Darth Kael stood amidst Mustafar’s ash-choked ruin, the ground trembling beneath his boots. Volcanic wind clawed at his cloak as he glared at the drone—sleek, relentless, its hull glinting like a traitor’s blade. Another relic of the Empire’s failed alliance with the Borg. He’d trusted once. Never again.
Lightning forked from his hands, a jagged betrayal of the air itself. It struck the drone, circuits sizzling, sparks raining onto the blackened stone. The machine shuddered, its hum silenced. Victory, he thought, lips curling. But then—a flicker. Red lights pulsed along its frame. It whirred back to life, adapting.
“You think you can outlast me?” Kael snarled, voice raw over the wind. The drone didn’t answer, its silence a taunt. He poured more power into the storm, bolts coiling like serpents, but the machine adjusted, deflecting the energy in sharp, whining bursts. His chest tightened—control slipping, just like before.
The drone advanced, claws snapping. Kael staggered, fury boiling. He’d built walls of rage to keep the galaxy at bay, yet this thing breached them without a word. Lightning flared one last time, illuminating the ash-swirled dark, but the drone stood unshaken. Kael’s laugh was bitter, hollow. Even machines turned on him now.
