The foundry dominated the horizon now.
It no longer loomed as a distant objective — it towered over them, a massive cylindrical structure carved into the canyon wall, exhaust stacks vomiting thick black smoke into the orange sky. Conveyor bridges arced outward from their upper levels like skeletal arms, feeding fresh droid units down reinforced ramps and into the battlefield below. The air near it shimmered with heat and particulate ash, turning distance into distortion.
Kael and his column had reached the outer industrial perimeter.
And stalled.
The terrain here was harsher than the open desert behind them — jagged outcroppings of rust-colored stone, fractured ledges stacked in uneven tiers, narrow gullies where sand pooled thick and loose. It should have provided cover.
Instead, it created angles.
The angles the droids used were good.
Red plasma came from the front in disciplined volleys, from the left in staggered crossfire, and from above where Geonosian warriors clung to canyon ridges and factory scaffolding. Green sonic pulses cracked down from elevated platforms, slamming into rock and sending fragments cascading into clone positions.
The Republic line had compressed into a defensive pocket.
AT-TE walkers formed a staggered half-circle around the surviving infantry, six articulated legs planted wide for stability. Their dorsal mass-driver cannons rotated methodically, firing deeper targets when angles allowed, but their ball-turret lasers were now mostly engaged in close suppression — stitching desperate arcs across droid ranks that refused to thin.
Between those mechanical giants, clone squads crouched in shallow depressions and behind shattered rock faces, rifles braced against shoulders, blue bolts flashing in constant reply.
Behind them—
There was nothing.
No advancing line.
No safe rear.
Only wreckage.
The carcasses of fallen AT-TEs lay scattered across the desert like broken monuments, smoke rising from ruptured chassis. One walker had collapsed on its side, leg torn free at the joint, its exposed internals blackened and still sparking. Another burned slowly, dorsal cannon twisted toward the sky as if frozen mid-strike.
White clone armor littered the sand between them.
Some still, half-buried in red dust.
Some were dragged backward by medics who moved low and fast under fire.
And among them, shattered droid parts lay strewn in chaotic heaps — severed B1 limbs, cracked B2 chest plates, spider droid legs snapped at the joint.
The ground told the story of the advance.
Every meter had been bought.
Kael stood near the forward edge of the defensive circle, violet blade angled across his body as red bolts struck and ricocheted in disciplined rhythm. His armor was no longer matte black — it was coated in a film of desert dust and soot, streaked with impact scoring where bolts had grazed too close.
He adjusted his stance as a green sonic blast detonated against a rock face to his right. The concussion rippled through the ground, dislodging stone and sending debris raining down over the clone line. A trooper beside him cried out as a fragment struck his shoulder plate, but he remained upright and firing.
"Front density increasing!" 4377 called over comm, voice steady despite the chaos. He was positioned slightly behind Kael, rifle braced against a fractured slab of rock, issuing adjustments between bursts of controlled fire. "B2 units reinforcing center!"
Ahead, the droid presence was heavier than anything they had encountered during the march.
Rows of B1 battle droids still formed the bulk of the formation, thin frames advancing in mechanical synchronization, stepping over their own destroyed parts without hesitation. But interspersed among them were B2 super battle droids — thick armored silhouettes anchoring the line, wrist cannons discharging punishing bursts that forced clone squads to keep low.
Behind them, the tall, spindled forms of OG-9 homing spider droids planted themselves into stable firing positions, heavy cannons thundering at measured intervals. Each blast tore into the Republic's improvised cover, shattering stone and forcing repositioning.
A Hailfire tank crested a rise further back and unleashed a spiral of missiles. The rockets streaked overhead in curling trails of smoke before detonating along the Republic flank. One AT-TE took a glancing hit, its plating flaring bright as the conductive armor dispersed the heat. Another was less fortunate.
The tanksmasher rocket struck its midsection.
The explosion tore through the flexible joint housing the walker's generators. For a moment, the machine stood — then its legs buckled unevenly, and it collapsed inward with a grinding metallic roar.
Two clone squads beneath its forward arc were crushed before they could scatter.
The ground shook hard enough to stagger even Kael.
Dust swallowed the scene in choking waves.
When it cleared, the walker lay half-submerged in sand, its dorsal cannon inert, smoke pouring from ruptured seams.
The defensive circle had narrowed.
Kael shifted his position, stepping slightly forward to intercept a fresh volley aimed at the clones trying to pull survivors from beneath the fallen machine. Three bolts struck his blade in rapid succession, violet light scattering red arcs back into the droid line.
They were pinned.
Not broken.
Pinned.
Every attempt to surge forward met concentrated resistance. Every movement beyond the walker perimeter drew fire from elevated Geonosians or reinforced droid units stepping into newly opened sightlines.
The foundry entrance ahead had become a kill zone.
Conveyor ramps continued to feed fresh units into the fight, skeletal silhouettes descending even as their predecessors fell.
Kael glanced briefly over his shoulder at the field they had crossed.
The distance from the ridge to here was marked in wreckage and bodies.
It had been hard to reach this point.
Harder than the first push.
Harder than the ridge itself.
And now the enemy was denser.
Organized.
Prepared.
Red plasma hammered into rock and walker plating in relentless cadence.
Blue bolts answered.
Green sonic pulses shattered stone overhead.
The air itself felt compressed by heat and impact.
Kael planted his boots firmly in the sand, blade steady.
They had come too far to retreat.
But forward, for now, was fire.
The pressure did not ease.
If anything, it tightened.
Clone rifles fired in disciplined cadence along the walker perimeter, blue bolts punching through B1 ranks and staggering advancing B2 units. A DSD1 dwarf spider droid tried to climb a fractured rock face to gain elevation; three synchronized bursts from a forward squad blew it apart mid-ascent, its body tumbling backward in sparks and sand.
They were killing droids.
Dozens at a time.
But the line did not thin.
It re-formed.
Red plasma stitched across the ridge of stone in front of Kael, forcing him to angle his blade into a constant defensive rhythm. His movements were efficient — short, contained arcs redirecting bolts back into the densest clusters. Behind him, clones fired between the shifting gaps of walker legs, adjusting posture with drilled precision.
Then the missiles came.
The Hailfire tank that had crested earlier repositioned slightly, its circular chassis rotating with mechanical indifference. A fresh salvo launched in a spiraling arc, smoke trails curling through the heat-hazed air.
"Incoming!" someone shouted.
Two rockets streaked low.
The first struck the forward plating of an AT-TE and detonated in a wash of flame that rolled across its armored flank. The second impacted lower.
At the joint.
The explosion tore through the triple-articulated hydraulic limb in a violent bloom of orange and black. Metal sheared apart. The walker's front leg disintegrated at the knee, fragments spinning outward like shrapnel.
For half a second, the massive machine tried to compensate.
Then it collapsed.
The fall was catastrophic.
Six legs lost balance at once, the entire weight of the vehicle slamming into the sand in a thunderous crash that shook the battlefield. The dorsal mass-driver cannon snapped sideways as it hit, the entire chassis grinding forward in a wave of displaced earth.
Five clone troopers had been using that leg as cover.
There was no time.
The walker crushed them beneath its descending hull.
The ground buckled.
Dust swallowed everything.
Kael staggered half a step as the shockwave rolled through him, sand and debris slamming into his armor. His visor filled with red haze as stone fragments clattered off his pauldrons.
For a moment, there was nothing but sound.
A low, concussive ringing beneath the roar of blaster fire.
When the dust thinned enough to see again, the defensive circle had narrowed further. The fallen walker now lay across what had been their forward line, its hull smoking violently, its internal systems sparking in exposed cavities.
Clones scrambled to reposition around it, some dragging wounded, others climbing over its carcass to maintain firing arcs.
Kael stepped forward instinctively, blade intercepting a volley that would have cut through the troopers exposed by the collapse. Three bolts struck in rapid succession; he redirected two, absorbed the third into the sand beside him.
"Commander!" he called over the din, voice carrying through comm and open air alike. "What's the most recent update?"
4377 was beside him, half-crouched behind a fractured rock slab, rifle braced against the edge as he fired controlled bursts into a B2 advancing through smoke.
He didn't stop shooting as he answered.
"Jedi deployed across the battlefield!" he shouted back between bursts. "Multiple quadrants reporting advances! They're pushing other factory sectors!"
A red bolt slammed into the stone above them, showering sparks across their helmets.
"They're spread thin!" 4377 continued. "Other foundries have already been destroyed!"
Kael's blade paused mid-arc for a fraction of a heartbeat as he processed that.
Destroyed.
Already?
His gaze flicked toward the towering structure ahead of them — still intact, still feeding droids into the fight, still defended by concentrated armor and air support.
Did I choose the hardest one? he thought, a brief, dry flicker beneath the strain.
How are they already destroying some?
Another volley snapped toward him. He deflected automatically, the blade moving before irritation could become a distraction.
"That doesn't help us right now," he said, voice lower but edged with steel.
Not anger.
Reality.
Behind them, the field was wreckage.
Ahead of them, the foundry still breathed war.
To either side, droid formations tightened their arcs.
They were isolated in this pocket of fire.
Other sectors may have been advancing.
Other Jedi may have been cutting through lighter defenses.
But here—
The droid density had hardened.
The Republic perimeter shrank another meter as red plasma forced clones tighter against the remaining walkers. Geonosian sonic blasts cracked against the upper ledges, raining fragments down over their heads.
Kael planted his boots firmly in the sand once more, violet blade humming steady in his grip.
If this were the hardest factory—
Then they would take it anyway.
The perimeter buckled but did not break.
Red plasma stitched across the fallen walker's hull, sparks leaping from blackened plating as clones leaned into its carcass for cover. Blue bolts answered in disciplined bursts, but the return fire was heavier now — layered, overlapping, constant.
A Geonosian shriek cut through the chaos as it dove from a factory ledge, sonic blaster discharging mid-flight. The pulse struck a rock formation near the center of the Republic pocket, detonating in a concussive blast that threw sand and armor fragments skyward.
Kael pivoted through it, violet blade intercepting a trio of bolts aimed at a medic squad dragging a wounded trooper clear of the wreckage. He stepped forward without thinking, placing himself in the open arc between the droid line and the clones repositioning behind him.
He felt the tightening.
The pressure from three directions.
This wasn't a push anymore.
It was survival.
He flexed his left gauntlet and tapped the recessed comm panel along his forearm. The HUD inside his helmet shifted, opening a secure channel through the chaos of open frequencies.
"Command," he said evenly, blade snapping a bolt aside without interrupting his tone. "This is Vizsla. We need immediate air suppression at grid Aurek-Nine-Seven. Foundry perimeter."
Static crackled for half a heartbeat — then a clone officer's voice cut through, steady but strained.
"General, air assets are engaged across multiple sectors. We're stretched thin."
A Hailfire missile detonated somewhere behind him, the shockwave rippling through the sand. A trooper shouted for suppressive fire. Another yelled for more power cells. The sky above flickered with blue and red arcs as gunships dueled droid fighters at low altitude.
Kael shifted his stance and deflected another volley, redirecting one bolt into the cranial plate of a B1 pushing through smoke.
"How thin?" he asked, voice calm despite the fire.
A brief pause.
"The most we can spare," the clone replied, "is three LAAT/i gunships. No infantry aboard. Pure suppression runs."
A B2 super battle droid stepped over shattered debris and opened up with rapid-fire wrist cannons. Kael absorbed the first burst, then lunged forward and severed its right arm in a tight diagonal strike before pivoting back into cover.
"And?" he pressed.
"Two LAAT/c carriers," the clone added quickly. "Each transporting one AT-TE. That's all we can divert without compromising other sectors."
Another walker to his left took a glancing hit, its armor flaring bright but holding. Clone squads adjusted around its legs, firing through the dust.
Kael didn't hesitate.
"That's more than enough," he said. "Send them."
"Copy, General. Three LAAT/i inbound for strafing runs. Two carriers with armor support following."
A red bolt scorched across Kael's pauldron, heat dispersing through the beskar with a sharp hiss. He didn't look down.
"Hurry," he added simply.
"Yes, General."
The channel cut.
He lowered his arm and returned both hands to the blade, stepping into the open once more as another concentrated volley targeted the defensive pocket.
Behind him, clones were shouting over the din.
"Keep firing!"
"Don't let them close!"
"Left flank, watch the left!"
DC-15A rifles discharged in relentless cadence, blue bolts carving gaps in the front ranks only for more skeletal frames to step through the smoke. A trooper went down to his right, a red bolt punching clean through chest plating. The clone beside him dragged him backward without breaking his own firing rhythm.
The foundry continued to churn.
Conveyor bridges still feeding war.
Kael angled his blade and deflected another tight cluster of shots aimed at the fallen walker's exposed side. The perimeter held — barely.
The air support confirmation still rang in Kael's ears when he turned from the comm channel and reentered the line fully.
He had moved forward after making the request.
He had to.
The droids had begun testing the walker perimeter the moment he'd opened the channel, pressing closer along the fractured rock to exploit the distraction. 4377 had remained slightly behind and to the right, anchoring the rear arc of the defensive circle — coordinating squads, adjusting firing lanes, holding the cohesion that kept panic from taking root.
Kael fought at the forward seam.
The commander held the spine.
"Reinforcements are inbound!" Kael called out over open comm as he cut down a B1 that had slipped too close to the left flank. "Three gunships and armor support. We just need to hold!"
He didn't raise his voice theatrically.
He projected.
It carried.
4377 answered from behind him, rifle snapping blue bursts into a B2 attempting to advance through smoke.
"You heard him!" the commander barked across squad channels. "Defensive posture! Collapse inward! No one advances past the walkers!"
Clone troopers tightened their formation immediately. Firing arcs overlapped more deliberately. Squads that had been trying to inch forward fell back into the walker ring, boots grinding into sand as they repositioned behind armored legs and shattered plating.
A trooper near the fallen AT-TE shouted, "Left side pushing hard!"
"Hold it!" another replied. "Don't give them the gap!"
Kael stepped into the narrowing seam at the perimeter, blade intercepting a concentrated volley aimed at a medic dragging a wounded clone clear. He redirected two bolts into the front rank of B1s and closed the distance in three strides, slicing through the nearest pair before pivoting back into the defensive arc.
More droids were getting closer.
Too close.
The density here near the foundry was heavier than anywhere they'd crossed.
B1 ranks fed down from the conveyor ramp in a near-constant trickle. B2 units moved between them like armored anchors. Above, Geonosians clung to metal framework and canyon ridges, firing sonic blasts down into the walker circle, forcing clones to duck and adjust constantly.
Kael could feel the strain in the rhythm of the battle.
The clones were still firing hard.
Still disciplined.
But they were no longer pushing.
They were bracing.
A B2 broke into a short charge toward the perimeter, cannons firing rapid bursts. Kael lunged to meet it, deflecting two bolts and stepping inside the third, blade carving up through the reinforced torso seam. The super battle droid toppled forward, crashing at his feet.
Behind him, 4377's voice continued steady and controlled.
"Second squad, rotate right! Keep the spider droid suppressed! No one breaks formation!"
A Hailfire missile streaked overhead and detonated somewhere beyond the wreckage field behind them. The shockwave rippled forward, rattling armor plates and sending dust skimming across the ground.
Kael glanced back briefly.
4377 had repositioned slightly to maintain visibility across the rear arc, braced behind a fractured slab of rock and a walker's rear leg. He was not beside Kael because he couldn't be.
If they both fought at the same seam, the formation would collapse elsewhere.
The commander held the structure of the fight.
Kael held the front.
"Commander," Kael called over local comm as he deflected another burst. "Status on left flank?"
"Stretched," 4377 replied, firing between words. "But holding. Spider droid on that ridge is pinning third squad."
Kael angled his blade and redirected a bolt toward the elevated silhouette. It struck the spider droid's plating and flared uselessly.
Then—
Through the layered thunder of artillery and blaster fire—
A distant engine scream cut through the smoke.
Low.
Fast.
Republic.
Several troopers reacted instinctively.
"I hear it!"
"That's ours!"
The sound grew louder, building across the battlefield.
For the first time in minutes, something shifted in the line.
Hope.
Kael tilted his visor upward slightly, tracking the sound.
And in that fraction of attention—
The missile struck.
It hit the forward rock slab anchoring 4377's position.
The explosion tore the stone apart in a violent bloom of orange and black. The blast wave slammed through the walker ring, sand and debris ripping outward in a concussive roar.
Kael felt the impact hit his chest like a physical blow.
He turned—
And saw the commander lifted from his cover.
Thrown.
4377's armored form spun through the air, rifle ripped free from his grasp. He struck the canyon wall behind the defensive circle with brutal force and dropped hard into the sand, partially obscured by settling dust and falling rock fragments.
For a heartbeat, the sound seemed to narrow into a high, ringing tone.
Then the battlefield crashed back in.
"Commander's down!" a clone shouted over the comm.
"Medic! Commander's hit!"
Red plasma continued hammering the perimeter as if nothing had changed.
Because of the droids—
Nothing had.
Kael stepped forward instinctively, blade snapping into defensive rhythm to shield the troopers who had half-turned toward the impact site.
"Stay on the line!" he shouted. "Hold your positions!"
Two clones broke toward the fallen commander anyway, low and fast, dragging him by his shoulder plates behind the remains of the destroyed walker.
The engine scream overhead grew deafening now.
Closer.
Very close.
But on the ground—
The line was shaking.
And Kael felt the urgency settle like a weight in his chest.