Last Bastion, Kahje

Day 1, 1855

As the world blurred back into vision, with a sense of icy cold and grim foreboding, Irving Wolfe couldn't help but expect the ferryman to appear with a welcoming hand and a cold embrace.

Charon was nowhere to be found, however. With every passing moment, the general feeling of explosion in his head grew worse, the cold in his nerves more fervent, the noise around him more deafening. There was solid ground beneath him, he noted, bare, battered arms scraping across it. The warm tides of Kahje were lapping over his legs, not so warm as sunset approached, and his eyes were burning, still bleary and waterlogged.

He propped himself up on one elbow, with a pained grunt, and took in what he could of his surroundings. The solid ground was a broken road, he noted, sloping away into the water, and he had washed up upon it by luck alone. Rifle gone. Sidearm on his hip, one mag. Conditions… falling temperature and fading light as the sun dipped low, the towers around him casting shadows over the surrounding area.

With a growl of pain - his ribs were numb and aching, maybe broken - he tipped himself onto his side, glancing around at the rooftops. Not a jot of movement, until his eyes flickered back towards the administrator's office:

Skree!

He groaned, as a dark, leather-winged figure tore its way clumsily out of the hole in the third storey - a large chasm which hindsight would tell him he had fallen from. Dead eyes cut through the evening, scouring the streets below as the hulking creature perched on the edge once more, talons gripping the window frame tightly and scattering shards of debris into the sea below…

With a horrible howl, the eyes settled on the battered figure on the road below. Without waiting to see the result, Irving levered himself to his feet - ignoring the jolt of pain in his ribs that resulted - and set off at a loping run. It was a difficult effort, and the first few steps sent him stumbling as the water inside his suit sloshed sideways. His legs were numb from the cold, but he kept them moving, one in front of the other, heading for the crossroads a little way up the road. To go left, or right, then?

Boom! The right side of the road exploded crimson, and a dark shadow soared overhead as he limped off to the left, head still spinning. He could barely hear the echo of the shot, or the rippling of the floodwaters, or the sound of masonry crumbling away from the towers on either side.

Irving almost tumbled as he rounded the corner to the left, the tide in his armour swinging to one side. He staggered, kept his footing, and stumbled onwards…

Oh, shit.

Up ahead, the bombed-out road came to a hard stop, a murky tide lapping up over the shattered edge of the road. He glanced back, checking the other side of the crossroads-

And however beautiful and intact that stretch of road may have been, there was a dark figure hovering between him and it. Damn.

As the Harvester thudded down, in the middle of the road, the marine swung around, off-balance, one hand shooting to his hip. He yanked his pistol free of his belt, flicked off the safety, raised it to fire, crack crack-

Boom! The air flashed scarlet, a wave of heat and pressure slamming into his chest and taking him off his feet. He hung weightless for a moment, tumbled legs over head… and then plunged into the water for what felt like the hundredth time that day. More ice-cold water spilled in through his collar, replacing that which had warmed so slightly with a fresh wave of chills, and his lungs filled in a single, explosive rush. He hacked and coughed, bucked his shoulders, opened his eyes despite the burning to cast around…

There was scarlet light over his shoulder. He twisted, kicked out, struggled upwards despite the weight of his armour, the burning in his lungs, the vague darkness creeping into the corners of his vision. He choked on another flood, descended a foot or so in the meantime, then kicked out again, aiming for the road above. Half a dozen feet. Five. Four. Three. Two.

He swung up one arm - the other still clutching his pistol, whatever fucking good that did - and his fingers clawed at the wet steel of the road. He slipped, dropped again, kicked and rose, threw his arm out of the water until he managed to plant his forearm on the roadway, haul himself up…

"Ngggh…"

He tossed his pistol onto the road with a clatter, threw both arms over the edge of the road, and kept his body weight up as he choked and spluttered. It was a disconcerting sight to see water spilling out of his own lungs - not rising with each cough and choke, but literally spilling out like a tap. With another growl of pain and weariness, the marine hauled his upper half up onto the road, legs dangling, and let it fall in a torrent, pouring out between his jaws.

Skree!

Irving's head rose, leadenly, to see the Harvester leering back victoriously. It flapped once, kicked off the ground, and rose into the air, still screeching. The long neck swung down, half a dozen eyes glaring at him. A cold wind whistled down the road, either from the sky or the Harvester's wings, and it chilled the sodden marine to his bones.

The Harvester, it seemed, was in no hurry. It hovered lazily before him, watching on as Irving pulled one knee out of the water, got it up to the road on the third attempt, and levered himself out of the water, flat on his belly on the highway. With another splutter and another belch of water, he reached out one leaden hand and found his pistol. It hovered up in a shaky hand, aim centred over the creature's head as he rolled onto his side.

Skree…

He coughed, tumbled onto his front, then pushed himself back up, one arm propping him up as the other clenched tightly on the pistol grip. The cold wind had settled now, his very bones freezing as finally, he tightened his finger on the trigger, crack-

Whump!

The Harvester screamed at the shot and whipped around, head snapping to the side with a grisly crunch. Irving froze, finger pausing on the trigger, nonplussed by the result. Had he…?

Nope. Far too slow in his groggy state, he noticed the blue fire burning behind the creature's jaw.

Whump, whump, whump… three more shots came arcing, two from the left and one from the right, all up high. The monster's body lurched with the first two, then bucked right as the third found it's wing, burning a livid, azure blue. Lithe figures appeared on the rooftops, in the corners of his vision, and his heart jumped slightly.

"The wings!" a deep voice barked. It was the nearest figure on the roof, a long black coat whipping behind him. "Go for the wings!"

Wham! A large singularity smashed in from the left, launched by a pale-skinned figure, and the Harvester wheeled right, slamming into the buildings there and screeching. It reared up, and quite suddenly the air was thick with blue light, a biotic barrage swirling through the air, half a dozen shots or more tearing at those leathery wings…

Irving fired a quick crack crack, two shots bouncing off the Harvester's hide, but a moment later his pistol dropped out of his hands as he rolled onto all fours, another bout of coughing taking a vice-like grip of his chest. He wretched and spluttered more ice-water, eyes tearing up. By the time he looked up again, wiping his eyes with sodden hands, the Harvester was crashing to the ground, wings burning with blue fire.

"Siha!" the commanding voice yelled, again. The man it belonged to was already making for the edge of the rooftop, in search of a way down. The figure at his side stepped forwards, wreathed in fire, and paused right on the edge, balanced precariously.

Then, Saffiya struck downwards, a great bloom of biotic energy rippling around the Harvester's head and neck and chest. Off to the left, Ekris stepped forward, one arm glowing as he joined the effort. One figure at his side was watching on meekly, the other descending. Irving's eyes just flickered back to the Harvester. It staggered upright with a baleful moan, hide burning blue.

And quite suddenly, with a tug of the asari's arm, it exploded. A cobalt-blue flash lit up the world, and Irving tumbled onto his side, shielding his eyes. The Harvester gave a screech, a torrent of cinders and sparks rose into the sky, and when the dancing light faded, it was simply… gone, just a few lingering ashes left to mourn it as they fell.

The world went very quiet, and Irving could hear his own shallow breathing in his skull as he rolled back onto all fours, abandoning his gun. Footsteps and far-off cries were echoing down the road, and as he rose shakily to his feet, glancing right, he saw a slim figure dropping. With a grunt and a bowed head, Mac'Tir hit the ground, crouching low for a moment and holding his pose there, before straightening up. He cracked his neck and pulled his collar taut, coat rippling slightly behind him as he set off towards the chief-

But someone beat him to it. Out of the corner of his eye, Irving saw a flash of movement, not strolling but running in from the left, and a moment later she reached him.

"You stupid bastard!" Sarah panted, before flinging her arms around his neck and pulling him into the tightest hug she could manage.

"Ma'am…" was about all he could manage to mumble, putting one leaden arm around her back. She wasn't listening, anyway, just murmuring:

"You stupid, stupid son of a… Christ, don't you ever… don't you ever do that again, okay?"

The rest of the squad was descending from the rooftops now, and somewhere off to the left, a small blue shape was hovering in, engines stirring the water and kicking up dust. Shivering, head bowed into Sarah's shoulder, Irving noticed none of it. To him, the world had gone very quiet indeed…