Jin-Woo didn't even blink. He reached inward—and unleashed it.
"[Force Enrage.]" His body ignited with power. Black and violet lightning licked across his armor. His muscles surged, veins glowing beneath his skin. Shadows twisted around him like a living cloak.
And then— He moved again. He extended his arm—open palm facing a squad trying to retreat up the arena walls.
"[Force Push.]" BOOM. The blast was like a bomb going off.
Ten men were launched into the stone. They hit so hard that bones shattered like glass. Some exploded on impact—mushed like crushed strawberries, blood painting the walls.
Screams filled the air. Panic turned to madness.
The arena—once built for sport—was now a butcher's gallery. The sand had turned to mud, soaked in blood and scorched black by lightning and rage. What remained of the fighters in the arena panicked, stampeding toward exits, some clawing, some leaping—anything to escape the madness.
But no escape would come. Not while he still stood. This wasn't a fight anymore. It was slaughter.
Jin-Woo stood motionless at the center of the devastation. His shadow stretched unnaturally long, flickering with dark tendrils.
And then… he saw it. The final opportunity.
He raised his hand—calmly—and from his palm, a silver, liquid-like sphere began to form. It hovered, humming with low, apocalyptic energy.
A forbidden Sith technique—one long buried and outlawed by any who still feared what the Force could do.
[The Thought Bomb.]
But this was no ordinary version. Jin-Woo had modified it. Targeting only his enemies.
The sphere pulsed once, now attuned to every hostile intent within the arena. Dozens of survivors—mercenaries, bounty hunters, gladiators—saw him preparing something, and in blind desperation, they all opened fire.
Blaster bolts rained from every direction—red, green, and yellow flashes—dozens converging toward Jin-Woo like a burning meteor swarm.
But— They stopped. Inches from his face.
The air rippled. Frozen bolts hovered, suspended in place, humming in defiance of physics.
Jin-Woo smiled behind his mask.
And whispered: "Break."
He snapped his fingers. FLASH. The Thought Bomb detonated.
A white explosion—so blinding, so pure in its horror—rippled outward. A shockwave cracked through the arena. The light pierced stone, flesh, and thought alike. Screams were silenced mid-breath.
When the glow dissipated…
Only Caij Vanda Sr. remained.
She knelt at the edge of the arena, still clutching her severed arm, eyes wide, mouth trembling, half-mad from the aftershock.
Around her? Nothing but skeletons.
Thousands of them. Piled. Twisted. Crumbled. Every enemy Jin-Woo had marked—gone, their bodies stripped of soul and thought in an instant.
And at the center, where the Thought Bomb had been cast, now hovered a single sphere—smaller now—but glowing more violently than before. Inside it? Thousands of writhing red dots. Each one a trapped soul. Each one a screaming echo of a man or woman who had dared to raise a weapon.
Jin-Woo stepped forward, calm, unreadable. His armor barely scratched. Smoke trailed from his boots.
He raised one hand—casually—and gave a thumbs up over his shoulder, as if this had all been part of some twisted routine. Then he turned to the glowing sphere. His voice came . "They're not gone," he said. "They're just… trapped."
The sphere pulsed vibrating with unseen agony. The souls inside screamed, unheard by all but him.
Jin-Woo stepped forward, calm, unreadable. His armor barely scratched. Smoke still trailed from his boots .
He walked slowly toward Caij Vanda Sr., the only survivor still clinging to life amidst a graveyard of bones. She trembled, clutching her torn shoulder, her breathing ragged. At her side—half-buried in the sand—were two weapons that didn't belong.
two lightsabers not picador spear . as jin woo look closer
Jin-Woo paused. His eyes scanned the hilts—each one scarred, worn, and unmistakably authentic. He didn't speak aloud. Instead, he reached into her mind like a whisper behind the eyes.
"Where did you get these?"
Caij Vanda Sr.'s mouth twitched. Her eyes widened in confusion, and she gasped out:
"I killed them… for the Hutt Clan."
The words spilled out without thought. Her hand flew to her mouth—but too late.
Why did I just say that?!
Jin-Woo grinned under his mask. Perfect and use another [ projective telepathy ] .
A scapegoat, clean and effortless. A reason for the massacre. A story to spin. A war to ignite.
He knelt beside her,. "Which one?"
She whimpered. "…Both. Jabba… and Ziro… they wanted the Jedi dead. They want to overthrow the Republic."
Around them, the crowd had gone deathly quiet. Whispers began. Then murmurs. Then heated muttering and fearful glances as the story spread like wildfire.
Jabba and Ziro plotted to kill Jedi.
Jabba and Ziro armed bounty hunters with Jedi weapon.
Jabba and Ziro caused this.
Ziro the Hutt froze in his seat, his jeweled goblet slipping from his stubby fingers, crashing to the floor. He swallowed thickly, cold sweat forming across his grotesque face.
I didn't want that… I didn't! Even if I wanted to kill a Jedi, I'd do it in the dark—quiet, discreet! this was suicide!
Jabba remained still. But his eyes now glassy and wide. Slowly, silently, he lifted one fat hand and took a long gulp of spice wine. To stop himself from trembling.
On the arena floor, Jin-Woo stood tall. The twin lightsaber hilts gleamed in his hands. Trophies, soaked in the blood of their original wielders. He clipped both to his belt with finality. . Evidence of betrayal now claimed by a far greater monster.
Caij Vanda Sr. stumbled to her feet, her mangled arm wrapped tight in scorched cloth. She hissed through clenched teeth, one trembling hand pulling free a silver sphere—its red light blinking. A thermal detonator. Primed. Live.
She held it up. Her voice cracked, half-panicked, half-defiant.
"No sudden moves," she snarled. "Give me those lightsabers back, masked man. The woman with the detonator gets what she wants."
Jin-Woo didn't flinch. He didn't even blink.
In a blur, his hand reached out—and snatched the detonator from her grip. The crowd gasped.
Jin-Woo tilted the device once in his palm… then pressed the activation node.
The blinking light red. He turned it in his fingers like a toy, then looked directly into her wide, terrified eyes.
"Let's count down together," he said,.
"Five." "Four." "Three.""Two."
Her legs buckled. She backed away. She turned.
"One."
He dropped the detonator at her feet—just as she turned to run.
The explosion wasn't loud—it was final.
A single concussive burst. Light. Bone. Shattered flesh.
When the smoke cleared, only a parts of body remained.
Jin-Woo stood untouched,. His mask turned slowly toward the royal box above, now deathly silent.
He raised his gaze—unblinking—and spoke clearly, coldly:
"Send the rest."
Then— CLANG—
A helmet soared from the gate, spinning through the air and slamming into the sand just inches from Jin-Woo's head. .
From the massive blast gate at the arena's far edge, a towering figure strode into view. Broad. Armored. Covered in a grotesque mix of red and green fluids that dripped from his plating.
The crowd leaned in, murmurs swelling like a wave.
Ziro the Hutt stood up sharply in his seat, his painted eyes widening.
"GOOOOOO—DURGEEEEEE!!" he shrieked.
Gasps and murmurs echoed through the stands.
"Durge? That's Durge?"
"Isn't he immortal?"
"I thought he was a myth—!"
The Gen'Dai warrior stopped in the center of the field. His masked face turned toward Jin-Woo, unreadable behind the cracked visor. But his voice—deep, carried through the entire arena, clear and bitter.
"I was once buried alive for sixty years," Durge snarled. "If that didn't kill me…
If the Sith couldn't… If the Mandalorians couldn't…
If the Bloodboilers of Kragis couldn't…"
He took a step forward, his boots thudding heavily against the blood-drenched sand.
"Then you… will not kill me."
Jin-Woo didn't respond right away. Then, with a slow tilt of his head, he extended his right arm forward—fingers spread. "Let's see. How about… no."
CRACK—KZAAAAAM! [ Force lightning ] A spear of black lightning erupted from his hand. The air twisted violently as the bolt screamed across the arena, its shadow-charged surge aimed directly for Durge.
Durge didn't dodge. instead, his left arm snapped forward—deploying a curving shield made of warped energy plating and coiling biomass. The lightning struck and spread across it, arcing wildly—but instead of penetrating, it was absorbed and redirected, diffusing to the side in a howling burst of smoke and static.
Durge laughed—a garbled, bubbling growl. He lowered the shield, his eyes glinting behind the cracked mask.
"A Sith, ?" he rasped. "Shouldn't you be holed up with the rest? Or maybe rotting with the ruins of the old Sith Empire?"
Jin-Woo exhaled sharply through his nose, then replied dryly.
"I guess the two thousand five hundred remaining warriors are still being dramatic. What a nuisance."
Durge cracked his knuckles. His body shifted, stretching unnaturally. Black tendrils snapped into place across his limbs, reattaching muscle and tightening armor seals.
"They already get crushed," Durge muttered, voice like a growl slithering through static. "As I move through them—to get to you."
BOOM— He moved. Blur-speed.
The ground behind him exploded from the raw kinetic backlash. His form became a missile of mass and muscle, barreling across the arena toward Jin-Woo with monstrous speed. He closed the distance in an instant.
Jin-Woo didn't flinch. He met him head-on.
CRASH—! Fist collided with fist.
A deafening shockwave tore across the field as their knuckles met. Jin-Woo's arm vibrated from the impact, but he pushed harder—more force, more weight, more shadow-wrapped strength.
Durge met him, bone and sinew tightening, matching him blow for blow.
BRAWK—THUD—CRACK—
Fists slammed again. And again. Fifteen seconds of raw power—striking, countering, hammering each other in rapid, brutal succession. The arena shook with each hit. Metal groaned beneath the sand. Sparks burst from their armor as the two titans brawled like gods in close-quarters.
Then Jin-Woo made a move—just a flicker of a shift. He broke the clash, sliding one foot back, opening a gap.
His hand moved fast—ready to unleash something devastating.
But Durge saw it. He knew. Jin-Woo had misread the momentum.
Durge didn't hesitate. With a heavy twist, he activated the hidden thruster on his back—VROOOOM—a sudden burst of heat and flame propelling him forward with brutal acceleration.
"Got you," Durge growled.
BOOOOM— His armored fist slammed straight into Jin-Woo's chest—directly into the reinforced Revan-style armor.
THRACK—!!
Jin-Woo barely managed to bring his arm down to block—but the force blew through it. His arm snapped, bone fracturing from the sheer impact. A concussive shockwave shot through his ribs.
WHAM—!
Jin-Woo's body rocketed backward like a cannonball, soaring through the air—then SLAMMING into the arena wall with earth-shattering force.
KRRAAAKKK—!!
Dust exploded outward in a violent wave. The wall caved inward, stone and metal shattering as his body broke through, buried beneath a collapsed section of the arena's perimeter.
The crowd gasped. A heavy silence fell over the arena. stunned disbelief.
Durge stood unmoved in the center of the field, smoke hissing from the thruster on his back. He rolled his shoulders, armor cracking and flexing with unnatural elasticity.
Then, coldly, he growled toward the crater.
"Get up. We're not done yet."