New Canton (06/05/2184)
The inhabitants of New Canton honestly liked their planet - not much of a surprise, since it was effectively a lush garden world, with almost perfect climate and weather, yielding a bounty of crops and respectable amounts of minerals, even though mining was comparatively restricted and relegated to distant settlements, to allow for a maximized agricultural effort. Effectively, it was considered a primary food producer for the SA colonies and armed forces in the Terminus, while retaining more than enough for lucrative trade with Council worlds as well as unaligned fiefdoms. People living on-planet just shrugged at the occasional freak weather phenomena, which seemed to occur way out in the wilderness anyway, or the persisting ghost stories about some invisible creature monitoring them once in awhile (likely originating in too much alcohol and questionable selection in holovids). The colony did have its share of violence, of course - after all, humans are humans, and frontier colonies are rough places. Still, in an overwhelming majority of cases, it was mainly brawls caused by too much drinking and letting post-payday miners mix with pre-payday farmers. Sure, there was unfortunately the occasional murder, suicide, disappearance, but compared to the over four million inhabitants, the number of such violent events was comparatively low.
After the battle of the Citadel, the arrival of a naval task force from Fifth Fleet, along with a marine battalion, brought some excitement, but things settled back into a comfortable routine; the colonists definitely did not mind the increased protection presented by Commodore Esther Stellings' vessels, and the local militia quickly integrated Major Troisville's people into the daily work - or rather, the marines considered the police work as light duty, a welcome break from their usual drills. Naturally, the presence of the Alliance forces meant an updated sensor network, with recon drones and frigates patrolling the system edges in textbook-precise patterns. For long months, there was peace and quiet, even the nearby warlords and unaligned colonies were careful not to annoy the Alliance forces.
Trouble arrived rather unexpectedly, though in hindsight, records showed that the increase in freak weather phenomena, along with the upsurge of "Canton Ghost" sightings, started immediately after the Battle of Haestrom. The out-system pickets, cruising on their usual patrol routes, received no warning when two enormous Collector vessels dropped out from FTL practically on top of them. Sickly yellow beams of coherent light stabbed through the hulls of the sentry frigates, evaporating hull plating, inner components and human flesh alike. Explosions tore apart the two Alliance vessels, their drive cores exploding with brief flashes of light. Warning screamed on board of the orbiting task force, as their crews scrambled to battle stations from the comfortable routine of peacetime. Despite their understandable laxity and complacency, engendered by the long, peaceful months, the crews of the task force responded with a commendable speed, and they would have been swinging their vessels from orbit towards the invaders within ten minutes of the Collectors dropping from FTL at the system's edge. Unfortunately, the attackers were just a bit quicker than that - and barely five minutes after destroying the picket ships, the two rocklike cruisers appeared on approach towards the Alliance ships still on orbit.
Aboard the SSV Chelyabinsk, Wilhelmina Wodoslawski, Esther Stellings' flag captain, glared at her superior with impotent, frustrated rage, as she saw her worst-case predictions being realized right before her eyes. She knew too well that neither her crew nor the rest of the task force had a real fighting chance, and even their survival was very much questionable. Still, her tone was surprisingly calm when she addressed her superior.
"You complacent ass, you've killed us."
Scant two heartbeats later, the Chelyabinsk transformed into a rapidly expanding ball of plasma, as the sick yellow beam of the Collector cruiser sliced along its length, including the ship's drive core. From the dozen ships holding orbit over New Canton, only the SSV Trafalgar and the SSV Oppenheimer managed to survive and withdraw, though the latter lost over half of its fighter complement.
As the Collector cruisers maneuvered towards New Canton itself with menacing slowness, barely skimming the top of the planet's atmosphere, a trio of batarian troop ships dropped from FTL out-system, and accelerated towards the planet. The GTS defenses, manned by the local militia and the SA marines were not sufficient from stopping the attackers from landing - then again, given the increasingly erratic atmospheric conditions impairing the electronics, even forcing the assaulting forces off-course, causing moderate damage and buying a precious hour was deemed enough. Noncombatants were packed off to the shelters, volunteers and militia members manned the strongpoints alongside the marine contingent, the kinetic barriers overhead flickering under the sustained barrage of deployed attack shuttles and tank-sized, insectlike mechs.
From the cavernous holds of the landed troop ships, tides of moaning, groaning husks poured forth, still bearing resemblance to the batarians they once were - and all of them sporting an oversized cannon in place of an arm. Collectors swarmed over them, the buzzing of their wings heralding the oncoming storm that was forming behind them, closing with inexorable might from the wilderness of the planet.
Disciplined, massed fire greeted the incoming horde from the settlement, cannons and tech mines carving furrows into the mass of the first wave, rending flesh and cybernetics alike - yet the husks only slowed until they finished making a meal of their killed and wounded. The second volley felled more of the attackers, yet the survivors, after feasting on the fallen, were even harder to put down, the consumed biomass hardening into an armored carapace over their bodies. The Avengers used by the marines and the militia required sustained fire or precise headshots to kill the rushing batarian husks - and that was hard to pull off at long range. Sure, the Makos, snipers, and heavy weapons still took a toll, but even their efforts were insufficient to make a significant dent in the numbers of the swarm. And then, the onrushing horde opened fire, and the colony's reactors strained to compensate for the spike of energy drawn by the barriers, as thousands of cannons fired volley after volley into them, the mass accelerators and gunships supported by the particle weaponry and mechs of the Collectors, in well-timed attack waves.
Still, even that would not have been enough on its own. After all, New Canton was an important enough Alliance world, and even against bureaucratic inertia, the colony leaders, helped by Navy and Marine high-ups, pushed through to get a dedicated Yutani-Yi reactor installed for powering the colony's barriers. The output of one such beast, especially when supplemented by the regular reactors (which now only powered the most basic life support functions of New Canton, diverting everything else into the barriers) would have been sufficient to hold back the massed fire of the invaders. Obviously, the reactors themselves would have been prime targets for any invasion force, so both their placement and security teams took that into account - and Major Troisville ensured that there was an increased guard, to prevent any kind of saboteur getting close enough to impede the working of the reactor. Indeed, the militia and the marines took all conceivable scenarios into account when planning the reactor defenses. What they did not, could not count on was the act of a qualified engineer overseeing the Yutani-Yi reactor - after all, who in their right mind would consider someone familiar with the tech simply switching off containment? For chief engineer Elmar Tuominen, it was the only logical conclusion he could make to prevent the imminent catastrophe that an overstressed reactor would cause.
Warnings blared a dual-tone harmony of destruction, signalling both the reactor state and the loss of kinetic barriers. It was a testament to both the marines and the militia that not one of them panicked, even though Major Troisville could feel the tremors of fear spreading through the defenders. Cursing, he dispatched his N7 strike team to deal with the reactor, and then turned his attention on the task of coordinating the city defenses - which, based on the data and reports from Fehl Prime, was going to be a hard task, especially when the storm arrived.
And so, the city of New Canton descended into a maelstrom of violence as hordes of cannibals skirmished with SA marines and local militia, Collector squads hunted officers, and armored Praetorians burned out bunkers, strongpoints and shelters alike. Even though Major Troisville planned for something similar as a worst-case scenario, he was very hard-pressed to emulate the command performance of Irina Pavlichenko from the Battle of Fehl Prime. Even with the preliminary data, detailed planning, and months of training, the sheer scope and chaos of the pitched urban battle took a very heavy toll on the defenders, especially when the Collectors breached a shelter, unleashing their Cannibal husks on the civilians within, turning the massive bunker into a slaughterhouse. Several militia units wavered, torn between following the framework of defensive plans and rushing to the rescue of the unfortunate civilians. Their brief indecision resulted in more Collectors and husks breaking through, buckling the marine defenses. The comm net was thrown into chaos, as Major Troisville struggled in reasserting control over his units to contain the husks and Collectors before they got through to another shelter - or the central control hubs of the colony.
Unfortunately, he had to disregard one important lesson paid for in blood on Fehl Prime - and he could only curse himself as the Collector strike team found him and and his command squad. Still, it's not like the attack came as a complete surprise, and with only a dozen bugs in the immediate vicinity, none of them Praetorians, he figured the marines stood a better than even chance. That is, until a Collector rose into the air on wings of ethereal fire, circuitry and nanotech organs burning under its carapace like molten metal, its four eyes glowing with baleful yellow light as its biotic corona ignited with black fire.
"ASSUMING CONTROL OF THIS FORM."
"Shit."
The possessed Collector's hand made a contemptuous gesture, and a biotic field enveloped a marine, the sickly yellow-green light worming into the man's armor and flesh, cooking him alive. Another, simultaneous gesture created a black, howling singularity that yanked three other humans in the air, easy pickings for the Collector strike team. A fifth marine fell, his torso cored by a particle beam that punched through shield, armor, flesh and bone alike. The sixth went down under the concentrated hail of fire from a trio of Collectors, his scream cut off when a burst of fire decapitated him. Another marine barely managed to dodge, and the particle beam punched a hole into the wall behind her, carving a deep gash into the ceramacrete, following her path. Her returning shot staggered the Collector assassin, bringing down its shield, but before she could fire again, the hovering, glowing monster gestured again, and she hit the opposite building with a sickening crunch, blood spurting from under the crumpled armor.
The surviving humans barely started to react, even enhanced senses and implants struggling to keep up with the massacre, the marines moving to scatter. Troisville finished off the shield-less Collector with a headshot, barely evaded a slashing biotic field, and only his armor's built-in maglock and anti-biotic systems prevented him being yanked into the air, as he sprinted towards the floating creature, his shots sparking off the scintillating barrier. Time slowed, as the combat implants fired, augmented reflexes and reinforced muscles propelling the major towards the monster that killed so many of his marines. He maglocked his assault rifle, pulling a Black Widow, thumbing the ammo selector. The first phasic round slammed into the barrier as the Collector half-turned towards him, the second shattered it in a shower of sparks, as the possessed beast's hand lit up with concentrated power. The third tore into the thing's shoulder, throwing off its aim, spinning it around, and Troisville hurled a brace of grenades at it, before diving to the side, a particle beam carving a deep furrow in his wake.
Time slammed back into normal speed, as the grenades detonated. Chunks of rapidly evaporating biomechanical monster spattered the ground, the torn creature dropping to the ground.
"THIS FORM IS IRRELEVANT."
The glow of the possessed Collector's eyes went out, and the remains of the creature burned away. Troisville flashed an audacious grin at the remnants of the Collector strike team, doing his best to shut out the sounds of combat from all over the city.
"Who's next, assholes?"
A minute later, only the major and a lone marine were left standing, both wounded. Troisville swore as he attempted to reestablish a link to the command net, to try and salvage the situation while they headed for the nearest unit. And the major was painfully aware that even killing that avatar was likely an exchange in favor of the Collectors - after all, even with the established protocols, there was a brief loss of communication and morale in the marines when the command squad suddenly dropped offline. Thus, even with the relatively quick re-establishment of his control, he had to work hard to do more than slow the fall of New Canton. The reports and his own senses supplied enough of the horror of a city falling - screams of wounded and dying, explosions, rumble of collapsing buildings, moaning of husks, tearing flesh as the converter tripods impaled still-alive people as a prequel to huskification, a constant buzzing of Collector wings, biotic explosions, mass accelerator fire, the howling wind preceding the oncoming storm.
Still, Troisville was a long-serving marine, he had seen similar events play out, from both sides of a conflict - and with much profanity, sheer determination, skill and blood, his marines seemed to hold the line, such as it was. Or the very least, his estimation was that they stalemated the Collector attack, which was good - then he swore, as he realized that even with combat stims and standard issue augmentations, his people would tire out much sooner than technorganic zombies or combat-specced bugs stuffed full with biomechanical augments. And he could not be sure that the distress calls managed to reach anyone out-system - or even in-system, not that he expected much from the fleet. The fact that the Collectors managed to land in such numbers spoke for itself, after all. Still, he would do his best - as would every man and woman serving under him.
He and the squad he joined just managed to repel a horde of husks from a smaller shelter, when some instinct or unconsciously noted noise made him look up. Outlined against the storm-grey sky, a massive Praetorian hovered on wings of fire, molten yellow veins and circuitry worming under the bloated carapace, its yellow glare conveying ageless contempt and malice, as it spoke in a voice of thunder from a maw filled with humanoid skulls.
"YOU CANNOT HARM THE TRUE SELF." Its eyes flared, as mass accelerator fire sparked off its barrier. The creature raised an appendage, and a Mako lifted in the air, then the hovering monster gestured, and the APC crumpled like a ration can. "YOU WILL EMBRACE PERFECTION, ONE WAY OR ANOTHER."
The skull-laden maw of the Collector yawned wide, and twin beams of corpse-green light flared into being, carving a trail of destruction into the body of New Canton, burning away buildings, vehicles, humans, husks and Collectors alike. Biotic singularities bloomed across several strongpoints, lifting and crushing squads of marines along with their APCs, or made them easy prey for Collector fire. Others were held immobile by the monster's biotics, as eager husks converged on these unfortunates. Troisville himself struggled to break the paralysis imposed by the creature, the analytic part of his brain calculating the time remaining before the moaning husks arrived to make a lunch of him - and under the sounds of destruction, of a city falling, he thought he heard a faint, ethereal music. A sound that spoke of ancient glory, of barely contained lust for blood and battle, a sound of life, war and triumph that resonated deep within the primal parts of his very being, invigorating and mesmerizing him simultaneously, breaking the hold of the Praetorian's will, a song that almost sent him into a frothing berserker rage. A song that was old when the stars themselves were young, a melody that lit the sparks of defiance and wrath in all living creatures. A music that the Collectors thought gone for uncountable aeons.
On a battered private yacht heading for the silent corpse of a mechanical leviathan, a tired being raised its head, the distant notes of music echoing deep within. The smell of ozone wafted across the interior of the ship, and Munir Yildirim's golden glare swept towards the rapidly scrolling star map that stopped and focused on New Canton.
Outside the city limits, elegant white archways shimmered into existence, shadows and lightning roiling within their depths. The aeons-old martial rhythm of glorious war built to a deafening crescendo, as tall, lithe figures clad in ornate armors emerged into reality from the tunnel of shadows, lies and treachery a half-step removed from conventional reality. A dozen, scores, swelling to hundreds, followed by sleek tanks purring on antigrav cushions and spindly walkers that towered above them all.
For the first time in ages, the aeldari went to war against their ancient enemies, and the storm above howled in triumphant greeting, echoing their battlecry that made the immaterium tremble.
"The mon'keigh did well enough, for savages." The voice issuing from the red-armored figure carries an undertone of crackling flames, and he gestured towards the besieged New Canton. "I still say we should burn it all, Farseer."
"We certainly could, Exarch. In a way, we definitely should - after all, it is an important world of them, a very valid military target. Still, we must not do so." The slender figure raised a hand to forestall the other's retort. "I am aware of your temple's tenets, Exarch, and we do not expect you to go against them. After all, while we have to and will provide a relief for the mon'keigh, and will spare them our wrath, a certain amount of collateral damage is unavoidable, especially when facing such an enemy. So no, we will not chain you beyond the priorities you are aware of already."
"You know I do not like this skulking and plotting, Farseer. Never have, never will." The fire crackling beyond the words transitioned to the hunger of the raging inferno of blood and flames. "Yet I will do what I must, and I will see those vermin burn."
The red-armored aeldari stepped away from the gate, towards the burning city, his presence erupting in a beacon of flame in the immaterium, as he charged ahead, the members of his host swept along his wake.
"Khaine guide your aim, Exarch." The Farseer took a deep breath as he reached out with his will to perform his own task. Even in the presence of the webway gate, he found the connection to the immaterium slow and sluggish, the power a mere trickle instead of the raging flood that it should have been - still, with a choir of warlocks and bonesingers, it would be enough. The Maiden has shown him so. In the center of the choir, the Farseer hovered as the winds of the immaterium played around his form, responding to the call of the aeldari. Eyes and hands burning with power, the Farseer's gaze was riveted at the battlefield, his mind dancing on the web of fate, orchestrating the symphony of destruction, guiding his kin to maximize their lethality.
Even with preparation, with support from the choir, with centuries of experience to draw upon, it was a taxing effort for him - providing communication between the warriors, directing their steps, timing their actions, managing thousands of possibilities to the most advantageous outcome. He knew himself to be powerful, so he was well aware that without assistance from the Maiden and the Crone, without Exarch Jay'ne's familiar presence, he would have been overwhelmed within a minute at best. As it was, his brethren fell upon the enemy, the storm of their wrath burning away husks by the hundreds, immolating Collectors by the dozens. His power blanketed the battlefield, and the skeins of fate themselves turned on the ancient adversaries - aeldari shots hit with preternatural precision, his kin moving just the right amount to dance away from the return fire. Already-shaky buildings collapsed on groups of husks and Collectors, burying them under the rubble. Otherwise imprecise mon'keigh ordnance still sent shrapnel and debris into the monsters, obstructing their vision, sending their senses haywire, clogging their weapons. Again and again, the Farseer wielded causality against the old foe, drawing in more and more power, even as he felt first one, then another member of the choir flare up as the swelling river of might ignited them - and while he would mourn their passing, the Farseer used their sacrifice to gather even more power. After all, every member of the choir knew what would happen, what they would have to do, who they would have to face - and the problem was not a lack of volunteers, but rather the opposite. With a cry of vengeful rage, the Farseer hurled a portion of his power directly at a horde of husks, incinerating the mindless beasts with a storm of lightning.
Gravtanks armed with crystalline emitters focused their deadly beams into the massed groups of husks, their shots leaving only scorched outlines on melted stone and metal. Gangly walkers brought down flying Collectors with hails of monomolecular shurikens, or brilliant spears of coherent light - while crushing all they reached with fists wreathed in disruptive fields. Tall, lithe shapes wove an intricate dance of red ruin among the drab, mindless hordes of husks and the droning Collectors, tearing into them with blade and fire, dropping melta charges onto larger groups - and in the very, very few occasions where one of them was cornered, forced at bay by immutable fate, the dying aeldari ensured to make a fitting offering to their bloody-handed lord. And short was the time his or her killers could rejoice, as invariably, a storm of power tore them apart at the Farseer's behest.
Towering above all, though, was the crimson-armored Exarch, a champion of the Bloody-Handed God, an outlet of His fiery wrath, given opportunity to vent his fury against their ancient, hated adversaries. Like a living inferno, Exarch Jay'ne burned all who dared opposing him, never resting, always moving, each consumed enemy stoking the fires of his fury to ever greater heights. White-hot beams of barely-contained, superheated plasma evaporated scores of husks, wrist-mounted flamers burned Collectors to a crisp from close range. The Collector's return fire sparked off the sharpened angles of the ornate armor, their particle beams carving shallow furrows into the thick material - but before either fire or beam could do more than scar the armor, the Exarch moved, and exacted fiery retribution. Two Praetorians tried to stop the ground-bound warrior, aiming to snipe him from on high, their machine intelligences having assessed the range of the Exarch's Fire Pike. Of course, they did not fully appreciate the agility and ability of an Exarch like Jay'ne possessed. The aeldari champion charged towards a half-ruined building near the hovering Praetorians, dodging their particle beams - and then he leapt, flipping higher and higher, perching on the wobbling ruins with predatory ease for the half-second he needed. The beam of plasma lanced out from his weapon, punched through the barrier of one Praetorian, coring the monster which fell to the ground with the anguished shriek of tortured metal. It may have recharged its barrier, maybe even effected some limited self-repair, repurposing some husks or rerouting internal functions - but the Exarch gave it no chance. With a graceful leap, he vaulted onto the monster's back before the thing landed, and liquid fire erupted from his wrist-mounted flamers, melting metal and technorganic material alike. The other Praetorian tried to bury him under its own bulk, and the Exarch dodged with contemptuous ease, the particle beam only carving a deep furrow in his wake. Jay'ne turned around, swayed aside from another shot, and immolated the surviving Praetorian.
A pull on the intricate web of communication directed the Farseer's attention towards the Exarch, and he allowed his senses to be meshed with those of the warrior. Jay'ne was closing with a Praetorian that pulsed with a sickly aura of power, the unholy abomination reduced to a mere vessel of a distant entity - one whose aura resonated deep within the aeldari soul, stoking the flames of his righteous wrath into an inferno that would burn the world. With an effort of will, the Farseer forced calm on himself, ready to lend his might to the Exarch should he need it. The crimson-armored warrior danced away from the corpse-green beams with contemptuous ease, and brought his own weapon to bear. With a sigh-hiss, a wrist-thick beam of plasma lanced towards the Praetorian. The thing's barrier was no obstacle to the fury of a chained star, and rivulets of molten metallic substance flowed from the wound, as the creature screamed, the sound flattening Collectors, husks and mon'keigh alike - even the aeldari swayed, as the Farseer desperately struggled against the cold, foreign wrath and malice battering at their minds.
The Praetorian rose into the air, barely turning aside the Exarch's second shot. Its eyes glowed with malevolent yellow light, as its maw opened, unveiling a score of mon'keigh skulls within, the eye sockets burning with the same unholy glare, then a voice like thunder spoke.
"AELDARI. REMNANTS OF A LONG-LOST WAR. DISCARDED WEAPONS OF AN ASCENDED RACE." The mechanical, cold voice filled with ageless contempt and fury. "YOU REFUSED PERFECTION ONCE. YOU WILL NOT BE GIVEN THE CHANCE AGAIN."
The Farseer felt the build-up of power within the Praetorian, his warning racing through the telepathic web mere heartbeats before the possessed bug swelled, parts of its carapace exploding away, unable to fully contain the might and presence of the being focusing its attention through it on the battlefield, before it moved. The Farseer's physical senses had no hope of tracking it, or reacting to it - nothing that bulky should have moved so fast. The Exarch was, of course, more than capable enough of dancing away from the charging avatar, and his Fire Pike burned another wound into the monster's carapace.
The storm clouds above churned with malice, as the entity possessing the Praetorian enacted its will on them, and the Farseer's eyes widened, even though he was aware of this possibility. He knew well enough that even with the choir at his back, he was no match for the ancient enemy, and they alone could only mitigate some of the incoming destruction. He took a deep breath, and drew deeply on their connection to the immaterium, opening his mind to another.
The melodious voice that resounded in the minds and ears of every living being in New Canton still belonged mostly to the Farseer - with a mocking, feminine undertone.
+++Harbinger. +++
The Farseer and the choir became but a distant background vocalisation behind the cool, beautiful, utterly cruel voice of a distant, feminine power.
+++Did you think we have forgotten?+++
The sky above flashed, and thunder rolled, as Harbinger's gathering power was dispersed in the atmosphere, as the female voice continued, the harmonics of the male voices a distant echo only.
+++Did you think we have forgiven?+++
The temperature dropped sharply, hoarfrost tracing elegant patterns all over New Canton, flash-freezing those husks, Collectors, and mon'keigh unlucky enough to be near Harbinger's avatar. The borders between the dimensions howled from the strain, ichor, fire, dreams and nightmares bleeding from the wounds torn into the conventional reality, as the power channeled through the Farseer and his choir wove the skeins of fate into a binding cocoon around the possessed Praetorian, redirecting its attempts to break free into strengthening the bindings instead.
+++This time, you will not escape. This time, you will feel our wrath in full measure.+++
Thousands of husks moaned in haunting unison before dropping inert, as their central processing units blew apart from the surge of creativity, imagination, vicious, unfettered hate and power that the being behind the Farseer hurled at the mind of Harbinger through the conduit created by the god-machine itself. Collectors howled in agony as whatever passed for their minds burned out from the psychic war fought in the mindscape of the hive. Cold, mechanical precision, peerless logical calculation supported by aeons of experience battled against timeless, boundless anger, hate, unbridled emotions guided by nigh-prescient adaptability, a swirling, scintillating whirlpool of chaos seeking to consume the rigidly marching order. Eldritch light haloed the choir of the Farseer, the lithe aeldari bodies burning from within, consumed by the power channeled from their patron goddess. Harbinger's avatar Praetorian burned with sickly yellow-green flames, its substance turning into molten rivers of metal or steaming away from the exerted might coursing through its frame.
All over the colony, the electromagnetic spectrum went haywire, sent mechanisms and machines crashing, stuttering to a stop, implants fizzing from the pressure of radiation, scalding people from within. Colors tasting like the smell of howling air bloomed from scintillating butterflies of rage and hate. Electric discharges flared over surfaces, whispering in the voices of long dead future children. Sentients collapsed into frothing, gibbering wrecks, blood vessels bursting within their bodies. The borders of the higher dimensions howled under the torture, stretched to their breaking point, ghostly windswept images of forgotten emotions bleeding from the psychic fallout.
In the last coherent moments before the inferno of power that was the Maiden's presence burned the Farseer to ashes, he saw their triumph at last - the battered, smoking Exarch, whose Fire Pike melted the already partially evaporated remnants of Harbinger's avatar to slag, breaking the anchor that held the focus of the Reaper. The resulting backlash of energies fried electronics citywide, blasted a hundred-meter wide crater into the ground, and knocked most humans on the colony unconscious. Of the aeldari, dozens were burnt to ashes by their own weapons when the protections and failsafes overloaded, and the last, malicious send-off of the avatar took its vengeance. The Exarch, the only sentient remaining alive within the blast radius stood for an eternal, triumphant moment, before he and his kin retreated to their shadowy home.
On the battered, distant Argo, Professor Yildirim's brow furrowed in concentration, then he gave a grudging, respectful nod at the opening move of a competent, very dangerous, but amateur player of the Great Game.
In a city of shadows, lies and treachery, a crippled, limping smith and a painted clown supported their youngest sibling, as she fought to rein in the backlash and keep their ancient enemy from killing any more aeldari than absolutely unavoidable.
Asteria, Hades Nexus (20/05/2184)
"Nice, quiet routine assignment, you said." Boom. "Simple investigation, you said." Boom. "Pure relaxation in the warm sun, you said." Boom. "Just a bit of pest control, you said."
"Oh, shut up Nihlus." Tela Vasir grimaced at her turian partner, as the other Spectre sighted downrange again, then the sniper rifle roared again. "It's not like you were that hard to convince." She grinned a feral, predatory smile. "Or did you just want to watch me on the beach?"
"Well, it's not like that did not cross my mind, honestly." The turian took aim again, and pulled the trigger. "Spirits. What a mess."
The asari huffed, her biotic corona sparking for a moment.
"If it makes you feel better, I'll take full responsibility when we get out of here."
Nihlus' mandibles flared in a fatalistic grin.
"When? Not if? Tela, you know I will not leave these people undefended."
"I know, you stubborn ass." She sighted downrange, assessed the distance and remaining time. "But did you honestly think I have not sent out a distress call the minute we realized how messed up the situation here is?" She waved down the turian's protest. "I know, it's a slim chance that Bau can divert sufficient forces here in time."
The turian nodded.
"Slim chance is better than none." Boom. "Still, next time you want a vacation? Leave the planning to me." Boom.
Tela nodded, and flashed a grin at her companion.
"Brace yourself. They'll be in range shortly."
The asari grimaced, took a deep breath to center herself - just in time to feel the attackers' relentless pressure, savage, primal presence crash into her mind. For a brief moment, she felt the ancient beat of wardrums calling, the need to kill and hunt and destroy and fight threatening to overwhelm her control, as the single thought/concept/desire/emotion of the onrushing krorks battered on her senses. As always, the siren song called her to join the war, to lose herself to her base, primal instincts. As always, she suppressed the urge.
Other asari were not so fortunate or strong.
The two Spectres saw defenders fall, their bodies twitching, mouths frothing, eyes turning black as the pressure of emotions overwhelmed them and short-circuited their nerves. Howls of aggression, calls to hunt sounded from several places, as others went berserk, forgetting tactics and plans, opting instead to rush out to meet the attackers head-on with fists and blades. Others fled, crying, terrified of the apex predators closing in on them from all sides.
The green tide loomed closer, their roar of feral rage, the aeons-old call of war shaking the green-tinged skies of Asteria, as the krorks swept over the landscape in an endless wave of violence, crude weapons fashioned from scraps in their hands. The beasts may not have had a language, or even a sane, decipherable thought, but the message of their savage howling was clear enough, similar enough to a word both Spectres understood - and which aptly summarized the current situation.
Nihlus Kryik and Tela Vasir exchanged one more glance - then the senior Spectre flashed a devil-may-care grin, and vanished into blue light, only to reappear in an explosion of biotic might and blazing carnage in the middle of the krork ranks, her shotgun discharging inferno rounds into the pressing bodies around. Again and again she triggered her biotics, charging into combat before the beasts could overwhelm her with sheer numbers. The crude guns and blades of the monsters deflected by her barriers and armor while her own power and gun tore green-skinned bodies apart with ease - and for a minute, then another and another, she held the tide at bay.
Nihlus meanwhile focused more on coordinating whatever defenses they had - sure, there were huntresses as well as asari and human militia in the city, but none of them had experience in commanding an engagement on this scale. Combined with his Spectre status and turian mindset, he really had no choice but to take command, even though he'd have preferred to be closer to Tela to better provide support. Especially since none of them knew if their suspicion was correct. Then again, if they were wrong, and the krork had no leader whose death could fragment or demoralize the horde, they were likely screwed anyway. His eyes narrowed as the scope of his rifle showed him something green and enormous barreling its way through the horde.
"Tela, coming up on your right!"
"I see it."
Tela Vasir's voice held only the excitement of battle, showing not a hint of tiredness or strain - or worry, even though that would have been understandable. The krorks around her pulled back, instinctively forming a wide ring as the behemoth lumbered into view. The Spectre looked up. And up. And up. The green mountain was at least twice her height, and it easily outmassed a full-grown elcor - all of that bulk being bulging muscle and thick bones. It held a crude, oversized gun with a bore wide as Tela's arm; the beast's other hand swung a massive slab of jagged alloy fashioned into a crude blade. The behemoth opened its maw, the roar sending spittle flying, and then it moved.
The asari blinked in surprise, barely able to evade the lightning-quick slash aimed at her torso, then she danced to the side, a storm of bullets chasing her steps, sparking off her barrier. Her mind reeled - nothing that big and bulky should be able to move as fast. Still, she was a veteran of centuries spent in combat, and her reflexes were up to the task - in fact, she found herself grinning widely at the challenge. She dodged another slash, ducked under the riflebutt, closed with the towering champion. Her fist, wreathed in blue flames, lashed out - and the krork barely stumbled from the blow that should have pulverized its knee. The shotgun blast a heartbeat after the strike staggered the roaring brute, and Tela charged at it point-blank, the explosion of biotic power sending the smaller, surrounding krorks reeling. Yet the champion merely swayed back a few steps, green ichor spattering from its wounds, a furious roar shaking the very air around them as a green-tinged halo ignited around the bestial skull. A sniper shot forced its head back, and then a slim asari fist crashed into its maw, sending tusks and spittle flying, then Tela raised her shotgun to ram it down the beast's throat - and was sent flying as the behemoth's fist hit her midsection, her barrier and shields collapsing with a crackle.
"Very well, if you want to play rough, I'm game." The asari flashed a bloody grin, then her corona exploded into being around her. The towering behemoth was flung in the air with but a gesture, before she slammed it down with bone-crushing force. Warp fields hit the hide of the krork champion, tearing into it on a molecular level. Lines of biotic shockwaves pummeled the reeling beast, while rapid-fire lift fields kept the others from interfering. The howling vortex of a singularity yawned open, yanking the bleeding monster in the air, before a warp field slammed into it, setting off a massive explosion that sent ichor and bodymass flying in all directions.
Tela's eyes widened as she took in the krork's state; parts of its body were flat-out missing including an arm, several of its bones were clearly broken, its blood flowed in countless rivulets. It still roared at her, raising the massive, crude blade, moving with speed worthy of any asari huntress. The shotgun of the Spectre boomed in answer, the inferno rounds burning holes into the hulking, howling monstrosity. The asari panted with the effort, as she called up her biotics once again, and vanished with a boom of displaced air, only to reappear right behind the champion. Hands wreathed in blue flames, she grabbed hold of the monster's jaw and nape, and with a roar, she wrenched the skull off in a welter of ichor and gore.
The Spectre swayed drunkenly on her feet, her hands shook from the backlash of biotic overexertion, as green-tinged lightning exploded outwards from the headless corpse, racing outwards, leaving dazed or dead greenskin in its wake. Vaguely, she heard noises, words from somewhere in the distance, while she fought to control herself and keep from collapsing.
"Tela, get back here NOW!"
The turian's yell shook the asari from her momentary daze and she again vanished with the boom of displaced air - and behind her, the quartet of incoming gunships she did not perceive beforehand unleashed the inferno on the green-skinned menace. Howling, screaming figures burned to ash in the flames of munitions, their demise sped up by the rapidly spinning miniguns and rocket volleys of the circling gunships and the half-dozen shuttles arriving in their wake.
The lead shuttle closed in, and Nihlus' eyes narrowed as he tried to place the double hexagon insignia painted on them in gold-black. He was sure he'd seen it before, but he wasn't sure when or where. From the still-hovering craft, an asari wearing figure-hugging ebony armor stepped out, her biotic corona igniting as she floated gracefully to the ground. The asari smiled at him, a thing of bemused acceptance, sheer, intoxicating sensuality, and heart-stopping menace all at once. Her voice caressed his whole being, making it very difficult to concentrate enough to answer coherently, instead of falling to his knees and worshipping the incarnated goddess standing before him. The shrieking warnings of his suit did not help his concentration, either. The asari's eyes swirled black, an endless vista of sensual darkness, an inviting suffering calling to him, pulling his self and soul inside. Then he was flying, rolling to a stop at the feet of a furious Tela Vasir, who glared at the other asari, her own corona glowing with eye-searing light.
"You should have kept faith with the shadows, Vasir." The silken voice flayed the turian's armor, caressed his eyes and ears with finely-crafted blades of poisonous perfection. "The Broker sends his regards."
Nihlus' hand blurred for his gun, every fiber of his being concentrated on shooting the enemy before she could act - and he froze as hoarfrost shimmered in intricate patterns from the floating asari, tendrils of void-black whispers unfolding from her back. His first shot was deflected by the creature's barrier, the second by a biotic push, and the third missed when his arm was torn from its socket with a savage yank of power. He fought back a scream of pain, then howled in uncontrolled pleasure as a dark tendril stabbed into his wound with delicate cruelty. He could dimly perceive Tela's biotics pulsing with boundless fury before the light of her corona was snuffed out with a sickening crunch and a muffled sob of pain as she was impaled on a ragged spar jutting from the remains of a bullet-riddled habitat. The void-black eyes filled his vision, drawing him into the depths of eternity, his nerve endings buckling under the sensory overload.
Tela Vasir could do nothing as the monster's biotic grip forced her to watch her long-time partner's mind being consumed by the ardat-yakshi. The creature shuddered with delight, sipping her wrathful shame and searing pain while it was burning away the turian's essence.
"Don't worry, little Spectre." The voice was a loathsome, worming caress that reached inside her with shocking intimacy. "I won't kill you here - the Broker's not paying me for that." A small, demure chuckle. "Besides, I will take great pleasure in your doomed efforts at revenge." The monster turned its back on Tela, the wings of shadowy whispers lifting her in the air, her voice echoing in the Spectre's mind and the open comm channels alike. "Burn everything. Kill everyone else."
Arcturus Station (27/05/2184)
Erwin Ungern-Sternberg leaned back in his chair with a tired but satisfied groan. Endless years of planning by his predecessors and him were finally starting to come to fruition. The time of ascension, of stepping out from the shadows was finally due. While a part of him was horrified about the cost to humanity, he was well aware that the alternatives were far, far worse. Yes, as he contemplated the guidance of the Shining Trapezohedron, along with the data gathered by his prognosticators, bought from various information brokers, stolen from rival services like the AIS or the STG, he felt on track. The age of the Golden Pharaoh was coming, He was already walking amidst them - humanity, led by the Starry Wisdom simply had to provide Him with a suitable offering, a sacrifice fit for a god of His standing. Many would regard Erwin and his followers as madmen for sure, but vindication would be theirs in time - and besides, all of them knew the costs and risks inherent when fighting for the very survival and soul of the species itself. When playing for those kinds of stakes, no price was too high, no risk too daunting, no offer of help too vile to contemplate.
All that said, he would have preferred a somewhat different path, and spent the last few months frantically searching for alternatives, without success. The Speer administration was of little consequence - indeed, they played right into his hands, as their self-recrimination and political expediency after the Battle of Terra Nova was in alignment with his own long-term goals. Key leaders in the military and intelligence branches were another matter, unfortunately - and Erwin could not even claim that they were disloyal, or putting their own interests before those of humanity. No, these highly skilled and highly placed people simply had to be removed because they would never accept the methods Ungern-Sternberg intended to employ. He knew their death would weigh heavily on him - after all, most were long-time coworkers, fellow officers, trusted comrades. Their sudden absence would cause problems short-term, but his visions were clear on the catastrophe that would unfold long-term if they were not removed permanently.
With a heavy sigh, he leaned back, and studied the array of monitors before him. The Broker was as good as its word, and even the limited access to its information network provided astounding real-time insight into the unfolding events - even into places where he would not have thought it possible. Not that Erwin wanted to complain about that, quite the contrary - it was always nice to have confirmation on one's suspicions about one's allies. Though in fairness, said ally could surprise him still if and when he deigned to appear in person.
The general closed his eyes and took a deep, relaxing breath, and could not stop a small, satisfied smile forming on his face as he felt the familiar, unsettling coldness of his visitor's presence. Sure, it may have been unsettling to others, like razor blades scraping against their souls, but he found it an endearing, soothing presence that silenced the waves of emotions roiling in others around him. Yes, it felt good to have Leng back, even if it was a temporary visit.
"So, you finished with the task, Kai?" Eyes still closed, Erwin motioned for his visitor to take a seat, not that he expected the other to actually do so.
"Did you have any doubts, Erwin?" There was an undercurrent of arrogant belligerence in Leng's voice.
"I must admit, when I heard that Sheridan nominated Lieutenant Rizzi as his bodyguard, I was a bit worried. Especially since she already survived a fight with you."
"At the price of all her team, who went up along with the Pragia complex. And she was hospitalized for quite a bit."
Ungern-Sternberg opened his eyes and glared at the cocky operative, taking in the other's battered appearance.
"Yes, she was. And judging by your state, she may have succeeded in thwarting you, given just a bit more time."
Leng actually laughed at that, nodding.
"True enough. For all her doom and gloom, she's one lucky bitch - and skilled, too." The operative's voice dropped into a menacing snarl. "That's why I took her out now."
"Of course you did." The general's voice was mockingly sweet. "And you even captured Sheridan in the bargain. Well done."
"Don't you fucking dare mock me, you moronic desk jockey!" Leng smiled at Ungern-Sternberg, a nightmare of metallic razors, malevolence and humor. His whisper was soft and menacing. "You can't even begin to comprehend me while you drown in absolute terror."
Leng's presence clawed and battered at the edge of Erwin's sense of self, aiming to drown him in terror and nausea, as a wave of inhuman, soul-searing wrongness exploded from the ex-N7, seemingly draining life, color, sanity from the surroundings, carving blood-black phantoms into the edges of his vision, chilling the body and soul with the promise of oblivion, the crooning siren song drawing him towards the vortex of gibbering terror.
"You pitiful wretch." Erwin Ungern-Sternberg laughed, his eyes flashing with cold contempt. "You babble about absolute terror, thinking that parroting the words and theories of Akagi and her ilk hold all the answers." Leng's sword rasped from its sheath, but the general just glared at him. "You think you have experienced suffering? You think you have seen true, absolute terror?" The older man's eyes seemed to glow with unholy light, as his voice dropped to a silky whisper, and he slowly stood, holding the operative's gaze. "You have no idea what absolute terror is - not until you dared to look into the myriad pathways of time, fought the draw of the Shining Trapezohedron, skirted the awareness of those from Beyond." He spread his arms, the smile on his face turned mocking. "I have done so, Leng, along with many, many others. I'm still here, still sane. They are not. Do not try and threaten me with your fancy toys and limited knowledge."
The ex-N7 struggled to keep himself in place, as the glow of Ungern-Sternberg's fanatic gaze seemed to draw what passed for his soul, the cold unholy fires within those eyes snuffing out the tidal waves of ethereal cold pulsing from Kai Leng. With a growl, he tore his gaze from the general, and sheathed his blade, the rumbling of the higher dimensions quieting down as the tension lessened. Once again the two men stared at each other across the table, one sitting calmly, the other resting his hands on the back of the chair.
"So, with that out of the way, let me see if I can summarize your results. One Spectre candidate dead, along with the Fleet Master and a squad of N7 Deltas." Leng nodded, and Erwin went on. "I sincerely hope you did not forget to acquire the samples from Sheridan that I asked for, otherwise this will be nothing more than a stupid, aimless power play of Lawson, at a time when we cannot allow distractions like that."
"Here you go." The operative handed over a small stasis box. Unger-Sternberg's omnitool lit up as he ran a complex biometric scanning on it, disregarding Leng's irritated mood. "What, you think I'd try to pull something this obviously stupid?"
"Of course not. I just like to make sure."
"And, are you satisfied? Will it be enough for your little ritual?"
The smile on Erwin Ungern-Sternberg's face would have sent ghouls running for the hills. Leng just scowled.
"It suffices. Tell Lawson that I'll uphold my side of the deal - and also let him know that he should not try to alter it in any way whatsoever."
Leng snorted in amusement, then nodded and left. The general waited for a minute, then keyed his omnitool to run the complex security checks of his office to ensure that nobody else was present or observing. Sure, in light of the latest events, he was fairly sure that the Shadow Broker could monitor him even so, but that was a risk he was willing to take. After the check was finished, he leaned back, and once again started the feed from the Broker, tuning it to a particular location and time, to confirm his suspicions. He smiled grimly as he watched Leng and his cronies fight against Sheridan's security team, who gave a very good account of themselves despite being surprised and outnumbered, their leader in particular killing with terrifying ease, her biotics ripping apart the ranks of phantoms. Her duel with Leng tore apart the suite, and the operative could barely defeat her, leaving the woman to bleed to death under a pile of warped, half-molten rubble. He saw Leng and his handful of surviving cronies dragging off the severely wounded Sheridan. So far, it looked completely in-line with his expectations and Leng's boasting. He could have stopped then, secure in the knowledge of his allies' reliability and capabilities.
Being who he was, what he was, Erwin continued on, his omnitool lit as he employed every program in his arsenal to ensure that the feed he was seeing has not been tampered with. And so he watched as after the attackers left, a battered, bleeding Sheridan threw off the tactical cloak to drag his mostly-dead bodyguard from under the rubble, and to safety.
Ungern-Sternberg nodded to himself with a grim smile. Just as expected, really. Still, he could work with this. After all, he did have access to a sample of the Fleet Master, never mind that it was cloned - the symbolic, arcane connection would be there, and it should be strong enough. With a few commands from his omnitool, he sent the summons to his subordinates, acolytes, assembling the core members of the Starry Wisdom.
In her Nos Astra office, Liara T'Soni accepted the heavily encrypted incoming call. The man on the other side of the connection nodded at her in greeting, before he leaned back in his chair, his eyes glowing behind the smoke.
"I'll have to make this short, Doctor." The Illusive Man puffed at his cigar. "The Broker's agents are on the move. We probably do not have much time, and this will be the best opportunity we have in the foreseeable future."
A blinking light indicated an incoming file transfer request. Liara ran a select few of her brokerage's programs on it to ensure its veracity and security, then downloaded and skimmed through the report.
"This is exceedingly blatant, especially by the Broker's standards. Why would he act now, and why like this?"
"We can speculate, but I'd like to think we all know the reason. He has chosen a side - and not for the first time." Another puff of smoke. "The Broker is becoming a major threat, one we cannot ignore for longer."
"I concur, but we do not have enough data to pinpoint his location - and we do not have the luxury of sending a fleet to scour an entire cluster for clues."
"We won't need to." The Illusive Man took a swig from his glass. "The Broker, or rather, his associates will provide that data." He flashed a sharklike grin. "Or do you think that Leng and Lawson can resist gloating when they seem to have the upper hand?"
"But what will you use to bait them? They already tried here, and while my people are digging into the Broker network, we are not a primary threat yet. We'd have needed at least a few more months, a year at most."
"That's true, Doctor. But the Broker and Henry Lawson both take me for a serious threat. Especially since they are snooping around in the SA archives. It's only a matter of days, a few weeks at most."
Liara's eyes narrowed, then went wide as she realized the implications. The Illusive Man nodded, a predatory smirk on his face.
"I see you understand." He raised a hand, and Liara bit back the question she was about to voice. "I will keep my feed open, and I will send a trusted ally with the data already gathered … plus a few minor things that I'd prefer to be kept safe. Or rather, to be given to a certain person who's due on Ilium shortly."
"Considering how deep Lawson and the Broker infiltrated Cerberus, how can you be sure that your courier is still loyal?"
The Illusive Man smiled and nodded towards someone outside the field covered by the holographic emitters. That someone stepped closer, and as the emitters traced his shape, Liara's eyes widened when she took in the ancient being standing there.
"I think you'll agree with me, Doctor, that he's unlikely to side with the likes of Henry Lawson." He exhaled a puff of smoke, ignoring the yellow glare of his companion, and Liara could not tear her eyes away from that glowing blue gaze. "Trust me, Doctor, his help and presence could be invaluable if and when the Broker's mask is torn away."
Anadius system (06/06/2184)
Usually, Jack Harper found the sight of the blue glow of the system's star a soothing, meditating sight. Now, though, with the blood spatters painting the observation deck, the effect was decidedly less soothing - though he was very much aware that in a way, this just enhanced the meditative, eldritch effects. No doubt that was at least partially the reason while his current (and likely last) guests chose to redecorate. Well, that, and for the sheer pettiness of Lawson, for all past slights, real and imagined alike. He permitted himself a brief vindictive smirk, as he thought on how Lawson was likely to attempt usurping both his resources and the station itself, along with Cerberus - after he already dragged the name through the mud. And the insufferable ass believed that he did and would get away with it, he and Leng both.
They knew nothing.
Jack and the crew of the station were prepared for the attack - in fact, they had been for quite some time. Still, the sheer viciousness and power of the assault surprised them for the first crucial minutes. The Illusive Man expected the numbers when planning the defenses - but he had not foreseen just what Lawson's pretenders would bring to the table. The cloned battle thralls, the mech hordes were expected and were indeed stopped cold. The cadre of pariahs bred from and trained by Leng were a known quantity, their frightening effectiveness almost enough to break the defenders of Kronos Station - still, there were enough former N-level operatives and adequately conditioned combat thralls that Cerberus weathered their onslaught, if barely. The cyberwarfare suites of the station managed to keep the attackers from the key security and environmental controls, preventing a simple shutdown or partial ventings - but the onboard AI could not prevent Lawson's people establishing a foothold within the Cerberus databanks and start siphoning information. Still, given time, Jack was confident that he could at least run damage control on that; in a worst-case scenario, by permanently killing Lawson and his cronies. All in all, his estimate that a bleeding, battered, but still effective and salvageable Cerberus would have survived the attack was on point. Unfortunately, he had not planned on the level of overkill the Shadow Broker committed to the operation.
Given the already-teetering balance of power, a few dozen trained, heavily cyborgized mercs, led by one of the Broker's top enforcers were enough to tip the scales in the attacker's favor. Combat cyborgs in void-hardened armor used their heavy weapons to demolish strongpoints, uncaring of the dangers of decompression. Where the chilling, unnatural aura and deadly skills of the pariah cadre was not enough, asari commandos tore into the defenders with blade and biotics, moving in eerie silence and with inhumanly precise coordination. The cyberwarfare suites howled as a malicious scrapcode wormed its way into their innards, inundating the system with incomprehensible, noxious subroutines. While Jack correctly assessed how Lawson's ego would blind him to realities, the Broker seemingly pulled the same on him.
They knew nothing.
Their ally and master was another matter, obviously. The Illusive Man had to concede that he severely underestimated the Shadow Broker's willingness to influence galactic events - especially when the most prudent course would have been to assist the galactic governments covertly in the anti-Reaper preparations … or lay low in order to survive the coming invasion. Given his current predicament, Jack considered for a brief moment whether the Broker simply made a deal or became subservient to the Reapers, then he dismissed the notion. If that was the case, then the Broker should have known damn well that open action on this scale would hurt its efforts already in the short run.
And try as he might, he could not recall any rumor or information morsel that even hinted at the Shadow Broker having access to the kind of forbidden knowledge required for Jack's current predicament. The notion that Lawson or Leng had the necessary skills were laughable - sure, both of them fancied themselves hardened, knowledgeable masters, yet they were pawns of the great game, at best. Not even Henry's association with Jack had changed that fact, as the Illusive Man has always carefully ensured that the maniac could not get its hands on anything too useful; and for all his mad genius, Henry Lawson was not capable of extrapolating such a complex array of spellwork from the tidbits he gained access during his Cerberus years. As for Leng, that man was a very capable enforcer, but his skills not associated with bloodletting and terrorizing his enemies directly were nowhere near this level.
They knew nothing - yet they knew just enough.
Not that it mattered even in the short run. Certainly not for him - and even they would be extremely lucky to survive even short term.
"I hope you are comfortable, Jack." The alien quality underlying Henry Lawson's tone was almost entirely missing under the sheer vitriol and gloating as he leaned back in the lone chair. "I felt we owe you that much at least, in return for all the good you bequeathed to me." He smiled, flashing rows of inhuman, serrated fangs. "Don't worry, Cerberus will continue your oh-so-noble work."
Leng snorted from where he stood before the row of screens, his hands flying over his omnitool, as he directed the datamining into the still-fighting vaults of the Cerberus archives. From somewhere close by, Jack could hear unmistakable sounds, throaty, feminine moans accompanied by the sparking of biotics, before a body thudded to the floor.
"Mmmm…. Thanks for inviting me along, Henry." The asari's voice was a liquid, sensual caress as she prowled to Leng's side, her hands deftly guiding the ex-operative to enter the credentials required to gain deeper access. "Such exquisite minds, with a rarefied aftertaste I can't exactly place." She shuddered, partly from theatrics, partly from genuine pleasure, as her eyes locked on Jack, spots of black starting to form within. "I wonder what his mind would taste like."
"Control yourself, Morinth." Both Lawson and Leng tensed minutely, ready to spring into action. "I explicitly told you he is not to be consumed - well, not yet, and not by you at any rate." The drooling, grinning maw of the Lawson-thing was not at all reassuring.
The asari pouted, as she paced along the external layer of the pentagram array that held Jack in its center, her head tilting this way and that as she studied the arcane formulae carved hastily into the deck. Her nostrils flared as she breathed in the smell of blood poured into the outline of the array, and she shivered with pleasure before she turned towards Lawson, her eyes half-closed.
"So will this little witching of yours do anything to him, or do you just pay belong to some really interesting religion?"
"A bit of this, a bit of that, really." Lawson grinned, his eyes cold and hungry. "I suppose it could serve as a reminder for you as well - you are not the only one who can consume their prey for gains."
Drool dripped from his mouth, and Jack could no longer contain his laughter.
"You're just too precious, beast." The wheezing, pained laughter echoed in the observation deck. "Though you inherited Henry's flesh, you seem to have amplified his megalomania and petty arrogance. You gain here nothing. Your master will gain here nothing."
"On the contrary, Jack. This is the end of your outdated Cerberus." Leng grinned, a pulse of soul-searing cold washing across the minds of all present. "We will rise again, in blood and fire. We will be as we should have been from the beginning."
"Indeed." Lawson. "Cerberus will become the iron fist in the velvet glove of the Black Pharaoh, enforcing His will as enacted by the Broker of Shadows. Finally, just when the great threat is upon us, a worthy ruler will guide mankind." The creature's eyes blazed. "And I shall stand at his right hand, as his mortal governor, and inheritor."
"You will be forgotten by the uncaring sheep. Your achievements will turn to ash. Your very being shall be forever hidden in the shadows. The sigil that you bear will become a symbol of hubris, suffering and betrayal." Morinth. "So says the Shadow Broker."
Jack Harper's laughter cut off in a wheezing, coughing fit. He struggled for some precious moments to get his voice and lungs under control.
"Your arrogance will be your undoing. You lack subtlety, you ignore minor-seeming, vital details, just because you are too blind to see the obvious." He cackled. "Like you missed the QEC connection while you were oh so busy datamining our archives." He glared at them defiantly. "Like you thought even for a moment that I would give you the chance to take over Cerberus, to use our resources against Mankind." His lips twisted into a sneer. "You thought I did not know that this day would come, and I did not take precautions?" The Illusive Man grinned maliciously. "You thought I would just lie here like a good sacrificial lamb while you gloat?"
His cackle ended abruptly, as he bit down on a scream, as the Lawson-thing blurred to his side without disturbing the magic array, and its jaws tore into his stomach, starting the feast. Not even the Illusive Man's preparations could make him stay silent after the fourth bite, his screams drowning in the guttural, stolen words of power that vomited forth from the Lawson-thing's maw. The blood around them lit up with scarlet flames of dark shadows, pulsing in rhythm with the frantic, failing beat of Jack Harper's augmented heart.
Something caught Leng's gaze on his omnitool, and he forced himself to tear his gaze from the spectacle - just when Morinth's scream tore from her throat, her eyes swirling black pools.
"We must leave, now!" The asari's voice was frantic. "He did something to ..."
"The safeties of the S2 engine just fried." There was a slight tremor under Leng's voice. "Along with the controls that regulated the barriers and positioning of the station. Our orbit around the star is deteriorating rapidly."
The Lawson-thing's eyes flashed, before it tore into the skull of the bound man with cruel appetite, jaws churning towards the particular lobes and organs within, as the invocation poured forth, the power of the ritual almost out of control. The beast could only spare a short glance and gesture for its underlings, knowing full well that to cease the spell at that moment would erase it in a heartbeat. Beyond the slowly disintegrating viewscreens of the observation deck, Anadius loomed, its blue glare akin to one the Illusive Man was no longer capable to muster.
They knew enough - but now, it would be too late for them to turn back.
Kronos Station died under the blue gaze of the system's star, burned from within by the accumulated, uncontrolled power of the Super Solenoid engine onboard, the prototype dragging a measure of Cerberus' secrets into their fiery doom.
Yet it was just an hour too late.
From the blood-drenched observation deck, shadowy, immaterial tendrils poured forth in a tidal wave both from the carcass that was once Jack Harper and the creature that wore the face of Henry Lawson. The tendrils multiplied by the millions, burrowing into the minds and souls of countless humans, their touch fogging, swallowing knowledge and memories. They clouded and hid the existence of an order and institute that was meant to stand against those who would wield such powers against Mankind.
All across the galactic plane, humans forgot about the University of Kathmandu. They forgot about the weapon forged since time immemorial by the Sigillite Order against the blind, uncaring fate. The acts of the University members slipped from recall, their presence blurred into the background, their very existence became a grey, formless, mundane shade of a faded, dull reflection.
On distant Earth, the vast complex under and at the crown of the Himalayan Range was hidden beyond mortal sight and memory, the arcane weaving preventing those within to make others recognize and recall them by force, trapping them within the ancient walls.
Or so it was planned.
Yet as always, there were some who resisted - humans and otherwise. After all, even such a vast and complex sorcerous effect, born from and supported by the Herald, filtered through one of its many Masks, was essentially a contest of will, determination, and stubbornness.
The timeless dreams of a dead machine god burned with golden lightning, as the leader of the party within was roused to fury not felt since the sea rose to swallow long-forgotten Valusia.
In a secured, shielded complex under Ilium, a dark-haired woman glared at the QEC feed, the strange, divided sigil on her ring catching the harsh blue light of the screens reflected from her eyes. She turned towards the young asari busy with her omnitool, and Liara looked up, sensing her gaze. The information broker nodded once, grief and fury warring on her features. Miranda turned towards the other two occupants of the room.
"He did it. Now it's our turn." Her eyes may have stung with some unshed tears, but her voice held the implacable cold of the void. "The Shadow Broker must fall."