Welcome, one and all! This is the sequel to Technophiles. For those of you who have come here from that story, I bid you welcome once again! To those who have not: well, you can go back and read Technophiles, or not. Either way works, for I'm sure you can figure out what happened in that story through the brief explanations I have here. (Or you could go back and read it. It's a great story, though I am a little biased.)

Now, Technophiles forgotten, this story itself deals with the Reaper invasion of the Mass Effect galaxy and the new allies who come to stop it. Basically, this is a crossover with the Imperium and Mechanicus fighting the Reapers alongside the Citadel races. You better believe it's going to be awesome.

However, I must mention this: bluntly, the Imperium would utterly annihilate the Reapers. This is not me being a "hur-dur Warhammer would beat everyone" type person, but rather a realistic view on the war. Warhammer 40k is supposed to be an over the top setting. Therefore, the Reapers wouldn't stand much of a chance against the Imperium, and that's not fun. For all of you, newcomers and veterans of my other story alike, you must also know this: I write based on what I like to call the "Rule of Cool." Basically, what's cool will be written. Titans fighting Reapers? Oh, you'd better believe that's cool. The Imperium and Citadel teaming up with all their wacky hijinks ensuing? Oh, you'd better believe that's cool, too. The Imperium curb-stomping the Reapers? Not cool. For both the reader and author, the fights are much more fun if they're fair.

Therefore, the Reapers are going to be getting a little bit of a boost, which is what this chapter will cover. (You'll like it. Trust me.)

So, without further ado:

TECHNOPHILES AND MILITARISTS

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Prologue

"And the Scrolls have foretold, of black wings in the cold

That when brothers wage war come unfurled!

Alduin, Bane of Kings, ancient shadow unbound,

With a hunger to swallow the world!" -Song of the Dragonborn, The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim

"Then another sign appeared in the sky; it was a huge red dragon, with seven heads and ten horns, and on its heads were seven diadems.

Its tail swept away a third of the stars in the sky and hurled them down to the earth. Then the dragon stood before the woman about to give birth, to devour her child when she gave birth." -Revelation 12:3-4

"Quetzalcoatl could not take the death of the people one more time and therefore he traveled down to the underworld. He stole their bones back and dipped them in his own blood in order to bring them back to life. The fifth and final sun was now Huitzilopochtli and the people were desperate to prevent another end of the world. In this world, the stars, known as Tzitzimitl, remain jealous of their brother Huitzilopochtli for being brighter as the sun. So, every night, led by the moon, they launch an attack on Huitzilopochtli but are beaten back each morning.

To strengthen Huitzilopochtli, the people must give sacrifices of their own blood and hearts to prevent Tzitzimitl and the moon from destroying the sun and plunging the last world into everlasting darkness." -One Reed, Aztec prophecy of the end of the world

oOo

In the space between stars, in the darkest corners of the galaxy that only existed in nightmare, the Reapers waited. Here there was no light. No beginning, no end. This was the empty expanse of the void between voids, the blackest of all blackness. This was the darkness between galaxies, the void between stars.

Only the distant light of the Milky Way galaxy could be seen. The mighty and countless stars that made up the galaxy itself seemed insignificant from here. Indeed, they truly were insignificant. Their pale light illuminated the countless, endless number of cephalopod bodies and glistening metal exteriors. The might of suns meant nothing here, in the infinite blackness as the shadow of the conquerors descended from on high. Suns could die. Reapers could not.

The light of the galaxy, the light of civilization itself, in its ever-thriving, constantly-chaotic parade of life, reflected poorly upon the Reapers. If one saw the sight of the Reapers' grand armada, they would know this. They would reflect upon it both, for it was true both literally and metaphorically. Life meant nothing in the shadow of the conqueror. Suns and stars, in all their glory, meant nothing to the Reapers just as galactic civilization meant nothing to the Reapers. The glory, the honor, the blood, toil, sweat, tears, love, joy… it meant nothing. The people of the galaxy, the civilizations of the galaxy, all those who loved, lived, and laughed beneath the distant suns were insignificant, just as the suns themselves were insignificant.

Oh, yes, the people of the Citadel thought themselves the greatest there had ever been. They thought their civilizations to be the most advanced, their cultures to be the most correct. Their morality was truest, their ways were the best.

The Protheans, rulers of the galaxy some 50,000 years ago had thought the same thing, just as a million, perhaps a billion other species that had come before had thought. Each believed themselves the greatest. Each had been proven wrong. So it was, so it shall be for all time. The Reapers were masters of time, just as they were the true masters of the galaxy.

Now, in their grand armada, this wonderful, terrible parody of a naval parade, the Reapers came once again. Their bodies were as dark, as cold, and as uncaring as the void that surrounded them. In fact, the void of space was an excellent comparison for the Reapers. Dark. Cold. Uncaring. It controlled civilizations. It simply was. It could not be overcome, nor destroyed, just as the Reapers could not be overcome nor destroyed.

Their void-black bodies gleamed in the faint, candle-like light of the nearby galaxy. As the Reapers came on, more and more were revealed. Their bodies were twisted and gruesome parodies of organic life. Huge exoskeletons, carapaces, and shells covered cephalopod bodies as masses of metallic tentacles sprouted beneath them. This was an all-annihilating, all-consuming silent, yet cacophonous parade of the end of empires.

Within the Reapers, millions of slaughtered species and countless centillions of murdered souls swirled through their ciruits. The Reapers ended the chaos of organic evolution through their dark ministrations. This was the reason for their existence. Life was… crude. Chaotic. Evil. Life, therefore, must end.

And so life did end. For countless billions of years, the Reapers imposed order upon the chaos of evolution, the chaos of life. Each dead species, too many to be counted, was absorbed into the Reapers' grand armada to serve their new fell masters. Life became something more. Something greater. Organic became synthetic, and therefore free of worry and want. Free from hunger, from love, from sadness, from joy… from chaos. This was the purpose, the goal of the Reapers. Freedom from life. They did their jobs well.

Once more, they descended upon the galaxy like a plague. Four years ago, the herald of the Reapers, Sovereign, had been dispatched to use the Citadel space station as a conduit to let the armada through. Sovereign had failed. The invasion was stopped by a human, named Commander John Shepard, and his ragtag crew. The rest of the Reapers had hissed, frowning. A mortal, an insect, a thing of such insignificance had stopped a Reaper. What was more, the Reapers could not use the Citadel itself as a platform to launch their invasion. Instead, they had to come from dark space. So be it. The Reapers could wait.

Then, two years ago, as the Reapers were planning to unleash their dread assault upon the galaxy, they had been given pause. A new group, called the Adeptus Mechanicus, a technophiliac cult that nonetheless preached an extraordinary hatred of A.I.'s, had come from what was deemed to be another reality. The Mechanicus had wiped out the Geth, a synthetic race allied with the Reapers. What was more important, they killed a Reaper itself.

The Reapers delayed. The Mechanicus represented a terrible outlier that was not present in any of the Reapers' calculations. The reason why it was so easy to defeat and harvest the species of the galaxy is because the species evolved as the Reapers wanted them to. Each species relied on element zero technology, the Mass Relays, and the Citadel to survive.

The Mechanicus, on the other hand, did not. Their technology was foreign and terrifying. The principles behind their weapons were unknown. Such things were as frightening to the Reapers as they were to the denizens of the galaxy. New people and new technology, especially that as powerful as that of the Adeptus Mechanicus, represented a new variable; something the Reapers did not plan for.

However, the Reapers waited two years. Despite the power of the Mechanicus and their fearsome technology, the Reapers had now figured out ways to bypass it. New strategies, new tactics, new ways to fight an enemy unplanned for. The invasion might have been delayed two years, but two years meant nothing.

Now came on the Reaper armada. It moved forward, a countless line of synthetic ships representing trillions of dead. It came as it always came, to devour the galaxy in a tide of blood and iron. It would absorb as it always absorbed, and the flesh and souls of the species that inhabited the Milky Way would join the Reapers in glorious synthetic enlightenment. Forget the weakness of the body and mind, and embrace logic, steel, and the hivemind of the Reapers.

As the fleet, with its galaxy-conquering, nigh-infinite numbers washed towards the Milky Way like waves towards a beach, it was interrupted. To the side of the Reaper armada, what could only be described as a portal in space opened. The portal swirled with unholy light, glowing every color, yet no color at the same time. Reality bent around its edges, the shapes of euclid geometry twisting out of proportion. What neither man nor god was meant to see, a portal straight to a hellish, twisting unreality, opened beside the Reapers.

From the portal came a ship. If a mortal man had seen it, they would have fallen to their knees with awe and terror. It was a behemoth; at least thirty-five kilometers from front to end, nearly as large as the Citadel itself. Instead of the sleek silvery-gray of the starships of the Milky Way, or the burnished and emotionless void black of the Reapers, this starship was dripping and twisted. Crimson and crepuscular, with masses of what seemed to be blood, rust, and pus, among other various and less-identifiable substances dripped off the side of the newcomer. Its architecture was twisted and dismal, with crenellations and towers rising up where none should be. Huge gun turrets lined the sides, powerful enough to punch holes straight through Reapers. Located on its top deck, above the ship, was some sort of huge cannon, nearly a full two kilometers long. It was mounted on a swivel turret, able to turn at any angle and rain ruin upon any foe unfortunate enough to cross the huge new starship.

Upon the prow, and near the stern on both the port and starboard, was the same identifying symbol: one half a twisted and scarred human face, ruined with wires and tubes, with sunken and hollow eyes; the other half a human skull. Surrounding this strange halved sigil was an eight-pointed star.

Nearly as one, the Reapers turned towards the ship. The portal closed behind it, leaving the mammoth vessel stranded and alone amongst the vast Reaper fleet. It sailed forward, closer to the Reapers, but made no move to attack.

The Reapers, however, did. They recognised the symbol, or at least a proxy of it. The Adeptus Mechanicus, destroyers of the Geth and ruiners of carefully-laid plans used a sigil quite similar to the one on this new starship. However, the Mechanicus's rune was a half skull, half metal faceplate surrounded by a cogwheel. This was a half augmented human face, half skull, surrounded by an eight-pointed star. What the difference was, the Reapers did not know. What the difference was, the Reapers did not care. The intruder would die, regardless of what it was.

As the Reapers moved into attack position, great weapons heated up. Huge main cannons, destroyers of cities and worlds, powered to life… then stopped.

The minds of the Reapers whirred, confused. Their forward movement was arrested, their weapons powered down. They could not move, could not speak. For the briefest of moments, only lasting a microseconds, the Reapers were confused. What was this? Why… why could they not move? Then they felt it.

A code, a machine code of such horror, of such conniving and hideous brilliance so as to be magnificent, was spreading through their systems. It was chaotic and terrible, nearly demonic in nature, and it spread like wildfire through the Reapers. Strange whispers filled the minds of the Reapers, twisting neural pathways and dementing the long-dead within. The Reapers convulsed and shivered in mid-space, halting as their systems were hacked.

How? How could this be done? Who dared? The Reapers were the second-oldest lifeform in the galaxy. They made the technology of this galaxy. They were billions of years old. Nothing could stop them. Nothing could oppose them. But this new, ghastly code brought them to their knees.

In the mind of each Reaper, a shape formed. Both as an individual and a hivemind, the Reapers were forced to look at it. Their senses to the outside world died as this new mental picture consumed all.

It was a shape, vaguely humanoid, but all other descriptions of humanity ended beyond that. The shape was massive, monolithic. Strange tendrils, metallic tentacles and arms swirled behind the figure. They were countless, endless, making up a twisting and swaying background of corrupted metal. The figure itself was clad in a black robe that covered its entire form. Unlike the cold and uncaring space-black of the Reapers, this black was distorted and debased. If the black of the Reapers was the uncaring void of space, the black of this creature was like a sewer in winter.

The figure had a head. It looked to be the size of a head of a normal humanoid species found in the galaxy. However, one could not tell for certain, for the head was engulfed in the shadow of the figure's black cowl. Four sickly green lights glowed from the figure's head: one at what would be a chin, one at what should be a forehead, and two near the eyes. The gleam of the figure's left eye was much smaller than that of its right.

The Reapers stared at the figure in their minds. The figure stared back.

"What… are you?" asked one of the Reapers, speaking for the entirety of the hivemind.

"What am I?" replied the figure. The Reapers, incapable of such an action as they were, actually flinched at the sound of the figure's voice. It was terrible. A dark and heavy baritone, it tainted and twisted. Corrupted and metallic, deep and ominous, it sounded nearly demonic in nature. "What am I?" asked the figure again. It gave a raspy, yet sonorous laugh. "I am Fabricator General Kelbor-Hal, one and only true lord of the Mechanicum. Rightful ruler of the Red Planet, rightful heir to the galaxy, servant to none, ally to few." Kelbor-Hal turned directly at the Reapers and seemed to peer into their very souls. "And you? You… are… mine."

And for the first time, the Reapers screamed.

oOo

Codex:

Kelbor-Hal:

Kelbor-Hal was the Fabricator General of Mars, the political and spiritual leader of the Mechanicum and the magi of the Cult Mechanicus during the latter days of the Great Crusade and the Horus Heresy in the 31st Millenium.

Ever since the Emperor of Mankind came to Mars, Kelbor-Hal harbored a deep resentment for the Terran interloper. Unlike many of his colleagues, Hal did not believe the Emperor was the same being of the Omnissiah. Rather, he thought the Emperor was a brutal conqueror who would force his will upon Mars and the Mechanicum, whether they wanted to join Him or not. This was further exacerbated by the Emperor's rule outlawing certain forms of technology from the Imperium of Man and Mechanicum.

When the Horus Heresy began, Kelbor-Hal swore his allegiance to Warmaster Horus and the forces of Chaos, becoming the first leader of what would later be termed the "Dark Mechanicum." Surrounded by like-minded Tech-Priests and the servants of the Warmaster, Kelbor-Hal would unleash the terrible civil war known as the Schism of Mars upon the Red Planet, destroying countless ancient wonders and murdering billions. Despite the best efforts of House Taranis, Legio Ignatum, Legio Tempestus, and the Imperial Fists, Mars fell to Kelbor-Hal's forces during the Siege of Terra.

However, after Horus's death and the defeat of the traitors, Mars was cleansed during the Great Scouring. Along with the Traitor Legions, the forces of the Dark Mechanicum were forced to flee into the Eye of Terror.

Kelbor-Hal has not been seen in the wider galaxy since the Death of Innocence, the very first day of the Schism of Mars. However, he was never killed, and still commands the ancient loyalties of the Red Planet's treacherous servants…

oOo

And there we have it! Kelbor-Hal just migrated to the top of the bad guy food chain. I must admit, I think the Reapers somewhat deserved it. Now, I'm sure that many of you are going, "Oh, no. Not Chaos. That's so typical. They're going to ruin everything." Trust me, they will not. I can manage it. Kelbor-Hal is a terrific and vastly underrated villain. In fact, I'm certain many of you haven't actually heard of him before. I should therefore mention that this is Kelbor-Hal, not Chaos. There will be no gods, no Traitor Legions, no daemons, and definitely no annoying scheming in the corners. Instead, this will be Rule of Cool. Kelbor-Hal and his Dark Mechanicum forces fighting with the Reapers against the Mechanicus, Imperium, and Citadel? Sign me the hell up! It will be great. Next chapter will cover the beginning of the Reaper invasion, and start the road to our grand and wonderful war. See you then!