Chapter 5: The Lair of the Xeno
The Shadow had been contacted by the Normandy after it had exited the Warp without incident above a planet that they had called Tuchanka. Ostensibly, this meeting was to further cooperation between the natives of this reality and the Space Marines by having the two groups coordinate their plans for the upcoming battle. In reality, Nemros suspected the other group of having more nefarious designs, and had planned accordingly. Behind him stood Epistolary Vargus and Apothecary Slenarr, both ready to act the moment that anything treacherous should occur.
Nemros sneered in disgust at the sight that greeted him. The traitor leader, Shepard, flanked by a pair of xenos had met him at the airlock of the ship that had they called the Normandy. The blue parody of the holy human form and the tall, vaguely avian alien that he had seen before. Was the man trying to send some sort of message here? Or were the aliens his minders?
"Welcome to the Normandy," Shepard said amiably enough, a smile plastered across his face. When Nemros did not deign to respond, the smile faltered slightly. "If you'll follow me to the War Room, we can begin."
Nemros, Slenarr, and Vargus all followed after Shepard's form, albeit not without some difficulty. The cramped corridor that they had to traverse was clearly not designed for individuals with their bulk in mind, and they had to hunch over slightly until they reached a large, open room with a holographic projection of the galaxy. Nemros was briefly thankful that he had decided against bringing the Terminators. The two Veteran Brothers would have been unable to fit inside the airlock, never mind the rest of this tiny vessel.
Crewmen stopped and stared as the three Marines passed by their stations, their attentions grabbed first by idle curiosity, then by openmouthed awe as ceramite boots pounded down the neck of the ship and through what had to be the command room, each step rattling and mildly deforming the material used to make the deck plating. If this were the supposed pinnacle of human engineering, as Shepard had boasted in their last meeting, then Nemros was not impressed in the slightest.
After making their way through the command room, the Marines were confronted by the sight of a pair of guards nervously standing next to a scanner. Shepard and his coterie had already passed through without fuss, leaving the trio alone with the two already-shaking guards.
"I assume you expect us to let you scan us," Nemros asked, his voice booming and echoing within the confined space of the scanner room, amplified as it was already to inhuman levels by his helmet's vox systems.
"Y-yes," one of them mumbled, not looking the Captain in the eye. Nemros did not fault her overmuch though, as he stood nearly a full meter above her. "All weapons have to be left here as well."
Nemros snorted before simply pushing on through, ignoring the pair of them. The scanner blared an interesting mixture of sounds as it simultaneously attempted to protest the ignoring of protocol while beeping confusedly as it struggled to identify previously unknown metals and alloys. Vargus and Slenarr likewise forced themselves through, with the scanner going particularly haywire when Vargus passed through. Unheeded throughout it all were the feeble protests of the two guards as they attempted to salvage what they could of their dignity.
Making their way into the War Room, they were confronted with the sight of Shepard, the two aliens that had been with him already, and another three. One Nemros had seen before, the hunchbacked lizard, but the other two, a lanky amphibian with one cranial horn and another one of the tall avians, were unknown to him.
"Ah, new soldiers Shepard described, fascinating. Human? Possibility of genetic engineering very high if so. Have to ask, is that powered armor?" asked the amphibian in a voice that was much higher pitched than any human was capable of producing. Nemros was slightly taken aback at the creature's correct assumptions and rapid rate of speech. How the xeno had not passed out due to lack of air through that outburst alone mystified him. Perhaps its biology incorporated a third or fourth lung that allowed it to speak as it did.
The second avian xeno merely nodded in the direction of the trio of intruders, hands remaining clasped behind its back.
"Mordin, try not to run any experiments on them. You've got enough on your plate as it is," Shepard admonished the amphibian in a light tone.
"Of course Shepard," said 'Mordin,' though Nemros was unsure whether Mordin was the creature's name or the name of its species. Either way, he cared not.
"My apologies," said Shepard as he turned back towards the three Space Marines. "You already know who I am, so allow me to introduce the rest of us." He pointed towards the blue xeno, who nodded towards them in return. "Liara T'Soni, Prothean archaeologist and intelligence broker." A gesture towards the more familiar of the avians. "Garrus Vakarian, marksman and Turian Anti-Reaper Task Force leader." A flick of the alien's mandibles marked his silent reply. A nod towards the hunchbacked lizard. "Urdnot Wrex, leader of the Krogan clans of Tuchanka." Another gesture, this time towards the second of the avians. "Primarch Victus, leader of the Turian people." A slight turn of the head towards the only remaining unannounced figure in the room. "Mordin Solus, Salarian scientist and former STG."
In response, Nemros nodded and gestured towards himself, "Brother-Captain Nemros, Captain of the Iron Sentinels Fifth Company. With me are Epistolary Vargus," he motioned towards the blue-clad Librarian as he mentioned him, "and Apothecary Slenarr." The impassive Apothecary made no move as all eyes in the room shifted in his direction.
"Curious," the one named Mordin mumbled as he turned back towards the large holographic table that dominated the room. "Irrelevant, however. Must discuss how we are to deploy genophage cure."
"Any ideas?" Shepard asked.
"Yes. Conventional methods too slow, too unrefined. Possibility exists of Krogan not being cured fully. Have to think different, bigger."
The Salarian bent over and began typing furiously on a holographic display, bringing up the image of a thin, tall spire that dominated the surrounding wastes. "The Shroud?" asked Wrex skeptically.
"Yes. Only way to ensure global spread of cure. As mentioned, spread through water too slow. Could take years for cure to have effect. Voluntary cure treatments would be met with skepticism, claims of treachery. Has to be Shroud."
"Well," Wrex grunted as he began typing on a display of his own. "Suppose now's just as good a time as any to mention what my scouts reported to me just before this meeting."
Nemros watched as the display shifted, placing a figure that he recognized from Shepard's tales as one of the Reapers directly in front of the so-called Shroud facility. He nodded faintly at the height that was listed next to the figure: one hundred and fifty-eight meters. A worthy foe, to be sure. Even the god machines of the Adeptus Titanicus were not that tall, though they were undoubtedly more than a match for this Abominable mockery.
"Gets even better too," the Krogan said before typing away again, slowly and deliberately this time, as if wanting to build up as much suspense as he could before the reveal.
The holographic array shifted once more, moving to a position away from the spire and towards a large group of Reaper soldiers that were moving in the direction of the Shroud en masse. No doubt the Intelligence had foreseen their plan and was taking steps to prevent it.
"Hell Wrex, got anything else you wanna ruin our day with?" Shepard asked as he stared at the amorphous blob that constituted the Reaper repositioning.
This time it was the Salarian that spoke up. "Shepard, Reaper using Shroud, dispersing a poison into Tuchanka's atmosphere. Could ruin entire planet's biosphere, kill all Krogan planetside. Situation problematic."
"Suppose I walked right into that one," Shepard grunted. "The Reaper by itself we could probably deal with, albeit messily. But that mob makes things extremely dangerous for anyone we deploy for this. Take too long and we're trapped between a Reaper and a large force."
This Nemros could do. Battle would help take his mind off the fact that he was helping traitors save xeno races from extinction. "The Iron Sentinels will deal with these disgusting creatures," he said, eyeing the display that portrayed the unholy forms that the Company would be facing within the hour.
Aside from Vargus and Slenarr, who had undoubtedly expected such a response from their Captain, everyone in the War Room turned to look at Nemros.
"You're sure?" Shepard asked skeptically. "The Normandy's showing around three thousand husks of all types down there. You'll be overrun in minutes."
Nemros simply snorted in reply. "Let them come in their hundreds, their thousands, their tens of thousands. We will never break."
Shepard still looked doubtful. "We could divert some of Wrex's Krogan to help, but you'd still be massively outnumbered."
"That will not be necessary."
Shepard simply shrugged at that. "If I hadn't seen the footage of you guys on Benning, I'd force you to accept," he said. "But you know what you're capable of. Now, about that Reaper…"
The various xenos and Shepard immediately began arguing over the best course of action, but Nemros ignored their droning in favor of opening a vox channel to the Shadow. "Brother Manswell," he said.
"Yes Captain?" came the mechanical tones of the Company's techmarine.
"Arm our Brothers, the Company is going to war."
Chaplain Xeras looked about as Marines tromped in and out of the armory, tending to the blessed machine spirits within their weapons. Placating them with sacred oils and murmured prayers, the holy armaments were made ready to once more destroy the enemies of mankind. Heavy bolters were fed belts of shells, their barrels waiting for their opportunity to give voice to the fury of their wielders, while plasma guns were handled delicately lest the machine spirits refuse to cooperate on the battlefield – or worse. Flamers were fitted with tanks of holy promethium, their rebuking tongues primed to scour the wretchedness and sin from their targets. All of this was done, Xeras noticed approvingly, with the appropriate respect that was due to the tools which the Emperor Himself had given unto them.
On the other side of the bay stood Brother Manswell, overseeing a group of Servitors as they diligently tended to one of the Company's Predators, carefully and reverently arming the tank's main autocannon with mass-reactive shells so that the Emperor's Justice could be better enacted upon their foes. Next to the Predator lay a pair of squat Razorbacks, their venerable machine spirits ready and willing to transport the faithful, while their twin-linked assault cannons waited impatiently to drown the enemies of mankind beneath a hail of cased rounds.
Xeras, however, noted that all of these preparations were done with a subtle sense of uneasiness. Many amongst the Company had been extremely skeptical when Brother-Captain Nemros had announced his decision to aid the xenos of this galaxy along with their traitorous human allies, a few no doubt bordering on mutiny at being told not to shoot the aliens. A number of the more outspoken Marines had voiced their intense displeasure at Nemros' decision, but the Captain had reminded them that the fate of humanity was at stake here, and that to leave them to their fate would be an even worse decision. The xenos would be dealt with in due time, but for now the Abominable Intelligences known as the Reapers and their pawns would face the full might of the Emperor's Finest.
Xeras would have been lying if he said that he did not have doubts of his own. While temporary and desperate alliances with xeno races were extremely rare and the knowledge of them suppressed, they were indeed formed in the face of truly desperate situations. It pained him to admit it, but this was one such situation. However, the alien was a treacherous creature, and not to be trusted. No doubt the Company would find themselves turning their guns against their so-called 'allies' before all of this was over.
Breathing deeply to chase away his misgivings, he turned and made his ways towards the Shadow's Reclusiam. Nemros had asked him to speak before their upcoming deployment in an effort to bolster the flagging spirits of his Brothers. Despite his misgivings, he had accepted. Such was the burden and the satisfaction of a Chaplain.
Plain, unadorned slabs of adamantium made up the doors to the Reclusiam, a reflection of the chapter's austere attitude, an attitude that Xeras wholeheartedly subscribed to. What mattered was not the external, but rather the internal. Bravery, strength of will, and an indomitable spirit were what made one great, not battle honors and heraldry. In the interior, a number of banners hung from the vaulted ceiling, each telling of a time when those values, rather than glory seeking, enabled the Iron Sentinels to prevail over foes that outnumbered them many times over. The sight of those simple pieces of cloth never failed to stir Xeras' twin hearts.
Most of his Brothers were already inside, awaiting his arrival. He could feel their eyes following him as he marched up the center aisle to take his place at the shrine to the Emperor, could sense the doubts that simmered just below the surface of the facades they presented. All of them looked to him in this moment for guidance. He could not fail them. He would not fail them.
Patiently he waited as the last few Marines shuffled in and joined their Brothers in neat, ordered rows. Some were adorned in their black and gray power armor, though most wore simple, spun robes. As for Xeras himself, he wore his midnight-black power armor adorned with renditions of human skulls. He could not remember the last time he had taken the suit off, for a Chaplain was never truly off duty.
"Brothers," he began once all were ready. "I know why you are all here, the doubts that fill your mind, causing you to question not only your judgment, but also that of the Captain's, and by extension, the Chapter's."
A number of Marines shuffled minutely, the movements so small that they would have been unnoticeable to the eyes of mortals. But to Xeras' trained and enhanced eyes, the Marines were practically telegraphing their emotions. Unease and stifled anger rippled throughout the room at his words.
"I say this in response to your worries: don't! Yes, we fight alongside xenos and traitors, but we are not beholden to them! We will never be beholden to them, nor will we ever bend the knee to them! Everything we do today and in the future, we do for the betterment of mankind! If that means working alongside these filthy aliens, then so be it. For today we fight the Abominable Intelligence, but tomorrow we secure mankind's rightful place within this galaxy!"
The attitude of his audience was shifting, from skeptical to accepting, but there were still undercurrents and bastions of doubt. Xeras knew that his Brothers would never fully accept the necessity of their actions, but they would come to rationalize the decisions that caused them to fight alongside impure beasts.
"And rightfully named they are, these Abominable Intelligences!" he roared, slamming his fist down upon the shrine and sending a resounding clang throughout the room as ceramite bounced off unyielding adamantium. "They run rampant, thinking themselves gods, deciding who lives and dies, but we know that is the Emperor who is the ultimate arbitrator of the souls of men, not these forsaken and heretical machines! For their blasphemy, for their sheer hubris, we shall crush them beneath the treads of our war machines! We shall blow them away in hurricanes of fire, and lay waste to their heinous armies through fire and sword! None can stand against the might of the Emperor's Finest!"
His Brothers began to cheer, the noise of their roars resounding throughout the room and reverberating within each man's chest. Xeras smiled beneath his helmet, which took the shape of a ghastly, leering skull. He could feel his spirits lifting alongside those of his Brothers, and knew only one thing remained to be done.
"Brothers!" he said, raising his Crozius Arcanum above his head.
The din immediately came to a halt as forty Space Marines eagerly awaited the next words of their Chaplain.
"What is your duty?" he asked.
"To serve the Emperor's will," they responded in unison, each man knowing instinctively the lines of the Litany of Duty, years of repetition and hypnotherapy immediately rushing to the fore.
"What is the Emperor's will?" he asked again, louder this time.
"That we fight and die," they responded once more, their tone rising to match his.
"What is death?" Louder, zeal rushing to boil blood.
"It is our duty." Louder, conviction rising with every word.
"What is your duty?"
"To serve the Emperor's will!" Xeras and his Brothers roared together, the sound echoing throughout the room and into the corridors beyond, until the Shadow practically quaked. Let all the horrors of the universe come, they would not break.
Far above the surface of Tuchanka, four pods rocketed out from a truly massive ship before making their way through the planet's atmosphere. Propelled by mighty thrusters and guided by venerable machine spirits, the gray and black pods shifted course, aiming for a constantly moving location, the coordinates for which were fed in real time to the machines by the Shadow's tactical cogitators.
Breaking into the thin atmosphere of the planet, the pods began firing the first of a series of retrorockets in order to slow their descent, each firing having been meticulously and painstakingly programmed prior to the launch of the pods. The first retrorocket fired just after the entrance into the atmosphere, with the last firing a minute and a half later at a distance of fifty meters up from the ground. Ten seconds later they slammed into the ranks of the Reaper husks that they had been directed at, crushing a number of them beneath their adamantium hulls and blowing even more off of their feet due to the shockwaves produced by their impact.
Marauders rushed to direct Cannibals into position, using all of their primitive and murderous intellect to do so. Husks mindlessly raced for the pods and began banging against the sides in a futile attempt to reach whatever lay inside them, while Brutes snarled and forced their ways through the mutated masses in an effort to pry open the stubborn adamantium. All the while, the ancient machine spirits within each pod silently awaited the command from the Shadow.
As another series of flaming pods became faintly visible within the dusty brown skies, the activation pulse was sent from the Shadow's command deck, sending plates of adamantium outwards and downwards, crushing a number of hapless Husks where they stood and revealing assault cannons and missile batteries, which promptly opened fire as the machine spirits began acquiring targets. Unholy mergings of cybernetics and dead flesh were torn apart as anti-personnel rounds tipped with diamantine ripped through them with little resistance, often shredding other forms standing behind them. Others vanished in thunderous explosions and clouds of rock and dust as whirlwind launchers fired series of Vengeance missiles into massed groups. By the time the rest of the pods had slammed into the ground, nearly all of the mindless creatures had been crushed without mercy.
Stepping out of his pod as others rained down around him, Nemros spoke into his vox. "Brothers, in the name of the Emperor, let none survive!" he roared as he raised his combi-plasma gun and fired off a burst of bolt shells into one of the few survivors of the initial strike.
The Iron Sentinels had come, and the days of the abomination were over.