=== Darth Sidious ===
The winds of Mustafar howled outside the obsidian fortress like the cries of a dying world. Volcanic ash drifted in streams across the windows, turning the sky to a flickering curtain of hellfire and smoke. Inside, the hall was dim, the walls polished black, the floor slick with reflections of orange-red lava far below. It was a tomb made of luxury and fire. Fitting.
Darth Sidious walked the corridor alone.
Each step was a deliberate, quiet execution of presence. His black robes dragged like oil across the floor behind him. His face, hidden deep within the cowl, was unreadable, only the faintest gleam of yellow light catching his eyes in the shadows.
Beyond the twin stone doors, the Separatist leadership waited… all of them. Wat Tambor of the Techno Union. Poggle the Lesser of Geonosis. Nute Gunray of the Trade Federation. Passel Argente, Shu Mai, San Hill. Greedy, conniving parasites clinging to power they never truly understood.
The doors opened without a sound.
Sidious entered.
The leaders turned, their faces alight with expectation and growing anxiety.
"Ah," hissed Nute Gunray, "Lord Sidious. We were beginning to think you would not come."
"You summoned us all here," added San Hill, his voice high and nervous. "But for what? The war has gone… sideways."
"Yes," Poggle's translator buzzed, "the Imperium, these 'Adeptus Astartes', they were not part of our agreement. Your assurances of victory, of a weakened Republic, have proven… false."
Whispers began to spiral across the table, each voice trying to outpace the other, each excuse blending with complaint, grievance, and veiled accusation.
"This war has bankrupted my holdings!" Shu Mai barked.
"The clones were bad enough, now entire planets are being glassed!"
"You said the Jedi would collapse under your plan!"
"We could go back," Nute Gunray muttered, quieter than the rest. "If we explain what really happened, the Republic might… might pardon us. They fear the Imperium more than they hate us. It is not too late to turn back."
The tide was turning now. Not on the battlefield, no, this tide was more insidious.
Doubt. Fear. Rebellion.
Even now.
Even now, they failed to understand who they had made their pact with.
Darth Sidious remained silent as he approached the head of the table.
Insults came next, more brazen with every step he took.
"Your plan is in ruin!"
"You failed to account for the Imperium… you! With all your supposed wisdom!"
"You led us into this!"
"You are nothing but a charlatan in a mask!"
He stopped.
The cowl tilted forward slightly, casting his face into deeper darkness. A moment passed, just enough for the firelight to flicker in an eerie rhythm.
"Enough."
Silence fell. Unnatural, suffocating silence.
Sidious lifted his head.
"Every one of you," he said slowly, voice rasping and heavy, "is a fool. Blind. Short-sighted. Arrogant."
He looked to each in turn, his yellow eyes glowing faintly beneath the cowl like embers behind glass.
"You mistake your roles in this grand conflict. You were never architects. You were pawns. Disposable. Tools forged for a singular purpose."
Nute Gunray began to rise in protest.
Sidious raised a hand, not in gesture, not in warning, but as a conduit of pure dark energy.
Lightning screamed from his fingertips.
Gunray convulsed, mouth open in a silent scream, his eyes wide in terror as he was lifted from his seat and slammed against the far wall. He crumpled in a smoking heap, spasming.
The rest backed away instantly, horror on their faces.
Sidious did not even raise his voice.
"I came to deliver a solution," he said, stepping forward, the shadows of the hall wrapping tighter around his body as he steepled his fingers in front of him. "Just not one in which any of you… live."
"You… You said!" Wat Tambor stammered, stumbling back from the table. His mechanical voice warbled with fear as he reached for the communicator at his hip, hands shaking beneath the weight of panic. "You said we would be safe!"
A sharp, wet tearing sound echoed through the chamber.
Everyone froze.
The robed figure at the head of the table, the shadow that had once been called Darth Sidious, hunched forward, trembling as if consumed by a seizure.
The darkness around him pulsed.
His hooded head jerked upward, and from within the cowl, something ripped outward with a sickening shlrrrp. What was once a man's face disintegrated, and from the gore-soaked ruin burst a writhing mass of tentacles, slick and black, studded with glowing yellow eyes that blinked open all at once.
Several council members screamed.
A second row of horns spiraled out from beneath his scalp, twisting into shapes no human skull should bear. The skin of his arms and chest melted away, not into blood or bone, but into folds of shadowed flesh, skin giving way to slick, chitinous ridges and muscle that breathed like it was alive.
Then his left arm exploded.
Flesh unspooled, bones snapping, as the limb twisted into a colossal tentacle, covered in barbs and jagged hooks that dripped with Warp ichor. The air around him grew thick and acidic, reality groaning in protest as the veil between universes bent in his presence.
(Image here)
"You! You're not… what are you?!" San Hill cried, clutching the edge of the table as he backed away.
"I," the creature croaked in a voice that no longer belonged to a man, but to something ancient, guttural, and vast, "am the future you bought with your cowardice."
A pulse of Warp energy slammed outward from Sidious, sending half the Separatists flying from their seats. Shu Mai hit the far wall with a crunch, her bones snapping on impact. Passel Argente burst into flames, blue warp fire that hissed and consumed him from the inside, his scream ending in a wet pop as his skull cracked open like a fruit.
Poggle tried to run.
He didn't make it two steps.
The massive tentacle lashed out and speared him through the chest, lifting him high into the air. Poggle screamed, his translator buzzing wildly before the tentacle contracted, and the Geonosian was ripped in half, black ichor spraying across the polished stone walls.
Gunray fell to his knees. "Mercy! We, we did everything you asked!"
Sidious turned toward him, his many eyes blinking independently, each one swirling with warp-fire and madness.
"There is no mercy."
He raised his right hand and the shadows obeyed.
They surged from every corner of the room, thick tendrils of smoke and corruption, curling like vipers. They swallowed Gunray whole, folding him into their darkness. His screams stretched too long, too loud, as if time itself were being torn apart by the Warp.
The remaining Separatists attempted to fire their weapons, bolts of plasma scorching the room, but they bent mid-air, twisted by unnatural gravity. Their shots turned in on themselves, striking their own faces, arms, chests, their weapons rebelling against them as Sidious walked forward like a god of power and inevitability.
"You were always meant to die," he said, voice layered in countless tones, some mechanical, some monstrous, some not of any species known to the galaxy. "You were a lever. A match. A scream in the dark to ignite a war."
Wat Tambor, sobbing now, tried to crawl for the sealed door. His metal legs scraped uselessly across the floor.
Sidious reached him.
In his right hand his red lightsaber ignited, piercing through the Skakoan's chest.
The entire room groaned.
The air crackled with Warp static. The windows trembled. Time itself slowed, bent, recoiled.
Sidious turned, looking at the carnage. Bodies burned, broken, consumed. The table cracked down the middle, slick with fluids no man had names for. Shadows still hissed along the walls like serpents too hungry to sleep.
He exhaled, and the tentacles slowly receded, curling back into the shape of a man, the monstrosity collapsing inward as the illusion of robes and human skin knitted themselves over his frame once more.
The disguise of Darth Sidious returned. But now, the room knew the truth.
=== Chancellor Palpatine's Office ===
The city-world beyond the transparisteel windows shimmered with the amber hues of a dying day, but Chancellor Palpatine gave it no mind. He stood at his desk, a flickering holoprojector casting pale blue light across his weathered face.
Astartes.
The monsters in ceramite.
They moved like nothing he had ever seen before, tearing through entire battalions of clone troopers and battle droids alike. Dreadnoughts lumbered beside them, unleashing streams of molten promethium with every slow, deliberate step. The footage jumped again. Mandalorians. Not the fragmented, tribal people of Death Watch, but unified, disciplined legions. The Obsidian Crusaders, Azure Talons, Pyro Drakes, names that now struck fear in any Republic general's mind.
His face was stone, his eyes narrowed as another holo shifted, this one from a Separatist cruiser, capturing the final seconds before it was blown from orbit. Palpatine leaned forward, observing the scene before him.
He slowly turned the feed off.
Silence returned to the room.
He stared at his reflection in the polished surface of the desk. Not the Sith Lord beneath, not the thing he truly was, but the mask. The politician. The Chancellor.
A tone from the door interrupted his thoughts.
"Enter," he said.
The doors slid open with a low hiss, as three Jedi entered the room, their presence casting a different weight upon the air.
Mace Windu walked in first, ever the wall of grim, uncompromising authority. Behind him strode Cin Drallig, the Temple's battlemaster, his hand resting lightly on the hilt of his lightsaber. And last, Pong Krell, the four-armed Besalisk towered above them both, his dark eyes gleaming with a strange intensity, unreadable as always.
"Chancellor," Windu greeted stiffly, offering only a shallow nod.
Palpatine gestured toward the open space in front of his desk, where a circle of high-backed chairs awaited. "Masters Windu, Drallig, Krell. Thank you for coming."
The Jedi exchanged glances but complied. Mace settled into his chair with rigid posture. Cin sat quietly, his eyes never leaving the Chancellor, while Krell took his seat with an audible grunt, his massive form barely fitting into the chair designed for standard humanoids.
Palpatine moved to stand behind his desk, activating a projector at its center. Holograms flickered to life: towering Astartes in their ornate power armor, Mandalorian legions raining fire on Separatist tanks, dreadnoughts reducing entire Clone outposts to molten slag.
"These images," Palpatine said slowly, letting each one linger in the air, "are taken from engagements across sixteen different worlds. Republic and Separatist alike. All of them… ended in devastation."
He paused, then looked up to meet their gazes. "The Imperium, whatever its claims of honor and divinity, has brought gods of war to our doorstep. Not even our most elite legions have been able to stop them."
"They are dangerous," Windu said grimly, "but they are not invincible. Every army can bleed."
Palpatine raised a brow. "And yet we continue to bleed, Master Windu, not them. The Jedi, for all your strength, cannot halt what has been unleashed."
Windu narrowed his eyes. "You presume much."
"And you presume nothing?" Palpatine countered calmly. "While you sit in your towers meditating, our people bleed. Entire sectors have been lost, not to the Separatists mind you, but to an empire that makes no effort to hide its intentions."
"You called this meeting for something, Chancellor," Cin Drallig finally said, his voice low. "Speak plainly."
"Very well. I wish to initiate peace talks with the Imperium."
The room went still.
Cin's brow furrowed. Krell let out a low growl of disapproval. Windu leaned forward.
"Peace talks?" he echoed. "You would treat with them? The same Imperium that burns cities? That scours entire populations?"
Palpatine nodded once. "Yes. As much as it pains me, we must be pragmatic. I will not see the Republic shattered simply because we failed to recognize an unwinnable war when it was already upon us."
Krell leaned forward now, a low growl in his voice. "And what would you offer them in these peace talks? Territory? Influence in the Senate? A seat among our people?"
Palpatine met his gaze evenly. "What they want most is dominance. They do not care for our bureaucracy, only our submission to their authority. I do not intend to give them that. But I intend to give them time. A ceasefire. A pause in the war, while we regroup and strengthen ourselves."
"They will use the same time to grow stronger," Windu said darkly. "Any peace would be temporary. And dangerous."
Palpatine's hands tightened ever so slightly behind his back, but his expression remained calm. "That is true. But we have been developing… weaponry that might even the playing field."
There was another moment of silence.
"Consider this," Palpatine continued "We are fighting a two-front war. The Separatists grow desperate and reckless. The Imperium appears at our throat. And yet you propose we keep charging forward, lightsabers drawn, into a battle we cannot win."
He looked between them, letting silence underscore the weight of his words.
Windu's face was stone. "There is no peace with tyrants."
Palpatine stepped out from behind the desk. "And yet you would rather see billions die first? Entire sectors wiped clean? I am not suggesting submission, Master Windu. I am suggesting a strategy. Delay them. Study them. Learn their weaknesses. Then strike."
Krell stirred. "Or you hope to bring them into your fold… by giving them something they want."
Palpatine allowed himself a quiet, unreadable smile. "If diplomacy buys us breathing room, is that not worth the attempt?"
Cin Drallig leaned forward. "There is no version of this where the Imperium sees us as equals. They are zealots. They will never stop."
Palpatine nodded, slowly. "Then I must consider every option. Including ones you might not condone."
The air thickened.
For a moment, none of the Jedi spoke. Then Mace Windu stood.
"You are walking a path that will lead the Republic into darkness, Chancellor. I suggest you tread carefully. We're done here." He said to his two companions.
Palpatine inclined his head with false humility. "I appreciate your counsel, Master Windu. Truly."
One by one, the Jedi turned and left, their silhouettes disappearing into the polished corridor beyond.
As the doors hissed shut, the Chancellor let out a slow breath and turned to the darkness pooling in the corner of the room. A faint shimmer of warp-light flickered.
"You saw him?"
From the far shadowed corner of the room, reality twitched.
A faint ripple, like heat distortion over molten stone, slithered up the wall, and from that writhing distortion emerged Kharath.
"I did," Palpatine said. "Vulkan."
Palpatine turned, the dim lights of his office casting cruel shadows across his face. "I saw it in Master Windu. Just for a moment. When I mentioned the Imperium. It flared…"
Kharath nodded slowly, folding his arms behind his back.
"We can use this."
"Indeed," Kharath replied, his voice like oil sliding over broken glass. "They will rally to protect him."
"He will be asleep for a long time yet. The amount of taint the Force is cleansing from his soul will take a lifetime." Kharath said.
Palpatine moved toward his desk, the long folds of his crimson robes sweeping behind him like spilled blood. "And the Jedi… they will be blindsided."
"Yes." He smiled faintly. "If we time it correctly… we won't even need the clones to destroy the Jedi. The Imperium will do it for us."
Kharath stepped closer to the great viewport that overlooked Coruscant's towers, glowing beneath a darkening sky.
"Then we begin the final phase. Pull the veil tighter. Let them believe the Chancellor seeks peace… and then let them tear themselves apart over how to respond."
Palpatine pressed a control rune on the holotable, and a holographic communicator rose from the surface with a soft chime. The blue-glow interface pulsed, awaiting orders.
"Summon my aide," he said into the comm.
Moments later, a side door hissed open, and a human aide in blue robes approached with cautious reverence. He bowed deeply. "Yes, Chancellor?"
Palpatine turned toward him, hands clasped behind his back like a patient teacher. "Prepare a transmission to the Imperium's representatives. I wish to speak… of peace."
The aide blinked, clearly startled. "Peace, sir?"
"Indeed." Palpatine's voice was honeyed and warm, like a balm over an open wound. "Tell them the Chancellor of the Republic wishes to discuss terms. A ceasefire. Perhaps even mutual understanding."
Behind him, Kharath remained unseen, smile seeming to stretch in the dark.
"Of course, Sir." The aide bowed again and departed with haste, unaware that he would deliver the start of a never-ending war.
Palpatine watched him go, then turned back toward Kharath.
"They will come," he said.
Kharath chuckled darkly. "Then the trap is set."
Palpatine allowed himself a final moment of quiet satisfaction, gazing out the window at the city below.
"Soon, Master," he said softly. "Very soon… this Universe will belong to our God."
===
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