Chapter 239: The Emperor Ascendant
The Palace Library
The One returned the thick volume to its shelf, a compendium of the Republic's countless species and mechanical constructs. He had absorbed every word in mere minutes.
The data was neither revolutionary nor particularly arcane, yet it possessed its own peculiar merit. The stone of another mountain could polish one's own jade, as the saying held.
Such knowledge would be helpful when he returned to his creative work. Perhaps, in some future universe, these principles might merge with entirely different paradigms.
"Every cosmos possesses its defining character," the Emperor observed, his voice measured and distant as starlight filtering through the void. He withdrew a text on the Force from the nearest shelf. "Should you ever traverse a realm of magic or cultivation, you will encounter phenomena far stranger still."
"Your words stir genuine curiosity, my friend," The One replied. His metal face angled toward genuine interest. "Before I manifested the Transformers universe, I explored several fantasy-touched realms, though I never pursued true scholarship."
"Perhaps the next time I establish a cosmos, I will engage with such studies properly. A universe where technology and the mystical interweave... variants such as enchanted Transformers or Transformers versed in magical or maybe arcane even cultivation arts."
His vocal processors hummed excitement. "The possibilities are quite engaging."
"Creating universes fascinates you so greatly?" The Emperor turned a curious gaze upon him. "Is there truly no greater satisfaction to be found?"
"What could surpass it?" The One's response came swift and sure. "To fashion existence from void, to witness consciousness unfold from one's own designs, what could bring greater joy?"
"Newly born universes are as precious as mortal infants. Irreplaceable."
The Emperor's expression shifted subtly, a pale glimmer of something that might have been amusement crossing his features. "Like infants, indeed. Though they do tend toward rebellion as they mature."
The light in The One's optical sensors flickered. His triumphant tone evaporated, replaced by a heavy silence.
The betrayal of Unicron was a wound that transcended mere temporal healing, a scar no amount of time could truly erase.
'Does this being possess no emotional grace whatsoever?' The One's thoughts churned with frustration. 'He was eloquent enough during the council proceedings. Now he... reopens old wounds with politeness.'
Talking with this Emperor was proving far less pleasant than bantering with Raven.
At least Raven possessed the decency not to salt wounds so efficiently.
The One shifted course deliberately. "I wished to discuss Anakin's ascension. Once the Empire's influence expands through his position, have you considered establishing a dedicated department? Something specifically tasked with administering the various universes?"
The Emperor flipped through his current volume, a text detailing the Force's history spanning millennia.
"Raven has long managed such matters." The Emperor's eyes tracked across the pages with inhuman speed. "He maintains a Bureau of Celestial Management beneath his authority, dedicated entirely to addressing complications arising across multiple realities."
The One's optical sensors brightened with surprise. "Raven oversees an entire administrative apparatus? I can't imagine that."
This revelation contradicted everything he'd observed. In The One's experience, Raven existed in one of two states: either slumbering profoundly or seated cross-legged with fries in hand, showing no inclination toward labor whatsoever.
And yet, Raven possessed an uncanny gift for persuasion.
The Progenitor Transformers, the Cybertronians, Maximals, and Predacons all regarded him with unmistakable affection. Sometimes Raven's counsel proved more effective than The One's own directives, despite his status as Creator.
Young Anakin had fallen entirely under the bird's influence within days of arriving in this universe. The child's determination to follow Raven bordered on absolute devotion.
The Emperor would have concurred with this assessment, had he known it. Indeed, he knew precisely why Raven's words carried such weight.
Twenty of his own sons, his finest sons, born of ambition and shaped by his will, had been charmed away by that infuriating bird. Raven's honeyed words proved more persuasive than their own father's directives.
The Emperor completed his current volume in a single minute, though to observers it appeared he merely turned pages. Yet he had absorbed every word, every nuance, every implication contained therein.
"His administrative duties remain minimal," the Emperor continued, shelving the book with deliberate care. "Though the Bureau itself functions effectively. I recall him mentioning an intention to establish a Transmigrator Management Division as well, to address the possibility of corrupted entities from the Void dispatching their lesser agents to other realities, armed with 'systems' designed to spread contamination throughout entire universes."
"However, given his preoccupation with Empire matters and the scarcity of actual transmigration incidents, he deferred that initiative."
The Emperor turned to face The One directly. "Should you wish to discuss Celestial Management comprehensively, arrange for Raven to attend such discussions upon your return. His perspective would prove valuable."
"My Lord."
Valdor's arrival interrupted the exchange. His voice carried the precise tone of tactical warning. "Assassins approach. Lethal intent confirmed."
"I am aware," the Emperor replied with complete indifference.
"Shall I eliminate them?" Valdor asked, his stance already shifting toward combat readiness.
"No." The Emperor refused immediately. "This presents an opportune moment. Let them strike. We shall demonstrate power, accumulate prestige, and further solidify the path for Anakin's ascension."
The One's sensors had already locked onto the assassins' positions. He'd been prepared to dispatch them instantly upon their attack. Yet now he understood, the Emperor was never simply reacting. He was always calculating, always positioning, always playing moves several phases ahead.
'This man doesn't know what rest is, does he? How...amusing.'
...
In the Library's Shadows, Darth Maul moved with practiced stealth through the deeper recesses of the archive.
To guarantee success, he had assembled a cadre of elite assassins and veiled his presence beneath layers of Force manipulation, a darkness within darkness, his rage carefully controlled and focused.
The encirclement tightened.
"Now," Maul commanded, his voice a low growl.
Blaster rifles rose in unison.
The air erupted with scarlet energy. Beams tore through space with shrieking violence, converging toward the Emperor and his companions in a coordinated strike designed to overwhelm through sheer volume.
But reality itself seemed to object.
A ripple, not a barrier, but something more fundamental, passed through the chamber. The blaster bolts simply ceased to exist in mid-air. They burned out of existence like moths striking an invisible flame.
The Emperor turned his gaze upon the Zabrak Sith Lord, and his expression shifted into something terrible: a smile of pure, crystalline mockery.
"Is that the entirety of your arsenal?"
Maul's face darkened with fury. The emotion acted like fuel, igniting years of frustration and hunger for combat. His hand moved to his lightsaber hilt, activating it with a hiss of powered ignition. The characteristic sound of a Sith weapon coming to life filled the chamber.
The crimson blade ignited, its glow painting his tattooed visage in shades of hellfire and rage.
"To die by my blade is the only honor you shall know," Maul snarled, his voice thick with the Dark Side.
He charged.
His speed was considerable, decades of training in the most vicious forms of lightsaber combat, centuries of bloodline Force sensitivity compressed into pure kinetic violence. His weapon moved in a perfect arc, descending toward the Emperor with balletic precision and lethal intent.
The motion flowed without flaw, without hesitation. Every muscle memory honed through infinite repetition propelled him forward.
For one perfect moment, as the blade descended, Maul tasted victory. His mouth curved upward in a snarl of triumph. The crimson edge was mere finger-widths from bisecting his target completely.
Then it simply... stopped.
No impact. No sudden barrier. Just an absolute cessation of motion, as though the universe itself had decided this particular trajectory was no longer acceptable.
Maul strained. Every fiber of his being, every reserve of strength and Dark Side fury he could summon, poured into forcing that blade forward.
It didn't advance a millimeter.
Time itself had frozen around them, a bubble of stillness within which only Maul and the Emperor maintained consciousness. The Zabrak's muscles trembled with effort, producing nothing but futility. Sweat beaded on his tattooed skin as he pushed against a force beyond comprehension.
"The Dark Side, then," the Emperor mused, his voice carrying the weight of epochs. "Interesting, in its fashion."
An aura descended upon the library, something that transcended mere power. It was the presence of will made manifest, of consciousness so vast and potent that reality bent to accommodate its existence. This was not the mere exertion of strength, but the assertion of dominion over the very fabric of existence itself.
Above Coruscant, the sky itself began to respond.
Clouds gathered from impossible distances, churning in patterns that suggested terrible deliberation. The entire planetary atmosphere grew dim as though some celestial shade had been drawn across the sun's light. Across the planet's surface, citizens looked upward in confusion and dawning dread.
The world darkened.
Shadows lengthened across a billion structures, stretching like fingers reaching toward some distant apocalypse.
Then—light.
A luminescence that was no longer the sun, but something far, far greater. The Emperor stood at the heart of the library, and he burned like a star. His radiance poured through transparent walls, through durasteel facades, through the very air itself, a golden incandescence that seemed to consume all other light.
All of Coruscant became illuminated by His light.
Every being capable of vision across that entire world saw it. An unnatural sun, golden and terrible, casting its gaze across the planetary surface like the eye of some cosmic deity.
At the Jedi Temple
Yoda's meditation was shattered.
Around him, Mace Windu, Ki-Adi-Mundi, and a dozen other Masters jolted simultaneously from their communion with the Living Force. The connection they maintained to the Force's deepest currents had been disrupted, no, not disrupted; it was Overwhelmed.
That power was wrong. Not evil, necessarily, but entirely beyond the scope of anything in Jedi or Sith history. They had touched the very depths of the Force's consciousness, and what they sensed now was something that didn't merely exist within the Force.
It transcended it completely.
The Masters rushed to the windows in near-unison, their eyes widening as they beheld the impossible sun burning in Coruscant's sky. The sight defied explanation. The atmospheric disturbance alone suggested power on a scale they could barely fathom.
"What in all the cosmos is that?" one Master breathed, his voice barely above a whisper, his hand pressed against the transparisteel.
Yoda's ears drooped slightly. Even his thousand years of accumulated wisdom seemed suddenly, terribly insufficient. He had felt the touch of death before, had faced darkness in a thousand forms, and yet this, this was something else entirely.
"Has the Living Force itself taken physical form?" another ventured, his voice uncertain.
"Send teams immediately," Mace Windu commanded, his usual composure cracking at the edges like ice beneath stress. "Find the source of that light. Full emergency protocols. Now."
Palpatine's Tower
The Sith Lord stood at his highest window, his pale features reflected in the transparent steel as he stared at the golden radiance consuming the sky.
For the first time in several decades, Darth Sidious experienced fear.
He had always believed his power was sufficient to contend with the entire Jedi Council, should necessity demand it. His mastery of the Dark Side was supreme; his command over hidden Sith knowledge, accumulated across decades of study and manipulation, was absolute. The Rule of Two had shaped him into the apex predator of Force-users.
But this?
This light carried implications that made all his schemes feel suddenly, horrifyingly small. Every manipulation, every carefully laid plan spanning years and decades, all of it suddenly seemed insignificant in the shadow of that golden radiance.
In that moment, Palpatine understood with perfect clarity: there existed powers in this galaxy that rendered the eternal Jedi-Sith conflict utterly irrelevant. All his careful work, all his schemes to dominate the Republic and remake it in his image, were the concerns of a child playing with toys while an adult observed.
And somewhere beneath that golden sun, that power had chosen to reveal itself.
Back at the Library, the Emperor's luminescence faded gradually, allowing starlight to return to Coruscant.
The clouds dissipated as though they'd never gathered, reality reasserting itself like waking from a terrible dream.
Sith Maul remained frozen, his blade suspended, his body locked in an attitude of failed violence. His muscles still strained, still pushed, still refused to accept the futility of his position.
"You have been judged," the Emperor's voice carried the finality of absolute decree. Each word fell like the hammer of a cosmic executioner. "Your service to disorder ends this day."
The Sith Lord's form simply ceased to exist. It did not get destroyed in any conventional sense, no explosion, no flash of annihilation. Simply removed from the equation, as though his existence had been deemed problematic and therefore addressed accordingly.
Where Maul had stood, nothing remained but absence.
Across the City, Raven observed the display from where he stood with Anakin in the Jedi Temple district. He watched the strange sun illuminate the library for one brief, impossible moment before fading.
The bird's wings folded, as if with resignation.
"Big Guy," Raven muttered, shaking his head. "No universe can handle his particular brand of subtlety."
Anakin glanced up at his mentor, confusion evident on his young face. "What do you mean?"
"I mean," Raven explained with the tone of someone who'd witnessed this pattern countless times before, "that our Emperor just committed several universe-threatening acts of power showmanship in the name of 'strategic positioning.'"
"In most realities, that would destabilize the entire political structure overnight."
"Here, it will probably just convince everyone to accept your promotion without comment."
Raven paused thoughtfully, watching the last traces of golden light fade from Coruscant's sky.
"Which, to be fair, was probably the goal all along."
[End of Chapter]