#The One That Escaped**
### **Dagon**
The battle no longer resembled a clash.
It was an execution.
Dagon stood unmoving at the command platform of the *Terminus*, watching as the last fragments of the Separatist fleet collapsed under sustained fire. The tactical display—once crowded with hostile signatures—had thinned dramatically.
Grievous' strategy had shattered.
Where once there had been overwhelming numbers, now there was only wreckage drifting through the void—burning hulls, broken formations, and scattered distress signals.
"The Lucrehulks are gone," Ethan reported calmly. "All eight destroyed."
Dagon gave a slight nod.
The massive carriers had been priority targets. Their fighter complements, once capable of overwhelming entire sectors, had been systematically dismantled. Without them, the CIS had lost its swarm advantage.
"What remains?"
"Five Munificent-class frigates," Ethan replied. "Three Recusant-class destroyers. All heavily damaged. They've regrouped around the Providence."
Dagon's gaze hardened as he focused on the crippled flagship at the center of the shrinking formation.
Even wounded, it was still dangerous.
Still Grievous.
"Time to finish it."
He turned slightly.
"Carrier support—prepare for final assault. I want them wiped out."
---
The next wave arrived with precision.
Under Fleet Admiral Dittmar, the support carrier line dropped from hyperspace in tight formation, engines flaring in synchronized bursts. Beside him, Major Grace O'Connor—her Zeltron features calm but focused—coordinated the fighter deployments with surgical efficiency.
Twelve Starkiller light carriers fanned outward, their hangars opening in unison.
Thirteen Lancer-class frigates followed, forming a defensive screen, their point-defense systems already tracking incoming debris and stray fighters.
Then—
The sky ignited.
TIE Advanced fighters launched first, streaking forward like silver darts, engines screaming with unnatural speed. Behind them came waves of interceptors and bombers, each squadron moving with eerie cohesion under Dagon's battle meditation.
The remnants of the CIS fighter screen barely had time to react.
Porax-38s attempted to regroup—but they were too few, too scattered. Vulture droids swarmed blindly, cut down in precise bursts. Hyena bombers never reached firing range.
Within moments—
The last of the Separatist starfighters were gone.
---
The bombardment intensified.
Turbolasers carved through weakened shields. Ion blasts disabled engines. Missile salvos punched into exposed hulls.
One of the damaged Recusant-class destroyers, its propulsion failing, drifted helplessly into the path of a Munificent-class frigate.
"Collision imminent," Ethan noted.
Dagon didn't look away.
The Recusant's hull tore open as it impacted the larger vessel.
For a split second—
Silence.
Then both ships vanished in a blinding explosion, debris scattering across the battlefield in a fiery cascade.
The shockwave rippled outward, shaking nearby vessels.
Still, the Providence endured.
---
And then—
Dagon felt it.
A disturbance.
Subtle.
Familiar.
His eyes narrowed sharply.
"Ethan…"
"I see it," Ethan said instantly. "A shuttle powering up near the Providence. Minimal signature—attempting stealth escape."
Dagon's voice dropped, cold and absolute.
"All fighters—target that shuttle."
---
### **Grievous**
Fools.
All of them.
Grievous staggered slightly as another explosion rocked the Providence. Sparks rained from the ceiling, alarms blaring in overlapping frequencies. The once-mighty dreadnought was dying around him.
Count Dooku had assured him the routes were secure.
Untraceable.
Unstoppable.
And yet—
Dagon.
That name burned in his mind.
"How…?" he rasped, his mechanical lungs struggling against the lingering damage from their previous encounter.
It didn't matter.
Not now.
A memory surfaced—faint, distant.
A voice from long ago.
*"A true warrior knows when to retreat… so that he may return stronger."*
Grievous' grip tightened.
"Yes…" he whispered. "I will live."
Another violent tremor surged through the ship.
"General!" a droid shouted. "Enemy starfighters are targeting the command section! Hull breaches detected across multiple decks!"
Grievous coughed harshly, his systems stuttering.
The injury Dagon had inflicted still lingered—slowing him, weakening him.
Unacceptable.
But survivable.
"Prepare the shuttle," he ordered.
Moments later, the small craft detached from the dying Providence, engines flaring as it veered sharply away from the battlefield.
Behind him—
The flagship began to break apart.
Ahead—
Freedom.
The stars stretched.
Hyperspace coiled.
And just as the first laser blasts began to close in—
The shuttle vanished into blue.
---
### **Sumeragi Li Noriega**
The bridge of the *Terminus* fell into a tense, fragile silence.
"Sir…" Sumeragi said carefully, her voice steady despite the weight in her chest. "Enemy fleet… destroyed."
Her eyes flicked across the data streams.
"We've lost three Consular-class light cruisers—Lianna's defense fleet. Approximately seventy starfighters. Minor damage across most ships, but all repairs are manageable within two days."
She hesitated.
"Sir… Grievous escaped."
The reaction was immediate.
A sudden, suffocating chill swept across the bridge—as if the temperature itself had dropped.
Dagon didn't speak.
Didn't move.
Then—
His fist slammed into the durasteel bulkhead beside him.
The metal *bent*.
Not dented.
Bent.
The sharp crack echoed across the bridge, leaving every crew member frozen in place.
"Uh… sir—"
"Casualties," Dagon said quietly.
Too quietly.
Sumeragi swallowed.
"Over two hundred injured across the fleet. Most from shockwaves and secondary impacts. Escape pods from downed starfighters are still being recovered. Full accounting is ongoing."
A pause.
Then—
"Once it's done," Dagon said, his voice controlled again, "we return to Lantilles. Command needs a full report."
"Yes, sir."
---
As the crew resumed their duties, Sumeragi allowed herself a single glance at him.
He stood rigid, staring out into the battlefield—at the drifting wreckage, the fading fires, the silent void where the Providence had once been.
*That's the first time I've seen him like that…*
She had always known him as calm. Calculated. Almost detached.
But that—
That was anger.
Real anger.
And beneath it…
Something else.
Frustration.
*He wanted Grievous.*
Not just defeated.
Ended.
Sumeragi looked away, her thoughts drifting briefly to Lantilles.
*Maybe the others can help…*
Because whatever Dagon was carrying—
It wasn't getting lighter.