Chapter 1

A Blood-Stained Signature

The old stone fort stuck out like a sore thumb in the middle of the brutal Tuchankan desert, not because it was a fort, Tuchanka was packed full of them, most of them abandoned. This one however was alive with activity; a shuttle was docked in a courtyard in the back and mercs were constantly patrolling and unloading crates that were backed into the backs of Tomkahs. This wasn't out of the norm either, what set this fort apart was its occupants, which were a strange mix of Krogan, Vorcha, Batarian, and Human. They were all wearing Bloodpack and Blue Suns armor, but painted black as night, instead of the red and blue they would've been. Even with all these things, the strangest thing was two Krogan walking down the empty corridors of the fort, escorting a Drell who was standing in between them. The Drell distracted himself with the cadence of their footsteps; how the slow, heavy thuds of the Krogan's footsteps perfectly synced with his quicker staccato ones. Even though he tried distracting himself he glanced around nervously, the tan of the stone reflected dully in his black eyes. He nervously reached to scratch the back of his head, but quickly retracted his hand as it ran over the lump on the back of his head, the relatively large wound just now scabbing over. The trio advanced down the ancient fort's stone corridor. The Drell's skin was a pale, almost sickly looking greyish-green, paler than most Drell, sharply contrasted by the dark emerald green inverted pentagon marking in the middle of his forehead, and a similarly colored patch running across the top of his down onto the back of his head. The reddish patch of soft flesh on the throat, segmented off by raised spines, like all Drell have, was particularly vibrantly colored, also contrasting the sickly appearance of his skin tone.

One of the Krogan regarded all of this with disgust, then spoke, his gruff voice breaking the cadence of their footsteps. "What's a Drell doing on Tuchanka anyways? You look like you got that Kepral's Disease. Shouldn't you be off praying somewhere?" The Krogan made no attempt to hide his resentment, though he didn't really have to put it in his voice. The snide remarks about Kepral's Syndrome and the Drell's religiousness pissed the Drell off enough without the tone.

The Drell quickly replied emotionlessly. "I'm here on business."

The Krogan scoffed, while his comrade decided to harass the smaller life form as well. "You sure you didn't just come here 'coz you miss your homeworld? You know the one that's dead? From what I heard it was just like Tuchanka, all desert."

The Drell, just as emotionlessly as before stated, "I've never been to Rakhana, and I'm just here on business."

The first Krogan piped up again, "Oh, then what business could someone like you be doing here? Did you want to see what a real warrior looks like? Maybe you already did, I see something bashed open the back of your tiny skull."

The Drell, with an almost joking tone replied, "Something didn't bash in my skull, I just fell in the shower."

The Krogan hesitated for a moment, and then asked, "What's a shower?"

The Drell grinned inwardly. Fucking barbarian… he thought to himself.

The instigating Krogan, trying to heal his broken pride, and still not fully grasping what a shower is, said, "Maybe if you Drell actually had decent reflexes you wouldn't have got your head smashed up"

The Drell, with only a hint of his inner rage showing in his voice retorted with, "I don't think your superiors would be happy with you if you drove a customer away with smart ass remarks."

That struck a nerve within the Krogan, and he stopped, grabbed the Drell's arm and snarled, "I don't think your bones would, appreciate it, if I broke them either!" The Drell regarded him in silence. The Krogan had his 7 foot body hunched over so he was eye to eye with The Drell, his tan face twisted in a grimace of anger. The Drell noticed that The Krogan's hide was marked with green, with no signs of red showing yet, a sign of a younger Krogan. The Drell stared straight into The Krogan's eyes, which were set far apart, an adaptation from living on Tuchanka. They had 240 degree vision, perfect for hunting.

They think just because they were built as predators means that they can't become the prey, but only too late do they realize that they can, the Drell thought. He could see the Red Haze creeping into the sides of his vision. He was about a second away from showing these bastards what fear was.

Suddenly, a voice came over The Krogan's radio, "I hope you aren't harassing another client Krall."

His name's Krall? Why do Krogan have such fucking ugly, stupid names, the Drell thought about the giant tower of meat gripping his arm.

Krall hesitated, looking confused, then released The Drell's arm and reached up and touched his earpiece. "No sir, Chrekom. We're bringing him to you to finish the transaction now." The reply was inaudible.

Krall looked at The Drell, who, not wanting to pass up the opportunity to humiliate a Krogan, commented with a smirk, "After you." Krall almost struck the smart-ass Drell, though he decided against it, and continued down the corridor with the other Krogan and their "customer." After 5 more minutes of walking and 2 flights of steps they reached their destination, the main room of the fort. The small room was completely gutted. They were probably going to move in more high-tech computers. On the far side of the room a Batarian stood, entering information into his datapad. There was no light from the datapad's display reflecting in any of the Batarian's four pitch black eyes. His dull yellow skin looked almost dead in the dull light of the base. He looked completely calm, despite the risks of operating on Tuchanka, even in a fort full of mercs.

Is this asshole really this unafraid? No matter. If all goes well these plagues of life will be dead soon. Theramod's urge to wipe these bastards from the face of this Hellhole of a planet was almost unbearable. Standing battle ready on the left side were three Vorcha bodyguards, two were on the right. Their reddish orange eyes contained their viciousness. Theramod made eye contact with one and he bared his teeth; the brutal looking, sharp teeth carved a yellow abyss into the charcoal grey skin that surrounded his mouth. The veins on his neck and across his face bulged has he hissed. Theramod scoffed at the pest's pitiful attempt to intimidate him.

Who would honestly be afraid of these little five foot tall piss ants? Sure they have the features of a childhood monster; sharp teeth, red eyes, pale skin, and those long spikes sticking out of the ridge going across the back of their head, but damn are these Vorcha pitiful fighters! As they reached the Batarian the 2 escorts took up positions to the back and behind the Batarian and held their M-300 Claymore shotguns in front of their waists to oversee the payment. After 30 long seconds, the Batarian finally looked up.

"You Theramod Anelay?" the Batarian, who was obviously the voice over the radio, Chrekom, asked.

"Yes," Theramod answered.

Chrekom pressed a couple buttons on the datapad, "And it says here that you need shuttle transportation to The Citadel?" Chrekom asked.

Theramod quickly answered, "That is correct."

Chrekom hit one more button, then said very business-like, "The price for one way is 50,000 credits."

Theramod let his mouth drop open for a second, then, with as much surprise as possible, said, "Fifty thousand!? That's outrageous!"

Chrekom shrugged, his eight nostrils flaring as he let out a silent sigh, and then he said very businesslike, "That was the price agreed on when you contacted us. Pay up, or you'll have to find a new way off of Tuchanka."

Theramod let out his own sigh, and said, exasperated, "Fine, here are your damn credits." He reached into his pocket with his left hand, but instead of a credit chit, he produced a frag grenade, and started counting the seconds.

Second one. He jammed the grenade into Chrekom's stomach, pressed the button, grabbed the M-25 Hornet at Chrekom's waist, held his breath, and pushed. His left arm glowing blue from fingertips to shoulder from the biotics, threw Balkon backwards at 40 MPH, the Hornet tearing away from his holster, the grenade still jammed into his stomach. The 2 Krogan flew backwards as well, caught in the throw field Theramod generated. Theramod twisted to the right, flipping the Hornet around in his right hand around into a firing position. He fired two bursts at the Vorcha to his right, on each one riding the recoil up the Vorcha's body, hitting upper chest, throat, and then right between the eyes.

Second two. They began to drop in unison. The Krogans and Batarian were halfway to the far wall. Theramod reached into his pocket again, produced a lift grenade, and chucked it like a baseball at the Vorcha on the right.

Second three. The Krogans and Batarian made contact with the far wall, it cracking under the pressure. The lift grenade made contact with the middle Vorcha and detonated, killing him instantly. The other two were thrown into the ceiling, shattering their bones. The grenade embedded in Chrekom's stomach detonated, vaporizing him. The two Krogan were thrown, dead, away from the newly formed hole in the far wall.

Second four. Theramod put up his biotic barrier and sprinted towards the hole, using small amounts of the field from the barrier to increase his sprint speed to almost 25 MPH, his eyes fixated on the UT-47 Kodiak Shuttle.

Second five. He was close enough to the hole to look out at most of the courtyard 30 feet below, and upon seeing the congregation of soldiers he tossed the Hornet into his left hand, freeing his right arm, which had much more powerful biotic implants, for his next move.

Second six. He planted his foot firmly, generated a strong biotic field, and launched himself through the hole, gathering all of the power in his barriers around his fist. Intensely strong biotic pulses shot up and down his arm rapidly, looking almost like blue lightning as he generated the power, he looked down at the open area in front of him, selected his target, the largest Krogan there, and plummeted.

Second seven. Theramod made contact with the Krogan at just less than 60 MPH from 30 feet up, his fist planted firmly in the Krogan's faceplate, the Krogan flipped onto his back, and when he was flush with the ground, the biotic wave Theramod was generating detonated into a powerful nova pulse, though the power was much more than Theramod expected.

Second eight. The Krogan he landed on was a biotic as well, and the nova wave detonated the strong Element Zero implants present in his body. The Krogan vanished into a thick orange mist. The tan stone underneath him shattering under the immense pressure the Mass Effect field created. The surrounding Batarians and Humans in a three meter radius were reduced to hunks of meat, thrown outwards. The Krogans in this radius were tossed, their bones and outer-plating cracking from the force while the Vorcha were shattered, their hard skin and shards of bone flung fast like shrapnel outwards. Five meters past that the mercs were thrown, being pelted with chunks of meat, torrents of blood, and impaled by chunks of bone.

Second nine. Theramod made contact with the actual ground and took off towards the shuttle in a dead sprint, now getting ready for take-off; a Batarian was standing in the open door. Theramod still had just barely enough concentration left to continue to biotically boost his speed.

Second ten. The shuttle was Ten feet off the ground, the Batarian reaching for the door control. Mercs in the surrounding area were raising their rifles to fire.

Second eleven. Theramod was fifteen feet away from the shuttle, still sprinting. He planted his foot, and generating all the power he could, leapt with incredible force towards the Batarian in the doorway.

Second twelve. The Batarian froze dead in his tracks, looking straight into Theramod's eyes, the Drell's fury projecting outwards like two freight trains, the man himself already covered half the distance to the shuttle. Theramod reached towards his back. His hand found purchase on the hilt of his sword, concealed in its sheath under his loose fitting black jacket. He drew it. No sun glared off of the blade of the sword, it's blade as black as midnight. Its blade was that of a Scimitar, the double edged piece of cold metal curved menacingly, edged on both sides and the blade on top transformed into wicked serrations halfway down, designed to tear upwards after a stab. Dark blue lines of Element Zero ran through the blade and outlined the razor sharp edges.

Second Thirteen. Theramod's hand began to glow as he summoned his biotics again. The Element Zero in the blade reacted, and a field grew tight around the blade, the blue aura swirling around the dark blade like an enraged spirit. Theramod reached the shuttle, swung the sword with all his strength, and with the help of the Mass Effect field, slashed the Batarian at the waist with 2000 pounds of force, splitting him in half cleanly. Blood sprayed throughout the interior of the shuttle

Second fourteen. The Batarian's two halves fell out of the doorway. Theramod lunged at the back of the pilots chair and plunged his sword through the back, and fearing the mercs on the ground might damage the shuttle he left the sword in the pilot's back and jumped into the co-pilot's seat.

Second fifteen. Theramod released his breath as he hit the override and piloted the shuttle into the sky.

Exhausted nearly to the point of passing out, he flew out of Tuchanka's atmosphere. He heard a cough to his left and with his left hand drew his Hornet, and fired toward the sound. He heard the original pilot's head explode from the burst. He continued piloting, eyes straight ahead until he figured out how to set the autopilot's course for the System's Relay. Once the Autopilot took over he stood up walked around to the back of the pilot's chair, pulled his sword out of the back and sheathed it. He then sat back down in the co-pilots chair, closed his eyes, and let his mind drift into the memory of the previous day.