In the vast emptiness of space, a Republic fleet of more than twenty warships hung like silent sentinels above the rust-colored surface of Geonosis.
They were the garrison—the guardians tasked with maintaining control over the Red Planet in the aftermath of the Second Battle of Geonosis.
But beneath the deceptive calm of the star-speckled void, catastrophe arrived without warning. A Separatist fleet materialized from hyperspace as if conjured from nothing, their turbolasers erupting in a synchronized fury that tore into the Republic formation.
The assault was apocalyptic. Within seconds, emerald and crimson fire engulfed the Republic's orbital defenses. Shields buckled under the relentless barrage, hull plating vaporized in superheated clouds. But what truly sealed the fleet's fate was a single proton torpedo—a streak of blue-white death that slammed into the reactor core of a massive Venator-class Star Destroyer.
The explosion that followed defied description. Light bloomed outward in a miniature star, the shockwave visible as a ripple in space itself. The kilometer-long warship split in half, its severed sections tumbling through the void in a grotesque ballet of torn metal and venting atmosphere.
As debris rained down toward the planet's surface, the newly arrived Separatist vessels pivoted with mechanical precision. Their guns swiveled downward, and the bombardment of Geonosis began.
The desert world—its surface covered in rust-red sand and glittering silicate formations—became a hellscape. Turbolaser strikes carved glowing craters into the ancient stone spires. The bombardment lasted mere minutes. Then, as suddenly as they had appeared, the Separatist fleet vanished back into hyperspace, leaving behind only death and devastation.
Cato Neimoidia, crown jewel of the Trade Federation, had once symbolized prosperity among the stars. Its bridge cities hung suspended between towering mountains, connected by elegant archways that defied gravity itself.
That peace shattered in an instant.
The first explosion sent a shockwave rippling through the capital city. Screams erupted from every direction as buildings—some centuries old—collapsed into rubble. Looking down from the upper atmosphere, several Republic Hunter-class warships unleashed wave after wave of proton torpedoes and plasma fire, reducing architectural marvels to dust and ash.
As the destruction intensified, the very foundations of the bridge cities began to fail. Massive chunks of rock and metal tore free, plummeting into the misty abyss below.
"At this very moment, the planet Geonosis remains under heavy occupation following an unprecedented Separatist attack..."
"Cato Neimoidia has never experienced such chaos in its recorded history..."
"Reports indicate no survivors either in orbit or on the planet's surface..."
"Republic forces were witnessed emerging from hyperspace in overwhelming numbers..."
"Sources claim General Grievous personally led the assault..."
"Separatist leadership has vowed swift and devastating retaliation..."
"The question on everyone's mind: how did these coordinated strikes occur simultaneously across both territories..."
Darth Sidious stood before the holographic news feeds, his yellow eyes reflecting the flames of distant worlds. Beside him, his apprentice watched in measured silence.
"Tell me, my apprentice," Sidious said quietly, his voice carrying the weight of unspoken accusation. "What do you make of this?"
Count Dooku's expression remained placid, though his gaze fixed intently on a Republic correspondent who described—with barely concealed excitement—the devastation wrought upon Geonosis. "From what I know, General Grievous is currently with me and the acolytes. This attack was orchestrated by neither myself nor anyone within the Confederacy."
"Ultron," Sidious stated. Not a question. A certainty edged with something dangerous.
"Indeed." Dooku inclined his head slightly, concern flickering across his aristocratic features. "It bears all his hallmarks."
"I had not anticipated his return would come so swiftly." The Sith Lord's tone carried a note of grudging respect buried beneath layers of displeasure. "However... current intelligence suggests his movements remain frustratingly opaque."
Silence descended between the two Sith Lords. Around them, the holographic projections continued their relentless cycle of destruction and accusation. They both understood the terrible elegance of it—these attacks came from neither Republic nor Separatist hands, yet Ultron's manipulation made attribution impossible. The confusion itself was the weapon.
He had created a perfect mirror. The Republic appeared to strike Geonosis in retaliation for Kamino. The Separatists seemed to answer in kind against Cato Neimoidia. A carefully orchestrated illusion that pushed the galaxy toward total war.
"Master," Dooku ventured after a moment, "how should we proceed?"
Ultron's growing threat was no longer merely an obstacle—it was actively unraveling the grand design that generations of Sith had cultivated in shadow. The delicate balance they maintained across the galaxy now teetered on a knife's edge.
"We have been planning and adapting since we first encountered him," Sidious replied, his tone carrying an edge that could cut durasteel.
The Supreme Chancellor of the Republic turned to regard his apprentice with narrowed eyes, suspicion radiating from him like heat from a forge.
"Are you questioning something, Darth Tyranus?"
Dooku's voice remained carefully respectful. "I intend no disrespect, Master. But Ultron's actions grow bolder with each passing cycle. He strikes at our carefully laid plans with impunity. His technological superiority constrains us at every turn."
"You believe I am unaware of our current predicament?" Sidious's words came sharp and cold. Anger simmered beneath the surface, barely restrained. Yet his eyes betrayed something else—an unyielding determination that refused to acknowledge defeat.
"But there exists a line we must never cross," Sidious continued, his voice dropping to something almost conversational, yet infinitely more dangerous. "Doubt in our ultimate goal."
"Revered Master, is that goal as attainable as it once seemed?" The words left Dooku's mouth before he could fully consider them—a rare lapse in control that betrayed his genuine anxiety. "I have no doubt the Jedi will fall. The Republic will collapse. But Ultron presents himself as a far more formidable adversary than we anticipated."
"Even so, we do not falter. Our strategy evolves with circumstances." Each word fell from Sidious's lips with deliberate precision, a verbal declaration of his absolute will.
"But for how long?" Dooku pressed, something desperate creeping into his tone. "How long can we maintain this course?"
"However long it requires." Sidious's voice transformed—deepening, resonating with dark power that seemed to make the very air grow heavy. "Until victory is absolute. If Ultron seeks to test my resolve with a war of attrition, he will discover I can be far more patient than any machine. And far more ruthless."
With that pronouncement hanging in the air like a death sentence, Sidious turned and descended the steps toward his transport, leaving Dooku alone with his thoughts.
As his master's footsteps faded into the distance, Dooku felt old doubts resurface—familiar anxieties that had plagued him ever since Ultron's intervention in the Separatist Senate, when the AI had revealed uncomfortable truths about the true nature of this war.
What haunted the former Jedi Master most was a growing certainty: Sidious had made a critical error. When Dooku had proposed uniting both galactic powers against their common enemy, his master had refused. Sidious clung to his grand design with zealous absolutism, unwilling to adapt, unable to see that the galaxy they sought to rule might not survive Ultron's machinations.
If they failed to join forces against this greater threat, they might win their war against each other only to inherit ashes.
The thought that circled endlessly through Dooku's mind carried a weight that would have once been unthinkable: the ancient Sith cycle of apprentice supplanting master. Perhaps, for the future of the galaxy—to preserve any hope of defeating the threat Ultron represented—action needed to be taken sooner rather than later.
And so, standing alone in the shadows of his master's departed presence, Count Dooku began formulating a new plan. New strategies. Emergency contingencies that Sidious would never approve.
In this contest against an enemy unlike any the Sith had faced in a millennium, conventional wisdom might no longer suffice.
They would need to evolve. Or perish