PHOENIX RESURGENT
A Mass Effect Story by Vyrexuviel
Disclaimer: The author of this story does not, in any way, profit from the story and all creative rights to the characters belong to their original creator(s).
She drifted on a sea of memories. Sometimes that sea was calm, as smooth and placid as a pane of glass, and she was left devoid of doubt. Sometimes that sea was rough, crashing waves and mountains smashing into valleys, mixing and churning until she couldn't be certain who she was, let alone where she was. She saw/heard/sensed another wave mounting, towering over her, and she braced herself as well as she could for the impact.
(Anvektoruus-Vejsuuran.) That was my name. -His- name. Me. Not me. Memories mixed, mingled, became entangled in the morass of slow-moving synapses.
(Anvek!)
He was born. He grew. His mother was cold, his father distant. He never could please her, no matter how good he tried to be.
His tutors were harsher. Daddy didn't listen when he told him about being scolded. Mother told him not to whine. Math was interesting. Tutors were nice if you did well. School was scary at first. Other kids were funny.
Visit from the Kuuros-Ahkt. Watching the demonstration. Talking to mother about it. Daddy didn't care. Message in the morning, 'Come.' Mother colder than ever, 'what did you do?!'
Kuuros-Ahkt want -ME-! Him! ME! Both, or neither? Mother disapproving, father suddenly -here-, watching with bright eyes. Loud talking, 'go to your room!'
Mother's kisses, Father's words. 'Don't wanna go!' Father, talking to him, 'You have made me proud, my son.' Temple of Kuuros, living above the clouds.
Years of training. Torture, and trying to break him. Break, or mold? She screams and fires her captured gun at those that slaughtered her parents. He meditates with five others, learning to center his mind. Physical pain does not touch him, he knows it's measure.
The central chamber of the Temple. The racks of weapons, from tiny needles to huge projectile weapons. 'choose your destiny.' He spends many hours meditating, before he finds the weapon he somehow knew would be his.
Blood, guts, and gore. The stench of carbonized flesh. They never told him it would be this bad. He kneels and struggles to keep his last meal down. His right eye narrowly escaped being skewered, and he still hasn't removed the bandage over it. Meditation. It helps, but nothing stops the nightmares.
Visit from Mother. She seems so small. Father. Pretty words for a horrid thing. His master, soothing. He must have known, why didn't he tell him? Vomiting her guts out after finally breaking down and telling the councilor what it felt like to tear a batarian's throat open with her bare hands.
Cold, they call him. He would say centered. Cold fire, essence of motion, centered mind, centered balance, centered will, piercing all barriers. A force of nature on the battlefield, nothing that the mighty fleets can equal. Years and decades spent in war, boiling away the volatiles, leaving him pure. Skyllian Blitz, plugging the breach. Fifty seven hours of blood and thunder. Loosing her men one by one. Holding the line no matter the cost.
Politicians. Just one step above slime. Words, words, words and more words, dancing with words around the central truths. Awards, accolades, commendations, honors and ceremony. Stepping down to a life of contemplation. No more battles. No more lives. Enough blood on his hands. Painful suit, Anderson's brief address. 'thank god that's over.' It's only begun.
Supplicant, asking for news. Young, but self posessed. Eyes the purest gold. His heart beats faster for the first time in years. (Sekuuvnusraht.)
Firstborn. First in many decades that a Kuuros-Ahkt sired a child. 'born to greatness' some said. Others disapproving. Happiness for the first time in his life. He has his soul's desire. Liara's touch in the dark of her quarters.
Death and darkness, fire and rage. 'They have taken the light of my life, now they shall feel the wrath of the Kuuros!' Murder and mayhem, damnation and despair. The Kurros Master goes to war.
Discommendation, cast out of the order. Dishonored, damned, and discarded. Life goes on, but he finds no joy. Mother tries to comfort him, he doesn't reply to her notes. He retreats to (Kehk Almass / Feros), to fast and meditate on life and death.
Starvation is wearisome. Life is a burden. Death's door becons. Alchera!
"It's time, Ms Thundress."
She grins. As the premier performer of the troupe, she is the last to enter the stage, the last act, the final 'bang'. She finishes donning her costume, the glitter hiding the high-capacity capacitors and the Faraday cage underneath. The crowd s roaring is audible even back here in her dressing room. The sense of excitement makes her pulse and breathing quicken. She slips from her room and through the backstage corridors to the hidden elevator to the stage. She waits, listening to the music, waiting for her cue. Her hearts hammer in her chest. It never gets old. The sense of exhilaration as she hears the crowd, the way the performance is amping them up. There is no feeling quite like it, this sense of power. She and her troupe have brought this into being, a masterpiece of choreography, electrical engineering, physical skill, and rhythm. Her band's nearing their peak, she lifts her left fist above her and nods to the operator.
As the music swells, she triggers her bodycomp. A bolt of electricity, modulated to the precise frequencies of the music, snaps through the open elevator shaft to the receptor hidden at the top of the stage. The entire dance stage area is electrified, allowing her to recharge while she dances. With a twist, the operator sends her up the lift-tube to the stage, emerging as the crowd's thunder drowns out even her own. No other experience compares. The hearts and minds of thousands are all centered on -her-. Her smile is mostly hidden by her mask, but her ecstatic joy can be told from the way she gyrates, spins, flips and skitters over the dance floor, her body sparking and arcing to nearby receptors, making music with her steps as the band grows quieter, a backbeat to -her- music. This act of creation can never be duplicated, that is the joy of performance art. Each set is unique, each dance unplanned, each crowd its own beast, to be soothed by the music of her art, to be roused by her thunder, to be brought to climax with her touch. She and she alone commands this voice, to shock and awe, to bring to a higher level of being, transcendent through her art.
She -lives- for this thrill.
Shepard's eyes snapped open, and she gave a soft groan. She never felt quite this tired in her whole life, not even after that incident on Ellysium. Fifty-six hours fighting a guerilla war to tie up the batarian bastards and keep the civilians safe. Longest three days of her life. Mordin was there in an instant, scanning her, and that was when she realizes she was just wearing a sheet. She gripped it instinctively and gave the Salarian a glare.
"Whose idea was it to remove my armor?"
"Geth. Concurred. Easier to scan." She rolled her eyes at his laconic phraseology. She struggled to sit up, twisting to let her legs hang off the bench-, no this was a bunk on board the Zero Eight. Her eyes suddenly went wide as the last few minutes of her consciousness replayed themselves in fast forward. She shot to her feet, wrapping the sheet around her toga-style. "Garrus, what's happened to him?"
The salarian gripped her arm, his voice quiet and reassuring, "Healing nicely. Quick work saved his mandible. Needed local supplies from clinic, some assistance, but he will recover. Kept asking about you."
She sighed and almost went limp with relief. When she passed out, or shut down, or whatever, she hadn't known if Garrus was even still alive. Her memories were a little foggy for the last half minute or so of consciousness. Why could she recall an exploding gunship engine so clearly? Or feel such satisfaction at the image?
"How is he, doc?" At his insistent gesture, she sat again on the bunk.
"Resting, at the moment. Quarian and Geth saved his life."
Something about that statement twisted something in Shepard's gut. Uneasily, she asked, "What was I doing then?"
"Saving theirs."
That clicked something, and the last thirty seconds finally snapped into focus. Her eyes widened once more, and she dropped her gaze to her upturned palms.
"My god, what did I do..."
Mordin didn't answer immediately, still running his omnitool over her. After one last sweep, he checks and nods slightly. "Neural readings back in normal zone. Unsure about physiology, will require further study. Quite fascinating, electrocrystal deposits in human-normal configuration, interactions unknown. Will require years of research."
Shepard grinned slightly. "Glad to know at least one person's interested in me for -me-, not for what I can do for them this week."
Just then, the door slid open, and Legion stepped through. It glanced from Mordin to Shepard, nodding it's flashlight, and arched it's eye plates slightly before moving back through the door. Shepard's own eyebrow was raised at the Geth's antics when Tali burst through the door. The smaller quarian was on Shepard like fur on a cat, squealing happily and babbling a mile a minute.
"Woah there! Slow down, I don't speak Khelish, Tali."
The quarian slid from Shepard, standing up and straightening her encounter suit, "Don't you -dare- scare me like that again, Shepard! I thought for a while there that we had lost both you and Garrus..."
That killed Shepard's mirth at the young quarian's ebullience, "How is Garrus, Tali?"
"See for yourself, Shepard." Her gaze snapped up to the door, where a certain turian had just stepped through the door. "Nobody would give me a mirror, how bad is it?"
Shepard could feel her cheeks stretching to the point where it actually started to hurt, grinning broadly at her old friend. She slid to her feet, Tali by her side, "Hell, Garrus, you were always ugly. Slap some face-paint on there and no one will even notice."
His mandibles flexed wide as he started to laugh, but it turned into a soft groan, "Ohhh, don't make me laugh, damnit. My face is barely holding together as it is." He still kept his mandibles flexed in a smile, though, "Some women find facial scars attractive. Mind you, most of those women are krogan..."
Shepard couldn't suppress a bark of laughter, and Tali didn't bother to try and supress hers. She reached out to grip Garrus's armored chest plate, one arm slipping around his shoulders, the other around Tali's as she brought all three old comrades into a hug. "God -damn- but it's good to see you, Garrus." She grinned at Tali's faceplate. "It'll be just like old times."
Mordin and Legion conferred shortly, slipping out with Mordin giving Tali a significant little wave. She nodded and waved back, still caught in the unexpected three-way hug. Garrus was a bit stiff about it, Turians aren't usually ones for 'hugs', but he'd been around humans, and one human in particular, to know what Shepard ment by it.
"Frankly, I'm more worried about you, Shepard. Hanging out with the Geth? Didn't we once spend nearly a year killing the damned things?"
Shepard's lips quirked slightly as she slid back from the hug, "That's why I'm glad you're here, both of you." She nodded to Tali as well. "If I'm walking into hell, I want someone I trust at my side."
Tali piped up, an amused lilt in her voice, "You realize, Shepard, this plan has us walking into hell, too."
Garrus gave another slightly pained laugh at that, "Sounds just like old times."
Shepard grinned slightly at the pair of old friends. "So, since we might be walking into the firestorm, let's see about getting proper firefighters, mmm?"
Tali turned towards her, and Garrus twitched his uninjured mandible slightly, his race's version of quirking an eyebrow, "What you have in mind now, Shepard?"
She let a conspiratorial grin slowly spread across her lips. "What do you think the Council will say if you tell them you want to bring my body back to the Citadel, Garrus..."
AN: Sooooo sorry this took so long, and my appologies for the short chapter. No, I'm -NOT- going to abandon this fic, so don't give up hope people, it'll just take a while between chapters.
I'm poking at a few ideas how to do this next bit, but I won't mind any suggestions you guys might have. *grins* Who knows, poke that review button, it might spark something!