The Dark Lord's Downfall

The vision began with the sound of drums, reverberating through the bones of every

soul in attendance. A vast arena, packed, all chanting with feverish devotion.

In the center, bathed in flickering pyre light, stood the Dark Lord.

The Jedi would have you believe the galaxy is theirs to shepherd. Their peace is

a lie. A cancer eating away at strength and ambition. When the last

temple falls, when the last weakling lightsaber sputters out, then the galaxy

will be reborn. In fire. And in glory. The crowd exploded, roaring approval,

but then the earth cracked beneath his feet, a smoking wound opening.