The launch bay of the Republic assault cruiser shook with tension, engines howling, klaxons wailing. Inside a heavily modified ARC-170 starfighter, smoke billowed from the exhaust like it was angry to exist. The ship looked like someone had welded a gun store to a fighter jet and dared it to survive reentry.
Anakin Skywalker stood next to it in chrome-black armor that gleamed with illegal polish. The chest plate had a dent the size of a womp rat. His helmet hung lazily from one hand, mullet swaying in the warm hum of coolant mist as he chewed a ration bar like it owed him money.
"Mmm," he muttered, licking his fingers. "Tastes like freedom, baby. Dirty, greasy, rebel-tittied freedom."
Behind him, Obi-Wan Kenobi stomped out of the armory dragging a crate of thermal detonators by the handles like a psycho hauling groceries. His armor didn't match—cobbled together from clone gear, Mandalorian scraps, and a cloak so ragged it looked like it'd lost a bar fight with a campfire.
He kicked the crate onto the loading ramp and shouted over the noise, "I said three crates, not fuckin' thirteen! What is this, a planetary gangbang or a covert insertion?!"
Anakin didn't look up. "It's both, papi. We fly hard, we land harder."
Obi-Wan popped open the crate and grabbed a sticky charge, licking it like a lollipop. "You're clinically insane."
"And you're old," Anakin snapped, tossing him a pair of magnetic grenade belts. "But together? We're fuckin' poetry, hermano."
"Yeah, the kind that makes people bleed from the ears."
The cockpit of their ship was a disaster. Dials flickered. A loose power cable sparked with ominous intent. There was a Twi'lek pinup stuck to the targeting screen and a bobblehead of Yoda humping a beer keg zip-tied to the dashboard. Obi-Wan climbed into the gunner's seat and pulled the hatch shut behind them with his boot.
"Alright," he grunted. "Let's die heroically and probably on fire."
Anakin dropped into the pilot seat, spinning knobs like he was remixing a death wish. "Mmm. Feels like prom night."
They launched without clearance, tearing out of the cruiser like a screaming bullet dipped in war crimes. Outside, Coruscant glowed beneath a sky being torn apart by the biggest goddamn space battle either of them had ever seen. Ships exploded in beautiful silence. Buzz droids swarmed Republic fighters like space herpes. Clone squadrons flew in tight formations, blaster fire lacing between them like angry red lace.
"Oi, turn left!" Obi-Wan yelled, already spinning the turret. "There's a fuckin' cruiser trying to kiss our arse!"
Anakin pulled the stick sideways and inverted the ship, laughing. "She just wants a taste. Let her buy me dinner first!"
Missiles whipped past the canopy. Obi-Wan locked on to a vulture droid and blew it into confetti.
"Next one's mine," Obi-Wan barked. "You keep stealing my bloody foreplay."
They nosedived between the arms of a Trade Federation battleship, skimming so close they scraped paint. The control panel screamed in protest. Obi-Wan yanked a flask from his chest plate and took a swig.
"I haven't flown this recklessly since that spice deal in Nar Shaddaa."
"I was nine," Anakin muttered.
"And I still had to carry your drunk ass out the window!"
They spiraled toward Grievous's flagship, weaving between flak cannons and debris. Fire licked the hull. Explosions rocked the wings. Anakin grinned wider.
"Alright. Time to make a sexy entrance."
"Sexy?" Obi-Wan looked down. "We're going in hotter than a Twi'lek's tits on Life Day!"
Anakin cut power to the stabilizers.
"You're fuckin' mad!" Obi-Wan screamed, bracing as the hangar loomed ahead like a gaping steel asshole.
"Correction—we're mad."
They slammed through the shield wall, bounced off a dropship, clipped a droid transport, and skidded across the hangar deck with the sound of angry thunder.
The ARC-170 exploded behind them. Flames burst in all directions.
The Jedi bros rose from the wreckage slow and smooth, armor scorched, guns drawn, dust swirling around them. Droids turned their heads in confusion. Somewhere, a klaxon wailed. Then Obi-Wan lobbed a thermal detonator with the casual flick of a pub brawler starting shit.
BOOM. A dozen battle droids flew into the air like trash bags hit by a semi.
Anakin blew a kiss at the security cams. "Put that on the Holonet, bitches."
Obi-Wan cracked his neck and pulled out a belt-fed repeater rifle.
"Let's go make some fuckin' noise."
They charged into the smoke with a scream of blaster fire behind them. Jedi by title, warlords by lifestyle.
---
The smoke hadn't even settled before Obi-Wan kicked in the first hangar door like he was collecting a bar tab with interest.
A platoon of B1 battle droids turned as one.
"Huh?" said one.
"Wh—" said another.
Then Obi-Wan opened fire with his repeater rifle, the barrel screaming as it spat out blue plasma like it had personal beef with the concept of robotics. Droids shattered in waves, limbs flying, torsos disintegrating, heads rolling.
"Oh yeah!" Obi-Wan shouted. "Rip it, strip it, fuckin' flip it!"
Anakin strolled up beside him dual-wielding two blaster pistols that glowed with aftermarket energy cores. He popped one droid in the face, then shot the one behind it without even turning his head.
"Mmm," he purred. "I love the smell of overpriced metal pussies in the morning."
The corridor ahead lit up with red fire as Super Battle Droids came charging out, arms already raised, repeating "JEDI DETECTED" like someone cared.
Anakin holstered his pistols and pulled something big from his back—a sawed-off rotary launcher rigged to a pulse coil. It made a noise like a demon warming up a trumpet.
"Time to bring out Big Daddy."
He fired. The first rocket hit a Super and turned it into glitter and sadness. The second blew a hole in the wall the size of a speeder. The third skipped down the hallway and took out a whole ammo cache.
The floor trembled. The smoke turned green. Obi-Wan dropped a sticky mine onto a droid trying to crawl away.
"Stick around, sweetheart."
BOOM.
They kept walking.
A trio of crab droids dropped from the ceiling. One snapped its claws like it thought it was about to do something. Obi-Wan rolled his eyes, reached into his bandolier, and casually chucked a cluster charge under them.
It beeped once.
BOOM. Limbs everywhere. One leg flew through the air and landed in Obi-Wan's hand. He twirled it like a baton.
"Oi, I think this one was wankin'."
Anakin was already reloading mid-jump, flipping off a support beam, landing on one knee with a perfect headshot.
"Damn, bro," he said as his pistols whined. "These droids are softer than my ex."
"Which one?"
Anakin smirked. "Exactly."
The next hallway had ray shields. Two destroyer droids rolled into position and flared their twin cannons. Obi-Wan sighed and reached into a hip pouch.
"Time for the old trick."
"What's that?" Anakin asked.
"Explosive frisbee."
He yanked out a flat disc rigged with ion cores, licked it for luck, then side-armed it around the corner. The shield sparked—and then failed—just as the frisbee hit one of the destroyers square in the nuts (if it had any). The detonation turned the hallway into a fireball sauna.
They moved through the flames like it was a catwalk.
"Strike a pose!" Anakin yelled, spinning his pistols and doing a pelvic thrust.
"Fuck off!" Obi-Wan barked, but he still flexed his bicep mid-stride.
A security camera watched silently.
Anakin pointed at it, winked, then shot it out.
Ahead, the hallway turned into a ramp leading deeper into the ship. Obi-Wan slid down first, firing both hands like he was trying to win a theme park game. Anakin ran after, tossing two thermal detonators behind them without even looking.
They hit the bottom, back to back.
Silence.
Then two platoons of commando droids charged in from opposite halls.
Obi-Wan cracked his knuckles. "Oi. You wanna go left or right?"
Anakin smirked. "You take the ugly ones."
"They're all ugly."
"Exactly."
Obi-Wan fired a grappling mine straight into the ceiling and yanked himself up mid-fight, spinning upside down like a lunatic, spraying death in all directions. One droid leapt at him. He caught it with his knees, ripped its head off, and threw it at another.
Anakin slid low under a droid's blaster fire and kicked its legs out. As it fell, he shoved a plasma grenade into its torso and threw it into its own squad like a bowling ball made of hate.
The explosion flipped the lights.
The hallway was now half-dark, smoke rising, glowing with fire. Their armor was scorched, scratched, and smeared with black droid blood—but they were smiling.
"I fucking love Tuesdays," Obi-Wan muttered.
Anakin leaned against a smoking pillar, panting lightly. "Mmm. I need a bath. Preferably with two girls and no cameras."
Obi-Wan reloaded with a grunt. "Make it three, and a bottle of jet whiskey."
They checked their gear, kicked a twitching droid out of the way, and pushed on.
The flagship trembled under their feet. Grievous had to know they were onboard by now.
And that just made it more fun.
---
They kicked open the blast door into the next corridor and were immediately met with a wall of B2 Super Battle Droids lining both sides of a narrow metal hallway.
No time for talk.
Anakin was already in motion, sliding forward on his knees like a rockstar, pistols blazing. He carved a perfect figure-eight with plasma fire—head, shoulder, head, shoulder—dropping droids like dominos.
Behind him, Obi-Wan casually lobbed a cooked detonator like he was tossing a baseball.
BOOM. The right wall vanished in a shower of hot metal and sparks. The floor quaked. A droid leg smacked into Obi-Wan's shoulder. He caught it mid-stride.
"Oi," he said, using it as a club. "They never learn, do they?"
Two droids rushed from a side hallway. Obi-Wan yanked the leg back like a baseball bat and cracked it across one's head, sending it pinwheeling into the second. He followed it up by punting the second droid off its feet with a boot so dirty it had its own kill count.
Anakin flipped over a falling pipe, twisting midair, and landed in a crouch behind a half-destroyed commando droid trying to crawl away.
He shot it once in the ass.
"Oops," he smirked. "Safety was off."
Obi-Wan walked up beside him, wiping blood—or possibly oil—off his visor.
"I swear these droids are gettin' thicker by the hallway. Like they're breeding."
Anakin holstered one pistol, grabbed a cylinder from his belt, and twisted it. The end lit up like a rave grenade.
"What's that?" Obi-Wan asked.
"Elevator pass," Anakin grinned.
He tossed it at the sealed blast door. The moment it hit, a concussive ion wave detonated, blowing the door inward and disabling three surprised droids waiting behind it. One was mid-step, got zapped, and fell flat like a ragdoll with dignity issues.
"After you, old man," Anakin teased.
"Don't mind if I do."
They stepped into the shaft.
The elevator was missing.
A faint clunking echoed from below.
Anakin peeked down. "I think it's on the bottom floor."
"Of course it fuckin' is," Obi-Wan muttered. He looked up. "Alright. New plan."
He slapped a climb-clamp spike into the wall, fired a tow cable upward, and locked it to his belt. "Meet you at the top, princess."
He launched upward, boots dragging against the walls as sparks flew.
Anakin didn't even use a cable. He ran up the wall, flipping and jumping from panel to panel like a parkour demon who just snorted jet fuel.
Halfway up, Obi-Wan shouted, "Oi! Behind you!"
A squad of MagnaGuards dropped from a side shaft, staffs crackling with electricity.
Anakin kicked off the wall, flipped over one mid-air, shot it in the back of the head, caught its staff, and threw it javelin-style into another. The second droid sparked and spasmed, collapsing in a heap.
Two more closed in. Obi-Wan swung his rifle around, clipped one in the leg, then slammed his boot into its chest—sending it into the abyss below.
The last droid lunged.
Anakin grabbed it, kissed his fingers, slapped it across the face, and tossed a primed sticky charge onto its chest.
"You're beautiful, mami. Now explode."
BOOM.
Metal sprayed across the shaft.
Obi-Wan looked over at him mid-climb. "You kiss your grenades with that mouth?"
"I kiss everything with this mouth," Anakin winked.
They reached the top platform, pulling themselves up into a maintenance level that reeked of oil, ozone, and melted ambition.
A group of battle droids were arguing with each other over which hallway to guard.
"Maybe we should go back—"
"No way, they wouldn't come this—"
Obi-Wan and Anakin walked in from opposite doors.
The droids looked up.
Anakin held a thermal detonator in one hand and his cocked pistol in the other.
Obi-Wan held a combat shotgun glowing with heat and bad decisions.
"Hi," they said in unison.
The hallway lit up like it was being baptized in war.
It took maybe eight seconds.
Smoke hung in the air like a dirty halo. Obi-Wan shook flecks of metal off his shoulder and looked around.
"Elevator? Found it."
They pried the doors open. The lift car sat right in front of them, smoke-streaked and dented from blaster fire.
Anakin stepped inside, tapping the control panel like he was ordering room service.
As it hummed downward, he leaned against the wall, breathing deep. "You know what I miss?"
"Don't say it."
"Twi'lek twins. One blue, one green. That shit's art, bro."
Obi-Wan sighed, reloading.
"We're storming a capital ship. Full of killers. To save the Chancellor. And you're thinking about getting your balls juggled by dancers."
"I multitask."
They stood in silence as the lift descended.
Somewhere deep in the ship, Count Dooku sipped tea and felt the faint rumble of stupidity getting closer.
---
The lift doors hissed open like they were afraid of what was coming out.
Smoke rolled in like it had somewhere to be. The observation deck of the Invisible Hand lay stretched before them—pillars cracked, emergency lights flickering red, and the air stank of hot metal, blood, and authority issues.
In the center, Count Dooku stood atop the command platform, bare-chested now, his cloak discarded, covered in ritualistic Sith scars, eyes glowing like piss in a swamp. In each hand, he held a lightsaber—one his, the other redder, angrier, not even turned on but still screaming.
He was muttering to himself, giggling, licking one blade.
"They are here... yes, yes... the worms crawl in... the worms crawl out… the meat is here to play."
On the far side, Chancellor Palpatine sat bound to a chair like a military statue, posture perfect, spine straight, face calm. His voice carried like a drill sergeant preaching scripture through a megaphone made of virtue.
"Kill this traitor, Anakin. He is an enemy of Order. He offends the Code. He stands against the sanctity of war."
Anakin and Obi-Wan stepped out of the lift like two hangover demons in scorched power armor. Obi-Wan's armor was streaked with blood that wasn't his. Anakin had a smoldering blaster still dripping from the last hallway purge.
They paused at the top of the stairs.
"Oi," Obi-Wan said, squinting. "Why's he shirtless?"
Anakin sniffed the air. "Is that... blood incense?"
Dooku turned toward them, slowly, like an animatronic prophet at a haunted cathedral.
"Skywalker... yes... you reek of promise. Of entropy. I could smell you from orbit."
"Wow," Anakin muttered. "I didn't even wear cologne."
Dooku raised both sabers and laughed—loud, guttural, unholy.
"I bathe in the screams of fallen Padawans. I devour order. I vomit clarity! Blood for the Black Core! Bones for the Architect of Madness!"
Palpatine's voice boomed like a Space Marine chaplain.
"You are a stain on the Republic, Dooku. I do not forgive stains. I bleach them from existence."
Obi-Wan raised his repeater rifle and chambered a glowing, illegal round.
"I've had enough of this Sith poetry slam. Let's kill the bastard and get a sandwich."
Dooku leapt forward like a lunatic with rocket boots and trauma. Anakin slid down the stair rail sideways, guns blazing. Plasma bolts cracked through the air, carving through the smoke.
Dooku landed on all fours like a beast, then spun in a blur, sabers slashing, screaming hymns to chaos.
"THERE IS BEAUTY IN THE BUTCHERY! CONSUME MY ART!"
Obi-Wan met him mid-swing, ducked under a saber, and punched Dooku in the jaw with a thermally charged knuckle plate. The blow knocked teeth and possibly sanity out of the Count.
Anakin circled wide, dual pistols blazing, each shot aimed with obscene precision. He fired a sticky explosive onto Dooku's leg.
Dooku screamed with delight.
"YES! PAIN IS THE THRESHOLD TO TRUTH!"
The mine exploded. His leg turned to mist. He didn't fall—he danced on it, like a lunatic ballerina spinning on the stump.
"You see? You see?! THE FLESH IS A LIE! A SUGGESTION!"
Palpatine tilted his head calmly. "End this filth, Skywalker. Waste not. Purge thoroughly."
Obi-Wan tackled Dooku from behind, wrapping his arms around the Sith's torso like a linebacker from hell.
"BITE THIS, YOU SHIRTLESS CHAOS TOSSER!"
He jammed a shock baton into Dooku's ribs and lit it up. Dooku howled, sabers flailing, carving random symbols into the walls.
Anakin dropped his pistols, pulled a plasma bayonet from his belt, and rammed it straight into Dooku's remaining knee.
Dooku collapsed.
Blood poured across the durasteel floor. The lights flickered again.
"I... was beautiful..." he hissed. "A sonnet of scars..."
Anakin raised his sidearm.
"I'm more of a pop song kind of guy."
BLAM.
Dooku's head hit the floor like a broken vase.
Palpatine nodded, eyes cold. "Glory to the survivors."
Anakin wiped his brow and looked at his mentor. "You... okay?"
Palpatine stood effortlessly, snapping the bindings like they insulted him.
"I am the will of stability. I am the decree of the code. And now... we bring justice by fire."
Obi-Wan stared. "Why do you sound like a goddamn battle hymn?"
Palpatine turned to him, deathly serious. "Because I am one."
The ship groaned. The deck beneath them rumbled.
Anakin smirked. "Time to crash this bitch."
---
The smoke hadn't even cleared from Dooku's exploded face when the observation deck lights flickered, dimmed, and pulsed blood-red. The floor vibrated. The durasteel groaned. Something heavy was coming.
Obi-Wan glanced at Anakin.
"You hear that?"
Anakin nodded, reloading his pistols. "Yeah... sounds like daddy metal legs forgot leg day."
From behind a sealed bulkhead came a metallic THOOM. THOOM. THOOM. Steam hissed from every vent. Sparks rained from the ceiling.
Then—
BOOM.
The wall fucking exploded.
Shrapnel and smoke blasted into the room as General Grievous strode out of the fire like a demonic gym mascot forged in a garage by madness and testosterone.
His armor plating had been refitted with extra bulk. His shoulders were wider than a starfighter cockpit. His torso gleamed with polished chrome and unnecessary abdominals. His four cybernetic arms spun, stretched, and cracked with malicious strength.
And for some reason…He wasn't wearing a cape.He was wearing a sleeveless trench coat.
"WHO TOOK MY KILL?!" he roared in a thick Austrian accent that would make a Terminator cry. "I WAS SAVING THAT COUNT FOR LEG DAY!"
Obi-Wan raised his repeater rifle. "You... You sound like someone shoved a dumbbell in a meat grinder."
Grievous pointed all four arms at them—two holding blasters, two spinning inactive lightsabers like windmills of death.
"YOU'RE JUST JEALOUS BECAUSE I HAVE FOUR GUNS AND ZERO MERCY!"
Anakin smirked, pistols raised. "Bring it on, robo-bitch."
Grievous charged.
And everything went to hell.
Grievous hit them like a cybernetic freight train. He led with a shoulder bash, slamming Anakin across the room and through a wall console that sparked and exploded on impact.
"WEAK!" Grievous bellowed. "LIKE YOUR JEDI PHILOSOPHY! LIKE YOUR PUSHUPS!"
Obi-Wan slid under his saber swing, rolled behind a pillar, and fired three shots into Grievous's back. They pinged harmlessly off.
Grievous turned all four heads (why does he have four heads now?) and screamed:"PAIN IS CARDIO, BABY!"
He grabbed the pillar Obi-Wan was behind, ripped it out of the floor, and hurled it like a javelin. Obi-Wan barely dodged—then dove for cover as two of Grievous's lightsabers activated and carved deep burning lines into the deck.
Anakin leapt back into the fight with a flying dropkick—yes, a literal flying dropkick—and landed on Grievous's shoulder.
"Get fucked, bitchbot!"
Grievous grabbed him mid-insult with a back arm and suplexed him into the ceiling.
"I EAT FUCKS LIKE YOU FOR RECHARGE SNACKS!"
Obi-Wan slammed a magnetic mine to the floor, yanked it into Grievous's ankle, and detonated it.
BOOM.
The cyborg stumbled, roaring. "YOU BLEW OFF MY CALF IMPLANT!"
Anakin coughed up blood and sarcasm, rolled over, and fired both pistols into Grievous's exposed chest plate. One shot hit a coolant line, spraying steaming blue mist.
Grievous roared and ripped it off himself.
"COOLANT IS FOR COWARDS!"
He spun all four lightsabers at once now, forming a blinding vortex of burning death.
Anakin ducked behind Obi-Wan.
"Okay, okay, got a plan?"
"Yes," Obi-Wan muttered, pulling out a plasma claymore. "Don't die."
They charged together—Obi-Wan leading with the glowing claymore like a Spartan drill sergeant with PTSD, Anakin diving low, firing into every vent and joint he could see.
The hallway became a blur of fire, blades, ricochets, and screaming.
Grievous lunged for them both—but Obi-Wan dodged, and Anakin rolled beneath his legs and tossed a satchel charge onto his back.
Grievous turned.
"You little SHIT!"
Beep.
Anakin smiled. "You're terminated, motherfucker."
BOOM.
Grievous's upper body detonated, spraying cybernetic parts and what might've once been lungs all over the observation deck.
His torso flipped end over end and landed in the Chancellor's chair.
Somehow, one of his arms was still twitching. It raised a middle finger.
Then sparked. And died.
Palpatine stepped out from the shadows, perfectly clean, voice like a space Marine reciting scripture through a megaphone.
"Target neutralized. Praise efficiency. Praise kinetic justice."
Anakin slumped against the wall, coughing. "You wanna say that again but with less creepy?"
Obi-Wan limped past Grievous's remains and picked up one of the still-glowing sabers.
"Fuck me... I'm never skipping leg day again."
INT. SHIP BRIDGE – MOMENTS LATER
The observation deck is on fire. Sirens wail. Flames lick the walls. The entire flagship shudders like it just realized it's about to die.
Anakin and Obi-Wan stagger into the main bridge, dragging their charred armor and cooked abs through the haze. The control consoles are sparking violently. A clone pilot's skeleton is still strapped into the seat, its helmet melted to the dashboard like a war crime.
Anakin rips the corpse out of the chair and sits down."Move, grandpa. I'm flying now."
Obi-Wan drops into the co-pilot's seat, coughing smoke."You don't even have a fuckin' license."
"I have two guns and a death wish, that's close enough."
Palpatine strolls in behind them, arms clasped, dead calm despite the inferno."Crash this vessel with precision. The Republic will see it as a symbol."
Anakin squints through the viewport. "Uh... where do we land?"
Obi-Wan points. "Anywhere but that."
On the horizon, the Jedi Temple gleams like a holy monument of peace, wisdom, and untouched architecture.
Anakin leans forward."I dunno… it's got nice symmetry."
Obi-Wan: "You better not."
Palpatine: "Do it."
Obi-Wan: "Don't do it!"
Anakin:"Okay but hear me out: what if I nose-dive it... on accident?"
Obi-Wan stares at him.
Anakin stares at the Temple.
Palpatine stares at destiny.
Anakin grabs the controls.
Obi-Wan screams, "YOU ABSOLUTE FUCKING PSYCHO!"
The Invisible Hand plummets through the upper atmosphere like a wounded angel on meth. The nose is on fire. The wings are gone. Half the ship is just rage and debris.
Civilian ships scatter.
News droids capture it from a distance, broadcasting live to every corner of the Republic.
Headline:"JEDI HEROES RETURN IN FLAMING HELL-CHARIOT!"
Everything is shaking. Anakin is laughing. Obi-Wan is punching random buttons.
"YOU'RE AIMING AT THE TEMPLE!"
"I'M TRYING TO AIM AWAY FROM IT!"
"WHY IS IT GETTING BIGGER?!"
"BECAUSE WE'RE FUCKING DIVING!"
Palpatine holds onto a railing, whispering like a monk."Beautiful... so much symmetry... so much destruction..."
Anakin slams the throttle forward.
"Brace for glory, boys!"
The Temple grounds are calm.
Jedi Younglings are practicing Form I. Masters meditate. Archivists sip tea.
Then… a deafening roar splits the sky.
They look up.
A plasma-engulfed warship the size of a city block is coming down point-first toward the Temple like the universe's angriest spear.
One Padawan whispers, "That looks like... Master Kenobi's ship?"
Another squints. "Is that... Anakin waving from the cockpit?"
The Invisible Hand hits the Temple spire like divine punishment, obliterating the upper sanctum in a nuclear fireball of justice and bad decisions. The explosion rips through the side halls, blows apart the Council Chamber, and launches Yoda's soup bowl into orbit.
The entire Temple collapses in a chain reaction, erupting into a pillar of fire visible from space.
The controls are melting. The windshield is gone. Wind and fire whip around them.
Anakin laughs with blood in his teeth.
"Ten outta ten landing, baby."
Obi-Wan nods slowly, half his beard burned off.
"That was... metal as fuck."
Palpatine stands between them."This was a holy act. The Jedi will be remembered as firewood in the furnace of peace."
They share one last look. Three kings on a burning throne.
The ship collapses with them still inside.
The Republic mourns.
The Holonet spins the story:
"Jedi heroes gave their lives to destroy a Separatist plot threatening the Jedi Temple itself."
The truth?Two insane Jedi and one propaganda monster accidentally destroyed their own holy order......and were immortalized for it.
Statues were built.
Songs were written.
And somewhere, far below the ruins...
...a charred metal arm gave a final thumbs-up from the rubble.