A Memoir of the Chosen
"And lo, the heavens themselves trembled at His return, and the faithful felt His presence not in mere faith, but in truth, in being, in the marrow of their bones. When it came, none could mistake it for aught else. It was the Day of Ascendance, for the God Emperor had risen in his rightful place."
—From The Canticles of Devotion, Ecclesiarchy Archives, Volume IV
Beneath the eternal night sky of Coruscant, among the countless artificial stars that blinked in the towering skyline, two warriors danced upon the steel of a training platform, their blades alight with the fire of the God-Emperor's will. The Imperial Knights-in-training, though young, moved with the precision of seasoned warriors, their forms dictated not by instinct alone but by the relentless discipline that had been hammered into them since childhood.
One wielded a double-edged lightsaber, its burning crimson blades spinning with deadly grace. The other bore the simpler, but no less lethal, single-bladed saber, its edge a perfect extension of his will.
They clashed, their strikes ringing out against one another, sending ripples of raw kinetic force through the air. Sparks flew as their sabers locked, the plasma fields screaming against each other in protest. It was not merely a duel of skill, but of will.
And then, as if some unseen force pulled at their very souls, they paused.
Their weapons still pressed together, their eyes locked, but their minds… their minds reached outward.
Something was there.
It was distant, yet intimate, like a forgotten melody playing at the edge of their consciousness. It was vast, boundless, yet singular, focused—a presence familiar and absolute.
The Emperor.
The realization was staggering, yet neither allowed themselves to falter. In this moment, there was only the duel.
Their focus sharpened. They drew upon the Force, summoning its power as they prepared to break the deadlock.
With synchronized precision, both unleashed a Force push.
A clash of invisible power, one meant to send the other flying back.
But the moment their energies met—
The heavens roared.
A cataclysmic tremor tore through the training grounds. The platform beneath them shuddered, cracked, nearly collapsed under the sheer force of their exchange. A shockwave erupted outward, splitting the ground, howling into the sky.
The overseer, a battle-hardened veteran, felt it too—not merely the tremor from their exchange, but the shift in the Force itself. It was unlike the great outburst of days prior, the one that had sent ripples through reality itself. No, this was different. More focused. More immediate. Like shackles falling off.
His eyes widened as the very air became heavy with an unseen presence.
On instinct alone, he sidestepped, barely avoiding the jagged steel that had been torn from the flooring by the blast. The force wave shot skyward, cutting through the darkness of Coruscant's sky, a beacon of power unseen in an age.
The trainees were flung apart, each crashing into the opposite ends of the ruined platform, blinking in shock. They were unhurt. But what they had done…
They did not understand it.
Neither had expected such destruction from a simple Force push.
Neither had expected the entire city to feel it.
And they were not alone.
All around them, their fellow trainees had stopped their exercises, their duels, their meditations. They stood still—listening. Feeling.
They felt Him, and they felt the power rushing through their bodies.
Not merely as a distant guiding light in the Force, not as the ever-present will that dictated their training. No, He was here.
Around them.
Within them.
He was the Force—and for the first time, it did not merely guide them. It consumed them.
But it was not just the Imperial Knights.
It was everyone.
Throughout Coruscant, from the upper echelons of Imperial nobility to the lowest slums, still undergoing their overhauls, they felt it. The laborers of Kuat's shipyards paused, their tools slipping from their hands as an overwhelming presence gripped them. The soldiers stationed across the Outer Rim, battle-hardened men who had seen entire campaigns of blood and fire, found themselves stumbling, breathless, staring at the skies.
It did not matter that they had no training in the Force. It did not matter that they were not Knights, that they had never wielded a lightsaber or channeled its power.
They felt Him. The God-Emperor was there.
====================
And then came the order.
It did not come from the Emperor Himself.
It did not need to.
For His voice was made manifest through His chosen servants.
From the pulpit of the Grand Ecclesiarchal Cathedral, the Archbishop of the God-Emperor's Church issued the proclamation.
"The God-Emperor has willed it so. His kingdom is to be cleansed, prepared for His awakening. Let no one except his chosen, no heretic, no xeno, no unclean remnant of the old galaxy stain His dominion."
It was not a call to war.
It was a commandment.
And the Inquisition obeyed.
They had always been ready.
Across the Empire, without fanfare, without hesitation, without mercy, entire xeno worlds went dark.
There were no great fleets, no planetary invasions. The Inquisition had no need for armies to do its work.
For it had agents everywhere.
On every world, in every system, in every stronghold of the xenos.
They had long woven themselves into the fabric of society.
Some were simple men, living seemingly normal lives—husbands to alien wives, fathers to hybrid children. But their devotion had never wavered.
And in the dead of night, as their families lay sleeping, they unleashed the virus.
The Blue Shadow Virus.
It spread like wildfire, its effects horrifyingly efficient. Cities fell silent. Entire planets went black.
Not one escaped.
The xenos were erased, one by one, world by world, in absolute silence, only few of those serving remaining, absolute in their devotion.
History would not record their names.
Their existence would not be remembered.
Only the will of the God-Emperor remained.
And so it was, that on the Day of Ascendance, the faithful rejoiced, and the unbelievers perished.
For it was His will.
====================
24 P.C.
The rhythmic pounding of boots against durasteel floors echoed across the training yard, a perfect symphony of discipline and purpose. The students moved in perfect unison, their bodies snapping into rigid stances as they executed each maneuver with near-mechanical precision. This was their mandatory self-defense training, an annual requirement imposed upon every citizen of the Empire, regardless of age or gender.
Their instructor, a former Stormtrooper Captain, marched between the rows of students, his presence a looming shadow of authority. His voice was iron, unwavering.
"You will likely never need to use this training." He declared, though his tone carried none of the comfort such words should have. "The God-Emperor has seen to it that the Empire is unshakable. Even the outermost colonies sleep soundly, knowing no harm will ever reach them."
The students held their stances, fists clenched as they prepared for the next sequence. It was the same speech every year, a mantra of both reassurance and warning.
"But do not be fooled into complacency." The instructor continued, his gaze like durasteel as he stared down the recruits. "Not all threats come from outside. Those who bear the face of humanity, yet lack its soul—those who harbor filth, who shelter xenos and traitors—these are the true dangers to the Empire."
He stepped forward, his hands clasped behind his back as he surveyed the young men and women before him. They were the future of the Empire, the inheritors of its legacy. But only if they remained pure. Only if they remained worthy.
"You feel His presence, don't you?" His voice dropped to a near whisper, yet every student heard him as if he had spoken directly into their ears. "His presence is always with us. It watches, it judges. The God-Emperor's compassion is infinite, but that does not mean we shall allow it to be exploited. Should a rat find its way into your home, would you let it fester? Or would you crush it beneath your boot?"
The students did not need to answer. The answer was already ingrained in them.
For some, it had taken years. For others, it had come naturally, as if the will of the Emperor had been embedded into their very souls. This was the world they knew. A world of unity, a world of strength. A world where they—humanity—stood unchallenged.
In the distance, beyond the city skyline of Coruscant, the banners of the Empire hung tall and proud. Each one carried the golden sigil of the God-Emperor, the symbol of the only order the galaxy had ever needed.
====================
The Excalibur drifted silently at the edge of the Outer Rim, its colossal form casting a shadow upon the gathered fleet, a fleet that would have dwarfed even the combined might of the Clone Wars' warring factions. Though merely an expeditionary force, its power was undeniable—its presence a stark reminder of the Empire's boundless ambition.
Leia Skywalker stood with her arms crossed, eyes fixed upon the void beyond the viewport. A familiar presence loomed beside her, though she resisted the urge to glance his way.
Sors Bandeam.
Even now, she felt a flicker of distaste at the thought of him holding oversight of this operation, though she had little room to challenge it. His record was impeccable, his mind razor-sharp, and despite her best efforts, he had outmaneuvered her in both tactics and grand strategy, proving his superiority.
And he knew it.
That abominable smirk of his greeted her every time they met, polite, pleasant, and utterly insufferable. He exuded a carefully curated image of approachability, yet she knew what lurked beneath—the cold, ruthless mind of a man who had no qualms about sacrificing millions if it meant victory. He was proud, excessively so, and yet…
Leia could not deny his effectiveness.
Her eyes trailed over the gathered warships, their silhouettes forming an unbroken wall of Imperial might.
Nearly every ship in the fleet had passed through the Star Forge, the Empire's greatest industrial marvel, where their aging designs had been reforged into weapons of modern war. The Venator II-class Star Destroyers stood at the forefront, no longer the dual-hangar carriers of old, but instead refitted into true front-line warships, their broadsides lined with powerful turbolasers, proton torpedo launchers, and an increased array of point-defense systems. Their fighter complements had been drastically reduced, but in exchange, their firepower had been multiplied, allowing them to serve as deadly speartips in any engagement.
Leia could not help the pride that welled up within her.
This was only a fraction of the Empire's might, a mere expeditionary force, yet it was still more powerful than anything the galaxy had ever seen before.
And she was part of it.
She glanced toward Sors, expecting to see that same insufferable smirk.
Instead, she found his gaze fixed upon the fleet, his expression unreadable, yet unmistakably pleased.
Even he could not hide his pride.
The stars shifted, light bending unnaturally as fresh warships emerged from hyperspace.
The fleet was almost complete.
The Excalibur's command bridge hummed with quiet efficiency, a stark contrast to the storm of warships amassing beyond its viewports. Leia stood unmoving, her posture rigid as her eyes traced the shifting fleet formations. Even though she had grown accustomed to the sight of Imperial armadas, the sheer scale of this expeditionary force remained breathtaking.
And this was only the vanguard.
The Grand Army of the Empire never ceased its expansion, its cloning facilities running tirelessly, its droid foundries producing in numbers that defied reason. Unlike the scattered, disjointed forces of the Republic and CIS before it, the Imperial military had spent decades refining itself into a singular war machine. The time of repurposed ships and inconsistent designs was over—what stood before her was the manifestation of that refinement, the first true expression of the Empire's war doctrine.
At its core were the Maelstrom-class Battlecruisers, a new generation of warships forged in the heart of the Star Forge. The Excalibur, the first and finest of its kind, set the standard—over twice the size of a Venator, heavily armored, and bristling with a devastating array of weaponry. Where the Imperial-class Star Destroyers of old had struggled to balance firepower, fighter capacity, and troop deployment, the Maelstrom-class had no such flaws. Its sheer size allowed it to excel in all three, making it the perfect spearhead for planetary assaults or fleet engagements.
But they were not alone.
The Venator II-class Star Destroyers formed the bulk of the fleet, 500 of them, each one a product of ruthless efficiency. The outdated carrier-focused Venators of the Clone Wars had been stripped down and reforged, sacrificing a significant portion of their hangar space to become dedicated frontline warships. Their, now much more bulkier, frames were lengthened by more than 30% (as big as an ISD) now lined with:
Increased And More Avanced Turbolasers: Outfitted with the latest advancements, delivering significantly greater range and output. Proton Torpedo Launchers: Fitted along their broadsides for devastating alpha strikes. Advanced-Defense Systems: Perfected for intercepting missiles and enemy fighters before they could pose a threat.
(Yeah, I basically made the Venator an ISD stat wise... but it looks so much better than an ISD, even though i like the ISD for being iconic, the Venator has a sexy AF design, but it needs a lot more guns to even be called a captial ship as its nearly 2.5 decades after the rise of the Empire.)
But a fleet of this scale needed more than just big guns.
Though the fighter complements of the Venator had been drastically reduced, the Empire had no shortage of dedicated carriers to fill that role.
For that purpose, the Lucrehulk-class battleships had been reborn as Super-Class Carriers. Unlike their CIS predecessors, these were no longer multi-purpose ships. Each one had been entirely redesigned to fulfill a single, overwhelming role:
100 Fighter Command Carriers: Each one capable of launching and coordinating thousands of starfighters and hundreds of bombers, separated into clone led squads.
20 Planetary Assault Carriers: Serving as mobile staging grounds for planetary invasions, housing vast numbers of ground troops and armored vehicles.
Their massive frames, once riddled with redundancies, now boasted thickened armor, upgraded shields, and enhanced command centers for fleet coordination. These Super-Class Carriers were no longer just support vessels—they were strategic assets capable of reshaping entire battlefields.
For reconnaissance and rapid response, the fleet was supported by:
2000 Advanced Arquitens-Class Light Cruisers: Modernized versions of the diplomatic ships once used in the early Republic era, now serving as dedicated reconnaissance and escort vessels.
1000 Munificent-class Heavy Cruisers: Though once a relic of the CIS, these warships had proven themselves adaptable. Stripped of their redundancies, their bodies were reinforced, the weaker and more vulnerable sections redesigned, they were rearmed with upgraded engines, shields, modern turbolasers, and still retaining their singular massive ion cannon serving as the fleet's heavy escort ships.
These smaller vessels provided the flexibility and agility that the fleet's larger capital ships lacked, ensuring rapid deployments and interception capabilities when needed.
And still, there was more.
The days of vast legions of Clone Troopers had long passed. The Empire's new model of war saw each clone soldier elevated, no longer just another rank-and-file trooper, but an officer, commander, or specialist, each one leading and coordinating entire detachments of battle droids.
Clone Officers: Each one commanding between 5 and 10 squads of battle droids, serving as the tactical mind of each unit.
Elite Clone Units: Retained for special operations, planetary incursions, and high-value targets, boasting more advanced droid repertoire than the common assault troops.
Droid Infantry: The overwhelming majority of ground forces, comprising a simple version of the B1 Battle Droid (given their near ungodly reserves), along with specialized variants for specialized warfare (B2 Super battle droid, droidekas, etc).
The fleet's logistics had also been perfected. Dedicated resupply ships, mobile repair stations, and forward command vessels ensured that the fleet could operate independently for extended campaigns.
Leia's gaze flickered over the newly arrived ships, each one falling perfectly into formation, their weapons primed, their shields tested, their crews prepared.
It was a machine—a machine designed for one singular purpose.
Total and absolute domination.
And yet, for all its power, she knew that this was only the beginning.
A mere fraction of the Empire's growing might.
Sors Bandeam let out a quiet chuckle beside her.
Leia turned toward him, her expression impassive, but the faintest trace of irritation flickered in her violet eyes.
"I trust the fleet meets your expectations?" he asked, his voice calm, composed, and exuding that infuriating sense of self-satisfaction.
Leia exhaled through her nose, suppressing the urge to roll her eyes.
Of course he was pleased.
Sors Bandeam was a man who would never tolerate anything less than perfection.
Even now, standing before a force capable of reducing entire civilizations to dust, he likely saw flaws, improvements to be made, imperfections to be corrected.
But Leia saw something else.
She saw an Empire ascendant.
And for the first time in a long while, she found herself smiling.
A.N: This was very fun to think about, but fucking hellish to write. Anyway, hope you all enjoyed it. I think we are ready, next chapter Expedition Fleet sets off. Myabe i can even figure out how to work the volume funciton on this delightful(cursed/search is broken/smth is always broken) app/website. Hope you all have a nice rest of the day/night :)