The first stretch toward the ridge felt longer than it looked.
The AT-TEs moved in front of them, six articulated legs grinding through sand and fractured stone, mass-driver cannons thundering at measured intervals. Each step shook the ground just enough to be felt through boots and armor, a mechanical heartbeat pacing the advance. Their ball-turret lasers stitched disciplined lines of blue across the desert, carving gaps through the nearest ranks of battle droids.
Kael walked in their shadow.
Violet light cut through the orange haze, steady and low, its hum almost swallowed by the roar of artillery. Red plasma bolts streaked toward him in relentless sheets, disciplined and impersonal. He turned his wrist, angling the blade with minimal motion — one bolt redirected into sand, another sent back through the chest of a B1 unit mid-stride, a third deflected upward into the sky where it vanished harmlessly.
He did not rush.
He advanced.
Behind and beside him, clone troopers spread into staggered firing lines, dropping to one knee where terrain allowed, rising when it didn't. DC-15A rifles cracked in coordinated rhythm, blue bolts punching through droid torsos and shearing limbs clean from joints. The air smelled of ionized metal and scorched circuitry.
"Left flank, tighten spacing!" 4377's voice cut through the chaos over open comm, amplified just enough to carry. He stood slightly behind Kael's right shoulder, rifle braced against his armor as he fired controlled bursts toward an advancing cluster of B1s. "Second squad, advance on the walkers' rear axis. Keep the corridor clean."
A trooper to Kael's left took a red bolt through the collar seam. He dropped without a sound, rifle slipping from his hands into the sand. The trooper behind him stepped forward immediately, filling the gap, firing as he moved.
There was no pause in the line.
Ahead of them, the droid army did not falter.
Rows of skeletal frames advanced with mechanical precision, blasters lifting in unison. When one fell — torso split by blue fire or shattered by a mass-driver shockwave — another stepped over the fragments without deviation. Arms detached from shoulders, cranial plates blown open, legs severed mid-stride — and still the formation held, firing in disciplined volleys that painted the air red.
They did not hesitate.
They did not flinch.
They did not care.
A droideka rolled forward along the central axis, shields flaring bright blue as it unfolded. Its twin cannons opened up in a rapid, punishing stream. Red bolts hammered into the sand near Kael's position, one glancing off his shoulder plate in a flare of dissipated heat.
He pivoted slightly behind the nearest AT-TE leg as the walker stepped forward, using the armored limb as momentary cover. The mass-driver cannon above discharged again, the concussion slamming into his chest plate like a physical shove. The projectile arced across the field and detonated just left of the droideka's position, the blast wave tearing through surrounding B1 units in a violent scatter.
The droideka's shields flickered.
"Gunships, now!" 4377 barked into his communicator. "Rear right quadrant, suppress that shield!"
Overhead, an LAAT skimmed low through smoke, engines screaming as it banked sharply. Its side cannons opened up in concentrated blue fire, hammering the droideka's shield from the flank. The barrier destabilized, flaring once, then collapsed.
Kael stepped out from behind the walker's leg.
Two precise deflections redirected incoming fire into the exposed droideka chassis. The clone line followed instantly, rifles converging. The droid collapsed under the combined assault, metal twisting inward before exploding in a brief plume of flame.
The advance resumed.
Sand kicked upward in chaotic spirals as artillery detonated across the field. Green sonic pulses from circling Geonosians rolled in concussive waves, distorting the air and rattling armor plating. One blast struck near enough that Kael felt the vibration in his teeth, visor flickering momentarily as sensors recalibrated.
To his far left, another Republic column pressed forward under separate walker cover. An AT-TE there took a direct hit from a tanksmasher rocket — its front right leg buckled, hydraulics rupturing in a spray of steam before the massive machine pitched sideways and crashed into the sand. Troopers scrambled clear as the remaining ball-turrets continued firing even as the walker lay half-crippled.
There was no time to look longer.
The ridge ahead loomed closer now — jagged rock rising like a broken spine from the desert floor, offering partial cover from tank fire and sonic blasts. Perhaps a hundred and fifty meters remained.
Red bolts continued to streak toward them in relentless waves.
Kael deflected another shot clean through a B1's cranial unit. A second clipped the edge of his blade and ricocheted into the sky. A third he allowed to pass, stepping aside with minimal movement, conserving motion.
He could feel the clones behind him adjusting to his pace.
Not charging.
Advancing.
"Keep spacing tight!" 4377 shouted, firing as he spoke. "Walker two, adjust left by ten meters. We're drifting off the corridor!"
A trooper near the front line cried out as a sonic blast caught him mid-step, hurling him sideways into the sand. Another clone dragged him back by the shoulder plate without breaking fire, blue bolts continuing to snap across the desert.
The droid ranks thinned in places — shattered torsos littering the ground, arms and blasters scattered across sand — but the formation behind them continued to feed forward. Conveyor bridges near the foundry pulsed with motion. More units marched out from shadowed bays, assembling even as their predecessors fell.
Endless.
It felt endless.
Kael advanced another ten meters, blade angled forward now as blaster fire intensified. The hum of violet light remained steady — controlled, grounded — a constant thread cutting through the storm of red and blue.
Behind him, the Republic line expanded. LAATs continued to descend in the rear, disgorging fresh squads who sprinted forward to reinforce the push. The command zone widened with every step — shield generators planted, artillery emplacements unfolding, heavy troopers fanning out under walker protection.
The ridge filled more of his visor.
They were getting closer.
But the droid line was not breaking.
It was reshaping.
Kael stepped forward again, deflecting another bolt into the advancing tide.
And the desert burned around him.
A tanksmasher round screamed in from somewhere beyond the visible droid line.
Kael felt it before he saw it — a sharp distortion in the Force, a violent intent cutting through the layered chaos. He pivoted and dropped low, sliding behind the forward leg of the nearest AT-TE just as the rocket struck the sand twenty meters ahead.
The explosion was deafening.
Heat washed over his armor in a concussive wave, sand blasting against beskar in a storm of grit. The walker's leg absorbed the worst of the shrapnel, conductive plating dispersing heat in a ripple of glowing veins before settling back to matte black.
For a heartbeat, all he could hear was ringing.
Then the battlefield returned in full.
He leaned out slightly from behind the armored limb.
And saw it.
Not just his column.
All of it.
To the left, another Republic assault line advanced beneath separate walker cover — AT-TEs climbing over jagged rock formations with grinding, hydraulic determination. One crested too far forward and took a direct hit from a second tanksmasher barrage. Its front leg disintegrated in a plume of molten alloy and hydraulic vapor. The massive machine listed sideways, crashing into the sand and crushing two squads beneath its weight before its remaining turrets continued firing defiantly from the ground.
There was no time to mourn it.
Beyond them, more clones poured forward — blue fire stitching across red in endless exchanges. LAAT gunships screamed overhead, banking low through smoke to disgorge fresh squads that hit the ground running, rifles already firing as they sprinted toward the expanding command zone.
Some never made it.
A Vulture-class droid starfighter dove from above, twin laser cannons slashing across the backline. A cluster of troopers vanished in a flare of red and sand before the gunship escort peeled off and obliterated the fighter in a mid-air collision of fire and debris.
To the right, the battlefield widened even further.
Hailfire-class droid tanks skittered across the desert on angled wheel assemblies, missile pods erupting in coordinated volleys that streaked toward Republic walkers in spirals of smoke. One missile struck a forward AT-TE in the flank, the detonation lifting it partially from the ground before it slammed back down and resumed firing through smoke.
Between those armored machines, DSD1 dwarf spider droids advanced in low, predatory strides, blasters flashing as they targeted infantry formations. Larger OG-9 homing spider droids loomed behind them, long legs planted like artillery towers, heavy cannons discharging in thunderous pulses that tore trenches into the sand.
And behind all of it — towering over canyon walls — the silhouettes of Lucrehulk-class core ships hung in orbit like patient gods, their shadows cast faintly through the dust-choked atmosphere.
This was not a line.
It was a tide.
A self-feeding, mechanized sea of metal and fire stretching from horizon to horizon.
Kael exhaled slowly, visor sweeping left to right as he took it in.
This was only minutes into the assault.
A green sonic blast tore across the ridge line ahead, distorting the air and slamming into the walker's forward plating. The vibration rippled through the leg he leaned against, humming in his bones.
"General!"
4377's voice cut through the noise over the comm.
Kael shifted slightly, staying in partial cover.
"Report."
"The arena extraction group just reached the perimeter," 4377 said between bursts of rifle fire. "Master Yoda's unit has engaged inside the arena structure."
Kael absorbed that.
They'd made it.
Good.
That meant the Jedi were still alive.
For now.
"Any word on evac?" he asked.
"Negative," 4377 replied. "They've only just breached."
Which meant the arena was still a kill zone.
Which meant no reinforcements were coming here yet.
Kael glanced back toward the foundry looming ahead, smoke pouring from exhaust towers as conveyor lines continued to feed new B1 units into formation.
He was leading this alone.
An entire assault column.
Against impossible numbers.
He leaned his helmet briefly against the walker's leg, just for a second.
"Of course," he muttered.
A red bolt struck the sand inches from his boot.
He pushed back out from cover, blade rising to intercept two incoming shots in quick succession, redirecting one into a B1 and sending the other glancing harmlessly aside.
"Why did I agree to this?" he muttered under his breath, almost lost beneath the thunder of mass-driver fire.
He could have stayed in the Temple archives.
Stone halls.
Dusty datapads.
History he already knew by heart.
Instead, he was standing in the center of a planetary invasion.
A fresh wave of droids marched forward through smoke, stepping over their own shattered parts without hesitation.
He deflected another bolt.
"This is Anakin's fault," he said quietly to himself.
The thought came with the faintest edge of humor — the kind reserved only for someone who had earned it.
He could picture him now — reckless grin, that infuriating certainty.
Dragged him into this mess. That was it.
If I survive this, I'm letting him know.
A Hailfire tank unleashed another spiral of rockets toward the Republic flank. One missile streaked overhead, detonating behind them in a blossom of fire that sent debris raining down across the backline. Clones scattered and reformed without pause.
Overhead, more Acclamators punched through the atmosphere, massive hulls descending through smoke as their ventral turbolasers carved disciplined blue arcs into droid concentrations.
The scale kept expanding.
Everywhere he looked, more ships.
More walkers.
More droids.
More fire.
The desert had become a shifting tapestry of red, blue, and green — plasma bolts, sonic pulses, artillery flashes — blending into something almost abstract in its violence.
But the ridge was closer.
And beyond it, the foundry.
Kael stepped away from the walker's leg.
Violet light hummed steadily at his side.
"Forward," he said over comm.
And the Republic moved again into the tide.
The ridge was no longer a distant fracture on the horizon.
It loomed now — jagged stone rising through smoke and drifting sand, its shadow cutting a hard line across the battlefield. The Republic column had carved perhaps half the distance to it, and the ground between them and the droid army was littered with shattered metal and fallen troopers.
The advance had quickened.
Not because the enemy was weaker — but because the Republic had found rhythm.
AT-TEs pushed forward in staggered formation, dorsal mass-drivers firing in thunderous intervals that collapsed sections of the droid line in violent bursts. Blue bolts from clone rifles stitched across the desert in disciplined waves, punching through skeletal torsos faster than they could be replaced.
But the droids kept coming.
They advanced over their own destroyed frames, red plasma flashing from blackened rifles without pause or hesitation. A B1 unit lost an arm to blaster fire and simply pivoted, continuing to fire with the other. Another marched forward with half its cranial plate missing, sparks trailing behind it as it discharged another shot.
Relentless.
A Hailfire tank rolled along the far flank and loosed a fresh spiral of missiles. One struck the walker Kael had been using as cover.
The impact was catastrophic.
The front section of the AT-TE erupted in a bloom of fire and shrapnel, the shockwave knocking Kael half a step sideways as sand and debris blasted outward. Hydraulic lines ruptured in white vapor. One of the six articulated legs sheared clean at the joint, collapsing inward as the massive machine listed and crashed into the desert with a grinding roar.
For a moment, the battlefield narrowed to the wreck.
"Walker down!" 4377's voice cut through the comm channel.
Kael was already moving.
He sprinted toward the wreckage under the cover of smoke, blade intercepting two incoming bolts in quick succession before he reached the fallen machine. The air around it was thick with burning lubricant and scorched metal.
Two troopers were pinned near the rear compartment, struggling to free themselves from the twisted plating. Kael crouched, sliding the violet blade through warped alloy with controlled precision, carving an opening just wide enough for extraction. A clone medic dragged the first trooper free, armor cracked but intact.
Another explosion detonated somewhere to their right — sand raining down in a fine red mist.
"Clear the compartment!" Kael ordered.
Two clones hauled a wounded gunner from the interior just as a secondary fuel cell ignited within the walker's chassis. The fire flared, then died into thick smoke.
Kael stepped back, scanning for movement.
The walker was finished.
Its mass-driver cannon lay twisted along the sand like a broken spine.
An injured pilot, helmet cracked along one edge, staggered toward him from the forward compartment. His armor was blackened with soot, but he remained upright.
"General," the pilot said, voice strained but steady. "The walker's destroyed."
Kael nodded once. He could see that.
The pilot gestured weakly toward the wreck's rear storage housing, half-exposed where plating had peeled back.
"However… these might be of use."
Inside the fractured compartment, cylindrical fuel tanks were still secured in their clamps — thick, reinforced canisters meant to power the walker's generators and auxiliary systems. Three of them remained intact, though scorched along one side.
Kael's visor narrowed slightly as he considered.
Red bolts continued to streak past overhead. Blue returned fire answered in disciplined rhythm. The ridge stood perhaps eighty meters ahead now — closer, but still contested by droid formations that refused to thin.
"How fast can they be removed?" Kael asked.
The pilot straightened despite the tremor in his posture.
"Magnetic locks along the lower housing. Release latches here," he said, tapping the side seam of one canister. "Two men per tank. They're heavy, but manageable."
Another sonic blast rolled across the field, shaking the sand beneath their boots.
Kael glanced toward 4377, who had taken partial cover behind the walker's fallen frame, firing controlled bursts into advancing B1 ranks while issuing repositioning commands.
"Three others," Kael said. "With me."
Three troopers broke from the line and sprinted to the wreck, sliding into cover as more red bolts slammed into the destroyed hull.
They worked quickly.
Magnetic latches disengaged with heavy metallic clicks. Two troopers hauled the first canister free, muscles straining beneath armor as they dragged it behind the walker's carcass. A second tank followed. Then a third.
The battlefield did not slow for them.
AT-TEs continued advancing in staggered strides, mass-drivers firing in disciplined intervals that tore holes through droid formations. A DSD1 dwarf spider droid climbed a rock outcrop ahead and opened fire on a forward clone squad, only to be obliterated seconds later by a gunship strafing run that left its remains smoldering in the sand.
4377 ducked behind the fallen walker, glancing toward the growing pile of fuel canisters.
"General," he said between bursts of rifle fire, "what are you planning to do with these?"
Kael wiped sand from the surface of one tank with the back of his gauntlet, visor reflecting the chaotic blend of red, blue, and green light tearing across the desert.
He looked toward the ridge.
Looked toward the dense cluster of droids still holding the approach.
Then back at the fuel tanks.
"Just watch," he said calmly.
Another missile screamed overhead and detonated behind them, the shockwave rippling across the sand and scattering debris into the smoke-choked sky.
The war raged on all sides.
But in the shadow of the ruined walker, something was beginning to take shape.