Palpatine raised his hands, lightning sparking in them, and blasted at Mace Windu with a fan of electrical energy.
Mace raised his lightsaber, blocking the assault, and pressed the attack. He forced Palpatine back, against the windowsill, and the Chancellor’s gaze flicked for a moment to Anakin.
“He is a traitor, Anakin!” he appealed, desperate.
“He’s the traitor!” Mace said, his voice strained by the effort of sustaining the Seventh Form and maintaining control of the battle. “Stop him!”
“Come to your senses, boy!” Palpatine implored. “The Jedi are in revolt! They will betray you, just as they betrayed me!”
His bolts of lightning pressed in on Mace’s defences, and Mace shouted in exertion.
Anakin’s hand twitched, torn at a moment of decision. The Force pressed in on him, on this moment, and he took a step forwards.
There was a faint squish sound as he stepped in Master Tiin, and Anakin glanced down to see the half-bisected corpse on the ground.
“You are not one of them, Anakin!” Palpatine pleaded. “Don’t let him kill me!”
Anakin’s gaze lifted again, to the battle, and he hesitated.
“I am your pathway to power!” Palpatine insisted. “I have the power to save the one you love-”
“Anakin!” Mace interrupted, his voice a shout. “If we stop him now I think we can save Master Fisto!”
Anakin blinked, looking down at the Nautolan.
He appeared to be missing at least two lungs, possibly all three of them.
“We can?” he asked. “He looks… dead.”
“Force healing, mother-” Mace shouted, his irritation spiking and leading him dangerously close to falling off the blade’s edge of the Seventh Form, then wrenched himself back into balance with a monumental effort.
Then Anakin stabbed Palpatine in the side, and the sudden cutoff in Palpatine’s spray of Force Lightning meant that the Chancellor went flying out the window.
Then a speeder crashed into him, and he exploded.
“Ow,” Mace muttered, blinking a few times. “Now that was a shatterpoint.”
“...why did he explode?” Anakin asked, confused, then shook his head. “Master – Master Fisto!”
“Right,” Mace said, deactivating his lightsaber and taking two striding steps over to the fallen Masters – stepping over Master Kolar before kneeling on the battered floor of the office.
“What do I do?” Anakin asked. “How can I help?”
“Hold his head up and watch,” Mace replied, focusing, and put both hands on the chest of his friend. “Nautolans can last for longer without air than humans can, but he needs his lungs…”
Anakin watched, fascinated, as Mace summoned the Force to him.
It was… surprisingly simple, all things considered. It wasn’t some kind of complex, intricate trick where Mace had to factor in all the medical details of exactly what he was doing.
It was just… he was willing to give up some of his own strength, some of his own life. And as he did, Master Fisto coughed, a wet sound but one that showed he was still alive.
“Ow,” the human Master muttered. “I’d… appreciate it if you could call a medic…”
“Master?” Anakin asked, worried. “Are you all right?”
“One of my lungs doesn’t work any more, what do you think?” Mace asked, shaking his head. “There’s a reason we don’t teach that technique to just anyone…”
He turned, slumping into a sitting position on the floor, and sighed. “I think I could have handled this whole thing better…”
“I wondered why you didn’t try to arrest him,” Anakin admitted.
“We did,” Mace replied. “For trial before the Senate – he said he was the Senate. Then he killed three Jedi Masters in five seconds, and you saw yourself… disarming him wouldn’t do anything to stop him killing anyone he wanted dead.”
He shot a glare at Anakin. “Medic?”
“Oh – right,” Anakin realized, fumbling for his commlink.
