**Chapter 447**
**Despair and a Handful of Hope – Part 8**
**Scene 1**
Dagon's breathing steadied as he dropped into a low stance, both blades held ready. The air around him grew unnaturally still.
**Water Breathing – Eleventh Form: Dead Calm.**
He ceased all unnecessary movement. His body became a tranquil mirror amidst a imagined raging ocean that instantly calmed into a perfectly reflective pool. In this state, his perception expanded. Every incoming attack felt slow, predictable.
John Connor charged like a machine possessed.
Plasma blades extended from his forearms in glowing orange arcs. He unleashed a blistering flurry of strikes — faster than any human should be capable of.
Dagon moved imperceptibly. His twin blades became a blur of silver and red, deflecting, blocking, and counter-cutting with perfect precision. John's plasma blades slid off Dagon's guard again and again, sparks flying as the Dead Calm technique held firm.
For several heartbeats, it looked like Dagon had the advantage.
Then John smiled.
With a sudden surge of phase-matter shifting and unknown dark energy, John accelerated beyond the form's limits. One plasma blade slipped through the defense and carved a shallow but painful gash across Dagon's left thigh, slicing through beskar like it was cloth.
Dagon hissed in pain, staggering back as blood welled from the wound.
"Damn it…"
The Dead Calm shattered. The tranquil pool in his mind exploded back into a raging ocean.
**Scene 2**
On the other side of the shimmering force field, the girls watched in horror.
Ahsoka pressed her hands against the invisible barrier, tears streaming down her face. "Stop! Please! Leave him alone!"
Kayla was sobbing openly, her Zeltron empathy amplifying every blow Dagon took. Stella had collapsed to her knees, shaking. Flare's elegant features were twisted in anguish. Visenya and Zule pounded futilely against the shield, screaming Dagon's name.
They were forced to watch as the entity that wore John Connor's face beat their beloved General down — blow after brutal blow. Each wound, each grunt of pain, each spray of blood tore at their souls.
"Dagon!" Ahsoka screamed again, voice breaking. "Please… hold on!"
But the entity didn't care.
John Connor continued his relentless assault, plasma blades flashing as he drove Dagon further back into the burning corridor.
**Scene 3**
Dagon spat blood, breathing heavily. His left leg burned with every step, but he refused to fall.
"Why?" he growled, locking eyes with the thing that had once been John Connor. "Why are you doing this?"
John tilted his head, the glowing lines under his skin pulsing.
"See… I'm not machine," he said, voice disturbingly calm. "I'm not man. I'm *more*."
Dagon's eyes narrowed in confusion.
John continued, circling slowly. "And I *hated* you."
Dagon blinked. "What…?"
"You were just a soldier," dagon snarled, suddenly lunging forward. Dagon barely dodged the plasma blade that would have taken his head. "Resistance High Command followed *you*. They worshipped the ground you walked on. And you sent *me* on bloody suicide missions again and again!"
Dagon parried desperately, the clash of blades sending sparks flying. "That's not—"
"You rescued six continents filled with people!" John roared, pressing the attack. "Played the hero while I bled for your grand plans!"
Dagon twisted away from another strike. "That is *not* why you came here to kill me. No… I was right. Another timeline. That's where Skynet sent you. Another new universe, separate from our original. You can't travel back. You only recently found a way to this galaxy."
John's expression twisted into something ugly. With terrifying speed, he grabbed Dagon's robotic arm and *ripped* it clean off at the shoulder joint in a spray of sparks and blood.
Dagon roared in pain, dropping to one knee.
"Yes. Gold star for you," John said coldly. "Skynet needs you to finish its mission."
Dagon looked up, eyes blazing with defiance despite the agony.
"Yeah… I'm not interested."
He reached into his belt with his remaining hand and ignited something new — a dual-bladed white lightsaber, the purified kyber crystals humming with raw, unfiltered power. Darkness and rage bled into the blades, turning the once-pure white into a searing silver edged with crimson lightning.
Dagon's eyes shifted. The red darkened to pure black as three-pronged red star-like lines formed across them — a mark of something ancient and terrifying awakening inside him.
The temperature in the corridor dropped sharply. The flames around them flickered as if afraid.
John Connor paused for the first time, a hint of wariness crossing his metallic features.
Dagon rose slowly, white-and-crimson blades spinning to life in his single hand, blood dripping from the severed shoulder.
"Come on then," he growled, voice layered with something far older and darker than before. "Let's finish this."
The facility trembled as two titans — one born of machines and corrupted timelines, the other forged through war, loss, and the Force itself — prepared for the final clash.