**Chapter 382: Resurrection on Malachor**
**Dagon's POV**
The battlefield was silent now, save for the low howl of Malachor's toxic wind.
Bodies of Black Templars lay scattered across the broken obsidian plain — nearly a full company of Space Marines reduced to broken armor and cooling gene-seed in less than ten minutes. The three Thunderhawks smoldered nearby, their hulls torn open by redirected fire and invisible Force pressure.
I stood at the center of the carnage, breathing slowly, letting the adrenaline and dark-side residue settle.
*Let's see how powerful the Warp truly is.*
I raised my right arm, palm open toward the devastated landscape. The dark side answered instantly — a deep, hungry current that flowed through the ancient wound of Malachor itself. I didn't fight it. I shaped it.
A widespread healing wave rippled outward from my hand. Not gentle restoration, but raw, forceful renewal. The mass shadow generator buried deep beneath the planet's crust — the ancient Sith device that had kept Malachor trapped in eternal darkness and gravitational distortion — shuddered. I felt its ancient mechanisms fight for a moment… then deactivate with a deep, subsonic groan that vibrated through the ground.
It would take decades, perhaps even a full century, but Malachor 5 would see life again. The toxic storms would slowly calm. The shattered crust would cool. One day, green might return to this dead world.
I lowered my arm, exhaling. The effort had drained me more than the fight itself.
Next, I reached into a sealed compartment on my belt and withdrew Darth Nox's holocron. The ancient Sith artifact pulsed with faint red light in my palm. I had carried it for years, studying its teachings, but never fully activating its final protocol.
Today, that changed.
I channeled the Force — a precise blend of dark side drain and balanced life energy — into the holocron. I pulled every lingering scrap of life force and Warp-tainted energy from the corpses around me, every echo of rage and pain left by the dying Space Marines, and concentrated it.
The holocron flared brightly, then shattered in my hand with a sound like breaking glass.
Where the holocron had been, a body began to form.
Flesh knitted itself together from raw Force energy and stolen life. Bone, muscle, skin, hair — all coalesced in seconds. When the light faded, a young man stood before me, completely naked, looking no older than 18 or 19. He had striking white hair styled in a mullet, sharp features, and vivid purple eyes that blinked in confusion.
He looked down at his hands, then at his own body, then at me.
"Where… am I?" he asked, voice hoarse.
I tilted my head. "Hey. Are you Nox?"
The young man's purple eyes widened. "Yes… I am Darth Nox. And you must be…" He paused, touching his face. "Wait — my eyes… they're healed. How did you—? Wait. You're Dagon. The one who found my holocron."
I nodded. "Yes. I'm alive. Wait… ow."
"Easy there, kid," I said, stepping forward to steady him as he swayed. "I just sort of… resurrected you from a holocron ghost. Your holocron is now empty, so the body is a little… off. It'll stabilize soon."
I reached into the emergency compartment of my crashed *Silencer* (which I had landed nearby earlier) and tossed him a set of simple black robes.
"Here. Clothes."
Nox caught them and began dressing, still looking stunned. "I… I remember dying. Or at least, the moment before. Darth Marr's ship was attacked by the Eternal Empire. I made it to an escape pod. There was some kind of accident with the hyperdrive… then nothing. Just darkness. And now I'm here. Naked. On Malachor V. At nineteen years old."
I gave a small shrug. "You were originally around fifty when you 'died,' according to the records. The holocron reconstructed you at your physical prime. Consider it a bonus."
Nox finished dressing and rolled his shoulders, testing his new body. "This feels… strange. But good. Very good."
A soft chime came from my comm. "Ethan, send the *Scimitar* here. I need pickup. And bring a medic."
"Yes, sir," Ethan replied promptly.
Nox looked at me curiously. "You have people waiting?"
"Always," I said. "Come on. We have a lot to talk about on the way back to Lantilles."
**Scene 2 – Aboard the Scimitar**
The *Scimitar* slipped through hyperspace smoothly, its stealth systems fully engaged. Nox sat across from me in the small medical bay, wrapped in a blanket while a medical droid ran final scans.
"Remarkable," the droid intoned. "No injuries. Minor disorientation from rapid reconstitution, but otherwise perfect physiological health."
Nox flexed his fingers, purple eyes gleaming with quiet power. "You think the girls will notice anything… off about me?"
I leaned back against the bulkhead. "No, sir," Ethan's voice came from the cockpit, the droid pilot sounding almost amused. "Though they will definitely question him."
Nox raised an eyebrow at me. "Why?"
"You're a Sith Lord from over two thousand years ago," I said. "I doubt there exists any formal document between the Sith Empire and the Jedi Order under Darth Marr's brief alliance against the Eternal Empire. The moment they sense your presence, questions are going to fly."
Nox chuckled softly. "Fair point. So… what is the last memory you have of me? Am I the Nox that actually died, or just a holocron echo?"
I considered the question. "From what the holocron and historical records say, the 'real' Darth Nox perished alongside Darth Marr during the ambush by the Eternal Empire. You made it to an escape pod, had a hyperdrive malfunction, and… vanished. The holocron contained your consciousness, knowledge, and a fragment of your essence. What I did was pull that fragment out and give it a new body using the life energy I drained from the battlefield."
Nox nodded slowly, processing. "That fits with the lore. I remember the ambush. The Eternal Fleet ships appearing out of nowhere. Marr's last stand. I barely escaped… then the hyperdrive overloaded. After that… nothing but darkness and whispers until you woke me."
"Good enough," I said. "We'll keep the story simple for now. You're a survivor from an ancient Sith Empire who was trapped in a holocron. The details can wait until we're sure the girls won't try to stab you on sight."
Nox smirked. "Wise. I'd rather not fight your entire harem on my first day back among the living."
The *Scimitar* continued its journey toward Lantilles, where the main fleet waited. Behind us, Malachor V slowly began its long healing process. Ahead of us lay new complications — explaining a resurrected ancient Sith Lord to Ahsoka, Zule, and the others, dealing with the political firestorm from Zygerria, and preparing for whatever came next in this increasingly chaotic war.
Nox leaned back, closing his eyes for a moment.
"Thank you, Dagon," he said quietly. "For giving me a second chance at life."
I looked at the young man who had once been one of the most powerful Sith of his era and nodded.
"Don't thank me yet. The galaxy is still burning. And now you're part of the fire."
The *Scimitar* flew on through hyperspace, carrying two men who had died once before — and refused to stay dead.