Jin-Woo stood still, arms still crossed, as Kadoc and Anastasia approached him through the softened glow of Zeta Halo's artificial sunlight. The soft laughter of others behind them faded into the background, replaced by the quiet, almost hesitant of Kadoc's voice.
"I'm surprised you didn't just slipspace me out of my Lostbelt," Kadoc said, eyes glancing down for a second. "I always figured you saw me as… just a mediocre Master."
Jin-Woo didn't blink. "I was more curious," he replied flatly. "How you managed to convince Ivan not to kill you on sight—since the Anastasia you summoned isn't his Anastasia. Not the one from the his Lostbelt version ."
Kadoc exhaled through his nose. "When the Alien God ordered a halt to the Lostbelt offensives ten days ago—because your AI blackmailed it—Ivan woke up. The dream alien god gave him shattered. And the musician… ugh, I forgot her name… couldn't calm him down."
"That part's not important," he added quickly. "What mattered is—I talked my way out."
Jin-Woo tilted his head, unamused. "I already knew the conclusion. 'Talk no jutsu.' Or something close."
He narrowed his gaze just a little. "If you're wondering why I didn't drag your ass out with slipspace, it's because I used to be like you. A runt. Weak. Cowardly."
Kadoc's eyes widened slightly.
Jin-Woo didn't flinch. "Watching someone like that try to crawl his way out—it's entertaining. So I left you alone."
Anastasia blinked, surprised by the honesty. "So… even the great Shadow Monarch had a weak past? Like Kadoc?"
Jin-Woo gave a slight shrug. "I was human once. That's all you need to know. And let's just say… I worked my way out."
After three hours passed, the vibrant Zeta Halo dimmed behind them, its luminous arc now outshone by what mattered most—nightfall over Coruscant.
The Yinchorri were beginning to stir. The uprising had begun.
Jin-Woo's voice cut through the tension . "Operation: Gateway to Tython—commence."
In an instant, massive slipspace portals unraveled across the field. One by one, the Lostbelt Kings, Crypters, and their Servants were swallowed by the blue glow, transported directly into strategic positions .
Everyone but one team.
Daybit Sem Void remained, arms in pockets, gaze sharp.
"You don't mind," Daybit said flatly, "if I distract Sidious at the Senatorial Rotunda, right?"
Jin-Woo's eyes didn't flicker. "Offensive Bias already told me your plan. You're targeting the manipulator. Sidious. That leaves Plagueis isolated… eventually."
Jin-Woo paused, then glanced slightly over Daybit's shoulder.
"You didn't bring Tezcatlipoca."
"I want to fight Yoda," Tezcatlipoca declared with a grin, crackling his knuckles like a boxer before the ring.
Jin-Woo sighed. "Yeah. Of course you do. You sure about this, Daybit? Because if it goes sideways—I'm not responsible for anything."
Daybit only smirked. "I won't have a problem. And while I'm down there, I'll make sure the puppet masters second-guess everything. Including each other. if it can "
He flicked his eyes toward the edge of the platform, where Kukulcan stood blinking innocently.
"And Kukulcan? Still being her unpredictable self, huh?"
"Oh yeah," Jin-Woo muttered. "That's just her default setting."
Kukulcan tilted her head. "Hmm?"
Before she could ask further, the final slipspace tunnel widened around the South American Lostbelt team. With a soft implosion of blue, they were gone—slotted into Coruscant's infrastructure .
Jin-Woo exhaled slowly and stepped toward the far platform edge. His hands raised slightly.
"The Crypter has done his part…"
From the depths of shadow, black plates of segmented alloy rose and clicked into place—his Proto-Didact Exoframe assembling piece by piece over his form. The last piece sealed with a low CLANK, and a deep pulse of mana surged inward. His presence vanished into nothing.
The Armored Man walked again. He turned to Morgan, now standing beside him .
They slipped through the veil in an instant—teleporting five kilometers from the Jedi Temple, onto the edge of a high tower that overlooked the upper city's shimmering skyline.
Morgan adjusted her cloak and looked at him. "We wait, right, Jin-Woo? Until it's time."
Jin-Woo nodded once. "Yes."
Meanwhile, within the sacred halls of the Jedi Temple, chaos clashed with serenity.
Night had fallen over Coruscant.
The once-still chambers now rang with the sounds of war—blaster fire and lightsabers crashing, Yinchorri warriors roaring in their brutish dialect, charging with sheer numbers but reckless precision.
Jedi Masters held the line.
Grandmaster Yoda spun through the battlefield with agile grace, his green blade severing Yinchorri weapons and legs alike. Beside him, Mace Windu, Depa Billaba, Yaddle, Yarael Poof, and Oppo Rancisis worked like extensions of the Force itself—each a living weapon, elegant and lethal.
Despite the tide of enemy soldiers, the Jedi Knights and Padawans carved through the Yinchorri advance. Precision overwhelmed fury. But the waves kept coming.
Then—Yoda's ears twitched. He stopped.
Mace Windu, still fending off three attackers, narrowed his gaze. "Master Yoda… is the enemy commander nearby?"
Yoda didn't answer.
He turned slowly, eyes lifting toward the shadowed end of the ruined Temple corridor—toward the massive archway now filled with something far more terrifying than a Yinchorri brute.
THUD.THUD.
A giant—no, an armored colossus—stepped through the smoke.
It wasn't just armor. It was war forged into a shell: thick plates of Beskar, interlocking with brutal elegance. Nearly three times the size of a normal man, it was a black and silver behemoth. Engraved on its chest in ancient sigils were the words:
FORCE BREAKER ARMOR – MARK I
Its presence suffocated the air. Mace's grip on his saber tightened. Depa flinched. Yaddle's brow furrowed.
But Yoda… He breathed once. Calm. "…Armored Man," Yoda whispered. "The mysterious one. Rescue of Ranulph Tarkin… the saving of Jedi Master Tyvokka… and the lone force who ended the Mandalorian Civil War." His voice turned grim. "For a price… thirty percent of Mandalore's beskar."
The massive suit stood still.
Yoda's eyes didn't blink. "…Why do you stage this event?"
Then, the armor's red visor flared to life.
A distorted voice buzzed through the internal comms, low and synthetic:
"Force User Buster—Mark One. Online."
A whine of energy followed—then a BLAST from the repulsor units embedded in its palms. A direct beam of plasma surged toward Yoda like a compressed cannon.
But the Grandmaster didn't flinch.
He lifted one hand, palm forward—Tutaminis.
The repulsor blast split against an invisible barrier, redirected with a crackling twist of the Force. The redirected blast slammed into the chest of the Force Breaker Armor, staggering it back slightly . Sparks flew.
Yoda narrowed his eyes.
Beskar…mandalorians own… now used as armor… twisted it is, into a tool of war.
In one fluid motion, the old Jedi spun with the Force, his small frame propelled by invisible strength. He extended his hand—the Force surged. With unnatural precision, he ripped the armored spine from the back of the behemoth, tearing it open like peeling the shell from a crab.
The helmet came next—flung through the air in a spiral of sparks.
Inside? An empty seat. Hollow. No pilot.
Mace Windu approached, his saber humming in his hand. "He's not in it. I'd bet my arm he's remote-controlling this from afar."
Yoda didn't respond. He was already sinking into deeper thought, his brow tightened.
Armored Man… a mercenary… yes. But this…? Why now? Why this scale? Why stage war upon Jedi? Has hatred for our code turned to bloodlust? Or is there more…?
The answer didn't come from thought.
It came from sound—a deep rumbling behind the wrecked armor.
Slipspace. The air tore open, and from within it—
A mammoth Head with massive steel tusks. A trunk that gripped a divine spear. From its throat, a guttural command echoed:
"Come forth and kill like a nightmare… the time of enforcement has arrived…"
"Zveri Krestnyi Khod!!"
IVAN THE TERRIBLE had entered the battlefield.
From his spear tip, lightning exploded, followed by a wave of pure storm magic. A massive blast wave surged outward—lightning, frost, and gale-force winds merging into a single cataclysmic cannon of energy.
Yoda's eyes widened—he didn't have time to cast Tutaminis again. BOOM.
The shockwave consumed the Jedi Temple.
The stone cracked. Spires bent. The skies above split as if a storm god had roared.
Yinchorri warriors and Jedi Knights alike were blasted away, flung across the steps, courtyards, and outer walls of the Temple grounds. Their armor and robes burned, bodies rolling across the ground in mangled heaps—but… Not dead.
Surprisingly, not a single fatality. Burned. Bruised. Broken ribs and ears ringing—but alive.
Depa Billaba crawled from beneath a broken column, blood trailing from her lip. "Master Windu! Are you alright?"
Windu was holding his head, dazed. "…WHAT?!"
"I SAID—ARE YOU ALRIGHT?!" Depa said
"WHAT?!" His voice was hoarse. His ears were ringing.
Nearby, Grandmaster Yoda pushed himself up, robes singed, scorched green skin exposed beneath tattered layers. But he stood—firm, unshaken. The Jedi Temple still stood too. Barely. And yet, just as they gathered themselves—
CLANG.
Windu's instincts flared. His purple blade ignited mid-motion as he intercepted a spinning projectile—a giant chakram—that slammed into his saber with a flash of gold sparks.
"...What now—?"
He looked toward the source. A dark-skinned warrior stood calmly among the smoke, shirtless, adorned with ancient markings. Behind him, a massive golden chakra wheel floated like a divine relic. His smirk burned hotter than the lightning still crackling overhead.
"The Master of the Jedi Order," the man said, amused, "right beside the Grandmaster himself."
Windu turned—only to see the space beside him empty. Master Yoda's gone.
He gritted his teeth. "I guess my reputation precedes me."
His saber pointed straight. "Now. Who are you?"
The man crossed his arms confidently. "Ashwatthama. Archer-class Servant."
In the next second, Windu reached out—the Force surged.
Ashwatthama was slammed into a nearby wall, the stone cracking behind him as invisible pressure crushed his body into the durasteel.
But instead of screaming— He laughed. Hard.
"HAHAA! Daybit and my Master were right!" he roared, teeth bared in glee. "The Force—ignores magical defenses! This is awesomeeee!"
Windu's eyes narrowed.
He's pinned—completely restrained… and he's excited?
The Jedi Master held the Force grip tighter—but Ashwatthama only chuckled harder,
A blaster bolt snapped from the smoke behind him. Windu deflected it without looking. A single flick of his saber knocked it away, sending sparks across the temple floor.
Standing at the edge of the battlefield was a flamboyant figure draped in crimson silks and gold accessories. A single blaster in one hand. A fan in the other. Peperoncino.
"My DEAR Jedi," Pepe said sweetly, voice dripping with mischief, "tonight… we're going to tip the balance itself."
Ashwatthama cackled. "OY! Master! You brought a gun?! Are you nuts?!"
"I prefer dramatic flair," Pepe said with a wink, already recharging the blaster. "And besides… chaos is fun with a little elegance."
Around them—confusion erupted.
Jedi and Yinchorri warriors alike paused—blaster fire slowing, sabers still glowing, but eyes wide.
Then—a crack of thunder and cold runes exploded across the temple grounds.
"ODIN! GRANT ME POWER!!"
Skadi's voice thundered across the skyline, and in that moment, ancient Nordic magic swept down.
From her wand, ice bloomed—carved with blue runes older than Coruscant itself. It separated Jedi Commanders from Yinchorri warriors, splitting the battlefield into frozen sectors of isolated conflict.
And through the veil of misted frost stepped Skadi—Queen of the Norse Lostbelt. Her breath fogged the air, eyes alight with ruthless calm.
Beside her— Sigurd, Saber-class, Gram already drawn.
The Valkyrie Trio—Ortlinde, Hildr, Thrúd— wings extended, weapons humming with myth.
They marched across the ice together, cornering their chosen opponent—Yaddle.
The ancient Jedi Master blinked calmly, head tilting with serene curiosity.
"Interesting technique, this is. Ice, and fate… but loneliness too, I sense. Deep in you, girl."
Skadi's expression darkened. "Quiet . You've lived centuries… I've survived millennia. Don't speak like you know me."