OSaBC : The Bird of Hermes
Chapter Thirty: Unwilling Departures
A/N: The dream, as always, ends in fire.
As always thanks to EnigmaticOne for typing this up, any mistakes are mine but of course I don't make mistakes. And if I do, it's Emi's fault.
"Repensum! Repensum for the Corps! Repensum for the big OR! Fucking come an' get it you oversized fucking dildo, I'll fucking mog your ass-"
- DACT Sergeant Alex Therion, last recorded transmission
Ciana, pinned by the spear, gave a long-suffering sigh before a Song burst from her mouth.
She coughed up blood right after, but notes of darkness and stillness rang out all the same. The air seemed to almost shimmer, and then all light failed, leaving everyone in pitch blackness.
The ysanalarch-angels, as one, issued screams of agony.
Then the song twisted, and both Abe and Stryckland felt like something was being torn out of their very souls. Almost everyone fell to their knees, and once again the Curator's body crashed to the ground.
"Just sad, really." Ciana somehow twisted free of the spear pinning her and vaulted back, her injuries sluggishly closing.
"Your foul perversion of the Power will not stop us, corrupted creature." One of the ysanalarchs rasped.
"Blah blah blah. It's bad enough Lethath dresses you guys up as fucking angel cosplayers, but do you have to sound like a fucking paladin out of Galaxy of Adventure?" Ciana mocked them back.
The JOTUN next to Grace suddenly spoke. "Anomalous energy signature detected. Engaging Starlight system." A second later a flare exploded, casting a split second of bright light across all combatants. Too little for anyone else to take advantage of… except the reflexes of a machine, which fired a grenade at the Choirmaster's legs.
The explosion broke the massive being's balance, and it toppled him back to the ground with a crash that jolted everyone in the room.
Jaime responded at once. With the pitch-black darkness making targeting a bitch, he instead threw his power sword at the direction of Ciana's voice. A second later she screamed in agony, and Jaime heard the sound of a body falling to the floor.
Gregory followed the noise, and aimed with the ruby rod weapon with the guidance of his ears. The flash of reddish illumination highlighted Ciana as it boiled a hole through her, showing Jaime's sword stuck through her stomach area.
"Paul, put the drones on her now!" Jaime called, aware that the Prothean drones currently protecting Abe were also equipped with particle beam weaponry.
"Can't, systems are fucking non-responsive." Paul admitted, hammering at the controls.
"You need to to rush over there, boss?" Grace, with vision blurred from the flare and the deep darkness, fired more eezo-concentrated flashpaks in the direction of the Choirmaster, and they exploded violently around him as the Ythrongi's thrashing around set them off.
The Choirmaster howled in more incoherent rage.
Paul's battlesuit instead marched towards the Choirmaster, before rushing the last distance and body-slamming the obsidian giant, pinning him to the wall.
"Finish the fucking thing off!"
There was a sudden flash, and then a soft illumination countered the unnatural darkness from Ciana's song.
"Return to the vaults of death, foul singer." The first angel's five bone circles rotated around each other before aligning, the hands forming fists to project a bolt of hexagonal wavy air outward.
The blast hit the Choirmaster squarely, a good chunk of the creature shattering like glass on impact as it flew out of Paul's pin, through a support column, and smashed half a meter into the far wall.
"Your time has passed, and your attempt to escape the justice meted down by the Highest has only gotten even more of your vile kind destroyed. Surrender."
Ciana began staggering to her feet and trying to pull out Jaime's sword, when Abraham loomed up in front of her. The Wrecking Ball paused to almost disdainfully fling a mine at the Choirmaster before spinning his omni-spear in one hand and drove it into Ciana's chest.
"OHHH! I'M COMING BABY GIRL!"
The glowing tip burst out of her back, and he slammed her brutally against the pillar hard enough to cut her body in half.
Ciana blinked, not quite comprehending what happened.
"...Well fuck." She glanced up at the blank faceplace of Abraham's battlesuit. "At least it was you and not the Windsor cuck-knight..." Her last word slurred, and her eyes went dull. After a long second, her hair turned completely white. Her body withered, the flesh visible on her face aging horribly in the dim light from the angels.
Within another couple seconds, there was nothing left but green-tinted bones and a handful of cybernetic bits: the remains of her anti-grain killswitch – the charge clearly removed – as well as some subdermal plating, a gyrocomp on her wrist, and as the bones began to fall apart into dust, a graybox.
The three other angels all shouted a Word, a sound that seemed to ripple across their very minds.
Gregory felt a new jolt and suddenly his biotics worked again. The weird whitish static affecting Paul's suit stopped. The darkness already lessened by the first ysanalarch parted like water, literally running down the walls as if a physical thing before vanishing.
The animal faced and collection of rod angels merely held position while the cloud of angry energy lashed out with a bolt of red lightning that blasted away more of the Choirmaster's black skin in vicious explosions.
Stryckland kicked the remains of Ciana, muttering to himself: "You should have listened and come, but now you're nothing."
With a flick of his prized muscular throwing arm, the knight and lieutenant hurled his power spear into the leg of the great beast, before positioning and orienting his Tsunami toward that monstrosity's head. "Welcome, big one, to Earth's finest tradition! MORE DAKKA!"
Shots ripped into the Choirmaster's chest. Grace and the mech continued firing explosives at the Choirmaster while the angels moved into a diamond formation. Jaime added what he could from his ODIN.
The Curator fired at the Choirmaster – ineffectually, to uphold his masquerade. From the lack of attention from the angels, it appeared to be working. Or perhaps it was just the Choirmaster occupying their focus.
Ryder looked at his weapons, then casually went over and picked up the graybox out of the dust of Ciana's skeleton.
"Anything useful you want to share with the class, Major Ryder?" Grace asked while keeping the firepower up.
Ryder shook his head. "I think if she knew who was responsible for this shit it might be on her graybox, but who knows?"
The explosions framed the Choirmaster, even as it got to its feet.
Lawrence shook his head. "This is gonna suck." He sighed. "At least it hasn't thrown another damn bridge at us yet."
The corporal ran forward, closing distance until his mine launcher could reach the Choirmaster, and fired three mines in quick succession. The mines bracketed the massive Ythrongi as it finally stood once more, facial features restored and his maw opening in a roar of outrage.
"Fucker is pretty tough." Paul swung his massive sword at the monster, tearing the blade into Second Sings' side hard enough to make him stumble. The angel made of bones reconfigured itself, the circles now stretched out in a line like the barrel of a gun, the hands rotating around the eyes.
It unleashed a new screaming beam of energy onto the Choirmaster, just as Abraham, further out than Paul, opened up with a torrent of fire on the Choirmaster. The combined fusillade shredded the Ythrongi commander's face apart, before Abraham arced a mine literally inside that vast mouth.
It detonated, and the Choirmaster collapsed to the ground with a final thud. Silence stretched out for several moments.
Stryckland panted. "Is that... it?"
"That seems... a bit too easy." Ryder thought out loud.
"Christ and Victor, don't fuckin' jinx it." Gregory hissed.
Jaime breathed out a sigh, retrieving his sword. The Choirmaster could very well have killed them all even with the reality anchor in play, if the ysanalarchs hadn't arrived, so Ryder was being ridiculous.
Abraham silently walked over to the pile of dust and salvage that was Ciana. After a moment's inspection, he grabbed the gyroscope-augmentation and some of the plating, affixing them to his armor. "I'm keeping at least some of these. She disintegrated before I could get her scalp."
"Ground team, what's your status, over?" Captain Espinoza called in from the ship.
"Espinoza... the orchestra has been silenced. Ciana is dead, over." Jaime replied.
The four angels circled the corpse of the Choirmaster. Strange silvery wisps of light emanated from them and covered the body.
"The beast is merely discorporated. We must neutralize it before it recovers." The bundle of rods explained. "You cannot kill them with physical violence, not without special equipment."
The Curator, pretending to be Deus, spoke in an absolutely flawless imitation. "So, what now, Major?"
Paul, watching the ysanalarchs closely, stepped forward. "We evac, I think."
He turned to the Angels. "Ramiel and Surufel directed us here and said they could get us out if we stopped Ciana – but the place is surrounded by an army."
"We know." The cloud-form angel replied. "The necrotic artifacts are fighting back. Something triggered the neutron bombardment system – this has killed many Ythrongi but also many of the servants for the planet's GTS defenses. Something else has triggered the temporal defenses, and we are unable to shut them off. This facility must be held until we can ascertain the steps needed to regain control."
Well, wasn't that awkward? Paul quietly engaged the private channel. "Abe, get ready to kill these angel-imitation fuckers."
With an internal click of affirmative, Abraham oriented from his position for a clean firing angle.
"Does that involve us Lord-Angels?" Stryckland said to the assembled angels, standing once more as the voice of diplomacy and mollification.
"We are attempting to contact Surufel." The animal-faced ysanalarch answered–
– And in the corner, the Torus suddenly chimed, then glowed faintly.
"I'm afraid you're a bit late to contact your old friend, Kasyade. Pity."
The angel slowly rotated to face the device, as did everyone else. "...What have you done, accursed child!?"
Soft, almost feminine mocking laughter emitted from the torus "By the Eternal, you pathetic little things have no imagination. You don't even realize who has doomed you, do you? Fitting. I won't spoil. It was an entertaining sort of thing to watch, but..."
The Torus glowed brighter, and the figure of Deus staggered.
The Curator's voice shouted frantically over the team's internal comms circuit: "Something just destroyed the reality anchor and shut off the defense screens and the entire GTS network for the planet!"
"Oh, SHIT!" Jaime gasped.
Almost at the same time, Sloane came in on comms. "Major, the defense screen just fell."
Sounds of weapons fire played over. "...Estimated incoming is in excess of seventy thousand hostiles. They are being funneled by the corridor, but the engineers sent out a drone, there are ships lining up to fire on the facility."
The feminine voice – Kidun, Jaime was sure – chuckled genteely. "Now, the Ythrongi — no big loss. But I was rather fond of my little human friend, so..."
"Say your name, you mewling cunt. At least let me know who's made a bitch move now." Abraham growled.
"My name is Aka Manah. My name is Despair, and Eventuality, and above all else, pride."
There was a flicker and Abe's battle suit was smashed with incredible force out of nowhere. The casing cracked and he hurtled flying into the wall and smashed into it head on.
"As for you, meddling tools, your time is over, the Vault will be mine. By the time your master gets here, he'll find nothing but the wreckage, and assume you triggered the self-destruct to preserve things."
The Torus flaked away in an unseen wind, bits breaking off and slowly collapsing to dust. "Poor Ciana. I told you, do not play to win or lose, play to play the players."
A mix of bloody coughs and buzzing static sounded as Abraham slowly got to his feet.
"First of all: Fuck you. You don't know fucking Pride. Secondly, I am in a lot of pain, and not the kind that does me any favors for slaughter."
The four ysanalarchs jerked upwards. "...We have failed. The Lord of Songs has awoken."
Lawrence glared at Ryder. "You just had to jinx it."
"Yeah fuck that noise." Paul snapped. "Nothing is impossible. How do we fix this shit?"
The four-faced angel spoke in a growling voice, like a lion's roar, its words staccato. "Reroute. Energy. Temporal lock."
The sounds of weapons fire grew louder. One of the pools of water illuminated, revealing the very damaged features of Surufel. "Power Center, this is Control."
The angels replied in a different language, but the Curator translated for the team over the private com net.
The Lord was 'awake' but not free, still constrained and unable to act. One of the moons had been incinerated by the solar flare system, but two more were going to impact the planet. The command center was overrun and Surufel expected to lose, given the enemy force included another Choirmaster with dozens of Ythrongi soldiers
After a long moment, the four angels headed to the teleporter, and Surufel turned their gaze to the group of humans (and disguised Curator). "You have fulfilled your part of Ramiel's bargain, mortals. Surprisingly well done. It is time for you to leave, there is nothing more your kind can do against the Lord of Songs. I have activated the nearby teleportal to take you to your vessel. I recommend immediate departure."
Stryckland did a shallow waist bow. "It has been an honor Surufel, may your heavenly rebuke be swift and holy."
The water returned to normal, and the Curator cursed soundly. "I'm trying to access the systems but... it's like someone has just rewritten how the entire system works, somehow."
Jaime stared at the Curator. They had not made it this far to have success yanked out of their hands at the very last minute. "So we can't throw this place into the bottomless depths of no-space. There must be something we can do."
"...There is one other thing I could do, but..." The Curator trailed off, glancing around. "I could try to manually set off the vault opening sequence. That triggers a completely separate alarm sequence. One that Lethath could not possibly ignore, especially once he realizes what is happening. The problem with that is that it would have to be powered from here and it's easy to shut off. Unless someone stops it from being shut off."
Jaime frowned. "Ciana said he should already be aware by now."
"Ciana is referring to the alarms that triggered when I set off the reality anchors. It might be days before he responds to that. A problem for them, but not useful to us."
"So for this to work, we have to hold this room?" Ryder wondered. "Or...?"
"No time to debate." Paul announced, tapping his commlink. "Sloane! Mine the approaches, set off the AO-887 charges and fall back here."
"Doc, my systems are telling me I'm far too close to the mortality you meat experience. Anything you can do?" Abraham made this request of Grace with extreme distaste, the entire concept – him being weak at all – something he resented even theoretically.
Grace listened, moving towards Abraham while running through materials mentally. He used the speech to text channel to not distract from the main conversation. "I assume you want me to try and patch your suit and you a bit? I can't make any promises."
"Shit, he fucked up your gun, man." Paul remarked.
"Motherfucker did. Goddamn wannabe Messiahs. I'm going to rebuild the Temple out of his ribs for this, I think." Abe's response to Grace was clipped in tone, not angry at Grace, but at the circumstances once again "Affirmative. And, if you can, fix up the gun?"
Grace took a glance at the gun and discarded any thought of it. The gun's accelerator was out of alignment and warped, the sort of thing you needed a workshop for. "Can't fix that, regardless."
While Grace went to work, Paul turned to Jaime. "Way I see it, we have two options. We hold here long enough to get everyone in Hyperion out, then set off an Alchemist – or we just bug the fuck out now and let the CC drop the relay into a goddamned blackhole instead of the sun, and pray this shit solves itself. Abe's too busted up to hold the line, and if I know them, the rest of the suit boys will be holding the bad guys back to let Sloane and the others fall back to here."
"Uncle, you must be joking. This thing isn't going to solve itself, not with all the shit Kidun or whoever pulled here." Jaime told him.
And Jaime didn't know if the Alchemist would be enough to help. "...Curator, how powerful is Lethath compared to Kidun?"
"That's like asking how powerful your Paul is against a warship. They are operating in two different arenas. I suspect if Lethath could pin the idiot child down Kidun would die in seconds. Pinning him down is the problem."
That didn't matter. What mattered here was that Lethath had the oomph to turn everything around.
"But you heard Kidun - he's assuming Lethath won't show for days or however long he'd take to respond to the anchor alarms." Jaime reasoned. "If he hears this alarm go off, Kidun won't stick around, will he?"
"I strongly doubt he's here anyway." The Curator explained. "But he will almost certainly direct his goons to try to take advantage of the opened vault."
Gregory was listening to the conversation. "Dumb question: if you do the vault opening sequence thing, that's going to open the vault, right? Isn't that, y'know, bad?"
Jaime locked gazes with the silent Curator.
Slowly Deus's stolen features nodded. "It is very bad. I will have to stay behind to ensure that these things do not take advantage of it until the last second. I do not have the power to stand off an entire army though."
Paul shifted. "Grace, those power crystals earlier. Hand me one."
Grace had a diagnostic port from his omnitool plugged into Abe's suit, and was engaged with a variety of tools pulled from a kit on his armor. "Sure Paul, one sec."
A pause. "Okay, fuck, not a sec. Grab it from my belt while I work, type 2 capsule, third on the left, silver marker with a star."
Lawrence grabbed the crystal off Grace's belt, and passed it to Paul.
The doors opened, revealing a slightly bloodied Sloane supporting Oso, and more figures streaming in. Down the long hallway leading back to the Security Center, Jaime saw another Choirmaster, and oddly enough, the four Angels that helped the strike team fighting him.
The Commissar limped over to Paul and Jaime, setting Oso down on the ground. "Heavy losses. The minute the shield came down they volley fired some kind of beams. Most of the knives are dead."
"Sister if you aren't a sight for sore eyes. Good kills for you, I hope?" Abraham chuckled.
"Ciana truly is a failure, she can't even kill you. Very saddening." Sloane 'accidentally' kicked the suit as she moved past.
Abraham grunted in pain, then chuckled more. "Ah Amelia, always a tease."
"Stay still while I'm trying to fix your suit, pop-can." Grace told him.
There was a bellowing roar from down the hallway, and what sounded like a diesel truck laughing.
More of Hyperion streamed into the room, before the last straggled in and pushed the door shut behind her. "...Suits aren't falling back and neither are the DACT, sir. Engies rigged up an alchemist deadman switch on the last DACT though."
"Hyperion." Paul addressed the room. "It has been a pleasure, an honor, and a joy serving with you to protect humanity. We came here – the fucking Ythrongi homeworld – and stomped in the shit of a literal god and his fuckass bitch of a sidekick."
He carefully attached the crystal to his power interface, which glows. The drones circling him crackled with power, and the shimmery blade suddenly became tangible.
"But right now, we're looking at losing. I hate losing, and I hate cowards who try to ruin our lives in the dark." He inhaled. "These are my final orders as your CO."
"Engineers, any surviving knives, and the remains of Grace's team – teleport out now. Then light infantry, then heavies. ...Jaime. Get them out of here."
"You cannot possibly be serious, human. They will kill you!" The Curator shouted.
Paul didn't bat an eye. "...Grace, how many Alchemist charges do we have left?"
Grace checked the list on his omnitool and started. "We have – what the fuck?We've got two left."
Paul nodded at Grace. "Please set them for manual control activation, maximum radius, maximum expansion. Then slave them to my omni."
"Acknowledged." Grace replied. "Also, should I give the tin soldier a panacea hit? Probably shouldn't be my call." The last sentence absolutely dripped with mirth.
Paul faced Abraham. "Your choice, dumbass. You can get out. Sloane isn't enough of a bitch to lie about you being the one to kill Ciana, that could buy you some leeway. So, are you staying or going, Abe?"
Abraham looked toward Paul, and spoke in a tone alien for him: respectful and tinged with something approaching kindness. "Zekher tzadik livrakha."
"You're a hell of a man, Paul. Out of everyone I've ever met, and anyone I've ever killed beside, you're the only one who's been on my level. You promised me a dance, and who am I to not take you up on that? We will die well, brother. Slaughter until we drown in the dead, and laugh as they try to take us with them."
Paul nodded again. "Alright, Grace, hit him with the panacea."
Grace pulled the familiar pink-red tube out before lining it up with the indicated injection port and clicked the dispenser once. "I'd like to remind everyone what happened to Deus was a statistical outlier, unfortunate as it was."
The drug hit Abraham's system like a jolt of electricity. For the briefest of seconds, he had a moment of lucidity and calm, before it faded and his brain chemistry reset.
The first batch of soldiers teleported out.
Jaime opened a private channel to Paul. "I... I didn't think it would end like this."
"It always ends sometimes, my boy. Make your father proud. You've already made me proud." Paul paused, then triggered something on his armor. His leg compartment slid open, revealing what a silver plated ZEUS pistol. "Take it and go. It was your father's, I was always too chickenshit to give it to you."
Jaime reached out and grasped it slowly. "Curator, how long will this take?"
"Uncertain. I am unlocking subroutines now." The AI's expression seemed to frown as he focused on his task.
The commnet crackled with messages from Espinoza. "The first necro-planet is unfolding and closing on the planet rapidly. Shit… there's something trying to claw it sway out of a mountain range. Estimated size is greater than a kilometer tall!"
"...Yeah, okay. Much as I'd legitimately love to find out what that is, we need to go." Grace conceded. "I'll miss you, Paul."
"Sorry we don't have time to remove my AOs, Grace. Take care of my nephew for me."
Grace looked at Sloane before glancing back at Paul. "We'll try, he's a bit of a handful. I'll leave my mech with you two, it might help. Transferring command codes to your suit."
Stryckland saluted. "Go with God and Victor's grace, Paul Herrero-sama." He cast a momentary glance at Abraham. "Well, die well Abraham. You're the best battlesuit pilot I've ever met and your example, at least in battle performance, will live on."
Stryckland hustled after the stragglers, carrying or dragging those that were too slow.
Jaime exhaled. "Sloane, how many people are left?"
"50% survivors, just under 40% of Hyperion currently in the room." Sloane stated as she watched more pass into the teleportal room. "Based on how many got teleported the first time, at least five more minutes.
The open comlink filled with the sound of missile systems going off, and then the chant of "Jump Around!"
Paul tapped his commlink. "Who's running shit up there in the fire fight?"
"DACT Captain DeWynter, bossman! Fuckers are coming in hard but the angel guys are kinda helping hold 'em off… but only two left. We can hold another few minutes, sir, so I'll see you in hell!"
The commlink, left open, recorded her final words. "Fuckers breaking through! C'mon boys, jump up jump up and get dowwwwwnnn–"
The signal broke off in static. There was the dreadful sound of an Alchemist detonation and silence.
One of the battlesuit pilots came on. "Dewynter and her boys just bought it. Hope you fuckers are ready for this. Oh and those big beefy fucking thongies don't like the Alchemist anymore than fuckass Inusannon shit does."
"Second group is ready to go." The Curator reported. "Still trying to bypass… I think Kidun is in the damned control systems. Someone just shut down all the vault stasis units for the rank and file Ythrongi."
"More for the fucking fire, and abominations make a hell of a fuel." Abraham enthused.
Gregory saluted Paul and Abe. "Good luck, sirs. Suppose I'll see you in Valhalla eventually, eh?"
"Who knows, Corporal. Good looking out today. Have Jaime promote you once you get back. Get a move on. Abe, left. ditch that busted gun. " Paul tosses his own HK M-J8008 to Abraham.
Abraham caught the gun, on the move. "Corporal, it's me and Paulie you're talking about; We'll fuck these things sideways and be back in time for drinks."
The form of Deus shimmered back to the Curator. "Ahhh. Arrogant child." He looked up. "I am triggering the signal now. I will need several minutes to get it into a feedback loop where it can't easily be shut off."
Paul merely nodded, setting himself in the middle of the room, sword drawn. "Hyperion... live in the light."
"Sloane, dress pretty for me. When we get back I'm taking you out for a date. Nice like." Abraham set up as well.
Explosions echoed down the corridor.
Sloane rolled her eyes "Make sure he actually gets killed this time, sir. Godspeed."
She turned, and Paul chuckled. "No promises, chica. Do me a favor. Intenta encontrar una razón para querer vivir."
Sloane paused, and gave the most heartbreakingly sad smile Grace had ever seen before turning away towards the teleportal. "Los commissarios no están realmente vivos, señor."
Grace gave Jaime a tug on the arm and followed Sloane.
The teleportal room was very big. Two slain angels – one a pile of blackened feathers, the other a collection of crescent-moon like shapes – laid dead on the floor, along with what looked like one of the bigger Ysani types.
A huge green-illuminated circle made up the center of the room, which they stood in the middle of, along with the final survivors.
Jaime was the last one in the Power Monitoring Room. He stared back at his uncle… no, his second father, one last time.
"...Vaya con dios, mi hijo de espíritu si no de carne. Same thing I told Sloane goes for you." The older man told him.
Jaime slitted his eyes to block the tears that would otherwise come, and his fists clenched. "Repensum est Canicula. Hominem Permaneo. Aquellos que causaron esto, pagarán algún día. Prometo. After that, I'll try."
"The people behind this mess are probably back home on Earth. Talk up that Lord of Sol flunky." Paul suggested.
Finally, Jaime broke his gaze away, turned, and entered the portal room. He stepped into the circle, and a second later, it was empty.
Paul straightened, as something entered the far end of the hall: a tide of corpses, mixed with more of the Ythrongi. The faint strains of a song could be heard, and screams from the battlesuit pilots in the distance.
"...Never wanted to go out like this, you know?"
The last of the angels fell in the distance, as another Choirmaster-sized figure stepped through the throng, this one holding a giant trapezoidal shaped axe of some kind, and draped in golden armor.
"How'd you want it then? Old, decrepit, and lying in your own waste? Better to die with bloody hands than useless ones." Abraham stared at the big fucker. "Let's see if this one dies like a bitch too, Paulie. We're witnessed today."
X-BoH-X
The Spear of Longinus pulled away from the planet, even as it launched sixteen small torpedoes, each carrying an Alchemist device. The small missiles crashed down upon the ruined colony site, the HERMES bases, the bizarre mountain cave entrance, even the Power Center's entrance.
The sun was now a sickly, drained orange-yellow, with sunspots erupting at an incredible rate as it incinerated one of the corpse-covered planets, even as a second one slammed into Rho-19 with jarring finality.
Far below, in a narrow hallway of green metal splashed with ichor, the final four battlesuits fought side by side with Paul and Abraham as the Curator worked furiously, moving from plinth to plinth with a speed no human could have. Plasma fire and blasts of Griannon weapons cast the scene in flashes of actinic fury, followed by the haunting sound of the Song.
One battlesuit pilot screamed as unseen forces seized the suit and turned it inside out, splattering the rest with hot gore and bits of human meat and bone. Abraham fired with wild abandon, howling with glee as foe after foe was sawed in half, until four huge corpses, taller than the suit he piloted, dogpiled him.
The Curator shouted and slammed both hands into the water of a terminal, which glowed a sick red before the entire complex shuddered.
The Spear departed rapidly, but even from the ship, Rho-19 could be seen glowing as huge, titanic lines of yellow erupted all across the surface in a complex pattern.
Paul ducked under the swing of one of the Ythrongi to drive his blade home in the Choirmaster, riding the giant obsidian corpse down as it toppled to smash two of the things attacking Abraham. He looked up at more incoming enemies. The last of his battle-suit pilots detonated her own suit, incinerating dozens of enemies as she howled out the kamikaze.
"The process will be irreversible in seven minutes… Paul."
The Curator paused to expend what energy he had left in a fiery blast of green that incinerated the two other things attacking Abraham, allowing the pilot to rip their bodies literally in half with a growl.
Paul held his side where the Choirmaster's weapon carved through the suit, both suit lubricants and blood streaming past his hand. "Go. Goddamned atmo is leaking, and..."
He glanced over at Abraham: the Wrecking Ball's suit still stood, but the leg servos for the left leg were shot and blood trickled down in several places. "...Don't think either one of us is gonna make it."
The form of Deus nodded then – after shattering the control plinths with his bare hands – ran for the teleportal room. Paul heaved Abraham up and the other man fired the huge weapon in his hands as the clawing screaming tide slammed into them.
On board the Spear, the cargo deck was flooded with the remains of Hyperion and frantic first aid work by mechs and doctors, while Jaime leaned over a comm and sensor repeater watching what happened.
The lines on the planet began to widen, then halted. Barely visible even with magnification, the Power Circle was clearly completely overrun, and now the necro-creatures had ships attempting to blast a way inside it.
Jaime barely registered it. He still saw the two blips of Paul and Abraham on his HUD. "Come on, get out of there, dammit."
Not long after the Curator showed up, the planet shuddered, and the gigantic figure that was trapped by greenlit bands of energy tore itself free.
The Spear reached the FTL border range from the star, even as the figure lifted four gigantic arms, prepared to do something. The HUD blips for Abraham and Paul flickered and died – and a second later, something else erupted from somewhere.
The ship's sensors had no clue what the thing was. It appeared similar to a Reaper; from the images Paul showed to Jaime, the creature was much larger than any Reaper, and not metallic. It seemed nothing more like some deranged cross between a cuttlefish and a squid, its carapace a shiny, almost unearthly blue black.
The figure on the planet lashed out with some kind of energy, but the huge creature batted it away almost absently before it lifted its own tentacles.
A moment later the entire planet and all the flesh-covered moons shuddered, then were hurled directly into the sun.
The creature then made a sort of slashing motion. The star detonated violently and the Spear made an emergency FTL transit.
As the dreadnought sped away, sensors showed the entire system just went supernova.
By the time they arrived in the Produga system, everyone was stabilized, no further casualties. But as Jaime looked at the ship's sensor repeater, their problems were only starting.
There was the Celestial Council dreadnought, flanked by at least a dozen heavy cruisers, as well as other ships. The Black Lodge's pocket-dreadnaught was accompanied by fifteen other turian ships. A batarian Imperial Guard dreadnaught had come as well, along with twenty or so Hanar ships, and what looked entirely like the SD1 Jon Grissom with a good fifth of the Solguard's fleet.
The ship commnet crackled.
"...Major Herrero, I think you need to come to the Bridge. Immediately. The Celestial Council is wanting as word, and so is Lord Maxwell – and he's physically here."
"...Well, this is not getting swept under the rug." Sloane commented.
"Paul's not here, Captain. He stayed behind to buy us time." Jaime said, an edge of grief present in his voice.
"...I see. There's a shuttle incoming. Ten minutes to get yourself cleaned up. Meet me in briefing one, on the fifth deck."
Stryckland paled. "You want me to help with that Herrero-sama?"
Grace, suit-gloves covered in yet-to-be-scrubbed blood from assisting the medical efforts, perked up. "Need me to come with, or...?"
"Stryckland, stay. Grace... clean up too. You, I want on hand for this." Jaime paused. "Also, Curator… You need to pick a name for yourself, but later. Ciana's graybox. Make sure it's not Ythrongi-trapped and tell me what's on it."
"...Very well." The Curator pondered for a second. "Loki."
Jaime decided he was not going to get into the Curator's choice for his name right now. "I am going to get cleaned up, and I want confirmation before I start carrying out a promise I made."
Hyperion was mostly shit talking at the moment, as Jaime, Grace and Sloane got out of armor and cleaned up to meet the shuttle. Lawrence talked shit with the other cyber-assassins, bragging about having blown up a Ythrongi. Stryckland took off his helmet for the first time in days. Long brown hair cascaded out of it, as he prepared to address the survivors. "Now about that party..."
Briefing One turned out to be a large, rather opulent meeting room: walnut table polished to a mirror finish trimmed in absolutely gleaming brass, comfortable tables, the always present wet bar, and a holoscreen over two meters wide.
Four people were there when the Command Trio arrived.
Jaime recognized the first, Anola Vallia, the lead CC researcher. The aged asari matriarch, wore what looks like the silvery undersuit for a set of asari Paladin armor and with a set of visible hexagrammic wards on both hands, and a warp sword at her hip.
The second was Maxwell Manswell himself, neatly dressed in a suit but with a silaris combat vest over it and a heavy caliber pistol in his lap.
The third was a hulking Imperial-caste batarian, dressed in black leather and red trim with a mask of blackened bone covering his face.
The final figure was a turian – a Cabalist, Jaime thought – who had three different Palavanus honor seals on the long black sash he wore over robes, battle armor visible beneath them.
Maxwell spoke first. "The entire system has been destroyed, if the exotic sensors aboard our cousin's dreadnaught are accurate. Is that the case, Commander Hererro?" He speared Jaime with a look.
Jaime stared back at him, then nodded. "Yes, Your Grace."
Anola frowned. "I thought we would be able to investigate the situation and determine a course of action."
"As did I." Maxwell coughed weakly. "...But events seem to have concluded the event."
The batarian spoke, his voice a deep whisper. "Perhaps that is for the best." He glanced out the window into the depths of space, then continued. "If the situation is as dire as we suspected, this might be the only safe outcome."
"In any event, were you able to determine the root cause of this disaster?" Maxwell asked.
Before Jaime could speak, Sloane stepped forward with a bow.
"With all due respect, your Grace, we do not believe there was a single root cause." She glanced at the others, then inclined her head once more. "From all the data gathered, there were several overlapping poor ideas. But at the core, Ciana Vandafar could be identified as the one who started events. She is now dead."
The batarian's voice was almost laden with amusement. "This one is wasted in protecting, lord of monkeys. She'd be better off mouthing whatever lies you tell your slave-population to keep them in line." He turned away. "We have no further interest in this amusing distraction. The Emperor wishes you good health, milord Manswell."
The Imperial exited the room. The turian and asari exchanged glances and she inclined her head towards the door. The turian bared his fangs and with suspiciously upbeat humming, also left.
Somewhat confused at the events but also taking in as much detail about the participants as possible, Grace stayed in the background while Jaime and Sloane held attention.
"I thought Vandefar was to be apprehended and questioned, Milord Maxwell. This does not seem to be 'cooperation'. One of your teams vanished and the second one is under 'biohazard isolation', now we find out Ciana was killed." Anola objected.
"...Sadly, we do not always get what we want, do we, matriarch?" Max's tone was wry.
Her nostrils flared.
"We didn't have a choice in this instance." Jaime interrupted. "We have her graybox though." If the Silver Prince thought he could simply weasel out of this, Jaime aimed to correct him.
"And Aloxius?"
"Aloxius is being handled as we speak." The High Lord stated. "And as for a graybox..."
He matched his gaze with the asari. For almost twenty seconds nothing was said, just the slow , calm hiss of Manswell's breathing assistance.
Then she slowly inclined her head, with a sign of siari that none of the three had ever seen. "...If that is how you wish to play the game, Prince. I see no reason for us to remain. The STG will liaison with the AIS to deal with the fallout."
"I trust you grasp why, matriarch."
Bitter laughter spilled from her lips "You do not have to spell it out for me. The antics of the Thirty are why I left asari space long ago. But my loyalty is to consensus reality and its stability, not political midnight covering.
She moved past, tapping her commlink and saying something in high Asaric as she left.
Maxwell then turned to them before giving a long, loud and mocking laugh that continued for at least fifteen seconds. He finally just chuckled, mirth still clear on his features. "I could not have engineered a more infuriatingly satisfying ending if I had designed it myself."
Jaime's hand tightened. "Did you though? It rather looks as if you nearly engineered humanity's destruction."
"No. Aloxius appears to have gotten tired of not being in control of things and has done a number of very stupid acts, acts that are now being dealt with through his own AIS. As for the rest… The Department is a group of idealists, Herrero."
"On the contrary, we're realists." Jaime replied. How could anyone learn what he had and not be
otherwise?
"I do not think so. Realists would not presume they were somehow immune from being manipulated by outside forces." Maxwell counted.
"Complacency, perhaps." Jaime allowed. The Administrator and Task Committee had admitted errors as such.
"A group that is charged with safeguarding nightmares made manifest should not need reminders to not be complacent or you are incompetent." The Silver Prince tossed him an OSD. "HERMES was compromised, and your own security systems as well. We traced down your mystery hacker who killed your chase teams to a mining asteroid in salarian space. The same figure was recorded on video meeting with Ciana almost seven years ago."
No, Jaime was not going to let him shift the blame, ruler of humanity or not.
"You may recall a certain discussion we had not long ago. Out of decorum then, I didn't say what I thought then. But I wondered whether you were indeed lying so blatantly, or your memories have degraded so. We don't answer to the High Lords, as established by Victor himself. Because he had the wisdom to understand that you and your fellow High Lords didn't have the basic sense to deal with these things, that they be left to professionals who could gauge the risk appropriately. If you had delayed us two more hours? Humanity would have become Ythrongi thralls." Jaime's voice was cold.
Prince Maxwell tilted his head. "The risks, eh. Did you know your Administrator withheld the AO-001 detection of the Reaper for decades? That he turned down offers of AIS and Commissariat security monitoring for remote operations? That he mind-wiped Lords of Sol who were objecting to the fact that he decided that it was more important to 'protect devices' than ensure humanity would not get destroyed by alien sabotage?"
Jaime was silent for a moment. "I will admit some of what you say is deeply concerning., and will have to take it up with him. That doesn't excuse your blind greed and tantrums when we tell you these things aren't toys."
Max shook his head, then paused. "You are exactly like your father. You do not understand anything, you believe whatever is told to you without bothering to determine its accuracy or truth because you want to believe something, and you are blind to the fact that your words have consequences."
"The Commander and the Task Committee were executed for lying to us about the issue. They attempted to utilize a mind control device and rewrite our memories. As we speak, I have to decide if this is worth pursuing. The Matriarch has strongly suggested liquidating your group and handing off the assets to the CC for oversight."
"Nothing coming out of your mouth is making the case I should do otherwise. You don't seem to grasp that your Administrator did not give us a briefing on these 'Ythrongi' until after you had departed for this accursed system. Or that the fact that someone compromised your own security teams is particularly alarming given the fact that we were never informed and the DeptAb has a link to the Black Network. So, while I am delighted that this is concluded in such a fashion that the CC cannot point fingers at us with any kind of proof… I am not very satisfied with the actual performance of your organization."
What?!
Jaime inclined his head, working to keep a cool face. "Is the Administrator aware of the Matriarch's proposal?"
"He is." Maxwell leaned back. "And now, so are you. So, please, humor me, and explain why I should take any more of the SA's resources towards your mission if the ideal you people have is that there are no consequences to your blind focus on your own personal pet project and not the fact that there are other dangerous things out there besides artifacts."
Jaime sighed. "Let us assume everything you have asserted is true. Which you incidentally have lectured me for taking at face value."
Maxwell was lying. There was no possible way the Administrator, Reyes, and the Task Committee would so blatantly violate their duty like that.
Out the window, the other ships began to leave, while the CC ship anchored itself to the mass relay.
The old man arched an eyebrow. "Also as thick as your father, I see. You, and your people, are evidence of the situation being mishandled. Lord Kinnix has sold himself to an alien gangster the intelligence community hates and is a non-entity. Holden and his team are fully aware of the situations and have delivered us a useful tool to understand things better. You, on the other hand, have the almost unreal audacity to upbraid me – and shout out you recovered a graybox – when I am the main reason the CC did not simply drop this relay into a black hole."
The pretense of respect already lost, Grace worked around the room to the wet bar while paying attention to the conversation, selecting from the bottles and precisely pouring a quartet of junmai sake glasses, before placing them on a tray with flourish learned from observing Stryckland. First, politely but distantly placing the first in front of Maxwell before handing a pair out to Jaime with a nod and Sloane with a wink with quiet ceremony.
"Unfortunately, I don't think dropping the relay would have had a meaningful impact. But that's beside the point."
There was the portal and communications with various alternate realities, and the massive cache of horrific nightmare AOs. The Celestial Council might be able to handle it. Perhaps the Administrator had plans of his own. Those were the only objections he could think of, but they weren't things to reveal to the High Lords, much less likely to improve his opinion of the Department.
"...I got nothing." Jaime admitted. "I've just spent several hours going through what could be literal Hell, my sole family member is dead and I just helped avert the end of the galaxy. I am tired, wrung out, and nowhere near informed enough to muster a convincing counter-argument. If you wanted to give me a fair chance to make a case, you wouldn't be springing this ambush full of your prejudgments."
Speaking up for the first time, Grace slugged back the entirety of his drink. "In this case, it's not like we didn't acquire anything to fork over despite primarily being there for cleanup."
He went ignored, as Maxwell stared at Jaime. "I am now unsure if you aren't just a clone of Ricardo, it's like talking to a ghost. I will endeavor to be more blunt. The Department of Abnormalities costs us twenty two billion credits per annum. That is not including the cost of eezo, transferring valuable military personnel to them, or the expense of running a class IX arcology field for a military base. The sheer existence of the group has caused us great difficulties with the CC and working those out required us to expend even more money and gives them a constant card of blackmail to hang over our heads. The Administrator has, in his infinite wisdom, decided that releasing AOs to the Lords of Sol for the defense of humanity is 'not possible' and when approached about the Reaper menace offered us nothing."
"The Administrator did not fill me in on his thinking behind those decisions, so I can't comment on his reasoning." Jaime retorted.
"The blunt reality is that I don't particularly care what he did or did not do. The fact that he didn't inform us of the situation with this... DELTA... thing is enough for me to have him executed. I already have decided that whether he lives or dies will depend on how we handle this going forward. So you have a choice, as it is my understanding you are replacing your uncle as Commander."
"I am." Jaime tried to handle the eerie feeling running down his spine.
"You can decide that you are not willing to deal with us since, despite being responsible for all of humanity, the High Lords are apparently too greedy and stupid to understand the situation. In that case, all funding ceases. All military assets will be decommissioned. No data feeds from the AIS, Commissariat, or the SA navy will be provided. All further anomalous item inquisition will be investigated by the Hostile Response unit and then remanded to the Celestial Council."
"The Spear will be stood down and parked at the current location of OR and decommissioned. The two barely useful AOs the Administrator has deigned to let us utilize will be returned. The High Lords will issue a Red Note declaiming that the Department is not under the authority of the High Lords and that you are responsible for the containment of items you already have."
He smiled, and tapped his chair, and the door slid open to reveal a pair of very well muscled females in black security armor. One checked his lift chair while the other got behind it.
"Or you can decide that, perhaps, blindly insulting a man who can have you all executed if it just occurs to me on a whim is not a good idea, and rethink what has led us here." He nodded. "Ladies, back to the shuttle."
No! It was the death knell of far, far too much! Jaime's fingernails bit into his palm.
Jaime stood straight-barred, and bowed deeply. "Your Grace, I apologize for my unjustified insults. Please understand, I just lost my sole family member, and am recovering from the strain of the situation."
Unpalatable as it was, his duty to Hyperion, Omega Response, the Department, and humanity required him to grovel and say words he didn't really mean.
The lift chair halted, Max raising a hand. His voice was both hard and tired sounding.
"Which is why you are alive, that and most men don't have the spine to defy me to my face." Maxwell informed him. "I don't like loyalty, I prefer truth. I dislike those who kneel and inside are traitorous, but I only respect strength of will. I grasp your concerns, and they are not unfounded, but ultimately I believe Ciana was led astray by someone who revealed the Reapers' existence to her – and this was her response. If there was more cooperation this could have been avoided."
One of the nurse/bodyguards murmured something and he gave a weary nod. "I am not requiring you to turn over abominable nightmares that will get us all killed, Commander. Only that you do not repeat the mistakes of others who conflate our admittedly sometimes enraging arrogance as stupidity. I weaken. Once I am gone, you will have to deal with either Duke Chu or Prince Eldfell. That is not going to go well."
He gave a dry chuckle. "...If you recovered anything from the surface – unless it is directly capable of doing something to deal with these Reapers – you did not recover anything from the surface. Make sure the graybox results, whatever they are, are conveyed to CC implicating Aloxius, who will be paying the full price for his idiocy."
Jaime decided then and there to comply with the strict wording of Prince Manswell's instructions. The power crystal technology and Loki were clearly not directly capable, therefore they had not been recovered from the surface, and of course there was no requirement to inform the High Lords about things in Hyperion's possession that had not come from the surface.
The second bodyguard turned his lift chair and the group stepped out.
Sloane exhaled heavily. "Well, that was as close as I got to shooting a High Lord and my conditioning didn't even kick in to stop me."
Jaime slumped in his chair. "I'm sorry, Grace, Amelia. I just... It all feels like ashes in my mouth and we didn't even get a chance to feel good about it."
Sloane snorted indignantly. "What are you apologizing for? I almost wish that criminal lunatic Abraham survived, then he would have lost his shit and shot him. The bastard got half our people killed chasing down shit his own spymaster fucked up. At least he's killing him. He did say that, right?"
Grace smirked sadly. "I know. I can't really find a fault in anything you said. And well, given you're admitting it, I may as well say I could probably have a tech accident his shuttle..."
"...He didn't." Jaime observed, attuned to verbiage right now.
The Commissar waved a hand. "Full price. Might be worse than death. Ten years hard labor in Brazil. I did two, first time I got recycled. Character building."
Grace grimaced.
"But if even half of what he said about the Administrator and Department is true…" Jaime didn't want to admit the tendrils of doubt creeping in, but there they were.
Sloane groaned. "The Administrator always struck me as trying to play all the angles. For me..." She smiled. "I saw the nightmare demons that haunted me for a decade cut down and killed. I am content."
Grace gave an unusually cocky smirk for the researcher and snarked. "I did kill two of them myself, which is... amusing given the warning you gave me before this started."
Sloane wandered over to the wet bar, then grimaced. "Permission to have a drink. Nerves are a little..."
She shuddered.
"Permission to drink your weight's worth." Jaime said, before touching the glass Grace poured.
"Second blue bottle on the right, third shelf. Pretty good for someone who hasn't had something in a while." Grace added.
"Whatever that last thing we saw was, if that was this Lethath..." She opened a bottle of Jack Daniels and poured. "Shit just got a lot more confusing."
"Speaking of confusion. Grace? You'll hate me for this buddy, but I'm going to bring you in all the way." Jaime informed him. Both for practical reasons, and because he really needed the support of one of his closest friends.
Grace shrugged. "Honestly, I can't find it in myself to be disappointed, even after that."
The Spear triggered the mass relay a moment later.
In the Lesser Magellanic Cloud…
"...Sensor trawl reports nothing. Temporal index returning to baseline. Minimal effect. No dimensional fatigue artifacts detected."
Lethath regarded the youngling before him. "Satisfactory. And the Vault?"
"Backtrace with a Word of Insight stalled out at several hundred rahn-equivalents. Time-index is somewhere in the range of six to ten trillion Ilthar suncycles, prior to current formation. It should be gone."
"Pity. I would have enjoyed playing with it a bit." Lethath regretted. "And the interloper?"
"Your Curving Invocation does not appear to have caught him. The Ythrongi massmind, the Lord of Songs, and the rest were flung towards Triolith-apex nine-silver."
"I believe my humans have a saying about that kind of thing. Or several. No matter. Hesseth Kumol was too strong to assail but if the Corrupted-Thing follows it there, that is several irritating issues resolved, Entho."
"We still don't understand how Ciana triggered opening the Vault." Entho pointed out.
"No, we don't. Take two sets of Orb Teams, I want every human planet monitored in real time going forward. Attunement is one thing, I can always Reverse that– but if the Curator Network was breached, they could access the design specs for the Catalyst Intellect."
"...Is it possible a Curator could have done it?" Entho suggested.
Lethath dismissed that right away. "Hardly. I had them all mind-wiped as a precaution. They were designed to serve the All-Highest, not me. It is possible they may have corrupted a Ysanalarch, though. No matter. If one got away, I'll find it."
"And the human anomalous group?"
"Maintain the Word of Tolerance at full strength. Without an anchor, there is little else we can to. And... prep one of my Advocates. Either Adkins or Johansen. I think I need to take a look around in person, very soon."
The space around the larger Ascended rippled, then became smooth, and the younger, smaller Leviathan merely turned to face the solidified husk of the gas giant they used as a staging area, its surface phase-locked and lined with housing for their billions of tool-servitor races.
"Your will, All-Father. All glory to the New Ascended."