Jin-Woo drifted into a dream, but it was not a peaceful one.
He was no longer Jin-Woo. He was something else. The battlefield of the Ashavan and Dregvant War stretched before him—a war between light and dark that had waged for eternity. It was a cycle, an endless slaughter where both sides sought to claim dominance. And Jin-Woo… he had steeled himself against it.
If the cycle would never end, then he would end it himself.
And so he did.
He slaughtered them all. Light, dark—it didn't matter. He erased the very concept of the war itself, cutting down Normal gods and mortals alike. Planets fell. Stars withered. Until there was nothing left.
Nothing except her.
A woman behind The curtain of a throne . The First Hadou God. The one who had watched from beyond the curtain of existence, pulling the strings, letting the cycle continue. Jin-Woo reached her. And in that moment, she realized—too late—that he had surpassed her.
That she was nothing compared to him.
He cut her down.
And in her place, he became something greater. The Remorseless itself.
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Twelve hours before the war.
Jin-Woo's eyes snapped open.
He was no longer in the war. No longer in the abyss of his memories. He was back in the Defender-class Light Corvette, seated in the same chair he had fallen asleep in.
Beside him, Rey was already awake, kneeling on the floor with a piece of bread in her hands.
"Sir Joever, you slept for a whole day—twenty-four hours," she said, her voice slightly amused. "You need to eat something." She held the bread out toward him.
Jin-Woo, still partially concealed by his cloak, his face half-hidden except for his sharp blue eyes, shook his head. "No need," he said calmly, his voice as unreadable as ever. "A big day is coming."
Rey blinked, sensing the weight in his words.
"Stay here," he ordered. "And don't wander out."
She hesitated, then nodded. "Okay."
Jin-Woo stood up, his gaze shifting toward the ship's exit. The war was about to begin
Jin-Woo strode through the asteroid base, his cloak billowing slightly as he made his way toward Iaco Stark's office. The corridors were more crowded than before—pirates, mercenaries, and smugglers gathering in front of a large holoscreen that projected the latest news.
A Twi'lek reporter stood at the center of the screen, her voice clear but urgent.
"The Trade Federation is officially entering the war. The reason? A recently uncovered document linking a Republic senator to Stark. This document promises exclusive trade routes and weapons contracts for the pirates in exchange for betraying the Trade Federation. Meanwhile, the Jedi Order has dispatched an additional twenty Jedi Knights under the leadership of Master Yvhoka, the Wookiee Jedi Master. The Jedi Council also suspects the Trade Federation of harboring a Sith artifact, further complicating negotiations."
The screen flickered, switching to a shot of a Republic fleet preparing for the Qotile meeting.
"The Republic and Trade Federation are walking into this summit with deep distrust toward one another," the reporter continued. "However, Viceroy Nute Gunray has reassured his allies that the Trade Federation is committed to peace and cooperation. To prove this, he has personally agreed to stay aboard a Republic ship during the meeting, accompanied by 10 Lucrehulk-class battleships."
Jin-Woo smirked slightly, his eyes narrowing as he processed the situation. Offensive Bias, you did well. This is about to be the biggest war the Outer Rim has seen in this generation.
Jin-Woo entered Stark's office, which was now packed with pirates, mercenaries, and warlords from across the Outer Rim. The air was tense, thick with cigarette smoke and the scent of cheap alcohol, but the moment he stepped inside, the entire room quieted.
Iaco Stark, standing at the center, let out a long, exaggerated sigh before shaking his head. "What the fuck," he muttered. "This psychopath Joever Bideney just pulled off the biggest fraud in the galaxy and dragged a third force into this war." He turned toward the gathered warlords and gestured toward Jin-Woo. "Gentlemen, I present to you—Joever Bideney. A man who loves war."
There were grumbles from the gathered pirates. One of the warlords, a scarred Weequay with a cybernetic arm, scoffed. "Joever, you made things worse," he growled. "Nute Gunray is staying aboard a Republic ship. That means the Trade Federation won't be able to launch a full-scale attack without putting their own leader at risk. You just turned this whole thing into a mess."
Jin-Woo leaned against the wall, unimpressed. "There's another ace in the hole," he said simply. "Just be patient. Trust me, it's all falling into place."
Another warlord, a Nikto with a thick accent, grumbled. "We ain't got time to be patient. If our fleets jump in too early, both the Republic and the Trade Federation will target us first."
Jin-Woo's smirk widened slightly. And that's exactly what I want.
Greedy bastards. I know you won't be patient. You're pirates—you want loot. And when you make your move, you'll be walking straight into the worst plague both sides have ever seen.
Iaco Stark raised his hands, calling for order. "Gentlemen, please stand down. Money favors the bold. I banded you all together because we take what we want, not because we sit around whining about the odds. Now, I ask you again—why do we fight this war?"
The pirate warlords all roared in unison, "For our prosperity! For the unfairness of this galaxy!"
Stark grinned. "Good. Then I'll see you all in ten hours for final preparations."
As the warlords began to disperse, Stark turned to Jin-Woo. "You'll be commanding from your own ship, or mine?"
Jin-Woo casually adjusted his cloak. "I'll stay aboard your battleship. Have a starfighter prepared as well. War without personally being there is… unsatisfying."
Stark chuckled, shaking his head. "You're a crazy bastard."
After twelve hours, the Republic fleet emerged from hyperspace, their warships tearing through the void with precision. At the center of the formation was the Invincible, a Republic heavy cruiser under the command of Senator Ranulph Tarkin, its armored hull a symbol of the Republic's military strength. Flanking it were twenty Republic light cruisers and a series of Consular-class cruisers, their red hulls gleaming against the backdrop of space.
On the bridge of the Invincible, three figures stood at the forefront of the unfolding war.
Senator Ranulph Tarkin, his uniform pristine, his hands folded behind his back, radiated the discipline and confidence of a Republic military man.
Beside him stood Viceroy Nute Gunray, the Neimoidian's posture stiff, his red eyes calculating as his long fingers tapped anxiously against the console.
The last figure was unlike the others—a towering Wookiee Jedi Master, Tyvokka, his fur slightly bristled as his deep-set eyes scanned the holotable before them.
Tarkin narrowed his gaze, stepping forward. "Where are your armies, Viceroy?"
Nute Gunray didn't flinch, his tone measured, rehearsed. "They will arrive shortly."
Right on cue, four massive Lucrehulk-class battleships emerged from hyperspace, dwarfing even the Republic's Invincible. Their rounded hulls, marked with the insignia of the Trade Federation, reflected the light of distant stars.
Gunray let a slow smirk cross his face as he folded his arms. "Like I said, Senator, peace and cooperation from the Trade Federation are unquestionable."
Tarkin scoffed, unimpressed. "You're lying. You told us you would bring ten Lucrehulks."
Gunray's smirk didn't falter, but his eyes glinted with greed. "Bringing warships of that size… is not cheap, Senator."
Tarkin's jaw tightened. He didn't trust the Neimoidian, but before he could retort, a deep growl rumbled through the bridge.
"Calm yourself, Senator Tarkin," Master Yvokka said, his voice a deep, commanding presence that forced the tension down. "The battle is not yet upon us. But I have a bad feeling about this…"
His fur bristled slightly as he turned his attention toward the void, his instincts sharpening.
Something wasn't right. Something else was coming.
A sudden, deafening explosion rocked the Republic Consular-class cruiser, its sleek hull erupting into flames as one of the Lucrehulks opened fire without warning. The blast sent debris scattering across the battlefield, while alarms blared violently through the Invincible's bridge.
Senator Ranulph Tarkin reacted in an instant.
With cold precision, he ripped his blaster from its holster and pointed it directly at Nute Gunray's head.
"Any last words, traitor?" Tarkin's voice was filled with venom, his finger tightening on the trigger.
Gunray's red eyes widened in panic. "I assure you, Senator, I had no intention of committing suicide!"
His voice wavered, but beneath it, there was something else—genuine confusion.
Before Tarkin could pull the trigger, Gunray frantically activated his holofeed communicator.
"Who fired without permission?!" he screeched, his voice rising in disbelief.
The holofeed flickered to life.
A Neimoidian captain appeared on-screen, his face twisted in agony. His hands clutched at his throat, his skin turning sickly pale as he struggled to speak. "V-Viceroy… the droids… they've gone rogue—"
Gunray watched in horror as something unseen tore through the captain's body, cutting off his last words.
Then—the screen turned black. Every single control panel, holofeed, and display monitor aboard the Invincible's bridge flickered off, replaced by a single ominous message, written in deep red Forerunner script.
YOU'RE ALL GOING TO DIE DOWN HERE.
The bridge fell into utter silence. Then, the first scream rang out.
Thick, unnatural gas hissed through the ventilation systems, flooding the entire Lucrehulk battleship fleet and seeping into the Republic cruisers.
Crew members clawed at their throats, their eyes turning bloodshot as violent coughing fits wracked their bodies. Some collapsed to the floor, convulsing as the sickness took hold. Others stumbled through the corridors, gagging on their own blood, their flesh beginning to blacken with plague-like symptoms.
But not everyone was affected.
Master Tyvokka remained standing, untouched.
So did Senator Tarkin. So did Nute Gunray.
The Jedi, the high-ranking officers, the key political figures—all of them were completely unharmed.
Because this wasn't an accident. This was planned.
Someone had deliberately engineered this plague to target only the expendable—only the fodder.
"Get me a tactical readout on those Lucrehulks!" Tarkin barked, but the comm systems remained unresponsive. The virus had spread beyond the crew—it had infected the ships themselves.
A technological plague. A complete hostile AI override.
Tarkin wasted no time. With a snarl, he slammed his fist onto a control panel, triggering a priority distress signal.
Seconds later, a Venator-class Star Destroyer emerged from hyperspace, its hull gleaming with the might of the Republic.
Tarkin's voice was filled with unrelenting fury as he pointed toward the rogue Lucrehulks.
"OPEN FIRE! DESTROY THEM ALL!"
The space erupted into total war.
The Venator-class Star Destroyer unleashed a relentless barrage of turbolaser fire, its Blue energy beams tearing through the hull of a rogue Lucrehulk. Explosions rippled across the Trade Federation fleet, sending shattered debris spinning into the darkness.
The Lucrehulks fired back. Massive ion cannons discharged with earth-shattering force, slamming into the Republic light cruisers and disabling their shields. The battle descended into chaos, with blaster fire, missile salvos, and turbolaser barrages crisscrossing through space in an uncontrollable inferno of destruction.
Then, without warning—
A massive holographic projection flickered into existence above the battlefield, spanning the width of an entire Republic cruiser.
A man. An elderly human, smiling vacantly, a scoop of ice cream in his hand. His voice echoed across the entire system. "My name is Joever Bideney , and I love ice cream."
The video continued, showing Joever Bideney , the President of the Nations , happily eating ice cream while a woman—Kamahahaha —stood beside him, nodding with a forced smile.
It was nonsensical. It was absurd. It was completely, utterly deranged. For a moment, the entire battlefield froze.
Even the Jedi, the Republic forces, and the Trade Federation officers simply stared at the projection.
Senator Ranulph Tarkin, a man of iron discipline, a war strategist of the Republic's military elite, a man who had faced intergalactic warfare—completely lost his composure.
His face twisted with unbridled rage. "JOEVER BIDENEY—!!" he roared, his voice shaking the entire bridge. "I'M GOING TO KILL YOUUUUUU!"
But before Tarkin could completely lose his mind, a terrifying sound filled the bridge. A guttural, inhuman screech.
Master Tyvokka spun on his heel. "Senator, look around you!"
Tarkin did. And what he saw made his blood run cold.
Half of the Republic officers on the bridge—the same ones who had coughed, collapsed, and screamed—were no longer human.
Their bodies twisted grotesquely, their eyes burning with feral hunger. Flesh ripped apart, revealing jagged claws. Their mouths split open, filled with rows of needle-like teeth.
They weren't men anymore. They were Rakghouls.
Tarkin stumbled backward. "What… What in the Galaxy's name—?!"
The Rakghouls lunged. Screams filled the bridge as soldiers, pilots, and officers were torn apart. Blaster fire erupted in every direction, red and blue streaks lighting up the enclosed space as the infection spread rapidly.
Nute Gunray's voice was hysterical. "We're fucked—WE'RE COMPLETELY FUCKED!"
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The Stark Fleet drifted just beyond the Battle , watching as the Republic, Trade Federation, and Rakghoul-infested ships annihilated one another in a catastrophic warzone.
Stark's flagship, the Raptor, held its position at the center of the fleet—flanked by five Kaloth-style battle cruisers and five Vainglorious-class battle cruisers. The pirate warlords, some of the most cutthroat figures in the galaxy, stood on the bridge, observing the battle unfold.
Iaco Stark leaned back in his chair, hands folded together, grinning like a man who had just won the lottery.
"I never expected you to be an old man, Joever," he mused, his gaze flicking toward Jin-Woo. "And yet, here we are. You did it. Like you said—they're killing each other."
The pirate warlords murmured among themselves, eyes gleaming with greed as they watched Republic and Trade Federation ships tear into one another.
One of the warlords, a scarred Weequay, took a step forward. "If I need to ask," he said cautiously, his voice laced with both respect and fear, "can you share the technology that let you hijack those ships?"
Jin-Woo didn't answer. He just stood there, silent, watching the battle unfold.
The Weequay swallowed. The silence was unnerving.
After a few moments, Jin-Woo finally spoke. "Prepare my starship."
Iaco Stark smirked. "Already prepared for a man crazy as you."
Jin-Woo turned and walked toward the hangar, Iaco Stark following behind. They arrived at the lower decks, where a sleek, compact starfighter sat waiting.
Jin-Woo stared at it for a moment before turning to Stark. "A single-seat passenger?"
Stark shrugged. "What did you expect, a gunship?"
Jin-Woo didn't answer.
Stark held out a hand. "Just good business."
For a moment, Jin-Woo considered leaving him hanging—but he took the offered hand, shaking it once before pulling away. He didn't say anything, didn't react, just turned and boarded the ship.
Iaco Stark watched him go, a slow smirk creeping onto his face.
As Jin-Woo's starfighter launched into space, he watched the battlefield stretch out before him. Wreckage floated like corpses in a vast ocean, blaster fire and explosions illuminating the void.
Then—something caught his eye.
The cockpit screen suddenly flashed red, and a message appeared in bold white letters:
"IT'S JUST GOOD BUSINESS."
Jin-Woo's eyes narrowed. Immediately, another warning blared.
WARNING: SHIP SELF-DESTRUCT SEQUENCE INITIATED. DETONATION IN 10 SECONDS.
Jin-Woo scoffed, already expecting something like this. Stark was a backstabber. A slippery bastard who'd sell out his own mother if it meant making a profit.
But this? This was better than he expected.
Joever Bideney, the Plague Giver, the Ghost Slaver, the man who started the largest war the Outer Rim had seen in generations—was about to die.
At least, that's what the galaxy would believe.
Jin-Woo smirked, his voice calm as he whispered, "Offensive Bias, slipspace me out—just me. Leave the ship. And prepare my Proto-Didact Exo-Frame."
"Affirmative," Offensive Bias responded.
For a split second, reality folded inward, a silent ripple distorting the space around him—then Jin-Woo vanished.
The next instant— The starfighter erupted into a massive fireball, the explosion ripping through space in a brilliant flash of flames and debris. The shockwave sent wreckage spiraling, consuming any smaller fighters that strayed too close.
From a distance, Iaco Stark grinned as he watched the explosion from his bridge. "What did I tell you, gentlemen?" he said, leaning back with a smug expression. "Joever Bideney dies today."
One of the pirate warlords raised an eyebrow. "Technically, you didn't tell us anything."
Another pirate warlord scoffed, crossing his arms. "How are we supposed to loot the Republic and Trade Federation fleets? There are mutants tearing each other apart, Jedi swinging their lightsabers, and we're stuck watching."
Stark, still grinning, waved them off. "Relax. I have leverage. We've got Gunray, and once we play our cards right, we'll be filthy rich."
Confident, Stark turned on his holocommunicator. "Prepare that Defender-class light corvette. The one Joever Bideney was using—it's mine now. I want it converted into my personal luxury ship."
There was a long silence.
Then, one of his guards hesitantly spoke up. "...Sir, the ship is gone."
Stark's grin vanished. "What?"
One of the bridge officers, looking pale, stammered. "T-The ship vanished, sir. One of the dockworkers saw it. There was—there was some kind of blue portal. It opened up out of nowhere, right inside the base, and—"
the officer swallowed hard, "—it led to some kind of giant ring in the sky."
For a moment, silence filled the room.
Then, realization hit Stark. "Oh shit."
The lights in Stark's control room flickered, then dimmed entirely. A deep hum resonated through the walls, sending chills down the spines of every pirate in the room. Then, the main control panel shut down, leaving only a single black screen in the center.
A crimson Forerunner sigil appeared, glowing ominously.
And then came the words.
"IT'S JUST A GOOD BUSINESS. WRONG. IT IS A HORRIFYING WAR."
Stark's blood ran cold.
"Hey—Joe. Come on, I was just kidding," Stark said, forcing a nervous laugh as he wiped sweat from his brow. "Come out, alright? You have your ghost form, right? You're not dead. Hell, I know you. You always have some kind of bullshit backup plan. Joever, remember this—I can just dump all the credits from this chaos into my own pockets, not yours. You want infamy? We can negotiate here, or you'll be nothing."
The screen flickered. Then another message appeared in bold red text.
"ANSWER: THIS IS NOT JOEVER. THIS IS THE AI ITSELF. JOEVER BIDENEY WILL BE REMEMBERED. WHAT YOU KILLED WAS A DUMMY."
A sharp alarm blared throughout the ship.
Stark's heart slammed against his ribs. "You crazy bastard—"
Another klaxon wailed. The Raptor, his prized flagship, was suddenly bathed in flashing red lights. Stark's officers scrambled at their stations, desperately checking the ship's systems.
"Sir—!" one of the technicians yelled. "We've got multiple alarms across the entire ship! The reactor—"
"Forget the reactor!" Stark snarled. "Tell me why my ship is locked down! And prepare to take hostages—civilians!" He gritted his teeth. " Joever Bideney has a soft spot for innocents!"
The screen responded.
"PROBLEM DETECTED. SOLUTION INITIATED."
Then, through the massive viewport, reality twisted.
A gaping blue slipspace rupture tore open above the Raptor's hull.
And from its depths—twenty Forerunner Sentinels emerged.
They opened fire immediately.
Golden beams of precision energy lanced through the corridors, targeting one thing and one thing only—the sections marked as civilian zones.
Screams filled the comms.
A blinding explosion erupted from the lower decks. The ship's hull buckled, splitting apart, fire and debris venting into space. Every emergency alarm across the ship shrieked, but there was no saving the ones caught in the devastation.
Stark's face drained of all color. He slammed his hands on the console. "YOU'RE FUCKING CRAZY! I saw what you did before! You saved a kid—some orphan girl, Rey! There are innocents here! We can negotiate!"
The screen's red text blinked once.
Then it changed. "PROBLEMS ERASED. PROCEEDING WITH FLOOD INFESTATION."
And then—the real nightmare began.