WARHAMMER DOES NOT BELONG TO ME. MASS EFFECT DOES NOT BELONG TO ME.

All right, Shepard, time for one last dance.

Honor-Bound

Chapter 52

Destiny, Part 8

"Shepard. It always led to Shepard."—Emperor Karl Franz

For the first time since the invasion of Altdorf began, Archaon smiled. Though it had taken more time and casualties than he would have liked to break into the city, his army was pouring inside. With the capital taken, the Empire would be thrown into disarray as the self-serving Elector Counts fought to claim the right to rule. Of course, the current Emperor had to die, and much to Archaon's irritation, the man had led his troops into a well-ordered retreat. Already, he could hear the crack of gunfire as disciplined soldiers opened fire from prepared fallback positions.

His good mood vanished as a spike of pain plunged into his skull. Like before, he could feel the hand of the Dark Gods practically force him onward. He could also hear four voices, once merely whispers that guided him, now screaming in his mind.

ARTIFACT. DESTROY. QUICKLY! OBEY!

"Damn you," he whispered, even as he urged his steed forward, leading his most elite warriors and whoever happened to be nearby. Soon, hundreds of bloodthirsty fighters were at his back. The greatest of those was a tall, winged creature of Chaos that was encased in shadow, and had an aura that promised death. Even without Be'lakor, he had more than enough warriors to break the city, but with the Daemon Prince at his side, victory was assured.

Once again, he had to wonder if that certainty was actually his.

"So, what's the big secret?" Shepard asked. "Do we need to push a button, or what?"

Teclis shook his head wryly. "Only one person can physically interact with the artifact. You were brought here by its energies, and you spent more time with its shards than anyone. It is attuned to you."

Shepard sighed. "Story of my life. So, do I push a button or something?"

"If only it were so simple." Teclis waved his staff at the portal that only Shepard could see. "While the artifact was able to connect our two realities, but it was not able to complete its function."

"The artifact was supposed to allow the anti-Chaos energies to flow freely," Kroak continued. "However, it is eons old. It did not completely unlock the flow. The connection is there, but now that very connection is preventing enough power to enter this world." Kroak could not express emotion, but Shepard could hear the bitterness in his voice. "It must be destroyed. Only then will this world be saved."

Shepard closed her eyes and laughed bitterly. "Yeah, that about sums up this kind of crap. All that work, and now I have to destroy the damn thing."

"There is another problem," Teclis added. "The artifact must be destroyed by something unaffected by Chaos. If someone wielding the energies of the Dark Gods destroys the artifact, it would corrupt the process. Instead of purifying this realm of Chaos, it would ensure its dominance for all time." He glanced at the Normandy crew. "And one other thing. The energies will be able to flow as intended, but once the artifact is destroyed, there will be no true bridge between our worlds."

It took Shepard only a moment to figure out what he meant, and reached for her comms. "Admiral! You need to get back home right now!"

"What?" Hackett sounded confused, and also a little hurt. "Why?"

"We've got a way to end this war, but if you don't leave, you'll end up stuck here!" Shepard glanced at Garrus and Tali and gave them a sad smile. "And we don't have dextro food."

There was no time to really discuss it, especially since they all knew, deep down, that Shepard was right. This wasn't their world, and even if they could survive, it would never be home. Shepard had done that, but the rest of them were too attached to their own universe, or had too many responsibilities that kept them from staying.

"Besides," Shepard continued, "we can't be sure how closing the portal will react when I destroy the artifact. It could cause a big explosion or something, and you'll need to get any nearby ships out of the way."

Many of her old friends grimaced; of course Shepard would also find a completely rational reason for them to go home, instead of staying with her.

"You know that any one of us would take your place, Shepard," Garrus said. "This sounds like a one-way trip."

Shepard just shrugged with fake nonchalance. "How many one-way trips have I survived, Garrus? Besides, I'm the only one who can even see the damn thing."

"Good point." Garrus sighed. "Why do you always have to be the hero?"

Shepard gave him a tired smile. "Someone has to."

Tali tried to speak, but all that came out was sobbing. "Sh-Shepard…"

Shepard gave her a quick hug. "I know. I'm sorry." She smiled at all of her friends. "Go on. Live your lives."

As the Normandy swooped down, her crew came to accept that this really was goodbye. They would never again see the brave woman who had brought them all together. All they would have were memories. It seemed that Hackett, Joker, Chakwas and many of the men and women aboard the ship had come to the same conclusion, because they all stood at the top of the ramp as it lowered and saluted.

Shepard stood at attention and returned the salute. For a moment, she was no longer the general that they had found, but the commander they had known.

"One more thing," Shepard said, and reached for something around her neck, and then tossed it to Garrus. "Tell them that that was the only thing you found. And erase all the data you have about this place. I don't want people obsessing over finding me again."

Garrus looked down at the charred dog tags in his talons. He swallowed hard, unable to get the words out. Instead, he just nodded.

"All right, guys," Shepard said, and this time, everyone could see the tears in her eyes. "Time for you to go home."

The friends who'd come to an entirely different universe to find her reluctantly made their way up the ramp. They herded their soldiers before them, who had followed them on their insane quest on Shepard's reputation alone. Almost as one, they paused at the top of the ramp, as if they considered staying, regardless of the consequences. Then, one by one, they turned around, and the ramp closed. Shepard watched as her old ship rose higher into the sky, until she could no longer see it. There was a tiny flash of light as the Normandy entered the same rift that had brought the ship to this world.

"Goodbye," she whispered. Gregor put one hand on her shoulder, but remained silent. Shepard took a deep breath, wiped her eyes, and smiled at him. "I'm okay."

"No, you are not," Gregor said.

Shepard tried to scowl at him, but couldn't quite manage it. "Fine, I'm not. But I will be."

The moment was interrupted by the sound of hooves and iron-shod boots on stone. Shepard turned to see Marius and a dozen of his bodyguards riding hard towards them, followed by scores of Orcs, including Grimgor.

"Alexia!" Marius' horse had barely stopped when he leaped from the saddle. "I hope you have a plan, because there are quite a few of those Chaos-worshippers headed this way!"

Shepard glanced between him and the distant gate. "Weren't you on the other side of the wall? What happened?"

"We managed to fight our way inside, trying to disrupt the foe's movements," Marius said. "These bastards seem so intent on getting into the city that they hardly care who else is trying to get in."

Gotrek sneered at the mob of Orcs. "What are they doing here?"

Grimgor returned the sneer with his own. "We'z gonna fight dat Chaos boss. 'E's on 'is way."

Shepard immediately glared at Marius, who held up his hands. "I swear, I didn't know the Everchosen himself was leading that strike. It seems appropriate, though, don't you think?"

"Yeah," Shepard sighed, "that just figures."

"General," Teclis interrupted, "this battle will be for naught if the Everchosen destroys the artifact before you. We will hold the enemy back, but you must go. Now!"

"Fate has aligned in a way never seen before," Kroak added, just as his throne wobbled alarmingly, and his Temple Guard hissed in surprise. "Forgive me, I have expended a great deal of energy lately, but I believe I shall manage."

Shepard nodded. "Okay. You all stay alive, got it?" When Stormwing cawed and started walking to her, she held out one hand. "Not this time, buddy." She pointed at Gregor. "Stay. Protect."

Stormwing looked at Gregor, then at Mortis; the Griffon snorted, and reluctantly took a place next to Shepard's husband.

"We'll hold the line, Alexia," Gregor promised.

"I'd say 'or die trying'," Richter added, "but you just told us to stay alive."

Gotrek just huffed; Felix rolled his eyes fondly at his companion, and then smiled at Shepard.

Ahuila bowed her head, and then twirled her spear and settled into a ready stance.

Shepard smiled at them all, and then put her helm back on. She reached for her axe, but then paused.

"Hey, Gotrek!" The Slayer turned just in time to catch the ancient weapon she tossed to him. "If you really want this to be a battle of legend, you should have more than one awesome weapon."

Gotrek leaned his own axe against his shoulder, then swung Unbak Urk experimentally. "It'll do."

Shepard laughed, then drew the Wissenland Runefang and charged into the portal. There was a flash of golden light, and then she was gone.

"Handgunners, fire!" Karl Franz scowled as yet more Chaos Warriors fell under the withering volleys. For every foe the Empire killed, it seemed like two more took their place. The only advantage the defenders had was that the narrower city streets limited the numbers the enemy could throw at them. This had led to Karl Franz luring the Chaos forces piecemeal into prepared kill-zones, where they would be shredded by light artillery and ranged infantry. Those that survived were cut down in close quarters.

It wasn't enough to stop the tide of enemies, but it slowed them down, and every hour Altdorf still stood was one hour closer for reinforcements to arrive.

"My Lord!" Captain Locke rode up with a smoking pistol in each hand; the Emperor took a moment to appreciate the man's skill at riding with both hands occupied. "We've driven off the force attempting to flank us."

"Excellent work, Captain." Karl Franz looked around. "Where is Father Michael?"

Locke chuckled tiredly. "Probably taking his time putting the fear of Sigmar into these bastards. And Gettmann is likely leading him to more."

Karl Franz frowned. Ever since the death of their Jade Wizard friend, Shepard's officers had been fighting almost nonstop; the veteran soldiers under their command followed them with near-reckless abandon, tempered only by the strict discipline that was expected of them. It was proving effective against the Chaos hordes, he couldn't help but wonder how long they could last.

As for himself, the Emperor was holding back from fighting. He could say without pride that he was a good warrior, but he also knew that his skills as a tactician and a leader were far more important in this battle. Of course, if there was an opponent that he needed to fight, he wouldn't hesitate.

When that errant thought crossed his mind, he made a quick warding gesture. He and Shepard had often joked about not tempting the universe with such thoughts.

A shriek of rage, echoed by hundreds of other roars, told him that he should have been more careful. A mass of blood-crazed berserkers were tearing down the street in a wave of red and brass. Leading them from the sky was a winged Daemon-woman; she had hooved feet, curved horns, and bat-like wings that carried her through the air. In one hand, she carried a barbed spear, while in the other was a shield shaped like the head of a snarling Daemon; in fact, Karl Franz realized that the shield was snarling.

"Blood for the Blood God!" the woman screamed. "Skulls for the Skull Throne!"

Handguns and Heavy Repeaters barked, scything through the ranks of the Chaos horde, but they kept coming, spurred on by the spilling of blood. As the ranged fighters kept firing, ranks of Halberdiers readied themselves to meet the charge, with Swordsmen right behind them.

Karl Franz trusted the soldiers to weather the incoming storm, while he had Deathclaw fly to meet the leader. He had enough experience fighting the forces of Chaos to know that champions of the Dark Gods was not something to be left to the common soldiery, even those as veteran as Shepard's troops. The Daemon-woman would kill scores before being brought down, if she could be killed at all. Karl Franz had a better chance with a weapon such as Ghal Maraz.

Deathclaw roared a challenge as he took to the sky, and the Daemon-woman answered. Just before her spear pierced the Griffon's breastplate, he twisted in midair, allowing the Emperor to deflect the blow on the haft of his hammer. For a moment, the two were locked in place.

"The weakling southern Emperor," she hissed, face twisted with both rage and glee. "You face Valkia the Bloody, champion of the Blood God, and your skull will occupy a worthy place on his throne!"

Karl Franz sneered. "I think I'll keep my head a little longer, scum. This is my city, and I won't have you abominations running riot through it!"

Valkia snarled, and then broke away, flapping her wings and trying to gain altitude. Her spear lashed out again and again, and only some desperate maneuvers on the part of Deathclaw kept the Emperor from being impaled. Karl Franz heard his loyal mount's shrieks of pain as his twisting pulled muscles, but couldn't bring himself to worry now; he could let his old friend rest when they weren't in danger of a painful death.

Ghal Maraz arced out and smashed against Valkia's daemonic shield, but other than staggering its wielder, Valkia was unharmed. Despite Ghal Maraz's power, the ancient hammer was too slow and unwieldy for such a contest, so Karl Franz secured it on his saddle and drew the Reikland Runefang. Now, he was able to parry Valkia's spear much more effectively. Better still, he wasn't fighting alone; Deathclaw slashed at Valkia's shield, his great strength almost enough to tear it off her arm. With his foe properly distracted, Karl Franz was able to land a glancing blow on her leg.

Rather than be enraged at the wound, Valkia laughed. "You think to slay me, fool, but all blood spilled is pleasing to Khorne! You serve him even now, and you do not even realize it!"

"I serve Sigmar, and I serve the Empire!" Karl Franz leaned out of the way of a thrust that would have pierced his throat. "And unlike you, I kept my soul in the process!"

Valkia snarled again, and charged.

The Everchosen scowled at the motley assortment of foes that stood between him and his task. Most of them were knights and heavy infantry, but there was a collection of Lizardmen, Imperial nobles, Orcs, a Griffon without a rider, and a handful of other warriors. Most of their souls shined like a beacon to his sight; they were experienced, and if they somehow survived this day, they would likely go on to do great things.

Archaon scoffed; even if the Dark Gods hadn't been goading him, he would have made sure not to let a single one of the fools live.

"Kill them all!" he shouted, and whipped his daemonic steed into a charge, with his most potent Chaos Knights right behind him.

The leader of the Imperial Knights, an aging man riding a Demigryph, led the countercharge. His knights might have outnumbered Archaon's, but the Chaos force was more than twice the size of the Empire's.

Horses, natural and mutated, crashed into each other. Lances and war-picks met unnatural blades and shields. Screams of pain and cries of rage mingled into a nightmarish cacophony as the cavalry smashed together.

Archaon contemptuously slaughtered the knights that tried to get in his way. Even those that managed to avoid instant death couldn't so much as scratch the Armor of Morkar. Of course, those were the ones he allowed to strike him; the crystal mounted on the brow of his helm, the Eye of Sherrian, showed him just where each knight planned to strike, and even though none of them could harm him, it made destroying them that much easier.

Just as the Everchosen was beginning to almost enjoy himself, the cursed artifact unleashed another pulse of energy. His horse, Dorghar, screamed in pain, and Archaon himself was nearly thrown off by the beast's thrashing. For a moment, Archaon was sure that his mighty gifts had failed him, because in that moment, he was unable to see the Griffon coming until it was too late. The beast knocked him clean off his saddle, and sent him sprawling onto the bloodstained cobblestones. The blow itself didn't hurt him, but for the first time since his campaign began, Archaon felt vulnerable.

This must end, he thought. If I destroy the artifact, my army will sweep through the city unimpeded.

His vision inexplicably blurred, and then he could see a shining portal behind the defenders. The gods were showing him where to go, and this time, he wasn't going to complain about their interference.

The Griffon roared again and tried to attack, but Dorghar intercepted it. Though the horse was much smaller, it was a monster of legend, and its sharp teeth dug deeply into the Griffon's flesh. The two beasts twisted and rolled in the street, tearing at each other with tooth and beak, hoof and talon.

Satisfied that his mount would hold the Griffon at bay, Archaon continued on his path. Dozens of Greatswords charged him, but the Slayer of Kings scythed through them like wheat. Their leader, a scarred and grizzled man, managed to block two swings of the blade before Archaon smashed the man's sword out of his hands, breaking his arms in the process. The Everchosen split him down the middle without breaking stride.

More and more irritants tried to stop him. Elite Lizardmen swarmed around him, only to be slaughtered in moments. A woman with a spear was knocked aside, half her body broken by a swing of his shield. A man with a ridiculously-large hat charged with a Runefang in one hand and a dagger in the other; his attacks were unpredictable and wild, and he managed to last a full ten seconds before Archaon tore his chest open and left him to bleed out. A blonde-haired man, the Dwarf, and the mummified Slann tried to pool their efforts, but were stopped when Be'lakor swooped down from the sky; the Daemon Prince slapped the Human with enough force that he was sent flying through a wall, and a bolt of shadowy magic forced the Slann back. Only the Dwarf stood strong against the magical onslaught, though mostly out of sheer spite.

Ignoring the duel, Archaon hurried toward the portal. He was almost within reach, but another opponent placed himself between the Everchosen and his goal.

"OI!" The Orc leader stomped forward, his armor covered in the blood of Archaon's followers. "Ya gotta fight me, ya git!"

Archaon almost rolled his eyes. One Orc, no matter how big, would not stop him. Rather than waste words on the brute, he charged; the Orc met his advance, and the two crashed into each other like opposing forces of nature. Each swung his weapon at the other with enough force that a lesser Warboss or Chaos Lord would have been killed twice over.

He would never admit it out loud, but Archaon was quietly impressed by the Orc's power. However, the beast was still no match for him. Each blow by the Slayer of Kings carved deeply into the Orc's armor, and then his flesh, while the Eye of Sheerian prevented the Orc's axe—which he could see was powerful enough to threaten even the Everchosen's armor—from striking true. Each of the Orc's swings was avoided or parried, while Archaon patiently waited for the beast to die.

"Ya ain't fightin' fair," the Orc gasped out, though he still grinned at the fight he was having. "Ya got some fancy bit o' kit dat keeps ya safe?"

Archaon didn't deign to respond; instead, he stepped inside the Orc's guard and severed the hand that held the axe. Before the weapon hit the ground, Archaon grabbed the Orc by the throat and lifted him off his feet.

"Enough of this nonsense," the Everchosen hissed. He raised his sword to finish the Orc—

Clang!

Archaon felt a sharp pain in his groin and looked down; the Orc had drawn his armored foot back and delivered a massive kick between his legs. Only his armor had kept him from being laid out in the street from such a blow. The surprise was enough for the Orc to loosen his grip, and reared back his head.

Crack!

The Orc's massive skull slammed into Archaon's helm. While the blow didn't hurt the Everchosen, he could sense that the Eye of Sheerian had, through some sort of impossible miracle… cracked. With the eye broken, all visions of the future vanished.

That should not have happened, Archaon thought in disbelief. Unless… could the energies from that artifact have weakened even the tools of the gods?

"Heh," the Orc laughed and spat blood onto Archaon's helm. "Broke yer fancy fing. Jus' goes ta show ya… Grimgor is da strongest o' dem—"

Archaon's eyes blazed in fury as he shoved his sword into the Orc's gut. He released his hold on Grimgor's throat as he raise his blade; gravity, and Archaon's fight against it, split Grimgor from belly to the top of his skull.

"No more distractions," Archaon muttered, but to his frustration, one more foe stood in his way.

"You will go no further," the aging knight said calmly. His Demigryph hissed, as if agreeing with its master.

Archaon studied the man. It wasn't his equipment or his physique that made him pause, but the look in his eyes. It was the look of a man who knew he was going to die, but it would be for a purpose, and he took courage from that. If nothing else, Archaon could respect his bravery, even if the outcome was already decided. Even with the Eye of Sheerian no longer working, his armor was more than a match for the knight's weapon.

"You will not stop me," Archaon declared. "I am Archaon the Everchosen, and it is my destiny to end this wretched world."

The man raised his war-pick in salute. "I am Gregor Helschlitt, Grand Master of the Ironrock Knights, and it is my sworn duty to end evil like yours, wherever it may be found."

The two warriors waited for a moment, sizing each other up. Then, at some unseen signal between them, they charged.

Karl Franz gasped in pain as Valkia's spear finally found its mark. The barbed weapon had pierced clean through his shoulder, and when the weapon pulled free, the Emperor found that he could no longer move his left arm. He prayed that he hadn't just lost the limb, and that his armor wasn't the only thing holding him together. Instead, though it was agony to do anything, he turned to face his foe.

Valkia hadn't emerged from the fight without injuries. Blood poured from a wound in her stomach, and one of her wings was so badly slashed that it was a miracle that she could still fly.

"For…" The Emperor was surprised at the weakness in his voice. He tried again, forcing himself to sound stronger. "For the Empire!"

Deathclaw roared and charged through the air, while Valkia flew to meet him. Just before they collided, a shot rang out from below, and a bullet sank into Valkia's injured wing. The wound was just enough to cause the limb to stop working properly, and with an outraged shriek, she plummeted to the ground.

That won't be enough to kill her, Karl Franz thought, and had Deathclaw go into a dive after her. Even in her uncontrolled descent, Valkia tried to strike at him, but her swings were wild and unable to hit anything. Doing his best to ignore the pain of his wound, Karl Franz brought his Runefang around in a mighty swing that severed Valkia's mutated legs at the knees before she hit the ground.

Deathclaw landed a few seconds after her impact, and looked at his master with as much concern as a Griffon could muster. Karl Franz patted his blood-soaked beak affectionately, and then slowly dismounted. Nearby, he saw Locke nodding at him, a borrowed rifle cradled in his hands; he could see the smoke still wafting from the barrel.

Amazingly, Valkia was still alive, though it appeared that every one of her bones was shattered. She glared up at him as he approached, not with his sword, but with Ghal Maraz.

"My skull…" she wheezed, "will make a fine addition to Khorne's throne…"

The Emperor smirked. "That might be difficult."

Valkia's eyes widened as she realized what he was about to do. Before she could open her mouth—whether to shout a denial or a curse, no one would know—Ghal Maraz smashed her head into paste. There was no skull to recover, and Karl Franz liked to imagine that the Blood God's furious roar over losing it.

"Captain Locke," he said after a moment, "how goes the rest of the battle?"

Locke shook his head. "We drove the bastards back, but they're regrouping for another attack. I don't think we will be able to keep them at bay this time."

The Emperor looked out at the forces he commanded and winced. Most of the front-line troops were dead or wounded, and many of the ranged fighters had used up their ammunition. Locke had lost his horse while he had been fighting Valkia, and many of his cavalrymen were also on foot. He imagined that the same situation was playing out across his beloved city.

"Here they come," Locke said grimly. "With all due respect, Your Grace, perhaps you should take to the air and fall back to a better-defended part of the city."

Karl Franz shook his head. "Even if I wanted to, Captain, I've lost too much blood. Riding now would probably kill me. Besides, I'd rather die with my weapon in hand."

Locke chuckled, though there was no humor in it. "Personally, I would rather die at my wife's side. Eliza will be furious at me for leaving her a widow, and I doubt General Shepard will need necromancy to bring me back, just so she can kill me again."

"She probably would do that," Karl Franz agreed, and then hefted his hammer. "Shall we, Captain?"

The two men gathered up what remained of their forces and prepared to meet the charge of hundreds of Chaos Warriors. Many of them were at peace; after all, there was no better death than in defiance of evil.

"For Sigmar! For the Empire! Charge!"

Karl Franz stared, wide-eyed, as a shell tore through the Chaos ranks, and the Mako trundled into view, firing its other weapons. When it stopped, he wondered if the tank had run out of ammunition, but he quickly realized how wrong he was when Kurt Helborg, at the head of a hundred Reiksguard Knights, charged into the enemies' flank. On the other side, Michael led a furious mishmash of forces; the Emperor saw more of Shepard's soldiers, Dwarfs, Elves, even Altdorf citizenry armed with little more than pitchforks and kitchen knives. Caught between two unstoppable forces, the Chaos horde was quickly routed and destroyed.

With that part of the city suddenly safe, Karl Franz allowed himself to collapse to his knees, and a handful of the remaining Jade Wizards rushed to his side.

"My Lord!" Helborg rode up to him, heedless of the blood that coated his armor. "You're injured!"

Karl Franz shrugged with his good arm. "I think I will live." He glanced around. "Where is Ludwig?"

Helborg's expression grew solemn. "The Champion fell an hour ago. He died killing a cabal of Sorcerers that were trying to summon an army of Daemons."

The Emperor allowed himself a moment to grieve the loss of his old friend. "We will honor his memory if we survive this. Do you have word about the rest of the city?"

"We are holding, but only barely," Helborg said. "The Orcs outside were routed and destroyed, but several Knightly Orders arrived to hit the enemy's rear. I believe that Shepard's allies outside the city have joined them. More reinforcements could arrive at any moment."

Karl Franz nodded, but the simple motion made his head swim. "Reiksmarshal, I place you in command of all forces inside the city. Under no circumstances can Altdorf fall. Do you understand me?"

Helborg bowed in his saddle. "As you command, my Emperor."

"The enemy is still inside the city," Michael interrupted gruffly. He took a moment to wipe away some blood that had slipped under his eye patch. "I would not be surprised if they are heading for General Shepard."

"You are probably right," the Emperor said. "Father Michael, take what forces you have and reinforce Shepard. I would give you more, but I must focus on protecting the city."

"I understand," Michael said. "Sigmar aid you."

As Michael rallied who he could, Karl Franz allowed himself to be taken to a nearby house to rest.

May Sigmar help us all.

When Shepard had stepped through the portal, she'd expected a swirling vortex of light, or something to that effect. Instead, she found herself in a dark void, only illuminated by what looked like distant stars. Though there was no 'floor', her feet somehow found purchase in the nothingness.

"Can't my life ever be normal?" she asked.

Putting aside such distracting thoughts, Shepard searched the darkness for the artifact. Rather than see it with her eyes, she felt herself being pulled forward; without knowing how, she knew she was going in the right direction.

Maybe Kroak and Teclis were right, she thought. Maybe I am connected to that thing somehow.

Time seemed to have no meaning in this place. Shepard felt like she had been walking for days, yet at the same time, it felt like only moments. However long it took, the pulling sensation eventually stopped. Shepard reached out, and her hand brushed against something solid; as soon as she made contact, golden light lit up the darkness. Shepard tried to block the blinding light with her arm, but was only partially successful. When her vision completely returned, she saw the artifact, the little Mass Relay, floating in front of her.

"Hello again," she said, a little glad that no one was around to hear her talking to an inanimate object. "You know, I thought I'd never see you again after you pulled that vanishing act. Now I'm here, but only because you fucked everything up. Chaos wouldn't even be an issue right now if you'd done your job right!"

Of course, the artifact didn't answer, but now that Shepard had started, she couldn't stop her rant.

"All those years I spent looking for the shards, all the people I lost, all the pain…" She snarled and grabbed the little machine in one hand. "When Kroak and Teclis told me what you were supposed to do, I actually thought I'd finally have a day where I didn't have to do everything! Instead, I've got to pick up your fucking slack, while everyone I love is fighting for their lives or praying that I save them! I'm tired of being the fucking hero!"

Shepard paused, and tried to rein in her fury.

"This had better work," she said, her voice calmer. "If not, I will find those Old Ones and kick their useless asses into next week!"

Shepard released the artifact, letting it float once more. She brought her Runefang back, and then swung with all her strength. The artifact shattered on contact, a million specks of golden dust exploding into the darkness.

Now, where once was almost total darkness, there was nothing but light. Shepard had no gift for magic, but she could feel just how much power was flowing around her—and then, some of it flowed into her.

It felt like she was drowning. She tried to breathe, but her lungs refused to work, and yet somehow, she remained alive. Her armor felt hot, like it was melting, but the metal wasn't deforming; instead, the steel plates shined gold, and a halo of light surrounded her.

Shepard finally took a breath, and when she did, she felt the power inside her. It was intoxicating; it felt like she could alter reality with just a snap of her fingers, and maybe she could. A million possibilities ran through her mind; instead of going back the way she came, she took a step forward. With her power, she could—

David.

She froze.

Gregor.

A single tear fell down her face.

Eliza.

"No…"

Richter. Parral. Michael. Locke. Gotrek. Felix. Karl Franz. Marius. Emmanuelle. Garrus, Tali, LiaraMirandaJacobKasumiZaeedJokerHackettEDI—

She sank to her knees and closed her eyes as the names continued to ring in her mind, faster and faster.

Anderson. David Anderson.

"I am not a god," Shepard whispered. She stood on trembling legs, but she forced them to steady.

"Do you hear me!?" she screamed into the light. "I'm not a god! I did everything for them! I won't leave them behind to be some useless god like all the rest of you! I'm Alexia Shepard, and I am going home!"

With a clap of her hands, the energy surged around her once again, flowing back toward her home, her real home, where it would finally banish the nightmares that plagued it. As soon as it began, she felt the strange pocket of space begin to collapse. She knew it was time to leave.

She turned around, back straight and shoulders squared, and marched back the way she came. She could still feel the power, was still so tempted to abandon everything else and embrace that tantalizing opportunity, but she didn't.

She never would.

"Sir, the energies are becoming erratic," EDI reported, the only calm member of the crew. "I estimate less than five minutes before total collapse of this space."

"Understood, EDI," Hackett said. "Joker, put everything you have into the engines. I don't care if you have to scratch the paint, just get us home alive."

"Aye, sir!" Joker gritted his teeth, and his hands flew across his console. "Come on, EDI, let's show 'em how it's done!"

Beside him, EDI's body nodded. "Of course, Jeff. Adjust heading by point-oh-four degrees to port."

"Got it."

EDI's avatar rotated to face Hackett. "Admiral, at our current speed, we still only have a thirty percent chance of escaping to our reality before it is too late."

"Divert power from all nonessential systems to the engines," Hackett ordered. "If we're not out before a minute is left, take energy from life support if you have to."

The Normandy's lights dimmed, and the ship shook violently as all that extra power flooded into the engines. Throughout the ship, members of the crew held onto chairs or each other; at that point, their fate was up to Joker and EDI.

"Appropriate velocity achieved," EDI announced. "We should be returning home in less than two minutes. Collapse should occur fifty-eight seconds after that."

"As soon as we're clear, make contact with all nearby ships, have them pull away from the portal!"

"Understood." The bridge fell silent as everyone anxiously waited to see if they would really survive the trip home. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, EDI spoke again. "Exiting to our universe in three… two… now!"

The Normandy shook like a wounded animal as it not so much exited the portal, but tumbled out of it. Hackett felt one of his ribs crack at the sudden change in velocity, and warnings on his console informed him that the ship had taken severe damage to nearly every system. Thankfully, the speed at which they'd left the portal was so great that they were propelled a good distance away, so they were probably safe from further danger.

"EDI," Hackett gasped out, "are we back?"

"I am detecting the Citadel, and hundreds of ships," EDI said, genuine relief in her synthesized voice. "Transmitting warning to the fleet now."

"Admiral," Garrus, who had arrived on the bridge moments earlier, pointed at the viewscreen, "the portal."

Hackett watched as the portal shrank, faster and faster, and then vanished entirely, leaving only a faint corona of golden dust to mark that it ever existed.

"So, that's it," Garrus said quietly. "We'll never see her again. We don't even know if she's alive."

Hackett spotted the tags that still dangled from Garrus' hand, and sighed. "Knowing her, I'm sure she survived. In fact, she's probably annoyed that we'd think differently at this point."

Garrus tried to laugh, but he couldn't quite manage it. "I'll miss her."

"We all will." Hackett stared out at the fading golden light.

Good luck, Shepard. I hope you find the peace you deserve.

For a moment, Shepard actually felt like it was all over. The artifact was destroyed, and Chaos would soon be driven away from the world forever. Considering how many problems could be traced back to Chaos, Shepard expected her life to be a little easier from now on.

Those thoughts fled from her mind when she stepped out of the portal and saw the carnage before her.

To Shepard, it was as if time had stopped. For a moment, she could see everything, but she wished she couldn't.

Richter was dead, split almost completely in half.

Kroak had been knocked out of his throne, and his mummified body showed no signs of life.

Ahuila and Marius were down, both horribly injured, if not dead.

Teclis was alive, but he was barely able to hold up a magical shield to keep a pack of Chaos Warriors from butchering him.

Only one of Felix's legs was visible; the rest of him was buried under a pile of rubble.

Gotrek was still on his feet, fighting a massive Daemon Prince, but he was covered in deep wounds; his left arm hung limply at his side, and Unbak Urk was lying in a pool of the Dwarf's blood.

Stormwing had died taking his last opponent with him, the Everchosen's Daemonic steed.

And then there was Gregor. Her husband, her friend, the love of her life… he stood over the body of Mortis, but only because Archaon was holding him up with the sword that impaled him through the chest.

Shepard let out a sob, and time began its march again. She fell to her knees, unable to do more than stare as the Everchosen contemptuously tossed her husband off his blade. She watched as Gregor limply hit the ground, and didn't move.

"No…" Shepard slowly looked up as the Everchosen noticed her for the first time. "You… you destroyed the artifact before me?"

Shepard didn't reply. All she could do was stare at her husband's unmoving body, while Archaon stalked over to her, bloody sword raised. A single drop of blood fell from the blade; Shepard watched it fly across her vision and spatter the ground. It might have been Gregor's blood, or the blood of any of her friends, but she didn't know.

What she did know, however, was that she would never let that sword kill anyone else.

Archaon brought the sword down, aiming for Shepard's neck.

Clang!

Archaon was stunned; Shepard's arm had moved in a blur, bringing up her shield to block the Slayer of Kings. With a shove, Shepard sent him stumbling back and got to her feet. Even with her helm on, Archaon could feel the intensity of her gaze.

"You took them from me," Shepard said, her voice so even that it would have sent chills down the spines of mortal men. "I'm going to fucking kill you."

Michael drew his hammer back and crushed a screaming lunatic as he tried to stab him. At his side, Locke slashed another Chaos-worshipper across the throat with his sword; the man had run out of bullets at this point, but he refused to fall back and get more. Gettmann, still enraged over the death of Parral, was throwing bolts of lightning into any enemy he could see.

Despite the momentum on their side, the Imperial mob—it was far too disorganized to be called an army—had found itself slowed by the sheer number of enemies.

"Forward!" Michael cried, his voice hoarse from shouting for so long. "Let none stop us now!"

Just as yet another horde of foes emerged from the shadows, and Michael prepared to make his stand, there was a flash of golden light. Unlike the ones from before, this was so powerful that even those not corrupted by Chaos could feel it. Those who did follow the Dark Gods, however, didn't just scream in pain—they were utterly disintegrated, leaving only a faint silhouette of ash behind.

With that, the city suddenly fell silent, save for the screams of the wounded and dying, and the crackling of flames.

The war was over.

"What happened?" a man asked.

Michael, Locke, and Gettmann all shared a grin, and spoke as one. "Shepard."

The halo of light that shined around Shepard's golden armor glowed brighter as she drew her sword and lunged. Only a last-second block from Archaon's own shield kept the Runefang from piercing his skull. Even so, the blow was still far stronger than a mortal should have been capable of, and the light she emitted made his eyes burn.

Did she somehow absorb the artifact's power? Archaon wondered as he backpedaled from Shepard's assault. In the corner of his eye, he saw the corpses of his followers sizzle, their mutations and Chaos-empowered equipment fading away, leaving unblemished skin and steel. Archaon blocked another strike, but this one was slightly weaker than before. No, she didn't absorb all of it; in fact, I think she's losing power as she fights!

There was no way to halt the energies flowing throughout the world. Every second that passed saw Chaos withering everywhere. Archaon knew this, and he suspected that the Dark Gods knew as well. He could have surrendered and let the woman kill him, and for an instant, he actually considered it—and then he tossed it aside. Sheer spite forced him to continue fighting; he may have lost his grand plan, but he would take Shepard with him.

The Gods of Chaos seemed to agree; even with their hold on the world loosening, they poured every drop of power they could into the Everchosen, heedless of the risks. Normally, such an infusion of power would reduce a champion to a mindless Spawn, but the artifact's energy actually worked in Archaon's favor; for a little while, the clashing energies were matched in a perverse balance.

With a roar of renewed might, Archaon brought his sword down on Shepard. This time, the blow knocked Spellmaw off her arm and sent her tumbling onto her back. Archaon stabbed downward, but Shepard rolled aside; she brought her own sword up and caught him on the leg. Impossibly, the Runefang sliced through the armor once thought impenetrable, and came away with a splash of dark blood.

Unfortunately for Shepard, her efforts left her unbalanced, and Archaon smashed his shield against her head. Her helm flew off into the distance, and if it wasn't for her reinforced bones, Shepard knew her skull would have been crushed.

She spat out a gobbet of blood. "That all you got?"

"Hardly." Archaon raised his sword in salute. "Still, I will admit that you impress me, woman. I never expected anyone from the Empire to be strong enough to thwart me." He drew himself up, and the power of Chaos cast a dark aura around him. "Now, this ends. I am Archaon, Everchosen of Chaos, and before this day is done, I will kill you."

For a moment, Shepard wanted to tell him that she wasn't from the Empire at all. Instead, she pushed herself to her feet and gripped her sword in one hand, and drew the other one back; some niggling feeling was guiding her actions, and her instincts were telling her to trust it.

"I am Alexia Shepard," she said, and felt power gathering in her hand. "I was a Spectre in the Citadel Council and a commander in the Systems Alliance. I am a general of the Empire, and I am now the Elector Countess of Wissenland. I am known as the Middenheim Guardian, Dwarf Friend, Lady Daemonbane, Seneschal of Nuln, the Three-Headed Wolf and the Fate-Breaker." She grinned with bloodstained teeth. "And you're about to be very disappointed."

Shepard pushed outward with her free hand, and a bolt of golden light shot out. It impacted against Archaon's shield, and the heavy plate shattered like glass. The Everchosen staggered back, his left vambrace cracked and spilling blood.

A sudden roar made both fighters turn. The Daemon Prince was charging away from Gotrek and towards Shepard. The artifact's energy had greatly weakened Be'lakor; his wings were tattered and his flesh was withering, but he was still a force to be reckoned with, and he drew his fist back in an effort to crush her.

Shepard raised her hand again to fire another bolt, but an orange-topped blur beat her to it. Gotrek, bleeding from a dozen wounds—each of which should have killed him several times over—leaped onto Be'lakor's back and wrapped his arm around his throat. With all the strength he could muster, he pressed the blade of his axe into the Daemon's neck.

"Finally!" he laughed. "A death worthy of legend! Do it now, Shepard!"

Shepard could feel the energies granted to her by the artifact slipping away, moment by moment. She had no time to hesitate, so she didn't.

"Begone from this world, Daemon!" Shepard's hand glowed with as much power as she dared. She couldn't see it, but her eyes flashed with golden light. "And never come back!"

The bolt struck Be'lakor's chest, and the energy began to destroy him. In the instant he had left, Be'lakor chose flight over death, and returned to the Realm of Chaos—better to face the wrath of his masters than cease to exist. However, Gotrek refused to let go; the last image Shepard had of the brave Dwarf was him sawing into the Daemon's neck, even as he vanished into nothing.

There was no time to mourn her friend's passing; Shepard barely turned Archaon's downward slash from a lethal blow into a graze on her shoulder. She kicked out and caught him on his wounded arm, and both took steps back as they took stock of their injuries. Archaon's infusion of power was barely holding him together, while Shepard's own power was almost extinguished.

"Perhaps…" Archaon panted as he leveled his sword for a thrust, "in another lifetime, you might have been a true rival, Alexia Shepard."

"Really?" Shepard mirrored him. "I'd be flattered if I gave a damn."

For a moment, there was absolute silence, as if the entire world held its collective breath to watch this final battle. Then, both of them charged, a wordless cry upon their lips. Archaon howled with the rage of ambitions thwarted and gods denied. Shepard screamed with righteous anger and vengeance for the fallen.

They met in a crash of metal, flesh, and opposite energies.

Both staggered back and fell to their knees.

Shepard's trembling hands rested on the Slayer of Kings, embedded deep in her stomach. She could feel it emerging from her back. She gasped, and a spray of blood flew from her mouth, and then she collapsed.

Archaon should have instantly died, but the power of the gods—now withdrawing as they saw their pawn's failure—kept him alive, despite the Runefang piercing his heart. Weakly, he tore the blade free in a wash of corrupted blood. As his life faded, he laughed.

"So, this is how it ends…" He turned his head toward his last opponent. "Make it worth something, Alexia Shepard. Prove the gods—all the gods—that we can survive without them."

Shepard glared at him; she hated him, he had no right to ask her anything. "Oh, shut up and die already, you son of a bitch."

Archaon's laugh devolved into coughs. "Defiant to the end… I like that…"

With that, the Last Everchosen finally died.

Shepard weakly dragged herself across the ground. The power she'd had was gone, part of the growing wave of energy that had saved the world. Now, all she had was her own fading strength. Every inch felt like a mile, and every movement was agony, but she didn't stop until she reached Gregor's body. She struggled to remove her gauntlets, and then, with shaking hands, she touched her husband's face. His skin was cold, and there was no way he could have survived losing all that blood. Still, he looked peaceful, as if he knew he'd bought the time needed for Shepard to succeed.

"It's over, Gregor." Shepard rested her forehead against his, and sobbed as she futilely tried to wake him up. "We won, Gregor. We won. We won…"

Yeah. I went there.

Once you've dried your eyes, please consider buying my book on my website (link in my profile), or look up Alpha Sanction by Josh Gottlieb on Amazon. If you don't want to do that, consider being awesome and donating on P-atreon (also a link in my profile). Speaking of…

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Next Chapter: A new dawn…

The End Muffin… is over.