Not far from the edge of the platform, Sifo-Dyas waited.
When he spotted them, he stepped forward quickly.
"Damask, you're here," he said with a mix of relief and urgency.
Plagueis offered his hand—calm, courteous, almost noble.
"I came for your sake, my friend," he said smoothly, voice filled with a measured sincerity.
"For the prosperity of the Republic itself."
The two shook hands—an act that, on the surface, seemed diplomatic.
But Sidious, standing to the side, couldn't help but smirk behind his hood.
A Sith and a Jedi shaking hands... And the Jedi has no idea what's really going on.
Sifo-Dyas turned his head slightly, eyeing the hooded figure standing beside Damask.
"And who is this person beside you, Damask?" Sifo-Dyas asked with a hint of curiosity.
Plagueis gave a soft, almost too-casual chuckle.
"Ah, yes. He's a bit shy, so he prefers to keep his hood up.
You may call him Sidious—he handles accounting and resource transfers for several of my ventures."
Sidious's eyes twitched beneath the hood.
Master, you fool, he thought silently. You just told him my Sith name...
Sifo-Dyas furrowed his brow slightly but shrugged.
"I'm not going to pry into why someone would name their child Sidious...
But never mind. Let's move. And meet this so-called Queen."
Plagueis nodded smoothly. "Yes, indeed. I'm quite... impatient to meet this individual myself."
As they approached the grand entrance gate of Tipoca City, the atmosphere inside was no less chaotic.
Kaminoans flowed like a river through the corridors—some with datapads, others guiding floating tanks or speaking rapidly through comms. The polished white halls buzzed with motion and cold precision.
Plagueis took it in with a slow turn of his head.
"...This busy?" he muttered.
Sifo-Dyas gave a sarcastic snort.
"She paid six times more than the muur Clan ever did. Honestly... if she wanted, she could probably buy multiple planets and not feel it."
Plagueis's gaze sharpened behind his long face.
The idea of anyone—even a Queen—wielding that much raw purchasing power unsettled even him.
Sidious, however, walked beside him in silence, his hidden eyes scanning every corridor—searching, calculating, memorizing every detail.
Suddenly, the sliding doors ahead hissed open.
Lama Su, ever graceful and composed, approached them with measured steps.
"Ah," Lama Su said, bowing slightly.
"You've brought your funder, Master Jedi. The Queen is expecting you."
His pale gaze shifted toward Plagueis.
"You must be Damask, correct?"
Plagueis narrowed his eyes slightly but kept his voice smooth.
"The Queen of Transfiguration knows me?"
Lama Su offered a faint smile—one that barely reached his eyes.
"She merely guessed," Lama Su said.
"Come. Follow me."
Without another word, the group was guided deeper into the heart of Tipoca City, through winding sterile corridors until they entered one of the massive Cloning Laboratories—a cavernous hall filled with dozens of suspended embryonic tanks and humming machinery. The air smelled faintly of sterilization chemicals and recycled water.
Sifo-Dyas glanced around, frowning slightly.
"I'm sorry to say this doesn't look like a meeting chamber," he said, folding his arms.
"This is clearly a laboratory.
And I don't see the Queen anywhere."
Lama Su remained serene as always.
"Be patient," he said. "The Queen will come shortly."
Then, after a slight pause, Lama Su added in a lower, almost conspiratorial tone:
"But even I must admit...Seeing her appearance for the first time was rather... shocking. I advise you to steel yourselves."
The sterile air inside the Cloning Laboratory shifted.
The hum of the machines faltered—almost as if the very city itself was holding its breath.
Suddenly, a massive pinkish-purple portal bloomed open at the far end of the hall, warping the very space around it.
From the swirling vortex stepped a towering figure—wreathed in a tattered blackish-purple hooded cloak.
A pale yellow, bone-like mask covered the lower half of her face.
From her upper back, two metallic, horn-like constructs curved outward like the twisted branches of a dead silver tree.
One of her eyes, visible beneath the hood, burned faintly with pinkish-purple light, gleaming like a cursed gem. ( img here )
And around her—the dense, agitated mana of Transfiguration swirled violently, suffocating the air, pressing down like an ocean of unseen hands.
Sifo-Dyas's mind recoiled instantly.
What kind of Queen is this?!This isn't royalty...This is more like an ancient Sith...!
A cold sweat broke out along his back as he instinctively placed a hand on the hilt of his lightsaber—but didn't dare draw it.
Plagueis stiffened.
A sensation he had not experienced in centuries gripped him: raw horror.
The Ancient Sith... are they still alive?Is this their final resurrection?Has she come to tear apart the Order of the Rule of Two that Darth Bane founded?Does she intend for me to bow, to cast aside centuries of tradition... before her feet?!
The Muun's hands tightened behind his back, his mind racing but his body frozen.
Sidious, however, was hit with a flood of mixed emotions—anger and terror in equal measure.
My guess was right.RIGHT! It's her! Yogumunt...!
He could feel the heavy weight of the moment crushing him.
The same overwhelming presence that had once brought him to his defeat on Malachor...
The same entity he had sliced the mask —but never defeated.
The Queen—no, Morgan in her Monarch of Transfiguration form—moved forward slowly, each step graceful, regal, predatory.
Her voice rang out, smooth but laden with ancient malice: "I am Yogumunt."
Her gaze flicked across the room—and locked onto Sidious like a predator to a wounded animal.
She tilted her head slightly, her pinkish-purple eye gleaming.
"Have I... killed you before, months ago?" she asked, voice almost playfully cruel.
Sidious involuntarily gulped.His entire body tensed.
She knows.Beneath my disguise... she knows who I am.Or at least... she still remembers the one who sliced her mask.
He could feel her gaze peeling through his hood, through his stolen civility, down to the hidden darkness at his core.
But after a lingering moment, Morgan—still clad in her tattered Monarch form—calmly averted her eyes.
At that precise moment, Taun We approached, accompanied by several Kaminoan aides, all carefully maneuvering a series of large, sterile white coffins on anti-grav platforms.
Taun We bowed respectfully, her voice apologetic yet steady.
"I'm sorry, My Queen," Taun We said.
"Some of the first batches had... complications. Despite strict instructions, a portion of the staff mistakenly implanted growth hormones and triggered early age acceleration."
Her pale face remained stoic, but a subtle shift of unease passed through her.
"The infants didn't survive the process," Taun We continued.
"I accept full responsibility."
Morgan's pinkish-purple gaze shifted back, sharp and commanding beneath the bone mask.
"Open the coffin," Morgan said .
Taun We hesitated, just a flicker of uncertainty in her otherwise flawless composure.
"B-Beg your pardon, My Queen?"
Morgan didn't repeat herself.
She merely stared—unmoving, silent.
The pressure in the room grew suffocating.
Without another word, Taun We gestured briskly to her aides.
One by one, the coffins were opened—releasing a sterile hiss of preserved air.
Inside... Twenty small bodies, no older than newborns.
Their forms fragile, peaceful, untouched by life itself.
Perfectly preserved in death.
The laboratory stood in a silence so deep it felt like the world had paused.
Then, Morgan raised her right hand.
From the void behind her, a pinkish-purple portal yawned open.
From it, demonic arms—elongated, black-veined and bone-like—emerged, pulsing with Transfiguration mana and etched with eldritch runes.
The arms moved with careful reverence, curling around the coffins.
Morgan spoke—not in Galactic Basic, but in a language older than memory.
A tongue of demonic spectres, raw and echoing.
"Vorther'mekar… eth'runda tihaal…
Nox kal suunat... Arch Lich, rise at my side."
The corpses twitched.
Then convulsed. Bones cracked. Flesh shifted. A grotesque merging of once-fragile forms began—until the pile of infants twisted and fused into a singular mass, pulsating with sickly green light.
From the center of that abomination rose the Arch Lich—a towering, skeletal entity.
It floated above the ground, massive black horns curling out of its skull.
Its glowing red eyes flared beneath a ghostly mane of green hair.
Thin, skeletal arms reached outward, its long black cloak .
In its ribcage, a green exposed heart beat slowly, unnaturally. ( img here )
The Arch Lich spoke in the same demonic tongue, kneeling mid-air as if in reverence.
"Lord Yogumunt... You have returned to us. The Demonic Spectre awaits your command."
Morgan's voice was calm, absolute.
"Return to the World of Eternal Slumber.Await further instruction."
The Arch Lich bowed—and in the next instant, the pinkish portal reopened, consuming him entirely in silence.
Morgan turned slowly to Taun We, her tone sharp but not without praise.
"Your failures... have yielded benefit. And I admire honesty in subordinates.
Keep up your progress—even if your habits are... stubborn."
Taun We bowed deeply. "I understand, My Queen."
Lama Su, standing nearby, exhaled slowly with visible relief.
"I will inform the others that this mistake is… tolerable. It puts our burdens at ease."
Plagueis, however, remained silent—his eyes narrowing behind his composed façade.
A power to manipulate life... and death itself...On Par with me , The refinement. Sovereignty over mortality itself.
Sidious clenched his teeth behind his hood.
I knew she was strong...But this... this is not in any Sith ritual I've ever studied.Yogumunt is already Immortal . Perhaps more powerfull in manipulating life itself than my master
The tension snapped when Sifo-Dyas stepped forward, his expression grim.
With a sharp snap-hiss, his blue lightsaber ignited, humming coldly in the sterile lab.
"You are the darkness itself," he declared.
"The one that will come in the future—no, the one who's already here. For the sake of the Jedi—I shall—"
Morgan didn't even blink. Her voice cut him off coldly,.
"If you want to strike me down..." she said slowly, her head tilting just slightly,
"...you'll need more than a flashlight."
She stepped forward once, the mana around her spiking again.
"And spare me the speech. I've heard it before."
She then turned her gaze smoothly toward Lama Su, voice instantly shifting back to calm professionalism.
"But tell me, Lama Su—if this lab were to suffer, say... a few cracks,
Would it impede your progress?"
Lama Su stiffened instantly. "My Queen—please," he said quickly,
"Don't destroy this lab. It is the most advanced, spacious environment for developing your Zakuul army."
Morgan turned back to Sifo-Dyas, her pinkish-purple eye gleaming.
"Three strikes," she said flatly. "Come on, then. Show me your rot, Jedi. Prove your values mean anything."
"After that," she added, "We'll speak like businessmen. No more violence."
Sifo-Dyas, determined not to falter, drew a deep breath and launched forward, adopting the elegant precision of Makashi form.
His blue lightsaber flashed sharply through the air—
—only to bounce harmlessly off the dense field of mana surrounding Morgan.
The first strike failed.
The second—deflected.
The third—his blade bent away as if he were swinging against an invisible mountain.
Gritting his teeth, he pushed for a fourth strike—igniting more power into his blade.
But Morgan, barely interested anymore, flicked her wrist lazily.
A pinkish portal snapped open underneath Sifo-Dyas—swallowing him whole—
—and in an instant, another portal ripped open directly above the lab ceiling.
Gravity mana did the rest.
Sifo-Dyas plummeted like a stone, momentum increasing, and slammed into the floor with a sickening crash, creating a small crater beneath him.
He lay there, groaning weakly—mimicking a perfect Yamcha pose.
Morgan turned slightly to Lama Su without a hint of guilt. "Sorry about the floor, Minister."
Lama Su, ever the professional, simply nodded with his calm Kaminoan grace.
"At least the equipment is still intact. That's what truly matters."
Plagueis silently walked over, crouching slightly to inspect the fallen Jedi.
He slung one of Sifo-Dyas's arms over his shoulder to help him up, ignoring the grimace of pain on the Jedi's face.
"Enough," Plagueis said simply, voice low and final. "We are defeated here. That's what we are."
Sifo-Dyas, battered and embarrassed, gritted his teeth but said nothing—his anger slowly cooling into weary resignation.
Plagueis sighed and straightened, glancing around.
"Does someone have a cane? Or some kind of support? I believe my friend here has... multiple broken bones."
Morgan, still lounging casually, gave a tiny flick of her fingers—a hidden signal only Lama Su caught.
Lama Su stepped forward immediately, his voice crisp and professional.
"Our personnel will patch up the Master Jedi here and now," Lama Su said.
"We must not delay—the discussion is about to begin."
Several Kaminoan medics glided forward silently, lifting Sifo-Dyas onto a repulsor stretcher and carefully stabilizing his broken limbs.
After a short treatment using high-speed Bacta tank , Sifo-Dyas was given a cane and light support braces on his arms and legs.
He stood—barely—propped upright, still wincing but otherwise composed enough to attend.