She moved her mother's body into the Farseer, after finding the strength to move again. Liara lay upon the single examination table, eyes closed, as if she merely slept. Her daughter wiped the blood from her face, cleaned the gash on her head, fighting back the tears and rage all the while.
Blood, her mother's blood, dripped to the deck in a steady rhythm.
Valyria took a deep breath, trying to fight the constant spasms wracking her body. The tears wouldn't stop – they just wouldn't.
Her hands shook as she began to peel the clothes from the body. The brutal wounds to her torso and abdomen made her wretch on instinct – unable to stomach the sights and smells. Fresh agony gripped her inside, merciless in its crushing totality.
She sank to her knees, covering her mouth in a vain attempt to stem the tears and mucus flowing from her face. Wisps of dark energy curled from her body as she doubled over, kneeling in a pool of cooling blood. As the torment reached a crescendo – unable to hold any more – she purged the contents of her empty stomach, groaning through gasps of breath.
Despair is your enemies greatest weapon - do not let them use it.
Her mother wrote that, in one of her dozens of journals.
Something clicked into place – a strength and clarity she didn't know she possessed. A plan for vengeance formulated in her mind as she fought to control her body. A plan to ensure no one would share her fate – a plan to see justice done.
Karl Drixon cursed his luck for the thousandth time as he paced the stifling confines of the cell. He should have seen it coming – should have taken care of that bastard Vincent and his piece of shit brother months ago. But he didn't, and now he was paying for it – locked up in his own base, stripped of his gear and weapons, left to rot while his crew ran amok doing gods-knew-what.
Goddammit, he cursed again, beating his fist against the rusty steel wall. "I'm gonna kill every last one of 'em when I get outta here," he promised.
Drixon was a burly man, thick in the chest and shoulders, muscular arms covered in tattoos. His muscle shirt was stained in grime and old blood in equal measure, a legacy of the beating he took during the mutiny. He sighed, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his ripped and faded fatigues as he leaned against the cell door. Fucking bastards, he scowled.
He certainly was no saint – a life of crime, survival, and questionable pleasures had seen to that – but he'd rather die on his feet as a man than caged up like a beast. "Hnn," he grunted. The Beast. Hope the bastards don't feed me to that fucking thing.
He rested his shaven head back against the cold metal door and considered his options.
That is when he felt the rumble of the first explosion.
The beast hung in the darkness of the deepest pit, suspended by chains, impaled by iron hooks through his shoulders, wrists and legs. Dull agony wracked his body – bereft of armor, the weakling humans had toyed with him for weeks. They pried his plates off in places, crude knives carved into his thick hide – while they laughed and jeered.
He laughed at them at first – after the roars and threats failed. He had struggled for days, testing his bonds, fighting against the pain, but his strength was failing now. He was tough, like all his kind, but the body could only take so much punishment.
The greatest insult came when they started to feed him – like a damned pet. Every so often, one of them would enter the pit, and shove a stinking piece of meat into his face. He knew the smell – knew blood and bad meat on instinct. They shocked him when he refused. A crude but effective collar bolted to his neck delivered a surprisingly powerful jolt of current.
So he ate.
And bided his time.
He counted the seconds with the steady drip of his own blood, for what seemed like an eternity.
Everything changed when the distant sounds of battle echoed from above.
She had stripped the bodies of weapons and grenades, after tending to her mother. She left her in the Farseer, sealed in a cryo-bag, vowing to return. The drop-ship was empty – save a few dry rations and ammo crates, but easy enough to pilot. She thanked her mother for teaching her the fundamentals, all those years ago.
A solitary nav point blinked in the ship's computer – out on the other side of the system, deep in the asteroid field separating the fourth and fifth planets. The Pit – the navcom identified it. She set a course for it immediately after take-off.
For two hours she accessed the ships computer – searching for any details on what 'the Pit' was. She was not disappointed. She found everything from hangar access codes to an entire blueprint layout, as well as ship identifiers and IFF frequencies.
Idiotic savages, she shook her head at their stupidity, downloading everything into her omni. Getting in should be no trouble now.
With nothing else to do, Valyria sat back and ran her plan over in her head.
You bastards die today, she promised.
It was an old mining facility – anchored to the cratered face of an oblong rock nearly three miles long. Valyria tensed as it came into visual range, emerald eyes scanning over the displays for any sign of threats. When none appeared, she broadcast the hangar codes, smirking after receiving a prompt acknowledgement.
"Bring her in slow this time, asshole," a gruff voice crackled over the comm.
She hesitated, seized by panic. Should I answer? What do I say, her mind raced. "Heh, screw you," she replied in her best approximation of masculinity, then cursed her own stupidity immediately after. Ignoring the repeated questions fired at her over the comm, she focused on guiding the ship into the open hangar.
As it settled onto the deck, she was on her feet before the engines finished cycling down. Here we go. She drew her sword in a sharp pull, right hand flexing around the grip as her left drew her mother's Tempest. Outside, a heavy clang of metal and roar of air told her the hangar was sealed and pressurized. As the whine of the engines faded, she hit the release panel for the side hatches, concealed herself from view, and waited.
Footsteps – followed by the thud of a heavy door closing. "Vinnie, Red," a man called out. "Quit fuckin' about, assholes," the voice grew louder, closer. The interior of the drop-ship was dark, powered down. She waited. The click of an illumination torch reached her, followed by sweeping pans of light – and the tell-tale crunch of a pistol being racked. "Quit fuckin' about," the man shouted.
Come on – come on, Valyria gritted her teeth.
She moved as soon as his head peaked into the compartment, a single blur of movement and it was done. Her sword fell – slicing through his neck without resistance. The body fell with a thump, pistol and flashlight clattering to the deck. She watched the head bounce and roll away to fall out the other side of the ship.
A moment of shock seized her. It wasn't the first life she'd taken – they had defended themselves from predators before – it was the first she'd taken without provocation. Valyria felt her heart harden as she gazed at the man's headless corpse, twitching as a pool of blood spread out from underneath it.
Too late to turn back now, she set her jaw in determination.
She peaked outside. The hangar was empty – with a single door leading into the compound. Recalling the layout she studied, it lead to the hab blocks and kitchen areas and ultimately the control center at the heart of the complex.
She brought the Tempest up and moved to the door.
The smell assaulted her senses as soon as she opened it – a vile pervasive rankness – fouler than anything she'd ever known. The hallway was littered with debris; empty ration boxes, old musty rags, and lined with conduits of tubing. Solitary lighting strips on the ceiling flickered every six feet. Dull echoes of throbbing music and shouted conversation led her in.
A door sat at the end of the corridor, half open and askew on its hinges. Slowing her pace, crouched low, she crept up to it, plucking one of the grenades from the bandolier draped over her chest. Voices could barely be heard over the music as she looked through the opening. Some manner of foyer lay beyond – opening into a larger room, a common area.
Pausing to take a breath, she primed the grenade and heaved it inside, sheathing her body in energy.
It blew seconds later, rocking the door into her. She kicked it open with a snarl – and charged the first human her eyes found.
Chaos reigned.
The grenade blew near the center of the cluttered chow hall, blasting shrapnel in all directions. Curses and shouts of alarm rang out – overpowered by sporadic weapons fire. A streak of purplish energy raced across the room in a blink, slammed into a man and detonated in a swirling miasma of dark energy. Before his body had hit the wall of rock behind it, she leapt – lashing out with her blade to impale another. The Tempest sprayed in a sweeping arc, mowing down three others.
She stood in the aftermath, chest heaving as she reloaded. The alarm sounded as she strode off towards the control room seconds later.
Monic huddled with the other girls in the room – shaking with every gunshot, scream and explosion. There were seven of them, dressed in rags, bound by chains, all of various ages from thirty to as young as fourteen. All of them were terrified.
The door was still locked, even as the dust rained from the ceiling and the lights flickered with every rumbling blast.
"What's happening," the girl, Emily, cried out.
Monic hushed her, cradling the weeping girl to her chest. "Quiet now," she whispered through dry lips. "Just be still," she hated the way her voice broke.
Someone roared just outside the door, followed by a thundering staccato of weapons fire. Monic watched in growing terror as a pool of crimson spread from under the heavy metal door. The girls around her whimpered, covering their dirty faces.
"I don't want to die here," Emily sobbed.
The thunk of the door lock opening sounded like a tolling bell. Every one of them flinched as the door was flung open, slamming into the rock wall of their dusty room. Monic blinked in confusion at what she saw. A lithe figure, silhouetted by the flickering light, splattered in blood.
An Asari?
She carried a blade held low, dripping with crimson, and raised the gun that was pointed at them to the ceiling. Her head snapped back and forth between them and down the corridor.
"Can you walk," her voice was strained, urgent.
"Y-yes," Monic stammered, hesitant to accept the hope creeping into her chest. "Who are y-"
"No time to explain," the Asari hissed as she stepped into the room and slashed with her sword. Their chains fell free. "Get to the hangar – there is a drop-ship there with weapons. Seal yourselves in, and wait for me. If I don't reach you in ten minutes, use it to escape," she knelt as she spoke.
Monic nodded, thanking her through trembling lips.
"Go," she told her, rising to her feet.
Monic stood, turning to help the others. "Wait, who are you," she asked, but their savior was gone.
Valyria raced through the winding corridor, pausing at every junction, every door. Seeing those poor women fueled her anger – she hoped they made it to the hangar in one piece. Her eyes narrowed as she forced herself to focus. More of the vermin may still live.
The control room looked as run-down as the rest of the complex, barely functional but for the most vital systems. What manner of people would live in such filth, she cursed them again as she sheathed her sword and swiped her hand over the display to clear it of dust.
Time to end this. Her eyes snapped up every few seconds to search for threats as she manipulated the reactor controls – a simple matter of choking off temperature venting and coolant – then overriding all the fail-safes. Bright warning signals dominated the screen moments later, before she swung the Tempest around and sprayed the terminal to uselessness.
A dull thudding caught her attention in the silence that followed. She moved to the door, straining to hear, as she pulled her sword free. Thud-thud-thud. Brow knitted with confusion, she let the sound lead her down an adjoining tunnel, to a locked metal door with a small window. A fist pounded the thick, cracked glass as she approached.
A speaker dangled from its housing on the door, showing spliced wires. She clicked it on, turning to watch for threats from behind. She had no cover here, so she kept her barrier up, flooding the tunnel in violet light.
"Let me outta here," a gravely voice barked from the speaker.
"And why would I do that," she answered, quietly.
"Look, honey, there's a locker in the next room packed with goodies – creds, weapons, you can have it – just lemme out, an' I'll show you."
Valyria fought the urge to snarl. "You think I'm here for money?"
"I don't give a shit what you're here for lady – open the fucking door!"
Fat chance, she thought as she shook her head. "I don't think so," she told him instead, moving away.
"You fucking cunt – you betta hope I die in here, 'cause I swear by everythin' holy I'll-" a backward chop of her sword severed the power lines to the speaker, ending the tirade.
Valyria pressed on.
The beast strained to listen in the dark, envy coloring the rage burning in his hearts. A furious battle raged above – beyond his reach – and it lit fire in his veins. To die in battle was the only death he ever wanted, not this sad excuse for an end. Strung up like an animal – weak and useless – he roared in shame into the void.
Piercing bright light flared moments later, blinding in its intensity. A small, lone figure stood in the corona of pain, armed and armored. The beast snarled in challenge, though it sounded weak even to his ears.
"Goddess," a soft voice whispered.
He barked a laugh at that. "I got…your Goddess…dangling between my legs…pyjack."
He heard the soft caress of metal on leather as the figure sheathed the sword at its back. It walked closer, and he realized that it was a girl – just a girl – and an Asari at that. Ancestors, forgive me. I'll never live this down.
"What have they done," anger colors her words, as her eyes wander over him.
His lips pull back in a snarl – resentful and shamed at her scrutiny. "Save your pity for the weak –" he howls, leaving his head swimming after. Grey creeps into his vision – as cold numbness pulls at his limbs. Dying…body...shutting down. Show no...weakness.
"I. Am. K-kro…gan," he managed, before true darkness took him.
He fell limp as the figure outstretched her hand, enveloping his body in dancing violet energy. With a grunt of effort, she held him there as she shot the chains off one by one. Once freed, she turned and started the long walk back to the hangar, dragging the weight of a krogan with her biotics.
Monic held the pistol in her shaking hands as she watched outside the hatch for movement. She pleaded with whoever or whatever might be listening in the next life for the Asari to hurry. She had no idea how much time had passed – barely remembered fleeing through the stinking compound.
"Is she coming," one of them asked.
"I don't see her," Monic snapped back. "Stop asking for shits sake!"
"We should just go," Emily whined.
"You know how to fly this thing," Monic gestured around them, "cause I sure as hell don't!"
Dull purplish light lit the gloomy interior of the drop-ship, breaking the discussion as they all crowded the hatch window.
"Its her-", "Open the door!", "What is that?", several of them said all at once. Monic hit the access panel with the palm of her hand, then moved off to help their savior.
She was limping, straining under the weight of her own wounds and the krogan she dragged behind. "Make…room," she grunted through clenched teeth, lifting the prone alien with both hands haloed in crackling energy. As he came to rest on the deck of the drop-ship, Monic watched her nearly keel over as the corona of power surrounding her body sputtered out of existence.
"Are you okay," she reached for her hesitantly.
The Asari nodded, chest heaving as she pushed her back into the ship. "We have to go," she gasped between breaths. "Not much time."
"C'mon," Monic pulled her up into the ship, then sealed the hatches as the Asari stumbled to the cockpit. Her eyes darted to the massive, naked, bleeding body on the deck.
"What can we do for him," she called to her.
"Look for medi-gel," she answered over the whine of the engines powering up, "And hope he doesn't wake up angry."
"Right," Monic huffed as she ran shaking hands through greasy hair, swaying as the ship lifted . "Look for medi-gel," she shouted over the noise to the others, silently thanking whatever saint or angel sent an Asari to save them.
As the drop-ship cleared the asteroid field moments later, a bright flash of light enveloped the Pit – as its reactor detonated in nuclear fire.