Plagueis straightened, adjusting his robes with careful dignity.
He cleared his throat and spoke first.
"My name," Plagueis began in a deep, cultured voice,
"is Hego Damask the Second. And this is—"
Before he could finish, Morgan lazily interrupted, her tone sharp enough to freeze the air.
"A failure."
There was a sudden spike of tension.
Sidious's facade, so perfectly crafted over decades, cracked violently.
His voice Raised : "WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY?!"
His hands twitched slightly toward his hidden saber—but before he could do anything reckless—
Plagueis turned sharply and barked: "Calm down, Sidious!"
Sidious gritted his teeth hard enough they almost cracked, forcing himself back into line, though the hate burning behind his hood was unmistakable.
Plagueis, schooling his expression, turned back toward Morgan with a shallow bow of his head.
"Please forgive my accountant's... behavior," he said carefully.
But Morgan wasn't interested in forgiveness.
She rose slightly, the heavy air around her growing even thicker.
"For a thousand years," Morgan said, her voice low and disdainful,
"You've holed yourselves up. Two by two... always two... stagnant... rotting. Not like the Old Age. Not like true conquest."
Her pinkish-purple eye narrowed under her bone mask. "A failure."
Sifo-Dyas, still wobbling slightly on his cane, finally found the courage to speak up, confused and alarmed.
"What is this abomination even talking about?" he demanded.
Morgan didn't even glance at Sifo-Dyas as she replied, voice casual, almost bored.
"Nothing," she said dryly. "It's just... this current era is stagnant. That's all."
Plagueis, ever the composed philosopher, finally spoke—his voice aged, thoughtful, yet burdened with realism.
"Yes," he admitted with a slow nod.
"I suppose… that much is true. The Republic has rotted at its roots. Corruption spreads through its veins, and most Outer Rim systems are abandoned—neglected like unwanted children."
"Democracy," he added, "has become little more than a mask worn by aristocrats who sleep soundly while planets starve."
Morgan's head tilted slightly, her tone now sharper—bladed.
"And that democracy... 'by the people, for the people,' and so on."
She paused just long enough to let the silence draw in around her. "But the people," she said flatly, "are retarded."
No one answered. Not even Sifo-Dyas, who now stood rigidly—mouth slightly open, unsure whether he was more offended or simply stunned.
Sidious remained dead silent. Even he didn't dare speak.
Plagueis simply nodded once again… more slowly this time.
"And that darkness," he said gravely, "will come. With your help—no matter what kind of monster you are—the Republic might still stand. With a big enough army… there's still a chance ."
Morgan tilted her head ever so slightly, voice laced with dry amusement.
"Which crisis are we talking about, exactly?"
She didn't wait for an answer. "The Outer Rim tantrums? Viceroys and Trade Federation brats throwing their credits around? That's just noise. Low-level threat."
"Or do you mean the Yuuzhan Vong? Sixty years from now in your little clock. That... is a galactic-level threat."
Plagueis went still. "You're aware of them," he said slowly.
"The Yuuzhan Vong... Queen of Transfiguration... Then I don't need to explain. You know what they are. You understand how terrifying they'll become."
Plaguis exhaled deeply, his tone unusually solemn. "Their tech—. It's alive. And we will be overwhelmed."
Morgan answered coolly, as if bored by the topic.
"Their ships are organic... like beasts. Living creatures stitched with war. I know."
Sidious, who had remained silent all this time, finally reacted—visibly surprised. "You... knew?"
Morgan didn't answer with words. She simply raised her hand—and a massive pinkish portal bloomed behind her like a wound torn in reality. Inside it wasn't fire or chaos. It was silence. Endless black sky .
And there, hovering slowly like a slumbering leviathan... was the Koros-Strohna. A Yuuzhan Vong Worldship. 12 kilometers long. Living. Breathing. Bound in scars of war and grown from agony itself. ( img here )
Morgan's voice broke the silence like a blade. "My husband took them as a trophy."
Everyone stared—some in awe, some in dread.
Sifo-Dyas finally spoke, eyes wide with confusion. "Hold on—I'm confused. Damask, what is this? What are the Yuuzhan Vong?"
Plagueis turned his head slightly, calm and cold. "They are what's coming. Not in years. In decades. But when they arrive—" He gestured toward the monstrous worldship. "All of our technology… all of our weapons… will be useless. Even your Jedi Force tricks—will mean nothing. They are immune to it. To the very essence of the Force itself."
Sifo-Dyas swallowed hard, visibly shaken.
Plagueis, however, remained composed. But behind that stillness, his thoughts surged. This is a golden opportunity. We now have someone—no, two—who've encountered the Vong. They've captured their technology. They know their weaknesses. Even if Yogumunt speaks too much . Sifo-Dyas is a fool. He doesn't see who we are. And that makes him useful. Everything can still be manipulated. For me. And for Sidious.
Plagueis finally spoke. " I need to know what you plan to do with those armies? Your clones... the Zakuul Knights, Queen of Transfiguration."
Morgan tilted her head slightly, tone cold and dismissive. "Not for your galaxy, that's for sure. I have my own purposes."
Plagueis warned "You underestimate the Yuuzhan Vong, Queen of Transfiguration," "That will make everyone suffer the consequences."
Morgan's eye narrowed. Slowly, she floated closer to Plagueis. Without a word, her fingers gripped the edge of her bone mask—then crushed it.
Her mouth—what was behind the mask—was grotesque, half-decayed, resembling an undead wraith. It wasn't her real face. Just another veil in her transfiguration form. A warning.
"Your Yuuzhan Vong..." Morgan said slowly, voice reverberating unnaturally, "are puppies... compared to the Flood."
"And we've talked in circles long enough. So unless you want to see a 12-kilometer worldship dropped onto Coruscant... Let's begin negotiations."
Sifo-Dyas gritted his teeth, his voice shaky but defiant.
"Five hundred thousand... for the Republic clone army batch. I'll sign the order. In exchange, I won't tell the Jedi Council that a queen of abomination is here."
Morgan's expression didn't change. Her voice dropped into a whisper, colder than ice.
"Call the Jedi Council. Right now. So I can declare all-out war and get rid of every last one of you."
Without a single movement of her hands, multiple pinkish portals tore open in the ceiling of reality. Above them, in the swirling darkness of the void, millions of unblinking eyes stared down—hungry, waiting.
The air became heavier. Breath harder to draw. Something ancient stirred behind the veil.
Morgan floated higher, her voice echoing now like the judgment of gods.
"And as a finisher... I'll let you choose. Do you want me to drop a moon on Coruscant?"
"Or shall I gift-wrap a Baanu Rass ship—one hundred and twenty kilometers long—and slam it into your Senate dome?"
Plagueis exhaled slowly, his voice level and grim. "Queen of Transfiguration... I propose one hundred and twenty thousand units for Sifo-Dyas's clone batch. And in addition, I offer you the full fund I previously gave him."
Sifo-Dyas turned, shocked. "You sure, Damask? That's seven hundred and fifty billion credits. You want to give her all your funds... in exchange for a small batch of clone troops?"
Plagueis didn't even look at him. "Do we have a choice, Sifo-Dyas?"
Sifo-Dyas said nothing more.
Above them, the portals in the sky pulsed once, then slowly began to dim, the hungry eyes retreating into the dark.
Morgan's undead smile twisted cruelly. "I accept... on behalf of the loser group."
Lama Su, ever efficient, stepped forward with perfect timing.
"I'll prepare the holo-page and the stylus. Please wait a moment, Your Majesty."
The holo-page flickered to life between them—two columns, two empires, two signatures.
On one side:
Sifo-Dyas—acquiring 120,000 clone units for the Republic, with clauses assigning 500 billion credits directly to the Queen of Transfiguration's account. Genetic template: To be determined by the Republic.
On the other:
Morgan (Queen of Transfiguration)—formalizing her 1,880,000-unit Zakuul Knights batch, separate and sovereign, immune to Republic jurisdiction. Completion schedule and conditions: under her sole authority.
Both signatures were signed. The page shimmered, then locked.
Sifo-Dyas looked up slowly, gaze full of controlled resentment.
"If the Republic turns to ash... it'll be because of this," he said.
"And when it happens, the Force will be with the Jedi. Always."
Morgan stared at him like he was beneath her attention.
"Are you quite finished? Then get out. You're the minor party in this room, Jedi. I still have an army in its infant stage to oversee—and your presence is bothering me."
Sifo-Dyas, leaning on his cane, turned first—silent, beaten, his resolve crumbling under the weight of what he had just witnessed. Behind him, Plagueis followed, his expression unreadable, composed only on the surface.
Sidious lingered.
Just for a few seconds more. His Sith eyes, barely contained by the strained contact lenses, flared through the artificial calm. His gaze locked with Morgan's, burning with seething hatred.
Morgan met it with nothing but an undead grin—twisted, mocking, slow. Her rotted lips barely moved as she raised one hand, making a small, deliberate gesture.
Next time… the motion said clearly.
I'll blow you apart with two hundred Fairy Death Knight bombs.
Sidious's hands clenched beneath his cloak. His teeth ground together. But he said nothing.
He turned with a final flare of his robes, face a mask of control.
I'll never forget this... Yogumunt, he thought viciously.
Then he followed his Master into the white halls of Kamino—silent, furious, and humiliated.
As the defeated trio—Sifo-Dyas, Plagueis, and Sidious—vanished down the pristine white corridors of Tipoca City, the air in the vast Cloning Laboratories began to settle.
Left behind, Morgan stood still among the glowing tanks and humming machines, surrounded by the faint scent of sterilization chemicals and filtered humidity.
"Lama Su," she said calmly, not turning.
"Are they far enough?"
"Yes, my queen," Lama Su answered with practiced precision. "The Jedi and the funder have reached the entrance of Tipoca City. They will be off-world in minutes."
Without another word, Morgan relaxed her posture.
A soft surge of blue light rippled over her body as the monstrous guise of the Monarch of Transfiguration dissolved into nothingness. The tattered cloak, the grotesque bone mask, the undead features—all gone.
In their place stood her true form.
Her hair was silver, straight, and luminous—falling like a veil down her back. Her skin was pale and flawless, her features refined. Piercing blue eyes, now sharp with authority, scanned the laboratory with royal ease. She wore a gown forged from high fantasy and gothic elegance: black-collared, dress bodice with intricate lacework and sweeping layered fabric. ( img here )
The Queen of Lostbelt England had returned.
Morgan exhaled once through her nose and muttered, "Acting is very annoying."
Taun We, standing at her side, tilted her head in polite confusion.
"I thought that was your true appearance, my queen."
Morgan offered a faint smirk.
"That's just the power gifted to me by the Shadow Monarch. I only wear it when I'm agitated... or playing a role."
Jin-Woo emerged silently from the swirling folds of shadow behind the cloning tanks, his presence descending over the room like a tide of calm, controlled pressure. His cloak barely shifted as he stepped forward, hands in his pockets, voice dry with amusement.
"Heh you'd actually use my worldship as leverage," he said. "I don't drop my Koros-Strohna worldship lightly—it's rare. And the Yuuzhan Vong? They're still very, very far away."
Morgan glanced at him over her shoulder, a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips.
"I needed to pressure the losing party until they were desperate," she replied smoothly. "Besides, we now have 500 billion credits sitting quietly on the landing pad—courtesy of said losers."
Lama Su turned his elongated gaze toward Jin-Woo, visibly contemplative.
"I see... so Sir Dark Knight is the true leader. The shadow that surrounds you is far more immense than that of the Queen of Transfiguration. That clears one of my lingering confusions. I always wondered why someone who speaks like a hardened veteran—someone who knows Kamino's nature well—would choose to act as second in command."
Morgan crossed her arms, clearly enjoying herself. "Because Jin-Woo dumps all the work on me. He likes being lazy."
Jin-Woo gave a faint, unrepentant shrug. "Right you are, morgan."