From the private chamber above, Mace Windu stood at the communications console, staring at the impossible sight through the fractured holowindow. His jaw clenched, but his hand moved fast. He slammed the intercom and spoke, his voice carrying through every hall of the Jedi Temple.
"This is Master of the Jedi Order, Mace Windu. All available Jedi on Coruscant—report to the Temple entrance immediately. I repeat, every Jedi capable of battle—aid Dooku. A darkness has emerged beneath us… and now stands before the Temple gates."
His words echoed through the corridors, reaching every Padawan, every Knight, every Master in meditation. The alarm klaxons began to howl through the halls as the Temple itself trembled again.
Windu turned to Yoda, his face shadowed by grim resolve. "Master Yoda… tell me my choice was right. Tell me this isn't madness."
Yoda's ears drooped slightly as he leaned on his cane, his voice quiet but steady. "Right or wrong, know not I. The darkside, risen it has. Vanquish it, we must—before the light fades."
He turned toward Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan, his ancient eyes sharp again, carrying the strength of centuries. "Can you lend us your strength once more, Qui-Gon… Obi-Wan?"
Qui-Gon rose without hesitation, his expression fierce. "You don't need to ask, Master. We're with you."
Obi-Wan followed, tightening his grip on his saber, his eyes burning with determination. "We faced the depths. Now we finish what's come crawling out."
Yoda nodded, the faint hum of the Force gathering around him like a storm about to break. "Then fight, we shall. And end, this darkside will—before it consumes us—"
The sentence broke as Yoda's gaze snapped to the far wall. His eyes narrowed; the air turned cold, heavy with the echo of something ancient.
Without warning, the marble surface rippled like liquid darkness, and a figure began to crawl out from within the stone itself.
A second later, the wall cracked open—and from it, a clone of Naga Sadow stepped into the chamber, his form half-spectral, half-solid, dripping embers of molten red energy.
Windu's hand went to his saber instantly. "What is this—an illusion?"
Before he could move, the air distorted again. Three more shapes emerged from the walls and floor—four Naga Sadows in total, each radiating the same suffocating malice, each wearing the same crown of molten light.
One of them laughed, the sound vibrating through the stone. "Illusion? Do you truly think the great Naga Sadow, ruler of Coruscant itself, could be defeated so easily? What you see is real. I am many —my essence scattered, my will undying."
Another clone ignited a crimson lightsaber, its hiss echoing through the chamber. His eyes blazed like twin suns of hate. "The Sith golden era will rise again," he declared, his voice overlapping with the others, forming a chorus of ancient rage.
The stone golem's molten eyes fixed on Dooku with contemptuous amusement. From the creature's jagged maw, Naga Sadow's voice poured—grand, layered, and ancient—every syllable scraping like stone on stone.
" I am not as strong as I once was," the golem-Sadow admitted, voice dripping with false humility. "My essence is fragmented . Still—my projective telepathy will infect your ranks. I focus it on the strongest among you. Is that not so, Dooku of Serenno?"
Dooku's smile was slow, cold as a polished blade. He did not look afraid; he looked amused by the spectacle of a ruin begging to be feared.
"You tell your weakness to your enemy," Dooku said quietly, each word measured. "That is either arrogance… or a convenient lie."
The golem's chest crackled, red veins flaring as the Sadow-voice hardened into a rasping promise. "You misunderstand. Fragmented though I am, this is more than enough. I will demolish you all—an embarrassment of Jedi in this era." Pride sharpened the claim into a challenge. "Stand witness, then fall."
Around them, the chamber seemed to hold its breath. Dust floated in the air like frozen ash, and the only sound was the shifting groan of the massive stone golem as Naga Sadow's eyes burned a blinding blue. The dark giant leaned forward, stone cracking under the tension of rising power.
The air vibrated—then split.
A roar escaped Sadow's mouth, and with it, a torrent of Force lightning surged outward, not from his hands but from his jaw, a blinding storm of raw energy. The bolt struck the floor like the wrath of a dying god, tearing through marble, splitting the ancient staircase that led into the heart of the Temple.
Dooku didn't flinch. He deactivated his saber, the blue light vanishing with a hiss, and raised both hands, his palms open toward the oncoming storm. The lightning struck him full force—yet his body did not yield. The energy bent and twisted in his grasp, the air rippling around him like molten glass. The entire Temple shook from the strain.
He exhaled slowly, eyes narrowing in concentration. The air around his hands shimmered—a shield of pure will. He caught the lightning with Tutaminis, the Force itself flowing through his veins like fire. Then, with a sharp twist of motion, he sent it back—reversing the torrent toward its source.
Sadow's golem staggered. The returning lightning crackled across its stone surface, blue and red bolts clashing violently. Sparks danced across its shoulders and jaw, yet Sadow only laughed, voice echoing from every corner of the hall.
"Impressive… you dare reflect the power of old sith ?"
Dooku's stance didn't waver. His cloak tore under the whipping wind, the edges burning as he forced more of his will into the feedback loop. The two torrents of lightning collided midair, bursting into a halo of light that sent waves of thunder through the Temple.
The floor cracked open. Pillars fell. The massive staircase split in two as chunks of marble and durasteel shattered, tumbling down into the abyss below.
Still, neither yielded—Dooku's will against ancient wrath, light clashing with darkness in an explosion of blinding blue and red that painted the entire Temple entrance in stormfire.
For fifteen long seconds, the world held its breath. Then—
BOOOOM!
A shockwave ripped through the stairs, blowing debris and flame in all directions. The blast threw Dooku backward, his body crashing into shattered stone. When the dust finally thinned, he staggered to his knees—his left arm gone, reduced to a blackened stump of charred flesh and smoke. The stench of burned flesh filled the air.
He stared blankly at the ruin of his limb, chest heaving, the world spinning around him. A normal life would have been nice, he thought distantly. A quiet one. But difference demands a price… and there's no turning back now.
Across from him, the half-destroyed body of Naga Sadow began to knit itself together again. Shards of broken pillars, rubble, and steel cables tore free from the wreckage, spiraling through the air to fuse with the golem's frame. The monster reformed, its missing torso rebuilt by sheer will and darkness.
Sadow raised one massive arm—his left—and aimed it at Dooku.
The Force lightning came again, but this time it didn't kill. It tortured.
The crackling bolts wrapped around Dooku's body, lifting him from the ground. His back arched, his breath ripped away in a voiceless scream as his body convulsed under the searing current.
Sadow's voice boomed through the trembling Temple, filled with fury and contempt. "I gave you the chance, Dooku of Serenno! The path of greatness was offered to you—willingly! And yet you chose the way of pain!"
The golem's eyes flared, his roar shaking the pillars still standing.
Dooku hung there, silent. His body burned, nerves screaming, but his mind—his mind was elsewhere.
A voice echoed from memory, soft and calm, from months ago. Come back to me… when you've learned the dark side on your own. Jin-Woo's words.
A faint smile crept across Dooku's lips even as lightning surged through his veins. My mind picks the worst moments for nostalgia, he thought. But perhaps… it's not too late to learn after all.
The pain became focus. The agony, a bridge. And for the first time, Dooku didn't resist the darkness—he reached for it. The energy that had once burned him now flowed through his veins like molten iron, feeding him, awakening something primal that had long slept beneath the weight of discipline.
Sadow, watching from within his stone abomination, grew impatient. His molten eyes narrowed. "Enough of this," he hissed. He raised his arm, gathering energy for one final, obliterating strike.
But before he could unleash it—his right leg shattered.
Stone and molten shards burst outward in a cloud of dust, the impact echoing through the ruined staircase. Sadow staggered, his massive frame nearly collapsing. He looked down in disbelief, scanning the smoking remains of his limb.
Force telekinesis? he thought sharply. Then realization hit, and even his fury faltered. No… not telekinesis. That was Force Blast.
He growled, the sound vibrating through the walls. He destroyed part of my body outright.
Naga Sadow's tone shifted, his pride bruised, his malice sharpening. "Too late to learn now, old fool. You should have embraced the dark side months ago—when it would have meant something."
Dooku exhaled slowly, dispersing the crackling lightning that still danced across his body. His voice was ragged, but it carried a steady, grounded strength. "It's not over yet. I still have my companions. Even if I were left with one leg… I can still fight, so long as they still draw breath."
He extended his will—the Force surged outward—and his lightsaber, lying half-buried in the rubble to his left, snapped into motion, spinning through the air before slapping into his waiting hand.
The faint swirl of something new coiled around his remaining arm: an incomplete but potent current of dark energy, not yet mastered, but undeniably his. It pulsed like a living storm around his wrist and forearm, streaks of red and violet intermingling.
Dooku raised his chin, eyes locked on the towering Sith golem. "On your feet, ancient Sith," he said, voice cutting through the chaos like steel. "I don't want a cripple staining my honor."
Sadow froze, his molten jaw tightening. For the first time, his composure cracked.
"Little old man," he snarled, his tone dripping with venom. The rubble beneath him began to shake again, fragments of broken stone rising to his call. "You want me whole? Then witness the full shape of your despair."
The ground glowed as Sadow's shattered leg reformed, new stone fusing with molten heat, the monstrous frame rebuilding itself inch by inch. Each fragment of marble, durasteel, and bone molded together under his will, pulsing with veins of crimson light. Above, thunder rolled across Coruscant's skyline, lightning cracking through the clouds as rain began to fall. The storm mirrored the chaos below—two forces of will preparing to decide the fate of everything above the very heart of the Jedi.
If there had been an audience, they would have known instinctively . This was a clash of legends, and should either fall, the world itself would remember.
Dooku steadied himself, breath slow, focus absolute. The rain hissed as it struck the burning ground around him, steam rising in ghostly veils. Both warriors fell into silence, locked in mutual concentration. One misstep, one breath too long, and the other would end it.
Then Dooku moved. He surged forward in a blur—Force Dash igniting beneath his boots. His body vanished for an instant, a streak of motion faster than sound. His saber ignited mid-charge, blue light flashing against the crimson haze. He struck low, then spun upward, his movements precise, elegant—a deadly storm of Makashi precision laced with the momentum of Force speed.
Sadow reacted, swinging his colossal stone arm to block. The impact cracked the air, sparks flying as blade met enchanted rock. But Dooku didn't stop—he pivoted, his dash twisting into a spiral, the rotation tightening, faster and faster. His cloak tore from the wind he generated.
CLANK! CLANK!
Both of Sadow's massive stone arms fell away, severed cleanly at the shoulders, crashing into the shattered stairway below.
The ancient Sith's molten eyes widened, a flicker of disbelief flashing through the arrogance. He staggered backward, his body hissing as the severed joints sprayed molten fragments into the storm.
This is getting dangerous, Sadow thought, his mind racing. He's adapting faster than any mortal should. I need distance—now.
Sadow thrust out his remaining strength, hurling himself backward, scattering debris and rubble in a wave of telekinetic force. But Dooku was already advancing again—silent, relentless, his saber humming low, his every movement guided by the fusion of decades of discipline and raw, desperate instinct.
The rain came harder, drumming against shattered stone, mixing with the blood and molten dust around them. Lightning raged above, illuminating the battlefield where two silhouettes moved like phantoms—the fading light of an old master, and the wrath of a Sith that refused to die.
With a final step, Dooku closed the distance. His blade swept through the air with the precision of a duelist's death stroke.
SHHHK!
The lightsaber cut clean through the golem's chest. For a heartbeat, everything went still—then the stone giant convulsed and collapsed, its body breaking apart into chunks of molten rock that steamed in the rain.
But something was wrong.
The golem didn't fall as if destroyed—it fell deliberately, guided by intent. Dooku froze, instinct flaring. The rubble hissed, glowing faintly from within.
Then a voice—disembodied, echoing with venom—filled the air.
"To think… someone could push me—Naga Sadow—the true ruler of Coruscant, the Sith'ari all have awaited… Unacceptable!" The tone grew darker, a growl that split into fury. "This will not happen again. Not in my fucking life—again!"
The words vibrated through the Force like a curse.
Then the rubble ignited in crimson light. Shards floated upward, swirling together in a cyclone of molten dust and screaming energy. The storm condensed, reshaping—forming muscle, bone, flesh. When the light cleared, Naga Sadow stood reborn.
No longer a golem—now his true self. His skin burned a deep red, etched with Sith markings. A long black cloak fluttered behind him, clasped with metal shaped like serpent fangs. A golden crown, regal and cruel, adorned his brow, framing eyes that burned like two dying suns.
He lifted his gaze to the storm above, arms outstretched, the Force rippling around him in violent waves. "I will trigger the solar flare again," he declared, his voice shaking the air. "And this time, any who stand in my way will be burned to the ground!"
Dooku shielded his face from the rising energy, his mind racing beneath the roar. He's corporeal now—but only barely. He shouldn't be able to form a body of his own will. There must be something anchoring him…
His gaze swept the wreckage—the shattered floor, the melted remains of the golem—and then paused. Amid the debris, faintly pulsing red through the dust, was a crystal. Not large, but alive, humming with power.
An anchor again, Dooku realized. Or worse—his heart.
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