The storm had thickened. What began as chaos was now war.
Anakin moved at the front of his unit, dust caking his boots and cloak, his gaze narrowed on the looming entrance to Bestine's commercial district. The air was sharper here, filled with the scent of melted durasteel and scorched blood. Blaster fire echoed endlessly.
And then came the wall.
Not a literal one, but a line of fortified resistance. This wasn't the scum from earlier. These were elite.
Gardulla's real forces.
They were dug in tight—ex-soldiers, deserters, and highly trained mercenaries dressed in reinforced armor, crouched behind blast barriers and rubble, operating turrets and sharpshooting from balconies. Their firing patterns were disciplined, covering each other's blind spots. Every burst of fire came with calculated precision.
Anakin's men were shredded.
A Rodian merc fell, his chest punched clean through by a repeater bolt. Another human screamed as his leg was severed by a blaster trap. Dozens more collapsed into blood and sand before they could even reach cover.
Anakin crouched behind a crumbled storefront, watching. Calculating.
Two of Jabba's men behind him bolted. Panic lit their faces.
"No! I'm not dying for this!"
"We're outgunned! This is suicide!"
They didn't get far.
Anakin raised a hand. Both men jerked mid-step, their throats cinched by invisible hands. They kicked, gasped, eyes bulging. Then silence. Their bodies dropped like meat sacks.
Anakin turned to three nearby mercenaries. "If anyone tries to run, kill them. No questions. We finish this mission. Or we die. There is no in-between."
The men nodded slowly, terrified.
It became a standstill.
Both sides exchanged fire, but no ground was gained. Jabba's mercs found defensive positions and returned fire, but the enemy was too entrenched. Every movement invited death. The advance had stopped.
Across the city, Maul had no such patience.
He was a crimson blur, saber cleaving through lines of defenders. His cloak was gone, his body soaked in blood and ash, his face twisted in that same cold scowl.
Mercenaries ran from him only to be dragged back by the Force and cut in half. He charged headlong into barricades, rending metal and flesh alike.
But his recklessness cost him.
Of the original fifty under his command, less than twenty remained. The rest were dead—burned, exploded, crushed.
Maul didn't look back. He didn't need to.
Meanwhile, Anakin watched the grid of overlapping fire, analyzing.
He motioned to one mercenary beside him. "Prepare to move forward."
The man blinked, stunned. "That's suicide. We'll be mowed down in seconds."
Anakin didn't argue. "I'll open the path. Be ready."
Without waiting for a reply, he slipped away into the alley, then vaulted up the side of a ruined wall using the Force, ascending to a rooftop.
From above, the truth revealed itself clearly: sniper nests at the top floors, gunners with repeaters on mounted tripods, crossfire lanes cut into every approach. Every possible entry was covered. Frontal assault was idiocy.
But the tower.
Eight stories. Auction house, commerce center, and now, ammunition depot. If it collapsed, it would crush half the street and rip the enemy formation to pieces.
He moved fast.
Anakin crept down the slope, leaping between ledges, crawling low between ductwork and shattered durasteel beams until he was behind the lines. No one noticed. All eyes faced forward.
The tower stood tall—its bottom floor doors half-open. No guards outside. Good.
He slipped in.
The interior stank of oil and plasma residue. Metal crates were stacked high—ammunition, explosives, and old spice stock. Two guards—human, well-armed but distracted—stood near the far doorway, chatting.
"—told you she was bluffing. Nobody moves spice through the eastern routes anymore."
"Yeah, but they don't care. Long as they get paid."
"Still think this whole war's stupid. Jabba's finished. He doesn't have the firepower—"
Anakin dropped silently from the ledge behind them.
His vibroblade flashed once.
Two heads hit the ground almost in sync. Their bodies remained standing for half a second longer before crumpling into the ammunition crates.
No alarms. No sound. No witnesses.
He scanned the room. Crates marked with volatile symbols. Enough firepower to flatten half a district.
He used the Force, pulling the crates into loose clusters around the foundation columns. Moving fast. Efficient. Then he took one of the fallen guard's blasters and aimed at the nearest cluster.
He fired.
The explosion shattered the world.
Flames swallowed the tower's base. Then more explosions followed—chain reactions erupting upward. Anakin sprinted back toward the exit, his muscles flaring with the Force as the entire structure groaned.
He vaulted over rubble, leapt onto the next building's rooftop—just as the tower gave way.
It fell like a dying giant, crashing into the street with a noise that silenced the sky. Concrete and durasteel pulverized. Walls of fire billowed outward. Men screamed—then were silenced as debris and flames consumed them.
Three adjacent buildings collapsed under the weight.
The snipers never saw it coming.
Anakin stood silently above the chaos.
Three sharpshooters turned toward the noise, stunned. Before they could act, Anakin raised a hand.
The Force hit them like a wave.
They were thrown backward—off the roof, into the storm of shattered glass and splintered walls. They hit the ground hard. One screamed. The others didn't.
Below, Jabba's forces surged forward.
The path was clear.
Inside the casino, panic bloomed.
The Nikto commander stood in the central briefing room, teeth bared, pacing.
A human officer entered, blood on his face. "South's breached. They blew the tower. Forces are pouring in. North's not far behind."
Nikto snarled. "Fall back to the main floor. Fortify the building. Block every hall. We hold here or we die."
He slammed a fist on the comlink. "Gardulla command! We need reinforcements! We're losing control!"
Static, then a reply. A calm voice.
"Reinforcements are en route. Hold your position. Guard the vaults. Guard the shipment. Hold at all costs. Few more hours—that's all we need."
Nikto gritted his teeth. "Understood."
He turned to the others. "They want a bloodbath? We'll give it to them. No one gets out alive."
Far away, in the safety of a palace carved into stone, Gardulla Besadii sat on a golden platform, her grotesque body coiled lazily among silken pillows. A faint glow bathed the room from ornate lights. A tall figure stood before her, projected by a blue hologram.
"They're pushing harder than expected," she spat. "I need more weapons. More credits. You promised support. I've spent everything you sent already."
The figure said nothing for a moment.
Then: "I did not fund incompetence."
Gardulla stiffened. "I have done what I can. Jabba's desperation is unexpected—"
"No. Your failure to anticipate it is what's unexpected."
The voice was cold. Refined. Ancient.
"I will not waste further resources on weakness. What I have given, I can take. Do not forget that."
Gardulla hesitated, then nodded slowly. "What do you wish me to do?"
"Call off your reinforcements. Let them believe they've won. Then… we will adapt."
The transmission cut.
She sat in silence.
And across the city, fire still rained.
The street leading to the casino was silent, too silent. Anakin stood motionless in the shadow of a collapsed wall, eyes locked on the structure ahead. Resistance had vanished since the collapse of the commercial tower. Burnt bodies still smoldered beneath rubble behind them. The rest of Bestine had either fled or been annihilated.
But now they were here. The real challenge.
The casino's exterior was a fortress. Barricades formed jagged lines across intersecting streets. Heavy repeaters were stationed behind makeshift blast-shield mounts. Soldiers in dark armor—not the common filth Anakin had expected, but trained men—watched every approach through scopes and visors. Each avenue was covered, overlapping fields of fire in a perfectly coordinated defense.
He halted his men. They obeyed.
From above, the sky still crackled with heat distortion. But beneath the quiet, he could hear it—distant screams, crumbling walls. Maul.
Moments later, the shrieks grew closer. Then it came.
From the north side of the city, the slaughter rolled in like a sandstorm. Maul was at the front, his crimson saber flashing in vicious arcs, splitting limbs and torsos with every strike. He jumped through a collapsing wall, impaling two men in a single motion before spinning to decapitate a third. Blood sprayed across sandstone. One Gardulla merc tried to flee—Maul reached out and crushed his spine mid-run.
Behind him, his remaining mercenaries fought with primal desperation. Bodies piled. Heads burst under hammering rifle butts. One of Jabba's men was dragged down, screaming as a Gamorrean in Gardulla's pay bit out his throat. Another detonated a grenade in close quarters, wiping out a barricade at the cost of three allies.
But in minutes, the northern resistance shattered. Maul carved through the last two holdouts in the main junction outside the casino, leaving blood steaming on his blade.
He met Anakin in front of the barricades, sneering. "You're late."
Anakin didn't answer. His blue eyes were locked on the casino's doors. His face indifferent.
Maul didn't press further. He turned to the mercenaries. Fewer than thirty remained. "Prepare. We enter in one hour."
Inside the casino, Nikto's face was drenched in sweat. The cameras showed the entire street—bodies, blood, smoke. And the boy. The Zabrak. Both alive. Both advancing.
A human guard burst into the room. "South is breached. They've linked up. It's only a matter of time."
Nikto grunted. "Fall back. Fortify everything. Hold until reinforcement."
He tapped his comlink.
"This is Last Den. Situation is critical. We're falling back to interior. Need reinforcements now."
The response came after static. "Reinforcements en route. Hold for two hours. Defend with your lives."
Nikto cursed. Two hours?
Gardulla hadn't told them she recalled support. She didn't dare. They'd desert.
He clenched his fists. "Get ready. We're all that's left."
In the lower casino levels, guards set up choke points. Sandbags. Shields. Tripods. The few remaining professionals double-checked power packs and adjusted their scopes.
"You hear what the Zabrak did to the north team?" one asked.
"Saw it. On cam. I haven't seen anything like that in my life"
Another, a grizzled Devaronian, loaded his repeater. "Then we fight like hell. We hold till they burn the walls down."
Maul gave the signal.
The mercenaries moved first. Cannon fodder. They were thrown into the main corridor—tight, dark, barely wide enough for three men.
The first five were vaporized within seconds.
A repeating blaster lit the hallway in a pulse of red. Screams. Blood. One body was hurled back into the corridor, legs missing.
Anakin narrowed his eyes.
Maul stretched out his hand.
Metal panels on the wall groaned and tore free. They folded inward, crushing the repeater operator between slabs of steel. Bones popped. Then silence.
"Advance."
The survivors poured into the hallway.
On the other side, the casino floor was transformed into a war zone. Slot machines overturned. Blood pooled on red velvet carpets. Broken furniture made crude barriers.
Blaster fire erupted.
Jabba's mercs fought viciously, but it was Maul who shattered the enemy lines. He entered the main hall, leaping over the bar, his saber spinning. One enemy tried to fire—Maul severed both his arms and kicked him through a window. Another merc came at him with a vibrosword. Maul dodged, impaled him through the groin, and lifted him into the air before tossing the corpse aside.
Anakin followed behind, slower—but not hesitant.
He reached out.
One of Jabba's own—a Rodian—was dying. Chest torn open. Black leather armor soaked in red. Anakin pressed his palm against him.
The man gasped once, convulsed—and went still.
The boy's injuries faded. His strength returned.
"Good," he whispered. "Better."
He moved.
He slashed a human across the leg—slicing through flesh and bone—then spun and buried his vibroblade into a Rodian's neck. The blood sprayed his face. He didn't blink.
A Gran screamed and fired wildly—Anakin leapt, landed behind him, and shoved the blade through his back. Another tried to run—he crushed her ribs with a Force push and flung her body into a barricade.
Behind them, the casino was red and shaking with noise.
Only ten of Jabba's forces remained.
The survivors moved forward, kicking down doors, clearing rooms. The auction section—barely guarded—was purged in seconds.
Then came the back hall.
Two repeater gunners waited behind thick tables turned sideways. They opened fire.
Mercenaries died screaming. Two were torn in half before they hit the floor.
Anakin was hit. The shot ripped across his thigh, spinning him sideways. He crashed into the wall.
Pain.
His vision blurred.
'No. No. Not now. I can't die here. Not in this filth.'
He reached out.
He felt one of Jabba's men nearby—dying. He clutched the Force and pulled.
The mercenary screamed once, then went silent.
Anakin rose, the wound already closing. His eyes were black with rage.
He threw out his hand. One repeater operator screamed as his chest collapsed inward.
The second rose into the air, struggling.
Maul caught him in a clenched fist. The man twitched, gasping.
"Where is the spice? Any more guards?"
The man sobbed. "V-vault. Under casino tables. Hidden doors. No more guards."
Snap.
His neck broke.
Maul let him drop. Turned to Anakin. "Come. It's time."
Back in the main hall, they stepped over corpses. Blood had soaked the carpet so deep it squelched underfoot.
Maul closed his eyes.
The Force surged.
With a scream of tearing metal, the blast doors and casino tables wrenched from the floor and walls—revealing vault shafts beneath.
From one of the vaults, three figures suddenly emerged—battle-worn, armed, and determined. A Nikto, towering Wookiee, and a grizzled human in blast-scarred armor. The Nikto sneered at Maul and Anakin.
"You're already dead," he spat. "Reinforcements are on their way. You won nothing."
Anakin watched them coldly, his fingers tightening on the blood-slicked hilt of his vibroblade.
'He still clings to hope. Pathetic. Hope is what gets people killed.'
Maul didn't respond with words. With a flick of his wrist, all three were lifted from the floor, suspended mid-air. The Nikto screamed curses, thrashing wildly before Maul hurled him backward. He slammed against the vault wall with a crunch and fell unconscious. The Wookiee howled, reaching for a weapon, but Maul twisted his body midair with the Force, bones snapping like brittle wood. The human's head was wrenched sideways, neck cracked clean.
Their bodies dropped.
The silence was final.
Maul turned toward the vault doors and moved inside. Anakin followed, limping slightly, his wound still dull beneath the skin where the repeater blaster had grazed him.
The vault was a treasure trove of filth and power.
Stacks of currency lined the walls—Credits, Peggats, Aurei, Wupiupi, and dozens of local forms. Barrels of high-grade blasters, thermal detonators, illegal suppressors, and poisons lay packed in crates, stamped with forged permits. It reeked of crime, corruption—and profit.
Anakin scanned it all in silence.
'Animals hoarding wealth they don't deserve. They built this with suffering. Maybe they should suffer too.'
They moved deeper into Vault Two.
Inside were rows of containers sealed in durasteel. Maul opened one with a sharp pull of the Force.
Spice. Uncut, golden, and shimmering in tightly packed bricks. Dozens of crates. Enough to flood the Outer Rim for months.
The battle was over.
Maul reached for his comlink. "Bestine secured. Casino taken. Resistance crushed."
A beat of silence.
Then Jabba's voice came through, delighted and guttural, translated a moment later by Bib Fortuna.
"The great Jabba extends his satisfaction. You have done well. The palace welcomes your return."
Hours passed. No reinforcements came. Bestine was still. The fires smoldered. And more of Jabba's forces began arriving, sweeping through the ruins, consolidating control. The casino became a command hub. Mercenaries scavenged what was left, burning bodies, salvaging arms.
Anakin stood in the plaza alone, watching blood mix with sand.
Jabba's Palace
Inside the dark throne room, Jabba the Hutt laughed, a disgusting, wet rumble that echoed off the walls. His slug-like bulk shifted as he raised a greasy cup.
"They all died, eh? Good. Means I don't have to pay the bastards."
Bib Fortuna chuckled nervously beside him. "Yes, mighty Jabba. No survivors among the mercenaries. The casino vaults were full. Credits and spice recovered."
Jabba's yellow eyes gleamed. He issued rapid orders. His lieutenants dispersed. The crime lord smelled opportunity.
"Expand the races. Buy out the slave pits. Reopen spice routes north. We hit Gardulla hard. Now we move."
He laughed again, bloated with triumph.
Coruscant – 500 Republica
Inside a lavish apartment filled with shadows, a man in black robes knelt on the polished floor. Before him, a shimmering blue holoprojection hovered—tall, robed, unreadable.
The voice from the hologram was sharp and cold.
"Sidious. My contact on Tatooine was attacked. No footage. No witnesses. A coordinated assault. Do you know anything about this?"
The kneeling man bowed deeper.
"I do not, my master. I am focused on the Senate. Networking. Positioning myself. I had no part in this."
A pause.
Then the projection spoke, slower, more dangerous.
"If I find you lied to me… the consequences will be absolute."
The transmission cut.
Sidious rose slowly. His lips curled into a sneer.
"Old fool. Your time is nearly over."
Jedi Temple – Council Chambers
The circular chamber was dim, the light of Coruscant barely filtering through the stained glass.
Master Mace Windu sat with arms crossed, his expression tight. Yoda sat motionless beside him, ears tilted downward in thought.
"Something happened on Tatooine," Windu said. "Something… dark. A disturbance."
"Agreed, this is," Yoda said quietly. "Strong it was. Brief. Yet very… sharp."
Master Ki-Adi-Mundi leaned forward. "We should investigate."
Saesee Tiin, standing near the edge, shook his head slightly. "The Outer Rim is always in conflict. Smugglers, cartels, slavers. Chaos is routine there."
"Perhaps," Windu said. "But this felt… precise. Intentional."
They fell into silence.
Yoda finally opened his eyes. "Wait, we must. Meditate. Observe. Not rush."
The others nodded slowly.
"We are not soldiers," Ki-Adi-Mundi reminded. "The Republic must ask before we act."
"And they haven't," Windu finished.
The decision was made.
The Jedi would do nothing.
Not yet.