**Chapter 695: The Fall of the Prophets**
**Scene 1**
**Dark Temple, Dromund Kaas**
**Dagon POV**
Twenty Jedi descended upon the ancient Sith world like avenging angels — their lightsabers a mixture of brilliant blue and emerald green cutting through the perpetual twilight of Dromund Kaas. It was almost poetic. A strike team of light against a temple built to contain and amplify the darkest powers in the galaxy.
But in truth, it was slaughter. Total, methodical slaughter.
The Dark Prophets and their followers — mostly humans, with a handful of surviving Sith Purebloods I hadn't even known still existed — fell before us. Dark acolytes, twisted clones, and fanatical cultists armed with red blades threw themselves at us in desperate waves. They were skilled, but they were not prepared for what we had become.
I had given the Jedi access to the Tulak Hord holocron. The ancient Sith Lord had been renowned as perhaps the greatest lightsaber duelist of his era. Centuries later, when Meetra Surik asked Kreia about him, the old woman had simply said that Hord's skill made even the greatest Jedi of her time seem like "children playing with toys." Surprisingly, his holocron wasn't designed to corrupt its user with the dark side. Instead, it had a unique mechanism — it copied the user's own combat memories and techniques, allowing pure mastery without the usual spiritual poison.
Combined with my Sith droid training programs, the results were devastating.
"Wrath Shield Prime!" I shouted.
My armor shifted. The blades on my back unfolded, granting me the power of flight. Dark side-charged razor missiles radiated outward from my suit, streaking forward as guided projectiles before returning to reform around me thanks to Dragon-Tek recall systems.
I launched forward like a crimson comet, the Dragon-Tek Sword — my upgraded crossguard red lightsaber — splitting into dual blades mid-flight. I destroyed three defense turrets in a single pass, their explosions lighting up the dark temple exterior. Below me, the Jedi carved through the remaining defenders with ruthless efficiency.
A group of Prophets tried to make a final stand near the main obelisk, their combined Force lightning forming a crackling barrier. I dove straight through it, my shields absorbing the worst of the energy as I landed among them. My dual blades spun in a deadly whirlwind. Three Purebloods died before they could even raise their weapons.
The rest of the temple fell quickly after that.
**Scene 2**
**Dark Temple Courtyard**
**Nhon Artu POV**
The attack had been almost too easy.
A squadron of X-wings had performed the initial strafing run — blaster fire only, no missiles — softening the outer defenses. Then the Warden dropships had come in hot, deploying Mandalorian and clone jetpack troopers to seize key positions across the surrounding city and temple grounds while we focused on the Prophets themselves.
One hour later, the fighting was mostly over.
"Okay, how many more are we loading?" Commander Gar Saxon asked, carefully guiding another group of terrified children — kidnapped slaves — up the ramp of a Pelta-class medical frigate.
"That's two hundred so far," Nhon replied, checking his datapad. "Probably another fifty depending on what we find in the lower levels."
Jedi Knight Taofo, a young Zabrak, approached with a troubled expression. "Master Nhon… why are we doing this? These children are steeped in the dark side. Some of them were being trained as future acolytes."
Nhon looked at the boy — no older than fifteen — being gently carried aboard by a clone medic. "They're kids, Taofo. They deserve a life away from pain. We don't punish children for the sins of their captors."
The young Jedi fell silent, nodding slowly.
Nhon glanced toward the temple's upper spires. *I wonder where Dagon is.*
**Scene 3**
**Inner Chambers, Dark Temple**
**Dagon POV**
*Hmm. Odd. So very odd,* I thought as I carefully placed three unconscious women into separate Mandalorian vaults — also known as Mandalorian sarcophagi or Jedi-grade solitary containment units. These mobile prison cells, manufactured by Concordian Crescent Technologies, were designed specifically to hold dangerous Force-sensitives.
Two Twi'leks and one Chiss.
The first was a Chiss clone of Sev'rance Tann. Her mind felt… black. Empty. A disposable tool that had somehow survived the rushed cloning process.
The second was far more surprising.
Darth Atroxa — a Lethan Twi'lek female, a Sith Lord of the old Empire. I had thought her long dead. It appeared Vitiate had kept her frozen and imprisoned, intending to turn her into a personal slave.
And the third…
*Oh, poor me,* I thought. *Darth Talon.* The same lethally beautiful Sith Lord who, in roughly one hundred years, would serve under Darth Krayt. Or at least a version of her — groomed and broken by the Prophets.
All three had been tortured, experimented on, and conditioned. Now they lay in stasis, floating in bacta within the reinforced Mandalorian vaults.
I sealed the containers.
"Three tortured females knocked out and ready for transport," I muttered. "I'll sort them out back at the Temple. At least."
I activated my comm. "This is Dagon. Inner sanctum clear. Secure the relics and destroy anything we can't carry. Prepare for extraction."
The fall of the Dark Prophets was complete. Their ancient order — one that had survived for millennia in the shadows — had been wiped out in a single day.
But I knew this was only one small victory in a much larger war.