Imperial Command Bridge — Venator-Class Star Destroyer Excalibur D-5 Minutes to Invasion
Silence held dominion over the bridge. Not out of fear—but reverence. All systems were green, engines primed for micro-jump deployment, probe droids had been recalled, and targeting solutions for the initial disabling shot against Omega Station were locked in. The first Munificent-class frigate stood ready—its ion cannon poised to fire upon jump reversion.
Sors Bandeam stood alone at the observation panel, his silhouette bathed in the flickering glow of the countdown terminal—"00:04:57"—faint beeps marking the seconds falling away like the beats of a ceremonial war drum.
He was calm. Prepared.
Until the doors hissed open.
Sors turned instinctively, hand drifting toward the saber hilt at his waist out of habit—until he saw it.
No warning. No escort. No signal. Just… presence.
(Saw the following on Instagram, loved it and edited it just a little to fit with the story.)
To some eyes, its heavy, clumbering frame might have looked ungainly, clumsy, even... monstrous. The featureless curves of black that served it for eyes might have appeared inhuman.
But to the people of the Empire… it was glorious.
A magnificent jewel box created both to protect and to exhibit one of the greatest treasures of the Empire. Terrifying. Mesmerizing. Perfect.
Such were the words depicted in the latest writings of a young scholar from the Imperial Academus. And now, standing in the bridge's ethereal glow, Sors could think of none better.
Darth Vader. The Emperor's Chosen. His Wrath made manifest.
Even before Vader stepped fully into the chamber, Sors felt it. A gravity pressing down on his soul. The Force wasn't merely present—it surged. Towered. A storm given form.
And then Vader let him feel it. Just enough.
A crushing, soul-scouring pressure drove into his body, into his spirit. His knees buckled—not out of fear, but instinct. He dropped to one knee, gauntlet braced against the floor.
"Lord Vader," he intoned, voice still steady despite the sweat forming under his armor. "Forgive me. I was not informed of your arrival… I had not prepared the—"
Vader's voice broke his apology.
"It was by my will that no news preceded me."
Behind him, a small droid followed silently. Watching. But Sors did not speak of it.
"Rise, Commander Bandeam."
Only then did Sors realize the countdown had reached 3:40. It couldn't be right, he was certain he was keeping track properly, no more than a few seconds had passed... and yet the timer ticker down. Puttign the thoughts at teh back of his midn for another time, Sors rose and stepped forward, gesturing to the holoprojector, bringing up the strategic layout.
"The plan remains simple in execution, Lord Vader. The initial Munificent will jump and fire an ion payload into Omega's spinal relays and power grid. The rest of our formation will emerge ten seconds later, cutting off exits while disabling the Mass Relay with a secondary bomber wing. Once Omega is isolated, we press in, and any hostiles will be reduced to smoldering wreckage. Our goal is not annihilation absolute control, and from Omgea, we have direct access to most of Terminus system exit and entry points. We will effectively control half the galaxy once the operation is complete."
Vader was silent for a moment. Then:
"I am not here to take your command, nor to question your design. This campaign belongs to the Imperial
Knights, it is one of your crucibles." he said. "I will observe. Evaluate. And speak where the Emperor's will demands clarity. Proceed."
Sors gave a slight bow, then turned toward the countdown.
00:00:11
00:00:10
The Munificent vanished in a blur of blue light.
Omega System — Outer Fringe
The stars twisted. The darkness screamed.
The Excalibur emerged into realspace like a leviathan parting a veil of silk, immediately followed by 30 more Venator-class Star Destroyers, 6 Lucrehulk-class carriers, 120 Munificent-class frigates, and a sea of darting support craft.
But even before they finished their descent—
Omega shook.
The Munificent's ion cannons had struck true.
Blue lightning arcs danced across the spinal section of the station. The power grid overloaded. Conduits exploded. Emergency relays screamed. Upper quadrant life-support systems collapsed as the midsection of the station bathed in a thick cloud of ionized particles.
Aria T'Loak's rule crumbled in under the 30 seconds that followed.
Ships scrambled. Dozens of pirate vessels attempted to escape, only to find themselves intercepted by fighter squadrons that had already launched in tri-winged swarms.
Frigates from mercenary fleets attempted to form defensive wedges—only to be sliced apart by precise turbolaser salvos. One Asari cruiser lit up the void with return fire—but swarms of small ships responded with concentrated barrages, vaporizing the hull before it could even finish charging a second volley.
In between there was a moment of clarity, where right as they were struck the crew realized the disparity on strength. When even a lone fighter could take down a frigate and disable it in one run.
Far from the battlefield, a small fighter wing jumped in directly above the Mass Relay.
Droid bomber variants dropped their Ion payloads with surgical precision. The Mass Relay pulsed once—and then darkened. Inoperative.
The system was sealed.
Aboard the Excalibur
Sors watched with silent satisfaction.
The screen bloomed with energy readings. Flashpoints of battle. Dozens of engagements mapped in real time by the Red Queen. Despite their desperation, there was no real resistance, the system had effectively fallen—just as planned.
He glanced at Vader. The Sith Lord stood unmoved, arms folded, cape trailing slightly from the pulsing floor beneath him.
The message was clear: This was not yet his fight. But it could be, at a moment's notice.
Sors turned his gaze back to the display.
"Inform the boarding teams," he ordered. "Omega must be secured within the hour. Tunnels, decks, vaults—everything. No need for prisoners unless ordered otherwise."
Behind him, the sound of Vader's breathing echoed.
================
Omega – Occupation in Progress
Sector 4: Afterlife Complex and Surrounding Districts
The Empire's storm had descended with calculated fury, sweeping across Omega's districts like a surgical firestorm. Everything Aria T'Loak had spent decades building—her criminal empire, her autonomy, her pride—was crumbling.
Sector 1: Southern Dockyards – 17 Minutes Post-Entry
A team of six Eclipse mercs huddled behind a reinforced loading container, pinned by suppressive fire from dozens of white-armored B1 battle droids moving in coordinated formation, jumping from cover to cover. They'd expected pirates. Maybe a heavily armed hit squads. But this? An hoenst to god army?
They barely had time to scream as a BX commando droid leapt from a nearby service shaft, impaling one with a vibroblade before opening fire with a plasma disruptor. The Eclipse reinforcements that came to support were already down to half-strength after being intercepted by two squadrons of ARC-190 heavy interceptors, their shuttles blasted apart mid-descent.
Sector 2: Omega Market Arches
Volus shopkeeps and Elcor gang enforcers huddled under collapsed steel beams while white-armored droidekas rolled into the courtyard, deployed their shields, and opened fire with dual cannons.
Some Batarians attempted to rally a defensive line with salvaged Council-grade barrier tech, but the shields cracked within seconds. Two AT-TE walkers smashed through storefronts, their mass-driver cannons shattering anything left standing.
The resistance line crumbled like wet paper.
Aria T'Loak's Personal Command—Afterlife Club
Smoke filled the halls. Red warning lights flickered above the shattered remains of doors once patrolled by her best guards. Mass effect shields cracked. Droids burst through walls and ceilings in synchronized waves.
"—Sector Five is lost!" shouted one of Aria's lieutenants, her voice panicked through the open comms. "Repeat! We've lost the docks—THEY'VE BLOCKED THE RELAY! We—kzzcht—!"
Aria stood over the command balcony inside Afterlife, fists clenched on the railing, eyes narrowed.
"They're not taking this club. I built it out of blood and credits. They'll have to bury me with it," she growled.
That moment, her terminal pulsed.
"Aria, this is the last of the ships. They're gone. All of them. Those beams just cut throught them like plast..."
She didn't answer. There was no one left to answer to. No merc captain, no krogan warlord. The Omega's fleet and whatever else had joined them in defense were gone. Vaporized. The Mass Relay sat dead, a silent brick floating outside a battlefield of drifting debris and cold corpses.
Outside Afterlife
White-armored B1 droids moved in platoons, some dragging barricades into place, others tending to damaged droids. At the center of it all stood Clone Field Commander CT-4495612, Halberd, a fresh clone with the unmistakable matte crimson shoulder pauldron of the Imperial Expeditionary Corps.
Halberd stepped forward, flanked by two BX droids and a medic unit. The destruction of Aria's empire had taken just over 20 minutes to officiate.
But she hadn't been confirmed among the casualties... not that it mattered much.
He raised two fingers and gestured silently toward Afterlife.
A squad of ten B1s broke formation and began their charge—rushing into the main entrance of the structure, taking position as one of them pulled out a breaching charge. A moment later, the blast doors caved in, sparking and smoking. Blasterfire exploded inside moments later—mass effect bursts and bolt fire alike painting the walls. Screams followed. Then nothing.
He waited.
Listening.
Three minutes. Static filled the comm. Then a brief report:
"Target presence confirmed. Squad eliminated."
His hand fell to his side.
No orders were given—just another gesture. And at his call, four more B1s stepped forward—these bearing Imperial-pattern rocket launchers, high-yield anti-structure ordnance. Each droid knelt at set angles, targeting not the open doors—but the primary structural supports above and below Afterlife.
Loading clamps hissed. Rockets slid into launch tubes.
CT-4412 raised his hand slowly—then clenched it into a fist.
The explosion was immediate.
One rocket tore through the lower pylons with a thunderous scream, sending plumes of plasma and fire into the levels below. The second barrage struck the upper anchor points—detonations ripping through layers of architecture as the entire superstructure buckled.
Steel screamed. Concrete twisted. And the entire upper spire of the entertainment block collapsed inward, burying itself under half a megaton of debris.
Smoke poured from the ruins. Crushed neon signs and pulsing club lighting blinked intermittently under the rubble. Afterlife was no more.
The clone turned without and began walking back.
"Mark site. Alpha-One cleared."
A droid behind him nodded and logged the designation into the tactical grid.
As they marched off into the burning heart of Omega, a familiar voice crackled across the frequency.
"Omega is secured," came the voice of Red Queen. "Hostile assets eliminated or rendered irrelevant. The system is ours."
==============
OMEGA – IMPERIAL OCCUPATION ZONE
Aboard the Excalibur – Command Bridge
Sors Bandeam stood overlooking the final tactical feeds as the last of Omega's resistance pockets were being extinguished. The station, once defiant and infamous for its anarchy, was little more than smoldering scrap and subdued holdouts. The massive galactic map in front of him glowed crimson across key points of the Terminus border. Victory. Swift. Brutal. Thorough.
Then the comms droid turned.
"High priority message from Clone Field Commander CT-2123487. They have apprehended an individual claiming affiliation with the Systems Alliance Navy and former Council Spectre clearance. He reports they hailed their neutrality in an open channel once the Relay went offline."
Sors' brows twitched beneath his helmet. The words slithered into his brain like barbed wire.
"Keep them there. Do not engage unless provoked," he ordered, voice flat. "Initiate second phase protocols. I want the Terminus border sealed—double-time. Once those relays are ours, the Council won't be able to do anything..."
Even as the second wave was mobilized, Sors paced briefly along the platform behind the bridge's main viewing panel. "So... a Spectre." He had no illusions about what this meant. Not diplomatically. Not strategically. A wrench—tossed with unerring accuracy—into the precise gears of his operation. It had to be dealt with. Carefully.
OMEGA – NEAR THE DOCKED NORMANDY SR-2
Rows upon rows of white-armored droids stood motionless beyond the ship's ramp. Blaster rifles at the ready. Their black visors gazed blankly at the vessel like a pack of hounds waiting for the signal to strike. It was a display—not just of readiness, but of supremacy.
Commander Shepard sat on a crate just within the ramp's shadow, helmet off, arms resting on her knees. Her stare was somewhere between exhausted disbelief and quiet rage.
The relay had died the moment she reached safety. Right when she thought she had slipped free of the Empire's fingers, they had snapped the trap shut. Maybe it was fate. Maybe it was planned. Maybe that so-called God-Emperor of theirs was really just a cruel kid with a magnifying glass and she was the ant scuttling below.
Bootsteps clicked behind her. She didn't need to look to know.
"You sure this is a good idea, Shepard?" Garrus asked. His voice was tired, grating slightly through his rebreather. His rifle hung lazily on his back, though his fingers still fidgeted near the trigger. Old habits.
"I'll put it on my top three if we actually get out of here alive," she muttered. ".. but nope... Not even remotely. But with the Relay down?" She gestured vaguely upwards in the distance. "Not much else to do."
Garrus nodded grimly. "Fair enough. Want me to get the others ready? You know… just in case this turns into one of those blast our way out while screaming sort of days?"
She gave a half-smirk. "Not much sense to it. But if it makes everyone feel better, sure. Go ahead. Keep it tight."
==============
Meanwhile… Thessia – Nighttime Sector 7C
Urban Slums – Hidden Subterranean Chamber
The stars above Thessia glittered, cold and distant. But down here, in the stonework beneath the city, the sky may as well have never existed.
Dim red glow panels lined the stairwell to the chamber—originally a storage basement for a defunct shelter, now reeking of burnt ozone and blood. Inside, the walls were covered in symbols—scrawled in chalk, paint, blood. The geometric swirl of spirals met sharp twin chevrons, and atop it all, the glowing ‾‾V‾‾ burned bright with strange energy, seared into the very foundations.
Liara T'Soni stood barefoot before the altar—a rusting old examination table. Her breathing was shallow, excited. Her tunic, once cream-white, was soaked crimson.
Before her, bound and twitching, was a young Asari acolyte, barely into her maiden years. Her eyes had turned glassy, fixed on nothing. Her mouth hung open, still muttering broken phrases—the remnants of pleading long since worn to dust.
Etched across her flesh were countless marks—not deep, not lethal, but precise. Each cut a symbol. A rune. A whisper.
Liara pressed a bloodied palm to the girl's forehead, her voice soft.
"Almost there. Almost… almost. You've done so well. You're not like them. You see, don't you? You hear him too. All the whispers."
The girl whimpered, but did not resist. Something had shattered in her. Resistance was too far away to reach now.
Liara giggled—just a breath of it, but real. Her eyes shimmered now, softly glowing blue. Not like biotics. Wrong. Twisting. Like something that should not be. Her thoughts felt clearer than they ever had. Brighter. Purposeful. She could feel them behind her eyes. Watching. Waiting... Urging her...
She turned and picked up the knife again—its handle worn, the blade etched with small carvings of the Emperor's sigil, the same one she'd drawn dozens of times in her cell... before she was 'freed.'
That's what they didn't understand. The Empire hadn't kidnapped her.
They had freed her.
They had peeled the crust of lies off her mind and let her see. Truly SEE.
Now it was her turn to help others see.
She dragged the girl from the table, chanting softly as she began to draw the nine-circle design on the stone floor, surrounded by runes.
"Winds of knowledge, tear the veil. Blacken the stars, burn this world, bring forth change. By the God's name... by His will... by His gaze…"
As she spoke, the carved lines on the girl's body pulsed softly, and the ‾‾V‾‾ on the wall flared a faint blue light.
A heartbeat passed.
The floor beneath the circle flickered with distortion, like ripples in water, and a low, unnatural hum resonated through the walls.
It was not enough, not yet... but she could feel herself growing stronger... and the veil in front of her eyes growing weaker. Soon, she would be able to open the path for her God's servants to descend.
A.N: Hope you enjoyed it :)