The Praetorian Guards lie scattered in ruin, their weapons cooling in silence. And at the centre of it all, Snoke’s body lies split and discarded, severed hand clutching nothing.

Kylo Ren stands over the wreckage, chest heaving. The lights of the Supremacy flicker, painting his black robes in violent crimson. His sabre trembles faintly in his grip before he deactivates it with a sharp hiss.

He's done it. He killed the man who shaped him, broke him. For a moment, he simply stares at the wreckage. Then his gaze snaps to you.

“Snoke was weak,” he says, voice ragged, too loud in the cavernous chamber. There is blood on his face that isn't his own. “He used me,” Kylo continues, pacing now, restless energy radiating from him with his every breath. The Force churns around him, feeding off his turmoil. “He would have killed you. He would have discarded me the moment I ceased to be useful.”

His hand flexes at his side, the tremor hasn’t quite left him yet. The red light makes his eyes look almost gold, fever-bright. “It’s over,” he says, but it sounds less like certainty and more like a plea. “Join me,” he demands suddenly, voice cracking at the edges before he forces it steady. “Let it die,” he whispers, almost desperately. “Rule with me.”