First story for an age! First story on Mass Effect, too. Characters aren't from the ME Universe, but factions, weapons, vehicles etc are.
Hopefully will improve as it goes on and as I get back into things & hopefully you enjoy reading it!
Set after the events of Mass Effect 3, so spoiler warnings ahoy. Probably.
Enjoy :) - xzmy
effrenus.
Thunder cracked around his limp body. He did not have the strength to open his eyes and gaze up at the violent sky. Lightning shot out through the clouds, temporarily illuminating what was now an urban wasteland. The sudden surge of light behind closed eyes caused him to flinch. His fists clenched. His eyes clinched. His mind began working, desperately trying to bring about a fresh injection of adrenalin. His eyes gradually cracked open. It was dark, but it still stung his eyes. His teeth gritted against one another. Come on you bastard. He was trying to force his eyelids to open wider, willing with every muscle in his body. Though the view would be the same for miles. Destruction. Chaos. Death. It was not a sight that one would wish to gaze upon after having been unconscious. It did not bring a happy turn of events, nor would it provide an inspiring moment for reflection.
Reflection. His eyes opened fully. His knuckles turned white. He could only see the sky. A lone tear trickled down the side of his face. Smoke. Darkness. Burnt air. The smoke stung his eyes, prompting the tear. Another tear fell from his eye. This was not a reaction to the smoke. This was a reaction to the silence. That was something that he had not left behind with consciousness. That was new. It was something he feared. It pierced him more than the screams of all his-he slammed his eyes shut. More tears were squeezed out between his eyelids. Thunder sounded again, complete with a flash of lightning. In the time his eyes were open, he had adjusted to the dimness of his environment. His eyes were comfortable. His mind was not.
He heard some whirring. It was downwards from his ear. My arm. He cursed, his eyes rolling down to the bottom of their sockets. Omni-tool. It had not been audible before. Shit. It must be broken. There was no way he could call for aid now. He let out a sigh, half surprised that he could manage it. Need to sit up. The remaining strength from just getting his eyes open was moving to his exhausted torso. His fists turned to open palms and began pressing against the floor. It was uneven ground, little rocks and debris scattering the land. He felt a few small jagged objects under his palms. It caused him some minute discomfort. A small distraction, but enough to keep his arms locked in place. Do it. He exhaled forcibly as he pushed himself up. He was sat upright, atleast. He slouched over as a case of light headedness swept through his brain. His gaze was on the floor. The earth had been torn apart. Potholes dominated the landscape. Chunks of mud were scattered around. That was just in his current eyeline.
He cranked his neck upwards. An intense light stung his eyes. He blinked rapidly, trying to force his eyes to adjust to the light. It seemed mechanical, almost. A dark blue flickered at the centre. It was engulfed by orange blades that pierced the air. His eyes widened. A Kodiak! It's carcass was already undergoing a cremation. There was endless shadow to his right. His head turned slowly to the left, his eyes glued to the Kodiak. His eyes caught up with him. They widened almost immediately. His sense of sight becoming so engaged kick-started the rest. The smell struck him. The stench of death. Soldiers' crackling skin, succumbed to a fiery grip, popped and burned. His tears returned quickly. Those were his fellow soldiers. There were clumps of bodies dotted everywhere. Some together. Some alone. Some neatly piled up in bloody mounds. It was like they were castles on a moat of blood.
The sights rekindled his memories. He squinted, slowly wiping tears off his cheeks with a lazy arm. He felt his strength gradually returning. He wanted to walk, look amongst the corpses. He wanted to identify his friends. He followed them in the charge, covered them from Husks and Marauders. He shared laughs with them prior to their airlift. Spirits remained high prior to the moment their Kodiak doors opened. But when they touched the scorched earth-he winced, recounting that memory. The bodies nearest to him couldn't be identified. No tags in plain view, faces torn apart, corpses charred. He kept noting the bodies. A feeling of dark pride came over him, seeing the bodies of Cannibals, Scions, Husks and Marauders. They weren't the main populace of the area, however. Those soldiers drafted in by the Alliance, mainly by Admiral Hackett and Commander Shepard, paid the ultimate price.
His eyes wandered down the slope he sat on, until they met the Conduit. It's light source had vanished, drained perhaps. The sole purpose of Hammer was to get someone into that beam and...no, don't be stupid. The beam had gone, a once intense light was now matched by intense hope in his heart. Did someone make it? The Reaper guarding the Conduit was nowhere to be seen. Was it destroyed, defeated? He thought realistically. Or did it leave, basking in it's glory? He focused in on his hearing. There were no low hums, no low rumblings. The Reapers, for now, had left the Conduit. That didn't call out to him as 'strange', but the lack of gunfire rattling in a destroyed London did. Had the invasion finished? Was it finally over?
He could stomach the sights around him and he had spent enough times on the ground to feel confident with standing. His body ached, of course, but it was awake now. He rocked forward, so he was on his hands and knees. His hands were covered in ash and fell victim to grazes from rocks and broken concrete. He pushed himself up, muscles overworking just to stand. It felt like his leg muscles were about to go pop. He let out a grunt as he stood, taking a few deep breaths. Okay, steady now. There was no light headedness as he anticipated. He let out another breath, this time a sigh of relief. He wasn't about to pass out with no one around. He patted his holster, feeling slightly better knowing his Tempest remained there. His Avenger wasn't on his hand, nor on his back, so he had no idea where that was. He looked down around him, briefly searching for it. While looking, he saw his thermal clips still attached to his utility belt. He was almost disappointed at the sight. Clearly he hadn't killed enough of the Reaper ground forces. Useless bastard. He berated himself momentarily.
The wind picked up. A breeze carried itself down the slope and across his face, causing a smile to form on his face. It was cool and certainly was a nice feeling as the breeze kissed his face. Dust kicked up off the ground. He pre-emptively turned his face to the side, squinting his eyes to keep out the dust. The wind became...louder. He frowned, but still kept his head turned. It howled, it swirled. He glanced quickly at the dust, noting that it was forming a circular ring. The dust was being forced outwards, particles thrown into the air, never to be seen again. He heard a high pitched wail above him. It faded out, then faded in again. He looked at it with a squint-his eyes widened. A blue and white Corvette. They've fucking remembered me! They're gonna save me! Excitement filled him. Joy overwhelmed him. He hobbled backwards, making space for the landing. The Corvette touched the earth, its engines simmering out to silence. He waited eagerly for the door to fly open. He stepped forward a few paces, reaching out a hand. The door eased open, letting out a gasp of air. Men in blue and white armour smiled at him.
"Gotta live one." hissed one of them. Two men hopped off the Corvette, standing either side of him. He looked at them, confused,
"Those...those aren't Alliance uniforms." This prompted laughter from the pack. His eyes were drawn to one in the middle. He had a presence. His eyes were yellow. His hair was dark brown. He stepped to the edge of the Corvette and the laughter died. The man jumped to the ground, strolling over to him. The man studied him, his eyes running down his body and back up again.
"Alliance, huh?" The man asked quietly, his eyes sharp and locked on the soldier. The soldier nodded, gesturing to the engraved Alliance symbol on his chest. He opened his mouth to speak, "No, no. I don't want you to talk. Weapon, you incompetent twats." The man to the soldier's right snatched the Tempest out of his holster and offered it to the yellow eyed man. He took the Tempest, rotating his wrist to get a better look at it. "Good condition. Loaded, too." He threw it into the Corvette, the gun being caught by two pairs of hands. "Now, you're one of the few survivors we've found and we've circled the area a few times. Were you hiding, coward?" The yellow eyed man taunted him, pointing at the soldier's belt. "All those thermal clips unused. Can't of killed many," he looked to his right down the slope. He scoffed, "Clearly saved even less. Get him on board."
He felt a crack to his jaw. He was dragged down into blackness, a soaring pain drifting away with his consciousness. He felt weightless as he was carried into the Corvette.
The yellow eyed man surveyed the scene, humming quietly. The group of mercenaries looked at their leader, remaining silent. They shuffled in their places, occupying themselves with weapon checks, their new prisoner and dusting themselves off. He nodded once, turning back to the Corvette. "Fire her up, pilot." There was a distant affirmative as the yellow eyed man jumped back on board, holding onto a bar above his head. The door firmly shut, the Corvette's engines growling with content. The ship raised off the ground, its engines bellowing as it sped away into the night sky.