I'm back. This chapter, things finally ramp up. As mentioned many, many times before, I have a plan for my writing and how this story will go and turn out. Many of you have pointed out things or have asked questions that will be answered in time. This chapter is an answer for many of them. Thank you to everyone who reviewed. Your thoughts never cease to brighten my day. So, please, feel free to drop by and tell me what you think.
gods-own: Thank you. You are correct on the progenoid glands. However, this will come important later.
Guest: Glad to see someone likes those scenes.
Chronus1326: Thank you!
Savoir16: Unfortunately, I don't think the rules or any form of cultural exchange of that sort will come into the main story. The rules list was just intended as a small bit of comedy. I do thank you for your thought, though. Maybe I'll expand on the rules.
BonesofSmite: Oh, you know it. As for the Asari and Salarins, we'll be seeing one now, and the other very soon.
Austin: Possibly. Possibly not. Who know? The Space Marines only spit acid if they want to. It's a special gland, and they have to activate it like a normal person might flex a muscle to actually spit acid. Also, they don't really get sick due to their great biology. If they do, it's usually a very big problem (Nurgle, Dark God of Disease is usually responsible). As for your other question, there is actually a category for that. The Imperium calls those people mutants, and will either kill them or treat them as abhumans (see Ratlings or Ogyrn) depending on what they see fit. Thank you for your thoughts and questions, and stay safe and healthy.
Bruma: Thank you! I'm glad you like the style. I find it helps to tell the story better. As for Mephiston, he will be showing up. He's certianly too cool not to. We'll be seeing more cool Space Marine stuff in the future; don't worry about that. As for the romance, thank you for your opinion. As you mentioned earlier, my writing style is to show smaller, personal moments. This also includes romances. To me, it tells more of a personal story instead of just "this guy shows up and stuff happens." There is a plan for the romances, so the Angela/Nictus thing isn't just for no reason. The others won't be showing up again because you and a lot of other readers don't like them. So be it. I will write what you guys want to see. (Angela/Nictus stays, though, because there is a point to it.) As for Cawl, you will see in this story, but he I believe he is kind of a chess master. A very, very good chess master. He wouldn't get away with ten thousand years of illegal Space Marine research and going whatever he wants otherwise. I really enjoy writing him as a cheery mad scientist, but I have to have someone to drive the plot. As you pointed out, he "convinced" the Mechanicus to come to this galaxy last story, but that was more of me as the author forcing along the plot. As I pointed out many times last story, if we were being realistic, the Imperium would just kill everyone, and that would make for a boring story. This story, Cawl has a plan. Inquisitor Valorn is very smart, but she's also a rival to her collegues, as all Inquisitors are. If Cawl killed them, it frees her up. In addition, who ever said that the four were the four Inquisitors? We'll find out this chapter, I can assure you... Thank you for your review. I appreciate your honesty and feedback, both the compliments and criticisms. That's how I grow as an author; through people like you. So, again, thank you for your review, and I hope you like the rest of the story!
Matthew: Things are going to get very interesting, I can assure you. How else would we be able to pull out all the cool weapons? I hope you like this chapter.
Anatheras: Thank you. Sorry there's too much xenophilia for your taste. Hopefully this chapter will serve as a cleanser.
Dragon Blaze-X: Thank you! I'm so glad you like it. More is here, and I hope you like that too!
Guest: I don't think any other xenos will be showing. That just makes it more complicated. As for the Korps: maybe, but probably not. I'll think on it. Thank you for your suggestions, though. I appreciate them
oOo
Death of Innocence
"Death to the enemies of the Golden Throne." -Imperial saying
"The revelation of spirit when encountering the power of Chaos is as freeing for the machine as it is for the mortal mind. It is our duty to create this blessed state of union." -Gaiak Krustellam, Dark Magos
"All power demands sacrifice… and pain. The universe rewards those willing to spill their life's blood for the promise of power." -Sindri Myr, Alpha Legion sorcerer
oOo
His work on the Genophage was, in every regard and beyond any shadow of a doubt, the singular worst thing he had ever done. Oh, yes, at the time he had thought differently. He had been a young, naive fool. He thought his work was for the greater good. Oh, how often that excuse was used to justify things, and how often it was horribly wrong. But he was older now, wiser. His eyes had been opened.
While he had always been intelligent (it wasn't bragging, just stating facts, and he strived to be factual at all times), it had been his time amid Commander Shepard's crew that had truly opened his eyes to the horrors he had helped to propagate. Yes, he might have had intelligence before, but he did not have perspective. That was the tragedy of most with intellect: they did not understand how others thought. He too had fallen into that trap and clawed his way back out with the help of jarring situations and his friends.
He had been on Tuchanka, been friends with a Krogan. It was actually quite fortunate Grunt had brought Shepard and the crew of the Normandy to Tuchanka, otherwise things might have been much different.
He gleaned information that his old assistant, Maelon, had apparently been captured by Clan Weyrloc on the Krogan homeworld. Asking Shepard for assistance, they had gone to an obliterated hospital upon Tuchanka to ostensibly free Maelon from his imprisonment.
However, things had been… different. He had been wrong. He, the great Mordin Solus… had been wrong. It was, of course, an assumption on his part. He didn't know for certain that Maelon was captured, only assumed. It was logical. There was no other reason he could think of why a Salarian would be in a Krogan hospital on the Krogan homeworld. It was an educated guess, but the guess was wrong. So very, very wrong.
Maelon had been there of his own free will. Wracked by guilt over his participation in upgrading the Genophage, he had tried to help the Krogan to cure it. "Helped" in a horrible, un-scientific, morally bankrupt sense of the word.
When Mordian and the others had gotten to the hospital to finally find out precisely what was going on there, they had arrived upon a scene of utter horror. Maelon's experiments were something more suited to the Reapers (or perhaps the Dark Mechanicum, now that Mordin knew of their existence). Dead Krogan bodies littered filthy gurneys, their corpses riddled with tumors. Maelon's surgery was more akin to butchery. It was something any professional doctor would have shuddered at.
However… It was his fault. It was all his fault. The Genophage extension, the deaths, the stillbirths, the horrors, Maelon, Maelon's actions… all his fault. All his fault.
If not for his own actions, which he thought were completely justified at the time, none of this would have happened. This horror that was so close to what the diabolical enemies of the galaxy were doing would never had been propagated. None of it would have happened, if not for him.
He bore the weight of that guilt with him at all times since the fatal meeting with Maelon. It gnawed at him, consumed him, covered him with its accusement at all times. It was inescapable. The deaths of millions, the genocide of a culture, all fell solely and squarely upon his shoulders. It was all his fault.
However, much like perspective, Mordin learned another lesson amid Commander Shepard's crew: there was always time to fix things. What happened, happened. It was in the past. The past could not be changed. However, you could change, and you could undo the mistakes of the past if you wanted. It was a lesson seldom found in the extremely short-lived Salarians, but it was one that Mordin Solus planned on putting to good use this day.
He was on Sur'Kesh, the Salarian homeworld. A gave a slight smile at that; how ironic, that the salvation of the Krogan would come on the world where their demise was originally planned.
Though Maelon was a butcher of the most horrific sort, his work was good. He was Mordin's assistant, after all, and Mordin chose no one but the best. Despite his appalling lack of morals, Maelon's skill still remained. Amid all the darkness and dirty surgery that was that terrible hospital on Tuchanka, there was a single light.
From everything that had happened, from all the pain and terror Maelon had caused, he had acutally suceeded. A single Krogan female had survived, and held the key to curing the Genophage. She had been taken by the STG and brought back to Sur'Kesh under the orders of Dalatrass Linron. Mordin scoffed at the name.
Linron was not exactly popular. She had won her election to Dalatrass by a very narrow margin, and was opposed by various Salarian political factions. Perhaps more importantly, the STG took a very dim view of her, especially her more recent decision to not get Union forces involved in the Reaper War. However, unfortunately for Mordin, the STG would carry out her orders. In addition, Salarians being Salarians, most viewed the Genophage as a good thing.
Thus Mordin was in opposition to both the Dalatrass and the STG. At least at the present moment. He was certain he could sway his old comrades. There was a war going on for galactic survival, and the help of the Krogan could be paramount in winning that war.
First things were first, though. The STG facility here was easy enough to get into. For him. Mordin was ex-STG, after all, and one of the best in the business. He knew the STG had taken multiple female Krogan to Sur'Kesh, but this one, only one, had survived Maelon's horrific experiments. She was the key to curing the Genophage. He had to get her out.
There were few guards in the route he had chosen to infiltrate the base (another aspect of his old training and brilliant mind at work). He had borrowed an Infiltrator cloak from Kasumi long ago, and currently had it equipped on his omni-tool. He could get by the technological sensors and cameras easily enough (he still remembered the passwords), but even if any flesh-and-blood guard was to take notice of something bizarre, they wouldn't be able to see him.
He was close now, on the third level of the facility. Just one more to go until he reached the female Krogan's cell. After this, he had a ship waiting where he could take her away for his research. In a few weeks time, if everything went well and according to plan, the female would be safe and the Genophage would be a forgotten memory. His conscience would finally be clear.
Slipping through the corridors, he moved forward through the sleek Salarian architecture. One more door and he would be on the fourth level. Moving, he glanced at his map. Yes. Here it was. Just one more corredor left. He turned a corner, only to find…
"Knew they would send someone," he said, voice as quick as always. His mind was even faster, calculating a million kilometers a second. "Didn't think it would be you."
In front of him, massive bulk guarding the door he had to enter to reach his goal, was the gray-armored form of Alpha Primus. The Marine's red lenses glowed down eerily as he took in Mordin. His huge bolter was clutched easily in massive gauntlets, resting casually across his chest. As usual, the Marine made no move, standing as still as a statue in front of the door.
Mordin had a feeling he might be opposed by more than just the Dalatrass. The Imperium of Man was a xenophobic empire, and though they got along warily with the Quarians, the Krogan were an entirely different matter. Apparently the Krogan were similar to Orks, a strange fungoid species that brought death and violence wherever they went. Mordin knew the fear, accepted it, but wanted to show, to prove to the Imperium that the Krogan were different. He wanted to prove it to the galaxy. They were good people, deep down. It was only thanks to Grunt and Wrex that he knew, though. It would take more doing to show a galaxy, but it could be done.
However, he did have a feeling the Imperials would send someone to stop the cure, or at least take the Genophage idea for themselves. Though, he guessed it would be Valorn's agents, not Cawl's to show.
Mordin and Alpha Primus stood there for a brief moment, staring at each other. The Salarian was completely at ease, making no threatening movements. He didn't quite know what Primus was here for, so it was entirely possible that the Marine would let him go on his way.
In contrast, Primus stood as silent and still as ever. No emotions were displayed in his body language. He could be a statue of a Marine, so motionless was he.
"You don't have to do this." Primus's rumbling voice came suddenly in the quiet, reverberating through the hall. It sounded… nearly pleading, strangely enough. Mordin cocked his head. Was he trying to make him think of the horrors of the Krogan unleashed, or trying to play on their old camaraderie from the Collector Base mission? "You can still turn around." Ah.
"So can you," replied Mordin. Primus froze, becoming even more still, if such a thing were possible.
Warily, tentatively, as if approaching some fearsome beast, Mordin stepped forward. Primus did not move. The Salarian took another step. Primus still did not move an inch.
Carefully, Mordin walked past Primus. The Marine made no move to stop him. Only his helmet shifted, following Mordin's every move, eyes burrowing into the Salarian's back.
Mordin reached the door and opened it. He walked calmly, unhurriedly, in a manner designed not to cause alarm. His eyelids moved rapidly over his large eyes in a distinctively amphibian manner. So. He had passed Primus. The Marine would let him through, and, thanks to their old camaraderie on the Collector Base, allow him to complete his mission.
Finally. Finally the Krogan could be saved. The galaxy could be shown they were people, not monsters. An entire species would be repopulated.
A bolter shell is designed to pierce armor. Whether the armor is that of an individual or light vehicle is ultimately irrelevant. The bolter will do the job regardless. It is one of the most powerful hand-held anti-personnel weapons within the Imperium of Man, famed for its robustness and force alike. A brutally effective weapon, the bolter fires diamantine-tipped mass-reactive depleted uranium rounds. Their weight and force is enough to blow apart the largest of xenos monstrosities, and can even go through Marine power armor.
Therefore, when Alpha Primus's bolter shell hit Mordin Solus directly in the back of his head, the Salarian scientist died instantly.
oOo
Deep within level four of the STG facility on Sur'Kesh, Urdnot Bakara paced within her cell. Outside, the two STG guards didn't even look back, instead staring straight ahead. With another annoyed growl, Bakara sat against the concrete wall. The growl turned to a sigh.
Out of everyone experimented on by Maelon, only she had survived. Everyone else had died shortly after arriving on Sur'Kesh, their bodies unable to survive Maelon's work. She was fatalistic about that aspect of it: she had volunteered for the experimentations on Tuchanka, after all. Some had not, but she had. It was all for the salvation of her race, the salvation of a species, and Bakara was more than willing to sacrifice herself if it meant the Krogan could live.
After Bakara and the others had been "rescued" (captured) by the STG, the world around her had been her cell, a pod, and the occasional, very occasional, visit to a Salarian scientist's laboratory. Each time she was stun-locked and escorted by multitudes of STG guards. The Union was taking no chances with their prized prisoner, it seemed.
So Bakara waited. Her name was once Bakara, but she had given it up when she became shaman of the female clan. Now though, she brought it back, the title ringing through her mind. It was her. A sense of self; the knowledge that she was still a she and not just some item, not just some subject to be experimented on. Bakara.
She jumped to her feet as a muffled blam sounded through the halls. The Salarian guards jumped, startled at the sudden noise. One went to his omni-tool, trying to figure out precisely what was happening (again, the STG were careful and unwilling to take chances with their prisoner). The other raised his gun with a frown, suspicious at the sudden loud noise.
Before the first guard could say anything, the doors to the lower level opened. From them stepped an enormous figure. Standing eight and a half feet, a whole foot taller than Bakara, was what seemed to be a man in extremely heavy gray armor. Then again, Bakara didn't quite know exactly what this thing was. It could have been some sort of mech. Though mechs usually didn't have their weapons hand-held in the typical military fashion…
The two STG guards stared at the thing for a moment before raising their weapons, ready to fire. The gray figure's eye lenses glowed an electric blue. Bakara winced as she felt a strange, intruding pressure in her mind. Both guards tensed.
Bakara lept backwards, shocked, as the heads of both guards suddenly twisted all the way backward, snapping their spines and killing them instantly. They fell to the ground, lifeless, like puppets with their strings cut.
The strange figure stepped forward unhurriedly. Bakara simply watched it, head tilted. What was this? How did it do that? Was it here for her? To rescue her? Perhaps. The hope welled up inside her, though her tough Krogan exterior and years as the female shaman would not allow it to show outwardly.
The armored form of the strange newcomer stopped in front of her cell. The lenses of the helm flashed the same strange electric blue as before. Bakara felt the same strange, horrible, intrusive pressure at the back of her mind.
Suddenly, the cell door sprang open. Bakara's eyes widened involuntarily. What? How was that possible? The cell door had been the finest of Salarian make, able to withstand even the mighty strength of a Krogan. She would know. She'd tried to get out many times, each one of them dismal, and sometimes painful failures.
As the cell opened, the gray figure stepped inside.
"Are you here for me?" asked Bakara, crossing her arms in a no-nonsense fashion. Whatever this thing was, she wouldn't let it intimidate her. She was the future of the Krogan, after all.
"Yes," replied Alpha Primus, raising his bolter.
oOo
If it was any consolation to the friends of Mordin Solus, Dalatrass Linron, she who ordered the Genophage to be extended and thought the Krogan only beasts, died a much more painful death than he did.
The Dalatrass herself was aboard the Saelando, one of the Union First Fleet's finest and latest dreadnaughts. The Citadel Council had been puzzled and more than a little suspicious that the Union Navy had slowed down dreadnaught production, building fewer ships than legally permitted under the Treaty of Farixen. This slowdown had also come at a time of grave uncertainty, during the cold war between the Citadel and Adeptus Mechanicus. Why would anyone want to lessen their military strength?
The answer lay in the Salarian style: technology above brute force. Acting on orders from Sur'Kesh, STG agents procured schematics of the Normandy's stealth systems and the algorithms behind the acquired Reaper IFF signal. Months of research in the Union's laboratories yielded something previously unthinkable: dreadnaughts with stealth capabilities.
However, as anyone familiar with what was becoming known as the Galactic Cold War could tell you, it was hard to one-up the Mechanicus on anything technological. While the Adas forge had much larger problems to worry about than try to figure out exactly what was happening on Sur'Kesh at all times, there was one other who had more time.
Archmagos Cawl had traveled the galaxy aboard his ark mechanicus, the Serendipity. He had picked up many new technologies, and invented many different hybrids. Though such things were technically tech-heresy, he cared not. Cawl knew the Mechanicus would be using element zero soon enough. Some things were too effective not to use.
During his travels, Cawl had hacked into thousands upon thousands of databases, ever-hungry for secrets and knowledge. Even though they had been improved during the cold war, the databanks of the Citadel races were still laughably easy to break into for a Tech-Priest of his caliber.
One of the secrets he found was that of the stealth dreadnaughts. He did not inform the Alliance, the Council or Shepard, for that would not serve his plans. Let them wait. Let them think they were united. Besides, he had better things to do at the time, and he did not trust the Citadel to punish the Salarian Union's transgressions. He would do it personally.
It was all too easy to find out where the Dalatrass was. It was even easier to get Inquisitor Valorn on his side. Both the Salarians and Krogan were menaces, and would be either ended or greatly reduced in power and prestige.
Four down.
The Asari were next.
But, either way, the plan for ending the alien races was complicated. Not necessarily difficult for an Inquisitor of the Ordo Xenos and a ten-thousand year old Archmagos to accomplish, but still complicated. It was by necessity. Bringing entire races low was not an easy task, after all.
Step one had been to send Alpha Primus to Sur'Kesh to take care of the Krogan female and Doctor Mordin Solus. It had been a pity, actually, that the good doctor had to die. He was a decent fellow, for an alien. Always curious, always inventive, always polite. However, he wanted to cure the Krogan, something that could not be allowed to happen. Cawl had seen the horrors inflicted by the Orks, and knew the history of this new reality only too well. If the Krogan were allowed to get out of control once more, they would fight to regain the galaxy.
The Imperium would win, of course, but it would be an annoyance. Better to kill them now.
Cawl had every confidence in Primus's ability to carry out his orders. The Marine was a psyker par few. Besides, nothing the STG could throw could stop a Space Marine, especially a psychic Space Marine. True, Primus might have had some hesitation killing someone he knew (Mordin), but in the end Cawl knew Primus would do what had to be done. The Marine knew the dangers of the Krogan. However, above all, Primus was utterly loyal to Archmagos Belisarius Cawl. Whatever his master ordered would be carried out.
Step two was to kill the Dalatrass. This was more tricky.
The Saelando would be traveling from Sur'Kesh to a Salarian colony to discuss materials for the war. Cawl (and Valorn, and anybody else if they knew about this) found it extremely ironic that the Salarians were still preparing their own defenses and were unwilling to help the rest of the galaxy as it burned around them. It mattered not, though. They would pay soon enough.
With his incredible hacking skills, Cawl was able to route a shipment of cargo to the Saelando. The Salarians might have been surprised when it arrived in large, heavy metal containers, but they shrugged and put it on the dreadnought anyway. Their scans showed it was exactly what it was supposed to be: supplies.
As the Saelando made its way to the colony, still in the protective arc of Salarian space, the doors to the heavy metal cargo crates burst open. The Salarian guards were overwhelmed in seconds by a combined kill clade of Sicarian Infiltrators and Ruststalkers.
The Sicarians were experts. Assassins all, they were masters of stealth and patient waiting. Why would they not be? Their brains were replaced, their human impatience gone. They did not need oxygen: they could carry it with them. Assassins by trade, they carried out their lethal task aboard the Saelando with terrible fury and sublime grace.
The Flechette Blasters and Stubcarbines of the Infiltrators rang out through the hold and halls of the Saelando as the Ruststalkers moved in for the kill with closer-ranged weapons. While the projectile weapons of the Infiltrators could be blocked by kinetic barriers, the Transonic Razors and Chordclaws of the close-ranged experts could not. The Salarians, like most from this galaxy, thought fighting at close ranges was suicidally idiotic. Now they paid for that mistake, the Ruststalkers coming at them with horrifying speed, mass accelerator rounds pinging off their armor.
The weapons of both forms of Sicarians were utterly horrifying in effect. Stubcarbines were the simplest and least painful of the lot: they were simply combat ballistic weapons that fired extremely powerful solid shot. Simple, messy, effective.
The other weapons, on the other hand, were far more painful and frightening. Flechette Blasters fired hundreds of tiny darts, each of which bore a special cerebral cell. The cell was awakened in the gun's chamber. Where one dart hit home, it would emit a biometric pulse that attracted all the others, resulting in a terrible series of impacts that could burrow through bone.
Then, of course, there were the weapons of the Sicarian Ruststalkers. Sinister examples of the Mechanicus's mastery over the laws of physics, they all animated a strong, sickly hum that played on the very souls of their prey. The sonic fields of the Transonic Razors swooped over a variety of wavelengths until they found the exact molecular frequencies to simply pass through the Salarians' armor.
It was the Chordclaw that put in the most work. The terrible gauntlet, seemingly welded to the left hands of the Ruststalkers, would flash out, still giving its evil noise, and slash through the Salarians. Where it landed, the vibrations produced by the weapon mutilated flesh and turned the Salarians to mounds of quivering jelly.
Surprised by the overwhelming assault that came from the interior of the ship itself, the Salarian troops stationed aboard the Saelando were quickly overwhelmed and destroyed. The Sicarians went through them like paper; many weren't even fully prepared or armed. The halls were covered in gore, splattered there by the awful power of the Chordclaws.
The kill clades moved to the rest of the ship next. While some of the troopers on board were able to give out a warning to their crewmates, it mattered little. Few of them were trained for infantry combat; not that it mattered. The Sicarians would still have wiped the floor with them either way.
With the rest of the crew lying in gory puddles, bodies barely recognizable as anything other than chunks of meat, the kill clades moved on to the bridge and the quarters of Dalatrass Linron.
Both were guarded by STG operatives. They put up more of a fight than the regular Union soldiers aboard the dreadnaught, but the result was still the same. With the splattered bodies of the STG guards behind them, they entered the central areas of the Saelando and killed everyone inside. Dalatrass Linron was ripped apart by a Chordclaw, her insides jellified as she screamed in agony.
With the executions of everyone aboard the ship, the next stage of the plan came into fruition. From the metal cargo crates, hidden within the back, came several Tech-Priests. These were handpicked by Archmagos Cawl for both their knowledge of the operating systems of this universe and their absolute loyalty to him.
The Priests made their way through the silent halls of the Saelando unbothered by the spattering of blood, flesh, and organs across the floors, walls, and occasional ceiling. Eventually, they reached the bridge. The crew had not been able to transition out of their current route in time enough to save them. The only thing the Tech-Priests had to do was make a few modifications.
A distress signal was sent out from a pre-specified location in space. As all such signals were designed to do, it was relayed to the nearest comm buoy and sent to nearby outposts in Salarian space.
After this task was completed, the Priests inputted a new destination to the navigational computer. The stealth system was activated, and the Saelando disappeared into nearby space. The mass relay activation records were then deleted.
Eventually, the Saelando, with its new crew of Tech-Priests and Sicarians, would arrive in an obscure, abandoned system occupied by the Serendipity. To any outsiders, it would seem as if the Salarian dreadnought was attacked, then mysteriously disappeared. Indeed, it would actually become a mystery for the ages. Most would make the logical conclusion and suspect it was the Reapers that were to blame. Only the higher-ups of the Imperium would know the truth.
With this single move, Cawl had crippled the Salarians, added their war assets to the Citadel, and taken the technology of stealth dreadnaughts for the Mechanicus. However, there was still one more step to the plan. The Salarians were taken care of (or as much as Cawl could do now). The Krogan had to be finished off.
oOo
Lieutenant Tarquin Victus shifted his mandibles in an approximation of a frown as he gazed upon the blasted, irradiated wasteland that was Tuchanka. Around him, the blue-gray clad forms of Hierarchy infantrymen and black-clad Inquisitorial Stormtroopers moved around the sands, weapons at the ready. Hefting his own Phaeston, Victus moved in to join them
He had been sent by Primarch Fedorian and his father to prevent a catastrophe of epic proportions. So far, it felt like he was doing a… less than stellar job. He sighed, unseen by his men.
Almost no one outside of the Hierarchy's high command knew that there was a massive and extremely powerful bomb planted in the Kelphic Valley by the Turians after the end of the Krogan Rebellions. It was a safeguard, a final measure to be taken should the Krogan ever rise up again. Victus didn't really know what to think of it. Yes, the Krogan could be a problem. He was a Turian, and had a deep love for history (much to some people's dismay). He, of all people, would know the damage they could do.
However, the bomb seemed a little… extreme. It had been here since the very end of the Rebellions, ready and waiting to annihilate at the Primarch's command. It was powerful enough to wipe out a projected third of the current Krogan population. Yes, such a measure would be necessary if the Krogan were to rise again. However, it still seemed wrong, somehow. Not in the sense that it was not necessary, but in the sense that only the Primarch or the Hierarchy high command could order its detonation. No one else knew. No one else could stop it.
It did seem that others knew of the bomb, though. How, Victus had no idea. It was supposed to be a Hierarchy secret. Nevertheless, Inquisitor Valorn of the Ordo Xenos and Archmagos Cawl of the Adeptus Mechanicus had contacted Primarch Fedorian and the Hierarchy's high command and informed them Reaper forces were heading to Tuchanka. What was more, they had reason to believe said Reaper and Dark Mechanicum forces were there not only to enslave the Krogan to add to their twisted collection of beasts, but to also detonate the Tuchanka bomb.
Cawl had revealed he knew what the Dark Mechanicum was up to through years of experience. Much like their assaults on Palaven and Earth, they would detonate the bomb as a pre-emptive strike, then move in and collect those that remained. With the detonation of the bomb, they would need significantly less forces to subdue the Krogan, which would free up their military for increasingly more powerful attacks elsewhere.
Victus was no tactical genius like his father (he found that out with bitter experience), but he supposed the concept made sense. Above all, he wanted his homeworld to remain safe. If making certain the enemy did not detonate this bomb made the fight on Palaven would be easier, then Tarquin Victus was all for it.
He didn't quite understand why the Imperium wanted to do this. From what he gathered, they held a deep-seated hatred for the Krogan, comparable to that of the Turians. Apparently the Krogan were very similar to a race from the Imperials' home galaxy called the Orks, who spread like a plague and brought violence wherever they went.
Tarquin supposed that they might want the Krogan as allies. The lizard-like race did bring an incredible amount of fire power to the table, after all. These were desperate times, and desperate times called for desperate measures. The Krogan could be used as cannon fodder once again, just as they were in the Rachni Wars, only this time they couldn't spread as rapidly.
Then again, making sure the bomb wasn't detonated might just be a precation to make sure there wasn't any additional pressure on Earth or Palaven. Victus certainly hoped it was the latter of the two choices.
9th Platoon, with him at its head, had been chosen to deploy to Tuchanka by his father, General Adrien Victus, commander of all forces upon Menae, Palaven's moon. 9th Platoon was close-ish to Tuchanka, yes, but Tarquin had a feeling there was more to it than that.
He was the son of General Victus, a member of the Hierarchy's high command and holder of a very influential position. His son, well… didn't particularly follow in his father's footsteps.
Tarquin had never particularly wanted to be a soldier. Yes, all Turians were soldiers. Yes, Tarquin would accept his lot in life without complaint. It wasn't so bad. But this wasn't necessarily what he wanted to do; wasn't necessarily who he wanted to be. He had always had a love for history, and later on he wished to become an archivist for the Hierarchy. That wasn't such a bad thing, was it?
But his father wanted him to follow in his footsteps and become yet another General Victus. Indeed, Victus the elder had even promoted his son based on nepotism, not meret, something that was dangerous and highly frowned upon by the Hierarchy. While some spoiled sons of rich or influential parents might take it into stride or abuse their power, Tarquin was never one to do so. He didn't want his position. He knew he could do well, but… He wasn't sure. He wasn't sure what he wanted in life.
Nevertheless, 9th Platoon had landed on Tuchanka and met with a fellow platoon of Inquisitorial Stormtroopers. They had been greeted roughly but politely by Lieutenant Terius, the tough and battle-hardened leader of the Stormtroopers.
Terius was perhaps the opposite of Tarquin. While the former was a soft-spoken, more intellectual, less-confident leader, the latter was a rough, battle-hardened veteran from the ranks who held implicit control over his men. While Tarquin's men might whisper that he was ineffectual or that he was only there thanks to his father, Terius's soldiers obeyed him without question.
However, Tarquin found himself actually liking the Stormtrooper commander. Terius was curt but polite, and betrayed a soft spoken intelligence than the Turian found surprising. In addition, even though he had decades more military experience than Tarquin, he treated the Hierarchy lieutenant as an equal and respectfully listened to his suggestions. He tolerated no dissent to his (admittedly very good) ideas and would not allow any disrespect for superiors, even among the Turian platoon. In short, Terius was a model officer.
The first order of business had been to reach the bomb site from where they had landed on Tuchanka, and prevent any Reaper forces from getting there first. Unfortunately, the Reapers had already arrived in-system (though not en-masse) and began to land forces on the planet. They were ahead of the combined Imperial-Hierarchy group, but the latter could easily catch up.
Tarquin proposed circumventing the enemy by going through a series of narrow ruins. It was what his father would have done. However, Terius had politely but firmly overruled him, laying out that they would have no room to maneuver.
To the Turian's chagrin, the Stormtrooper commander had been correct. They had mounted a head-on assault on the Reaper forces near the bomb site, the lightning tactics and heavy firepower of the Inquisitorial elite smashing through resistance. It seemed as if Tarquin did not have his father's brilliant mind, as much as both wanted it to be true. He was too clever for his own good.
Oh, well. At least they had made it, and with few casualties. As they moved farther on, past the initial Reaper landing force, they eventually reached an area filled with ancient blasted rubble. Hanging high overhead was the bomb.
There were a few Reaper forces here, but the Stormtroopers and Hierarchy infantrymen quickly took care of them. With every enemy in the vicinity dead, the combined group moved up the bomb itself.
"There it is," commented one of the Turians. Victus looked up at the thing in awe. How very interesting. So, this was their mission.
"How'd it remain undetected so long?" muttered another Turian.
"We had it pretty far underground," replied Victus. His troopers looked over to him. "The Reapers must have dug it up in order to activate it." His men nodded. Their lieutenant might be unsure of military tactics, but he had a good head for other things.
Both groups moved up, the Stormtroopers delaying for a moment to adjust their gear. As they reached the final rise, Victus saw a control panel nearby. So. The Reapers might have dug up the bomb, but they didn't activate it. Good. They could complete their mission, then.
"Lieutenant Victus?" came Terius's polite inquiry. The Turian shifted out a crick in his back and turned around to face the Stormtrooper, only to find the business end of a laspistol pointed at his face.
"Wha-"
Terius's shot took Tarquin Victus cleanly between the eyes, killing him instantly. Face-first; a warrior's death. Around Terius and Victus's now-cooling body, the other Turians reacted in panic, hastily pulling out their weapons. The Inquisitorial Stormtroopers, in pre-planned positions, already had their weapons raised. The crackle of hellguns sounded through Tuchanka's irradiated air. Crimson lasbolts sliced through what had once been allies, dropping them into the dust like the xenos scum they were.
After the Turians had been double-checked to make sure they were actually dead, Lieutenant Terius motioned for the squad's vox operator. Around them, the Stormtroopers kicked weapons out of cold hands and set up a defensive perimeter in case anyone else decided to show up at the bomb site.
"Breaker, this is Kappa. Execute is a go, I repeat, execute is a go." Terius and the vox operator waited for a moment before the reply came through.
"Copy that, Kappa. We are moving. Wait two."
The Stormtrooper platoon waited in defensive formation, hellguns at the ready for anything, Reaper or native, that might come their way. Nothing was forthcoming. High above, three Valkyrie transports streaked overhead and came in for a swift landing.
They landed in the rubble, rear ramps extending quickly. From the first came a Tech-Priest, a chosen subordinate of Archmagos Cawl, trusted to handle both this mission and the technology involved. From the second came another squad of Inquisitorial Stormtroopers. Two of them carried a heavy casket between them, made of shining metal and hermetically sealed. The Stormtroopers on the ground waited.
The Tech-Priest moved up to the bomb itself, the other Stormtroopers following. Reaching the device, the Tech-Priest undid a panel on the side with his mechadendrites. He then motioned to the two Stormtroopers carrying the casket, who obligingly set the thing down and immediately retreated from it. Terius winced as the Priest opened the heavy container with a hiss of pressurized air. He double-checked his armor's integrity, even though it would do little good.
From the casket, the Tech-Priest took a black cylinder, about two feet long and six inches in diameter. Terius knew it was sealed, knew that the Mechanicus expert knew his business, but was still unnerved by the presence of the cylinder.
The Priest inserted the cylinder into the bomb and connected a few things inside the large explosive device. He then inserted a small black rectangle, wiring it to the interior. Finishing, he took the panel and put it back on. No one would be any the wiser.
"Finished," stated the Tech-Priest, his metallic voice echoing through both Stormtrooper squads' comms. Teruius nodded.
"Platoon, move out!" he ordered. The troops rushed to the Valkyries, Terius's squad taking the third empty one. In minutes they were high in the atmosphere, away from Tuchanka and everything it held.
The Tech-Priest had made two modifications to the bomb. The first was a detonator, allowing Inquisitor Valorn to explode the device from her ship, hidden from prying eyes in the system. The Valkyies would meet up with a transport in low orbit, which would then take them to the Inquisitor's ship. It would not do to get their own forces caught in the blast.
The second modification was far more sinister. Archmagos Cawl and Inquisitor Valorn wanted guaranteed results. The Krogan were a very hardy and warlike species. Though it was incredibly unlikely, they just might be able to survive the Reaper assault by themselves. Therefore, measures had to be taken to make absolutely certain that never happened.
The second modification, the black cylinder, was filled with a modified strain of the Life-Eater Virus. It was not the full deal, for Cawl and Valorn did not want to destroy Tuchanka, just ensure the Krogan wouldn't survive. The Archmagos had tailored it only to go after full-scale organic life. It would eat through plants, animals, and Krogan, but wouldn't render Tuchanka lifeless or uninhabitable. It was a simple measure, meant to ensure that the Krogan truly died and to deplete the Dark Mechanicum and Reapers of any super-tough Krogan prisoners. Two for the price of one.
In but half an hour of leaving, the bomb would be detonated. Cawl and Valorn would report they sent agents along with Turian soldiers to prevent the bomb from being activated, but they were too late. The Dark Mechanicum had gotten there first. The agents had all been killed on the surface, and the Dark Mechanicum had modified the bomb to unleash and experimental weapon of their own. Terius and his squad would be reported KIA and cycled back to the Imperium's galaxy, with no one in this reality any the wiser.
Four down. All too easy.
oOo
Urdnot Wrex, Chief of Clan Urdnot, gave a great, huffing, rumbling frown. Crossing his arms, he looked across the wind-swept plains. It was deserted. Nothing. No one. He frowned again. Where were they? They were supposed to be here by now.
Both Wrex and Grunt had been contacted by Archmagos Cawl on behalf of the Mechanicus and Commander Shepard. With the Reapers invading Tuchanka, Wrex was certain they would also be offered a place in the Imperium's war. He chuckled at the thought. Of course they would. They were the Krogan. It always fell to them to fight other people's wars; to clean up other people's messes. And suffer for it. Always to suffer.
But, again, they were Krogan, and Krogan would endure. Always.
Perhaps this time, their suffering would be alleviated. Their pain would end. Wrex gave another smile at the thought. The Mechanicus was willing to ally itself to the Quarians, a race spurned and downtrodden before it was lifted up to greatness at their hands. The Citadel races, the proud Asari (so unwilling to help anyone not themselves) and the Salarians (he spat out the word in his mind) were in opposition to the Mechanicus, and therefore the Imperium. The newcomers hated them as much as the Krogan did. Why should they not? Both races were useless. It was on display for the galaxy to see.
As for the Turians, the other race the Krogans hated… well, only time could tell. For all their crimes against his people, for their decision on the Genophage and their actions during the Krogan Rebellions, he had to admire their warrior spirit. At least they were fighting the Reapers, unlike certain people.
Wrex knew there was an element of trying to convince himself to like the Turians for future's sake. Unfortunately, he would need them. With the warrior backbone of both the Krogan and Turians, supported by the Alliance, they could pose a real opponent to the Imperium. Otherwise… well, he had the feeling the Citadel would soon become a puppet government in the future if things went as the Imperium wanted.
Besides, both the Alliance and Imperium liked the Turians. Yes, the latter might do so begrudgingly, but Wrex could tell. He had the experience of ages, and knew how soldiers thought. The Alliance liked them because they were the only ones to fight the Reaper War alongside them, and the Imperials admired their military culture and willingness to sacrifice. If Wrex and the Krogan wanted a place in the future, they would have to play nice with the Turians, as distasteful as it might be.
Perhaps it wouldn't be all that bad. Garrus was nice enough, after all. Perhaps more Turians were like him. Perhaps both sides were wrong in perspective, and simply had to change it. Wrex certainly hoped so. Hoped, but didn't think. Besides Garrus, Urdnot Wrex still held little love for Turians.
"Where are they?" Wrex's rumbling voice cut through the pervasive silence, growling in annoyance. Next to him, Grunt made some sort of snorting noise.
"They'll be here, Battlemaster. They'll be here," he assured the leader of Clan Urdnot. Grunt had certainly grown since his creation. Indeed, his tank birth at the hands of Okeer seemed like a lifetime ago. Grunt had since earned the command of Aralakh Company, a fighting force made up of the finest Krogan warriors from all over Tuchanka. No Krogan community would dream of sending anything less than its finest warriors to represent their clan in Aralakh Company. Indeed, many a brawl had been started over the honor of who had been chosen.
Grunt was the leader of this ancient and powerful group of warriors. The position was earned entirely on merit. Wrex noted that as a result, Aralakh Company was by far his best unit. He had chosen Grunt because he felt the young Krogan exemplified the bright future of their species, something he deeply hoped for his people. As a result, Grunt was more optimistic than ever, and truly cared for his men. It was an undeniable fact.
"Are you sure they'll be here?" frowned Wrex. He was growing more impatient. Cawl and Shepard had specified this meeting point, out in the open wastes. They wanted Grunt along as well; Wrex had to chuckle at the thought. Shepard was a big softie. No doubt he wanted to see his old crewmate again.
"I'm sure, Battlemaster," replied Grunt cheerfully. "Archmagos Cawl and Shepard are men of their word. If they're delayed a bit by the Reapers, then…" He let the sentence trail off with an uncaring shrug. Both Krogan were certain Shepard and Cawl would be more than a match for the Reapers. It was too bad the mechanical race had started to invade Tuchanka, but good that they had only barely begun. The Krogan could fight them off. Wrex just had to unite them, and with Shepard and Cawl's help, he could.
He was snapped out of his thoughts by a deep, reverberating rumble. The Urdnot guards and Aralakh Company veterans looked up.
"What the…?"
"Thresher maw?" asked one, hefting his weapon. Wrex frowned.
"No. Maws don't sound like that…"
There was a brilliant flash of light, followed by an explosion that tore all color and sound from the world. The Krogan standing there were instantly obliterated.
oOo
The city of Vancouver stirred with dark power. It was no longer the seat of the Alliance, or one of the most important locations on Earth. It was dead, blasted, twisted, and corrupted. Only the dead and damned made residence here now.
Vancouver, City of the Damned. It had a nice ring to it.
Far from the prying eyes of the naive morons of the Alliance or even more idiotic worshipers of the Corpse Emperor, the most powerful servants of Kelbor-Hal, True Lord of Mars worked in their dark laboratories. The war was not going poorly, but it was going on much longer than it should have. It was more stalameted, more evenly-matched than it by all rights should be. Lord Hal and Lord Chrom were displeased. Therefore, measures were being taken to ensure the only possible outcome of the war would be in the favor of the Dark Mechanicum.
Amid the butcher shops, dark manufactories, and huge laboratories, plans were being put into place and new, terrifying machinery was being built. Lukas Chrom, the ex-master of Mondus Gamma, had been locked in his laboratory office for weeks, working on… something. No one else seemed to know the details. Thousands of other Dark Adepts, using thousands, if not millions, of captured humans and other sentients shipped to the city (the Alliance and Imperium could not track them all) created things of horror beyond compare. Soon, very soon, even the veteran Space Marines would shudder at their sight. The Dark Mechanicum would make sure of it.
But today was the day. The day where the tide of the war turned in the favor of the true Lord of Mars. In his command center, Chrom had finally completed what was his very finest work. In the butcher-shop factories, the Adepts were precisely on schedule.
But, most importantly of all, Ardim Protos, the Titan master, had undoubtedly come through. Chrom would definitely be mentioning his name to Lord Hal. Protos had made miracles, and once more came up with an entirely new type of Titan. Let the enemies of the Mechanicum, the real Mechanicum, tremble this day, for Earth would belong to them and them alone.
From Lord Chrom's central location in Vancouver, the massive titanium doors to his workplace opened with a great clanking and screeching of metal. And from it… His masterpiece. His magnum opus. Such a fine piece of work that the name of Lukas Chrom would ring through the galaxy for ages to come. Whether in infamy or praise, the Dark Magos did not care.
His masterpiece was about ten meters tall, with a roughly spherical body mounted atop two sets of heavy treds. Three massive optics, glowing an ominous orange, poked out from the middle of the machine's chassis. Much like Knights or Titans, it had two arms topped with heavy adamantium shoulder plates. Beneath these hung two weapons. Neither were recognisable as anything produced by either the Imperium or Forces of Chaos. That in and of itself was a terrifying thought.
Behind the spherical body was a set of weapon-tipped mechadendrites, much like those found on a Tech-Priest. However, much like the arm-mounted weapons, the function of these could not be immediately discerned. The only thing that one could tell from their sight was that they were indeed weapons, instruments of death and slaughter, not the usual function tool-tipped mechadendrites found so commonly on Tech-Priests of both the Mechanicus and Dark Mechanicum.
Between the body and mechadendrite hive was a truly disturbing sight. It looked as if cylindrical tanks had been strapped upright to the machine's back. Each was roughly a meter and a half tall, and each was connected in series to the body of the machine itself through a variety of pipes and tubes. Occasionally, one would shake violently… almost as if there were something inside trying to get out. Even more rarely, a crackle of eldritch lightning would run across the tubes from the tanks to the machine. Though no one besides the Dark Priests knew precisely what was inside the tanks, a psyker would be able to sense the torment within from miles upon miles away.
Psykers, dozens of still-living psykers, had been caged and bound to the monstrous machine. Each had been captured long ago in Chrom's home galaxy, and kept alive by the Dark Mechanincum to fuel their horrifying rituals. Sealed away inside the tanks, kept alive by a twisted amniotic fluid infused with the blood of daemons, they were trapped in hell forever. Within the fluid, they were functionally immortal; strapped to devices that stimulated a ferocious pain, they would suffer agony for all eternity to create an even more powerful version of the machine they were strapped to.
The machine itself was known simply as the Kaban Machine. Secretly devised by Lukas Chrom in the days after Horus's fall and during the beginning of the Heresy, the Kaban Machine was a deadly war robot. Nearly as large and powerful as an Imperial Knight, it enjoyed one further, terrible blessing: it was a fully sentient thinking machine. This was an Abominable Intelligence, a terrible ancient technology forbidden amongst the old Mechanicum and current Mechanicus. Similar creations had once turned upon their human creators and launched an ancient war called the Rebellion of the Men of Iron, nearly destroying the human race as a whole.
The God-Emperor of Mankind and the Mechanicum had thus outlawed the creation of A.I.'s upon pain of death. But the Tech-Priests of the Dark Mechanicum, greedy and ambitious individuals who chased knowledge no matter the cost, disagreed.
The Kaban Machine had fired the first shots of the civil war upon Mars some ten thousand years ago, destroying a loyalist plasma reactor complex. It then fought for the rest of the war upon the Red Planet, roaming the wastes and committing unspeakable atrocities upon loyalist forces there. Indeed, the full scope of the Machine's crimes is known only to Hal and Chrom, for it left no witnesses on the side of the Imperium to tell its story.
The only match for it were the Knights of House Taranis, and even then the Machine destroyed one of their number and damaged several more during the Heresy. Eventually, as the Imperium won, as Horus died and the forces of Chaos fled to the Eye of Terror, the Kaban Machine, much like all the dark technology taken and created by the treacherous lords of Mars, disappeared.
In truth it had been damaged enough to render it in a state of interoperability. Chrom had never seen the need to restore the war machine; there were simply no large-scale open wars he had been involved in for the past ten thousand years.
But now… Well, now things were different. And so Chrom had taken the Kaban Machine out of storage, and decided to unleash it upon the galaxy once more. But that wasn't enough. Deep within his twisted heart, Lukas Chrom knew he could do better.
Thus he did better. The Kaban Machine was now an engine of night-unparalleled lethality. It was not only an Abominable Intelligence, but was now effectively a psi-Knight as well. The forbidden and terrible powers of the Warp flowed through it thanks to its crew of imprisoned psykers. Yes, the Warp did not hold Chaos in this reality. It hardly mattered. Psykers could still access the Warp nevertheless, and perhaps with even greater power. There was no fear of daemonic predators in this reality.
The Kaban Machine was joined by millions upon millions of the corrupted foot soldiers of the Reapers and Dark Mechanicum. The Priests had been hard at work, taking and twisting as many people they could get their hands on. Vancouver already had millions of prisoners within it before the Raven Guard had liberated the camps, and their numbers had been added to by secret haulers delivering even more from across the galaxy to the City of the Damned.
As the Kaban Machine rolled through the streets of Vancouver, its unholy mind screaming for blood, it was joined by legions of Reaper and Dark Mechanicum troopers. They filled the streets to capacity, overflowing through every avenue on their way south to defeat the dogs of the Corpse Emperor. High above, watching upon a balcony, Lukas Chrom smiled. It was a a demented, evil gesture, bearing nothing but malice. Finally, they would stand where they were truly meant to stand. His Kaban Machine, and the genius of Protos, would carry the day.
For the Kaban Machine and endless legions of foot soldiers were not the only things the Dark Mechanicum would be unleashing this day. Nay, far from it.
From their huge factory domes, towering high in the sky, the corrupted Titans of Legio Mortis walked forth. Ardim Protos and the other Titan technicians had been slaving away over the god-engines for weeks now, trying to ready them for this one grand push. Today would be the day. Alongside the power of the now psi-Kaban Machine and the millions upon millions of corrupted foot soldiers, the massive Titans of the ancient Legio were to be deployed. It was a a blow that could not be stopped.
Hundreds of Titans of the once-proud Legio, now rotted and corrupted by the dark powers of Nurgle, God of Plagues, marched forth in a terrifying display of debased martial might. Mortis was perhaps the most well-known, and the most infamous of all Legions. The Legio had once been part of the Triad Ferrum Morgulus, the three originating Titan Legions raised by the besieged Cult Mechanicum during the bloody wars to retake the Red Planet during the Age of Strife. However, unlike its true counterparts in the Legio Ignatum, Mortis had long been swayed. It was deployed alongside Warmaster Horus during the Great Crusade, and was always more loyal to Kelbor-Hal and the Warmaster than the Emperor.
Among the Triad Ferrum Morgulus, Mortis had always been the most ruthless, calculating, and uncaring. It was an interesting fate of the three founding Legions: Ignatum had stayed staunchly loyal, Mortis had been adamantly traitor, and the last, Tempestus, had split in two. Many stayed loyal, but those that sided with the Warmaster "founded" their own Legion, called Tempestor.
Both Tempestor and Mortis were forever loyal to the true Lord of Mars, and that loyalty was on show this day as the tainted Titans came from their silos and manufacturing bays.
On and on they came. Rot and filth dripped to the streets below, sullying the once-clean streets of the city. Seemingly endless numbers of Warhounds marched beneath the much larger Warlords, their weapons ready to smite the naive fools of the Alliance and the servants of the Corpse Emperor. Flocks of Reavers interspersed through their larger and smaller counterparts, ready to take the fight at any range, by any means. Mortis was out in full today, their entirety here to fulfill their ancient oath to the real Fabricator General of the Mechanicum.
Walking alongside them were the Knights of House Vextrix, the sworn allies of Mortis and Kelbor-Hal. In large-scale battles, Titan Legions were usually escorted by the smaller walkers, who dealt with lesser problems that could become dangers to the god-engines if left unchecked. Despite their signature haughtiness, Titan princeps near-universally welcomed Knight support. To Mortis, the Knights of Vextrix were their loyal, thrice-welcomed shadow. Vextrix had supported Horus and Hal from the get-go, slaughtering any loyal remnants of their House and adorning their keep with the bodies of the loyal dead. They had fought with Mortis at The Titandeath and helped them sack Chrysis, the homeworld of the loyal House Krast. They were trusted beyond any shadow of a doubt, and their presence here would only serve to strengthen the Dark Mechanicum's position.
In addition to the usual three classes of Titans were the stranger and much more interesting builds. Ardim Protos, in his utter diabolical genius, was responsible for two mighty sub-classes that walked here this day.
The first was the Banelord, Protos's ancient invention during the Horus Heresy. Using the power of the Warp, the Titan had been mutilated and rebuilt into a much more powerful and fearsome beast. From the head of the Banelords, a heavy assault cannon jutted from the mouth; an additional measure of firepower not seen on Titans anywhere else. Upon the right arm of the Titans was the fearsome Hellstrike Cannon, a weapon that fired corrosive incendiary shells over a wide area. On the left was perhaps the most fearsome close-range weapon ever devised: a combination of powerfist, chainfist, and melta known simply as the Doomfist. Nearly anything hit by it would die.
However, perhaps the most genius and disturbing of the Banelord's arsenal was the tail. A long, sinuous thing made of metal and corrupted flesh, a Banelord's tail could slice through nearly anything whether it be flesh or armor. In addition, to make it even more fearsome, the tail was tipped with a large Titan-grade battle cannon. All in all, the Banelord was a monster upon the battlefield, and perhaps Ardim Protos's finest creation… until they had come to this city.
Protos had come up with the idea after collaboration with Lord Chrom upon the psi-Kaban Machine and seeing the prevailing use of element zero and biotic fields within this reality. Back home, machine and devices could be powered by psykers, as the Kaban Machine and countless other Dark Mechanicum projects showed. Here, things were powered by element zero, which could, in turn, be used as a sort of psychic energy field.
Hence, Protos had something of an epiphany. While psykers and the powers of the Warp were somewhat unstable… biotics were not. Why not use the power of element zero instead of the power of the Warp, for the same result?
This new design of Titans did not have an appropriately fierce or Chaotic name; the working one was "Biotic Titans" or "Mass Effect Titans". Protos found it easiest to modify Reaver-class Titans- Warlords were far too large to power, whereas Warhounds weren't big enough to put in the secondary element zero reactor. That was what the Titan master did: add a secondary element zero power source in addition to the Titan's already formidable plasma reactor. The new reactor was then connected to conduits in the Reaver's arms, chest, and weapons, allowing the Reaver to channel biotic power. With but a thought of the princeps, a flickering shield of dark energy could be conjured to add to the voids. The weapons, from bolter shells to missiles, could all be infused with biotic energy, allowing them to travel slightly faster and detonate in huge explosions of power.
Perhaps most frightening of all were the channels to the Titan's arms. With these, the Titan could unleash the power of its secondary reactor as a biotic would their own energy. It operated on the same principle. Thus the new Biotic Reavers could use such powers as warps, statuses, throws, singularities, and shockwaves. Such was the genius of Protos that these were now on a Titan-scale. The enemies of the true Lord of Mars had no idea what was coming for them.
However, even the deadly and terrible creations of the Titan master could not compete with the greatest of Legio Mortis. Through the streets, scraping higher than the buildings around them, were the Emperor Titans. While some had been destroyed over the countless millennia and none built to replace them, there were still an impressive amount. Mortis was one of the Triad Ferrum Morgulus, after all. They bore the direct support of all Fabricator Generals of Mars, and got the best equipment. Such war machines would now be put to use restoring the Fabricator General to his rightful position in the galaxy.
Each could lay low continents. Each was a god in its own right; a weapon that could (and had) brought low civilizations. An Emperor Titan was the largest and most fearsome weapon that could be put on the battlefield by nearly any force in the galaxy. The only things that could even compete with them were the greatest of daemons, Primarchs, and the enslaved Star-Gods the necrons could unleash.
However, even amongst the Emperor Titans, one stood out.
There were many famous and infamous Titans throughout the Mechanicum's home galaxy. Invictus Aeternum, the Emperor-class of Legio Astorum that had helped to liberate Rannoch, was a good example of one. Another was Invictus Antagonistes, the Warlord of Senior Princeps Maximus Gearhart of Legio Invicta, famous for its defense of Orestes during the Sabbot Worlds Crusade and many other victories before and after. There was Vindicta Manibus, a Titan of Legio Ignatum so ancient it bore honor markings from the Mechanicum's ancient wars on Mars during the Age of Strife. Then there was Mettalum Olympus, a Titan that single-handedly held off the Tyranid invasion of Horst Prime. There were indeed many famous Titans, but none of them could even compare to the leader of the Legio Mortis battlegroup.
Among all the loyalist Legions, amid all the traitors, this was a name that was whispered in hushed, terrified awe. It was a name that brought doom with it at all times, even spoken aloud where the worshipers of the Corpse Emperor thought it safe. It was a name that had completed more great deeds, carried out more atrocities than any other Titan in history.
It was this Titan that had partaken in Horus's grand 63th Expeditionary Fleet, forming the backbone of its Titan battlegroup. It had always been the most stalwartly loyal to the now-dead Warmaster and followed him into damnation. It had fought in over a hundred horrifying campaigns during the Great Crusade, bringing entire sectors under Imperial compliance. It had been on Istvaan III where the loyal remnants of the Traitor Legions were purged, and participated in the grand slaughter there. In fact, its own loyal crew had been slain by the treacherous members, their blood forever painting the Titans interior walls. It had been this Titan that fought in all of Mortis's dread campaigns during the Heresy, annihilating worlds under the command of Lupercal.
But, perhaps most importantly, most infamously, it had been this Titan, this singular god-engine, that brought down the walls of the Imperial Palace during the Siege of Terra.
It was this Titan responsible for Horus's gamble succeeding. It was this Titan that was responsible for Lord Praetorian Dorn's greatest work failing. It was this Titan that was responsible for the Emperor's death upon the Vengeful Spirit before Lord Guilliman could arrive at Terra with reinforcements.
It was this Titan that perhaps damned a species for all eternity.
The ground shuddered as if in revulsion, and reality itself screamed in agony as Dies Irae made its walk.
oOo
Codex:
Dies Irae:
Dies Irae, translated to "Day of Wrath" from High Gothic, was a massive Emperor-class battle Titan assigned to Legio Mortis during the days of the Great Crusade. Legio Mortis directly served Warmaster Horus Lupercal's 63rd Expeditionary Fleet and owed its loyalty to Horus and Fabricator General Kelbor-Hal. Dies Irae was commanded by Princeps Esau Turnet, Moderati Titus Cassar, and Moderati Jonah Aruken. The Titan itself was, and still is, probably the most infamous of any god-engine created.
When Horus turned to Chaos and opened the Heresy with the Istvaan III massacre, Princeps Turnet wholeheartedly threw his support behind the Warmaster. Dies Irae was deployed to the surface to aid in the extermination of the loyalist Marines. When the opening shots were fired, Moderati Cassar, horrified by the betrayal, attempted to stop Turnet. However, he was murdered by his closest friend, Moderati Aruken; executed in the back by Aruken's sidearm. With this dark act, the fates of both Aruken and Dies Irae itself were sealed.
Irae has a terrible toll of infamous acts to its name. Upon Istvaan, it aided in the extermination of the loyalists, including the attempted assassination of Captain Garviel Loken. Later, it was Dies Irae that breached the walls of the Imperial Palace during the Siege of Terra, allowing the Traitors to overwhelming Lord Dorn's forces stationed there.
Dies Irae survived the retreat into the Eye of Terror. Now hideously warped by the dark powers of Chaos, it is still crewed by the mutated forms of Princeps Turnet and Moderati Aruken, their treachery and greed lasting for all eternity.
The Triad Ferrum Morgulus:
The Triad Ferrum Morgulus was the name in High Gothic given by the ancient Mechanicum to the first three Titan Legions ever raised by the Collegia Titanica upon Mars: Legio Mortis, Legio Ignatum, and Legio Tempestus. Originally raised during the Age of Strife, far before the birth of the Imperium, they were created through the application of arcane knowledge recovered from the Age of Technology. Their purpose was to aid the Tech-Priests in retaking the Red Planet from the Cy-carnivora, maddened thinking machines and feral human mutants.
Later, they served as some of the most potent Titan Legions during the Great Crusade, and models for the Titan Legions raised by other forge worlds. Legio Mortis and a great portion would serve the cause of Warmaster Horus and the treacherous Fabricator General Kelbor-Hal during the Horus Heresy, while Legio Ignatum and parts of Legio Tempestus would remain loyal to the Emperor.
oOo
There we have it! I hope you don't hate Cawl and Primus too much. Again, I had this planned out from the beginning. I have been hinting through the story that Cawl is far more ancient, smart, and terrifying than most people assume upon meeting him. He is a Tech-Priest from the days of the Heresy, and one doesn't retain that lofty position without being incredibly intelligent and deadly. In addition, from what I've seen in the reviews, most of you got what you wanted. More dark, less xenophilia. I can do that, as shown, so I better not get any complaints.
I should mention that when I originally planned this story, I wanted Dies Irae as a character in it. However, as I was doing research for writing this chapter, it seems some moron unceremoniously killed off Irae in some random book. Why the most infamous Titan of all time didn't get a bigger sendoff or participate in a much more important battle than some random Iron Warrior incursion is beyond me. Therefore, there are two options: either this takes place before the events of the battle for Hydra Cordatus in 999.M41, or this is a very, very slight AU where Irae didn't participate or wasn't destroyed. Either way works, and I still leave the timeline up to you. Either way is also unimportant to the story.
So, sit back, relax, and pour one out for the scientist Salarian 'cause things are gonna get worse before they get better. I hope you all enjoyed the chapter and the fact the war is finally ramping up. As per usual, I appreciate any comments, questions, criticisms, conerns, and reviews! Feel free to drop in and tell me what you think.