Aite, Typhon system (24/12/2183)
It was one of the most worrying and simultaneously most hopeful events the emissary had witnessed since it ventured out from the Perseus Veil. Admittedly, the two strange companions who took it in were more welcoming than even the most optimistic projections suggested beforehand, but it would have been exceedingly unwise to base any kind of further analysis or forecast on them - after all, those two were very, very far from conventional humanity. Still, their continued course generated a positive feedback in the majority of the runtimes composing Legion - in a way, the consensus was that its constituents were experiencing the geth equivalent of hope.
Of course, there was still no consensus about how and why the Argo moved in such random directions; the technology behind Major Pieterzoon's compass beyond the understanding of the geth runtimes. A poll conducted during an earlier period discarded the idea that the two organics were playing an elaborate prank on Legion. Neither the platform's built-in sensors, nor the Argo's highly sophisticated equipment was able to pick up any kind of radiation or energy being transmitted, received, or produced by it - but then again, the selfsame instruments did not register anything out of the ordinary whenever Professor Yildirim employed abilities beyond what could be classified as extremely powerful biotics. The data gathering, while not yielding results, was still ongoing, and Legion's runtimes were forming quite a number of hypotheses about the source and implications of these unexplainable events - indeed, that started already at the first contact.
Assigning a lower priority to that line of thought, Legion focused once again on the immediate vicinity. The presence of deactivated geth platforms, along with corrupted geth runtimes was not a surprise, considering the nominal task of the facility they gleaned from the data banks. The consensus among the emissary's runtimes was that, while unfortunate, this was a logical and arguably necessary step on part of the humans, especially in light of the actions taken by the heretics during the Saren Crisis. The worrisome factor was the presence of technology beyond the current projected capabilities of both humans and heretic geth, yet clearly influencing both organics and synthetics in a corruptive, addictive way. The limited, cursory analysis Legion was able to perform on such pieces of archeotech showed similarity with the promised upgrades suggested by Nazara-Giver-of-Future, but were at the very least an order of magnitude more sophisticated and effective. A more in-depth examination may have yielded more reliable, more precise estimates, but the emissary concurred with its organic companions about the possible dangers presented by such an endeavour without taking precautions. Thus, the findings were recorded, with a small number of runtimes dedicated to extrapolate and theorize based on the available information, providing the results at a later juncture.
Not surprisingly, the humans did not limit their invasive, in-depth research to geth platforms, as several mutilated bodies of varied age and gender could attest to it, with log entries conveying the examination processes, surgeries, and the seemingly inevitable breakdowns in minute detail. Unsurprisingly, when revealed, such data (or rather, the means by which it was procured) evoked an appropriate emotional reaction from Major Pieterzoon, and even Professor Yildirim displayed emotion - and just like above Mahavid, all runtimes reported sensing the same simulated experience, along with the sharp drop in temperature.
The ostensibly Cerberus-ran complex designated as Atlas Station was now quiet, only two others present apart from Legion and its companions - a man designated as Doctor Gavin Archer, head researcher of the facility, and the final test subject, David Archer; according to the logs, the younger brother of the researcher.
Eminently, neither the Major nor the Professor were content with the fact that David was alive, and both took exception at the degree to which he had been modified cybernetically - or rather, to the methods and particulars involved in the cyberization process. The available data pointed at surprisingly invasive surgeries, compounded by emotional neglect and a morally dubious way of obtaining consent for performing them. Legion's first hypothesis was that arguably abusing the family connection and blood relation was why both its companions were displaying such anger towards Doctor Archer.
While that organic viewpoint was useful from a data gathering perspective, the consensus of Legion's runtimes was to prioritize the more harmful implications inherent in the research conducted here. Admittedly, the code upgrades done to David and the geth runtimes on-station were impressive in their efficiency, improving cognitive functions in several aspects, creating a more complex, evolved intelligence - yet at the same time, there was something subtly wrong with it, insidious scraps of code clinging to the structure, backdoors for subverting, degrading, chaining the improved beings to another's will.
Legion admired the genius inherent in creating such a complex piece of coding, yet simultaneously, all runtimes were appalled at the resulting slavery. An immediate consensus formed, the high-priority directive was issued to avoid this path at all costs, flagging the patterns and methods used by the scrapcode for the greater Geth Consensus for future reference and analysis. While far from an absolute certainty, Legion theorized that at the very least, the Consensus could find a way to detect and ward off attempts at using similar methods to control the geth.
The emissary could not (would not?) stop an eyeflap-raise, as Doctor Archer was sent sprawling by a single strike of Major Pieterzoon. The Professor, meanwhile, moved to stand before the mutilated body of David Archer. The room's ambient temperature was dropping fast, hoarfrost creeping up the walls, instruments, creating swirling patterns on the floor. The monitors and computers of the laboratory went into overdrive, tides of data scrolling on the screens almost too fast for Legion to catch and comprehend.
The Professor's eyes lit up with warm, golden radiance.
And Legion, Emissary of the Geth Consensus, watched with rapt attention as the code, that tantalizing, treacherous, enslaving gift, was transforming into a pure, clean matrix of communication, of self-improvement, of possibility for evolving - while cutting out, burning away the malicious, alien scrapcode. It was beautiful in its implications, its efficiency, a marvel of computing almost on par with the twisted horror it emerged from - yet all the possible inferiority was negated by the lack of backdoors, of traps, of enslaving protocols. It did not force an evolutionary jump on the recipient, did not overwrite an existing sentience - it merely provided a pathway along which a cybernetic intelligence could evolve.
The geth platform, home to over a thousand runtimes, ran a quick query of its internal databanks, accumulated experience, compared and contrasted it with situations offering similarities in various belief systems. A consensus formed, and Legion vocalized the resulting conclusion.
"You are our god."
? (24/12/2183)
The darkness was alive - and it was a horrible, twisted, malformed travesty of an unnatural existence, distorted to serve some perfectly logical yet utterly wrong aim. It was alive, and it was coming to swallow her, just as it did her partner, her friend, her lover...
She never believed in the existence of Evil, but what she saw then was more than enough to convince her. The rows and rows of cold, sterile plasteel cylinders, each containing a wide-awake batarian suspended in some liquid, their mouths and eyes open in unheard howls of agony as their skin grayed to a dull color before partially flaking off, the flesh undulated, took on a metallic sheen, became threaded with bluish-green veins of circuitry, strange, metallic components bubbled and burrowed beneath the skin. She fought back her nausea, wishing that the process was at least fast - yet from all she and her partner saw, it was anything but - she had seen torture methods in the Terminus and Omega that were kinder than this.
Another chamber, with a complex, loathsome engine where the batarian husks were fused together in a grotesque amalgamation with still-alive humans, the thrashing, writhing, screaming agony of the dying people all too evident of the mindbreaking pain they had to endure as cybernetics wound their way along their spines, brains, discarding and remaking organs, flesh, bones alike, to form an oversized cannon.
The Pool of Dark Gods within the depths of the Hegemon's Palace, the void-black liquid metal whispering dark promises with a silky, reverberating voice of irresistible power, the ruined, cast down Pillars of Strength partially consumed by the noxious, jealous stuff, dozens of high-caste batarians kneeling in worship at its shore, gulping the vile fluid even as the thing within supped on their souls, demanding more - always more.
The unearthly, bloated form of the Hegemon, shining with a soul-searing yellow radiance of power, volcanic veins bulging and writhing beneath his skin, distant thunder rumbling beyond his basso voice, the eyes seeming to stare directly at her and her partner - and she could have sworn that something else, an infinite, timeless malice was looking out to the galaxy with unquenchable hunger, as the words reverberated in the suffocating darkness.
"PREPARE YOURSELF FOR THE ARRIVAL."
The petite, pale Asian woman awoke with a silent scream, her throat too hurt and constricted to fully give voice to the memory of terror, her hands cold and slippery on the grip of her pistol. At least she did not start shooting randomly, or awoke the whole floor with her panic.
She never wanted to go there, especially not since the attack on Terra Nova - yet he insisted, and she could not say no to him, could not leave him to face the dangers alone; and besides, they vowed that if it came to that, they would walk into hell at each other's side. In hindsight, that was precisely what they were about to do.
Of course, it was well-known that humans were not tolerated within the Hegemony, unless as slaves; and with the Shadow Broker's allegiance in question, the usual routes were deemed too dangerous, forcing them to improvise. Of course, they had done countless infiltrations to high-security locations, so while both expected difficulties, ultimately it was thought to be a challenging obstacle, a fun intellectual and physical exercise, nothing more.
How utterly wrong they both were.
Sure, getting planetside was comparatively easy, despite the increased efficiency of batarian scanners and security personnel - which already should have tipped them off about how bad the situation really was. After all, the batarians were never famous for technical inventiveness or the high quality of their gear (well, apart from the highest elites of the governing caste), yet now they were using tech on par with those of the asari … and deploying them on border patrols and routine security checks.
Still, both of them were very experienced when it came to avoiding such advanced measures; after all, apart from a handful of truly elite individuals, they were the best in their chosen profession. They landed, managed to set up a safe house, and spent a week trying to gather enough intelligence via electronic measures, to no avail. The encryption employed was on par with the top of the line Council coding, the intruder detection, watchdogs and deadly countermeasures, numerous traps built into an insanely complex protective mesh that would have given even the best STG agents pause. While she and her partner were no slouches when it came to infowarfare, this was an obstacle they could not pass - or at least, not without drawing attention on themselves, and they both agreed it would be better to avoid that, if possible.
Being aware that their window of opportunity was closing slowly but inexorably, the dark glory of the unnatural city looming over them, eroding their will with subtle whispers, with minuscule but eye-searing wrongness, as if the whole city, the whole planet itself was aware, ready to swallow the intruders into its artificial gullet. The two of them spent a few more days planning a physical infiltration, and then … and then, they saw it. She did not know how they got out from that palace of horrors, managed to access the escape vessel procured for a hasty exit. Sure, she had snippets, images, but her mind, her consciousness did its level best not to dwell on them too much. They managed to escape from Hierarchy space barely, made their way to Omega - and that was where things went even more wrong.
She did not know how those humans found them, but she and her partner barely managed to get away from the "safe" house - but got separated, as that wonderful idiot selflessly, thoughtlessly drew the pursuers away from her, knowing full well that she could get away much easier on her own; after all, while he may have been better with tech, infiltration was always her forte.
For weeks, she had no idea what became of him; desperately clinging to hope she ceaselessly monitored all prearranged channel and dead-drop they ever discussed or used, carefully scouted out all potentially reliable contacts he might have used.
A part of her knew the truth, though confirmation arrived from elsewhere. She wept, railed against Fate, against the batarians, the SA, a salarian Spectre, her stubborn, heroic partner. She vented her rage on the rented apartment, tearing, clawing, shooting it to pieces, before she simply shut down for a few days, barely even surviving. If not for her memories, she would have joined him - but then, his sacrifice would have been meaningless, and more importantly, the bastard responsible for it would have gotten away. And nobody took someone this important from her, and walked away unscathed.
She composed herself, made herself presentable, and made the call to the supplied address - and as she saw the face of the man on the screen, Kasumi Goto finally smiled a genuine smile, the first in weeks.
"Hello, Mr. Gunn; I have seen your profile in Badass Weekly, and I suspect we could come to a mutually beneficial arrangement."
Nos Astra, Ilium (24/12/83)
Ever since their departure from Omega, Bray felt as if he was walking on eggshells when dealing with his boss - well, on thinner and more explosive ones than usual. The exiled Queen of Omega did not enjoy the situation, and when some enterprising being with more balls than brains tried to remind her on her predicament or take advantage of it, well, Bray was getting mightily tired of scrubbing the floor, walls, and ceiling clean. Of course, he technically could have delegated the work, but with the mood Aria was in, he did not want to take chances, and tick her off even more. At least she still did pay well, and was sane enough to include a compensation for the extra services not in the batarian's core duties.
Even so, Bray fervently wished to return to their usual place, where the biggest problems were idiot mercs and moronic Terminus warlords, with the occasional Spectre or two thrown in for good measure. Sure, it was an insane life, but it was comfortable and predictable in its insanity, he knew all the steps of that dance, all the players involved … and most importantly, he did not need to constantly prove himself to everyone, only Aria (well, and the occasional brainless challenger to his position, but that came with the territory). Here on Ilium, despite the whole planet being technically a law-abiding, respectable community, he got into more altercations than on Omega. Of course, quite a number of those little affairs were done to probe and test his boss, see if her old edge was blunted, now that she was temporarily ousted from her seat of power. Most of the fools never knew what hit them.
The reports from their remaining contacts on Omega were not encouraging, to say the least. Nyreen's Talons were holding out, keeping mostly to themselves and protecting the civilians in the areas under their control, but that was about all the turian merc and her band could do. The Blue Suns and Eclipse were slowly edging closer to a joint coup against the overwhelming Blood Pack, but with the numbers Garm had on-station, Bray estimated that Jaroth and Tarak had no real chance on beating the krogan warlord. Though that coup, if either the turian or the salarian had the balls to pull it off, just might weaken the three main merc bands enough for Aria to stage a triumphant return. After all, she and her people did not spend their exile idly lazing and pining for the past glories. That was never Aria's way. Still, without the usual resources at her disposal, cajoling, threatening, and bribing the forces necessary to take back the station was a slow process. And of course she scoffed at the offers of both the Council in general and the SA in particular - she did not want to take back Omega just to have it turned into a military outpost for whatever Council flunky, with Aria in nominal charge. No, she would take her station back on her own terms.
Of course, there were a number of warlords and merc leaders who offered help, just to secure a future favor, a better disposition, or some extra rights and concessions from Aria - and a few of them, the more honest ones, actually did sign on. Yet, at Bray's last count, their ragtag fleet and ground forces were not entirely up to the task in his opinion. While he estimated that even with the numbers based off Nyreen's estimates, they could take on Garm's forces, he advised caution due to the still-unknown capabilities and numbers of the Collectors backing the Blood Pack. Admittedly, the attack on Fehl Prime a month ago was a veritable goldmine of information, but with the Shadow Broker unreliable, the price and quality of such information was questionable, at best. Perhaps that was the most frustrating thing, in Bray's opinion - the lack of more, reliable intel … and the implications behind the Broker's turn from neutrality.
Thus, he and his boss had to carefully consider all offers of support - even those just like the one they were currently waiting for, which came out of practically nowhere, from previously-unknown parties. Hopefully, these idiots would be punctual, and able to offer some genuine support.
Despite occupying a secluded, private booth with good views on the access points, Bray only spotted the newcomer when the human female sat down across from Aria with an insolent grin on her face. The asari glared at Bray for a second, before she turned towards the woman. The tall merc was wearing an ornate full-body armor that hugged her figure closely, displaying a shape that would distract quite a few sentients - yet that was not the (main/only) reason Bray was studying her closely. Well, actually, it was because of her figure - she was tall for a human woman, but that alone would not have been too outstanding. No, what caught Bray's attention was the subtle wrongness in proportion, the slenderness which should have been an indication to slave-like malnutrition in a human. Sure, it may have been genetic modification, but in the batarian's opinion and knowledge, gene-modded humans usually went for bulk and muscle - of course, he reminded himself that vanity and sex appeal were also possible reasons, and she was perhaps going for some kind of human variant of weaponizing her race's idealized looks, similar to the asari huntresses.
At any rate, the fact that she got in undetected was a promising start, even if Aria would have words with him later on. He did not see the faint shimmers of a thermoptic cloak (though he would have been impressed if a merc was able to get that tech), and using biotics to close was out of question, what with the distinct lack of sonic booms.
"Very impressive entry." Aria's voice was dry as she leaned back comfortably on her sofa.
"I do try." Bray was surprised at the lilting, musical accent of the human, and his eyes narrowed as he strained to hear the strange undertones in her voice. "Would you care for a bit of verbal sparring, or shall we cut to the chase, spare both of us time?"
The asari raised an eyebrow, tilted her head slightly.
"Well now, a merc who seems to have more than two brain cells." Her smile was just the slightest bit predatory. "I like the idea, but you would have to remove that helmet first, I do not like to deal with faceless, disposable lackeys."
Bray caught the minuscule tension in the human's posture, and inwardly chuckled even as he readied himself, in case her self-control lapsed. The helmet turned towards him for a brief instant, and he could have sworn he felt a glare boring into his very soul.
"Very well." Slender, long-fingered hands reached up towards the helmet, and with a hiss of depressurized air, the human's face became visible, and Bray's eyes widened for a second, before narrowing suspiciously. Yes, she was very, very similar to a human - but again, there were those subtly wrong proportions. The sharp, elongated face, radiating confidence and arrogance. The canted, luminous eyes, forbidden power and ancient knowledge shimmering within them. The sharply tapered ears. The alien agelessness. No, whatever this being might be, it was not human, not even a gene-modded one.
"What are you?" Aria's tone was gruff, with an undertone that threatened violence. The alien chuckled.
"I am Yr'Arenn of the Aeldari." Bray could barely control himself not to shoot her in the head for the sheer arrogance of her tone, and he could see that Aria herself was having to clamp down on her instincts as well. "And while your reactions are entertaining to watch, I believe we have something more pressing to discuss."
"Make your words count, aeldari - they may determine your lifespan."
"My people are willing to help you regain control of Omega, Aria T'Loak."
The asari chuckled, leaning back.
"Obvious, otherwise you would not be here. But why is an unknown race so eager to help me? What do you want in exchange?"
"Is it so difficult to believe that someone would simply want to help a fellow sentient?" Again, Bray struggled for a second to avoid blowing a hole into the smug alien's head. She was deliberately provoking them, he was sure of that. Well, she could enjoy her little mindgames, Aria would eat her raw if it came to a real confrontation. The laughter of the asari was a cold, mocking sound.
"Spare me your falsehoods, girl. I have seen vorcha lie better than you." Aria's eyes narrowed, glowed with power. "Now, tell me the real reason before I smear the walls with you, bitch."
"The enemy of my enemy is, if not exactly a friend, then at the very least someone who can be dealt with much, much later. My people have a rather old grudge against the ones you call the Collectors, and we would love to see them beaten." The aeldari smiled a vicious little smirk. "And in return? Well, give us the benefit of doubt."
"Very poetic, but this is not a talent show. Speak plainly."
"I see the rumors about you were all too true, Queen of Omega." The aeldari's voice was mockingly sweet. "But if you insist, then I'll be plain. When my people tell you something outrageous, something seemingly impossible, just do not discard it out of hand, but consider it very, very carefully." The alien's eyes glowed with power, and the temperature dropped sharply, their breaths pluming. "We do not lie. There is no reason for it. Consider your choice wisely, Aria T'Loak, Queen of Omega. We both want the same thing - you, back at the head of your private empire, enjoying the fruits of centuries of struggles."
The aeldari's tone became somehow less arrogant, almost wistful.
"Believe me, we understand all too well what it means to struggle for years beyond counting to achieve your goal, your revenge. We can respect that dedication. If you do not trust us, that is fine - we all know that at some later point, you will take back Omega." The certainty in her voice surprised Bray. "The real question is whether you are willing to deal with the aftermath of that path to your victory. To spend effort to become free from shackles once again."
The voice dropped almost to a whisper.
"We know of others whom you might easily convince to help. Your old friend, the krogan Spectre would relish the challenge." Bray's eyes widened, especially at Aria's reaction. "Whether you fan those old flames or appeal to his base nature, he would side with you if you asked. But I am not telling you anything you yourself haven't thought, am I? So, what shall it be, Queen of Omega?"
"Very well, aeldari."
The lithe alien stood, placed the helmet back on her head, her parting whisper echoing in Bray's mind long after the woman vanished as suddenly as she arrived.
"A wise choice, Aleena."
Tuchanka, Clan Ganar territory (24/12/83)
Tali's hands were shaking. She thought that after Virmire, Saren, and the harrowing Urdnot Rite of Passage, nothing could terrify her (well, maybe nothing apart from spiders), but she was learning otherwise, fast. And worst of all, she had no-one else to blame for it, and in hindsight, there were obvious indications that this would not be a mere diplomatic visit. After all these months, she should have realized the minute signals of tension in Wrex. She should have noted the extra precautions taken by Professor Solus. She should have realized that too many of the krogan selected to accompany them were amongst those whom Wrex did not trust entirely. And most of all, she should have realized that any such sidetrip, no matter how important, would result in having to deal with Tuchankan sand. She swore that next time, she'd stay back, and tinker with the toys Wrex' contacts had gotten them.
Still, despite all her shaking and terror, she had to focus. She was the daughter of a quarian Admiral, a member of Clan Urdnot, and the quarian whose Pilgrimage resulted in a chance of finally setting things right, after three centuries. With narrowed eyes, she glared at the massive krogan standing opposite Wrex - and she almost recoiled as she realized how thick with tension the atmosphere was between the two. Oh, she would have her bosh'tet uncle's hide when they got back - he should have warned her that there was history or bad blood between him and this Okeer. Or rather, she would quietly fume to herself, and not yell at him, lest he make some remark on her not knowing the clan's history. Yes, better to keep silent; Tali, much to her surprise, did not really want to upset her adoptive self-styled uncle. Then again, she mused with a brief grin, very few people would want to upset Wrex, as he tended to make his displeasure known violently. With a mental headshake, she focused on the two warlords again.
"You keep talking, whelp, but I'm not hearing much sense." The Ganar warlord's voice was a surprisingly pleasant, smooth baritone Tali could not help but like … which made her angry at the bosh'tet. He was clinging too much to the krogan past, why could he not see that?
"You want sense, Okeer?" Wrex laughed, a mocking, derisive tone in his voice. "Despite all you did, despite how I want to tear you apart, I'm still here, talking to you, because I know that for all your talk about past glories, you are not stupid enough to ignore them. You realize as much as I do what a chance we have here, now."
"Yes, I do. And I know too well why the other clans would not follow me." Okeer grinned maliciously, his tone mocking. "Then again, they will only follow you if you beat sense into their thick skulls. Or were you planning something else, illustrious leader?"
"Most of the clans are lead by young whelps who don't know better. Aside from the two of us, only Drack remembers the old times; the rest are deluded fools trapped in dreams of glory." Wrex smiled a predator's grin. "I will drag them to glory, whether they want it or not."
"What glory, Wrex?" The Ganar warlord's voice was sickeningly sweet and infuriatingly reasonable. "You would have us play the Council's attack varren again, and you are talking about not being chained to the past? You would have us submit to the will of those weaklings, just because you fear to stand alone against the coming storm?" Okeer laughed. "You are a foolish whelp, Wrex. We are krogan. We stand, we fight, and most of all, we survive, no matter the odds!"
"Who is the fool, Okeer? I have seen what these Reapers do with my own eyes. I have killed the mockeries they made of our kind on Virmire, ..."
"Virmire was merely a test batch." Okeer's eyes glowed with manic fervor. "I have progressed much farther beyond that."
"You were the one who worked with that bastard Saren?"
"And why shouldn't I? The results Droyas' experiments got were instrumental in my work for overcoming the genophage; with those results, I can finally inflict the greatest humiliation on the salarian's little toy, and ignore its very existence." The Ganar warlord grinned, showing too many teeth. "My followers, my people, my creations will shrug off and ignore the genophage, as true warriors should. And they will spread our wrath across the galaxy, avenging all indignities we have suffered, and taking our proper place as..."
Okeer's rant was cut off by the boom of displaced air, and the Ganar warlord was sent flying by a blue-limned fist.
"You talk too much." Wrex growled, his shotgun unfolding as he aimed at Okeer's head, Tali and the rest of the krogan only then beginning to react - then Okeer laughed, gestured, and his people howled as one.
Tali could not suppress a horrified gasp as the bodies of the Ganar warriors undulated and moved as if something was burrowing beneath their armor and skin. Their eyes lit up with a sickly green glow, as the suppurating, cracking flesh gave way to glowing eezo nodes, as organic wiring threaded its way through muscles. The plating of the krogan dulled to a dark gray sheen, its texture and composition a loathsome mixture of organic and metallic. The bodies of the monstrosities bulked out, growing in size, yet paradoxically they seemed to become less and less substantial, less … solid, as if the extra mass was intruding from somewhere else, the mere sight of the flickering, dark-veined stuff was burning at Tali's eyes even across the HUD of her suit. And for a moment, Tali struggled with nausea at the stench flooding the meeting place, seeming to emanate from the transforming krogan, a wave of foulness that seemed to burn its way through filters, seals and nose without stopping, worming its way into everyone's brain and guts alike - and she was inordinately proud of herself for not throwing up, unlike two of the Urdnot.
She noticed Wrex stepping back, his whole stance radiating stunned disbelief as he studied the growling creatures slowly moving to encircle him.
"You are insane, Okeer." His voice was calm. Too calm. "You went and messed with those Beyond. You know there is a reason the shamans have cautioned against that."
"What do I care about outdated superstition!" The Ganar warlord rose to his full height, his biotics outlining his form with a blue corona of light. "Behold, my greatest creations, the future of our race - and enjoy what few moments you have from your..."
Again, he was interrupted, this time by a blue blur and a thundering boom from an oversized Claymore, but Okeer's barrier and shield held, if barely. The usual bloodthirsty, savage glee of a fight was absent from Wrex' face, as he sent Okeer stumbling with a barely-countered lift field, an overload charge from the side shorted out the warlord's shield, the Claymore boomed once more, tearing away barrier and flesh alike - and then Wrex was buried under half dozen abominations.
With a savage roar, the Urdnot warriors finally managed to react, and a part of Tali realized with a distant shock how few precious seconds elapsed since Wrex first hit Okeer. Then, she was amidst a howling, roaring melee of close to three dozen krogan and abomination. Her omnitool flashed, sending an overload charge at one of the bloated monsters, and she shied back a step as it turned towards her, towering over the slender quarian, the singed protoplasmic flesh bubbling and undulating under its armor, before it opened its maw and roared with an unholy screech of living metal.
Wrex burst from under the pile of monsters with the boom of displaced air, his plate scorched and dented at places, something horribly alive wriggling in a blue-limned fist for a second, before a pulse of his biotics tore it apart. The Urdnot battlemaster spared a glance to check for Okeer, but the other warlord vanished. Wrex turned towards the Ganar abominations intent on bringing him down, his whole stance radiating such a menace that even those monsters hesitated for a moment, before their instincts overrode their brains.
The first opened its maw to roar a challenge, but the old warlord tore off its lower jaw with one hand, rammed his shotgun into the bloody wreck of the face. The incendiary charge sent burning meat and scorched metal flying, the protoplasmic bulk burning away in a greasy smoke. The second was caught in a singularity for a heartbeat, before a warp field slammed into it, showering the battlefield with bits and pieces of the destroyed monster. The third abomination actually managed to evade Wrex' shot, only to stumble as an incendiary charge hit him from the side, and for a brief moment, the hazy outlines of a one-horned salarian was visible, then the old doctor was occluded by the spray of metal and flesh, as Wrex drove his blue-limned fist into its center, pulsing his biotics with expert timing. The fourth was distracted for a moment by a pistol shot from Mordin, before Wrex slammed into it like a biotic freight train, the sound of breaking bones and tearing metal a chilling symphony - but far more worrying were the threads of protoplasmic matter clinging to and crawling all over the Urdnot warlord, questing towards openings on his armor, ways to burrow within - before Tali's eyes narrowed, and with a sweep of her omnitool, sent electricity crawling over the old krogan, burning away the unnatural substance. Wrex did not falter for even a heartbeat, dodged the swipes and shots of the last two creatures, before he sent one sprawling with a biotic backhand, swept the legs of the other. The fight ended with the stomp of the warlord and the roar of his shotgun.
The battlemaster looked around, nodded towards Tali, and beckoned Mordin closer - the salarian dropped his tactical cloak, but was clearly more interested in examining the rapidly-dissolving corpses, his omnitool recording, as he hummed to himself. Tali tensed for a moment, as Wrex turned to her, his eyes lingering significantly on her omnitool.
"And now you see why I consider the pyjack and the quarian better than most of you." Wrex grinned at his surviving warriors. "Unlike you, they both have a quad."
The smile faded from his face, as his voice dropped to a threatening growl.
"And the next time you idiots think you know better than me, remember this day." His eyes glowed with power and conviction. "I will drag our people to glory, but we will not be mindless slaves or soulless husks obeying ancient horrors to sate the bloodlust that sings in our veins. We will show the galaxy, the Council our honor. We will show them our mettle." The grin that spread on his face was distinctly predatory. "And when all is said and done, those who wronged us will feel our justice."
Distant depths/Beyond (Time: meaningless/concurrent)
They had made a mistake once, in aeons past. A grievous, almost fatal lapse of judgment when their hubris stayed their wrath - and those who warred on them in vain, were not content to meekly stand aside. In their mad quest for vengeance and power, the short-lived brutes willingly gave themselves to a new master, and the galaxy echoed with the birth-cry of an unnatural nightmare as the freshly-spawned abomination raged against life and the natural order itself.
They resisted, of course. Mastery of the galaxy was their birthright, after all - yet that time, they realized how blind they were. In their own quest for knowledge and power Beyond, they never cared or realized how such rivalling, antithetical beings could haunt reality - but now, those beings, would-be masters of all things material, usurpers to the title of the apex race, reached out and twisted the vengeful, petty lifeforms, entombing them into mindless servitude, only good for venting their rage and feeding the new, eternally hungry masters.
New servitors were tailored, modified specifically to aim at the perceived weaknesses of the infant menace, intent on snuffing them out with a living weapon multiplying even in death, reaching numbers beyond counting. Along the openly menacing, brutish hammer of the bioweapon, they spun into being other servitors, tailored for much more delicate work, investing them with shades of their power, using them for the eldritch rituals as both attendants and fuel.
The Apex Race even reached out to those beings they knew to dwell Beyond the confines of reality - while they did not worship them, ever, the members of the Apex Race were not insane enough to completely ignore them. After all, those foreign entities were in a way their progenitors; they simply lacked the interest and the will to dominate this layer of reality, content to be embroiled in their own schemes, the scale of which was beyond even the Apex Race's comprehension.
Thus, during the war when the heavens burned, the self-appointed High Priest of the Apex Race managed to force an unprecedented level of cooperation from his solitary, predatory kind, and for an indefinite amount of time, they managed to turn the tide with powers and knowledge gained from the Opener of Ways and the Herald of All. The undying abominations arrayed against them were no match against them, even their godlike masters powerless to resist - for a short while anyway.
Again, pride and arrogance blinded the Apex Race, and the deeper reality rang with the echoing laughter of the Herald, as their enemies rallied against them - one of those wrestled the secrets of the higher dimensions, its deceptive whisperings warping the minds of some of the Apex Race, who blindly betrayed their kin, unknowingly sealing their own doom. Another fought with cold hatred, striking against the thrall races, instilling fear into their mind, weakening the hold of the Apex Race. The third gorged itself on power in its unrivalled hunger, uncaringly consuming all in its path, ally and foe alike. The fourth, the most dangerous of all, watched, analyzed, understood - and from that understanding, that cold, unfeeling knowledge came the dawn of a new vessel for the power and hunger of its kind, a synthesis of all that made them dangerous to their enemies, a proof that even those unfeeling, uncaring star-gods could be forced to such desperate measures and coordinated effort.
The heavens trembled as the Harbinger of Tsara'noga's Wrath vented its fury on the Apex Race, subsuming their very souls into its own, feeding on their torment and knowledge, spawning lesser copies of itself as the tides turned, the once-proud masters of the galaxy forced to fight a losing war, unable and unwilling to bring their collective might to bear against their reapers even when it might have saved them.
The broken few remnants of the once-proud race scattered across the galaxy and beyond, their servitors forced to flee deep into the network of tunnels a half-step to the side of reality, barely managing to avoid the burning wrath of Nyadra'zatha. The few survivors of the Apex Race retreated into the dark depths of distant worlds to ride out the storm, confident that their foes would consume each other in the wake of their victory - and thus, they were caught off-guard when the old enemy seeded the galaxy with a network of relays that suppressed much of the power inimical to them, denying the Apex Race the chance to rise again to their full glory unaided, cutting off one servitor race from this layer of reality, and depriving the bioweapon from its already-limited sentience.
For a time, silence and the peace of the grave reigned over the galaxy, with the scant survivors slowly emerging from their hideouts, intent on rebuilding after the harvest, creating and uplifting new servitors, establish their dominance once again - only to scurry back when the old foe returned, scouring the galaxy once again. The same events played out a few more times, before the handful of survivors, led by the High Priest, tried to force open the Gate, or at least get a glimpse from the Way Beyond, to better adjust their plans.
Without their usual servitors, numbers, and power, getting the attention of the Opener of the Ways was much, much more difficult, their limited numbers making it quite clear that even considering forcing a confrontation was beyond insanity. A glimpse would have to be enough - and that was all they received. For others, the sheer scale involved, coupled with the very low chances would have been enough of a deterrent, but not for the Apex Race - after all, they had time to plan, and the drive to see their kind once again rule the stars, as was their right.
So they hid, and planned, and spun their webs of intrigue to span the gulfs of time itself, threading with great care not to draw the attention of their old foes during the feeding cycles. They studied their adversaries via proxies, to better understand the abilities they wielded. They subtly influenced sentients along the uncountable cycles, driving them all towards the endgame of the Apex Race, using and discarding these species with even more callous disregard than their ancient servitors. Still, the aeons-long project was on track, and the time to freedom tantalizingly close.
The Herald's laughter proved them wrong, as the High Priest was forced to flee, to seek shelter on a distant, unremarkable blue world, barely managing to avoid the servants of Mag'ladroth finishing the ancient hunt. Still, the plans of the Apex Race were set back by uncountable years, and more importantly, their survival was no longer a secret to their enemies, who once again searched for them during the subsequent cycles, forcing them to even more isolation, narrowing their chances at furthering their plan, making it much harder to influence the sentients of the future cycles, as the Reapers were using those traces of tampering to start tracking down careless members of the Apex Race.
Even beings like the High Priest were not safe - yet the fate of that exalted member of their kind made them realize the existence of an Anomaly. While the High Priest slept in dreamless, deathlike state on the distant blue planet, wounded almost unto death by Mag'ladroth itself, an unknown being interfered in the ancient foe's hunt, when the regenerated Star God came for the still-dreaming, still-trapped leviathan.
Wielding powers akin to those of the Apex Race, with a mastery that was unprecedented for one belonging to a lesser species, the Anomaly defeated the Dragon, their combat echoing in the higher layers of reality and beyond.
The Apex Race did not understand who or what this Anomaly was, where its powers originated, but they knew a chance when they saw one - and set plans in motion to prepare and use the Anomaly in the upcoming Harvest, to finally break free.
And, being who they were, to take vengeance on the Reapers, exacting their tribute in blood, for the aeons of indignity suffered - then to teach a lesson to the upstart primitive race and the Anomaly that took an interest in them, for the fate it dealt to the High Priest of the Apex Race, for daring to threaten them, for harboring dreams of conquest and usurping the rightful domination of the ancient leviathans.
The time of reckoning was coming.
A/N: feedback is very much appreciated - reviews help in keeping the story going ;)
Guest reviewer: You do make a valid point about the shakiness and lightness of the plot; I'd say that's due to my limited talent as a writer, and the inability to properly plot out the details in advance. Also, I'm at times worried that the whole story and plot will completely kudzu away, and the preemptive pruning I'm doing is most likely leaving some (several) holes - hopefully nothing that would break the story. Am I making sense?
Also, the chapters are built from smaller, only loosely connected snippets because of IRL work (thus, limited time and energy), plus to avoid having the writing feel like work. Then I'd never get anything done :)