The air shimmered with a subtle distortion, and at the edge of the hangar, Darth Maul stepped forward, silent and unhurried. His hood was down and his horns circled his head like a war crown, and his face bore the same twisted red and black markings Anakin remembered far too vividly.
Qui-Gon's senses sharpened in an instant. He didn't need the Force to recognize the shift in the room, but it swirled violently around them now, charged, focused, and predatory.
"Obi-Wan," he said quietly, "stay close and ready."
Obi-Wan had already turned, his eyes locked on the intruder. His voice was low, calm. "That's the one from Tatooine."
Maul said nothing, and his breathing was steady, deliberate. His gaze passed over the hangar like a hunter entering a clearing. His eyes found the Jedi and lingered.
Obi-Wan took a half-step beside Qui-Gon, shoulders tense, his hands already loosening the clasp of his robe.
Qui-Gon didn't look at him. "He's here for us."
There was no need for more words. With fluid, practiced movements, both Jedi slipped free of their outer cloaks. The garments fell soundlessly to the floor.
Anakin, still in the cockpit of the N-1 starfighter, only watched. Every muscle in his body had gone rigid. This was the moment, the duel of fate.
Qui-Gon reached for his lightsaber hilt, and the quiet snap-hiss of activation filled the chamber. A beam of emerald light extended, humming with restrained power.
Obi-Wan followed a breath later, his own lightsaber igniting in a brilliant blue that cast streaks of color across the polished hangar floor.
Seeing the Jedi ignite their sabers, he halted, still wordless.
The moment stretched.
Then, with a motion as fluid as it was sudden, Maul reached behind his back and drew forth a long, cylindrical hilt.
Obi-Wan's brows lowered. "That's a strange design."
Maul activated it.
One blade, crimson and searing, extended from one end. A second blade hissed to life from the opposite side. The air in the hangar thrummed with the sudden weight of raw, defiant energy.
"A double-bladed saber?" Obi-Wan whispered, stunned. "I've never seen—"
Qui-Gon's voice cut him off, crisp and clear. "Focus, Obi-Wan. He's trained and dangerous. Don't underestimate him."
Maul shifted his stance, the staff spinning once in his grip with the ease of a warrior well-versed in death.
Then he lunged.
It began instantly. Maul's leap covered the distance in a flash of speed and darkness. His twin blades came in low and wide, forcing Qui-Gon to block from an angle few duelists ever used. Sparks flew as emerald and crimson collided.
Obi-Wan moved to flank him from the right, his saber coming down in a precise arc. But Maul spun with uncanny fluidity, parrying the attack with his rear blade and twisting the staff to send Obi-Wan staggering backward.
Maul did not press on, it was like he was measuring them.
Qui-Gon stepped back, regained footing. "He's fast," he muttered. "Too fast to overwhelm. We need to attack together."
Obi-Wan was already circling to align himself with his master, lightsaber up.
Maul came again. This time, more aggressive.
He slashed with one end, reversed the grip mid-motion, and came down with the other, a relentless blur of red. Qui-Gon deflected the first, ducked the second, then spun and delivered a heavy strike toward Maul's side. Maul blocked and riposted with a brutal kick to Qui-Gon's abdomen, sending the Jedi staggering back.
Obi-Wan surged in instantly, his blade jabbing in clean, measured bursts. Maul twirled his saberstaff defensively, spinning and deflecting each blow until he twisted and locked sabers with Obi-Wan. Their faces were inches apart.
"You are not ready," Maul said coldly.
He shoved Obi-Wan away with sheer force. The Padawan tumbled backward but recovered mid-roll, igniting his blade anew.
Qui-Gon returned beside him, breathing slightly harder, but his eyes alight. "There is no doubt, he's a Sith."
Obi-Wan stared at him. "A real Sith?"
Qui-Gon nodded grimly. "But remember, he's not alone."
Qui-Gon moved forward once more, this time with Obi-Wan at his side. They struck together, tight, coordinated, every move practiced through years of training. Their sabers came in high and low simultaneously, forcing Maul to retreat for the first time.
But even his retreat was elegant. Spinning, pivoting, his saberstaff carving defensive arcs in the air.
The clash grew faster, and sparks lit the air. Qui-Gon drove at his center while Obi-Wan pressed the flanks, and for a moment it looked like they might break through.
Then Maul twisted into a corkscrew flip, landing behind them. His rear blade clipped Obi-Wan's shoulder just slightly enough to scorch fabric and a little skin. Obi-Wan hissed and fell back.
"Obi-wan!" Qui-Gon called, but had to raise his saber to block another downward strike from Maul, who pressed the attack relentlessly.
Obi-Wan forced himself up, arm a little seared but functioning. He took a deep breath and leapt back into the fray.
The rhythm of the fight was not wild chaos, it was music. A deadly, violent rhythm, each fighter a note in the crescendo. Footsteps echoed with each lunge and parry, each hiss of a lightsaber another beat.
And yet…
Anakin could feel it.
They were being driven slowly and subtly. Maul was herding them toward the trap. The hangar wasn't the final battlefield. No, Maul had a destination in mind.
And Anakin knew where it was.
His eyes flicked to the corridor behind the hangar, to the energy-reactor passageway beyond.
Qui-Gon didn't see it yet. Neither did Obi-Wan.
But he did.
The three warriors became a blur of motion, power, speed, and precision. The duel raged across the polished floor as they exchanged strikes that would kill a lesser fighter instantly.
Then, from the far end of the hangar, the large side blast doors slammed open. A unit of four Droidekas rolled in, arms folding out with that eerie mechanical elegance. They clicked into position behind the Jedi, energy shields shimmering to life around them as twin blasters spun and aimed.
BZZZT-CRACK!
They opened fire.
Blaster fire ripped through the hangar with shrieking fury.
Obi-Wan heard it before he saw it, the telltale whine of Droideka cannons powering up behind them. His instincts flared like a warning bell in the Force.
"Master!" he shouted.
Qui-Gon began to turn, but Obi-Wan was already moving.
He spun on his heel, cloak flaring, and brought his lightsaber around in a sweeping arc, interposing himself between the barrage and his Master without hesitation. The first volley came fast, four bolts in tight sequence, and then more red lances of plasma screamed toward them.
He planted his feet wide and raised his blade in a tight, controlled stance. Soresu… the shield.
His lightsaber became a blur, tracing shimmering arcs of blue as he batted the shots aside with impeccable precision.
Behind him, Qui-Gon pressed forward, focused entirely on Maul, trusting his Padawan with his life.
Obi-Wan didn't falter.
The Droidekas advanced another meter, trying to flank. He adjusted, knees bent, blade angled to catch their line of fire before they could spread. Not a single shot touched Qui-Gon's back.
As blaster bolts streaked through the air toward the Jedi. Anakin, using this opportunity, reached instinctively for the controls. His fingers danced across the panels, flipping switches and powering the fighter's systems. The canopy remained open, but the fighter's twin wing-mounted cannons came to life with a mechanical whine.
The blasters fired.
And then, BOOM.
One of the droids exploded in a flash of fire and metal.
A clean, controlled burst, two precise shots per target. The cannons roared with deep energy pulses that slammed into the exposed generators behind the Droidekas. The shields rippled and failed.
One by one, the droids exploded in metallic fireballs, blown to pieces before their barrage could land.
Smoke curled from the melted plating.
As the smoke cleared from the back of the hangar, Maul's eyes flicked sideways mid-parry, catching just a glimpse of the Naboo starfighter's smoking cannons.
The boy.
He turned his focus back toward the duel, locking blades with Qui-Gon once more, but the moment lingered in his thoughts like a thorn.
Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon looked back toward the starfighter with a flicker of surprise. Anakin stood up behind the cockpit controls, waving his hand in their line of sight.
Obi-Wan blinked. Did that…?
Giving no time to think, Maul struck again with renewed fury.
Obi-Wan turned back toward the Sith and fell into step beside his Master, and together, they advanced.
The duel pushed onward toward the wide, arched corridor at the far end of the hangar, leading into the reactor complex.
Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan leapt over a cargo cart as Maul was being pressed back, battering them with ferocious strikes. As they neared the next chamber, the hum of energy cores and shield generators echoed faintly.
The battle raged on.
Blaster bolts carved deadly lines through the corridor, scorching into the walls. The palace was no longer a symbol of beauty, it was a battleground.
Padmé Amidala pressed herself against the marble column, her royal blaster gripped in both hands. Across the hall, Captain Panaka and a few guards were pinned behind an overturned console.
The turret embedded in the archway wall was fully automated, tracking anything that moved with unnerving precision. Every time someone so much as shifted cover, it unleashed another burst of deadly energy.
The young queen's jaw tightened.
"We're losing time," she said, low and urgent. "If we don't make it to the throne room now, the Viceroy will lock the system and wipe the control codes."
Panaka risked a peek and ducked back.
"We're pinned," he said, voice taut. "That turret's got a dead angle on the upper arch. We won't make it to the throne room without a distraction."
The crackle of blaster fire was deafening.
Padmé glanced at her small squad, scattered behind ornate pillars and the smoking remains of two fallen security droids. "Then we make one."
Then, a sudden movement.
Padmé darted from cover.
"Your Highness!" Panaka yelled.
But she was already moving, ducking low and sprinting across the open corridor. The turret tracked her, whirring to reorient, but she was fast and small. She dove behind the broken legs of a statue. The turret's fire locked onto her position, drawing its aim away from the others.
"Go!" Padmé shouted.
Ric Olié hurled a thermal detonator toward the turret's base. It landed with a metallic clink, then erupted in a searing pulse of heat and shrapnel. The corridor went white with smoke and flame.
Panaka and the guards rushed forward to the throne room.
From the smoke, a lone battle droid, half-crushed by debris, had managed to lift its weapon and aimed straight at Panaka's back.
Shmi saw it.
Shmi Skywalker looked on with wide, frightened eyes. She wasn't a soldier, wasn't trained, but she had followed Padmé here anyway, unwilling to stay behind and do nothing.
Time seemed to pause.
Her hands fumbled with the palace guard's sidearm slung over her shoulder, her fingers trembling on the grip.
The pistol kicked hard in her hands. The first shot missed, blasting a chunk from the pillar behind.
The second, steadier, hit home.
The droid's head sparked and exploded. It crumpled mid-turn, collapsing like a puppet with its strings cut.
Panaka turned, blinking in disbelief.
Shmi stood there, weapon still raised, her breath sharp and uneven. Smoke curled from the barrel. Her eyes were wide with shock, but not regret.
"Thanks," Panaka muttered, half-smiling, half-stunned. "Good shot."
"I wasn't going to let you die," Shmi said softly. "Someone has to watch your back."
Over on the Gungan side, their shield wall shimmered, still holding, but only barely.
Dozens of battle tanks had circled around the flanks, their turrets pounding relentlessly against the energy barrier. Blue sparks erupted with every impact, the sound of the barrages rising into a steady thunder.
Smoke twisted above the battlefield, obscuring parts of the line as Gungan soldiers yelled over the din, their formations beginning to fray.
General Binks stumbled forward through the chaos, barking orders between moments of terrified flailing.
"Keepa da shield up! Wesa can't hold if da boomers gone!"
A Gungan shield technician shook his head from behind the power relay shell. "Power's failin' fast, General! Wesa needa fall back soon!"
Above them, swarms of STAPs zipped in from the southern ridge, laser blasts peppering the air. Explosions tore open pockets of the field. Gungans flew back, some limp, others screaming.
Boss Nass, watching from the command platform, gripped the edge tightly. "Wesa warriors brave," he muttered. "But dis… dis too much…"
Still, they held, for now. Because they must.
For Naboo. For the Queen. For the hope that something, somewhere, might shift the tide.