Here we go again! Kasrkin scenes, more Kevral scenes, more Cawl, and a look into exactly what Kelbor-Hal is up to. I think you'll like it. I must mention that sevral reviews talked about the Steel Legionnaire/Turian scenes (or Angela/Nictus, if you want to use their names). These scenes are being written for a reason. There is an eventual end goal in mind. It's not whimsy or pointless fluff. There is a point, if you would just wait and see. Both this chapter and the last have been more about information for setting up what's going to happen, so stay tuned for that, because it's going to be exciting and going to be coming up next! Also, bonus points to the people who guessed the Tulioc was using the Black Templar's fighting style! Now, on to reviews.
MEleeSmasher: That's true.
Colossus Bridger: Thank you! It is the side point I was talking about, and as I mentioned, it will continue. And, yes, Nictus and Angela are the Turian and Guardswoman. Their story will continue, and, like I said, has a goal in mind.
Dovahwolf13: You are correct!
BonesofSmite: Thank you. We'll see more of Shepard in this chapter.
Clown2107: I will take your advice in mind. Thank you for both your advice and your continued viewing of my story.
Guest: Like I said, there is a point. Please be patient.
PaladinSans: Maybe in the future, when the Mechanicus establishes forge worlds in the Mass Effect galaxy.
Austin: Thank you for reading, and for all your compliments! It really means a lot. To answer your question, I think the Mechanicus would hate any machine that could be considered an A.I.
joshuamuller08: Thank you! I chose the Hawk Lords as a random Ultramarine successor to come to the crusade, and put them on Palaven because the First Founding chapters were going to Earth and the Iron Hands successors were going to Rannoch. As for why a Steel Legionnaire, that's part of the point on why I chose it and what's going to happen. I hope you like it!
Yankee718: Thank you! I hope you like this chapter as well!
Clare Prime of Ultra: Thank you for reading. I agree that the only way to face intolerance is to be more tolerant.
Kilare T'suna: Thank you. My point exactly. Again, I am writing this sub-plot for a reason, which we will see with time.
Matthew: Definitely. I love the Guard. You are right about the Black Templars. In addition, there are many big boy fights coming up very shortly, so stay tuned! I hope you like them.
OscuroSignore-51: Thank you! I'll consider the other faction "List of Things" idea.
Marsh Purt: Maybe. I'm not super invested in Marine biology, so I wouldn't know.
Guest: Thank you for reading and for your suggestion! Funny you should mention Trazyn...
oOo
The War Goes On
"When veteran Guardsmen flee, the Kasrkin stand. When victory is near, the Kasrkin seize it. When the Archenemy attacks, the Kasrkin Elite are the rock upon which traitors shall break." -General Sturnn, commander of the Cadian 412th
"I have met countless numbers of Inquisitors, nobles, Administratum members, Ecchlisiarchs, Tech-Priests, and other schemers and politicians through my long career. But I can say with complete certainty that Archmagos Belisarius Cawl is by far the most unassuming and terrifying of the lot." -Inquisitor Elisa Valorn of the Ordo Xenos
oOo
"Alright, listen up." Commander Shepard turned in place, arms crossed as he took in those standing before him. It was quite the interesting collection of eclectic individuals: four Turian soldiers (two generals, one Praetor, one corporal), one human ex-mercenary, one human ex-thief, one Quarian engineer, one Inquisitorial Stormtrooper, and ten Kasrkin. All were dressed differently and fielded a stunning array of diverse colors, from the deep blue of Turian armor to the rich purple of a Quarian enviro-suit to the jet black of Stormtrooper armor to the drab green of Kasrkin armor. All stood silent, patiently waiting for the Commander to brief them. All had their weapons clutched in hand, looking over them one last time to make absolutely certain nothing would go wrong in the field.
The weapons were as diverse as the uniforms, ranging from the heavy hellguns of Zaeed, the Kasrkin, and Kevral to the even heavier bolter lugged around by General Adelpuinis and the plasma gun lofted by one of the Cadians. Garrus's sniper rifle, Tali's shotgun, and Kasumis's submachine guns only added to the general sense of vast differences in firearms. No one was complaining, though. The more diverse the weapon loadouts, the better chance they would have on the ground. This was one tactic both the Imperials and those from this galaxy shared: it was better to have different weapons than not. Imperial Guard and Stormtrooper formations were backed up by their comrades wielding heavy weapons, whereas every squad in this galaxy had individuals of different combat classes within it.
At the present moment, the eclectic group stood inside an allied command center in the middle of the Iraq desert. There was a distinct lack of anything around them in geographical range, but it hardly mattered. The reason there was a command center here was because Iraq was centrally located on an overall campaign scale to retake the Earth. Besides, Shepard and his newfound group's mission wouldn't even be in the Middle East; they had transportation to get elsewhere. It was only a staging ground.
"Here's the deal," continued Shepard. In front of him, a holographic map sprang to life. "We have a bunch of Reaper forces in Africa that are trying to flank and break through the newly-arrived drop-troopers that landed in Lagos." The appropriate regional map flashed on-screen. Imperial and Alliance positions were marked on the western African shore and gradually moving north and east. However, a red arrow pointed out incoming Reaper forces moving from the enemy-controlled west African coast. "Right now we have intelligence that they're pretty spread out, but if they manage to make a major push in force, they could threaten the only allied-controlled zone in the region." Shepard looked up. "We're going to stop them."
"Are we going to be enough?" asked Kasumi skeptically. Sergeant Denner, commander of the Kasrkin, cycled his hellgun with a smirk. The chicck-clik noise sounded intimidatingly through the room.
"Of course we are," he grinned. "We're the best." Shepard didn't know if Denner meant "we" as in "Kasrkin" or "we" as in everyone present, but the sentiment was appreciated.
"Definitely," agreed Garrus. The other Turians nodded their assent. Denner and a few of the Kasrkin shot them challenging looks. Shepard replied with a warning one. The relationship between the Imperials and aliens on the team was purely professionally competitive… at the moment. And in public. Privately, Shepard had no idea what the Kasrkin thought. Besides, if the Turians or anyone else pushed, it could get very ugly very quickly.
"Everyone else, yes," replied Solana, crossing her arms with a smile. "You, Garrus… not so sure." That drew a few chuckles and a mock look of indignation from Solana's brother.
"All right, all right," sighed Shepard, attempting to settle the now stirred group. "What we do is go in, fight Reapers, and send 'em packing. If we need help, we have some on standby." He looked around the room, taking in everyone's expressions. "Any questions?" There were none. "Good. Let's get moving."
oOo
The insertion went without a hitch. The crew of the Normandy had arrived in the legendary ship's now almost overcrowded shuttle, touching down with Cortez's smooth piloting skills. The Kasrkin took their own Valkyrie gunship. Trans-continental. Shepard raised an eyebrow and asked them if they didn't want to go into orbit first then drop down directly at their destination, but they scoffed at the idea. Cadian gunship pilots were the best in the universe, they said. Shepard had simply shrugged. It seemed like false bravado, far too much like fatal cockiness. He would have called them out on it… but for once, Commander Shepard waited to see. If the Kasrkin weren't nearly as good as they said they were, he'd laugh with Garrus and Tali back aboard the Normandy.
But if they were… Shepard knew the Imperials never did things by halves. Never. That's why he'd gotten in so well with them in what seemed like a lifetime ago, newly resurrected and working for Cerberus. He remembered his adage. If the Imperials said something to be true, it usually was, no matter how insane. If they called their war machines god-engines, then it was because they were god-engines. If they called their super soldiers the Angels of Death, it was because they were the Angels of Death. And the Kasrkin? Well, Kevral had certainly given them high praise. Shepard had a feeling the elite of Cadia would be no slouches. The only question was exactly how good?
He would find out shortly. Both teams had landed unopposed in some place in Benin. Or perhaps they were in Nigeria. Shepard didn't know for certain. He was too busy checking combat readiness and making sure his team was all good to go.
Everyone was, of course. They were ready to take the fight to the Reapers. But it was still his job, still his personality, to make certain everyone else was alright before he did anything.
Around them was a town. It couldn't be called a city- it wasn't nearly large enough to fit the definition. But it was a large town, enough that there were big buildings to take cover behind and maneuver around. The streets were an interesting collection of paved, gravel, and dirt, alternating between the three at confusing regularity. The Normandy's shuttle and the Imperials' Valkyrie had landed in a small clearing, perhaps what had once been a park, on the side of the town and proceeded to move inward at Shepard's command.
The Kasrkin certainly moved professionally. Every step was in place, every weapon held expertly. Not a single limb, not a single muscle twitch, was made unless it was carefully considered or ordered by either Sargeant Denner or Commander Shepard.
Shepard also had to admire that aspect of them: the Kasrkin thought for themselves, fought without being limited in tactics or hamstrung by blindly obeying orders, but orders would be carried out. Besides their boasting and bravado, they were extremely professional.
Shepard's team followed him directly, fanning out to where they would be most advantageous in a firefight. Garrus was in the back, of course, ready to support the team with his deadly sniper rifle. Shepard was in front, taking point as usual. Tali and Zaeed were to his sides, their close-range shotgun and powerful hellgun respectively making them the obvious choices for the front of the team. Kasumi was scouting ahead and to the sides. Her cloak gave her the ability to disappear and appear nearly at will. Occasionally she would pop back into existence to report what was going on in the surrounding town.
Turian generals Strasis and Adelpuinis (or Camivia and Protucus) were in the center of the team. Both were thus able to provide support to anyone who needed it: Camivia with her powerful biotics, and Protucus with his massive heavy bolter. Shepard glanced back at the Turian man and wondered for the hundredth time exactly how he was able to carry such a weapon. Yes, Protucus was tall and bulky even for a Turian, but it still didn't make any sense. Oh, well. Not his problem, so long as Protucus was able to give them fire support.
Kevral was behind Shepard, his massive black-armored bulk ready to fill any gap that might show up in the crew's lines. Despite the influence of others who were not only Imperials, but Kevral's own branch, Stormtroopers, he remained beneath Shepard's command. There were no complaints. He wouldn't have it any other way; this was where he belonged for the present moment. Besides, one more hellgun on the line couldn't hurt anyone except the Reapers.
Robert and Solana stood beside Kevral, the latter occasionally shooting smirks at her brother, who fired them back in turn. Robert was as silent as usual; there was no need to talk. The battle was about to be upon them.
They moved through the town quietly. There were no signs of life; even the animals were gone. Shepard frowned beneath his helm. The Reapers had taken everything, everyone, and left Earth a husk of what it had once been. He would be glad once they were dead and forgotten. The only trouble was getting to that point.
As the twin teams spread out through the town, distant moans and howls wafted through the air. Shepard's head twitched as his lips curled into a frown. The Reapers were coming.
"Spread-" Denner shouted aloud to his squad before remembering himself and turning to Shepard. "Orders, Commander?" he asked respectfully. Shepard looked back at him quizzically.
"Spread out. Defensive positions." Both the Kasrkin and the Normandy's crew nodded. Denner turned to walk away before Shepard caught him. "Oh, and Denner?" The sergeant turned back, waiting for new orders, posture respectful as always. "You don't need to always ask me for orders. You're in charge of your squad, and I trust your judgment."
"Yes, sir," replied Denner with a barely-concealed grin. The other Kasrkin looked at the Commander with newfound respect. So, this Alliance commander wasn't a total idiot. He wasn't overbearing. He would let the Kasrkin do what they did best, and only step in if he thought he needed to. A mark of a good commander. The Cadians approved.
The Kasrkin flanked out, weapons raised. Green-clad Cadians kneeled in the dust behind cover, cycling their hellguns. The plasma gunner took a good defensive spot near the left flank with wide fields of fire down both the straight main road and a diagonal side street that joined it. Denner put his men into position with quick and quiet efficiency, then took his own place on the line to await the Reapers' arrival.
Shepard motioned for his crew to do the same. They took the main street, covering themselves in the broken rubble that seemed only too common upon planets these days. Kasumi sheltered in the shadow of a nearby house, ready to disappear and reappear when and where the Reapers least suspected it. Shepard, Zaeed, Tali, and Kevral took their usual spots on the line. Camivia and Protucus set up behind them, ready to give the best of biotic and heavy bolter support. Tali fiddled with her omni-tool for a moment before her combat drone sprang to life, ready to add its own mayhem to the battle. Garrus stood in the back, sniper rifle already extended and already braced against his shoulder. His visor flicked on, sighting targets. Solana and Robert moved up in secondary firing positions. Already, the area was locked down, the allied soldiers establishing a deadly killing zone of overlapping firing lanes. All of it was done with minimal speaking. There was no need. They were professionals.
"Here they come!" came the curt cry from one of the Kasrkin's throats. Shepard was sure it was for the Normandy crew's benefit. The Cadian elite did not use words for things as mundane as announcing the enemy's arrival.
Moans and unearthly howls sounded in the hot air, shrieking through the sky. The first targets came into range. Shepard sighted down his lasgun. The world seemed to explode into fire and noise.
Garrus took the first shot. Garrus always seemed to take the first shot. The first Husk that appeared died instantly, its head blown apart by the sniper's bullet. The second arriving Husk was dropped by Denner, again with a headshot. The lasbolt impacted the corrupted flesh and metal, melting it and imploding it like an overripe fruit. That was the first taste of Kasrkin fighting. The first, but certainly not the last.
The first few Husks were readily killed. There was no challenge to it. However, after a moment, it seemed as if the wind shifted. The monstrous noises of the incoming Reaper forces grew louder. Shepard knew they would be facing a time-honed tactic: an overwhelming assault by massive numbers. Grimly, he prepared to hold.
Everything seemed to happen all at once. One moment there were a few ambling Husks, easily shot down. The next there was a veritable sea of Reaper and Dark Mechanicum abominations, overwhelming in their intensity. It was not just the low-grade Husks, Cannibals, and other zombie-like creatures, either. As he fired, Shepard could see skitarii abominations, Brutes, and even Marauders and Dark Tech-Priests among the enemy ranks.
No commands were needed. At the appearance of the enemy, everyone opened fire at once. The shriek of high-powered lasbolts filled the air, contrasting to the whining thrum of mass accelerated rounds. Tali's shotgun boomed, Protucus's heavy bolter thrummed, and Garrus's shotgun made its usual comforting crack as the sniper dropped target after target. The Kasrkins' plasma gun added its own powerful humming whine to the auditory symphony of violence and death.
The team fought beautifully. Already, there was a carpet of bodies laying in the dust and rubble, covering the streets in front of them. A Marauder corpse, dropped by the plasma gunner, lay in the center, huge hole burnt through its torso. Shepard knew his team had to kill as many Marauders and Dark Tech-Priests as possible, for they were the ones that controlled the Reaper armies. Without their control, the enemy would devolve into a still dangerous, but far less tactically-astute force.
With a zip and whine, Sergeant Denner drilled one of the Dark Tech-Priests accompanying the enemy forces through the head. The black-robed thing, more creature than man at this point, fell to the ground, dead. More charging enemies were felled by the allied line, their overlapping crossfire horrifying in its sheer lethality.
At last, Shepard's question was answered. He was astounded at the performance of the Kasrkin. Oh, yes, he'd seen better. He didn't think there was nearly anything that could top Alpha Primus's nearly one-man assault on the Collector base, and though he'd never actually seen them in action, Shepard was sure Dante, Shrike, and their Marines were far more deadly. But that was just it. The Kasrkin were human, and that made it all that more astonishing.
Marines were meant to be near-supernatural fighters. They had the armor, the gene-enhanced bodies, and the power to wield even the heaviest and deadliest of weapons. But the Kasrkin were just men, and that made their actions simply something more.
Every shot landed perfectly. One shot, one kill. The pride of Cadia were just as good of marksmen as Garrus or Shepard; perhaps even moreso. Not a single drop of plasma fuel nor a single charge of hellgun power was wasted. They were ten drab green blurs, their hands moving across their weapons like lightning, their feet pivoting to wherever they were needed most. They fought as one, needed not speak: all communications were instinctual. The squad had been trained from birth and fought together for decades. Their level of inherent communication topped that of even Shepard, Tali, and Garrus.
Even though the Reaper horde was undertaking a massive assault, the combined arms of the legendary crew of the Normandy and Kasrkin Elite held. They had picked their spot well, and knew their enemy even better; the Reapers and Dark Mechanicum would seek to crush them before moving on to anything else. But the deadly volleys of the allied line slew them with unparalleled accuracy. Bodies coated the dust.
The fight was confused now, with the Reaper hordes pushing ever closer, getting further and further over mountains of their own dead. Protucus's heavy bolter, now emplaced in a prominent central position, moved down Reapers with astonishing regularity. Explosive death was spat upon their lines, only pausing at the brief intervals the Turian general needed to reload.
Camivia added her biotics to the fray, alternatively stopping up holes in the line or smashing through Reapers like ninepins. Shepard had forgotten just how good it was to have a powerful biotic on the team. It had been over two years; he needed to go talk to Jack or Miranda once more.
Tali's drone circled above, distracting Reapers and even a few Dark Tech-Priests at critical moments. Her shotgun was a welcome addition to the line; anything that got too close for comfort was simply blown away. Far in the back, Garrus, ever-dependable Garrus, struck down enemy after enemy with his well-placed shots as he cheerfully bickered with his sister. The other Vakarian laid down streams of mass accelerated fire, tossing in a goodly amount of grenades she had borrowed from Imperial stockpiles. How she worked the pin with only two fingers, Shepard did not know, but more explosive death was always a welcome addition to a pitched battle.
Above it all, the hellguns whined, spitting crimson death at the enemy at perfect clockwork intervals. The weapons certainly packed a punch, working equally well on whatever creatures could be encountered. They melted through Husk bodies, and were even able to pierce the heavier armor of corrupted skitarii or Marauders.
The press came harder now, with even more enemies flooding the lines. They were starting to try different tactics now: flanks, support, and more maneuvers with the larger beasts. With a yelled command by Denner, the Kaskin fired as one, their hellguns set to maximum power. Camivia, seeing what was happening, added a singularity to the mix. The front of the enemy line was swept away, blasted into pieces.
"Heads up!" called Shepard. Reaper forces had blown through the side streets and were now nearly on top of their position. The combined firepower of the teams pushed them back along with help from Camivia's biotics, but there were still many of the larger creatures left. A Brute bellowed and charged the front of the line. Shepard raised his hellgun. There was a flash of blue, brighter than the sun, and the raging beast dropped to the ground, instantly dead, a smoking crater blown through its massive armored chest.
The Kasrkin plasma gunner turned back to his weapon with a hiss, hands moving to cycle it. Such a gun built up enormous amounts of heat and could easily explode if mishandled. The Kasrkin were experts, though; they knew exactly how far to push their weapons.
However, as the gunner was waiting to make certain the heat dissipated, plasma coils still glowing electric blue, another Brute charged the line. This was on his side, farther to the left. The beast had come from the diagonal side street, smashing through a house on the opposite side and making its way to the Kasrkin line. Two of the nearby Cadians instantly turned and showered it with hellgun bolts, but the Brute only shrugged these off as if thundered towards its tormentors.
Shepard glanced over, weapon still firing at the abominations in front of him, then did a double take. His jaw dropped.
The Kasrkin plasma gunner, weapon useless in its current state, had dropped the gun on the dusty earth. As the Brute roared and smashed aside a Kasrkin barricade, the gunner (whose name Shepard unfortunately didn't know but would now have to find out) drew his combat knife and counter charged.
The Brute roared and swung, but the Cadian jumped over the low blow and lashed out with his knife, scoring a wound on the beast's arm. The two other left-flank soldiers peppered the Reaper creature with lasbolts when they could, careful not to hit their comrade.
The Brute was as massive and powerful as its name suggested. While they still continued their fight, Shepard and the others watched in awe as a single human took on the beast with only a knife.
The Brute may have been powerful, but the Cadian was nimble. He dodged around blows that probably could have turned any human into a messy pulp, following them up with quick slashes and thrusts. It was amazing. Shepard had never seen anything like it. Yes, he'd seen good soldiers. Yes, Marines could fight hand-to-hand and slaughter whatever crossed their paths, but this was a human. Fighting a Brute. With a knife.
With the supporting Kasrkin scoring a few more shots against the Brute's armored form, it bellowed and smashed downward, hoping to crush the puny human to dust beneath it. The plasma gunner took it as an opportunity, and with agility that astounded, leaped up on top of the Brute's back and plunged his knife into the monstrous creature's spinal cord, killing it instantly. He dropped back to the ground nimbly, knees flexing, and took up his plasma gun once more as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. The Normandy's crew simply stared as they fought.
"When we get back, I'm going to recommend him for a Star of Terra," muttered Shepard. He heard a few surprised and agreeing laughs over the comms system. Everyone was still in shock. So that was how good the Kasrkin elite were.
"I might even recommend him for a few Hierarchy medals," said Garrus. Protucus hummed his agreement. "Damn."
Eventually, finally, the battle died down. It took what seemed to be agonizing hours, but the allied line held and pushed back the incoming Reapers. The Kasrkin and crew of the Normandy stood nearly ankle-deep in spent thermal clips, cartridge casings, and other castoffs of war. Carpets of Reaper dead lay in front of them, so thick that the street could not be seen.
Shepard had finally seen Cadia's elite in action, and they did not disappoint. The Reaper assault had been pushed back, and there were no casualties. All in all, a good days work for some of the finest mortal fighters in the galaxy.
oOo
The Normandy's mess hall was as cheerful as usual, with the crew all chatting excitedly over the war's recent successes. First among these was, of course, the ground crew's victory in the African campaign for Earth. The story of a Kasrkin taking down a Brute with a knife spread like wildfire. Some doubted the story, but the entirety of the ground team insisted it was absolutely true. It wasn't that they didn't believe their friends, it was that the story was so outlandish it was nearly unbelievable.
The Kasrkin themselves had declined an invitation to the Normandy, stating they were perfectly happy remaining on-base. Shepard didn't complain: they were supposed to be allies on the ground, and what they did in their own time was not his problem nor business.
Nevertheless, it was a happy mess hall. High above Earth, under the watchful eyes of the combined Imperial and Alliance fleets, the Normandy rested. Commander Shepard was vital to the security of the galaxy (and the wellbeing of the grand alliance between the Imperium and Citadel races). This was his headquarters, his floating fortress in the stars. It was also more than that: to those aboard the Normandy, it was home.
Shepard sat down his tray at his usual place. With the coming of so many new allies, it was more crowded than usual. The seating arrangements had also changed; the Turians were now included, and everything was more centralized. It seemed that no one wanted to miss Kevral's stories about the Imperium.
Speaking of which, the black-clad Stormtrooper was approaching the seating area, his own food tray in hand. Everyone looked up expectantly. Kevral rolled his eyes good-naturedly and took his usual spot in the middle of the tables, where everyone could easily hear him. The Turians, joined by Solana and Kelly, looked over in interest. It was always fascinating to hear more about the Imperium, its soldiers, and what life was like in another reality.
"Well, before anyone can ask any questions, I think I'll start off on some important things pertaining to the current campaign," began Kevral. Everyone waited intently. "First off, a lot of people seem to want to know more about Marines, and so I'll go into some genetics, tactics, and other tips." Now this was going to be interesting. Shepard found the Imperium's super soldiers to be an extremely fascinating study. "First off," continued Kevral, "Marine biology is a very complicated, captivating, and wondrous thing. As I'm sure all of you already know, Marines are very powerfully built, and have enhanced senses and bodies." Everyone nodded. That much was true to anyone who'd even seen pictures of them.
"You're saying there's more?" asked one of the crew, astonished. Kevral grinned in reply.
"Oh, yes. While I'm no expert, I do know enough about them to tell you their systems." He paused for a bite of food, then continued. "Marines have two hearts and three lungs, which shocks a lot of people." Kevral held up a hand to delay questions. "Before anyone asks why, it's so they have redundant backups. There are many Marines who have been stabbed or shot through the heart or lungs. It doesn't matter to them- they just keep going as their primaries seal off and backups kick in."
"Wow," murmured someone.
"Indeed," replied Kevral. "They also can eat pretty much anything and neutralize poison due to their enhanced digestive system, and see in the dark due to their enhanced eyesight." The Stormtrooper grinned as he took in everyone's gazes. "But what a lot of people don't know or don't suspect are most of the following." He took another bite before continuing. "One is that a Marine can effectively sleep by turning on and off parts of their brain, basically allowing them to remain conscious while getting rest. And, before you ask, I've heard there can be problems with this tactic, but it's still interesting. Another is that there's a gland implanted in Marines that allows them to spit acid. They can get out of troublesome situations while even unarmed. Odd, but apparently effective."
"What else?" asked Traynor, utterly fascinated.
"They also have an organ that tells them the nutritional contents of food or other substances, the ability to enter a long-term lifesaving suspended hibernation, and to gain a subject's memory if they eat its brain." Shepard winced at the last one. There were a few disgusted noises around the table.
"Did you have to tell us that while we were eating?" muttered Solana. Kevral shrugged apologetically.
"A bit strange and perhaps disgusting, I know, but a Marine is meant to be able to survive in any condition." That, at least, made sense. "The last, and perhaps most important of the Marine enhancements are the Black Carapace and the Progenoid."
"What are those?" asked Tali, interested.
"The Black Carapace allows a Marine to interface with his power armor. That's how they wear it, and how they maintain such a high level of control over something so heavy. It's literally built into their skin and connects the armor to the central nervous system. Without it, they couldn't function."
"And the… Progenoid?" asked Shepard.
"The Progenoid is essentially how Marines reproduce." That drew some curious looks from the crew. Kevral continued. "I've told you before that Marines are technically not homo sapiens, but rather Adeptus Astartes in species." Everyone nodded. "Well, Astartes are created through implanting gene-seed into new aspirants. This gene-seed, or basically what makes a Marine a Marine, is created in the Progenoid gland. The Progenoid gland genstates cells that can be used to create the organs of the Astartes, including another Progenoid. To create new Marines, the Progenoid must be harvested by apothecaries from dead Marines. Each Marine chapter takes the Progenoids of its own fallen to ensure the future of the chapter." Kevral's gaze suddenly became intense, sweeping around the room to each crewmember in turn. "Therefore, Marine dead are treated as extremely high priority. Should a Marine fall in battle near you while you are on the ground, it is imperative that you defend the body. The Marines see this as an extremely high form of heroism because it is necessary to their continued survival."
"Noted," replied Shepard. It certainly was good information. He wouldn't have known otherwise. In the future, Shepard and the ground team would now know to defend and radio in fallen Marines until their chapter's apothecary could arrive. Very, very, important stuff to know. "Now, I am curious as to Marine gene lines, and the book you gave me." Shepard had been surprised when Kevral had given him an Imperial book written by one Lord Commander Roboute Guilliman, Primarch of the Ultramarines and thus the Hawk Lords. The Codex Astartes, it was called, and it was the template for Space Marine tactics and organization.
"Ah, yes." Kevral nodded and looked around. "The Primarchs are the progenitors of the Space Marines. It's from their genes that the Marines are created. Each chapter is descended from a Primarch: the Raven Guard from Corvus Corax, the Blood Angels from Sanguinius, the Hawk Lords from Roboute Guilliman, the Iron Fists from Ferrus Manus and so on. Every Primarch was a master of strategy and personal combat, able to lead their armies from the front. However, much like the chapters themselves, each Primarch is known for having their own area of expertise."
"So I'm guessing the Raven Guard Primarch was good at what the Raven Guard are good at, and the Blood Angels Primarch what the Blood Angels are good at and so on," said Shepard. Kevral nodded.
"Exactly. Their gene-sons pick up their genes, physical appearance, and abilities from the Primarchs. That brings us into the second part of what I wanted to speak to you about today."
"And that is?" asked Shepard.
"What I gave to you. The Codex Astartes," replied Kevral. "It is the book of tactics and organization of the Marines, written by Roboute Guilliman. Guilliman was the master of logistics and tactics among the Primarchs. As I've told you before, most Marine chapters follow Guilliman's doctrines. Which is why I gave it to you in the first place." The Stormtrooper glanced at Shepard. "It's a good thing to learn, and learn from. In addition, I'd like to give you a copy of Tenets of Strategy and Supremacy, another book of tactics by Lion El'Jonson, the other Primarch master of strategy. They'll help you both with your own battles, and with learning more about the Imperium, the Marines, and the lineages of Guilliman and El'Jonson." Shepard nodded.
"Sounds good. Thank you, Kevral." The conversion turned to other things, but still was mainly focused around different Marine styles and tactics. The Normandy's crew continued to eat, enthralled by Kevrals explanations.
oOo
Inquisitor Matthias Doric of the Ordo Hereticus moved through the broken streets, power sword and hot-shot laspistol pistol drawn. His retinue surrounded him: various members of countless Imperial organizations that he had recruited over the years. A Sister of Battle, an ex-Arbite, a Ministorum Priest, and a few odds and ends of a variety of different groups, plus a few Inquisitorial Stormtroopers, walked carefully beside Doric as they moved through the ruins of Europe. The Inquisitor had no idea where precisely they were; he didn't have the time to learn. The only thing he knew was that he was on Earth to check for heresy, and to convert as many people as possible to the light of His Divine Majesty.
It would take time, Doric knew, but eventually the people of this reality would come around. And if they didn't? Well, he was a member of the Ordo Hereticus for a reason. It was his duty to ensure everyone was following the tenets of the Imperium and God-Emperor.
There were those that disagreed. Inquisitor Valorn of the Ordo Xenos thought this reality was fine with the xenos in it. Doric scoffed involuntarily. The existence of xenos could not, would not, be tolerated. Oh, yes, they had their uses. Doric had no problem with them being used as cannon fodder and allies to help them win this war, but as soon as the war ended, so would the xenos. The galaxy could only belong to Holy Humanity. That was just the way of things.
Both Valorn and Cawl (Doric mentally spat the name out with disgust) thought this galaxy was something of a science project. A grand zoo for them to observe. They wanted to do as they wished, and hid behind the facade of watching the xenos to disguise their own shortcomings. Mark his words, though, Doric would be coming for them. Sooner or later, they'd slip up. And though Cawl was powerful, the sheer extent of his heresy would far outmatch anything he could bring to his defense.
Yes, things would go well after the war. Doric, and most Inquisitors, for that matter, had little love for Space Marines, and the Mechanicus. Interferers. Once the war was won, and the Marines and majority of other Imperial forces sent back home to continue their fight there, things would become easier. The Alliance would embrace the truth of the Imperial Creed, and the xenos would die. It was that simple.
As they moved through the ruins of… someplace… Doric grew concerned. There was supposed to be an Iron Guard division just ahead of where he was… but there wasn't. It was odd, for they were behind allied lines. Inquisitors, unless they were forced to, usually did not fight on the front, and Doric was no different. Besides, it was his job to look over Alliance and Imperial lines to assess how loyal or how willing to be converted they were.
"Sir… I think I just saw something moving," said one of the Stormtroopers in his retenue. Doric turned with a frown.
"Where?" he asked. The black-armored man pointed to a series of buildings to the party's right.
"Over there. Not sure what it was. Just looked like a flash of black…" The trooper trailed off, uncertain of what he had seen. Doric frowned again. What was this now?
"Sir!" called out the Sister, hurriedly pointed to their left flank. Doric spun around. There. A flash of black amid the ruins.
"Positions!" called Doric. "Weapons up!" His retinue swiftly complied. Bolters, hellguns, laspistols and autoguns clicked as they were readied. Doric snarled to himself. What was this now? What had happened?
He was answered a moment later when the hideous black-clad form of a Dark skitarii burst through the ruins, sprinting towards them on its far-too-many legs. Doric's retenue opened fire immediately. Dozens of rounds connected with the corrupted skitarii, and it dropped into the rubble, dead, a moment later. Doric frowned as he took in the fallen beast. He became even more confused. What was this? A rampaging skitarii deep behind allied lines? Why had the Iron Guard or Alliance Marines not taken care of this?
However, deep within, Matthias Doric was starting to suspect he was no longer behind allied lines. He frowned again as he readied his weapons. It was perhaps rather obvious: he had seen no signs of any allied soldiers, Iron Guard or otherwise. Now he was beginning to see enemy beasts. Not good. Not good at all. Despite the fact that he desperately did not want to believe he was in enemy territory, there were no other conclusions left. Somehow, Doric had gotten lost.
Or… perhaps not. Perhaps the battle lines had changed. The Inquisitor cursed. Of course. That was something that made perfect sense. In the ever-changing, constantly-moving war, things could be altered at any moment. Or perhaps the map he'd gotten was wrong. Doric made a note to double check. If it was… someone was going to be shot. Mistakes could not be tolerated.
Eerie howls filled the air. Fingers tightened on weapons. The Inquisitorial retinue kneeled and prepared for battle.
Doric flinched as another Dark skitarii appeared behind them. Not good. So they were behind enemy lines, and surrounded to boot. The retenue formed up in a circle. Doric knew this was not a good situation. Not good at all. He only hoped they would come through alive to punish whoever's fault this was.
It certainly couldn't have been his own… could it?
oOo
It was tragically unfortunate that due to the ever-changing tides of war and the Inquisitor's own stubbornness that Matthias Doric of the Ordo Hereticus had been caught up behind enemy lines and killed. How terrible. It all had been simple enough, really. All tactical information was stored in the crusade's network of archives and computers. Inquisitors could easily access it all and change whatever parts of it they willed. Such were the perks of bearing the Inquisitorial mandate, after all.
However, all data went through the Adeptus Mechanicus, not the Inquisition. It was so easy to just alter the front lines by a few dozen kilometers… and, bingo. Dead Inquisitor. It couldn't have been more simple.
Besides, the fools almost never checked the official information they got for accuracy. The penalties for altering data were extraordinarily severe under both Munitorium and Mechanicus law, and the penalties for lying to an Inquisitor even moreso. However, the members of the Sigelite's old organization couldn't even comprehend the fact they were being manipulated, for they were the ones that were supposed to do the manipulating.
For being called Inquisitors, they were rather stupid.
Still, Archmagos Cawl had to cover his tracks. Inquisitors were good at figuring out when archives had been tampered with. It was part of their job description, after all.
But Cawl had ten thousand years of practice, and was one of the greatest Tech-Priests in existence. He could fool nearly any Inquisitor when it came to cogitators or other forms of technological records. He also had the power to alter physical records through other nefarious means. Even if the Inquisitors did figure out the records were tampered with, they would never trace it back to him. How could they? It was simply impossible.
But back to the present. Two down, two to go. That was what floated around Cawl's mind. The first two down had been slightly tricky in places, but Cawl thought it was easy enough once everything was said and done. He'd certainly been through harder. Yes, yes indeed. The two dead Inquisitors wouldn't be interfering with his plans or this galaxy any longer.
Vell had been the greatest threat. He was Ordo Machinum, and if he figured out exactly what happened on Adas and everything, past, present and future that Cawl was up to, there would have been hell to pay. Despite Cawl's long standing and huge power within the Mechanicus, they could not have ignored the blatant tech-heresy he was committing. Mixing Imperial designs with xenos technology was definitely out… for now. Cawl had a feeling that the Mechanicus would be incorporating element zero tech, kinetic barriers, and omni-tools into its repertoire soon enough. That was what Tech-Priests did. They lived for knowledge. If the knowledge could be acquired and understood, it would be utilized. If it could not, then it would be deemed heresy.
Cawl scoffed at the idiocy of his colleagues. They simply didn't want anyone else utilizing different technology against them. How disappointing. Such a set of ideals would, and did, lead to discarding things out of hand before they could be properly figured out. There was no invention, no science, among the current Mechanicus. Cawl wanted that changed.
However, despite what the dead Inquisitors might have thought of him, Archmagos Belisarius Cawl did not want this galaxy controlled by xenos. He did not tolerate dangerous aliens, nor those that could not be controlled.
Two down, two to go.
In his workshop aboard the Serendipity, Cawl walked to his holographic communicator, multiple claw-like legs clicking on the metal floor. His mechadendrites moved aimlessly as he walked, swaying like branches in the wind. Alpha Primus was… elsewhere today, ready and waiting to carry out his master's wishes. So that was what Cawl was calling to find out. Exactly how much help could he count on in his newest endeavor.
Two down, two to go.
With the push of a few buttons, the hologram sprang to life to reveal the upper body of Inquisitor Valorn. She clearly seemed surprised to be called by the Archmagos, eyebrows raised in surprise from beneath her black hood. Cawl grinned behind his faceplate.
"Archmagos Cawl," siad Valorn, crossing her arms. "To what do I owe the pleasure?" On his end, Cawl gave a theatrical bow.
"Ah, Lady Valorn. It is my own pleasure to be speaking with you today." Valorn tried her very best but ultimately failed at hiding her eye roll. Behind his faceplate, Cawl's smile only grew wider. "I am calling you because I came up with a most intriguing idea, and wondering if you might wish to lend it some credibility with your own aid." Cawl was nothing if not theatrical. Valorn snorted.
"Does it have anything to do with the odd deaths of Inquisitors Vell and Doric?" she asked, crossed arms becoming even tighter. "Because it's a rather strange thing for two Inquisitors, both of who were rather competent and powerful despite being annoying, brainless, frakkers," Valorn had no love for her two ex-colleagues, Cawl knew. Yet another reason he was calling her. "Both misjudged where enemy territory was and were unfortunately killed by Reaper and Dark Mechanicum forces."
"Indeed, it is rather a tragedy-"
"Yes, it is quite interesting that two Inquisitors got lost." Valorn continued as if Cawl had not spoken. The Archmagos's smile became even wider. Oh, he liked her. Finally, someone who possessed some sense of theatrics! Valorn tapped her forearm, fingers drumming thoughtfully against the black cloth. "Will Morris or I be next, I wonder?" she asked.
"Oh, I would assume that both yourself and Inquisitor Morris will be perfectly safe. After all, you are on the Citadel and Grissom Academy respectively, and thus are very far away from the front lines and… getting lost." Valorn nodded slowly. Ah, good. She understood.
Yes, I killed them. No, you don't care that I killed them because they were rivals and now I'm on your side and just told you I don't desire your death.
"That's… good," replied Valorn carefully. "Now… uh, Archmagos Cawl… how can I be of assistance?" she asked. The words were polite, but beneath them there was a single meaning: what do you want? Cawl certainly didn't mind. He was here to get what he wanted, after all.
"I have an… interesting idea," he began. "I'll need your cooperation, your… uh, permission, and some of your delightful Stormtroopers. Now…" Cawl outlined his plan as Valorn listened carefully. She was the expert, after all.
Two down, two to go.
oOo
It wasn't really a patrol, per say, but it might as well have been called that. Well, at least it wasn't an official patrol. The picket lines were already out, with the Steel Legion and Hierarchy scouts out waiting in the darkness. The Chimeras were all set up in the center of the camp, engines off as they barricaded up in defensive formation. There wasn't much danger in this part of the campaign, for the combined Hierarchy and Imperial forces were moving up, not stuck in a city fight.
Nictus Faldros was on the patrol-not-a-patrol. He supposed it could be called more of a walk than a patrol. A friendly walk. Yes. Perhaps that was a better term. Then again, it was both a patrol and friendly walk. There could be two in one, could there not?
Nictus was walking in the darkened streets of whatever city they were currently in, wearing his armor but not his helmet. His Phaeston rifle was stowed casually behind his back. There were no enemies here. This was now (and he grinned at the thought) Hierarchy territory once more.
Next to Nictus, and much shorter to his towering Turian height, was Angela. The Turian had finally gotten to know much more about the trooper he was infatuated with in the past week. Her name was the first part. It was hard to get to know someone without their name, after all.
Currently, Angela walked beside him. She wore her Steel Legion uniform, of course, though she had taken off her helmet and gasmask and hung them at her side. Her hair was put back in what Nictus believed humans called a 'ponytail'. (Why did they call it that? A question for another time.) He longed to touch it; it was simply so interesting. There was nothing else in the galaxy like human hair. It wasn't fur, wasn't plates, wasn't tentacle-like growths as the Asari had. How did it feel? What was it like? He longed to know, but didn't dare ask.
It was enough that she was here, though. She and Nictus had gotten to know each other fairly well at this point, something that delighted the Turian to no end (and, it must be said, delighted her to no one's knowledge but her own). Very fortunate circumstances had come up in the duty rotation, and Nictus saw the perfect opportunity to get time with her.
Thus it was just the two of them, "patrolling" around the outer perimeter of the camp. They had exchanged pleasantries and simply strolled together through the darkness of one of Palaven's ruined cities. It was empty. Quiet. Just the two of them.
Nictus wished that humans had sub-vocals, for then it would be much easier to pin down exactly what Angela was thinking and what emotions she was feeling. Though they could conceal their sub-vocals just as any species could conceal their emotions, Turians were more open about such things. But humans were more of a puzzle. Facial expressions, body language, hidden meaning behind words… it was much more difficult to understand or figure out what they truly meant.
However, based upon what Nictus did know about humans, Angela seemed to like him. He was delighted about this, of course. Everything was going well so far. The Turian and Imperial had a friendly conversation with each other, where they had gotten to know more about the other. Nictus learned much about Angela's home planet of Armageddon, and even more about her personality and what she liked.
She was more soft spoken but not quiet or shy, intelligent and street-smart but neither academic nor paranoid. The Turian learned she used to serve the gangs in the slums of Armageddon, the unfortunate fate of most who were raised there, including the vast majority of Steel Legionnaires. She always wanted to leave and see the stars, always wanted change. Her favorite color was red (and this was said with a blush as she stared at Nictus's facial markings), her favorite food some sort of dish from home Nictus had never heard of, and she loved the night sky, even on her polluted homeworld.
She seemed to wish to know more about Nictus in turn, and seemed completely fine with the fact he was a Turian. He told her of his home, of where and how he was raised, and how, like all Turians, he had joined the Hierarchy military at a young age. That was another thing they had in common. There were far more commonalities than Nictus expected, yet another thing that delighted him.
Eventually, the Legionnaire and Hierarchy infantryman reached a clearing in the broken city near a crossroads. Still inside the combined camp, it was nevertheless deserted. With a stiff grunt, Nictus leaned back and took a seat on a chunk of deep gray rubble. Everything was sore. He had been moving around, on campaign, all day.
Surprisingly, Angela took a seat next to him. Nictus stilled. He held his breath. She leaned back, then looked up at him with a smile.
"You know, Nictus," she said, "You make this campaign… bearable." Another soft smile. Nictus's mandibles flared out in his own smile, and, amazingly, it seemed Angela knew what it meant.
"And you… do as well," he replied, voice drifting through the night air.
There was a moment of silence, of tension, where the wind and time itself seemed to still. Nictus felt himself gradually drifting closer to Angela. His eyes were on her face (a very beautiful face, if he did say so himself), and his talons stilled on the makeshift bench beneath him.
With no warning, nearly impulsively, Angela reached up, wrapped her right arm around his head, and kissed him.
Nictus's brain did an approximation of an omni-tool error screen for a millisecond. Turians did not kiss as humans did, for they had no lips. It didn't seem to deter Angela. Nictus leaned into it, enjoying it despite his complete shock. Angela's lips were incredibly soft, softer than anything in a Turian's body.
The kiss lasted for what seemed to be both an eternity and far too short a time before Angela pulled back, snaking her arm back from around Nictus's head. Nictus pulled back to look down at her and met her gaze, expecting that she felt the same way he did (she did initiate the kiss, after all), only to meet an expression of complete shock and dawning horror on her face. She staggered and reeled back, seemingly horrified of what she had done.
Before Nictus could say anything, she bolted from her seat and ran, disappearing into a nearby set of ruined buildings. Nictus simply sat there, hands rubbing unconsciously across his mouth plates. Well, that wasn't supposed to happen.
What exactly did just happen?
oOo
These halls had known corruption before: the indoctrinated Saren had walked through them on his way to get to the Citadel to complete his mission for Sovereign. But that was a passing thing, a minor annoyance. Saren had not stayed long.
However, now the solemn halls of Ilos knew true, permanent corruption. This was far worse than anything the Reapers could do. The Reapers came and went; this stayed. The corruption of Ilos was now permanent. There was nothing that could be done, for the sentients of this galaxy were now fighting a war for their very existence and the ancient rulers of this planet, the Protheans, were long dead.
What had once been sleek and somber halls were now dark and twisted with the corruption borne of the Dark Mechanicum. Rot and filth trailed across the floor, leavin messy streaks through the once-pristine halls. The beginnings of black stalagmites and stalactites were starting to grow from the floor, ceilings, and even walls. Parts of the architecture were starting to leak blood and putrid oil.
High above in the planet's orbit, the huge form of the Olympus Mons hung like a bloated spider waiting for prey. Shuttles came and went to and from the planet beneath. There was no fear of retribution, for what in this galaxy or any other could possibly contend with the Olympus's guns?
The Tech-Priests of the Dark Mechanicum, as horrible and debauched as the halls they now walked, went through the ancient Prothean facilities upon the planet. That was, after all, still their purpose. It had always been their purpose over the countless millennia. It was why they turned to Chaos in the first place; the Corpse Emperor would not allow them to learn, would not allow them to pursue new forms of technology as they wished. His loss. They would learn and gain untold power without Him.
That was why they were here. Ilos was the first piece of the puzzle; the first step in Hal's hunt. In the ancient Prothean facility upon the planet, the black-robed forms of corrupted Tech-Priests crawled like maggots upon a carcass. Servitors, guided by their dark masters, disassembled everything they could get their hands on to take back to the Olympus for study. This was a treasure trove, a whole library of artifacts from an unknown species that had once ruled a galaxy. Perfect material for the Dark Mechanicum.
Amid the countless hallways of the once-Prothean base, there was one guarded by nearly fully mechanical Dark skitarii, personally outfitted by the true Lord of Mars. The other adepts knew to keep their distance from this place, for Lord Hal was at work, and when Lord Hal was at work, he did not like to be disturbed. It was his expedition, his ship, and his leadership that had led them here after all.
Much like his current counterpart in the Adeptus Mechanicus, Kelbor-Hal's true form was massive. Bloated with thousands of metal add-ons, it was usually confined to one place. It was the size of a room; how could it possibly move around?
However, mobility was sometimes necessary. Being confined to one location was not only annoying, but it could also prove dangerous, even fatal. Thus Kelbor-Hal, much like most Tech-Priests of his size and age, had a second, mobile form in which he could leave the confines of his ship and move about in other locations.
While it might not have been the size of a cathedral, and not nearly as massively intimidating as his normal body aboard the Olympus Mons, Kelbor-Hal's current form was still terrifying. Utterly huge, even larger than Belisarius Cawl, Hal was draped in his usual filthy pitch-black robe. A veritable wall of mechadendrites hung behind him, each one rusted, rotting, twisting, and corrupted. Multiple long arms, each made of metal and tipped with five-fingered claws, came out from the front of his body. His head was shadowed in the hood of his cloak. Three putrid green lights shone out from beneath the hood, all in different, odd locations.
The eyes of Kelbor-Hal were currently resting on an ancient computer terminal at the end of a long walkway. Around him, twisted black stalagmites, dripping with corrupted blood and oil, were already growing out the overgrown flora and fauna of the room.
In front of him, coming from the terminal, was an orange hologram. It was corrupted and glitched through millennia of non-maintenance, and seemed to flicker in and out of existence as if it would fade at any minute.
"You are not Prothean," said the hologram as Kelbor-Hal's huge form approached it.
"I am not," agreed Hal, his voice ringing heavily through the ancient chamber.
"You are… you are… you are machine… but not Reaper?" asked the hologram, confused. It flickered for a moment. Hal stood before it, his towering bulk looming. Waiting. "We had not planned for this eventuality. Are you allied with the Reapers?" it asked. In response, Hal let loose with a deep, terrifying, rasping laugh.
"Oh, no, my dear Vigil," he replied. The Prothean V.I. flickered rapidly, stunned over the use of its name. How had this thing known? "You see, I control the Reapers." A metallic hand reached out to the computer terminal. Vigil's form flickered again, then let loose with a scream. Hal only laughed. The V.I. disappeared, absorbed into Hal's internal databanks. "And now I control you, just as I will control all things in this galaxy."
The secrets of the Prothean Empire were now his to command. He had the Reapers and he had what remained of the Protheans. One more step closer to what would be his eternal rule.
oOo
Codex:
Systems Alliance Star of Terra Recipient- Arnieth, Kender A.
Rank and Organization: Private First Class, Kasrkin 29th Brigade
Place and Date: Near the Benin/Nigeria border, August 26th, 2189
Serial Number: K-1258-9775
Referenced/Recommended by (for non-Alliance service personnel to receive a Star of Terra, their act must be seen by an Alliance service member and/or recommended by an Alliance service member): Commander Shepard, John
Citation: Under attack by superior Reaper forces, Kender repelled them from defensive positions with his plasma gun. When his plasma gun overheated, and his position and team under direct threat from an attacking 'Brute', Kender drew his combat knife and challenged the creature in close quarters combat. With support from his teammates, Kender was able to slay the creature with his knife, a feat of nearly unimaginable heroism.
(Note from the Citadel Reaper War Historical Society: This is thought to be the only non-Astartes hand-to-hand kill of a Brute.)
oOo
There we have it! I do hope you enjoyed the story. I loved all your reviews, so please keep 'em coming! Again, as for the Nictus/Angela scenes, they are being written for a reason. It will come in due time. As for next chapter... things get... interesting. As always, I welcome any comments, criticisms, questions, concerns, and reviews!