Tuchanka, Aralakh System, 2185
Max felt the Tomkah shake, as it had been periodically for the last hour. The massive vehicle was rather beastly. Imposing, large and wholly unbothered with the concept of beauty. Ugly and strong, like those who forged it. It cruised upon ancient roads, surrounded by the remnants of a society long since dead. Some skyscrapers still stood, rundown and decrepit wounds jutting out from the surface, desolate reminders of what once was.
It seemed life had a penchant for placing the Spartan in wastelands.
The interior space and seating was quite spacious, designed as a troop transport. The Spartan III was seated next to the one he knew only as a shaman, he who would preside over the rite of passage. The rite was described as a trial from what little had been explained, a test of the one who took it, and with equal importance, the strength of their allies. The Spartan had a feeling he knew what such a test would entail. If Max knew anything about the species which called this tattered world home, it was that violence and warfare would always be their preferred pursuits.
Max supposed that he wasn't as different from them as he originally thought, after such contemplations. The profession of a warrior was one which would always endure the test of time. No matter how destructive and senseless it could be, conflict would always exist.
Max figured that maybe that was why he still fought, the reason he still ensnared himself in a life of battle. He no longer held any real obligations, no true allegiances left to uphold, nor a grounded reason to continue on his path. The soldier wondered if he would even be capable of leading a normal life, one devoid of strife and constant struggle. After all, it was one that many led successfully, seeming happy and content with their lot in life. An existence free of constant brutality and trepidation was a concept Max could not comprehend no matter how hard he tried.
"Human, you look the storied sort. Tell us, have you any tales of battle to share?" asked the shaman, wishing for something to break the monotony of the long journey they'd embarked on.
Max looked over towards him, his pitch black visor concealing eyes filled with perplexity at the unexpected question. Though it made sense, beings that lived for battle would surely wish to talk of it when they could. Some soldiers liked telling stories of war, Max having fought beside plenty of ODSTs, marines and army troopers who had told their own accounts of their experiences. Max had never really held himself amongst them, but nor did he judge them for it. He just never liked to speak much at all, being a man of few words and fewer reasons to use them.
Although it seemed one had now appeared, and Max searched his memories for something that would suit the krogans request. He assumed that the krogan nor Shepard would particularly appreciate a story rife with sadness and tragedy, so he narrowed his search until he found a rare example of such a thing.
"Some years ago..."
Bolts of plasma soared overhead as Max clutched his shotgun, sprinting towards the enemy as he deftly dodged and weaved through the incoming fire. He closed the distance and let loose, eight gauge shells spitting out deadly pellets with ludicrous force. Nothing was left unscathed, jackals, grunts and elites being shredded in his assault.
Only one single goal lay in his mind, and nothing would prevent him from accomplishing it. The floors and walls of the covenant vessel were stained in their occupants blood, the lone Spartans assault unrelenting. His objective layed in wait, in the command center of the alien ship. The young super soldier was tasked with destroying the vessel, a Sinaris-pattern heavy destroyer. His SPI armors paint was splattered in blue and purple gore, his weapon equally drenched in lifeblood.
Three hundred meters was all that remained between the Spartan and the bridge, though it would not be an easy jaunt to get there. The tight corridors of the ship made the fighting especially violent and personal, using his fists and knife as often as his shotgun. He blazed a path through the countless hallways, encountering fiercer and fiercer resistance as he came closer to his objective. Every step forward left behind a maze of corpses, the ships crew quickly dwindling as he pressed onward.
Yet another of the amethyst colored doors opened, a phalanx of jackals behind it. Their handheld shields were interlocked, firing green bolts of scalding hot energy. With nowhere else to go Max was put on the back foot, stepping over the bodies he'd put there moments earlier. Whilst he backpedaled Max grabbed a plasma grenade from the dead hand of a grunt, bobbing and weaving as much as he could to avoid the loathsome creatures attacks.
With everything he had the Spartan threw the blue orb like a fastball, connecting with one of the jackals exposed hands. The sticky grenade then detonated, incinerating the repugnant aliens in azure flame. The Spartan III grabbed one of their plasma pistols, and placed it on his left holster. He grabbed a few more grenades as well, attaching them to his bandolier.
Curiously, Max encountered no more foes, the last few passages uncharacteristically devoid of covenant. Perhaps he had already eliminated the ships compliment of crew? Max thought it unlikely, cautiously moving forward in the now eerily silent halls. His heads up display alerted the Spartan of his proximity, one final door in front of the bridge. Max reloaded his weapon, filling it with shells before pumping one in the tube.
Max activated the active camouflage of his armor. Photo reactive panels blended his form in chameleon like fashion, his figure disappearing from sight as the door sensed his presence, and opened.
As Max expected several elites held weapons pointed at the door, plasma repeaters and carbines focused directly on the Spartan unknowingly. A few of their grunt underlings stood beside them, shuddering in fear. Some of them warbled in their strange tongue, confused as to why a door had opened with no one to enter.
Max ever so slowly flanked left as the befuddled aliens talked amongst themselves with great distress, maneuvering behind his unaware targets. Wasting no time, he primed a plasma grenade, tossing it onto the head of an elite in the center of their small formation. It quickly realized and panicked, managing to take off it's helmet, trying to throw it away. The effort was for naught, the grenade detonating the instant it left the aliens four fingered hand, boiling away shields, armor and flesh in the explosion.
With the element of surprise now his, Max moved forward, pushing his shotgun against the back of another elite, and pulling the trigger. The point blank shot meant it's shields were equally useless as the armor, and a fist sized hole was forcefully created in the saurians chest.
His camouflage now deactivated, Max killed several grunts, the pathetic creatures failing to do so much as fight back, instead choosing to run away in fear. The remaining elites retaliated, firing at their revealed adversary. Nimbly avoiding their fire, he picked up one of the fallen elites plasma rifles, turning the weapon against them. With perfect accuracy Max used the rifle to devastating effect, melting elites and grunts in a shower of superheated energy.
The war cry of one final sangheili gained the Spartans attention, turning to his right to face his final opponent.
An elite adorned in golden colored armor, ornate, grandiose and strong, denoted it's rank as the shipmaster. The furious saurian marched towards him determinedly, intent on slaying the demon which had massacred it's crew. An energy sword ignited, the signature weapon glowing into reality as it's owner envisioned impaling the Spartan upon it.
Max had a much different vision. He tossed aside the rifle in his hands, grabbing the plasma pistol on his thigh. He held the trigger, powering an overcharged shot which he then let fly out. It smacked against the elites shields, it's aura of invincibility shattered in an instant as the energy barrier was broken. In similar fashion as before Max threw away the purple pistol, now reaching for the magnum on his other leg.
Realizing what had happened, the elite bore a look of shock and dread. The shipmaster looked at the demon with so much despair that Max reveled in it for the briefest of moments as he raised his sidearm, and put a bullet in it's skull, executing the elite with callous efficiency.
After holstering his pistol Max walked up and grabbed the fresh corpse by a limp leg, dragging it over to the ship controls. Inputting a few commands prompted the need for authorization, requiring a biometrics scan of the shipmasters hand. Max grabbed the dead limb, pressing it against the panel. An array of lights flashed purple and pink in acceptance and Max let the arm fall as he pressed a few final holographic icons, and prepared to run like hell.
One final command and the atmosphere changed, claxons and alarms firing loudly as the ships internal lighting turned a dark, blood red. The self-destruct sequence had been initiated, the destroyers reactors set to overload and incinerate the warship.
Two minutes was all the Spartan had. He sprinted back the way he came, leaping over the countless corpses and weapons with Olympian agility as he ran at full speed, moving as fast as his augmented body would possibly allow. He was blur of motion as his armored boots pounded alien metal over and over again. Max ran faster then he ever had before as he raced for his life.
One minute remained.
Soon he made it to the hangar bay. It was aloft with panicking aliens, desperately clamoring in a futile attempt to launch the various craft inside, wholly unprepared to depart.
Max saw his longsword, the fighter he had hastily landed within, opposite his place in the bay. It had been more of a recovered crash landing, narrowly avoiding wrecking it entirely. The Spartan III never stopped running, bolting for his salvation as he disregarded the frenzy of panic which had in turn ignored him. He dashed into the extended entrance ramp, closing behind him as he rapidly brought the fighter online within the cockpit.
Thirty seconds were all that was left.
He keyed the two fusion engines, roaring to life and vaporizing the unfortunate creatures caught behind them, reduced to bubbling puddles of liquid and bone. Activating the VTOL thrusters he maneuvered the large fighter craft, lining up and preparing to dart out of the ships open exit port.
One final moment of truth remained, and Max took a deep breath as he jammed the throttle forward, pushing it to its limit as if the extra force behind it would make the fighter leave any faster. The longsword shot out from the destroyer with dizzying speed, leaving behind the now doomed ship, imploding in a ball of fire, leaving nothing but broken charred scrap amidst the black wall of space.
With a small, simple nod Max ended his story, leaving his captivated listeners with no more words to share. "That was quite the tale. Where did such a spectacular deed take place?" Asked the shaman, clearly having enjoyed the story.
"Very far from here..." Was the Spartans vague, yet truthful answer.
Shepard had listened to the Spartan with fascinated attention, and though it left her with a thousand questions, she felt she had learned something about Six. He had shown himself to be quite the wordsmith and story teller, his recounting of the past event well described and detailed. A curious thing, one that seemed to contradict his rigid habit of silence.
She could not help but wonder what the various species he had mentioned were like, and why they had fought one another in the first place. Shepard was about to ask as much, but the opportunity was denied.
"We're here." said the Tomkahs driver, the enormous vehicle slowing to a stop. Shepard was the first to exit, followed by the others shortly thereafter. Soon Grunt and the shaman walked slightly in front, traveling up an ascending tunnel as they spoke to one another.
"This is Tuchanka's most recent scar, the last surface city the last to fall in the rebellions. The keystone, was at the heart." Began the shaman, as they soon laid eyes upon the archaic place out ahead of them.
"It has survived wars, and the passage of centuries. It endures, as do the krogan."
They stepped out into the dead remains, a strong and harsh wind blowing throughout the many hallowed structures as it rushed through the land. The afore mentioned 'key stone' reigned supreme above the landscape, a metal structure with three supporting arches, supporting a spire in the middle, piercing the sickly, lime colored sky with a sharp tip.
"If you wish to join clan Urdnot, you must contemplate the key stone and it's trials." the shaman said cryptically.
"What will happen?" Grunt asked with a modicum of uncertainty.
"Who knows? You must adapt, you must thrive no matter the situation. Any true krogan will." With those final words spoken, the shaman left them to their task.
The squad made their way to the keystones base, centered within a vast weathered courtyard. It was a grim sight. The bodies of dead krogan lay scattered throughout the area, some fresh, others old and decayed. It seemed as though the entire planet was a cautionary warning of the consequences unchecked aggression and violence would bring. An untold number of souls spanning over millennia rested within the grounds of the derelict place.
Max felt right at home.
They soon arrived at the keystones base, a single large button upon a small pole being all there was of note.
"Well, here we go. Get prepped gents, I don't know what will happen when I hit this button." Shepard said cautiously, focusing up as she walked up to the mechanism.
Max had come prepared, armed to the teeth and mentally resolved to kill whatever would stand in their way.
He possessed the magnum on his thigh, his shotgun on his back, magnetically attached alongside one of the new weapons he had acquired. The HMWA X master assault rifle had especially caught his eye amongst the rest of the impressive weapons he'd attained as Max had prepared for the mission earlier. The rifle was like a piece of art, Max thought. Sleek yet large, sharp cutting angles with an excellent color scheme of black and gray, mixed in with sapphire colored lights out gleaming out various slits along the weapon. He was eager to witness it's capabilities first hand. The firearms of this reality was had one particularly convenient advantage over that of his own, being able to fold and compress within themselves, drastically reducing the space taken by them when not in use. This allowed for even regular soldiers to carry small arsenals on their person with relative ease.
Shepard hit the large green button and it turned a bright crimson. A loud, resounding clang sound reverberated throughout the land, originating from the center of the keystone. The strange clamorous sound carried itself throughout the deserted landscape, a noise that penetrated the squalid air. The three of them stood ready and waiting, expecting the worst.
Curiously, nothing happened at first. The sound eventually ceased, and all that existed was rushing wind and the creaking of rusted, withered metal. Shepard looked around, confounded at the total lack of outcome. After a few minutes of confusing silence, Shepard went back to the button, thinking perhaps a second push would be required. Before she could hit it she saw Six, staring off into the distant plains with a resolute stance.
"What is it Six?" Shepard questioned him, concerned by the sight of his posture.
He did not look back at her, instead furthering her worries as he unlatched the rifle on his back, guiding it into armored, steadfast hands. He answered, his tone rough and low.
"We rang the dinner bell."
His foreboding words made little sense, until she too saw what he had set his gaze upon. A distant horde of varren stomped through the lowlands, stampeding towards the courtyard with ravenous ferocity. Innumerous legs formed a crescendo of increasing sound, the crashing of claws against soil molding into a symphony of foreshadowing pain.
"Shit." Shepard muttered under her breath, mirroring Max's action as she hoisted her sniper rifle, and took aim at the rapidly approaching beasts.
"Fire!" she commanded, taking precise shots at the animals, Six and Grunt doing as she ordered in tandem. Between the three of them they did well, felling a great swath of the native predators before they arrived within the courtyard grounds.
Max quickly switched out his rifle for the M45 on his back, blowing away the beasts as they came within range. Grunt did the same with his claymore, the blocky weapon pulverizing the varren into splatters of bone and shredded guts.
Gnashing teeth within powerful mouths tried to clamp around and puncture Max's body, failing as they were reflected by his MJOLNIR's shielding. Time and time again they tried, Max slam firing his shotgun towards them with devastating results. The alien beasts looked like a mix between dogs and raptors, bearing large bulbous eyes, scaled skin and small spikes protruding from their backs. The rest of their bodies were rather canine in appearance, not unlike wolves aside from their elongated, massive jaws.
The savage fighting continued, fearless animals relentless in their pursuit, fueled by hunger and the thrill of the hunt. His shotgun having ran dry, the Spartan pulled out his knife from it's sheath, slamming the titanium carbide blade into the belly of a varren which lunged at him. It howled in pain as Max pushed inwards then down, serrating it's organs in a vicious spray of blood as he tore open the animal's stomach.
Shepard opted for an approach less up close and personal, having cloaked from sight once the varren had neared, putting distance between herself and them. She let the Spartan and krogan take the brunt of the beasts assault, as she picked them off from a ways away as best as she possibly could.
One of the predators jumped towards Grunt, Shepard putting it down mid air with a well placed shot to the heart.
The commander noted how well suited the pair were, witnessing the both of them ruthlessly tearing the varren apart, side by side. Gaining a moment of space, Max took hold of his magnum, aiming the pistol at the few remaining beasts which circled around himself and Grunt.
His first shot blew open a varren's skull, the second having equally gruesome effects as he laid waste to another's torso. The fifty caliber explosive rounds were entirely overkill, annihilating them in flashes of light as the bullets tore through skin, flesh and bone like wet tissue paper. A few more shots put down the last of them, and he swapped out the half empty magazine for a fresh one before holstering his weapon.
Max looked at Grunt who stood a short distance from him, the beginnings of a smile beginning to form on the krogan's face as his eyes met the Spartan's visor.
"Ha, those beasts were no match!" Grunt proclaimed loudly, raising a bloodied fist in the air.
Shepard quickly made her way back to the team, stepping over mutilated varren corpses. "We all good?" she asked the both of them, making sure they were alright.
"Affirmative." Max responded, Grunt giving a sound of rough agreement afterwards. Shorty thereafter they heard a small, quaint beeping noise, it's source the button that had started their endeavor. It was green once more, no longer red.
"Guess we aren't finished." Shepard said, unsurprised. They weren't getting off that easy. A swarm of ferocious beasts were the least of what Tuchanka's hellish environment had to offer.
Once back to the button she let out a huff of determined grit, and hit it. As before the keystone produced it's strange sound, this time even louder than before. In this instance, they did not have to wait long to see their next challenge. Max watched an enormous creature emerge through ashy clouds, it's insect like wings as large as pillars, but dwarfed in size by the strange spikes it possessed for legs.
The gargantuan organism landed, kicking up dust and rubble in the wake of it's gigantic arrival. Four slits, glowing silver peered at the group of three, nothing but instinct present within the alien dragon's eyes. The monster opened it's titanic jaws, letting out a terrible roar of eldritch proportions.
Max had half expected hellfire to escape the leviathan's serrated maw, yet somehow the horrifying screech it belched out had been so much worse. Like the screams of the dammed had made themselves heard throughout his eardrums.
"Harvester! It's gonna drop klixen! Don't underestimate those crawlers!" Shepard yelled out, not firing at the gigantic monster. Max trusted her and did the same, staying his fire as well. A section of the harvester's belly opened, a disgusting slick of green and red fluids appearing as it birthed a pack of it's spawn.
Red creatures, bearing large horns and lacking the wings of it's parent, soon started crawling towards them. A mix of insect and arachnid traits, the larva of the harvester were imposing and numerous.
Having fully dropped it's swarm the harvester departed, great wings carrying it away back into the sky. As Max watched the great throng of blood colored animals make their way towards the center of the courtyard, he felt a measure of respect run through him. The krogan, however foolish, ignorant and bull headed, were indeed a strong race.
To survive and somehow thrive in such a place, filled to the brim with endless predators and hazards at every turn, was a sign of their stubborn tenacity. Tuchanka was a world sent from the depths of hell, made manifest in all of it's merciless glory. To conquer such an insanely vicious planet was a feat to be in awe of.
Their next test soon came closer, as the creatures Shepard called crawlers drew near. No more words were needed, and the three readied for their second trial. The commander was the first to fire, severing legs in a mist of orange blood with her sniper rifle. Grunt waived the advantage of distance, charging with his claymore in hand. Witnessing this Max flanked left, firing with his rifle to draw heat away from the others as much as he could.
Shepard moved to the right of the courtyard, her and the Spartan having now formed a pincer, Grunt within the center causing as much chaos and damage as he could.
Max quickly found himself almost smitten with his new weapon, using it to mow down several crawlers, before it came dangerously close to overheating. The brethren of those he cut down noticed the Spartan, several of them breaking off from the pack to charge towards him.
With the rifle still cooling down he begrudgingly placed it on his back mag lock, unholstering his pistol once more, quickly aiming and firing. To his surprise it did not take them down as easily as it did the varren, the thick hide and flesh of their chests proving a level of resistance to his bullets, requiring multiple shots to take down a single one of them.
No longer aiming for center mass he switched to their large heads, only taking two solid hits to kill instead of four. Having eliminated three of them only one remained, unfazed by the death of it's siblings. The bear sized animal quickly came dangerously close, soon to be in arms reach.
Max refused to take so much as one back step. For all of his feats, astounding abilities, honed experience, and wisdom born of battle, he was all but perfect. There was one single thing he refused to give up, something he held close and valued deeply.
Max was prideful. Dangerously so.
Deep down the thing he valued most, was his unmatched capacity for violence. His unparalleled aptitude for war and bloodshed was the only thing Max felt was good about himself. The only thing worth taking pride in. Within his own psyche, his wants, thoughts, and well being could not be more inconsequential and pointless. All that mattered was that he was the most ferocious, and that all those he fought died.
As Max watched the crawler fervently barrel towards him, he felt anger bubble within, the desire to show the insolent creature just exactly why he was prideful, and how inescapably fucked it truly was.
So the Spartan III did not reload his magnum, and nor did he take another weapon in hand. It was time for him to be reminded of his own true nature. Wasting no time he took hold of it's sharp and broad horns, stopping the crawler's charge instantly.
To the complete shock of Max the creature did not resist, choosing instead to let loose a torrent of fire from it's scissored and mandibled mouth. The flame was scorching, immediately overwhelming Max's shields, scorching the paint of his breastplate. Wasting no time Max used the horns as handles, dragging it to the left with his vast strength, then putting everything he had into throwing the crawler to the right, lifting it off it's spiked legs. The Spartan followed through all the way, ignoring the way it spastically thrashed and screeched as he slammed it on it's side.
The stomach now exposed, Max anticipated the beast's next move, as heat swelled in it's throat and prepared to belch out searing fire a second time. He grabbed a mandible and pulled, ripping off the entire left side of the monster's jaw in a crude vista of gore. Overwhelmed by pain and catatonic shock, the crawler made no attempt to spit fire from it's now gurgling, deformed face, helpless and doomed to witness it's own demise.
Max took his fist and drove it into the klixens belly, smashing it with his gauntlet again and again until he broke through the armored hide. Guts and gore spilled out, the klixen moaning in further agony as it's organs hit the ground, hanging limp and bloody.
Not yet satisfied with his work Max plunged his hand deep within the crawler's chest cavity, searching and grasping. Feeling his palm grasp around what he sought, he yanked his hand back out, tearing out the Klixen's beating heart within a blood caked fist.
Max peered daggers into the mutilated creature as he watched the life fade from the crawler's eyes, and it's heart ceased pulsing in his palm.
Having satisfied his bloodlust he let the heart fall to the ground, turning away from the klixens corpse. Max watched the others finish off the final crawler from afar, and he could only bask in the afterglow of how damnably good his utter violation of the animal had felt.
Such moments were his reason for living. The snare of battle made his mind focused, the only thing that could really keep the memories of loss and desolation at bay. Encompassed by the dead, with adrenaline coursing through his veins, was where Max thought he belonged. A man who had seen more death than life.
The only reason Max believed he deserved to live, was his ability to kill, and oh how alive he felt in that moment. Shepard and Grunt walked up to him, their nearby presence taking the Spartan out of his bleak, grim thoughts.
"You've got a knack for that, don't ya?" Shepard said, motioning to the klixens tattered remains. She was starting to become used to the gruesome sight of what Six did to their enemies. Shepard still found his gorilla like strength miraculous, something she still had a hard time believing was possible at all. On a world like Tuchanka, a man like Six was a much needed presence.
Once more the simple beeping sound echoed through the courtyard, the button turning green again. Shepard let out an exasperated huff at that, shaking her head as she walked back towards it.
"What else Is even here? I feel like we've killed everything in a ten mile radius!" Shepard yelled out, her words somewhat validated by the sheer amount of varren and klixens corpses scattered all over.
"This place will not break us." Max said determinedly, ready and waiting for whatever else would be thrown at them.
"Indeed!" Grunt said as he gave the Spartan a rough pat on the shoulder, agreeing with his words. Shepard looked back towards the pair of them, her soul filled with renewed confidence at the sight of her indomitable team. She delivered a closed fist atop the button, smacking down as it went red one last time.
The noise of the keystone was different now, a sound of strange pitch, wavy and bendy as it ended with a sharp whirr.
The three of them watched the sky, but saw nothing. Turning their eyes to the distant plains, the result was the same. Suddenly the ground beneath their feet shuddered, and Shepards body did the same as she realized what the last test of their mettle was to be.
"Oh fuck"
Max and Grunt both looked at her, perplexed at her now anxiety ridden expression and fearful words. The ground beneath and all around them shook like an earthquake had appeared, rumbling deep under the surface. Max looked at his motion sensor, seeing one massive, long red blob travel rapidly around them under the surface.
At the bounds of the courtyard, it arose. Ascending from the the dirt was another titanic creature, perhaps the most alien looking yet. It was as though a worm had grown to the size of a blue whale, with a strange toothless maw loosely reminiscent of a wasps.
"You gonna rip that one's heart out too?" Kimbra asked Max in a sarcastic drawl, a subdued challenge in her words.
It spat out a brown slurry at frightening speed, directly towards the Spartan. He narrowly avoided it, and the strange liquid was revealed to be acidic, dissolving the ground behind him with startling ease.
Shepard felt no small amount of fear at the sight of the thresher maw. Monstrous creatures, ones she had killed many of. But never on foot. Even fully armored and weaponized vehicles struggled to bring down such beasts, bearing an ungodly ruggedness and penchant for territorial aggression. Their spores could travel and survive the vacuum of space, and they thrived in any environment no matter how hellish. How they were supposed to take one down with small arms fire was lost on her.
As Shepard reached across her shoulder to grab her sniper rifle, she felt her fingers gloss over what was to be their deliverance. Remembering what she possessed Shepard immediately shed her fear, a divine warmth flowing through her as relief filled her spirit.
"Keep it distracted! Don't let the acid touch you and don't stop shooting!" Shepard yelled out, as she unlatched a large, heavy weapon off her back.
The M-920 cain, the pinnacle of portable destruction rested within her hands. There was a reason she had brought it with her, Shepard having known how terrifying a world Tuchanka was. It didn't gain it's reputation without reason, as Shepard now saw.
Shepard only had one shot, the weapons enormous power coming at such a price. Fueled by graphite rods, it propelled an insanely potent high explosive round at ludicrous speeds, annihilating whatever unfortunate target it was pointed at.
Six and Grunt did as she ordered, staying light on their feet and laying into it with everything they had. Shepard maneuvered into position, cloaking and lining up the shot. But it wouldn't be quite so easy, as the thresher maw let itself fall back under the surface. All around them blue tentacles shot up, pulsing and writhing from the dirt soon after. Once again Shepard barked out orders to her team.
"Those are sensory limbs, take them out!" Shepard commanded, remembering the countless times she had done so in the past. She let Six and Grunt take down the sensory tentacles, not wishing to unhand the heavy weapon she held. It took time to charge the shot, and Shepard had no desire to be caught without it for even a moment.
Grunt felt his nose tingle, a familiar scent invading his senses. Turning his eyes to look upon what his nose had already noticed, Grunt smiled.
"Ha! Seems we've got company!" Grunt yelled with glee. These were the moments he realized he'd been missing, a true chance to prove himself and become one with his people. After all, he was bred to be the perfect krogan, his existence owed and dedicated to the never ending fight.
Max and Shepard quickly saw what Grunt spoke of, a scattered number of varren coming from where the earlier ones had. Shepard cursed under her breath, before looking at Six, and giving one final order.
"Deal with them."
With a simple nod of the head, Six went to head off the varren, leaving Shepard and Grunt to handle the thresher maw. It's sensory tentacles wounded, the monster shot up from the ground, pissed off and bloodied. Again it spat out deadly acid, destroying ground and what few pillars remained of the ancient structure.
With their usable cover becoming further and further dissolved in showers of acid, their situation was becoming increasingly worse. Shepard knew what was soon to come next. Threshers preferred to soften up their prey from afar, before closing in to swallow them whole. A sharp eye and reflexes would be a necessity as it got closer.
Grunt did an admirable job of laying down as much lead down towards it as possible, the thresher far more preoccupied with the krogan than Shepard. It prepared to throw itself down at Grunt, the towering creature extending it's coiled torso towards him with an open maw.
Grunt wisely ran, buying himself a few extra precious seconds as Shepard charged and aimed the shot, leading ever so slightly. Her eyes and hands became one, the markswoman entering a hawk like state as she prepard to pull the trigger.
With an exhale she squeezed, firing out the explosive directly at the thresher maws head. Her aim was true, connecting with it's fleshy skull before detonating in a chaotic flash of orange and white.
The weapons signature miniature mushroom cloud effect was not absent, attesting to the sheer power that had just annihilated the entire enormous skull of the beast. With a thunderous clap it's body fell limp against the dirt, a grisly deformed stump where it's signature maw had once been.
Six, having dealt with the varren as ordered, regrouped with the others, looking at the vast corpse with awe. It's death was no small accomplishment. Shepard placed the cain on her back, taking a deep breath afterwards.
The commander looked back towards the button, wearily anticipating another ominous beep.
It never came. She took another deep breath, filled with relief and pride. A small laugh escaped her, laden with amazement at the past hour. Most coming of age rituals she'd been a part of had centered around copious amounts of alcohol, drugs and carnal pleasures amongst other vices. To think that an hour full of bloodshed and horrific monsters was a regular puberty rite for the krogan was paradoxically surprising as it was unsurprising.
The sound of whooshing engines interrupted the silent air, a shuttle of older make announcing it's presence in the sky above the courtyard. It landed across from the squad, the doors opening to reveal it's passengers.
Uvenk appeared, the krogan that had opposed Grunts rite at every turn back at camp, stepped out along with several of his underlings. The green plated krogan looked at the threshers corpse nearby, begrudgingly impressed.
"You survived, as many do. But no one has felled the thresher maw in generations. Urdnot Wrex, was the last." Uvenk spoke in a contemplative tone.
"My krantt gave me strength beyond my genes. Which are damn good." Grunt said, complementing his human allies. They indeed had done so.
"Hmm. Interesting... you say you are pure? No alien meddling in your construction? Just the warlord Okeer?" Uvenk asked quickly, traces of plotting in his inquisitive words.
"Grunt is pure krogan. He's designed to be perfect." Shepard answered for Grunt, doing her best to put in a good word for him.
"Being designed is the problem here. But not created by aliens, and truly powerful... that, is a tolerable loophole." Uvenk said, cryptic and vague with his words.
"Get to the point." Max said curtly, his patience for Uvenk having grown thin. Back at the camp he had been an irritating nuisance, acting as though Grunts very existence was a blasphemous crime. He displayed nothing other than cross behavior and toddler like temperament as he attempted in vain to block Grunts attempt at proving himself.
"You are tank bred. A mistake. But your potential could tip the current balance of the clans." Uvenk said as he paced back and forth in front of Grunt, finally making his intentions clear.
"You spit on my father's name. On Shepard's name! But now you'd accept me because I'm strong?" Grunt yelled, offended at such blatant disrespect.
"With restrictions. You could not breed of course, nor could you serve on an alien ship. But you'd be a part of clan Gatatog in name." Uvenk said, startlingly ignorant of his own hubris.
Max quickly noticed the other krogan back near the shuttle, fully armored and armed. They appeared on edge, watching the conversation with tense postures. He kept his eyes on them, expecting that he knew where the conversation was leading.
"If I know Grunt, your answer's coming at muzzle velocity." Shepard remarked in a dead serious tone, completely meaning her words.
Grunt looked at her with a small smile. "You do know Grunt. This varren is dead." with that he smacked his head against Uvenks, sending him careening to the dirt on his back. As Max expected the krogan behind Uvenk did not take such an action lightly, seven claymores rapidly pointed at the trio.
They all scrambled for cover, a firefight having fully commenced in earnest. Max focused his fire on their nearest enemy who had foolishly ditched the safety of cover. An entire heat sinks worth of rounds rendered it's kinetic barriers, armor and flesh worthless, put down in a hailstorm of rapid fire. As he and the others engaged the rest Max felt a sort of consolation, having thought earlier that the days violent events were over with a measure of sadness. He welcomed the unexpected fight with open arms, glad to know it wasn't over just yet.
As befitting of their nature the remaining krogan quickly pushed forward, attempting to rush and overwhelm their position. Shepard directed her omni tool at one of them, setting it alight with an incineration blast. It screamed in pain, falling to the ground as fire ravaged it.
Running low on shells for his M45, Max took hold of his knife, prepared to deliver death to his enraged foes. Shepard cloaked from sight, never a woman who preferred close quarters combat. She left such work to those far more inclined towards it.
Two krogan rushed the Spartan, intending to pulverize him with their claymores. Max closed the distance in an instant, superhuman speed carrying him with god like grace. Nothing would deter him, least of all some no name creature which thought itself capable of standing against him. He plunged his blade into one's eye, dragging the edge across it's face to destroy the second slit.
He left his knife imbedded inside the now blinded krogan, delivering his fist into the other's gut with as much power as possible. It coughed in pain, the wind completely knocked out of it's lungs. The Spartan III crashed his boot against an exposed knee cap, shattering bone and making it collapse.
Both of them now crippled Max finished them off with dispassionate shots from his magnum, and he retrieved his blade from where he'd sheathed it previously.
Grunt activated his fortification, kinetic barriers temporarily strengthened tenfold as he turned the corner. His barriers shrugged off the remaining krogans fire, whilst their own was shredded by concussive shots and shotgun blasts.
Only one other and Uvenk still stood. The one beside Uvenk was relieved of it's head as Shepard elected to blow it off with her sniper, uncloaking afterwards. She aimed at Uvenk, but Grunt stopped her.
"He's mine." He said, charging towards Uvenk with a roar of determination and anger. The two krogan clashed, both opting to fight in the most primal of ways. For all his bluster Uvenk was no coward, giving it his all as he scored a few powerful blows against the tank bred he despised. Max watched the brawl with a heavy amount of joy, enjoying the spectacle of such a hate filled fistfight. He silently cheered on Grunt in his mind, wishing to see him succeed.
With another head butt he once again sent Uvenk to the dirt, taking his back and chocking the life out of the one who had spit on his name. Grunt stood up, kicking the fresh corpse out of his way.
"Uvenk is meat. Let's go." Grunt declared after a few deep breaths.
Max could not help but feel saddened once more. The fight was over, and it had felt far too short. He internally cursed how brief it had been, brutal and violent as it was. He wanted more, but knew it would not be granted to him today. Max quietly laughed at himself, and his strange wants. He knew how odd it was, to long for nothing other than battle. Any small feelings for peace and tranquility were completely dwarfed by his preference for war, his complete devotion to struggle and the rush of combat.
Short moments of respite and stillness were well and good, but any more than that sent the Spartans mind into a frenzy of anguish and confusion, his past refusing to leave him be no matter what.
Max wondered if he would ever stop having such contemplations in that moment, recalling countless times he had come to the same realization, over and over again.
Heaven, was his Hell. And Hell? It was his Heaven.
I hope you guys enjoy reading this one as much as I enjoyed writing it. If you feel so inclined please leave a review, and thank you for reading.
(Side note, chapter title I did not rip from the famous book, but a unique Metallica song titled as such.)