Citadel, Widow system
For all the warnings, preparations, and the raised alertness levels, the defenders were still caught off guard. In hindsight, there were recriminations, investigations and flinging of accusations, but in reality, no-one could have imagined the attack would start like this. Admirals Vipsania and Lidanya put their ships in position to defend against anything that came through the Widow relay, C-Sec tactical teams were on high alert, reinforced by Blackwatch, Serrice Guard, STG, and N-level strike teams. The traditionally shady districts of the vast station were heavily patrolled in case Saren attempted to smuggle geth onboard similar to what he pulled on Noveria. Traffic control, especially the relay network oversight was paying much closer attention to ship movements, and the patrol craft boarded all vessels that were found to be even the least bit suspicious - or had too clean or too new records. Sure, the increase in paranoia was causing mutterings, but with the leaked hints and evidence of a geth offensive, the popular opinion on the station was that the new measures, while certainly heavy-handed, were unfortunately warranted.
Even so, Jondum Bau could not stop fretting. He knew, he felt that they were missing something, and that it would cost them dearly. He paced in the conference room, occasionally glaring at the screens showing various feeds from the Citadel and its defense forces, or his two subordinates who were currently brainstorming about likely scenarios for Saren's attack routes and methods. The salarian Spectre brought up his omnitool to check in with the Executor, when the Relay Memorial lit up, its core starting to spin. Surprise, dread, and recognition flashed across the minds of the three agents, and as the first group of geth materialized from the blinding flash of a relay transition, a sweep of Bau's omnitool sent all alarms in the Citadel howling.
For a significant number of on-board defenders, the commendably swift action came too late. Explosions bloomed in several strategic locations, depriving C-Sec of landing pads, communications relays, personnel. Asari huntresses, acolytes and adherents to a corrupted Matriarch turned their biotics and weapons against those in their vicinity - and Bau cursed as their obvious mistake manifested itself. Still, he was the ranking Spectre. Recriminations and self-flagellation could wait, he had a duty. The salarian's omnitool lit up, fingers hammering instructions with quick precision, falling back on recently-established tertiary channels as he found the usual primaries (even the dedicated Spectre channels) jammed.
"Tela, get the Council off the station and into safety; do not let them get out of your sight." The asari nodded, and Bau went on. "Nihlus, find the Blackwatch commander and hold the Council Chambers. If Saren's not heading there, you are free to operate as you see fit." The turian acknowledged with a nod, then the trio were in the lobby - coming face to face with a dozen asari and twice that many geth Juggernauts and Destroyers headed by a grayish-green Prime.
With a shriek of rage and the boom of displaced air, Tela charged into them, the biotic explosion pulverizing two of the huntresses, the Spectre's first shot turned the head of a third into fragments of bone and brain matter. Thrusters flared as Nihlus' jump pack came alive, the turian weaving through the barrage of bullets and energy discharges sent his way, his rifle punching holes through a Juggernaut's armor. Bau's handcannon tore a hole into the Prime's chest, the salarian evading the mech's shots with boneless grace and fluidity, his omnitool sent an overload charge into a Juggernaut attempting to crush him flat. The geth's shields went down, and Nihlus immediately sent a bullet into its head. Tela vanished into a blur of blue light, her charge sending the Prime stumbling, the mech's barrier dissipating with a shower of sparks - and the asari Spectre, her face a mask of cold fury, punched a biotic-wreathed fist deep into the chest of the Prime unit, the mech practically disintegrating from the force of the blow.
Still facing half dozen commandos and roughly fifteen geth units, Bau didn't hesitate.
"You two have your orders. Go!"
The roar of thrusters pushed to their limits and the sonic boom of a biotic charge were the only answers. The salarian Spectre turned towards his assailants, and permitted himself a small grin, then he launched himself at them. He evaded strikes and shots with precise grace and snake-like swiftness, his whole body weaving an almost hypnotic dance of death, killing or maiming with every blow or shot he dealt. His omnitool spat overload charges and plasma bursts as fast as it could, his sidearm spat high-caliber bullet comparable to a krogan shotgun, his veins and nerves burned with the hyperawareness and speed of combat stims flooding his system. About two minutes later, he was panting as he stood amidst the carnage, before he set off towards the Citadel Traffic Control.
Citadel Station
Others were not so fortunate or skilled as them. At the C-Sec headquarters, a long-serving asari member released a virus into their network that would fuse the armory doors shut, close the blast doors, and fry the sensor grid. Her first task complete, she walked to the locker room during shift change - and with an empty, eerie smile, used her biotics to trigger the bomb she had been implanted with. There were few survivors.
On the Presidium, near the Relay Monument, an unlucky C-Sec patrol was practically at ground zero for the invading geth, and the corpse-green lightning from the geth weaponry reduced them to bloody smears on the floor.
On board the Destiny Ascension, Admiral Lidanya's security forces battled desperately against a small but dedicated group of huntresses who were fortunately eliminated before they could send the drive core into meltdown. Similar skirmishes flared up on several other cruisers of her fleet, mostly with the same results; the saboteurs only managed to cripple two of her ships.
At the Citadel Traffic Control, a turian administrator set the relay usage alarms to silent, before releasing a full-energy overload charge into the face of his coworker, frying the man's nerves. He then attempted to vector a number of repair and supply ships on collision course; fortunately the C-Sec personnel who were on guard duty managed to shoot him dead.
C-Sec units patrolling the Lower Wards faced a rioting mob of crazed human, asari, and turian cultists ranting about the end of the world, and were forced to open fire.
At the Embassy Wing, the human special forces were bogged down into a firefight with a trio of geth Colossi supported by hundreds of smaller platforms; they were holding back the mechs but were pinned down.
Standard military and emergency communications were a jumble of jamming, distortion, and urgent requests for assistance and direction. The Relay Monument was spinning constantly, more and more geth emerging from transition, marching off with mechanical precision towards already-identified points of resistance.
Aboard the Stalwart, Admiral Vipsania barked commands to her subordinates and crew, pulling her ships away from a helium tanker whose drive core was showing signs of a critical meltdown.
The furious Tela Vasir, her armor a dented, broken, blood-and-fluid-drenched mess, her shotgun's ammo block almost empty, managed to reach the Councilors before Saren's agents could (leaving the remains of said assassins all over the access corridor), and set off towards the Destiny Ascension on Valern's private shuttle.
A battered, bruised Nihlus and his Blackwatch team were slowly being forced back towards the Council Tower, as Saren personally led his forces against them, the firefight turning the area into a pockmarked hellhole of bullets, energy beams, blood and pieces of geth platforms.
Saren's mandibles flared in a savage, eager grin as he felt the resistance faltering in the face of his overwhelming first strike. He briefly closed his eyes, his mind racing to send out a signal, a message using the implants Sovereign has seen fit to gift him with.
Beyond the war-torn Citadel, in the cold void, the Widow Relay lit up like a baleful eye, and with the pseudo-motion of the relay jump, the geth armada, spearheaded by Sovereign itself, jumped in-system.
Citadel, nearspace
Inside the Council Chambers, long-dormant systems awoke as Sovereign emerged from the mass relay, and sent the activation signal. The Citadel very slowly started to reorient itself, its arms opening with stately grace to their furthest width. The black dreadnought headed directly for the center of the station, its progress slow but inexorable as geth ships swarmed around it, moving onto firing positions - then as one, the ships of the geth armada opened fire on the defenders.
On the flag bridge of the Stalwart, Admiral Vipsania could not suppress a grimace as she saw the updates on the tactical plot as her flagship shuddered from the geth barrage, and flames engulfed several of her already-damaged frigates and cruisers. For a brief moment, she closed her eyes as her mind raced to plan and find a solution. Her mandibles flared in a furious snarl as she issued new orders for her still-battered fleet and pushed her own feelings deep down her soul. She could not afford them, not now. At her command, the Seventh Fleet locked in their targets, then vanished into FTL, dropping out within knife range of the incoming geth vessels, immediately firing. Explosions blossomed in the cold void as ships crashed into each other due to miscalculated jumps, others blew up from direct hits or were sliced apart by full-powered laser arrays. She knew that her people could not endure long, and had little hope of stopping Sovereign's advance, but they only needed a minute or two, for Lidanya's fleet to arrive and Hackett's ships to emerge from the Widow Relay.
Her stomach dropped as an alert flashed on her console, signalling the relay going dormant, the control signal apparently having been sent by the Reaper, and strong enough to override the Citadel Control signal; or perhaps someone managed to switch that off. Vipsania cursed herself for not considering this possibility more seriously, for ranking the possibility as acceptable risk - then she steeled herself, standing tall, and at her command, the ECM suites of the Seventh Fleet went online at full power, the concentrated electronic noise enough to disrupt even Sovereign's control signal. The turian jamming was enough to stop the Citadel's rotation, but the geth retaliation took an even greater toll than she feared; still, Vipsania's people were turians, they knew their duty, and performed it with peerless discipline and consummate skill. Even as the Stalwart trembled under her again and again, the turian admiral felt a fierce pride towards her crew - and she knew that every moment they held on brought at least the asari ships closer.
The Destiny Ascension's flag bridge was the picture of controlled chaos, as Admiral Lidanya and her staff struggled to coordinate the embattled asari task force to provide support for the Seventh Fleet. The matriarch glared at her tactical plot, forcing herself to keep pace with the mounting losses of the turians, the fact that the small task force of Commodore Anderson was already heading towards the attackers while her own ships were left behind, thanks to Goddess-damned saboteurs. And if that was not enough, she had to pick up those idiots from the Council. What was that insane Spectre thinking? Did those politicians hope that she would take her flagship and run? Admittedly, she could see scenarios where that would have been her selected course, but not here and now, and not just because the relay has been shut down. No, Lidanya figured if they did not stop Saren, Sovereign and their geth cronies here, there was precious little point in running.
At least Vasir had enough sense to keep the Councilors from interfering, having confined them to an out-of-the-way suite that was close enough to the hangar deck. The asari admiral checked her plot again as the flagship's sensors displayed the huge ECM spike from Vipsania's ships, and the almost immediately launched salvo from Anderson's ships, all aimed at Sovereign. Howling, giggling tentacles of unlight whipped and clawed at the black hull of the Reaper, carving furrows of gray screams into it before the corpse-green lightning of Sovereign's defenses erased them from existence, and Lidanya cursed as the wounds torn into the behemoth's hide closed up, the black ship never altering course or speed, heading inexorably for the Citadel.
The admiral's fingers clenched on the armrests as her mind raced, calculating, assessing. Her face became an ancient burial mask as she nodded to herself, confirming that her ship was in proper position. With slightly trembling fingers, she entered the targeting coordinates, the system accepting her biometric identification. A quick command of hers sent a warning over the tactical net, and she hoped that it was received and heeded despite the blanket of electronic noise and garbage data filling the void. A last check brought a vicious snarl on her face, and she slammed her fist on the control panel. The lights of the ship dimmed, flickered as the power draw spiked.
Motes of scintillating light started coalescing in the vast open chamber of the Destiny Ascension's main gun. The dust of dreams, shards of nightmares, flares of passion merged with the screams of dead and dying, the pain of wounds, guilt of survival, fierce determination, joy of battle, terror, rage, awe - all that and more became encapsulated in those swirling points of impossible colors. The black void brightened, went taut, reality itself straining as the ancient mechanism hummed ever stronger, building to a frenetic crescendo of insane unreality, a miniature star awakening to life in the darkness. Aboard the hundreds of vessels and the immense mass of the Citadel itself, thousands of asari, dozens of humans, a handful of krogan and turians seized for a heartbeat, blood running from their eyes, ears, and mouths as the light about to be born uncaringly tore off fragments of their soul, with at times disastrous, explosive consequences - and those dying embers were simply greedily absorbed into the emerging vortex of unnameable colors.
The scintillating, growing ball of light pulsed with the heartbeat of imagination, of unreal potential, its tendrils of ethereal claws ripping open the taut, thin veil of material reality, and then the impossible beam of incandescent light and power was born with a howl echoing in the mind of all sensitives present in the Widow system and beyond; then the swirling, pulsing, immaterial beam was racing out towards the solid void-black shape of Sovereign, and the physical, sane reality of the materium wept and warped in its wake.
The Reaper sensed the energy buildup, realized the source and direction of the powerful beam of energy - and that realization, that memory threw its cold, machine-like precision into a loop, as it struggled to understand, to ascertain that this was not a time-eaten, half-forgotten memory but an actual, clear and present danger. Within the tomb-deep mind of the ancient being, a tremor of unfamiliar, forgotten emotion spread wings for an aeons-long second, rendering the Reaper unable to evade, to pit its formidable defenses against the impossible attack. How could these insignificant worms have found a way around his brother's safety measures? Had he deliberately sabotaged them, so he would get damaged, hurt? Did he want to usurp the Harvest for himself, to break their pact that stood since time immemorial?
The beam of unreality hit the center of Sovereign's hull, and a legion of souls screamed in discordant agony and ecstatic freedom as they burned, the ancient dreadnought reeling from the blow, power, knowledge and sentience bleeding away from the wound it was dealt, its howl of pain echoing beyond the boundaries of the four-dimensional space.
On board of a slender vessel in the dark, interstellar void, a grim-faced professor allowed himself a small smile. In an ageless city of shadows, lies and treachery, a fair maiden shared a satisfied nod with a masked jester, before the two joined their brothers and sisters. Tremors shook the Noctis research facility on Mars, as if a sleeper spasmed from the shared pain. Beyond the baleful light of the Omega-4 Relay, warnings flashed in the depths of an ancient station, its inhabitants swarming to wakefulness. In the crushing oceanic depths of the geothermal vents of a distant world, a spark of grim, vindictive satisfaction ignited. On board the Citadel, Saren swayed drunkenly, roaring in pain, the geth on the station losing coordination for several seconds. In the starless void of the Outer Dark, far above the galactic plane, Tsara'noga stirred as the pain and loss jolted it closer to awakening, six baleful eyes illuminating the darkness as the Harbinger of its Wrath.
For a few crucial seconds, Sovereign struggled to rebalance its internal systems, to enact vengeance upon the pitiful worms that dared to use a bastardized version of those long-destroyed star forts; crimson light and energy pooled at the firing chamber of its main gun, ready to fire and slice apart the foe who wounded it. Then another salvo arrived from the turian and human ships, and this time, there was no defense to stand in the way of those giggling vortices of tentacled light.
Gray pallor burrowed into the dreadnought's hull, turned the ancient vessel a brittle, insensate, decaying husk wherever it went. Lights and power flickered and died aboard the Reaper, corpse-green lightning struggling in vain against nameless colors of light. The void howled as the vortices of color imploded, tearing off chunks from Sovereign, leaving wounds seeping with glittering, unreal hues. The immense dreadnought's fury lashed out with beams of molten metal that sliced through shields and ships alike - yet it was unable to touch the real targets of its fury. Whenever it turned to fire on the larger human vessels or the Destiny Ascension, there was always a frigate or a cruiser (either turian or munitions-depleted human) that shielded Sovereign's targets from the Reaper's wrath, spending their lives to buy time for another salvo that would hopefully destroy it.
Sovereign's fury threatened to overwhelm its control, as it realized that without the geth, the defenders would have stood a good chance at crippling it, and even with the assistance of the inferior machines, its victory was nowhere near ensured. Concentrating its power on keeping the Widow Relay closed, the tendrils of its will reached out towards the chosen augmented vessel aboard the Citadel - and in the Council Tower, Saren Arterius howled, his implants flaring with coruscating energy as his master's immortal rage and ruthless determination poured into his soul and body.
Behind the frontlines on the Presidium, the Relay Monument, silent for some minutes now, once again flared with the energy of transition, and four shapes appeared, a protective biotic barrier sheltering them.
Citadel, Presidium
Urdnot Wrex grinned savagely as he stood tall amidst the war-torn vista the Presidium had become. It seemed that their arrival has gone largely unnoticed, and the old warlord allowed himself a few moments to evaluate the situation - and to give his krannt some more time to get over the nauseating experience of the relay travel. Cracking his old bones, he considered for a moment, searching his long memory for something comparable, and nodded when he found nothing similar - and he was grateful for that in a way; the wrenching, tearing sensation was worse than the Butcher's driving by at least an order of magnitude. Good thing he did not eat much before the human suggested this insane idea. Though with the lack of biotics, he was sure that no further reinforcements were coming to their aid - but then again, Saren and his lackeys would also be trapped in here with them. The old warlord felt a fierce anticipation at facing the traitor Spectre - and tearing off his head for the atrocity he ordered on Virmire.
His experienced eyes took in the signs of desperate combat, the bullet- and scorch-marked path of a fighting withdrawal towards the Council Tower, the haphazard destruction of panic fire elsewhere. The bodies and geth wrecks littering the once-pristine metal floor of the station. His senses and sensors tracked for the distant sounds of combat, mind and instincts already at work laying out plans, actions, submitting to the red haze of rage at the sight of the small bodies strewn here and there. With age-old experience, Wrex suppressed the unseeing violence of the bloodrage, holding it back, priming it for later. A menacing, low growl slipped from his maw, the subsonics making even the Butcher eye him warily.
The young asari laid a blue hand on his shoulder, and the old krogan smirked appreciatively - her eyes and stance showed her fear, but despite that, she was willing and able to display her worry for her friend, a member of their krannt. He thought she would make a fine pair with the human - and the krogan chuckled lightly, the Spectre rolling his eyes at him while the human listened to his comm, with a hand to his earbud.
"So, Butcher - this does bring back memories, doesn't it?"
Shepard's eyes narrowed, the temperature dropping slightly, those gold flecks in his eyes flickering with baleful heat. Wrex held the stare, matching the human's will with his own.
"Torfan was a necessary lesson written in blood. This massacre" the Spectre gestures around "is none of that. Though admittedly, I would have done it similarly in Saren's place."
Garrus chimed in, his flanging voice carrying an undertone of revulsion and understanding.
"Worst thing is that I can understand Saren's reasoning for all this."
Wrex nodded at them, noting the asari's momentary confusion but decided not to enlighten her. She would learn on her own, with the occasional nudge when needed - and this was neither the time nor the place for that. Shepard apparently finished his conversation and started checking his pistols and gear with quick, thorough motions before he spoke.
"Comm net is a mess, but somehow Bau managed to get through. From what I could understand, he's at the Traffic Control, trying to reopen the Widow Relay. The Council's aboard one of the ships out there, likely on the Destiny Ascension. Saren's heading towards the Council Chambers, with Nihlus and his Blackwatch team doing their best to slow him down. If we are lucky and quick enough, we just might hit the bastard in the back while he's occupied with the turians."
With deliberate, menacing slowness, Wrex turned towards the Council Tower.
"Are you three coming, or what?"
The comment did as intended. Liara blushed lightly, before joining him, blue-white flames of biotic energy snaking their way along her arms and shoulders. Garrus chuckled before checking his sniper rifle, gesturing towards a position from where he could cover them on the approach. Shepard narrowed his eyes, then nodded with a fierce grin.
"Try to keep up, old turtle."
Before even finishing that sentence, the Spectre was off, running towards the tower with full speed. Wrex nudged the young asari.
"See, kid, that's again krogan-style courting. He's sweet on you, I can tell."
With a deep, rumbling laughter and the boom of displaced air, the old warlord joined Shepard's charge, trusting Garrus to pick off any dangers the two of them were unaware of - and in the trailing Liara to shield them from whatever got past the turian and remained unspotted by the duo.
Garrus bit back a curse when the two bloodthirsty lunatics raced off well before he could reach his selected position. His first shot, fired while running, missed, and the geth Destroyer only staggered with a sparking, half-torn arm instead of a headshot. Still, at least he got the thing's attention, and with a desperate leap, managed to get behind some half-melted mound of debris to avoid the green energy beam heading towards him. With a roll, he came up in a firing position, his second shot tearing off the head of the mech.
He sprinted on, grumbling about the inaccuracy and poor marksmanship while he fired, with a few choice remarks about insane humans and typical krogan - which were only answered by booming laughter. Admittedly, the two maniacs were quite impressive, and for a long moment, Garrus was mesmerized by the carnage the krogan and the human were leaving in their wake - and even more impressive was the effortless, almost preternatural coordination between them. Never mind their stupid recklessness, the two were simply dancing around their enemies, never standing still, always moving in perfect harmony, covering and supporting each other as needed. If he hadn't known otherwise, he would have sworn there was years of close work involved in such coordination, yet here they were, proving him wrong.
He smirked before opening a comm channel while he sent a disruptor round into the geth Hunter trying to sneak behind Liara, collapsing the mech's stealth field, leaving it to the asari to crumple the thing with her biotics.
"Careful, Shepard - the way you and Wrex go on, Liara will get jealous."
The indignant, sputtering denial from the asari and the frustrated growl from Shepard were almost lost under the deep laughter of Wrex - before the roar of the krogan's shotgun suppressed it all. Garrus blink-clicked his kill-counter, and restarted his playlist as he sighted down his scope, before sending a bullet into the eye of an asari Huntress moving to flank the old warlord. He was aware that in all likelihood he'd miss the final confrontation with Saren, but he was a turian, and he would do his duty in ensuring that his friends and comrades reached there in one piece. A quick flick of his omnitool sent several small proximity charges into a pattern around him, to ensure that he'd not be disturbed. A check of his rifle's ammo block and heat sink resulted in a flaring grin that widened as his shot slammed into the head of a Prime, staggering the large mech, the distraction more than enough for Wrex to tear it apart.
"Come on, you walking flashlights, I can do this all day."
Liara was racing to keep up with Wrex and Shepard, flinging biotic fields with both hands, her heart beating wildly from sheer exhilaration and the tightly-suppressed terror she felt as the three of them were running after the architect of this massacre. The last message of her mother still seared fresh in her mind, the young asari bared her teeth in a savage snarl as she grabbed a geth Prime with her will, and clenched her fist. The biotic field wrapped around the mech obeyed her, and with a dulled implosion, the hulking thing was compressed to the size of a krogan head. With a small, vindictive smile on her face, she ran on, trying to keep Shepard and Wrex in her sight.
She did not care about the distant, pounding headache that seemed to be gathering momentum behind her eyes. She disregarded the burning, straining muscles of her body. She focused her determination and will, keeping the simple, short-term goals in mind; after they reached the Council Tower and put down Saren as insane beasts like him deserved, she could worry about the long-term consequences. If she and her friends lived long enough, that is.
Her blue eyes flashing with power and rage, she shouted as she sent a massive push ahead of her companions, the wave of biotic might smashing geth platforms, asari Huntresses and turian zealots into the wall of the tower. Before they could recover, a huge krogan slammed into them like a speeding freight conveyor, the explosion of the biotic charge scattering body parts and pieces everywhere. Those who escaped the warlord's wrath did not survive much longer, as Shepard reached them a few heartbeats later.
Panting, tired, but with a fierce satisfaction beating in her heart, Liara followed Wrex and Shepard as the trio stepped into one of the elevators to head up towards the Council Chambers. With a quick hack, the Spectre overrode the security settings, sending them upwards much faster than usual.
The elevator lurched to a sudden stop, and Liara tottered off-balance, before Shepard steadied her. The Spectre quickly went to work at the control panel, his omnitool flashing as he tried to restart their ascent. Wrex was looking outside, towards the magnificent view of the Widow system - and the young asari took a step back to nudge Shepard as she realized what held the krogan's attention.
"I'm busy, T'Soni, give me a minute."
"You might want to look anyway, Shepard. This is not something you see every day." There was an undertone in the old warlord's voice that Liara could not exactly place. Worry? Awe? Fear? She certainly knew which emotion was the strongest in herself.
The Spectre turned towards the viewport, and his eyes widened as he spat a curse in an unfamiliar language.
They could see the black ship closing rapidly, unheeding of the explosions blossoming over its hull. At least it was damaged by something, and Shepard's short, vindictive bark of laughter suggested the source of those gray furrows, though she could not see how the human weaponry could blast such a sizable hole in the Reaper's hull. But at that moment, such details were rather unimportant. The crucial issue was that Sovereign was approaching fast, unhindered - and the Citadel arms were closing slowly, obviously intent in shielding the massive starship from the concentrated fury of the Council fleets. From the brief explosions beyond the black behemoth, the battle was still very much ongoing. The Reaper closed, its arms spreading wide, the intent to land or dock with the tower unmistakable.
"Grab on to something!" Shepard followed his own advice, a hand going for the railing, the other to support Liara; just before the whole building shuddered as the massive mechanical monstrosity reached the tower, void-black metallic tendrils burrowing inside, as a clutch of baleful red eyes flashed triumphantly on the front section of the ship. They could all feel the thrumming energy cascading through the whole tower, sending sparks flying from consoles and access panels alike, fusing shut doors and hatches.
"Any bright ideas, Butcher? Maybe from your special bag of tricks?" The human shook his head, eyes narrowed as he thought. Liara shivered as the gold-flecked eyes flared with manic light.
"You'll love it, Wrex. Check your mag-boots and suit up. We are going outside."
Maybe even a short month ago, Liara would have protested the insane idea. She would have pointed out flaws, dangers, the recklessness, anything. Now, she just did as she was told without a word of complaint or hesitation. She did not miss the appreciative chuckle from Wrex, and she wasted an ineffective glare on him, their staredown only broken when Shepard shot out the viewing pane.
"Usually it'd be ladies first, but I think we will make an exception this time, T'Soni." With a grin, the Spectre deftly flung himself outside, and leaned back to give a hand. Liara took it, and Wrex followed a few moments later. After a short pause to orient themselves and get used to the new direction, the trio raced towards the summit, where Saren and Sovereign waited.
Citadel, nearspace
Admiral Lidanya glared at her tactical plot, unheeding of the blood seeping from the cut on her scalp or her dislocated, perhaps broken arm - she was angry at herself, she should have foreseen that the mechanical bastards would not shy away from ramming and suicide runs. Her own side did not have a monopoly on insane, unorthodox tactics. At least her security teams managed to hunt down all boarders before they could do more than damage a few point-defense arrays and sensor repeaters. Grudgingly, she admitted to herself that the assistance of that damn Spectre was rather vital in that quick, brutal fight - Vasir fought like a woman possessed, her fury easily matching that of the combat Matriarchs of old. And she made it look disturbingly good…
The admiral shook off the momentary lapse, and focused once again on the battlefield. The picture was grim, even though her fleet had managed to link up with the remnants of Vipsania's and Anderson's ships, and the combined might of the Council armada was more than a match for the geth, especially without their Reaper flagship. If this were a conventional engagement, she felt certain they'd be victorious in an hour or so - but this battle was anything but conventional, and the fact that Sovereign eluded them and was safely hidden within the closed Citadel rankled her. At least the behemoth's absence allowed their own comm signals to punch through the geth interference.
"Admiral, signal from the Citadel Traffic Control!"
"Put it on my screen, and patch in Vipsania and Anderson as well."
A disheveled salarian appeared in her view, bearing obvious marks from intense fighting - and the Spectre insignia. More than that, Lidanya knew this particular salarian.
"Matriarch, greetings. Traffic Control finally secure. Attempting to unlock the Widow relay. So far, no success."
"What about the Citadel arms? Any chance of reopening them?"
"Negative. Spectre Kryik's last report indicated that he was in heavy firefight against Saren within the Council Chambers; we currently have not enough assets for a breakthrough." The salarian blinked, exhaled. "Spectre Shepard also made it to the Citadel, following Saren's forces - currently he and his team are on their way to the Tower. Still, their chances are not good, they will be heavily outnumbered despite the efforts of Spectre Kryik and his team."
Lidanya bit back a curse, and caught Anderson's wince from the corner of her eye. Vipsania just nodded, seeming to age decades. Bau continued.
"Do you have the Council members on board, Admiral?" At her nod, some of the stiffness fell away from the salarian Spectre. "Good. That makes the following much easier."
Something in his tone set the asari on edge, and she saw both Anderson and Vipsania stiffen in anticipation and dread - just like she herself. The Spectre continued, his voice cold, distant, toneless.
"If the situation on board the Citadel does not change within the next thirty minutes or you detect any new signal from Sovereign, you are ordered to open fire on the Citadel station itself. Blow away an arm, or destroy the whole station if needed, but do not allow Sovereign to succeed."
Matriarch Lidanya felt herself shiver and her blood drained from her face. Her mind recoiled from the possibility - yet centuries spent as a commander prevented the instinctual outcry, forced her to evaluate the salarian's command objectively. She closed her eyes for a moment, not seeing an alternative. A quick check of her fellow commanders showed that they too hated this idea, but neither of them voiced any opposition. They did not see any other solution, either.
Lidanya saluted the Spectre. Bau returned it, then signed off.
"Admiral, I can take command of the bombardment fleet if you wish." Vipsania's voice was devoid of emotion, her stance stiff and erect as she spoke. Anderson closed his mouth, obviously preempted by the turian. Lidanya smiled at them, before shaking her head.
"My fleet, my responsibility."
With a heavy heart, the admiral turned her attention back to the battle at hand, directing her forces to maneuver into bombardment positions, detailing fleet elements under Admiral Vipsania to batter the remaining geth ships into oblivion, while Commodore Anderson's few remaining vessels took up position close to the Destiny Ascension, their precious few remaining bombardment shells aimed at the Citadel.
Unnoticed in all the commotion and chaos of the still-raging fight, the Conduit once again stutters into life, the hesitant, erratic pulsing slowly straightening into the familiar rhythm of an incoming mass relay translation; the speed and energy spike indicating the largest transition handled by the Prothean relay so far.
Citadel, Council Tower
Urdnot Wrex was smiling slightly, and Liara considered the serene expression as much more disturbing and terrifying than the bloodthirsty howling of the cloned abominations or the unfeeling precision of the geth that sought to bar their way. She knew that under the tight control, a tsunami of wrath was slowly building up, every moment threatening to rupture the dam of the old warlord's will. And while beneficial to them, she did not particularly want to experience what Wrex unleashed would be like. For a moment, she considered mentioning her worries to Shepard on a private channel, but she discarded that idea immediately - if she was aware of the situation, then she could be sure that the Spectre had known much earlier; and if he did not take action, then she would trust him to know what's best. After all, for all their differences in age and race, she considered Wrex and Shepard disturbingly similar in many, many ways.
She once again focused ahead, the harrowing climb taxing her will and body alike. She knew that no matter how long she lived, the ascent would haunt her nightmares. The geth would have been bad enough, especially since they seemed to become better coordinated, quicker and more precise than even on Virmire and Ilos. Still, Saren's nightmarish krogan were much, much worse, and not just because of the effect they had on Wrex. No, she was constantly terrified that her magboots would fail when one of those got her with a lift field, or that she would be too slow to notice them before their biotics tore her and her friends from the surface of the Tower, sending them all over to crash into the wards. Liara shuddered at the thought. She startled when a hand touched her shoulder, Shepard's gaze boring into hers, worry, determination, and something she did not dare think about mixing in those gold-flecked brown eyes.
"Wrex found a maintenance hatch, he's opening it now. We are going inside." The Spectre's lips peeled back, his teeth flashed in a bloodthirsty, savage smile. "Saren's not far ahead, and is still tied up with Nihlus and his team." She could hear the honest respect in his voice as he went on. "Crazy turian managed to stay alive and keep the barefaced bastard from his goal."
She leaned her head to the side, cheek against the hand on her shoulder, closing her eyes for a moment and enjoying the warmth. Just for a few short heartbeats, then her eyes snapped open, and she looked directly into the Spectre's eyes, before giving a determined nod.
In a few minutes more, she and her friends would take Saren to task for what he's done - to Benezia, to the krogans, to humanity; and for what he planned to do to the whole galaxy. Liara felt her biotics surging, as if infected by her own grim anticipation. Without further hesitation, she followed Wrex and Shepard into the access tunnel, focusing her mind on the task ahead.
The access corridor was a bullet-riddled, smoking hellscape, the walls scorched with plasma, tell-tale signs of warping biotic fields, electric discharges. Inactive geth platforms were heaped at and into makeshift barricades, along with torn and partially-consumed turians bearing C-Sec and Blackwatch insignia. Here and there, a few asari huntresses are also visible - more mindwiped acolytes of that insane Matriarch of theirs. Eyes narrowed in concentration, the mind of Warlord Urdnot Wrex reconstructed the fighting withdrawal of the defenders step by step, tracking for the tell-tale signs of his distorted, enslaved kin. Sure enough, while there were no krogan bodies, he could discern where their tainted blood spattered over the walls or joined in the pools on the floor. His clear focus wavered for a moment as rage almost overwhelmed reason.
The three of them jogged towards the Council Chambers, from where the gunfire, explosions, screams and geth chittering provided a good indication on the still-ongoing fight. He felt grudging respect towards those Blackwatch bastards - sure, their kind helped neuter his people, but they were tough, worthy enemies. Kind of like the Butcher and his ilk, though the newcomers were insane even by krogan standards, especially since they allowed their prized elites to willingly mess with those who dwelt beyond.
With a huff, Wrex set aside his musings. There would be more than enough time to kill Shepard if he went fully insane and turned on him and his people - for now, he had to deal with a traitor Spectre, and the moment of reckoning was drawing close.
For a moment, the trio paused at the wrecked door leading to the audience chamber, the warlord and the Spectre quickly evaluating the situation, grimly noting how the turian defenders were on the verge of being overwhelmed by the half dozen krogan monstrosities, supported by perhaps ten times as many larger geth platforms.
Wrex looked at his krannt. The asari's eyes were wide, her fear obvious - but so was the determination. She would not crack, not now; she'd die before letting them down and allowing her mother's killer get away. The Butcher returned his measuring gaze with one of his own, the human's lips peeling back in an ugly, savage grin that was eerily familiar to the warlord.
"Let's not keep count, old turtle. If you want his hide, it's yours."
The old krogan nodded, before taking another quick look into the chamber, his mind calculating distances, angles, tracking for the traitor Spectre. A metallic blur with glowing eyes at the edge of his vision made him turn, and Saren was in his sights, slinking from the smoke and mayhem towards the control panels on the podium.
His vision became a tunnel of blue light, time seemed to slow to an infinitesimal crawl as always. When his twin hearts beat their next in that rising crescendo heralding the incoming eruption of volcanic wrath, he was already on the traitor, a fist wreathed in warping biotic energy sent droplets of metal, carapace, bone and blood spattering from the turian, the other hand discharging his oversized shotgun into Saren's face point-blank. The bastard managed to pull his head away enough so it only got singed, tried to open the distance. Wrex slammed the butt of his rifle into the turian's face, heard plates buckle and crack under the biotically-enhanced blow. Something slammed into his stomach, burning, flaying, drilling a hole through him. He slammed his plated forehead into Saren's face, the sheer force sending the turian reeling - before the krogan's empty hand latched on the turian's arm, and wrenched, the limb dislocating with a sickening, metallic crack.
Heat suffused his chest as a metallic blade extended from Saren's palm, missing his hearts by just a finger's width. A swift strike from his elbow managed to buckle the arm at the end of the blade, and the shotgun boomed again. Blood, bones, and metal sprayed as the Spectre howled, the krogan's shot almost tearing off the arm. Distantly Wrex was aware that Shepard was barely two-thirds of the way towards them, and that Liara was even farther away, but he did not care. His knee slammed into the traitor's guts, the force lifting the turian, who managed to roll with the blow, and slammed his shoulder into the krogan's chestplate - and Wrex felt a spike of grudging respect as he heard the joint pop back into place.
A kick to his quad would have buckled lesser krogan, but the old warlord barely reacted at all, apart from slamming his fist into Saren's guts once again, the impact sending the turian flying. His world once again turned to a blue-white tunnel of biotic fire, and Wrex was off in pursuit, still with that small smile on his face, still completely silent, lacking all his usual blustering laughter and roaring warcries - and he himself was not even aware of this.
Citadel, nearspace
Admiral Vipsania felt the cold dread mixed with desperate fury welling up within, as her almost-crippled flagship turned slowly back towards the Citadel, leaving the last remnants of the geth fleet as cored, broken hulls drifting harmlessly in space. She and her people, the entire defensive fleet of the Citadel paid an enormous price to wrest this victory from the machines - and as things stood, their sacrifices would be mostly in vain. And the thought that one of her own people, and Saren no less was responsible made her want to vomit, curse, and tear apart someone. And when she considered how quickly Bau made his decision, for a moment she did not know which of the two was more dangerous, more insane. At any rate, she decided she would view Spectres much, much more carefully in the future - and she would bet on not being the only one to do so.
Her eyes drifted back towards her plot, the countdown to that impending, massive atrocity they were about to commit. Something caught her attention on the sensor view. A reading that she was no longer hoping for - but then her eyes narrowed. in anger. The direction was wrong. Apparently, reinforcements were indeed incoming, but not for them. Saren's geth allies on Ilos likely overwhelmed the quarians there, and fixed whatever Shepard did to mess with the relay. Still, she thought with a grim, bitter chuckle, at least more of the metallic bastards would perish when they bombarded the Citadel into oblivion.
And then her mandibles flared in a disbelieving expression as the Citadel arms started to open, the Widow Relay spinning up to receive incoming transit, and a transmission howled into all available channels, bearing the comm signifiers of the SSV Normandy.
"Comms, tell me that Anderson and Lidanya also getting this transmission!" She did not wait for the affirmative. "Tactical, prepare a burst transmission of the situation, estimation of forces and contingeny plan Epsilon - if it's Hackett's ships coming through the Widow Relay, I want him in the loop the moment he's here."
The bridge of the wounded, battered Stalwart filled once again with hope that maybe, just maybe, they could win this battle.
The vessels of the Alliance Fifth Fleet swarmed through the Widow Relay, dispersing almost immediately according to pre-arranged formations that rapidly shifted once Admiral Hackett received the situation update from the defenders. At his command, the human ships lit up their drives, and raced at flank speed for the opening arms of the Citadel, where a small, nimble vessel was dancing around the still-quiescent form of Sovereign, the Reaper squatting over the Council Tower like a malevolent insect. Beams of incandescent light tore into the metallic tendrils anchoring the ebony dreadnought to the station, and one by one, the tendrils snapped apart, the sliced ends whipping across space, battering the already-damaged tower or seeking the frigate.
The immense Reaper seemed to fall away slowly from its position, the cluster of eyes glaring a baleful red, the pulse of its wrath sent warnings shrieking across the ships of the Citadel defenders. Then the firing chambers at the end of Sovereign's metallic tentacles lit up with murderous fury, and thick red beams reached out to slice apart the incoming vessels, while howling, atonal shrieks of electronic garbage battered the sensors, blew out circuits, sought to rupture containment on drive cores, AI restraints, IFF systems.
Fifth Fleet answered with a triple-layered salvo of three hundred torpedoes, a full third of them carrying C-type warheads, the rest conventional payload, ECM and guidance packages. Sovereign's defenses managed to stop more than half of the salvo - but even so, almost seventy C-type shells tore into its hull, the shrieking, insanely giggling vortices of light burrowed deep into its superstructure, tearing out bulkheads, machinery, metal and souls in equal measure.
The void of the Widow System echoed with the mindless, furious howl of a once-prideful godling stripped of its invulnerability, those it considered mere gnats ripping away its very being, sending it on its way to oblivion. The rapidly-fading consciousness of Sovereign focused back towards his chosen puppet still on the Citadel. There was still a way for it to fulfill its task.
In the Council Chambers, the battered, bleeding wreck of a turian that was Saren Arterius opened its maw and screamed, a halo of coruscating energy lifting him in the air, his eyes igniting with corpse-green light.
Citadel, Council Chambers
The turian hovering high in the air is burning away in front of their eyes, his flesh and organs cooking off as the corpse-green tendrils of energy snake all over his frame. Minuscule metallic beetles tear free from within the body of the traitor Spectre, swarming over its form, obscuring it from sight. Saren's limbs elongate, liquid metal covering his frame, mechanic, inhuman undertones echoing in his wordless, furious, pained howl.
The remaining defenders concentrate fire on the transforming creature, the bullets swallowed by the swarm without apparent effect. A dismissive, almost lazy flick of a taloned hand sends an eye-searing green lightning towards the cluster of Blackwatch, the energy burning a path in the metal floor. A handful of them don't manage to evade in time, and are flash-burnt to charred skeletons in an eyeblink. With a shriek of tearing metal and a wordless cry of hatred and fear, Liara's biotics flare as she tears off a massive door and throws it at the Saren-thing. The sheet of metal parts easily as the hovering monster lifts a bladed arm in its path, but at least it is distracted for a fraction of a second.
"Nihlus, get your people the fuck out of here!" The wounded turian Spectre hesitates for a second, and Shepard glares at him, his eyes pools of molten gold. "Move, you stubborn bird! We'll handle it!"
Hoarfrost spreads from the human, the temperature dropping sharply, their breaths pluming. As the turian survivors fall back, still firing in precise, controlled bursts and well-placed sniper rounds, the krogan warlord and human Spectre blur towards the Saren-thing. Liara races for cover, her biotics flaring as she hammers the monster with debris while trying to warp and melt a path through the swarm covering its metallic frame.
She is the farthest from the nightmarish shape, yet she's the one who spots it - both Shepard and Wrex seem to slow down to barely a crawl, while their enemy flickers with eye-searing quickness, his bladed appendages spearing through Liara's friends. She screams in denial, her corona ignites, and the whole chamber lights up with blue-white fire. A slash of her arm sends a biotic field severing the two blades, and before the two wounded could fall, her will reaches out, and yanks them back to her side, trying to be mindful of their wounds.
Human and krogan nod in respect towards her, his hand briefly squeezing her shoulder as she turns away to avoid seeing the idiots pulling out the cut blades from their wounds, the Spectre coughing blood as the medigel dispensers of his armor go to work, and even Wrex sways for a brief second as his secondary organs compensate for the damage done. The discarded metal blades dissolve into a pool that slowly starts inching towards the cruelly grinning figure of the Saren-thing. Shepard narrows his eyes at it, a quick shared glance with Wrex, the krogan stepping forward, his bulk shielding his companions - and Liara's eyes widen for a moment as the human's hands flash a mnemonic gesture at her, one that they had seen from Benezia several times. She swallows, and nods determinedly at the Spectre, the answering predatory smile sending her blood rushing.
Once again, the two warriors speed away, zig-zagging towards the hovering monster, but this time they don't seek to overwhelm in close combat. Wrex fires his shotgun, the impacts swallowed by the beetle swarm, yet each time there's a fraction of a second when that barrier weakens. The old warlord's other hand directs his biotics, alternating between warp fields and attempting to slam the avatar either to the ground or the ceiling. Shepard's heavy pistol fires in short bursts, disruptor ammo followed by incendiaries followed by AP rounds, while on his other hand the omnitool shines with malevolent orange light as it sends damping fields and overload charges at their enemy. Liara tenses, eyes narrowed, waiting for the right moment as she weaves and dodges from cover to cover, not standing still, not wanting to invite the monster's fire.
At an unspoken signal, perhaps sensed through an unnoticed bond from their melds, the young asari stands tall, her figure limned in blue-white fire, as her will slams into Saren, her whole biotic might focused on holding him still, pushing him outside the normal flow of time. The reaction is not what any of them expected. Biotic field strains against chronometric manipulation, the tapestry of spacetime screaming in pain as the two forces vie for dominance. For an eternal moment, there is no sound, no movement, no progression of time in the chamber, then a thunderous detonation flings everyone away from the center.
The smile on the old warlord's face widens a bit, becoming more predatory as he sees the thin tendrils of smoke rising from within the body of the avatar. Another heartbeat to take in the situation and to check on his krannt, then he is off once more into the blue-white haze of the biotic charge. He ignores the metallic scarabs flensing off layers from his armor and uncovered body parts, as his fist slams into the grinning skull-face of the Saren-thing, the strength of the blow enough to send droplets of the liquid metal spraying from the impact point. Gray talons grab and hold his wrist, locking him in place before he can dodge - not that he wanted to. After all, he has the traitor right where he wants it - and when the shotgun's muzzle stabs into the fracture still trailing smoke, the old warlord permits himself a snarl of vindictive rage. The gun roars, and fragments of metal explode from the avatar's back as the overcharged shot tears a hole in its body, sending it lurching away - but not before its fingers break the krogan's wrist and send him flying, his trajectory ending with a sharp crack and a low hiss of pain as he crashes into the wall.
Shepard closes with blinding speed, a trail of frost marking his path, his omniblade biting deep into the body of the former Spectre, droplets of superheated metal spraying from the cut, as the pistol in his other hand is slammed into a green-glowing eye and before the thing could recoil, the weapon discharges point-blank. The creature howls more in fury than in pain, its remaining eye flashing with baleful corpse-light as lightning wreathes its body, tearing into the attacking Spectre, sending armor systems haywire, setting muscles spasming. With an effort of will and drawing on his inner reserves, Shepard manages to fling himself to the side, the blade aimed at his heart only tearing into his side, blood streaming from the wound before he hisses in pain, as he feels something burrowing within, towards his heart. With an effort of will, he moves, putting distance between himself and the Saren-thing, before he aims his omnitool at the wound, grits his teeth and sends an overload charge straight in.
The Spectre flashes back to Liara's side, a gesture of his sends Wrex into combat once more to hold back and distract the monster.
"Can you try the stasis once more?" The asari's face is a mask of blood. Some kind of feedback effect, most likely - he would have to care, he should care, but at the same time, he cannot afford it. Dazed blue eyes try to focus, sparks of biotic power flicker over her form before dissipating harmlessly, and she slumps, panting, trying to apologize. He flashes her a smile, and stands, taking a deep breath, considering his options for a heartbeat. He closes his eyes, and when they open, they are once again pools of molten gold, radiating a cold, terrible power.
The N7 operative raises his hands, makes an intricate gesture, the very air burning with pale fire at his touch, the symbol lending power to his chanting. The unsane, inhuman syllables never meant for human use burn his throat, claw into his soul, he feels his hands and parts of his face going numb as blood vessels burst from the strain. The fabric of reality thins, sounds, colors, voices pale, become distant - only the echoing nonsensical words of Shepard are still clear. A second symbol flashes into being, power flooding the chamber from the cracks of unreality torn by the Spectre's voice. The Saren-thing howls as its metal body starts to burn with white-hot fire, the fury of the molten core of a planet more than a match for the hypertech alloy. Metal dribbles and evaporates in frothing strands or is cracked and buckled by the ever-increasing pressure holding down the avatar - yet it raises its hand, the one working eye flashing with terrible malice and a green lightning tears a furrow into the station's floor, boiling away metal, geth wreckage and turian corpses alike as it bears down on Shepard and Liara.
A shimmering, multi-layered biotic barrier stands in its way for an eternal moment, before it breaks under the brunt of the energy impacting its surface. Still, it does the job, and Urdnot Wrex is back to his krannt, shielding his comrades with his own body. Armor, flesh, and blood are boiled away with a hiss, and the old warlord snarls in pain.
Shepard cries out in a voice echoing with thunderous power, and an iridescent, multifaceted dome of fractured dimensions shield them from the renewed fire of the Saren-thing, the beam ricocheting within the endless maze of unreality. Wrex tilts his head to the side, before grunting in satisfaction, giving the operative a nod of respect. The effort of maintaining the two spells simultaneously drives the operative to his knees, and even with the sliver of concentration he can spare, he notices the spark of recognition on the crackling metallic visage of the Saren-Reaper. The corpse-green beam reaches out once again, a long, continuous streak of energy, and as soon as it touches the surface of the protective dome, the beam starts to oscillate somehow, its pulse and rhythm slowly matching the dance of the dimensional rips, and it slowly starts inching deeper, ever closer to the trio, the avatar grinning in mirthless triumph, its face slowly melting away.
The operative chants on, heedless of the pain, of the blood trickling from his mouth, pooling in his lungs, ignoring the blinding pangs of headache as the strain of the spell mounts - he focuses all his will on the Reaper's avatar, taking a vicious satisfaction that with each heartbeat, the malevolent sign burns away another chunk of it. Somewhere deep within his mind, Shepard runs the calculations, estimates time, distance, and comes to the grim conclusion that he will not be able to keep both spells going long enough to finish Saren - and he knows that as soon as he drops the shield, that monster will finish them off. Still, he does not see any other choice but to keep going and hope.
A moment of vertigo, of disorientation almost throws off the Spectre from his task. He does not feel the touch of blue fingers on his shoulder, but when the familiar presence enters his mindscape, lessening the strain, lending him further strength, he flashes a savage, predatory grin at the Saren-thing, his voice echoing in an ever-increasing crescendo of soul-tearing inhuman syllables older than time, and the avatar explodes into a shower of molten-hot droplets of metal that are crushed out of existence by the pressure of unreality. The cracked dome of iridescent facets disappears, the red-glowing, soul-searing sign fades from existence, and for a heartbeat, the operative involuntarily relaxes the barriers of his mind as his gaze locks with the swirling-black eyes of Liara.
"Get a room, you crazy kids." The old krogan chuckles, before stepping away to double-check on Saren's remains, not that he expects to find anything.
Out in the void, the broken, battered shell of Sovereign is still fighting, still reaping a bloody tally amongs the Citadel ships - two dozen cored, drifting, broken hulls a testament to its might. Still, as an unknown energy source surges in the Council Chambers, sending the sensor net insane with contradictory, impossible returns, the still-immense bulk of the damaged dreadnought goes still. Three admirals, a commodore, and a mere XO all give the same command simultaneously, and a barrage of mass accelerator fire inundates the insensate Reaper, the last torpedo of the Normandy detonating deep within the carcass of the vessel, the explosion tearing apart the ship. The wreckage bombardment damages large areas of the Wards, a sizable piece hitting the Council Tower itself.
A brief, satisfied moment of relaxation, then the comm net is alive with Admiral Hackett's voice, directing ships to search and rescue operations, damage control, perimeter patrol - all the necessary tasks following a costly victory.