Chapter 15: Portents of War
Aboard the bridge of his flagship, the Elbrus, General Oleg Petrovsky stared at the space station the floated serenely in space ahead of him in frustration. The invasion of Omega had been raging for the past three weeks, and almost no progress had been made during that time. The initial plan, to use Reaper creatures called Adjutants to sow confusion and discord while his troops removed key figures in Omega's leadership, though distasteful to his sensibilities, would have been effective enough to secure control of the station within a matter of days. Instead, the Illusive Man had bizarrely called off the operation at the last moment, offering absolutely no explanation as to why. The only order he had been given was to conquer Omega, in any way possible.
So, he had gambled, landing his men on the station by hiding them within hijacked freighters that had been bound for Omega. Once aboard, they had proceeded to attempt to capture key points while his fleet secured orbital supremacy of the local system. At first, all had gone well. District after district had fallen as his men surged forward, hoping to capture Afterlife, Aria's infamous nightclub and the closest thing Omega had to a beating heart.
However, he had overestimated the amount of anarchy that ruled the station, and gangs of locals and mercenaries alike had banded together to bog down his troops and deny his ships the ability to resupply them. His men had been met with setback after setback as mercenary bands thought broken and scattered rallied to launch counterattacks on the flanks of the Cerberus advance. Though uncoordinated and easily defeated, these attacks forced Petrovsky to divert precious manpower away from the front and brought the offensive to a grinding halt.
Now they were here, the men on the station unable to make any meaningful headway against the near-constant attacks that were launched against their positions, and the fleet could do little beyond affecting a blockade of the station, though they would most likely run out of supplies long before the station did. There had been no word from the Illusive Man about their supply chain during their brief exchange three weeks ago, when the leader of Cerberus had contacted him with the news about inbound reinforcements, and Petrovsky doubted that they would be receiving anything at all.
The General frowned slightly, his reflection in the data-pad before him mirroring him. Such behavior was unlike the Illusive Man. Whereas before he would have been able to work out a new plan and the supporting details in-depth with the leader of Cerberus, nowadays the Illusive Man was distant, never responding to the many calls that he placed to Cronos Station. Such a complete shift in conduct was troubling.
"General," came a voice from behind him, shaking him from his thoughts. Turning, he came face-to-face with Captain Swanson, the other man dressed impeccably in his Cerberus captain's uniform. Petrovsky appreciated that about the Captain. Unlike some Cerberus officers, Swanson took the notion of professionalism seriously.
"What is it Captain?" he asked.
"Major Stefan has sent another update. His men have been pushed from sectors A3 and G2, and casualties are heavy. He says that the assaults were combined Eclipse and Blue Suns offensives, and wants to know if we can send him any reinforcements for a counterattack."
"Tell him what we've been telling him the last six times Swanson. As long as Omega's anti-ship batteries remain in Aria's hands, we cannot move supplies onto the station."
"Very well, General."
"Sirs," interrupted the urgent voice of an ensign to the left of the two men. "The relay is flaring. Unidentified contacts moving through now, three of them. Their profiles do not match up with any known ship types in our databases."
"Unknown ships on intercept course!" shouted another ensign as the bridge of the Elbrus erupted into chaos.
Petrovsky swore, long and loudly, as he moved towards nearest command terminal. Had Aria received reinforcements? And if so, from whom? He dismissed the thoughts quickly, banishing them to the realm of idle speculation. Regardless of the identity of the incoming attackers, the fact remained that the Cerberus fleet was now surrounded on both sides. If the defense fleet that hugged the outer range of Omega's anti-ship batteries sallied out to assault them in a conjoined attack, then they were doomed.
"Tell the Berlin and the Norfolk to maintain position. Helm, bring us about! Bring the mass accelerator to ready status!" he shouted over the din.
"General!" shouted the first ensign disbelievingly. "The new ships are broadcasting their ident codes now! They're Cerberus!"
That proclamation brought an abrupt end to the noise that had permeated the bridge only seconds ago. "Cerberus ships?" Petrovsky asked, a mixture of confusion, annoyance, and wariness in his tone. "Why were we not informed of this development? Why did the Illusive Man not contact us?"
"Lead unknown Cerberus ship hailing us now, General," came the calm voice of Swanson from his position at the ship's CIC command terminal.
"Have they transmitted the proper authentication codes?" Petrovsky asked, wary. For all he could tell, this could be an elaborate ruse on the part of Aria to make him let down his guard.
"Aye Sir, all codes check out. Should I put them through?" asked the ensign nervously, wary of the stony look on Petrovsky's face.
"Patch it through ensign," he said, before turning to the Captain. "Swanson, tell the fleet to resume formation. We cannot allow Aria's fleet to take advantage of this."
"Yes Sir," said the other man as he pressed a key on his holo-display, beginning to relay orders to the other seven ships that had originally come to the Omega system alongside the Elbrus.
"To unidentified Cerberus ships, this is General Petrovsky, the commander in charge of the Omega invasion. Identify yourself immediately, or we will be forced to consider you hostile," Petrovsky spoke into the command terminal. Around him, he could see the entire bridge crew surreptitiously lean in, each man and woman desperate for information about the new group of arrivals.
"Such base hostility, General," spoke a voice that Petrovsky heard in equal parts both from the command terminal's voice relay and within his head. "One would think that you would know by now to greet allies with respect."
"I am not in the habit of repeating myself," Petrovsky gritted out through clenched teeth, trying hard to blot out the pain that the echoes left behind by the voice caused. "Identify. Yourself."
"Very well," sighed the unknown voice. "You may call me the Prophet, the leader of the reinforcements that the Illusive Man has sent to end this farce of an operation. As of right now, I am assuming command of all Cerberus forces in-system."
"Oh?" queried Petrovsky disbelievingly. "Well then, 'Prophet,' I'm afraid to disappoint you, but the men under my command are just that: under my command. I don't know you, nor do I recognize the ships that you command. Until I receive word from the Illusive Man himself, I have no reason to do anything that you say."
"Do you defy the will of the Illusive Man?" asked the Prophet, in a curious tone laden with indulgence, as if Petrovsky were nothing more than a petulant child whining about having his toy taken away. "Do you defy the will of Cerberus itself?"
"I do not defy the Illusive Man," corrected Petrovsky condescendingly. The voice of this so-called Prophet, a ridiculous title by any stretch of the imagination, made his blood boil with disgust and pain. He did not know why, perhaps it truly was petty petulance, but he knew he would be damned before he passed over command to this newcomer. "I defy you," he clarified.
Another sigh. "How disappointing, that the supposedly smart General Petrovsky has proven himself a failure in all regards. Very well then. If that is how you wish to go about this, then so be it. We shall take this station with or without you, and when it is done, you will explain your behavior and your failure to the Illusive Man himself."
With that, the three new ships began to drift closer and closer towards Omega.
"Such pitiful, meaningless defiance," muttered the Prophet as he turned away from the link. Turning towards the hulking mixture of rock and metal that styled itself as the greatest den of iniquity in the Terminus Systems, he began preparing for the opening blow against the so-called Queen of Omega. The Asari matriarch thought herself impenetrable within her lair, hidden away behind her power and the greed of others, and he would derive great pleasure from tearing away the façade of control that Aria indulged herself in.
Beneath the smooth mask of blank plastek that covered the self-styled Prophet's face, a trio of eyes blinked concurrently, focus shifting in and out as the Great Ocean's currents washed over the hull of his ship. His third eye, a boon from his patron deity, worked in tandem to allow him to delve the surface of the Warp to see the tides of fear, anger, bloodshed, and despair that practically flooded off the surface of Omega. The Illusive Man had revealed much since his illumination, while others such as himself feverishly worked themselves to the bone in order to comprehend even a fraction of his knowledge. Though such attempts had so far been met with failure, their standing too low with the creature that spoke through the Illusive Man, the Prophet was certain that after all of this, he would become one of the most powerful members of the new, enlightened Cerberus. Then, and only then, would he be able to draw upon the secrets of the universe that he had been blind to for far too long.
"Caldeus," he intoned, third eye flickering as he spotted what he had been searching for: a tight knot of determination and anticipation that was situated near the heaviest concentration of Omega's anti-ship batteries. The soul-fires of the individuals inside were dim, their inner light atrophied and withered away after years of wanton brutality and service to one of the most infamous crime lords in the galaxy. They would offer no meaningful resistance. "It is time for us to begin. Bring the sacrifices before me."
Next to him, a hulking brute of a man bowed deeply before hurrying off to the depths of the ship, barking a guttural order that caused another dozen Cerberus members to scurry after him as he did. Caldeus had changed much since the Illusive Man's announcement of their new mission in this galaxy. The man had always been a bully, eager to flaunt his strength against all those he considered weaker than himself, and had been one of the first to go under the knives of Cerberus' chirurgeons. Where once there had been a normal human being, now Caldeus was a twisted amalgamation of muscle and fury, the force of his will barely constrained by the various cybernetics that littered his flesh.
"Sacrifices?" demanded the voice of General Petrovsky over the intercom. "What the hell are you talking about, 'Prophet'? What the hell is going on over there?"
"Do not presume to speak to one such as I with that tone of voice," the Prophet warned, lips twisting into a sneer. The Illusive Man's orders regarding Petrovsky had been clear, despite what he had said to the man. The General had failed in his mission, and Cerberus had no room for failures like the old has-been aboard the Elbrus. After all of this was over, the General would become nothing more than fuel for his next ritual. "I have my orders from the Illusive Man. Orders you are seemingly incapable of carrying out."
"Why you-" The Prophet raised his hand, power surging through him, and the console that the General's enraged voice emerged from exploded into a shower of sparks and metal shards.
"Fool," he said with a tone of contempt and finality. He turned to see Caldeus and two dozen Cerberus troopers herding near a hundred broken wretches into the expanded bridge of the Damned Visage. Clad in tattered rags and covered in etchings of praise to the Primordial Annihilator, these individuals were the few that had refused to follow the Illusive Man's new vision, either being too far gone to Reaper influence or simply not possessing the will necessary to see this course through to its end. "Arrange them, and then take up your positions."
Some of the slaves wept as the faithful of Cerberus roughly shoved them to the center of the bridge, where the eight-pointed Star of the Octed had been engraved into the floor. Others prayed desperately, as if some divine power would suddenly appear and whisk them away from their approaching doom. The Prophet chuckled darkly at the thought. There were only four divine figures in the universe, and it was to one of them that these fools were to be sacrificed to. The God of Hope denied these weaklings their hope, deaf to their pleas. The irony was palpable.
A gobbet of spit and blood landed near his feet. The Prophet glanced contemptuously at the mixture of human fluids before turning to see the glaring eyes of one of the slaves, the only one to remain defiant even now. "Caldeus," he rumbled, one finger lifting to point at the slave with all the force of Fate. "This one. Bring him before me. He shall serve as the crux of our ritual."
The hulking form of Caldeus lumbered across the room, grabbing the defiant slave in the process. Upon reaching the Prophet, Caldeus roughly shoved the man down onto his knees while keeping his head facing upwards. The Prophet bent forwards slightly, gazing into the man's eyes.
"Madman," the other man gasped painfully through broken teeth and a shredded tongue, trails of blood lazily oozing their way out of jagged gashes down his face, falling onto the blackened deck below.
"Mad?" the Prophet asked incredulously, straightening back up as he did. "I am not the one who thought he could defy Fate Incarnate, little worm."
With that, the Prophet raised both hands into the air, eldritch energy coursing through his body as he began to speak. The sounds that emerged from his mouth were not words, but noises from a time long before the first species of the galaxy began to rise from the primordial muck of their respective homeworlds. Never meant to inhabit the throats of mortals, the reality-defying noises were now irredeemably corrupt, tainted by the new, unholy lore that the Prophet had delved into back on Cronos Station. The Octed symbol on the floor flared with impossible colors and faint screams in response to the intermingled chanting of the Prophet and the pained groaning of the slaves.
Lights flickered wildly, deck crew screamed in agony as their minds splintered in an effort to protect their sanity, and one of the Cerberus troopers collapsed to the floor, body mutating wildly as his will faltered before the unrelenting force of the Sea of Souls. One by one, the mortals arranged around the symbol began to die, their bodies failing as the stuff of the Warp began to flow through their veins, harnessing their life energies before streaming outwards towards the slave knelt before the Prophet. The head of one victim exploded in a shower of blood, bone, and gray matter, while another one collapsed to the floor, body twisting and writhing as it underwent uncontrolled mutation before ending as a formless lump of shattered bones and punctured skin. All the while, the Prophet continued to chant, louder and louder, as his mouth began to drip blood and his throat boiled in defiance. Beneath him, the defiant slave screamed, voice pitching higher and higher until it could no longer be heard by human ears.
Finally, in a moment that seemed to stretch on into eternity, the ritual reached its apex. Drawing upon all the unspeakable agony and the hate-fueled pain that swirled around him in a corona of colors, the Prophet thrust one hand forward, finger pointing directly at his chosen victim, howling in triumph as the veil between reality and the Immaterium was ripped to shreds by the energies unleashed. There was a loud snap as the chaotic energy was violently displaced in a moment, before the formerly defiant slave crumpled inwards upon himself, the few remaining slaves that still desperately clung to life dying moments later.
For his part, the Prophet watched, smiling wildly behind his faceless mask as a stream of blood poured from his mouth and nose, savoring the sight of the stream of Warp energy flaring brightly before it impacted upon a particularly dim soul in the Omega command room.
"Spirits," grumbled Terentius as he gazed down upon his holo-console. The constant buzz of noise that permeated the command center of Omega's anti-ship batteries, usually subdued, was now a raucous clamor as telemetry on the three new Cerberus ships continued to flow into the room hours after their arrival. Mass projections, estimated crew sizes, and weaponry comparisons with other ships of matching classifications streamed across the hololithic displays, each statistic adjusting erratically as long-range probes analyzed the newly arrived vessels. "Six months of this shit, day in and day out. When are they just gonna give up?"
"Word goin' around says we're close to pushing them off the station after today," the human sitting next to him, clad in Blue Suns armor that matched his own, said, not bothering to look up from his own console. "I say about a week. Two weeks, tops."
Terentius grunted. "It wouldn't be so bad if I could shoot some of them myself. Instead here we are, sittin' on our asses. Even with those new ships they just got they can't do anything to us."
"Yeah. It's what, three new ships out there, plus the original eight?"
"Yep," affirmed the human. "New ones are larger. Could be troop transports."
"They even done anything since they got here?" asked another human, this one wearing the armor of a relatively minor mercenary band. Most of the Blue Suns that were usually contracted to fill the positions that Terentius and his comrades were currently occupying were either dead, killed by the Cerberus invaders, or slowly and steadily pushing the white-clad troopers of the station.
"Nope," said the first human. "Scans are showing them holding position just outside range of our anti-ship batteries. Probably thought the initial batch silenced them and are trying to figure out what the hell to do now."
"Instead they get to watch us kill all the bastards that are already on the station," Terentius chuckled, looking up as he did. "Sucks to be them."
"Shut up," grumbled a Batarian from behind them. "Those Cerberus ships seem to be drifting closer. Eyes on the instruments."
Terentius grumbled quietly as his vision drifted downward, numbers flashing before his eyes. Spirits, he thought as he stifled a yawn, mandibles flexing minutely as he fought to keep his muscles under control. No wonder the other Blue Suns had so eagerly volunteered to be thrown directly into the grueling firefights that engulfed entire districts of the station. He and his compatriots had only been at this for the past few days, and already he felt like throwing himself off a ledge and into the depths of Omega.
There was a momentary glint of light in the corner of his eye, emitting from the bridge of one of the newly-arrived Cerberus ships. Whipping his head upwards, the light was gone long before he finished the movement.
"What?" he asked, befuddled and slightly dizzy. He blinked, wondering where the lightheadedness had suddenly come from, before writing it off as a consequence of his sudden movement.
"Huh?" asked the human beside him, clearly puzzled by Terentius' exclamation.
"I thought…" he trailed off, before shaking his head slightly. "Strange, I could have sworn that I saw something."
The human chuckled slightly. "You should get more rest man, not chase Asari tail all night long. Might do your sanity some good."
"Fuck you," Terentius grumbled before declining his head to look back at his holo-console, which began fluctuating wildly.
"Hey, is anyone else's…" the words died in his mouth, question forgotten as his eyes beheld a field of wreckage where the dozens of various types of warships that Aria had scraped together to deny Cerberus local space superiority had floated serenely only moments ago. Beyond the void-sealed plasti-steel that made up the viewport, the Cerberus fleet loomed, impossibly close, moving further and further towards the station.
"Spirits," he breathed, before turning wildly towards the direction where the command controls for the anti-ship batteries sat, nearly falling out of his chair and on to the floor in his haste. Suddenly he found his movement arrested by a pair of hands on his arm and chest.
"Terentius?" the human wearing the colors of the mercenary group he could not be bothered to remember asked. "What the hell're you doin'?""
As Terentius gazed into the human's eyes, he came to the horrifying conclusion that the man holding him back was a part of Cerberus, whether he realized it or not. Everyone on the station had heard of what had happened on the Citadel, and the vast amount of damage caused by their sleeper agents. Brainwashed humans had risen up, sabotaging crucial aspects of the Citadel and delaying response times by a degree that had nearly proven fatal.
Terentius did not know why Cerberus had held back on activating their agents on Omega for so long, despite sending so many of their men to the slaughter unsupported. Perhaps the arrival of the new ships was the signal for the real invasion to begin. In the end, it did not matter. If he failed to do anything now, the station's void defenses would fall, and with them, the station itself.
There was one terrible moment of clarity, and he realized that he knew. He knew what he had to do if Omega were to be saved.
Reaching down, he yanked the Carnifex pistol from where it had lain mag-locked on his thigh and leveled it directly at the human's face. Before the man's eyes could finish widening in shock, he squeezed the trigger.
The resulting discharge was deafening, amplified as it was by the enclosed space of the command center. Blood and gray matter erupted from the man's skull, painting a macabre fresco on his holo-console. The other mercenaries in the room rapidly shot to their feet, even as Terentius moved his pistol towards them.
"What the fu-" was all the human wearing Blue Suns armor was able to say before Terentius ended his life with a pair of mass accelerator rounds to the heart. The Turian smiled grimly as he watched his erstwhile comrade collapse. He never had liked traitors.
A quick, staccato burst of fire sounded from behind him, his shield generator absorbing some of the shots before failing, the rounds chewing through his armor and piercing flesh beneath. He bit back a shriek of pain and whirled, turning in time to empty the rest of his clip into the Batarian, who was desperately reaching for a knife after his submachine gun jammed. The four-eyed mercenary died, gurgling blood as he futilely tried to throw his knife at Terentius.
Terentius gasped for breath, whimpering at the bite of pain that erupted from the motion. Judging by the location of the pain and the amount of blood he was losing, he knew he did not have long. He was confused as to why the Batarian had shot him, but he supposed that in the other mercenary's eyes, he was the one who had attacked unprovoked. The realization, however, did nothing to stem the flow of blue blood that leaked between his talons and dripped onto the floor.
Dragging himself over to the firing console, each step a flare of agony, he quickly entered the calculations and trajectories required for the anti-ship batteries to fire. The Cerberus ships were so close now that he could probably just throw a rock at them and not miss. Beneath him, the anti-ship guns responded, turrets traversing as they acquired their targets and opened fire with brutal effect. Ship after Cerberus ship exploded, their hulls crumpling beneath the massive shells as their kinetic barriers failed. Some tried to flee, but could not escape the kill zone in time. Soon, all the ships were reduced to nothing more than cosmic dust.
Terentius smiled weakly, knowing that he had done it. Omega would be safe because of his sacrifice. As his vision dimmed, he blinked once last time.
When he opened his eyes a half-second later, he saw the Cerberus ships off in the distance, still intact, while Omega's anti-ship batteries fired one final time, turning the last of the station's defense fleet into a blooming fireball of destruction. His eyes widened, horrified at the sight, but before he could react, darkness consumed him, and his corpse fell to the floor, deaf to the cruel laughter of Fate.
"It's done," said the Prophet as Omega's anti-ship guns fell quiet once more. He stepped over the lifeless husk of a slave as he moved from his position towards the ship's communication chief. "Inform the Blood Leader that he is free to land his rabble on the station as he please," he ordered as he loomed over the lesser man.
"Yes, great one."
The Prophet glanced around the bridge as the communication chief began speaking, before setting his eyes on Caldeus. "And get these bodies out of here."
The shuttle creaked and moaned as its pilot raced it towards the docking bay. From where he sat, Blood Leader Carsath looked around at the faces of those that accompanied him, rank and file Cerberus troopers eager to prove themselves in the crucible of war. Idly, he ran his thumb down the length of the monomolecular blade that the Illusive Man had gifted him before his departure for this operation, thoughts on the upcoming battle. Most likely, he would die, and so would all those that sat in the shuttle's cabin with him, but it mattered not. Khorne, the mighty god of blood, skulls, and honorable battle, was watching them today. If their life essence was the blood that stained the ground rather than their enemy's, then all that mattered was that they died honorably, having given their all in glorious battle.
One man stared back at him, matching Carsath's gaze with his own. The Blood Leader could see the kill-lust rising in the other man's eyes, becoming an almost irresistible urge. The trooper's breaths came faster and faster, and his hands twitched towards the combat knife that lay strapped at his side. If he let this continue you on for a few more moments, Carsath knew that blood would be spilled before they had even set eyes on their enemies.
"Enough," Carsath said sternly, pointing his blade at the other man. The tip extended across the distance that separated them and caressed the trooper's neck, drawing a thin line of blood where it rested. "If you so much as think about turning your weapon upon us, then I shall kill you myself. Unless you believe that you can take my skull by yourself?"
Slowly, reluctantly, the other man backed downwards, glaring hatefully as he did. Carsath ignored him, drawing his blade back to his lap. The sight of the other man's blood gracing the tip of the weapon made him smile tightly, thinking back to the duels to the deaths that he had won back on Cronos Station. Each participant had been eager for the right to be this operation's Blood Leader, as the Illusive Man had dubbed the chief warrior amongst the followers of Karnath. With each battle he had fought, he had anointed his blade with the vitae of his opponents, honoring the Blood God with their skulls, before finally he had knelt, the Illusive Man standing above him as he named him Blood Leader.
Now they were only moments from landing on Omega, in one of the station's many docking bays. Once aboard, they would proceed to slaughter any defenders who stood in their way, wreaking havoc upon the morale of the various mercenary bands. Beyond that, Carsath could not care. Let the Illusive Man have his schemes, so long as there was battle and blood.
"Thirty seconds," came the voice of the pilot over the shuttle's intercom, and Carsath nodded at his fellows, sheathing his sword as he stood up. The rest followed suit and lined up behind him, each one gripping their blades in eager anticipation.
"Slay any who stand against you," he snarled through his helmet, eyes never leaving the slab of metal that composed the shuttle door. "But do not kill any civilians. Their skulls will-"
"Ten seconds."
"-bring no honor to Khorne, and only shame upon yourselves. Let us baptize this galaxy in a torrent of blood that will wash away any who would think to stand against us!"
"Go!"
The door of the shuttle sprung open, and Carsath leapt out, booted feet finding purchase upon deck plates a moment later. The rest of the troopers poured out behind him, and the shuttle turned and left, returning to the ship that had brought them to Omega. There were still hundreds of warriors waiting to be ferried to the station, eager for their chance at glory.
Around them, a dozen other shuttles were disgorging their own passengers, and the wave of humanity charged forwards, towards the hunched forms of the station's defenders that were even now opening fire upon them.
"Blood for the Blood God!" bellowed Carsath as he plowed forward, heedless of the bodies crashing to the ground around him. Those who died now were weak, and neither he nor Khorne had any patience for the weak.
"Skulls for the skull throne!" roared the other Khornates in response. By now, the fastest amongst the Cerberus troopers were beginning to crash into the positions occupied by the defenders, and the screams and noises associated with close combat began to erupt all over the docking bay. The man in front of him grunted, staggering as his kinetic barriers flared, distinctive yellow light coming to life as they deflected a heavy shot from a Krogan's oversized rifle.
A veil of red descended over Carsath's eyes at the sight. Armor was one thing, but to him, kinetic barriers were tools of the weak. Either you were strong enough to reach your foe and kill him with your own hands, or were weak and had your skull claimed by Khorne. "Coward!" he screamed, spittle spraying the interior of his helmet as he overtook the man and decapitated him in one backhanded strike. "Do not think you can deny the Blood God your lifeblood so easily, scum!"
The Blood Leader jumped over the tumbling body, eyes set on the form of the hulking Krogan, who even now was putting down his massive gun and picking up an equally large hammer.
"Now here's a human that knows how to fight!" laughed the alien as Carsath reached him, swinging the hammer in a lazy blow that the Blood Leader easily sidestepped. "Have to admit, you've got a serious quad if you think you can take me with that tiny piece of metal!"
Carsath lashed outwards, sword tearing through the flesh on the Krogan's arm, only for the regenerative properties of the massive alien's physiology to close the wound moments later.
"Gonna have to try harder than that, human," said the Krogan with a toothy sneer. Carsath stabbed forward, narrowly missing one of the alien's eyes. The sneer disappeared as fast as it had arrived, fury welling up on the Krogan's visage.
The Krogan's hammer came down once more, the bulky xeno no doubt hoping to crush Carsath in one blow. Unfortunately for the Krogan, Carsath threw himself to the side at the last moment, and the deck plates that made up the floor of the hangar were hardly the sturdiest construction to be found in the galaxy. As a result, the hammer tore through them effortlessly, as if they were made from wet paper. The alien tried to tear the weapon free, but quickly found that the torn and twisted metal plating had wedged itself around the hammer's head. Abandoning his struggle, he forced Carsath back with a vicious headbutt.
The Blood Leader's helmet splintered under the impact, and he tore it free with a snarl. Blood dribbled down his chest from his broken nose, and he flung himself forward with reckless abandonment, determined to force the hulking xeno onto the back foot. For his troubles he was sent flying, launched backwards by a backhanded strike that moved far faster than he had anticipated.
"You fought well, for a human," the Krogan conceded as he lumbered over to Carsath's prone form. "Too bad you were more bark than bite though." With that, the alien raised one massive foot, and brought it downwards towards his head.
Carsath let it descend until the last moment, whereupon he rolled out of the way and jumped back up to his feet. "You think me so weak?" he growled as he leapt up onto the back of the confused Krogan before the other warrior realized fully what had just happened. "You think you can claim my skull so easily? I am the favored of Khorne, xeno! It is you who will die today!"
Having reached the apex of the Krogan's hump, he wrapped his arms around the alien's forehead and groped around, hands questing for a moment until his thumbs found purchase in the Krogan's eye sockets. Quickly applying pressure, Carsath was rewarded with painfully loud screams as his thumbs pressed harder and harder on the alien's eyes. The Krogan roared in agony, grasping Carsath's arms as he tried to throw him off, but the Blood Leader merely smiled grimly and held on tighter. Finally, the fleshy orbs ruptured, streams of orange pouring down the alien's face as the Krogan flailed about, blind.
Leaping down, Carsath drew his blade and plunged it into the Krogan's open maw, the monomolecular edge tearing through soft flesh and piercing the creature's brain. He quickly withdrew the weapon in a spray of gore as the Krogan's form collapsed to the ground, finally and truly dead.
Carsath could feel the eyes of his followers upon him as he reached down, grasping the bony crest that adorned the dead alien's head. With a grunt of effort, accompanied by the grotesque sound of tendons and flesh tearing apart, he ripped it free and held it aloft, bellowing his victory to all that could hear. In response, those warriors that still lived screamed back, yelling their devotion and praise to Khorne, while several lifted trophies of their own, taken from the bodies of the fallen defenders.
Satisfied, the Blood Leader dropped the crest and looked around. Less than half of the first wave still lived, but more were being deposited onto the station by the minute. "Forward!" he howled, lifting his weapon, still stained orange by the Krogan's blood, "Forward! To glorious battle! Slay all in the name of the Blood God! Blood and skulls!"
"Blood and skulls!" they echoed him, those that did not have trophies raising their weapons instead.
With that, he and the other warriors charged out of the hangar, each man seeking his glory in the fury of battle, as more and more Cerberus soldiers landed onto the station. Today, Carsath thought as he felled a pair of mercenaries as they tried to flee, the Blood God would be brought great honor.
Today, Carsath thought, Omega would fall.
A/N: With how fast the inspiration for this chapter came, I'm starting to wonder if I should have made the Iron Sentinels a Chaos warband and been done with it. There's just something about Chaos that's just really fun to write.
For those followers of the Grandfather and the devotees of the Dark Prince out there, have no fear, your time to shine will come next chapter.
Finally, remember kids, a review a day keeps the heresy away. Let me know how I'm doing, whether you like where this is going, or if the story just needs to be consigned to Exterminatus.