Count Dooku stood in the expansive training chamber aboard his flagship, light pouring through vast viewports that revealed the star-sprinkled abyss of space below. He took up the surreal identity from The Attraction System, in turn it brung to life—physical revival be damned—the deeper resonances of skill and mastery that, by rights, should have been lost when bound to the confines of one life.

"Let's begin," he said, his tone smooth and commanding, his words echoing off of the emptiness like a battle cry. He ignited his crimson lightsaber, its hum firing the echoes of countless battles within him.

In his mind, The Attraction System gleamed, a digital overlay rating his potential and advising his actions. Streaming across his vision, course charts itemized the seven forms of lightsaber combat—each move a possible path to victory. A flicker seized his attention upon the fluidity and precision of Form II, Makashi, but threaded with underpinnings from the other forms worked into his repertoire seamlessly.

"Today, I shall draw the spirit of all forms," he said, for he truly realized what this double life had made of him: the shining prodigy, the one warrior who soon would have truly mastered every single form of combat and all the subtleties that came with them. "From the full defense of the most defensive form of Soresu to the aggressive striking of the most aggressive form of Djem So, I then should stand at the perfect amalgamation of technique."

Dooku closed his eyes, deeply in concentration while envisioning the various forms. Form I—Shii-Cho—its broad strokes are a study in simplicity. He pivoted, then went through a sweeping strike and an effective disarmament for an imagined attack. Next, he went through the elegant precision of Makashi, his moves turning into a dance, a sharp thrust followed by a deceptive feint that could confuse even the most astute of opponents.

"So graceful…" he said quietly to himself. The memories of the college student surged within him—the excitement of study sessions, the adrenaline of competitions. This was a juxtaposition he relished—one moment, commander of armies; the next, an eager student soaking in lessons, seeking validation.

He rolled into Form III—Soresu, fluidly shifting his concentration onto defensive strategies. "Never underestimate the power of patience," he repeated himself, reflecting back to his own criticism of the Jedi and their reliance on rigid dogma. "When one holds his ground, it is much harder to be defeated."

With every Form that Dooku practised he felt the residual energies of his body harmonized with a burgeoning midichlorian count reverberating through him in order to hold his connection to the Force. The unanticipated but welcome gift of an Attraction System sweeping into phenomenon thus meant that his finesse was not just enhanced, but amplified by unseen energy.

"Let us stir the dark waters," he hushed, focusing his thoughts on the Force. With a tight hold on his lightsaber, he summoned the energy from his surroundings and drew it into himself.

At that instant, the radiant glow about him surged, every particle of Midichlorians searching and craving a bond with his very being. The Attraction System measured it seemed, changing its parameters to his growing potential. His deep connection was underlined by the glowing monitor.

"Impressive. Your Midichlorian count has increased," the System pulsed within his mind, digital assurance of his change. "Current Value: 32,505. Increased by 97%"

His eyes widened, breath let out, and inside was a suddenly lit flame. "So it is true. My potential grows with each thought that I harness." Whirling the saber through the air with his rejuvenated energy, cleaving the air with newfound vigor, he felt the iconic flow of energy set into the very fabric of his being.

Soon filling the central area of the training vessel with the hum of his blade, Dooku switched to Form IV—Ataru, using acrobatics and speed to empower his strikes, countering with an elegant flourish. The lightsaber whirled above his head, flashing past in a deadly cascade—each move planned but improvisational in its execution, showing off the dominance that fusion of styles could yield.

In his skyrocketing enthusiasm, the voice of the college student felt it had to say something again, as it echoed the thrill of battle in his brain. "Show what you've got!" it said to him. He stayed tuned to do battle in his mind against his phantom opponent, which he may substitute by imagining alternative fighters whom he had defeated more times than not or even occasionally lost as well. The line between being angry and being enthusiastic was lost as he re-enacted the duels he had fought against the Jedi Masters of his past.

"Against me, you shall find no path to victory," he growled, the energy and enthusiasm of a young warrior that had been forged and tempered by countless trials coursing through him. With a flick of his wrist, Dooku moved into Form V—Shien, using its aggressive stances to press against his imaginary adversary, the weight of each encounter driving home the techniques he'd perfected over the years.

The Attraction System helped to make him feel every shape anew, refreshed, filled to the brim with confidence that raced through his very being. "There is deftness in this body—that I might have missed if not for the aid of the Attraction System," he pondered. This was not just the enhancement of skill or a simple renewal of youth; it was the actual awakening of the soul of the warrior.

"Now," he ordered, smoothly molding himself into Makashi again, "let us put this newfound strength to the test."

His lightsaber leaped from his hand, a vibrant, dancing streak that slashed through arcs of light in the great chamber. His focus snapped clean. "Our real battle is yet to come…" he whispered, his mind racing with the threads of the web that now loomed toward Sidious, soon Sidious he would have to face—.

"Make ready the Alliance," he determined, pride welling within his chest. "Let them see that Count Dooku, reborn as a maestro of the blade, shall not only rule through combat but lead the galaxy toward its rightful reawakening!"

With one final arc of his blade, Dooku smiled—imposing, commanding, and wholly ready to declare a New Order from the stars, led not just by a Sith, but a paragon of potential.

* * *

In a darky, undercity hotel on Coruscant, Count Dooku looked into a cracked mirror. His reflection was in sharp contrast to the decaying surroundings. The elderly countenance of the previous Jedi Master had left, and in his place was a young countenance, radiant in life and charm. Only his signature silver beard and hair remained to testify to his true identity.

Dooku smiled, reveled in the success of his newest creation. The merge with the memories of the average college student had given him access to the Attraction System—an energy dwarfing any he had faced or wielded in his years as Jedi and Sith alike. With the mere thought, new abilities were his to command, and those he already possessed were increased.

"Fascinating," he murmured, flexing his fingers. "To think, the key to ultimate power lay hidden in the mind of an ordinary student."

A sudden chill in the Force alerted Dooku to an approaching presence. He turned, composing himself as the door slid open to reveal the cloaked figure of Darth Sidious.

"Lord Tyranus," Sidious began, his voice a low rasp. "I sense… a disturbance in the Force. Centered around you."

Dooku bowed slightly. "Master, the changes you perceive are in appearance only and are merely the result of my dedication to our cause."

Sidious spread out around his back, the yellow narrowing. "Your look, your aura. They've changed… Explain."

"I've found dimensions of the Force I had never known, my master," Dooku said cautiously, "methods that have enabled me to augment my capabilities and sustain my vitality."

"Indeed?" There was suspicion threaded through Sidious's voice. "And these… techniques. Where did you acquire them?"

Dooku smiled enigmatically. "From an unexpected source, Master. One might say they came to me in a vision."

Sidious's eyes flashed. "Do not play games with me, Tyranus. I demand to know the nature of this power."

"Respectfully, my Master," Dooku replied suavely, "that is supposedly what a good strategist avoids doing. Be confident, however, that my loyalty and what we plan remain the same for you and whatever we decide to pursue."

A small flare of lightning danced briefly in Sidious's hands. "You're treading on dangerous ground, my apprentice. More than likely, your new powers have made you... overconfident."

The Sith Lord, however, was unmoved. "On the contrary, they have only served to increase my will to bring our plans to completion."

The Dark Lord stared at his apprentice for a long moment, trying to seek out deception in the Force. Finally, he relented. "Very well, Lord Tyranus, you may keep your secrets… for now. But now, I shall bear close scrutiny upon thee."

As Sidious turned away, Dooku caught a fleeting thought through their Force bond—that of a young Jedi with sandy hair and piercing blue eyes.

"Anakin Skywalker," Dooku mused silently. "So, the game begins anew."

Aloud, he said, "Master, before you go. I have news of the Separatist movement. Our influence grows daily."

Sidious stopped in the doorway. "Good. Carry on your work, Lord Tyranus. But remember-there are always alternatives should you prove… unsatisfactory."

The door hissed shut behind his Master, Dooku allowed himself a small smile. The Attraction System hummed within him, like a wellspring of untapped potential. He knew the road ahead of him would be fraught with danger-but for the first time in years, he felt truly alive.

"Let Sidious plot," he thought, running a hand through his silver hair. "Let him consider Skywalker as a replacement. In the end, the true power will be mine."

With a sweep of the cape, Count Dooku strode from the room, ready to face whatever the galaxy had in store for him. The future, once so certain, now opened up before him like an unwritten story, full of endless possibilities.

* * *

In the Galactic Senate's dim alcove, Count Dooku lounged, now magnificently restored, in the full vigor of his prime, against the records of the ongoing Kaleesh-Yam'rii War. Each belly-flickering image showed some warlord marshaling his forces with strategic genius, an image that had long since caught Dooku's attention. The warlord of Kalee—he had not seen that name, at least not for some time. But he was fast becoming the warlord of the Kaleesh, the fiercest resistance to the technologically superior Yam'rii who have besieged Kalee, turning the planet into a battlefield drenched with loss and memory.

"His methods are bold, unorthodox," Dooku mused aloud, stroking his silver beard as he digested the reports. "Victory bought by fierce resolution and tactical acumen. The Jedi underestimated him, naive in their assessments." This war of hatred and slaughter had forged a leader who knew what survival cost.

The reflections of Dooku were disturbed by the unsettling appearance of his master, Darth Sidious, in his dark robes, seemingly an apparition within the room. "You think of the Kaleesh warlord, I sense," Sidious rasped, his voice low and full of curiosity.

"Indeed, my lord," Dooku responded, motioning to the holographic display. "Grievous is displaying incredible leadership, harnessing his people's vengeance against the technological superiority of the Yam'rii. He is a being of fury and tactical genius we need."

Sheev came closer, his eyes narrowing with interest as he followed the data of conclusive victories on the part of Grievous. "You have felt his passion, but what confidence have we that this creature, bred of battle, will stand at our back? What in the galaxy will assure that he does not blaze our plans?"

And Dooku's expression steadied, confidence reflecting in his words: "His hate for the Jedi runs deep, Master. Especially given the fact that the intervention on behalf of the Yam'rii brought suffering onto his people, of which Grievous sees himself as a representative—to my way of thinking—of justice due. He seeks not just power but revenge. I believe we can harness this vengeful spirit."

"A powerful revenge-driven being, one may make an efficient tool," Sidious went on in measured pace, his face drawn in thought. "But a tool too powerful might prove unwieldy."

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

"Yes, indeed, my master," agreed Dooku. "But that is what will work to our advantage. If Grievous were to command our droid forces on the battlefield, he would fill the Jedi with fear, indeed. Do you see? When he is allowed to unleash his anger, his aggression, his dreaded potential, the kind of chaos he can cause, the sort of terror he can strike in their hearts—we would have turned an unpredictable variable into an asset of unimaginable usefulness."

"That is treachery indeed," Sidious warned, his fingers drumming out an unseen rhythm as he leaned in closer. "However, your vision has seen you out of many traps, Count. Might he be convinced to act in our interest without going too far?"

To that, Dooku stood tall, conviction etched into his voice as he looked upon the future they might shape. "He will need guidance, but we can project the narrative of power, of conquest. Allow him to see the importance of our ambitions, pivot him away from that of a warlord's chaos toward our own rebellion. His dreams of revenge will spiral into a shared destiny—one that we control."

Sidious's lips curled into an unspoken, mirthless smile. "Very well. Enact your plan. But you will inform Grievous, should he prove obstinate, that without us, he is nothing more than a ruthless warrior, lost among the stars."

With Sidious gone now, Dooku turned his attention back to the holo-display, his mind turning to the promise that Grievous had alluded to. There flickered a detail of memories from the college student, a moment of pure potentiality where ambition was tempered with wisdom. "An alliance with Grievous is inevitable," he murmured, feeling the exact machinations of the Living Force align with his will. "In him, I shall not only see a weapon but a fellow actor in the intricate designs I have spun for the Jedi's downfall."

This thought filled him with life. Dooku visualized a campaign in which the fury of Kaleesh and his own coldly reasoned intellect would work in unison: a maelstrom of ambition, set against a tapestry of vengeance, unified in a chorus of shadows—the echoes which would sound across the galaxy.

"Yes," he whispered, his voice deep, echoing off the dark chamber. "A storm is rising on Kalee, and the Jedi shall learn the lesson of great power: that which sprouts from a fractured past may yet yield a burgeoning loathing for their order."

Closer to the holo-display, Dooku strained ahead with that sense of renewed Weismann vigor. It was through the confirmation of their alliance that Grievous had given him a means to remake his destiny and that of the galaxy—by compelling his enemies onto a precarious gameboard with stakes higher than ever before.

* * *

Count Dooku walked down the busy corridors of the secret Separatist facility on Geonosis, the floor creaking beneath his steady pace toward the medical bay. His face, rather young though surrounded by silver-colored hair and beard, did not give away a single thing about the deception he was to unveil.

The doors hissed open, revealing to Dooku the imposing figure before him of the Kaleesh warlord whose military prowess had come to his attention: General Grievous. His cybernetic enhancements gleamed underneath the unforgiving medical lights that replaced part of his body—the power that would be his.

"General Grievous," Dooku said, his voice velvet soft, soothing. "I trust our facilities meet your satisfaction?"

Grievous turned, his reptilian eyes narrowing. "Count Dooku… your promises of power are… intriguing. But at what cost?"

Dooku smiled, a practiced gesture of warmth that didn't quite reach his eyes. "The cost, my friend, is merely your dedication to our cause. With these enhancements, you will become more than you ever dreamed possible."

The Kaleesh warrior considered this, his clawed hand clenching and unclenching. "What about my people then? What about our war with the Yam'rii?"

"All in good time." Dooku put his mind at rest. "First we must see you safely through the transition phase. A shuttle is waiting to convey you to the center for enhancement."

Not visible to the naked eye, Dooku felt a tingling of invisible excitement and nodded in agreement as Grievous nodded with an understanding. All was falling into place, and the hidden hand of The Attraction System was moving the pieces.

Hours later, the siren of his facilities gave off a cacophony. In a pretended show of worry, he hurried to the hangar and investigated the wreckage of the shuttle. A roiling smoke rose from jagged metal. He saw the broken form of Grievous through the smoke.

"Get him to the bacta tank, at once!" Dooku barked, lending his voice a tone of great urgency where none was. Indeed, it was necessary. As medical droids suddenly went from idle to making febrile preparations to obey this order, he allowed himself a thin, self-satisfied smile. The plan was working nicely.

Days went by, and Grievous drifted within the eerie blue glow of the bacta tank, his injuries extensive and life-threatening. Dooku stood before the tank, watching as consciousness slowly returned to the Kaleesh warrior.

Grievous's eyes flickered, and his confusion dragged out into horror as he put the pieces together. That was some tough damage to a once-powerful frame, now flayed into an indescribably mangled mess of flesh and bone.

"What… what happened to me?" Grievous's voice was weak, barely traveling through the bacta.

Dooku's face twisted into a mask of sympathy. "I'm afraid there's been a terrible accident, my friend. Your shuttle was sabotaged."

"Sabotaged?" Grievous's eyes widened in shock and anger. "By whom?"

Dooku, in this moment, lingered, tension built. "There is reason to suspect a Jedi agent who feared your... your might, your power."

Grievous's face contorted with abhorrence, his loathing for the Jedi, already simmering, now boiling. "They will pay for this." he snarled.

"Yes, they will," Dooku assented, low and soothing. "But first, we have to save your life. I can offer you rebuilding, a new body more powerful than you could imagine. With it, you will have your revenge against the Jedi, the Republic, and even the Yam'rii."

Grievous was silent for a moment, mulling it over. Then, a voice full of determination and hatred replied, "Do it."

As the echoes of Grievous's agonized screams faded into the sterile air of the surgical theatre, Count Dooku stood before the array of holoscreens, the youthful visage in marked relief to the ancient wisdom gleaming in his eyes. The Attraction System hummed within him, a constant reminder of his newborn powers and the intricate web of deception he had spun. The surgical FX droids worked on him with calculated efficiency, their metallic appendages weaving in and out of Grievous's shattered form.

Dooku swept his gaze over the screens, which showed the grisly transformation from multiple angles. "More finesse with the neural interfaces," he ordered, his voice heavy with command. "We dare not lose General Grievous's tactical brilliance, his fighting instincts."

As the droids corrected their heading, Dooku allowed himself a moment of introspection. Grievous's fall and rebirth had been engineered with surgical precision—something that would not have been possible without Force-empowered functionality within his new body. The manipulation of such events on this large of a scale filled him with dark satisfaction.

The Count's eyes narrowed as he watched Grievous's body being torn apart and reconstructed. A new terror was hence birthed, forged in the crucible of pain and betrayal, to strike fear into the heart of Jedi everywhere across the galaxy. And at the forefront of it all was Count Dooku, where the handsome face of his youth lay in flat contrast to ages-etched cunning within his eyes as he wove on with a web of trickery to reshape the fate of the whole galaxy.

With a satisfied nod, Dooku turned from the screens and was off toward his chambers once more. The Attraction System pulsed within him, ever-present reminder of the might at his fingertips. Walking, he reveled in his mind, with the sheer number of possibilities at his command as he plotted his next move in the grand game of galactic dominance.

"Your new body… will be a testament to the power of the Separatist cause," Dooku murmured, though he knew Grievous could not hear him within his drug-induced slumber. "And a weapon that will bring the Jedi to their knees."

Weeks gave way to months as the reconstruction work went on. Systematically, the few remains of what had once been Grievous's organic form were replaced by cybernetic replacements, each a marvel of its own kind of engineering in being purpose-built to enhance his already formidable array of abilities. His skeleton was reinforced with phrik alloy, giving him incredible strength and endurance. All-new innovations in servodroids were integrated into the limbs for lightning-fast movements, reflexes that would outmaneuver even the most proficient Jedi.

The last adjustments were made as Dooku entered the operating theater. He walked to the operating table where Grievous lay—more machine now than Kaleesh. The cyborg's eyes flickered open, focusing on Dooku with a mix of confusion and rage.

"Welcome back, General," Dooku said gently. "How do you feel?"

Grievous's vocabulator crackled to life, his voice now a mechanical rasp. "I feel… powerful. But also… changed."

"You are reborn, my friend," said Dooku, placing a hand on the metal shoulder of Grievous. "The Jedi tried to destroy you, but we have made you stronger than ever before."

Grievous narrowed his eyes at the mention of the Jedi. "I remember… The sabotage… The pain."

Dooku nodded gravely, triumphing inwardly at how his lie was succeeding. "Yes, but now you have the power to exact your revenge. And I will help you harness that power."

Over the next weeks, Dooku personally oversaw the rehabilitation and training of Grievous. They spent hours in a specially designed combat simulation chamber where he learned to overcome his new body.

"Your cybernetic enhancements give you strength and speed beyond measure," Dooku went on to explain as they sparred. "But to defeat a Jedi, you must be one step ahead of them."

The Count activated a series of holoprojectors, filling the room with the images of Jedi in combat. "Notice their movement, their technique. Learn to forecast their actions, and you will become unstoppable."

Grievous soaked it all in with a fervor that was nearly an obsession. His hatred for the Jedi fed the fire of his will until it drove him to train for hours without end.

Increasingly, with Grievous's growing ability, Dooku decided that the time had finally come to take the ultimate step and make him all that Grievous could be in his own image. He brought the cybernetic warlord to a private room in which there was a single lightsaber set on a plinth.

"This weapon," Dooku said, his voice tinged with false nostalgia, "belonged to a Jedi I once called a friend. Now, I give it to you as a token of your new purpose."

Grievous reached out, the clawed hand closing around the lightsaber's hilt. As he lit the blade, its blue glow reflected in his eyes, a stark contrast to the hatred that burned within them.

"With this blade," Grievous growled, "I will bring death to every Jedi in the galaxy."

Dooku smiled, feeling satisfaction. The Attraction System pulsed with energy as his well-laid plans came to fruition.

"Yes, my friend," Dooku said, placing a hand on Grievous's shoulder. "Together, we will reshape the galaxy. The Jedi and the Republic will fall, and from the ashes, a new order will rise."

It was then, with them standing as they were—master and pupil, architect and weapon—that the future shifted for Dooku. The power of The Attraction System had allowed him to craft this moment with precision, molding Grievous into a perfect instrument of destruction.

And yet, beneath the triumph, a small part of Dooku, perhaps an echo of the college student he once had been, felt a flicker of unease. He had created a monster, a being of pure hatred and vengeance. But as quickly as the thought arose, he dismissed it. In this game of galactic chess, such sacrifices were necessary.

The stage was set, almost all of his players in position. And as Grievous practiced with his new lightsaber, its hum filling the chamber, Dooku knew that the next phase of his grand plan was about to begin.