Morumplacus - Restless spirit, undead, ghoul. From ancient turian folklore. The souls of those slain by dishonourable means were believed to wander after death to exact justice. They were believed to torment the living by taking the form of whatever the victim feared most.
45 Days ASR
Nihlus kicked his feet up onto the bed, then threw the duvet over his legs. After piling the pillows under his cowl and fringe, he relaxed down into the deep, luxurious memcell, a long sigh greeting the painful bliss of horizontality. For long seconds, he just closed his eyes and breathed, pulling in long draughts of air.
Through the warmth, dispelling his comfort, a wan chill slithered along the length of his spine and oozed between the ridges of his brain. Spirits, did Shepard feel that way all the time: something alive and malevolent crawling around inside her skull? Surely, his current, mild uneasiness amounted to the tiniest taste of what the black orbs visited upon her, and suddenly his arms ached to hold her. The silent weight of his omnitool whispered that he should call her, but he pushed that selfishness aside. She'd call as soon as she and Garrus wrapped up things on Korlus. Wanting to call her was about easing the asari's slick caress inside his mind, rather than aiding Shepard in any form.
He didn't know who or even what that asari was, but he'd never experienced anything as terrifyingly cold and empty as her stare. The only other time he'd touched minds with an asari, it had been Shiala when she passed along the information from the Thorian. That contact felt like slipping into a warm bath, comforting and easy despite the horror of the information that she'd passed on. The mind that touched his at the club dumped him sprawling and screaming into a fathomless, black hole in the bottom of the ocean: a hole filled with dangerous, starving creatures snapping their jaws in anticipation of the moment he gave up and stopped trying to swim.
A heavy shudder stuttered down his spine, locking the muscles across his hips. Moaning as the serrated dagger abandoned his pelvis to saw its way down his thighs, he arched his back, tensing his muscles into tighter and tighter knots. He sucked in a long breath, holding it until his chest strained and his head pounded before letting it hiss slowly over his tongue. As he exhaled, he straightened out, his muscles all melting down into the mattress. It took tying himself into a knot and releasing it three more times before the muscle spasms eased.
Muttering his relief, he opened his eyes and reached over to lift Saren's journal from the night table. Distraction appeared to be the flavour of the night. He opened the book to a detailed sketch of a monstrously deformed, cybernetic-laced turian.
A massive crowd awaited our ship as it landed. Desolas draped himself and his monsters in robes fashioned after the ones worn by the Valluvian priests in ancient times. He stood before the crowd and claimed to have returned to reopen Temple Palaven, to lead the turian people into an age of glory and conquest. The monsters he explained as being warriors transformed by the war against the humans, warriors who had earned the robes they wore. I admit to being moved despite knowing it was all a lie.
My brother spoke like a prophet on the eve of apotheosis, and the people cheered him. They resented the council stepping in to end the war with the humans. The politicians said that it was the price we needed to pay for all that we received through cooperating with the rest of the races. Desolas called it betraying the turian people. I didn't disagree.
And so I watched my brother from behind the line of his 'priests' as he named himself saviour. I watched him trying to command his evolved troops, but they refused every order given to them unless it served the monolith's agenda. And yes, I believed it possessed an agenda, I just didn't know what it was.
Everything about the 'Evolved' made me uneasy. And as I spent more time in proximity to the monolith, I began to feel a strange scratching at the back of my skull, the irritation of a splinter under my plates. Maybe I didn't see it, or perhaps I chose to ignore how Desolas changed over those weeks, but as we arrived on Palaven, I could no longer deny that my brother was consumed by the machine. I hated the thing. It filled me with dread, and I hated it. It called to me, and I hated it.
My dread turned to fear as Desolas admitted that he was trying to form a sort of tentative control over the Evolved by making himself the monolith's protector. He hoped to buy time and learn how to use it to gain actual control over them. To say that I harboured reservations would be a gross understatement.
When we arrived at the temple, the Evolved refused to move the artefact. They claimed that the crowd concerned them, so Desolas bent, saying he didn't intend to move it until nightfall. How pathetic his delusions of power must have seemed to the intelligence behind the monolith … even to himself. For surely, some part of him knew that he'd never control the creatures it created. The monolith controlled them, and as I looked in my brother's eyes, I saw a truth … . No, I felt a truth, that the monolith controlled through deception.
The soft tread of bare feet on carpet and the slight catch of talons in the weave alerted Nihlus to the presence of an intruder. He lowered the book and looked toward the stairs, letting out a long, thin breath. "What are you doing? I thought you went to bed a half hour ago."
Sol padded around his bed, the duvet off the guest bed wrapped tightly around her. "You seemed like you needed some company after that weird crap with the psycho asari." She climbed up on the bed next to him, piled up the spare pillows, and spread her blanket over her legs. When she finished bouncing around and generally making a show of getting settled, she leaned up, her hand braced under her jaw and stared at him.
"So, want to talk about it?" she asked, narrowing her eyes into a laser-keen stare.
"No." He turned back to the journal, hoping that she'd go away if he ignored her. "And I don't need to have a sleep over. I stopped being afraid of morumplacus in my closet some time ago." After thirty seconds of staring at the book without actually reading, he glanced her way just to meet her intense, sea-blue stare. Letting out a long, musical sigh, he said, "I appreciate your concern, but I'm fine."
Sol flopped down on the pillow and pulled her cover up to her mandibles. "Maybe I'm not." She closed her eyes. "Are you done reading? It's hard to sleep with the lights on." A well-pleased grin answered his sigh. "What? Is my generous offer of company and protection from the things that bite in the night causing you inconvenience?"
Nihlus set the journal down on the night table and turned off the lamp. "You cause me inconvenience in general, and I'm pretty certain that you delight in it, so shut up and go to sleep." After fluffing up the pillows again, he closed his eyes. Focusing on his breathing, he tried to clear and settle his mind enough to sleep, but between Sol's beady-eyed stare boring into the side of his head, his confrontation with the asari, the ache in his chest prompted by Saren's lonely descent into madness, and the horror of the Arca Monolith warping and indoctrinating everyone on Palaven … .
"Want to talk about it?"
Giving in, Nihlus rolled onto his side to find her brilliant eyes sparkling at him in the dim light. "Talk about what, exactly?" Grumbling to cover up the fact that her presence did calm the mess inside his head, he slid his arm under the pillows and dragged them down to hold them between his shoulder, cowl, and head. "What does that burning curiosity want to know?" His brow plates rose a little more every second that she considered the question. "Saren's journal perhaps?"
"Hm. No. I don't want to have nightmares." Sol hummed for a moment as she mused then met his eyes, hers bright and curious … and a little teasing. "Did you have to do a lot of remedial training to get into the academy?" She wriggled a little, digging deeper into the covers. "I mean, out there in the wild merc territories, you didn't exactly grow up aimed toward the service the way Garrus and I did."
After staring at her for a couple of seconds, stunned into silence, Nihlus chuckled. "Seriously? You want to talk about my misspent youth? With all the questions you could ask?" He held up a hand when she opened her mouth. "No, if this is the query burning itself through your skull, I'll answer it." He scratched his neck. "I was actually educated and reasonably intelligent, and I'd grown up fighting and shooting, so I didn't have to take any remedial training."
He let out a long breath, relaxing down into the thick mattress, the breath turning into a sigh as the clenched muscles along his jaw and down his spine relaxed. "They asked me to take a placement test, which I passed with flying colours. Did have a few hiccups on the psych eval thanks to my complete scorn for authority and my tendency to answer annoying questions with my fists." He grinned, shrugging his one shoulder. "They also insisted that I refine my hand to hand technique. Apparently breaking off spurs isn't considered good form in the military."
"Who knew." Mandibles flicking hard, Sol shook her head. "You were a rebel?" She stared at him, her eyes narrowing until he couldn't make them out. "It's always the quiet ones."
He hummed a susurrus of agreement. "My lack of appreciation for authority figures and the rules continued to plague me into my postings with external forces, and they were glad to hand me over to the Spectres when my presence was requested." He closed his eyes, the small talk easing him into the pillows and weighing down his eyelids.
"And that was Saren, right?" She chuffed softly. "He was a legend back then. The youngest Spectre, the council's standard bearer?"
A long breath whispered between them before Nihlus answered, the picture of that lithe, quicksilver biotic in the gleaming armour forming crystal clear in his mind. "I'd seen him a couple of cycles before. He and a few other Spectres raided the mine where I worked after my pari died. He was amazing, every crazy dream that fills your head when you're a puer lying in bed, conjuring up great stories about Spectres."
He opened his eyes, meeting hers in the dark, and smiled as he recalled the combination of terror and awe. "I was starstruck, blown into the upper atmosphere by the sheer power of his presence, and stayed that way for a lot of cycles." As he said the last, Nihlus wondered if he'd ever truly loved Saren, or if it remained hero worship.
"Pari didn't tell us heroic stories of Spectres," Sol said, her voice slurring a little. "His heroes always stayed true to the path of law and order. Spectres were shady characters that haunted the line between good and evil." She chuckled and then yawned. "Naturally, Garrus and I became fascinated with them. I think Garrus would have made a good one if he managed to work that knot out of his … lower intestinal tract."
Silence drifted between them, warm and heavy, and Nihlus's eyes slipped closed again. Then a hand touched his face, startling him awake. Slender talons patted his mandible. "Did that asari scare you, tonight?" Sol asked, the words sliding along a yawn.
He nodded, and gave in as sleep started to claim him. "More than anything except the Reapers. There was a hole inside her, one that she will never be able to fill."
"Good thing we stopped her from taking that kid."
Nihlus yawned in reply and drifted off. It had been a good thing. A very good thing, in fact. He'd saved that child from a terrible death. Not a bad way to end his day. Spirits, he'd accomplished far less so many of his days as a Spectre.
"Goodnight, senux." Clumsy talons patted his mandible again, then slid back under Sol's blanket.
46 Days ASR
A soft ticking sound reeled Nihlus from sleep, pulling him inexorably back to consciousness. He fought back, his eyelids refusing to open, the covers warm and comfortable as their shackles held tight, insisting that he spend several more hours in their embrace. He yawned and rolled over, giving in to sleep's siren call for another minute or so before the tapping returned.
"Fine," he muttered, and forced his eyes open. On his left, Sol slept on. Her gentle, purring snore rolled in and out without interruption.
Tapping, again, like the sound of a branch in the wind. It was a sound for Palaven, where the gardens pressed up against the domin, not for Illium, where the nearest tree stood twenty floors and a bridge away. A shadow moved, black against the watery grey of city night, yanking him up off the mattress.
He stared at the small windows that looked out over the roof. Heart pounding, hard but not fast, he ticked through the possibilities, running a very familiar—almost comforting—tactical risk assessment. Of the scenarios that played out in his head, the most likely was someone on the roof. Another brief interruption in the light flickered across the room; someone definitely wanted his attention. Damn. Making sure not to wake Sol, he slipped out from under the duvet. He lifted his robe from where he'd tossed it before climbing into bed, retrieved his sidearm from the night table, and then headed downstairs.
When the elevator doors closed, he slipped his robe on, and stepped off to the blind side of the elevator. If whoever awaited him on the roof intended to attack, they employed either no guile, or some advanced form of it. Either way, he didn't intend to stand in the open and let anyone fill him full of holes.
The asari.
Spirits, maybe he should have awakened Thane. His talon hovered above the control to send the elevator back down. He couldn't trust himself to take her on alone. Of course, if the terror in her eyes when she ran was any indicator, she was either off-planet already or arranging her ride to the furthest corner of the galaxy.
What if his most likely guess proved true? He doubted Specimen Alpha would try to kill him, but how the hell was he supposed to react to the torin? Fury? Certainly justified, but probably not useful or productive. Grief? Relief? Happiness? A knot tied itself in his gut. Well, throwing up or succumbing to fluxus certainly made a statement. Not a particularly dignified one, however.
The elevator door slid open, halting his runaway thoughts before they crashed and burned. Thank the spirits.
Silence. Nothing moved, not even a breeze whispered past. Focusing his senses on the other side, he inhaled a long breath, then a second, drawing the air over the receptors in his mouth. Where his ears failed him, his nose wouldn't. Not asari. He clenched his jaw, the knot twisting until his guts felt like they hung from the back of his throat.
"I'm unarmed," a soft, raspy voice called from the other side, the subvocals flat and weary. "I only came to talk, Nihlus."
Still ... not disposed to taking the word of dead people lurking on his rooftop in the middle of the night, the Spectre waited another twenty seconds before he glanced out the door. A shadow stood over by the low wall that surrounded the roof. Although the dark shrouded him more effectively than his cloak, there was no doubt as to the intruder's identity. His sidearm leading the way, Nihlus stepped out onto the roof, the surface still warm under his bare talons, the acrid stink of tar biting the inside of his nostrils.
"What are you doing here?" he demanded, pistol sight never wavering from the torin's head.
"I believe I said I came to talk." The shadow turned to face him, still anonymous within the obsidian drape of his hood. After another moment, a long, heavy sigh dropped out of that void. "After obtaining my freedom, I fully intended to leave you alone." The intruder strode over to the edge of the roof and pulled his cloak tight around him. "It was a noble, self-sacrificing intention." The torin's soft huff of laughter eased the tension in Nihlus's shoulders. He lowered his pistol.
"My memory is patchy at best, so I forgot that I've never been all that good with noble or self-sacrificing." The figure sat on the knee wall, his shrouded stare invisible, but burning through Nihlus with laser-drill intensity. After a moment, he lifted his legs over the wall to sit looking out over the brilliant glare of the city.
"You're Specimen Alpha?" Nihlus felt like an idiot asking, because he knew the answer, but it felt three or four percent more ridiculous not to ask.
"That's what Cerberus called me, but I think you know better, don't you, Nihlus?"
Nihlus formed his question then let it dissolve into silence a handful of times before he finally strode over to sit a metre or so to the mysterious torin's left. Ignoring his better sense as it screamed warnings, he placed his pistol on the wall and turned to let his legs dangle over the very long drop into darkness. Once he settled, the question managed to bully its way to the fore.
"So, why did you come? What do you want to talk about?"
The torin leaned forward, bracing his hands against the edge. "I intended to pull the journal and then walk away, but then, I went through the apartment. When I touched those things … ." He shook his head, and let the silence stand.
"She's a good kid," the intruder said suddenly, leaning down to look between his feet. He kicked his heels off the side of the building.
Nihlus winced. That wall backed onto Thane's room. Hopefully the walls blocked sound sufficiently to let the assassin sleep. He scowled as the good kid comment registered. "Who?"
"The cop's filiam. Vakarian." He chuffed. "Your filiam now, too, I suppose. She's good people. I like that she keeps you on your toes."
"She definitely likes to kick with the spur." Nihlus chuckled and shook his head, sparing a glance at the anonymous figure. "She's not a kid. She's three cycles older than you were when you became a Spectre."
The torin laughed and shrugged, his head bobbing slightly inside the cloak. Truly, the person next to Nihlus felt anonymous, no trace of presence or personality, as if all traces of identity had been scrubbed away. Still, when that void turned to look at him, a glint of light reflected in the pale eyes, a tiny sparkle of something alive. "Well, I was exceptional."
Nihlus laughed, the warm, genuine mirth between them feeling like a rare and precious gift. "And modest. Always so modest." He looked down into the dark, faint streams of light flickering hundreds of storeys below. For a long moment, silence ruled. What did he say to this torin? How was he even supposed to feel? Furious? Sad? Fabric whispered against concrete, then a shoulder bumped his, tentative … a reaching out.
Anger sparked at the contact. "What do you want … ?" He spun to stare into the pale eyes beneath the hood. "What do I even call you? Specimen Alpha? Saren? Al?"
A low rumble rolled deep in his companion's throat, even that sound, so familiar, came across as anonymously as the hood. Who or what remained beneath the mantle of heavy fabric? "I loathe the first and am no longer the second. I suppose that means, as much as I hate the name Shepard gave me, it's appropriate to use it." He leaned a little closer, close enough for Nihlus to see his mandibles flutter.
Nihlus scowled and blurted out, "What do you mean, you aren't Saren? You don't stop being someone because your circumstances change."
Al shook his head. "I'm not Saren Arterius any longer. Sovereign devoured Saren, leaving nothing of him behind. Saren used up the last shred of who he was when he shot himself. Cerberus started his heart, got his body breathing again, but most of who he was is just gone." He turned to meet Nihlus's gaze, one hand reaching up to pull down his hood. "Do you see, Nihlus? Do you understand?"
Horror washed over Nihlus in a massive wave of bile and blood as black as what flowed through the Collectors' veins. Almost nothing of the ex-Spectre's face remained. Holes showed the bone where plates had been removed in whole or in part, the edges of the wounds sealed with metal and circuitry. A singularity flaring to life in Nihlus's chest, he reached up, touching Al's ruined mandible with gentle talons. "Dear spirits."
Al nodded and pulled away, replacing the hood. "All that remains inside this skull is as ruined and patchy as the outside. I have a few, cherished scraps ... and the present." His voice dropped to a low tone over heavy subvocals. "Who I am is what Shepard released me to become. Saren is dead, Nihlus."
Nihlus nodded, the black hole inside his chest sucking in the tangle of anger and pity, resentment and grief, cleaning away the emotional sludge as it emptied him out. He wondered if Al even remembered that Saren had tried to kill him, but then decided that it didn't matter. Not if Saren was dead. Besides, that bullet had sent him down a long, strange path to somewhere amazing, and he wouldn't change it.
Still … . "What do you want from me?" he asked, pulling himself back around to the reason Al was sitting next to him on the rooftop. "Is there a price on the journal? And why point me to a whole lot of cleared-out bank accounts and safety deposit boxes?"
"There is no price, Nihlus. The journal is everything Saren learned about the Reapers and the cycles. You'll need it, because I don't remember any of that information. The accounts … ." He shook his head, millstones grinding down a rumble of frustration before it could escape his throat. "The accounts … I remembered only to send the message, and there is a word ... Leviathan."
"Leviathan?" Nihlus scowled and shook his head. "What or who is it?" Had the entire galaxy begun to speak in riddles?
Al shrugged, shaking his head a little. "That word is associated with three others ... creators, suzerain, and enemy." He swung his legs around and stood, straightening his cloak, his movements declaring the conversation over. "Asking any more won't help, Nihlus. I don't remember. Look in the journal. If Sovereign told me about it, it will be in there."
Nihlus turned around, but didn't stand. "Why did you come here tonight?" He shook his head to ward off another half explanation or lie, frustration building into a choking wad in his throat. "Just tell me."
Al took a long breath and sat back down. "As I walked through the apartment, I touched all those things … the art and furniture … all the articles and trinkets that meant so much to him, and I realized that they all meant nothing. Only one thing in that apartment mattered, and he threw it away." Pale milky eyes stared into Nihlus's for a moment, then Al leaned in and touched his brow to Nihlus's. "I just wanted you to know that I see what he threw away, even if he never did."
He pushed up and strode across the roof, taking quick, limping steps that made Nihlus ache just watching them. "Good luck, Nihlus. Live well. Take Shepard as your bond-mate, let her love you, and be happy." He put a foot up on the fire escape and turned back. "Just don't let her talk you to death. Spirits, does that woman talk." He jumped onto the fire escape and disappeared from view.
Nihlus stayed where he was, mind racing and throat dry. Their conversation lasted what … ten minutes, maybe fifteen and now … spirits, how did he process everything that he'd been told?
One piece at a time.
The journal, well, nothing had changed there, but the accounts led to Leviathan. The only one he'd heard of was the Leviathan of Dis, but if it ever existed, it had disappeared cycles before. He stood and walked to the elevator, his attention turned inward. Maybe Liara and the Brysons could figure out if Leviathan had any basis in reality. He still needed to figure out the identity of the asari who was cleaning out the accounts. If he believed Al, she formed a direct link.
Looking up, he realized that he stood inside the elevator, canted against the wall, but hadn't hit the control. Embarrassment traced one searing finger along the ridge of his plates as he reached out and sent the carriage down to the apartment.
Saren. Saren truly was dead. The Reapers had stolen everything he was, except for that last important second. Nihlus swallowed, his tongue sticking to the back of his throat. His talons grabbed a handful of his robe. Letting out a disgusted chuff, he smoothed the material back over his thigh. Al had set him free … set them both free ... Nihlus to get on with his life, no more anchors tied to the past.
"I just wanted you to know that I see what he threw away, even if he never did."
The elevator doors opened. Nihlus stepped to the threshold and wrapped his arms around his waist, staring at the washed out grey on grey of the sitting room. How many nights had he spent sitting alone in Saren's beautiful, austere habitat while the Spectre went about his social life? How many parties had he spent upstairs because he ceased to exist when Saren had guests.
"It was an entire lifetime ago," he whispered, growling at himself under his breath. "You were barely more than a child. Let it go."
"I just wanted you to know that I see what he threw away, even if he never did."
Al had come to say what Saren never could have. Grief and a free-floating sort of anger bubbled to the surface.
Feet padded quietly down the stairs, interrupting his confusion and bitterness. Sol appeared at the bottom, wrapped in her duvet. After staring at him for a second, she shuffled over, her legs tangled in excess blanket. "Everything okay?" she asked, her voice sliding along the scale of a yawn. Reaching out, she squeezed his forearm, the contact warm and grounding. "You look a little shaky."
He forced his mandibles into a smile and dropped his arms. "Yeah, I'm fine, go back to sleep. You could even go back to your own bed." He patted her hand then headed for the stairs. As he started the climb, he began to shiver, the cool, arctic night having slithered through the fabric of his robe. He shook out his hands then rubbed them against the heavy fabric. Yeah, it was just the cold.
"Goodnight, Sol. Sleep well." The whisper sounded tremulous to his ears, but he clenched his jaw and pushed on, heading into the bathroom. After relieving himself and washing the roof off his feet, he walked out the door to find Solana sitting on the end of his bed. Damn. He swallowed a couple of times and clenched his fist.
"Specimen Alpha?" she asked, peering at him like a maraquil sighting down its dinner. "It sounded like another torin out there." A wide yawn displayed all her teeth before she flicked her mandibles against her mouth a couple of times. She snuggled down into her duvet, pulling it up around her aural canals.
"Yes, and I'm fine, I just caught a chill and need a heavier robe. Now go to sleep. I'll explain everything at breakfast." He ducked into the closet, closing the door but leaving it unlatched. She might get suspicious if he locked himself in. He changed his robe for a heavier one, then turned to his armour rack and snatched his flask from its pouch. Tossing his head back, he poured the remainder of the contents down his throat. The brandy burned all the way down, pulling a long, overloud sigh of relief from deep in his belly as the knots finally began to untie.
Sol had settled herself back on his bed when he walked out. "Your bed is comfier than mine," she said, matter-of-a-factly as if it explained why she hadn't returned to her own.
"You snore," he said, sitting on the side, facing away from her. He drank down half a bottle of soda, rinsing his mouth the best he could before he laid down. Once tucked in, his pillows mounded to support all the right places, he closed his eyes, hoping that Sol would take the hint.
The mattress shifted beside him, and long, thin talons wrapped around his. "Alpha is Saren, isn't he?" the tarin asked, her voice barely stirring the air.
"He was. Saren's dead. Sovereign destroyed him." He turned his hand over to squeeze her hand right back. "Al is someone new, but at least he had enough of Saren's memories to help us figure this out."
"Rest in peace, Saren Arterius," Sol said. "In the end, you came through."
Nihlus nodded. Saren had come through for them all … and for him, even if it was from beyond the grave. It was enough to let it all go … to let Saren rest.
Still, it took quite some time before he fell back to sleep.
Sol looked up from her breakfast when Nihlus's omnitool chimed. "So, what's on the agenda for today? Another day of following that asari around as she empties back accounts?"
Nihlus activated his omnitool's interface, shooting a glare over the small screen without lifting his head. He opened the notification and blew out a short sigh of relief. "No. The asari we want is Jona Sederis." Browplates rising, he read the rest of the bulletin. "Who is a real piece of work. She's the founder of the Eclipse mercenaries and a psychopath of the first order. Wonderful."
"Why does some looney Eclipse leader have access to Saren's accounts?" Sol asked. She turned to face Thane. "Come on, Mr. Assassin, you must have some thoughts on all of this?"
Thane looked up from his bowl of fruit, glanced at Nihlus, then leaped from his chair when the door chimed. "I'll see who is at the door," he called, already hurrying that way. "It might be an assassin. If I'm fortunate, they may kill me before I need to answer that question."
Nihlus grinned at Sol. "He'd rather deal with assassins than you." He continued down the report on Sederis. "How many killer asari are we going to have to deal—" He looked up, his heart dropping into his guts as Thane appeared in the doorway, the drell's face drawn, his submachine gun gripped in his hands.
"At least one more," Thane said, the bright skin along his jawline flushing even deeper hues. "The asari justicar is at the door."