(2500 words )
Morgan didn't look at her. Her eyes stayed fixed on the vine-choked temple ahead, posture relaxed, unreadable. "Dead people," she said evenly, "should stay dead forever."
XoXaan stopped pacing. Her jaw tightened. "That 'dead person' once ruled an empire that burned stars. Exar Kun's shadow still stains this world."
Morgan's gaze didn't shift. Then, a flicker of amusement crossed her face. "XoXaan," she said casually, "can you get rid of Exar Kun yourself?"
XoXaan stared at her. Once. Twice. Then her voice dropped flat. "Fuck off, Morgan. I'd rather be sent back to Korriban than listen to your rambling, suicidal ideas."
Morgan smiled in silence. The jungle air rippled. . Space itself flexed, warped—pressure folding inward. Something was close. Something wounded. Something angry. And something had brought a surprise with it.
Morgan moved without haste. A transfiguration circle opened behind XoXaan, folding light and space like silk. XoXaan barely had time to scowl before she vanished into it, sealed away without ceremony.
Morgan rose. Her attire shifted in a smooth, deliberate transfiguration. The Lostbelt gown unfurled around her, layered and regal, fabric heavy with authority. A dark green-black tiara settled into place above her eyes.
She lifted a hand. A table appeared. . Polished wood. Steam curling gently from a teapot. Plates arranged with precision—small cakes, finger sandwiches, pastries straight out of an English afternoon. Utterly absurd against the ancient Sith ruin and choking jungle.
Morgan sat. She poured tea. Took a bite. Chewed calmly, unbothered, as if this were a garden party instead of an ancient Sith battleground .
Elsewhere in the jungle, Naga Sadow dragged himself upright, alchemy knitting bone and sinew back into place with slow, grinding precision. His left arm twitched as it reformed; his leg followed, imperfect but functional. I need my original body, he thought, irritation coiling beneath the calculation. Yavin 4 is correct. Jin-Woo has some unknown method—prediction, displacement, interference. That is why I avoided Korriban. His memories surfaced, bitter and sharp. Betrayed by a former apprentice. Slain here, not on red sand. An accident that now favored him. Fortune bends, he decided, when the stars remember you.
Then he heard it.
A clink. Porcelain. A controlled sip. The unmistakable cadence of someone eating without fear.
Sadow's steps slowed. His head tilted, senses extending. Not far ahead, seated openly among the roots and broken stone, was a noble woman with silver-white hair, posture immaculate, gown untouched by mud or blood. A table stood before her, absurdly pristine, laden with tea and English delicacies .
Sadow paused, studying her. Her eyes did not flinch. Her aura was heavy—refined, structured, dangerous—but different. Not Jin-Woo.. Similar power, he assessed, but not equal. A faint smile tugged at his mouth. Yavin 4 is not a picnic world,
He moved closer, boots brushing moss and old stone. "Enjoy your last meal," he said, voice layered with old authority. "This world demands a toll from those who meet its true owner. I am Naga Sadow. Ruler of the eternal Sith Empire."
Morgan set her fork down. Then the knife. She wiped her fingers with a handkerchief, slow and precise, as if he were a late guest. She lifted her eyes to him. "Is this it," she asked calmly, "the infamous plan from millennia ago? The great Sith arrives personally."
Sadow's posture tightened a fraction. "Your arrogance will undo you."
Morgan dabbed her mouth once more. Behind the cloth, her jaw shifted. A metallic click followed. She lowered the handkerchief, revealing a small, angular device resting in her palm—. She placed it gently on the table between the teacups.
"It's primed," she said, tone polite. "Force severance. Large radius. You'll hate it." The device pulsed, patient.
Sadow's senses reached outward, testing, recalculating. The table, the tea, the device—none of it fit the rhythms of this world. He moved with deliberate care and sat opposite her, the splinter grenade resting between them like a mutual threat neither dared touch.
"I sense your energy," he said, voice even, dangerous. "And I sense the machines that attacked me on that dirt planet. You are not of this galaxy. Neither are they why now? Why not millennia ago?"
Morgan's lips curved faintly. Her eyes flicked to the scar still visible , half-healed by alchemy but not erased. Offensive Bias reached you first. The realization amused her more than it should have.
"Rough day?" she asked lightly, lifting her teacup again. "Attacked by silver machines. Chased across planets. Wounded. That would explain the impatience."
Sadow's jaw tightened. The air around him vibrated as the Force pressed closer, restrained but coiled. "Answer the question," he said. "You value your life. I do not. I am ready to walk into the void again if needed. Are you prepared to do the same?"
Morgan didn't answer immediately. She sipped her tea, unhurried, then set the cup down with a soft clink. Her posture remained relaxed, but the pressure around her sharpened—contained, disciplined, immense. "I came to correct a mistake. Dead things returning. Relics refusing to stay buried. You."
She glanced at the grenade, then back at him. "And as for timing?. You woke up. That makes it my problem."
Naga Sadow's voice came slow, deliberate, layered with certainty. "You are his emissary."
Morgan blinked once, then tilted her head, playing it off with mild confusion. "Emissary of who? There are only two of us here."
Sadow's mouth curved, dangerous and pleased. "I would wager my entire empire—if it still stood—that you carry strength akin to Jin-Woo's. . … you seem unaware of an old truth." His eyes burned brighter. "The Sith shattered themselves long ago. Brothers against brothers. Sisters against sisters. But when something like you surfaces—an enemy from beyond—old grudges fade. We band together."
Morgan's smile thinned. She felt it a fraction too late.
A point of light cut across the sky. Tiny. Fast. Too fast.
Her eyes widened a breath before impact.
The Ravager—a Centurion-class battlecruiser from the Old Republic—dropped out of hyperspace on a collision vector and slammed into her position at near-light speed.
The world screamed. Stone vaporized. Jungle flattened. The ancient surface of Yavin 4 shattered outward as Morgan was driven through layers of earth and ruin, hurled kilometers away into the hollow depths of Katar. The impact detonated the terrain, a blooming shockwave ripping the land apart.
Silence followed. Then movement.
Morgan lay embedded in broken stone, cloak torn, tiara cracked. Blood traced from her temple. Her jaw hung slightly off alignment. She lifted a hand, pressed it once to her face.
Bone shifted. Flesh rewove. Monarch transfiguration flowed.
She stood. The wound vanished. The blood dried. Her jaw set back into place with a quiet click.
Morgan brushed dust from her sleeve and exhaled once, more annoyed than hurt. "Well played," she said calmly. "I'll admit it. You caught me off guard."
The Ravager howled overhead, engines screaming as it arced back around, intent clear—another relativistic strike. Morgan clicked her tongue. A circle unfolded beneath her feet, emerald and silver glyphs snapping into place. Space folded.
The battlecruiser vanished into a transfiguration portal and reappeared kilometers away, slamming into jungle and stone instead of her position. Morgan raised her hand.
Lostbelt magecraft—Water Mirror. A translucent plane shimmered into existence, layered like liquid glass. The shockwave washed over it, sound bending, force dispersing, leaving her untouched.
From the burning wreckage, something walked out.
A hollow mask. A voice that dragged hunger behind every syllable.
"Na'hk ir shan… Nihilus vrae'kor."
[I return. And I still hunger.]
. The air thinned, as if the world itself was being inhaled.
Inside Morgan's mind, a cold signal flared.
Offensive Bias. "Queen Morgan. Threat reassessment complete. Recommend disengagement. Designation: Darth Nihilus. Capability confirmed—planetary-scale devourer. Allow me to handle this entity."
Morgan didn't move. Her eyes stayed on the masked Sith.
"I know who he is," she said evenly. "Jin-Woo made sure I knew every ancient mistake this galaxy buried."
Nihilus tilted his head. The hunger pressed harder, testing her wards, tasting.
Morgan's fingers twitched, ready to rewrite the ground itself if needed. Her gaze sharpened, curiosity cutting through the danger.
"What I want to know," she continued, voice cool, precise, "is why the real one crawls out of the grave now."
Morgan's fingers tightened around the shaft of her spear as the warning settled in. The jungle trembled, leaves peeling from branches as invisible pressure rolled outward from Nihilus. Her Water Mirror fractured further, spiderweb cracks crawling across its surface as the Force devoured at it like a starving beast.
Offensive Bias's voice threaded through her mind again, precise and cold. "Assessment confirmed. Local spacetime disturbance aligns with Dark Side autonomous response. Probability high: ancient Sith entities are being reactivated to counter Supreme Executor Jin-Woo by indirect engagement."
Morgan clicked her tongue softly. She glanced at the jungle, at the half-buried ruins and the distant silhouettes of temples that once taught people how to pray to extinction., she thought. The Force stayed silent while Jin-Woo broke its balance… because it was waiting. Waiting until he's occupied. when the moment came they aim at me instead.
Nihilus drifted forward, robes tattered, presence swallowing sound. His voice emerged not as speech but as pressure, as hunger given shape.
"Krr'th… ni'shaal… thren vakor."
The ground beneath him blackened, life draining away in widening rings. The Water Mirror screamed and shattered outright, shards dissolving into mist as Morgan stepped back, planting her spear into the soil. Green-black sigils flared beneath her feet, transfiguration mana bleeding into the earth to hold reality together by force.
"Annoying," she muttered.
The drain intensified. Trees withered mid-breath. Stones cracked as if starved of meaning. Morgan felt it tug at her—not her life, but the mana she anchored into the land. Her eyes narrowed.
she said flatly. "I won't die. but if the inhabitants here start learning mana by feeding on my transfiguration residue" She exhaled once. "Jin-Woo will be furious."
Offensive Bias responded instantly. "Recommendation: escalation authorized. Sentinel support available. Risk assessment: high collateral."
Morgan didn't look away from Nihilus.
"That won't be necessary," she whispered, voice low enough that it never left the narrow space between thought and air.
The hunger pressed again. The jungle around Nihilus blackened in widening rings, leaves shriveling mid-fall, stone cracking as meaning itself was leeched away. The Force howled—raw, starving.
Morgan exhaled once. Let's see my odds.
She didn't shift into the Monarch of Transfiguration . That was her greatest power now—and exactly why she wouldn't use it.
Instead, she reached backward, into something older, rougher, heavier than refinement.
Magecraft ignited—not mana dominance, but world memory. The authority of a queen who once ruled a timeline that should not exist. Lostbelt logic bled into the soil, not rewriting the jungle, but overlaying it like the shadow of a dead history pressing through the present.
Her voice stayed calm. Almost reflective.
"It will be difficult to use my old ways," Morgan murmured.
The ground beneath her feet shimmered—not transfiguration, but reflection. Mirrored causality spread outward, surfaces catching not the present jungle but another sky, another land. A frozen Britain that never fell. A kingdom burned into a Singularity and sealed away from erasure.
She lifted her eyes.
"But if something is going to scan me," she said quietly, "I would rather it scan my world… than Jin-Woo's mana potential."
The Water Mirror shattered. simply ceased.
For a fraction of a second, Nihilus' hunger met nothing. No mana flow. , transfiguration residue. No structured reality to drink from. Only absence—like trying to devour a reflection that had stepped out of the mirror.
Confusion rippled through him.
The air warped as Morgan vanished—not by movement, not by teleportation, but by withdrawal. She stepped sideways into the logic of her Lostbelt, leaving behind a residue that tasted wrong to the Force. Too complete. Too sealed.
Nihilus halted. His robes fluttered as the drain faltered, hunger spiraling inward without purchase. The jungle stopped dying. Silence thickened.
Then his voice rolled out—layered, ancient, furious.
"Kra'nith… vhal'kor shai."
[Come out.]
He turned slowly, pressure rising as the hunger searched again.
"Thren'zaar kael… mor'thekk."
[Your hiding is cowardice.]
The mask tilted, sensing only echoes—foreign, closed, untouchable.
"Na'hk ir shan," he continued, the ground cracking beneath his presence. "Korr vex'an."
[I will consume you.]
The answer came as impact.
Multiple Rhongomyniad spears lanced down from above, white-gold pillars of judgment screaming through the air toward Nihilus. They struck in a converging pattern, pinning space itself around him.
Nihilus didn't move.
The spears hit his aura and were devoured mid-flight. Light collapsed inward, unraveling into ash as he force-drained them in a single breath. Dust scattered across the ground where divine weapons had been a heartbeat earlier.
Water rippled.
From fractured mirrors in the air, Fairy Knights poured forth—armored, radiant, blades raised—landing in disciplined formation around him. Their voices rose as one.
"For Queen Morgan."
The words barely left their mouths. Nihilus' presence inhaled. Sound vanished first. Then light. The Fairy Knights were stripped hollow, bodies crumbling into pale dust as their essence was torn free without resistance.
Nihilus lifted his head.
Then he screamed. "WAAAAAAAAAGHHHHHHHH—"
The Force scream detonated outward. The ground of Katar buckled. Stone split. Ruins collapsed as the shockwave tore through layers of earth, echoing across the dead world like a planetary wound.
Dust hung in the air.
Nihilus' voice followed, distorted, swollen with hunger.
"Ghra'nek… vhal thren."
[Give me more.]
His mask angled upward, hunger spiraling wider.
"Zaa'hul… zaahul… ni'shaar."
[More… more… I hunger.]
Above it all, beneath a false sky woven from Water Mirror, Morgan le Fay sat upon an unseen throne. Clouds reflected light that wasn't there. She watched the devastation below with her chin resting lightly against her knuckles.
"This is awkward," she said flatly.
A cold presence brushed her thoughts.
Despondent Pyre. We still have sentinels available, if you wish.
Morgan didn't look away from the scene below.
"No," she replied calmly. "Not that."
Her eyes narrowed a fraction.
"And I'm already aware Offensive Bias is trying to impress his Supreme Executor. Same flaw as mine." A faint smile touched her lips, sharp and knowing. "But this is my kill. Not yours, Forerunner monitors."
Bonus picture Ravager ship :