A.N. This is a twelve part story all surrounding the Clone War. It will be from the perspective of a different character each week, but the last might be Sidious once again. I'm not sure. It will be written Stover style. An update will come once a week.

And yes, I'm still working on the other stories.

Disclaimer—Guess.

Beneath the Senate arena, lay the holding office for the Supreme Chancellor of the Republic. It was bare, anyone could see that. Simple, red walls. A plush carpet, also red, claimed the floor. A single desk with a holoprojector. It held a kneeling Sith, facing the shadow. The loyal Chagrian stood behind, and slightly to the right, rigid. Blue knuckles tightly grasped a pole.

"But the danger is real; be mindful."

"I will, my Master. Thank you." The image flickered, and then disappeared. The shadow sat back, a ghost of a smile on his face. He waited, patient. He need not wait long.

A green alien stood in the doorway of the holding office. Tiny and aged. Clad in tan robes. A silver cylinder hung off a brown belt. He leaned on a twisting stick, the same colour of the belt. Physically, he was just an illusion, merely there.

In the Force, though…in the Force, he was a beacon of light. The shadow found it despicable, but his face did not show it.

"Pity your new apprentice, I do; so lately an apprentice, so soon without a Master."

"Why, Master Yoda, what a pleasant surprise! Welcome!" He held of black clad arms out, as if asking for a hug, though the shadow wanted nothing like that. "Let me be the first to wish you Happy Empire Day!"

"Find it happy, you will not. Nor will your new apprentice."

"Hm." The shadow stepped closer, his face losing the mask. It showed mild interest, and pure hatred and disgust. Yet still, the voice held no such feelings. His arms dropped back down. "So that would be what I felt. Who, if I may ask, is it? Who did you send to kill Lord Vader?"

"Enough it is to know your own destroyer."

"Oh, pish, Master Yoda. It wouldn't be Kenobi, would it? Oh, please say it's Kenobi—Lord Vader gets such a thrill killing those who care for him…" He sounded almost giddy; it almost amazed both shadow and light.

Behind the shadow, the Chagrian, Mas Amedda, Speaker of the Galactic Senate, heard a single whisper in his mind: Flee. He quickly obeyed.

Neither light nor dark gave a glance.

"Easily slain, Master Kenobi is not."

The shadow inwardly snorted. "Neither are you, apparently…But no matter; that will easily change." Both opponents stepped closer to each other. A claw rested on his lightsaber.

"The test of that today will be." A beam of light, green like a forest glowed.

"Even a fraction of the dark side is more power than your Jedi arrogance can conceive, what with living in the light." A head was shaken, as if remorseful of such a thing. "You have never seen the depth of the night." Once again, the shadow raised his hands. A malicious smile graced his lips.

"Until now."

Blue light engulfed the room. The source headed in the direction of the alien, who quickly deactivated the green blade.

The battle was on.

Beneath the Senate arena, lightning twisted in the air from the hands of the shadow—Master of Sith, Lord of Darkness, Emperor Palpatine—almost hitting the Jedi straight in the chest. But rather, the Master of the Light caught it with the Force, and redirected it towards approaching red-guards, knocking them into unconsciousness.

Now, there was only two.

The clash became more political—when new lightning strikes the air, it was not Palpatine burning Yoda, it was Lord of all Sith scorching Master of all Jedi into a ball of flesh and clothing. A millennia of hiding Sith exulting in their victory.

His victory.

"Your time is over! The Sith rule the galaxy! Now and forever!"

And it was the Grand Master of the Jedi that rocketed from its ball, and using its own self as a weapon to blast the Sith off its feet.

"At an end, your rule is, and not shot enough it was, I must say."

A blade appeared—to some, the colour of all hope and life.

A small weapon quickly followed, hidden in the sleeves of a robe—another hint of the treachery, the slyness that the Sith followed. The red blade countered that of the green.

When the blades met, it was more than Yoda against Sidious. More than a millennia of Sith and Jedi.

Rather, it was the symbol of the conflict of the whole universe itself.

Light verses Dark.

Winner take all.

There came a turning point in the clash of the light against dark.

It did not come from the fight itself, no. Not from the kicks, the flying of lightsabers. Nor from some Force trick the two duelists could think of.

Rather, it came from the shifting of setting. From the holding office, to the Chancellors' podium; it came as the hydraulic lift beneath the podium rose a hundred meters. More than a hundred meters, until it seemed to float on a spindle in the vast emptiness in the Arena. It came as the Force pulled the pods- where the Senators so recently sat-from the domed wall. They became hammers, battering rams, catapults, crashing against each other from missing the intended target. A roar echoed through the dome, extremely similar to the cheers the Senate offered for its newly self-appointed Emperor.

It came as the beacon of light delved himself into the years of Jedi teachings, and as the years of said teachings delved into him.

It came as Yoda reached for the light to find himself in the middle of the dark.

During the exchange of battering rams, blades, and feet, he finally found the perceptions he's been looking for, for thirteen years; since the dark descended.

He finally saw what should have been seen years ago: the truth.

He, the beacon of light, Grand Master of the Jedi Order, the strongest, the wisest, the deadliest warrior the dark has ever known…

just—

didn't—

have it.

He's never had it. He lost as soon as the Sith changed.

Oh, yes, they changed. They became stronger, and through that, wiser. They studied every aspect of the Force, even the narrow-minded view of the Jedi.

They became newer. Better.

While the Jedi—

The Jedi still studied how the defeat the Sith a millennium ago.

The new Sith can't be killed with a stroke of the blade. They can't be destroyed by some torch of the Force, for the brighter the light, the darker the shadow. And in those shadows lie something darker than the night itself.

Yoda knew now that this revelation could hold hope. But should he die, the hope would die with him.

After blocking a slash to the neck with the blood-blade, he jumped in the air twisting his body, deactivating his lightsaber, putting said saber on his belt, and landing a few meters to the left of the shadow.

It only laughed, thinking that Yoda had gone insane.

Yoda waited.

The end came with suddenness rarely seen.

The shadow could feel the energy depleting from the freakish troll, as it sent back the lightning to its source. The troll was slowly falling, and the shadow took advantage of that.

The shadow abruptly stopped his barrage, long enough for him to twist through the air, and land on the of the pods. The troll followed, copying the moves—

Half a second too slow.

The shadow once again unleashed a barrage of lightning at the air-borne Jedi. The Jedi felt it all.

The shock rocketed him backwards, crashing against the podium resting on a spindle. He fell. Forever, it seemed like.

The aluminum floor was hundreds of meters below, littered with remnants of the pods, jagging up like pointed rocks, waiting to stab whoever was unfortunate to feel their wrath. The shadow noticed the troll falling into the depths, but he blinked, and suddenly, it was gone.

The shadow stood, becoming Palpatine. He blinked again, scanning the jagged pods. He might have been old, but nothing was wrong with his eye sight; there was no body.

With the Force, he flicked a finger, and in the podium, a switch tripped, ad sirens blazed through the Senate Arena. Another surge with the Force sent his pod zooming in a downward spiral t the aluminum floor. Clone troopers swarmed in, blaster at the ready, and waiting for further orders.

"Yoda." He jumped at of the pod with surprising agility. "It was Yoda. Another assassination attempt. Find him. Kill him, by any means. Blow up the building, if you have to."

He had no time for a personal search, no matter how hard he wanted to; he knew that Yoda could survive against a couple of troops. Even if they did blow up the desecrated place, Yoda would be out of the system by the time said building would explode.

And besides, what more could that troll do? There was nothing left, his time was over.

He shook his head, and focused on the one thing that mattered (to a point): Lord Vader. He was in danger. Mortal danger.

Clones scattered past him, running every which way. He stopped one. "You. Call the shuttle dock, and tell them I'm on my way. Have my ship warmed and ready."

The troop saluted, and Palpatine, with vigor that surprised even himself, ran.

He would not let a hundred years of planning, and thirteen years of plotting go to waste.

The war brought him his prize; he would not lose it so quickly.