## **Chapter 244: The Trap Springs**
The warship at the center of it all was a monster of deliberate design.
A Providence-class Dreadnought—an expanded, heavily modified variant stretching over 2,190 meters in length. Its hull bristled with layered weapon emplacements, each calibrated for maximum devastation. Fourteen quad heavy turbolaser batteries lined its dorsal ridges like fangs. Thirty-four dual heavy laser cannons tracked constantly, adjusting for threats. Ion cannons, flak batteries, point-defense grids—every inch of the vessel existed for one purpose:
Domination.
Over a hundred proton torpedo launchers sat embedded across its armored frame, each capable of unleashing coordinated salvos that could overwhelm even the most disciplined fleet formations. Tractor beam projectors hummed with restrained power, ready to seize crippled ships and crush escape attempts.
And this was only the flagship.
Around it, the Separatist fleet loomed in terrifying scale:
* Sixteen Recusant-class light destroyers, each carrying two hundred starfighters.
* Fifty-two Munificent-class frigates, logistical and combat support vessels.
* Eight Lucrehulk-class carriers, housing swarms of Vulture droids and Hyena bombers.
It was not a fleet.
It was an invasion.
---
Above Lianna, ten massive accumulator stations formed a defensive ring around the three-kilometer-wide orbital dockyards. Their silhouettes cast long shadows across the endless cityscape below. Not Golan platforms—simpler, less fortified.
Grievous noticed immediately.
A mistake.
A fatal one.
The Republic had underestimated him.
A rasping chuckle escaped his mechanical lungs.
"They will pay for that."
A B1 OOM command droid rushed forward, its movements hurried and uneven.
"General! Enemy ships are emerging from hyperspace. A large number—"
Grievous turned sharply.
"Prepare for attack! Deploy fighters and bombers! Destroy the Republic—"
"Uh, sir," another voice interrupted, strained and uncertain. "We are receiving… unusual signals. Massive warship signatures detected."
Grievous froze.
"Impossible," he hissed. "Only we possess battlecruiser-class vessels in this sector."
Then space itself tore open.
---
They did not arrive as a fleet.
They arrived as a verdict.
A massive form emerged first—a **Resurgent-class Battlecruiser**, its angular hull cutting through hyperspace like a blade. Then another. One on each flank of the Separatist formation.
Then a third—positioned directly behind the Lucrehulks.
And they were not alone.
Two Venator-class warships flanked the rear Resurgent, their silhouettes unmistakable. Moments later, hyperspace ruptured again—three Dreadnought-class heavy cruisers dropping in at precise vectors along the outer edges.
Six Resurgents.
Three Dreadnoughts.
Perfect positioning.
A trap.
Before Grievous could issue a command—
They fired.
A storm of blue-white energy erupted from the Resurgents' spinal heavy cannons, lancing across space with terrifying precision. Each beam struck a Munificent-class frigate dead center.
Six frigates vanished in an instant.
No explosions.
No debris.
Just… gone.
Then came the bombardment.
Green turbolasers. Blue ion blasts. Coordinated, relentless, overwhelming.
The Separatist fleet staggered.
---
### **Grievous**
"What is happening—*cough*—?!"
The tactical display flared with warnings.
"Sir!" a droid reported frantically. "We have been outflanked! Six Munificent-class frigates and four Lucrehulks have already been destroyed!"
Grievous' claws tightened.
"Where are our fighters?!"
A T-series tactical droid stepped forward, its voice clipped.
"General, due to the intensity of the bombardment and the close proximity of enemy vessels, I calculate that fighter deployment efficiency has dropped below—"
The sentence never finished.
Grievous' lightsaber ignited in a flash of blue.
The droid fell in two pieces.
Silence followed.
"Any more suggestions?" he snarled.
A B1 droid stiffened. "Uh… no, sir. Roger roger. Deploying fighters."
Streams of starfighters began launching—Porax-38s, Vultures, Hyena bombers flooding into space.
But even as they did—
"Sir! Another ship is approaching! High energy readings detected!"
Grievous turned.
"Where?"
---
It arrived like a storm given form.
A pulse of blue light erupted in the very center of the battlefield—and from it emerged a warship unlike any present.
The *Terminus*.
Its hull gleamed with cold, predatory intent. Before the Separatists could react, its main spinal weapon—the SPAR cannon—charged and fired.
A concentrated beam of emerald energy tore across space—
—and obliterated a Recusant-class destroyer in a single strike.
The shockwave rippled through the formation.
For the first time—
General Grievous hesitated.
---
### **Scene II: Dagon**
Dagon stood at the command platform of the *Terminus*, the chaos of battle reflected in the transparent viewport before him.
Everything was unfolding exactly as planned.
"CIS fleet composition confirmed," Ethan reported. "Providence-class flagship, full escort groups intact—though rapidly degrading."
Dagon nodded.
"Republic fleet status?"
Ethan responded instantly:
* *Terminus* command group: 220 TIE Whisper fighters, 1 elite TIE Silencer.
* 20 Arquitens-class light cruisers.
* 10 Marauder-class corvettes.
"Resurgent group?" Dagon asked.
"Six Resurgent-class battlecruisers: *Finalizer*, *Fulminatrix*, *Avenger*, *Steadfast*, *Ranger*, and one additional support unit. Fighter complement deployed."
"Venators?"
"Two: *Defender* and *Redeemer*. Mixed wings—Punishers, Defenders, Whispers, Z-95s."
"And the Dreadnoughts?"
Ethan's tone sharpened slightly.
"Six heavy cruisers: *Arc*, *Renown*, *Artkainen*, *Oak*, *Darkstar*, *Northern Warrior*. All engaging."
Dagon exhaled slowly.
Perfect.
---
He had chosen the staging ground carefully.
The Sluis sector.
Dagobah.
A world erased from navigational databases—a blind spot known only to a handful of beings. Hidden even from the Republic. Forgotten by the Confederacy.
Until now.
"That was Grievous' trap," Dagon murmured. "Now it's mine."
He stepped forward.
"Deploy all fighters. Priority targets: hangars, engines—rear center mass on destroyers. Cripple their mobility."
He paused, eyes narrowing.
"And I want that Providence."
Ethan tilted his head. "Ambitious."
Dagon's voice dropped.
"Necessary."
---
The Force surged.
Not gently.
Not passively.
It exploded outward from Dagon in a controlled wave—linking minds, sharpening instincts, synchronizing thought and action across thousands of pilots.
**Battle meditation.**
Stronger than before.
Gunners adjusted firing solutions before targets moved. Missiles curved mid-flight, finding weak points with unnatural precision. Squadrons moved as one—fluid, unstoppable.
Across the battlefield:
Bridges erupted in flame.
Reactors destabilized.
Entire formations collapsed under coordinated assault.
The CIS fleet—once overwhelming—began to fracture.
---
Dagon watched it all unfold, his expression steady, unshaken.
Somewhere in the chaos, Grievous still lived.
Still fought.
Still believed he could win.
Dagon's eyes hardened.
*Not this time.*
The battle expanded—fire spreading across the void, fleets colliding in a storm of steel and light.
And at its center—
Two predators closed in on each other.
Only one would leave Lianna alive.