Outer Rim – The Targoss Corridor
The stars above the Targoss Corridor shimmered with fire and ruin.
Snoke's Final Order fleet surged through the sector, fresh off a brutal purge of two Mid Rim outposts. Thousands of refugees had been left in their wake floating in debris fields, their transmissions turned into war propaganda.
Aboard the flagship Devourer, Snoke watched another planet fall.
"Let them scream. Screams are fuel."
But then… the screaming stopped.
The void answered.
The Shadows Break Open
From the black maw of uncharted space, something emerged silent, without hyperspace signatures.
Twelve Oblivion-class war dreadnoughts, angular and plated in gravity-resistant alloy, uncloaked around Snoke's fleet like wolves surrounding prey.
Then came the support ships. Hundreds. Of unknown classification. Bristling with forbidden tech, black hole cannons, quantum lances, pulse disruptors, even hyperspace fracture emitters.
"Contact unknown vessels!" screamed one of Snoke's lieutenants. "They just appeared! No trajectory. No warning!"
Snoke turned to the forward viewport. His sneer faltered.
"No… not them."
From the lead ship, the Eclipse Voidspire, a message was transmitted.
"You sowed terror. We bring silence."
Serion's voice.
Battle Unleashed
The stars went dark as the Shadow Fleet opened fire.
Black Hole Warheads ripped through Snoke's destroyers, creating momentary voids in real space that pulled ships into screaming oblivion.
Quantum slicers cut through shields, rendering targeting systems blind.
Void-crawlers, small stealth drones, latched onto hulls and disintegrated them from the inside out.
Final Order ships buckled, broken like glass beneath tidal waves.
Snoke screamed across the command channels:
"Reroute power! Flank them! CALL IN THE ENTIRE FLEET!"
But the shadow ships moved like phantoms, predicting maneuvers before they happened, dancing through missile storms.
The Arrival of Vader
Hyperspace tore open again Imperial ships surged forth.
Vader's fleet, crimson-lit and disciplined, deployed in classic wedge formations, flanked by clone-born dreadnoughts and TIE phalanxes.
From the bridge of the Executor-class Annihilator, Vader watched in stunned silence.
"Who are they?" an officer muttered.
Vader knew.
"Serion," he said.
Then aloud: "Deploy formations. Push both fleets. Cripple whoever remains."
His destroyers surged forward, spewing green turbo-laser fire and interceptor swarms.
Snoke's ships reeled.
But Serion's fleet… shifted.
They split.
The False Retreat
Several of Serion's dreadnoughts banked sharply, venting plasma and listing heavily.
Fires blossomed from their hulls. Signals flickered faked transmissions of critical damage, reactor failures, command collapses.
"They're retreating," shouted Vader's admiral. "They're breaking apart"
"No," Vader growled. "It's a ruse."
Too late.
The "wounded" ships turned.
Uncloaked reinforcements rose from behind debris fields.
Mass-driver cannons fired at relativistic speed slugs piercing through Vader's cruisers like thunderbolts from gods.
Dozens of his ships detonated.
In seconds, 30% of his forward vanguard was gone.
Total Domination
The Final Order was annihilated. Snoke's flagship, the Devourer, was cracked in half by a graviton beam—the last image a twisted scream before silence.
Vader's fleet, still regrouping, was encircled, then suddenly
Serion's ships stopped.
They floated silently. Intact. Power building…
"They're targeting us," Vader's officer said, voice cracking.
But no weapons fired.
Instead, every Shadow vessel turned… and vanished into hyperspace. No trails. No signals.
Gone.
Aftermath – The Phantom Thunder
Hours later, only wreckage remained.
Final Order: Eradicated.
Imperial fleet: Wounded, shamed.
Serion: Now myth.
Inside his scorched command chamber, Vader stood alone, staring at the star-map, reeling.
They baited me. They choreographed this whole thing...
A communication from Coruscant came through. Padmé's voice.
"Report. What happened?"
Vader's breath rasped.
"We were… outplayed."
Zereth Prime – The Architect Reflects
Within the obsidian sanctum, Serion stood before a starmap showing the shattered vectors of the Targoss Corridor.
His lieutenants bowed.
"Shall we finish the remnants of the Empire?"
Serion raised a hand.
"No. We do not crush… we show them."
He looked at the data on Vader's retreat. On Snoke's death. On the Republic's fear.
"Today, the galaxy saw something move in the dark. That is enough."
And behind him, a new construct began to rise not a fleet. Not a weapon.
A throne.