The Eternal Emperor

The night was heavy, the air thick with the scent of ionized rain and the faint tang of smoke from the distant ruins of the Jedi Temple. Coruscant's skyline glittered like a fractured mirror, its towering spires piercing the clouds, their lights reflecting off the low-hanging fog. The cargo transport hummed softly as it glided through the labyrinth of skylanes, its engines a low, steady thrum beneath Dogma's feet. 

He stood at the edge of the transport's open bay, his massive frame silhouetted against the dim glow of the city. The blackened armor encasing his body seemed to drink in the light, the faintly glowing Sith runes etched into its surface pulsing with a quiet, malevolent energy. His breathing, deep and mechanical, echoed within his helmet, a constant reminder of the power he now wielded—and the cost it had demanded. 

The others stood behind him, their presence a silent testament to the mission ahead. Four robed figures, their faces obscured by shadow, their hands resting lightly on the hilts of their weapons. They were silent, their stillness unnerving, like predators waiting to strike. Dogma could feel their anticipation, a coiled tension that mirrored his own. 

The transport dipped lower, skimming just above the traffic lanes, its course carefully calculated to avoid detection. The Senate Chambers loomed ahead, a monolithic structure of gleaming durasteel and transparisteel, its lights blazing like a beacon in the night. It was a symbol of the Republic's power—or what little remained of it. 

Dogma's grip tightened on the handle of his weapon, a massive war hammer forged from the same dark metal as his armor. The runes along its shaft glowed faintly, responding to his touch. He could feel the weight of the mission pressing down on him, the gravity of what they were about to do. 

"Approaching the diplomatic cargo bay," the pilot's voice crackled over the comms. "Thirty seconds." 

Dogma turned to the others, his voice a low growl through his helmet's vocal modulator. "Remember the objective. No deviations. No mistakes." 

The robed figures nodded, their movements synchronized, their silence unnerving. They were tools, just as he was, each of them shaped and honed for this moment. Dogma felt no camaraderie with them, no sense of brotherhood. They were weapons, and weapons did not feel. 

========================== 

In the adjacent compartment, Captain Wilhuff Tarkin stood with practiced calm as the transport thudded onto the platform. He adjusted his uniform, the pristine olive-green fabric untouched by the chaos outside. A quick glance at his datapad confirmed their schedule. They would reach the Senate Chambers within the hour if all proceeded as planned. 

Two clone troopers in the distinct black colors of the Zero Legion flanked him, their visors gleaming beneath the dim shuttle lights. Tarkin cast them a brief glance. "On me," he ordered crisply, stepping down the ramp and into the open air. 

The platform was bathed in the flickering glow of perimeter lights. A pair of Senate Guards in their traditional blue armor approached, their faces stoic beneath their plumed helmets. One raised a hand to halt their approach. 

"Hold!" the lead guard announced, his voice firm. "State your business and cargo designation." 

Tarkin's lips thinned. " Captain Wilhuff Tarkin, diplomatic package, classified." he said, presenting a datapad. "I trust there won't be any delays." 

The guards exchanged a glance, their expressions hardening. "Due to heightened security protocols surrounding the Senate session, all cargo—classified or not—must be declassified and inspected on-site," the guard stated bluntly. 

Tarkin's glare was icy. "I don't think you understand the gravity of your statement, this is diplomatic cargo." he said, his voice dangerously low. 

"Orders are orders," the guard insisted, though there was a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. "No exceptions." 

Tarkin exhaled sharply through his nose. "Very well," he said, turning his head to the clone trooper on his right. "Show him the Emperor's seal." 

The clone complied without hesitation, reaching below. As the guards looked questiongly at each other, a sudden blaster bolt tore through the lead guard's chest plate, the shot precise and merciless. The guard crumpled with a strangled gasp, smoke rising from the seared wound. 

The second guard recoiled in shock, moving to raise his weapon. The other clone was already in front of him, his movements swift and brutal. With a sharp uppercut, he drove his armored elbow into the guard's chin, dazing him. The man stumbled, only to be caught in a vice-like grip around his neck. 

There was a brief, desperate struggle before a sickening crack echoed across the platform. The guard's body went limp, and the clone let it drop unceremoniously to the ground. 

"Area secure," the clone reported coldly. 

Tarkin straightened his coat, his expression unflinching. "Efficient and as silent as we could be udne rthe circumstances," he remarked. "Dispose of the bodies and position the cargo. We leave within five minutes." 

"Yes, sir," the clone acknowledged, gesturing to nearby troopers who moved swiftly to clear the scene. 

========================== 

The air shimmered with heat as Anakin Skywalker's shuttle touched down on the scorched landing pad of the Separatist stronghold. Lava rivers snaked through the jagged obsidian landscape, their glow casting flickering shadows against the towering structures of the base. Steam hissed from cracks in the rock, mingling with the acrid scent of sulfur. 

Anakin, now clad in dark combat armor that gleamed like polished obsidian, descended the ramp without a word. His cape billowed slightly in the hot wind, and his boots clanged with each deliberate step. The molten glow of Mustafar reflected off the edges of his armor, giving him the appearance of a shadow wreathed in fire. 

The thick blast doors hissed open as he approached, revealing a long corridor lined with flickering crimson lights. The sound of his footsteps echoed ominously as he advanced, unchallenged. The Separatist leadership awaited him. 

In the central command chamber, the tension was palpable. Wat Tambor adjusted the dials on his exosuit, the mechanical hissing blending with the low hum of the control panels. The others murmured among themselves, their voices tinged with fear and uncertainty while Grievous simply watched them. 

As Anakin entered, the conversation ceased. The room fell into an eerie silence, broken only by the faint crackle of holographic displays. Gunray forced a smile, his voice wavering. 

"Lord Vader, we've been expecting you." 

Anakin did not respond. His expression was hidden beneath his helmet, but the weight of his presence was undeniable. The hitched mechanical breathing did nothing to calm the Separatist leaders as they exchanged uneasy glances, their initial relief giving way to dread. Suddenly the doors themselves shut with a heavy thud as his lightsaber ignited. 

========================== 

The ruined Jedi Temple loomed against the Coruscant skyline, its once-pristine spires now scorched and blackened. Smoke curled from shattered windows, and the faint scent of ash lingered in the air. 

Yoda and Obi-Wan Kenobi moved silently through the desolation, their robes fluttering in the cool breeze. The devastation was overwhelming—columns reduced to rubble, charred bodies scattered across the floor, and the faint hum of extinguished lightsabers still echoing in the Force. 

"The dark side clouds everything," Yoda murmured, his voice heavy with sorrow. 

Obi-Wan's expression was grim. "We should have seen this coming." 

Yoda paused, his ears drooping. "Survive, we must. But vengeance seek, we shall not." 

Obi-Wan's gaze hardened as he looked at the distant Senate dome. "The Senate is complicit. They turned a blind eye, or worse, aided this atrocity. And now... now we must face the consequences... no , now they faced the consequences." Obi Wan said as he looked at the body of the teenager before him. 

"Find the younglings, we did not." Yoda said solemnly. "The war over, it is not yet." 

========================== 

Aboard the Pride of the Core, Lelouch vi Britannia sat in his command chair, the dark metal of the bridge gleaming under the soft blue glow of holographic displays. The hum of the ship's engines thrummed beneath his feet, steady and powerful. His white uniform was pristine, a stark contrast to the chaos brewing across the galaxy. 

The communications officer's voice broke through the calm. "Sir, widespread broadcast incoming from the Senate. It's playing on all open channels." 

Lelouch's eyes narrowed. "Put it through for the entire crew." 

The officer nodded, fingers dancing across the console. The holographic display flickered before stabilizing, revealing the Senate Chamber filled with tense figures. Lelouch's gaze lingered on the image for a moment before he lifted the communicator he had been idly toying with. His voice was calm but commanding. 

"Activation code: AP5931AFF71229S. Authorization code: SDA11377SA." 

A moment of static crackled before a response came through. "Roger, Roger." 

Not even a minute later, the sensor officer's console lit up with a sudden cascade of alerts. His face paled as he leaned forward, fingers flying across the controls. 

"Sir! Multiple signals appearing across the board—at least half a dozen within sensor range. All capital-class designations." 

The bridge went silent. The officer's voice trembled as he continued. "Energy signatures indicate hyperspace preparations. Preliminary trajectory calculations suggest their target is Coruscant." 

The weapons officer cursed under his breath, slamming a fist against the console. "How the hell did they get so close without us noticing?" 

"They didn't," the sensor officer replied, his voice taut. "They just appeared out of nowhere!" 

"Enough!" Lelouch's voice cut through the chaos, sharp and authoritative. The crew fell silent, their eyes on him. 

"We are here because we expected them to pull something. Navigation, set a course for Coruscant." 

"Understood. Preparing for jump to hyperspace." 

The tactical officer approached from the side, his expression grim. "Sir, while the Pride can handle that fleet on its own, if the signatures are accurate, we're dealing with an entire droid subjugation-class fleet. My primary concern is their fighter and bomber complements. Without sufficient support, they could tear us apart before we can take down the control ships." 

Lelouch's eyes gleamed with determination. "Perhaps. But don't discount the garrison fleet just yet. They may lack capital ships, but their fighter complement is extensive. They'll buy us the time we need." 

"If you say so, sir," the officer said reluctantly. "Nevertheless, I'll have an extraction squad on standby." 

============================= 

The apartment was eerily silent, save for the faint hum of Coruscant's skyline beyond the expansive windows. Padmé Amidala stood near the door, fully dressed in a deep blue senatorial gown that shimmered with faint silver embroidery. Her hair was intricately braided and pinned, a sign of her readiness to face the Senate. And yet, her hand trembled as it hovered near the control panel to open the door. 

She drew in a shaky breath, biting her lower lip. Anakin's voice echoed in her mind. Stay home. Please, for me... for our child. 

The weight of his plea warred with the ingrained duty that pulsed through her heart. She was a senator, a guardian of democracy, and her place was in the chamber—fighting for what little remained of the Republic. But the memory of Anakin's hand resting on her stomach, his eyes pleading, was stronger than duty. 

With a defeated sigh, Padmé withdrew her hand and turned back into the living room. Her heels clicked against the polished floor as she paced anxiously. Her heart raced, and a wave of frustration and helplessness gripped her. 

As she lingered, caught between defiance and obedience, a polite but concerned voice broke the silence. 

"Oh dear, Mistress Padmé. You seem troubled," C-3PO's golden frame gleamed in the ambient light as he approached, hands clasped in his usual fretful manner. "Might I suggest a calming herbal tea?" 

Padmé barely registered the suggestion. "No, thank you, Threepio." 

The droid tilted his head. "If I may be so bold, there's a transmission from the Senate playing on all open channels. Shall I display it on the main holoscreen?" 

Her breath caught. "Yes, put it on the main screen." 

C-3PO shuffled to the control panel, his servos whirring as he activated the holoprojector. A massive, transparent image flickered to life in the living room. The grand Senate chamber appeared, filled with thousands of hovering pods and a sea of senators draped in regal colors. 

At the center, Supreme Chancellor Palpatine stood, his voice calm yet heavy with authority. 

"Senators of the Republic," he began, his tone solemn. "The Jedi rebellion has been foiled." 

Padmé's brows furrowed as dread curled in her stomach. The words cut through her like a vibroblade. She moved closer to the screen, her breath shallow. 

Before she could process the gravity of Palpatine's announcement, the faint hum of a transport engine caught her attention. Her gaze flicked to the balcony window, where a sleek vessel descended onto her apartment's private landing pad. Relief flooded through her. Anakin. 

She rushed to the balcony, the doors hissing open as she stepped out into the cool night air. But her heart sank when she saw not Anakin but Senator Bail Organa descending the ramp. His dark blue cloak fluttered behind him as he strode toward her, his expression grave. 

"Senator Organa?" Padmé greeted, masking her surprise. "Why aren't you at the Senate session?" 

Bail let out a breath of relief upon seeing her. "I was looking for you, Senator Amidala. Thankfully you're safe." 

Her brow furrowed. "What's going on?" 

He glanced around warily before speaking in a low, urgent tone. "It's about the Jedi. Obi-Wan and Master Yoda are alive. They told me about the attack on the Temple." 

Padmé's breath hitched. "The attack…" 

Before Bail could continue, Palpatine's voice from the holoscreen carried through the apartment, commanding their attention. 

"The remaining Jedi will be hunted down... and defeated." 

Padmé's face paled. Her legs felt weak, but she forced herself to stand firm. 

Bail's eyes widened, his fists clenching at his sides. "What in the name of—" 

Padmé's voice was barely a whisper. "The Chancellor is claiming the Jedi tried to overthrow the Republic." 

As Palpatine continued, applause erupted from the Senate chamber, a deafening affirmation of his words. 

"In order to ensure the security and the continuing stability of the Republic, it will be reorganized into the First Galactic Empire..." 

Another thunderous round of applause followed. Palpatine raised his arms triumphantly, his voice triumphant. 

"…for a safe and secure society!" 

Padmé's knees buckled. She sank onto the edge of the couch, her eyes wide with disbelief. "No…" 

Tears welled in her eyes as the full weight of the moment crushed her. Everything she had fought for, everything she had believed in—democracy, peace, liberty—collapsed with a single statement and a chorus of thunderous applause. 

"So this is how liberty dies…" she whispered, her voice trembling. "...with thunderous applause." 

Bail sat beside her, his face grim. "We need to act. We can't let this stand." 

Padmé couldn't speak. The tears streaming down her face said everything. Her entire world was unraveling before her eyes. 

Suddenly, a sharp crashing sound shattered the heavy atmosphere. The holoscreen flickered and went dark. Alarmed, Padmé and Bail rushed to the balcony. 

In the distance, plumes of smoke rose near the Senate complex. Fiery streaks cut through the night sky, and the faint echoes of explosions reached their ears. 

"What in the stars is happening?" Bail exclaimed. 

============================ 

The hum of the security room was a steady rhythm of beeping consoles and flickering surveillance screens. Bright blue holographic feeds mapped every corner of the Senate complex, from grand hallways filled with senators to the landing pads bristling with security detail. 

Captain Tavik, a seasoned officer with years of loyal service, stood rigid in the center of the room. His eyes swept over the various displays, his sharp instincts attuned to the smallest irregularities. The Chancellor's speech echoed faintly through the chamber, the applause vibrating even through the walls. 

Suddenly, his comm unit crackled, then fizzled into silence. Tavik's brow furrowed as he tapped it. Nothing. Static. 

"Comms down," he muttered, turning sharply. "Anyone else?" 

A chorus of confused murmurs rippled through the room as other officers checked their devices. Heads shook, brows furrowed. 

"Captain," one guard called from across the room, "all frequencies are dead. We've lost external communications." 

Tavik's stomach knotted. "What about internal comms?" 

"Dead too, sir." He said after trying it. 

Gritting his teeth, Tavik made his way to the communications officer stationed at a central console. The young man stood frozen, staring at a black screen where rows of data should have been scrolling. 

'Screw who his father is, this is the 2nd time this month' 

"What's the problem this time?" Tavik demanded. 

The officer's voice was disturbingly calm. "Everything is going as intended." 

Silence blanketed the room. Tavik's eyes narrowed. "What did you say?" 

Before the officer could respond, Tavik grabbed him by the collar and lifted him off his feet. The man didn't struggle; he simply stared at Tavik with a satisfied smile. 

"What in the blazes is going on here?" Tavik snarled. 

The officer's lips curled into a faint smirk. "You'll see." 

A sudden glint caught Tavik's eye as the officer raised what appeared to be a makeshift blaster. 

"Weapon!" Tavik shouted, but the guards were faster. 

Blaster bolts lanced through the air, striking the officer in the chest. He crumpled to the ground, a satisfied grin still etched on his face. 

Tavik's heart pounded as he stared down at the fallen man. The "weapon" clattered from the officer's hand—a crude prop, not a functional blaster. 

"I knew I could count on your aim," the officer rasped with his dying breath. 

Tavik's blood ran cold as he followed the officer's gaze to the shattered console behind him. Sparks flew from the ruined equipment, the damage irreparable. His fists clenched in fury. 

"Blast it!" he roared. 

Turning to the guards, his voice was a sharp bark of authority. "Get to the Chancellor! Escort him to the bunker—NOW!" 

The guards didn't wait for confirmation. They bolted from the room, their boots pounding against the floor. 

Tavik spun toward the surveillance officer. "Bring up all the cameras. I want every feed—every corridor, landing pad, and airspace. If they took down comms, something big is coming, and it's going to be loud." 

The officer's hands flew over the controls. One by one, the screens lit up, showing a mosaic of live footage. Everything seemed normal: senators bustling through halls, ships docking and departing from the Senate platforms, patrols moving in standard formation. 

Minutes passed, tension coiling in the room like a taut wire. Tavik's jaw clenched as he leaned closer to the monitors. 

"Sir," the surveillance officer said, his voice wavering. 

He froze. 

The captain's eyes darted to the screen, his breath catching in his throat. 

Above the planet's atmosphere, the unmistakable outline of a massive Lucrehulk-class battleship filled the frame. Its once-pristine surface was a scorched, twisted ruin, debris trailing behind it like a comet's tail. Fires raged across its hull, and entire sections were torn away, exposing skeletal remains of its internal structure. 

A hushed horror descended over the room. 

"It's breached the atmosphere," the surveillance officer whispered, his voice barely audible. 

Tavik's heart raced. "Trajectory?" 

The officer's fingers danced across the controls. His face drained of color. "It's on an impact course... directly with the Senate Chambers." 

For a moment, no one spoke. The realization was a crushing weight. 

"Sweet stars..." one guard muttered, his voice trembling. 

The captain's mind raced. "How did they get that close without our forces detecting them?" 

"They couldn't, they must have broken through" the officer stammered. 

"Emergency alert!" Tavik roared. "Sound the evacuation alarms! Get everyone out of here!" 

The room exploded into chaos as alarms blared. Red warning lights bathed the walls in a crimson glow. 

Outside, the Lucrehulk blazed through the atmosphere, its descent a fiery arc against the night sky. The massive ship's shadow cast a pall over the city, its ominous approach a harbinger of destruction. 

Tavik's voice dropped to a grim whisper as he watched the falling behemoth. "Stars help us all." 

A.N: Longest yet, 3333 words. Hope you all enjoyed it :)