But Jin-Woo wasn't finished. [Ultimate Skill: Force Heart] — Activated.
Its subskill surged next— [Force Presence: Planetary Level Aura]
The effect was immediate. Catastrophic. Dozens of non-Force-sensitive senators screamed, collapsing in their seats. Some bled from their noses, others convulsed violently. One aide fell backward with a horrid thud, mouth foaming, eyes rolling into white. Senators from peaceful systems broke down into sobs, clawing at their own robes. Droids short-circuited. Lights flickered. Entire congressional boxes shut down. The Senate became a chamber of chaos.
Jin-Woo walked forward—calm, hands still in his pockets. His boots never touched the floor. He passed senators weeping, passed those shivering in comas, passed others curled into fetal positions.
And ahead, on one knee, nose bleeding, face pale and contorted—was Ranulph Tarkin. The man who had threatened Amidala. Who tried to reshape the Republic. Tarkin could barely lift his head. The sickness was too intense. It felt like every organ in his body had turned inside out, like reality itself pressed against his ribs.
Jin-Woo raised one hand. Black and crimson energy spiraled from his fingers—[Force Telekinesis]. But then, he whispered a language .[ Sith Sorcery] .
From that union of will and curse, a black throne erupted into existence directly in front of Tarkin—carved of polished obsidian and spined with thorns that bent backward. Jin-Woo sat upon it slowly.
Padmé stood still, her gaze fixed on the black throne now looming over the fractured silence of the Senate. Jin-Woo had not spoken since sitting—his presence alone crushed the chamber more effectively than any words ever could. The dark aura writhed around him like it was alive.
Beside her, Morgan stood with arms folded, eyes half-lidded in quiet amusement. Padmé hesitated, then whispered, almost to herself. "…Morgan. Jin-Woo won't kill them, right?" Her voice was calm, but know the situation , like the breath of someone who knew fire was one step from sweeping the room. "I don't like any of them—but killing them won't solve the problem."
Morgan glanced sideways, then smiled—a little too brightly.She reached over and gently placed her hand on top of Padmé's head. "You still need to grow up, little Queen," she said sweetly. "Drink more children's nutrients. Or cow's milk. Who knows? You might finally reach my height."
Padmé didn't respond. Her eyes remained on Jin-Woo. But despite the rising tension, a tiny exhale left her chest—easing her heart for just a moment.
Jin-Woo, seated like a sovereign of dread, hadn't moved. His throne pulsed once, as if feeding on the weight of the Senate's fear.
The chamber, however, was breaking apart by the minute.
Mas Amedda collapsed forward onto one knee, his face dripping in cold sweat. His ceremonial staff clattered to the floor. His breathing hitched—his expression shattered—and in that moment of total overwhelm… he lost control. The vice chairman had urinated himself before the entire Senate.
Supreme Chancellor Valorum, slumped back in his chair, trembled as he fumbled into his robes. He withdrew a small chrome capsule and popped it open—tipping several blue capsules into his palm with shaking fingers. He downed them quickly, then reached for the vapor mask slung at his side.. Spice. Calming agents. He'd prepared for the worst—but this? No strategy, no policy, no vote could stop this now. Jin-Woo had torn open the illusion that the Republic was in control.
And Valorum, swallowing the breath of chemically-assisted courage, could only whisper in his head: The Republic is finished.
The shadows rippled outward from Jin-Woo's feet . A black platform rose beneath him.
As he rose above them all, his eyes burned a steady, unrelenting purple . The gaze of a monarch who stood where death was merely a servant.
And in that moment, he turned. First to Palpatine. The Sith Lord-in-hiding dared not meet his eyes.
Plagueis—hidden in his Hego Damask guise—was worse. He was on one knee, one hand on the base of the Muun Banking Clan's platform. But he did not raise his head. .
Jin-Woo finally turned to Tarkin.
Ranulph was still kneeling. Blood ran in twin trails from his nostrils, his body buckled under a force his mind could not categorize. Pride—gutted. Authority—shattered. He looked up only slightly, enough to see Jin-Woo's boots land on the platform before him.
Then the whisper came.Only Tarkin could hear it. Low. Almost gentle. But laced with contempt so pure it scalded.
"It's a shame," Jin-Woo said. "That I regret one of my decisions.". "I trusted you with the donation fund. One trillion credits—gathered by the people—for the Armored Man himself. I thought you would be different than Wilhuff. But no. You Tarkins… you're all the same."
The next words were slower. Harsher. "Clinging to someone else's reputation. Paranoid. Lusting for power. Always building your empire on the bones of others—because you've never had the strength to build your own."
Jin-Woo leaned slightly closer, the shadow at his back expanding like wings across the Senate wall. "You, Ranulph Tarkin… are a fucking disappointment."
A ring of harmonic energy twisted through the Senate chamber. The air shimmered—and with it, a new presence arrived.
The Daughter. She emerged from nothing, light folding inward and outward around her form like silken waves. Her pale skin glowed faintly, eyes and hair shimmering green. But her posture was not serene this time. She stood beside Jin-Woo, gaze locked on him with intensity—and beneath it, strain.
"Jin-Woo," she said sharply, her voice echoing not from her mouth, but from the Force itself. "Control your powers. Now. Or I'll be forced to put you down."
She gestured around . Across the planet. "They're suffering. The inhabitants of this world—civilians—are convulsing in fear. Your aura is tearing through their minds."
Jin-Woo gaze slid toward her. "Aren't you supposed to be the progenitor of the Force?" he said, voice low and sardonic. "One of the first beings to ever wield it—guardian of balance, light, and harmony… Then why do you look like that?"
The Daughter knew it. Her strongest Force barrier she could conjure—and still, it only bought her time.. Her footing felt as if she were standing in the eye of a hurricane made from raw will.
'''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''
15 minutes Before , Sunset filtered through the high windows of the Jedi Council chamber, casting long shadows over the room as Anakin stood at the center of the circle, small hands clenched behind his back, posture straight but restless. His eyes flicked between the twelve Jedi Masters .
Mace Windu held up a small viewing screen, glancing down at it before returning his gaze to the boy. "All right, Anakin. Tell us what you see."
Anakin tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowing. "A ship. A cup. A speeder."
Yoda nodded slowly, ears twitching. "Good, good, young one. How feel you?"
Anakin frowned, then looked down, hesitating for half a breath. "Cold… but I feel very exciting."
Windu raised a brow. "Exciting? Can you explain to me why you're excited?"
Anakin looked up, voice quiet but certain. "Because I feel like I can be someone… someone people dream about."
Plo Koon's mechanical voice followed, even but curious. "You mean… you were told you are the Chosen One. Was it Master Qui-Gon who told you that?"
Anakin shook his head. "No. I mean, he did say it. But he wasn't the first."
Yoda's eyes narrowed, leaning forward slightly. "One of the Mortis… the Daughter, correct?"
Anakin glanced away, visibly uncomfortable. "Yeah… her. But I still don't like calling her that."
"Oh?" Yoda said, tone probing but amused. "And why is that, hmm?"
Anakin gave a shrug, brow creasing. "It just sounds too… formal. Like it's right at the tongue, you know? So I just call her… the lady that has beef with Jin-Woo."
Yoda chuckled, His ears bounced once with the motion. "Unexpected, that is. But fitting… perhaps."
Windu folded his arms, expression firm but no longer severe. "Anakin. Are you ready… to give up your life?"
Anakin blinked. Then frowned a little. "In what, if I might ask? If it's like going back to being a slave—no thank you. Hard pass."
A beat of stunned silence passed through the Council. Then Windu let out a small exhale through his nose—almost a laugh—and thought, This boy… he's easing the tension of a situation where we might deny him entirely. And he's fearless. Or just too young to fake it.
Ki-Adi-Mundi leaned forward now, his voice low and thoughtful. "Your thoughts… dwell on your mother."
Anakin's face twitched slightly. Then he nodded. "Yes. I am."
"I see," Yoda said, narrowing his eyes. "Afraid of losing her, are you, young Skywalker?"
Anakin shook his head at that, surprising them again. "No. Not that anymore. I'm more afraid of… failing. Failing to become the one people dream about. And if I fail my purpose…"
His voice quieted just a little, no longer joking. "…then I'm afraid I might never see her again."
Plo Koon regarded him carefully, his voice calm as always behind the respirator. "Anakin… do you understand what it means to be the Chosen One?"
Anakin looked down for a moment, as if repeating something he'd heard often. "Master Qui-Gon always says the Chosen One is supposed to bring balance to the Force. Destroy the Sith." He paused. "But…" His gaze lifted again, clearer now. "…. I just… go with what might happen. Like what the Lady told me."
Plo's head inclined, a subtle tilt of interest. "The Lady—meaning the Daughter. What did she tell you?"
Anakin hesitated only a moment. "She told me I had to defeat Jin-Woo. That one day, I'd have to beat him. She didn't say how or when—just that I'm the one who must. And she warned me… Jin-Woo isn't evil. But he's not good either. She said that, in his eyes, death is equal."
Yoda's ears shifted slightly. He leaned in, voice low. "When you saw Jin-Woo… how did you feel, young Skywalker?"
Anakin didn't hesitate. "I can't really explain," he said quietly. "But my body knew it. It wasn't fear. Not really. And it wasn't hate either. Just… something deep inside me said, That man—he's the one I have to defeat."
Yoda's ears lifted slightly. His gaze drifted down toward Anakin's robes. "Something glows in your pocket, young Skywalker. What is it?"
Anakin blinked, then reached into the folds of his tunic and pulled it out—
A triangular arc reactor, faintly pulsing with blue-white light. The triangle at its center shimmered with a subtle hum.
"This," Anakin said, "was gifted to me. By the Armored Man himself."
The chamber went quiet. Windu's eyes narrowed. He thought, Even now, no one knows what that armored man truly is. Or what he wants. But I still want to test him. No matter who or what he is, even he can't underestimate the Jedi resolve to bring peace to the galaxy.
"Gifted," Windu said aloud. "Then you met him. Can you describe him, Anakin? Anything—anything at all—might help us decide whether this figure is a threat."
Anakin nodded. "I don't really know what he is… but when I met him—on Tatooine, near the Mos Espa gates—he was wearing full armor. Red, with gold pieces. Big and bulky,. He wore a mask too… you couldn't see anything under it.. Just light behind the eyes. He was huge. I think… three meters tall."