Within Exar Kun's temple, the two ancient Sith faced Naga Sadow in silence.
Exar Kun's spirit drifted closer to Malgus, his voice lowered to a whisper meant only for him. "Do you trust this one, Malgus?"
Malgus didn't look away from Sadow. His respirator hissed steadily. "Do we have other options?" he replied. "I don't even know what our enemy truly looks like."
Naga Sadow remained still, eyes unfocused—not absent, but elsewhere. The last strands of instruction finished threading through his mind, cold and precise. His posture shifted as he returned fully to the present.
"Exar Kun," Sadow said, turning at last, "the Massassi forces under your control—have you managed to preserve them in a state similar to Mal—"
The sentence never finished.
Space split. A Rhongomyniad spear phased into existence inside the temple, hovering for a fraction of a second—too clean, too deliberate.
Sadow's eyes widened. "GET DOWN—"
The spear detonated.
Light tore through the chamber like a verdict. Stone vaporized. Ancient wards screamed as the shockwave ripped outward, the blast carrying the unmistakable pressure of something aligned against the dark. The temple's outer structure shattered, pillars collapsing, walls peeled away as if struck by judgment itself.
Yet the core held. Runes flared desperately as Exar Kun's binding chamber absorbed the worst of it, cracking but intact enough to keep his spirit from being torn loose and erased.
Malgus was thrown hard, armor slamming into broken stone and straight through the outer edge of the temple. He hit the ground on one knee, vision swimming, internal systems screaming warnings as feedback crawled up his spine. For a brief, disorienting moment, his thoughts fractured.
He realized it then.
That wasn't brute force. That felt like being struck point-blank by the light side itself.
Malgus forced himself upright, respirator hissing unevenly. The taste of ozone and scorched stone filled the air, ash drifting down around him. His grip tightened as his balance returned.
Damn it, he thought. I was told the Jedi of this era were sloppy.
Is Naga Sadow lying… or is something else at work?
The answer arrived with a shockwave. Something landed directly in front of him, stone pulverizing beneath the impact. Dust rolled outward in a low ring as the ground cratered.
Morgan le Fay stood there. . Clad in her usual gown, fabric untouched by the blast, posture immaculate. One of her eyes burned pink—contained, controlled, unmistakable. The air around her felt wrong, as if reality itself was being corrected mid-breath.
She had stopped playing. Partial transfiguration authority bled into the space,
Malgus straightened fully, instinct screaming danger. This was not a Jedi. This was not a Sith.
Morgan's gaze locked onto him, sharp and predatory, weighing him the way one measured an executioner's blade.
She spoke calmly. "Let's begin."
The pink light in her eye intensified a fraction.
"Monarch… against a Sith of the old era." A faint, dangerous smile touched her lips. "Let's see who still deserves to stand."
Malgus answered with violence. His red lightsaber ignited in a brutal snap-hiss as lightning crawled across his armor and coiled around his limbs, feeding directly into his muscles. He launched forward immediately, no hesitation, Ataru footwork blended with raw Sith brutality, strikes chaining together in a storm of speed and force-charged momentum.
Morgan didn't retreat. Her demonic spear moved once—then again—then never stopped. Every blow was caught, redirected, grounded. Sparks screamed as blade met cursed metal, lightning sliding harmlessly along sigils etched into the shaft. Malgus' tempo increased. Morgan matched it without strain.
His eyes narrowed. He opened his mouth and unleashed a Force scream.
The air shattered. Stone cracked. The ruins howled.
Morgan didn't react. The scream washed over her and broke apart, meaningless, as if it had struck a wall that refused to acknowledge sound as a weapon. She stepped inside his guard and slashed.
Malgus' left arm—his prosthetic—came free in a clean arc, spinning away trailing sparks and severed conduits before smashing into the rubble.
Morgan paused half a beat. Confusion flickered. He didn't raise a barrier.
Malgus smiled. The world folded inward.
A Force maelstrom ignited around him, space compressing as a spherical pressure field snapped into existence. A Force Bubble. Dense. Layered. Absolute. It swallowed Morgan with him in the same instant it sealed.
The ground tore loose. Debris, broken pillars, fragments of the shattered temple and scorched earth ripped free and began to orbit the sphere, screaming as telekinesis dragged everything into violent rotation.
Morgan felt it then. Containment. The objects reached critical mass.
Malgus detonated the storm. Force lightning surged outward from the core of the bubble, blasting the orbiting debris away in every direction like shrapnel fired by a god. The explosion lit the ruins in white-blue fury, thunder rolling across Yavin's jungle.
Inside the bubble, Malgus stood one-armed, lightning tearing around him, eyes locked on Morgan through the chaos.
Morgan planted her feet, spear grounded, cloak snapping in the collapsing pressure. Understanding settled fully across her face.
"You raised your barrier before the fight," she said, one eye burning pink, "to make sure I couldn't leave."
Malgus snarled and drew deeper, the Force screaming as he prepared another maelstrom. He thought he saw fatigue. Thought the blast had finally slowed her. He was wrong.
Morgan released the spear and her hand closed around something heavier, older. Excalibur Morgan manifested in her grip, black blade humming with restrained calamity. She didn't shout. She whispered, fast and precise, words folding reality around the strike.
"Vortigern, Hammer of the Vile King. Reverse the rising sun. Swallow the light."
Her arm moved. "Excalibur Morgan."
The swing was instantaneous. Transfiguration mana flared through the blade, partial but focused, and the impact hit Malgus head-on. Space collapsed. The Force Bubble shattered like glass under a god's heel.
Malgus was hurled through the jungle, armor screaming as he tore through trees and stone, flung nearly a hundred meters before slamming into the forest floor.
Boom. The detonation followed an instant later. A black-and-green bloom erupted outward, the explosion carrying the weight of a city-killer, earth vaporizing, the canopy flattened as shockwaves rolled across Yavin's surface.
Morgan stepped through a transfiguration portal without pause.
She emerged at the crater's edge as Malgus forced himself up on one knee, armor cracked, systems flickering, respirator rasping unevenly. He looked up at her, disbelief breaking through his fury.
"How the fuck are you still alive?" he demanded. "Force maelstroms like that cripple Grand Masters. Most don't walk away."
Morgan regarded him calmly, Excalibur Morgan resting at her side, blade still warm.
"It hurts me ," she admitted. "Burned my fairy mana circuits. Slowed my capacity." A unapologetic smile touched her lips. "But I can heal that."
She stepped closer, pressure tightening again.
"Thanks to you," she continued evenly, "my output is a bit sluggish."
Morgan eye flared brighter. "So let's finish this before it recovers."
Malgus roared. Not Force Rage—something deeper. Force Enrage. Every limiter burned away at once. The Force didn't surge through him; it wrapped him. Lightning plated his body like armor, crawling across durasteel and flesh alike. His severed left side reformed—not as machinery, not as bone, but as pure electrical construct, a crackling arm of compressed fury. From it extended the silhouette of a second blade, not solid metal, but lightning shaped into a saber's edge.
Morgan smiled. "That hollow Force of yours," she said calmly, adjusting her grip, "it looks like this will be your last battle. You just woke up—and now you're throwing your life away?"
Malgus' respirator snarled as he stepped forward. "Won't know if I don't try." Lightning snapped around him. "Besides—you're the one who pushed me this far."
He moved first. The red lightsaber left his hand in a violent throw, spinning end over end, wreathed in lightning as it tore toward her like a guided missile. Morgan raised her weapon and intercepted it—
The impact hit harder than expected.
Morgan's boots dug into the ground as the weight of the throw slammed through her guard, the blade screaming against Excalibur Morgan. She absorbed it, redirected it, but the force behind the strike carried more mass than physics should have allowed. The saber vanished past her shoulder, cutting air as it flew wide.
One second passed. Malgus' lightning arm flexed.
The lightsaber snapped back, reversing course midair like a boomerang, dragged by raw Force command. It slammed cleanly into his grasp, perfectly aligned, lightning flaring brighter as it locked back into his control.
Morgan watched it happen. She smiled—silent, measured, pleased.
He didn't hesitate. Malgus thrust his palm forward and unleashed a Force push. Not a wave—an air cannon. The shock detonated outward, compressing atmosphere into a focused blast that tore through the jungle like a mountain-breaking hammer. Trees vaporized. Stone folded.
Morgan vanished. A transfiguration portal snapped open and closed in the same breath. She reappeared closer, boots already skidding as she adjusted her stance.
Malgus threw the saber again.
This time, Morgan didn't block. She caught it.
Her left bare hand closed around the blade mid-spin, fingers locking just above the emitter. Energy screamed. Lightning crawled over her skin, burning deep, darkside reinforcement pushing back against her grip. She wasn't Jin-Woo—she couldn't crush it outright—but she held it. Forced it to stop.
The ground beneath her feet cracked. Malgus' eyes widened a fraction.
Morgan stepped forward, still gripping his weapon, Excalibur Morgan angled low in her other hand. Her eye burned pink, unwavering.
"Let's cross blades," she said calmly. Then, with a faint edge of mockery, "Oh resurgent Sith Empire. That failed."
Malgus answered by shifting.
His lightning-forged left hand condensed, the silhouette sharpening into a second blade made of pure Force, crackling and unstable. He flowed into Makashi—tight footwork, minimal motion, economy of death. Precision replaced brutality.
Morgan surged. as Excalibur Morgan came up, black edge carving arcs through the air. She pressed him relentlessly, every strike chirping against the lightning blade, cutting into it, shaving it down. Sparks screamed. Each clash shortened the construct, destabilizing its shape as her timing ate away at his form.
Malgus countered cleanly—ripostes snapping in razor-thin lines—but Morgan was already inside them, shoulders squared, weight forward, offense unbroken. She didn't give him space. She didn't give him breath. Every Makashi correction was met by a heavier answer, her blade biting through lightning again and again until the second saber shrank, flickering, bleeding energy.
His respirator growled. His stance tightened.
Morgan stepped through a feint and raised Excalibur Morgan for the finish, mana flaring just enough to announce it.
Then the A sun-like sphere slammed into her flank.
Boom. Light and heat detonated together, the blast hurling Morgan backward through trunks and stone, carving a burning trench into the deeper forest. The canopy collapsed behind her in a rolling wave.
Silence fell for half a breath.
Naga Sadow stepped into place beside Malgus,. The residual heat bent around him.
"So much for my descendants," Sadow said evenly, eyes on the smoking scar through the jungle. "Why do you all degrade with every passing era?"
Malgus turned sharply, lightning still crawling along his armor. "What in the hell is that woman, Sadow?" he demanded. "She didn't use the Force at all."
Sadow's gaze didn't move. "She rules from outside this galaxy," he replied. "She should not be this strong. She should not be immortal. Unless something changed. Or something intervened. That is what my information suggests—what my lady has told me."
Malgus snapped his head toward him. "Lady? Who is your lady?"
"The Dark Side itself," Sadow said flatly. "Female, in its own way. We'll skip that for now."
Bootsteps crunched through scorched earth. Both Sith turned.
Morgan le Fay walked out of the smoke, posture unbroken. A sun-burned scar carved across her side, flesh still glowing faintly where the blast had struck point-blank. It should have crippled her. It hadn't. Her eye still burned pink, steady, focused.
She finished Sadow's thought for him.
"Right now, our enemy hasn't used her full strength," Morgan said calmly. "She's been playing with us." She rolled her shoulder once, the damaged tissue already knitting beneath her gown. "Nihilus confirmed it. When he fought her—she called herself Morgan as well—she only used her innate power."
Her gaze sharpened as she looked between them.
"For reasons unknown," she continued. "Which means this is our window." A faint smile touched her lips, dangerous and precise. "The time to strike is now. To seal her."
Morgan tilted her head slightly. "Am I wrong?"
For half a heartbeat, the jungle held still. Then Morgan laughed—and the sound cut like a blade.
"You're all quite right about that," she said, voice rising, triumph threading through it. "But that opportunity ends now."
The ground answered her. Pink mana erupted outward in a violent bloom as her form shifted, reality folding in on itself as if acknowledging a sovereign correction. Space warped. Light bent. The air thickened until breathing felt like pushing through glass.
Morgan changed. Her attire unraveled and reassembled into her true Monarch of Transfiguration form—hooded, absolute. The silhouette recalled Yogumunt, the Monarch whose distortion was not mere disfigurement but transmutation itself: a being who could reshape life and copy death, the greatest mages and sorcerers to ever rise in a chaos world. Pink sigils burned across her cloak and skin alike.
The jungle screamed. Trees bent away from her presence. Stone liquefied at the edges. The sky dimmed, clouds twisting as if uncertain which laws still applied. It felt less like a release of power and more like an ending protocol quietly engaging.
Sadow stiffened.
Malgus took an involuntary step back, lightning armor flaring defensively as warning systems howled. This wasn't the Force. This wasn't even dark side corruption.
This was foreign authority. Morgan lifted her head, the hood casting her eyes in shadow, pink light bleeding through regardless.
"Your power is great," she said evenly, her gaze settling first on Sadow, then on Malgus. "Great enough that I can no longer afford complacency."
The mana pressure spiked again, rolling outward like a tidal wave that never quite broke—only pressed.
Morgan continued, calm and absolute, "I will no longer lower my guard , Prepare yourself ."