Chapter 5

Grim Times Ahead

From within his portable command bunker, General Desolas Arterius surveyed the battle scene that was displayed upon a holographic map. So far, everything had been going according to standard procedure; preliminary bombardments had knocked out important structures and the ground forces were continuing the advance towards the alien's main population center at an acceptable rate. Yes, everything was progressing admirably.

Then, one of the technicians spoke up. "Uh…General Arterius, the 114th Legion has gone dark."

Desolas frowned as he looked over at the technician's screen. Sure enough, the icon that had marked the 114th's position was no longer there.

"When did this happen?" he asked.

"Just now, sir. I had them onscreen not five seconds ago and then…" he gestured vaguely at the screen, "they just blinked out."

"What was their location?"

"Sector A-6. Aside from some minor skirmishes, they reported that the area was secure. They were preparing to go link up with the 230th Legion and the 53rd Marine Division and begin pushing deeper into alien-held territory."

Desolas digested the information. "Do you think the aliens made a surprise attack?"

"I doubt it, sir." The technician indicated a portion of the aliens' city, within which was clustered a number of red dots. "We've kept a close eye on the enemy's movements; an offensive would have shown up, plus we would have received word from either the Legion or from the fleet. In my opinion, sir, this is just a glitch in the system. A few diagnostic programs and we should have everything back to normal."

Desolas nodded. "Then make it happen, soldier. We're on our own until we can call in support from the Hierarchy. I want our systems at full functionality."

"Yes sir."

As the technician began to run his diagnostics, Desolas debated about what he should do in the meantime. The 114th Legion was no longer showing up, so either it was as the technician said and it was just a glitch in the system, or something had happened to them. If it was the latter, then they had to take immediate action; the 114th was covering the left flank of his forces and without it, the enemy would have a clear shot at the center where the intelligence and command structure was. The General hadn't reached his current rank by ignoring a potential problem, and not knowing what happened to a full Legion was a big problem.

Desolas turned to a communications officer. "Get me a line to Colonel Tarkin." A few taps on a keyboard later, and Desolas spoke into the embedded microphone. "Colonel Tarkin, this is General Arterius. We have lost your signal on our computer. What is your status, over?"

All that the General heard was the crackling sound of static. He tried again. "Come in, Colonel. I repeat: we have lost your signal. What is your status?"

More static greeted him, but eventually, he heard a voice break through. "….eneral Arterius! Do you read me? This is Colonel Thanasis Tarkin! For the love of Palaven, answer me, sir!"

"This is General Arterius. Colonel, what's going on? What happened to the 114th Legion?"

The colonel's voice took on an edge of hysteria. "It's gone, General!"

Desolas shook his head, positive that he had heard wrong. "Say again, Colonel; what do you mean the 114th Legion is 'gone?'"

"I mean it's been destroyed! The aliens dropped a whole company's worth of giant mecha on top of our heads and they fucking blitzed us! It's just me, my assistant and a squad of soldiers that are left!"

Desolas paused in disbelief. If what Tarkin said was true, then they were now down close to two thousand soldiers and dozens of armored support vehicles. And they hadn't even been aware of it.

"Colonel, what is your current position?"

"Just outside of my legion's former location. General, there's something else you need to know: the aliens have started landing additional forces."

Desolas felt his stomach drop to his feet. First the report that the 114th Legion had been destroyed and now the enemy was landing reinforcements! How could things have gone out of control so quickly? He whipped around and headed back towards the technician, who had been distracted from running the diagnostic program by the news. He soon found himself face to face with a very unhappy Turian General.

"Soldier, why the hell didn't the computer pick this up? Our left flank is now exposed to enemy assault!"

The technician took a step back; Desolas looked angry enough to bite his head off! "W-we checked, sir!" he stammered. "All scans indicated that there was nothing there!"

"THEN SCAN AGAIN!" Desolas roared.

Without further ado, the technician began tapping away at the display's keyboard as though his life depended on it. A large white line bisected the map and then split into two, travelling in opposite directions. For a brief moment, everything seemed normal; then, the left-hand line reached its end and revealed the terrible truth. Where once there had been nothing of notice save the location of the 114th Legion, dozens of red icons now occupied the space and more continued to pop into existence onscreen.

The technician's hands fell limply to his sides at the sight. "Spirits save us, where did they come from?"

Desolas grimaced in frustration. "Weren't you listening? The Colonel said they were landing troops. That means we no longer have orbital supremacy."

"You don't mean these aliens took out the fleet, do you sir?"

"That is exactly what I mean." Desolas pinched the bridge of his nose. This was beyond bad; not only had the 114th Legion been destroyed, the enemy had wrested control of the orbit from the Patrol Fleet and was now bringing in reinforcements. The only saving grace for the Turians was that they were too close to the main population center for the aliens' fleet to bombard them. Of course, that hinged on whether or not they would consider that an acceptable tradeoff. If collateral damage wasn't regarded as a problem, then the aliens could bomb them with impunity.

Regardless, this was a situation that needed to be addressed immediately. Not wanting to waste any more time, Desolas began snapping out orders.

"Get in contact with the other units. Tell them to move as close as possible to the main city, but do not engage the enemy unless they fire first." He turned his attention back to Tarkin's line. "Colonel, head towards the 230th Legion. The aliens will most likely attack them next, so let them know what they can expect. I don't want us caught unawares again."

As the subordinate noncoms rushed about to carry out his orders, Desolas reflected on how badly he needed a drink right now.

#

Laelia ran through the corridors of the Resolute Spirit at a breakneck pace. Already, her lungs were burning from her sprint. She didn't want to stop for a breath; the thing was probably nipping at her heels right now. Unfortunately, Turians are not built to maintain top speed for extended periods. They could put on impressive bursts of swiftness, but that pace would tire them out very quickly, and Laelia was no exception. Soon, she was forced to come to a halt. Leaning against a wall, she sucked in ragged gasps of air and willed herself to catch her breath as quickly as possible.

Even as Laelia stood there, the horrid images of what had just happened rose up in her mind. She remembered in perfect detail how Grixus died, his arm molded like putty and then his veins bursting, spewing blood everywhere. She remembered the monster's vice-like grip around her throat, its flesh burning to the touch, and the cruel eagerness in its eyes. If Severus had not distracted it when he did, she would have suffered the same terrible fate as her former companion. She felt her knees begin to buckle at the thought; of all the ways to die, Laelia could think of none worse.

She shook her head violently, reminding herself that this was no time to be frozen with thoughts of what might have been. The ship's bridge was not far away now; just a little further and she'd be there. The crew had to know about the creature stalking the ship's pathways, know what it was capable of. It would take the combined effort of all Turians aboard to have any chance of killing it.

Then, there was a loud clang, and the sounds of something clacking across the floor reached her.

Fighting down the urge to panic, Laelia dove into a nearby room. It was one of the crew's quarters, an officer's judging by its size, and inside she found a locker, just big enough for her to squeeze in. Without hesitation, she pried it open and clambered into it, shutting its door behind her. In any other situation, she would have considered this humiliating; a full-grown female Turian, hiding in a dark space like a youngling from night terrors. Unfortunately, this nightmare was not one she could wake up from.

The clacking sounds grew louder, and soon the thing making them stepped into the room.

Its appearance was that of a bipedal insect; four long arms stuck out from its wide shoulders and three pairs of translucent wings protruded from its back. Eight beady eyes dotted its face, each one blinking at random intervals. Laelia couldn't see any mouthparts, but there were plenty of other features to worry about. The upper arms were tipped with talons five inches long and looked strong enough to rip through a Turian's exoskeleton with no trouble. The lower two were simply massive chitinous hooks and could probably slice a Krogan in half with one swipe. It was smaller than the monster Laelia had faced, only eight feet in height, though that didn't make it any less intimidating.

The creature's wings buzzed as it looked around the room. It was a small compartment, only twelve feet long and half that wide, so there was not much to look at. Nevertheless, it took its time to scrutinize almost every detail; it was as if (and Laelia prayed that it was not) the creature was toying with her. The creature then turned back towards the door and called out in a strange language; how it could talk without a discernible mouth was a mystery to the Turian.

Another creature scuttled in, and Laelia had to bite back a scream.

What she saw couldn't possibly exist; nature would never permit itself to shape the abomination she beheld. It was hideous, nothing but a mass of carapace and spiky legs, three pairs of which served as its means of moving. The front two resembled blades, twin swords of serrated chitin. She glimpsed at pincer-like mandibles upon what could only be its head; they rubbed together and dripped a clear, viscous fluid, no doubt a poison of some sort. Tiny eyes, little more than white pinpricks, dotted the head, seemingly at random. Worst of all, though, was the sensation of absolute terror it instilled in Laelia. She had never been more afraid of something in her entire life; even the crimson-skinned demon from before paled in comparison.

The scream that she had fought down resurfaced with a vengeance and Laelia clamped her hands around her mouth to keep it from escaping. If she let out so much as a whimper, she was dead.

Spirits, she prayed, don't let these things find me.

The spiky horror said something to its counterpart, which Laelia judged to be a question by the tone of its voice. The insect creature replied and it trilled excitedly; whatever its companion had said had clearly pleased it. It asked another question and in response, its companion turned its head, which the repulsive abomination mimicked.

Their gazes halted on Laelia's hiding place.

The Turian's eyes went wide as she realized that she had been found. Before she could even utter a whimper of fear, the six-legged monstrosity skittered up to the locker door and tore it off its hinges like it was a sheet of tinfoil. Laelia was then treated to a detailed viewing of the creature's dreadful visage; it chittered with glee, fanged mandibles oozing thick beads of poison that dripped onto the ground. The primal fear it made her feel only intensified with it being so close.

Without thinking, Laelia jabbed her thumbs into two of the creature's eyes. It let out a shriek of pain and surprise, backing away from the Turian as a pair of smaller limbs began rubbing the places where she had gouged it. With the monster now distracted, Laelia made a mad dash for the door, intending to get out of the room and run as fast as she could to the bridge.

In spite of her impressive burst of speed, she found herself intercepted by the insect creature, which placed itself firmly between her and the door. Driven on by fear and anger, Laelia attacked like a cornered animal, pounding and clawing at the thing's thorax with wild abandon.

"LET ME GO!" she screamed. "LET ME GO, YOU SPIRITS-DAMNED FREAK!"

Fueled by adrenaline and survival instinct, her blows would have been crippling to an ordinary opponent. The only reaction she received from the bug was short warbles of annoyance. Finally, it grew tired of the Turian's flailing, and quicker than the eye could follow, it delivered a sharp chop to the side of her head with its upper right hand. Laelia went down like a puppet with its strings cut; the last thing she saw as unconsciousness took her was the two creatures standing over her.

#

"Well, this one was energetic," Snitch remarked as he knelt down beside the limp alien. A quick inspection showed that she was still alive; Snitch had been afraid that his blow might have accidently killed her. Dreams were far from the strongest of Tager symbionts, but they were still otherworldly beings with strength superior to anything non-bonded humans or Nazzadi could naturally achieve, and Snitch doubted that these aliens were much tougher.

"No kidding," Creeper grumbled. "The little shit poked out two of my eyes. I hate it when they get injured; even after they heal, the damn things still sting like a bitch."

"She certainly had some claws on her," Snitch said.

Creeper paused in confusion. "'She'? How do you know it's a female?"

"Educated guess," replied Snitch. "This one lacks the crest we've seen on the others and seems to have a smaller build."

Creeper snorted dismissively. "Who cares what gender the thing is? Let's just get it back to the Murder."

Snitch wedged his upper arms underneath the comatose alien and bore her aloft bridal-style. Creeper snickered at the sight.

"What a lovely couple you two make. When's the honeymoon?"

"Ha-ha, you overgrown spider. Come on."

As the two Tagers made their way back to their Murder, Creeper gazed thoughtfully at the alien and mused, "You know, I wonder what these things taste like. You think Carnage will let me eat one?"

Snitch considered that. In all likelihood, the Alpha would; he might even have a taste himself, being a Bloodgod and all.

"He might, if we have a few extra warm bodies," Snitch answered.

Creeper shivered with delight. "Ooh, goody!"

#

In the sole remaining APC of the 114th Legion, Colonel Tarkin sat in despondent silence, listening to the vehicle rumble over the terrain. He stared down at the metallic floor, feeling sick to his stomach. The 114th Legion was among the most decorated Legion of all; it had a chronicle that stretched back to the Unification Wars, distinguishing itself in numerous battles. When the Turians had entered the Krogan Rebellions conflict on the side of the Council, it had stood fast against numberless hordes of Krogan warriors during the Battle of Gellix. Few among the other Legions could equal its glories, and fewer still surpassed it.

And in the span of only a couple of hours, this new alien race had all but obliterated it.

Out of two thousand soldiers, only he, his adjutant and six enlisted soldiers still lived, three of which sported major injuries. One's left arm was a mangled wreck, barely held together by bandages and a makeshift sling; each jolt of the APC made him wince in pain. Another had half his face seared off and his chest was a mass of burns. The third had a three-foot metal shard lodged in his right leg, which no one dared remove for fear of worsening the injury.

Tarkin's hands began to make wringing motions, as though strangling an imaginary neck. The rational part of his mind told him that this was reality; in war, things rarely went as planned, and this was just another confirmation of that fact. His emotional side, however, regarded this defeat as an utter humiliation; his forces had been picked apart as though they were undisciplined pirate gangs, with not even a single enemy casualty to their credit. Even once it was restored to full strength, the 114th would forever carry this black mark in their records.

The driver's voice broke through his simmering contemplations. "Sir, the 230th Legion is just up ahead."

Tarkin made an absent gesture of acknowledgement. A few moments later, he felt the APC come to a halt. Feeling as though he had just aged fifty years, Tarkin stood up and exited the vehicle with his adjutant in tow. As he did, he caught sight of an escort coming to greet him. The lead Turian, sporting red and white facial markings, stopped in front of the Colonel and saluted, which Tarkin returned halfheartedly.

"Colonel Tarkin," he said, "Colonel Silvanus. General Arterius informed me of what happened. My deepest condolences for your men."

Tarkin nodded wearily. "Your sympathies are appreciated. But before anything happens, I have three soldiers in need of immediate medical attention." He jerked a thumb back at the APC.

"At once," the officer replied. With a flourish, he brought up his omni-tool and said, "Masavo, I need a medical team at my position, double-time!"

Within the span of five minutes, another APC, modified to serve as a portable med-station, rolled up and screeched to a halt. Medical personnel filed out from inside and rushed into Tarkin's own vehicle. Moments later, the three wounded Turians were led out on stretchers with their uninjured brothers in arms following morosely behind. Silvanus's eyes widened at the sight.

"Palaven's holy earth …" he breathed. "This is all that's left?"

Tarkin nodded. "I'm afraid so. You're looking at the sole living vestiges of the 114th Legion."

"Spirits…" Silvanus said. "When the General told me that there were only a small number of survivors, I didn't think the number would be so few."

"I would appreciate if you didn't remind me," Tarkin said darkly.

"Of course; my apologies," Silvanus replied gently. He then cleared his throat and said, "Forgive me for doing this so abruptly, but I must ask that you accompany me to my command post. Time is of the essence, and I need to know everything that you do about these aliens."

Tarkin sighed wearily. "Very well."

He and his adjutant followed Silvanus to a bunker which served as a personal office and was isolated from the rest of the 230th Legion, save for some attendants under the direction of Silvanus. The officer went over to a nearby cabinet and withdrew two bottles of greenish-yellow fluid, which Tarkin recognized as an energy drink for Turians.

"You two must be thirsty after everything you've been through," Silvanus said, handing the bottles to the colonel and his adjutant. They took them gratefully, though Tarkin privately wished for some aged Turian brandy, on the rocks. Of course, he knew that such a thing would not be found on the battlefield; hitting the sauce just gave the enemy one more advantage over you, and right now the last thing the Turian forces needed was their commanding officers liquored up. Without a word, he began to chug the liquid down.

Silvanus sat down at a portable folding desk and waited patiently while the other two Turians finished their drinks. Once they had, he immediately got down to business.

"Now, I recognize that this is still fresh and painful, but I have to know what I'm in for. The General believes that my Legion is going to be hit next; the 230th is the rearguard, which means if the aliens get past us, then they've got a clear shot to take out our overall command structure." He gave a pointed stare and Tarkin. "I don't think I have to tell you that would be nothing short of a disaster."

Tarkin knew only too well how devastating that would be. The Turian military had a clear line of succession, just like everything else within the Hierarchy, but in the event that Desolas was taken out, his successor might not be up to the task of leading the forces. Sighing, Tarkin took a seat on a nearby crate.

"If the aliens do decide to attack you, I can guarantee that you'll be in for the fight of your life," he said solemnly. "The force that hit us was comprised of giant mecha, ranging from ten feet in height to upwards of thirty feet, and they dismantled us in no time."

Silvanus made some notes on a datapad. "What can you tell me about these mecha's capabilities?"

Tarkin looked over at his aide and motioned for him to answer. With a nervous cough, he said, "The mecha were capable of dealing immense damage; the larger ones possessed sufficient firepower to take out a Tyrus tank with one shot. The smaller ones served mostly in anti-personnel roles, though these too could inflict severe damage on vehicles."

Silvanus made a few more notes. "Anything else?"

The adjutant nodded. "From what we've seen, the aliens have three types of mecha: One type focused on speed and maneuverability and used some form of antigravity technology for flight; if I had to guess, I would say that each one reached in excess of 100 miles an hour in air, at a bare minimum. In any case, they were too agile for our anti-air weapons to shoot them down. When they arrived, they concentrated on our vehicles, utilizing energy-based weapons to take them out. One kind in particular fired off what looked like a blast of electricity which would arc off from one vehicle to another, frying their systems and rendering them inoperable, as well as electrocuting the crews to death. I regret to say that this weapon was horribly effective.

"Then, there was a type that focused on durability instead of speed and preferred to remain on the ground, though these too were equipped with the same antigravity technology for limited flight capabilities. Their armor was sufficient enough to shrug off anti-vehicle munitions, though it is likely that it could be penetrated by mounted mass accelerator cannons; our own armored vehicles capable of such feats had already been mostly destroyed by the time these mecha arrived, so this remains only a possibility. Though they lacked their faster brethren's agility, they were still capable of remarkable dexterity when it came to grappling. These mecha also used energy weapons, most commonly lasers."

Though he tried, Silvanus was unable to suppress the look of shock that crossed his face. It was gone a moment later and the Turian focused back on the matter at hand.

"And what about the third type?"

The adjutant paused, clearly at a loss for words. "Well…I-I don't really know how to describe them. They were—"

"Some kind of giant cybernetic monsters," Tarkin finished. "Out of all the mecha, these things were among the biggest. I saw one that topped sixty feet; up close, I might add. They've got the same kinds of weapons as the others, but they're a lot more durable. That same cyborg-creature took a shot from a Tyrus tank at point-blank range, and the damn thing regenerated before I knew it. Then, it ripped the tank's gun off and punched it so hard it actually bounced away!"

Silvanus typed a few more times on the digital pad before scrutinizing it carefully. It was obvious to even a casual observer that he did not like what he saw. He set it down and ran a hand across his fringe. "How many of these things are there?"

Tarkin shrugged. "A couple hundred altogether, maybe a little more. Of course, they won't be the only thing coming at you; the aliens were landing additional forces when we fell back. I can't tell you what to expect from them, not even their numbers, but personally, I would be willing to assume that they'll be coming in sizeable numbers and are no less dangerous than their mecha."

Silvanus now clasped his hands together and stared down at the desk as though it could somehow offer him advice on what to do. After a few moments, he lifted his head to look at Tarkin, mandibles clenched in frustration.

"So, what would you recommend I do?"

"Dig in, get every gun you have pointed at them and send out word that you need reinforcements."

"And if it's not enough?"

Tarkin took a deep breath. "Then Spirits help us."