( 2100 words )
Below, Nihilus waited—hungry. The sky collapsed. . The heavens themselves folded inward and fell on him, layers of false cloud and reflected firmament crashing down like a continent inverted.
Nihilus laughed as it descended. "Hahahaha—"
The hunger flared. He reached out and drank. The falling sky thinned, unraveling into drained light as his presence consumed it mid-impact. Then his voice rolled out, swollen with contempt.
"Zhar'kul Katar… ni'vrae thren."
[I have already eaten this world.]
The ground trembled beneath his feet as he spread his arms.
"Kael'zaar tu'nakh," he continued, hunger sharpening. "Mor'eth shan ni'shaal."
[You will be here as my meal.]
The laughter died. The world blinked. Stone rearranged itself beneath him, ancient and deliberate. The air cooled. The sky above shifted into something unfamiliar—gray, heavy, watching. Nihilus turned slowly, senses expanding, then tightening.
This place was wrong. No planetary echo. familiar Force current. hunger feedback loop tied to a living world.
Lostbelt England.
Before he could adjust, the first Rhongomyniad struck.
White-gold spears tore through the sky in disciplined formation, lancing down toward him with the weight of judgment. Nihilus inhaled, instinctive, reaching to drain—
For the first time, his Force dimmed. The drain slid off them like breath against glass.
Nihilus' posture snapped tight. Red lightning exploded from his outstretched hand, tearing through one spear and shattering it midair in a violent detonation. The remaining lances did not slow.
They hit. The ground detonated as if holy relics had been buried beneath it and triggered all at once. Shockwaves tore outward. Stone vaporized. Light burned across Nihilus' form, scorching robes, cracking armor, forcing him back a step for the first time.
Nihilus straightened, charred and smoldering, hunger recoiling inward as his calculations shifted.
Then he saw her. One hundred meters away, upon a raised throne of pale stone and sigil-carved gold, Morgan le Fay sat in perfect composure. The sky above her was false but absolute, a sealed firmament of her choosing. Her posture was relaxed. Her authority was not.
She looked down at him.
"Welcome to Lostbelt England," Morgan said evenly. "Dead man of hunger."
Morgan's eyes didn't blink. "I hope English appetite suits you."
Nihilus answered by igniting his lightsaber, the blade burning red as he lunged straight at her, hunger compressing into violence.
Morgan had already seen it. She didn't move. "I'll leave the rest to you, Barghest."
The impact came from the side. Barghest crashed into Nihilus like a siege engine, her fist slamming into his ribs with brutal precision. The blow folded him sideways through the air, the sound sharp and wet, and she followed through without pause.
"You fight me first, dead man."
Nihilus staggered, coughing black fluid that splattered against the stone. Inside the robes and mask there was no true body to protect—only absence bound together by will, cloth, and hunger. The hit had gone through him anyway. Directly. No resistance. No buffer.
His stance shifted. This territory was wrong. Every breath here weakened him. The world refused to feed him properly, and the creature in front of him didn't wield the Force—yet every strike landed as if it ignored what he was. Unacceptable.
Behind Morgan, the arena erupted as Barghest pressed the attack. Blows detonated against stone. Shockwaves rolled outward. Fire and debris clawed at the air as Nihilus countered, then was driven back again, forced to fight for space he could barely hold.
Morgan walked away from the throne and onto the street below, unhurried, the violence continuing behind her like distant weather.
Baobhan Sith appeared at her side, eyes fixed on the explosions. "Mother," she said, uneasy but controlled, "I don't want to question your decision, but is this really wise? Bringing a dead man who devours worlds into England…."
Morgan didn't stop walking. "I need time," she replied calmly. "Time to reclaim every weapon England still has."
Another explosion thundered behind them as Barghest drove Nihilus across the arena floor.
"And I will not rely on my Monarch power yet," Morgan continued. "If I'm going to fight what's coming . It will be with the whole country."
Steel screamed. Barghest felt it before she saw it—the resistance vanish mid-swing. Her blade slid past Nihilus' lightsaber and split cleanly in two, the severed half spinning away and clattering across the stone.
She stopped. Then she smiled.
My queen was right. And my lord Jin-Woo too.
I should've amplified it with mana instead of trusting the blade.
She tossed the broken weapon aside without a second glance. Metal rang once, then went still.
Barghest rolled her shoulders and cracked her knuckles, bone popping with deliberate force. Doesn't matter anymore. Brute force is my style.
Across from her, Nihilus straightened. He felt dismissal.
His presence sharpened, irritation curdling into provocation. With a flick of his wrist, he hurled his lightsaber aside. It embedded itself into the arena wall, hissing as molten stone ran down around the blade. From within his robes, Sith knives tore free—dozens of them—spinning outward in a lethal halo before dropping to the ground around him like offerings.
He flexed his hands. Black cracks spidered along his gloves as power surged.
Barghest tilted her head. This monster… wants to fight me barehanded?
Nihilus' mask angled forward. His voice came out warped, eager, vibrating with hunger and challenge.
"Ghra'thaal… kora ven."
[Let us brawl.]
The arena went quiet for half a breath. Then Barghest stepped forward.
Nihilus did the same. They closed the distance until only a single meter separated them, pressure folding the air between monster and knight. Nihilus raised both hands, red Force lightning crackling around his fingers, the hunger compressing into violence. Barghest answered by flexing her fists as her knuckles thickened and hardened, claws growing over her gauntlets like living steel.
Nihilus struck first. The blow detonated between them.
His fist slammed into Barghest's arm and the impact thundered across the arena, shockwaves ripping outward as both were thrown back a half step. Bone and Force met head-on, neither yielding cleanly. Nihilus' arm twisted, structure unraveling—but he didn't slow. He was Sith. He had died long before becoming the Lord of Hunger. Flesh was optional. The arm reformed instantly from Force pressure and hanging cloth, shape held together by will alone.
He lunged again, this time reaching for her throat, hunger flaring as he tried to force-drain her directly, to choke and hollow her in one motion.
Barghest didn't retreat.
She surged forward instead.
Her fighting style was savage, unrestrained, all momentum and commitment. As Nihilus' hand closed in, she snapped forward and bit down on his arm. Her jaws clamped hard, teeth sinking in with a sound like metal shearing. The Force-built limb resisted for a fraction of a second—then gave.
Nihilus screamed.
"WAAAAAGHHHHH—"
The cry tore out of him as Barghest twisted her head and bit harder, refusing to let go. Her grip was predatory. She shook him, teeth grinding, trying to tear the arm free through sheer brutality.
Nihilus staggered, clawing at her, struggling to pull back as the hunger faltered under raw physical dominance. The arm stretched, Force structure destabilizing under the relentless pressure of her bite.
Barghest growled low in her throat and tightened her jaw. Then she moved.
She mauled Nihilus forward and slammed him bodily into the nearby wall, stone exploding outward as his back hit hard enough to crater it. Dust and debris burst into the air. Nihilus snarled and answered with rage, both hands flaring as red Force lightning detonated outward in a blinding surge.
The arena vanished in crimson light. Every bolt he had tore free at once, violent, uncontrolled, hunger screaming through the discharge. The ground cracked. The walls scorched. The air itself screamed under the strain.
Then— nothing touched the ground.
Nihilus felt it a half-second late. He was rising.
The lightning thinned and receded, leaving scorched air and drifting smoke. Nihilus looked down, disoriented, and realized his feet were no longer touching stone. His body hung suspended, dragged upward by something that refused to yield.
His arm. Still in Barghest's mouth.
He followed the line of force up and froze.
Barghest had grown. Her frame had expanded, muscles thickening, posture towering as she lifted him effortlessly off the ground with her jaws still locked around his arm. Her Galatine horn was gone, discarded, her expression feral and delighted. She held him there like a captured animal, teeth sunk deep, bite unrelenting. She smiled around the limb.
"I got y'… you asshh—ghh—hole," Barghest said, the words crushed and distorted by clenched teeth and blood. "Gh'try runnin' now."
Saliva and black fluid dripped from her mouth as she tightened her bite again, shaking him once for emphasis.
Barghest drove Nihilus straight down. She smashed him into the ground again and again, his masked head hammering stone with concussive force. Each impact cratered the arena floor, shockwaves rippling outward as dust and fractured rock burst into the air. Nihilus thrashed, lightning flaring wildly, but Barghest's grip never loosened.
Then it tore. With a final violent wrench of her head, Nihilus' arm severed completely. Force and cloth unraveled at once, the limb dissolving into drifting black ash between her teeth.
Barghest followed through. She brought her foot down like a siege hammer. The ground collapsed under the impact, a deep hole blown open as stone shattered and sank. When the dust settled, there was nothing left of Nihilus on the surface. Only scraps of cloth.
Barghest straightened, chest heaving, then threw her head back and roared up at the false sky. "CAN YOU HEAR ME, BELLION?" she shouted, voice echoing across Lostbelt England. "SUPREME COMMANDER OF THE SHADOW SOLDIERS. I DEFEATED A SITH. NEXT TIME—I'LL WIN AGAINST YOU."
Far away, at the threshold of her castle, Morgan le Fay watched through the reflected firmament. Baobhan Sith stood beside her, arms folded, gaze fixed on the ruined arena.
"Even if they share my name," Baobhan said dismissively, "Sith are nothing more than relics of the past. Not like what you warned us about, Mother."
Morgan lifted her teacup and took a slow sip. "My order to Barghest was to buy time," she said calmly. "Not to win."
She set the cup down, expression unreadable.
"You should have felt it," Morgan continued. "The dark side of the Force is unnatural to a frightening degree. If entities like that invade proper human history in earnest, They will rot it."
Morgan's voice lowered, precise and certain. "Nihilus will return."
A faint smile touched her lips as the mana in the air settled.
"And when he does," Morgan said calmly, "I will kill him."
On the arena floor, Barghest straightened in triumph, chest heaving. She looked up toward the false sky. "Can you hear me, my queen— I've wo—"
Impact. Her right arm vanished in a blur of invisible force. There was no warning, pressure spike she could brace against. The severed limb was torn away and hurled across the horizon, crashing into a distant mountain hard enough to split stone and send a shockwave rolling back across the arena.
Barghest dropped to one knee. The ground trembled.
Cloth stirred.
What remained of Nihilus began to move. Scraps of fabric twitched, then drew together as if pulled by threads no one could see. Black cloth knitted itself back into form, folding and layering, runes igniting across it in burning red lines. A cloak took shape—tattered, heavy—etched with Sith script His mask reformed last, skeletal and cracked, molten lines glowing through it as if something furious burned underneath. His eyes were empty.. Waiting.
Behind him, ghostly red spirits drifted into being, circling, whispering, remnants of things already consumed.
Barghest forced herself upright, still towering, still massive—but for the first time, fear showed on her face. Her voice came out rough. "What kind of abomination are you?"
Nihilus didn't advance. He only spoke, the same truth he had always carried.
"Na'hk ir shaal," his voice pressed outward, layered with hunger.
[I am hungry.]