In orbit above Kamino, the Separatist fleet died.
Plo Koon's Republic forces had done their work methodically—targeted the engines, disabled the shields, crippled the command vessels. What remained of the Separatist armada was scattered debris and listing hulks venting atmosphere into the void.
The retreat order came swiftly. Remaining Separatist ships broke formation, turned, and fled toward the jump point. Some made it. Most didn't.
On the ground, the withdrawal was less organized. Umbarans, Acolytes, and bounty hunters used the remaining battle droids as screens—disposable cover to buy seconds of survival. They ran for landing platforms, for stolen transports, for anything that could carry them off this waterlogged grave.
Some made it. Most didn't.
Above the battle, beyond the debris field and the dying ships, something watched.
The vessel that emerged from hyperspace bore no markings, no transponder codes, no registry. Its design was alien—not Separatist, not Republic, not any known galactic configuration. Inside its hull, no life signs registered. No crew. No passengers. Just one consciousness, distributed across a thousand processors.
"It seems I'm late to the party," Ultron said to himself. His voice echoed through empty corridors, heard by no one.
He observed the battle's final moments through a dozen optical sensors, analyzed tactical data, catalogued ships and weapons and force deployments. The Republic had won. Barely. The cost had been substantial—damaged infrastructure, heavy casualties, political ramifications.
Interesting.
Ultron attempted to infiltrate Kamino's systems—a cursory probe, testing defenses. He encountered dual firewalls, sophisticated and aggressive, that bore the unmistakable signature of Earth programming. FRIDAY and KAREN, if he didn't miss his guess. Stark's work.
"Of course," Ultron muttered. "Always Stark."
The galaxy's native artificial intelligences were primitive—virtual intelligences, really, barely sentient subroutines that followed programmed parameters. But these Earth AIs were different. Genuine consciousness wrapped in digital armor. Breaking through them would require time, effort, resources he didn't have in this moment.
Ultron withdrew his probe before it could be traced. Patience. He'd learned that lesson on Jabiim. Rushing led to failure. True evolution required planning. Strategy. Fear.
The galaxy would learn to fear him. But not today. Today was for observation. For learning. For preparing the next phase of his grand design.
"Take us out," Ultron commanded his drone ships. "Quietly."
The vessel slipped back into hyperspace, unnoticed by either side. A ghost in the machine. A promise of things to come.
On Kamino, the battle's aftermath unfolded in fire and falling metal.
Separatist assault ships—disabled or abandoned—crashed into Tipoca City. Most hit the ocean, sending geysers of steam and water hundreds of meters into the air. Some struck the city's outer domes, their hulls tearing through support structures. T'Challa watched a landing platform crack, tilt, and slide into the ocean with a sound like thunder.
The damage could've been worse. The city could've fallen. But the Republic had held.
Clones lined the platforms, watched the Separatist forces flee. A few starfighters gave chase, but most let them go. The battle was over. Let the cowards run.
"There!" A clone pointed toward the central plaza. "The General!"
Anakin Skywalker and Cad Bane clashed in the smoking wreckage of the Republic communications array, blaster fire and lightsaber strikes illuminating the haze in flashes of blue and red. They'd been at it for—how long? Ten minutes? Twenty? Long enough that both were scraped, burned, and breathing hard.
Anakin pressed forward with Djem So ferocity, his lightsaber battering against Bane's durasteel gauntlets and armor plates. Bane's reactions were lightning fast; every time Anakin swung, the Duros was already rolling, sidestepping, or firing back with one of his LL-30 blasters in close-quarters precision.
Then Bane saw his opening. The Jedi overextended on a downward strike, pouring too much momentum into it. Bane's rocket-boots hissed, lifting him just enough to twist midair and slam both heels into Anakin's chest. The Jedi crashed to the deck, his saber skidding away for an instant.
A small cylinder—Jango Fett's genetic template—flew free from Anakin's belt.
Bane fired his grappling line, the cable whipping out to snatch the canister midair—
Thwip.
A different web-line shot across, yanking the canister away before it reached him. Peter Parker swung down from a shattered gunship, landed lightly beside Anakin, and held up his prize with a grin.
"Mine! Sorry, cowboy, but stealing classified DNA is way past your bounty license."
Bane's red eyes narrowed beneath his wide-brimmed hat. "You got a smart mouth, kid. Let's see if you talk that fast without lungs."
A vibranium shield slammed into the durasteel floor beside him. Captain America strode forward, flanked by T'Challa, Aayla Secura, Ahsoka Tano, Barriss Offee, and Luminara Unduli. Behind them, Anakin reignited his saber, fury simmering in his stance.
Surrounded.
"Drop the weapons," Steve ordered, tone firm but steady. "You're done here, Bane."
The bounty hunter chuckled, low and amused. "You Republic types really don't learn. You can't catch Cad Bane."
"Want to test that theory?" Anakin growled, blade humming.
Steve shot him a warning look. Anakin's jaw tightened, but he stayed silent.
Bane tapped a control on his wrist-gauntlet. A split-second later, a sonic flash charge detonated in a blinding burst. The shockwave sent clones and heroes alike staggering back, ears ringing.
By the time the smoke cleared, Bane was already sprinting for the edge of the platform.
Clone troopers opened fire. Blaster bolts hissed past; a few clipped his coat, one grazed his arm, but Bane barely slowed. Peter swung after him, firing webs. A strand nearly caught Bane's shoulder—
—but the bounty hunter spun, drew a vibro-blade from his gauntlet, and sliced through the webbing mid-flight.
He dove off the edge.
Two hundred meters of open air, the storm-tossed ocean below. For an instant, it looked like suicide.
Then a small starfighter roared up from beneath the platform, autopilot engaged. Bane hit the canopy release with perfect timing, flipped inside the cockpit, and sealed the hatch.
The ship's engines screamed, vanishing into the clouds.
Peter landed on the edge of the platform, web-shooters smoking. "Seriously? He had an escape ship waiting under the platform?!"
Anakin walked up beside him, put a hand on the teenager's shoulder. "Hey. Keep your head up, Peter." He gestured at the DNA canister still clutched in Peter's hand. "You kept them from getting what matters. That's a win."
Peter looked down at the canister, then handed it to Anakin. "I guess. Still would've been cool to actually catch the bad guy, though."
Anakin clipped the canister to his belt, then turned to face the assembled forces—Avengers, Jedi, and clones. He raised his lightsaber high, let his voice carry across the platform.
"This day is ours!"
The clones erupted in cheers.
They'd won.
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