Korda Six — war-torn, scorched, broken.
On one side of the battlefield, Jaster Mereel, battered and pinned, stood shoulder to shoulder with a younger, determined Jango Fett. The True Mandalorians were outnumbered, Montross's betrayal cutting deep. Blaster fire lit the rocky ridgelines as Death Watch forces, led by Tor Vizsla himself, began their final push.
"Jango, hold the left flank—buy me time to reposition!" Jaster barked, ducking behind cover. Jango nodded and sprinted, already pulling the pin on a thermal detonator.
Across the field, Tor Vizsla raised a hand. "This is it! Kill Jaster Mereel and end the True Mandalorians for good!"
The sky darkened. A blinding streak tore across the battlefield like a comet.
The impact hit the center line between both armies with enough force to send shockwaves across the canyon, sending bodies flying, dirt upheaved, weapons scattered. Both sides froze as dust choked the air.
A deep CLANK echoed. And from the crater… emerged the Armored Man.
Jin-Woo stood upright, steam rising from his exoframe, his presence heavy enough to weigh down every heartbeat around him. Purple energy flickered around his shoulders. His gaze swept both armies like judgment itself.
Jango blinked, stunned. "Jaster… did you hire the Armored Man?"
Jaster, just as confused, shook his head slowly. "I don't even know who that is…"
Then, from amidst the chaos, Tor Vizsla stepped forward. His jetpack cracked as he landed, yanking off his helmet to reveal a rugged, scarred face twisted into a smirk.
"I've heard your stories, Armored Man," Tor called out, his voice booming across the battlefield. "But this isn't your fight. That old relic over there's about to die by my hand."
He motioned toward Jaster, then looked back at Jin-Woo with a grin full of arrogance.
"Join me. Stand with Death Watch. We have the vision. With you, the Republic wouldn't stand a cha—"
A screech tore through the battlefield—followed by a chorus of CLANKS.
Bright golden lances of death rained down from above. Sentinel beams sliced through the air like divine judgment. Dozens of Death Watch and Kordan soldiers disintegrated where they stood—cut down without ceremony, without warning.
Tor Vizsla spun in horror. "COWARDS! You ambush us with machinery?!"
Jin-Woo slowly raised his head, eye visible beneath his exoframe's mask. "For a leader…" he said with complete calm, "you talk too much."
Tor's fury peaked. He ignited the Darksaber, its black blade humming with fury. "Enough! I challenge you, one-on-one! No tricks. No tech. Just you… and me!"
Jin-Woo chuckled softly, unheard beneath his helmet.
My armor is the only thing keeping this galaxy intact, he thought with amusement. If I took it off… you'd be fucked a hundred times over.
Suddenly, a hand grabbed Jin-Woo's armored shoulder.
Jaster Mereel. He stepped in front of Jin-Woo, gaze sharp with firm conviction. "Jango told me briefly about your story… about what you did on the Invincible. But this," he gestured toward Tor with a nod, "this is my fight. My honor. Some of the surviving Death Watch—those not killed by your droids—are out there. Watching. If I win with your tech, it'll be damn near impossible to convince the rest of Mandalore that this was won with honor."
Jin-Woo's voice turned sharp, low. "Fuck off," he said flatly. "You're in my way."
Jaster blinked, surprised—but before he could respond, another hand rested gently on his shoulder.
Jango. The younger Fett stepped forward beside his mentor, not with aggression but caution. "Armored Man… be careful. Tor Vizsla isn't just a brute. He'll use every dirty trick in the book to win. He always has."
Jin-Woo tilted his head just slightly, eye narrowing beneath the shifting shadows of his helmet.
"Tor Vizsla should be the one worried," he said coolly. "Without my armor… there goes his chances of winning."
Jin woo stepped forward once more, unbothered by the tense stares of Death Watch remnants still hiding in the cliffs above. His voice carried with deliberate venom. "Leaders who talk too much... yeah, I mean you, Tor Vizsla."
Tor's expression tightened, lips curling in fury, but he held his tongue. Barely.
Jin-Woo gave a casual shrug. "Tell me, do you have a son? Someone named Pre Vizsla, maybe?"
The Mandalorian clenched his fists. "Coward! You threaten my family now?! Are you holding my son hostage?!"
Jin-Woo blinked slowly. "Nah. Just guessing. Hard to keep up with canon when half of it is fanfiction and the other half is Disney's retcon nightmare."
Tor barely processed the words—he was too busy glaring with bloodthirst.
Then Jin-Woo took a deep breath… and his exoframe began to retract.
Tor Vizsla sneered as Jin-Woo's armor began to peel away. "When I kill you, Armored Man—your armor will become the new symbol of the Death Wa—"
He didn't finish. Because then he saw it.
The armor collapsed inward like falling metal petals, vanishing into nothingness. And what stood in its place was not a man—not anymore.
The light around him seemed to bend. The air grew heavy, as if the atmosphere itself recoiled. What emerged from the shell of the exoframe was a towering being cloaked in a living shadow. A figure wreathed in flame-like violet hair, eyes glowing with hellish fire, two massive curved black horns jutting from his head.
Ashborn Form . He was five times the size of Tor Vizsla, his black armor like scales forged from death itself. A long, tattered shadow cloak flowed behind him like smoke from a funeral pyre. His Colossal black blade was unlike any weapon Vizsla had ever seen. And behind him, stomping forward from the swirling dark—his steed. A dark warhorse, its hooves leaving trails of flame across the cracked ground.
Jin-Woo's voice rumbled like distant thunder. "That was your mistake… chatty little leader."
His eyes locked with Tor Vizsla's. "My armor wasn't protecting me from you."
He stepped forward once more. "It was protecting you from me."
Tor Vizsla began to shake. Not just a little. His body trembled violently, his grip on the Darksaber faltering as his legs instinctively backed away. "What… what kind of beast—what kind of horrifying galaxy are you from?!"
Jin-Woo's face twisted into a calm smile. "Does a prey, have the right to ask questions of the predator?"
Then he looked—just for a moment—toward Jaster and Jango. Even they, warriors born and bred, couldn't hide their reaction. Their jaws clenched. Their eyes wide. Jango unconsciously placed a hand over his chest, feeling his heart beating very hard .
Jin-Woo smirked. "However," he said, "I'm in a good mood today. If you manage to Survive my blade… three times—I'll spare you."
Tor Vizsla's breath hitched. "Does a monster… even keep his word?"
SHHHHHRRRRAAAK—!A black slash tore through the air the moment he finished speaking. Not at Vizsla—but to his side. Ashborn's blade cleaved the distant mountains, carving through stone, trees, and earth like a dark guillotine. The shockwave alone turned the landscape into a crater. Entire hills fell. Valleys split open. A new scar carved into Korda Six—an unnatural rift of destruction now visible from orbit.
Jin-Woo exhaled, a faint trail of dark mist escaping his mouth. "What do you say, Tor Vizsla…?" he rumbled. "Shall I hunt you like a dog…?"
He took a slow step forward."Or fight me… like a man?"
Tor Vizsla's knees nearly buckled. But then he clenched his jaw, forced himself to breathe, and raised the Darksaber again. "If I die…" he rasped, "…will you spare my men?"
Jin-Woo's purple eyes narrowed. "That," he said, "depends entirely… on your performance, Tor."
Tor Vizsla's breathing was ragged, but his voice rang clear as he activated his holocommunicator, projecting a shaky blue light into the dust-choked air. "Remaining Death Watch… on me. Now. You've seen it. This monster—this thing—can kill us with a swing of his sword."
One by one, twenty Death Watch elite emerged from the shadows and ruins across the shattered cliffs of Korda Six, their jetpacks lighting up in streaks as they descended swiftly, boots crunching into the ruined earth behind Tor.
"Yes, Master Tor," one of them said, their voice heavy with conflicted loyalty and fear.
Tor Vizsla stood straighter, turning to face them all. "If I fail… if I fall today… tell my son—Pre Vizsla—that his father died honorably, defending the Death Watch from a walking calamity."
He cast a brief glance toward Jin-Woo, still standing like an executioner awaiting the nod.
Tor continued, "And you… you follow this monster's command until the day we can bolster our strength again. Do you hear me?"
"But Master Tor—" one Death Watch soldier stepped forward, his voice laced with desperation. "We can fight him together. If we strike at once, we can overwhelm—"
"Fool," Tor snapped, his anger voice of command. "Did you not see it? One swing of his blade changed the landscape. A new valley opened just from the air he cut. He is not a warrior. He is not a man. He is Monster ."
The soldiers stunned . Silence hung for a moment.
Tor's voice dropped. "Honor me… by surviving. And remember—when I die… do as he says. Death Watch will survive. We will return."
Without hesitation, each of the twenty Death Watch soldiers removed their helmets. They knelt in unison, placing their fists to their chests.
"Long live the Death Watch. Long live the Death Watch," they said in solemn unity, the chant echoing like a dirge across the broken battlefield.
From the sideline, Jango Fett watched it all unfold, eyes tight behind his helmet.
"Jaster," he muttered quietly, "They're the bad guys… so why do I feel sympathy for them?"
Jaster Mereel kept his arms crossed, his own gaze locked onto the towering form of Ashborn Jin-Woo. "Because behind that armor…" Jaster said lowly, "isn't a man."
He narrowed his eyes. "It's a monster."
Jin-Woo stood amidst the cracked earth, his voice cold and resolute.
"Your goodbyes are usually for good people," he said calmly, gaze never wavering. "But I suppose when death comes knocking… people show their true colors."
Tor Vizsla raised his head, breathing heavily. "I'll assure you this, Armored Man—monster, whatever you are—I'll come back from this. And I'll come back as the winner."
Then, in one fluid motion, he launched into the air with a burst of fire from his jetpack, unleashing a wall of flame as cover. In the midst of the smoke, a wrist rocket fired—aimed squarely at Jin-Woo's chest.
The explosion struck— —but it did nothing.
Jin-Woo hadn't even flinched. The smoke cleared, and there he stood, unimpressed.
Then, without moving a single step, Jin-Woo lifted one clawed hand. Shadows curled like tendrils from his fingers as the gravitational pull of his Ruler's Authority activated.
Tor didn't even have time to react. He was yanked mid-air , spiraling downward as if gravity had multiplied by tenfold. He hit the ground with a thunderous crash, a crater blooming beneath him. The impact echoed loudly through the valley.
Dust and debris slowly settled around the motionless body of Tor Vizsla, coughing and wheezing. His chest heaved, and he winced—several ribs were definitely broken.
Jin-Woo stepped to the edge of the crater, peering down like a god judging a mortal.
"That was one," he said flatly. "Just a warm-up."
He tilted his head slightly, expression unreadable. "You've got two more."