The rescue capsule raced toward the planet's surface at tremendous speed. It was dark inside, but it was not empty: in the darkness, the red eyes of combat droids—the most advanced models—glowed. And only one pair of eyes stood apart, shining with a bright, golden hue.
Once upon a time, his name had been Qymaen Jai Sheelal. A very... very long time ago. He had been a brave warrior on his world, fighting against invaders. As a child, he often listened to his father's stories about the Republic and the Jedi. He believed they would come to the rescue. But he was wrong. No one came. And then his father died.
The young Kaleesh took up a rifle and set out on a path of revenge. To kill enemies.
And there, in the war, he met his love—Ronderu Lij Kummar. They began to fight together. They killed so many foes that the people of Kalee revered them as gods.
And then… then she died.
He continued his revenge, and his warriors, following him, crossed the stars and descended upon the homeworld of his enemies. But—
He was betrayed.
The Jedi—he saw one shortly before the accident. They disapproved of his war and took up the defense of his enemies. He nearly died in the shuttle crash… and it would have been better if he had.
Floating in a tank of bacta, deprived of arms and legs, with only scraps of flesh and almost no face remaining, entwined in hundreds of tubes and wires, he dreamed only of death. He remembered little of that time, but he clearly recalled the faces of his relatives there, behind the glass… He did not want to live—because he could not fight, could not even take revenge, and that was truly unbearable—but his miserable existence was sustained against his will.
Then… he was made an offer.
And he accepted.
Now his name was Grievous. General Grievous. Supreme Commander of the CIS Droid Army. A cyborg.
His duranium body, shaped like the ancient Krath war droids, was capable of withstanding a direct hit from a starfighter's laser cannon. His arms possessed double joints and could separate into four three-fingered upper limbs, each capable of wielding a weapon. His lower limbs were equipped with claws and repulsors mounted in the shins, allowing him to move across vertical surfaces.
As promised, Grievous was allowed to keep his own eyes, only slightly modified to adapt to his new form. His face became a mask resembling his former mask, forged from the skull of a Mumuu—the only thing he had left of his father. His brain was altered as well: his reaction speed was increased, some memories were erased, the scientists reshaped his psyche, making him even more fearless—and more cruel.
"Prepare for battle!" he commanded his loyal warriors, the IG-100 MagnaGuards.
These droids were the crowning achievement of Holowan Mechanicals. They were self-learning, heuristically programmed combat units. However, Grievous found their original combat databases inadequate, erased all stored data, and retrained them personally. The droids were equipped with formidable weapons— electrostaffs made of Phrik alloy, some fitted with built-in blasters similar to those of B-2 super battle droids.
Their cloaked silhouettes reminded him of the Izvoshra—the warriors and commanders who had once fought under his banner during the Huk War. In the Kaleesh language, their name meant elite.
And they lived up to it. Since the beginning of the war, his bodyguards had already destroyed eight Jedi—and countless clones, those meat droids.
One of the B-1 battle droids aboard the capsule reported:
"General, the ships have entered Gentes orbit. The troops are ready to land!"
"Begin the landing! We will destroy the enemy's defenses and clear the way for the landing barges!"
At that moment, the capsule struck the ground, plowed through a trench, and slammed into the wall of a building.
"Forward!"
The MagnaGuards forced open the hatch and surged ahead. Grievous followed close behind.
"Your targets are platforms Two and Three. I'll handle the first one! Group Three—your objective is the shield generator."
The droids accelerated and vanished into the darkness of the night. It posed no obstacle for them—nor for the General.
Grievous practically flew forward toward the fortifications visible in the distance. They were already firing: turbolaser bolts lanced upward into the sky, where the silhouettes of the Trade Federation's landing barges were coming into view. The assault on the planet had begun.
The planet Gentes lay in the Anoat system of the Outer Rim and was home to the Ugnaughts, pig-nosed, stocky humanoids. The Ugnaughts were industrious and loyal, and their society was highly industrialized. Gentes itself was rich in mineral resources, riddled with mines and factories.
It was an excellent acquisition for the Confederacy of Independent Systems—both the planet and its inhabitants.
Droid foundries needed workers.
Or slaves.
It made no difference to him.
Grievous reached the wall and began to climb it with ease. He could already see the first gun turret, manned by three Ugnaughts wearing helmets and military-style uniforms. Their faces were dimly lit, but the General could sense their fear.
Now you will die.
Activated lightsabers flashed to life. Count Dooku had taught him this art, and now, wielding these deadly weapons, he was truly invincible. One swing of a blade—and the severed gun barrels clattered to the ground.
A sweep of his other hand, and two Ugnaughts lost their heads. The third squealed and reached for his blaster, but he never had a chance.
Grievous leapt higher, landing atop the wall. To his left and right, the MagnaGuards destroyed the remaining turret crews. Below, panic erupted. Armed Ugnaughts rushed out of the barracks, and the silhouettes of tanks emerged from distant hangars.
The sharp beep of an incoming transmission announced that the third squad had reached its target.
"General Grievous to landing craft: planetary shield neutralized. Begin landing at designated points."
Grievous crouched and sprang forward. He landed directly in the midst of a crowd of soldiers, scattering them and amplifying the chaos. With a single sweep of his blades, the nearest Ugnaughts fell, cleaved in half. One managed to duck—only to die a heartbeat later. The General's clawed foot knocked him to the ground, and the talons dug effortlessly into skull and bone, literally tearing his face from his head. A wild, piercing scream drowned out all other sounds for a brief instant, immediately replaced by wet gurgling.
He lunged forward, and the first walker tank collapsed to the ground. Nothing could withstand a lightsaber: one of its legs was sliced clean through. His second blade traced an intricate arc, piercing the armor and cutting into the machine's reactor. A leap—and behind him an explosion thundered, incinerating the unfortunate crew in a vortex of plasma.
The first landing barge touched down behind Grievous.
"Tactical group Arcus, to me. I will lead the assault on the administrative center. Once it falls, the planet will follow. These creatures are worthless warriors."
Step. Step. Another step.
More and more Ugnaughts fell, struck down without mercy. Even tanks could not halt his advance. Behind him, columns of battle droids poured into the square. And now, at last, the enemy began to flee. The droids suppressed the resistance methodically and without hesitation. That was how it should be—the rest would submit once the bravest were broken.
Soon, there was no one left standing in the square.
"Sir, the perimeter is clear," reported a B-1 battle droid, leaning out of an AAT.
"Continue unloading the transports. Redirect the main forces to the city center. The resistance has been broken. Secure all major energy sources. Take the population prisoner. Kill only those who resist. I will decide their fate after negotiations with the Neimoidians and the Geonosians…"
Dawn revealed the city transformed into an alien tableau. The streets were flooded with battle droids, while columns of prisoners streamed toward hastily established camps. Patrol droids on speeders monitored everything from above. In several districts, thick plumes of smoke rose where Ugnaught military equipment still burned. And as a final touch, CIS warships in the sky and Trade Federation Lucrehulk-class battleships on the surface.
One of them was hosting a meeting of the victors. Grievous delivered his report to the Neimoidian Lut Ravane and two representatives of Geonosis.
"Thanks to my flawless planning, the planet was captured with minimal losses among the local population and insignificant damage to production facilities," Grievous said, regarding his interlocutors with open superiority. "As I understand it, the Ugnaughts are exceptionally skilled workers."
"If the reports are accurate, General Grievous—less than twenty percent damage to assembly plants and mines," Lut Ravane replied.
"And the local population? There are more of them than necessary. The Geonosians prefer machines to build machines."
One of the Geonosians emitted a series of sharp clicks, and the protocol droid translated diligently:
"Archduke Poggle will take all Ugnaughts you do not require. We will find another use for them."
"We may need some of the Ugnaughts to refit the factories to Geonosian specifications," Lut Ravane said, spreading his hands. "After that, they will become… unnecessary."
"Except as an example to others," Grievous replied calmly.
But both the Neimoidian and the Geonosians visibly shuddered.