Disclaimer: I own nothing written on this whole story, except my OC's. Everything belongs to their respective owners. Massive thanks goes to George Lucas for creating a whole new universe full of incredible things we love!

Hello there! First of all, this is my first attempt at writing a long fic; nope, it could also be said as my first ever attempt to write a serious fic! The idea for this fic was greatly influenced by the game Star Wars: Empire at War Forces of Corruption expansion, modded with the Thrawn's Revenge mod. Huge shoutout to Corey for creating the mod; I enjoyed each and every single moment playing your mod! Actually, I started thinking about the idea one sleepless night; and because I was restless on that particular night, I decided to get up from my bed and open up my laptop. I started typing, and suddenly this comes into fruitition.

I've planned the story to go well a long way, with many arcs in between; I've already plotted the major events, but I want to say that I'm very open to suggestions; each and every single one will be considered. Any review is greatly appreciated! I would love to know where I lack, where I can improve, so that I can create better work in the future!

Chapter 1

Deep, and dark. One might think that these days the blackness of space screams the word 'secure' to most New Republic personnel; the garrison stationed above Byss amongst the staunchest supporters of that feeling of security. What could one expect? Located close to the Core, and especially close to Coruscant and with a big shipyard capable of producing capital ships, it is well protected with the most cutting-edge defense armaments many worlds can only dream of. Please, we're not only talking about massive Golan defense armaments here, we're also taking into account the best that the Republic has to offer manning each and every one of the battlestations responsible for defending the planet.

Logically speaking, planet-wise, Byss itself serves little to no purpose to the Republic, except that it is a world whose shipyards can produce some of the most powerful capital ships the Republic so desperately needed in the past years. Nowadays, the shipyards aren't so needed anymore, and production capability is not forced to work overdrive as it was. The threat of Isard has long been quashed, for good. Ever since the battle of Bilbringi, nothing has been heard of the late Grand Admiral Thrawn. The Reborn Emperor's laboratory in said planet has also been retrofitted as a medical laboratory, and with the New Jedi Order under the wings of Grandmaster Luke Skywalker thriving, the galaxy has never seen better days in more than 5 decades.

Or so they all thought.

19th ABY, aboard the Imperial II Star Destroyer Archgriffin, a little micro-jump from Byss

"Status report, Captain."

The deep voice of the figure in white and grey uniform could be heard inside the whole bridge. A voice that the galaxy has not heard for more than a decade; a voice that will strike true fear in the hearts of his adversaries.

"Everything is going according to plan, my Lord. Shields are operating at maximum capacity, and ballistics are charged to fire as soon as we made the calibration," a female Chiss aide reported.

In the blackness and nothingness of space, a fleet of 3 Imperial II Star Destroyers and an escort of 2 Ascendancy Class Destroyer floated nearby, weapons charged to the maximum. Add to that fleet 5 Victory I Star Destroyers, all of their proton torpedo launchers pointed to the nothingness ahead of them.

"Prepare the clandestine hyperdrives inside those launchers. Do a last minute calibration, and prepare to fire on my mark."

"As you wish, Sir," the aide replied.

As soon as the orders were made, all of the proton torpedo launchers altered their positions just a few degrees; indeed, even an error of 0.3 degrees in calculation, when tracked over a distance of more than a parsec, would deviate greatly from the mark. No, there can be nothing less than perfection on an grand operation of this scale.

"Belay that order; I would like to change the plan a little bit. Tell me, Captain, is it true that the person in charge of the defenses above Byss is a Mon Calamari?"

"According to our latest intel, sir, the person in charge of the defenses is General Dolhall, a young human male. That was 3 days ago, and we have no reason to believe otherwise," the Captain replied.

"Ah, but something in the back of my mind keeps nagging that the General is actually just a substitute. Think about it, Captain. Why would the Republic put a young man, a human at that, to be in charge of a heavily-defended space? No, I felt that the person in charge of that planet's defenses must be someone competent; not Ackbar, that's too much of an overkill; but a Mon Calamari nonetheless. They are some of the finest specimens capable of tactical thinking. Remember, our adversaries has this strange energy known only as the Force aiding them. I have firsthand experience on how disastrous it was to ignore that factor. And knowing the capabilities of the Mon Calamamaries, I believe we're running out of time."

The Captain did not reply to that statement. With both hands clasped in front of his face, the Chiss-in-command started to think.

"Captain, I want to reposition our formation. The Archgriffin is to be the spearhead, with two of our Victory Destroyers on our flanks. The other capital ships will form a wedge formation along with us. Make it so that the rest of our Victories are aligned in the middle of the formation; higher in bearing than the rest of the fleet. Let it be that everything behind us is obstructed from view, and turn on the sensory disruptor fields as soon as we jump in. Do it immediately, and tell the captains of the Victories to re-calibrate their bearings. I want them to target the shield generators and torpedoes of all the static defense armaments there. They are to fire only one volley on my first mark; wait for no more than 20 seconds, then fire a quarter from all of our fleet's worth of torpedoes afterwards. Then, and only then, shall we empty our current proton torpedo load. Afterwards, reload and prepare the fleet to make the microjump."

"As you wish, Sir," the Captain replied. In her line of work, and also under his line of command, it is extremely unwise to question the decision of the leader. Over the years, she has learned to trust her superior; not blindly, but smartly. And it is always a smart decision to trust this particular superior. It couldn't be otherwise, as the Empire of the Hand has never produced a strategist and tactician as brilliant as her superior in all of its glorious history. That was saying a lot; as the average commander in the Hand outclassed even the top majority of the New Republic.

"All ships in formation, Sir," the Captain reported.

"Good. Prepare to fire on my mark. On three... two..."