Morgan continued, calm and absolute. "I will no longer lower my guard. Prepare yourselves."
Sadow's composure cracked. He snapped his gaze to Malgus. "Malgus—prepare your strongest Force maelstrom. Control the radius. Do not—"
The ground detonated. Boom. A demonic pillar tore upward beneath them, erupting straight out of the land as if reality itself had been skewered. Black-green matter spiraled along its length, sigils burning as it punched through stone and root alike. A transfiguration portal sealed behind it a heartbeat too late to trace.
Morgan was already there. She appeared beside the pillar mid-motion, circling it with almost playful precision, cloak flaring, pink mana slicing the air as she moved. One instant empty space. The next—her silhouette sliding along the pillar's curve, eyes locked on them.
"Move," Sadow barked.
Both Sith dove. The pillar shattered where they'd stood, the impact blasting shards of corrupted earth outward like shrapnel. Heat and pressure screamed past them as they narrowly cleared the strike, boots skidding across torn ground.
Morgan vanished again. Another portal snapped open at a different angle. The pillar twisted, reoriented, and stabbed sideways, tearing through jungle canopy and stone in a wide, sweeping arc. The Sith barely escaped, rolling through debris as the strike missed by meters—then inches.
They didn't stop moving. They didn't even look back.
The conclusion was immediate and unanimous.
She can attack from anywhere.
Malgus slid to a halt beside Sadow, lightning armor flaring as he rebalanced. His respirator hissed as irritation burned through him. That damn woman, he thought. This is a coward's way to fight.
He thrust his arm upward and unleashed Force lightning, a savage red-white arc ripping through the air toward the flying witch. The blast tore across the canopy, burning a path straight for Morgan.
Morgan noticed instantly.
A transfiguration portal snapped open in front of her, and a demonic arm surged out of it, massive and clawed. The arm swung once.
Seven smaller portals bloomed in a tight ring, each firing a beam of condensed transfigured energy straight at Malgus.
The barrage was overwhelming. Malgus moved anyway.
He dove, rolled, leapt—lightning armor flaring violently as beams scorched past him. One clipped his shoulder, another burned across his side. Pain screamed through his systems, armor cracked, flesh seared—but he stayed on his feet. Stubborn. Relentless. Still alive.
Then Sadow struck. From Morgan's blind spot—behind her—Naga Sadow raised his arm, conjuring a sun-like orb, dense and blinding, heat bending the air around it.
Morgan had already anticipated it. A portal opened—not in front of her—but beside Malgus, still mid-dodge, still focused on surviving the beam storm.
The orb detonated. Boom.
The sun-strike slammed directly into Malgus, the explosion swallowing him in fire and pressure. The blast carved the ground open, vaporized trees, and hurled him through stone and earth.
Malgus crashed down on one knee once more, armor shattered, lightning flickering erratically around his frame. He stayed upright—but barely.
Sadow felt it then. A surge of dark side pressure blooming elsewhere,. Exar Kun..
He didn't turn his head. Instead, he made a small, precise gesture with two fingers—hidden, deliberate.
Be still. You're finished for now.
Malgus bristled, rage flaring, but his body betrayed him. He stayed on one knee, forcing the dark side inward, knitting burns and fractures through sheer will. Breathing harsh. Waiting.
Sadow stepped forward alone. He raised his voice just enough to carry, tone measured, almost diplomatic. "Enemy from beyond this galaxy," he said, eyes fixed on Morgan. "Not all Sith are like Nihilus." A pause, calculated. "We can share this galaxy. Rule it. There is no need for total annihilation—no need for one side to be erased."
Morgan regarded him in silence. Pink mana rolled lazily around her, portals dimming but not closing. Her expression was calm. Interested. Amused.
She already knew what Sith promises were worth. Lies layered on ambition, sharpened by betrayal. But that was exactly why she found this moment entertaining.
Because she could see the plan forming behind Sadow's eyes.
And Morgan was already imagining how it would break—right in front of them.
Naga Sadow continued, voice steady, measured. "The Jedi," he said, "even in the Old Republic—Malgus' era, my own golden age of the Sith—they were always portrayed as heroes. We were cast as the evil." He dismissed it with a slight tilt of his head. "But we can skip the myths."
His tone hardened. "Even now, society is stagnant. The powerless remain powerless. The spoiled rule the galaxy." His gaze flicked toward the ruined horizon, toward Coruscant that wasn't here. "Look at them. They govern, they rot, and the galaxy obeys."
Morgan didn't answer. She only raised an eyebrow. Just a fraction. Enough.
Sadow noticed immediately. His eyes narrowed. "You already know this," he said. "So why say nothing?"
Morgan exhaled once, amused rather than impressed. She tilted her head, pink mana curling idly around her shoulders.
"Are you done?" she asked calmly. "Because I'm starting to realize something. You're a terrible talker."
Her gaze shifted, cutting cleanly between them.
"I'll summarize you both," Morgan continued, tone flat, surgical. "There's no tragedy here. If you were Darth Vader—the future Sith Jin-Woo keeps mentioning—I might sympathize." Her eyes flicked to Malgus. "But you? Mercy was a liability. Attachment was weakness. Survival meant dominance." She stepped closer. "You followed that logic so far you killed your own wife."
Malgus said nothing. The lightning around him sputtered, uneven.
Morgan turned to Sadow.
"And you," she said evenly, "who believed the Sith Empire could go supernova across the galaxy. You call yourselves architects of civilization." A brief nod. "Admirable." Then her voice hardened. "But you crushed anyone who had nothing to do with you. And anyone with half a functioning brain knows what you want."
She held his gaze.
"You don't want order. And progress. You want just to rule."
Pink mana tightened around her like a crown.
"You both could have lived quietly," Morgan finished. "A simple life. normal one. Like Vectivus." A pause. "But you chose this instead."
The air shifted. Then the ground answered.
Dark pressure rolled across the jungle as the horizon filled with movement—thousands of shapes emerging from between ruins and warped stone. Massassi. Warriors twisted by ancient dark alchemy, bodies stretched and reinforced, eyes burning with ritual fury. Blades, spears, and living weapons scraped against the earth as they formed ranks.
Twenty thousand.
The jungle groaned under their weight.
Sadow smiled thinly. "Don't pretend you don't want to rule," he said. "To me, you're the same as us. You just wear politics instead of crowns." His gaze sharpened. "And Jin-Woo as well. He holds power greater than the dark side itself—yet he loiters, plays guardian, instead of finishing what he could have done."
He spread his arms slightly. "Becoming the sole ruler of this galaxy."
Lightning crackled as Malgus finished knitting his armor back together, prosthetic systems locking into place with a low grind. He straightened, rolling his shoulders once.
"Get to the point, Sadow," Malgus growled. "I'm tired of your speeches." His gaze locked back onto Morgan. "Aren't we here to snuff out the enemy from beyond this galaxy?"
Sadow didn't answer him immediately. Inside, the thought cut sharp and venomous—ungrateful son of a Sith from a rotten era. He ignored it and turned fully toward Morgan instead.
"Normally," Sadow said, voice measured again, "I would offer you a token of friendship. An understanding. So that one day, you might help me oppose the one who rules the shadows." His eyes narrowed. "But you are too dangerous."
Morgan burst out laughing.
"Pfff—ahahaha." She waved a hand dismissively. "Oh, I expected that. You wanted to talk more in the end," Her smile sharpened. "Jin-Woo was right. Sith are headaches by default—problematic in every possible way. You can't even cooperate long enough to appreciate one another."
She shrugged lightly. "Still. It was fun talking to you."
Then she moved. A transfiguration portal tore open behind her, then another—then dozens. Demonic arms surged out in synchronized arcs, carving sigils through the air. Space screamed as a vast construct formed.
The sky folded. A miniature planet manifested around them, spanning nearly ten kilometers, rotating violently like a newborn celestial body forced into existence. Gravity inverted. Terrain lifted. The Massassi ranks broke as the world itself began to grind inward.
Screams followed. Hundreds were crushed instantly—bodies pancaked, flung, or pulled screaming into the spinning mass. Entire formations vanished as the artificial planet rotated, compressing everything too slow or too weak to escape.
At its center stood Morgan. Pink mana flared around her like a star's corona. She hovered calmly, the axis of the false solar system, cloak drifting as if in vacuum.
"The talking is over," Morgan said evenly, voice carrying through the chaos. "It's been… informative, learning what you all really are."
Her eyes fixed on Sadow again.
"Now," she continued, calm and lethal, "shall we fight again, Naga Sadow?"
Malgus didn't wait. His body surged forward in a violent burst, lightning armor screaming as he turned himself into a living projectile, intent clear—destroy her chest, end it by brute force if sorcery failed.
He never reached her. Something tore through the air.
Malgus' leg vanished. "HAAAGH—!" he screamed as his balance collapsed, body spinning uselessly before crashing hard into the ground. Blood and sparks sprayed where the limb had been.
Sadow's eyes widened. He snapped his gaze around, searching for the strike.
Too late.
From within one of Morgan's demonic arms, Malgus' severed leg emerged, already crushed in the claw's grip. The arm flicked once—casual, contemptuous—and hurled it back toward him. The ruined limb landed beside Malgus with a wet clang, as if mocking him.
Fix it again. Morgan didn't even look at Malgus.
Her eyes were on Sadow now.
"Oppose the one who rules the shadows?" she said evenly. "The Shadow Monarch is beyond death." A faint smile curved her lips. "And he is my husband."
Pink mana flared outward, pressure surging as the miniature planet continued its slow, murderous rotation.
"But I suppose I haven't introduced myself properly," Morgan continued. Her voice carried authority, not pride—fact, not boast. "I am Morgan le Fay. Ruler of Britannia by default. England Lostbelt itself."
The mana thickened, sigils blazing brighter.
"I am the current Monarch of Transfiguration." Her gaze sharpened. "And I cannot be slain by any weapon."
She took a single step forward, and the false gravity bent around her.
"I have achieved what you all dream of," Morgan finished coldly, "and what you keep failing to grasp."
Morgan's eyes locked onto Sadow. "Immortality itself."
Sadow moved. Dark side sorcery surged as he accelerated, body blurring with ancient technique, every instinct screaming to overwhelm her before the construct crushed them all. Power coiled around his limbs as he shifted—
"Left," Morgan said calmly. "And you'll step into a trap."
Sadow ignored it. His foot came down.
The ground answered. A transfiguration spike erupted upward, needle-thin and impossibly sharp, punching clean through his leg. Bone cracked. Flesh tore. Sadow snarled and tore himself free, momentum carrying him forward as pain flared hot and useless.
He veered toward the trees instead, senses flaring, scanning for distortions, portals, sigils—anything.
For half a heartbeat, he thought he'd adapted. Then something hit him from behind.
A transfiguration spike punched through his chest, impaling his heart with surgical precision. The force lifted him off his feet and slammed him against the trunk, pinning him there as pink sigils burned along the spike's length.
Sadow gasped. In disbelief.
Morgan walked toward him, unhurried, miniature planet still grinding the battlefield into ruin behind her. Massassi screams faded as gravity and transmutation finished their work.
She stopped a few steps away.
Morgan said evenly. "You threw everything you had." Her eyes flicked briefly toward Malgus—broken, crawling, trying to rebuild himself again. "And now you'll all be buried here ."
She stepped closer.
The body on the spike twitched. The flesh split along old scars, and the voice that came out was not Naga Sadow's.
"Interesting," it said, layered and cold. "So you see me as Sadow."
Morgan stopped. The corpse convulsed, eyes burning with foreign geometry as Exar Kun's presence asserted itself through it, puppeteering what was left of Freedon Nadd's remains.
"Is it hatred?" Exar Kun continued calmly. "Or is it simply convenient—for you—to see every Sith as the same?"
Morgan turned— Too late. Behind her blind spot, space ruptured with heat.
Naga Sadow emerged through scorched air, breathing hard, his right arm held a sword A blade of poisonous alchemy had grown along it, layered with solar residue stolen from a controlled stellar flare, compressed and weaponized in a way even Morgan had not accounted for.
He swung. The impact erased the world.
A twenty-kilometer stretch of land vaporized instantly, stone and forest reduced to incandescent dust. The shockwave flattened everything outward, leaving a massive crater glowing at the edges. Only Exar Kun's temple remained, untouched at the center, shielded by ancient bindings.
When the light faded, Sadow staggered back a step, cloak in tatters, chest heaving.
"I need a break," he muttered, voice raw.
The corpse on the spike sagged uselessly as Exar Kun withdrew his grip. His spirit reformed nearby, chains of geometry rattling faintly as his presence stabilized.
"I'm impressed," Exar Kun said, his voice carrying grudging acknowledgment. "You adapted to my sacred mind-force techniques."
Naga Sadow didn't answer. He was breathing too hard, power still burning through him, the afterimage of the strike lingering in the air.
Exar Kun turned slightly. "So. What now? Our enemy has been obliterated by your precious swo—"
Boom. Pink mana detonated upward from the crater.
The ground warped, folded, then reassembled. Flesh, cloth, sigil, authority—Morgan reformed herself midair, transfiguration knitting her existence back together as if destruction had merely been an inconvenience.
She hovered above the crater, power flaring violently, her form half-veiled by transfiguration light.
"Now that," Morgan said calmly, voice edged with danger, "is real strength. A sun-enchanted sword." Her eyes burned brighter. "So listen carefully when I say this."
Her tone hardened. "I'm not fucking around anymore."
The transfiguration surged. Pink mana spilled outward, as a declaration. Yavin 4 shuddered as its surface fell under her authority—soil, stone, jungle, ley, history—everything rewritten as subject. The planet itself answered to her.
"My power," Morgan continued, voice steady and absolute, "granted by the Shadow Monarch, allows me to transfigure death itself." She looked directly at them. "That is why no weapon will ever put me down."
The sky dimmed. The ground screamed.
"It's over," Morgan said. "Your struggle is mediocre." A pause, cruelly measured. "And as a reward for your effort , I will transfigure all of Yavin 4 into dust."
Pranggg. Something shattered.
Malgus roared and drove his fist through a floating crystal structure—pink, faceted, humming with the same wavelength as Morgan's mana. The pillar exploded into fragments of light, collapsing inward as if a glass lens had been broken at its focal point.
Morgan's eyes snapped wide.
Naga Sadow spoke immediately, voice sharp with grim certainty. "My lady once told me—if you do not have a weakness, then one must be created." His gaze stayed fixed on Morgan. "As long as you remain on Yavin 4, this fight had a slim chance."
Understanding struck Morgan all at once.
That was why Sadow hadn't rushed her. Why he'd let Malgus bleed. Why Exar Kun stalled.
They were building something. An artificial singularity—crude, unstable, born from fragments of power they barely understood. A collision point. A contradiction engine. It forced her transfiguration authority to intersect with her own existence. A Lostbelt product.
Something that was never meant to exist.
Morgan staggered half a step. Pink mana flickered violently, sigils misaligning for the first time. Pain lanced through her chest—not damage, but incompatibility. Veins of light spread across her skin, burning, tearing, as her authority collided with its own impossible origin.
She clenched her teeth. For the first time since revealing her Monarch form, Morgan was truly vulnerable.
A sudden surge ripped through the air. From Exar Kun's temple, a beam of force shot outward—not an attack, but a launch. Exar Kun himself followed, his spirit tearing free of the structure in a violent projection.
"We don't have much time," Exar Kun said sharply. "I'm doing exactly what you asked." His voice strained as something tore loose behind him. "That sword—you told me to build it."
The object flew. Naga Sadow caught it midair.
It looked like a sword only in the loosest sense. The shape was wrong—edges uneven, surface warped as if reality itself rejected its geometry. Dark side energy crawled across it like living rot, older than Sith doctrine, older than empires. It didn't glow. It throbbed.
Sadow stared at it, senses screaming. This wasn't forged through any Sith tradition he knew. The frequency of its power was unfamiliar, mismatched—yet resonant in a way that made his instincts recoil.
He didn't know the truth. That the ingredients had been prepared by a lady no one named aloud. That Abeloth herself had shaped the frequency to mirror her own existence—just enough to allow manifestation for a fleeting moment.
Sadow tightened his grip, jaw set. This better be worth it, he thought grimly. My lady.
He launched himself forward. Morgan met him head-on, anger flaring as her power strained against the artificial contradiction tearing at her existence. "So what?" she snapped. "What if you managed to stall me for mere moments?"
Malgus lowered his head, silent. Exar Kun's presence wavered, confidence gone. They had only one hope left.
Make it worth it.
Morgan reached out and caught the sword before it could reach her body. Barehanded. Fingers closing with intent to crush it outright, to erase the grotesque thing with raw authority.
The twist came instantly. The blade screamed. It unfolded.
Darkness tore free as Abeloth burst from the sword, , her manifestation jagged and furious, frequency snapping into alignment for a heartbeat that shouldn't exist.
Morgan froze. Abeloth…?
Understanding crashed into her all at once.
So that's why you warned me about Naga Sadow. About the Sith. I thought it was caution and politics. Her mind raced even as the moment stretched thin. We're invaders. They're the inhabitants. We pushed them too far. This is what happens when the galaxy bands together.
A bitter clarity followed. If only I had listened more closely, Jin-Woo. My beloved husband.
Abeloth screamed, a sound that tore at reality itself. "HRAHHHHHHHH—!"
Abeloth swung. The strike cleaved Morgan from shoulder to hip in a single, brutal arc. Transfiguration collapsed mid-process. Pink mana detonated outward in a silent, overwhelming shockwave—not destructive, not scorching, but absolute. Space rippled. The Force convulsed. Across the galaxy, sensitive minds staggered as if struck by a distant bell.
The Monarch had fallen out of phase.Never dead. But removed.
For a heartbeat that echoed across star systems, the universe understood a single truth: even monarchs could be pushed back.
Morgan's divided form did not fall. One half remained upright, the other suspended, transfiguration frozen in failure. Even split, her grip never loosened. Her hand still clutched Naga Sadow's sword, fingers locked around it like a judgment that refused to end.
She turned her eyes to him. They burned—not with cold, exhausted clarity.
"You should be proud of yourself," Morgan said, voice carrying through the warped air, steady despite the ruin of her body. "Sith of the Golden Era."
Pink light bled from the fracture through her torso, spilling like embers that refused to die.
"You didn't defeat me," she continued. "You didn't even kill me. What you did was far worse."
Her gaze flicked once—toward Abeloth .
"You unleashed a catastrophe," Morgan said quietly. "You tore open the lock on a fear that was meant to stay buried forever."
"This galaxy will learn her name," Morgan went on. "as memory burned into every living thing." A thin, humorless smile touched her lips. "The Queen of the Stars walks again."
Her voice hardened, final and merciless.
"And when the screams start," she said, eyes never leaving Sadow's, "remember this moment. Remember that you did this."
"How disappointing," Morgan finished. "The terror that should have remained sealed… now breathes again."
Morgan's form began to dissolve. Pink mana folded inward, not dispersing but withdrawing, collapsing into a single ascending column of light. The battlefield dimmed as the Monarch of Transfiguration phased out under laws that answered only to her existence.
A pillar of pink shot skyward.return vector. Across the stars, it marked her path back to Jin-Woo. As a monarch reporting defeat—temporary, bitter, and heavy with consequence.
The air settled. The ground stopped screaming. What remained was absence… and what had been unleashed.
Abeloth watched the fading pillar with something like anticipation. Then she spoke, voice echoing through stone, sky, and void alike.
"Tell your husband," Abeloth said coldly, "that I am coming for him next."
"I will show him," she continued, lips curling, "what true immortality becomes when it is hunted."
Her gaze lifted toward the stars, burning with intent. "The gift he was bestowed," Abeloth whispered, "will become the greatest horror they will ever suffer."