And we're back! The war goes on, but focused on a different campaign entirely. There is much in the galaxy, and Kelbor-Hal and the Reapers want it all. I hope you all like this chapter. I must also once more thank you for all your wonderful reviews. It's always a pleasure hearing from you. Speaking of which, I have a question for everyone listening: the next chapter will involve some scenes on the Normandy. Because it's fun, and per viewer request, I'm having Kevral explain some things about his home galaxy. The question I ask you is: what would you like him to talk about? Any topics, groups, or stories in particular that you'd like to have an Imperial tell the crew? Please, tell me! Now, on to the reviews:
Monstrr: There will be conversions and spreading Imperial influence, but to what extent I haven't determined.
Cringeyusername SBSVQQ: Before he became a Marine, Luis was his name. I'm not sure if it changed, but I just decided to go with that as his first name.
Clare Prime of Ultra: Thank you! I hope you like this chapter.
BonesofSmite: Thank you! I'm glad you liked Dante and Gabriel's scene. I meant for that one to be pretty good. I hope you like this chapter as well.
Colossus Bridger: Oh, we'll see some xenos here. Perhpas there will be some Emperor-worshiping aliens in the future. I wonder what the Ecclesiarchy will think... The Imperium will also probably have more tolerance towards xenos as time goes on.
Doc43Souls: Thank you! I'm glad you liked Dante, and thank you for all your help and corrections.
joaojesualdo: Indeed! Ave Imperator!
Fictional Liberator: Thank you!
Guest: Thank you!
That Farkn Guy09: Thank you for your compliments and the prayer.
Chronus1326: Thank you for reading!
blyatman123: Basically, the Warp in their home galaxy is like navigating by lighthouse in the middle of a huge storm. In the Mass Effect reality, the Warp is much calmer. It's like navigating on a clear pond. Even though there isn't a light, the navigators don't need one because there aren't any predators and no turbulence. At least that's how I'm explaining it.
CosmicPenguin: Thank you. I hope I deliver.
themadnimrod: Thank you! I hope you like this chapter.
gods-own: Thank you, and thank you for reading!
PaladinSans: Not precisely that or on that level, but definitely shenanigans...
Ghostly: Possibly on the Penal Legions and weapon use. I'll think on it. As for the Marine inductee's, they'll probably take as many as they need, on the levels of that back in their home galaxy. As for the Asari, interesting idea. If people like it, I'll roll with it.
Anatheras: That would have been good. I'll try for more Dark Mechanicum POV in the future.
Guest: Indeed.
Sicarius117: Definitely. I'm glad you liked the Raven Guard. Definitely more of them in the future. I'm glad you liked it, and thank you for reading!
ProfessorZooms: More battles in this chapter. Please tell me your opinions on what you count as fluff and what you do and do not like so I can better understand and include/not include those scenes in the future.
OscuroSignore-51: There will be Alliance reactions in the future. As for the rest, perhaps. I must ask... exactly how much do you want to see Liara?
Knighthunter911700: Thank you for all of your reviews. I got to see you catch up and all your reactions in as you went. I'm glad you liked everything in both stories, and hope you like this chapter!
ShadowCub: Thank you!
oOo
Battle on Palaven
"The only thing on this planet that isn't silver are the Turians. It's all too clear they're made of steel." -Jon Grissom, Alliance hero, on Palaven
"I have fought as a God fights. I am Imperius Dictatio. Kneel before me and beg for your lives!" -Princeps Ervin Hekate
"We are masters of the air. We are Hawks on the wind. With the overwhelming firepower of aerial supremacy and genius tactics of Lord Guilliman, none may stand before us." -Lysander Tullioc, Chapter Master of the Hawk Lords
oOo
The rich stink of blood permeated the hold of the Grave Certainty. Within the starship's expansive interior hold, steel beams and scaffolding reached up to scrape the ceiling. Icons of the Mechanicus, symbols of the divine God-Emperor, and the halved scythe crest of Legio Pallidus Mor decorated the walls. But it was not any of these things that drew the eye, impressive as they were. No. It was what was held within the Grave Certainty that caught one's breath.
Standing in their neat rows, towering far above anything humanoid beneath them, were the Titans of Pallidus Mor. Grey with yellow trim, a few pure black, they stood silent vigil within the hold, waiting for their time to be called to war once more. That time was now.
Princeps had already hard-plugged with their engines. Unlike nearly every other Legio in existence, the Princeps of Pallidus Mor did not use amniotic caskets to interface with their Warlord-grade Titans. Oh, yes, everyone hard-plugged themselves with Warhounds, many with Reavers, but very, very few Princeps remained in control of their bodies when they became Warlord commanders. But Pallidus Mor was different. They did not use caskets. That was simply the way it was done.
Thus Princeps walked the scaffolding to their engines and plugged themselves into their thrones. Steersman and sensori came next, testing their equipment and sitting within the chin of the Titans' heads. Last were the moderati, who checked and re-checked everything before finally entering their engines. With a thumbs-up to the waiting Tech-Priests, the hatches to the mighty war engines were sealed behind them. The crews waited in their cockpits. This was a direct deployment. There was no time to get ready on the ground, for Pallidus Mor was to be inserted directly into battle.
The scent of blood came from the center of the huge hangar-like room. Upon a central altar was the recently-dead body of a huge beast. It was called an uiro, and taken from a planet on the very edge of the Segmentum Tempestus. Uiros were praised for their rarity, deadliness, and beauty. The beast's throat had been cut by a sacred knife, and its blood flowed in special drainage channels built within the altar. Rich crimson pooled in specialized containers, which were then taken by senior Priests to their charges.
Magos Rilnius Gamma stood before the feet of Pallidus Equitem, the personal Warlord of Grand Master Voland Terico. Around the black, red, and gold-robed form of the Magos stood dozens of other Tech Adepts, waving blessed incense and chanting in binary.
Gamma's metal hands were bloody. Gently, he handed the ritual pot full of the uiro's blood to a servitor, muttering binaric benedictions. Lines and symbols had been dabbed upon Pallidus Equitem's massive feet, symbols of the Legio intermixing with the blessings of the Machine God. These were to protect the blessed machine and bring it victory in the name of the Emperor and Omnissiah.
Tilting his head all the way back, Gamma took in the magnificent visage of the Titan. How blessed, how wonderful was the glorious machine! Behind him, the chanting of the other Adepts ceased. Gamma tried not to tremble as he began the Prima Incubatorta, the ritual of Titan awakening.
"The will of the Emperor is done." Gamma's voice rang out hollow through the hangar, mighty in strength yet nothing compared to the mass of the Titan in front of him. "As the blood of the slain is laid upon you, so may you lay the enemy's blood at the feet of the Emperor."
"Lay blood at the Emperor's feet," chanted the rest of the Adepts.
"As the rune of protection is inscribed upon you, so may the litanies of protection ward your soul." The air within the hangar was solemn and breathless. This was the greatest of all Mechanicus and Imperial rituals.
"May your soul be guarded from impurity."
"As the warriors within you guide your weapons," continued Gamma, volume rising, "may you in turn guide their lives." The Priest looked directly at the center of the Titan, at its beating plasma reactor. He swore he felt the back of his mind heat up, the rage of the Titan transmitting from even here.
"Stand true against the trials of war."
oOo
Metiia Ennimus winced in her seat and pressed her mandibles together as a Reaper took down the Palaven's Honor. The dreadnought imploded, sending shrapnel in all directions. She had hoped the ship would survive now that the Imperial Battlefleet Superator had arrived above Palaven, but it seemed that hopeful thought was not to be.
"Come about at zero-three-nine degrees! Ready starboard guns!" commanded Captain Eudoion from his position on the center of the bridge. The steersmen hurried to carry out his orders. Throughout the bridge, gunnery officers swiveled at their stations, readying their weapons.
Ennimus hissed to herself. Damn Reapers. Beyond her position, one of the enormous Imperial vessels, gilded and ornamented to a frankly ridiculous degree, unleashed a full broadside, carving through three Reapers and dozens of smaller enemy vessels.
As the Aventen came around to carry out Captain Eudoion's orders, a message flashed on the main console to the bridge. A holographic representation of an Imperial Admiral, resplendent in blue and gold, wearing an ungodly amount of medals, popped into sight.
"This is Admiral Vineright to all Turian vessels. Your orders are now to protect all Titan transports. Pallidus Mor must make planetfall. Any other concerns are secondary. The Emperor protects. Out."
The bridge crew simply stared at each other. The First Lieutenant raised a hand to speak, then decided against it. Animus looked back at the Captain. He stood, mandibles moving in agitation against his deep blue faceplates. Finally, he spoke.
"We have our orders. Turn to starboard 160 degrees and protect the Titan transports." The bridge crew exploded into a flurry of activity.
oOo
Lieutenant Kalius Candros winced as a Reaper pseudo-plasma blast whistled over his head. Nearby, Tyrus and Antonia stood, mandibles tightening in concentration as they let loose with streams of mass accelerated fire. Kalius activated his omni-tool, stood, and fired an incinerate blast towards a group of Husks. The metallic zombies screamed noiselessly and clawed at their burning bodies before falling to the floor. Kalius looked desperately elsewhere for any other incoming threats. They weren't hard to find.
Currently, Candros and his ever-dwindling squad were holed up in Cipritine, the capital city of Palaven. Earth and the Alliance might have fallen within the first day of the Reaper attack, but the Hierarchy still bitterly held onto their territory. Not that it seemed to be doing much good either way. The full might of the vaunted Turian military was still only delaying the Reapers as they lost territory by the minute. Candros couldn't blame the Alliance. At least they fought… unlike some people.
Damn the Asari and Salarians.
"Husks left!" called out Antonia. There wasn't any time for more elaborate directions. Kalius turned and fired another incinerate at the group, then spun back right to open up with his heavy pistol at a Cannibal. Damn, but these things seemed to be everywhere!
The squad was inside the lobby of what had probably once been an office building. Perhaps a hotel or apartment complex. Kalius didn't know. He'd never been to this part of the city. All he knew was that he was given orders to try and hold this sector for as long as possible. The communications were down, he hadn't heard from either the captain or colonel for hours, but orders were still orders. Every good Turian knew that.
So there they were, inside some building in a section of Palaven's capital that Kalius had exactly zero familiarity with. High command was throwing whatever they could at the Reapers, but it wasn't enough. Cipritine was gradually being overrun. The capital was falling.
The only thing Kalius could do now was fight, and try to take as many of the Reaper forces down as humanly (or Turian-ly) possible. There was only this building, this little stretch of hell in the planet he'd once called home, and that was it. They couldn't leave; there were too many Reaper soldiers. They couldn't go in the streets, for as any good soldier knew, the first rule of street fighting was to stay out of the streets. The streets were where they got you. Buildings were defensible. Empty stretches of broken road were not.
There were confirmed rumors that the Primarch had made a deal with the Citadel and Mechanicus involving sending some new forces to aid the Hierarchy in their desperate fight for survival. Unlike many of his fellow soldiers, Kalius didn't particularly care. If the Mechanicus wanted to help them, well, then they could use all the help they could get. Citadel hatred for the Machine Cult aside, the group was extremely practical. They realized the Reapers were the biggest threat. Unlike some (Asari and Salarians, thank you for all your help).
In the distance, Kalius could hear the dreadful, reverberating mechanical shriek of a Reaper siren sounding in the center of the city. The lieutenant winced. That sound… He hated it. It sounded like the death scream of worlds. The end of civilizations. He shuddered and tried to ignore the feeling.
The fleet couldn't destroy the actual Reapers from orbit because there were still Hierarchy military forces on the ground. There were rumors that a full Mechanicus fleet had come from their home reality and were to deploy some strange weapons, but they were only rumors. As shot as the communication channels were, Kalius didn't trust anything that came through except official orders.
"Lieutenant! We're down to twelve sinks apiece!" called Tyrus over the din. Kalius cursed under his breath.
"We hold here until we get to eight, then we move!" he ordered. The remaining members of his squad had a few choice words about their current situation that would have made even the most hardened of drill sergeants blush.
"Where are we moving?" complained Calvetia, snapping a new thermal clip into her sniper rifle. Kalius sighed. That was an excellent question. Too bad he didn't have an answer.
"Down a few buildings," he replied. He was the lieutenant, and he had to have some sort of answer ready. "We see if there's anyone else in the vicinity. If we have to fall back, then we fall back. The Hierarchy wants live soldiers, not dead heroes." Kalius was greeted by a series of strained laughs.
"Well, they could've told us that a long time ago!" Kalius let it go. They were under enough stress as it was. Besides, Antonia had a point. Palaven command was in shreds. Communications were in utter shambles. There were rumors that the Primarch was dead. It was all they could do to survive.
"Uh, lieutenant…" Farius, the squad's engineer, glanced up from his omni-tool. "I'm getting some weird comms channels coming through. Doesn't seem to be Hierarchy or Citadel standard…"
"Well, figure out what-" Kalius was cut short by a booming bass horn that sliced through Cipritine's smoky air. It sounded somewhat distant, but still managed to shake the building around them, reverberating through the empty streets. A far cry from the disquieting siren of the Reapers, this was a mighty roar, pure and holy, that challenged any murderous forces that might dare invade the Turian's homeworld.
"What in the name of all the Spirits was that?" asked Tyrus, shocked. Before Kalius could respond, Farius held up his omni-tool urgently. Kalius glanced down at his own device. A new message was coming across on all channels.
"Hear me, foul traitors! I am Grand Master Voland Terico, come to slay you and put an end to your blasphemy once and for all. You shall die beneath the might of our guns and the steel of our tred. We are Pallidus Mor, and we are the pride of Death!"
The Turian squad simply stared at each other in a lull in the battle. Kalius glanced around at his men.
"Farius, what was that?" he asked pointedly. "Where did it come from?" Farius scrolled through his omni-tool at the speed of light, trying to find answers.
"Uhhh… It seems like a Mechanicus-style channel. Really secure but over radio. Not sure exactly who Grand Master Terico is, though…" The squad spun, weapons already coming to shoulders, as a huge stomping sound echoed through the street near their building. Kalius readied his omni-tool and pistol. What could possibly be making that much noise? It was literally shaking the earth beneath them, so whatever it was must be a very, very dangerous enemy…
Kalius realized a heartbeat later that the noise was coming from behind him, from Turian lines. The Reaper side of the city remained silent.
The squad gasped as one as a huge bipedal war machine, about ten meters tall, came into sight of their destroyed building. Its head, modeled to look like the helmet of some ancient warrior of Earth, was located in the center of its chest. Its arms were weapons; one a strange, multi-layered, very heavy gun with venting holes poked throughout it, the other an utterly massive chainsaw. Kalius did a double take. Yup, that was a chainsaw. What…?
The walker was painted in brilliant crimson and edged in beautiful gold plating. A stylized shield beneath its left armpit bore a strange crest: the half skull-in-cogwheel of the Mechanicus split with the numeral "17" below a trident in a cog. This was all surrounded by golden filigree and put beneath a golden helm, mouth open in a silent scream. Kalius studied it closer. Turians were good with symbols and patterns; face markings made that a necessity. Yet, the lieutenant still didn't recognize the heraldry.
"Looks like the Mechanicus decided to show up!" yelled Tyrus gleefully. Kalius double-checked the walker. Ah, of course. The cogwheel. But… what was the rest of the symbol?
In an utterly terrifying moment, the walker itself turned towards Kalius's squad. Its red vision slit glowed blood red as it seemed to regard them. Kalius felt his heart beating madly in his chest. Even the Husks weren't as bad as being stared at by this idol of mechanical strength.
Apparently satisfied that they were not in fact the enemy, the walker turned away and began its march up the road towards the Reaper forces. Kalius and his squad stared after it. The Turian lieutenant scratched his head. Why would anyone want a chainsaw?
He was snapped out of his musing about the tactical inadequacies of the Mechanicus by a new sound. The deep bass shriek of the huge horn sounded through the city once again, only this time much closer, nearly deafening Kalius. The ground shook with huge steps, causing miniature earthquakes. Warily, the squad poked their heads out from the building to see what was happening… only for Kalius's mandibles to drop open in utter shock.
The second walker was built in much the same way as the first… except for the fact that it towered over the very city itself. Yes, it wasn't as big as a Reaper, but it still towered over even the highest of Cipritine's buildings, seemingly scraping the edge of the sky itself. The great machine's head was so large it could probably fit Kalius's entire squad inside it. Its legs were the size of towers, its arms strong enough to heft mountains. The entire machine was painted slate gray with yellow highlights, bearing strange heraldry upon its body that Kalius couldn't quite make out at the large distance. Massive banners, stories high, flapped in the smoky breeze from the huge war machine's armpits and between its legs. The colossus let loose with its deafening horn once more, shaking the very earth below it.
Kalius and his squad could only stare in complete and utter awe. So complete was their astonishment at the glory of this machine that they did not notice a message coming on their omni-tools until a voice sounded in their ears.
"All Hierarchy forces within the vicinity of the Reapers in the center of the city, you are advised to clear the area for the god-engines. Expect heavy collateral damage." The voice was slightly metallic and extremely curt. The squad looked at each other, then back to Kalius.
"Sir?" queried Calvetia.
"We'll get out of the area. Just in case," ordered Kalius. He turned away, only to spin back with another thought. "One more thing… Farius, broadcast our location. I don't want to be stepped on."
oOo
Voland Terico, Grand Master of Pallidus Mor, sat upon his throne in the center of Pallidus Equitem's cockpit. The interior was dark and solemn, stinking of incense and blessed oils. His loyal crew went about their jobs silently, as many of his dour Legion did. The steersman and sensori sat farthest to the front, at the chin of Pallidus Equitem's massive head. Behind them was the moderati, then Terico himself. Farther back was Equitem's Tech-Priest, silently praying to the Lord Of All Machines in his small cubby-like room in the back of the Titan's head.
Terico didn't know how to feel about this deployment. They were helping craven xenos, of all things. Yet… yet Pallidus Mor always had its duty, and duty was above all else. If the Fabricator General and High Lords asked, the Legio would obey without question. Their loyalty to the Golden Throne was absolute, no matter what He who sat upon it asked of them.
Sighing to himself, Terico leaned back in his throne and allowed himself to become one with Pallidus Equitem. He could still feel the harsh sting of re-plugging, the bitter scent of interface once more. The other princeps in the other Legios had it easy. They were interfaced with their Titans at all times, locked forever within their amniotic caskets. They never unplugged, and so never had to go through the pain of withdrawal and re-plugging.
But those of Pallidus Mor did. It made them stronger, annoying as it was. Deep within the recesses of Terico's mind, he could feel an excited, powerful, yet rage-filled growl. The Grand Master jerked as the feeling within his mind snapped at him. He ordered it to be still, simply willing it into submission. Every time, like a vicious dog or unruly steed, he had to break Pallidus Equitem to his will once more. It was like chaining a mountain. An impossible task for most.
But Voland Terico was not most. Voland Terico was Grand Master of Pallidus Mor.
Within Equitem's Mind Impulse Unit, the hard-plugged version of the noosphere, Terico could see the gunships of the Hawk Lords streaking through the sky, blasting apart Reaper ground forces hassling the Turians and smaller Knights beneath his feet. He could see the red-painted Knights of House Vulker, their plasma reactors humming as they supported the larger Titans. The forms of Warhounds scouted ahead of Terico, sniffing out the enemy, looking to outflank and encircle the huge Reapers. A Warlord versus a Reaper might not be the fairest of fights; Reapers were much larger. However, the Warlord's mobility, combined with the firepower of other Titans from other flanks, could do the job. Already, Caelestia Revelatio and Canis Ignem were on Pallidus Equitem's flanks, smashing through Reaper ground forces and ready to encircle the monstrosity in the center of the city. Terico grinned. He had much faith in the Warhounds of his Mandatum-style Maniple. He would oversee the tactical planning, and they would follow.
Farther to the east was Ater Equitem, commanded by the grim and resolute Princeps Siria. Ater was hunting another Reaper alongside a few Reaver Titans of the Legion. Terico smiled to himself. Everything was falling into place.
"Steersman, medium stride," he ordered. The steersman nodded silently and moved to medium stride. The moderati started to track the Reaper through combat data given by the Knights and Warhounds. Within his hard-plugged throne, Voland Terico smiled and leaned forward. With but a thought, he activated the comms link to his Legio.
"Proud soldiers of the Legio. Sons and daughters of Tolkhan. Children of Death…" Terico's face contorted in a savage grin as his voice became deeper, more gravelly, more ready for the hunt that was to follow. "Let's ride."
oOo
The Normandy's shuttle flitted through the smokey air of Palaven, passing dozens of smaller, seemingly insignificant conflicts beneath them. Inside the darkened interior, the legendary starship's ground force waited. Commander Shepard and Tali sat side by side in complete silence. The incident with Dante had rankled them both, but both knew better than to display what had happened. Dante might have shown them mercy; other Imperials would not. It was a harrowing experience, but both were thankful they still had each other. Both were thankful they were still alive.
It wasn't a source of tension between them, only knowledge of their position and the fact they were moments away from death, spared on a whim by the Lord of the Angels. It was a sobering thought. Still, they had each other. That was all that mattered. That was all that had ever mattered. Theirs was not a marriage of desire, whether it be desire for control or desire in a more physical form. Theirs was a partnership; the only desire was to see the other succeed and be happy. So, yes, the Dante incident was frightening, but did nothing to lessen their bond.
Across from Tali and Shepard was Solana Vakarian. She fidgeted nervously in seat, the usual veneer of Turian calm and dutiful resolution broken. It was no secret that her brother would be on the ground here, and Solana was naturally worried about his safety. As was the rest of the crew, for that matter. The sooner they got on the ground and saw Garrus safe and sound, the better.
There was Zaeed, muttering under his breath while he tinkered with his weapons, and Kasumi, looking far more subdued than usual. The master thief had always been close to Garrus; the two could often be found cheerfully bickering. Everyone liked the smooth Turian sniper, and they were here more for him than their actual assignment.
Last, of course, were Robert Cortez in his Alliance armor, sitting completely silent, and Kevral. The Imperial was the epitome of calm in this sea of nerves and awkward silences. This was, after all, just another mission for him. Usual circumstances: overwhelming odds, failing defenses, and VIP's in need of rescue. He wore his full Inquisitorial Stormtrooper carapace armor, gleaming an ominous black. Red eye lenses looked down from his height, silently sweeping over everyone in the shuttle. He said nothing. Neither Robert nor Kevral knew Garrus, and both reacted in different ways. Robert was awkwardly nervous and quiet as most people would be in a similar situation, whereas Kevral simply didn't care. A mission was a mission. He'd seen enough death to be completely indifferent towards it. Stormtroopers were expected to fight and die in the Emperor's name. Why should anyone else be different?
"This is Impetus lead to Spyglass." The radio (the Imperials called them 'vox') messages to the shuttle were relayed through the entire squad's helmets, just in case they should need to join the conversation. Right now, the shuttle was being escorted by a flight of Imperial Thunderbolt fighters. It wouldn't do to have Commander Shepard shot down. "Looking kind of spicy out there. No fighters or AA in the vicinity, but they've got incoming on the ground like a hormagaunts on a grox. Hot LZ. Watch yourself."
"Roger," replied Cortez (the other Cortez) from the shuttle's cockpit. The ground team looked at each other warily. The situation apparently kept getting worse.
The crew of the Normandy was here to extract Primarch Fedorian, ruler of the Turian Hierarchy, from Palaven. As the Turians lost ground on their planet, Fedorian had gradually been forced to retreat from safe zone to safe zone. Currently, the Primarch and most of his high command were cut off and surrounded in a small military base on the far outskirts of one of Palaven's major cities. Shepard didn't know which one. All he knew was that Garrus was part of Fedorian's high command. Both because the Primarch was a vital part of the Citadel war effort and because his best friend was there, Shepard had to extract the Turians from the base.
"Heads up everyone." Steve's voice came over the interior comms. "Not sure if you've heard, but we have a very hot LZ."
"Understood," replied Shepard calmly. The noises of battle sounded ever closer as the shuttle swooped in lower. Heavy gunfire rattled through the air, backlit by a moaning, keening white noise that seemed to permeate through the atmosphere itself. The sharp stench of burnt metal and concrete reached Shepard's nostrils. The shuttle's doors opened as Cortez brought the transport low for final approach.
Below was a scene of complete and utter carnage. The Turian base, really just a few mostly-underground bunkers, was under massive assault. Shepard hadn't seen anything like it before. He could make out the figures of Turian soldiers, ant-like and tiny below, desperately fighting. Flashes of blue mass accelerated weapons lit up the ground. Bigger flashes of much deeper blue energy spheres splashed against the incoming Reaper forces, betraying a biotic. Shepard had known multiple biotics in his time, and from what he could tell, this biotic was putting in serious work, almost to the level of the best-trained Asari.
In contrast, Shepard could make out the violet-armored frames of a squad of Hawk Lords, pillbugs to the smaller Turians' ants in the air. The heavy repeating metallic blam-blam-blam of bolters sounded from their position. The gunfire never stopped. It could not stop.
In front of the allied positions was a veritable sea of incoming Reaper forces. They stretched at least half a kilometer deep and seemed nearly as wide, a tidal wave of tightly-packed silver Husks, Cannibals, and larger, more dangerous creatures.
There was no more time to think about it as Cortez put down the shuttle in one of the few safe zones near the bunkers. The Normandy's ground team immediately charged forward, ready to fight. As soon as they were clear, Cortez took the shuttle back up to the relative safety of the air. If he got trapped on the ground, so would everyone else.
Kevral made a b-line to the Hawk Lords. His hellgun flashed crimson on full automatic. He did not even bother picking targets or taking aim; there was no need. Wherever he aimed, his lasbolts hit. Despite the massive overwhelming number of the Reapers, Kevral still cut an intimidating and inspiring figure in his black carapace armor. Reaching the Hawk Lords, he silently fought beside them, the Inquisitorial elite supporting the sons of Guilliman.
Solana was sprinting the moment the shuttle touched down, desperate to find her brother. She headed directly to the Turians, ready to lend her expertise to the fight. Zaeed and Kasumi followed; Zaeed grumbling about Solana's quickness and Kasumi determinedly quiet. Following them were John, Tali, and Robert.
What few Turians remained stood in front of a mountain of Reaper corpses. The malformed dead of the enemy stood in piles, barricading the way for more Husks to reach the Turian lines. The bodies were all different: some were blasted away, barely recognisable due to the bolter fire of the Hawk Lords. Some were nearly pristine, with only a single bullet hole in their head. Some wore the minute stitching of mass accelerated fire across their torso, whereas others were ripped apart by biotic power. In the end, it really didn't matter how the Reapers died, only that they died. All other concerns were secondary.
As Shepard got closer, he could see exactly how few Turians remained. There were four or five guards, wearing the Hierarchy's standard-issue armor, blasting away to protect their superiors.
Not to be outdone, their superiors joined the fight themselves. Shepard could only smile at the display. Turians were all soldiers. If you got that high in the rankings, it was because you came from the bottom up. It was because you deserved it. All the generals here once served as privates in the Hierarchy's infantry. They still hadn't forgotten their skills.
Two Turians, wearing much more powerful, expensive armor and bearing the rank markings of infantry generals, blasted away grimly at the incoming sea of Reapers. They both wielded the Hierarchy's standard-issue Phaeston assault rifle, the staple of Turian military operations. Three-fingered talons popped out heat sinks with breathtaking quickness, reloading in flashes so as to give the Reapers no time to breach their lines. Behind them, a third general had apparently decided to forgo any semblance of normal weapons and was currently blasting Husks to shreds with a Imperial heavy bolter. Shepard didn't know where he'd gotten the gun, nor how the Turian understood how to operate a foreign weapon that usually took a crew of two. However, now was not the time to ask. As the Turian general understood, now was the time for superior firepower.
Farther to the front was the biotic. Shepard couldn't actually make out whoever it was. Their form blurred and crackled with blue energy, weapons forgotten as they only used their terrible power. A singularity was casually tossed out, sucking in a group of Husks into an element zero black hole to be shredded by the guns of the Hawk Lords. Pivoting on a dime, the Turian glowed even brighter, shrouded in pure biotic energy. So quick it could be missed with a blink or twitch of the head, the Turian launched forward, nearly teleporting, to explode in a crackling mass of dark energy. Shepard nodded, impressed, as he began to fire at the incoming Reaper forces. Charge and singularity, back-to-back. Whoever this was, they were good.
Shepard, Tali, and Robert reached the front line a moment behind Solana, Zaeed, and Kasumi. No words were spoken by the Turians; they were far too busy. The incoming members of the Normandy's crew simply opened fire at the incoming Reapers. There was no time for anything else.
Crimson lasbolts streaked forward as Zaeed and Shepard added their hot shot lasguns to Kevral's storm. Tali immediately took out her combat drone and began fiddling with her omni-tool, trying to work any technological miracles she could. Kasumi drew her submachine gun, the puny weapon looking tiny in comparison to the unending mass of Reaper forces heading their way.
As a veritable carpet of lasbolts, bolter shells, and mass accelerated fire fell upon the Reapers, Shepard saw a completely new sight. An absolutely monstrous Reaper creature, bipedal, hulking and powerful, smashed its way through the Husks. It had what looked like Krogan flesh beneath armored plating and cybernetics. The upper half of a Turian head was grafted to its chest, and its head was missing: its torso simply split down the middle, revealing a gruesome ribcage.
Supporting this hulking thing were two more things. Each had multiple spider limbs that propelled them forward at terrible speed. They were covered in black robes, dripping with filth. Mechadendrites with attached weapons waved at their backs. They thrashed, flanking the original monster, as all three pushed forward in a brutal assault. Husks weren't working. Maybe these things would.
"Skitarii! One o'clock, fire!" ordered the Hawk Lord sergeant, voice booming over the battlefield. His violet-clad brothers turned as one and unleashed a hail of explosive shells at the black-robed beasts. Both thrashed, holes blown in their torsos by the Marines, leaking filthy oil and rotted pus.
However, as the Marines focused their fire on what Shepard presumed were the Dark Mechanicum's corrupted skitarii, the leading brutish monster charged forward with a roar. The Normandy's crew turned towards it, weapons at the ready. Mass accelerated fire and lasbolt alike pinged off its heavy armor as it charged. Shepard grimaced. This thing was unstoppable! They'd need heavier firepower…
It wasn't forthcoming. The Turian general on the heavy bolter was reloading as fast as his three-fingered hands could possibly move. To Shepard's right, the biotic was keeping the Husks at bay with pulse after pulse of dark energy. The Commander looked around desperately. What to do? What to use?
As the beast moved in, a very familiar whining crack sounded through the air. The charging monster roared in mortal pain and reared back, struck dead by a perfect killing blow.
A killing blow only one person Shepard knew could pull off.
"Shepard," drawled a very familiar voice through his helmet. The Commander grinned. "So good of you to join us. Getting bored on the Citadel?"
"Well, you know me, Garrus. Always in the action," replied Shepard, unable to keep a massive grin off his face.
"Garrus-!"
"Oh, hi Sol. Couldn't leave your brother behind, could you?" Shepard felt both Garrus's smirk and his elation at seeing his sister once again.
"Garrus…" There was more warning in Solana's tone now, more sisterly exasperation.
"I guess you're stuck with me now," grinned the sniper from his perch atop one of the base's bunkers. "Which is really unfortunate-"
"Garrus! Less talking, more fighting!" shot back his sister. Another charging monster dropped, felled in an instant by Garrus's heavy sniper rifle.
"Oh, I am fighting. Are you?" shot back the male half of the Vakarian siblings. For her part, Solana spun and shot down an entire row of Husks with a single, fully automatic burst. She ejected the spent heat sink from her Phaeston. Turning back to her brother's perch, she waggled her mandibles.
"Oh, you're on." Zaeed and Kasumi both chuckled. Shepard shook his head with wry exasperation. Siblings. Too bad he didn't have any.
The incoming press of Reaper forces became nearly overwhelming. The enemy was bringing their bigger, nastier, and far more deadly creatures to bear. Dozens of corrupted skitarii and the massive, hulking brutes charged forward into the overlapping fire of the Marines, Turians, and Normandy's crew. No one said anything further besides tactical directions; there simply wasn't time for anything else. The roaring lull of battle drowned out senses to any outside stimulus, giving laser-like focus to those on the ground. Weapons fired. Grenades were thrown. Omni-tools launched specialized programs. Hands reloaded. Monsters screamed. Husks fell noiselessly.
"General!" came one of the enlisted guard's sudden call. Shepard looked right. The Turian biotic staggered back, powerful cocoon of energy fading. Whether it was from a wound or simple exhaustion, Shepard had no idea. Instead, he spun, hellgun already raised to cover the right flank. Several other Turians and what few Marines could be spared had the same idea. The biotic flailed back once more as the guard moved up to assist.
Garrus's shots were coming in thicker now, blasting apart anything that dared to threaten the collapsing right flank. A Brute reared and died, screaming. Husks fell by the dozens.
Shepard could see the Turian biotic much more clearly now that she was limping back towards behind the lines. It was indeed a she. The differences between male and female Turians was somewhat hard to tell for an uninitiated human, but Shepard had enough practice with the denizens of the galaxy to figure it out.
She wore the armor of a Turian general, expensive and blue with white highlights. There was a pistol at her waist which sat unused. Her plates were a deeper gunmetal grey with blue markings, somewhat similar to Garrus yet totally different. The general's mandible's flickered in pain as she winced and propped herself against a broken piece of debris.
"Are you alright Camivia?" Garrus's voice was calm, yet held hints of deeper worry beneath his typical smooth facade. Shepard turned back briefly from the battle. He recognized the name from somewhere, yet in the utter chaos around him, he couldn't place it.
"Fine, Garrus," replied the general, apparently named Camivia. Her voice was strained and completely exhausted, yet still smooth, bearing the dual tones that Turians were famous for. "Just…" There was a pause. A slight wince. "Just tired, is all. Too much over exertion."
"We need to get you out of here, then," said Garrus. There was more worry in his voice now.
"That's… ridiculous!" came Camivia's voice over the comms. "I'm fine. I can still… fight."
"He's right, Camivia," spoke up one of the other Turian generals. "You've done good, but we need to get you out with the Primarch." There was a faint note of protest from Camivia's position, but beyond that, nothing. Having seen her in action, plus knowing the renowned Turian fighting spirit, Shepard took her silence as a fact that she was truly hurting. It made sense, though: what he had seen Camivia do was on par with Jack or Miranda. Perhaps even better, even nearing the level of well-trained Asari.
Speaking of the Primarch, Shepard wondered where exactly where he was. He didn't see Fedorian, but then again he hadn't had much time to look. There wasn't any time to ask, wasn't any time to look, wasn't any time to connect with the Hawk Lords or Turians, only time to kill. If the bullets let up for just one instant, the base and everyone within its meager defenses would be overrun. They were here to get Fedorian out, but at the present moment Shepard had no idea how to do so. There wasn't time to ask, wasn't time to think, only time to fight or be gruesomely killed.
"This is Impetus lead to Commander Shepard and Squad Sagitta." The voice of the fighter pilot came in clearly over the din of battle. Shepard assumed the Marine squad must have been named Sagitta. "It's starting to look pretty bad down there. We're good to go… you guy's need some support?"
"Sagitta-1 to Impetus lead. Any air support is welcome," came the deep gravelly voice of the Marine sergeant over Shepard's helmet. Apparently, the Hawks were connected to the same frequency as everyone else, but didn't have any desire to speak.
"This is Shepard. Affirmative on air support." Shepard cycled his hellgun's power back and let loose with a fresh barrage of bolts. As his crew moved once more to cover him, he turned back to the Turians.
"Copy that. Bong! Pattle! Stay with the shuttle. The rest of you, follow me. Inbound for gun run, danger close, ETA one minute." Shepard looked around, sizing up the tactical scene.
"This could be a good chance to get the Primarch out. Where is he?" For all his looking, Shepard still had yet to see or hear from the Primarch.
"Right here," responded Fedorian's two-toned voice. A silver-plated Turian, wearing extremely expensive armor and bearing swirling golden markings stepped from the shadowed entrance of the nearby bunker. He hefted an assault rifle and moved up to join the battle line.
"Sir!" protested one of the two guards that had been standing with him out of the line of fire. "You-"
"I'll be fine, Senna. I didn't get to this position by cowering in the shadows." So saying, Primarch Fedorian of the Turian Hierarchy and his two bodyguards moved to the front of the line to join the fight.
"Good to have you, sir," called Garrus cheerfully. His sniper rifle rang out, dropping a charging skitarii. "That's twenty eight by the way, Sol."
"I'm at fifty three!" replied Solana gleefully as she mowed down another row of incoming Husks.
"Yeah, well, all Husks," shot back Garrus. "Mine are all Brutes or skitarii."
"But we're going for numbers. That's what we agreed on!" The friendly sibling rivalry was interrupted by the deep baritone of the Marine sergeant.
"If we're counting all kills during the present deployment, I myself sit at eight hundred and thirteen. …make that eight hundred and seventeen. Now, please, cease your blabbering." Garrus let out a snort of amusement as Solana rolled her eyes. Shepard only grinned and looked back to the Primarch, who was currently busy dropping Husks as if they were clay pigeons.
"Right! The plan is to get you on the shuttle when our air support helps cover us. There isn't enough for all of us, so it'll have to take two trips." Fedorian nodded.
"Understood, Commander." More Husks charged, only to spatter messily under the withering fire of the allies. More, ever more, skitarii and Brutes were being deployed. The Reapers or Dark Mechanicum wanted the Primarch dead. If they could get Shepard or any of the Normandy's crew as well, that would be all the more of a bonus.
"You got that, Steve?" called Shepard to the shuttle pilot.
"Understood, Commander. I'll be there."
"This is Impetus lead inbound, danger close." Shepard looked up as the flight of Thunderbolt fighters streaked across the sky, coming in dangerously low. The sleek fighters zoomed across the field of battle, peppering the Reaper ground forces with their autocannons. Thunderbolts didn't have anything else. They were air-to-air fighters, and as such, bore no anti-infantry weapons. Still their help was appreciated.
The Normandy's shutte came in low and fast, hovering over the broken ground on clean element zero engines. Higher above, Impetus squadron banked for another pass, streaking across the sky on jets of fire.
Fedorian made for the shuttle, accompanied by his bodyguards. They looked around, scanning for any incoming threats as they hustled their charge for safety. Another bodyguard helped up Camivia. Her arm around the guard's shoulder, they limped towards the shuttle.
Now deprived of any biotic support and five additional rifles, the fighting became more intense. The line still held, the fire still continued, the bolters still boomed, the lasbolts still whizzed, Garrus's sniper rifle still sang, but there were less whining mass accelerated weapons to add their buzz to the defense, and so the line shrank back.
"This is Impetus lead to ground. We are breaking our air support and escorting the shuttle for any aerial threats. How copy?"
"Sagitta-1 to Impetus lead. We copy. We'll hold here," replied the Space Marine sergeant before Shepard got a chance to speak. Somewhat frustradely, the Commander turned back and unleashed a flurry of lasbolts at the ever-encroaching Husks. He winced as a shot from a corrupted skitarii landed far too close to him. His squad, the Marines, and the remaining Turians hung on grimly, but now the press was unbearable. There were more Reaper soldiers than before, and now the allies were down in numbers. The shuttle wouldn't be back soon. It had to take the Primarch back to the Normandy. Either way, it couldn't fit everyone on the ground aboard its small bulk. There simply wasn't enough room. Either a few people had to be left behind to certain doom, or a few people could be taken to safety. Shepard and the Turians opted for the latter. It still wasn't much consolation to those still left on the ground.
Shepard snarled as he cycled his hellgun once more. The Husks were even closer now, with the heavier enemy support making it mere meters from the line before being shot down by Garrus or the Marines. Around him, the Turians fired grimly. Tali had foregone her pistol and omni-tool and was now blasting huge chunks out of Husks at close range with her shotgun. Kasumi picked up a Phaeston from somewhere and was simply blasting away, not bothering to aim. No one was. There was no need.
Zaeed cursed like a drill sergeant, flinging profanities at the Reapers alongside his lasbolts. Solana still occasionally spoke up to keep strained banter with Garrus, but was far more quiet and subdued than before. Robert and Kevral fought silently. There was no need to speak. Some preferred to talk, like Zaeed, for it helped with the stress; helped their minds focus. Others locked their jaws together, senses narrowing and hearts pounding with adrenaline. Speaking was an act far beyond them in such a state.
For his part, Shepard surveyed the situation. He was the Commander, after all, and it was his job to know everything happening and how to subsequently win the fight. He was the tactician to Tali's tech specialist, Kasumi's lightweight hard-hitter, and the others' consummate professionalism. It was his job; what he had always been good at.
Right now, things weren't looking good. Shepard had been in some pretty bad situations before: the Elysian Blitz, not a dissimilar situation, where he nearly died, the Citadel when Sovereign attacked and he nearly died, the Battle of Rannoch where he was confronted with a Reaper in the open and nearly died… Come to think of it, Shepard nearly died a lot. Upon reflection, he decided he needed to stop doing that. He was a married man now, after all.
However, present circumstances prevented such a lofty goal as not being in constant life or death situations. In said present circumstance, Shepard couldn't find anything that would save them. There were too few of them and far too many Reapers. Hell, the Turians probably would have died a long time ago if not for the Hawk Lords…
Bingo. Shepard turned left to the massive forms of the violet-armored Marines, still blasting away at the incoming Reaper forces.
"Sargeant!" he called, hoping to get the lead Marine's attention. Thankfully, the sargeant's massive helmeted head turned a fraction to the right to acknowledge him before spinning back to target an incoming skitarii.
"Yes?" replied the Marine bluntly. It seemed he wasn't one for niceties.
"We need some help down here!" called back Shepard, not even bothering to look the Marine's way. He had far more pressing problems to worry about. A Husk lunged at him, claws nearly hooking into his armor before he shot it down. "Don't know how you guys are planning on getting out, but our shuttle won't be back to pick us up any time soon," he said.
There was a slight pause. The Marine squad kept firing. Shepard knew enough about the super-soldiers to realize they had excellent tactical sense. If they were here, especially if they were helping aliens, they would have an out. There was no way a Space Marine would make saving an alien leader a suicide mission.
"Checking," replied the sergeant.
"Okay!" yelled back Shepard, if only in an attempt to acknowledge the Marine.
For his part, Brother Sargeant Ustius Wyrin of the Hawk Lords frowned as he surveyed the current situation. He'd been in worse. Far worse. The only irksome thing about this was that he was ordered to defend xenos. Disgusting. Not only could they not do it themselves, but they made some of the chapter come down to help them. Craven, honorless, vile things.
Still, they fought. That was more than he could say about some xenos. These… Asari and Salarians were far worse, nearly on the level of the cowardly Eldar. Then again, simply fighting wasn't saying much. The Orks would fight anything that moved, each other included. So perhaps these… Turian creatures weren't particularly bright after all. They called their leader Primarch as well. Wyrin resisted the urge to spit in disgust. As if this mandibled mockery of the holy human form could ever compare with the likes of Lord Guilliman. Disgusting. Wyrin would never refer to the xenos leader by its title. "Xenos leader" would do fine.
His thoughts jostled by the human Commander, apparently someone of some fame in this universe, Wyrin turned and continued to assess the current situation. Yes, he'd been in worse, but in those times he'd either been in better defensive positions or had more of his brothers by his side. The humans and collective xenos scum fought well enough, but they were no match for the magnificent forms of his violet-clad brothers.
Of course, he could ask…
But then again, he had no wish to bother chapter command with his own trivialities. They had their hands full coordinating the orbital, aerial, and ground campaigns. Such was the life of high-ranking Marines. There was a Thunderhawk on call to pick up his squad, and he didn't particularly care about the xenos and the xeno-utilizing Commander, but he was ordered to protect the Turian-xenos leader and his high command… so… Ugh. This was such a hassle.
"Sagitta-1 to Gideon. The xenos leader has been evacuated by the Commander." The Marines all had their own private comms channels. Like any good Marine, and to get any support, Wyrin relayed what information he had to his direct superior, Lieutenant Gideon. "However, Reaper forces are overwhelming our position. The xenos high command and the Commander's forces cannot evacuate until their shuttle arrives. Request further support." There was a slight delay while Gideon processed the information.
"Understood. Relaying your message to the Captain. Excellent work, Sergeant. You have performed admirably," replied the Lieutenant. The line went dead as Gideon went on his own private channel with Oterius, Third Company's captain.
In the meantime, Wyrin kept firing, blasting away fallen skitarii with the explosive rounds of his bolter. His squad had indeed performed admirably: the carpet of dead Reaper and Dark Mechanicum soldiers in front of his position attested to that fact. However, extra as they did bring, ammunition was running low. They all could fight with their knives and fists, but Wyrin didn't want it to come to that.
"This is Chapter Master Tulioc to Sagitta-1. Please report your situation," came a new, gruff voice through Wyrin's helmet. The sergeant gulped. The Chapter Master. In person. Just how important was this mission exactly?
"The xenos leader has been evacuated by Commander Shepard," replied Wyrin. "The shuttle will not be coming back for the xenos high command or Shepard for several minutes. The situation is unstable and if we want to hold for much longer, we need additional reinforcements." Another slight pause as the Chapter Master looked over his charts and tactical arrays.
"Very well. You've done well to hold this far and get the xenos leader out." Wyrin was surprised by this. Was the xeno truly that important to the crusade's high command? "Expect Fourth Squad, First Company inbound. In addition, we are diverting several Stormtalons to your position. Can you hold until then?"
"Of course, Chapter Master!" replied Wyrin. It was nothing less than his duty to hold.
"Excellent. Tulioc out." Wyrin grinned beneath his helm. His brothers would arrive shortly, and no force in the world could stand against them.
Commander Shepard flinched as yet another Husk lunged at him, only to be bodily thrown back by the force of Tali's shotgun. He turned and spun, lasbolts slicing through a Cannibal that was targeting Kasumi. The squad protected each other, taking out any threats that might do any of them harm, yet still the fight was getting increasingly hard. There were simply too many incoming enemies. The Marines, Turians, and Normandy's crew were good, yes, but eventually numbers would tell.
"What about the help, Sergeant?" he had time to yell before another Husk came charging at him. This time, the Commander was forced to use the bayonet he attached to the lasgun to impale it. Originally, he had laughed at Kevral's recommendation. Now, it saved his life. He would no longer wonder why the Imperials used so many close-quarters weapons.
"Inbound ten seconds," replied Wyrin calmly. Shepard spared a precious second to look around. There was no air support flying high above, no streaking of jets and no marching of incoming infantry. Where exactly was this support coming from? He knew the Marine wouldn't lie to him; there was simply no point.
Instead, he focused back on the battle and tried not to count down in his head. Seconds were jewels beyond price in combat. Just one fraction of a heartbeat too slow to reload, one false twitch that resulted in a miss would lead to death. This fight was one of the most intense Shepard had ever been in, and that was saying a lot. Seconds here were precious: ten seemed far too long. Instead, Shepard tried to focus on the battle itself, on keeping those around him alive for just ten more seconds.
Time seemed abysmally slow, but in moments the Commander felt a strange, pressing sensation within the recesses of his mind. The wafting scent of ozone filled the air. Behind him, a few Turians looked around sharply.
"Insertion inbound," came Wyrin's voice. "Clear."
"Wha-" Shepard didn't have time to react. Instead, his mouth simply fell open as the Hawk Lords' Terminator elite teleported directly from orbit to join the fight.
Each wore sets of extraordinary heavy armor, making the usual Marine power armor seem miniscule in comparison. Their back plates were enormous, shoulders coming all the way around their bodies, making them look almost hunch-backed in appearance. Heavy helmets, snout-like in appearance and seemingly tiny compared to the rest of the Terminators' bulk peered forward, eye lenses glowing fierce red.
As they plodded forward, heavy footfalls shaking the earth, the Turians simply stared and the Normandy's crew moved back with shocked yelps. The squad of Terminators, clad in the typical violet and gold of the Hawk Lords, moved directly to the front line and began their fight. Shepard wondered precisely how they were supposed to fight in such bulky armor. There was no time in which they could evade, and enemies could easily get behind them. Such armor, impressive as it was, could be a large liability.
His fears were assuaged when one of the Terminators turned and backhanded a Husk's head off its body.
The rest of the newcomers opened up with wrist-mounted double-barreled bolters, launching a barrage of explosive shells, driving back the Husks. Some had chainblades mounted beneath their off-hand fists; others' gauntlets crackled with blue energy. Either way, they could effectively fight at close range.
Fire from the Cannibals and corrupted skitarii splashed off their armor like rain against brick. The only things that were strong enough to harm the Terminators had to get within range to do so, something their brothers and allies were eager to prevent. Emboldened by their sudden arrival, the allies fought that much harder, working to turn the tide against the Reaper forces.
As if from nowhere, gunships, painted the rich purple of the Hawk Lords, streaked across the sky to release their explosive payloads onto the enemy below. One was a huge and bulky Thunderhawk: Shepard recognized the type from Mechanicus briefings. They were smaller and much faster, sporting massive arrays of weapons with no hold in the back. Whatever they were, they were certainly adept at dealing with infantry. Multi-barreled bolters rotated and spat forth explosive death as heavy-hitting lascannons and anti-infantry fragmentation missiles peppered the ground. With the anvil of the Terminators and hammer of the Hawk Lord air support, the Reaper forces were caught and crushed.
"Heads up, Commander. We're back." Steve Cortez's sudden call came like music to Shepard's ears. Finally, they'd get out of here. It seemed like both an eternity and but a few moments that the shuttle had left carrying the general and the Primarch.
Now it turned close to hover over the battlefield, element zero engines humming low in contrast to the sharp whines of the Hawk Lord gunships higher above. Shepard pumped his arm and gestured for the shuttle.
"C'mon! Let's move." No one needed to be told twice. What Turians remained on the ground sprinted with the crew of the Normandy to the safety of the shuttle. The Hawk Lord Thunderhawk came in low, guns still blazing, and turned in midair. The frontal ramp opened to allow Wyrin's squad inside. They embarked swiftly, still blazing away with their bolters to cover the retreat.
In but a few moments, the allied aircraft were airborne and flying far away from the chaos of the battle. The Terminators teleported back aboard their battle barge, ready to answer another high-priority request. The Turian high commanders murmured to each other, thanking the Normandy's crew for their help. The Hawk Lord craft broke away. Below Shepard, Palaven burned, but the fight continued on as the forces of the Imperium of Man fought side by side with xenos for the first time in living memory.
oOo
Codex:
Legio Pallidus Mor:
Legio Pallidus Mor, also known as the "Pale Riders," are a Titan Legion of the Collegia Titanicus based on the forge world of Tolkhan in the Segmentum Tempestus. Founded during the Age of Strife, Pallidus Mor is thought to be one of the most ancient of any Titan Legion in the Imperium. Pallidus Mor has always been a fervent supporter of the Emperor and His Imperium, dating back to when they were first discovered.
During the Great Crusade, Pallidus Mor served nobly alongside the Iron Warriors Astartes Legion in some of the most gruesome conflicts of the war. To Pallidus Mor, this history is a source of both great pride and great shame: pride for the bloody battles and protracted sieges that only deepened their resolve and devotion to the Emperor, but shame for never calling the changes that overcame their closest allies in the Fourth Legion. It was this shame that led Pallidus Mor to sequester nearly all of their historical data, even though they fought valiantly for the Emperor during the Heresy.
Since the betrayal of their closest ally, Pallidus Mor's credo has been one of self-reliance, dogged tenacity, and grim fatalism. The Legio has never cringed to pay the butcher's bill, and reports of them coming from battle victorious but decimated are the epitome of this mentality. A princeps of Pallidus Mor will always walk expecting the worst possible outcome. They will sacrifice anything, including their life and even their god-engine, if it means securing victory.
Unusually for a Titan Legion, none of the princeps of Pallidus Mor are interred in an amniotic casket but instead remain in their human form while commanding their engines.
Hawk Lords:
While their records have been lost to the mire that is Imperial history, many suspect the Hawk Lords to be a Second Founding Successor Chapter raised from the veteran pilot formation of the Ultramarine Legion's 21st Chapter, known as "The Hawks." Such an idea makes perfect sense, for the Hawk Lords are both Ultramarine successors and aerial supremacists without equal. The chapter favors the use of their gunships to support their infantry and crush any opposition. They are the undisputed masters of the air within the Adeptus Astartes, so much so that it isn't unknown for pilots from other chapters to hone their skills while on secondment to a Hawk Lords Talon Wing.
The Hawk Lords almost never use drop pods in planetary assaults, instead preferring to make use of their Thunderhawk gunships for low-altitude insertions. Drop pods can't be controlled. Thunderhawks can. The chapter also makes heavy use of Stormtalon gunships, Land Speeders, and Assault Marines. Everything within the Hawk Lords is designed around fast-moving aerial supremacy, making use of whatever tactic is best suited for the engagement. If the gunships support the infantry, so be it. If the going is tough, then the infantry and Land Speeders secure enemy anti-air fire while the Stormtalons roar forward to obliterate enemy ground forces.
The Hawk Lords also are unique for having aerial heavy weapons squads. Utilizing specialized jump packs called Hawk Wings, Devastator Marines are able to bear their heavier weapons into battle without costing them their mobility.
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There we have it! I hoped everything was adequate: I know I didn't touch a whole lot on Pallidus Mor and the Hawk Lords, but simply did not have the time. Besides, this chapter is just the opening of the war. More will definitely come later. Again, in the next chapter, what would you like Kevral to talk about? Also, there have been many viewer suggestions, so if you want to read the reviews and comment on any of them, please, do so! I'm alsways open to your thoughts, and even though there is a direction I want to take this, please tell me what you do and do not like. More Marine/Imperial interactions with the people of Mass Effect? More or less Normandy crew fluff? What did you like and not like? What do you want to see more of? Thank you for all your wonderful reviews. Until next time.