The fortress of Tor Vizsla echoed with the cries of dying men. Shepard's blade cut through the smoke, glowing plasma spilling light over shattered walls. Death Watch had made their last stand here, clutching to their broken cause.
Beside him, the Fett elites moved like shadows, their MJOLNIR armor bristling with firepower. Jetpacks roared as they vaulted cover, shields sparking against blaster bolts. Plasma blades ignited, tearing through barricades like paper.
Vizsla himself awaited them in the war room, scarred armor dented, eyes burning with zealotry."You think you've saved Mandalore?" he snarled, lifting his vibrosword. "You've killed it. You've chained it!"
Shepard's voice was calm, steady."No. I've freed it from you."
Their duel was vicious. Vizsla was fierce, his blade striking with desperate strength, but Shepard's MJOLNIR armor and precision cut him down. With a final thrust, Shepard's plasma blade pierced his chest. Vizsla collapsed, choking on his last breath.
"Mandalore… was never meant… to kneel."
Shepard looked down at him, voice low but resolute."No. It was meant to rise."
Vizsla's eyes dimmed. Death Watch was finished. No survivors would crawl from this place.
With Death Watch destroyed, Shepard wasted no time. Mandalore needed more than victory it needed resurrection.
On Concordia, the old mining moon, Shepard oversaw vast fields being sown. Super seeds and engineered fertilizers were planted in black soil, tilled by machines that never tired. What was once barren rock began to bloom with crops.
On Mandalore itself, the World Engine was constructed, its colossal turbines breathing life into wastelands. Rivers carved their way back into the land, forests spread where ash once lingered, and lakes shimmered under new suns.
It did not happen all at once. The work took years, stage by stage, until Mandalore itself seemed reborn. Forests stretched across valleys, oceans rolled again, and cities rose with steel and stone. The planet lived.
The beskarsmiths labored as well, not only forging weapons but constructing the foundations of a civilization that would not collapse under its own hunger. Shepard commanded mining operations, but only at a pace that would not scar the planet again. Beskar was the heart of Mandalore, and he would not bleed it dry.
Jango's Shadow War
While Shepard rebuilt, Jango was already gone, commanding the Prowler.
The stealth ship, its hull infused with beskar and alloys no sensor could track, became a phantom in the galaxy. With it, Jango and his elite crew struck out across the Outer Rim raiding supply lines, robbing smugglers, and eliminating targets that threatened Fett interests.
Credits, resources, and rare materials flowed back to Mandalore under Shepard's orders. Jango's name spread like wildfire through the Bounty Hunter Guild, whispered with a mix of fear and respect. The Fett name was once again carved into galactic memory.
And whenever Shepard needed him, the Prowler returned home, silent and unseen, bearing spoils for Mandalore's growth.
Five years passed.
Mandalore was no longer a dying world. Schools and academies trained not only warriors, but engineers, scientists, and leaders. Families returned to cities they thought forever lost. Markets thrived. Children played in green fields their parents thought they would never see again.
Returning warriors from across the galaxy stood in stunned silence when they landed at Keldabe, looking out at rivers and forests where there had once been only dust.
"What sorcery is this?" one grizzled veteran whispered.
"It's not sorcery," another answered, pride swelling in his voice. "It's Mandalore. It's alive again."
The clans had been divided for generations, but now they stood united under one banner the Fett Clan, led by Shepard.
Mandalore was strong, Mandalore was alive, and Mandalore was ready for the galaxy to remember its name.