Welcome back! The Steel Legion and all their glorious vehicles make and appearance, and Chapter Master Tulioc of the Hawk Lords kicks some ass. I hope you all enjoy the story. I should mention that Cawl killed the Inquisitor because Cawl enjoys doing what he wants, and the Order Machinum would cut down on both what he and Adas could do. I must also mention that some people are looking for more 'grimdark'. Not to worry, for that is coming up. As the reviewer BonesofSmite so eloquently put it, I'm trying to have the xenophobia of the Imperium and Warhammer interact with the xenophilia of Mass Effect. I do realize I have more xenophilia than xenophobia, but you must also realize... this is a Warhammer and Mass Effect crossover going over a major war. Take a quick glance on the style of both universes, and you can guess that the coming things are going to be... interesting. So please stay tuned. No matter what you like or what your style is, I can and will accomidate you. On to reviews!
MEleeSmasher: Yeah, that's true. On a scale of Salamanders to Marines Malevolent, the Iron Hands are very much towards the Marines Malevolent side.
Colossus Bridger: It depends. As you said, the Raven Guard and Salamanders actually care about mortals. The Blood Angels, White Scars and Space Wolves care, but they won't prioritize civilians and if you're in the way... well, sorry. The Imperial Fists and Ultramarines base their fights solely on practicality, which means if its practical to save civilians, they will. If it's not, they won't. The Dark Angels are interesting, because they can respect mortals, but they have a tendency to just bail out of campaigns to look for the Fallen which leaves civilians out to dry. The Iron Hands simply don't care and will just kill you. Natrius is a fun and interesting character to write, and I'm glad you liked him and his inner thoughts. I hope you enjoy this chapter as well!
muarse: There really isn't such a thing as right-wing, left-wing in Warhammer. I suppose you could compare Puritans and Radicals to conservatives and liberals, but the things is both have the same politics and are (usually) loyal servants of the Throne. They just disagree over methods. Cawl killed the Inquisitor because the Inquisitor would have interfered with Adas and his personal freedom. You are correct that he would kill the more xenophobic simply because they have a higher chance of negatively interfering with his plans. Maybe... Cawl is one hell of a chessmaster...
Doc43Souls: Thank you. Also, thank you for the corrections. They were very helpful. Don't know what I'd do without you.
BonesofSmite: Well, if Baneblade wasn't enough, you get more Baneblade this chapter. Hope you like it. I also like Tali and Shepard's parent's dating. I think it's pretty funny. As you stated, the xenophobia and xenophilia are going to interact very interestingly, so stay tuned.
Austin: Glad you like both stories! Trazyn will show again, rest assured of that. The war goes on, and I'm trying to illustrate the differences between the Imperium and Mass Effect civilizations, and how they get along for the war. In the future, I definitely have another story idea, whic involves Warhammer, Mass Effect, and a few others. A magnum opus of sci-fi crossovers, if you will. I'm sure you'll love it, so stay tuned for both Technophiles and Militarists and the future story! Stay safe and healthy.
Knighthunter911700: Cawl killed the Inquisitor because it would interfere with both Adas and his own personal freedom. I'm glad you enjoed that chapter, and hope you also enjoy this one!
Matthew: Good to have you back! Glad to have you and your insightful reviews once more. I'm glad you like the Imperium's characterizations. As for Dies Irae and the Titans... well, you seem to have read my mind. They're coming, worry not.
Guestman: Thank you.
Valhalan Guardsman: You are correct. I didn't even know the scorcher existed until now. However, there probably aren't a lot left, and so they don't really show anywhere.
Anatheras: Indeed. Thank you for reading!
PaladinSans: More because they're a stricter, less flexable chapter and don't like working with xenos. I would think both the Imperial Truth and Creed see it as heresy. While 'heresy' wasn't really a term under the Truth, I think the modern day Marines would have picked it up.
Sunssarathi2029: Soon... along with other delightful things...
Akshka: Glad you liked it! Thank you for reading. More is on the way!
Gyvon: True. It's good that Verchen didn't cross Natrius, then.
Draken Ultor: Thank you!
oOo
We Are Legion
"For the Legion! Blood and steel!" -saying amongst the Armageddon Steel Legion
"The only time you'll ever see a Turian's back is if they're dead." -Turian saying
oOo
The squad picked its way carefully over the rubble. Plaster and dust coated their black boots. Bricks and chunks of masonry shifted beneath them with muted clunks. Lasguns were clenched tightly in hands, and masked eyes scanned the ruins of the city for any sign of enemy movement.
The Steel Legion had moved all across Palaven, fighting the Reapers throughout the planet. Strangely enough, the Legion was perfectly suited to the war on Palaven. The planet was much like their homeworld of Armageddon, with open areas interspersed between massive sprawling cities. It was a bit… odd. The Legion could fight just as they fought in the seemingly countless wars for Armageddon. Their armor would roll over the open plains (thankfully not hostile wastelands) and their combined forces could fight for the cities.
The Steel Legion were masters of city warfare. It was in their blood. It was how they trained, how their planet worked. Each and every one of them was born in the huge hive cities of Armageddon. The vast majority of them were from the slums of the hives, born of criminals or low level workers. The Steel Legion was an escape from such places in life. But, they had come from the cities, were trained in the cities, and so were experts at this sort of fighting.
Currently, Trooper Galvin Myren kicked yet another chunk of ruined masonry out his way. He scanned the empty streets around him. Nothing. Not a single life form anywhere. No Reaper troops, no Dark Mechanicus monstrosities, no Turians, no Marines, no fellow Steel Legionnaires, not even any small animals prowling the ruins. It seemed as if the only living things within the city were Galvin and his squad.
"What now?" muttered one of the troopers, his voice muted by his gas mask. Sergeant Betha turned and glared at him, annoyed. She glanced at Corporal Kagan, then back at the rest of the squad.
"There's a building over there." She pointed with a gloved hand. Sure enough, there was a surprisingly mostly-intact building a few blocks down. Everything else was husks or rubble. "Were the scouting party," the Legionnaires were still dissatisfied that a few Sentinels couldn't have done the job, "So we sit there and we make reports on any Reaper movements we see." She turned back to the rest of the squad to gauge their reactions. Most of the enlisted seemed to be more than satisfied over the new turn of events. "Move out."
As the squad got closer, Galvin could make out more of the building. It looked to be some sort of government building, built of extremely sturdy materials. The fact that it was still standing was a testament to whoever built it. Considering how the Turians operated, it probably was a government building, then.
Entering the building itself, Betha ordered the squad to fan out and explore the interior. It wouldn't do to have Reaper forces hidden inside ambushing them. The Legionnaires fanned out, lasguns raised. It couldn't really be said that the interior of the building was intact, but it wasn't a ruined shell. That put it ahead of anything else in the vicinity.
Galvin was on the first floor along with two others, exploring back rooms, offices, and storage areas when a hurried call came over the squad's interior helmet voxes. Galvin supposed it was a good thing they were a scout squad in this case- otherwise they all wouldn't have voxes, only the sergeant. Grumbling, the troopers kicked the ever-present plaster dust off their boots and moved to the basement level, where the call had come from. There was nothing on the first floor. It was just as deserted as everything else they'd seen in the city.
As the three Legionnaires descended down the stairs, they came up short to an interesting sight. Sergeant Betha was upstairs, organizing defensive positions. Corporal Kagan and two more Legionnaires were here, though, staring down at a corner in confusion. Galvin moved forward and peeked over Kagan's shoulder to figure out what the trouble was.
Oh.
Sitting in the corner, curled up and clearly fearful of the gas masked Legionnaires, was a very small Turian. It was a very dark gray, nearly black in color, and whimpered miserably as the masked stares of the Legionnaires regarded it.
"Mama? Have you come to take me back to Mama?" asked the Turian child, a small glimmer of hope entering his eyes.
"Oh, boy," sighed one of the Legionnaires. Kagan looked around for help that was not forthcoming.
"Sargeant, there is a… xenos child here," he voxed Betha. There was a brief pause.
"Repeat last," requested Betha.
"There is a xenos. Child. Here," replied Kagan, perhaps slightly too snappishly.
"Check it, Corporal," growled Bentha. "Deal with the child as you wish." She abruptly cut off the vox. Kagan stared straight ahead for a brief moment, wondering where his life went wrong. The Turian child looked up at the Legionnaires in fear.
"What do we do?" muttered one of the troopers. Galvin looked to the child, then back to Kagan.
"I say we kill it," said another Legionnaire. The others glanced at her. She shrugged defensively. "What? It's a xeno," she said, if that explained it. In fact, it did. It was a xeno.
"What? No!" replied another, turning angrily to the first. She gestured at the Turian child. "It's a kid. We can't just kill it." Galvin had no idea if the Turian understood what they were saying, but he shrank back farther into his corner with a whimper.
"Why not?" asked the first, crossing her arms.
"'Cause Rynard," Rynard was their captain, "and the Commissar aren't gonna like it. They said we're supposed to get along with the xenos. Orders from crusade high command. No matter the filth they are, we're supposed to get along. Fight the Reapers first." The other trooper crossed her arms with a snort.
"They're not here. Besides, do you really think either Rynard or the Commissar are gonna care? They'll probably give you a medal, no matter what their orders are." Galvin looked at both masked troopers, then to Kagan, then to the Turian child, then back to the troopers again. He had to admit, both had points. He looked to the child again. Well, this was a dilemma. What to do?
Kagan crossed his arms and considered. The troopers squabled in the back until he held up a hand for silence.
"Alright, alright." He tilted his head back with a sigh. "We… we can't have a kid here with us, on the battlefield. Especially a xenos kid. We need to kill him." He looked around at the rest of the troopers. "So… who wants to do it?" Kagan didn't seem pleased at the fact.
Galvin shrank back. Both of the others crossed their arms.
"I'm not going to do it," said one. The other looked over incredulously.
"You were the one that said you wanted to kill him!" she said, gesturing to the Turian child.
"Yeah… but that doesn't mean I want to do it…" muttered the trooper uncomfortably. Kagan sighed. Galvin watched in morbid fascination.
"Fine. I'll do it," said Kagan. He stepped forward and drew his laspistol. The other Legionnaires shrank back from the unpleasant sight. As Kagan aimed shakily at the now terrified and silent child, galvin felt an odd emotion within him. It was… something he wasn't used to feeling. Especially not for a xeno.
Kagan's masked eyes looked down the barrel of his pistol and into the Turian's frightened irises. His hand tensed around the trigger. The Legionnaires held their breaths.
"I… ugh!" Kagan dropped his arm as if he were holding a heavy weight. "I can't do it." He exhaled, a great expulsion of air that could be heard even through his mask. Galvin slumped his shoulders, releasing a weight he didn't even know he had. Kagan turned to the other Legionnaires. "You do it." He offered the pistol to the one who said the child should be killed. She shrank away.
"No," came the simple reply. Kagan looked at Galvin and the second trooper, who both mutely shook their heads. Kagan sighed.
"Well, I guess if we're not going to kill him, then we're going to have to take him with us." He gestured to Galvin and the second trooper. "Take him upstairs." The corporal turned and marched up the stairs to the first floor, unwilling to look behind him. Glavin and Taria, the trooper who had argued in favor of sparing the child, stepped forward. The small Turian shrank back, still frightened. Galvin didn't think the boy fully understood what was happening, but knew for certain it would be scared: of them, of the building, of the very situation happening around them.
"What's your name?" asked Galvin softly, holding out a gloved hand to the child. He sniffled in return.
"Aulculus," replied the child. Hesitantly, he took Galvin's hand. The Legionnaire gently helped him to his feet.
"What are you doing here, Aulculus?" asked Galvin. It was a good question; no child, not even a xeno, should be here amidst the war-torn wreckage of Palaven's broken cities.
"My… my mother told me to wait here." Another sniffle. "Told… told me it would be safe." A tiny, two fingered clawed hand gestured around at crates stashed around the basement. "There's food, an… an water…" Aulculus looked up tearfully at Galvin's masked face. "But she hasn't been back. Where is she?" he asked pleadingly. Glavin sighed as he led Aulculus up the stairs to the main floor, Taria following carefully.
"I don't know, Aulculus," he admitted, voice soft. Before Aulculus could begin crying or worrying, Galvin continued. "But I'm sure she's safe. There are plenty of refugee camps in the safe zones. She's probably there." A kid was already enough of a problem; they didn't need to make it worse by saying his parents were dead. Aulculus perked up at the idea. For some reason unknown to either of them, both Legionnaires smiled beneath their gas masks.
"C'mon, Aulculus. Let's go meet everyone else," said Taria cheerfully as they exited the basement and fell into the dusty light of the ruined building.
oOo
"Fever 3-1 to Polaris, I am on station." Maravin Denis turned in his large leather pilot's chair to his copilot, Revin Ryder. Both of them wore their heavy flight helmets, full frontal mask tinted orange to protect against glare. Revin reached out a brown-gloved hand to adjust the Valkyrie's speed. Maravin flipped a few switches and stared out to the clouds beneath him, waiting.
"Fever 3-2 to Polaris, I am on station." The radio crackled with Maravin's second announcing her arrival over the designated area. They were not here for anything in particular, only to circle until someone needed a few Valkyries to come to their aid. He looked out the window with a sigh. Such was the life of a gunship pilot. Though, the reactions he got from the infantry more than made up for any boredom he got here.
There was another plus: like almost every pilot in existence, Maravin loved to fly. Despite the boredom of circling, waiting for Polaris (control) to find them something to do, Maravin supposed this was exactly where he would want to be anyway. He could only thank the Emperor that He had seen fit to give him a Valkyrie in which he could carry out his dreams.
"Stand by, Fever flight," came the cool voice of their central controller. Back at their airbase, the largest one on Palaven set up by the Imperium, the controllers looked over their maps, holograms, and listened to incoming radio messages to redirect them to the pilots. At times, pilots would be in direct contact with forces on the ground, but until everything got settled on Palaven and more equipment could be brought out, everything went through a central controller first.
"Polaris to Fever flight, divert to coordinates 3171," came the sudden voice of the controller. Pilot and copilot turned to each other with a nod, then made the necessary adjustments to carry out their orders. The two Valkyries turned in midair, dipping down and breaking off to the right, heading for their new coordinates. "Fire support mission for a Turian platoon. Reaper forces coming in danger close. Cleared hot."
"Wilco," said Maravin.
"Wilco," came the voice of Fever 3-2 over the vox. From his cockpit seat, Maravin could see the second Valkyrie to the side and slightly behind him. The dull roar of the gunships' engines throbbed in his ears, the sweetest sound in the world. He grinned.
"Good hunting, Fever flight," came the controller's clipped tones. Maravin grinned. Time for his favorite thing in the universe. Though…
"They said we're helping xenos?" queried Revin. The man pressed a few buttons unhappily as he gazed down at the cloud layer they were breaking. Maravin scowled. That was the only problem with what they were currently doing… helping xenos.
"Yes they did," came the unhappy voice of Fever 3-2. "Why, I couldn't tell you." Both Valkyries were vox linked. Due to necessity, they could hear each other if they were both transmitting. The crews of both enjoyed speaking to each other while en route.
"I'd ask you why, but you just said you didn't know," sighed Revin.
"Fracckin' xenos," spat 3-2's copilot in disgust. Maravin snorted and nodded in agreement. He reached out to bring the gunship lower. They dived beneath the cloud layer, streaking across the sky to reach their intended mission.
"Say… I have an idea," said 3-2. Maravin keyed his vox.
"Go ahead, 3-2. Let's hear it." In his seat, Revin checked the weapons of the Valkyrie, readying them for combat.
"Wouldn't be a shame," drawled 3-2, "If our danger-close gun run was a little bit too… danger close." Revin's head shot up. Maravin chuckled.
"Yes, a damn shame," he replied. "An accident of war. Too bad we weren't given their exact coordinates. They might have moved, and there's no way to tell where everyone is from all the way up here…" He trailed off, grinning.
"We still have to get the Reapers," said Revin, a faint note of disapproval in his voice. Both 3-2 and Maravin knew it wasn't because he wanted to save the xenos, but rather because it offended his professional pride to hit anything but the designated target.
"Of course we do," replied 3-2. The gunships banked and came lower. In the distance, they could see the designated area. Maravin and Revin readied the Valkyrie's weapons. "What I'm thinking is we just fire for effect. Lot's of Reapers down there, and they're right next to the xenos. Just blast 'em all."
"I like the way you think 3-2," replied Maravin. "No wonder I fly with you." 3-2 chuckled over the vox. "So we just… fire for effect." He turned to Revin. "Light 'em up with the rockets first, and just cook 'em." Revin nodded. Maravin grinned as he brought the Valkyrie low and began the run.
Firing for effect was probably the most fun the pilots' could have. Use the Valkyrie's entire arsenal, and it didn't matter where they put it. They also got not one, but two enemies of humanity in the fire. Maravin couldn't help but smile. Three for one. They truly were doing the Emperor's work today.
oOo
Lieutenant Sisnus Tiburpanus growled, his dual-toned voice making the sound that much more threatening. A Cannibal's heavily charged shot smashed through a flimsy concrete wall to his left, sending sprays of rubble everywhere. One of his men screamed in pain. He ducked above the broken wall he was sheltering behind and let loose with his Phaeston. Mass accelerated slugs chipped away at a Marauder's shields. The wretched creature, a horribly corrupt version of a once-proud Turian, turned and retaliated at Sisnus's position, forcing the lieutenant back down with a curse.
The damn thing's shields would probably regenerate before he got a chance to pop them, mused Sisnus wrathfully. Across the building, far to his right, Antonia hit a Brute full in the chest with a rocket. The ungainly beast was subsequently brought down by the platoon's collective firepower, but not before even more of them were hit by incoming Reaper fire. The Turian lieutenant let loose with a string of curses.
They were in Tyrearius, a major hub city located near Cipritine upon Palaven's broad surface. The Reapers were everywhere on the planet. The main push of Legio Pallidus Mor, accompanied by Hawk Lord air support and an ungodly amount of Imperial and Hierarchy vehicles, was taking place about another city length or two over to Tyrearius's left. It put the battle for Tyrearius as both a clean-up operation to secure Cipritine and a defensive move to secure the main push's flank.
In practice, it meant street fighting for a lot of Turian and Guard infantrymen. A lot of street fighting. And as any soldier, anyone with a slight knowledge of military history, or anyone who considered the question for but a few moments knew, street fighting was by far the worst fighting, right up there with muddy trenches. It also had the highest chances of bringing about an unfortunate early death, again right up next to trench warfare.
Regardless of the casualty chances, clearing ruins for Reaper forces was not fun. Sisnus cursed once more as another incoming shot blew apart part of his cover. He risked a glance, and a burst from his Phaeston, then ducked down immediately. Spirits, there were now more of them. What was he to do?
"We need to pull back, Lieutenant!" yelled the platoon's medic from the crater where he treated three injured soldiers. Or, at least it had been three about a minute ago. Sisnus desperately hoped that number hadn't gone up, but thought it to be very likely.
"Working on it!" he snapped back. For anyone else, he would have been incredibly upset over their nigh-insubordinate tone. The medic, however, was the medic. No matter what your rank was on the battlefield, from Primarch down to Private, you listened to the medic. Always. That was just the way it was. And if the medic in this instant was telling him to pull back, then it meant his patients were in immediate danger of being overrun. For what seemed to be the umpteenth time today, Sisnus cursed. "Fall back!" he ordered his men.
It was a hasty retreat, with the medic and a few nearby soldiers picking up the wounded and carrying them to safety as the others covered them. When they were safely away, Sisnus and what few of the platoon that remained joined them, running for the safety of nearby buildings as the Reapers advanced under the Marauders' directions. As Sisnus ran, his mind ran over what could be done. There were a lot of Reapers inbound. He could set up another defensive position, of course, but he had a sinking feeling it would end up just like the last one. So…
"This is Tappa-37. Tappa-37 to Gurdan-99. Come in, Gurdan-99! Over!" he half-begged over the comms. Sisnus looked around hurriedly. No one left behind. Good. He was the last one out, as was only proper.
"Gurdan-99 to Tappa-37. Good ahead, over," came the calm voice of his platoon's overseer. In the usual Turian efficiency, and in the way of all soldiers in modern warfare, all Hierarchy military groups in the field were connected to a central command overseer. An analogous scenario would be Commander Shepard connected to the Normandy, which could give his ground crew a tactical overview. It was much the same in the Hierarchy military.
"Gurdan-99, we have contact in section 41-31 and are forced to pull back. Major Reaper assault. We need immediate support or we will be forced to pull back farther. Over," said Sisnus.
"Copy Tappa-37. Give me a moment," replied the control center.
Around him, Sisnus's platoon dug in. New ruins, old ruins, what did it matter? Those carrying the wounded set them down. The medic dropped Corporal Licenus and immediately began his work. Sisnus winced. Rich blue blood already stained the dusty ground. A lot of blood. Far too much blood than for people who had been laid there but a second ago. The rest of the platoon took defensive positions, weapons at the ready and mandibles drawing in with concern.
Sisnus frowned as he went down the line, projecting a facade of calm reassurance to his men. In truth, he had no idea what they would do. There were simply too many Reapers. They could come from any side, too. Lieutenant Sisnus hoped he and his men were not doomed, forgotten and written off in the brutal calculus of galactic war.
It was then Lieutenant Sisnus Tiburpanus heard perhaps the sweetest sentence he ever had the pleasure of laying auditory canals on.
"Gurdan-99 to Tappa-37. Steel Legion super-heavy armor inbound," came the sudden voice of the tactical overseer. "Looks like the Reapers are making a big push to your sector. Armored convoy diverted to help. Over."
"Thank you, Gurdan-99! We'll wait for the convoy, out," replied Sisnus. A few of the nearby soldiers who heard the conversation grinned, their first in what seemed like days.
"Copy Tappa-37. Good luck down there. Out." Sisnus whirled around and addressed those in his platoon that hadn't heard.
"We have Steel Legion super-heavy armor inbound!" He rolled the words around his tongue like a fine wine. His soldiers looked up with grins or expressions of awe on their faces. The Turian Hierarchy, much like all governments and modern military forces, did not have heavily armored vehicles. For that matter, apart from quick troop transports, most military forces didn't have any vehicles. Modern warfare was based around squad and platoon-level fighting, where infantrymen wielded high-powered weapons and advanced kinetic barriers. There was no need for armored vehicles, especially because a mere infantryman with a sufficient weapon could take them out.
However, the Imperials, especially the Steel Legion and Tank Legions on Palaven, possessed them in high quantities. Sisnus supposed it made sense. The Reapers could easily be taken out by tanks with little or no threat of the vehicles themselves being destroyed. Apparently, the Imperials fought things like the Reapers all the time.
Sisnus twisted around as he heard the familiar sounds of incoming Reaper forces. He shouted orders. Mandibles rose then tightened in concentration. A few heavy cracks of sniper rifles rang out as the platoon's long-range specialists engaged.
A new sound echoed through the air. It was not the horrible malignant screaming, chittering noises of the Reapers, nor was it the sharp echoes of the platoon's mass accelerated fire. Instead, it was the massive mechanical grinding, rumbling noise of dozens of armored tracks moving amid broken rubble.
The first to break through into the Turians' line of sight was not one of the behemoth Imperial super-heavy tanks, but rather what looked like a smaller, almost APC-sized vehicle. It came through the street, between the building where Sisnus's squad was holed and the incoming Reapers. Armored treds grinded over the rocks, breaking apart pieces of masonry beneath them. The closer Sisnus looked at the vehicle, the more he was certain it was some sort of Chimera. It certainly had the armored body of one of the Steel Legion's favored transports, but there was a strange turret on the top of the vehicle instead of a bolter or autocannon mount. Tubes fed from the armored back of the vehicle to the strange upper turret. For what, Sisnus did not know. He looked closer. Was that… was that some sort of igniter hanging near the end of the turret?
Oh.
The vehicle swiveled on its tracks, and the upper turret rotated to face the incoming Reapers. Hoards of moaning Husks and chittering Marauders drew closer, supported by several of the frightening Dark Skitarii.
The vehicle was called a Hellhound. As Sisnus had already noted, it was a modified Chimera chassis. Transport capacity was sacrificed for bulky promethium canisters and larger engines. Mounted atop the vehicle was the aptly-named inferno cannon- a monstrous flamethrower perfectly suited for annihilating infantry and flushing out enemies from dense terrain.
The Hellhound's inferno cannon ignited with a monstrous hiss-whumph! Promethium, nearly white-hot, spewed from the weapon's barrel. An additional front-mounted flamer joined in with another hissing roar, bathing the ruined building in flame. Chemical fire filled the air as the Hellhound spewed its flaming torrents, melting directly through the metallic bodies of the Husks. Cannibal element zero stores exploded, vaporizing Reaper troops in waves of biotic energy. Monstrosities reeled from cover, eerily silent as their bodies burnt around them. The stench of flaming flesh and metal filled the air. To nearly any other force, it would have sent them back screaming in disarray. However, the Reapers cared not.
It didn't seem that the Imperials cared about the Reapers' lack of concern, either. As the awed Turians watched, a few light, two-legged Sentinel walkers moved up the street. They did not add their weapons to the fray, but rather kept moving, kept scouting for the main force. Leman Russ tanks appeared behind them, fanning out and moving around the street to take on any incoming Reapers. There were two normal Battle Tanks, alongside an Exterminator autocannon variant. Sisnus had seen both before among Imperial forces. They seemed to be the most common type.
However, accompanying them was another variant that made Sisnus's mandibles flare open in sheer glee at its sight. It was a typical Leman Russ, but instead of a battle cannon or autocannon, the main gun was a massive, multi-barreled Gatling cannon. Sisnus made a mental note to ask the Imperials if he could go inside. Just once.
As the Leman Russes moved up, more Sentinel walkers moved up to secure the convoy's flanks. They were accompanied by another modified Chimera, only instead of a huge flamethrower turret, this one had a vented, huge single-barreled gun atop its chassis.
However, Sisnus and the rest of the Turians forgot any sight of the modified Chimera at the sight of the newest armored vehicle. An earth-shaking, roaring rumble announced its presence, and what seemed like small avalanches were thrown up by its treads. Sisnus's mandibles dropped open at the sight of the promised Legion super-heavy armor.
It was utterly massive. It put the Chimeras, the Sentinels, the Leman Russes, and certainly any Turian armor to shame. It was as long as two or three Leman Russes (possibly four or five; Sisnus wasn't very good at estimations). A huge howitzer jutted from the front of the chassis, and armored sponsons bearing lascannons and flamers dotted the sides and corners. Above was a huge turret, with a strangely short-barreled gun mounted on it. The mammoth tank had Imperial Aquilas emblazoned on every surface, and the words Iron Tide scrawled lovingly on the side.
The huge Baneblade variant, known as a Hellhammer, froze in place in the center of the street. Slowly, menacingly, its main turret turned to face the ruins the Reaper infantry were pouring through. A Marauder and a pair of corrupted skitarii cackled at the Turians and Steel Legion armor. The gun fired. The sky lost all color.
"Spirits." The oath came unbidden from Sisnus's mouth. He blinked the after-effects of the Hellhammer's massive spherical explosion out of his eyes. He stared. It took a moment for him to realize his second-in-command was speaking to him, but there didn't seem to be and sound coming out. Sisnus finally noticed the ringing in his ears.
"-ir! Sir! Steel Legionnaires coming up behind us!" Sisnus whirled around. As sure as his aide had predicted, he could see the tan trench coats of Steel Legionnaires moving up from the rubble. Chimera transports, following the Hellhammer and Leman Russ escorts, swiveled around in the street and nearby ruins to disgorge their cargoes of soldiers.
Sisnus could make out two distinct styles of soldier: the normal tanned greatcoat Legionnaires, and the much more heavily-armored Stormtroopers. Said Stormtroopers must have been attached to and/or trained by the Steel Legion, as they wore the same uniform, only with heavy brown carapace armor and more advanced weapons.
The Stormtroops wasted no time living up to their name, sprinting across the street and storming the now-annihilated building the Reapers had been pouring through. Orange tongues of fire and bright blue flashes of plasma lit up the dusty sky. The rest of the normal troopers joined the Turians' defensive line.
Sisnus smiled as the Hellhammer ran over a squealing Cannibal. Things were going a lot better. Perhaps today would be a good day after all. Super-heavy armor tended to have that effect on people.
oOo
Manibia Orolienus vaulted over a broken concrete barrier, wincing as she landed hard in the rubble behind it. More Hierarchy soldiers followed, jumping and sliding over barricades desperate to get away from the incoming inhuman hordes. Much farther ahead, several unlucky few tried to fight the terrifyingly corrupted skitarii, but were butchered in seconds. One managed to get off a rocket, blowing a Dark skitarii to bits, but was eaten alive by a second; snapped up within the space of a heartbeat. Manibia winced. Brave as they were, the frontal soldiers should have fallen back.
"Firing positions!" yelled an officer over the din. Manibia didn't recognize him. She couldn't even see his rank. That was simply how it was. Broken remnants of different units thrashed together in a desperate attempt to survive the incoming storms.
It was that way all across Palaven. There were desperate fights everywhere. Across the open plains, armored convoys and the Titans of Pallidus Mor rolled into battle, dueling Reapers and the strange, twisted abominations of the Dark Mechanicum. In the cities, the combined arms of every group present on Palaven went house to house, street to street, fighting every horror the Reapers and Dark Mechanicum could conjure to ruin the homeworld of the Turians.
It seemed as if there was nothing left in the world but fighting. There was no victory for either side; the Reapers and their dread allies were too numerous and powerful to defeat, and the Turians and Imperials were too stubborn, too tenacious to destroy. The Reapers had numbers. The Turians and Imperials had discipline. The Imperials had godlike war machines. The Reapers and Dark Mechanicum had monstrous abominations.
Such was the story of the war on Palaven. Back and forth, to and fro, endless war.
It was a good thing eternal war against eldritch horrors was the standard fare for the forces of His Divine Majesty.
As Manibia was busy finding out, the horrors of the Reapers and Dark Mechanicum could get very, very bad. They were too large, too heavily armored, too quick and too powerful for standard infantry to defeat. However, borrowing another tactic out of the Imperial playbook, the Turians had quickly realized that if infantry were to fight the Reapers and Dark Mechanicum horrors, they either had to have dedicated heavy weapons teams, or needed to be so numerous that the enemy would be drowned beneath the sheer volume of their fire.
This was what Manibia and the other mis-mashed Hierarchy forces were trying to do at the present moment. At the officer's command, every Turian unleashed any and all weapons they had at their disposals. Mass accelerated fire flew like raindrops at the bloated forms of corrupted skitarii. Incinerates, rockets, grenades, a few borrowed melta guns, and the biotic powers of the singular cabal member at their disposal added their weight to the fray.
Charging skitarii were brought low by the guns of the Hierarchy soldiers. One kept moving, then faltered and stopped, confused, at the huge hole blown in its torso. The beast keeled over, dead. Manibia grimaced as she simply held down the trigger of her Phaeston, the weapon spitting rounds at another dark-clad horror. Through the combined firepower of her half a dozen others, the Dark skitarii fell short of their barricades. Manibia breathed a sigh of relief before reloading and moving onto the next target. It seemed as if things would only get harder from here.
A bellowing roar seemed to shake the very earth beneath Manibia's feet. Her head twitched, staring up at the source of the sound. From the buildings the enemy forces were pouring from came… came…
A nightmare. A beast of unimaginable proportions and horrific dimensions. It didn't walk through the building so much as smash down the building around it with its passage. The vast majority of its body was swathed in black robes, but it was large and humanoid in appearance, towering at least as high as the Mechanicus Knights Manibia had once seen. Some sort of strange, toothed beak-like mouth hung out from the shadows of its dripping, filthy dark hood. What parts of its arms that were not covered by the creature's black robes were gray. Manibia shivered. The flesh there was necrotic and long-dead, rotting and covered in leprous sores. The arms ended in wickedly sharp black talons that the creature used to impale a fellow skitarii that was too slow to get out of its way. Manibia winced, then shrugged. A dead Dark skitarii was a dead Dark skitarii, right? If only the manner of its death hadn't been so gruesome…
Another inhuman, screaming, howling roar sounded from the massive beast's mouth. The Turians shrank back, doing their best not to wince in pain. This thing was just so… wrong. So very, very wrong…
Suddenly, the Hawk Lords were around them. Manibia did not know where they came from. She did not know how the arrival of men so large could go unheralded, but it did. They swooped down upon fiery wings, taking the flanks of the main Turian force. Hovering meters above the ground upon jump packs, the Hawk Lords let loose with the firepower only Space Marines could bring to the field.
Strangely enough, Manibia noticed they were all bearing much heavier weapons than even the Imperial norm. Instead of bolters, which Manibia believed to be the standard weapons of the Marines, they wielded dual-melta/bolters, missile launchers, plasma cannons, and long, heavy grenade launchers. They unleashed their bombardment upon the hapless skitarii, annihilating them in an overwhelming display of Imperial might.
But the largest threat still remained. The behemoth of a corrupted skitarii (Manibia wasn't even sure it could be called a skitarii at this point) roared and made its way, footsteps thundering, to the Turian lines.
Smashing another Dark skitarii out of its path, the monster roared, shouting its challenge to the heavens. Whether or not its dark masters heard was of no consequence. The Turians heard. That was its only intent; to spread fear to its prey.
But instead of charging unopposed into Turian lines, it was stopped. Bolter shells detonated near its hood, guided by nigh-unparalleled aim. The beast roared in pain. Its attention grabbed, it wheeled around and turned to face its tormentor.
Manibia turned to look with the beast. Her mandibles opened in shock for a brief moment before she remembered where she was. She turned back to the fight, but couldn't help giving the occasional glance to the man in front of the monster. Once again, she knew not how he had shown, only that he was here and on the ground fighting.
It was a Marine, that much was certain, but he bore armor and weapons of such sheer magnificence that it put even the pieces in Cirpirtine's museum to shame. His armor was a beautiful violet trimmed with ornate golden edging. With a determined glint in the red lesnes of his helmet, the Marine raised his bolt pistol. The ornate sword in his right hand crackled to life with lethal energy. This man could only be one being: Chapter Master Lysander Tulioc of the Hawk Lords.
With another howl, the massive monster lunged at the Chapter Master. Ducking, he swiftly avoided the blow. His sword flashed out, slicing through the necrotic flesh of the beast's left arm. Rearing and roaring in pain, the dark monster brought both of its hands together and smashed downwards, hoping to annihilate Tulioc in one brutal overhead blow.
But the Master of the Hawks simply pivoted out of the way once more. His blade, sparkling with a holy blue sheen, flashed upward to strike at exposed limbs. He was a machine, a god, a paragon of battle, slicing through diseased flesh and rotted cybernetics alike. Tulioc's bolt pistol rang out at opportune moments, causing the skitarii beast to stagger or wince, allowing the Chapter Master further opportunities to attack.
Tulioc's sword blurred around his form, dancing and darting. As she added her fire to the battle line, Manibia noted his style. She had studied ancient Turian swordplay; it was something of a hobby to her. Tulioc's fighting style was very interesting. He wielded the sword one-handed, nearly casually in nature. It was flowing and aggressive, yet Manibia's experienced eyes could tell every single movement the Chapter Master made was practical. That was his purpose, she realized. Practicality above all. Every thrust was calculated, every slash made with ease of intent.
It was quite an interesting way to fight. It was aggressive, stylistic, but above all it was pragmatic. Every move was calculated, every stroke designed with singular purpose. The bolt pistol only added to the practicality, pushing the hideous beast back at opportune moments or allowing Tulioc's sword in for a strike.
However, the deadly blade could only do so much damage against a monster of such mammoth proportions. No one else could interfere even if they wanted to: Tulioc was locked in a close-range duel with the monster, and the heavy weapons of either the Turians or Hawk Lords would hurt him too.
It seemed even Tulioc could not compete with a beast of such epic proportions. With yet another roar, the monster came down to its elbows and used its entire weight to simply smash Tulioc aside. Manibia winced as she saw the eight-foot armored super soldier tossed aside like a ragdoll. She looked around. Nearby, fallen on the ground next to its dead wielder, was an extremely heavy sniper rifle. She looked to Tulioc, then to the charging skitarii, then to the massive beast, and made her decision. She picked up the weapon.
Before she could get a chance to fire at anything, Tulioc recovered. The blow hadn't hurt him or even damaged his armor, only sent him flying. He charged back into the fray once more. Manibia had to admit, for as stupid as it sounded for a single man to go one-on-one with this behemoth, Tulioc seemed well able to hold his own. It might have even helped; the monster was distracted while the Turians and jump-packed Hawk Lords fought the other skitarii.
Behind Tulioc's violet helmet, his eyes narrowed. This was… a slightly bigger problem than he had anticipated. The beast bellowed at him and snuffled, heavy drops of rotting mucus coming down from its maw. Tulioc sneered. No servant of the Dark Gods, intelligent or not, was going to best him. He strode forward resolutely… and holstered his bolt pistol.
Once upon a time, Lysander Tulioc had served in the service of the Deathwatch. It was perhaps odd that one who would become Chapter Master had done so, but no one in the Hawk Lords cared. Indeed, the chapter often had pilots from other chapters to serve with them to learn more about aerial warfare, so having one of their number serve among the myriad of chapters in the Long Watch was not a problem.
Tulioc had taken many things from his service in the Deathwatch. First among these was the knowledge of history and tactics of other Marine chapters. The sons of Guilliman in their entirety had always been practical in their ways and study. They always sought more, more ways to fight, more ways to balance their armies and power. Hence their devout following of the Codex Astartes. However, Tulioc knew there were other ways, other practicals and theoreticals, other tactics, other ways to fight. Who was to say that the way of Guilliman was correct when the sons of the Lion had won more victories? Who was to say that the way of Guilliman was correct when the sons of Corax, Russ, or the Khan could do things they could not?
Tulioc said the way of Guilliman was correct, for the way of Guilliman incorporated all things. Thus Tulioc had learned all sorts of different tactics and fighting styles from his old comrades in the Deathwatch. He realized that in this situation, against this opponent, he would have to do something other than Lord Guilliman's fighting style. Something more suited, more practical, for the situation at hand.
So as Tulioc stepped forward to another beastial howl, be planted both feet at shoulder width apart. With a flourish, he whipped his sword up, point facing the sky, and touched the metal of the blade to his forehead. His left hand came to the hilt, knuckles tightening around the grip. The beast roared. Tulioc dropped the blade to his side and began.
Manibia watched the duel in earnest. Chapter Master Tulioc had obviously decided another style of fighting was in order instead of the one handed type he was using earlier. This new style was incredibly different, incredibly intense in nature. The Turian watched in shock as the Chapter Master actually drove back the beast. Gone were the elegant and fluid one-handed movements. They were replaced by huge, brutal, two-handed swings, cuts that Manibia was certain would decapitate a human or Turian with ease. Gone was the practical. Replacing it was sheer brutality and aggressiveness.
Tulioc whirled and spun with lethal grace, feet light as a butterfly but torso, arms, and blade as powerful as a wrecking ball. Every cut was executed with as much force as the Chapter Master could output. Instead of being on the defensive, Tulioc went on the offensive, trying to take down the beast with his sword. Where he had once backtracked or shot the monster with his pistol to delay it, he now knocked its blows aside, turning them away with his shining blade.
The monster took more and more wounds, becoming more and more enraged every minute the fight went on. It was constantly forced back by Tulioc's masterful swordplay, unable to get in any blows. Anything that came close was beaten away and followed up by a vicious riposte, wounding the massive creature even further.
Eventually, it managed to land a lucky hit, hooking Tulioc's feet from beneath him. Instead of flying away, the Chapter Master merely tumbled, regaining his footing in an instant.
Throughout the entire affair, Manibia was sighting down her newly acquired sniper rifle, watching and waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike. As the Chapter Master fell away, she let out half a breath and squeezed the trigger.
Tulioc looked up as the shot took the beast to the face. It fell back with a howl, clawing at its head as foul black blood leaked down its robes. Staggering, it went to its knees, supported by one hand. With one last wail, it fell to the dust of the ruins, dead. Around it, the din of battle lessened, the Hawk Lords and Turians pushing back the Dark skitarii.
Manibia released her breath and put down the rifle with a sigh and wince. Around her, the Hierarchy soldiers dropped to the ground, exhausted. She looked around the ruins, only to be met with the red-lensed gaze of Lysander Tulioc. They locked eyes.
With a flourish, the Chapter Master re-sheathed his sword. He did not break eye contact. Manibia found herself drawn into the helmet's glare and the unreadable expression that was hidden beneath it. Perhaps Tulioc was angry at what he might think as her stealing his rightful kill?
Instead, Tulioc gave the slightest, tiniest, nearly missible acknowledging tilt of his head.
oOo
Corporal Nictus Faldros of the Turian Hierarchy drew his mandibles close to his face in thoughtful consideration. In the shattered ruins of Lucandros, one of Palaven's major cities, squads of Hierarchy infantrymen and Steel Legionnaires patrolled, weapons alert for any sign of incoming Reaper or Dark Mechanicus activity. More huddled in the corners of derelict buildings, trying to catch what sleep they could.
Behind their lines, Steel Legion Chimera APC's were ordered in an empty square, their turrets still manned by the Legionnaires in case of sudden Reaper assaults. There were no Turian vehicles; everything that hadn't been destroyed was needed for the massive Hierarchy assaults near Cipritine. The Steel Legion, on the other hand, had more than enough vehicles. It was in their nature, Nictus supposed. Of all the Imperial Guard regiments, including their cousins in the Minervan Tank Legions, also present on Palaven, the Steel Legion had by far the most armored vehicles. It was even in their name, "Steel Legion."
Nictus had learned quite a lot about the Imperials in their short time working together. First and foremost, they were xenophobic. There was no other way to put it. They didn't like- check that, they hated aliens.
However, what Nictus, and both the Turians and Imperials themselves were beginning to notice, was that the two sides actually got along. Oh, sure, it was begrudging at first, but the Imperials were actually beginning to warm up to the Turians, strange as it may sound. Why? How could a culture where xenophobia was so deeply engrained turn around so quickly? The answer was quite simple.
The first part had to do with the Reapers. The Imperium had their priorities straight (unlike the Citadel Council; like most soldiers, Nictus didn't have too high an opinion on them). The Reapers and these strange… Mechanicus traitors were galactic extinction-level threats. Thus, distasteful as aliens were to the Imperium, they would work with them against larger threats. Nictus did not know, but suspected it worked the same way in their galaxy. He didn't know how correct he was. The Imperium was willing to work alongside the Tau or Eldar against much more ominous threats like Chaos.
So the Imperium worked with the aliens. However, not only did they fight on the same side, but they fought side-by-side. The human psyche (and all the psyches of sapient species, for that matter) was an interesting thing. While initially hostile and distrustful of the Turians, the longer the Imperials got to know them, the more they warmed up to them.
The second part was that the Turians, and most species of this reality, were not extraordinarily hostile. They had zero desire to kill every other species and/or rule the galaxy for themselves. The Imperial soldiers were utterly shocked to find out that the xenos were actually nice.
It was ridiculously hard to hate someone who had done nothing against you and was not only actively kind to you, but literally fighting by your side in battle. The Turians, shocked as the Guardsmen were to learn it, had no desire to influence them, had no desire to harm them, and had no desire to rule the galaxy. Oh, yes, xenophobic tendancies remained, for they were harshly engrained from birth, but when you had a Turian drag your wounded body from no-man's land and apply emergency medi-gel to save your life despite your insults, one tended to think on such things.
It was, and is, utterly shocking to most people that those they think are the enemy are usually just normal, nice individuals. Take any sort of controversial group throughout history, or members of any political movement. While one often sees them as the enemy, and sees all the terrible things they do, individuals are often shocked to find that those on the enemy's side are simple that: individuals. Unless one was part of the Tyranid brood mind, or perhaps had the mental capacity of an Ork, they were their own individual. They were… normal.
The Turians were no different. The Legionnaires were shocked to find out that Epilea had no further desires in life than to see her husband and children after the war. Briso didn't want to murder all humans; in fact, he didn't want to murder any humans. He just wanted to open his own mechanic shop if he survived. Clodia, the Turian platoon's medic, would treat anyone regardless of species or branch. The Turians were perfectly kind and polite, perhaps even more so than members of other Guard regiments. The Steel Legion was helping to save Palaven after all.
So the Steel Legionnaires, at least the ones that worked alongside Nictus's platoon, actually had somewhat of a cordial working relationship with the Turians. In turn, the Turians realized that the Imperials were just like them; not the enemy, but just normal people. Their xenophobia was a product of their environment, a product of their reality, and they were not evil, just brought up on a planet that was constantly under assault by extremely violent and hostile aliens.
Nictus realized that to combat intolerance, one had to be more tolerant, not less tolerant of the intolerant group. Treating the Imperials as evil xenophobes would only prove the Imperials' thoughts correct. Treating them as fellow squadmates seemed to be flipping their views.
Nictus was no stranger to this, nor was he a stranger to this method of thought. Bluntly, Turians were probably the most xenophobic of all Citadel species. (The Batarians were worse, but the Batarians no longer existed. No big loss.) Not that the Turians or the Hierarchy were as bad as the Imperium; far from it. Turian xenophobia was much like one might think: they did not like aliens and/or thought themselves superior. Imperial xenophobia, on the other hand, could be summed up by one of their more popular phrases, "suffer not the xeno to live."
But still, Turian xenophobia existed. The Relay 314 incident had still not been forgotten by many of Nictus's peers. (Or, at least it hadn't been forgotten before the war started.) Many viewed humanity as an upstart and extremely inferior race. They had broken Citadel law, risen too fast, didn't have the history or technology of other races, and generally thought them too upstart, arrogant, and weak. As for Turian views on other races, especially Krogan and Quarian… well, the less said about them the better.
Personally, Nictus had always liked humans. He smiled to himself with a soft chortle. Liked in both senses of the word. He thought humans were generally nice enough. They were a fun species, always so happy, driven, and individualistic. He had many human comrades, all who liked him and all whom he liked.
Nictus also liked humans in the physical sense. Human females, at least. The males were nice, but… he was a guy. That just felt wrong, somehow. The human females, on the other hand, were something special. Nictus didn't know why he thought the way he did, only that he found human women much more interesting than those of his own species. He supposed it was a bit odd, but there was nothing he could really do about it. Short of getting a human girlfriend, that was. Unfortunately, he hadn't had the time, chance, or luck. Oh, well.
Nictus turned, letting his thoughts wander. Enough on his personal life. On to current problems. Chief among them, the situation between the Steel Legion and Hierarchy soldiers. Not that it was a problem. As he thought earlier, there was an odd mutual camaraderie, or perhaps more of an arrangement, between the two groups.
Around them was proof of this strange union. First among these proofs was that no one was trying to murder each other. In and of itself, that was kind of a big deal for the Imperials.
The two groups were also eating together. Well, eating next to each other was probably a more precise description. They did not share direct personal space, but would sit near each other in the general central areas or on duty rotations. Perhaps they might have bonded over food, but it was not to be. Turians were dextro protein based, whereas humans were levo. Each had their own food. There was no trading, no sharing of meals. Oh, well.
Still, the two groups patrolled together. They fought together. It was hard to distrust someone who was fighting by your side. It was hard to hate someone who saved your life. Both the Turians who disliked humans and the Imperials who disliked anything not human were in the process of learning this.
As Nictus watched, he saw a Legionnaire scoot hesitantly closer to one of the eating Turians. They began talking, their comrades looking on in fascination. Nictus found the difference between the gas masks and real faces of the Legionnaires to be interesting. With but a single motion they could go from disheveled and normal looking soldiers to emotionless machines.
Glancing around, Nictus's eyes caught on another Legionnaire. She was walking from the building near the parked Chimeras to the central area, lasgun slung and gas mask stowed. Nictus felt his mandibles involuntarily curl upwards. Her hair was light brown and done up in a hasty ponytail. Strands fell over her face and neck. Her face itself was small and sharply defined, with a small chin and nose. Everything was sharp yet soft… and so utterly perfect. It was grimy after a long day in the field, yet only seemed to add to her looks.
She turned suddenly, and her brown eyes met Nictus's black ones. Nictus felt a knot in his gut. The trooper blushed and turned away, seeming to hurry up to carry out whatever task she had come for. Nictus watched her in rapt fascination.
He had tried to get the names of all of the Legionnaires he was fighting beside, and was mostly successful. This trooper, this… luminous, radiant trooper, was named Angela Krytos. He had seen her several times before, but this was the first time he'd ever gotten a good look at her face.
But perhaps more importantly, she seemed to look at him the same way he had just looked at her. She was the one on the firing line that very first day that had simply stared at him when he removed his helmet. If her actions today were any judge, then maybe… perhaps…? Well, Nictus wanted to find out. She was a trooper though… Nictus found it amusing that he was more concerned over the difference in their ranks than with the difference in their species.
He could feel it deep in his chest: for the first time in his life, he was utterly head over heels for a girl.
oOo
Codex:
Armageddon Steel Legion:
The Armageddon Steel Legion is a regiment of the Imperial Guard from the hive world of Armageddon. The Steel Legion are renowned for their use of mechanized infantry, frequently deploying in Chimera APC's backed up by Hellhounds and Leman Russ tanks. Armageddon itself is a major industrial world and the largest supplier of Chimera's within the Imperium. Therefore, regiments raised on the planet have access to high amounts of armored vehicles, unlike many other groups of the Imperial Guard.
Armageddon itself is an industrial wasteland. Massive hive cities dot the landscape. Between these cities are ash wastes, natural byproducts of the planet's toxic ecosystem. Were a man or woman to breath the air outside the hive cities for any extended period, their lungs would quickly rot. Thus, all Steel Legionnaires wear gas masks and heavy trench coats to protect them from their planet's wastes.
Most Legionnaires come from the slums of the hive cities and join the Legion to escape the terrible conditions within. Many are gangers, orphans, or low-level workers. Their backgrounds make them tough fighters, enured to hardships. This, combined with their exceptional mechanized training and vast quantities of vehicles, make the Steel Legion one of the deadliest regiments in the Guard.
oOo
There we have it! The war goes on, and strange things happen. I hope you liked the last scene. The Turian who the Steel Legionnaire was crazy about a few chapters ago is also crazy about the Steel Legionnaire. This plot point is going to go forward, and is to illustrate the xenophobia and xenphilia of the two different universes. I think it's quite interesting, and hope you like it. Also, bonus points to anyone who can guess which chapter's fighting style Tulioc was using. Hint: the person who founded this chapter and many of its brothers always touch their sword to their forehead before a fight. There is one specific individual that does this. Next chapter we have hints, then things get interesting. Thank you all for reading, and for all your wonderful reviews! I always appreciate any comments, criticisms, concerns, questions, or reviews!