From the private chamber above the temple, the air trembled with battle. The four figures within—Yoda, Mace Windu, Qui-Gon Jinn, and Obi-Wan Kenobi—moved amid chaos, the room flashing red and gold as the clones of Naga Sadow pressed forward like an endless tide.
Each time Windu cut one down, another materialized, rising from the fragments of smoke and shadow that refused to die. His saber spun in vicious arcs, Vaapad at its peak, channeling his inner storm into controlled fury. But the more he struck, the more the illusion seemed to feed. The chamber flickered with each impact, reality bending under the pressure of ancient telepathy.
"These things—" Windu snarled, cleaving one in half only for its form to reform behind him, "—they don't die!"
"They're not meant to," Qui-Gon called back, parrying another blow with steady precision. "They're echoes—projected from the mind of something deeper. They're not even here."
Yoda stood motionless at the center of the chaos, his small frame surrounded by the swirling light of sabers and phantom fire. His eyes were closed, his breath slow, the Force gathering around him like a calm eye in a storm.
Obi-Wan deflected a strike that nearly grazed him, shouting over the storm, "Master Yoda—this is not the time to meditate!"
Yoda's ears twitched slightly, his voice calm and steady even as the walls trembled. "Meditate, I must. Hmmm… patience, young one. Show us the way, the Force will."
As Windu's blade met another phantom strike, sparks cascaded across the floor. He glanced toward Yoda—motionless amid chaos—and spoke with firm resolve, "Master Yoda, I'll buy you as much time as I can. I'll cut down every one of these abominations if it means you finish what you're doing."
From the edges of the chamber, Sadow's laughter rippled faintly—taunting, spectral, impossible to pinpoint. The illusions surged closer, their forms flickering with crimson smoke, yet Yoda did not move.
Then—suddenly—the Force shifted. A whisper of ancient clarity brushed his mind, and Yoda's hands lifted slowly from his cane. His voice dropped low, resonant. "Qâsh'Tai… the old way, it is."
The air bent around him as he unleashed the legendary dispersion art. A pulse of pure Force rippled outward, silent but absolute, shattering the web of illusion like glass under pressure. The chamber trembled; the false Sadows screamed as their forms dissolved into red mist.
One last clone lunged from the haze, saber raised high. Yoda opened his eyes—calm, ancient, and unyielding. "Begone, relic. The new generation shall move on… and the Force shall light our path."
The clone froze mid-strike, its form unraveling with a final, distorted cry—"HARGHHHHHHHHH!"—before vanishing into nothing.
The chamber fell quiet, the heavy tension broken. Windu exhaled, lowering his weapon. "Looks like you were right, Qui-Gon… they were illusions."
Qui-Gon nodded, still catching his breath. "Powerful ones. Enough to scar the physical world itself."
Obi-Wan turned, scanning the ruined walls. Deep saber burns still marred the floor and pillars—the aftermath of a phantom fight that should not have left marks. "Then whoever cast them," he said grimly, "is far beyond ordinary Sith magic."
Yoda's ears twitched as he gripped his cane again, his tone grave. "Hurry, we must. The Force warns—Dooku, in danger he is."
Windu straightened, determination returning to his face. "that's what we'll do—aid him before it's too late."
Yoda nodded once, the glow of the Force still shimmering faintly around him. "Yes… hurry, we must. Fear, I have… if Dooku falls now, darkness greater than before will rise."
The group moved swiftly, leaving the private chamber behind and descending through the narrow corridor that led toward the Jedi Council chamber—the only passage to reach the Temple's main stairs. The air grew heavier with every step, the hum of sabers echoing long before they arrived.
As they emerged into the vast circular hall, chaos awaited them. The Jedi Council chamber—normally a sanctum of calm debate—was now a battlefield of clashing light. Naga Sadow's clones swarmed the room, crimson silhouettes moving with impossible precision, each locked in combat with a different Jedi Master.
Plo Koon parried a furious strike, his mask glinting through the haze of sparks. "Master Yoda—you've arrived! Thank the Force. We could use some manpower here!"
Across the chamber, Ki-Adi-Mundi countered another blow, his double-bladed lightsaber spinning into a perfect defensive arc. "Fascinating… this is no ordinary Sith trick. Some form of dark-side witchcraft, perhaps," he muttered, his voice strained.
Windu ignited his saber again, stepping into the fray. "Would someone report how many of these illusions we're dealing with? We need a count if we're going to end this."
Plo Koon, locked in Soresu stance, channeled a burst of Electric Judgment, yellow lightning crackling around his blade as it collided with Sadow's crimson energy. "Can't be sure!" he called back. "Each one mimics us—every Jedi here has their own opponent. They fight like reflections—same tempo, same counter!"
Obi-Wan's brow furrowed as he deflected a wild swing aimed at his flank. "Strange," he said, his tone sharp with realization. "It's like they're not trying to kill us—they're spreading their strength thin, keeping us occupied. Divided. Their power's less focused… almost defensive."
Yoda's eyes narrowed, sensing the pattern through the chaos. The Force whispered its warning—this was not a true battle, but a stall.
He turned toward Windu, his voice low yet carrying the weight of command. "Mace Windu… buy me time again, you must. Prepare, I will. Qâsh'Tai… unleash, I shall."
Without hesitation, Yoda closed his eyes and centered himself in the storm, drawing in the living Force that swirled across the temple. His small frame glowed faintly, every breath pulling light into focus. The very floor trembled beneath him as he began to channel the ancient art again—this time greater than before, wide enough to cleanse half the Temple of the Sith's corruption if he could hold it.
The clones faltered mid-attack, their crimson eyes flicking toward Yoda as if some unseen order had been given. In eerie unison, their voices rasped through the hall. "Target the Grand Master."
Instantly, Windu stepped forward, his violet saber igniting with a roar. "You'll have to go through me first."
His stance shifted fluidly into Vaapad, his movements a blur of controlled fury. "All Jedi able to fight—this is our stand! Hold them off until Yoda finishes the cleansing!"
Around the chamber, sabers flared to life—blues, greens, and yellows burning against the crimson haze.
One by one, the Council members shouted in unison, their voices echoing with renewed resolve. "For the Republic ! For the Force!"
From the rear lines, the towering Wookiee Master Tyvokka bared his fangs and unleashed a thunderous roar that shook the chamber. "Come then, ancient Sith! It has been ten years since the wounds I took in the Stark Hyperspace War—when the Armored Man saved my life!" He lifted his great saber high, eyes blazing with renewed battlelust. "Today, I fight again—and feel my youth once more!"
One of the Sadow clones roared in reply, its voice sharp and guttural. "CHARGEEEEE!"
The horde surged forward in perfect unison, red sabers lighting the chamber like the fires of a forge.
Plo Koon stood at the front, his stance unshaken. He raised his hand, and golden arcs of Electric Judgment burst from his fingers, streaking through the air to strike three of the charging clones. They convulsed and fell, their forms flickering under the crackle of light.
One of the Sadow clones snarled in fury. "You dare use Sith techniques against me, fool!"
Plo Koon met its glare, calm beneath the mask. "Ancient one, the Kel Dor call this power their own. It is mine—fueled by justice and good, not evil." He raised his arm again, unleashing another blast of Electric Judgment that sent the clone staggering backward, its armor smoking from the impact.
Beside him, Depa Billaba leapt into the fray, her emerald blade slashing through the regenerating shadows, each strike carving glowing scars in the air. "Plo Koon—can you please change your techniques, even if you swear it's not Force lightning?" she said, her voice half-serious, half-desperate as she cut another clone down.
Windu stepped between them, blocking a swing aimed for Depa's side. "Normally, my former Padawan, I'd agree with you," he said through gritted teeth as his violet blade locked with Sadow's crimson one. The impact flared bright between them. "But right now—survival comes first."
He twisted, countered, and kicked his opponent back, his tone rising with authority. "Any of you who have secret arts—techniques you've kept hidden—use them now. I won't question it, today. As long as we win."
The chamber thundered with the sound of sabers igniting, Force powers flaring, and battle cries echoing off the marble walls—every Jedi pouring their strength into the stand that would decide whether the Temple stood or fell.
At the far side, Oppo Rancisis moved with slow precision, his serpentine body coiling as his hands traced ancient sigils through the air. The Force bent around him, reshaping stone and metal alike. He unleashed Alter Environment, and the walls of the Council chamber groaned in answer—massive slabs of marble and durasteel rising to form barriers, sealing off sections where Sadow's clones surged forward.
The phantoms crashed into the new barricades, their sabers carving deep red scars into the stone, but they couldn't break through. Two Jedi leapt atop the new walls, flanking and cutting down a weaker cluster of clones caught in the divide.
Windu, in the middle of his furious Vaapad rhythm, spared a glance toward Oppo and smirked. "Except you, Oppo—looks like the Council chamber's off-limits for our next meeting."
Oppo's beard twitched in amusement as he held the walls in place. "As long as we win, Mace… the furniture can wait."
At the center, Master Yaddle knelt upon the broken tiles, untouched by the storm of combat. She closed her eyes, palms outstretched, and a soft golden aura radiated from her small frame. "Fight, all of you. Your wills, I will reinforce. Let no fear cloud your hearts."
Her Battle Meditation spread like sunlight breaking through clouds. The exhaustion in every Jedi's limbs faded, their focus sharpening, their spirits bound together by one purpose.
Windu tightened his grip on his saber, feeling the renewed surge of energy flood through him. "That's it… hold the line! The Temple won't fall today!"
Yarael Poof stood at the heart of the storm, his long neck swaying as his eyes glowed with concentration. Through Yaddle's Battle Meditation, his telepathic reach expanded like a tidal wave across the chamber. The Force pulsed outward slamming into the minds of two Sadow clones and freezing them mid-step. "Two of them—stunned," he said, voice echoing in calm focus.
Then came Yoda's voice—filled not just with sound, but with the living Force itself. It reverberated through every mind, every heartbeat within the Temple.
"Thank you, my comrades… my brothers in arms… and my students who fight beside me today. In this moment, the Jedi Temple—and the Republic—shall shine as the brightest beacon of hope!"
He brought his small hands together. A deep hum rippled through the Temple. Yoda focused every thread of energy, every spark of life around him, and shouted—a sound that carried through stone and space itself.
"Huahhhhhhhhhhhh!"
The Qâsh'Tai exploded outward in a brilliant wave of golden-green light. The entire Jedi Temple shook as the pulse spread—washing through every corridor, every hall, every level below. Naga Sadow's clones screamed, their bodies unraveling into fading wisps of red mist .
One final clone, half-dissolved, managed a last mockery. "unfortunately… you're all late." Then it vanished into dust.
Silence followed—pure, ringing silence. The dark presence that had poisoned the air was gone.
Yoda wavered, exhaustion crashing through him. Before he could fall, Mace Windu and Qui-Gon moved in unison, catching him by the arms.
"I've got you, Master," Qui-Gon said with a faint smile. "That was… remarkable. I've witnessed many Force techniques in my life—and even saw this one once before, during the battle against the Armored Man—but seeing it up close like this--
Windu finished for him, his tone half in awe. "—that was the next step beyond Tutaminis itself. Qâsh'Tai… the art of pure dispersion."
Obi-Wan deactivated his lightsaber, exhaling as the hum died away. "Quite a sore loser for an ancient Sith," he said dryly, glancing at the fading red mist.
Yoda steadied himself on his cane, his voice still weary but resolute. "Go now, we must. To the Temple's entrance—hmmm. My old Padawan's life… in danger, I feel."
Before the group could move, the doors at the far end burst open. A squad of Jedi Knights rushed in, their robes scorched and sabers still lit. "Masters!" one of them shouted. "The enemy—"
"—has already been vanquished," Qui-Gon finished for them, his tone calm but urgent. He stepped forward, eyes firm. "But lend me your strength. Another battle approaches—and this one decides more than the Temple's fate."
Plo Koon adjusted his breathing mask and nodded without hesitation. "Then I'm coming with you, Qui-Gon. Wherever the storm is thickest, that's where I'll stand."
Before they could continue, another hiss echoed through the chamber as one of the sealed "safe zone" doors slid open—metal grinding against stone.
Out stepped the dual Chancellors—Ranulph Tarkin and Sheev Palpatine—their escorts nervous, their faces pale from the tremors that had rattled the Temple moments ago.
Tarkin's voice cut through the air first, sharp and accusatory. "What in the Republic is going on here!? An emergency broadcast claims an attack on the Jedi Temple, and I arrive to find half of it in ruins! You—peacekeepers—allowed your sacred place to be invaded? Are you blind, or just incompetent!?"
Obi-Wan sighed quietly and rubbed the bridge of his nose. And here we go, he thought bitterly. The two civilians most likely to make everything worse.
Palpatine stood a pace behind Tarkin—serene, hands clasped neatly, eyes gliding across the scorched marble and shattered glass. He spoke no word, only observed, gaze lingering on Yoda a second too long, as if quietly weighing something unseen.
Then, as Tarkin's voice rose, the tension in the room thickened.
"This is outrageous! From tomorrow onward, the Jedi will be placed directly under—"
Before he could finish, a sharp crack echoed through the chamber. A small stone—just large enough to sting—struck Tarkin squarely on the temple. His words choked off mid-sentence as his eyes rolled back, and he crumpled to the floor with an unceremonious thud.
Silence blanketed the Council chamber for one heartbeat.
Mace Windu's head turned sharply toward the far side of the room, eyes narrowing. He didn't need the Force to know. His glare landed directly on Obi-Wan.
Obi-Wan, arms neatly folded behind his back, blinked with immaculate innocence. Then, in perfect deadpan, he gestured toward the fallen Chancellor. "Oh no—the enemy must still be here! They've struck again, and… taken down the Chancellor."
The other Jedi traded glances. Plo Koon audibly exhaled through his mask, trying not to laugh.
Yaddle, ever the opportunist in her rare moments of humor, clapped her small hands together and said brightly, "Then waste no time, we must! One Chancellor injured, treatment required immediately!"
She gestured toward the unconscious Tarkin with an expression of exaggerated concern. "Carry him to the medbay. Hmmm, the galaxy cannot lose such a voice of reason."
Windu sighed, one hand pressed against his brow. "Kenobi…" he muttered under his breath.
Obi-Wan only gave a small shrug, his eyes darting toward Yoda—who, though saying nothing, looked dangerously close to a smirk.
After a brief silence, Yoda straightened, his tone shifting back to command—measured, wise, but laced with strategy. "Then, two groups we must form. One, to aid Dooku… the other, to tend to Chancellor Tarkin and ensure no further harm comes."
Ki-Adi-Mundi stepped forward immediately, his voice brisk. "I will assist the Chancellor. We'll need a medic and a small escort to secure the east wing. The last thing we need is panic spreading through the Temple."
Palpatine, ever the picture of composure, raised both hands mildly. "A sensible plan, Master Jedi. I'll remain with my co-Chancellor—before I also become the next victim of these… flying stones." His voice was perfectly neutral, but a glint of quiet amusement flickered in his eyes.
A few Jedi accompanied Palpatine and the unconscious Tarkin toward the Temple's medbay, their footsteps echoing down the corridor. The rest—Yoda, Windu, Qui-Gon, Obi-Wan, and several Masters—turned toward the grand stairs leading to the Temple's entrance, where the echoes of conflict still trembled through the Force.
As they moved, Yoda slowed for a moment, glancing over his shoulder at Obi-Wan. With his small clawed hand, he gave a discreet thumbs-up—a gesture few would notice. The meaning was clear: Good job.
Obi-Wan only nodded once, quietly pleased, his expression stoic.
Beside him, Qui-Gon walked in silence, his gaze distant, thoughts racing ahead. We'll need more than strength, he thought. We'll need reason—especially when the Senate begins asking questions.