around the same time we heard from Arc, General Mundi reached out, said he and the Marines were about to rally and make one final charge.”
“I’m sure Bacara’s thrilled about that,” Moon commented.
Frank chuckled, otherwise ignoring the Sergeant as he continued, “the other teams seem to be more or less on schedule as well, although it looks like we’ll be leading the incursion into the capital.”
The Commander put his hand up to his helmet, “ope, got another update incoming. Gimme a second and I’ll let you know what the new plan is, sir.”
The clone stepped away as Kbatha turned back towards the end of the bridge. He could see flashes of light, although the conflict was still too distant to discern what exactly was transpiring. After a moment, the flickering ceased, as did the last of the battle’s noise.
In that moment, the Jedi Master felt an aberrant, almost eerie sense of serenity sweep over him, carried by the nipping gale. Staring out over the windswept landscape, the shadows and rubble almost seemed… inviting. Despite the penumbral nature of their surroundings, Kbatha hadn’t felt so much… light? Warmth? Inner peace? Some unknown part of him, the same part of him that had sensed the looming darkness engulfing the galaxy for years now, yearned to stay in this single, solitary, desolate moment. He hadn’t felt the fullness of the Force like this in such a long time, and it was very possible he would never feel it again.
The Jedi was startled from his trance-like observations when the flickering of blaster bolts flared back to life at the end of the bridge.
Kbatha called back to his men, “it appears they are still having some trouble, we should probably-”
Like a sea of hot tar poured over his head, the culmination of all his dread suddenly consumed the Jedi Master. The light he had felt for that split second was snuffed out. A dark breath to the Force’s candle. The true and utter cold of Mygeeto’s sub-zero climate embraced him like an old friend as he heard six dozen weapons behind him power on, their barrels suddenly turned to line up with his heart. He felt the 73rd’s unified desire to kill.
And that was when he realized why the blaster fire near Chell had resumed.
At that moment, the Tarsunt Jedi’s frenzied dread turned into gelid fury. Immediately he turned, taking hold of the trio of cannon barrels on the Trident and compressing them. A second later, the gunner pulled the trigger, the backfiring weapon systems causing the entire mobile carrier to erupt into electric flames.
What followed was pure, veritable chaos.
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