The rise of a Darth

400 Years Before the Battle of Yavin

The man awoke in darkness. He had no memory of how he had arrived, only that moments before, he had been somewhere else—someone else. Now, he was in a tomb, the air thick with the scent of decay and the hum of something ancient.

His body ached as he pushed himself to his feet. The chamber was carved from black stone, illuminated by eerie red runes pulsating with power. A name echoed in his mind, whispered by unseen voices.

"Korriban."

The realization sent a shiver through him. He was in the heart of the Sith, in the Valley of the Dark Lords. But how? That question would have to wait.

The air stirred, and shadows deepened. Spectral figures emerged from the walls, their glowing eyes piercing into him. He recognized them instantly from stories and holocrons—Marka Ragnos, Naga Sadow, Ajunta Pall, Revan, and Sorzus Syn.

"You have been chosen," Ragnos declared, his voice like a rumble of thunder. "You stand at the precipice of power. Will you embrace your destiny?"

The man's heart pounded, but something deep within him stirred. He had no choice. He knelt before them.

"Teach me."

Years Passed in Darkness

Time was meaningless in the tombs of Korriban. The spirits were relentless in their training. Marka Ragnos instilled in him the strength of a warrior, teaching him the art of domination and fear. Naga Sadow showed him the ways of Sith sorcery, how to bend the Force to shatter minds and warp reality. Ajunta Pall taught him the philosophy of the Sith, the true nature of power. Revan, enigmatic as ever, revealed the intricacies of strategy and manipulation. And Sorzus Syn, master of Sith alchemy, guided him in the creation of dark artifacts and monstrous abominations.

The man was no more. In his place stood something else—something greater.

One final lesson awaited him. The spirits summoned a blade, a Sith warblade infused with pure Dark Side energy. They spoke as one.

"To complete your training, you must sever the last ties of who you were. Take your Sith name."

He gripped the weapon, feeling the raw power surge through him. A single name came to him, drawn from the depths of his soul.

"Darth Dioltas."

The tomb shuddered as the spirits roared in approval.

The Return to the Galaxy

Darth Dioltas emerged from the Valley of the Dark Lords, a storm of power in human form. His eyes burned with the fire of the Dark Side, his mind sharpened by centuries of Sith knowledge. He gazed upon the stars and knew his purpose.

The Sith were fractured, hidden in the shadows, clinging to the Rule of Two. It was weakness. He would change that. He would forge a new order, one of strength, conquest, and absolute power.

The galaxy would soon tremble at the return of the true Sith.

Darth Dioltas had risen. And he would not be stopped.

Chapter 2: The Galaxy Beckons

The tombs of Korriban had been his prison, his training ground, and his sanctuary. For years, Darth Dioltas had delved into the ancient Sith teachings, guided by the spirits of Marka Ragnos, Naga Sadow, Ajunta Pall, Revan, and Sorzus Syn. The power they had imparted to him was vast, but there was more to discover—more to conquer.

His training complete, Dioltas stood at the edge of the tombs, looking toward the stars. He had learned much, but the galaxy was a vast, unknown place. Korriban was no longer a place of growth for him. He needed to explore—to discover the galaxy's secrets and, in turn, unlock even more of his potential.

In a dark, forgotten corner of the tombs, he found it—an old Sith shuttle, long abandoned by those who had come before him. The vessel was ancient, but still functional. With a few gestures and a concentrated push of the Force, he activated its dormant systems. It sputtered to life, its engines humming, ready to carry him beyond the boundaries of Korriban.

Dioltas set off into the galaxy, seeking to forge a path of his own. He knew his destiny lay not in hiding away in the shadows of Sith history, but in stepping into the world beyond, to see what he could shape, what he could become.

A Galaxy of Possibilities

For years, Dioltas wandered. He visited countless planets, some bustling with life, others near forgotten in the fringes of space. From the deep forests of Kashyyyk to the seedy cantinas of Tatooine, he traveled aimlessly, searching for something—anything—that could give him purpose beyond the teachings of the ancient Sith.

He had no grand ambition, no empire in mind, just a hunger to see the galaxy and learn from its people. In his travels, he began to meet others—individuals who, like him, seemed to be seeking something they could not name. Force-sensitive beings, some aware of their powers, others entirely unaware, but all with potential.

Dioltas did not care for race, creed, or background. He recognized the potential in others and, instead of following the Rule of Two, he decided to pass on what he had learned. He was not yet a master of the galaxy, not yet powerful enough to demand complete loyalty, but he had something to offer—knowledge.

On a remote world, he encountered a young human, a street thief with a hidden connection to the Force. The boy was quick, clever, and able to manipulate the people around him with ease, but his abilities were raw, untapped. Dioltas saw his potential. He offered him a choice: become stronger, learn to wield the Force as a true Sith, or continue a life of petty crime. The boy accepted, eager for a new purpose. He took the name Darth Vhorath.

On the jungle world of Kashyyyk, Dioltas found a Wookiee—strong, proud, and capable of surviving the harshest conditions. This Wookiee, however, was lost. His village had been destroyed by invaders, and he had turned his rage into a force of chaos. Dioltas took him under his wing, teaching him how to channel that anger into something more controlled, something more powerful. The Wookiee became Darth Korr.

Dioltas found strength in each of them, but his own power was not so immense that he could control them outright. He did not seek to bend them to his will, only to guide them toward the path he had taken. They would grow as they were ready, but Dioltas made no demands. He was not a ruler. He was a teacher.

The Path Ahead

As the years passed, Dioltas continued to travel the galaxy, searching for more like-minded individuals. He had no need for servants or subjects. He wanted to form a loose, informal order—not an empire, but a fellowship of the strong. His apprentices were not yet warriors of legend, but they were capable and growing stronger with every passing year.

But he knew that his journey was far from over. The galaxy was full of people with untapped potential, and he intended to help them discover it, to show them the path to greater power.

Dioltas was no conqueror, no tyrant. He was not bent on domination or control. Instead, he envisioned

Chapter 3: Bonds of the Dark Side

Darth Dioltas sat in the shadows of a dimly lit cantina on the remote planet of Ord Mantell. The air was thick with the smells of alcohol, sweat, and desperation. Conversations buzzed around him—drunk gamblers arguing over credits, smugglers swapping stories of near-misses with bounty hunters. It was a perfect place to blend in, unnoticed, and to find what he was searching for: more potential.

Over the years, his small group of apprentices had grown in strength, each of them honing their skills in the dark arts, but Dioltas knew that he could never remain in one place for too long. The galaxy was vast, and the Dark Side was everywhere, in everyone, if one knew where to look. He had seen how the Force could manifest in the most unlikely of individuals: street urchins, mercenaries, traders, even the downtrodden. His goal was not to rule with an iron fist but to bring together those who had the will to shape the galaxy, to show them that the Dark Side was not a curse, but a tool, an avenue for growth and strength.

His latest stop on this endless journey had brought him here, to the gritty underworld of Ord Mantell. It was a world full of lost souls, discarded by the rest of the galaxy. Here, Dioltas felt the currents of the Force swirling more potently than in many other places. He could sense it—there was potential everywhere, but there was one presence that caught his attention above the others.

A man, sitting at a corner booth, hunched over a half-drained glass of Corellian whiskey. His eyes were dark, tired, but something else glimmered within them—a spark of defiance, of ambition. He had the demeanor of someone who had been through hardship and who had learned to survive by any means necessary. This man was not unlike Dioltas himself, once lost, once searching.

Dioltas rose from his seat and moved toward the man. His footsteps were silent, blending with the sounds of the cantina, but the man's eyes flicked up just as Dioltas reached the table. The recognition was immediate, like a subtle echo in the Force.

"You're not from around here," the man said, his voice gruff but not unwelcoming.

Dioltas smiled slightly, taking a seat without waiting for an invitation. "No, I'm not. But I sense you have potential. You've been searching for something, haven't you?"

The man's eyes narrowed, wary but intrigued. "What do you want?"

"I can offer you what you've been looking for," Dioltas replied, his tone calm but firm. "You've felt the darkness, haven't you? That power deep within, the pull of the Force. You're no stranger to it."

The man hesitated, then chuckled softly. "Force-sensitive? Me? I'm no Jedi, and I'm not interested in playing at being some kind of sorcerer. I'm just trying to get by."

"You've been trying to get by your whole life," Dioltas said, leaning in. "Surviving isn't enough. It's not enough to be strong. You must learn to control that strength, to wield it."

For a long moment, the man stared at Dioltas, his expression unreadable. Then, almost imperceptibly, his posture shifted. "And what do you want in return?"

Dioltas considered him for a moment before answering, "Nothing but your loyalty, your commitment to the Dark Side. If you choose this path, it will be your power, your destiny. But you'll never be alone again. You will be part of something greater. You will never have to fight alone."

The man studied Dioltas, clearly skeptical but also curious. "So what now? Do I kneel? Take some title?"

Dioltas shook his head. "No, you stand. You rise with the power the Dark Side offers. But first, you prove that you can handle it. You don't need titles, you need discipline. You need to train."

"Training, huh?" The man smirked. "I don't need a tutor. I can handle myself."

"You can," Dioltas replied, leaning back in his chair. "But can you handle the Force?"

The challenge hung in the air, and after a long silence, the man finally spoke. "Alright. I'm in."

Dioltas smiled, his eyes burning with a quiet satisfaction. "Good. Then from this moment forward, you are my apprentice. Take the name Darth Rax."

The man nodded, a grim determination settling over him. "Darth Rax," he repeated, testing the name on his tongue. "I like it."

A Growing Order

Darth Rax became Dioltas's newest apprentice, and as time passed, Dioltas continued to find others like him—disillusioned, strong-willed individuals with the potential to harness the Dark Side. Each new recruit brought something different to the table, whether it was raw strength, cunning intelligence, or mastery over the Force. But no matter their skill, Dioltas treated them all the same: as equals on the same journey.

He would not force them to kneel to him, but instead, he sought to form a family of sorts. They were not simply tools to be used and discarded, but companions in a shared purpose—learning the true power of the Dark Side.

Dioltas never forgot his own past—the sense of being lost, of searching for something greater than mere survival. He had found that power in the Dark Side, and now, he was offering it to others.

And though his ambitions had tempered over the years, no longer consumed by the idea of absolute domination, there was still a fire within him—a quiet desire to build something lasting, something strong. A place for those who had nowhere else to turn, for those who sought power not to rule, but to free themselves from the constraints of a galaxy that had never cared for them.

They would rise together, as one.

Chapter 4: A Different Path

The desert winds of Ando Prime howled as Darth Dioltas pulled his hood tighter over his head. The world was a frozen wasteland, a stark contrast to the dry heat of Korriban, yet the Force was strong here, pulsing beneath the surface. He had sensed it the moment he landed—something was happening. Something that called to him.

He followed the pull of the Force through the narrow streets of a small settlement. The people here were simple, living harsh lives under the constant struggle of the cold. But today, the village was tense. Dioltas could feel the weight of their fear, their uncertainty.

Then he saw the source.

Near the center of the village, a small group had gathered outside a modest home. Two figures in brown robes stood at the door, speaking in calm but insistent tones to the woman who lived there. She was young, barely more than a girl, cradling a small child in her arms. Her face was drawn with exhaustion, but her grip on the child was fierce, protective.

Dioltas moved closer, listening.

"Your child is special," one of the Jedi was saying, his voice soft but firm. "She has a great destiny ahead of her. The Jedi Order can train her, guide her. We can give her a better life."

The mother shook her head. "She has a life here. With me."

"You don't understand," the other Jedi interjected, her tone slightly more forceful. "She is strong in the Force. That kind of power is dangerous if left unchecked. If we don't train her, she could hurt herself—or others."

Dioltas narrowed his eyes. He had heard words like these before, had read about them in the histories left behind in the tombs of Korriban. The Jedi claimed to be protectors, but all too often, they took what they wanted under the guise of righteousness.

The young mother held her child even closer. "She is my daughter," she whispered. "I won't let you take her."

One of the Jedi sighed, as if disappointed. "The Republic allows us to take Force-sensitive children into our care for their own protection."

"For the greater good," the other added.

Dioltas had heard enough.

"Interesting how the Jedi preach peace," he said, stepping forward, his voice carrying despite the wind, "and yet, when faced with a mother's love, you resort to coercion."

The Jedi turned, startled. They hadn't sensed him approach. That alone told Dioltas they were either weak or too sure of themselves.

"This does not concern you, traveler," the male Jedi said, his expression guarded.

Dioltas ignored the remark, turning his gaze to the young mother. "Do you want them here?"

She shook her head immediately, eyes filled with desperation. "No."

Dioltas looked back at the Jedi. "You heard her. Leave."

The female Jedi frowned. "You don't understand what's at stake. If this child is not trained, she could become a danger to herself and others. We are offering her a future."

"A future dictated by the Jedi," Dioltas countered. "One where she is stripped from her family, molded into something you deem acceptable." He stepped forward, lowering his hood, his piercing gaze locking onto the two Jedi. "Tell me, did you even give her a choice?"

The Jedi hesitated, exchanging glances. "The Jedi Code—"

"Is flawed," Dioltas cut in. "You act as if you are the only ones who can teach the Force, as if you alone have the right to determine who is worthy of power." His voice hardened. "You call the Sith tyrants, yet you steal children under the guise of protection. What is the difference between you and the very darkness you claim to fight?"

The male Jedi's hand twitched near his belt. "Be careful with your words, stranger."

Dioltas chuckled softly. "Or what? You'll strike me down? Because I question your self-righteousness?" He shook his head. "You don't frighten me, Jedi."

The young mother shifted, cradling her child protectively. "Please," she whispered. "Just leave us alone."

The Jedi hesitated, but the resolve in their eyes was clear. They were not going to leave willingly.

Dioltas sighed, disappointed but unsurprised. "Very well. If you will not listen to reason, then perhaps you will listen to something else."

Without warning, he reached out with the Force and pushed. The air around them crackled as an invisible wave of power slammed into the Jedi, sending them stumbling backward. They caught themselves quickly, lightsabers igniting in twin flashes of blue.

Dioltas did not draw his weapon. He simply stood there, calm, waiting.

The female Jedi stepped forward cautiously. "You're Sith, aren't you?"

"I am someone who believes in choice," he replied. "Unlike you."

The Jedi hesitated, perhaps realizing that engaging him in combat might not end well. Dioltas could feel their uncertainty, their doubt. He had planted the seed, and now it was growing.

Slowly, he extended a hand toward the mother. "The choice should be yours." He turned his gaze back to the Jedi. "Not theirs."

The mother swallowed hard, then lifted her chin. "I said no."

The Jedi exchanged another look, and after a long moment, they deactivated their sabers.

"This is a mistake," the male Jedi said bitterly.

Dioltas smirked. "That's not your decision to make."

The Jedi turned and walked away, their robes billowing behind them. Dioltas watched them go, ensuring they would not return. When they finally disappeared into the cold mist, he turned back to the mother.

"You will not see them again," he assured her.

Tears welled in her eyes, but she nodded. "Thank you."

Dioltas hesitated for a moment before speaking. "Your daughter… she is strong in the Force. If you ever wish for her to learn to wield it on her own terms, seek me out."

The mother looked down at her child, then back at him. "I don't know what the future holds," she admitted. "But… if she does learn, I want it to be her choice."

Dioltas gave a slow nod. "As it should be."

Without another word, he turned and disappeared into the mist, leaving the mother and child to their lives—free from the chains the Jedi had tried to place upon them.

Chapter 5: Whispers in the Council

The Jedi Temple on Coruscant stood as a beacon of light and order, its grand spires piercing the sky above the bustling city below. Within its halls, wisdom and discipline shaped the future of the Jedi Order. But today, the Council Chamber was filled with unease.

Two Jedi Knights, Master Kelen Vos and Knight Senna Kai, stood before the assembled Council. Their faces bore no physical wounds, but their expressions spoke of a battle lost—not with sabers, but with words.

Grand Master Moryn Saal, an aged Ithorian with deep-set eyes, regarded them with quiet intensity. His long fingers tapped rhythmically against the armrest of his chair. Beside him, Masters of various species and disciplines listened intently, their expressions ranging from curiosity to concern.

Kelen Vos was the first to speak. "We encountered an unknown Force-wielder on Ando Prime, Master. One who prevented us from taking a child strong in the Force into the Jedi Order."

There was a murmur among the Council members.

Master Uvel Dray, a human with graying hair, leaned forward. "Prevented you? How?"

Senna Kai shifted uncomfortably. "Through manipulation," she admitted. "He twisted the mother's fears, turned her against us. And when that wasn't enough… he used the Force."

A heavy silence filled the chamber.

Master Saal's deep, rumbling voice finally broke it. "Describe this individual."

Kelen exhaled slowly. "Tall. Strong in the Force, but his presence was… different. Dark, but not like a Sith. He did not attack us outright, nor did he attempt to turn the child or the mother. He simply… opposed us. And when we would not back down, he used a Force push to drive us away."

Master Selaya Venn, a Togruta known for her deep insight into the Force, frowned. "Did he wield a lightsaber?"

Senna shook her head. "Not once."

The room remained silent for a moment longer before Master Dray spoke again. "And his ideology? Did he claim allegiance to the Sith?"

Kelen hesitated. "No. But he was no Jedi either. He challenged our right to take the child, said that the Jedi are no different from the Sith because we do not offer a choice."

There was another murmur, this time heavier with tension.

Master Sol Dorran, a stern-looking Mirialan, narrowed his eyes. "That is the rhetoric of the fallen. Of those who seek to undermine our Order."

Selaya Venn was more thoughtful. "Perhaps. Or perhaps it is the rhetoric of one who has walked a different path."

"Regardless," Master Dray cut in, "his actions pose a danger. If word spreads that the Jedi can be defied, that parents can refuse us and be protected by unknown Force-wielders, it will set a dangerous precedent."

Master Saal let out a long, measured breath. "You believe this man is recruiting?"

Kelen nodded. "I do. He did not seem like a lone wanderer. He spoke with purpose, as if he had already trained others. If left unchecked, he could form a faction outside our control."

The chamber was silent once more. Then, Master Saal spoke again, his voice heavy with thought. "If he is neither Jedi nor Sith, then what is he?"

No one had an answer.

Finally, Master Venn spoke. "We must find him. If he is a threat, he must be stopped. If he can be reasoned with, perhaps we can learn from him."

Sol Dorran scoffed. "And if he refuses to be reasoned with?"

Master Dray's gaze darkened. "Then we ensure he does not interfere again."

Master Saal raised a hand, signaling for silence. He turned to Kelen and Senna. "You have done well to bring this to our attention. For now, you will return to your duties. The Council will deliberate on how to proceed."

Kelen bowed. "Yes, Master."

As the two Jedi left the chamber, the Council remained in uneasy discussion.

They did not yet know the name of the one who defied them.

But they would find him.

Chapter 6: The Path of Strength

Deep in the shadowed jungles of Dromund Kaas, lightning split the sky, illuminating the towering ruins of an ancient Sith temple. The rain poured in thick sheets, soaking the dark stone and those who stood in its presence. The air was heavy with the Dark Side, thick with the raw, unrestrained energy of those who gathered here—acolytes of Darth Dioltas, each one chosen for their strength, their potential, and their willingness to defy the Jedi's rigid philosophy.

Dioltas stood at the highest point of the ruined structure, looking down upon the newest initiates who had traveled from across the galaxy to seek power. Some had been outcasts, others former slaves, mercenaries, even former Jedi who had turned away from their Order's doctrine. They stood in the mud and rain, unshaken, waiting for their trials to begin.

At his side stood his most trusted apprentices, those who had already been forged in the crucible of the Dark Side and had survived to emerge stronger. Among them was Darth Rax, once a bitter soldier lost in the underworld, now a fierce warrior who had embraced the teachings of Dioltas and taken an apprentice of his own. There was Nyra Vail, a former Jedi Padawan who had seen the hypocrisy of the Order and turned away, her mind sharp as a blade, her skill with the Force growing stronger by the day. Others stood with them, each marked by their own path to power.

Dioltas finally spoke, his voice carrying over the storm like a phantom's whisper.

"You stand here today because you seek something greater," he said, pacing before them, his crimson cloak billowing in the wind. "You seek strength. Freedom. Purpose." He gestured toward the apprentices standing beside him. "These ones were once like you—raw, untrained, uncertain. Now, they wield the Force as their own, no longer bound by the chains of weakness."

He descended the steps, stepping into the mud with the new acolytes, towering over them. His piercing gaze met each of theirs, testing them before their trials had even begun.

"But power is not given," he continued, voice dark and steady. "It is earned. And here, you will earn it or you will fall. The Force does not pity the weak."

One of the new acolytes, a Zabrak male with deep scars across his face, took a step forward. "I am ready," he declared, his voice filled with arrogance.

Dioltas merely watched him. Then, with a flick of his wrist, he sent the Zabrak flying backward with the Force, slamming him into the temple wall. The others stepped back in alarm, but Dioltas did not move from where he stood.

"You do not declare yourself ready," he said, his voice cold. "You prove it."

The Zabrak groaned, struggling to rise. He did not cry out. Good. He had strength, but he needed discipline.

Dioltas turned away, nodding to his apprentices. "Take them. Train them as I trained you. If they break, they were never meant for this path."

Darth Rax stepped forward, a wicked grin on his face. "Come, weaklings. If you survive, you may one day stand among us."

The acolytes were divided into smaller groups, each assigned to a trained apprentice. The training began immediately, with each master testing their new students through trials of endurance, combat, and control over the Force.

The Forge of the Dark Side

Days turned into weeks, and the jungle became their crucible. Training was relentless, brutal. There were no second chances. Some acolytes perished, unable to endure the physical and mental torment required to wield the Dark Side. Others flourished, growing in strength as they learned to channel their emotions into raw power.

Dioltas watched it all unfold from the shadows, his presence a constant, unseen force pressing upon his followers. He did not interfere unless necessary, for it was not his place to coddle them. Only those strong enough to teach themselves would be worthy of the knowledge he possessed.

But there were those who stood out.

A Twi'lek girl named Sira, small and quiet, but with a mind sharper than most. She did not fight with brute strength but with precision, outmaneuvering opponents before they could strike.

A Devaronian warrior, Orvos, who never hesitated, never showed fear, meeting every challenge head-on with a ferocity that even Darth Rax had come to admire.

And there was the Mirialan, Veylin, a former Jedi Knight who had defected, his heart filled with quiet resentment toward his old masters. Unlike the others, his power did not stem from rage, but from a cold, calculated understanding of the Force's true nature.

One night, as the acolytes rested after another grueling day, Dioltas gathered his apprentices. The firelight flickered against the darkened walls of the temple, shadows dancing around them.

"You have done well," he told them, his voice low but firm. "You have forged strength where there was weakness. You are no longer students. You are masters in your own right." He looked at each of them in turn. "It is time for you to take your own apprentices."

Darth Rax nodded, his grin returning. "About time. I've been waiting to pass down my lessons."

Nyra Vail smirked. "Try not to break them too quickly, Rax."

Dioltas raised a hand for silence. "Each of you will choose from those who have survived. Teach them, push them beyond their limits. And if they prove unworthy—cut them down."

He let the weight of his words settle over them.

"We do not build an army," he continued. "We build something greater. A legacy of those who understand what true power means. Who stand together, not as masters and servants, but as equals in the Dark Side."

His apprentices bowed their heads in understanding.

The training would never end. But through it, their numbers would grow.

And soon, the galaxy would know their name.

Chapter 7: The Trials of Dxun

The thick canopy of Dxun's jungle blocked out most of the sky, leaving only faint traces of light to pierce through the endless sea of gnarled branches and twisted vines. The air was damp, heavy with the scent of rotting vegetation and the ever-present stench of blood. The world itself was a crucible—an unforgiving landscape where only the strong survived.

It was the perfect place for a trial.

Darth Dioltas stood atop a crumbling ruin, remnants of an ancient Mandalorian outpost long claimed by nature. Before him, kneeling in the mud, were his newest apprentices—six individuals, each unique in their strengths, but all drawn to the power he promised.

A Weequay warrior, hardened by years of mercenary work. A former Jedi initiate, cast out for his inability to suppress his emotions. A Togruta huntress, silent but deadly. A brutal Houk, towering over the others with sheer, unrestrained muscle. A Twi'lek slicer, cunning and adaptable. And finally, a human woman with an eerie calm, her past hidden but her potential undeniable.

Dioltas looked down at them, his voice cold and unwavering. "Dxun does not tolerate weakness. Neither do I." He gestured toward the jungle behind them. "For the next cycle, this place will be your home. Your prison. Your battlefield."

With a wave of his hand, he ignited a small holoprojector, revealing an ancient Sith datacron resting on a stone pedestal beside him. The eerie red glow of the device pulsed with power, its knowledge locked within.

"This contains the teachings of the ancients," he continued. "Secrets of the Dark Side, of power beyond what the Jedi fear to understand. But knowledge is not given freely. It must be earned."

He turned his gaze back to the apprentices. "To claim the knowledge within, you will survive in this jungle without aid. You will find food, shelter, and defend yourselves from the horrors that lurk in the shadows. But survival alone is not enough."

He stepped forward, looking each of them in the eye. "Only those who can prove they are worthy will be granted access to the datacron's knowledge. This is not a mere test of endurance. This is a war for your own evolution."

The Houk bared his teeth. "And what if we try to take it by force?"

Dioltas smiled. A cold, knowing smile. "Then you are welcome to try."

The Houk hesitated, shifting under his gaze. The others remained silent, absorbing the weight of his words.

Dioltas deactivated the holoprojector, the datacron's glow fading. "Your trial begins now."

And with that, he vanished into the jungle, leaving them to fend for themselves.

The Hunt Begins

The first night was chaos.

The jungle of Dxun was a living nightmare, filled with predatory beasts that stalked from the shadows. The weaker among them quickly learned that hesitation meant death.

The Weequay and the Togruta formed an uneasy alliance, their hunter instincts allowing them to avoid unnecessary conflict while tracking their prey. The former Jedi, however, struggled—his past training had not prepared him for true survival, and by the second night, he was on the verge of breaking.

The Houk, ever the brute, relied on sheer strength, crushing anything that got in his way. He made no allies, believing that brute force alone would see him through.

The Twi'lek slicer, unlike the others, used her intelligence over brawn. She avoided unnecessary fights, setting traps instead of engaging in direct combat. She studied her surroundings, searching for weaknesses in her competition.

And the human woman? She disappeared into the jungle alone, never making a sound.

As the days passed, the weak were culled. The jungle took its toll, testing not just their bodies, but their minds.

But survival was not enough. They needed to prove their worth.

The Final Test

On the seventh night, Dioltas returned. He found them standing before the ruined outpost once more, their bodies bruised, their minds sharpened.

Four remained.

The Togruta. The Weequay. The Twi'lek. And the human woman. The Houk had fallen to his own arrogance, slain by a pack of boma beasts he believed he could kill alone. The former Jedi had broken, vanishing into the jungle, his fate unknown.

Dioltas looked upon the survivors, satisfied. "You have endured," he said. "But tell me—why should I grant you the knowledge of the ancients?"

The Togruta stepped forward first. "Because I have earned it. I fought, I killed, I survived. I will not be denied."

Dioltas nodded. "Strength. The first lesson."

The Weequay smirked. "Because I outlasted the others. They fell, but I did not."

Dioltas tilted his head. "Endurance. Necessary, but not enough."

The Twi'lek stepped forward next, her eyes sharp. "Because I learned. Strength alone means nothing if you do not understand the battlefield. I studied my enemies. I used their weakness against them."

Dioltas's smirk returned. "Cunning. A trait many overlook."

Finally, the human woman stepped forward, her expression unreadable. She did not speak immediately, instead locking eyes with Dioltas.

He felt something in her—something cold, controlled.

"Because knowledge belongs to those who take it," she said at last. "Not to those who wait to be given permission."

Dioltas chuckled. "Ah. Ambition." He glanced at the others. "A dangerous trait… and a necessary one."

He stepped to the datacron and activated it once more, the crimson glow illuminating their faces.

"You have proven yourselves worthy," he said, his voice filled with dark satisfaction. "Now, take what you have earned."

One by one, they approached, placing their hands upon the datacron, their minds filled with the ancient knowledge within.

Dioltas watched, his expression unreadable.

These were not mere students.

These were the future wielders of the Dark Side.

And soon, the galaxy would tremble at their coming.

Chapter 8: The Shadow in the Trees

The towering wroshyr trees of Kashyyyk stretched high into the mist-covered sky, their ancient trunks thick enough to house entire villages within their boughs. The world was a labyrinth of dense foliage, hidden dangers, and untamed power. It was a world where the strong survived, and the weak were quickly forgotten.

Darth Dioltas moved silently through the undergrowth, his presence a mere shadow within the Force. He had come here for a reason—whispers of a force-sensitive Wookiee, one the Jedi had overlooked. That alone intrigued him. The Jedi sought out younglings across the galaxy, yet they had abandoned this one.

They were fools.

He found the Wookiee in the lower levels of the forest, where the light barely reached. A towering figure of muscle and fur, but unlike others of his kind, there was something more. A raw, untamed strength that pulsed through the Force like an unchecked storm. The Wookiee moved with calculated precision, his claws raking through the bark of a fallen tree as he trained in solitude.

Dioltas stepped forward.

The Wookiee turned, his deep amber eyes narrowing as he growled lowly in challenge.

"You have felt it, haven't you?" Dioltas said, his voice calm but filled with intent. "The power within you. The call of something greater."

The Wookiee bared his teeth but did not attack. He was intelligent enough to sense that this man was no mere trespasser.

"The Jedi ignored you," Dioltas continued, circling him slowly. "They saw you, felt your power, and yet they did nothing." He stopped, meeting the Wookiee's gaze. "Do you know why?"

The Wookiee's growl rumbled through the air, deep and filled with resentment.

"Because they fear what they cannot control." Dioltas smirked. "They choose their apprentices like a gardener picks flowers—ignoring the wild, the untamed, the strong." He gestured to the trees around them. "But power is not meant to be caged. It is meant to be wielded."

The Wookiee hesitated, his instincts warring within him. Then, he rumbled a question in Shyriiwook.

What do you offer?

Dioltas extended a hand. "A path where you will never be overlooked again."

The Wookiee studied him for a long moment before stepping forward.

The Jedi's Arrival

Dioltas had known the Jedi would come. He had felt their presence trailing him across the stars, and he welcomed their arrival. The fools thought they could stop him, as if he were some reckless Dark Side zealot to be hunted down and purged.

He and his new apprentice moved through the thick branches of Kashyyyk's upper canopy when the Jedi finally revealed themselves. Three of them—Master Jenla Korr, a composed Mirialan; Knight Thal Durr, a grim-faced Duros; and Padawan Jeren Sol, young and overeager. Their robes fluttered slightly in the breeze, their hands poised near their lightsabers.

"Your path ends here, Sith," Jenla Korr announced, her voice calm but firm. "Surrender now, and you will not be harmed."

Dioltas exhaled softly, amused. "The Jedi's mercy is ever conditional. How quaint."

Jeren Sol, the youngest of them, took a bold step forward. "You twist the truth," he spat. "You prey on those who don't know better. That Wookiee—he belongs with us."

A deep growl rumbled from the Wookiee's chest, his amber eyes narrowing at the Jedi.

Dioltas merely chuckled. "Belongs with you? And what would the great Jedi Order do with him? Train him? No… you already ignored him once. You saw his power and discarded him. You fear him because you cannot mold him."

Thal Durr shook his head. "Enough. We won't let you corrupt another life."

Jenla Korr's hand moved to her lightsaber. "Stand down."

Dioltas sighed. "I think not."

Before any of them could ignite their weapons, the air crackled with dark energy.

Without a word, Dioltas raised his hands, and from his fingertips erupted a storm of violet lightning. The Jedi barely had time to react before the bolts struck them, the sheer force of the attack sending them reeling.

Jeren Sol screamed as arcs of Sith lightning coursed through his body, his lightsaber slipping from his grasp as he collapsed to the ground, writhing.

Thal Durr managed to raise a feeble Force barrier, but it was no match for the raw power surging through him. His body convulsed, his legs giving out beneath him as smoke curled from his robes.

Jenla Korr, the strongest among them, held out the longest, gritting her teeth as she tried to push back against the overwhelming assault. But Dioltas was unrelenting. He poured his hatred into the attack, letting the energy flow from him like a storm unleashed.

Finally, Jenla let out a pained gasp as the lightning overwhelmed her defenses. Her body stiffened, then collapsed to the jungle floor, unconscious.

Dioltas lowered his hands, the last remnants of crackling energy dissipating into the air. The scent of ozone lingered, mingling with the damp, earthy scent of the forest.

The Jedi lay motionless, their bodies twitching involuntarily as the aftershocks of his power coursed through them.

The Wookiee stepped forward, looking down at them with an unreadable expression.

Dioltas glanced at his new apprentice. "This is the reality of power," he said simply. "Strength does not wait for permission."

The Wookiee rumbled in understanding.

Dioltas gave one last look at the fallen Jedi, his gaze lingering on Jeren Sol, the youngest. A small smirk played on his lips. Let them live. Let them remember.

Without another word, he turned and vanished into the jungle, his apprentice following close behind.

Chapter 9: The Might of the Disciples

The ruins of an ancient temple lay buried deep within the endless sands of a forgotten world. Cracked stone pillars jutted from the ground like the ribs of some long-dead beast, and the air was thick with the lingering echoes of ancient power. It was here that several of Darth Dioltas' disciples had gathered, drawn by the teachings of their master and the hunger for greater strength.

But they were not alone.

The Jedi had followed them.

Five Jedi Knights stood at the edge of the ruins, their robes whipping in the wind as they faced the Sith disciples. Their leader, a Zabrak named Master Raelos Jann, studied the dark figures before him with a grim expression.

"You have all strayed too far," he said, his voice firm. "The Dark Side has poisoned your minds, but it is not too late to return to the light. Surrender now, and we will not harm you."

Across from them, the Sith disciples stood unmoving, their presence in the Force pulsing like a storm on the horizon. Among them were Veyna Draal, a Twi'lek sorceress whose red skin seemed to glow in the dim light; Kael Vos, a towering human whose battle-scarred armor still bore the marks of past victories; and Xil-Korr, a former Miraluka Jedi who had cast aside his old Order for the promise of true power.

Kael was the first to step forward, a wicked grin spreading across his face. "You came all this way just to die?"

Raelos narrowed his eyes but did not waver. "We will not allow you to spread your master's corruption further."

Veyna laughed softly, her fingers crackling with barely restrained energy. "Oh, Jedi. You speak of corruption as though your Order does not blind its own. You call us lost, yet it is you who wander in the dark."

Raelos sighed, igniting his green lightsaber. "So be it."

His fellow Jedi followed suit, the snap-hiss of igniting sabers echoing through the ruins.

Kael's crimson blade sprang to life in response, followed swiftly by the others.

Then the battle began.

The Fall of the Jedi

Raelos rushed forward, his green saber clashing against Kael's crimson blade in a shower of sparks. The two warriors locked into a deadly dance, their strikes fast and brutal. Kael was a juggernaut, his strikes heavy and relentless, each one meant to batter his opponent into submission. Raelos, however, was precise, his Ataru movements graceful and controlled.

But control only lasted so long against raw, unrelenting power.

Kael feinted left, then suddenly slammed his boot into Raelos' chest, sending the Jedi Master tumbling backward. Before he could recover, Kael raised a hand and sent a crushing wave of Force energy straight into his ribs. There was a sickening crack as Raelos crashed into a broken pillar, blood trickling from his lips.

Elsewhere, Veyna Draal moved like a specter, weaving between two Jedi as arcs of crimson lightning shot from her fingertips. One of the Jedi, a Togruta female, raised her saber just in time to absorb the first strike, but the second came too fast. The energy slammed into her chest, sending her convulsing to the ground.

The second Jedi, a human male, leapt forward, his blue blade slashing toward Veyna's throat. She twisted at the last second, avoiding the strike with unnatural grace before flicking her wrist. A sharp, precise lance of lightning shot from her fingertips, striking him square in the knee.

He screamed as his leg gave out, and before he could react, Veyna surged forward, impaling her lightsaber through his stomach.

He gasped, eyes wide in shock, before she wrenched the blade free and let his lifeless body fall.

Xil-Korr, meanwhile, was a whirlwind of precision and rage. His twin crimson sabers clashed against another Jedi's blue blade, his movements too fast to follow. The Jedi fought desperately, his defense admirable, but Xil-Korr was relentless.

One saber struck low, cutting through the Jedi's thigh. The second came high, slicing across his shoulder. The Jedi stumbled, breathing heavily, his body wracked with pain.

Xil-Korr tilted his head. "Your Order has failed you."

With a final, merciless stroke, his sabers crossed through the Jedi's chest, cutting him down.

The Aftermath

Silence fell over the ruins.

Raelos Jann groaned, struggling to rise, but his body refused to obey. His ribs were shattered, his strength drained. Around him, his fellow Jedi lay in ruin—two slain, the others crippled and broken.

Kael stood over him, lightsaber in hand. "Pathetic."

Raelos coughed, blood staining his lips. "You… won't win. The Jedi will… stop you."

Veyna knelt beside him, her golden eyes gleaming. "Will they? It does not seem that way."

She reached out, placing a clawed hand against his temple. Dark energy seeped from her fingers, forcing pain and terror into his mind. Raelos clenched his teeth, but he could not suppress the scream that tore from his throat.

Then, as quickly as it began, she pulled back.

"Leave him," she said, standing. "Let him crawl back to his Council and tell them what happened here. Let them know the Jedi are no longer the strongest in the galaxy."

Kael snorted. "Mercy is wasted on them."

Veyna smirked. "It is not mercy. It is a message."

Kael scoffed but deactivated his saber, stepping away.

Xil-Korr regarded the fallen Jedi for a moment before turning to his fellow disciples. "Our master will be pleased."

Without another word, they vanished into the shadows, leaving behind only ruin and death.

And Raelos Jann, broken and defeated, could do nothing but watch as the future of the Sith grew stronger with each passing day.

Chapter 10: The Gathering on Malachor V

Malachor V.

A world steeped in death. A graveyard of forgotten warriors and ancient power. The scars of the Mandalorian Wars still lingered here, etched into the shattered landscape like the marks of an old wound that would never fully heal. Jagged stone spires rose from the darkened surface, remnants of cataclysmic destruction. The air itself was thick with the echoes of suffering, and the very ground pulsed with the Dark Side.

It was the perfect place to forge a new era of Sith.

Darth Dioltas stood at the peak of an obsidian cliff, his crimson cloak billowing in the unnatural winds that howled across the ruins below. Beneath him, his disciples and their students had gathered in numbers unseen since the days of the Old Sith Empire.

There were dozens—Sith warriors, assassins, sorcerers—each one powerful in their own right. The weak had been culled long ago. These were the strongest, the most devoted. And now, the time had come to elevate them further.

Dioltas surveyed the assembled Sith, his golden eyes burning with satisfaction. His voice carried across the wasteland, infused with power.

"You have all walked the path of strength," he declared, his deep voice echoing off the ruins. "You have cast off the chains of weakness, of Jedi lies, of the illusions that keep the lesser beings of this galaxy shackled in ignorance. Each of you has proven your worth, and tonight, your power will be recognized."

A murmur of excitement rippled through the ranks. Some of the disciples stood tall, anticipation in their gazes. Others remained silent, their discipline unwavering, though the hunger for recognition burned within them.

Dioltas gestured to a cluster of Sith who stood at the front—those who had bested Jedi, who had carved their way through warzones, who had demonstrated the will to rule.

"You have risen above your brethren," Dioltas continued. "You have shown mastery of the Dark Side, cunning in battle, and dominance over your foes. Today, you are no longer mere disciples. Today, you are Sith Lords."

He turned to the first, Kael Vos, the warrior whose raw brutality had broken Jedi Masters in battle. "From this day forth, you shall be known as Darth Vauron, the Unyielding."

Kael knelt, pressing his fist to the cracked stone. "I am honored, my master."

Dioltas moved to Veyna Draal, the Twi'lek sorceress who had delved deep into Sith alchemy and dark rituals. "You, Veyna, have mastered the lost arts, bending the Force to your will with precision and malice. You shall be known as Darth Sythra, Mistress of Shadows."

Veyna smirked, bowing her head. "I accept this mantle with pride, my lord."

One by one, he named them. Darth Xil-Korr, Darth Malveris, Darth Rhassk. Each name carried weight, binding them to the Sith legacy. Each Lord had earned their title through blood and fire.

Once the new Lords had risen, Dioltas stepped back, his eyes sweeping over the others.

"With power comes responsibility," he said. "As Sith Lords, you now hold the right to take apprentices of your own. Train them, mold them in the ways of the Dark Side, and prove yourselves worthy of the title you now bear."

A swell of dark energy rippled through the gathered Sith, their hunger for power stoked to new heights.

Finally, Dioltas turned his gaze toward his personal apprentices—those who had been with him the longest. "And as for my own apprentices," he said, a smirk forming on his lips, "you have exceeded my expectations."

His eyes met the gaze of his Wookiee apprentice, who now stood taller than before, his very presence exuding strength.

"You were abandoned by the Jedi, overlooked by their narrow-minded Order. Yet look at you now—stronger than any of them could have imagined."

The Wookiee rumbled lowly, his golden eyes burning with quiet fury and pride.

Dioltas then gestured to his other apprentices. "Each of you has carved a place in history with your own hands. You have fought, bled, and triumphed. And you are far from finished."

He spread his arms. "Tonight, we celebrate. But tomorrow, the real work begins."

A chorus of voices rose in unison, Sith chanting, dark energy swirling as the disciples and their newly named Lords reveled in their ascension.

The Sith were growing.

And soon, the galaxy would tremble before them.

Chapter 11: The Expansion of the Sith

The Sith had become more than a secretive gathering of exiles. They were now a movement—one that spanned across the stars, growing stronger with each passing cycle.

Darth Dioltas had long foreseen this moment, the time when his vision would take root beyond the shadows of Malachor V. The Sith Lords he had anointed now carried his will, spreading their influence far and wide, seeking those who could be freed from the illusions of the Jedi and the Republic.

The galaxy was vast, filled with Force-sensitive beings who had been overlooked, cast aside, or enslaved by the Republic's rigid structure. That would change.

The Sith Order of Dioltas would see to it.

The Lords Go Forth

Darth Vauron, once Kael Vos, led a warband to the Outer Rim, where brutal warlords ruled unchecked and the Republic's authority was weak. There, he found warriors who had never known the comfort of a temple, soldiers who had survived against impossible odds, mercenaries with minds hardened by hardship. He gave them something greater than their endless battles for scraps—he gave them purpose.

On Dathomir, Darth Sythra, the sorceress formerly known as Veyna Draal, walked among the Nightsisters. She did not seek to conquer them but to learn from them, offering knowledge of the ancient Sith in exchange for their dark magics. Some resisted, bound too tightly to their traditions. Others saw the truth in her words. They followed her, eager to expand their power beyond their secluded world.

Darth Xil-Korr traveled to the deep core, to lost worlds spoken of only in forgotten texts. His presence was like a whisper in the void, unseen but always felt. He found wayward Jedi, those who questioned their masters but lacked the strength to act. He did not force them to turn—he merely showed them another way. Some refused, retreating in fear. Others listened. Some followed.

On Nar Shaddaa, where the downtrodden lived in eternal suffering beneath the boots of the corrupt, Sith assassins prowled the underbelly of the city. They plucked Force-sensitive children from slums where they would have otherwise died nameless. Not all survived the training that followed—but those who did emerged stronger than any Jedi youngling could ever hope to be.

Dioltas' Search

Darth Dioltas himself did not remain idle. He, too, sought apprentices worthy of his direct guidance.

On a derelict Republic vessel drifting on the edges of Wild Space, he found a Mirialan girl, abandoned by the Jedi after she had slaughtered an entire pirate crew in a moment of uncontrolled rage. They called her unstable, dangerous. Dioltas called her potential.

On Mon Cala, he met a Force-sensitive warrior who had been raised to fight for his people, only to be cast aside when peace returned. He had no love for the Jedi, nor the Republic that dictated the fate of his world from afar. Dioltas gave him a new war to fight.

In the ruins of an old Sith temple on Korriban, he discovered something unexpected—a single, aged Holocron left behind by an unknown Sith Lord. It spoke of a world forgotten by both Jedi and Sith alike, a place where the Force pulsed with untapped energy. He would see this world for himself in time.

A Galaxy Awakening

The Sith were no longer in hiding. They did not seek conquest through fleets and armies—not yet. Instead, they spread like whispers on the wind, like shadows in the corners of the galaxy.

They were in the Outer Rim, where the Jedi rarely tread.

They were among the downtrodden, the outcasts, the abandoned.

They were within the Republic itself, hidden behind masks of civility.

For too long, the Jedi had been the arbiters of what was right and wrong, of who was worthy of training and who was left to be forgotten.

No longer.

Darth Dioltas had set the galaxy on a new path.

And soon, the Jedi would realize they were no longer alone in the Force.

Chapter 12: The Truth of the Jedi

The crowd was gathered in the grand hall of a bustling city on the planet Belderone, a center of commerce and trade. People from all walks of life, from wealthy merchants to struggling laborers, had come to hear the man who had become a whisper on the wind, a name that sent ripples of fear and curiosity across the galaxy.

Darth Dioltas stood on a raised platform, surrounded by his followers, his figure commanding the room. His presence was undeniable, the Force radiating from him in a quiet, oppressive storm that made every breath in the room feel heavy. His gaze swept over the crowd—a mixture of men, women, and children. Many held their children close, some with nervous glances toward the figure before them.

Dioltas raised his hands, and the room fell silent. The murmurings ceased, replaced by an eerie stillness. He spoke, his voice deep and unwavering, carrying over the gathering.

"Look at your children," he began, his golden eyes flashing with intensity. "These innocent, untamed souls—full of potential, full of strength. And what will the Jedi do with them?"

His gaze swept the room, his words sinking into the hearts of those who listened.

"They will take them from you. They will force them into their Order, into their way of life, stripping them of everything that makes them unique, everything that makes them alive. They will train them to be mindless, emotionless drones, slaves to their so-called 'democracy'—tools of a system that breeds only weakness."

A few in the crowd shifted uncomfortably, glancing at one another. The truth of his words hung heavily in the air. Dioltas paused, allowing the words to sink in before continuing.

"They claim that your children will be trained to serve the greater good, but they do not care for your children's future," he said, his voice rising with quiet power. "They care only for their control. They will tell you that your children's emotions are dangerous, that their fear, their anger, their passion, are flaws that must be extinguished. And those that do not bend to their will, those who are too strong, too untamed for their precious Order—they will cast them aside. Left behind. Forgotten. Exiled. But you…"

Dioltas smiled darkly, a flash of triumph in his eyes. "You have the power to decide your children's fate. You are their parents. It is your right to nurture them, to let them grow, not to let the Jedi choke the life from them."

The crowd was still. Many began to nod, as if waking from a long slumber, their eyes bright with the realization of what had been stolen from them. Dioltas felt the surge of emotions, of hope, of defiance, rising within the room. This was the spark. This was the beginning of a fire.

And just as the people began to whisper among themselves, murmurs of agreement spreading through the hall, the door at the far end of the room slammed open with a crash.

A group of Jedi—four of them—entered the chamber, their eyes locked on Dioltas with the intensity of trained hunters. The crowd parted, some shrinking back in fear, while others watched with growing curiosity.

One of the Jedi, a tall woman with sharp features, stepped forward. Her lightsaber hung at her waist, the hilt an unmistakable sign of her station. Her voice was commanding, her tone laced with authority.

"You are under arrest, Sith," she said coldly. "Your actions here have incited unrest, and your words are lies. You will come with us peacefully, or we will make you."

Dioltas regarded the Jedi with disdain, his gaze unwavering. His eyes locked onto the woman with a chilling calmness.

"Peacefully?" Dioltas repeated, his voice low and almost mocking. "Your Order speaks of peace, yet it is built on nothing but lies and control. You do not seek peace—you seek dominance."

He stepped forward, his presence swelling in the Force. The temperature in the room seemed to drop as the Dark Side coiled around him like a serpent.

"I speak the truth that you fear. I speak of a future where the children of this galaxy are free to live as they choose, unburdened by the shackles of your so-called teachings."

The Jedi woman narrowed her eyes, her hand hovering over her lightsaber.

"We will not let you spread your poison any further," she spat. "You've corrupted enough minds already. It ends here, Dioltas."

The other Jedi, a pair of human males and a Rodian, ignited their lightsabers, the snap-hiss of their blades cutting through the tension in the room. The hum of the sabers filled the air, and the crowd held their breath, watching the confrontation unfold.

But Dioltas only smiled.

"You think you can stop me?" he asked, his voice calm but carrying the weight of certainty. "I have already won."

He raised his hand, and with a sudden surge of power, the Force exploded from him. The Jedi were caught off guard by the intensity of his assault. The first Jedi, the woman, was thrown backward by a crushing wave of Force energy, crashing into the wall behind her.

The other Jedi attempted to retaliate, but Dioltas was faster. With a single motion, he unleashed a torrent of Sith lightning, the crackling violet arcs striking the two men before they could even react. One fell to the ground, convulsing as the energy ravaged his body. The other, his body wracked with pain, crumpled to the floor, barely conscious.

The Rodian hesitated for a split second, but that was enough. Dioltas sent a final bolt of lightning arcing through the air, and the Rodian fell, unconscious, before his lightsaber could even hum to life.

The room was silent, save for the faint crackle of residual energy in the air. The Jedi were defeated, lying motionless at Dioltas' feet. The crowd remained still, unsure of what to do.

Dioltas turned back to them, his eyes burning with the intensity of a man who had seen the future and now bent the galaxy to his will.

"Now, you see the truth," he said, his voice loud and clear. "The Jedi do not protect your children. They take them, break them, and mold them into soldiers for a dying Republic. You do not need them."

The crowd stood, some fearful, others emboldened. The seeds had been planted. The people were beginning to see the cracks in the Jedi's mask, to feel the truth that Dioltas had sown.

"The Jedi will fall," Dioltas continued, his voice filled with conviction. "And those of you brave enough to stand against them will shape a new world—one where your children are free."

With that, he turned and walked from the platform, his disciples following close behind, leaving the Jedi to stew in their defeat and the crowd to contemplate the promise of a future untethered by the Jedi's chains.

Chapter 13: The False Order

The dark, imposing corridors of the Sith Temple on Lehon echoed with the heavy steps of a single figure as he moved through the shadows. Darth Hethrax, the master of his apprentice, was tall and wiry, his eyes cold as he observed the events unfolding in the galaxy. His black robes rippled as he walked, a figure steeped in mystery and power, tempered by the careful discipline of centuries of Sith tradition.

Behind him, the quiet footsteps of his apprentice, Darth Vareth, followed in sync. Vareth was a younger Sith, though not by much—his body was stronger, his spirit eager, but his mind was still in the process of mastering the deeper philosophies of the Sith. He was a product of the Rule of Two, a method of training handed down by Darth Bane that had kept the Sith alive in secret for centuries. The passing of Bane's teachings had been a quiet, deliberate one, with only whispers of true Sith power emerging from the shadows.

The tension in the galaxy had been growing steadily, and for good reason. The Republic was becoming increasingly unstable, crippled by corruption, the rise of populist movements, and the growing menace of the Sith—though none of the Jedi realized that the true Sith were still in the shadows, working from the deepest corners of the galaxy.

Hethrax and Vareth stood in the cold, stone chamber that housed the Sith Holocron, a relic from a long-forgotten era. The red glow of the Holocron cast long shadows on the walls. It was from this ancient artifact that Hethrax and Vareth sought their teachings, and it was within these walls that they had crafted their destiny.

"The Republic grows weaker," Hethrax said, his voice like a whisper of wind in the dead of night. "The Jedi become more desperate with each passing day. But I fear something far worse is stirring in the dark, something more insidious than any of us anticipated."

Vareth looked up at his master, his brow furrowing in thought. "You speak of the growing number of Sith that have emerged, don't you?" His voice was steady, but the hint of frustration was apparent. "This new order—this false group led by Dioltas. They rise and claim the mantle of Sith, but their philosophy is far removed from what Bane created."

Hethrax nodded slowly, his cold eyes narrowing as he gazed at the flickering Holocron. "Yes, that is what I speak of. These self-proclaimed Sith Lords—they do not understand what it truly means to be Sith. They have not embraced the Rule of Two. They are a distortion, a mockery of what we represent. Dioltas… he does not understand the path of balance that Bane so carefully designed."

The tension in Vareth's voice was palpable. "How can you say that, Master? Dioltas has gathered a vast following. He has freed countless people from the Republic's grasp. His vision is one of a galaxy not ruled by the Jedi or the corrupt Republic, but by strength, by those who are worthy. He speaks of freedom, of breaking the shackles placed by the Jedi—how is that not Sith in its purest form?"

Hethrax turned to face his apprentice, his expression hardening with a mixture of disdain and quiet resolve. "No, Vareth. He is not Sith. He speaks of freedom, yes, but it is not freedom born of strength. It is a perversion of our beliefs. Dioltas and his so-called 'Sith Lords' are anarchists masquerading as Sith. They believe in chaos, in uncontrolled growth. Their philosophy will only lead to ruin."

Vareth's hands curled into fists, frustration building. "But they are strong, Master. They are powerful. They already have an influence across the galaxy. They are gaining more followers every day. How can we ignore that?"

Hethrax's voice grew colder. "They may be powerful in the Force, but that is not the measure of a true Sith. A true Sith does not create an army of slaves and followers. We do not seek to conquer through numbers or anarchy. The Rule of Two is the only path to true Sith power. There must always be a master and an apprentice—one to wield the power, and one to take it when the time comes."

Vareth stood in silence for a long moment, considering his master's words. There was a flicker of doubt in his eyes, but also a desire to understand. Finally, he spoke again, quieter this time.

"If Dioltas is a false Sith, then what is our course of action, Master?"

Hethrax's expression softened, but only slightly. "We will wait. We will watch. We will study. Dioltas's rise is a threat, yes, but it is one that will crumble beneath its own instability. His followers are not disciplined—they are not unified in purpose. They are driven by individual desires, and they will splinter, torn apart by their own greed for power. The Rule of Two will remain. The Sith will remain."

"And if we do not act?" Vareth asked, still cautious. "What if the galaxy falls into chaos before we can do anything? The Jedi will surely intervene. They will destroy this 'new' Sith order, and all the while, we remain in the shadows."

Hethrax's lips curled into a thin smile, one that spoke of centuries of patience and cunning. "The Jedi are weak, Vareth. They are blind to what is truly happening. They cannot see the deeper currents at play, nor do they understand the power of the Sith. But their desperation will only make them more predictable. Dioltas will fall, and we will be there when he does."

He turned back to the Holocron, his fingers brushing lightly over its surface. "The galaxy is a great chessboard, and the Jedi will play their pieces according to their limited understanding. But we are the ones who know how to win. We wait for the right moment, and when the time comes, we will take what is ours."

Vareth, still uncertain but compelled by his master's confidence, nodded. "I understand, Master."

"And remember this," Hethrax added, his tone growing even more serious. "The Rule of Two is our legacy. Dioltas and his followers will fade into history, but we will remain. You, my apprentice, will see to it that the true Sith rise once more, in a galaxy shaped by strength, by discipline, and by vision."

As the two Sith stood in silence, the weight of their decisions hung in the air, a quiet foreboding. Outside the temple, the stars continued to turn in their endless dance, and the galaxy moved closer to a tipping point—a moment where the fate of the Sith, and of all who inhabited the galaxy, would be decided. The rule of the Jedi would come to an end, but whether it would be the Sith under Bane's Rule of Two or the growing order of Dioltas that would rise to fill the void was still unclear.

Chapter 14: The Rise of New Lords

The Sith Order had blossomed. Darth Dioltas' vision, once a secret whispered among shadows, now flourished across the stars. With the power of the Rule of Two, and the number of Sith Lords rising among his disciples, the galaxy was beginning to tremble under the weight of their ambition.

Dioltas stood at the heart of the newly forged Sith Empire, his eyes gleaming with the knowledge that it would not be long before his influence would be felt across the galaxy. But for now, the work of consolidating power had only just begun. The newly anointed Sith Lords had begun seeking their own apprentices—each one more determined than the last, eager to prove their worth and further their own place in the galaxy.

Darth Vauron's Apprenticeship

On the rugged world of Geonosis, where war was always at the horizon and the skies were thick with dust and the sounds of conflict, Darth Vauron walked among his new apprentices.

Once Kael Vos, Vauron had once been a soldier, a man who knew the harsh realities of war. Now, he was a Sith Lord, entrusted with the responsibility of teaching others who sought power through pain and perseverance. His apprentices were former mercenaries, bounty hunters, and warriors—men and women who had known only survival and conflict.

Vauron's training was brutal. He didn't teach them the ways of subtlety or patience; no, his teachings were steeped in the harsh realities of the galaxy. His students were put through combat trials, taught to fight with their anger, their pain, and their hatred. The Force was their weapon, but it was nothing without their fury.

"Strength is built on blood, on struggle, on the fires of war," Vauron spoke, his voice like a crackling fire as he addressed his new apprentices. "The Jedi may have their peace, their serenity, but we are not Jedi. We are Sith. We embrace the chaos of the galaxy. We fight to survive, and we fight to dominate."

One of his apprentices, a hulking Twi'lek warrior, stepped forward. His skin was marked with tribal tattoos, and his eyes glowed with eagerness. "Teach us, Lord Vauron. We will fight. We will conquer."

Vauron nodded, the glint in his eyes showing satisfaction. "Then fight. Prove that you are worthy of the Sith. Prove you have the strength to claim your power, or fall like the weak."

Under his guidance, the apprentices faced each other in combat, their lightsabers flashing as they clashed with raw fury. Vauron observed closely, his expression cold but attentive. He saw potential in every strike, every parry—these were warriors forged in the heat of battle, and they would serve him well.

Darth Sythra's Apprenticeship

Far from the battlefields of Geonosis, on the shadowed world of Dathomir, Darth Sythra was crafting her own future. Sythra's path had always been different. She had once been a Nightsister, steeped in the dark magics of the ancient Dathomirians. Now, as a Sith, she sought to blend the Sith teachings with the sorceries she had learned as a child.

Her apprentices were not warriors—at least, not yet. They were sorcerers, witches, and seers—beings with natural affinities for the Force, but their power was raw, untamed. Sythra's training was not in the art of combat, but in the manipulation of the Force itself—twisting the energy that permeated the galaxy into spells and incantations of dark power.

Sythra stood in the center of a circle of her apprentices, chanting in the ancient tongue of the Nightsisters. The air around them shimmered, dark tendrils of the Force swirling in the air like smoke.

"Feel the power in the dark," she whispered to them, her voice hushed but compelling. "The Force is not a weapon alone—it is a tool, a means of bending reality to your will. The Jedi are weak because they see only the surface of the Force. But we…" Her eyes glinted with power as she raised her hands. "We shape the Force."

One of her apprentices, a pale-skinned woman with silver hair, spoke up. "We will create great sorcery, my Mistress."

Sythra smiled, her voice darkening. "Not only sorcery, my apprentice. We will reshape the very fabric of this galaxy. You will see power that the Jedi cannot even imagine. Power that will break the chains that bind us to their false peace."

She began the ritual again, guiding her apprentices through the ancient rites that would bind their souls to the dark energies of the Force. With every word spoken, the dark powers swelled. She had taken them from the shadows, but soon, her apprentices would stand at the forefront of a new Sith Order.

Darth Xil-Korr's Apprenticeship

On the forgotten world of Jedha, where the remnants of ancient religions and the Force itself were interwoven in a tapestry of history, Darth Xil-Korr's apprentices learned a different lesson.

Xil-Korr was a patient Sith, and he knew that power did not only come through raw strength. It came through knowledge, through mastery of the mind. His apprentices were scholars, historians, and archaeologists—beings who sought knowledge in the ruins of ancient civilizations and the hidden secrets of the galaxy.

Xil-Korr's training was focused on the accumulation of power through study and careful planning. His apprentices studied ancient Sith texts, Force philosophies, and the histories of their enemies. Knowledge was their weapon, and they learned to use it to strike down their foes before they ever realized they were in danger.

"Power is not only what you wield, it is also what you know," Xil-Korr told them as they sat in a dimly lit library deep within the tombs of Jedha. "The Jedi have no true understanding of the Force. They limit themselves to what is visible, what is immediate. But we…" He smiled, a slow and calculating smile. "We understand the deeper currents, the forgotten paths that lead to power. It is not enough to fight. You must understand the world around you. You must know your enemy before you strike."

One of his apprentices, a young man with short black hair and piercing green eyes, spoke up. "What about Dioltas? He is taking many followers. He speaks of freedom and power—why should we not join him?"

Xil-Korr's gaze turned to the apprentice, and for a moment, the room grew deathly quiet. "Dioltas is a false Sith. His vision is narrow. He believes in a flood of power, a storm that will break everything. But storms pass. The truly powerful remain, steady and undisturbed."

The apprentice bowed his head, absorbing the lesson. "I understand, Lord Xil-Korr. We will study, we will learn."

And learn they did. Under Xil-Korr's careful eye, his apprentices began to unravel ancient mysteries and forgotten texts, discovering secrets that would serve them in the days to come. They would not be warriors of the blade, but they would be masters of the mind and the unseen powers that could change the fate of the galaxy.

The Future of the Sith

The Sith Lords were growing, spreading their influence throughout the galaxy, each training new generations of Sith to build upon the legacy of their order. They were a dangerous force, moving carefully through the shadows, waiting for the right moment to strike.

For Darth Dioltas, his vision had been realized. His disciples were no longer mere servants—they were Lords in their own right, with their own apprentices, their own ambitions. And as the Sith spread throughout the galaxy, they began to take hold of worlds, shaping the future in their image.

Soon, the galaxy would tremble under their rule.

Chapter 15: The Trials of Dxun

The jungle world of Dxun was a place of fierce predation and untamed power. Deep within its savage terrain, beneath the dense canopy of towering trees, and amidst the eerie sounds of creatures both seen and unseen, the Sith gathered.

Darth Dioltas, surrounded by his most trusted Lords and apprentices, stood at the heart of the clearing. His dark robes billowed slightly in the damp, oppressive air as he gazed at the horizon. His eyes were cold, calculating, filled with the knowledge that this was a pivotal moment—the trial that would decide the future of his order.

"Today, we forge the future of the Sith," Dioltas's voice rang out, resonating in the stillness of the jungle, reaching the ears of hundreds of Sith hopefuls who had gathered from across the galaxy. Some were young, eager, and hungry for power; others were older, more experienced, but equally driven by ambition. They had all come to Dxun with one goal in mind—to survive.

Dioltas's eyes scanned the crowd—sith acolytes, warriors, and scholars. He had sent out his Lords to recruit the best, the strongest, and the most cunning, and now, they were here to prove their worth.

"You are here," Dioltas began again, his voice commanding the attention of every soul in the clearing, "because you seek power. You are here because you believe you are worthy of the Sith. But know this: Not all of you will leave this place as apprentices." His gaze swept over the throngs of would-be Sith. "The trials will be harsh. They will test your endurance, your strength, your will, and your very soul. Only those who prove themselves worthy will survive. The rest…" He allowed the silence to hang in the air, an unspoken warning. "The jungle will claim you."

His words were like a sharp whip crack, each syllable carrying the weight of their consequences.

Darth Dioltas had long understood that the path to power was a path of survival. The Jedi held their temples and sanctuaries, but the Sith knew better. True power could only be obtained through conflict, through the harshest of trials. The acolytes had come for training, yes, but they would leave either stronger—or not at all.

The Trials Begin

The first trial was one of endurance. Dioltas had chosen Dxun for a reason. The planet was known for its hostile environment, teeming with aggressive predators and deadly weather patterns. He had no interest in coddling his future disciples. To survive on Dxun was to prove that one had the resilience and fortitude to rise to the highest levels of the Sith.

The hopefuls were released into the wilds of Dxun, scattered across the planet's vast jungles. Some were given only a short sword or a blaster—tools meant to test their resourcefulness. Others, more fortunate, had lightsabers, but even these were little help in the face of Dxun's relentless environment.

Creatures that had not seen a predator in ages began to stir—massive beasts with sharp fangs and claws, rancors, and tigers more vicious than anything found elsewhere in the galaxy.

"Survive, or die," Dioltas muttered to himself as he watched the chaos unfold from a hidden vantage point. His apprentices had already been instructed to observe the trials and assess which acolytes had the qualities of true Sith—the ruthlessness to survive, the intelligence to use their environment, and the sheer will to push forward despite overwhelming odds.

One acolyte—a tall, human male—had already fallen behind the pack. His lightsaber, ignited but useless, flickered out as he encountered a ravenous vornskyr, a creature native to Dxun. With no ability to understand the predator's movements, the man had been torn apart in seconds. Dioltas barely blinked. Weakness had no place in his new order.

Another hopeful—a young female Mirialan—had taken a more subtle approach. She had hidden herself beneath a thick layer of foliage, using the Force to mask her presence. As she observed the beasts hunting, she waited, learning. When she finally emerged, she had taken down a much larger predator with little more than a jagged rock and the force of her will. Dioltas smirked from his observation point.

"Resourcefulness," he mused aloud. "She will be one to watch."

The Force Trials

The second trial was the most dangerous and unpredictable. Dioltas had instructed his apprentices to use the Force in the trials, not just to fight, but to influence, to manipulate, and to control. He had asked them to push their acolytes to understand the true power of the dark side—not simply to destroy, but to conquer minds and bend the world around them to their will.

Several acolytes were called into a chamber in the heart of the jungle, a place where the Force was concentrated and amplified. It was a place where every whisper of the dark side could be felt as a tangible force. Dioltas and his Lords stood nearby, watching.

Acolytes were forced to face their greatest fears and their deepest insecurities. The trials were psychological, a reflection of the true nature of the Sith—power through strength of will and overcoming doubt. They were confronted by dark illusions, hallucinations formed from their most intense fears. Some were attacked by imagined foes, others by apparitions from their past. Only those who could focus, only those who could harness the power of their emotions, could endure this trial.

A young Nautolan, his face wracked with terror, began to tremble as the ghosts of his family, killed in a Republic raid, appeared before him. He fell to his knees, unable to withstand the onslaught of grief. The Jedi would have saved him, taken him into their fold. Dioltas did not have that mercy. He watched with cold detachment as the Nautolan collapsed, his life force snuffed out by the very fear he had allowed to consume him.

Others, however, survived. A Rodian acolyte, terrified of his own weakness, found the courage to face his fear and instead of retreating, lashed out, using his pain to fuel his strength. He was not the strongest, but he was determined. That determination allowed him to push through the mental assault and emerge from the trial.

"You are not weak," Dioltas noted, watching the Rodian rise to his feet. "You are Sith."

The Final Test: Battle and Death

The final trial was one of combat. Those who survived the jungle, who had mastered their fears, would now face one another in a brutal contest. They would fight not only for survival but for the chance to serve as Dioltas' apprentices, to claim their place in the Sith hierarchy.

The arena was a makeshift structure in the center of the jungle, surrounded by high walls and darkness. Only the stars above illuminated the battleground.

Dioltas watched as his acolytes clashed—blades of red, purple, and green flashing in the darkness. The combatants fought fiercely, using every tactic they had learned, each one attempting to claim victory for themselves. The cries of the fallen echoed through the night.

Some fought with raw physicality, while others relied on cunning. A Zabrak male, well-trained but with little true passion for the Sith way, was swiftly struck down by a stealthy Umbaran who had learned how to use the environment against her opponents. In contrast, the young Mirialan, from earlier, engaged in an elegant, calculated duel with a bulky Herglic who fought with brute force. The Herglic's power was formidable, but the Mirialan's control of the Force and finesse with her blade proved superior.

By dawn, only a handful remained. And as the survivors stood before him, bloodied but resolute, Dioltas spoke once again.

"These are the ones who will serve me," he declared. "These are the Sith who will bring about the galaxy's destruction. You will rise, and you will create a new future."

For those who had survived the trials—there was no turning back. They were his now, bound by the will of the dark side. Their training would continue under the watchful eyes of their new masters, and they would emerge as true Sith Lords in the coming days. For those who had failed… the jungle had claimed them, as it always had.

And so, Darth Dioltas' empire of Sith Lords continued to grow. The galaxy would soon know the true power of the dark side.