章 56: Rebirth of a Sith
Plagueis's essence surged into the designated clone, and with a violent jolt, he awoke. The bacta tank containing his new form cracked under the pressure, fluids spilling onto the floor as the glass shattered around him. As he stepped out, it became clear that this was not the familiar body of Plagueis, but rather the imposing figure of Darth Bane—his new vessel.
Bane's form was a terrifying sight to behold, towering and muscular, clad in ancient Sith armor that gleamed with a dark, obsidian sheen. The armor, adorned with intricate Sith runes, seemed almost alive, pulsing faintly with the dark side energy coursing through it. The armor's gauntlets and chest plate bore sharp, jagged edges, and the heavy boots clanged ominously against the floor with every step. His face, now bald and marked with Sith tattoos, glared out with a fierce intensity. Deep-set eyes burned with a yellow fire, a testament to the rage and darkness that fueled him.
Plagueis glanced at his reflection in the shattered glass, his expression a mix of shock and intrigue. He muttered under his breath, examining the powerful form he now inhabited. "I didn't create this clone… this body… No one in this galaxy could have crafted something like this—this is the ancient form of a Sith, even from the days of the Old Republic, perhaps even from the time of Vitiate himself."
The realization hit Plagueis that this was yet another unnatural gift from the dark side, a manifestation of its desperation, offering him a vessel beyond anything he could have imagined. It was a body forged for war, an avatar of Sith power from a bygone era, and Plagueis felt the surge of newfound strength coursing through him.
As he steadied himself, a Sith officer approached and snapped to attention, saluting sharply. "Welcome back, Lord Plagueis. We are ready to fire on Na—" The officer's words were abruptly cut off as Plagueis, without so much as a glance, extended a hand and clenched his fist. The officer choked, gasping for air as he was lifted off the ground, his life snuffed out in seconds. The body dropped lifelessly to the floor, a grim reminder of the price of displeasing a Sith Lord.
Plagueis, now fully acclimated to his new body, stepped over the fallen officer without a second thought. He made his way to the nearest communication panel, his steps echoing ominously through the dimly lit corridor. He activated the comm, his voice reverberating through the speakers to all the ships in the fleet, including the 14 Lucrehulk battleships and 6 Xyston-class Star Destroyers.
"This is the second time I have returned," Plagueis announced, his tone cold and commanding, resonating with a malevolence that sent shivers through those who heard it. "Do not target anything except the dishonored one, Gojo Satoru. If you value your lives and wish to see another day, focus every bit of firepower on him. Nothing else. He is the sole target. Fail me, and I will ensure that this is your final failure."
The officers across the fleet hastily complied, each one acutely aware of the Sith Lord's wrath and the sheer futility of challenging his commands. They prepared their weapons, each ship aligning their firepower toward the battlefield where Gojo awaited. The tension in the air was palpable, a mixture of fear and anticipation as the fleet braced for what was to come.
Plagueis clenched his fists, feeling the dark side coursing through his veins, bolstering his resolve. This new body, this unnatural gift from the dark side, was more than just a second chance—it was his opportunity to exact vengeance, to reclaim his pride, and to finally prove his mastery over the Force. With the might of the fleet behind him and the form of a legendary Sith Lord, Plagueis was ready to bring everything against Gojo Satoru in a bid to land that one, crucial blow that would secure his immortality.
Plagueis moved to the bridge, his eyes scanning the vast expanse of space before him. As he looked out, his gaze fell upon Gojo, resting calmly on a nearby wreckage, seemingly oblivious to the preparations being made against him. Plagueis's eyes widened in surprise, his thoughts momentarily clouded with disbelief.
"Krastak!" Plagueis swore in ancient Sith, the profanity a harsh, guttural sound that echoed across the bridge. "The enemy is right here, and he's either resting or drawing attention away from some other threat!"
Plagueis's mind raced, his shock quickly turning into a calculated consideration. "But wait… this could be an opportunity." He allowed a sinister grin to spread across his face. If Gojo was truly unaware, or simply too arrogant to consider the threat of his fleet, then this was the moment to strike.
Taking a deep breath, Plagueis settled into a meditative pose on the bridge. He closed his eyes, reaching deep into the dark side of the Force, pulling from the ancient well of Sith knowledge that lay dormant within Darth Bane's body. His thoughts focused, he began to channel Dark Battle Meditation, a technique to bolster his fleet's effectiveness and instill terror in his enemies.
As the power of the Dark Battle Meditation began to spread through the fleet, Plagueis's eyes snapped open, glowing with renewed purpose. He could feel the dark side's energies coursing through him, revealing secrets and augmenting his understanding of the ancient form he now occupied. The old knowledge, buried deep in Bane's essence, surged forward, filling him with insights into battle and command.
Through the comm system, Plagueis issued his next command, his voice now resonant with the strength of the dark side. "All fighters—launch. Sith Eternal and Trade Federation forces, mobilize everything. Overwhelm him with numbers, with strategy, with the unrelenting might of the Sith!"
The hangar bays of the Lucrehulk battleships and Xyston-class Star Destroyers opened simultaneously, releasing waves of starfighters into the void. The swarm of ships, guided by Plagueis's dark influence, moved with unnerving coordination, their formation tight and aggressive as they streaked toward Gojo.
As Plagueis watched his meticulously orchestrated assault unfold, the vast swarm of starfighters moved in perfect harmony, a testament to his Dark Battle Meditation's power. They streaked across the void, an unrelenting tide of metal and fire, all converging on Gojo's position with lethal intent. From his vantage point on the bridge, Plagueis's satisfaction grew, his confidence bolstered by the sight of his forces mobilizing with such precision and ferocity.
However, that confidence quickly turned to shock as he observed Gojo's reaction. Far from showing any sign of fear or concern, Gojo appeared bored, his expression one of casual disinterest as he floated amidst the debris of a destroyed battleship. The Honored One stretched lazily, his eyes scanning the incoming wave of starfighters as if they were nothing more than an inconvenience.
With a fluid motion, Gojo raised his hand and summoned his Sankt Bogen—a massive, ethereal bow that shimmered with an otherworldly light. As the bow materialized, a thousand gigantic Heilig Pfeil (holy arrows) took shape, each one radiating an aura of devastating power. Gojo's eyes narrowed with a smirk, and without hesitation, he loosed the arrows into the swarm.
The sky lit up with a blinding flash as the holy arrows tore through the starfighter formations with surgical precision. Ships exploded in rapid succession, the brilliant detonations illuminating the battlefield as the arrows tore through hulls, shattered shields, and reduced entire squadrons to scrap metal in seconds. The swarming forces that Plagueis had painstakingly deployed were obliterated almost instantly, their efforts nullified by the sheer overwhelming force of Gojo's attack.
Gojo, his expression still one of idle amusement, guided two of the massive arrows with a flick of his wrist, directing them toward the Xyston-class Star Destroyer where Plagueis had taken command. The arrows streaked toward the ship with terrifying speed, slicing through the void like beams of light. As they closed in on Plagueis, the Sith Lord narrowly evaded the direct hit, feeling the searing heat as the arrows grazed the Star Destroyer's hull, causing a series of violent explosions that rocked the ship.
As Plagueis steadied himself, he noticed a message inscribed along the shafts of the two arrows that had nearly ended him. The message, simple yet ominous, read: "Do you want to live longer, or do you want me to decimate your clones right now?"
Plagueis clenched his fists, his fury bubbling to the surface. This was not just an attack; it was a mockery, a taunt aimed directly at his pride and his resolve. The Honored One was not merely content with destroying his forces—he was playing with him, offering a choice between survival and total annihilation.
The realization hit Plagueis hard. Despite his ancient Sith knowledge, his Dark Battle Meditation, and the vast resources at his disposal, Gojo Satoru still held the upper hand. This was no ordinary adversary; this was a being who stood at the pinnacle of power, unfazed by the might of the Sith fleet and its grandiose strategies.
Plagueis knew he had to act swiftly and decisively, or risk losing everything. He glared at the message on the arrows, his resolve hardening even further. Gojo's arrogance would be his downfall, Plagueis told himself, but in the pit of his stomach, he felt the gnawing doubt that his own overconfidence might be leading him to the same fate.
Determined to reclaim control, Plagueis barked a command, his voice laced with anger. "Prepare my ship! I will deal with the dishonored one myself."
A lower-ranking Sith officer, visibly shaken after witnessing the fate of his predecessor, stepped forward cautiously. "Do you need any equipment or a suit to breathe in space, my lord?" he asked, his voice tinged with nervousness.
Plagueis shot the officer a disdainful look. "No need. The Force will grant sustenance." His confidence was palpable, though it belied the gnawing uncertainty that festered beneath his resolve.
As Plagueis made his way to the hangar, meanwhile Gojo floated in the expanse of space, his thoughts drifting to the peculiar absence of familiar Sith figures. "No Revan here, huh? Strange… Even among these clones, I expected to see him, given his stature as a Sith," Gojo mused aloud, pondering the oddities of the battle.
Suddenly, Plagueis's personal starship, the Scimitar, descended onto the wreckage nearby. The Scimitar was an intimidating sight—a sleek, black dagger-shaped craft designed for stealth and speed, with its wing-like extensions adding to its predatory appearance. The hull was a smooth, reflective obsidian that seemed to absorb the surrounding starlight, while the forward section housed an array of concealed weaponry and advanced cloaking technology. The ship's engines flared with a crimson glow as it touched down, its presence ominous and foreboding, a stark contrast to the wreckage surrounding it.
Gojo watched the ship land, his expression shifting to one of amused disdain. "The fucking third-rate Sith didn't bring any equipment. Looks like a suicide mission," Gojo remarked, his voice carrying a mix of sarcasm and boredom. He floated down, his gaze locked onto Plagueis as the Sith Lord disembarked from the Scimitar with a determined stride.
Plagueis's fury simmered as he approached Gojo, the Sith Lord's every step resonating with the cold resolve of his new form. The ancient black armor of Darth Bane, with its intricate Sith runes glowing faintly, served as a powerful reminder of the dark side's legacy—a legacy that Plagueis was determined to uphold. Yet, despite the intimidating sight, Gojo remained unperturbed, his demeanor one of casual disdain.
Gojo let out a mocking whistle as he eyed Plagueis. "Darth Bane, huh? The progenitor of the Rule of Two. Not bad. Though, I imagine you could've used Darth Zannah if she were still kicking around somewhere."
Plagueis's eyes widened, his expression shifting from cold calculation to outright rage. The mention of Zannah—the apprentice who had once stood beside Bane, her existence and role a closely guarded secret of the Sith Order—was enough to shake him. "How did you know about that?!" Plagueis snarled, his voice a mix of incredulity and fury. In his mind, the revelation was almost impossible; knowledge of Zannah had been buried deep within the Sith's lineage, passed down in whispers through generations, hidden from all but the most devoted and trusted Sith Lords.
To have that secret casually thrown in his face was an affront to everything he understood about the preservation of Sith knowledge. Plagueis's thoughts raced: how could Gojo, an outsider, a being not of their dark order, know of something so sacred, so protected?
Gojo, ever the provocateur, shrugged nonchalantly, his expression unchanging. "Umm… up my butt, probably," he quipped, the lightness in his voice contrasting sharply with the growing tension. He took a step forward, his gaze piercing through Plagueis with an unsettling calm. "Come on, I'll give you the first strike. Besides, that Force sustenance trick of yours? It can only keep you going for what, five to twenty minutes? Depends on your Force reserves, right?"
Plagueis's expression tightened, his anger flaring. He knew Gojo was right; the Force sustenance technique, though powerful, was not infinite. It was a desperate measure, a testament to the sheer force of will but ultimately a temporary solution. Gojo's casual dismissal of his efforts only served to inflame his pride further.
"You insolent wretch," Plagueis hissed, his grip tightening around his ignited lightsaber. The crimson blade hummed with a dark promise, reflecting his seething rage. Determined to show Gojo the true power of the dark side, Plagueis activated two of Darth Bane's most dangerous abilities.
With his left hand, Plagueis summoned Convection, altering his body chemistry to emit an intense, blistering heat. His skin glowed, and the air around him shimmered as he radiated an unbearable temperature, capable of incinerating anything that came too close without harming himself. Simultaneously, his right hand crackled with Cryokinesis, draining the thermal energy from his surroundings, ready to freeze his enemies to death, leaving behind nothing but frozen corpses. One hand burned with the ferocity of a furnace, while the other chilled the air to a deadly frost.
Gojo remained unfazed, his expression as serene as ever. Without uttering a word, he raised his hand and made a simple, beckoning gesture, inviting Plagueis to strike. The gesture was silent yet dismissive, a stark contrast to the intensity of the dark powers emanating from Plagueis.
Driven by a surge of rage and determination, Plagueis decided to use the environment to his advantage. He reached out with the Force, using Force Crush to compress and shatter the remaining wreckage of the Xyston-class Star Destroyer. The massive debris crumbled inward, collapsing in a thunderous cascade meant to obscure Gojo's vision and provide cover for an ambush.
Plagueis moved with blinding speed, using the wreckage as a shield to close the distance and strike from the shadows, intending to unleash a devastating combination of his scorching Convection and freezing Cryokinesis. His plan was to overwhelm Gojo with the dual elements, forcing him to defend against simultaneous extremes that would test even the most formidable opponent.
But just as Plagueis's attack was about to come to fruition, his momentum was abruptly halted. Gojo hadn't moved from his spot. He simply stood amidst the falling debris, his four-pupil Rikugan glowing ominously, observing Plagueis with a cold, detached gaze. The intense heat and biting cold of Plagueis's powers were muted, rendered ineffective by the oppressive force radiating from Gojo.
Gojo's Rikugan looked down upon Plagueis, not just in the physical sense, but with an air of dominance that made Plagueis feel small, inconsequential. It was as if Gojo's very presence suppressed the dark energies Plagueis wielded, reducing them to mere parlor tricks in the face of his overwhelming spiritual pressure.
Plagueis grinned, a sinister smile spreading across his face as his plan finally seemed to bear fruit. Engaging Gojo with elemental attacks had been a mere distraction; the true weapon had been silently charging in the background: the Xyston-class Star Destroyer, primed for a devastating assault. The massive superlaser, previously targeted by Gojo's blue arrow, was now fully charged. Its ominous green glow built to a deadly crescendo, ready to unleash destruction. Plagueis's eyes flickered with malevolent glee as he mocked, "This is my first blow, dishonored one!"
The superlaser fired, releasing a colossal beam of destructive energy that tore through the fabric of space, aimed directly at Gojo with the intent to annihilate him in a single, decisive strike. The beam, magnified by the effects of Plagueis's Dark Battle Meditation, surged forward with unstoppable force, carving a path of destruction.
Yet, Gojo remained unperturbed. His four-pupil Rikugan glowed with an intensified blue light as he extended his hand, his expression calm and composed. "Cursed Technique Lapse - Maximum Cursed Energy Output: Blue," he declared, his voice steady and unyielding.
From Gojo's palm emerged an overwhelming surge of compressed cursed energy, forming a massive, swirling vortex of intense blue light. This was not just a regular use of the technique—it was pushed to its absolute maximum, far surpassing anything Gojo had previously unleashed. The vortex expanded rapidly, its gravitational pull distorting space around it, resembling a miniature black hole.
The Xyston-class Star Destroyer's superlaser, once a symbol of invincibility, was immediately ensnared by the relentless pull of Gojo's Blue. The beam twisted and bent, its trajectory disrupted as it was devoured by the vortex. But Gojo's Blue did not merely neutralize the superlaser; it intensified, its gravitational force magnifying exponentially as it began to draw the entire Star Destroyer into its depths.
The front of the Xyston-class Star Destroyer buckled and warped, unable to withstand the immense gravitational pressure. The vortex continued to pull, piece by piece, disassembling the ship as it was consumed by the singularity. Metal groaned and tore apart, entire sections of the ship were ripped free, disappearing into the blue void.
Gojo's Blue wasn't simply an attack—it was a complete and utter annihilation. The entire Star Destroyer, a formidable titan of war, was reduced to subatomic particles as it was drawn into the vortex, compressed and crushed until nothing remained. The explosion that followed was eerily silent, the ship's mass obliterated by the overwhelming gravitational force of Gojo's technique, leaving a haunting stillness in the wake of its destruction.
The aftermath of the Star Destroyer's collapse sent shockwaves rippling through the surrounding fleet. Systems on nearby vessels faltered, their structures listing under the lingering gravitational influence. The battlefield was littered with the remnants of what was once a proud fleet, now reduced to drifting debris, a testament to Gojo's unchallenged power.
Gojo lowered his hand, allowing the blue energy to fade into the void. His expression remained unchanged, a picture of cold, calculating indifference as he surveyed the devastation. The message was clear: even the most advanced weapons of the Sith were no match for his absolute power.
Plagueis, witnessing the catastrophic failure of his plan, stood amid the wreckage, a wave of dread washing over him. His calculated first strike had not only failed; it had backfired spectacularly, decimating his own forces in the process. The magnitude of his error loomed large, and the once confident Sith Lord found himself grappling with the reality of his hubris.
Gojo, shifting his focus back to Plagueis, made a gesture that defied all reason. With a casual movement, he tore out his own heart, holding it aloft as if it were a mere trinket. Then, with the same casual ease, he pierced his throat, blood spilling into the void. It was a grotesque, incomprehensible act—a display of power and defiance that mocked the very essence of mortality.
Plagueis's eyes widened in shock as his own body reacted violently to the sight. He felt his legs buckle, the dark energy that had sustained him flickering weakly. He collapsed, blood pouring from his wounds, his strength rapidly draining. It was as if Gojo's actions had transcended the physical, impacting the very core of his existence.
Gojo's voice echoed across the expanse, dripping with mockery. "The third body or clone now, probably Malgus. Show me its power. And that cool mask… I might just rob it."
Plagueis, overcome by the loss of blood and the crushing weight of failure, fell to the ground, his vision darkening. He struggled to comprehend Gojo's intentions, but his body was giving out, his mind clouded by pain and confusion. He knew that his time was running out, and yet the thought of another clone—a stronger, more capable vessel—flickered in his mind.
Unbeknownst to Plagueis, Gojo was already setting his next move into motion. With a subtle flick of his wrist, Gojo secretly implanted the Soul Distribution for Auswählen on Darth Bane's corpse. The technique, veiled in secrecy, allowed Gojo to manipulate and redistribute the essence of the fallen Sith, creating a conduit for his own gains.
As Plagueis lay there, succumbing to the creeping darkness, he realized that Gojo was not just dismantling him physically but was also undermining the very legacy of the Sith. In Gojo's hands, even death was a tool for domination—a means to turn the strengths of the dark side into his own assets.
Gojo, standing amidst the remnants of his latest conquest, glanced down at his left hand. With a casual flick, he opened his palm, revealing an unsettling sight: an eye with two yellow pupils, pulsating with a strange, otherworldly energy. It was a sight that held both menace and allure, an embodiment of powers that could twist reality to his will. The Evolution Governance and The Compulsory—abilities not merely confined to force or technique, but the very essence of control and adaptation itself.
He watched the eye flicker, its gaze unnervingly alive, as if it were appraising the very fabric of the universe around it. The Evolution Governance was more than a tool—it was a dominion over the flow of life itself. With it, Gojo could accelerate the evolution of any being or object he touched, compelling them to adapt in ways that suited his needs. A single thought, and cells could harden against poison, mutate to counter a blade's edge, or twist into forms so grotesquely specialized that they defied natural order. Against him, there was no stability, no refuge in the known; every advantage an enemy wielded could be warped, adapted, or stripped away.
Beside it, the second ability, The Compulsory, thrummed with a darker intent. This was not just control—it was a power that could physically seize command over an opponent's very body at the most intimate level. By shooting nerves from his fingers and extending them into his opponent's body, Gojo could forcibly control their movements, tearing them apart or condensing them into a compact ball in mere moments. It was a terrifying display of precision and brutality: a single touch, and muscles betrayed their master, flesh warped and twisted under the unbearable force. He could crush the body of a giant in an instant or reduce a warrior's limb to a puddle of blood, as the nerves infiltrated and violently reshaped the victim's form.
This power extended even to inorganic matter, allowing Gojo to manipulate his surroundings by embedding his nerves into the environment. He could reshape the terrain, creating monstrous appendages from the ground or structures nearby, turning the battlefield itself into a weapon. Severed fingers, too, retained their potency; once detached, they could independently extend nerves and continue to attack, the eyes on their knuckles opening to seek out new targets. This was not a mere gift from the Soul King's abilities; it was a primordial force that had always resided within Pernida, now at Gojo's command.
Gojo smirked, his eyes gleaming with a mix of amusement and cold, calculated intent. These were not mere abilities; they were instruments of absolute rule, capable of subjugating the very laws of existence to his whims. He flexed his fingers, the eye in his palm narrowing as if in acknowledgment of its own boundless potential.
"Looks like I need to adapt things more seriously," he muttered, a hint of mockery in his tone, yet underlined by an undeniable resolve. The remnants of the battle around him seemed insignificant, mere footnotes in the face of powers that rendered the distinctions of life, death, and force little more than malleable suggestions.
With the Evolution Governance and The Compulsory at his command, Gojo was not just playing a game of survival; he was redefining the rules, molding reality itself to fit his vision, one victory at a time. And as he stood there, palm open, the eye's gaze unblinking, it was clear: the battlefield was no longer a place of chance or fate—it was his domain, reshaped and governed by the will of the Honored One.
At the heart of the Xyston-class Star Destroyer, Darth Plagueis awoke once more, his essence now housed in the body of Darth Malgus. The bacta tank around him drained swiftly, the fluid cascading away as the tank hissed open. Emerging from the viscous liquid, Plagueis took his first breath in his new form. The figure before him was imposing: Malgus stood tall and broad, his physique muscular and scarred from countless battles. He was clad in dark, heavy armor, adorned with sharp lines and harsh angles, reminiscent of ancient Sith warriors. The armor's surface was etched with the sigils of the Sith Empire, glowing faintly with a crimson hue.
Malgus's face, obscured by his iconic respirator mask, was a visage of intimidation. The mask, a metallic construct that covered his mouth and nose, emitted a rhythmic, mechanical hiss with every breath, amplifying his presence with a menacing aura. His eyes, burning with the yellow fury of the dark side, pierced through the slits of the mask, projecting an unrelenting gaze of malice. The entirety of his appearance was designed to strike fear into the hearts of those who opposed him—a warrior reborn from an era of relentless conquest.
Plagueis, now within Malgus's form, flexed his hands, feeling the raw power of this new body. However, beneath his outward calm, confusion simmered. "How did Gojo know my third clone would be Malgus?" Plagueis muttered to himself, bewilderment creeping into his voice. Even he, with all his intricate planning and foresight, hadn't known which clone he would possess next—it was always a random chance, dictated by the chaotic will of the dark side. Yet Gojo had predicted it, as if he had peered into the very threads of fate that Plagueis himself could not see.
Before he could dwell further on this unsettling realization, a blaring announcement crackled through the Star Destroyer's intercom, filled with urgency and panic: "Alert! Gojo Satoru has appeared on the bridge! Engage! Engage!"
Plagueis's expression twisted into a scowl behind his mask. "I know that Gojo probably knows where I am," he muttered, his voice deep and mechanical through the respirator. "But I never thought he'd be this aggressive." The thought of Gojo tearing through the ship so directly went against every tactical calculation Plagueis had made. He had expected Gojo to toy with him, to play the long game, but this outright assault was unexpected—and infuriating.
In the hangar of the Xyston-class Star Destroyer, Gojo stood amid the chaos of scrambling Sith troops and droids, his expression unreadable, yet his presence radiating calm amidst the storm. Without hesitation, he severed his left arm with a swift, calculated motion, showing no signs of pain or hesitation. Blood briefly spattered, only to be drawn back and dissipated into the ether by his immense cursed energy. As the severed limb hit the ground, it began to twist and writhe, nerves unfurling like tendrils reaching out for prey.
Gojo's eyes glimmered with cold amusement as he commanded, "Pernida, adapt and kill them all."
The severed arm, now fully under the control of The Compulsory, sprang to life. Tendrils shot out, slithering across the floor at an alarming speed, each tipped with eyes that blinked open, assessing the battlefield with a predatory gaze. The nerves latched onto the nearest troopers, piercing through armor and flesh alike, taking command of their movements in an instant. Soldiers convulsed violently, their limbs twisting at unnatural angles as they were puppeted by Gojo's detached arm. Blaster rifles swung erratically, firing at allies, while others were pulled into grotesque poses before being compressed into compact, mangled masses of bone and metal.
Pernida's influence spread rapidly, tendrils snaking through the hangar and into control panels, machinery, and the ship's infrastructure itself. The entire environment became an extension of Gojo's will, reshaping the very battlefield into a chaotic deathtrap. Turrets turned on their operators, doors slammed shut on unsuspecting Sith, and the entire hangar seemed to pulse with a malevolent intent as if the Star Destroyer itself had become an enemy to its inhabitants.
Plagueis, sensing the carnage through the Force, could feel his own troops being decimated by the very ship that was supposed to be their stronghold. The sensation of losing control, of being outmaneuvered at every turn, burned within him. He clenched his fists, the familiar rage of the dark side simmering beneath his skin as he steeled himself for the confrontation that was now unavoidable.
As Plagueis rushed into the hangar, his senses on high alert, he scanned the devastation before him, searching for Gojo. But instead of the Honored One, he was met with an unexpected sight—a massive, grotesque hand with an eye on its palm, the same eye with two yellow pupils that had marked Gojo's left hand. The hand's fingers twitched unnervingly, its gaze locked onto Plagueis as if assessing its next move.
Plagueis's eyes narrowed, recognizing the unsettling resemblance. "The same as the dishonored one's left hand," he muttered under his breath, recalling Gojo's previous display of power. His instinct screamed at him to strike first, and without hesitation, he launched a crackling wave of Force lightning at the monstrous hand, hoping to obliterate it before it could act.
The blue arcs of lightning surged forward, but in his haste, Plagueis made a fatal oversight. As his attack surged through the air, a tiny, nearly invisible nerve from the hand snaked out, brushing against his left arm. Instantly, an excruciating pain shot through him as his limb twisted grotesquely, the tendrils burrowing into his flesh and seizing control with merciless precision. His arm began to warp and contort, bending against his will in agonizing ways, his own body betraying him in a horrific dance orchestrated by the strange power.
Plagueis's mind raced, the realization striking him with a jolt of panic. This was no ordinary technique—it was something foreign, something beyond his understanding. Before the nerve's influence could spread further, Plagueis gritted his teeth, igniting his lightsaber in a desperate move. With a swift, decisive slash, he severed his own left arm, the dismembered limb falling to the ground with a sickening thud. Blood spattered the hangar floor, but the pain of the cut was a lesser agony compared to the invasive control of whatever dark power had seized him.
Breathing heavily, Plagueis reached out with the Force, yanking a cybernetic replacement arm from the wreckage. He attached it hastily, the mechanical components whirring as they synced with his nervous system. Just as he steadied himself, the severed arm, still animated and unnervingly autonomous, rose from the ground, its eye blinking mockingly at him.
"My name is Pernida," the arm taunted, its voice an eerie echo that reverberated through the hangar. "Serve..."
Plagueis stared at the severed limb, his confusion deepening as he tried to piece together the nature of this grotesque ability that had turned his own flesh against him. He had no knowledge of what this Pernida was, nor any understanding of the source of this power that could animate and command his severed arm. The sight of his own limb moving and speaking independently, with an eye that blinked with an unsettling awareness, was a jarring reminder that he was dealing with forces far beyond the scope of Sith teachings.
Before Plagueis could fully process the implications, Pernida began to shift, its twitching tendrils writhing as they reformed into something more coherent and purposeful. The disjointed movements smoothed out, and the eerie eye on its palm fixed on Plagueis with a newfound clarity. As the transformation completed, Pernida's voice deepened, taking on a tone that was both familiar and disturbing.
"Is this all that remains of the great Plagueis?" Pernida taunted, the voice now unmistakably mimicking Darth Malgus's deep, resonant tone. "You, who seek immortality, now reduced to severing your own limbs to escape the inevitable. You can't even control your own flesh, let alone the galaxy. How pathetic."
Plagueis's expression twisted into a mix of anger and confusion. Just moments ago, Pernida had struggled to form basic words, its speech stilted and limited. Now it mocked him with the eloquence and confidence of a seasoned Sith Lord, drawing on Malgus's persona with alarming accuracy. The rapid evolution of Pernida's intelligence was both a threat and a mystery, one that Plagueis had not anticipated.
"Enough of your games, abomination," Plagueis snapped, his voice sharp as he tightened his grip on his lightsaber. His mind raced, grappling with the surreal reality that his enemy was not just a detached hand but an entity capable of learning and adapting at an accelerated pace. He had expected a simple, mindless force—something he could overpower with sheer strength and the dark side's might. Instead, he faced something that could think, learn, and turn his own strength against him.
Yet, beneath his outward defiance, a sliver of unease crept into Plagueis's thoughts. How could Pernida have evolved so quickly? Moments ago, it was barely coherent, struggling with vocabulary and basic speech. Now it wielded Malgus's voice and intellect as if it had always been its own. The implications were unsettling—this entity, this Pernida, was more than a mere extension of Gojo's will. It was becoming something else, something that could potentially rival the cunning and ruthlessness of any Sith.
"Did you honestly believe you could conquer death and all its secrets with such crude methods?" Pernida continued, its voice dripping with disdain. "You're nothing but a relic, clinging to outdated beliefs, hoping that sheer power will overcome the new order. You failed to see the truth, Plagueis. You were never the master—merely a puppet in a game beyond your understanding."
Pernida's taunts reverberated through the hangar, each word a blow to Plagueis's pride. The Sith Lord, who had prided himself on mastering the mysteries of the Force and bending it to his will, was now confronted by a severed limb that had evolved beyond anything he could have anticipated. Pernida was no longer just an extension of Gojo's power—it was a sentient adversary, adapting and learning at an exponential rate.
Before Plagueis could react further, Pernida's form began to split and multiply. The original severed arm spawned three additional copies, each grotesquely twitching and blinking with their own malevolent intelligence. The four limbs moved with unnerving coordination, encircling Plagueis like predatory beasts sizing up their prey.
The original Pernida raised its hand, summoning a single Heilig Pfeil—a giant holy arrow of ethereal energy that gleamed with a blinding, radiant light. The arrow hovered, poised to strike with devastating force. Simultaneously, one of the cloned arms crackled with the familiar hum of Force lightning, the blue-white tendrils of energy coiling and sparking with lethal intent.
Plagueis, caught between these converging attacks, felt a surge of genuine fear. He had faced countless enemies, wielded the dark side in ways that few could comprehend, but this was different. Pernida was a manifestation of adaptation and control, an embodiment of chaos that defied the structured teachings of the Sith.
As the Heilig Pfeil hurtled toward him, its trajectory guided by Pernida's unblinking gaze, Plagueis barely managed to twist his body, the arrow grazing his armor and searing the air beside him. Almost simultaneously, the Force lightning from one of the clones struck him, the raw energy coursing through his body, threatening to overwhelm his defenses. Sparks flew as his armor absorbed part of the impact, but the pain was searing, gnawing at his focus.
In a desperate bid to turn the tide, Plagueis extended both hands, calling upon one of the most ancient and feared Sith abilities: Force Drain, in the style of Darth Nihilus. His eyes flared with dark energy as he focused on two of the severed arms, drawing upon the very life force that animated them. The air around Plagueis rippled with a dark, hungry energy, a vortex of consuming power that latched onto the tendrils of Pernida.
The Force Drain acted like a black hole, siphoning the vitality and energy from Pernida's extensions. The two targeted arms writhed in response, their tendrils thrashing as they tried to resist the pull. The brilliant glow of the Heilig Pfeil dimmed slightly, and the crackling of the Force lightning wavered, as the severed limbs lost some of their strength. Plagueis gritted his teeth, pouring more of his will into the drain, determined to reduce these abominations to withered husks.
For a moment, it seemed as though the tide was turning in his favor. The two targeted arms began to wither, their tendrils retracting and their once vibrant eyes dimming as they succumbed to the life-sucking power of Force Drain. Plagueis could feel the rush of stolen energy coursing into him, bolstering his reserves and momentarily alleviating the pain of his wounds.
But Pernida's other clones did not remain idle. The original arm, still radiating with malevolent intent, swung its remaining Heilig Pfeil around, adjusting its aim with a chilling precision. It loosed the arrow with a sudden burst of speed, targeting Plagueis's exposed flank. At the same time, the third arm intensified its Force lightning, pouring more power into the attack and driving the crackling bolts into Plagueis's defenses.
The combined assault was relentless. Plagueis's Force Drain faltered under the onslaught, the stolen energy slipping from his grasp as he struggled to maintain his concentration. The Heilig Pfeil struck true, piercing through his hastily erected barrier and tearing into his side with a burst of radiant light. Pain erupted through Plagueis, searing his flesh and armor alike. The lightning surged again, crackling across his form and sending him to his knees, the agony rippling through every nerve.
Desperation clawed at Plagueis as he felt his strength waning under Pernida's relentless assault. His mind, usually so composed and calculating, was clouded with the searing pain that now ravaged his body. The Sith Lord knew he needed to act fast, to unleash something so devastating that it would grant him a brief respite, if not outright victory. Summoning the depths of his rage and the dark side's raw power, Plagueis roared and extended his arms wide, gathering the dark energies swirling within and around him.
"Force Maelstrom!" Plagueis bellowed, his voice echoing like a storm through the hangar.
A violent vortex of dark energy erupted around Plagueis, forming a massive sphere of crackling Force lightning, surrounded by a swirling tempest of telekinetic fury. The hangar itself seemed to warp and tremble under the sheer force of the Maelstrom. Lightning bolts danced wildly across the sphere's surface, lashing out like serpents striking at prey, while the telekinetic winds tore at the very fabric of the surroundings.
The potency of the Force Maelstrom was unmatched, a whirlwind of destruction that tore through everything in its vicinity. The severed Pernida clones, caught within the storm, were no exception. The tendrils and limbs were shredded by the violent telekinetic forces, each strike of lightning burning through their flesh with merciless efficiency. The Heilig Pfeil was obliterated mid-flight, its radiant energy dissipating into nothingness as it was consumed by the Maelstrom's unrelenting wrath.
The storm raged on, consuming the remaining clones in an instant. They were reduced to disjointed pieces, scattered and charred, their writhing forms unable to withstand the raw destructive power of the Maelstrom. The hangar's walls buckled and groaned, sections of the ceiling caving in as the Force Maelstrom ravaged all that lay within its grasp.
Finally, the Maelstrom subsided, the energies dissipating into the ether as Plagueis fell to his knees, panting and weakened, but momentarily victorious. He looked around, expecting to see Pernida finally vanquished, yet his brief sense of triumph was cut short by an unexpected sound—a slow, deliberate clapping.
Pernida, the original arm, had survived the onslaught, seemingly unaffected. It floated slightly off the ground, its nerves still writhing, and it clapped its thumb against its other fingers, the sound resonating like a mocking applause. Pernida's eye blinked with a knowing gleam, and then, in a voice unmistakably that of Darth Malgus, it spoke.
"Well done, Plagueis. Truly impressive. But is this the best the great Sith Lord can muster?" Pernida taunted, the words dripping with disdain and dark amusement. "You've survived, yes, but merely surviving is not victory."
Plagueis struggled to his feet, fury and disbelief mingling in his expression. How could this abomination not only survive but mock him, taking the voice of Malgus with such ease? His grip on his lightsaber tightened, anger boiling anew.
Pernida continued, its form shifting subtly as it extended and reshaped its tendrils. With a smooth motion, the tendrils wove together, condensing and solidifying into a large, imposing blade. The reishi broadsword shimmered with an ethereal blue glow, its surface rippling as if made from condensed spiritual energy rather than solid metal. It was a crude but functional weapon, reflecting Pernida's growing understanding of battle and adaptation.
"Let's cross blades," Pernida challenged, the reishi broadsword held aloft in a display of mocking grandeur. Its stance mirrored Malgus's aggressive posture, blending Sith combat techniques with an alien unpredictability.
Plagueis, still reeling from the Maelstrom's exertion, steadied himself and ignited his lightsaber once more. The crimson blade sprang to life, casting an ominous glow that clashed with the pale blue of Pernida's makeshift weapon. For the first time, Plagueis felt not just the pressure of a powerful enemy, but the creeping realization that he was fighting against something that could not be defined by his knowledge of the dark side, nor by any rule of combat he had learned.
With a fierce determination, Plagueis raised his lightsaber, meeting Pernida's cold, unblinking gaze. This was no longer a battle of Sith against foe—it was a test of adaptability, survival, and the will to dominate in a battlefield where the very rules of reality were being rewritten by the Honored One and his monstrous servant.
Plagueis tightened his grip on his lightsaber, feeling the weight of the weapon as it hummed with barely contained power. The familiar warmth of the dark side surged through him, his connection to the Force bolstered by his anger and desperation. He sized up Pernida, or rather the abomination that had taken on the likeness of Darth Malgus—a strange amalgamation of Sith combat style and alien unpredictability, fused into a single, formidable entity.
Pernida moved first, lunging forward with the reishi broadsword. The blade cut through the air with a low hum, its ethereal form leaving faint trails of blue light as it swung with the force and precision of a seasoned warrior. Plagueis reacted swiftly, parrying the strike with a deft flick of his wrist. The impact sent a jarring vibration up his arm, but he held firm, stepping back to create space between them.
Pernida pressed the assault, each swing of its blade relentless and precise. It moved with an uncanny mimicry of Malgus's aggressive stance, blending powerful, overhead slashes with unpredictable thrusts. Plagueis found himself on the defensive, his crimson lightsaber meeting Pernida's broadsword in a flurry of clashes that echoed through the hangar. Sparks flew as blade met blade, the contrasting energies crackling against each other like a storm of opposites—dark side fury against alien adaptation.
Drawing upon his mastery of lightsaber combat, Plagueis shifted into Form V: Djem So, leveraging the style's strength and counterattacking capability. He deflected Pernida's strikes with powerful blocks, his movements fluid despite the fatigue creeping into his limbs. He countered with a heavy downward strike aimed at cleaving Pernida in two, but Pernida twisted aside with an almost serpentine grace, its form contorting unnaturally to dodge the attack.
The exchange continued, both combatants moving in a deadly dance of light and dark. Plagueis's technique was refined, honed through years of study and battle—a precise execution of power and finesse. Pernida, on the other hand, fought with an alien fluidity that defied traditional combat logic. It adapted to each of Plagueis's moves, twisting and reforming its attacks in ways that kept the Sith Lord off-balance. Its style was an evolving nightmare, a constantly shifting challenge that refused to conform to any set pattern.
Plagueis swung his lightsaber in a broad arc, aiming to sever Pernida's arm. Pernida responded by reshaping its tendrils, the broadsword splintering into smaller, needle-like extensions that deflected the strike before reforming into a solid blade once more. It retaliated with a swift, sweeping slash that narrowly missed Plagueis's torso, forcing him to backpedal to avoid a fatal wound.
Realizing he needed to shift tactics, Plagueis transitioned into Form II: Makashi, hoping to outmaneuver Pernida's erratic style with calculated thrusts and well-timed counters. He lunged forward, his lightsaber stabbing toward Pernida's center mass. Pernida deflected the thrust with ease, twisting its body around Plagueis's blade and responding with a downward strike aimed at his head. Plagueis dodged, the blade missing him by mere inches as it carved a glowing arc through the air.
They clashed again, locked in a furious exchange of blows, each combatant seeking a decisive opening. Plagueis's strikes became more aggressive, pushing the limits of his strength as he drove Pernida back with a relentless onslaught. Pernida matched his intensity, meeting each strike with equal force and adapting its stance to counter the Sith Lord's attacks. The hangar around them became a storm of clashing energies, the air thick with the heat of their battle.
With a fierce roar, Plagueis unleashed a powerful Force push, sending Pernida skidding back across the hangar floor. Pernida recovered quickly, its tendrils snapping out to anchor itself as it rebounded, lunging forward with a vicious horizontal slash. Plagueis parried, but the impact pushed him off balance, forcing him to stumble as he struggled to regain his footing.
For a moment, the battle reached a stalemate. Plagueis and Pernida circled each other warily, both combatants breathing heavily from the exertion. Their blades hummed with anticipation, each waiting for the other to make the next move. The air crackled with tension, the hangar seeming to hold its breath as the Sith Lord and the abomination faced off, neither willing to concede ground.
Plagueis, his mind racing, knew he was up against an opponent that couldn't be worn down by conventional means. Pernida's ability to adapt and evolve made it a relentless foe, one that could match him strike for strike. He realized this was not a battle that could be won through strength alone—it was a test of endurance, of wits, and of the will to survive in the face of the unknown.
Pernida, wielding its reishi broadsword with the poise of Malgus and the unpredictability of its own alien nature, stared unblinkingly at Plagueis. The brief pause gave way to a renewed resolve as they both stepped forward, blades raised, ready to resume the duel that would push both to their limits.
And so, with a flash of red and blue, the battle continued, neither side willing to yield. The clash of lightsaber against reishi broadsword echoed once more, each combatant driven by their own twisted sense of purpose, locked in a duel that blurred the lines between the known and the unknowable.
Plagueis seized the fleeting opportunity as Pernida seemed momentarily lost in thought, calculating its next move. The Sith Lord's eyes narrowed with cold precision, sensing the slightest hesitation in his opponent—a brief, almost imperceptible lapse that he could exploit. Drawing upon the dark side, Plagueis unleashed a crushing wave of Force energy, focusing it with brutal intent.
"Force Crush!" Plagueis roared, his outstretched hand clenched into a fist as he targeted Pernida's hand, the grotesque appendage that wielded the reishi broadsword. The tendrils around the blade twisted violently as the invisible grip tightened, the Force squeezing with unrelenting pressure. Pernida's fingers snapped like brittle twigs, the sound of bones shattering echoing through the hangar. The reishi broadsword fell to the ground, its ethereal glow flickering out as it was severed from Pernida's control.
Capitalizing on the opening, Plagueis followed up with a powerful Force Blast—a concentrated burst of kinetic energy that surged outward in a devastating wave. The impact struck Pernida squarely in the torso, the sheer force of the blast splintering its form into a dozen smaller pieces. Tendrils and fragments of Pernida scattered across the hangar, each piece writhing and twitching as if resisting the disintegration.
Plagueis watched with satisfaction as Pernida's form was torn apart, the abomination seemingly vanquished. The severed tendrils flailed helplessly, losing cohesion and twitching in a grotesque dance of death. For the first time since the battle began, Plagueis allowed himself a moment of relief, lowering his lightsaber as he exhaled, the tension easing from his shoulders.
"At last," Plagueis muttered, his voice tinged with the satisfaction of victory. "Even an abomination like you can be destroyed. The dark side prevails as it always does."
But as Plagueis turned to catch his breath, the scattered remnants of Pernida began to move. The tiny pieces twitched and wriggled, not dying but regenerating—splitting and growing like a malignant, sentient infection. To his horror, Plagueis realized that Pernida wasn't just an opponent to be crushed; it was a living embodiment of relentless adaptation and regeneration. The smaller pieces, instead of withering away, multiplied, each fragment sprouting into a new form, replicating and spreading across the hangar floor like a rapidly multiplying virus.
Pernida's voice, now echoing from countless tiny mouths, taunted Plagueis with a chilling familiarity. "Did you really think it would be that easy, Sith? I am not bound by the same limits as you."
The fragments of Pernida surged toward Plagueis, reforming with terrifying speed. Tendrils shot out, latching onto the Sith Lord's legs and climbing upward, wrapping around his limbs like vines. He swung his lightsaber desperately, severing the tendrils, but for every one he cut down, two more took its place. Pernida was consuming him, piece by relentless piece, adapting to his every move with an unsettling intelligence that Plagueis could not outpace.
"No!" Plagueis shouted, his voice rising in panic as the tendrils crawled higher, constricting around his chest and neck. He reached out with the Force, attempting to blast the fragments away, but Pernida's regenerative capacity was overwhelming. It was like fighting the tide; no matter how much power Plagueis poured into his attacks, Pernida simply reformed, each piece acting with a unified will to consume and assimilate.
As the relentless tendrils of Pernida crawled higher, constricting Plagueis's chest and neck, the Sith Lord felt the last vestiges of his control slipping away. Desperation clawed at his mind, and in a final, defiant act, he drew upon the deepest reserves of his dark side power. Plagueis let his rage, frustration, and sheer will to survive swell within him, channeling it all into a single, desperate attack.
"Force Scream!" Plagueis roared, his voice amplified by the dark side, unleashing a devastating shockwave that tore through the hangar like a hurricane of pure fury. The air rippled violently, metal groaned and twisted under the pressure, and lights shattered as the scream reverberated with the force of an explosion. The ground beneath him cracked and splintered, sending shards of durasteel flying like deadly shrapnel. It was a raw, primal outburst of power, meant to obliterate anything and everything in its path.
The shockwave rippled outward, crashing against the hangar's walls and tearing through the debris that littered the floor. For a brief, fleeting moment, it seemed as though Plagueis's unbridled rage might be enough to break Pernida's hold, to shatter the tendrils that had ensnared him. The force of the scream was enough to obliterate the remnants of the battlefield, reducing everything in its path to rubble.
But Pernida was not so easily undone. The tendrils continued their relentless advance, winding tighter around Plagueis's form with cold, methodical precision. The fragments of Pernida that had been scattered by the scream reformed almost immediately, merging back together with an eerie fluidity. The raw destructive force that would have annihilated any ordinary foe seemed to pass over Pernida like a mere whisper, the abomination's alien nature rendering it immune to the physical and psychological impact of the Sith Lord's desperate assault.
As Plagueis's scream faded into a ragged, pained gasp, Pernida's many eyes blinked in unison, their cold, unblinking gaze fixed on the struggling Sith Lord. The abomination slithered closer, its tendrils now wrapping fully around Plagueis, constricting his movements entirely. This time, Pernida did not hold back—it tightened its grip with the intent to kill, but every action was meticulously calculated to leave Plagueis's body intact. Gojo's orders were clear: Plagueis was to be killed, but his body was to remain undamaged and preserved.
Pernida's voice, now echoing with the deep, mocking tone of Malgus, filled the hangar with a chilling resonance. "Is this it, Plagueis? A scream in the dark? You, the great Sith Lord, brought to your knees by your own arrogance. You are no master of death—you are merely a stepping stone."
Plagueis, his strength rapidly waning, glared defiantly at Pernida, his hatred burning even as his vision began to blur. The taunts pierced through his fading consciousness, each word a dagger to his pride. Pernida's mockery echoed the contempt of the Sith Lords he had once sought to surpass, twisting the knife deeper into his final moments.
"You thought yourself above all, beyond defeat," Pernida continued, tightening its hold further, exerting just enough pressure to crush the life out of Plagueis while preserving the integrity of his form. "But in the end, you are nothing but a failed experiment—your ambition undone by a power you cannot even begin to understand."
The tendrils wrapped around Plagueis like iron chains, squeezing the breath from his lungs, his vision fading to black as his life was slowly extinguished. Each movement of Pernida's tendrils was deliberate, ensuring that Plagueis's body remained pristine even as it drained the last of his life force. Plagueis's breaths turned to shallow gasps, his defiance snuffed out by the relentless grip of the abomination. He could feel Pernida's control extending through every inch of his form, binding him completely, his connection to the Force severed in his final moments.
Satisfied that Plagueis was dead but still whole, Pernida retracted its tendrils slightly, the eye on its palm blinking as if surveying its work with a cold, clinical detachment. Its voice took on a final, condescending note. "Your body belongs to the Honored One now. Your legacy, your power—they are nothing before the will of Gojo Satoru."
In his final third clone moments, Plagueis could only seethe in impotent rage, the once-mighty Sith Lord who had sought to conquer death now left as nothing more than a vessel, preserved for purposes he could no longer comprehend. His defeat was not the result of a grand battle or a heroic stand, but the methodical, calculated suppression by a creature that embodied the ultimate evolution—an entity that existed beyond the boundaries of life, death, and the Force itself. And as the tendrils released him, leaving his lifeless form intact and ready for whatever fate Gojo had in store, Plagueis's failure burned brighter than any wound, a testament to the power he had chased but never truly commanded.
In an instant, the air around Plagueis's corpse shimmered as Gojo appeared through Limitless teleportation, his presence marked by a calm yet commanding aura. Surveying the scene, he noted the subdued form of the Sith Lord with a detached satisfaction. "Well done, Pernida," Gojo said, his tone carrying a mixture of approval and amusement.
Pernida, still active, nodded slightly before it smoothly retracted and reformed as Gojo's left arm. The eye on its palm blinked briefly, as if acknowledging Gojo's praise, before merging seamlessly back into his body. Gojo flexed his fingers, feeling the familiar hum of Pernida's abilities reintegrate with his own. Pernida's power, the ability to extend nerves and manipulate both organic and inorganic matter, was already a part of Gojo's arsenal, ready to be called upon whenever needed.
Turning his attention to the fallen form of Malgus, Gojo inherited the brutal combat prowess and battle-hardened instincts of a seasoned Sith warrior. Malgus's mastery of Form V: Djem So, which emphasized powerful, relentless attacks and counters, was now etched into Gojo's repertoire, blending seamlessly with his already formidable combat skills. Additionally, he gained the ability to channel his rage into raw physical strength and resilience, attributes that Malgus had used to dominate battlefields during the Old Republic era. Malgus's proficiency with Force lightning, destructive blasts, and his signature Force Maelstrom—a combination of telekinesis and lightning that created a swirling vortex of devastation—were now available for Gojo to wield at will.
With these new abilities added to his already vast powers, Gojo felt the synergy of Sith aggression and alien adaptability melding into something far greater. It was a perfect fusion of raw force and calculated control, a blend that would allow him to not only dominate his foes but also reshape the very fabric of the battlefield to his advantage.
Satisfied with the new additions to his repertoire, Gojo approached the lifeless body of Malgus. He placed his hand over Malgus's chest, the glow of his soul distribution technique flaring to life. Gojo carefully implanted a fragment of his soul within the corpse, threading it through the remnants of dark side energy that still lingered, binding Malgus's form to his will.
As the connection solidified, Malgus's body twitched slightly but remained otherwise inert, awaiting Gojo's command. The faint blue glow of Gojo's technique slowly faded, leaving the body intact but ready for Auswählen—a technique Gojo had already used once before on the corpse of Darth Bane.
"Looks like this is the second time after Darth Bane," Gojo mused, a hint of a smile playing at his lips. The prospect of wielding the essence of such legendary Sith figures filled him with a sense of anticipation. With the Auswählen implanted, Malgus's form would serve as another extension of Gojo's will, another tool in his ever-expanding arsenal.
Gojo stepped back, surveying his handiwork with a gleam of satisfaction in his eyes. With Pernida rejoined as his left arm and the corpses of Sith Lords under his command, Gojo was not merely a combatant—he was a strategist, a manipulator of power and legacy. Every step, every victory brought him closer to his ultimate vision, and with the combined might of Sith aggression and evolutionary adaptability, the battlefield was not just a place of conflict; it was his dominion.
As Gojo prepared to move on, the hangar fell silent, the once defiant echoes of Plagueis's ambition now just a whisper beneath the will of the Honored One.
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