…
Darth Vader stood silently beside Palpatine's corpse, as if drawing a final breath to mark the end of this long, drawn-out confrontation.
Yet as he gazed down at the lifeless body, a faint flicker of confusion crossed his face beneath the mask.
Slowly, he raised his hands, feeling the unfamiliar and overwhelming power surging through him.
This power—from another dimension—far exceeded any limits he had ever known. It carried with it an indescribable aura of chaos and annihilation.
However, along with this newfound strength came an unsettling realization: his emotions had become increasingly volatile—angrier, more violent.
Every breath he took felt like an invisible fire burning within, consuming his reason.
These subtle changes made Vader realize that the whispers he had once dismissed were not illusions, but real—tangible.
Those voices had echoed in his mind like demonic whispers—
"Kill him… kill that wretched old master…"
"Let Coruscant burn…"
Now, having fulfilled certain "tasks" hinted at in those whispers, the crimson light engulfing him seemed to be a "blessing" granted by some unknown entity.
"Heh…"
A low chuckle rumbled from beneath his mask.
He finally understood it all.
The whispers, the power, the temptation—none of it was random. It had all been part of a carefully orchestrated bargain.
He had fulfilled their demands, and in return, they had granted him a power beyond mortal comprehension.
He had received their "blessing" and had touched the threshold of another dimension.
That power made him feel invincible, as though the entire galaxy was now within his grasp.
But then—agony erupted through him, violently and without warning, like countless needles gouging his flesh from the inside.
The laughter died on his lips.
Vader's body trembled. The pain was not merely physical; it radiated from the very depths of his soul.
Every breath, every heartbeat, brought unbearable torment.
His hands clenched tightly, the metal fingers digging into his own palms—but even that could not dull the ever-devouring pain.
In the silence, hatred surged within him—directed not at Palpatine, but at the one who had betrayed him long ago:
Obi-Wan Kenobi.
If not for Obi-Wan, he would never have lost his limbs by the lava rivers of Mustafar, never been disfigured, never condemned to live in endless pain.
That agony, seared into his bones, was a constant reminder of his failure and humiliation.
"Heh… heh… heh…"
As those memories resurfaced, his chuckle echoed through the mask—low, hoarse, laced with anger and madness.
"Child…"
"Embrace the arms of the Father…"
At the peak of his rage, the whispers returned—once more murmuring at the edge of his consciousness, filled with an irresistible allure that distracted him from the pain.
The Father's embrace?
Vader's thoughts paused.
He remembered those same words appearing many times before he launched the assault on Coruscant—"The Father," "All things decay," "All beings endure…"
These phrases had been like keys, unlocking chains deep within his soul.
And now, this new whisper came just as he writhed in pain—it was no coincidence. It was a signal.
Vader was struck by clarity.
If these beings could whisper to him at the height of his agony, then they likely had the ability to heal him—without hindering his use of the Force.
And this healing wouldn't be mere physical mending—it would be a deeper release, a chance to rid himself of pain… or even gain greater power.
Still, his emotions were complicated.
He longed for power but was wary of the unknown.
He knew very well that making deals with interdimensional beings always came at a price.
But the crimson glow, the temptation of the whispers—they were irresistible. And the reason was simple.
They had given him far too much.
In the past, Sheev Palpatine had always been his equal.
In his mind, Vader had envisioned their confrontation countless times—always a battle of equals.
If only he had resisted Palpatine's manipulation… if only he had kept his heart pure and stayed true to the Jedi way… perhaps he would have already surpassed Palpatine, fulfilling his destiny as the Chosen One.
But ever since falling to the Dark Side, his fate had become entangled with Palpatine's, and there was no going back.
Yet these beings from another dimension had casually, almost carelessly, granted him power far beyond his limits.
A power that made him feel unprecedented strength.
He still didn't fully understand what consequences that power would bring.
And Palpatine's last words seemed to echo in his ears, laced with fear and warning—"Do you know what kind of being you're making a deal with?"
That fear hadn't come from the threat of death—but from reverence for the unknown.
Though Vader had never pried into Palpatine's immortality plans, he had picked up hints—cloned bodies, soul transference…
And that final scream Palpatine let out… it confirmed everything. His soul had been devoured.
Vader now understood with chilling clarity—the beings from that other dimension were even more terrifying than the Dark Side.
As for fear?
He felt none.
Unlike Palpatine, Darth Vader's heart did not waver. He wasn't afraid. He was calculating.
The whispers, the crimson glow, the unceasing agony—they all confirmed one thing: this bargain was far more intricate than he had imagined.
But he did not retreat, nor did he regret it. He simply weighed his next steps.
Then, without a word, he turned and walked out, his black cape trailing behind him like a smoldering shadow.
As he stepped onto the skybridge once more, the elite troopers awaiting him immediately straightened, their eyes beneath their helmets filled with reverence and loyalty.
The return of Lord Vader signaled the success of their "special military operation." And under his leadership, greater glory and power awaited them.
Vader offered no words—just a nod, signaling them to follow.
The group retraced their path, heading back toward the Imperial Palace plaza.
As they moved, the scene around them was horrific.
The metal floors and walls bore the scorch marks of blaster fire—like the scars of a storm of destruction.
Every mark spoke of brutal combat. Every charred trace bore witness to instant death.
Dried blood and viscera stained every corner. The remains of the fallen—too many to count—lay in ruin.
Whether surrendering guards or defiant soldiers, Vader's forces had shown no mercy. It was an inhuman massacre.
The air reeked of blood. Breathing had become heavy and suffocating. A normal person would have crumbled under such terror.
But beneath Vader's mask, his face remained unmoved. His gaze swept coldly across the carnage, as if observing a foretold conclusion.
He showed no emotion. He gave no orders to stop the slaughter.
To him, this was simply the price of a shift in power—or perhaps, a calculated offering to another dimension.
The whispers had spoken of "The Father," of "slaughter," and of "rebellion," suggesting a deeper, more sinister set of rules.
And Vader—he was a piece on this chessboard.
A piece trying to control its own fate.
Of course, the whispers also spoke of "indulgence" and "pleasure"… but Vader instinctively ignored those.
Soon.
Vader and his men returned to the blood-soaked plaza and entered the Lambda-class shuttle.
With a low engine hum, the shuttle lifted into the air, rising above the Imperial Palace.
Looking out through the open hatch, all that could be seen was fire.
Coruscant's metallic surface had been twisted and warped by orbital bombardment. Flames raged like beasts, staining the entire city crimson.
The fleet continued its intermittent bombardments, each blast reducing buildings to ash.
Local Coruscant forces—especially those trying to repel or intercept the transports—were helpless under the fleet's precise strikes.
Fighter wreckage rained down. Explosions lit the sky like a cruel fireworks display.
Meanwhile, stormtroopers on the surface methodically carried out mass executions and detainments. The screams of the innocent mixed with the roar of fire.
With Sheev Palpatine dead, the forces loyal to the Emperor collapsed entirely.
Soldiers fled in panic. None spared a thought for protecting the "useless" civilians.
All they wanted was to escape the coming apocalypse.
The once-mighty Imperial forces had become a shattered, broken mess.
But sadly, Vader's fleet had full control of Coruscant's low orbit. Where could they possibly run?
And even if they hid—there was nowhere to hide.
The fleet's targeting patterns made it clear—they intended to transform the surface of Coruscant into hell itself, as part of a "blood sacrifice" ritual tied to Vader's unknown pact.
Now, only civilian resistance cells and under-equipped police units remained as any semblance of opposition.
But they were too weak. Their weapons primitive, their tactics crude. They stood no chance.
Hoo… hoo…
Heavy breathing echoed through the shuttle cabin as Vader stood at the edge of the hatch, a silent statue in black.
He looked down at the burning metallic landscape, his gaze piercing the smoke and flame, watching the "masterpiece" he and his followers had created—
A shattered city, smoldering ruins, and countless fallen lives.
He felt nothing.
It was just another move on the board.
"Take us to the nearest temporary internment camp."
Vader's cold voice reached the pilot's ears through the communicator.
"Yes, Lord Vader."
The pilot answered respectfully, adjusting the shuttle's course toward the north side of the palace.
Its engines roared as it soared through the clouds.
Soon, a massive complex came into view.
It had once been an aerial garden used for festivals and public ceremonies—but now it served as an internment camp.
Tall walls ringed the garden, energy barriers glowing faint blue—now more like an invisible cage.
The once-blooming landscape was gone. In its place stood a packed mass of people.
Over a hundred thousand innocent civilians had been herded inside, their faces twisted with fear and despair.
Thousands of stormtroopers surrounded the area, occupying the high ground, watching every corner with cold, unblinking eyes.
Their orders were only to "detain" and "hold," but their actions were violent and ruthless.
At any sign of unrest, they opened fire without hesitation.
Blaster bolts sliced through the air, annihilating not only the source of the disturbance but anyone nearby.
Blood, screams, and scorched flesh filled the space. There was no overt torture—but this was far more terrifying than Imperial rule.
As the Lambda-class shuttle arrived and landed, the attention of the entire crowd shifted.
When Darth Vader emerged and ascended the central platform, silence fell upon the garden like death itself.
All eyes locked on him—save for the thousands of guards still watching from above.
"Speak."
Vader raised his right hand suddenly, unleashing a massive Force field over the entire garden—as if forcing the crowd to listen.
Then he said:
"All things decay… but all beings endure."
!!
Under the weight of the Force, the crowd collapsed to their knees.
Their minds overwhelmed, they responded in unison—an involuntary chant:
"All… things… decay… all beings endure…"
And when their voices fell—
BOOM—!!!
A new force field burst forth, glowing a sickly green, engulfing the entire sky garden.
An overwhelming stench of blood and rot filled the air.
"AHHH!!"
"Help—aghh!"
The hundred thousand civilians within began to transform—twisting, mutating, screaming in agony as their bodies were reshaped by forces beyond comprehension…
------------------
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