Chapter 4: The Battle Over Shanxi

EDIT: Added Linebreaks, sorry everybody, forgot to add them!

Author's Note:

This chapter will be the longest yet, so strap yourselves in. Feel free to skip the rest of this note this if you'd rather not know the specifics of how I scaled up the Mass Effect Universe to make this an interesting fight at all.

Let me preface this by saying that Halo Ships are unequivocally better than almost all Mass Effect ships in terms of durability and sheer destructive force. Rejoice, other Halo buffs, for I was one of the people that pointlessly debated Halo/Mass Effect in forums across the internet in my early years. I know my fair share, which is why I generally buffed the Turians, and all ME species to make this something that isn't just another Chief stomps puny blue people story. For one, ME ships fire more powerful rounds, and their Guardian Lasers do considerably more damage to energy shields (though at this point the Turians know this not). Limitations in range are maintained, and the general advantage to maneuverability the ME ships have is kept as well. Assume that much of the stuff I haven't touched upon will also be addressed via plot points. I only did this now to prevent the storm of hate that I am sure will appear. Now that that is over, enjoy the chapter!

Shanxi was a garden world, in every sense of the word. Though much of her landmasses were blanketed in high, nigh impenetrable mountain ranges, the valleys and vales between them were choked with buzzing life. Thick, temperate forests, fertile riverlands, and the beautiful and peaceful wildlife gave her colonists a wonderful place to lay their cities and farms. By Doctor Kingston's reckoning, this place could become home to a farming colony as bountiful as Harvest was decades before.

Kingston took in the cool breeze that blew down the streets of New Landing. Her buildings were still brand new, white marble and grey slate edifices stood proudly in her city center, the abundance of the stone in the nearby hills allowing the opulence. It reminded him of home, the grand boulevards and proud structures of Washington DC.

The city was only mildly busy at this hour, after the Colonial Government called a 'Level Green,' people were skittish, and would rather stay home and enjoy the free day off work rather than risk the "danger" evident in the alert. As the head administrator of Landing Regional Hospital, it was technically his responsibility to go to the security meetings generated by these Levels, but this was the fourth one this month. Kig-Yar pirate sightings a hundred light years off were really only something he could stomach with a belly full of dim sum, so he plotted a course to one of his favorite Cantonese restaurants-

The air raid sirens started blaring from the speakers, catching Kingston and his fellow pedestrians in open shock. The city AI, Xi, started to belt out her warning, "Alert! Alert! Level Orange Situation Declared! All Residents, Immediately Follow Emergency Evacuation and Shelter Plans. Militia Members, Please…" The sound of the panicked crowd and the clear ring of Xi's speech faded as Kingston fell into a deep panic. Where was his husband, his children? Ky was probably supervising at the Space Elevator Construction Site, and the twins should still be at school… the phone ringing in his pocket brought him back to the urgency of the present.

"Is this Doctor Well Kingston?" A cool, masculine voice rumbled over his phone.

"Uh… yes, what is it?"

"Your expertise is needed by the Shanxi Security Council, an armored personnel carrier has been dispatched to your position. Do not leave your current position."

"But, what about my-"

"Your family is being relocated to a secure facility, please remain in your current position." The line went dead before he could get another word in.

The rough, utilitarian ships of the Shanxi defense fleet floated gracefully in the infinite night of space. The graceless edges and angular dimensions hid a beauty, a glorious meld of science, engineering, and the human spirit. His fleet represented the spirit of humanity, the scrappy, brilliant bastards that told the universe to shove it and broke all its rules just to prove it could. His ships would once again prove his race on the field of battle. Not that he was excited about their prospects.

Rear Admiral Jones studied the organized chaos that was Shanxi's Space Station. Over a hundred merchants and space liners, elegant in comparison to their defenders, raced to exit Shanxi's gravity well. His fleet was ill equipped for any sort of unknown force. His own flagship, the ancient Eion-class carrier More Than One, was avoiding an extended stay at the museum only because it was the last carrier the UNSC could spare. Her main gun hadn't been fired since the Great War, her fighter compliment was at three-fourths capacity, this felt like a challenge mode in a strategy game.

It wasn't supposed to be like this, not really. His first posting as a Rear Admiral was supposed to be a relaxed thing, where he learned the ropes of fleet command. He'd only just been promoted for god's sake, and now he was in charge of a First Contact WAR!?

He pushed down the vomit creeping up his throat. Shanxi's fleet was 15 strong now, his carrier, three destroyers, five frigates, six corvettes. A force designed primarily for escort and patrol, and yet it would be used to defend 3 million souls.

Jones sighed, before pulling himself from the observation deck. He couldn't plan a successful defense from an empty room, unfortunately, so he entered the grav-lift, and made his way toward the bridge.

The bridge of a carrier is a uniquely chaotic experience. Bridge officers and air chiefs keep the air at a low din at best. Now, with a battle brewing just beyond some strange artifact, that low din had turned into a something better described as a school cafeteria. As he marched through the shouting Lieutenants and Air Commanders, he gave a knowing glance to Captain Jensen, who looked up from a red-faced supply officer to give a pleading look, before returning.

The tac-room, despite being filled with his staff officers, had also devolved into a shouting match. One that went on a little too long in his presence.

Jones got the attention of his staff with an ear splitting whistle he learned at boot camp, which startled his officers to attention. An awkward silence settled over the room.

"Admiral Jones…" started one Officer, before she trailed off.

"Now that I have everyone's attention," he returned their salutes, sending his officers scrambling into their seats. "Has your team discussed the battleplan?"

Several officers began to speak at once, before quieting at once as well. A look befell the table, as something like shame crept into the air. Guess not.

"Commodore Kitfield, would you like to share the prevailing intelligence with the rest of the class?" Kitfield stood quickly.

"Sir! Our team has devised three basic tactical outlooks based on Captain D'Noka's-" he nodded toward the Captain, "-assessment of the enemy." A wall-screen lit up at the far end of the room, as the Commodore continued. "Based on assessment of ship maneuverability and speed, specifically during the assault by the Morning Star, alien vessels have displayed superiority in realspace maneuverability and acceleration. Unfortunately, after the Morning's use of holographic decoys, it's unlikely it'll work again. We'll have to rely on the good 'ole fashioned for this fight."

Another officer, Chief Specialist Harnur, rose. "From the readings taken by Dancer we can confirm that whatever sort of FTL used by these fleets is based on a sort of mass affecting phenomena, similarly to the Tuning Forks."

"You're saying the Forks are made by the same aliens?" asked Jones.

"I'm saying they used the same principles, this could be another case like the Covenant." The comparison sent a shiver down the spine of everyone in the room. The scars the Covenant left on every human were intense, even a century after the end of the War, and the collapse of their government.

"Let's not be so hasty Specialist, Kitfield, continue your briefing."

"Thank you Sir, since we are likely at a maneuverability disadvantage, I'd recommend staying at range and letting our superior guns thin their numbers before we enter knife-fighting range."

"What gives you the impression they're weaker?"

Kitfield motioned to another officer. "Lieutenant Eze can give you a weapons breakdown." The Lieutenant stood.

"Based on the ranges at which they chose to fire their weapons, we estimate a significant range advantage on our end, though the disparity in average velocity is significant. Our rounds travel significantly more slowly, with the exception of the SMACs, and capital class ships, of which we have none."

"Any other pertinent information?"

"Yields for these weapons couldn't be calculated, as both Corvettes sustained significant damage too quickly from multiple sources. Energy weapons were also detected by Dancer, but yields could not be determined, though it seems they're primarily close range weapons. That's all Admiral."

"I see, then I suggest we get to work."

Plasma cooked the stone and metal, and the building sagged under the stress. People screamed, and were hosed down as they ran out of the entrance. The heat of passing bolts could scald flesh, did in the packed crowds. Those who were hit, well, usually they died. But the screams when they didn't, shrill, like the screams of the fighters above. He carried her, the pregnant woman who'd begged for help as her leg lay split like a log. He'd blasted a hole through the lines of grunts and jackals, yet he heard his shield fizel, the klaxon sound as the woman went limp. He found a place to stop, a place to rest for just a moment from the vrr-vrr-vrr of the plasma and the thunk-thunk of the rifles. He put her down, and saw her face-

"Chief?"

The flash of blue to his right brought him back. Back to the Graceful Dancer. Back to human space for the first time in... what did Cortana say? 50 years.

"Chief!"

His mind reacted to what he heard, and he turned toward Cortana, her face on the monitor twisted with worry. "You alright Chief? You haven't moved in a while."

He stretched his legs before standing before the mirror. He hadn't seen his face in years. Many, in fact. Hadn't had a room to himself for longer. He studied the lines that weren't there before, the scars that crisscrossed.

"I'm fine, Cortana." His arm came up to feel them, the lines and scars, but it dropped before they touched. He drove the memories out of his head, all the painful things. "The Dancer is about to land on Shanxi," the low rumble of atmospheric resistance confirmed her, "thought you might wanna join the Officer's briefing, being that you're technically an Officer."

"Non-Commissioned."

"Oh come on, it's not like they'd actually stop you from attending, do it, please? For me? I wanna see all the fancy toys they've invented since we left." Cortana's puppy eyes looked more like daggers trained on major arteries, but John was convinced, based entirely on the fact that he didn't want to know the retribution he'd receive if he didn't. He made to put on his armor, the battered green suit that was piled neatly in the corner of the room. Yet something in him felt… apprehension. That was the word.

"Okay, we'll go." Cortana practically exploded at that, "On one condition."

Ava Peters had seen more than her fair share of insanity, not even counting the past few days. But a Spartan in navy regs was something you only believed if you saw it. How anyone had managed to find fitting pants and a shirt for a man that stood over 2 meters tall boggled her mind, and the fact that the most famous human ever was standing, barefaced, for the first time, in the same room. Well, she was pinching herself every few minutes, and nothing seemed to disappear, so she probably wasn't dreaming.

It'd been only a day since the Dancer had returned to human space, hours since Shanxi signaled via the emergency beacon that shit had hit the fan. Unfortunately, as the beacon was really more like a deadman's switch, all that high command knew was that the fan was in trouble, and not that the fan was being run over by a septic tank. Wavespace links hadn't been set up in Shanxi system yet, which meant they wouldn't know until tightbeam comms reach the colony Foundation, in a week, along with the other refugees.

Their relief force could be walking into a thousand alien ships, and a colony that's already ash. She put that out of her head. Right, the Master Chief in regs. Heras, XO and 'by-the-book' Commander that he was, was currently detailing the damage dealt to the Dancer by the Forks due to the towing of the Dawn. He'd been doing it for nearly an hour now, even though nearly all the bridge officers knew the damage by heart. She almost wished Aubin was here, just so she could share a cynical look with the ONI agent every once in a while.

The cool, grey color briefing room was cramped with Dancer's 8 officers and representatives, and was clearly the only room in the ship not touched by color. She assumed that was Heras' idea.

Sidhu was the first to crack. A white lie to escape the druggery, a problem with weapon calibrations or somesuch. Then Jin, for comm tower supervision, then the Marine Commander, Vanzo, working on integration with local forces, until suddenly it was only Ana, Heras, Cortana, and the Master Chief. And Zizka, technically, but Ana doubted he was actually listening anymore. Cortana, though, she was probably the best audience member there was. Asking questions about everything from the MAC to crew quarters. And the Chief, practically a statue, yet every glance at his ice blue eyes told her he was alert, watching his AI ask and learn.

Ava was trying to think of a polite way to escape this hell, when a claxon sounded through the ship. Heras was jolted by the clanging sound, red alert. He rushed out of the briefing room, and onto the bridge, as crew members poured in.

"Jin! Status report!"

The woman raised her hand as she cupped one ear of her headphones. "Fleetcom reports 42… 48… 51 ships appearing from the Fork, energy signatures match the hostile aliens." A sharp wave of despair swept the bridge.

Heras took a long, shuddering breath. "Okay, uh… Engineering, can you give an estimate on how our engines are doing?"

A pause was held, before Jin quietly whispered. "Sir, you are engineering."

Heras muttered under his breath, "Right, Zizka, can you get me an update from Lieutenant Nina in engineering?"

"Already have it, Commander. She says we'd be moving at 12 flank at best if we left dry-dock now. Shields are at 100%, but hull integrity is poor, approaching failing. My opinion, we shouldn't leave the spaceport."

"And be sitting ducks?"

The following silence was deafening.

"All ships have successfully transited the relay, Admiral." Comms reported. Litrinox only grinned.

"Sensors, give me a readout on the system, where are they hiding?"

"Sir, we're picking up massive amounts of artificial energy sources around the second planet. Garden-class. Energy signatures match the Batarian ships. Numbering ten, 6 frigates, 3 cruisers, and a dreadnought!?"

"What? Confirm that!" Litrinox practically shouted.

"All ships confirm, size measured between 1,300 and 1,500 meters."

Litrinox cursed under his breath, a sharp thing, that betrayed his shock. "Are these Batarians insane?"

"Sir?" A Science Officer stood beside him.

"Yes, Lieutenant Vakair?" exasperation tinged Litrinox's voice.

"It's the opinion of the First Strategists Jigiorix and Falsar that the combatants may be a new species."

A murmur spread quickly at that. "What gives them such an idea?"

"We've analysed the electronic warfare package sent by the enemy, it seems it was a translation package for a language we can't identify."

Desolas approached then, "You're saying we opened fire on a damn First Contact Party!" Whispers were now turning into full on disrespectful conversation.

"Quiet Down!" It quieted to a more respectable whisper at the Admiral's admonishment, but Litrinox knew that was only due to Turian discipline. "If what you say is true, we've broken more than a few Council laws." Litrinox's own whisper was slight. "This must be a young race, what with their poor protection of such a populated planet. Perhaps they could be made to submit to the Hierarchy?"

"Are you in- sir if the Council finds out?" Desolas struggled to maintain his professionalism. "What justification could we possibly have for war!" His outrage spilled volume into his voice.

"Their breaking of Citadel Conventions, Sub Admiral, their use of nuclear weapons, of opening relays-"

"How could they know of such laws!"

"It does not matter!" The Admiral shouted again, for everyone to hear. "It is that, or it is our disgrace!" The Admiral made a nervous gesture, a flexing of his mandibles only scarcely seen by his men. "Has the language package been translated?" He asked the statuesque Science Officer.

"A basic translation has been compiled, Sir."

"Then send this message to the primitives:"

Admiral Jones was conversing with his AI, Lianders, when his comms officer shouted, "Aliens are blasting a message on all frequencies!" The bridge only barely reacted to that, a point of pride for the Admiral, who was himself left open mouthed.

"Let's hear it."

A scramble of interference began to play from the speakers. "Vi er Turian hierarkiet. overgiv jeres skibe og rum stationer og jeres liv vil blive skånet." Confusion spread through the ranks quickly. He could feel it spread through his fleet. It was the Captain of his flagship, Jensen, that first said what rankled thousands of humans across the planet.

"The aliens speak Danish?"

"I guess?" Was all Jones managed to say. "How did they learn this?" Came a solid ten seconds later, and was a question directed at nobody in particular.

His AI, a man dressed in the thick woolen fashion of 1800's Europe, appeared in a flourish of grey light. "The contact packages use uncommon languages to protect military communications in English."

That did make more sense. "Jensen, you can speak Danish right?"

"I can."

"What did they say?"

"Essentially Sir, surrender or die."

"Ah, nothing unexpected then, continue preparations."

Comms seemed disappointed for a second, "Nothing to say back sir?"

The Admiral pondered for a moment, before he spoke: "Fuck you."

The Salarian Frigate Wandering Eye slipped into the system that so troubled the Turians that they needed the whole 15th Patrol Fleet. They entered in sour moods, their attempt to ascertain the nature of the aliens ruined by the brutal destruction of their ships by the vast superiority of the Turian fleet. The first alien ship, which had tried in vain to contact the Turians, was little more than scraps of floating metal, and had left nothing of interest beyond a curious metal alloy, which seemed to be made for impressive radiation protection.

The second was also mostly ruined, though some scraps of biological material were recovered, all of it was burned and unhelpful. Even the computer they'd recovered was half blasted, and entirely wiped of data. Clever things these aliens, the female salarian thought, secretive despite an ignorance of the wider galaxy. A shame they will be conquered, they might have been interesting. In any case, it was her job to learn more about this species, and so it was necessary they find some intact (or at least mostly intact) specimens of technology and biology for study. As was the way of the STG.

"Ma'am, a suitable target has been detected on system outskirts, appears to be attempting to escape system in stealth. VIs predict 89% likelihood that they're civilian."

"Excellent work Duro. Jierto, run cold, Lour, prepare your operatives, we're boarding in 15." The calm exterior of the Dalatrass hid her excitement. She stared at the small dot marking the vessel. Soon you will reveal your secrets.

The tactical map loomed large in Jones' mind, as he walked from station to station, surveying his staff officers at work. A few minutes ago Captain Jensen had ordered the launching of her 300 fighters from the More Than One, and the endless chatter of the Air Commanders had lowered to a mere whisper of sound. He listened to the chatter spurned by the fleet, his Captains and Commanders, the Marshal on Shanxi Station, the cool and professional words that reverberated around the room. He watched as 50 odd alien ships silently approached. He could almost see them now, from the huge windows at the front of the room. His eyes were far less powerful than the tach-sensors, radar, and tightbeam pings that every ship his fleet was sending back here, yet despite all that, he could swear he saw the grey, angled ships of his enemy.

He walked over to his Sensors, and knew time was almost up. The enemy was entering extreme effective range for Shanxi station's SMAC, the battle was soon to be fought. "Give me general comms." The officer gave the affirmative, and for a moment, he developed stage fright, the enormity of the situation suddenly weighing down. He shook it off, and began:

"Soldiers of the UNSC, this is your Admiral speaking. I'll make this quick, as I know you don't need inspiration to do your damndest. I only wish to give you purpose. To remind you that we fight not simply for ourselves, or our ships, or our colony. No. We fight for all humanity, for all her people in every city, on every farm, every desolate rock and glorious citadel. We fight for them, and today we'll make sure those aliens never forget it. Good luck, though I'm sure you won't need it."

"Sir, Shanxi station has begun her barrage on the enemy fleet."

So it begins.

Litrinox suddenly hated these Primitives with a singular passion. Their station, one blasted station, had managed to utterly destroy three of his vessels before they'd even managed to enter battery range. Litrinox had maneuvered his fleet into an orderly line of battle, his frigates on the extreme flanks and front, screening for mines, fighters, and other frigates, while his heavy ships in the back were content to lob artillery shells at the enemies own measly frigates. That classic strategy was thrown straight out the window when a Station opened up with a slug moving at an ungodly percentage of the speed of light.

The cruiser Felinse, along with the frigates Jirah and Litzi had been annihilated in the first blasts, and his fleet was now taking evasive maneuvers. The Admiral was suitably impressed by these whelps; when you don't have eezo, just make the gun bigger, then build a station around it. It also seriously threw his plans into disarray.

"Detecting fighter screens, estimated 300 or more fighters on left and right flanks!"

There was no time for shocked silences in battle, only action. "Redirect our fighter screens to meet them, authorize frigates on the left and right to pull in and engage!" A flare of light shone on in his center.

"Diester has been destroyed sir." Litrinox knew their Captain, he noted dimly as the ruins of the shattered ship drifted speedily into view, knocked horribly by the station cannon the aliens wielded. The line of the far off alien ships then erupted into light.

"We're taking fire from those damned ships, what distance till our accelerators are in green?"

"One light second Sir-" A crash sounded from around him, sending the officer into his console with a sickening thud.

"Barriers down 35%, we just took a hit from their Dreadnought!"

"Re-angle kinetic barriers on degree-"

"Give me a firing solution on those damned frigates, all cruisers target designated-"

"Enemy fighters engaged with primary screens-"

"Fleet has entered green distance, open fire!"

His own fleet began to return volleys, as blue-grey streaks of light met the orange balls of flame that raced across the night, and bombarded the enemy in flares of blue shielding and green explosions. An enemy frigate was sundered by a blast from a cruiser, sending it careening into fighters along her flanks, another deftly dodged missiles, while launching torpedoes of its own into the belly of a turian cruiser. Other, slower missiles exploded into nuclear fire when intercepted, further enraging his fleet.

Litrinox reveled as the battle commenced, absorbed and added his own voice into the chorus of battle communications. He grinned ferally as his vessel lined up with one of the bulky and elongated cruisers of the enemy, and fired four rounds in quick succession, popping it's tough shield with the help of cruisers of the line, and gutting it with two final cracks of his cannon.

Swarms of their fighters still dogged his own, but he was sure the frigates could defeat them, and the enemy's own frigate escorts. Still, his losses were troubling. The Super Cannon claimed another cruiser, this one only kilometers from the Reticent, spewing atmosphere from a rending wound along the back of its superstructure.

"Be advised, heavy fighters carry torpedos, prioritize crafts."

"Mayday, mayday, Corsaire is dead in the water-"

"We're pushing those bastards back!"

"Enemy frigate destroyed!"

"We're losing barriers on our stern, requesting an egress through the battle lines."

"We're detecting energy on the planet's spinward horizon."

"I'm starting to hate these damn savages, do we have details?" Litrinox growled.

"Five cruisers moving fast, must have hid behind the planet's gravity well."

"Dispatch the left flank to intercept, keep me posted." Clever bastards, these monsters, but we'll take them down a notch, and I'll be welcomed home a conqueror of savage beasts.

"Sir, we're detecting energy build-up."

"Then get our ships moving!"

Commodore Cortina anxiously paced the deck, his head trained dually on the tactical map and range finders. He had been dispatched by Jones to "harass those fuckers," and had decided the stealth approach to bring his three destroyers and two frigates into the back of the enemy lines. A suicide mission? Not if he had a say.

"Cortina, a section of their flank has turned to face us."

"I can see that, Livonia." Cortina was always curt with his AI, the dour and often fatalistic woman always stated the obvious. It was a tradition the two shared, and one that persisted even in these dire times. "Weapons, are we close?"

"500K kilometers before we're in range.

"Black Heart is taking fire Sir, enemy corvettes approaching on the left flank." Comms reported.

"Tell them to take evasive action, we're nearly at effective range." A shudder shook the ship.

"Shields at 87% percent. Damn those bastards fire fast." Engineering belted out.

"We're at 100K kilos Commodore!"

Streaks of fire began to spew out of the approaching enemies, and bounced or shattered their projectiles on the energy shields of his own group. The shields of the frigate Emerald Star shattered under the combined lucky fire of three enemy corvettes, and only managed to regenerate after a glancing blow sheared off her con-tower.

"50k kilos!"

"Fire!" Triple beams of blue light shot from the bow of the three destroyers, rending the two corvettes directly in their path. MAC rounds blasted from his frigates, bypassing the enemies advancing on them, and firing into the lightly shielded backs of the enemy cruisers. Hardlight weapons were a staple of modern destroyers, able to scythe through light armor, and burn through shields. As Cortina's own ship, Great Horse, pumped its engines through the enemy lines, his lance shredded one… two… three ships, his fleet adding three more kills of their own, before his own casualties started to rear.

First went the Emerald Star, the frigate run-through by a massive torpedo that must have hit the magazine. Black Heart was overtaken by fighters, who overwhelmed the energy shields and riddled her with bombs. The Horse groaned as a round split her engine room in two, totaling her slipspace drive. "Comms? Order our lads into retreat, tell them it was an honor." Cortina eyed the cruiser that must have been the enemy flagship, and grinned. "Helm, plot a new course."

The enemy cruiser sent a shot straight through the bridge before the order could be carried out, killing the ship and her Captain in one fell swoop.

"Great Horse has been disabled, Battlegroup Milo is retreating."

Admiral Jones had watched in disbelief as that damned Cortina cut a swath through the alien forces. He'd used the utter disarray the Commodore had caused as time to pull his forces back, little that their still were. Only his flagship, and two frigates had managed to disengage successfully, the sheer volume of fire overwhelming his fleet. Hundreds of fighters were still clashing in the wake, holding of the endless corvettes of the aliens at bay. The chatter among the air marshals was solemn, and intense. He'd inflicted heavy losses on the aliens, but his own fleet was practically gone, reduced to a third.

It pained him to flee the carcasses of his own ships, but resistance must survive, if Shanxi was to withstand these invaders.

"Marshal Ioanness, give our fighters the retreat order, if they can't dock soon direct them to Shanxi."

"Admiral, boarders are breaching Shanxi Station!"

"The Willard has been disabled sir!"

Jones felt a great weight of shame as he ordered his 'fleet' to enter slipspace.

Litrinox watched as the last of the enemy fleet disappeared into portals. The suicide ships that had launched into his rear were dealt with, only a single of those spirits-damned laser-cruisers escaping from his force. Twelve of his ships lay destroyed or disabled, while his enemy was forced from the field. A victory, perhaps, but a costly one.

His marine commanders were already preparing for the invasion of the planet below, and boarders were already working through the huge station that had caused him so much grief. He looked at a picture of a dead alien, a fleshy, hairy ape that looked suspiciously like an Asari.

Internally, he despaired at what terrors he'd introduced to this weak-looking species. But he also dreamed of a future where he would be Primarch of this potential protectorate. He dreamed of the power he could wield, of the advances he could bring to this race that lacked even eezo. This death was surely worth it, wasn't it?

Author's Note: Please leave reviews if you have them, I always want to see my reader's feedback! Also, a special thanks to biolaj1998 for translating the Danish portion of this chapter!