But Daybit blocked it. His arms trembled slightly, his red saber vibrating under the pressure. Heavy, he thought. Every blow is heavy, he didn't break. Then—he saw it. A moment. A gap.
Jin-Woo's blade paused—not from exhaustion, but from overconfidence. The Shadow Monarch let the delay happen. He was playing with him.
So Daybit gambled. He ignited his other hilt—still attached at the back of his belt. A snap-hiss erupted into the air, and a second blade flared to life. Purple. Connected to the red.
A double-bladed lightsaber. The sudden whirl of color and heat broke Jin-Woo's rhythm for half second . Just enough.
Daybit moved. His stance widened, and he spun the saber forward in perfect arcs—controlled, yet wild. Fluid.
[Form VI: Niman].
The balanced, hybrid form. One that embraced the flow of the Force alongside martial combat. Daybit had learned it in secret, watching Maul train alone—Maul, desperate to impress Sidious, always refining his technique in silence. Daybit had watched… and learned.
And now—he had a foothold. A common ground against Jin-Woo in lightsaber combat. If only for now.
Jin-Woo's blade spun to block a sudden sweep, then tilted his head with a glint of curiosity.
"I'm surprised you chose Niman," he said. " Adaptive. Not your usual style, Daybit. But I like it."
Daybit pressed forward, blades spinning in a controlled cyclone of violet and crimson. Niman—Form VI—wasn't about dominance. It was about fluidity. Efficiency. Flowing like water, blending physical precision with the living Force. He wasn't trying to overpower Jin-Woo.
He was trying to outmaneuver him. And for a moment, it almost worked.
Each strike came from unpredictable angles—sweeping, spiraling, pivoting through complex footwork. Daybit moved like a dancer in a hurricane, twin sabers arcing in perfect unison, aiming not for death… but for damage. A nick. A burn. A moment of control.
But Jin-Woo? Jin-Woo didn't move like a man on defense.
He stood like a statue—bladed shadows wrapped around him, his presence grounded in something colder than the void. Makashi—Form II—unfolded in his hands like a duelist's dream. Every block, every parry, was minimal. Efficient. Effortless.
His black saber caught Daybit's double blade with the lightest touch. Not deflecting—redirecting.
CLASH. Jin-Woo tilted his wrist. Daybit's saber spun away.
ZHHMMM. Another strike met a wall of calm pressure and slid off the angled edge.
Then—he shifted.
In one seamless breath, Jin-Woo transitioned. From the grace of Makashi to the chaos of Vaapad—Form VII. The final form. The form of power given rhythm. He didn't strike, but the way his body moved, how the shadows bent with him, how each block slammed against Daybit's momentum—it changed everything.
The tempo shattered. The Force crackled through Jin-Woo's limbs. His black saber twisted in a sudden motion—and his palm lifted.
A hum. A spark of Lightning.
Black, coiling [Force lightning] surged through his fingertips and poured into the Vectivus saber. The blade screamed with energy. Every inch of it sparked with malevolent power.
Daybit swung—
BOOOOOOOM. The moment his saber met Jin-Woo's infused blade, the explosion burst outward in a shockwave of electric fury. Lightning detonated between them. The ground cracked. A pulse of black energy rippled out, burning lines through the dirt.
Daybit shocked . The voltage hit him like a storm god's curse—wrapping his arms, his back, scorching his jacket. His body launched backward, tumbling across the battlefield before slamming to a halt.
He coughed—smoke rising from his shoulders. Still alive. Still breathing.
But wounded. Burned. His arms twitched slightly from the aftershock . His eyes narrowed.
And Jin-Woo? He hadn't moved. He simply lowered his blade, lightning still crackling across the edges like a warning.
"Your form is good," Jin-Woo said, voice low. "But if you want to use Niman against me… you'll need more than elegance. You'll need intent."
Daybit tilted his head slightly, offering a cold, thin smile.
"Thanks for the teaching… Master," he replied, deliberately stressing the word.
Jin-Woo's eye twitched. Master, huh? He really wants to be annoying today.
But before he could retort, Daybit's palm snapped upward—and with it came a sudden, unexpected bolt of green lightning.
It screamed through the air, fast and silent, a gleaming spear of condensed energy. Unlike Sith Force Lightning, it lacked the chaotic burn of rage. This wasn't hatred. This was precision. Judgment. And it was aimed straight at Jin-Woo's face.
Inches from his eye.
But Jin-Woo didn't even blink.
Hehh… Electric Judgment, he thought calmly, watching the light arc closer. An imitation of Sith Lightning. Not meant to vaporize. Meant to stun. Immobilize. Jedi use it when they're too righteous for real power.
He raised his left hand—and caught it.
BZZZCH.
The green lightning coiled into his palm like a trapped beast, and with nothing but a simple application of will, Jin-Woo compressed it—shrinking it—until it became nothing more than a twitching orb of green energy, barely the size of a ping-pong ball, buzzing faintly in his grasp.
He looked at it. Then at Daybit. "When did you learn [ Electric Judgment]?"
Daybit's expression didn't change. "I thought it was Force Lightning. I just used my intent to strike you down."
Jin-Woo clicked his tongue and slowly dispersed the orb, its energy unraveling into harmless sparks.
"You lack emotion," he said flatly. "And that's why your output isn't enough to kill anyone."
"That makes you just another goodie two-shoes Jedi. Dressing like a Sith, acting like a rebel—but in the end… still afraid to burn."
Pepe, watching from the side with Ophelia and Kadoc, puffed his cheeks in mock frustration. "It's not a shame to be a good guy, you know! Being a good guy means you've got friends—and us, Daybit!" He flashed a warm, exaggerated wink.
But Daybit didn't even glance back. He kept his focus locked on Jin-Woo, his tone cold and analytical.
"…Don't tell me that without a proper foundation in Force Lightning, I won't even be able to learn Force Storm from you."
Jin-Woo exhaled through his nose, half a chuckle, half disappointment. "No. I'm saying something worse. You're a half-assed gray Jedi."
Daybit's eyes narrowed slightly.
Jin-woo then continued say "You don't know if you want to redeem the world or burn it. You don't know if you want to be feared, or obeyed, or understood."
"You don't walk between the light and the dark. You just stand in the middle, confused. No direction. No foundation. You're trying to build skyscrapers on fog."
Then Jin-Woo leaned in just enough for his voice to drop.
"And you think that'll be enough to call down the Force Storm?"
He smirked faintly, but there was no warmth behind it. "Pick a side, Daybit. Or you'll never be strong enough to stand on either."
Daybit's gaze never faltered. "I read about Revan," he said quietly. "When I scouted your galaxy for years—studying the patterns, the lost Jedi outposts, the history you left scattered like breadcrumbs—I found old holocrons. Revan… a warrior, a Sith Lord, a Jedi Master. They called him the gray paragon. And still, a hero in the eyes of many."
Jin-Woo tilted his head slightly, unimpressed. "Yeah. A hero. But let me remind you—his so-called balance didn't give him the output to burn a planet's surface. He was powerful, sure. Clever, tactical. But even Revan needed an army of friends just to survive a fight against Vitiate, the Sith Emperor. He wasn't strong enough alone."
Daybit's voice was lower now. "The dark side of the Force… it's fickle. Everyone says it eats you alive. Makes you suffer. Why didn't it ever consume you, Jin-Woo even when you didn't use your monarch power ?"
Jin-Woo gave a cold breath of laughter, one hand resting loosely on the hilt of his lightsaber.
"Because I don't live in it," he said bluntly. "I use it when I need it. And when I don't? I go back to who I am."
"You fall into rage, you lose your judgment. You use hate? You lose your self. It's easy, yeah—but it makes people stupid. Predictable. Weak."
"So if you're planning to ride the line between Revan and insanity—remember this. I walk the line. But I built the damn path first."
Daybit closed his eyes.
Not to retreat. But to focus. Not to feel… but to decide.
CHALDEAS must be destroyed.
That thought hit him—not like a whisper, but like a mission. A conclusion. A truth he carved for himself. And with that clarity, something shifted. The Force surged through his body—wild, crackling—and finally coiled around his hand.
And then—
BZZZAAAAGHHHHH. From his outstretched palm, purple lightning erupted in full arcs, twisting and bursting into the sky with raw intention.
Jin-Woo narrowed his eyes, watching. No flinch. Just a small nod.
"…Now that's [Force Lightning]," he said, voice quiet but firm with approval.
For a heartbeat, one of Daybit's eyes turned orange—a flicker of corruption, of something deeper creeping in. Sith taint. But he breathed, centered, and the color faded as quickly as it had come.
Daybit opened his eyes again. "Now," he asked calmly, "can I learn Force Storm?"
Jin-Woo crossed his arms, tilting his head slightly with a smirk.
"Sure," he said. "But give me some time."
He turned away slightly, already running calculations in his mind.
"I'll need to rearrange the flow. Adjust the feedback channels. Set the scaling curve so even someone weaker than me can cast it without becoming a crater."
"…You'll get it. Just don't die during the process."
Jin-Woo didn't turn back, eyes flickering as internal schematics bloomed across his vision—calculations, structural flows, projected output.
Behind him, Tezcatlipoca stepped forward, arms crossed, his feathers swaying in the windless air.
Kukulcan, watching him closely, raised an eyebrow.
"You seem very interested in this Force Storm, Tezcatlipoca."
The Mayan War God clicked his tongue.
"I got beaten by it. In one strike."
Kukulcan blinked. "Wait, seriously? Even with your First Sun Xibalba active?"
From the side, Morgan Le Fay folded her arms, her tone flat but not without mirth.
"He got his ass kicked. Jin-Woo rigged First Sun Xibalba to count himself as an 'Enemy of the World.'"
Tezcatlipoca didn't even argue.
"He gave himself a weakness. Something that normally would've guaranteed my victory. After all, the moment I activate my Noble Phantasm, all physical laws fall under my control… but Force Storm?"
Tezcatlipoca looked toward Jin-Woo, narrowing his eyes.
"It's not something I can explain. Better you see it yourself."
Zeus, arms folded beside Kirschtaria, let out a slow breath through his nose.
"We already did. When Tython itself tried to attack Jin-Woo. The Force Storm responded."
Daybit, still watching Jin-Woo's back, corrected him coldly:
"No. That wasn't the same. That was the planet reacting."
"This one… this one is crafted. Tailored. A storm not made to defend… but to destroy . You'll want to watch it with your own eyes, Olympian."
Jin-Woo finally straightened his posture, eyes narrowing like a blade being drawn.
"The first one who made it," he said calmly, "was Darth Rivan. But he got cocky. Made stupid calculations. Used an amplifier as a crutch."
He glanced slightly over his shoulder.
"Daybit, you know what happened next?"
Daybit's voice was clipped, already anticipating the answer. "And the result?"
Jin-Woo's eyes flicked toward the distant horizon, as if replaying the memory of another era.
"His whole armada. Gone. Obliterated. And since Force Storm creates a wormhole… it threw the survivors forward in time. ."
He turned, lips curling into a grim smile.
"And I don't want that happening by accident. Now… pay attention. You want to understand its danger?"