Glory to the Imperium!

by V-rcingetorix

Astartes Shepard has been assigned a new task: to escort strange alien civilians to a site within Imperium borders. The Emperor Renewed has issued a personal directive that preparations are to take place, an alien race seeks to destroy the peace achieved within the Imperium's holy borders. My first foray into the 40k 'verse, insight would be helpful.

Parades were a common thing on many worlds. Thousands of worlds held them on a monthly basis, far more held them on a less frequent timescale. But there was one world where a single parade was held every year; itself not unusual. But on Holy Terra, the Emperor's Salutation brought the best of the very best, where the greatest, most pious and noble warriors were even considered for participation. It was an honor granted to very few, and one of the few events where it was certain no form of malfeasance could be tolerated – for whom would dare inveigle dishonorable conduct before the Throne itself, and the Emperor Renewed?

Every year, a few appeared to hold such heretical thoughts. Every year, the Black Ships took their new purpose, and their treasonous cargo.

Shepard watched the parade from his station, arms clasped at the small of his back, legs wide. In accordance to orders he did not wear his customary armor, protection against enemies and uncertain allies alike. He was able to enjoy keeping his head free, sable hair cut as long as regulations permitted, and relished the feel of Holy Terra's breeze brush through its ends; his preference would've allowed every part of him to be as close to such an experience, or as close as morality allowed.

Below another marching band moved on, well-trained horses towing the colossal drums whose beats he could feel in the sole of his combat boots. The band itself played a heart-rending version of Should I Ever Forget Thee, O Terra. While not his personal favorite, Shepard could appreciate exquisite music from expert performers.

Not that his enjoyment could remain uninterrupted. Even an Astartes answered to higher authority. Even now one of those few whom he considered an equal waited nearby.

"Shepard, why do you stand there? Come, sit and eat." The friendly voice called from across the patio.

He didn't move, watching the next group begin their brief moment in glory. "My thanks, Inquisitor. But my brothers have not yet had their opportunity."

An easy chuckle responded. "It's David, Shepard. Or Anderson if you wish to be formal. Your brothers won't be here for another hour, plenty of time for you to relax and enjoy the fruits of hard-won labor. The Emperor's Regent instructed you to take your ease, did he not?"

"So I did," a deeper voice spoke. Shepard spun to see a man of enormous stature, possessing the same aquiline nose and proud bearing he recognized in himself. How the towering figure had arrived without his perceiving it was disquieting. "Commander Shepard, your brothers will arrive when they are meant. Sit. Rest. There is much to be done, and little time in which to do it."

After a long moment, an eternity when one of the Astartes debated the command of their progenitor, Shepard moved to sit. While of lesser stature than the Primarch, his own mass was not inconsiderable. Near three meters of solid muscle and bone sank into the chair, sending it creaking under his weight.

"As you say, Primarch."

The taller man didn't chuckle, but the smile he bore carried a similar effect. "Thank you. The focus the Dark Angels have placed upon Rituals and the self-control has proven a great boon to the Imperium, but you must not let it become a hindrance to a greater good."

A frown danced across Shepard's lips. It was gone almost before it was there, but the Primarch noticed.

"Ah. The Tau. Yes, Greater Good is a mantra of theirs, is it not? But first, let us dine. It Is not often we may come together on Holy Terra, and I do not intend to eat another soylens viridians!"

Shepard gave an appreciative chuckle, and surveyed the menu. A bewildering array of choices lined the fibrous sheet, the result some arcane technopath creation. As he focused on the list, it shifted, new choices appearing as old ones vanished. Finally he selected a steak, and entered its parameters to the hololith projector standing on the table.

"As we wait," the Primarch leaned back, seeming at perfect ease. "Inqusitor?"

The smaller man raised his wrist, entering a short sequence into a construct wrapped about his wrist. Moments later the faint sounds of city life dimmed, an imperceptible change for most, but detected with ease by Shepard's standards. "It is done, Primarch."

"Good." Primarch Roboute Guilliman leaned forward, fingers tapping against each other. "There are many secrets which must be spoken of, but not about. But this is a time for some to be revealed, whilst others remain concealed."

Shepard bowed his head. "By the Emperor's will."

"Correct." Roboute fixed his gaze upon Shepard. "Your record speaks well. Mindoir, the invasion and defense over two centuries ago. Acceptance and training with Astartes, induction to the Inner Circle."

While the reference to one of the darkest secrets of his order was not expected, Shepard did not betray his surprise. A simple nod served better than words in many circumstances, and served equally well here.

"You were personally responsible for retrieving and shriving the last of The Fallen. Astartes Cullen has rejoined your brethren and may be trusted with the deepest secrets."

This time Shepard's lips twitched, an instant of disagreement, but unvoiced.

"You have fought every xenos species that has raised weapons against the Imperium," the Primarch's voice remained steady, deep, like the tolling of some ancient bell. "Recovered by the Blood Angels, given armaments to continue your mission. The actual recovery of your Chapter. You are an exemplary acme to your order."

Shepard's eyes narrowed. "Thank you, sire."

Roboute smiled, showing perfect, even teeth. "Suspicious, even of a Primarch? Good. That will serve you well."

"I mean no offense," Shepard began.

"None taken, none taken," Roboute waved off the apology. "Ah, and the meal has arrived. Pray hold your questions until after we have dined."

The meat was cooked to perfection, succulent and almost falling apart on his slightly-larger-than-standard fork. The accompanying vegetables were firm, by contrast, flavorful as only planet-grown food could attain. The beverage was of equal quality, a tart accompaniment drawing out the flavors he didn't even realize were present.

After a stretch of time, the Primarch put down his utensils, and sighed. "Pleasant as this is, there is still business to conduct."

Shepard followed suit, laying the utensils across the topmost portion of the plate. Anderson, to his faint surprise, continued eating.

"The Emperor has gifted me with the responsibility of preparing a team. This team will require an active crew, supplies, and support network. This is why I chose you, Commander. The Dark Angels enjoy a certain amount of independent oversight, and possess one of the greatest weapon repositories amongst any Chapter. Too, your association with the Blood Angels has shown you are open-minded, willing to accept the possibility that a wider viewpoint may be needed to solve issues."

While giving a small nod, he said nothing.

"The Emperor," Primarch Roboute leaned forward, eyebrows lowering. "Has the gift of foresight. He has divined everything we underwent and provided for our survival. Some of my brethren have fallen," he paused as Shepard did not react. "But they were given the same opportunity to trust as we all were given. But he foresees another challenge, Commander. A challenge which will be unlike anything the Imperium has ever faced."

Music faded in the distance as Shepard focused. "My purpose is to defend the Imperium. Name the threat and I will end it."

"Hah, well said!" Roboute clapped once, appreciatively. "But this challenge is both subtle and uncanny, for it involves aliens that are not heretics."

Shepard froze. His target was less than two meters away, but was such an entity that killing him would be almost impossible. Primarchs were to an Astarte, what an Astarte was to an Imperium marine; Primarchs were born with more cunning than ten systems of politicians, they developed weapons with greater efficiency and power than all the enginseers of a Forge world, and protected themselves in the same fashion hive-insects defended their homes. To attack was to invite immediate death.

"No, I am no heretic." Roboute seemed to read his mind. "Ordo Hereticus and the Officio Assassinorum have been consulted on both fronts. The Emperor's decree shall be followed."

While the implication was clear, Shepard was a heartbeat slow to respond. "The Emperor's Will be done."

The Primarch studied him, then reached into a pouch, and pushed a small stack of precious metal discs towards Anderson. "I stand corrected, Inquisitor. Well done."

"Now and again," Anderson accepted the exchange with a modest shrug. "What you ask is beyond most. Even the elite."

"Once the Enemy arrives, there will be no doubt," Roboute's shoulders drooped for a moment. "This is the battle the Emperor has forseen before all others. A fight which will demand every lesson learned, every weapon forged, every world conquered in the past forty thousand years."

Shepard's attention spiked. "What is this enemy?"

Anderson seemed ready to speak, but the Primarch made a tiny gesture, silencing the Inquisitor. "Once you and the team are aboard, a full briefing will be in store. Your brothers are here."

The regular stride of an Astartes group met Shepard's ears, the crashing stride of armored legs moving in lockstep. A full four companies of one thousand Astartes was the source of this cacophony, lead by the venerable Company Master Massani. Shepard spun, leaping to resume his original position by the edge, and beheld his brothers.

Unlike the Codex-compliant Astartes, the Dark Angels retained the terminology and formations of an older time. Their armor bore signs of that past times, emerald and silver heraldry matched by heater shields made from the Master of the Rock's forges. Each of the massive warriors swung along in parade formation, ceramite-clad legs crashing down at the same exact moment. The sound of a thousand, one-ton warriors was nigh deafening, even excluding the synchronized rattle as each shield made contact against the armor.

Behind the Dark Angel Chapter strode the Blood Angels representing their order. Unlike their bretheren's viridescent and silver motif, the Blood Angels wore pure crimson. Armaments of various designs gleamed at their sides, showcasing the edges that would make facial-cutters envious. For this order too, he stood at attention. There were debts one owed in mundane things like hardware and money; others were deeper, and paid in blood.

Another marching band kept pace with the Astartes, thanks to endless training and their slower pace. The brass-heavy work, Victories of the Righteous Shall Never Fail, could be felt in the depths of his chest, percussion elements providing a steady rhythm that exceeded the solid boots of the forward Astartes.

The entire sight was over within fifteen minutes, both Chapter's moving past towards the far end of the parade route. They'd begun a good thirty miles earlier, and would end it perhaps fifty miles later. At the middle point there would be politicians and Imperial representatives – such as Primarchs.

Shepard held position a moment longer, then returned to face Primarch Gulliman. Memories of the music, of watching his brothers from both Chapters buoyed his spirits. He came to a halt. "It seems I have much work to do. Where do I begin?"

---

Overlord's Operation of Victory

Sector 3-1-G2

The medium-sized cruiser drifted through space's vacuum, waiting. Imperial spacecraft had received much-needed maintenance over the past century, restoring the battered armor to its original, pristine glory. The Victory was a Battle Cruiser, smaller than a true battleship, yet larger than standard cruisers and escort vessels. Based off the Archeron-Class Heavy Cruiser, the Overlord's Operation of Victory boasted superior power levels dedicated to the dorsal lance array, and enough forward-facing torpedo tubes to obliterate a small raiding force.

Shepard strode through the Victory's corridors, making his usual check. Techpriests hummed past, muttering their usual incantations of greeting and farewell, twittering in the unusual language they utilized. To Shepard, it sounded like small bursts of information-dense sound, alternating between two pitches. Techpriests with a higher devotion often replaced their vocal chords in their entirety, incorporating some form of techno-sorcery to create sound from a vox-box, while adding the comm-signal implants.

He did not shudder. Everyone served the Emperor as they best could. But it felt wrong to speak with another Marine through wires in one's head. The Marines had perfectly functional comm units integrated in their armor, and flesh could heal – machines needed careful tending at all times.

"Commander Shepard, the xenos are in-system. Please report to Hangar Bay 3-1-5."

Shepard paused, then continued. By direct order, he bore no armor, or even a weapon. A sign of trust, Inquisitor Anderson had explained. That meant nothing, an Astartes was capable of killing with his bare hands if needed.

Taking the first available transit-conveyor, Shepard arrived at the hanger within ten minutes. Inside there were already a small number of beings already waiting. He recognized the Inquisitor's form through the bright blue uniform he wore, and ceremonial waistband. To the man's side stood one of the few sanctioned psykers he could stand – to a certain degree.

"Alenko." He made an effort to greet the man with cordiality. "Doing well?"

The other man's pure gray eyes seemed to look through his soul. "I am well, thank you Commander." The man's focus shifted to focus upon the void outside. "The aliens are approaching. They travel … strangely."

"Oh?" He'd learned to trust the psyker's pronouncements over time. Just because his skin crawled at the thought of thoughts being laid bare did not mean the man was trying to be unhelpful.

"An escort craft," Alenko's head dipped forwards. "A gesture of trust? Less than two hundred passengers. Nervous. Fearful. Joyful. Alas, that remains the full extent of my abilities to sense, sir."

"No fear," Shepard broke protocol and clapped the other man's shoulder. "We'll train you up into a true Librarian yet. Just stay back, and if their words do not match their emotions, try to be civil."

"As you say," Alenko took a single step back, allowing Anderson to take the lead.

Just as the Inquisitor opened his mouth to say something no-doubt appropriate and calming, the proximity alert came on, lighting the hanger's entrance point with a bright glow. More official greeters, various political individuals from Earth and the Emperor's personal entourage retreated against the inner walls, but Shepard remained standing where he was.

A graceful-looking vessel hove into view beyond the barrier. Its smooth lines reminded Shepard of primitive flying machines, vessels that demanded atmosphere to support their mass. Despite the drawbacks, their pilot proved adept, bringing the craft about in a needless, showy turn, flaring retro-drives to slow their approach at last moment. Thus reduced to a more sane velocity, the alien ship slid through the barrier, the rich noise of its engines causing the floor to shake.

Shepard remained still, watching the ship land. After a moment, its engine core deactivated, leaving only the various sounds of whining engines shutting down. A faint throbbing sensation went through Shepard's bones, but he ignored it – the aliens of this 'Council' utilized an unfamiliar motivational force, this 'Element Zero'. While less efficient and more reactive than the simple elegance of Immaterium transit, it did appear to possess its own advantages. Element Zero was even attributed to their warriors; he was eager to test himself in a sparring match, if possible.

The ship lowered itself on stilts, hissing out an almost sigh of relief, Shepard could already see techpriests gazing upon the strange vessel, body language betraying what their personal belief systems would not: envy.

A ramp descended, touching the deck. Then, booted feet came into view, ferro-ceramic armor plating it appeared.

Shepard straightened, meeting the newcomer's gaze as soon as he touched the floor.

"Welcome aboard the Overlord's Operation of Victory," he started. "I am Commander Shepard."

The alien came to a stop, tilting back to look up at him. His expression, as far as alien emotional motions went, bespoke controlled surprise. "Thank you for your welcome, Commander. I am SPECTRE Nihlus Kryik. May I introduce my colleagues?"

Shepard wanted to retreat a pace, but clasped his hands at the small of his back instead. "Indeed."

"This is Doctor Liara T'Soni, Prothean expert and daughter of Matriarch Benezia. She is representing the asari in this auspicious occasion." The next alien was … blue. Her idea of armor appeared to consist of somewhat thicker fabrics, and no helmet.

'Be fair,' he scolded himself. 'Perhaps they were ordered to be unarmored as well.'

"It is a pleasure to meet you," the blue alien was studying him as if he were some fascinating specimen. Her blue eyes darted across his form in tight arcs, appearing to evaluate every minor detail. "Your ambassador informed us of your Chapter's enhanced capabilities, but it will be much more impressive to see them in person."

Shepard gave a short bow. "I am honored."

"And this is Urdnot Wrex. Krogan." The turian seemed dismissive of the next alien. A dangerous assumption in Shepard's opinion. "He represents an interested party, and has been compensated for his time."

The massive alien appeared to possess greater mass than Shepard, and moved with the same grace he'd seen in apex predators on a hundred worlds. Of greater importance was how the alien ensured there was ample space between himself and the others, clear lines of sight in all directions.

Large teeth gleamed as the alien bared an imitation smile. "Yeah. The Shadow Broker insisted. You're human, huh?"

"I am." Shepard refrained from bowing, it felt like a weakness in front of the bulky alien.

"Huh. Saw little ones earlier. You're full grown then. Good." The alien shifted its weight, armor plates moving with fluid ease. "I'll say it once, then we can get to the main show. I'm here because the Broker thought it would be a good idea. The Council agreed."

"Understood." This was a being Shepard could respect, xeno though he was. The weight of the ages rested on the alien's powerful shoulders, and a gleam of intelligence concealed deep within his eyes; this would be a formidable foe.

"The Council held many discussions and decided it was better for the Shadow Broker to receive information first hand," Nihlus glared at the krogan before turning his attention back to Shepard. "Please pardon Urdnot Wrex; he is not trained for diplomacy."

Shepard made a few mental calculations, and hid a smile. In a simple sentence, the krogan had established the presence of a cultural divide between himself and the others – their current physical separation supported such an idea – and had made himself their de facto protector, despite Nihlus's apparent belief of his own status. With that statement, the krogan had witnessed Shepard's own reaction to such activity, making an evaluation of his own. Yet the turian xeno had clarified their status with words, hiding the physical honesty the krogan displayed.

Two xenos. Two different species. The asari doctor could be included in that statement but had no aptitude for battle; that was obvious to anyone with eyes. But the turian and krogan had bad blood between their species, not personally.

Shepard had to look further down in order to meet her gaze. "Welcome." He looked up again. "I was under the impression that the salarians were the third member of your Council. Will there not be a representative of the Union?"

Nihlus took the question with grace. "The Salarians have a lifespan limited to under thirty years. We understand that your method of travel can sometimes take years between systems, and they elected to remain behind."

"As you say," Shepard's eyebrows lifted, then relaxed. It would do no good to ask about rejuvenation treatments, not at this early stage. "For this trip, our destination is no great distance. We are three days from Eden Prime."

"So soon?" the turian looked surprised, as near as Shepard could tell. "Would you be able to wait a few hours first? The Salarians were under the impression that transits would take years?"

A low chuckle built itself in Shepard's chest, rumbling until it spilled past control. The krogan seemed to take it in stride, while the turian tensed, one hand drifting towards an aerodynamic oblong attached to his hip. The female-ish aliens didn't seem alarmed; if anything, the blue one looked intrigued, producing a glowing device on her wrist, pointing it in general directions.

Regaining control, Shepard tried for a genial smile. It was made easier by imagining the turian as a somewhat tolerable Tau. "When our journey takes over six months, we are travelling a quarter of the galaxy. The currents may change this, but since the Emperor's Return, our travels have rarely been disrupted."

The turian seemed appeased, but the more research-oriented individuals gave every evidence of being intrigued.

"Call your colleague," Shepard decided to make a command decision. "Once he arrives, we will depart."

---

Waiting for the newcomer took less time than Shepard anticipated. A ship with minimal detectable signature came into view less than fifteen minutes after the alien ship broadcast a request. Its passenger was let out with care, a being with large eyes and a manner of observing everything.

"Maelon was a master genetic engineer," the blue alien confided. For some reason she'd taken to dogging Shepard's proximity, akin to a servitor, but with far more communication skills. "The STG does not talk about what they were doing, but he came with the best references."

Shepard was just glad the salarian had stopped throwing up. Transition into the Warp was hard on those unused to such things, but Maelon appeared to be reacting on the extreme side. It didn't help that the alien had eaten just prior to arrival; Shepard had performed basic research on the species dietary habits, and almost wished he didn't know why chitin was a major component of Maelon's last meal.

"Prothean ruins are seldom discovered on Council worlds," the blue alien chattered on, "But the reports from this world are indicating it is almost intact! Amazing! Fifty thousand years and it is just waiting for us to find!"

Shepard strode onwards, arriving at last to the armored doors to the Dark Angels armory. "Doctor," he paused, letting the spirits within the panel read his palm's secrets. "I will need to arm myself. We are going to what is a safe planet, but there are still enemies. So if you do not mind …?"

The alien stopped short, as if slapped. Then her cheeks darkened. "Oh. Oh. My apologies, I was just … I mean your people would be fascinating to study, no that's even worse…."

Shepard kept his sigh inward, at least until the door closed once more. His sanctum held a soothing darkness where low-light vision could guide his steps, and the harsh lighting could be left behind.

He closed his eyes for a moment, enjoying the soothing darkness. Exposure to the beings living outside the gentle guidance of the Emperor took more control than most possessed, but it was his task, his duty. No. His privilege, to fulfil his assignment.

"Inquisitor Anderson to Shepard. Copy back, please."

Shepard straightened, rolling the muscles in the small of his shoulders. "Shepard here. Go ahead."

"We are receiving messages from Eden Prime. Unknown aliens are approaching, and not responding to hails. A defensive screen is in position, but likely to not hold. We are now proceeding to flank speed, ETA one day five hours. Prepare for hostile encounter."

Although the news was unwelcome in some ways, Shepard felt buoyed by the news. It had been decades since his last true xeno-aggression assignment. This would be just like old times.

"Acknowledged. Sending alert to squad."

"Anderson out."

---

Eden Prime

While Shepard preferred to launch from as high an orbit as possible, a habit learned from his more blood-thirsty brethren in the Blood Angels, there was something about seeing a full squad of Astartes in the Thunderhawk, as it broke through more sonic limiters than he had fingers to count upon.

Of less welcome was the sight of the aliens, strapped into the chairs designed for the larger proportions of his brethren. It would've been rude to laugh, but the aliens did seem akin to children, feet dangling off the edges and heads well below the true headrests. The holy engi-seers had anticipated such a thing, and ensured reserve cushioning and fastening plugs were available in all Thunderhawks, so those less gifted would not perish through a simple landing mishap.

"Listen up, we'll go over this one more time so that the guests," he nodded at the aliens, "Are on the same page."

The rest of his squad grunted acknowledgement, although the psyker Alenko appeared to be napping. The rest of the squad left him alone; it never paid to disrupt a psyker during his preparatory phase.

"Astropaths say there's a cruiser-size alien ship grounded on Eden Prime. That means either specialized ship design or it crashed. The psykers didn't say which, but I'm betting my money on the former. We're also getting reports of robots everywhere."

Proving their caution correct, Alenko's eyes snapped open, glowing a mild blue. "I can feel humans in pain, fading but not vanishing. They are being forcibly converted into … hungry darkness."

"Chaos!" one of the Astartes cursed, Jenkins had a bit of a foul mouth. "Demons?"

"Not with robots," Shepard shook his head. The massive armor he wore was not as large as the Dreadnought grade hardware, better known as Terminator armor. But the Mark X Intercessor grade power armor could hold its own against the greatest foes the Imperium had ever known. It would see him through this conflict as well. "Necron, maybe. But the cruiser they have is giving off Chaos energies."

To an outsider, the lack of movement or spoken word indicated the squad's complete self-confidence. But to someone like Shepard, who could hear their comments on sub-level vox channels, their concern was plain.

"Our mission is to escort the specialists to the package, and get both offworld," he nodded at the turian SPECTRE, whom was seated with every picture of calm. "Questions?"

The turian raised a hand. "I work better on my own."

"Understood." Shepard nodded. "Denied. You are our guest, and we will not lose you to orc-fire."

An unhappy twitch passed through the turian's face but vanished. "I understand."

"Any other questions?" Shepard scanned the group. "Good. Contact in five."

It was somewhat less than five minutes when the Thunderhawk pitched sideways, skidding through the air. Half-expecting it, Shepard moved with the action, swaying in the protective webbing that wrapped around his torso like a demented spider's work. The aliens back behind the protective bulwark of Astartes professionals, slammed against their own restraints like knock-kneed felgians in a high wind.

A scant ten seconds later, Shepard tensed. "Touchdown in five. Four. Three. Two. One. Charge!"

As one the Astartes disengaged the safety webbing, as the Thunderhawk punched an apparent hole in the ground. The main door fell open, leaving the squad free to exit in combat-capable fashion.

Shepard was in front, as he should've been. Outside he could see an array of small, humanoid robots that carried weapons similar to those the aliens at his back did. Inside he breathed a sigh of relief. Flesh-flaying gauss-guns and the matter-disintegrating weapons were difficult enough when not safeguarding bystanders.

At his side, Jenkins barreled ahead, extending a long set of chain-claws to eviscerate a metal construct. Its returning fire pinged off his armor, scarcely denting its surface. The nearest machines fell prey to his claws in short order as well, leaving the clearing silent.

Looking up, Shepard could see the cruiser-sized alien ship in the distance, dark red energy swirling about it like Cultist activity he'd seen. Yet it didn't have the same aura he'd felt around even the worst Chaos-touched monstrosities, which was somehow more unsettling than seeing three full cults joining forces and perhaps inviting his squad to dine upon crumpets.

"Not Khornate," Jenkins slapped his gauntlet, knocking bits of shredded alloy like snow. "Not Necron either."

"Goddess!" the blue alien stared at the carnage. "Geth?"

Shepard's helmet snapped sideways, identifying the turian SPECTRE. "Explain."

The turian surveyed the field, watching. "Geth were created by the quarians three centuries ago. They were exiled from the Citadel; they've kept themselves out of Citadel space ever since."

"Machine soldiers?" Alenko's upper lip twitched. Like many Psykers, he'd always demonstrated a healthy dose of self-confidence. "Limited. Who would rely on such constructs to fight their battles?"

"They destroyed the Quarian fleet, and control all of Quarian space," Nihlus corrected, dark tension in his voice. "Geth learn from every encounter, and never make the same mistake twice."

"Wisdom." Shepard moved forward. "We have a limited window. Forward."

The group obeyed without question. Out of consideration for their guests they did not run at full speed, much like how they were forced to curtail their true strength when working with Planetary Defense Forces.

"Target, right," one of the squad tracked the metallic object, and fired. An explosive round crossed the distance in an eyeblink, turning the flying construct into dust. "Target eliminated."

Shepard tapped the holder, sending the Fury of Baal back into place. The mastercraft plasma weapon dealt out damage in the same way an Imperial Edict crushed the Custodes resistance to boltcaster development: with devastating thoroughness. Such weapons were now available to more than just the Custodes, despite their irritation.

"Isn't that a little old fashioned?" Nihlus had somehow made it to Shepard's side.

"Plasma weaponry?" Shepard tapped the sidearm's enameled stock. "It is efficient. Your machines will need to be swift, should they wish to evade it."

"Copy, is what I fear," the turian grated his teeth, some form of xeno exasperation, or perhaps it meant concern? Aliens were difficult to understand. "But I meant your sword."

Shepard gave the ancient blade a small twirl, admiring the Black Jewel of Al Baradad ensconced within its hilt. "Ah. This."

"Yes," Nihlus cast another wary glance at their surroundings. Even as they talked the entire group kept moving. "My people have a saying: 'Force to force, sight to sight.' Are you certain a weapon of such short distance is useful?"

Shepard gave a nod of his own at Jenkins, whom was even now using his claws to tear apart a container. "In every battle there will be close quarters combat. When that happens, I am ready. Indeed, I must carry this blade, it is my right and responsibility."

"Oh?" Nihlus cocked his head, looking almost like one of the avians from Shepard's homeworld, long centuries before.

"It is one of the four Heavenfall Blades, which may only be used by four of my Order," he slid it home. Boasting of his accomplishments benefited no one. "We must move faster. The Arbites will need our support."

Running closer to his highest rate, Shepard caught up to the lead elements of the squad. They were jogging at an easy pace, no doubt chafing under the orders of restraint. He gave them a hand signal, and one dropped back to cover his former place; the other offered a connection through their armored machine-spirits, communicating their progress.

"What in the Emperor's Name …?" Shepard paused at the top of the next ridge. Ahead stood narrow towers of metal, statues of humans mounted upon their tips. Approaching caused the towers to collapse, dropping their bipedal cargo on the ground.

"Emperor on Earth!" Shepard pulled his Storm Shield forwards, presenting its surface towards the misshapen constructs. Their twitching motions created an unholy mimicry of human movement, bringing a foul taste to his mouth even as they approached. One seemed to study him, dead eyes replaced with artificial components, yet retaining every shred of malice an evil intellect could direct.

The thing howled. Echoing shrieks crawled up the decibel range, stuttering in places like malfunctioning servitors. Another group of the deformed humans sprang into view, catching sight of Shepard and emitting electronic howls of their own.

Before Shepard could draw his sidearm, an actinic bolt of energy blew apart the nearest husk of a human. It changed direction mid-strike, splitting to impact the other unholy blends of organic and machine. They split again and again, striking the entire group like a lightning storm, bringing another type of scream from their throats. A crack of thunder followed suit, rumbling an ominous route through the air.

"Alenko." Shepard didn't need to turn around to recognize the caster. "Well done."

"To be of service is of pleasure," Alenko stalked forwards, greatcoat drifting around his ankles yet avoiding debris. "Can you feel it?"

Shepard closed his eyes, concentrating. A moment later he opened them. "No. What is it?"

The psyker wafted one hand towards the massive alien vessel, dominating the horizon. "That. It is evil, a dread foulness that seeks nothing but consumption and destruction. It is filled with a self-righteous fury at any who defy its will, did not the Inquisitor say it has been here for two days?"

"He did," Shepard confirmed. He lowered his shield; the husks were no longer ambulatory and appeared to be no threat. "I am surprised the PDF is not fighting harder. Where are they? Where are the assault craft, the orbital defense platforms?"

The psyker scowled. "It is forcing pressure upon the civilians. Urging them to submit to its will. I can feel it beating against us, trying to compel obedience."

"Warp-cursed artifact?" he speculated. "Chaos worshippers, many psykers? I knew altering the Black Ships routes would cause malcontents more power, but … this?"

The rest of his squad caught up. To Shepard's carefully hidden amusement, one was carrying the blue alien, while another supported the turian. The turian appeared capable of moving, but seemed very winded as well, surprising for an elite alien combatant.

He changed topics. "The Chapel is just over the ridge. We have another five kloms to the bunker after that. Emperor willing, the artifact will remain intact."

The sound of battle met their ears soon after, the cry of warriors in battle and the explosion of high-power weaponry. Shrieks of metal grinding against metal cut through the chaos, punctuated by what had to be power-armor driven war hammers, smashing into enemies of the chapel.

"Jenkins. Flank left." Shepard's faceplate slammed shut. The transparent material highlighted power signatures ahead, mobile units and combat-servitors doing what they could to fend off what seemed to be an unending horde of the shallow husks of humanity.

"Astartes," he raised his blade skyward. "Forward!"

As one the squad leapt into action. Each soldier charged at speeds that bordered on ludicrous, bounding up the hill and over its ridge.

The ridge itself was an abrupt change in elevation, showing the edge of the chapel's territory. Whomever had created the Chapel had done a thorough job of it, flattening the land in all directions for miles around. This one hill appeared to be the nearest portion, defended by a guardhouse of almost royal proportions.

Below a mass of blue-tinted husks battered against the guardhouse's outer wall, circuitry sparking and glowing at odd intervals. In their midst was another group of power-armored warriors, bearing the fleur-de-li of the Adepta Sororita. While some armored forms struggled on the ground, more still were standing firm.

In utter silence his own Astartes fell through the air, over a century of training coming to their aid. Shepard soared in their midst, feeling the pulsating rhythm of battle throb ever closer.

When they landed, it was with the power of a dozen thunderbolts, obliterating the pathetic imitations of humanity beneath their weight. Each Astarte wore the Mark X variant, modernized and improved over the more primitive ancestry, and armed with the full weaponry once held back by the Dark Angels armory.

Shepard's blade struck like a biting viper, severing spinal columns and limbs. His shield was a weapon as much as a protective implement, knocking aside the husks's weak attacks. Three leaped onto the shield itself, trying to compensate for their lack of skill with weight.

He shrugged the inconvenience away, lofting their negligible mass skyward. Another brother fired three shots without looking, terminating their threat before they'd finished rising.

"Astartes!" a call came from the Sororita line, a dark-haired female with strong features. "We will hold here. We are being pushed hard by the Vault!"

Silent motions within his armor directed most of the Dark Angels squad to the new threat. Shepard remained however, slashing through the husks like a scythe. He met the speaker in the press, and turned back to back, where both could destroy the filth without interruption.

"Commander Shepard, Dark Angels Astartes," he let the shield sag, freeing his left arm to draw the plasma pistol. Its bright flash illuminated the husks in a nightmarish display, punching open a hole in their lines.

"Ashley Williams," the woman's own armor whined, blessed servos pushed past their limits. A husk made an inspired leap, slapping at the scarred material only to fall in pieces. "Emperor's Grace we're glad to see you!"

Shepard triggered another shot, thinning out the line over one of the fallen Sister's. He could see her arms moving, which meant either an arcane infection, or life. "Well met, Williams. There will be a small group of xenos joining us. Do not kill them, by the Emperor's command. They are being guided by one of my brothers, and a psyker."

A noise mingling shock and disgust escaped the Sororita's helmet. "Xenos? On Eden Prime? First that alien desecrator and now this?"

Shepard lost patience with the horde in his immediate front. The Black Jewel of Al Baradad gleamed in the sunlight, turning into a blur. Taking wide, powerful strokes, Shepard waded through the horde, shopping into the husks with abandon. In two minutes he managed to clear a space wide enough for the Sisters to drag their fallen comrades.

"Thank you," the Sororita stabbed her own blade point-first into the ground and removed her helmet. "We have been fighting for three days. Energy packs are depleted, and the servitors are running on fumes."

Shepard glanced at the few stragglers, being taken care of by a number of Sisters. Above on the hill he could see Jenkins form, traveling along its edge towards a path that lead a more circuitous route to their position. The aliens in their midst looked shocked at the carnage – had they no war in this 'Council' Space? An interesting thought. The Imperium had been at a constant state of conflict for almost fifty thousand years, more if the legends were true.

"Rest then. The Emperor gave you the strength until we arrived. Now he gives you a chance to recover."

William's dark eyes blinked, weariness blearing their surface. "As you say, Commander. But I will accompany you. Do you swear by the Emperor that these xenos," her expression turned suspicious, "mean no harm, and are here under your protection?"

"I swear it on the Emperor and the Astartes Chapters," he intoned, making the sign of an Aquilla, thumb folded in a circle with the fingers fanning out in a wing shape. "These aliens will bring no harm to Eden Prime under my watch."

"So be it." Williams gave a decisive nod. "You seek the ancient plinth? That xeno here earlier tried to access it, but we drove him off. It is now in the Vault, under attack by artificial mechanisms, badly made servitors I deem. But while they are awkward, I advise caution. They always seem to see flanking maneuvers and are growing wise to our craft."

"So SPECTRE Nihlus averred," Shepard raised a hand, beckoning the group of aliens closer. "Perhaps he possesses further knowledge of these weak servitors."

The sororita checked the action on her oversized weapon. "Then let us wreak havoc in the Emperor's name."

[break]

Nihlus knew himself to be an exceptional individual. A warrior race like the turians produced superb soldiers as a matter of course, and he was as far above the standard turian warrior as such a turian was above a volus – in combat terms. His elevation to SPECTRE had been an acknowledged mark on an already stellar career, the first and only protégé of SPECTRE Arterius.

"Your people are not like the humans we have encountered," he observed as the massive being scooped up what looked to be a pistol as large as a child. "Is your civilization related to the Systems Alliance?"

The Astartes raised the weapon in one hand, sighting on a target NIhlus couldn't see, and lowered it once more, unfired. "Never heard of it."

"But they are human as well, are they not?" he persisted. Alongside the asari specialist was as close as politeness allowed, listening to every word.

Shepard kept moving, long legs keeping a pace that challenged the very earth to defy it. "Maybe? Lot of systems lost during the Age of Strife. Not all of them have been recovered."

Nihlus frowned. Putting aside his questions for the moment, he turned back to war. The rifle he bore was alien-made cutting edge, beyond what even black-ops specialists on his homeworld could obtain. In three focused bursts he took down a pair of infantry geth, eliminating their flashing heads.

The big human straightened, then leapt over what seemed to be a pile of stone. Sounds of rending metal reached Nihlus's ears, prompting the turian to hurry.

While only seconds passed before he achieved the far side, the armored warrior had already destroyed what looked to be a small party of geth. He decided to ignore how the humanoid robotic parts looked to have no projectile damage, and the finger-like indentations on individual limbs. Only krogan were so animalistic as to tear targets limb from limb, right?

He was close enough to catch the warrior's muttered curse. "I'm sorry?"

Shepard paused, looking down. "Abominable Intelligence. My people have suffered greatly because of these things. It is a pleasure to destroy them before they drive your own people into an Age of Chaos, like ours were."

Dr. T'soni was breathing hard, trying to keep up. "Does that … mean … your people … had … AI?"

Shepard seemed to notice her distress, standing still to survey the area. "The machine-spirits are seen after by Adeptus Mechanicus. I know simple rituals to placate the machine-spirits, and entreat their aid when necessary."

"Machine … spirits?" the asari looked confused.

An armored fist larger than Nihlus's head pounded a chest plate with a resounding crash. "An Astartes cares for his armor as he cares for himself. They protect and serve, as I do. Together we carry out the Emperor's Will."

The turian SPECTRE gave a slow nod while the asari at one side appeared to hyperventilate behind the cover of a holographic interface. "Your people are far more … militant … than the humans I've encountered."

"Those living without divine guidance often fall," Shepard's behavior seemed regretful. "But their departure will not hinder our mission."

"Right. Good." Nihlus let the conversation die. It seemed unwise to provoke religious fanatics. He took special care to avoid provoking fanatics wielding half as many weapons as this massive specimen of a human.

"Sir," the damn asari had to interject. If Nihlus had had his way, the Maiden wouldn't have been anywhere near the terrifying Imperium, no matter who her mother owned. "I cannot help but notice the teeth behind your lateral incisors are longer than those of your soldiers. Is this significant among your kind?"

He'd noticed the unusual dental formation. The few times Shepard had smiled, he'd seen the maxillary cuspids in what he presumed to be retracted state. Once, they'd appeared a full talon-width longer, when the man's discourse had strayed into the enemies of the Imperium.

Shepard's helmet rotated, opaque eye slit zeroing in on the asari. "I am unique. It is a trait limited to the Blood Angels chapter. For the most part."

"How so?" the asari doctor had encrypted her omni-tool beyond Nihlus's ability to remote-hack. He settled for sending wishful thoughts. "Genetic manipulation on a mature adult is only a few centuries old, do you-"

"It is not my place to reveal the sacred mysteries of the Chapter," Shepard's mass hadn't grown, but his looming presence somehow felt heavier. Save your breath for running. We have yet to overcome these abominations."

"Amen," the female human in similar, if smaller, armor agreed. Her hands moved again on the large instrument of destruction, gloves touching various symbols. "If we're finished catering to the xenos, can we get back to destroying cursed relics?"

Shepard's visor swept over the group, pausing on Wrex whom appeared as nonchalant as ever, and the small quarrian. To Nihlus's knowledge, she'd not said a word after her introduction, and appeared intent on gathering as much intelligence as possible. He approved.

"I wish we had a Chimera," Shepard's speaker muttered. Then louder," We will proceed at a walking pace. My brethren are in full possession of the artifact. Once we've secured the location, I will call a Storm Hawk to extract both it and all of you."

Nihlus couldn't refrain from pointing towards the skyscaper sized ship parked on what looked like a refinery. Massive limbs pounded the structure's sides, caving massive holes into its walls. "And that thing?"

The Astartes lifted one shoulder, letting it drop. "As the Emperor Wills."

Nihlus waited until the armored figure was moving once more. Then he allowed himself just the faintest tremble. 'Insane. Their entire civilization is insane.'

---

Shepard discovered his brethren destroying the geth presence around the alien relic, eliminating each metallic unit almost before it approached. The Beacon rested within the building's center, visible through treated materials from the outside. To his own sense of security that was a problem, but to each their own.

A sudden impact rang off the side of his helmet. Sheer force tilted its protective layers sideways, swaying the entirety of an Astartes multi-ton armaments into a dangerous scramble for balance. A second hit glanced off the pauldron ridge, reverberating an eerie ringing like a necron's death warble. But this impact failed to further Shepard's fall, striking closer to center mass as it were.

Instinct tracked the shot back to a distant point, snuggled between two hills and an array of xeno technology. Shepard's current weapons lacked true distance targeting capacity, but the machine-spirits within his visored sallet were more than capable of speaking to their brethren.

"Sniper, five-fifty by twenty," Shepard lowered his center of gravity, turning sideways to the shooter. Given the degree of skill presented in hitting from such a distance it was a futile gesture, but the machine spirits had protected him well; in turn maintaining the least amount of damage was a respectful gesture to be made in return. "Does anyone have a shot?"

"I have it," the sororita burst into motion, powered armor catapulting William's lean form in long leaps.

"Negative, negative," another voice entered the frequency. "Stormhawk three-one-one, permission to bring in the pain on five-fifty by twenty."

"Granted." Shepard watched as the craft swooped low overhead, delivering a punishing barrage at the small, distant, buildings. Gouts of flame reached for the heavens, splintering into nothingness as their grasp fell short. Seconds later the sound reached his auditory receptors, translating in his mind as faint cracks of inevitability.

"You … destroyed those buildings?" The blue xeno protested. "There could have been civilians there!"

'No,' Shepard quelled the first reaction, to question the alien's faith in the Emperor. 'She has no faith. How can she understand?'

Aloud he gave a grunt that could be interpreted as agreement, but otherwise said nothing. The spike-faced xeno seemed more understanding, given its commiserating look. But that didn't answer the blue alien's question.

"The sniper was an enemy combatant," he reduced his pace to the smaller alien woman's shorter stride. The briefings suggested the xenos viewed themselves as neither male nor female; ridiculous sophistry in his opinion. "Every citizen of the Imperium knows enemy combatants will be destroyed. They understand when to flee, and the consequences if they do not."

"Do your people not follow similar efforts?" Williams resumed her position off his left flank. Her hostile attitude towards the xenos hadn't dampened in the slightest – a healthy state of existence in Shepard's view.

The asari doctor looked conflicted. "I am no expert, but my people specialize in commando operations, localized overwhelming force."

"Like huntas," Shepard nodded. Catching the sororita's puzzled look, he chose to clarify. "Ork infiltration specialists. You might know them as kommandoz."

"Oh," the dented helmet canted in thought. "They don't follow the rule of Dakka? Xenos. Emperor only knows what they're thinking."

Shepard raised a shoulder in silent agreement.

"Area secured, Commander." Alenko's faint voice came across the frequency. Moments later he came into sight, cape billowing by an unfelt wind. The psyker's hand lowered, disengaging from the earpiece. "All hostiles terminated."

"Good." Shepard shifted frequencies. "Stormhawk, we're ready for pickup."

Something indecipherable responded. He delved into the potential meanings and nodded; younger generations didn't remember the absolute nadir from earlier eras, when technology and machine spirits stood on the brink of rebellious breakdown. Even now he felt a glimmer of unease with projections lacking the distinct fuzzied edges, and his career had spanned less than a tenth of the Emperor's Renewal. But those decades in subpar technology burned an ability to discern meaning from faint echoes.

"Hold position," he lifted a fist into the air, clenching it where all could see.

More of the weak machines milled out of range – until the sororitas began unloading her rifle upon their bulk. After losing a half-dozen units, the rest removed themselves from line-of-sight.

"Well done," Shepard offered the armored woman a nod. "You have trained hard."

"Likewise," she returned the gesture, adding a small gesture of the aquila. "Your weapon there is mighty indeed. To wield both it and your Sword takes dedication."

The approach of descending engines interrupted their exchange, the crew-carrying vessel appearing out of the sun. Shepard approved – the lack of enemy units nearby did not mean there were none in their immediate vicinity. Sensors were often blinded by the nearest stellar body, making positioning as useful with inorganics as it was with organic minds.

The xenos were silent as the ship landed. Most studied one screen or another, although the blue female was already inside the protective building, examining the device of similar ancestry. Or at least, as similar enough as to make no discernible difference to a proud citizen of the Imperium.

As the object of strange swooping lines was carried aboard the shuttle, Nihlus stopped beside him. Together, the pair watched as servitors moved the chunk of machinery step by step.

"The Council is suspicious," the turian commented.

Shepard made no motion. Xenos could think whatever they liked.

"A Beacon is treasured more than a dozen Systems," the xeno continued. "The entire Terminus would go to war for a chance to get one. And your Mankind Imperium offers it to us, for nothing but the consideration of an alliance?"

Again, Shepard chose to remain silent. There was something niggling at the back of his mind, a minor sticking point. His innate strategic mind shivered, looking for that inexplicable datapoint triggering such a reaction.

'Servitors are staying back,' he glanced around for the flash-light headed piles of walking scrap. 'No more desecrated humans. It makes no sense. Why would they give up such a prize?'

The thought grew heavier. 'Treachery?'

A quick headcount dispelled that idea. None of the present races were of the sacrificial kind, except for the krogan. 'No. He's been smart. Very smart.' Another few moments' contemplation brought another frown inside his helmet. 'Too smart?'

"It's moving."

Shepard's attention went back to the external feeds, scanning everything around himself. The alien relic was almost aboard, there were still no enemies in sight, what had changed? Then he looked up.

The alien cruiser was lifting off. Unlike any cruiser he'd seen, it seemed capable of vertical thrust, moving in a way suggesting multiple vector thrust manipulation. Additional unease crystallized into realization: the cruiser felt intelligent. All things held intelligence in some manner, even orks and grox held some form of limited sapience. But this ship, it felt alive, as if a Tyrannid had disavowed their endless hunger in favor of intellect.

"Everyone on board. Now." Shepard checked the horizon. Faint vapor trails caught his attention, subsonic munitions arcing over the horizon where sniper fire could not reach. "Now."

Beside him Kaiden's eyes grew pale, almost making literal sparks. His hand rose, sweeping across the empty battlefield. The very air roiled, reacting to unnatural energies emanating from the psyker's stance. All of a sudden the energies coalesced on a point less than thirty meters away. The convulsing energies made his eyes hurt, despite the protections his armor afforded.

"There." Kaiden's voice was cold. "Cloaking device."

Another xeno appeared, akin to Nihlus but covered in far more metal. A half-dozen geth servitors faded into sight at his side.

With ease Shepard swung his shield into place, stepping before the civilians as the hostiles opened fire. "Sweep the ship for cloakers."

The psyker snapped his fingers, sending an arcing bolt of pure energy into the nearest geth. The energy rebounded into its closest compatriot, melting joints into liquid metal. "Understood."

"That's Saren!" Nihlus's rifle was raised, but the xeno had yet to open fire. "What's he doing here?"

Shepard drew the plasma-based sidearm. "All units, suppressive fire."

A chorus of agreement echoed over the headset, sending a hail of mixed projectiles and energy blasts down range. While it grated against Shepard's soul to do so, he followed the group back up the Stormhawk's ramp.

Energy bursts shot back, one of which seized Jenkin's form, lifting him into the air. A second orb of bluish-white touched the hovering Astarte's form, triggering a detonation which sent the man rocketing back into the Stormhawk's bay.

"The Beacon!" Nihlus shouted, jumping back up the ramp.

Vague sounds of occult energy resonated through Shepard's helmet, and the bellow of a trapped Astarte. He snarled, baring teeth no one could see. He could feel the fangs push against his lower lip, begging to be used. Bloodthirst tugged at his senses, wafting promises of battle prowess before his mind. It was a beguiling thought; he was already considered the best warrior in two separate chapters. Just a hint of blood in his teeth would put that strength on par with a Primarch.

"No." His plasma pistol disgorged sun-hot bolts. While not as satisfying as the taste of sheer power, each expression of violence helped satiate the deep hunger. 'Protect the xenos.'

The processes of his mind slowed as he processed what had just transgressed their pathways. 'Protect. Xenos? Oh Emperor – what is happening?'

Another pulse of iridescent energy sailed past his shield. A pained grunt told him its target yet lived. Probably. "You alive?"

"Yeah," Williams spoke up. "'ware the foul sorceries, it is like acid."

Shepard moved to one side, catching the next blast on his shield. It struck with surprising force, slamming the bulwark into his shoulder. He let out a grunt of his own, compensating for what felt like a sauropod's kick.

"Point Defense online. Targeting." An almost synthetic voice cut into one of the frequencies. Seconds later a staccato chatter broke out on the shuttle's dorsal side. The descending munitions began to detonate midair, wildcatting where the pattern was to close. "Firing for effect."

A cry of metallic rage came from the battlefield, and Saren leaped forward. His inhuman form crashed into Shepard's shield, electric pulses grounding themselves on the boarding ramp off the shield itself.

"Emperor on Earth!" Shepard found himself matched for strength. The supposed turian wrested the shield down, razor-sharp talons slicing deep grooves wherever they touched.

He dropped the shield and pushed forwards, meeting the xeno and seizing him in a massive hug. The turian howled, lashing out with five-centimeter talons as sharp as any Warp-cursed entity. One sliced through Shepard's pauldron, severing the armor at the joint.

Forced back by the loss, Shepard engaged with one-handed combat. Over a century of experience kept him alive, even pushing the cursed xeno backwards for a moment.

Rumbling through his feet was the only warning before the Stormhawk lifted. Peripheral vision showed the horizon dropping away, and the oncoming bulk of the Brobdingnagian enemy cruiser. Shepard's mind evaluated the odds of killing this alien before the shuttle reached sufficient atmosphere to close the shuttle bay. The numbers did not look promising.

Just as he readied a final charge, wishing for the sword he couldn't reach with the severed armor, the opposing turian rose into the air.

Kaiden stepped next to Shepard, an abnormal look of fury on his face. "Suffer."

The alien twisted midair and screamed. Smoke curled upwards from armor joints. Two heartbeats later the alien disintegrated, ash spilling from empty armor and carried off by the winds.

Wearing a rare look of satisfaction, Kaiden stepped back. "We are needed inside. The Overlord is in position."

"Agreed." He picked up the dropped shield, attaching it to the holding place as its mobile parts rearranged into a more compact form. The freed hand hesitated for a moment, but then completed their intended action, clapping the psyker on the shoulder. "And … thank you."

Kaiden shrugged away the hand, mien once more expressionless. While he said nothing, the straight back and level shoulders spoke volumes.

The ramp finished closing, sealing the pair inside the shuttle's bay. Around them the Astartes began to stand down, except for a few that faced inwards, weapons drawn but not aimed at anyone in particular.

Shepard frowned. The Beacon was far from the condition its original state had been. Purple energy crackled around a point near the device's nail-like tip, sliding down its length to vanish into the strange form of its base.

He caught the attention of the big krogan. "What happened?"

The xeno did something with its forearms, possibly emulating an alien gesture. "Dunno. The eggheads got it on board, then the salarian started yelling about biotics. Don't think it's supposed to do that though."

That was an understatement. Wherever Shepard looked there appeared to be another thin energy line. They seemed to be reaching out, falling short of touching anything. But it reminded him of something reaching out from the Immaterium. Visions of Warp-demons began to dance a familiar paranoid tattoo in the back of his mind.

Then Nihlus began to rise into the air.

"Demons!" Shepard bellowed. An instant later enough accelerated particulates to vaporize a tank were launched.

None impacted. A transparent energy field sprang into being around the xeno, deflecting each shot. Shepard spun, forcing the unresponsive armor to move through brute force alone. He paused. "Kaiden?"

The psyker gritted his teeth. "Not Warp. Trust me."

He could feel the rest of the squad's eyes, waiting for a decision.

To one side the blue xeno looked equal parts terrified and elated, reading her implements whilst hiding behind a secured ammunition crate. Wrex had his hands open, extended away from weapons, but a furious glint in his mien.

"What is it?" Shepard kept his weapon semi-ready, but not pointed at the psyker.

Kaiden lowered his hand, letting the protective field evaporate. "That mass affecting material of theirs. It does not feel like Warp-craft."

He sighed, and lowered his weapon. Similar motions echoed around the chamber. "Jenkins. Get that civvie down."

"No. Wait!" Liara's protestation came too late as the towering Astarte took the one step needed to bring himself in range of the hovering turian.

A swipe knocked the xeno out of the Beacon's reach. For a moment all seemed well.

"Everybody hold on!"

Shepard heard the pilot's directive, but Jenkins had nothing to grasp. As the shuttle toppled anterior over posterior, the man fell into the same area Nihlus had occupied before. The same glow reactivated, holding him in place.

"Emperor's Boots," Shepard rolled his eyes. "Someone hit him with a pike?"

It took long moments before a suitable implement was found, delayed by how the shuttle shook and rolled. But several metallic pipe lengths were discovered, to the disconcerted reaction of their Mechanicus caretakers. The pipes did not appear to be critical to the ship's operation, as the partial metalloid specialists did not demand their immediate return.

In hindsight, Shepard realized that attempting to stop a ten foot Astartes in full battle armor was not considered wise for longevity. He'd have to remember that in case diplomatic situations arose in the future.

It proved unnecessary as the Beacon abruptly powered down as the polearm-wielding soldiers approached, dropping the Astartes to the deck like a sack of tubers. His armor disengaged, hissing as individual parts fell off, inert.

"Get him to the medicae," Shepard spread his feet a little wider as the shuttle performed maneuvers. He reached down with one hand, catching the blue xeno as she skittered past, arms flailing. She clung to his arm like a lifeline, until he casually lifted her to his shoulder like a strange avis from the more remote pirate worlds. Her squawk failed to distract him. "Pilot. Where is the Overlord?"

"Ten seconds. Brace for impact."

Shepard turned, dropping the asari between himself and a wall, then locked both boots in place. Williams had already done the same thing for the turian xeno, and the squalling salarian was tucked between a pair of Astartes, not unlike a hatchling surrounded by towering adults. Powerful magnets activated in the still-active armor, whining to full power as the shuttle jostled its way towards safety.

"Three. Two. One." The pilot counted aloud, unnecessary considering to whom he was speaking. If he continued speaking, it was lost to Shepard's ears, drowned in the cacophony of screaming metal, parts falling off the walls and anything not strapped down taking flight.

Shepard withstood the impact of a dozen loose objects, grunting as a worktable somehow found the temerity to plough into his midriff. An assortment of tools accompanied the bench, ringing an off-tune carol against his armor. He held onto the wall with his good arm, waiting out the assault until it came to an end.

As soon as he could, Shepard broke away from the cowering xeno. "Get Jenkins to the medicae. Ground team too." One hand came up to detach his helmet, making it easier to move. "Captain. Where's that alien cruiser?"

A faint rumble shook his feet, followed by the Captain's hoarse tenor. "It followed you. We are now engaging."

"Use all necessary force," Shepard considered removing his arm's motionless armaments, then decided against it. "I am on my way to the bridge."

Turning back he fixed his eyes on the squad. "Get checked out. Kaiden stays with Jenkins at all times. Trust what he says. I'm going to the bridge."

[break]

The Overlord's bridge was a place of controlled chaos. Such a vessel would travel with auxiliaries in normal circumstances, but when meeting with a foreign power, it had been decided that the confidence expressed in sending a single vessel served the Emperor's interests best. Protest vanished after a direct message of approval from Primarch Guilliman.

"Lord-Captain," he found the taciturn figure standing at the rear of the Bridge, watching over their frantic activities.

The man raised a hand, halting him without a word. Any other man would quail before giving commands to an Astartes, but a Captain outranked all others upon his own vessel, save the Emperor Himself. As such Shepard obeyed the unspoken command.

Another voice met his ears, soft in the clamor below. "Welcome back, Shepard. Your charges are healthy, according to what I've heard. Well done."

"Substandard servitors," Shepard shrugged one armored shoulder. "Some signs of intelligence, but badly equipped. A Guardsman legion or two should take care of them."

Anderson's expression didn't change. "Those you encountered. From here, there were transmissions being sent to and from the large ship over there. Tell me, do you know if there are any reports of active Iron Men?"

Tension gripped Shepard's shoulders. "None."

A sigh of relief made the Inquisitor seem years younger. "That is a good sign. The Blackstone Fortresses we know of are secure. There are no STC leaks, and every Adeptas has confirmed the loyalty of the machine-spirits. With Mars gone," he gave a saddened headshake. "It was a source of discontent, by the signs."

Shepard watched the people below, his greater height permitting a better view. "Why do you ask?"

"Because," Anderson made a quiet sidestep, seconds before a servo-skull darted through his former location. "This alien vessel betrays similar designs."

Shepard's heart stopped. The world focused into a single, cold existence. "This xeno ship discovered Iron Men?"

"No," Anderson's statement stopped short of certainty on his face. "But it shows similarities. That's why I advised Lord-Captain Hackett to pursue and destroy."

"Of course," Shepard echoed. Now that he knew what to look for, he could see the signs. Multiple officers were gathered around the lecterns sanctified for engine services, chanting and wafting incense. Others were gathered about the weapons arrays, Adeptas Mechanicus acolytes making their own choral dedication. Still higher was the Choir, Sanctioned psykers dedicated to guiding the Overlord and receiving messages from Holy Terra and other locations.

"Where is the xeno cruiser?" Shepard strained higher, before sighting an unused lectern.

Walking over, he recited the litany of activation, encouraging it to full life. The specialists might have a collective aneurysm to see an unsanctified supplicant perform the rites, but at this point Shepard found himself lacking sympathy. An Astartes acted with the full authority of the Emperor Himself; if the Adeptus lacked the gonads to challenge him, they could subvocalize all they desired.

As if summoned, a techpriest acolyte approached. Like most of their order, the woman had significant portions of her body replaced with artificial substitutes. Given the fact that he could still recognize her as female, she must've been a neophyte.

"Sir," half of her face was pure metal, the rest was flesh and blood. The juxtaposition rendered her voice less flat than that of her kin, but with mechanical undertones. "May I assist?"

Shepard looked up. "Show me the xeno ship."

The acolyte chanted under her breath while making adjustments to the lectern, mechandrites peeking out from beneath her hair as if to observe. For all Shepard knew their primary function was to provide situational awareness, so it was possible. But the image projected by the lectern snapped into view, crisp and clean.

There he could see the alien vessel in all its glory. Gray-purple metal, reminiscent of Blackstone Fortress materials, raising more warning signs in the back of his mind. At the moment all he could see was its posterior view, the xeno-ship was departing at a rate that made the Overlord's engines run to full power. But it was very slowly growing nearer, even as it approached the Mass Relay near the system's most stabile point.

"Guns." Hackett's cold, calculating voice somehow could be heard throughout the entire room. "Get me that ship."

Shepard nodded, satisfied. There were no offers of surrender, no terms sent. The alien ship had attacked a human colony – the only suitable response was death.

The Overlord shuddered, every forward-facing torpedo tube launching its payload. A moment later, the dorsal array opened fire, energy bolts lancing beyond range of the device to perceive. Another barrage launched moments later, sending a second volley after the first.

Shepard's eyes narrowed. In space, an Astartes could only launch himself; he could shoot one of the big guns as well as anyone else, but a larger control panel would need to be built for his correspondingly larger frame. It appeared the Lord-Captain would not be calling for a boarding team, at least not yet.

"Torpedoes being shot down," one of the officers called out. "Lances making contact. Shields estimated thirty percent."

Hackett's gaze intensified. "All guns, fire at will."

The Overlord shuddered again. Enough firepower to slag half a continent launched from its main arrays, accompanied by the best destructive devices available to the Imperium. None of the fighter craft had been launched, another sign that Hackett's focus rested on brutal efficiency; were the Overlord given leave to do so, it would have to reduce its mobility for however brief a moment.

"It wants to escape." Shepard observed.

Anderson grunted agreement. "The choir seems to think it's alive. Not just active, but alive and thinking."

Surprised, Shepard took another look at the alien ship. "Like a Tyrannid?"

"Metal for the most part, but the sensors are detecting heavy concentrations of organic material," the Inquisitor's eyes narrowed. "And the Navigator appears to have repelled a mental probe of sorts. The thing is a Psyker, on top of everything else."

"Incoming!"

Shepard didn't bother to move at the cry. On the projected view, an angry red line of energy stretched from the alien vessel to the Overlord.

The shot caressed their shields, failing to penetrate.

"Emergency power to engines," Hackett growled. He seemed to have taken the attack as a personal affront. "Guns. Report."

Even his superlative hearing failed to decode the shrieking warble that came out the speaker, but the commander continued without pause. "Even guns overcharge. Odds keep up the pressure."

The crackling illumination streaking across the sky decreased, but the fiery lines remaining appeared all the stronger for that, darkening hue becoming a furious shade. Then one shot penetrated the fleeing vessel's shields, reduced intensity carving a shallow furrow in the squid-like thing's carapace.

"All guns fire. Fire!" Hackett's fist gently tapped a supporting post, the soft sound carrying throughout the busy room.

The command was obeyed. Instantaneous lines of fury crossed the projection's field. Two converged on the xeno vessel's appendages, severing it at the base. More focused on any visible object that could be a weapon, slicing apart the hull's outer layers in an unbelievable display of durable construction.

Whatever emitters had been functioning appeared to be damaged, allowing the third torpedo volley to avoid total destruction. Deadly payloads made contact, making blossoms of hellfire bloom. Another wave passed through the incandescent heat in even larger numbers, chewing openings a hundred meters wide. Destruction crackled across the enemy ship's surface in bolts of chartreuse lightning, skipping eldritch patterns between damaged sections.

"Its engines are damaged," Anderson commented, stroking his jaw. "But it is still moving. Momentum."

The pair watched as the alien vessel continued its doomed journey. More sun-bright streaks of energy lashed out, searing new craters. Its sporadic efforts to return fire splashed against the Overlord's barriers, but only brought the shields lower, never offline.

By now the alien craft was beginning to list, imbalanced drive units tilting its entire frame in a slow spin. Shepard had witnessed such a thing before, a dying vessel losing control. Unplanned acrobatics caused as much stress on a ship's internal frame as enemy attacks, but could do far more damage inside.

"It's done-" Shepard started to say. But then the xeno vessel completed its first rotation, bringing a nightmarish mien to bear directly on its pursuer's position.

Pure emotion washed over Shepard's mind, sending him to his knees. Hatred and malice, an utter loathing for all mortals poured through his mind. It overwhelmed his mental defenses, brushing them aside like cobwebs.

Insignificant pests. Words throbbed in Shepard's consciousness, without a comforting medium cushioning the blow. You, are but temporary. We, are forever. Hide in the shadows. Run for the depths. We are Sovereign, we are endless. You are bacteria.

Pain radiated through Shepard. An effort to rise brought an even greater spike to his temples, like an ork troop tap-dancing on his skull.

This cycle has endured enough. Prepare yourselves. Be ready for the harvest.

This time Shepard made it to his knees. Ahead, he could see the officers slumped on the floor, servitors tilting at odd angles. Even the servo-skulls were affected, lying on the floor or making senseless motions; one was battering its front surface against the bulwark, faint grinding sounds emanating from its interior.

This exchange is over.The alien vessel was rotating once more, drifting closer to the Relay.

Something inside Shepard snarled to life. He'd resisted the Warp-touched mutterings of Chaos worshipers. He'd slain countless witches in the Emperor's name, and their warlock concubines too.

"Lord-Captain," he struggled to his feet. "Captain!"

The ship's commanding officer was slumped over the main lectern. It looked as if he'd suffered a stroke, spasming in place. His eyes were unfocused, one pointed in the wrong direction, but the other was sharp and alert. It trained on Shepard, and a flicker of a smile worked its way onto half of his slavering mouth.

"Lord-Captain?" Shepard stumbled forward.

The smile grew, a vicious thing of vengeful glee. "G-g-guh … Glory. T-to. The. Em-em-em-em-em." He stopped and started again, one hand falling on the board. "Emperor."

His hand depressed a fire-control icon, launching a final salvo across the void. It blazed into the alien ship even as the foul machine's eldritch fire reached towards the Relay.

Shepard watched the attack smite deep into the vessel that called itself Sovereign. Internal explosions bulged out the hull, gouts of flame beginning to appear around the edges. But the Relay reached back, touching the vessel with tendrils of white energy, and in an eyeblink, the entire ship had vanished.

Lurching forwards, he caught Lord-Captain Hackett's body as it slid off the lectern. Plans began to swirl through his mind; first they'd need to resuscitate the crew, those that could be saved. Then he'd report to the Primarch. This event had been enlightening on many levels. 'But first,' he looked down at the failing body in his arms. 'First to the medicae.'

---

Titan Fortress Station, 309-140

The medical facilities on Titan were more than sufficient to save the majority of the Overlord's crew. The rest were given a traditional funeral, their remains delivered in accordance to recorded wishes.

Shepard waited, standing at attention. He'd done it for days at a time in training, this was no burden. He didn't have to wait long.

"Commander."

He didn't bother straightening, his posture already held that position. "Sir."

Primarch Gulliman's smooth bass reflexted the man himself; calm, and powerful. "You are to be commended for your swift action. Another few minutes and the Emperor would have lost a valuable servant."

Shepard gave a slight bow. "The machine-spirits were willing to assist. Thanks belongs to their skill, not mine."

"Perhaps," the Primarch's large frame eclipsed the hall's light. "But you did not fail when action was needed. Nor did Lord-Captain Hackett, ah. Admiral Hackett now."

"A deserving promotion," Shepard commented. "Sir. What do we do now?"

Smirks did not belong upon the mien of authority figures. Therefore it was impossible for someone of such august personage as the Primarch of the Dark Angels to bear one for any length of time, no matter what an observer could say. But something close to a smirk hovered around the towering man's face, as he looked down on the Astartes.

"First, you will have to undergo another award ceremony. Just recompense for your efforts for the Imperium. I know," his upraised hand stopped any protest. "But the Imperium needs to see its heroes rewarded. More to the point, it needs to see that those working alongside xenos can receive accolades without taint. But we can deal with that later. What you want to know is where you will be sent next."

"Sir." Shepard didn't quite agree, but it was close enough to what he was thinking.

Gulliman straightened, the top of his head brushing against the lofty ceiling a good seven meters above. "This System's Alliance is intriguing. Humans outside of the Imperium, lost during the Chaotic period. They have been adrift, bereft of the Emperor's benevolence for thousands of years. You may not know this, but those reliant upon Mass Relays only colonize worlds in proximity to those Relays. They fail to explore outside the Relay paths, and have limited themselves to what is easy."

Sighing, Shepard could only agree. "Less than two hundred worlds, as I understand it. They'd rate perhaps one fleet. Maybe two."

"The Emperor's decision," Gulliman continued. "Is to allow them their existence beyond the Imperium. If asked, we will shield them. But after ten thousand years, their regression has been deep indeed. For now, we will send observers and diplomats, notifying them of the imminent danger these aliens profess. Reapers, the SPECTRE called them."

"So he said," the Astartes commander agreed once more. "These are the machines the Emperor foresaw?"

Primarch Gulliman's jaw clenched. "Indeed. They will be coming soon. This is the purpose for which he began his great work, to establish an empire across the galaxy, so great that these 'Council' races have created their own empires within the boundaries of our own. Him-on-Earth has decreed that the Reapers shall be destroyed, and you will see to it that our wayward kindred are warned of their coming."

"As the Emperor wills," Shepard gave a salute. In the end, there was no other choice. He would do this not just because of duty, but because it was his privilege. "Glory to the Imperium."

---

A/N: So. This was a thing. One of my reviewers ( 1) suggested doing a Warhammer40k/Mass Effect crossover. The idea seemed intriguing, so I looked into it. And there was much headache. Blending 40k tech and ME1 tech is ... a challenge. It's taken me since June to get this first chapter compiled, and I hope to have two more chapters at some point, detailing ME2 and ME3 each. This is disappointing to some and while I apologize for the sorrow, I know my limits.

Special thanks to Nightstride, Rhysthornberry and TwoChimpsWithoutOne for their grammatical and lore knowledge. I am currently focusing on finishing up Unwelcome Discovery, and another story I have on my ChuckTheElf account; November is crunch time for amateur writers, and I am no exception. Best wishes to all readers, and have a Happy Thanksgiving!