The soil of Yavin 4 lay ruined beneath her—glassified earth, fractured stone, jungles reduced to scars that still smoked with residual power. The air itself felt heavy, saturated beyond any threshold the Sith had ever known.
Naga Sadow trembled. From recognition.
Malgus stood rigid, systems humming in his armor as every instinct screamed danger. Exar Kun's spirit flickered, ritual chains vibrating under the pressure. What stood before them was not simply dark side power. It was density—compression so extreme that the Force itself seemed bent around Abeloth's presence. This was beyond Sith.
Abeloth stretched slightly, rolling one shoulder as if testing her freedom. Her thoughts drifted inward, sharp and calculating.
The Flood's head… the Gravemind doesn't realize I'm only partially free.
A faint curl of irritation crossed her expression. If I could bring my true body through.
Abeloth's fingers brushed the side of her face where the infection had once taken root—an instinctive motion, automatic, almost unconscious. That wound belonged to her true body, not this one , yet the memory of it lingered. Foreign biomass had pulsed there once, violating her in a way even imprisonment never had.
The trauma remained. She exhaled slowly.Enough.
Her thoughts sharpened, dark and irritated. Another galaxy intruding here… I was aware of the Yuuzhan Vong. A flicker of contempt followed. But the Flood—and their Forerunners—are the last thing I ever wanted involved.
Malgus stared at her, jaw clenched tight, centuries of war suddenly feeling irrelevant. Every battle-hardened instinct he possessed had been stripped bare by what stood before him.
You made a mistake, he thought grimly, eyes flicking toward Sadow. A catastrophic one.
Exar Kun felt it too. Even bound in spirit, even sustained by ancient rites, dread crawled through him. Not fear as mortals knew it—something deeper. Instinctive. Old. His pride flared in response, wounded and furious, and he acted before reason could stop him.
His will lashed outward. A telepathic strike, layered with Sith domination and ritual force, aimed to subdue, to bind.
Abeloth didn't even look at him. She threw a bare fist into the air.
The world split. The land cracked open in a violent line, force traveling through space itself, and Exar Kun's spirit screamed as the impact tore through his projection. Geometry shattered. Chains snapped. His presence fractured, scattered like ash across the broken ground.
Abeloth lowered her hand, expression unchanged. "Child of the Son of Mortis," she said calmly, voice carrying effortless authority, "wielder of the dark side." Her gaze passed over the remaining Sith without interest. "I have no desire to kill any of you."
The ground continued to groan beneath her feet. "Nor to expand my reach," she added. "
Sadow swallowed and stepped forward carefully. "Then… what is your bidding, my lady?"
Abeloth turned her eyes on him at last.
"Don't lie to me, Sith," she said flatly. "I know you dislike me. I know you're disappointed that this is what emerged from the sword you were instructed to make." A faint curl of disdain touched her lips. "Rest assured, I am aware."
Abeloth presence pressed down on them again, not as threat—but as reminder. "But for now," Abeloth continued, "you matter very little to me."
Her gaze dropped. What remained of the Monarch of Transfiguration had not fully vanished. The lower half of Morgan's form still lingered, suspended in incomplete withdrawal, transfiguration light frozen mid-collapse.
Abeloth stiffened. That changed things.
She raised a hand, intent clear—flora and stone responding as one, roots and earth beginning to coil upward, ready to bury the remains deep, to erase the trace before anything worse could arrive.
Then— Ash stirred.
Exar Kun's spirit reformed, jagged and incomplete, pride dragging him back into coherence. His voice was raw, bitter, and furious. "I've worked too hard," he snarled. "My planet burned because of you're wars and Sith ambition—and now you stand here." His presence flared. "At the very least, I deserve a taste of the immortality someone else was granted."
"Quiet down, idiot," Sadow snapped instantly.
Abeloth turned slowly. Her eyes locked onto Exar Kun, and for the first time her patience cracked.
"I am not warning you again, ghost," she said coldly. "You are a toddler in this battlefield ." Her voice hardened. "You have never seen what monarchs can do."
She lifted her hand, and an illusion peeled open across her face.
For a heartbeat, they saw it. The scar. Flood infestation, raw and obscene, fused into her flesh—violation layered over divinity. A memory she carried, not hidden, not healed.
"This," Abeloth said evenly, "is the scar I remember."
The illusion faded. "I am being reasonable," she continued. "Because monarchs might glass all of us." Her gaze flicked toward the stars. "And I am not asking a second time. Nor a third."
The ground rumbled as her power settled back into place. "Step aside," Abeloth finished. "So I can destroy the remains—before the real ruler of darkness arrives."
Exar Kun did not listen. Instead, his spirit surged forward in a desperate lunge, geometry chains snapping as he forced himself into the lower half of Morgan's incomplete form. The transfiguration residue flared violently, unstable, screaming as foreign will tried to seize it.
Abeloth's composure shattered in an instant. "FOOL. IDIOT."
Before she could act—
Space tore open. A transfiguration seam split the air beside the body, precise and deliberate, and XoXaan emerged in the flesh.. Her boots hit the ground hard, posture already set, eyes locked on the intrusion.
Her red lightsaber ignited mid-step. For a fraction of a second, its blade bled pink—transfiguration enchantment layered over Sith design—then she drove it straight through the spirit-form chest of Exar Kun.
The impact screamed . His presence convulsed, geometry fracturing as the blade pinned him in place, severing his grip on the body in a violent backlash.
XoXaan leaned in, voice steady, merciless. "Sith greed," she said, twisting the blade, "including mine, is why the golden era collapsed. Why we were hunted. Why we burned ourselves alive."
She stared straight through him. "And you—after millennia—you still don't know when to bow out."
Exar Kun shrieked, his form tearing at the edges. "XoXaan—traitor!" he spat. "You sided with outsiders. Look at you—chained like a dog!"
XoXaan didn't flinch.
"No," she replied calmly. "I get rewarded soon." Her eyes hardened. "Because Sith'ari wills this outcome—if Morgan ever be pushed back… should she ever lose."
Exar Kun laughed, hollow and furious. "I am already dead. As long as my temple stands, I can never truly perish. All you've done is buy time." His presence twisted, malignant. "And that monster—the one called the Lady of the Dark Side—she will bury you and that half-corpse alike."
Only then did XoXaan notice it. The ground around them had changed. Flora had erupted silently, violently—roots thicker than durasteel, vines coiling like serpents, walls of living biomass already closing in. Abeloth's work. A grave grown in real time.
XoXaan smiled. "I know," she said lightly. "But you being here like this?" Her smile sharpened. "That's a bonus I didn't expect. A perfect one."
She raised her hand. Transfiguration. A precise gesture—one Jin-Woo himself had taught her, never meant to be used lightly. The air darkened. Space tightened. Something vast leaned closer, answering a call that was not meant for this world.
"To summon the Sith'ari," XoXaan continued evenly, "an anchor is required." Her gaze flicked to the remains of Morgan's body. "Morgan's immortal soul already withdrew. Using this vessel alone would take an hour."
Her eyes returned to Exar Kun. "But you're here," she said. "And I still have my life force."
Triumph flickered across her face.. "Shall we witness it?" XoXaan asked . "The true ruler of darkness. The Sith'ari. The Shadow Monarch himself ."
Exar Kun felt it then. Panic.
"You bastard—relic Sith—!" he screamed, his form fracturing as the ritual seized him.
The world answered. A pillar of black rose straight into the sky, swallowing light, sound, and meaning as it tore through the battlefield like a verdict made manifest. Shadows screamed upward, reality bending around a presence that did not belong to eras, empires, or gods.
Abeloth watched. She only thought, cold and irritated, All these Sith… and they still never learn to prioritize.
The black pillar collapsed inward, ash and shadow folding into themselves. The ground screamed as something took shape at its center.
A rider emerged. Ashborn form . massive shadow warrior formed from compressed darkness and authority, broad and brutal, flame-like purple hair burning upward as if gravity no longer applied to it. Purple eyes glowed beneath a horned silhouette—two curved black horns framing a face that was less flesh than verdict. Jet-black armor locked itself into place across his body, edges breathing shadow, a long smoky cloak trailing behind him like a wound in reality itself.
In his hand rested a pure black sword, dense enough that the ground beneath it cracked just from proximity.
Beneath him stood a black horse made of shadow and demonic mass, hooves sinking into the land without weight, mane flowing like smoke dragged through hell.
Jin-Woo. Only a partial manifestation.
And still, the presence alone was catastrophic.
The shadows around him twisted, screaming in layered voices—too many, overlapping, unstable. Thousands spoke at once, madness bleeding through the incomplete anchor.
"You are a thorn in my side."
"Begone—one who was defeated ten years ago."
"You remain weak."
"Because the Gravemind still clings to your true body."
"You wear chains you pretend are scars," the voices hissed. "you call it freedom."
Jin-Woo lifted his head. "ABELOTH."
The name cracked the air. Then his gaze shifted, slow and deliberate.
"Naga Sadow," he continued. "And now Malgus. Huh."
The shadows surged, laughter and contempt bleeding together.
"You gathered relics," they whispered. "Dead empires. Broken kings."
Jin-Woo's grip tightened on the black sword. "And still," he said, voice layered, calm, terrifying, "you chose the wrong battlefield."
The shadows around him churned, restless, whispering fragments of contempt and judgment, but he raised a hand and they quieted—barely.
He looked directly at Abeloth. "Is it arrogance," Jin-Woo continued evenly, "that you cleaved my wife in half… and then failed to erase the body immediately?" His eyes narrowed, violet light flaring. "You gave her time. Time to anchor herself back to her Lostbelt. reconstruct her form."
A slow breath followed. "That took effort," he admitted. "Even with both of us working in parallel." A pause—measured. "For that, I thank you."
Jin-woo gaze sharpened, cutting deeper than accusation. "But tell me, why didn't you finish it—when your hatred for me runs this deep?"
Abeloth answered with motion, not words. She swept her arm outward. The world responded.
Flora exploded forward in a living tsunami—roots, thorns, and colossal growths surging toward Jin-Woo like a devouring sea, blotting out the horizon as they rushed to swallow him whole.
Abeloth's voice rang out over the roar, sharp and daring.
"If you are here," she said, "then I can kill you partially, can't I—Shadow Monarch?"
Jin-Woo answered with motion. He swung the black sword once. The wave split.. The living tsunami of flora tore itself in two, roots screaming as shadow cleaved a corridor straight through it, the halves crashing away from him like a sea forced aside by will alone.
"Don't credit yourself too highly," Jin-Woo said, voice layered, cold. "If I decide to torture the Gravemind I possess … the other one still trapped on your planet will make your existence far worse than death, Abeloth."
Her jaw tightened. She answered with fire.
Pyrokinesis ignited around her, heat condensing into a sun-bright mass, the temperature spiking to the same violent threshold Sadow once wielded. The air screamed as she hurled it forward. Jin-Woo met it head-on, darkness flaring as shadow and stellar heat collided.
The impact compressed. Sun and shadow ground against each other, space warping, pressure screaming outward in a ring that flattened what little terrain still stood.