Expansion The Empires Fall | Overtaking Syngia Trade Sector

[The Obsidian Court]

Location: Syngia System, Outer Rim Territories


The stars shivered as the void tore open. One by one, massive dagger-shaped warships dropped from hyperspace—cold and silent predators against the endless dark. At their center loomed The Shadow Eclipse, the personal flagship of Darth Malvus, its obsidian hull absorbing starlight like a wound in space. No lights marked its surface—only the faint red glow of Sith glyphs that pulsed like a heartbeat across its armored skin.

The Syngia system stirred below. Syngia, the primary planet, was a jewel wrapped in storm and steam—an oceanic world laced with floating refinery-cities and deep-sea mining rigs. Its atmosphere churned with silver-gray clouds, and its surface shimmered with blinking lights from the trade fleets that passed through hourly. It was more than a planet—it was a nexus. Syngia’s position along the Gordian Cross trade spine made it indispensable to the Sith Imperial Empire. Spice, starship alloys, kyber fragments from neighboring mines—all passed through Syngia before reaching the Core.

That ended today.

From the bridge of The Shadow Eclipse, Darth Malvus stood unmoving. Tall and encased in jet-black durasteel armor laced with crimson Sith runes, he stared through the transparisteel viewport. The space around Syngia was littered with escort fleets, shipping lanes, and orbital trade stations. All of them were now targets.

“Activate the interdiction fields,” he growled, voice like molten obsidian scraping against a blade. “No one escapes. No one.”

A crimson ripple of energy flared from the flanking cruisers—gravity wells bloomed open like invisible jaws. Trade vessels caught mid-jump were yanked screaming from hyperspace, colliding with their own fates.

The surrounding sector—Hollast Reach, Verdan Rift, and the border colonies—depended on Syngia’s channels. The Sith Imperial Empire had become bloated on its supply. Now, with Malvus here, they would starve. Without Syngia’s flow of refined resources and advanced weapon components, Sith war machines would grind to a halt. Fleets would stall. Worlds would go dark.

And as the first orbital station was reduced to ash in a blooming fireball, Darth Malvus turned away from the viewport.

“Begin planetary descent. I will speak to the Viceroy myself. His loyalty… is under new management.”

The Hunt had begun.

 

[Perenelle Dee]

The Shaltin Tunnels a hyperspace route long contested, a blood soaked jewel vital to the Empire's trade.
For years, it was harried by attacks from Felucia, forcing the Imperial fleet to keep a constant watch on the system’s southern reaches.
But the north?
The north was different.
Quiet.
Untouched.
Dominion of the Sith whose allegiance had never been questioned. Imperial ships often stopped there to refuel, to repair.
No one expected treason.
No one expected an attack from the north of the system.
Not until now.


The Obsidian Fleet had hidden behind the system's sun, its massive forms cloaked in solar radiation. The Imperials never saw it. Never even had the chance.
It was late in the standard day. Most of the crew was on night shift. Cargo vessels drifted slowly between hangars and docks dozens of them. Some barely larger than escape pods, others the size of cruisers.
Most were unarmed.
Then, silence.
Not the silence of peace but the suffocating, airless void of death.
The first explosions tore through the orbital station.
No sound.
Just blinding flashes.
Hulls buckled.
Bulkheads ruptured.
Personnel were pulled screaming into the vacuum though their screams died in their throats, stolen by the emptiness.


Sirens wailed. For a moment. Then the power failed.
The station ignited, a cascade of fire spiraling down toward the planet’s surface, illuminating the night in sickly shades of orange and red.
Bodies. Crates. Ammunition. Rations.
All of it drifted in the void now lifeless, turning slowly in the cold dark. A silent graveyard. A never ending journey.

Aboard on the Imperial Fleet, a young fleet officer frowned at his comms panel.
Static.
No response.
Probably just a malfunction, he thought, fingers dancing across the console.
He leaned closer to the viewport.
Then he saw it.
The station a roaring sphere of fire falling, breaking apart, leaving a trail of metal and corpses in its wake.


His breath caught in his throat.


“ADMIRAL!” he screamed. “ADMIRAL!”


No response. Just static. And somewhere deep in the ship’s bowels, a siren began to wail low and distorted, like a dying animal.

 

[Perenelle Dee]

Syngia’s capital was no place for pleasure. It was a monolith of machinery, steel veins running through its bones, smoke forever rising from its chimneys and power towers. Entertainment was scarce business ruled all. In the late hours, the city slumbered lightly under a haze of dim artificial light, pierced only by the hum of industry and the hoarse chatter of exhausted night shift workers.


To the east and west, colossal floating cities loomed above the jagged mountain range levitating fortresses that cast long shadows over the untamed wilderness below. That wilderness, once teeming with peaceful native fauna, had been twisted by Sith alchemy. From the blackened womb of the Genesis Pool, the land had birthed nightmares, hybrid beasts stitched with anger and hunger, creatures resembling the horrors of Kaas, prowling just beyond the edge of civilization.


At the industrial docks, crates from Lianna were being offloaded while outgoing shipments prepared for launch mostly raw materials, weapons components, and anthracite mined from Syngia’s deep-ocean rigs. The cargo freighters bore the marks of recent struggle acid burned hulls and blood spattered plating, evidence of creatures that had ambushed the convoys during extraction runs.


Closer to the heart of the city, near the slave markets, another shipment was being processed. Fresh Zygerrian slaves, bound in chains and lined up in rigid formation. Their shock collars crackled softly in the cold night air. They were destined for Korriban, for Kaas consumed by the war machine, by the Sith Lords they would serve until death.


It was just another night.
Until it wasn’t.


The sky lit up like a second sun.
A blinding blaze cut through the heavens no meteor, but something massive, man made, and dying. The orbital station, a high atmosphere construct meant to guard the trade routes, had become a falling god plummeting, burning, screaming silently through the clouds.


Then, it hit.


The shockwave shattered windows across the capital.
The ground trembled.
One of the floating cities Seltrax-9 was struck dead center. For a heartbeat, it hovered in defiance… and then it buckled. Collapsed inwards. A chain of detonations lit up its underbelly before it began its death spiral, falling toward the jagged cliffs below.


The mountain groaned.
And then came the sound.


A concussive blast tore through the sky like a monstrous roar, deafening thousands. Those close to the docks dropped to their knees, blood leaking from their ears. Lights across the city flickered and died. Emergency sirens stuttered to life.


Panic set in.


Civilians poured into the streets, staring helplessly at the fire streaked horizon as two titanic constructs one a crumbling orbital station, the other a floating city torn from its perch descended in tandem like twin harbingers of annihilation.


There was no defense. No plan.


Only prayer.


And the futile hope that the wreckage wouldn’t fall on them.

 

[Perenelle Dee]

The night was cold and restless.
Perenelle had barely entered REM sleep when flashes fractured imagesinvaded her mind.
A creeping taste of dread curled at her senses.

FIRE.
CONFLICT.
DEATH.


The Empire she served, collapsing under the weight of treason, treachery… and a lack of vision.
A statue stood before her, carved from ancient stone its knees cracking, splintering, surrendering speck by speck. Rain poured endlessly, humid and thick, like that of Kaas. But it wasn’t water that fell now it was plasma and flame, washing over the crumbling idol.
From behind the falling monolith, blackness coiled slithering, hissing, crackling with malice. Treacherous snakes of shadow, forming not smoke… but armor.


An armor.
A figure.
A Sith.
"I will speak to the Viceroy myself."


Then—
KRA-KRSSHH.
KRA-KRSSHH.
KRA-KRSSHH.
KRA-KRSSHH.
KRA-KRSSHH.
The deafening sound of glass shattering by the billions, like galaxies of crystal breaking apart.
Perenelle woke in an instant, drenched in sweat. Her breathing was ragged.

What did I just see?
A dream? A vision? A warning?

Then she heard it the sirens.
The glass… was real.
She rushed to the window. The city was in chaos, lights flooding the night.
Two blazing yellow infernos were descending from the sky like twin stars crashing into Syngia.
Her heart raced.
She turned and sprinted into her chamber, grabbing her holo. Fingers flew across the interface, trying to reach someone anyone in orbit.
No response.
The fleet was silent.


Only planetary comms remained active.
At last, her apprentice answered.

"What happened?"
“I don’t know, my lady. It seems the station collapsed. It… it fell on Seltrax-9.”
“And the fleet? I can’t reach them.”
“We’ve had no contact. All ground forces are evacuating the city.”


She didn’t hesitate.
“Meet me at the Planetary Hall. We need full assessment now. Initiate a complete lockdown. Civilian comms cut them. Maintain only secure military channels. Begin evacuations in coordination with the police and lock down critical sectors. Set up designated safe zones.
A curfew goes into effect immediately.
I’ll be delivering a public address within the hour.
And apprentice… I don’t believe this was an accident.”
She ended the call and turned toward her armory.
On one side hung the dark blue armor of her time as an Inquisitor etched with runes of pain, a symbol of judgment and torture, meant to remind the people that punishment was never far.

On the other sleek, midnight black, forged from light durasteel the Exterminator Armor. Once worn by her former master during the Sacking of Coruscant, it had been passed to her as both weapon and legacy.


Without hesitation, she reached for it.


She adjusted her left lekku vivid crimson, like the rest of her skin save for the dark tattoos winding across her lekku and the old scars…
remnants of her time as a slave.
She began suiting up.
Her lightsaber ready on her right hip.

She would end whoever dared strike at her sector.
She would not let five years of carefully cultivated power collapse in a single night.
She would not let the Empire's assets burn under her watch.
She would not fail the Empire or the Council

Perenelle climbed into her speeder and tore through the city sky, throttle open, destination set.

 

[Darth Malvus]

Location: Low Orbit Over Syngia, Bridge of The Shadow Eclipse
Time: Moments After Initial Invasion Begins

The stars burned behind him, but Darth Malvus saw only the flicker of conquest unfolding beneath his feet. Smoke coiled from orbital wreckage, and the Syngian sky was slowly turning black as flak fire and broken satellites rained down like falling ash.

General Kaela Draal stood at attention beside him—her crimson and obsidian armor marked with the symbols of her victories, her presence as sharp as her glaive. A veteran of a hundred purges, Draal was loyal, precise, and relentless.

“Secure the space around Syngia,” Malvus commanded, his voice a whisper of thunder. “Nothing gets in. Nothing gets out. Cut all communication signals and jam planetary relays. I want every trade station seized, every port silenced. This system now belongs to me.”

Kaela Draal bowed without hesitation. “It will be done, my lord.”

Her fleet moved like a closing jaw—interceptors screamed through the void, boarding parties launched in rapid sequence, and Sith shock troopers began carving their way through panicked defense garrisons clinging to outdated hope. Trade stations flickered with emergency lights, then silence, one by one falling under Malvus’ iron shadow.

With orbit secured, Malvus turned toward the holomap, eyes narrowing on the planetary capital. A sprawling metropolis rose from the oceans, centered around the towering Syngian Citadel—gilded and white, like a temple to commerce and control. It would fall today.

“Prepare for descent,” Malvus growled.

The Shadow Eclipse released its inner fury. Dropships screamed toward the surface like black meteors, and with them came the Black Guard—his elite legion of Sith enforcers, cultists, and machines born in secret labs far beyond the edge of the known galaxy. Malvus stood at the head of it all, his long cloak of woven obsidian trailing as he walked from the loading bay into his personal assault transport. As engines roared, his voice filled the troop bay with resolve.

“No quarter. No delay. The Citadel falls today.”




Tag: @Perenelle Dee

 

[Darth Malvus]

Surface - Syngia Capital, Outer Walls of the Citadel


Explosions rang like drums of war. Pillars of smoke rose above shattered spires. Streets were flooded with panicked civilians and disorganized defense units. The ground quaked as Malvus’ dropship landed in the heart of chaos. The ramp opened to a storm of blaster fire—but the storm met a greater one.

Malvus descended into the fray like a god of death. Every step was marked with bodies and scorched duracrete. Lightning coiled from his fingertips, his saber still dormant—unneeded for now. He carved a path through resistance with pure will and power, leading his forces up the citadel steps under a black Syngian sky.

The gates burst open, and the great halls of the citadel echoed with cries and smoke. Malvus marched through the carnage, past golden banners and broken defenders, until he reached the throne room.

“The Viceroy,” he said aloud, voice like steel drawn across bone.

A trembling officer knelt before him. “Sh-she isn’t here, my lord. She fled before your forces breached orbit.”

Malvus did not speak. He simply turned, eyes narrowing. Something… stirred.

Through the Force, he felt it—a presence. Strong. Confident. Moving toward the citadel like a predator stalking its prey.

“She comes,” he murmured. “Let her.”

He stood still amidst the ruin, the battle still raging outside. The Viceroy may have fled, but something more dangerous approached. A champion, perhaps. A last defense.

Malvus waited.

This was no reckless invasion. This was a strike with purpose. With calculation.

He would not make the mistakes of others. The Empire was watching—waiting for a flaw, a slip. One wrong move, and they would descend like vultures. That would not happen.

“I learned from Eosfor,” he muttered coldly, as the sounds of the city’s final defense lines fell. “Strike without fear… but strike with mind, not just blade.”

As the doors behind him quaked—something, or someone approaching—Darth Malvus stood in silence, his shadow cast across the heart of Syngia.

And he waited for the storm.


Tag: @Perenelle Dee

 

[The Obsidian Court]

Location: High Orbit, Command Deck
Time: Shortly After Initial Orders


The stars pulsed red on her tactical display as General Kaela Draal stood, arms folded behind her back, upon the command deck. The bridge buzzed with controlled chaos—officers barking orders, tactical droids tracking enemy signatures, and the low hum of power relays feeding the siege below.

She watched coldly as the last of the trade vessels was dragged from hyperspace by the interdiction field, tumbling helplessly into the crosshairs of her cruisers.

“Fleet positions locked,” her comms officer reported. “All entry vectors sealed. No movement in or out.”

Kaela gave a single nod. “Commence Phase Two. Silence the system.”

Flickers of pale blue light danced across her console—relays jammed, orbital repeaters cracked open by ion charges, and subspace channels scrambled with Sith code-viruses. One by one, the space stations and planetary comm hubs went dark. Holo-signals from Syngia flickered out. The cries for help vanished into static.

The sector was now mute.

A warning ping flared—station theta-three was holding out, trying to send a burst transmission to a nearby Imperial relay.

“Deploy boarding pods. Burn the signal towers,” Kaela commanded. Her voice was razor-sharp and void of emotion. “No survivors. I want that station under my command in five minutes.”

Through the viewport, the battle outside unfolded like a grim ballet. Kaela’s corvettes broke formation and swarmed the station, their boarding claws slamming into durasteel hulls as Sith troopers flooded inside. Fire erupted from within—short, brutal, surgical.

She turned to her adjutant. “Have the Shadow Net activated. I want sensor ghosts deployed across the sector. If even one Imperial scout peeks through, they’ll see only chaos and debris—until it’s too late.”

The young officer gave a crisp nod. “Yes, General.”

Kaela Draal moved to the holotable, eyes narrowing on the red-lit markers indicating captured trade hubs. The siege of Syngia wasn’t just about brute force—it was about severing arteries. Each captured orbital point, each silenced relay, brought them closer to total suffocation of the Sith Imperial supply lines.

“Begin full atmospheric lockdown,” she ordered. “Lord Malvus is moving on the Citadel. Nothing interferes. Nothing.”

She paused then, placing one gauntleted hand on the console. Her crimson eyes reflected the fire blooming across space.

This wasn’t just a mission—it was history in the making. The day Syngia fell to the shadow. And she, Kaela Draal, would be the blade that severed the Empire’s throat from above.

“Inform Lord Malvus,” she said, her voice now a low growl, “that the skies are his.”