Here. We. Go.
The Imperium of Man is a really, really brutal place. It always amuses me when someone writing Star Wars tries to emphasize how horrible the idea of the Clone Army is, or when someone points out how bad Cerberus is in Mass Effect or ONI in Halo. They have nothing on the Imperium.
And, of course, to illustrate this point, I have chosen everyone's favorite gas-masked zealots to demonstrate.
However, the second point of the Imperium, perhaps even darker than the first, is that there is a reason, a very good reason, why they are so horrifying.
Let's get to it.
A small note: Death Korps is pronounced 'death core' (like Marine Corps), not 'death corpse' and Jeicher, much like I would assume Jurgen, is pronounced in the German style, with a 'y' sound for the 'j'. (Yay-ker, Yurgen, etc.)
Now, on to reviews!
jacobdkidder: Thank you! I'm glad you liked the chapter. I have not read the Eisenhorn books, but I'd like to sometime. Warhammer numbers are screwed up, so I'll have to figure that out. As for the meeting of the governments... we'll just have to see what happens. I hope you enjoy!
ChaosRaptorEye: Well, the Korps might be considered worse by some, and certainly shows the Imperium's dark side. I think you're going to like this one... I hope you enjoy!
BonesofSmite: Thank you! I hope you enjoy this one.
Fourteen Flames: Oh, we'll get there. We will get there indeed. Just you wait! I hope you enjoy what's to come!
Clare Prime of Ultra: I need to add the Mechanicus in this story somehow, both because everyone loves them and wants to see them, and because some of the interactions with the other galaxies would be absolutely hilarious. I'll figure it out. In the meantime, I hope you enjoy the chapter!
Ketchup imaginario: No, the Reapers have not attacked the Mass Effect galaxy. It's somewhere in Mass Effect 2. As for the larger plot with the main villains (Chaos, the Reapers, the Flood, etc.), we'll get to them soon enough! I hope you enjoy!
local doc: Thank you! I hope you like this one as well!
ravenguard0009: We will have the grimdark, don't you worry! As for Chaos corruption and the weird nature of some relationships, we'll get there. I hope you enjoy the rest of the story!
187: *insert maniacal laughter* Welcome to the KORPS, son!
Nobody here: We'll get to the wider events of the galaxies eventually! I hope you enjoy!
LezGo35: Fair enough. I suppose the less technically-minded of the Mass Effect universe wouldn't know exactly where Husks come from.
FORGEmaster: You'll have to wait and find out! I hope you enjoy!
Wangbu: Well, it is brutal and a fan favorite... Welcome to the DEATH KORPS!
midistik: Oh yeah. Next chapter is gonna be WILD. As for your suggestion on the Illusive Man... well, you're the only one to give me input, so we're gonna go with your suggestion. Thank you! I hope you enjoy the chapter!
oOo
The Reason Why
"I died in hell. They called it Passchendaele." -Memorial Tablet (Great War), by Siegfried Sassoon
"In life, war. In death, peace. In life, suffering. In death, atonement." -Final litany of the Litany of Sacrifice, recited by the Guardsmen of the Death Korps of Krieg when entering battle
oOo
The shuttle slipped through the dead and polluted atmosphere, shields raised to their fullest capacity to avoid the boiling streaks of orange lightning. The occupants of the shuttle stared warily out the window, still nervous even though their craft was in the hands of some of the best pilots in the universe.
"I'm still not sure why you wanted to come here," muttered Commissar Cain from a strap-in seat in the shuttle's rear. Around him, six of the other commanders, all dressed in radiation-proof armor or suits, checked their gear. The Chief was, as ever, in his green MJOLNIR armor - it could be scrubbed clean. The others were in older suits they did not particularly have a use for.
"Well, we haven't been to your galaxy before," replied Vir from where he sat beside Solo in the cockpit. The admiral sounded far too cheery for their present surroundings. "We wanted to come visit - see what it's like." Cain frowned.
"I do understand that," he replied. "What I don't understand is why we're here. I told you what this planet was like, but of all the places in the galaxy, you all decided to choose Krieg." Because of course. Because of course, if he gave them a map and told them to pick out a planet that wasn't Holy Terra or Cadia or a forge world, they would pick Krieg.
He should have been more specific; better yet, he should have chosen for them.
"It sounded like an interesting name," defended Shepard, sounding slightly sulky from where she checked the seals on a white and black helmet. "Besides, it's a… What did you call it?" she asked, looking back at Cain. "A Guard world? It'll be interesting to see more of your guys' military. I look forward to it." What neither Shepard nor anyone else said was they wanted to know exactly what the rest of the Imperial military was like.
Cain sighed again. They could have gone to any other planet in the galaxy. Yes, granted, Cadia would not allow a group of non-Imperials there, nor would any forge worlds or Marine chapter homeworlds. Catachan… Catachan was probably a worse choice, all things considered, as radiation could be dealt with. Catachan's fauna was a trickier issue.
"We could have gone to Valhalla," muttered the Commissar, perhaps slightly petulantly.
"Eh, we already know what your guys are like," shrugged Kirk in reply. Those in the back continued checking their radiation gear. The normally upbeat Quill and Drake were silent, Drake peering out the frontal window of the shuttle through pilots, Quill making extra certain there would be nothing wrong with his suit.
"What's the radiation reading?" asked Solo, checking the controls once more.
"I… find it best not to look," replied Vir primly. Solo frowned. A few in the back shot each other nervous glances. What exactly did they just get themselves into?
The shuttle's communication system suddenly crackled to life, a dry, toneless voice sounding over the speakers.
"Shuttle B-77401, you are clear of the storm in twenty seconds. Please proceed to landing pad RT-556 at coordinates 66579. Radiation levels on ground are within viable range outside of the storm."
"Acknowledged," replied Vir curtly. He and Solo glanced at each other as they maneuvered the shuttle forward.
"Breaking through the storm now," said Solo. As those in the shuttle watched, the lightning and horrible, swirling dark clouds cleared, only to reveal a scene of utter devastation. The land below was an endless expanse of grey and brown. Entire swaths of earth were covered with grey dust. Other areas were endless seas of irradiated mud, with ancient and rusted barbed wire, empty concrete bunkers, and long abandoned and corroded gun emplacements sticking out from the infinite brown. A few ossified trees, long dead, peeked up in places, the only signs of life, or what was once life, on the planet.
Everyone simply stared in stunned silence at the ruined landscape below them.
"What happened here?" murmured Vir.
"A tale of tragedy, and betrayal," replied Cain softly. "Once upon a time, some 1,500 years ago, Krieg was a massive city world. The ruling oligarchy decided to turn their backs on the Emperor and rebel against the Imperium of Man. The commander of the loyalist Guard forces decided that if the Imperium couldn't have the planet, no one would. But despite the unleashing of a stash of Dark Age nuclear weapons, the people of Krieg survived, and loyalist fought traitor in a five hundred year long war in the trenches of the wastes."
The shuttle was silent, imagining how horrible such a war would be. This singular civil war, on this singular planet, eclipsed even the most horrible of fights from most of their home galaxies.
"Eventually, the loyalists won, and rejoined the Imperium. Ever since, the people of Krieg have fought in the deadliest of Imperial warzones to repent for their ancient betrayal," continued Cain softly. He had only met and served alongside Death Korps regiments, never being their Commissar, but all Commissars were briefed on every major Guard regiment in case they found themselves beside one.
"Wait, wait, wait. There are people that live here? This isn't just a military base?" asked an incredulous Solo.
"Yes," replied Cain. "They live in massive underground cities, safely shielded from the worst of the radiation aboveground." He was met with silence. A planet… a civilization built underground on an irradiated world. A civilization of war, born to fight and die. The only planet close to this one was Tuchanka from Shepard's galaxy, but as she and the others were soon to find out, the two had almost nothing in comparison.
"Shuttle B-77401, you are cleared for landing," came the voice of the controller. "Please wear radiation-proof suits. Commissar Jeicher will be present along with an honor guard to escort you," came the voice of the controller. Vir and Solo nodded in the cockpit.
"Acknowledged," replied Solo. The two began preparations for landing as those in the back checked everything one last time. Radiation protection had come a long way since humanity's invention of the atomic bomb to a level that would offer near complete safety, but the idea of walking around an irradiated hellscape was one no one was comfortable with.
Beneath them, the brown of mud gave way to a large, circular landing pad sunk into Krieg's dead earth. The pad led to a set of stairs, traveling down into a set of heavy, sealed double doors, leading even further down into the ruined planet's crust. On the pad were two figures, clad in greatcoats and gasmasks, flanked by a double line of soldiers. Vir and Solo set the shuttle down.
In the back, Cain had already pulled the hood of a radiation-proof bodysuit over his head, and attached an anachronistic looking gasmask. Over this, he donned an old and tattered Commissarial cap and greatcoat. Vir and Solo also donned much more modern-looking gas masks over their bodysuits, and went to the shuttle's rear with a nod to their comrades. With the quick press of a button, they activated the airlock and stepped onto the surface of the ruined planet.
Thunder rumbled ominously in the distance as they stepped down the shuttle ramp, pressurized gasses hissing, and came face to face with what they presumed to be Commissar Jeicher. He was wearing the same outfit as Cain, a Commissar's cap and greatcoat covering his bodysuit and gas mask. Behind him was a double rank of soldiers, wearing grey greatcoats and gas masks, clutching their las rifles in the 'present arms' position. Next to Jeicher stood another figure, hands clasped neatly behind their back. This one was dressed in much fancier boots, and wore a cuirassier's breastplate. A brown greatcoat was draped over the figure's shoulders, and those watching assumed it to be an officer. Jeicher reached out to shake each of the trio's hands in turn.
"Admiral Vir. Captain Solo. Commander Shepard. Captain Drake. Master Chief. Captain Kirk. Captain Quill. Pilot Cooper. Commissar Cain." The man with the scarlet Commissarial sash nodded as he listed off all of their names in turn. "A pleasure to have you on Krieg. I am Commissar Jeicher, and this is Captain Kust," he said, pointing to the officer behind him. Kust offered a single, curt nod. "You wished to have a tour of the planet, and to see its capacity for making war. I can assure you, gentlemen, ladies, that Krieg is one of the finest planets in the Imperium in that regard. I trust you will not be disappointed."
So saying, Jeicher led them down the path leading away from the shuttle and towards the underground tunnels. As they walked, a series of flashes lit up the horizon, followed by the booming of thunder. Jeicher raised a gloved hand and gestured in the general direction of the noise.
"About twenty kilometers in that direction, we have the artillery and live-fire drills of the soon to be 712th Death Korps Regiment. It is the be the newest regiment coming into Imperial service, and the thirtieth Death Korps regiment raised this month. They will soon be shipping out to Warzone Viclius in the Segmentum Pacificus to break a massive ork siege of the Viclius sector." The nine visitors nodded, taking in the landscape around them. A few glanced towards the drills, hoping to catch a glimpse of… something, but it was too far out. They quickly reached the end of the twin lines of troopers, breaking any other thoughts as they closed on the door.
"Right shoulder, arms!" yelled Kust, her voice (the visitors could tell it was a 'her' underneath the mask now) managing to carry through both her mask and Krieg's stormy atmosphere. "Left face!" The Korpsmen spun to face the heavy blast doors in perfect synchronicity. Jeicher inputted some sort of code, and, with a great creaking and grinding of metal, the doors slid open. "Forward, march!"
The group, followed by the honor guard, stepped into a large white room. As the doors closed behind them, various nozzles sprayed radiation-retardant foam onto them. The airlock process completed, the heavy set of double doors in front of them opened. Despite the decontamination, the Kriegers did not take their masks off. The visitors followed suit, nervously wondering if the bunkers could get irradiated like the planet above.
The halls were quite familiar, but unlike anything any of them had seen as a civilization. They were long, emotionless white and grey concrete bunker systems, lit by cheap yellow bulbs that still allowed them to see perfectly well. Entirely devoid of anything except brutalistic efficiency, they seemingly stretched onto infinity beneath the surface, a labyrinthian dimension invisible from above.
It was sad, reflected Kirk. He'd been to many planets, but none like this. Irradiated due to nuclear war, shattered beyond repair due to the five hundred year war after that. (In all honesty, he wasn't certain if Cain wasn't exaggerating. He'd heard of some brutal wars, but that… Even the Romulans and Klingon would balk at that.)
Looking around him once more, he couldn't help a sigh. Endless, emotionless bunker halls. It saddened him. What a terrible way to live and grow up.
They continued through the long walkways, passing seemingly thousands of Korpsmen, all wearing grey greatcoats, and staring from behind emotionless gas masks. They all blurred into one, and Kirk was grateful that at least Jeicher, Kust, and their honor guard he could pick out from the crowd. The others in their party seemed to have thoughts similar to him: they frowned at their surroundings, sticking close to Jeicher and their comrades.
Finally, they reached another large double blast door, and the two Korpsmen standing guard outside snapped to attention. The group walked through, only for the offworlders to stop short. The entire left half of the hallway was a massive clear window. Far beneath them, a full division of Death Korps Guardsmen marched through an utterly massive, hangar-sized underground hallway. It was an endless tide of grey coats and gas masks, the thud of their boots echoing up even past the glass of the observation deck.
Tanks rolled past, their treads grinding against the concrete, gas-masked commanders riding in the cupulas. Smaller, two legged armored walkers flanked the column, their heavy footfalls adding to the din of a Death Korps army on the march.
"That's the 122nd Siege Army. Newly formed. They're shipping out to the southern part of Segmentum Ultima today," said Jeicher. Kirk stared. Just how many men could this planet raise? How many people lived here? Jeicher made another motion, and the group, still followed by Kust and her honor guard, left the observation room.
They walked through more hallways, still stark and emotionless, until they got to another double door. This area of tunnels and bunkers seemed to have more Korpsmen around. The double doors opened, revealing a much more polished and refined room, made mostly out of metal. Officers, wearing their higher, more polished boots and cuirassiers' breastplates abounded in this place. Computers clung to the walls, and workstations were filled with Death Korps soldiers, unmasked commissars, and a few very strange individuals who looked like cyborgs, with heavy metallic limbs, augmentations, devices, and faces wearing cowled crimson robes.
The visitors stared, slightly awed, slightly nervous, as Commissar Jeicher continued without pause.
"This is the central command room of this section of Krieg's underground cities," said Jeicher, boots continuing to ring on the floor. "All the regiments and supplies that are raised and produced in section Alpha-Gamma-551 are tracked here. As you can see, we have more than enough to outfit the two regiments this sector is raising." The red-robed cyborgs stared at the visitors suspiciously as the Death Korps officers merely looked blankly or didn't react at all.
"Who were those guys?" whispered Vir to Cain. "The cyborgs?"
"They're called Tech-Priests," replied Cain. "They're the Imperium's… engineers, I believe you call them." Only slightly satisfied by the explanation, the group continued onwards after Kust and Jeicher's quick pace. They went through the next room, through another series of hallways, and down multiple sets of solid but plain corrugated steel stairs, boots ringing on the concrete, passing endless gas-masks that all seemed to blur into one.
"Here we have the underground munitions factories of Krieg," said Jeicher, gesturing through another glass panel on an observation deck. This time, the windows led onto an utterly massive factory floor. Conveyor belts led to unknown machines, and churned out endless numbers of what seemed to be artillery shells. "As you can see, everything is completely on schedule." Kirk noticed workers, all wearing heavy grey suits and sterile working masks below. Some of the figures seemed to be… off, and it took a moment for him to realize precisely why.
"Wait a minute… are those children?" he wheeled around and demanded to Jeicher. He was met with the empty lenses of a gas mask.
"Yes," replied Jeicher. "I do realize that many off-worlders not of the Munitorum or Mechanicus find the practice… distasteful, but-"
"Distasteful doesn't even begin to cover it. More like abhorrent," snarled Kirk. Behind him, Shepard and Vir looked positively mutinous. Cooper and Quill were staring back and forth between the workers below and their two comrades, fingers tapping on their sidearms. Solo had an extremely stormy face as he glared; the others made no reaction.
"You can't have kids working in factories like that!" exclaimed Shepard, eyes glinting dangerously as she gestured to the behemoth munitions works below them.
"If you cannot fight, you must serve," intoned Kust, speaking to them for the first time. "All infertile males serve in the Death Korps. Most fertile males and infertile females serve in the Death Korps. Most fertile females and some fertile males serve in the munitions factories. Children cannot go to waste," she finished, rattling off the practices of Krieg in a completely toneless voice. Kirk, Shepard, and Vir looked like they were about to explode. Cain put a hand on the latter's shoulder in warning and nodded towards the honor guard and their lasguns. Noticing the mood in the room, Jeicher turned and gestured onwards.
"I think it's best if we go on," he said. The group followed him through another set of hallways, and when Kust was out of earshot, Jeicher spoke to the newcomers.
"Please don't antagonize the Kriegers," he said. "That's why they have commissars, actually. To ease the transition between them and any allied forces."
"They deserve to die," hissed Vir, nearly shaking with rage. Behind them, Drake was muttering something under his breath to Cooper and Quill. Jeicher gave a mirthless laugh.
"Oh, they do. Their entire purpose, their entire existence, is to die in the Emperor's wars. They want this."
"Why?" demanded Kirk. "Why would anyone want this?"
"They are driven by one of the most powerful motivators in the universe. Not anger, not love, not faith, but shame. Shame of their ancient rebellion. In the Emperor's service, the Death Korps will pay any price," finished Jeicher ominously.
Continuing, they reached another viewing balcony. This one overlooked a much smaller room, where a group of children in grey overcoats drilled with small las carbines. Shepard and Vir clenched their fists in rage, Kirk crossed his arms and glared murderously at Jeicher and Kust, but no one said anything.
"Present arms!" yelled an adult and fully uniformed drill sergeant from behind his gas mask. The children held out their weapons in front of them, many with as much or even more precision than Kirk had seen on many recruits. Most of them looked to be no older than eight or nine, making the workers in the factory even younger…
No. He did not want to think about that.
The drill instructor moved along the line of recruits (or children, if you were fortunate enough to not be raised in a post-apocalyptic militaristic hellhole, scowled Kirk to himself). The instructor spun and glared at one of the cadets.
"P-4427193," he stated.
"Yes, sir!" replied the cadet, with the enthusiasm of a fresh recruit.
"What is your duty, P-4427193?" asked the instructor.
"To serve the Emperor's will," replied the cadet.
"And what is the Emperor's will?" queried the instructor.
"That we fight and die!" Vir clenched down so hard he crushed the balcony bar in the viewing room.
"What is death?" asked the instructor.
"It is our duty!" replied the cadet. Shepard gnashed her teeth with an audible grinding noise. The instructor nodded.
"Very good, P-4427193." He took a step back. "Right shoulder, arms!" Drake looked over at Jeicher.
"They're calling them by their serial numbers at that young of an age?" he asked, voice suspicious. The others had noticed as well; the dehumanization merely added jet fuel to the already burning fire of their rage. Jeicher inwardly cringed. He suspected their visitors would not like what came next.
"They don't have names," said Kust, with the subtlety of a sledgehammer.
"What?" asked Shepard, in a 'please, do try my patience' tone.
"None of us have names, only numbers," replied Kust.
"You have a name," pointed out Vir.
"You only get a name if you survive long enough to become an officer," said Kust.
"Really?" Vir wheeled around to face the leader of the honor guard. "What's your name?" he asked.
"YH-5577933," replied the man, voice completely emotionless. Vir threw his hands in the air, completely done. Shepard and Kirk shared a glance. Solo was looking positively murderous; Drake like someone who was resigned to his worst fears being confirmed.
"Fine." Vir nodded at Jeicher. "Continue the tour," he snapped. Jeicher nodded, and motioned them on.
"Why is this allowed?" hissed Shepard to Cain, voice soft enough so the Korpsmen in front of them wouldn't hear but positively dripping with venom and righteous wrath.
"We ought to put a stop to this, now," added Kirk, fuming. Cain stopped and turned to stare at the two, halting the rest of his comrades.
"You wanted to come here," he hissed in reply. "You wanted to see. I told you; I warned you. This is the Death Korps of Krieg, and they do nothing by half measures. Right next to Cadia, they're the most effective regiment within the Imperium of Man."
"This is insane!" said Vir. "This… this… this! All of this! It's horrible!"
"How?" added Kirk, furious but more calm. "How can you possibly allow this? What could make things possibly end up like this?" They were interrupted by Kust.
"Do you want to find out?" she demanded, voice eerie through her mask. The visitors turned to her.
"Yes," fired back Shepard. "Yes, I would like to know exactly why things are like this." Kust nodded, satisfied.
"So be it," she replied.
oOo
Segmentum Pacificus
Warzone Viclius
Planet Terperis
"Welcome to Terperis, sirs, ma'am." The masked Death Korps trooper saluted crisply. The nine newcomers looked around them, frowning at the muddy landscape around them. The shuttle they'd arrived in had been an Imperial Valkyrie transport: they'd arrived here in their own, faster vessels, then been shown to an orbiting Imperial ship, then taken down to the surface of the war-torn planet beneath them. So far, all they'd seen was Death Korps troopers, vehicles, and mud.
The Death Korps had told them to ship out to Warzone Viclius. Cain silently agreed. He'd read the reports on the way. The Imperials all knew what would await them there.
There was some part of Caiphas Cain that was saddened by showing his friends the true horror of reality and shattering their idealistic facades. There was another part of Cain that didn't want to go anywhere near the Warzone nor the Death Korps, even though the area of Terperis they were landing on was supposedly pacified. Some semblance of his kindness and self-preservation flared up within him, but…
But Cain had endured all the stares and sneers. They hated him, hated his culture, his men, his Emperor. They, they who preached tolerance and inclusivity and who didn't give a damn that the Turians or Drev or Vulcan or Asari or Vrul or their fellow men from their realities and others were xenophobic as well sneered at him and his men. His Imperium. His culture. His god. His home.
Some dark, vindictive place within him was going to enjoy this.
"Trooper," nodded Cain in reply. "What's your name?"
"RO-9974124," replied the Korpsman, rattling off his number-name with practiced precision. He gestured to the strange, open-roofed armored APC behind him. "I was told you were here to inspect the front. This Salamander is at your disposal, and I am to drive you to wherever you wish." The newcomers glanced at each other, unsure of what they should be doing or who should take the lead. Commissar Cain stepped forward.
"Indeed, trooper," he replied. "Take us to the front." RO-9974124 nodded and set off for the driver's seat. The eight non-Imperials glanced at each other again before clambering into the back of the APC. Cain took the front passenger's seat.
The Salamander APC started with the roar of a diesel-style engine, unfamiliar to most of those in the back. Fumes belching from the exhaust, they set off, treads clanking and grinding as the APC shook beneath them.
Everyone was silent as they rode, taking in the sights around them. There was no vegetation, no animals, no building of any sort except for prefabricated shells and tents of the Imperial army camps around them. Most of what was around them seemed to be part of a Death Korps encampment. Endless numbers of gray-coated, gas-masked troopers marched in columns, stood guard, carried stretchers of wounded, poured over maps, cleaned weapons, hauled munitions, stirred huge pots of boiling stew, or simply sat around. This… this was like nothing any of them experienced.
Yes, of course, many of the Scoundrel commanders were in the military. Even so, this was something foreign. Clean halls of troops and marines mingling with naval crew, or uproarious small squads gambling as they grinned vulgarities over those they'd seen that day were commonplace. The sight was perhaps more familiar to Drake and Vir, the two having been on campaign, but even their experiences lacked the numbers and sheer scale of a Death Korps army at war. This was something more akin to the World Wars of Earth than the smaller, more technologically powerful engagements the eight were used to.
They passed a line of utterly massive artillery guns, neatly parked in rows. With the prevalence of air support and fast-moving battlefields, this was something most of the other galaxies had forgone, but the might and awe of the heavy artillery was something to behold. The eight stared, almost meek, as the Salamander passed beneath the shadow of the mighty guns like a mouse passing beneath a lion.
Next were rows upon rows of tanks, painted brown and gray, spattered with mud and unidentifiable gore. Tanks. Honest-to-goodness tanks.
Those in the back of the APC simply stared, some curious, some mute and frightened at where this might be going, some excited. This was another thing that wasn't present in most of their realities. Tanks were something of the past, armored boxes that could grind up anything in their way, but rendered obsolete through more powerful hand-held weapons. But one couldn't deny the ominous appearance, and the giddy awe at the sight, of endless rows of treaded, armored-plated, cupolaed tanks.
Some bore the expected, classic heavy cannons. Others had smaller, lighter cannons. Still others bore massive gatling guns or huge, blue-glowing coiled weapons as their main guns. All bore other weapons throughout, in sponsons on the sides and weapons that looked like machine-guns near the commander's hatch on the cupola. The strange, red-robed cybernetic tech-priests crawled over the tanks, flickering lights of welders flying as they repaired dents and breaks.
They then seemed to move on from the Death Korps troops and into a new camp. This one was filled with troops armored in green, their faces showing instead of the ominous coats and masks of the Kriegers. Flags fluttered in the breeze above tents, showing the same symbol: a silver gate with a skull in the middle on a background of olive green.
"Who are these guys?" asked Cooper, speaking up, glancing towards the front of the vehicle where Cain and RO perched.
"Cadian Shock Troops," replied the Commissar. "Beside the Death Korps, they're the largest planetary regiment in the Imperium, and probably the most famous."
"Wait, wait, wait," interjected Kirk. "So it's not just the Death Korps on this campaign?"
"No, sir," replied RO politely. "The Ork siege here would take far more than just us to take them down. The Cadians, Voystroyans, a few regiments of Tempestus Scions and the Angels of Fire are here alongside us." Those in the back shared glances. The Death Korps army, in its massive, horizon-spanning, planet-conquering entirety needed more help in this fight?
As they continued, they made their way past another camp, farther in the distance, where troops in gold and red armor with high bearskin hats meandered about. There were fewer tanks, but the camp still stretched ever-onwards, its numbers mind-boggling.
"Those are the Voystroyan Firstborn," reported Cain, pointing their way. "Manufacturing planet. They renounce a tithe of soldiers for the Imperium during the Horus Heresy, stating it would be better for the Imperium if they produced weapons instead. They did so, but afterwards were so ashamed they've given up every firstborn son of every family in the Emperor's service." The eight in the back stared, horrified. A few of them noted the Imperium's gigantic civil war called the Horus Heresy was ten thousand years ago. Ten thousand years of every firstborn son given up to military service. And they did so proudly.
What was wrong with this civilization?
Going onward, the military camps became fewer. They passed more vehicles: columns of tanks, APCs loaded with troopers, and munitions carriers loaded to the brim. All these the commanders took in with stoic silence.
They passed what was to be the final Imperial military outpost until the front. This one was far different: it was a series of what looked to be black bunker complexes. Troops wearing full black suits of armor and heavy helms with glowing red eyes stood guard, bigger, heavier lasguns at the ready. To Commander Shepard, their armor looked rather similar to Cerberus troopers she'd seen before, a fact that made her shudder.
"Those are the Tempestus Scions," reported Cain. "Scions are elite, specialized groups of soldiers with higher standards of training and better gear, much like your special forces. The group here right now is the 22nd Thetoid Gryphonnes." Well, that was interesting. The Imperium had their own special forces, which-
"What is that?" asked Quill. The others turned to look.
Standing amid the bunker complex was…
A thing.
It looked like a man; perhaps it was indeed someone in heavy armor. However, it was eight feet tall, and though it moved like a man and held its utterly behemoth blocky black weapon like a man, its sheer size and stature lent more credibility to some sort of mech. The armor was massive, with limbs the size of tree trunks and pauldrons nearly as large as a human's torso. It was painted blood red, with an orange flame insignia on the shoulders. The man… armor… mech thing was standing in the open, peering at a holographic map set up in the mud.
"That, Captain Quill, is a Space Marine," replied Cain. "They are the genetically-engineered superhumans who serve as perhaps the most powerful and elite forces within the Imperium. I served with a chapter of them once: the Reclaimers." Cain seemed to sigh to himself, as if dredging up old memories. "They're called the God-Emperor's Angels of Death, and for good reason…"
Those in the Salamander's rear could easily see why. That… that thing was taller, bigger, broader, and more powerful than Sunny, Drax, or even the Chief. It was wearing armor that could probably shrug off shells from the tanks they'd seen further back, and it was carrying a weapon that looked as if it could vaporize someone's chest with ease. What was more, if Cain's casual comment about chapters of Marines was correct, there were probably hundreds, if not thousands or more of these beings wandering around the Imperium.
What could they possibly need soldiers like this for?
Dark thoughts of putting down rebellions and keeping citizens in line through terror entered the minds of the Scoundrel commanders. The Chief knew what the Spartan program's original purpose was: was the Imperium much the same? Solo knew the Galactic Empire ruled by terror, and judging by what he'd seen of the Imperium so far, they were probably more than willing to create a super-soldier program to keep their citizens in line.
Continuing further, the last vestiges of Imperial camps disappeared to be replaced with more mud. The only things beside dirt were various Imperial Guardsmen… both living and dead.
Most of the living Guardsmen were occupied with carrying their comrades' corpses into humongous mass graves. Piles of bodies lay beside them as those doing porter work dumped ever more into the earth. Officers or non-coms stood by, taking down dog tag numbers. The non-Imperials shuddered at the sheer inhumanness of it all.
"You're putting your own men in mass graves?" asked Shepard, stunned. Where she was from, if they could get the body, they would, and if not, your name would still probably be inscribed on a memorial somewhere. She'd hate to think what Garrus would think of this, hailing from an entirely different warrior culture than Krieg's brutal stoicism.
"Yes," replied RO-9974124, sounding almost confused. "Where else would we bury them?" Reflecting on things, no wonder they did things this way. The Death Korps didn't even have names to inscribe on graves, only numbers to be put down in a casualty list.
It was all so…
Sad.
Going even further, the earth seemed to be more churned up, and the sights of a battlefield started to spring up. A few disabled vehicles littered the landscape, and razor wire popped up here and there. More Guard bodies, unattended and unclaimed, lay in the dirt, faces frozen in horrible rictuses of death. Some were utterly mangled, pulverized and slashed. Still others looked as if they'd been laying here for weeks, seemingly in latter stages of decomposition.
It was then that they first came upon the enemy, and everything they knew about this galaxy changed.
The first alien corpse was laying near the side of the road, unattended in a ditch. It was a humanoid, but all similarities to the humanoid species of all other realities ended there.
It was about seven or eight feet tall, with thick, vivid green skin and a body so muscular it was as if its limbs were tree trunks. There was some crude, blocky gun that looked as if it were welded together from scrap metal laying beside it. Its face was thick, brutal, and pig-like, with massive tusks sprouting from its lower jaw and a full line of hand-sized teeth visible.
"What is that?" asked Vir, ever curious about aliens, even enemies.
"An Ork," replied Cain. "They're a very dumb, but very populous and brutal race that literally lives for war. Nothing else. They fight us, they fight other races, they fight each other. So long as they're fighting, then they're enjoying themselves. The more carnage, the better."
They continued on in silence, unable to say anything, each locked within their own thoughts, twisting and churning. More and more bodies, more signs of war, began to show up. Here there were more wrecked vehicles; there a trench line, and there blackened craters left for an artillery bombardment. The number of Ork corpses steadily increased as they moved towards the front.
"What are you going to do with the Ork bodies?" asked Cain, frowning. "With an incursion of this scale… With this many bodies…" The Commissar gave another frown. "We need to make sure this doesn't happen again."
"Burn them, most likely," replied RO-9974124. "Though I'm not privy to that information, sir, and I'm not an expert on xenobiology." His voice was the unconcerned tone of someone who knew people with more information and experience would take care of the problem. If not… well, everyone listening had a feeling RO wouldn't mind either way.
Indeed, even as RO spoke, they passed an utterly behemoth, stadium-sized mass grave filled with burning Ork bodies. A few Death Korps troopers tossed in more as those with flamethrowers stood around, waiting for further instructions. Those in the APC's back crouched lower, trying to avoid the smoke.
"Why do you burn them?" asked Vir, still curious.
"Orks reproduce through spores," replied Cain. "Like the fungus they are. That's why there are so many of them." They fell silent after that, taking in what the Commissar had said.
"So… um, is this the battlefield?" asked Cooper, looking around. RO made some sort of slight noise, muffled through his gasmask, and it took a moment for everyone to realize it was a laugh.
"No, sir," he replied. "At least, not the main battlefield. This was the high-water mark for the Ork advance. We subsequently arrived and threw them back into the wastes between our landing zones and the planet's capital city. The last groups of remaining Orks have retreated there, and the Korps and Angels of Fire are taking them down with the help of some specialized gas developed by the Mechanicus."
Those in the back frowned as they looked at each other. RO's answer was quite ominous. What exactly would they see if stadium-sized mass graves were merely the high water mark?
Before them, the ground seemed to dip into a vast, horizon-spanning empty field before the small plateau they drove on. The Salamander grinded to a halt on the ridgeline. Those in the back disembarked… and stopped.
In front of them was an expanse of mud. There were no trees, no buildings, no temporary shelters. Nothing. Not even a single blade of grass.
The only things visible on the battlefield, stretching to the very horizon, as far as the eye could see, was a never-ending wasteland of corpses.
They choked everything, laying in droves, covering the mud in such numbers one could not see the earth beneath. They were of all sorts: Angels, Orks, Kriegers, Voystroyans, Cadians, Scions, and far below, invisible to those watching, the crushed and mangled bodies of the civilians that had once lived here.
Far in the distance, barely visible silhouetted by flashes of artillery and surrounded by choking clouds of poisonous gasses, was where the Death Korps and Angels of Fire made their final, terrible assault on the last pockets of Ork resistance. Even from here, the nine could hear the thunderous crackle of guns.
If one looked carefully, they could tell what had happened. The ebbs and flows of the battle were written out in the horrifying lettering of bodies. There, the Orks landed. They were pushed back by the Imperial Guard, a mix of Cadians and Voystroyans, creating a carpet line of Ork corpses. Here the Orks counterattacked. A line of mangled dead. There the Imperials fought back desperately, there they retreated.
More reinforcements. The battle escalated. There the Angels of Fire deployed. There, surrounding the broken remnants of a command post, a group of them made their last stand. Here the Death Korps charged; there an armored division made a full frontal attack.
There were layers of dead. Corpses rose so high one couldn't make their way anywhere without walking over them. They were to such a length that in some areas they were piled higher than a human was tall. The watchers noted in horror that a nearby Death Korps tank with a plow attached to the front was literally bulldozing its way through bodies, clearing a path so lines of infantrymen and other vehicles could follow, making their way to the front. Columns of troopers were marching behind it like this was an everyday occurrence. Grimly, the nine reflected it probably was.
In front of them, in an area choked with Ork corpses, was a single living Angel. He wore white, with a strange series of lenses over the right eye of his massive helm and an odd pack on his back. At the present moment, he was busily perched on Ork bodies, fiddling with something on or in the torsos of a group of his fallen brothers. The nine on the ridge looked at him, curious, before turning to Cain and RO-9974124.
"What's he doing?" asked Kirk, nodding toward the distant figure of the Marine. Both Cain and the Korpsman shrugged.
"They do that to dead Marines," replied Cain. "There's something they need to do or something they need to get from the fallen. What they do or why they do it, I'm not sure. The Marines keep it very secretive." The others frowned at each other, but there was nothing more to be said. Cain was telling the truth: the Space Marines enjoyed their secrecy.
Farther ahead, more towards the left, was the wreck of some massive walker. The war machine was painted yellow, its body armored and mammoth arms ending in huge weapons. It looked somewhat like BT, but this walker was much bigger, more stylized, ornate, and armored. Some sort of coat of arms, a winged hawk crossed with the Imperial aquila, was painted on its chest and shoulders. The area surrounding it was blasted and mangled with the annihilated remnants of crude walkers and APCs of welded sheet metal. A few Death Korps guards stood nearby, lasguns idly slung as they stood beside the walker.
The Orks did not seem to be engineering geniuses: their vehicles were all riveted and welded, made of scraps and parts with weird and overly-heavy weapons hanging off inordinate spots. Still, despite their lack of technological prowess, their numbers had been enough to take down the mighty Imperial walker. This was the story of the entire battle: the Orks were crude and improvising, lacked technological advantages but made up for it with numbers and sheer brutality.
"What's that?" asked Cooper softly, pointing towards the walker in reverent awe.
"Lady Viritram and Honored Fury of House Hawkshroud," replied RO-9974124. "We call these grand battle machines knight suits, and their pilots Knights. House Hawkshroud came to our aid, and if not for Lady Viritram, our flank likely would have fallen."
"There are different groups of Knights, called Houses," explained Cain further, knowing his information-hungry companions would not be satisfied with the trooper's words. "House Hawkshroud's motto is 'no request for aid shall be denied' and are regarded as perhaps the most honorable allies within the Imperium."
The eight nodded or simply stared into the wasteland in solemn horror. Images and words flashed through their minds.
Loyalist fought traitor in a five-hundred year war in the trenches…
We don't have names, only numbers…
"What is your duty?"
"To serve the Emperor's will!"
"And what is the Emperor's will?"
"That we fight and die!"
"What is death?"
"It is our duty!"
An Angel, taller than Sunny and the Chief, wearing armor that could probably save its wearer from direct hits from tanks. Why do you need soldiers like that? What could you be fighting?
An endless sea of bodies, tanks plowing their way through to allow the infantry to advance…
A solitary Angel medic, working on his dead brothers… Brothers that were eight-foot tall genetically engineered killing machines that put the Chief to shame… Super soldiers that died in droves, whose power and might still couldn't save them…
In the Emperor's service, the Death Korps will pay any price…
A walker much bigger, stronger, and more heavily armed than BT, still brought low by sheer numbers and brutal firepower…
No request for aid shall be denied…
Child soldiers…
Planet-sized munitions factories…
"What is your duty?"
"To serve the Emperor's will!"
"And what is the Emperor's will?"
"That we fight and die!"
"What is death?"
"It is our duty!"
Enough blood and death to put all of their wars combined to shame, and this was only one planet…
An orchestra of death. A macabre tapestry of war.
A civilization built upon war of such horrifying and lethal scale it was to boggle the imagination.
And though they might have hated it, though they might have despised every second of the Imperium's horrifying mantras, soldiers, hatred, and general existence, none of the eight extra-galactic commanders could say they did not now understand. They understood; understood only too well.
Cain turned towards them and spoke, snapping them out of their thoughts.
"Well, here we are. Is there anything… else you wanted to see?" There was a bite in the Commissar's voice, usually never present.
"No," said Shepard softly. "We're done here." No one disagreed.
"Very well," said RO-9974124, with a crisp, military nod. He walked back to the Salamander, Cain following. A few of the others immediately followed, eager to leave the battlefield behind. Some lingered, utterly mesmerized by the sheer horror and carnage on display below them. However, with a call, they snapped out of the sight and followed, casting anguished glances behind them at the millions of corpses laying in the mud.
The ride back to the Guard command center was made in complete, utter silence. Everyone was still churning through the scene of the battlefield, locked inside their own minds. Old memories of blood and death came up, haunting and evil.
"You exist because we allow it, and you will end because we demand it." Visions of the death of the galaxy. Horrors beyond comprehension. Species, life, wiped out… because it could be. Nothing more, nothing less.
Pain. Mud. Blood. No medical help, no care. No one. Just pain and mud and a suit they said would win the war… But they lied. Only lost limbs and broken memories remained.
Death and mud and nothing making sense. Trapped and alone, always watched for signs of disloyalty. "It's their planet. We're the invaders!"
"You will be trained… and you will become the best we can make of you. You will be the protectors of Earth and all her colonies. This will be hard to understand, but you cannot return to your parents." Children dying in training. Girls and boys going into surgery… and never coming out. But… but… she would never do that if it wasn't for the best… right? Blood and death, looking down horrified at the red running down his gauntlets. Yes, they attacked him, but he killed them, killed them with his bare hands because he didn't know his own strength…
Lastimosa, his friend, his mentor dead, murdered from behind right in front of him. Dead mechs, littering the landscape, just like his own best friend… Blood and terror and loneliness… "Protocol Three: Protect the Pilot." Falling, falling…
Utter agony, body burning, flames devouring everything and everyone… "I will not die!" Only him remaining, remaining to a life of unending death, leaving all semblance of morality behind…
His mother dying before him… Learning his father killed her… All the death wrought at his father's hands, the zealot's hands, the Titan's hands… Thousands of skulls and bodies, whether right in front of him or far below, like insignificant ants, but they were all people. His real father sacrificing his life for him… His love killed… and he killed her father and doomed everything. Loss and pain and all his fault.
But all of it… All of it paled in comparison. Their guilt wove and twisted: yes, what they had was bad, but not as bad as that. Logically, they knew it was different. But logic played no part here, and through it all, the Imperium's zealous hate and that horrible, horrible mantra remained.
"What is your duty?"
"To serve the Emperor's will!"
"And what is the Emperor's will?"
"That we fight and die!"
"What is death?"
"It is our duty!"
How could things possibly get to this point? How could an entire galaxy end up like this, and if the Imperials were telling the truth (which they were, they always were), remain like this for ten thousand years?
The low rumble of the Salamander's treads, the endless expanse of mud, and the terrible, dark, twisting memories were the only things around them. Cain was silent; no one else knew what he was thinking, his expression as inscrutable as ever behind his black Commissar's cap. RO remained his masked Death Korps self.
Without warning, without sound, RO-9974124 was suddenly clutching at his throat, watching helplessly as blood poured down his front. With a horrible choking noise the Korpsman died, slumping forward into his seat. The weight of his body shifted the steering wheel, and those in the back shifted, wide-eyed, as the Salamander swerved from the makeshift road and into a muddy ditch on its side.
Weapons were already raised, rifles and pistols and a chainsword, bodies trying to pile out of the back of the scout vehicle, but it did little good. The ambushers were already among them.
Whoever they were, they were humanoids. They had two arms and two legs, one head and torso, but they were much taller and slimmer and far more graceful than any other race anyone in the Salamander's back had ever seen. Lithe and quick, whoever these newcomers were appeared from nowhere and swiftly began their attack on the nine survivors. All were dressed in ornate, form-fitting but powerful armor of blue and yellow.
They were already within touching distance of the Salamander. Solo, the first one to get out, was unceremoniously clocked in the back of the head with a gun butt wielded by a figure with a shimmering cloak. He fell to the ground, unconscious. The others fared little better. Each was hit or seized as they tried to exit, each knocked unconscious.
The Chief fared the best. With his armor and genetically-enhanced strength and reflexes, he was able to bring his rifle across, letting out a burst of fire at the closest attacker. Said attacker merely ducked away with a speed to boggle the imagination. The Chief turned once more, and the last thing he saw was another figure, dressed in deep blue rune-covered robes, a golden, high sweeping helmet on its head. The figure merely waved its hand, and then John-117's vision went black.
oOo
Commander Jane Shepard opened her eyes slowly. Her head hurt like hell, and she didn't quite know why. Memories were fuzzy, intangible things, and at the moment, everything except a sense of fuzziness and her body swaying was all that was inside her head.
After a moment, she realized she was indeed swaying. Her eyes shot open.
A floor of some sort of cream-colored material bobbed and weaved below her. It was patterned and flowing, seemingly organic, but the strange, bone-and-plastic-like material couldn't have been organic… right? Shepard shook her head again, still dazed, and looked up.
She was being carried by… some sort of aliens. They were bipedal, humanoid in appearance, but their limbs were more lithe, their heads taller, and their armor far more smooth and elaborate than anything she'd seen before.
Looking around, she did a double-take. Wherever she was, it was incredibly alien.
The strange beings were carrying her and the other commanders through some sort of long, high, elaborate arched hallway. Everything around them was made of some beautiful white material that twisted and swooped in elaborate patterns and breathtaking architectural designs. The hall was light and airy and wondrous in a way Shepard had never seen before. Her still-bleary mind took this all in with delight as she was carried further through the hall.
Eventually, the group of aliens came to an utterly massive grand door with numerous symbols engraved in the material. It opened without a sound, and Shepard found herself in the most breathtaking, most terrifying, most alien, and altogether most strange place she'd ever been in.
It was an utterly massive chamber, the floor and walls pure white and carved with bizarre symbols. The air in here seemed different somehow, as if it were alive, dancing and swirling with strange power.
Shepard was astounded. She was sure Vir and Kirk would be over the moon by this place and these aliens. That was what they lived for, after all: they were explorers of new people and cultures. The room itself was so magnificent that Shepard couldn't help but gaze around in awe.
This lasted until she and her comrades were dumped unceremoniously on the floor.
"Where are-" began Cooper, standing and looking at their surroundings blearily, before being interrupted as one of the alien guards slapped him in the face with the back of their hand, knocking him back to the ground with a grunt of pain.
"You will speak when spoken to, Mon-keigh filth." The alien's voice was clear and melodic, dancing and beautiful. It sounded like a male behind that armor, though Shepard wasn't entirely sure. Regardless, it was perhaps the singular most magnificent voice Shepard had ever heard. Yes, she liked Garrus's better, but this one had anything else she'd ever known beat for sheer beauty. If this guy ever wanted to become a singer, he would instantly smash every other artist in the universe.
She was so off-footed by the melodic voice and his hateful comment (plus the head injury) that it took her by great surprise when another beautiful alien voice, this time from in front of her, broke the silence.
"I shall keep this simple, both because your crude language cannot express higher sentiments and so your primitive brains might understand." This one was obviously female. Shepard looked up.
In front of them were seven of the aliens, all bedecked in beautiful deep blue robes instead of the armor of the guards. They wore elaborate, high-sweeping conical golden or yellow helmets, every part of their being covered with intricate runes and glyphs. Much like the guards, every inch of their body was covered. A few of them toted spears; most stood with their arms crossed, glaring down unimpressed at the nine humans forced to kneel before them. Whoever these aliens were, they were obviously leaders of some sort.
So strange were these beings and their surroundings that it took Shepard a moment for the woman's words to fully comprehend. The Commander bristled, and made a move to speak before remembering what happened to Cooper. Instead, she looked up at the guards before falling into a silent glower.
"There are a series of objects of great importance to us being held in the governor's palace of one of your Mon-keign worlds," continued the woman, now pacing slightly before them. "They are called soul stones, and are vital to our survival." She glanced down at Cain, who looked back with a blank poker face beneath his Commissar's cap. "This governor has fallen prey to the deprivations of the Great Enemy, and will use these Stones for ruinous purposes. We have heard that you have completed a very similar mission, and thus chosen you for this task. We cannot breach the defenses of the planet, and so it falls to you to do so."
"Wait just a minute-!" Kirk couldn't help an outburst at the sudden flood of information, but it seemed he wasn't the only one.
"We cannot send Mon-keigh to do this work!" spoke up another one of the robed aliens, shouting at the woman before him.
"The skeins of Fate do not lie!" butted in another. "Mon-keigh they may be, only they can complete this task! Every other option leads to ruination! Fate does not lie!"
"But your interpretation might not be so good…" muttered another. The group of aliens quickly exploded into a brief, intense argument in the singular most beautiful language Shepard ever had the pleasure of laying ears on. It did not translate, but she didn't care. Even though they were arguing, even though it was simply spoken language, it was far greater than any instrument, any song, any other noise she'd ever heard. Some said Asari had the most pleasant-sounding language in the galaxy; Shepard knew most Asari would be green with envy if they could hear this.
With a short, shouted command by the woman in front, apparently the leader, the group fell silent. She glared at them in turn, then turned her incendiary gaze back on the nine humans.
"Regardless, you seem to be the best option at the moment, and so you will try," she stated with a satisfied nod.
"Wait, hold on!" spoke up Vir. One of the guards reached back to punch him, but the woman held up her hand, and the guard stepped back.
"Speak, Mon-keigh," commanded the alien leader. Vir frowned, but struggled to his feet without issue and spoke.
"Who… who are you? Where are we? How'd you get us here, and what are the details of what you want from us? We need some answers if we're going to be able to help you." The woman tilted her helmeted head, considering. A few of the other robed individuals hissed or muttered in that beautiful, melodic language of theirs.
"A fair point, I suppose, Mon-keigh," conceded the woman after a moment's consideration. She gestured to the elaborate room around them. "This is Craftworld Alaitoc, and we are the Seer Council of Alaitoc. I am the head Farseer of this Council, and I shall not grace you Mon-keigh with my name," she explained matter-of-factly. Shepard hazarded a glance at her compatriots. Most of them were thinking the same thing: that caused more questions than it answered.
"If- if I may ask, er…" Kirk frowned, trying to phrase the question right so no one would get killed or injured for it. "What, er, species are you, and where or what is Craftworld Alaitoc?"
"We are the Aeldari," announced the leader grandly, her tongue dancing around the foreign word in a tone almost like a song. "We are the greatest species in the universe, and the rightful rulers of the galaxy. Unfortunately, due to some… complications some of the more decadent of our ancient ancestors performed, our race is now exiled to mighty craftworlds, planet-sized ships that hold the power of our race. Due to this fact, we cannot exactly show up on a Mon-keigh planet, hence our need for you," she finished, explaining things once more like she was talking to a particularly obtuse child.
"Uhh… so, how then are we going to get there?" asked Solo, sounding like he was slightly apprehensive of being hit for asking a rather important question.
"We shall transport you in one of our smaller ships, which will land you outside the city, which you will infiltrate due to your being Mon-keigh, where you will get the Stones and bring them back to us," replied the leader slowly, enunciating every word. "What is so hard for you ignorant Mon-keigh to understand about that? Am I not speaking your barbaric language correctly, or does it simply not have enough nuance to describe such a simple plan?"
Shepard kept quiet through the insults. There were plenty of xenophobes from her own galaxy. Words couldn't hurt; she'd dealt with far worse. Though these aliens were quite interesting, in a sort of beautiful, horrifying way usually reserved for particularly dangerous wild animals.
Of course, the Aeldari were fully sentient, supremely arrogant, and lethal enough to kidnap nine of the most skilled and powerful individuals in the galaxy off a war-torn planet in front of an entire Imperial army.
"And who are you then?" asked Kirk.
"My name is of no importance to you, Mon-kiegh filth, and it would only be tarnished if your disgusting tongues spoke it. I am the head Farseer of the Council of Farseers of Craftworld Alaitoc. That is what you may call me," finished the Farseer primly. "Soon you shall depart for the mission we've brought you here for, and-" Shepard had a sudden, important question.
"Why'd you kill RO?" she asked. Seeing their uncomprehending looks, she elaborated. "The trooper that was driving us. Why'd you kill him, and not bring him along?"
"He was nothing," said the Farseer slowly, as if Shepard had just asked if planets were round. "A number. A nothing, to us and to your Mon-keigh Imperium." Something inside Shepard wilted, and she could see the same reaction in a few of her compatriots. The Eldar had gone out of their way to sneak onto a planet where a full-scale war between the Imperium and Orks was raging, gone out of their way to knock them out and bring them here… And simply murdered their driver out of convenience.
Yes, Shepard had seen it before, and would likely see it again, but what rubbed her the wrong way was that the Farseer was right. RO was a number, to himself, to the Imperium, and to Alaitoc. But he wasn't. He was a man, a good soldier, with human traits that were beginning to shine through to the nine beneath that heavy coat and gas mask. He was a man, but in this galaxy, all he amounted to was a number, and another file on a casualty list.
This place…
"What are the details of the mission?" rumbled the Chief, startling even the seers as he spoke for the first time. The head Farseer glanced at him.
"On the planet Uyriun, part of your filthy Mon-keigh Imperium, the governor had begun a fall into the clutches of the greatest enemy of the Eldar and the galaxy. We sent a party of soldiers from the Craftworld to stop him, but he managed to kill them and take their soul stones. These stones are extremely precious to us, and must be recovered at any cost. The governor is planning to use them in a ritual that would break reality upon Uyriun and damn the souls wearers of those stones. That is not a desirable outcome for any of us." The Chief nodded.
"And if you don't mind me asking, why exactly should we complete this mission of yours?" demanded Vir. "You kidnapped us. That doesn't exactly make us want to work for you." A few of the others nodded along.
"We know where your vessels are located." The response was immediate and ominous. Shepard felt a cold prick of fear roll down her spine. "If you do not do as we say, and if you retaliate against Alaitoc with more of your Mon-keigh friends, we will kill every single one of your crew." Shepard clenched her jaw. Drake, Cain, and the Chief remained unreadable. Fury flashed in the eyes of the others.
"Hold on," said Vir lowly, his remaining good eye glinting dangerously. He took a threatening step forward. "You-"
Faster than thought, he flew through the air across the room and slammed into the wall. Shepard turned, startled. What was that? No one had moved or lifted a finger.
Vir remained pressed against the wall, suspended by some invisible force, hanging a foot off the ground. As he mutely grunted, trying to peel himself off, one of the seers stepped forward, making his way towards Vir, robes swishing about his form, hands held serenely behind his back. The other Eldar watched him silently; the humans looked on with fearful anticipation for their friend.
Eventually, he got to Vir and simply stared at him, tilting his head. Vir ceased his struggling and looked back, confused but defiant.
"I have tolerated your impertinence for far too long, Mon-keigh. It is only because my fellow Seers believe you useful that I do not kill you now." His voice was perfectly, utterly calm, as if he were mildly talking about the weather instead of offering death threats. It was a testament to how skilled he was… or how far beneath him he thought they were.
So saying, the seer waved his hand and Vir dropped to the ground like a brick. Shepard and the others watched in shock. What… Were they biotics of some sort, or was this…?
"No further questions," commanded the Farseer leader, her voice whipping through the room. "You will retrieve the Soul Stones from Uyriun. We will be in contact with you to retrieve them."
"Very well," replied Cain for the group, frowning up at the Farseer. She tilted her head at the Imperial Commissar, expression beneath her helm unreadable.
"Ah, but before you go, we must check you for the taint of Chaos," noted the woman with a sneer. She nodded at her fellows.
Without warning, the human commanders shot through the air, twisting in front of the Farseers. Shepard tried not to whimper as the lead Farseer advanced on her, a long-fingered armored hand gliding towards her forehead with flawless grace.
Worry not, Mon-keigh, said the Farseer's voice in her mind. Shepard stiffened. Wha- How, what was this? Your pitiful excuse for a mind is simple enough that I can be done with this quickly.
And the Farseer delved into Shepard's mind.
The Commander couldn't help but scream.
Her entire being seemed barred for this alien, and the Farseer took no time in checking her very soul for any signs of taint. The sensation was so wrong, so utterly alien that even the legendary commander couldn't help but whimper and cry. This was like the beacon on Eden Prime, except instead of seeing other people's memories, hers were being ruthlessly examined and dissected by this Farseer.
Finally, blessedly, after what felt like an eternity of invasiveness and pain, the probing stopped.
"Savior of the galaxy?" sneered the Farseer in her mind. "You are nothing, nothing but vermin, as all Mon-keigh are." Shepard tried to blink away tears, but they fell anyway.
"And so we are done." Shepard realized the Farseer was now speaking audibly instead of mentally. Blinking hard, looking around, she saw her friends sprawled on the ground in the same state she was in, the other Farseers standing over them. "We shall send you back to your ships, where you shall go to Uyriun and retrieve the stones for us. So it is, so it shall be." The Farseer nodded in satisfaction and, as one, the council turned and exited as the other Eldar guards grabbed the humans and dragged them out.
oOo
The shuttle ride to Uyriun was completely silent until Quill spoke.
"Those guys were assholes," he said decisively. Shepard nodded mutely, the invasive presence of the Farseer still haunting her mind. She could tell they were all unstable after their ordeal; some just hid it better than others.
"I think that went… better than it could have, all things considered," sighed Cain. The others stared at him. They didn't know for sure, because it was all mental and the Eldar did not exactly seem trustworthy… But still. He didn't know. How could he say that?
"What do you mean?" demanded Vir hotly. This entire day had been extremely taxing on the admiral's usually calm and peaceful demeanor. Shepard hoped he didn't snap. Hell, she hoped she didn't snap.
"We're not dead," replied Cain bluntly. He turned to look at Vir, and for the first time, Shepard could sense a massive, huge, heavy tiredness in his expression she'd never seen before. "Or worse. Some Eldar kidnap and torture people for fun. Honestly, I thought that was what happened to us. The stories about those Eldar…" The Commissar shuddered. Shepard looked at him fearfully. This was a man who remained unflappable after seeing an ocean's worth of bodies and being kidnapped by aliens. If he shuddered… "Those Eldar somehow keep you alive, forever, as they torture you in ways we can't even imagine."
What a pleasant thought. Shepard was going to have a fun new assortment of nightmares to go along with her Eden Prime and death-in-space dreams after today.
"Yeah, but they're still assholes," noted Quill. Cain snorted dryly.
"They are indeed. Though, to put things into perspective, and perhaps… enlighten you as you wanted," the words were vicious, "They're considered one of the two nicest races within the galaxy." The others stared at him, stunned.
"Wha- How?" demanded Solo. He was met with a humorless laugh.
"Because they don't kill you on sight, or try to eat you, or any manner of other horrible things," he replied. "If they kill you, they'll just kill you, and they do it for good reasons. Not just because they can. They're one of the only two races that the Imperium has actually talked to without ending in the deaths of one or the other." There was no reply. There couldn't be.
Of all the races within this galaxy, there were apparently a grand total of three, Imperium included, that, while assholish zealous with superiority complexes, would actually talk other than just outright kill.
No wonder this place was the way it was.
Shepard tried not to whimper. Instead, she leaned back, her head resting against the cold metal of the shuttle wall behind her. She wanted to close her eyes, but she didn't dare, because she knew the only things she would find there were child soldiers, sneering Farseers, and endless wastelands of corpses.
oOo
And there we have it! I know a lot of people were looking forward to that chapter, so I hope I delivered and I hope you all enjoyed. Some notes I should make:
1. There is really no exact methodology stated in canon on how society on Krieg works, so this is my take on it. I've tried to be not only accurate to what is stated in canon, but also tried to be accurate to how the people of Krieg would think, and therefore shape their planet to be. I hope you like it.
2. A lot of times, especially within the Warhammer fandom and fanfics, the Eldar are portrayed as more mysterious and aloof, more like 'we know the future, and those stupid humans don't, so we have to guide them while being constantly annoyed over their stupidity and zealotry'. What most people apparently fail to realize is that the Eldar are arrogant as hell and literally see humans as primitive apes, a stepping-stone on their divine right to rule the galaxy. Therefore, I have corrected this misconception, writing the Eldar as they should be. The Scoundrels are only alive because the farseer council sees them as a way to get their soul stones back, and the Eldar were not nice about it.
So, that was our glorious, brutal intro to the Grimdark. Next chapter we have the full power of the various higher powers of the galaxy, some interesting happenings... and a few of our favorite people showing up. As usual, I always appreciate any comments, questions, criticisms, concerns, and reviews!