Hello, one and all! I'm back, finally. I'm so sorry this chapter took so long to write. Unfortunately, life caught up to me and I simply had no time. I will try my utmost to get the next chapters out sooner in recompense. As for this chapter, we have what happens to Earth. I hope you all enjoy it. It went through multiple stages of what to include, which is yet another reason why this chapter took so long. I thank you all for your wonderful reviews, and hope you didn't loose interest in the story!

Brother Bov: That is quite true. Cannonly, Valoris is the Captain General as of 999.M41 and M42. Before him was a guy named Andros Launceddre. It doesn't say exactly when Launceddre died and Valoris took over; however, I just decided on Valoris because he's a known character. This story can still take place before or after the Fall of Cadia. Some later details might make it more ambiguous. Either way, I don't really care as it's set in the Mass Effect universe.

Enclave93: Yup. The full treaty will come next chapter.

Doc43Souls: I didn't know that about the Black Ships. I suppose I'll have to look farther into them. And... who said Ordo Sinister won't show up latter...?

187: It all depends on the interpretation of the character. I agree more with you, whereas, unfortunately, people like ADB (who actually writes Black Library books) tend to portray the Emperor as more of a villain. Either way, the Emperor won't be showing up here. As for the Assassins, I'm not sure yet, though I'm leaning towards 'no'. Sorry.

themadnimrod: Oh, yeah. We have plenty of Imperial factions coming in. Just you wait.

LezGo35: That's true.

BonesofSmite: Thank you! Sorry it took so long to get this chapter out.

a sanguinary guard: Didn't think of that. Some of the coming forces might throw that issue in doubt, though. It's all up to you in the end.

Guest: Thank you.

valhalan guardsman: There may or may not be direct Servants of the Throne (Custodes, Silent Sisters, Ordo Sinister) showing up later. As for the other forces: Ordo Reductor, Legio Cybernetica, Centurio Ordinatus, etc. are included in the forces of Mars. The Inquisition will be here next chapter to negotiate the treaty, and the Guard and Navy will, of course, be making appearances. There will be no Kriegers, though many people want to see them. There will be many different Guard units, so if you or anyone else reading this is disappointed, fear not. There's lots of good Guard stuff coming. As for the Assassinorum and Sisters, that remains to be decided. I'm not sure yet.

Colossus Bridger: Thank you. The Emperor using telepathy is a pretty good idea.

blyatman123: The Custodes might show up later.

OscuroSignore-51: Thank you! That is true: nobody likes xenos. (Except Shepard and Guilliman ;)). We will be seeing much of the Guard.

powerhelder: It's going to be great.

Guest: That's true. Makes sense.

PaladinSans: That's not a bad idea. Not sure of the Custodes are coming, but if they are, it'll be later on.

RememberReach312: Oh, boy. That would be very interesting...

Chronus1326: Thank you!

Guest: Of course. Everyone's either a Talimancer or not long for this world. As for the ships, I'm not one who gets into the technical side of things. Sorry about that.

Ghostly: That's kinda what Shepard's trying to do here.

Guest: Oh, no!

fahriuchiha: Thank you for reading!

vernacularthecynic: The Death Korps will not be showing up, unfortunately. Though they are my absolute favorite 40k faction, I just didn't feel they would be good with this story. Sorry to disapoint. However, we will be having many, many more Imperial Guard units showing up. I'm sure you'll like them just fine. Thank you for reading!

Firetrail: Good point.

oOo

Last Ride

"This will be a fight against overwhelming odds from which survival cannot be expected. We will do what damage we can." -Ernest E. Evans, captain of the USS Johnston during the Battle off Samar

"Fell deeds awake. Now for wrath, now for ruin, and the red dawn!" -Theoden, The Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers

"Cannon to the right of them,

Cannon to the left of them,

Cannon in front of them

Volleyed and thundered;

Stormed at with shot and shell,

Boldly they rode and well,

Into the jaws of Death,

Into the mouth of hell,

Rode the six hundred." -Charge of the Light Brigade, Alfred, Lord Tennyson

oOo

Ankara, Turkey

The facility just outside of Ankara was styled in the stereotypical Alliance style. Huge square buildings, sleek and grey, rose up in the middle of the desert. In the distance, the urban sprawl of Ankara could be seen on the horizon. One of oldest cities in the world, it nevertheless had been upgraded from its ancient form; at least its heart and suburbs. Many of the oldest buildings remained as historical artifacts, while the new world provided by the Systems Alliance grew around them. It was a sad truth that many places on Earth that did not share in the major Alliance centers still remained poor and retained their old 20th century technology. Ankara was a sprawling mixture of the old, new, and incredibly ancient.

However, the heart of the city had little to do with the Alliance facility on its outskirts. This place did not share the sleek elegance of the business or administrative buildings of Turkey's capital. This was no place of historic value; indeed, it was not built on city premises. No highways or transportation systems went by it. That was the point. This was a secure Alliance facility. No one was supposed to get close. The few who did were stopped by armed Alliance Marines wearing full body armor and asked politely but firmly to turn around.

Behind the high walls and seemingly normal military base exterior, large square buildings, more offices than anything else dotted the compound. There were the soldiers' barracks, of course, and the armories and storage for the Marines, but the vast majority of buildings here seemed to be nothing more than typical company buildings.

This base in the middle of the desert, an isolated, lonely compound seemingly passed by on the modern wonders of the city nearby, concealed a much darker secret. The Marines and weapons here were not to guard some intelligence facility or weapon testing site. They were not overlooking secret projects or communications arrays. No. They were guarding people.

The facility outside Ankara, known simply as "Ustura", Turkish for "razor", was a prison. Not just any ordinary prison. It was technically a psychiatric hospital above all other things, but most of the personnel at Ustura darkly referred to it as a jail for its patients, and with good reason. The individuals kept here were so demented or incredibly dangerous that they would stay here, possibly for eternity. This place was the top secure area for keeping the System Alliance's most mentally distrubed patients. To even come here, one had to not only be quite insane, but draw the interest of humanity's government as well.

Help was provided. This was, after all, the purpose of this place. The Alliance was looking for cures; they didn't want to keep people here forever. But, by necessity, most of the patients here were beyond curing by normal psychiatric science.

There was a man who had touched a Prothean artifact and subsequently gone utterly berserk. A woman whose mind-meld with an Asari had gone horrifically wrong (though the Asari didn't know this) and kept seeing strange visions and experiencing bizarre feelings. A biotic whose amp had deteriorated and led to mental devolvement. Someone who had been exposed to far too much element zero but survived. The facility was made up of strange cases such as this. Individuals whose unique experiences were almost unheard of.

However, by far the strangest, and most utterly terrifying of the prisoners, was the man on Level Grey.

Level Grey was the sub-basement. The basement's basement. It was the deepest and by far most secure containment area in Ustura. To get out of Level Grey, one had to pass through eight separate security checkpoints, all manned by armed and armored Alliance Marines, simply to reach the surface. Even if someone was to mount a full-scale assault on Ustura, Level Grey would remain secure.

There was only one inmate on Level Grey. His name was Kai Leng. Despite Leng not being a biotic, like multiple other inmates were, his security was far more than any of the other prisoners. It was not due to his skill, though Leng was a cybernetically-enhanced former N7.

No, Kai Leng was on Level Grey due to the sheer disturbing factor of his case. It was for his protection as much as it was for the guards and all around him. No one stayed longer than they had to on Level Grey, and for good reason.

Once upon a time, Kai Leng had been an N7 operative, and a very good one at that. However, a deep hatred of aliens and burning hunger for power had eventually lengthened the distance between Leng and the Systems Alliance. Disgusted with what he saw as weakness and inefficiency, Leng left the Alliance, its petty bureaucracy, and its xenophilia. He had been subsequently approached by the Illusive Man and given a place as Cerberus's top assassin. Cybernetically upgraded by Cerberus's powerful technology and quenching his desires with alien blood, Leng quickly became the stuff of legends. Or nightmares. It really depended on one's point of view.

However, Kai Leng's prestigious career for Cerberus ended with Cerberus itself. Though no one knew what happened to him, the truth was that he'd finally met his match. Alpha Primus, the personal assistant of Belisarius Cawl, had boarded Kronos Station and ended Cerberus's reign. Along the way, Primus had met Leng. Disgusted with the man's attitudes and scorn of Cawl, Shepard, and Primus himself, the super-soldier had given Leng a terrible gift.

Now Kai Leng sat on the cold floor of his open, stark cell. An old-fashioned permanent marker rested in his hand. The psychiatrists deemed that it was good for Leng to have some sort of tool to draw or etch with: otherwise, he would scrape his fingers raw or use his own blood. Around him, the entirety of the cell was covered in scribbles. Ranting writings in miniscule font interspersed with extraordinarily detailed drawings. Everything, on every surface except the unreachable ceiling, was covered.

It looked like something out of a horror movie. The atmosphere was thick with frenzied insanity. No one liked coming down here. However, the job had to be done. Two Marine guards were stationed across from the cell at all times. Blessedly, Leng kept quiet most of the time. When he didn't… Well, that was when things got terrifying. His rants were perhaps the most disturbing things the group of hardened soldiers and psychiatric professionals ever heard.

Currently, Leng lay on his stomach, doodling like a child might. Though, his drawing was nothing like anything a child could come up with. An incredibly ornate, almost lifelike sketch spread out beneath him. An elaborately-armored man, mustached and pony-tailed with a neatly-groomed short beard, held a wickedly sharp blade forward, ready to plunge deep into his opponent's flesh. A strange lightning-bolt marking was etched into his face. The face itself wore a look of calm serenity, with quirks on the sides of the mouth, almost as if the figure found the fight he was in amusing.

Opposing the strange man was an even more bizarre and much more dark character. His gaunt and pale face was shrouded by a heavy cowl so that only the edge could be seen. His entire body was covered with heavy, yet simple armored plate. Strange pipes twisted from behind the figure's shoulders. In the hands of this dark individual was a massive scythe, crackling with unknown power and ready to hurdle down upon the first man. Next to the drawing, inscribed in Leng's neat hand, were two simple sentences.

"I should have taken on the Legion Master. I should have taken on Typhon."

In due time, the psychiatrists would come into the cell and document this drawing just as they had documented the others. On the back wall was the huge man with the halo and flaming sword. On the right wall was the duel between a long-haired, ornately-armored man with strangely demented features against the man with metal hands. There was the drawing of the man with the tattooed head that no one wanted to look at, the sketch of the angel with long hair and white wings, and the picture of the black-armored knight with Maltese crosses on his shoulders. All had stories. All were incredibly lifelike, as if Kai Leng had actually seen the people he was drawing.

Intermixed were the ramblings and writings. They detailed a history of blood and death, of titanic duels between gods and demons. Of machines, stories, and armies so fantastic as to be implausible… yet everyone who saw them couldn't help but think they were real.

No one ever looked with too much detail at Leng's cell if they could help it.

Snapping up as if waking from a dream, Leng stood abruptly. He dropped the marker on the floor, forgotten. His white ward uniform was pristine; his black hair contrasted messily above it. Turning towards the guards, his cybernetic-covered eyes stared out hauntingly.

"He is here," whispered Leng, his quiet voice echoing through the silence of Level Grey. The two Marines looked at each other, then back to Leng, then back to each other. Both wore expressions of alarm beneath their blank helmets. Oh, no. Leng was going to start talking. And on their shift, too. Why couldn't this happen to someone else?

As one of the guards approached the open cell cautiously, the other silently pressed the call button beneath the guard station's desk. If Leng started talking, they were under orders to start recording and immediately call a psychiatrist. Anything they got from his rants might be able to help the Alliance piece together what happened to the former N7 operative.

"Who is he?" asked the first guard, hand twitching towards his sidearm nervously. If Leng noticed, he gave no reaction. Instead, he turned directly towards the guard. The Marine flinched. Leng's cybernetics gave his gaze a strange, hooded look. It only made his rants creepier.

"The Vaults of Moravec must never be opened. You will swear this oath to me, Kelbor-Hal, or the union between Mars and Terra will be no more," whispered Leng, voice filled with anguish. The guard turned back to his friend and made a 'hurry up motion.' The other Marine nodded in response. The psychiatrists would be here in moments.

Turning back, the Marine actually yelped in surprise. Leng was at the clear shatter-proof glass of his cell, hands pressed against the glass, mere inches away from the Marine's face. He stared at the man with such intensity and horror that the guard wanted to run. Run straight out of Level Grey and never, ever come back. He could deal with being a deserter. He couldn't deal with this.

"You must understand," whispered Leng with feverish intensity. "You must understand that he is coming. He. Is. Coming! He is coming! The Vaults of Moravec must never be opened. You will swear this oath to me, Kelbor-Hal, or the union between Mars and Terra will be no more!"

Nearby, a door clattered open and a few psychiatrists, accompanied by a few more guards, came in at a run.

"The Vaults of Moravec must never be opened. You will swear this oath to me, Kelbor-Hal, or the union between Mars and Terra will be no more!" Leng's calls were becoming more frenzied, more feverish, more insane. The lead psychiatrist turned towards the guards.

"When did this start?" she snapped. The guard at the station shrugged.

"Just a second ago. When we called." He held out his hands hopelessly. "He was just sitting there, drawing. I don't know where this is coming from…"

"The Vaults of Moravec must never be opened. You will swear this oath to me, Kelbor-Hal, or the union between Mars and Terra will be no more!" Leng began throwing himself around the room, convulsing. The psychiatrist made a decision.

"Sedate him!" she ordered. The guards nodded, and immediately opened the cell. Leng was very disturbing and utterly insane, but never violent towards the guards. They grabbed him and attempted to force him to the floor; Leng tried to shake out of their grasp, reaching towards the lead psychiatrist.

"He is coming!" shouted Leng desperately, as if trying to impart some desperate warning. "The Vaults of Moravec must never be opened! You will swear this oath to me, Kelbor-Hal, or the union between Mars and Terra will be no more!" The psychiatrist looked at each other nervously. In a moment, a guard came with a syringe and plunged it into Leng's neck, but not before the former N7 gave one last, anguished, horrible echoing shout.

"The Vaults of Moravec must never be opened! You will swear this oath to me, Kelbor-Hal, or the union between Mars and Terra will be no more…"

oOo

Vancouver, Canada

"But you must do something!" Commander Shepard whirled around the room, a mixture of shock, rage, and agony written heavily on his face. The various Alliance technicians and officers looked down upon him. Most of their faces were unreadable. Some, a seemingly infinitesimally small number, looked at him with pity or agreement. Sadly, they were far outnumbered by those who wore expressions of scorn or derision.

The room around him was large and open. Vaguely reminiscent of the Council Chambers upon the Citadel, it was the pinnacle of modern governing chambers. This no civilian matter though; far from it. This was an emergency military tribunal.

Shepard knew quite a few of the people there. As the first human Spectre and an Alliance naval Commander, these were the individuals who dictated the policies of human void war. These were the top individuals in his chosen profession, and just like any profession, most were famous throughout.

There was Anderson, of course. The man who was to be the first human Spectre, before Saren sabotaged his training run. In the end, it mattered not. Anderson became the captain of the first Normandy, and mentor to who would be the first human Spectre. As of now, Shepard allowed himself a small smile in response to the one Anderson gave him. The older man was seated in the large room; one of the Alliance officers leading this emergency hearing.

It was too bad Anderson had not remained humanity's Councilor. After four arduous, miserable years of bickering with politicians, dealing with their inane stupidity and mindless opinions, Anderson decided he'd had enough. The cold war between the Citadel and Mechanicus, and the former's refusal to listen to either him or Shepard's good advice further solidified this decision. Anderson wanted to help out humanity as best he could. That was why he'd accepted the Council position in the first place. However, he wasn't doing any good, and having a miserable time anyway, so he resigned. Udina, humanity's former ambassador, had taken over instead.

Now Anderson was on the defense council. It was a position much better suited for his talents, though he never was a bad Councilor. Certainly, the regular people of multiple Citadel races liked him the best: he was the easiest to understand, the most honest, and the most honorable. It was simply that he was better here, and this was what he wanted. So be it.

Next to Anderson were several other naval officers on the naval defense council. Shepard knew of them. Friends and confidants to Anderson and Admiral Hackett, they were likely to support him and his theories. Already, Admiral Hastings, a black-haired woman seated three places down from Anderson, had spoken on his behalf. Hackett himself, and the representatives of the eight Alliance Fleets, all looked on from holograms. They could not attend in person, but they were here nevertheless. The fleets had been mobilized: Hackett's orders. The navy was behind him.

Unfortunately, what Shepard wanted, an evacuation of Earth, was impossible without other branches of the Alliance behind him. The navy controlled the naval vessels and void security. A full evacuation wasn't possible without governmental approval. That itself couldn't be gotten without the military presenting their plan of evacuation as a necessary step. To get the military to agree to this as a necessary step, it was required that everyone was on board with the plan.

Not many were willing to risk it. Whether they were afraid of being labeled as mindless conspiracy theorists, or afraid of being wrong and evacuation an entire planet without evidence, few wanted to actually go through with the plan.

Of course, there were two types of soldiers, thought Shepard to himself. There always had been. There were those who were actual tough-as-nails soldiers; military men through and through. Then there were those who used the military almost as a political career: individuals that only cared about power, not security. Not their people. Not their men.

Too bad there were always too many of the latter. Always had been, probably always would be. Even in that other reality, the one where the Mechanicus came from, Shepard had heard it was much the same. Too bad.

Shepard sighed to himself and neatly clasped his hands to his side. Emotion would not do here. It would only serve to make him look more unhinged, more the villain. It was so… frustrating, so very ironic. Oh, well. He would do whatever he possibly could to save his people.

"There is irrefutable proof that the Reapers have arrived in the Kite's Nest. Batarian space," began Shepard once more. It might not do any good, of course. It was like banging one's head against a wall. He knew most likely they wouldn't listen until it was far too late, but he had to try. He couldn't live with himself otherwise. "They are here, whether you like it or not."

"The Batarian government assures us that no incursions have been made upon their territory," replied a short man sitting far to the left of the chamber. He gave Shepard a smug smile. Shepard tried to hide his instinctive annoyed look. He didn't know who this man was nor what position he held, but everything about him screamed 'politician'. Though the unnamed man wore the uniform of a high-ranking naval officer, Shepard doubted he held anything close to a combat command. No, far more likely this unnamed, unknown, oh-so smug man was a crony to the politicians. Probably taking kickbacks, too. Little shit.

"What the Admiral says is true," replied another man on the naval defense council. Brenith, if Shepard remembered correctly. So far, Brenith was something of a mediator. Calm, confident, and unwilling to play favorites. Such a person could be brought around. But to who's side? "The Batarian government has made no mention of any attacks. In fact, quite the opposite. The Batarian government, when we asked, said everything in their territory was perfectly fine." Shepard rolled his eyes.

"When was the last time you heard anything from them?" he asked pointedly. The members of the defense council looked at each other.

"About… two, three days ago," responded Brenith. He frowned and leaned back, creasing the arms of his immaculate blue uniform. "Now that you mention it, Batarian space has actually gone rather quiet. Quieter than it's ever been." Shepard nodded, trying to resist a self-satisfied smile from rising to his face.

"Exactly. The Batarians are trying to save face, I'm sure. They don't want anyone else to know they're under attack, because they think it'll leave them open." He shrugged. "Unfortunately for them, now it's too late." Stepping forward, Shepard activated his omni-tool. With but a few simple commands, a full-sized holographic picture appeared in the air, projected for the entire chamber to see. Several of those watching recoiled in shock or nodded, impressed. Shepard hid a smile. Being married to a Quarian certainly had its benefits. So did knowing two extraordinarily powerful Tech-Priests on a personal level, for that matter. "These are images taken of the Reaper armada over the planet Erszbat by the Normandy." Shepard looked around the room. "You can double check; they are not fabricated or altered in any way. What you see before you is real, undeniable proof that the Reapers exist and are coming to kill us all."

"But… to evacuate Earth!" objected another officer. "We can't just do that!" She looked around for supporters. Unfortunately, they were forthcoming. Many others nodded along with this, looking back to Shepard, who tried not to sigh again.

"Listen, as you all well know, the Adeptus Mechanicus was there on the mission to Erszbat." More nods. Well, at least they weren't complete idiots. Shepard took another look at the too-smug man. At least most of them weren't complete idiots. "Fabricator General Natrius calculated that the Reapers were coming here next." A series of mutterings greeted this knowledge. The Mechanicus, locked in an arms race with the Citadel as they were, were not exceptionally popular with some in the wider galaxy at the present moment. He looked around the room, taking in the faces of each individual there in turn. "They don't want anything else. They don't want anyone else. They want us. They want Earth. And they are coming to get it. I am proposing that we don't allow that to happen."

"And how are we supposed to trust the Mechanicus?" asked yet another unknown officer. "What if they're just leading us into a trap? What if they want us to evacuate Earth for our own purposes?" Once more, Shepard resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

"This is a group of people who worships human purity and sees Earth as a bastion of holiness." He shrugged. "Don't ask me why, but they do. They don't want us to leave Earth. They want as many humans as possible to survive, because they think we are a superior race."

"Oh, yes, the people who worship human purity do so by replacing their humanity with machines. Wonderful how that works," drawled the smug man. This time, Shepard really did roll his eyes.

"Listen, I'm not a damned Mechanicus theologian. All I know is that they think humans are superior. If they have any goals beyond self-preservation, it is the preservation of humanity." Shepard crossed his arms. "Natrius has no reason to lie, and neither do I." An idea began to form. "In fact, I have yet to lie." He shrugged. "I told the truth about Saren. I told the truth about Natrius. I'm telling the truth about this. I have no reason to lie."

"While I'm sure it would be wonderful for your image as "savior of the galaxy"," the smug man actually held up air quotes around the words as if to mock Shepard. The Commander ground his teeth. Apparently this guy knew Councilor Sparatus. "We cannot just evacuate Earth. It's impossible." So saying, the man settled back and crossed his arms, content his will would be done.

"One of us will be vindicated by history. The other will be vilified, and won't be around to see it. Your choice," replied Shepard simply. There was little he could do at this point. He'd made his point, said his piece. Ultimately, they would agree to his proposal or they wouldn't. Shepard wouldn't get hung up over it. He'd dealt with enough political disappointment in his career to let it affect him.

Around him, the defense council murmured and muttered. The smug man was deep in conversation with a group of other officers. Brenith and Hastings talked with another Admiral. Anderson shot him a reassuring smile. The fleet Admirals and Hackett looked around, annoyed. They wanted to prepare their fleets, not be dragged down into some inane meeting. The entire arduous process was stopped as a junior technician came into the room at a run. She made a beeline to Brenith, Hastings, Anderson, and the fourth at the table, a man named Gara.

"Admirals!" She stopped, out of breath, then through a quick salute. The entire chamber went silent, waiting for what she had to say. For an interruption like this, it was probably dire. The Reapers, perhaps? "The Omnissiah's Blade has transferred in-system, right outside Earth's orbit. Fabricator General Natrius demands an immediate audience with the defense council." Shepard hid his grin. Arguing with with a conspiracy theorist naval Commander under your own jurisdiction (him) was a little different from arguing with the most powerful and physically terrifying head of state in the galaxy.

"Well, if Fabricator General Natrius is here then he probably has something very important to tell us." The voice of Admiral Hackett cut through the sudden rise of voices through the chamber. The rest of the fleet Admirals nodded in agreement. "Fabricator General Natrius should be-" Hackett's hologram suddenly fizzled, wavering in and out of existence. The holograms of the other fleet Admirals matched his, crackling like old-fashioned televisions. Suddenly, they winked out of existence.

"What- ?" One of the defense council members stood from her seat. "Technician!" she called. "What's going on? Can you fix this?" The technician scurried over, intent on finding the problem. Just as quickly as the other holograms had gone out, a new one appeared. The stony face of Admiral Reis, commander of Fourth Fleet, the one delegated to guard Earth, stared down at the defense council and Shepard.

"Shepard was right." His voice cut like a whip through the room. "They're here. Above Earth. They just… jumped in, like the Blade. Fourth Fleet is dying as we speak. Get out of there while you still can." So saying, the Admiral winked out of existence. The chamber instantly went silent. Shepard looked around.

"I'll be outside if you need me, doing the job you should have already done." There were no retorts. There couldn't be any replies. So saying, Shepard turned and strode out the door.

oOo

Outside was… a mess, to put it rather mildly. Outside was kind of actually the literal end of the world. Shepard watched as a Reaper let loose with its horn, heralding doom to the human race. It was taller than the largest buildings of Vancouver's skyline, more powerful than anything in the Sol system. A skyscraper fell beneath its body, like a sandcastle knocked down by an unruly child. The void-black mass continued on, uncaring, only wanting to wreck more havoc. Reaper fighter drones screamed across the sky, dueling badly-outnumbered Alliance defense fighters and shooting down shuttles with wanton abandon.

Shepard sighed to himself. Still, probably better than being inside, dealing with politicians.

Glass from a dozen buildings shattered from the sirens and weapons of the Reapers. Debris coated the ground. Throughout Vancouver's cityscape, dozens of small fires burned. High above, in upper atmosphere and low orbit, the Fourth Fleet fought a losing battle against the encroaching Reaper horde. Fiery debris trailed down from the sky: the mighty warships of humanity's fleet weren't even slowing the Reapers down.

All around was death and despair. There was nothing anyone could do against the might of the Reapers. Resistance of any sort was an impossibility. The mighty starships of humanity were dying, their lifeless bodies falling from orbit, hopeless against the power of the Reapers. Escaping shuttles, full of refugees trying to flee, were shot down without mercy and any living occupants slaughtered by arriving Reaper ground forces. There was to be no mercy. All must die and join the Reapers in glorious synthetic enlightenment.

Without warning, the sky itself parted as a massive crimson laser beam hurdled down from orbit. It directly impacted a Reaper moving through the city center, nearly slicing it in two. The stink of ozone and rent metal filled the air as the Reaper collapsed, dying. Shepard couldn't keep a massive grin off his face. A few nearby soldiers cheered. The Alliance and Citadel might not be able to fight the Reapers…

But the Mechanicus could.

Gunships, bearing the cogwheel sigil of the Mechanicus, whined past on their promethium jets. They dove past in formation, chasing away the Reaper drones from the beleaguered city. Many of them made for the spaceport in the city's center and began to land the infamous skitarii legions of the Mechanicus. The cybernetic super-soldiers may have been regarded with fear and suspicion by the Citadel races, but everyone knew they were by far the deadliest soldiers in the galaxy. The skitarii would be more than welcome in the fight for Earth.

Two much larger landers, both dark gray and extraordinarily blocky, came in slowly, escorted by Mechanicus gunships. Both bore a sigil that Shepard was intrinsically familiar with: a halved coat-of-arms, one side a cogwheel, the other side a sword running through a Geth head. Shepard had been there when Cawl had given the symbol to the group. He was good friends with its leader. The Knight House Reegar, first (and currently, only) of the Quarian Knights had arrived to back up the skitarii legions.

Joined by Anderson, who nodded at him wordlessly, Shepard set out for Vancouver's spaceport. Behind them, the defense council's headquarters building took a direct hit from a Reaper's laser. Shepard winced. He didn't like many of the defense council, but he didn't want them to die. Hopefully some had made it out. At least he still had Anderson.

"Let's move." The command was quiet, like Anderson had much on his mind, but Shepard still followed it. It was good advice. Hefting their heavy pistols, the only weapons the duo had, they started to the spaceport.

Another blast of crimson fire rained down from the heavens and blew away another Reaper. Shepard couldn't help another grin from forming. The Omnissiah's Blade was perhaps the only ship in the universe that could outgun the Reapers. It seemed Fabricator General Natrius was putting up a good fight, even as Fourth Fleet died around him.

As Anderson and Shepard moved to the spaceport, Shepard brought up his omni-tool. They had to contact the Normandy and get out of here. As much as he hated to do so, Earth must be abandoned. It was an unholdable position.

The moment Shepard opened his omni-tool, a new symbol was displayed. Instead of the normal comms channel usually found on his omni-tool, a cogwheel took over, overriding any other functions. Well, the Mechanicus never did anything by halves. Shepard noticed the same symbol on Anderson's omni-tool.

"This is Fabricator General Felis Natrius of the Adeptus Mechanicus," came the voice of Natrius over both their omni-tools. Shepard had a sneaking suspicion he was transmitting to the entirety of Vancouver. "This position cannot be held long. Make for the spaceport to evacuate while you still are able to." The message ended abruptly. Shepard and Anderson continued forward, forced to listen to the screams of the dying and the chaos of the Reaper invasion.

As they got to Vancouver's spaceport, a surprise greeted their eyes. The Normandy, its silver body gleaming in the midday sun, was hovering right above the ground on one of the terminals. Dozens of refugees streamed towards it. Nearby, throughout the massive expanse that was the spaceport, skitarii spread out, dueling incoming Reaper forces, trying to protect the civilians. From the slate-gray transports of House Reegar, two Knights stepped forward. Both were Errants, armed with massive thermal cannons and whirring reaper chainswords. Each was painted in a swirling magnificence of violet, red, and gold, their heradly shining proudly in the light of Sol.

A skitarii squad greeted Anderson and Shepard as they got to the spaceport proper. Shepard felt comfort in being allied with and under the watch of their glowing blue eyes once more. It was good to have the skitarii as allies again. For their part, the skitarii simply nodded at the two Alliance officers and hustled forward to the fight raging against Reaper ground forces at the edge of the spaceport.

Refugees, far too few, streamed past. They were headed for the Normandy and another Alliance freight docked at the spaceport. If necessary, shuttles, from both the port itself and the Omnissiah's Blade high above would take any other civilians to safety. That was the goal right now. Save as many people as possible.

Though, judging by the numbers, it was far too few. Vancouver was a large city; one of the Alliance's largest and most prosperous. This was just one city, on one continent, in one country, and the numbers coming into the spaceport weren't even a full percent of the people within Vancouver.

At least the Blade was guarding them in orbit. That was one of the few good things coming out of today. The Blade's underside lance batteries were able to protect the spaceport, blasting away any Reapers that got near. Vancouver was safe from the Reapers themselves, but not from the abominations that were their corrupted ground forces. Either way, the spaceport couldn't be held for long. They just had to get as many people out as possible and leave.

Reaching the Normandy, Shepard and Anderson were greeted by its crew. The non-combat crew were busy escorting what civilians they could inside, whereas their action-oriented counterparts stood outside, weapons at the ready, waiting for their Commander.

"Commander," greeted Kasumi as Shepard approached. Her normal cheerfulness was subdued. Noticeably, most everyone had trouble focusing on Shepard, their eyes drifting apprehensively to the destruction in the distance. All except Dimitri: he simply fidgeted in place, twirling his transonic razor around his fingers, eager for action.

"Ladies, gentlemen." Shepard nodded to his crew. "The goal is to hold this position for as long as possible to get as many innocents out as possible. Eventually, the Reapers will overwhelm the Blade in orbit, or their ground forces will overwhelm us here. Until then, we fight to protect the spaceport." He spun, looking at each of their familiar in turn. "This is not a fight we can win. We fight so that we can salvage what we can and retreat under better conditions. Don't throw your lives away needlessly." He looked around once more. "Any questions?"

"Permission… to join… the skitarii… ?" asked Dimitri, his vocalizers scratchy and bare, struggling to speak organic language. Shepard gave him an appraising look.

"Granted. Good hunting." Like a streak of lightning, Dimitri bolted off, sprinting to join his comrades, broken mind calling him to slaughter those who dare bring ruin to Holy Terra. "Anyone else?" continued Shepard. There were no further questions. Instead, Robert stepped up and tossed Shepard his hellgun.

"Your armor's right there," said the armorer, pointing to an open crate. Inside were the familiar pieces of black N7 plate.

"Thanks." Shepard nodded his appreciation. "Let's get moving."

oOo

London, U.K.

"Sir! Sir!" Trazyn the Infinite, Archaeovist of Solemnace, Curator of the Prismatic Galleries, Overlord of the Nihilakh Dynasty, and historian extraordinaire was currently being chased through the British Museum by a rather desperate security guard. By his side was Sehetef, one of Solemance's many Crypteks. Sehetef was a Plasmancer, a sub-group of Crypteks who specialized in harnessing powerful energies for both science and battle.

Sehetef did not seem particularly fond of current events. He didn't directly complain, of course, for Trazyn was an Overlord and he a servant, but Trazyn could tell he was rather annoyed at just running through the British Museum behind his lord. Sehetef had been brought along to fight, not run. That was the entire purpose of his being here.

With Reaper forces landing throughout the planet, Trazyn had teleported in for one last chance to grab humanity's artifacts before they were destroyed. Already, the Archaeovist's surrogate hosts were in other museums and archeological sites throughout Earth, taking what they could.

London was one of the major strike points for the Reaper forces, unlike several other sites where Trazyn (or his clones) had gotten in and out with little trouble. This was why he brought Sehetef. A Plasmancer was an extremely powerful addition to any necron strike force, able to burn away opponents with technological fire. Sehetef was here instead of Sannet because Trazyn didn't want to tangle with any Reaper forces for long. This was a get in, get out mission.

Which, of course, was why the guard was chasing him.

"Sir!" called out the guard desperately. Trazyn paid him no mind. Instead, he smashed through a supposedly accelerator-proof glass case and grabbed the artifact inside. The necron lord laughed to himself. The glass might have been proof against the weaponry of this universe, but it was nothing against the crushing power of necrodermis. Tucking the artifact safely inside his dimensional cloak, Trazyn sprinted to the next exhibit. Sehetef followed, casting positively incendiary glances back at the pursuing guard.

Fortunately, they had yet to run into any Reaper forces. Though, that could change in an instant. The Reapers were infesting this city and world, hellbent on destroying everything. Thus, Trazyn was forced into measures that were… undesirable. Hence the security guard.

Reaching the next exhibition, a series of smaller artifacts encased in their own small glass boxes, Trazyn shattered each one in turn and sucked them away in a tesseract labyrinth. The Lord of Solemnace sighed to himself.

"I do so despise sinking to methods so base." He spoke aloud; whether to Sehetef or the guard was irrelevant. In fact, Trazyn probably would have spoken even if no one was there. He did so enjoy drama. "It is unbecoming of a being so magnificent as myself to resort to petty jewel-thief tactics." Sighing, he shook his head and continued onward.

Behind them, the security guard groaned and dutifully followed. He had absolutely no idea who these strange intruders were. In fact, he didn't even know if the one in charge was a 'sir' until he started monologuing near the Egypt exhibit. Whatever these strange, spindly, green-eyed robot skeletons were, they were only interested in the artifacts. That ruled out Reapers; but still, the guard had no idea what these strange beings were.

The British Museum was a mess, that much was certain. The Reaper invasion wasn't doing anyone any favors, to be sure. The Museum was no different. Reaper forces were just outside and closing fast. No one had any idea what to do. Some were trying to drag the artifacts off to 'safe' locations (though nowhere was really safe). Some were just plain panicking.

In the midst of all of this, the lone security guard had noticed some still-intact alarms tripped. Going to investigate, he found these… things stealing artifacts. Rather, the much more ornately arrayed robot in front was stealing artifacts and making them disappear in thin air while the other resignedly trailed behind. It was all so very bizarre.

Then again, today was a day for the bizarre. The guard gave chase, desperately calling out for the two beings to stop, to explain who they were and what they were doing, but neither of the strange individuals paid him any mind.

For his part, Trazyn simply sighed over the unprofessional nature of his actions here. He didn't want to smash and grab, he didn't want to alert human security guards (that was an insult of the highest order), but he did want the artifacts, and he wanted them preferably before they were blown up. Desperate times called for desperate measures.

Rounding a corner, intent on taking… uh, rescuing… whatever he could (ironic, Trazyn had heard this museum in particular was known for that sort of thing), Trazyn stopped short. Standing in front of him was another security guard, clad in his neat museum uniform.

"Take me with you?" pleaded the guard. The man had seen this strange being waltz into one of the world's largest museums like he owned the place, shatter accelerator-proof glass with his bare hands, and make artifacts disappear with but a wave of his hand. What was more, this new individual was only after the artifacts. He wasn't Reaper, and didn't seem malicious. If the guard could have any opportunity to escape his coming doom at the hands of the Reapers, he would take it.

For his part, Trazyn considered for but the merest of moments. He had plenty of room. Plus, a live guard might make his Earth museum collection just that much more authentic.

"Okay!" replied the necron cheerfully as he drew a tesseract labyrinth from his bag and sucked the guard inside. Turning around, Trazyn stared at the pursuing guard. He looked rather silly with his jaw open like that. "You coming along?" asked Trazyn of the guard, spinning the labyrinth in his hand. The guard mutely shook his head 'no'. Trazyn shrugged. "Your funeral." With a snap of his finger, the Archaeovist of Solemnace disappeared, leaving a stunned guard in his wake.

Trazyn was grateful that he got what he did. It was a speciality of his: rescuing artifacts that might otherwise be destroyed. Now aboard his ship, minus a very grumpy Sehetef, Trazyn turned away from the doomed planet. There might not be much time left, but there was still so much left to collect.

oOo

Vancouver, Canada

Valiantly Intrepid turned left, thermal cannon humming with the power of the Machine God. Dozens, if not hundreds, of husks and cannibals charged forward, horrifying pseudo-organic bodies pulsating nauseatingly. Vilo'Hefal snarled mechanically at the things. They were too gangly, too quick, their movements stilted and unnatural. Parodies of the lives they once were, distorted and twisted, mockeries of both organic forms and pure machines, they deserved naught but death. Vilo'Hefal and Valiantly Intrepid would be most happy to oblige them.

With but a twitch and flick of his wrist, Vilo fired Intrepid's thermal cannon. A pulsing wave of heat washed over the corrupted Reaper forces, blasting them into ash. Vilo frowned. Disgusting abominations. Cannibals, so-named due to their tendency to devour the dead, were horrifying conglomerations of Batarians and humans. Imbued with biotic power, glutted with organic organs, and fitted with Reaper technology, such things were abominations, pure and simple. Vilo thought they were even worse than the Geth.

Beyond Valiantly Intrepid, skitarii spread out in the streets of Vancouver. They did desperate battle with the dark forces of the Reapers, fighting desperately to defend the streets and people of humanity's sacred homeworld. Galvanic rifles crackled, their specialized servitor-bullets killing with the power of stolen Reaper energy. More powerful arc weapons whined and purred with electrical energy, overloading shields and blasting apart Reaper forces with the wrath of the holy Motive Force. Occasionally, the searingingly bright lights of plasma blasts would flash by Vilo's vision. He grinned savagely within his cockpit. Whatever was on the receiving end of those wouldn't last long.

Next to Valiantly Intrepid was Wrath of Adas, another Knight Errant, and the only other Knight in this campaign. Fabricator General Natrius wanted to show off the power of Adas to Earth; unfortunately, it had come far too late. Now the Knights of House Reegar were forced to fight alongside Adas's skitarii and the soldiers of the Systems Alliance. Vilo and Hil'Yess, the pilot of Wrath of Adas, weren't complaining. This was why they signed up to be Knights. This was why they trained. This was what they were born to do.

Thus thermal cannons purred and hissed. Spinning chainswords whirred and hummed. The mighty bodies of the Knights themselves clanked as they stepped on Reaper soldiers and jockeyed for position. The feet of a Knight suit were a weapon just as any other. The Knights of Reegar had been rather interested to learn that you could simply kick your enemies to death. It was rather crude, but amusingly, very effective. Getting smashed by a massive adamantium leg wouldn't do anyone on the receiving end any good.

Hordes of cackling Cannibals and moaning Husks came onward, intent on overrunning the spaceport and the last bastion of humanity within. Even though the Reapers themselves were kept at bay by the lance batteries of the Omnissiah's Blade, their smaller servants could still do the job. What was more, despite the Knights, skitarii, and few Alliance soldiers, the Reaper numbers were simply too high. They would break through any time now.

The crew of the Normandy fought farther towards the center of the spaceport. It was not their duty to die on the front lines, rather to escort civilians through and to the waiting ships that remained. Still, they fought as they always fought, killing with sublime grace and methodical precision.

But, even though the legendary and now-infamous Legiones Skitarii were here, even though the even more legendary Commander Shepard was on the ground in person, even though these legends were backed by two Knights, the Reaper numbers were too many. They did not need tactics, they did not need strategy of any sort. Though hundreds, if not thousands of their bodies piled in the streets, the Reaper forces came ever onwards. Life meant nothing; the only purpose of their pained existence was to kill.

"Shepard, I think that's as far as we can go," came Anderson's voice. Shepard looked up from his position. Anderson stood behind him, framed by the bulk of the spaceships laying in the background. "There aren't too many people left that can get out." Anderson looked around hurriedly. "We need to go." Shepard stood with a quick glance and sigh.

"Right." Shepard didn't want to leave, didn't want to abandon what survivors may be left here. He checked the Normandy. There were hundreds of people that had made it to the spaceport. Hundreds, maybe a thousand, out of millions. Bodies littered the streets. The sounds of battle increased, the rate of fire of the skitarii going up as more and more Reaper soldiers advanced. As much as Shepard didn't want to leave, Anderson was right.

"Commander, Councilor." Natrius's voice interrupted the conversation on the ground. Shepard gave a wry smile. Natrius still insisted on calling Anderson 'Councilor' despite the latter's resignation. "Dark Mechanicum ships have begun transitioning in-system. We cannot hold against them. We must leave, now."

"Dark Mechanicum?" replied Shepard. "What's that? What's going on up there?"

"Terrible tidings. I shall tell you later, but suffice to say we must leave."

"Right." Shepard turned towards his squad. "We are leaving!" He pumped his arm and gestured to the Normandy. "Let's go." Anderson followed. Behind them, the shrieks of the Cannibals and Husks grew louder.

"A rearguard must be left to cover the escape." Natrius's voice sounded over all military channels. "The Sicarians shall stay behind to cover your retreat. Otherwise, Reaper forces will swiftly overwhelm you." The voice went out. Shepard whirled around as he ran, looking for Dimitri. The Ruststalker was part of his crew, and he would be damned before he left anyone behind.

"Commander," came Dimitri's rough voice.

"It's good to hear from you-"

"Permission to stay behind?" asked Dimitri simply. Shepard stopped for a moment. He looked up, staring into burning skyscrapers and shattered streets.

"Granted," Shepard heard himself say. He did not know why he said this. Perhaps it was good tactical sense. Perhaps it was because he knew this was something Dimitri had to do. A few of his crew looked up, but did not speak.

"It was… an honor to serve," said Dimitri simply.

"The honor was all mine," replied Shepard distantly. Farther along a causeway, he saw one of the Knights retreating alongside multitudes of skitarii.

Reaching the Normandy, Shepard stopped to take one last look around. Earth, the homeworld of humanity, lay in ruins. Death choked the streets. Corpses piled everywhere. Some wore normal civilian clothes. Some wore Alliance uniforms. Still others were draped in the crimson, black, and violet robes of Adas. Many were Cannibals or Husks. Fires raged, becoming the crematoriums of mass death. Glass and broken concrete became burial shrouds.

Death lay everywhere, and it was all thanks to the Reapers.

Anderson's touch brought Shepard from his thoughts. Turning, the two friends looked at each other. Anderson looked terrible. His face and hands were covered in soot and dirt, his once-proud blue uniform torn and stained. His eyes wore a haggard, haunted expression.

"I won't be coming with you, Shepard," said Anderson softly. Before Shepard could protest, Anderson raised his hand for silence. "My place is here, on Earth. Someone has to stay," he said sadly. "I'll organize a resistance, try to keep you updated on what's happening here."

"...stay safe," managed Shepard, though his voice seemed far away. Anderson gave a tired smile and clapped him on the shoulder.

"I will. I know you'll come back, and probably with some new friends." Anderson smiled again. "Good luck, Commander."

"Good luck, Anderson," replied Shepard as he boarded the Normandy. The doors sealed shut, closing his view upon the ruined planet beneath as Joker took him into orbit.

oOo

"No!" Vilo'Hefal snarled and slammed his fist upon his throne mechanicum. Beneath him, Valiantly Intrepid seemed to sense the mood of its master, and lashed out, smashing a dozen Husks on the broken streets beneath. There seemed to be more, ever more Reaper numbers. Too many. The spaceport could not hold. "You will not be staying! You can't!" half-pleaded, half-ordered Vilo.

Nearby, Wrath of Adas spun, chainsword whirling. The blow eviscerated half-a-dozen shambling Husks. Hil'Yess turned Adas towards Intrepid for a brief moment before spinning back into the fight.

"I have to stay. One of us must. Otherwise, we simply won't have enough firepower to fight off these… abominations," replied Hil. Behind them, Commander Shepard, Anderson, the Alliance soldiers, and many skitarii fled inwards towards the center of the spaceport. Only the Knights, Sicarians, a small groups of Tech-Guard remained.

"Then it should be me!" replied Vilo, firing his thermal cannon down the street. The last swept up a chagrin line of Reaper soldiers. "We fought on the station near Ammut! We fought on Rannoch together! I can't just leave you here!" That much was true. Vilo and Hil had serves as Migrant Fleet Marines together, back when the Migrant Fleet was still around. They were in the same squad, from the same ship: brothers in spirit if not in blood. They joined Adas to become Knights together, passed the trials together.

But it seemed now one of them must die so the other might yet live.

"It's alright," came Hil's calm voice. The Knights continued their fight even as the skitarii started to fall back. "It seems this is my last ride." Vilo could sense a smile in Hil's voice. "My first, and my last. Good luck, Vilo. You always were my brother."

With one last roar, Vilo and Valiantly Intrepid slaughtered everything around them, and retreated.

"Goodbye, Hil. You were my brother, too." Valiantly Intrepid started back towards the Knight transports as the Reaper presence increased. Above him, the engines of the Normandy alit with element zero. Behind him, Wrath of Adas fought to the death alongside the Sicarians so some on Earth might yet live.

For his part, Unit Ki-Quadrata-479, called Dimitri by some, dove forward, transonic weapons whirling. He lashed out with his right arm, slicing neatly through a Husk's chest, bisecting the foul creature. Spinning, the tips of his chordclaw gauntlet plunged deep into a Cannibal's chest. The Cannibal shrieked as the flesh around the wound jellified. Messy sludge leaked down the Cannibal's chest as it screamed in pain and rage, trying to bring its weapon to bear against the Ruststalker.

Dimitri danced and spun low, transonic razor slicing up, taking off the Cannibal's arm weapon, then across, taking the thing's head from its body. Such beings were abominations; disgusting parodies of the glory that were the cybernetics of the Machine God. The galaxy had no place for them. So it had been decried.

In this moment, Dimitri fought alongside an ever-dwindling number of Sicarian Infiltrators and Ruststalkers. The broken bodies and shattered minds of the Sicarians were deemed the most expendable by both Natrius and their wielders. Finally they would have their peace. Finally they would have a chance to unleash the full rage of their broken minds against the enemies of the Omnissiah.

Dimitri spun and twirled, hacked and slashed, cutting off arms and heads, slit chests open and liquified innards. He was a whirlwind, an insurmountable god of battle. For what seemed to be the first time in his life, his mind was clear.

There was rage, to be sure. But it was a tempered rage, a calculated fury powerful enough to stop the heart and heave the soul. Blessed binary flowed through Unit Ki-Quadrata-479, showing the path to the enemy's demise as clear as day.

As Sicarian and Reaper died in droves alongside him, as the Normandy and what few remaining ships took off from a doomed world, Ki-Quadrata-479 could do no wrong. Nearby now, forced back by the ever-increasing press of Reaper-controlled bodies, Wrath of Adas fought on, chainsword singing its deadly song. Husks swarmed the Knight, clawing at its legs and trying to climb to reach the cockpit. Wrath of Adas fought them all off for now. It couldn't last forever.

Neither could Dimitri. As he spun his terrifying weapons in deadly circles, warding off a new onslaught, Dimitri felt less and less of his brethren at his side. They were dead or dying, just as humanity's sacred homeworld was dying. But, looking up, Dimitri saw that the ships, even Anderson's shuttle taking him away to a safe spot on Earth, had made it. They were free, and so was he. And so Dimitri smiled.

Duty was heavier than a mountain. Death was lighter than a feather.

oOo

High in orbit, the Omnissiah's Blade fought a losing battle. To be sure, none of the Reapers could get close to it or the city it protected. But they came on nevertheless. This was not like Erszbat, where the Reapers completely avoided the mighty ark mechanicus. No. Here, the space around the Blade was littered with dead Reapers.

They kept coming. There was no respite. Around Erszbat they made every move to avoid the Blade; here they made every move to attack it. Crimson beams, both the Blade's massive lance batteries and the Reaper's main guns lit up the void. The Reapers dove in like vultures, circling the mass that was the huge ark mechanicus. Macro cannon turrets swiveled, trying to track the incoming targets. Fire lit up the void around Earth.

Farther back, the masses of the Reapers descended on the planet. They lived up to their namesake, slaughtering everything they could find. The death toll rose into the billions within minutes. Fourth Fleet had died long ago. The only ship remaining in orbit was the Blade. Normandy and Verdun, the two frigates that worked so hard to evacuate civilians at Vancouver, had escaped the carnage. Anderson was somewhere back on the planet, trying to organize some sort of resistance against the Reapers. Natrius wasn't entirely sure how well that would work.

"Void shields at twenty percent and holding," announced a servitor in its dull tone. Natrius turned, metallic legs clicking on the bridge's deck.

"Turn left forty degrees. All engines ahead full, prepare for Warp jump. Keep up the defensive barrage." The Tech-Priests and servitors of the bridge scurried to their stations, intent on carrying out Natrius's orders. Captain Genildri tapped out a dozen commands from where she was hard-plugged to the ship.

Farther into the void, Natrius could see the huge, bloated forms of Legio Mortis transports arriving on the far side of Earth. The Reapers continued their attack against the Blade with furious abandon while the ships of the Dark Mechanicum and their allies waited. Natrius frowned thinly. It appeared the Hal, or whomever else might be directing the attack on Earth, were using the Reapers as cannon-fodder for the much more valuable Titan transports. It probably wasn't Hal. The Olympus Mons, thank the Omnissiah, was nowhere to be seen. Natrius wanted to leave before it arrived.

"Full ahead, reaching jump point in thirty seconds," announced one of the Priests on the bridge. Natrius gave a jerky nod in response.

"Very good." He had to get out. Had to get word that Earth had fallen. Had to call Cawl, had to figure out what needed to be done. There was no time, and far too much to do. He only hoped reinforcements from the wider Imperium were already on their way.

For behind him, Earth, the sacred homeworld of humanity, burned as the shadows of Reapers and Darkness fell upon the world.

oOo

Codex:

The Vaults of Moravec:

The Vaults of Moravec were a depository of forbidden knowledge and techno-arcana located on Blessed Mars in the Segmentum Solar. Hidden in a sealed vault inside a maze of old tunnels nearly a kilometer deep beneath Olympus Mons- Mars's tallest mountain and seat of Fabricator General Kelbor-Hal- the Vaults of Moravec had been deliberately kept locked by the Emperor of Mankind who correctly judged the knowledge the Vaults contained too dangerous to be known.

The Vaults had been created to harbor the research and data obtained by the ill-reputed tech-savent Moravec. He had been a technological genius living on Mars during the Age of Strife; his sciences were far above those of the time. As would be later discovered, Moravec made unholy pacts with beings far more ancient than mankind, mingling the wonders of the Age of Technology and Old Night with the primordial essence of the Warp. Moravec died upon Mars, and the Machine Priests locked him and his ideas away beneath Olympus Mons for all eternity.

Many years later, a Tech-Priest named Regulus, an emissary of the treacherous Warmaster Horus, came to Mars and gave the greedy and ambitious Fabricator General Kelbor-Hal a means to open the Vaults- a Chaos-corrupted scrapcode. Hal, already swayed by the Warmaster's political promises, was infused with the scrapcode and gave himself wholly over to Chaos. Though no one in the wider galaxy has ever seen Hal since, and no one knows what became of the secrets of the Vault, one thing is known for certain within the annals of the Imperium.

When Lord Praetorian Rogal Dorn cleansed Mars during the Scouring, Kelbor-Hal was nowhere to be found, and the Vaults of Moravec were empty.

oOo

There we have it! I hope you all enjoyed. Next chapter we'll have a very interesting meeting between the Citadel Council and the servants of the Golden Throne in regard to exactly what is going to happen in this grand alliance. In addition, I'm thinking the crusade force might also arrive, which will be a very good scene. Stay tuned for that!

If you have any questions, comments, criticisms, concerns, or reviews, please, leave 'em here or DM me! I always love to hear from you readers.