Through Bitter Chains

Through Bitter Chains.

Chapter 2:

When eventually, Count Dooku made it to the large, hall like, room at the top of the spire that set the Invisible Hand apart from the rest of the ships in it's class, he was surprised to see that even Super Battle Droids were somewhat reluctant to enter the room. Content to isolate the situation, rather than become the next pile of scrap metal, they stood idly in the doorway, contemplating their next move in binary.

Instantly, the scent of smouldering alloy filled the Count's nose with it's tangy, metallic bouquet.
The lights of the room flickered and sparked, lighting up the room in brief lightening like illuminations.
There was initially no sign of the cyborg, but Dooku could sense his presence strongly in this room. Anger, a seething sensation, tore its way through the force. The Count let another confident smirk play across his lips as he realised, Grievous, was waiting for him.

Chuckling slightly, he could not resist the urge to mock,

“Really, do you think I cannot sense your every movement?”

The sound of metal on metal echoed around the seemingly empty hall, still Grievous remained hidden, the sense of anger renewed.

“Your every thought?” Dooku continued.

The faint sound of mechanised tendons tensing was barely audible to the average ear, but the elderly Sith Lord could hear it clearly, his mocking grin widened.

Up amongst the power conduits and coolant pipes that littered the ceiling, General Grievous watched the Count’s every movement. The words last spoken between them hammered through his anger enhanced mind. He was no mere droid! He had been able to ‘digest’ the quips about his poor sabre technique, they could, after all, be seen simply as constructive criticism, instruction even. But to dismiss him as a mere droid? The ultimate insult, and if he could have had his way, the final insult.
Every time he so much as looked at Dooku, or one of his organic counterparts, he was reminded of what he no longer had. What he no longer was, or would ever be again...whole. It made every fibre of his being ache with regret, with shame, even need, only to be eclipsed by an all encompassing anger.
His wives, would be ashamed if they saw him now, rocked to their very core at this crude replacement of a body. They were best off thinking he was dead.

Despite efforts to make his own modifications to his faceplate, he was, and probably never would be, proud of what he had become.
And so it was in moments of reflection like this, he would take his frustrations out on the nearest being, and woe betide them.

Dooku was not stupid, not ignorantly blind as to the reasoning behind the cyborgs violent outbursts. He could often sense his quiet mental laments, and now was no exception. He could feel the cause of the General’s anger ripple through the force, gaining in intensity with every passing second.
Still the Count made no attempt to move from where he stood, nor did he give any indication that he knew where Grievous was.

In that moment, as quick as the energy he had sensed built, it stopped. Grievous let go of his magnetised holding on the ceiling, and pounced, making it to within centimetres of the Count, impact was imminent in the cyborgs mind. But not in Dooku’s.

With a small gesture like movement of his left hand, Grievous was forced to a halt and held there in mid air, unable to move.
Turning so that he locked gazes with the now immobile cyborg, Dooku smirked sadistically, before then speaking.

“A foolish move my friend. You need to learn your place.”

Again gesturing with his hand as if to push Grievous away from him, yet never making contact with the General, he sent the cyborg careering backward until Grievous’ back hit the wall with a loud metallic ‘clang!’
There the Count held him pinned, the smirk not leaving his face for a second, he then continued,

“You are where you are because of me....you live today, because I allowed it....I own you!”