Jin-Woo didn't even realize it at first—but above them, along the layered balconies of the arena now shaped from fragmented Force memory, dozens of chained figures sat. Cloaked. Gagged. Bound in psychic shackles that shimmered with violet script.
Magi from the Clock Tower. Hundreds of them. Faces grim, lips sealed by force law.
One of them, though, thrashed harder than the others. His chains flickered. His will, unbroken.
Waver Velvet. Lord El-Melloi II. His eyes locked onto Jin-Woo—not with fear, but with recognition. He didn't understand the scene, but he understood power. And what he was watching? Was a clash of beings not meant for his world.
Morgan was also among them. Her silver-blue hair damp with effort, struggling against the chains that dimmed even her magecraft. She couldn't speak, couldn't shout—but her hands still tried to form signs. She still fought.
And then—
Caedus moved.
He jumped—not flew—like a meteor launched with will alone, diving from his throne toward Jin-Woo with one hand raised high.
A streak of green Force lightning split the air. Crackling, wild, unnatural. It danced in whips and branches, carrying an aura of fractured destiny. It wasn't just lightning—it was twisted judgment.
Jin-Woo's answer was simple. His hand lifted. [ Force Lighning]
Black Force lightning exploded forth.
it was roaring. It tore through space like the sound of truth being shattered. it was calculated. Every bolt, every tendril, spun in exact synchronicity. As It marched.
The sky between them became a canvas of colliding ideologies. Green against black. Sith against Shadow. Pain against will.
For a moment—Jin-Woo's lightning began to dominate.
But just before it reached Caedus— Everything shifted.
Caedus twitched his fingers. And suddenly, his lightning surged—pressing Jin-Woo's back, forcing him to disengage and slide sideways, smooth and unbothered..
Jin-Woo's eyes narrowed.
There. Behind him. The Jedi version of Jacen Solo—his ghost—sat in perfect stillness. Eyes closed. Palms together. [Battle meditation]. A tactic older than most wars. An echo of the Light aiding the Dark.
Jin-Woo didn't even blink. I wonder… if I had clones… could I use that too?
He didn't answer himself. Because in that moment, he wasn't analyzing a Sith. Not really.
Caedus wasn't talking. He didn't need to.But in his silence… in his eyes… he smiled.
He's not a Sith, Caedus thought. Not truly. Not like me.But he's more dangerous than one.
Caedus—Jacen Solo twisted through fate and war—watched him, watched with sharpened insight. And then… he activated it.
The Shatterpoint. A vision technique. The Force's scalpel. A way to perceive the fault lines, the cracks, the weakest point in a target—physical or metaphysical.
He scanned Jin-Woo, expecting to find something—a hairline fracture in his essence , a trauma he could weaponize, a tether he could exploit. But… There was nothing.
Jin-Woo stood like a black hole wrapped in silence. The only "crack" Caedus saw… was the possibility that maybe—just maybe—his lightsaber could be broken. Not the man. Just the blade.
And still—his instinct screamed. Don't break it.
Something worse would awaken.
Caedus snarled beneath his breath and switched tactics without hesitation.
With a twist of his wrist, another weapon hissed to life—his off-hand Shoto lightsaber, smaller, its blade a serrated flare of crimson and silver . He moved instantly, no delay, his body blurring across the ruined battleground in short-range Force dashes that mimicked teleportation.
One instant in front of Jin-Woo, the next behind.
He didn't fight like a Sith anymore—he fought like an animal that had tasted blood and wasn't sure if it was his own.
Every strike chained into another. Every third move shifted tempo, unpredictable. His twin blades carved loops in the air, each meant to overwhelm, to penetrate, to break.
The Force pulsed violently around him. Embrace of Pain—his most vicious technique—was now active, roaring inside his nervous system. Every failed hit, every blocked strike, every time Jin-Woo brushed his saber aside… it made him stronger. Sharper. His pain was his fuel. Bruised ribs. Strained joints. Cuts that ran along his forearms. They didn't slow him down—they ignited him.
But it wasn't enough. Jin-Woo didn't move like a duelist. He moved like certainty.
His black-bladed Vectivus lightsaber slid through the air with frightening control. He didn't waste a step, didn't breathe heavier. He didn't need to retreat, not once. Every style, every form—seamless. Not practiced. Perfected.
When Caedus struck wildly—Jin-Woo pivoted and redirected, sword sweeping wide with the simplicity of Shii-Cho.
When the attacks narrowed—when the dance became technical—he met it with the elegant counters of Makashi, each movement compact, precise.
When the Force lightning returned in bursts—green bolts snapping through the broken air—he curled inward, deflecting them in an unbroken rhythm of Soresu, his blade never leaving a defensive stance for more than a second.
And once—just once—Jin-Woo leapt upward, his body twisting mid-air, redirecting gravity with absurd grace as he spun downward. It was Ataru, but deeper—refined beyond logic.
When Caedus tried to overpower him, to throw sheer strength at him—Jin-Woo slammed back with thunderous ripostes, battering Caedus's twin sabers with punishing precision—Djem So honed to devastating effect.
And somehow… it all melded into something greater. A quiet, lethal calm. Niman. The balance of all .
Caedus kept pressing. He had to. His twin sabers clashed against Jin-Woo's. Sparks lit the battlefield like dying stars shining bright . Caedus's attacks became more desperate, more vicious—but they never landed. Not once.
Every flurry of attacks was countered. Every fake-out was predicted. Every trick… already accounted for.
And Jin-Woo never said a word.
He simply watched.
Caedus broke the twelfth clash with a violent leap backward. His chest heaved. Sweat dripped down the side of his face. One of his arms bled faintly from an overextended parry that had left him exposed—for only a second, but long enough to draw pain.
Jin-Woo stood across from him. Calm. Silent. His Vectivus lightsaber hummed low and even.
But there was a small smile on his lips. Just inevitable.
Caedus didn't answer it. He didn't have to.
He just tightened his grip on both sabers. Because even a Sith Lord could see it clearly now:
This wasn't a duel. This was an assessment.
But then—he played his hidden hand.
A sniper bolt, sharp as starlight, lanced through from behind Jin-Woo. A clean, perfect shot.
Jin-Woo pivoted just enough to intercept it with his Vectivus lightsaber. The black blade shrieked as it caught the blast and deflected it skyward—but in that fraction of a second, something moved.
A palm, unseen until now, wrapped in cloaked silence, gripped his shoulder from behind. The veil dropped. It wasn't an illusion.
The Jedi Knight Jacen Solo—one of the three thrones Jin-Woo had seen—had never been real.
The real threat had always been hidden. Watching. Waiting. Calculating.
And then—Caedus, the Sith, the darkest iteration of Jacen Solo—unleashed everything.
His hands raised, his mouth open in silent fury. From his body erupted a tidal wave of green Force lightning, not arcing bolts but an entire sea of it—. The lightning twisted into a spear, larger than a fighter ship, rushing forward with the singular goal: Annihilation.
Jin-Woo didn't move. He smiled faintly, his thoughts quiet beneath the chaos.
How long has it been... since I've been caught off guard? Since I relied solely on the Force to end things?
...Instead of what I really am?
He made no effort to stop the lightning.
He wanted to feel it. To test the weight of Caedus's hatred.
But then— A blur of silver-blue crashed between them.
Morgan. Mouth still silenced by Vergence law, but her body free, she slammed her black demonic spear into the path of the lightning.
The impact shook the dimension. Cracks split across the sky of this false galaxy. Morgan's boots dug into fractured stone, her arms shaking under the sheer current of Caedus's wrath.
She couldn't scream, but her eyes did. Fierce. Loyal. Unyielding. She held the line—barely.
But even a Lostbelt King… was not a match for a Sith Lord of Caedus's tier. Her stance began to falter. Her body trembling.
The lightning twisted past the spear's edges. It was going to break through—
Until a blur of shadow tore up from Jin-Woo's feet.
Beru. The shadow ant king lunged upward, claws crackling with power. He didn't roar. He didn't pose.
He simply reached out and slashed. One swipe—clean, perfect—tore the green lightning in half.
Caedus blinked once more, but said nothing.
Jin-Woo stepped forward, the faint clink of his boots against the fractured ground echoing with certainty. He reached Morgan and gently placed a hand on her shoulder. The arena's restraints shimmered, then dissolved—like shadows returning to their master.
Morgan staggered slightly, coughing, the released pressure hitting her lungs like a drop in altitude. Her demonic spear thudded against the ground beside her as she caught her breath.
"You alright, Morgan?" Jin-Woo asked quietly, his voice unusually soft.
Morgan wiped her lips, her composure returning, though she winced. "I told you… that triangle green crystal was dangerous."
Her eyes narrowed as she turned her gaze toward the silent Sith across the battlefield. "Now… who is this man trying to kidnap this Queen? Shall I introduce him to my spear properly?"
Jin-Woo gave a dry chuckle, stepping slightly in front of her. "Careful. This guy once saved an entire galaxy from a race that could've wiped it clean. The Yuuzhan Vong—genetic nightmares that didn't even register in the Force. Am I right?"
Caedus remained silent. But in the depth of the Force… Jin-Woo felt it. The acknowledgment. The quiet thought from Caedus himself.
He knows me. He knows about my mission.
Then, the Sith Caedus finally spoke. His voice low and heavy like a verdict.
"Then you understand. My cause is justice. It is rightful."
Jin-Woo tilted his head, almost amused.
"Heh. You can talk. That's surprising." He narrowed his eyes slightly. "But I guess rather than having daddy issues like most Sith, you're the son who decided to pick a fight with his own uncle—Luke Skywalker, wasn't it?"
Caedus didn't flinch. But his grip on the saber tightened.
Morgan raised an eyebrow, whispering under her breath, "…This galaxy of yours sounds like a drama stage with more lightning."
Jin-Woo didn't disagree. He just smirked.
And the black hum of his Vectivus lightsaber still ignited .
The arena rumbled. Two separate pathways cracked open across the astral plane—one veering left, another right. A thin fissure of Force energy divided them, like the branching choice of a soul. Jin-Woo's shadow coiled toward the path where Darth Caedus stood, while Morgan found herself aligned with the other side—where Jacen Solo's Jedi Knight and Wanderer personas stared directly at her.
Their eyes weren't hollow. They held resolve.
But there was something fractured about them.
Jin-Woo tilted his head toward Morgan, calm but firm. "I'll handle Caedus. You take care of his Jedi self—and the one who thinks he's in a Western holovid with that blaster."
Morgan raised her brow. "He has… split personalities?"
"Three," Jin-Woo replied without missing a beat. "Three lives. Jedi. Wanderer. Sith. The last one… the Sith Lord. The evil one —that idiot murdered his own aunt for the so-called greater good of the galaxy."
Morgan's expression twisted—not with fear, but disgust. Even she, who ruled the Lostbelt with a blue -draped iron fist, found that repulsive.
"At least," she said coldly, "I can kill the good ones with a clean conscience."