(Retcon Notice)
(After reviewing feedback and doing further research, I've revised Anakin's midichlorian count from 27,703 to 40,000. Why 40,000? This is the number George Lucas insinuated it could be as high as. This change better reflects the unprecedented strength and connection to the Force that a reborn Anakin would possess. Unlike in his original life, this version of Anakin carries not just raw potential but also foresight, control, and spiritual insight gained from his past experiences. His rebirth didn't just restore him, it elevated him. As such, his midichlorian count should more accurately represent that amplified destiny. I don't expect this to have a major impact on the story, as midichlorians might become more obsolete later but I just wanted to clarify the change.)
The Gungan energy shield, a wavering dome of blue light and charged plasma, rippled under the constant bombardment of Trade Federation tanks. Each blast sends shivers through its systems. Sections flickered like dying lights, only held together by raw determination and overstressed power relays.
General Jar Jar Binks stumbled over a fallen Famba and shouted above, his voice cracked but insistent.
"Hold da line! Hold da line! Wesa not gonna let dem through!"
Gungan warriors, weary and sweating, rallied around him. Their long staff weapons crackled with energy, their shields raised. Smoke drifted across the field, obscuring distant movement.
Then, like phantoms emerging from the haze, they came.
Rows of B1 battle droids marched with mechanical precision toward the shield wall. Unlike the distant tanks that shelled from afar, these units were on foot, moving with rigid synchronization, blasters raised, and closing the gap.
"They're coming through the front lines!" cried a Gungan lookout from the ridge.
General Binks spun. "Deploy da rear guard! Dey're tryin' to reach da shield generators!"
The Gungan lines shuffled fast, clumsy yet determined, repositioning with disciplined urgency. Warriors flooded toward the central core of the field, where the Fambas hunkered low beneath the shield's heart. The great beasts, burdened with the massive energy reactors, bellowed nervously.
"Protect da fambas!" Binks ordered. "Dis where wesa make our stand!"
From behind the shimmering barrier, the B1 droids raised their rifles in unison and fired.
The first volleys fizzled uselessly against the shield wall.
But they didn't stop.
The droids were advancing slowly, mechanically, and with every step, they got closer to the thinning portion of the dome where the generator pulses were weakest.
Ten, then twenty, then dozens more passed through the breach, pouring in like a metal tide. Their voices echoed with eerie uniformity.
"Roger, roger."
"Target acquired."
"Destroy Gungan power cores."
Jar Jar's breath hitched. "Oh no…"
The battlefield that had once been a line became a circle.
"Form da shell!" he shouted. "Everyone back to da generators! Defend da fambas!"
Explosions peppered the field, and sparks flew. Metal limbs tore loose and skidded across the grass, but the droids just kept coming.
In the distance, Jar Jar Binks threw down his empty satchel and picked up a fallen staff. "Weesa fightin' for Naboo!"
Back at the palace, a pair of doors to the throne room burst open with a hiss of hydraulics and the sound of blaster fire.
Padmé Amidala stepped forward through the smoke with her blaster raised, her small team of guards, pilots, and Shmi Skywalker flanking her on both sides. Their boots clattered over polished marble floors as they stormed inside the regal chamber.
At the far end of the hall, seated like a parasite on a throne he did not deserve, was Viceroy Nute Gunray. The Neimoidian turned at the commotion, his red eyes going wide.
"You?! This… this is impossible!"
Padmé didn't slow her pace.
"Your occupation is over, Viceroy. I'm taking back what's mine."
Padmé came to a stop halfway across the chamber, flanked by Captain Panaka and the surviving guards. Shmi stayed just behind, holding a blaster awkwardly but steadily, her face calm despite the danger. She would not watch another tyrant steal the future from her son or anyone else.
The Viceroy shrank, but not far behind him, two B1 battle droids raised their rifles and stepped protectively in front of him.
"Drop your weapons," one of them chirped in a monotone. "This room is under Federation control."
Padmé didn't blink. "Not anymore."
Before the droids could react, Panaka and one of the guards fired, quick, clean bolts. Both B1s dropped in a heap of parts and sparks.
Gunray gasped and backed toward the wall. "You're making a mistake! You don't know what you're doing! The Trade Federation will not forget this!"
Padmé walked forward again, forcing him back toward the throne. "And the people of Naboo will never forget what you did to them."
From outside the throne room doors came the clatter of metal feet.
Reinforcements.
The sound of synchronized marching and droid chatter echoed through the corridor.
"Additional units en route."
"Secure the throne room."
Shmi turned her head. "They're coming. A lot of them."
Panaka moved toward the door, preparing to brace it manually. "We won't be able to hold them off for long."
Padmé didn't flinch. She turned swiftly and stepped towards the throne. She slid her hand into a hidden crevice beneath the seat's carved stone armrest.
A small control panel revealed itself, one known only to the Queen and her inner circle.
She pressed three buttons in sequence.
Then, the massive doors behind them slammed shut, reinforced steel plates sliding into place with a hiss of locking mechanisms. Magnetic seals engaged.
The room was sealed.
The droids outside crashed into the locked entryway with a series of dull metallic thuds, but they would not be breaking through anytime soon.
Inside, silence fell.
Padmé slowly turned from the throne, now standing tall beneath the royal crest of Naboo. Her presence filled the room, not as a girl in disguise or a figurehead monarch, but as a leader taking back her world.
"You've lost, Viceroy," she said. "No more escape. No more tricks. You're going to answer for everything."
Gunray's hands trembled, his voice barely a whisper.
"You…you can't do this… The Republic will never allow…"
Padmé's eyes burned with quiet fury.
"The Republic let you in. I'm the one showing you out."
The cockpit of the N-1 starfighter thrummed with a steady, mechanical pulse. Anakin sat cross-legged in the pilot's seat, his eyes closed, breath measured. The Force rippled around him, dense, layered, turbulent. He reached deep, casting his awareness far beyond the hangar.
Across the Gungan battlefields.
Through the endless corridors of the palace.
Into the shadows of what would be.
One last moment of stillness.
One final breath before…
His eyes opened.
And locked immediately onto the duel unfolding.
The duel was mesmerizing. Not only for its speed but for its grace. A grace that danced on the edge of savagery.
Anakin leaned forward, the faint edge of a scowl creasing his boyish features.
"Form I…Shii-Cho," he murmured, watching Obi-Wan.
"Still too linear. He relies on momentum, not flow. He's reactive and sharp, but... predictable."
Obi-Wan's blade struck high, then low, but each movement was answered and redirected.
Qui-Gon stepped in to compensate.
"Form IV…Ataru," Anakin breathed.
"Bold and expansive. He's trying to overwhelm Maul's rhythm with sheer pressure. But he's slowing. Footwork... too wide."
A flicker of crimson intercepted Qui-Gon's midsection.
Anakin's eyes narrowed.
"And Maul..."
There was no admiration in his voice. He was cold and precise.
"Form VII…Juyo, maybe bordering on Vaapad. Controlled aggression with layered feints. But there's more..."
Anakin's breath drew in slowly.
Darth Maul moved like a conductor orchestrating violence, each motion timed to control space and tempo. He wasn't just attacking, he was positioning.
Crimson and green light slashed the air, colliding in bursts of heat and fury. Maul moved his twin blades that spun in fiery arcs, fending off the relentless press of Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan. From the outside, it seemed the Jedi had the upper hand, forcing the Sith back with every blow.
But Anakin knew better.
His gaze sharpened, brows drawing together.
Maul wasn't only retreating.
Each evasive pivot, each feigned stagger, each defensive flourish was part of a larger design, subtle, precise, intentional. He was shaping the battlefield beneath their feet, step by step, without ever needing to lead.
"He's guiding them," he murmured, voice barely audible.
"Back... always back."
His eyes tracked the narrowing corridor behind the duel. The metal maw that opened into the Theed Palace's power core chamber.
Anakin's jaw clenched hard, tension flickering across his face.
He could feel it, like a fracture in time. A memory that hadn't happened yet, pressing in from the future.
Qui-Gon falling.
Obi-Wan screaming.
A future he had lived once.
He pushed open the canopy and dropped lightly to the durasteel floor.
A low series of beeps chirped from behind him.
R2-D2, still linked to the fighter's interface, turned his dome frantically, sensors scanning Anakin's movement.
"I know, Artoo," Anakin said without turning.
From behind a stack of crates, C-3PO peeked out, his steel casing dusted with debris and soot.
"Oh dear! Master Anakin, please! This is entirely unsafe! The Jedi instructed us to stay here until…"
"I'm not waiting anymore," Anakin said flatly, already walking.
There was no fire in his voice, just steel.
Threepio flinched. "But... but you don't even have a weapon!"
Anakin not stopping, tilted his head with a small hollow smile.
"Don't need one."
He turned back toward the corridor and closed his eyes. The duel had disappeared deeper into the energy core chambers now. He could feel them, a spiraling echo of intent and power, crashing like tidal waves through the Force.
Now, he thought.
He raised a hand slowly and summoned the currents of the Force, shaping it not with brute strength, but with precision.
He exhaled slowly and closed his eyes. Then he began to fall away.
Invoking a Sith-developed masking technique, his presence in the Force dimmed. His heartbeat slowed, and his breath stilled. He silenced every outward ripple and folded his presence tightly and controlled.
Anakin moved.
He summoned the Force, not in raw bursts, but in layered pulses. His body lightened. His steps grew faster.
This was the same Force technique Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan have been using to keep pace with Maul's relentless speed. A controlled burst of acceleration, Force Speed focused not just on velocity but balance, flow, and anticipation. Where most surged forward in reckless momentum, Anakin's mastery of this technique allowed him to slip between moments like water.
He moved so swiftly that the world around him blurred, yet his awareness remained razor-sharp. He bent the Force around his frame, still tucking his presence into folds of shadow and stillness.
Even Maul or Qui-Gon wouldn't sense him if they weren't actively searching.
And as he moved, something within him shifted.
Calm, determination.
He would not lose Qui-Gon again. Not to this phantom in red and black.
He rounded the final bend of the corridor, cloaked in silence, breath low, presence muted like a dying ember.
Ahead, the hum of lightsabers clashed in thunderous rhythm, echoing through the open reactor shaft. The energy beams hissed and split the air.
Maul stood at the edge of the power-core field now, already baiting them. Luring them toward the trap he knew would divide them.
Anakin crouched behind the railing, unseen.
Ahead, through the veil of shimmering red energy, the duel had fractured.
The corridor was long, and along its length, energy gates opened and closed in timed intervals. Red energy barriers crackled with humming tension, separating the combatants.
Maul stood farthest, pacing like a caged predator behind the final gate. His lightsaber still burned at both ends, and his eyes, fierce and focused, never left his prey. He wasn't impatient.
Midway down the corridor, Qui-Gon Jinn knelt in meditation.
The glow of the gate before him painted harsh red across his features. His chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm, his saber resting beside him, humming faintly. He conserved his strength. But Anakin could feel the undercurrent, weariness, and grim resolve.
Obi-Wan was two gates back, separated from his master by several barriers. He paced restlessly, lightsaber in hand, jaw tight, his movements sharp with tension. The young Jedi was ready, too ready. His presence flared and dipped with emotion.
Frustration and fear.
Anakin approached stopped several meters away, hidden behind a structural column.
From this distance, they wouldn't sense him, especially not with his presence folded so tightly in the Force. He crouched low and closed his eyes in immense focus and anticipation.