"Draw your blade!" Max Vizsla beckoned in open challenge. "Whatever you are, I'm not leaving until I've beaten you senseless. Otherwise this won't sit right with me."
"Is that so?" Darth Noctyss covered her mouth and laughed. "While you're beating me inside an illusion, what do you imagine your body is doing out in the material world? Aren't you afraid that once you defeat me, the illusion will shatter and you'll find the Wren father and son lying at your feet, heads severed, dead with their eyes still open?"
Max said nothing. He simply opened with a ruthless downward cut meant to split Darth Noctyss from crown to chest.
Darth Noctyss raised her blade to block. But just before the two sabers met, Max deactivated his own. Then, the instant his "invisible" blade passed through the arc of the red one, he reignited it.
Hiss—
Darth Noctyss's head was cleaved neatly in two.
Clap, clap, clap.
Applause sounded from behind another statue.
Max turned toward it and saw another fully armored "Max Vizsla" strolling out from the shadows.
"Bravo, bravo. Just as I'd expect from me."
The other "Max Vizsla" applauded as he walked.
"What are you?" Max leveled his blade at the newcomer and demanded.
"Strange, isn't it? You can still channel your anger into your swordsmanship. The dark side hasn't been stripped out of you at all. Now that you know I'm not simply your dark half, you're rattled."
When Max did not answer, the false Max continued.
"Darth Noctyss wasn't wearing a beskar helmet. Christopher Wren is. That's why you dared to cut with a lightsaber and didn't worry about hitting him by mistake. But now? How do you intend to bring down an armed and armored version of yourself?"
"Bring you down?" Max laughed. "And then my parents come walking out from behind some other statue next? I'm not interested in—"
Snap-hiss!
The false Max ignited his jetpack and lunged forward under the combined force of technology and the Force, his yellow blade slashing straight for Max's throat.
"You may not be interested, but I am."
The two Maxes crashed into battle at once.
One fought with both hands on the hilt, driving every strike toward the gaps in beskar armor. His blows crashed down like thunderous wrath, his sweeping cuts shone like a river under hard light, and his thrusts flashed like a white rainbow piercing the sun. Relentless as driving rain.
The other moved in flowing bursts, blade and body as one. From head to toe, he was all motion—like pear blossoms dancing in a storm, like snowflakes swirling in a white wind. No opening, no weakness, no path through.
Perhaps growing tired of the exchange, the false Max disengaged after one clash and started talking again.
"I really don't understand where you're finding the leisure to spar with me. Are you truly not worried about what's happening to the Wrens outside the illusion?"
"You're getting anxious? I know you're anxious—but hold that thought."
Having maneuvered all the way back to the citadel entrance, Max answered with mockery even as he withdrew at speed.
Once outside the citadel, the false Max did not pursue. Max could see the familiar Kom'rk-class starfighter not far away, yet he still could not sense the presence of Christopher Wren or young Ralkai.
Had he actually broken free of the illusion now?
He could not say.
He had to save them. But how? Should he re-enter the citadel? For a moment, Max could not decide.
"You and I both know there is no Avalokiteśvara in this world."
The words of "Darth Noctyss" suddenly echoed through Max's mind.
It was true enough. There were no Buddhas or bodhisattvas in this galaxy.
But there were gods.
Max was certain now that his drift into Exegol and his discovery of this citadel had both been the result of a direct pull—or interference—from the will of the dark side of the Force.
Very well, then. If the Son wanted to play dirty, he could hardly blame Max for answering in kind.
After several deep breaths to steady himself, Max drew on the shadow magick Shiri and the other girls had taught him, mixed it with the ritual structure of occult workings he remembered from a novel he had once read before coming to this galaxy, and attempted his first true invocation.
"The Ones—Daughter!"
"You are the wielder of the Force, the embodiment of the will of the light!"
"You are the goddess of life, the guardian of all living things!"
"I pray for your favor."
"I pray that you favor a faithful servant."
"I pray for the power of the light side of the Force."
"I pray for the power to purify and heal."
"I pray that you heal the wounds here and cleanse the evil here."
"I pray that you help me heal and cleanse this planet fallen into darkness, and restore her to harmony and balance."
"May the Force be with me!"
"Hm?" A gentle voice, warm yet vast and solemn, sounded directly in the depths of Max's consciousness. "You're the one who's been calling me Avalokiteśvara, aren't you?"
Before Max could respond, the voice gave a startled cry.
"Oh, Celestials! This planet is crying. She's wounded. Hmph—my brother's handiwork again."
The clouds split open at once, and sunlight poured down over the Sith citadel.
The rent in the cloud cover widened, wider and wider, and the grim, dreadful atmosphere of the ancient fortress slowly dissolved beneath the warmth of the sun.
At last, Max could sense Christopher Wren and Ralkai again. Relief hit him so hard it brought tears to his eyes. He spread his arms wide to the sunlight and praised the goddess without restraint.
"There now," the voice said again. "This world has been restored to harmony and balance."
"Goddess!" Max said quickly. "Please watch over me. I'm worried your brother may retaliate."
"Mm. I'll watch over you," the voice said gently. "But you mustn't use my summoning rite to call Father and complain to him either. My brother isn't evil by nature. He's merely lost his way for a time."
"As you will," Max said, pressing a hand to his chest. "Goddess."
...
"Chief!" The comm crackled to life.
"The danger's passed. It's over now," Max called into it. "How are you and Ralkai?"
"I'm fine. Ralkai overextended himself mentally and passed out."
"Take him back to the Kom'rk and let him rest."
"Yes, Chief."
Inside the Kom'rk's cargo hold, every kyber crystal had changed from colorless transparency to bright yellow translucence. Max sat there for a long while, his heart still unsettled.
To purify and heal Exegol—restoring her to harmony and balance—was, in effect, to tear out one of the Son's anchors in the material world. It was entirely possible that the embodiment of the dark side's will would take personal offense at that.
But Max did not regret it.
You led me to this planet, and I came. You led me into the Sith citadel, and I went. And then you tried to break me there. That was too much.
It made no difference whether the one behind it was the Son of Mortis or a true god. Max would resist either way.
Though his old faith in strict materialism had gradually fallen away since coming to this galaxy, he had grown up on stories of heroes who defied the heavens themselves. Children raised on such stories did not bow to dark gods.
And yet—how had he drawn the Son's attention in the first place?
Max turned it over in his mind again and again, but found no answer.
...
Mortis.
"Why interfere in this?"
"Why bully a handful of mortals?"
"Mortals? Heh..."
The Son laughed in a cold, sinister whisper.
"You don't seriously want some mortal climbing over our heads and becoming our stepfather, do you?"
PS: The Ones of Mortis can be treated as gods within the Star Wars universe, but they are not the supreme creators.
The Ones are wielders of the Force. The Daughter and the Son are embodiments of the wills of the light and dark sides of the Force, while the Father serves as the keeper of balance between them.
The Celestials, by contrast, are the creators of both the Star Wars universe and the Force itself—beings far beyond mortal understanding, and beyond anything the author could truly describe or the reader fully comprehend.
PPS: The Winged Goddess and the Fanged God worshiped by Mother Talzin's line of Nightsisters point, respectively, to the Daughter and the Son.
Official lore makes it clear from an omniscient point of view that Talzin's Nightsisters are dark side Force-users. From that, one may infer that they should be unable to receive an answer from the Daughter through shadow magick.
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STAR WARS: THE RISE OF MANDALORE
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