The Empire's Descent

Chapter 1: The Beginning

Executor-Class Dreadnought
"Abaddon"

As the smoke slowly cleared and the ringing in his ears subsided, Fleet Admiral Ross Sina began to regain consciousness. His vision blurred, and he felt a throbbing pain in his head, a lingering reminder of the violent tremor that had rocked the bridge. With a groan, he tried to gather his thoughts, attempting to piece together what had just happened.

Blinking rapidly, the Admiral's eyes focused on the chaotic scene before him. The bridge was in disarray, scattered debris and fallen crew members strewn across the floor. The acrid smell of burnt circuits filled the air, and the sound of alarms blared relentlessly in the background. He struggled to steady himself, his hands reaching for the edge of a nearby console- it's operator nowhere to be seen, to pull himself up.

A nearby officer, whose tarnished and grimy uniform held the rank of Lieutenant, rushed to his side, concern etched upon their face. "Sir, are you alright? You took quite a blow," Lieutenant Smithe Deru said, his voice filled with worry.

The Admiral nodded weakly, his voice barely a whisper. "I... I will be fine. What is the situation? What happened to our fleet?"

Lieutenant Smithe quickly updated him on the extent of the damage, the estimated casualties, and the slight failure of the life-support systems of the ship, with whatever crew left standing scrambling to keep the once-impervious fortress of the empire alive. The Admiral listened intently, his brows furrowing as he absorbed the gravity of the situation.

With a deep breath, the Admiral steadied himself, preparing to take charge once more. The pain in his head persisted, along with a thick trail of blood that blinded his right eye, but he pushed it aside, focusing on the task at hand. He straightened his uniform, his posture regaining its characteristic poise, and looked around the bridge.

As the Admiral regained their composure, a sense of urgency swept through the bridge. Orders were quickly given out as injured and incapacitated crew members were swiftly attended to, while the fires that ravaged the corridors were beginning to be contained. The medical facilities were bustling with activity, slightly overwhelmed by the influx of casualties, as communications with ships throughout the fleet resumed.

"I want a report on what happened to our fleet! Send a message across every ship to report in!" He commanded, his voice cutting through the tumult.

"Direct the fire suppression teams to control all fires, and have our repair crews restore our ship's systems!" The Admiral barked even further.

An officer swiftly approached, carrying a tablet containing the latest updates. The Admiral attentively listened as the officer provided a concise summary of the fleet's current status.

The officer delivered a detailed status update on the fleet's condition. Two of the Imperial Class-I Star Destroyers had managed to weather the chaos with minimal damage, though some of the others were grappling with system malfunctions and hull breaches, while other ships bore similar scars to varying degrees, ranging from moderate to severe. Regrettably, news for the smaller corvettes and frigates within the fleet were grim, as they had suffered severe damage, with more than one of them being damaged to such an extent that they had to be hauled towards the Abaddon through a tractor beam, if they were to give any surviving crew a chance at survival.

The Admiral's expression tightened, fully grasping the extent of the fleet's incapacitation. "Almost half of my fleet is out of action..." he contemplated, feeling the immense weight of responsibility upon his shoulders.

"Navigator, contact the nearest Imperial Base for assistance," the Admiral ordered, his voice firm.

"Apologies, sir, but whatever hit us has disrupted all means of communications, and we're still trying to figure out why," the communications officer responded, as his eyes glanced back to the glitching console of his station- trying to restore the link to the nearest outpost.

"In that case, identify the closest habitable planet. We shall execute an emergency landing there," the Admiral commanded.

"Immediately, sir!" the Navigator responded, deftly manipulating whatever remaining systems still operational within the Galactic Positioning System to fulfill the Admiral's request.

The fleet, battered and damaged, gradually altered its course towards a vibrant planet adorned with extensive continents. The planet's size rivaled that of Coruscant, if not surpassing it. A mysterious white mist enveloped the southernmost tip, while the remainder of the planet shimmered with lush greenery, and vibrant blue.

"Any response from the planet?" the Admiral inquired, his gaze fixed on the main hologram situated in the middle of the bridge.

"Negative, sir. It's plausible that this planet lacks any advanced civilization, judging from how clean it is, or maybe our communication arrays are far too damaged to transmit anything." came the reply.

The Admiral pondered the situation intently. "I find it unlikely that our communications systems are at fault," he murmured to himself, his reason being the other ships in his fleet still having the capability to transmit messages from one another.

"I will not risk my damaged fleet landing on a planet potentially controlled by rebel forces. Have any ships capable of operations perform a planetary scan, and dispatch any available aircraft for reconnaissance purposes." the Admiral ordered.

"Understood, sir."

Despite the hangars being heavily damaged due to their proximity to the ship's edges, where most of the damage had accumulated thanks to thinner plating, a substantial mix of tie-Interceptors and fighters still exited the many hangars of the executor with a whir, forming a swarm of Imperial steel as they descended into the planet's atmosphere. Intense friction momentarily ignited their exteriors upon entry of the planet's atmosphere, before the void of space met the layers of ozone to reveal their flawless silver surfaces and menacing black cockpits, as they began to soar through uncontested skies under the planet's radiant sunlight.

"Gamma-1 to Silverstar, nearing 'Alpha' continent, over," A pilot transmitted, maintaining a composed demeanor.

<This is Silverstar to Gamma-1, report any indications of civilization or settlements, over,> Came the reply, subtly distorted by intermittent interference.

"Acknowledged, over."

The pilot and his wingman accelerated, their nimble craft slicing through the atmosphere with precision. As they soared above majestic mountain ranges, an expansive barren plateau came into view, stretching as far as the eye could see.

"Silverstar, we have visual contact with what appears to be a city situated in a plateau, over," the pilot reported, his voice laced with a subtle hint of anticipation.

<Roger Gamma-1, we see it. Proceed to the city, over.> Silverstar responded, their voices resonating with the same professionalism.

"Wilco. Out."

The pilot deftly maneuvered his interceptor, closely followed by his wingman, as they soared gracefully over fields of crops that encircled the native city below, their presence reverberating with a sonorous and repetitive hum.