In a bunker attached to one of the defensive walls of the middle defensive line, Zaeed Massani watched the alien forest in the distance burn and choke the sky with colossal plumes of ash and smoke. Just ahead of the burning forest, the Silent One host approached, looking like an army spawned from the depths of hell itself. Amidst the sea of nightmarish, biomechanical abominations with blazing red eyes, he could see and feel their overwhelming urge to inflict unimaginable horrors upon the people of Mindoir.

Nearby, the men of his platoon were in position, with a few manning the plasma cannon emplacements. Even beneath their faceplates, he could feel every bit of their grim determination to make the enemy pay for every inch of ground. And he couldn't be more proud.

This is what the quarians had been training them for.

And they'd finally get to try out the new fancy toys humanity's new alien friends had lent them. He grinned. Indeed, he and his men would put their sleek, advanced pulse rifles and combat skins – supposedly from 'friends' in the Terminus Systems – to wonderful, deadly use.

All alongside his new alien friend's platoon.

In the connecting bunker right next to his, Sergeant Ghor'Reegar and his platoon of quarian marines would be supporting them during the coming battle, and vice versa.

"My brothers and sisters in arms…" Ghor began. "Stand firm! Should your courage ever falter, remember what we are fighting for. Remember the millions depending upon on us to secure our future."

"You hear that, lads?" he said. "We are going to hold this bloody line. And no matter what happens, I will not tolerate any fucking cowardice! All of you are better than that! So let'em come, I say! Together, we'll send the enemy screaming and crying right back to whatever sodding shithole they came from!"

His men responded with a unified cry, and a rush of endorphins rushed through his veins.

Ghor chuckled. "I could not agree more."

Grinning, he swept his gaze over the fortifications he was overlooking from his positions. Numerous trenches teemed with shielded turrets emplacements, with smart wire ready to cut any approaching enemies to ribbons. Beyond the trenches, a hidden minefield lay in wait. And beyond the minefield were massive walls shaped to funnel the enemy into a narrow chokepoint.

He felt a cold satisfaction at the thought of the enemy attacking this position. Yes, they would not only have to face the devastating firepower of the missile turrets emplaced on the wall he was standing on. They would also have to face the two squads of Malukors hiding in the buildings to each of their flanks, ready to ravage them in a devastating pincer attack.

Suddenly, a com-request from Shun pinged on his HUD. Currently, Shun was positioned in a secure location behind the defensive wall with a few others, providing his platoon support as a recon sniper. He accepted the comm-request and Shun's voice crackled to life. "Zaeed, ready up. You've got company approaching fast from the northwest."

"Acknowledged."

He closed the com-link with Shun. "Get your arses in gear, lads. It's time to dance with death."

At his words, the air practically crackled with anticipation for the death and madness to come.

In the distance, towering siege constructs were approaching. Charging their main cannons, a few launched flurries of plasma mortars into the air with thunderous roars that sundered the air. Meanwhile, friendly drones whoosed above in sonic booms, zooming ahead to engage the enemy.

And soon the artillery duel began.

Like incandescent meteors, plasma mortars rained from above and struck the earth in bone-rattling explosions that scorched countless buildings to ash and set more ablaze. A few siege constructs fired their main cannons, and blinding energy lances speared through the air and reduced their targets to ash in blinding flashes and blasts as destructive as the wrath of an angry god.

Finally, friendly artillery struck back. Thunderous roars boomed in the distance, and then gigantic blasts blew several siege constructs to pieces, littering the battlefield with flaming chunks of their remains.

His heart pounded in his chest and he tightened his grip around his pulse rifle. Come on…Come on…

Finally, scores of assault constructs swarmed through the narrow opening left by the walls, entering a kill zone.

"Light'em up!" He and his platoon opened fire and unleashed a hailstorm of fire upon the enemy.

"For the Fleet! For the Homeworld!" Ghor and his platoon did the same, along with the turrets on the defensive wall and along the trenches below.

Torrents of plasma bolts, missiles, and tungsten slugs tore through the enemy and rent countless constructs into shreds of gore and machinery.

"Massani, focus fire on the left. We'll cover the right. Together, we'll overlap our fields of fire." Ghor's voice came through the com-link, calm and authoritative.

"Copy that."

"Concentrate fire on the left side of the chokepoint!" he barked.

Amidst the mayhem, many constructs stumbled into smart mines, and they erupted in ear-splitting booms and blew them to pieces, leaving smoldering craters in the earth. With his platoon concentrating fire on the left, and Ghor's doing the same for the right, the slaughter was glorious to behold. His lips twisted into a grin, as a primal satisfaction rushed through him.

Soon, titanic blasts struck the wall funneling the constructs into a killzone, making its shields flare and ripple. And his grin vanished. Oh, fuck me…

Was the first wave only cannon fodder meant to probe the local fortifications and set off all the traps?

"Steel yourselves!" Ghor called out. "Prepare for the second wave!"

"Massani, prepare for the second wave. We'll hold them at the breach," Ghor said through the com-link, his voice steady and unyielding.

"You bet your fucking arse we will."

Again and again, energy blasts pounded the wall ahead. Finally, its shields failed, and then a colossal boom reduced it to a molten mess, allowing the second wave to swarm through the breach. Unlike the first wave, it was teeming with tank constructs and was far more numerous.

Around him, a few of his men started to lose their nerve, their hands trembling.

"Hold it together, lads! We've got this! OPEN FIRE!"

Then once more, he and his platoon devastated the enemy with enough firepower to sunder buildings to dust. Every second, missiles pounded into tank constructs and erupted in blossoms of fire, reducing them to burning, scorched wrecks. Every second, friendly fire rent and burned and brutalized scores of assault constructs to pieces, strewing the battlefield with their remains.

But their numbers were seemingly endless.

Countless tank constructs were releasing swarms of attack drones that drew every turret emplacement's fire, allowing countless assault constructs to storm the trench lines. There, the smart wire activated and sliced slews of them to shreds, drenching the soil with their blood. All throughout the chaos, tank constructs pounded the defensive wall with their main canons, making one of its overlapping shield-bubbles flare and ripple.

And then a few plasma mortars found their mark, and its shields burst with a blinding flash and a thunderous boom that knocked him and others to the ground.

"Massani, fall back to the secondary positions. We'll cover your retreat," Ghor said through the com-link, his voice urgent but controlled.

He groaned. Oh, fucking hell. "Copy that. Falling back now."

Just before he was about to bark out the necessary orders, a few plasma bolts and tungsten slugs found their mark. In the blink of an eye, they tore right through the shields and armor of several of his men and reduced them to scorched messes of sizzling gore. Others were on the ground, screaming in agony, clutching at their missing limbs or the parts of their armor now fused to their skin.

A few tank constructs fired their main canons into one of the missile turrets, and it exploded in a thunderous boom. And for a moment, time crawled to a stand still, with the cries of the wounded raking and tearing at his mind.

But there was no time to mourn.

"Get the wounded out of here!" he said, scrambling to his feet. "The rest of you, return fire! We fall back to the secondary positions!"

As they executed an orderly retreat to the secondary positions, and as the medics evacuated the dead and wounded to the emergency medical stations on the safe side of the wall, his mind raced.

The enemy was relentless!

Their position was under so much strain. But they just needed to draw them a little closer for the Malukors to spring their trap.

Soon, he and the rest of his men scrambled to their secondary positions, then returned fire. And soon enough, the Malukors sprang their trap.

Suddenly, the leading tank constructs erupted in blinding explosions that atomized scores of assault constructs to ash. Storms of fire then tore into the enemy's flanks like an unrelenting tidal wave of death and destruction, littering the ground with gore and twisted metal.

"Keep firing!" Ghor roared, his voice triumphant.

His heart leaped at the sudden devastating attack. Soon, the enemy force lost all cohesion and what remained retreated.

His men cheered, as did Ghor's. And his chest swelled with a fierce joy, knowing that they had just repelled such an enemy wave.

But then he spotted an even larger host approaching fast on their position. "Hey, now's not the time to celebrate, you mugs!" he barked, reloading his pulse rifle. He pointed towards the next approaching wave. "The enemy is far from finished with us."

"Massani, prepare for the next wave," Ghor said through the com-link. "Remember that we stand with you. Together, we will prevail."

"You're god damn right we will," he replied, steeling himself for the next wave.

Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath, then aimed down the sight of his pulse rifle at the enemy. He pulled the trigger. "Let's give'em hell!"

Meanwhile, in Zhoru's command center, Hannah Shepard watched the carnage of the battle unfold, her heart aching as it set much of the colony ablaze. The view was a stark reminder of the horrors of war, ones humanity had not dealt with since the Third World War.

She exhaled, then pursed her lips. Already, so many of her men had been killed or wounded. But now was not the time to beat herself up like she had with that pilot, Logan Barns.

They knew the risks, she reminded herself. Yet nonetheless, their sacrifice still gnawed at her, feeling no easier to swallow. Once this is over, I'm going to make them heroes. Indeed, she'd make sure that her people would never forget them.

Suddenly, a series of flashing and beeping alerts appeared on Zhoru's holo screens, jolting her from her thoughts. On one of them, she saw the sixth colony ship finally leave the system. Just four more to go. But that can't be it.

"What's happening?" she demanded, her voice edged with concern.

"The enemy is tunneling from below," Zhoru said, opening up a tactical hologram showing the situation below ground. The display revealed numerous enemy forces triggering the geothermal traps, getting crushed to a pulp as tunnels collapsed, or getting burnt to ash in fiery explosions. "They are searching for a safe route underground to bypass our defenses."

"By what? Having canon fodder trigger all the traps first?" she asked, her voice dripping with disdain.

"Precisely," Zhoru said, his fingers dancing across the holo screens before him.

She couldn't help but admire how calm he was right now. "I hope you have a plan."

"Just watch and see, Khanah," Zhoru said, still calm and cool as a glacier, his hands a blur as he sent out a flurry of orders. "Just watch and see."

Her eyes were practically glued to the holo screen as two tunneling constructs made it past the remaining geothermal traps and were tunneling upward. A sickening chill wormed through her when she realized that one of them was going to surface to strike at the defenders' rear, and that the other one was going to surface dangerously close to one of the refugee columns.

Meanwhile, two of the forces Zhoru had kept in reserve sprung into action, scrambling to ambush the tunneling constructs the second they surfaced.

One of the reserve forces, a host of Malukors, quarian marines, and humans from her volunteers and the local militia, took fortified positions in the nearby buildings, ready to ambush the first tunneling construct with a hail of fire from all directions.

But the other reserve force was still scrambling to intercept the second.

She gulped. Her heart thrashed in her chest. Come on. Come on!

Soon, the first tunneling construct burst from the ground with a cacophony of agonized, distorted wails laced with machine-like blurts, flailing its oily, black tentacles. Immediately, a wing of friendly drones flew by and pounded the worm-like abomination with a barrage of missiles and a storm of plasma bolts. Under the attack, the abomination's shields flared and rippled. And soon after, the first reserve force hammered them further, bombarding it from all directions with a hails of overlapping fire.

The construct's shields failed with a deafening shockwave. But nonetheless, it disgorged its occupants from its maw, wailing and roaring in agony, gunning down friendly drones that were sweeping by for another attack run.

Meanwhile, the reserve force maintained fire and gunned down scores of assault constructs, coated in ooze and slime.

But then the construct disgorged a new type of construct, one she couldn't recognize from Khaen and Shaani's training sessions.

Coated in ooze and slime, the new construct was a mewling, four-legged horror with no eyes or ears, but with a bulky, powerful frame. A trio of gun tentacles on its back writhed and twisted, each one equipped with a different weapon system. And its nightmarish maw had three jaws bristling with razor-sharp teeth and constantly snapped open and closed, emitting a cacophonous mess of distorted, eerily human-like screams and mechanical screeches.

With terrifying speed, they leaped into the fray, moving with a speed and agility that belied their bulky frames.

The longer she listened to its unholy din, the more it raked at her mind, sending a cold, sickening sensation throughout her body.

"Zhoru?" she asked, her voice catching her throat. "What kind of construct is that?"

"I do not know…" Zhoru said, pausing briefly as though to take in what he was seeing. "It must be new, likely still experimental, and meant to be shock troops given their appearance and the enemy's objectives. But no matter…" Zhoru went back to sending out orders on his holo-screens, to monitoring and guiding the defense in real-time. "We will destroy them like all the rest."

Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath, trying to calm her frayed nerves. She gulped. Goodness, the Silent Ones had tricks up their sleeves, but hopefully, Zhoru's confidence was not misplaced.

Meanwhile, as the first reserve force was mopping up the tunneling construct's occupants, as Malukors engaged the new shock assault constructs in brutal, close-quarter fighting with their wrist-mounted energy blades, the second tunneling construct burst through the ground, out into an open area. Still, the second reserve force was scrambling to engage it.

But then it disgorged its occupants – a horde of conventional and shock assault constructs – and they rushed ahead before two wings of friendly drones bombarded it a devastating attack run that reduced it to a charred, smoking, and brutalized heap of gore and machinery.

Her breath caught in her throat as she watched the horde of constructs rushing toward the exposed refugee column. There, many heard or saw the enemy coming and panicked, screaming as they ran for their lives. But behind them, many of her volunteer soldiers, quarian marines, and the local militia knelt and opened fire, covering the refugees' escape.

Adrenaline surged through her veins. Damn it, this was bad. This was really, really bad! She had to do something, now! Without hesitation, she opened a comm link to Anderson. "Anderson, column three is exposed and under attack. Get some help there now!"

"On the way with help, now."

She exhaled, then watched on in horror as the intense, brutal fighting unfolded. Amidst it, countless human and quarian soldiers gave their lives to cover the refugee column's escape, gunning down constructs before meeting a horrific end themselves. The longer it went on, the more charred, bloody remains littered the streets. Through it all, the screams and explosions assaulted her senses, and the weight of every lost life bore down on her with ever more crushing force.

Soon, a shock-assault construct fired something from one of its three weapon tentacles. But it missed and denoted directly into the back of the refugee column. In the blink of an eye, the ensuing explosion reduced anyone caught in the blast to ash, reduced more to blackened skeletons, and set countless more ablaze.

Covering her mouth, she let out a sharp gasp, her eyes wide. Her stomach churned, and she could hardly move. The screams of the burning were like acid gnawing at her mind, and she couldn't help but look away, resisting the urge to puke, as the horde of constructs charged after the fleeing refugees, gunning down everything and everyone in their path.

"Zhoru!" she said, her voice breaking. "We have to do something. We can't–"

Zhoru's voice cut through her panic, firm and controlled. "Focus, Khanah. We are doing everything we can. Watch the holo screens."

With as much strength as she could muster, she turned her attention back to the holo screens, dreading whatever she might see next.

In the cockpit of an armored Raptor-X9, a sleek, hovering troop transport, rushing towards the heart of the burning colony, David Anderson closed his eyes and took a deep breath, muttering the N7's oath under his breath. "With this rifle, I will not kill for glory nor malice. I will not kill for tyrants nor dogmas. I will kill only when it's right, when others threaten the safety and prosperity of our nation's people…"

It always got him into the right headspace before a mission, but nonetheless, a knot of dread coiled in his stomach. Through the vehicle's acoustic sensors, he took in the screaming, gunfire, and explosions raging outside, in the distance. And no matter how hard he tried, he could not still his thrashing heart. Ceaselessly, it was flooding his veins with adrenaline, sharpening his senses and readying him for combat.

Beside him, the driver, a member of the local militia, was gripping the wheel so tightly his knuckles turned white. Behind him, a few of his men, local militia, and quarian marines were strapped in, gripping their weapons tightly.

On the com-link, he recieved a flood of frantic requests for help.

"Please, anyone! We need support! They're everywhere!" a voice trembled with fear.

"We need backup! We're taking casualties!" came another voice, edged with despair.

"Oh, god…" another voice said in horror. "We need medics! We've got wounded civilians out here! Come now!"

His mind swirled. His heart hammered in his chest. Goodness, they were all about to witness horrors beyond anything they could imagine, facing the Silent Ones in combat for the first time. Were they ready?

He shook his head, then clenched his jaw. Yes. We. Are. As his N7 training kicked in, he took a deep breath and brought himself under control. "All available units, converge on the crisis points. Protect the refugees at all costs."

"David, I'm right behind you with a group of my own men," Jack Harper's voice crackled through the com-link.

Briefly, he glanced at a holo screen in the vehicle, spotting another Raptor X-9 following his. One by one, more such vehicles appeared, and soon a convoy was tailing him, their markers glowing on another holo screen.

Eventually, as the driver kept following the sounds of the screaming, they came upon the sight of crowds fleeing in terror. All around, buildings were ablaze, and even from his position, the palpable chaos and terror of the situation seeped right into his very core.

Just then, he grabbed his Sonic Resonator, a sleek device engineered to harness targeted soundwave technology. With the ability to filter out background noise and project his voice directly into the ears of intended recipients, it was just the tool he needed for this situation. "Stay calm, everyone!" he broadcasted. "Head towards the green flares on the east side! We'll cover you!"

His words had a palpable effect on the refugees. Faces twisted with terror and confusion turned towards the sound of his voice, like a guiding light amidst the darkness. And the crowd's frantic movements began to align with his instructions.

"Circle around," he told the driver. "We'll block the enemy and cover the refugees' escape."

At his command, the driver did as he asked, and the other vehicles followed. Soon, they came out into a large open square, then formed a barricade through which the enemy would have to pass, with the mounted auto-cannon of each Raptor X-9 aimed ahead.

As he looked at the main view screen, his breath caught. Ahead, so many of his comrades were fighting tooth and nail, alongside the local militia, firing into the advancing enemy horde, amdist blood-soaked streets strewn with gore, blackened skeletons, and bodies burned beyond recognition. On closer inspection, some of the burned bodies were still moving or breathing, groaning in agony.

The sight struck him like an asteroid. And he fought the urge to puke. "Open fire! Let's support their retreat!"

"Let's make them pay!" Jack barked.

A storm of explosive, tungsten shells erupted from every Raptor X-9's, drowning the enemy in a tidal wave of suppressing fire. Under it, countless assault constructs fell, torn and rent to bloody pieces. And many of his comrades, the local militia, and quarian marines managed to retreat and take cover behind the barricade of Raptors.

But nonetheless, the horde advanced, undaunted, trampling over their fallen. Soon, a hulking construct he hadn't seen before fired something from one of its weapon tentacles.

And then a Raptor erupted in a great ball of fire, reducing it to a flaming wreck, filled with the scorched remains of its occupants.

An icy sensation stabbed at his heart. Damn it, they were too clumped together. They had to move and scatter, now!

"Everyone disembark, then scatter! Let the autocannons give us covering fire!"

"On it!" Jack Harper agreed.

As the Raptors' auto-cannons gave them covering fire, they disembarked. Outside, the air reeked of ozone and burning flesh. It screamed with thunderous booms and the crack-booms of weapons fire.

Two more Raptor's exploded in fiery booms.

"Scatter and find cover in the nearby buildings!" he ordered.

He scrambled into the nearest building, alongside a few others. Together, they rushed upstairs, then into a dimly lit room and took positions by the windows to fire on the enemy from below.

The remaining Raptors exploded and went up in flames. Outside, the horde was rushing closer. And his heart thrashed, his adrenaline surging. Underneath his combat skinsuit, he couldn't stop sweating, as he aimed down the sights of his pulse rifle.

They were going to die, he realized.

They were going to give their lives so that the refugees could escape.

But he couldn't have hoped for a better death.

Soon, the horde came into view. But just as he was about to pull the trigger, torrents of fire tore through the horde's rear, bursting countless shields, brutalizing countless constructs into gobbets of sizzling meat and hunks of scorched metal.

Amidst the carnage, he could hardly move. He could only watch on, as the shields of three constructs – the hulking ones he hadn't seen before – burst in loud cracks. The constructs returned fire with their weapon tentacles.

But then two Malukors – one male and the other female – decloaked behind them, then opened fire with their massive hand canons that spat spears of plasma with every shot. The shots bore right through their targets and left behind gaping, smoking exit wounds, but still, the hulking constructs clung to life, letting out distorted, agonized screams.

But then each Malukor drew a monstrous, orange, and wrist-mounted energy blade in their free hand that shone, then dashed forward with unnatural speed. In the blink of an eye, they decapitated two of the hulking constructs before dicing the third to pieces, their energy blades cutting through its flesh and armor like paper.

With the three hulking constructs dead, they then mopped up the remaining assault constructs, blasting and slicing them to shreds, fighting with unnatural speed and coordination.

"Good thing they're on our side…" one of his men said.

"Yeah…" he said. He couldn't help but feel sorry for anything that had to face them in combat. Malukors were indeed demi-gods of war.

Soon enough, an unsettling silence descended over the battlefield.

"You can come out now," the Malukor woman said. She looked directly at him. "The area is secure."

They emerged. In the distance, he spotted the male Malukor execute something with his hand canon. Nearby, the female Malukor was staring at him, her armor coated in blood, soot, and ash.

He approached her, and she towered over him, with the top of his head only reaching her chest. Like Shaani, she had the lithe, athletic build of a warrior goddess, and he couldn't help but feel like a child in her presence. "Thanks for the help. I must say, you and your friend there fought like absolute demons.

"I do not understand what a deemun is," she said. "But my name is Zara'Vael." She looked at the male Malukor, who was approaching. "And my 'friend' as you said is my lifemate Rhaego'Vael."

Finally, Rhaego approached. The man was an absolute leviathan who stood at least half a head taller than his lifemate, and looked strong and powerful enough to behead a man with just a slap. "It is…unfortunate that we did not reach you in time. If anything, your battle brothers died well, letting most of the refugees escape."

"You can say that again," Jack said, joining the conversation. Like Zara, he was covered in blood, soot, and ash. He wiped some of it off before looking Rhaego in the eye. "Shame they had to die. But war is war."

Rhaego nodded. "War is war…"

Meanwhile, back in Zhoru's command center, Hannah Shepard stood frozen, her heart pounding in the aftermath of such a brutal skirmish. Her mind reeled with horror at the bloodshed she had just witnessed, at the loss of so many innocent lives, and the grim realities of war.

She took a deep breath and looked away from the holoscreens. Goodness, is this what her ancestors had to endure during the Third World War, when NATO and CERA were tearing each other apart over dwindling fossil fuels?

Soon, she looked back at the holoscreens. Malukor Engineers were scrambling to nano-assemble new geothermal traps, along with slews of turrets and barriers to prevent future tunneling attempts and protect the refugee columns. As she watched them work, a warm sensation washed through her and loosened the tension in her limbs.

Hopefully, no more of them will have to die.

Meanwhile, on other holoscreens, the Silent Ones were still breaking themselves against the defenses of the middle defensive line. At all the key chokepoints, they swarmed the defenders with wave upon wave of constructs, hammering the fortifications with devastating firepower.

She pursed her lips, then exhaled. The defenders were making them pay for every inch of ground. But just how long would they last? Every moment, their casualties were mounting. And their morale was waning.

But the Silent Ones fought with no regard for their own losses and were pushing and pushing with relentless momentum like a tsunami crashing against the shore.

It was only a matter of time before they would break through and attack the next defensive line.

Eventually, Zhoru's posture tensed up. The Malukor was clenching his fists.

Her pulse climbed. "Zhoru? Zhoru, what's happening?"

On the tactical holograms, a few artillery units, AA guns, and drone nests suddenly went offline. On the nearby holo screens, she spotted a barely noticeable shadowy figure whooshing by, blasting and slicing quarian marines to pieces, dodging their fire with ease. Moving from shadow to shadow, it was rushing straight towards the command center with terrifying speed.

Zhoru reacted without a flicker of fear or hesitation. In one hand, he calmly drew a long, wrist-mounted energy blade that shone with bright orange light, that looked capable of slicing through tank armor with ease. And in the other, he drew his massive hand cannon that pulsed with a dull blue glow, with raw destructive power. Without hesitation, the other Malukors in the room did the same.

Her breath caught. "Zhoru?"

"All non-Malukors – take cover and hide at once," Zhoru said, his voice commanding. "The recent breach was only a distraction. And now an infiltrator has slipped through our defenses and will soon be upon us. Prepare yourselves."

She and every non-Malukor in the room did exactly as Zhoru asked and took cover and behind whatever they could find. Meanwhile, a cold, sickening sensation crept up her spine and throughout her body. Peeking from her hiding spot, she peered into the darkness at which the Malukors were aiming their weapons.

And to whatever would listen, she prayed that she would survive whatever was to come.