Chapter Thirty-One: Valkyrie
"Watch me. I will go to my own Sun. And if I am burned by its fire, I will fly on scorched wings."
Athria's heart pounded in her chest as the Quarian shuttle tore through the blackness of space, speeding toward the looming silhouette of the Turian frigate. Her body was a coiled spring, every muscle tensed, every nerve on fire. They had managed to track the frigate down—thanks to a contact in the Alliance who had slipped word to the Initiative. The news was grim: the Turian ship was headed toward Elysium, and the rumor of Martin's death hung heavy in her chest. She hoped, beyond reason, that the rumor was false, but deep down, she feared the worst. If Martin was truly gone, she would honor him in the only way she knew—by acting like the Barbarian himself and breaking some shit in his honor.
The Quarian shuttle was cramped, filled with the hum of engines and the quiet breathing of the two Quarian Marine squads that had volunteered for the mission. Their bodies, covered in sleek, functional combat suits, moved with the silent precision of seasoned soldiers. These weren't green recruits—they were the best. Athria knew they were motivated, perhaps for reasons beyond just this mission. They knew the risks. Failure here meant not just death but disownment from the Quarian people. They wouldn't be coming back heroes if things went south.
She glanced out of the small viewport, seeing the dark shape of the Titan, the ship Dez commanded, leading the charge toward the enemy. Two Quarian shuttles followed closely behind, trailing the larger ship like predators stalking their prey. The Titan was powerful but small by comparison. Dez would be outgunned in a straight fight, but they weren't here for a fair fight. They were here for a lightning strike, in and out. Get Martin, if he was alive, Get the Artifact. Destroy anyone who stood in the way. Escape.
Athria's comm crackled to life, Dez's voice breaking through the static, sharp and laced with tension. "Athria, are you ready?" she asked, though the tone in her voice suggested she already knew the answer.
Athria's hands clenched into fists, her fury bubbling to the surface. "I'm ready. Let's do this."
Dez's voice carried a sharp edge, laced with a fierce determination of her own. "The Turian vessel is in orbit over Elysium. We're beginning the attack run. Standby."
The shuttles were close now, the Titan speeding ahead to create a gap between them and the Turians. Athria could feel the rumble of the shuttle's engines beneath her, the vibrations shaking her as they prepared to strike. The shuttles rocked violently from the wake generated by the Titan's powerful thrusters, but Athria didn't flinch. She was in the zone now, her focus narrowed, her anger fueling her every breath.
Inside the cramped cabin, the Quarian marines waited in silence, their expressions hidden behind their visors, but their body language told her everything she needed to know. They were ready for blood. So was she.
Through her helmet's comms, Athria overheard the Turian vessel hailing the Titan. The voice on the other end was calm, authoritative. "Unknown vessel, you are entering an unadvisable trajectory. Change course immediately."
Athria smirked to herself. They'd spotted the Titan. Good. That was the plan.
Minutes ticked by as the Titan continued to move in, ignoring the Turian frigate's warnings. Athria could almost feel the tension building as the Turians repeated their demand, this time with a clear threat. "Unknown vessel, alter your course or be fired upon."
Still no response from Dez. Every second feeling like an eternity. Then, the Titan surged forward, pushing its engines to maximum thrust, creating a wide gap between the larger ship and the two smaller shuttles trailing behind. Athria's hands tightened around the grip of her pistol as she felt the anticipation rise.
Then Dez's voice came over the comm, a cry of defiance. "Die, you scraggily fucks!" she screamed, her voice raw with emotion.
The Titan unleashed its full arsenal. Kinetic accelerators hummed to life, and two Javelin torpedoes streaked through the void, heading straight for the Turian ship. The Turians responded in kind, their guardian lasers cutting through space, aiming at the oncoming missiles. The first Javelin was destroyed mid-flight, but the second made it through, impacting one of the frigate's engines. The explosion rocked the Turian vessel, knocking it off course and sending a wave of debris flying into space. As the Titan passed over the frigate, a Guardian beam struck the Titan; its shield faired but seemed steady.
Athria felt a moment of satisfaction as she watched the Titan's attack hit home. The frigate's shields flared and buckled, but the damage was done. One of the engines was disabled, and the Turian ship was now limping through space, unable to pursue the Titan. Dez's maneuver had worked.
The two Quarian shuttles surged forward, capitalizing on the momentary chaos. Athria glanced out the viewport again, watching as they closed the distance. The frigate loomed large above them now, the sleek, angular lines of its hull cutting through the darkness. The planet Elysium hung below, a distant reminder of everything that was at stake.
"Brace for impact," Athria called out over the comm, her voice steady despite the adrenaline pumping through her veins.
The shuttle jolted as it connected with the frigate's hull. Magnetic clamps engaged, locking them into place. Athria stood up, her heart racing as she donned her helmet. The familiar weight of it settled over her Head, sealing her off from the outside world. She checked her weapons one last time—a pistol, her favored biotic amp, and Martin's Pistol. She was ready.
Behind her, the Quarian marines did the same, their movements precise and practiced. This was what they did best. Boarding actions. Ship clearings. They were the best for a reason.
The shuttle hissed as it began to decompress. Athria could feel the shift in pressure as the door to the shuttle opened with a mechanical groan. Cold space greeted her, but she ignored it, stepping out onto the surface of the Turian frigate. Her boots clanged against the metal, and for a moment, she was weightless, floating in the void. But gravity soon reasserted itself as she moved toward one of the maintenance hatches atop the ship.
The view was breathtaking. Below her, the planet Elysium stretched out like a vast, blue marble, its oceans, and landmasses gleaming in the distant sunlight. But there was no time to appreciate it. Her mind was focused, her body tense with anticipation.
She reached the maintenance hatch and signaled for the Quarians to follow. They moved with practiced efficiency, attaching charges to the hatch and stepping back as it blew open with a muffled thud. The metal hatch flew off, revealing a narrow passage leading into the ship's interior.
Athria took a deep breath, her biotics crackling around her. "Let's go," she ordered, stepping into the breach.
The end had begun.
''''''''''''''''''''''''''
The Colonel was sitting in his quarters, resting his talons on the arms of his chair. The cool, calculated demeanor he typically wore remained etched on his face despite the recent activities in the torture room. His body hummed with satisfaction—though he hadn't yet broken Martin Winters, the thrill of toying with a human who had caused him such trouble was something of a personal victory. The methodical way Martin had resisted, the way his eyes had glinted with defiance—it only made the Colonel more eager to see him crumble.
The satisfaction was interrupted by a chime from his desk. The voice of the ship's first officer buzzed through the intercom. "Colonel Dexicolus, we have something on the sensors. An unidentified vessel is approaching."
The Colonel blinked, irritated by the disturbance. "I'll be right there," he responded. He stood from his chair and straightened his uniform, checking for any signs of human blood on his clothing. Satisfied that none remained, he left his quarters and made his way toward the bridge. The gleaming metal hallways of the Turian frigate were as cold as his current mood.
He entered the bridge, where the crew was buzzing with tension. His second-in-command, Lieutenant Varinus, approached him, saluting smartly. "Colonel, we've detected a ship approaching. It's too small to be a direct threat to us, but it's not responding to our hails."
Dexicolus scowled. "Unidentified, you say? Why haven't we picked them up sooner?"
"We believe they may be cloaked in a civilian registry. Their transponder signal is scrambled," Varinus replied, his eyes locked on the data streaming across his console.
The Colonel turned his sharp gaze toward the forward viewscreen. "Show me."
The image on the screen magnified, showing a distant ship cutting through space. It wasn't large—certainly not a human military ship he had ever seen, and he's seen plenty of them—but it moved with intent. Galtus' eyes narrowed. Something about this felt off.
"Prepare the crew," he said, his voice calm but firm. "I want to know who they are and what they want. And ensure the artifact remains secure."
As the crew rushed to carry out his orders, Galtus couldn't help but smirk. If these fools thought they could waltz in here and take what belonged to him—the artifact and any shred of dignity they had left—they were sorely mistaken. His chest filled with glee. This will work quite nicely.
'''''''''''''''''''''''
The soft hum of the Turian frigate had grown tense, a nervous energy pulsing through the ship as it slipped into yellow alert. Velpia could feel it in the air, in the hurried movements of the crew as they moved to their stations, and in the subtle shift of the ship's lighting to an amber hue. Her heart raced as she stood on the bridge, feeling like an outsider among the hardened Turian officers, but she knew she had a part to play.
The Colonel, standing at the center of the bridge, was as cold and collected as ever. His eyes flicked between the displays in front of him and the viewport, where the unknown vessel, the Titan, hung in space like a threat waiting to be realized.
"Unknown vessel," came the calm but authoritative voice of the Turian comms officer. "You are entering an unadvisable trajectory. Change course immediately."
Velpia watched the Colonel closely, her mind racing. The way he stood, arms folded behind his back, the slight arch of his neck—it was all control. He expected compliance, as he always did. But Velpia knew something he didn't. She knew Athria. She knew Dez. They weren't going to back down. She could feel the storm brewing, and she wasn't sure if she was ready to be caught in the middle of it.
The silence that followed the comms officer's transmission was suffocating. The Colonel's face remained a mask, but Velpia could see the twitch of his mandibles as the seconds dragged on without a response.
"Repeat," the comms officer said, his voice a little sharper now. "Unknown vessel, alter your course or be fired upon."
Velpia's heart pounded in her chest. She glanced at the Colonel, wondering if he knew what was coming. She knew Dez wouldn't play; it wasn't her style. She could almost picture the grin on Dez's face, her hand hovering over the weapons controls, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.
As if on cue, the ship's sensors began to flare with activity. Velpia's stomach twisted as the screen lit up with incoming signatures. "Contact," one of the bridge officers announced. "The unknown vessel is powering weapons." The Comms officer's face winced at a faintly audible scream over the comms.
The Colonel's mandibles flared slightly in irritation, his voice icy. "Prepare to return fire. They're trying something." Velpia took a step back, knowing full well that this was the beginning of something she hadn't truly prepared herself for. She wasn't a stranger to combat—far from it—but this was different. She was standing on a different side of this fight, caught between two forces that, at any moment, would tear each other apart.
The Titan roared on the screen, firing a barrage of shots toward the frigate. Explosions rocked the shields, and the ship shuddered violently under the impact. The Turian crew sprang into action, commands being shouted across the bridge as they retaliated, the frigate's guardian lasers lighting up the void with precision fire.
Velpia stumbled slightly as the ship lurched, gripping the back of a nearby chair to steady herself. The Colonel didn't flinch; his eyes locked on the viewport as the battle unfolded. His calm demeanor, despite the chaos, was unnerving. It was as if he thrived on this.
"Return fire," he ordered, his voice cutting through the noise like a blade. "Target their engines. I want them crippled, not destroyed."
Velpia's mind raced. She knew Athria wouldn't be alone; she wouldn't have been that stupid to come here without support. The thought of this bitch having the quads to show her face, here and now. She couldn't afford the weakness.
Another volley of fire from the Titan slammed into the frigate, the shields flickering under the strain. Velpia's breath caught in her throat as she watched the display, the frigate taking more damage than expected. This wasn't just some half-hearted distraction. They were here for something—or someone.
The Colonel turned to her, his eyes cold and calculating. "They'll be boarding soon. You'll be ready, won't you?" Velpia's heart skipped a beat. She nodded, her voice steady despite the turmoil inside her. "Yes, Colonel."
The Colonel's gaze lingered on her for a moment longer as if assessing whether she was truly loyal or if her heart still lay with the people on that ship. His expression didn't change, but Velpia felt the weight of his scrutiny. The comms officer's voice cut through the tension. "Shuttles inbound, Colonel. They're going to try and board."
The Colonel gave a sharp nod, his eyes narrowing. "Let them come. We'll deal with them properly." Velpia's hands curled into fists. She knew this moment would come, but now that it was here, standing on the bridge of a Turian ship, about to face the people she had fought beside—it was too much. She felt like a traitor. She felt like she had chosen the wrong side. But there was no going back now.
The Colonel turned to her once more, his voice low and dangerous. "Remember your place, Velpia. If it comes down to it, you'll do what needs to be done."
She swallowed the lump in her throat and nodded. "Of course."
But in the pit of her stomach, doubt gnawed at her.
'''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''
Athria crouched low as the maintenance hatch opened. The Quarian marines flanked her on either side, their visors gleaming in the low light of the unpressurized section of the Turian frigate. They were moving quickly, efficiently, and with practiced precision, which reminded her why Quarians were so formidable in boarding actions.
Her breath fogged up inside her helmet, though she remained silent as they moved. The cramped corridors of the frigate felt claustrophobic. The moment they crossed into the pressurized section, her pulse quickened. This was it—the part where it all went wrong or all went right.
She motioned to the marines, and they nodded in response, breaking off into smaller squads, and heading down different corridors to secure the ship. She was alone now, standing in the middle of a corridor with the weight of what felt like the entire mission resting on her shoulders.
A shadow darted from the corner ahead she walked toward it. Athria smirked, the edges of her mouth curling up slightly under her helmet. Her biotics flared to life, crackling with an electric energy that tingled down her spine. The first Turian appeared, his rifle raised. Before he could get a shot off, she slammed him with a biotic push that sent him flying down the corridor. His body hit the wall with a dull thud, and he collapsed to the floor, motionless.
Then, chaos erupted.
More Turians poured into the corridor from side rooms and maintenance hatches. The air was thick with the smell of burning circuits as rounds whizzed by, pinging off the walls. Athria's body surged with adrenaline as she slowly walked forward. Her vision narrowed, and the world around her became nothing but a blur of targets as her eyes glowed with an eerie blue light.
With a sharp intake of breath, she slammed the nearest soldier into the ceiling with a biotic throw, his body twisting unnaturally as he crumpled like a ragdoll. The lights above them flickered, sparks raining down from shattered fixtures. The air crackled with the tension of her biotic power, filling the narrow corridor with an oppressive energy.
The space around her felt like it was shrinking, but it didn't matter. Athria wasn't fighting with restraint anymore. In these tight confines, her biotics were a weapon of devastation. She felt like a wrecking ball, smashing through whatever was in her path.
Two more soldiers rounded the corner, their rifles raised in panic. Athria didn't give them a chance to shoot. She raised her hand, pulling them toward her with a powerful biotic pull before slamming them against the wall. The sound of bones breaking was muffled by the crackling energy that enveloped her, but she didn't flinch.
The floor beneath her boots vibrated as more soldiers scrambled to take positions. Athria didn't care. Her face was a mask of cold fury, her movements precise and deliberate. She was in control of the chaos, and her enemies were nothing more than obstacles in her way. She understood the Barbarian's ways, the power, the thrill.
Another Turian fired a burst of rounds toward her. She raised her hand, summoning a barrier that absorbed the bullets effortlessly before she sent him flying with a biotic shockwave. He slammed into the far wall, his weapon clattering to the floor as his body lay still.
The lights flickered again, and the corridor was cast in a strobe of darkness and light. The shadows danced around her, and for a moment, Athria felt like something else entirely—something darker, colder, more dangerous. She moved like a force of nature, her biotics pulsing with a terrifying rhythm.
Her breath was heavy, but her steps were steady as she pressed forward, leaving a trail of devastation in her wake. The Turians had underestimated her. They thought they could stand in her way, but in these tight corridors, she was unstoppable.
Another squad of Turians entered the corridor, but the look of terror in their eyes told her everything she needed to know. They didn't want to be here. They didn't want to face her. But they had no choice.
Athria didn't give them time to react. With a grunt, she unleashed a biotic shockwave, sending a wave of energy surging through the corridor. The force was enough to knock them off their feet, their bodies slamming into the walls with a sickening crunch. Sparks flew from shattered light fixtures as the corridor plunged into semi-darkness, the only illumination coming from the faint glow of Athria's biotics.
Her face was hard, almost like stone—cold, unfeeling. She wasn't here to show mercy. This was about Martin. This was about the artifact. This was about making them pay.
She turned, ready for the next wave of attackers, but none came. The corridor was littered with broken bodies and shattered debris, the walls scarred from the fury of her assault. Athria exhaled slowly, letting the tension ease out of her body as she surveyed the aftermath.
The Quarian marines were moving through the ship, securing key points and eliminating any remaining resistance. They were efficient, silent, and deadly, their ship-clearing skills on full display. Athria couldn't help but feel a surge of admiration for their precision.
But her mind was already elsewhere.
Martin.
She had to find him.
Her chest tightened at the thought of what he might be going through. She had to get to him before it was too late.
With one last glance at the corridor of destruction she had left behind, Athria set off deeper into the ship, her biotics still humming with energy as she swiftly moved swiftly through the narrow corridors of the Turian frigate, her steps echoing faintly against the cold metal floor. The remaining Turians seemed to back off, giving her a wide berth as if they sensed the storm brewing beneath her cold exterior. Every step she took was calculated, each breath filled with the fury of a person who had lost too much already.
Past the secondary armor, the tension in the air thickened. The adrenaline coursed through her veins, amplifying her biotic energy, ready to lash out at the first sign of resistance. But none came. She pressed forward, her mind solely focused on finding Martin. She couldn't shake the thought that she might be too late. The rumors of his death weighed heavily on her heart, but she refused to accept it until she saw it for herself.
Rounding a corner, she came to a halt in front of a sealed room. The door was locked, but the window offered a glimpse into the darkness inside. Athria pressed her face against the cold glass, cupping her hands around her eyes to block out the faint flickering lights of the hallway. Her heart skipped a beat as her eyes adjusted to the dim light.
There, hanging from the ceiling, was a shape. An outline of something
"Goddess, no..." Athria whispered, panic rising in her chest.
She frantically started hitting the control panel, but it wouldn't budge. Locked. She slammed her fist against the control panel, desperation fueling her as she tried to override the lock, but it was useless. Her breath hitched as she took a step back, her biotics flaring uncontrollably. She couldn't afford to waste time.
With a scream that was equal parts rage and anguish, Athria charged her biotics, gathering the immense energy in her hands. The door groaned under the pressure before shattering as she slammed into it with the full force of her power. Metal fragments and sparks flew in every direction, but she didn't care. She rushed into the room, her chest heaving as she surveyed the scene.
Martin was suspended from the ceiling by one arm, his body covered in blood. Cuts and gashes crisscrossed his already scarred torso, fresh wounds layered over old ones. His arm was hanging at an odd angle, removed from the chains that held him up, leaving him to dangle with less support. His body hanging lifeless.
Athria's heart clenched, she removed her helmet; a surge of emotion crashing over her like a tidal wave. Her biotics flared uncontrollably as tears welled up in her eyes, but she pushed the sadness back, channeling her fury into action. She had to save him. "Martin..." she whispered, her voice barely audible, filled with pain.
She rushed to his side, kneeling beneath him, her hands trembling as she lifted his bloodied Head. Her heart pounded in her chest as she leaned in close, listening for any sign of breath.
He was breathing.
A small, fragile breath, but it was enough. He was alive. Relief washed over her like a cold breeze, but there was no time for hesitation. She had to get him down. Now. Her hands moved as she reached for her pistol. Grabbing Martin's limp body for support, she aimed at the chain, still holding him up. Her vision blurred with tears, but her aim remained steady. She fired once, the shot echoing through the small room.
The chain snapped, and Martin's weight collapsed onto her arms. His body dragged her down, but she managed to brace herself, preventing his Head from hitting the cold, unforgiving floor. She winced as his body slumped against her, her arms straining under his weight.
"Martin..." she whispered again, her voice trembling as she held him close. The echoing sounds of gunfire traveling though the halls. His eyes fluttered, barely opening. His lips moved, but the words were slurred, incomprehensible. He was trying to reach out to her, his hand brushing against her face weakly.
Athria fought back the tears threatening to spill over as she quickly applied medigel to his wounds. Her hands moved frantically, trying to stop the bleeding as she pulled out two stim shots from her belt. She didn't hesitate, jamming the applicators into his thigh with a sharp hiss of air.
"Stay with me, Martin," she muttered, her voice breaking as she worked. "Stay with me."
For a few moments, nothing happened. His breathing remained shallow, his body limp in her arms. Fear clawed at her insides, the thought of losing him twisting her heart in a way she hadn't expected. But then, slowly, he began to stir.
His chest rose a little higher with each breath, and his eyes flickered open just enough to catch her gaze. He was alive. Weak, barely conscious, but alive. "Val...kyrie..." he mumbled, his voice raspy, she didn't know what he said but it was the most beautiful sound she had ever heard.
She bit her lip to keep from crying, her heart swelling with relief and anger all at once. "I'm here," she whispered, stroking his blood-matted hair gently. "You're going to be okay," her mind still racing, torn between the relief that he was alive and the urgency of their situation. She wiped away the tears threatening to fall when her comms chirped, startling her from the emotional haze she was in.
"Athria," the Quarian voice crackled through, laced with urgency. "We're holding off the Turians, but we're facing stiff resistance in the CIC. We may need support soon."
Athria bit her lip, still cradling Martin in her arms. She steadied her breath, trying to hide the raw emotion in her voice. "Just keep them busy for now," she responded, her voice wavering before regaining its usual sharpness. "I've found Martin."
The Quarian on the other end hesitated before replying. "Understood. We'll hold as long as we can." As the comms went quiet, Martin began to stir more violently in her arms, his breathing becoming more labored as his body started to register the immense pain he was in. His eyes flickered open again, and he groaned, trying to move his limbs. He was fighting to stand.
Athria knelt beside him, her hands steady but her heart racing. "Easy," she whispered. "You're in no shape to be moving." Martin, ever the stubborn one, gritted his teeth and shook his Head, forcing his muscles to work despite the pain. "I can move," he said, his voice raw but determined. He attempted to sit up, every motion causing fresh waves of agony to wash over him, but he pushed through, his face contorted with effort. "I need my gear."
Athria watched him struggle, torn between wanting to help him and telling him to rest. "You're not going anywhere like this, Martin," she said, trying to keep him still. "Not right now.." But Martin's resolve was ironclad. He grunted as he pulled himself to his knees, his voice pained but insistent. "I'm not leaving this ship... not without making sure those bastards can't follow us again."
Athria frowned, her hands still on his shoulders. His stubbornness was nothing new, but it worried her to see him this determined while barely able to stand. She let out a frustrated breath. "You're too stubborn for your own good, Barbarian?"
Martin shot her a weak, half-smile, his eyes glinting with the fire of defiance. "It's why you love me." She rolled her eyes but couldn't help but grin slightly, exasperated. He was right, though. Blowing up the ship wasn't a bad idea—it would cripple the Turians and give them a chance to escape. Her own resolve hardened, and she nodded. "Alright, fine. But we're doing this my way. Let's see if we can find you you're gear."
She pulled him to his feet, carefully helping him walk toward the secondary armory. Martin's steps were sluggish, every inch forward clearly costing him more than he would admit. The pain in his eyes was obvious, but he grit his teeth and pushed on.
They reached the armory door, and Athria immediately set about finding his weapons and armor. She kept a vigilant watch at the door, her senses alert for any sign of approaching enemies, while Martin, still fighting through the haze of agony, leaned heavily on a nearby crate.
"Can you even get that on?" she asked, turning to look at him as he struggled with the armor. Every movement seemed to stretch the open wounds on his body, the fabric pulling at his still-healing skin. His face twisted in pain, but he nodded. "Have to," he muttered, his voice strained.
Athria shook her Head, silently marveling at his resilience. He was a wreck, bloodied and broken, yet here he was, still refusing to give up. She watched him as he slowly managed to strap on the armor piece by piece, wincing as the material rubbed against his open cuts and bruises. Despite the pain, Martin didn't stop. He grunted and swore under his breath, but he pushed through, his determination never faltering.
Once his armor was mostly in place, Athria stood guard at the door, her biotics ready to unleash hell on any Turian that dared come near. She glanced back at Martin every few moments, watching him piece himself back together, both literally and figuratively. He wasn't the same man he had been when they first met—he was something more now. Something unbreakable, even in his weakest moments. When Martin finally stood up, armor secured, there was a renewed strength in his posture. He wasn't fully healed, far from it, but he was standing again. His weapons were gathered, and he holstered them with practiced precision, though the pain was still etched into every movement.
Athria was about to speak when Martin's eyes caught something on the far wall—a set of lockers. His expression darkened with a mixture of purpose and anger. He walked over, his steps still heavy and uneven, and ripped open the lockers one by one. Breathing heavily, wincing at every movement.
Inside were explosives.
Martin's hands moved methodically as he grabbed the charges, stashing them in the pouches on his belt. He leaned on the lockers for support as he did so, his face a mask of rage mixed with pain. Athria watched silently, knowing better than to try and stop him. This was his fight as much as it was hers.
Finally, Martin looked up at her, his face still pale from the blood loss but filled with a grim determination. "Now they burn," he said between breaths. Athria nodded, stepping forward and placing a hand on his shoulder. "Let's at least make sure we get off this ship in one piece." She put her helmet back on.
Athria and Martin stepped out of the armory, the heavy door sliding shut behind them. Martin's strength was returning, but it was still a struggle. His suit's auto-med system kicked in, applying another round of Medi-gel to his wounds. The numbing effect helped dull the pain, allowing him to focus. He gave a grunt of appreciation, flexing his fingers as he adjusted his grip on his weapons.
"We have to keep moving," Martin said, his voice strained but growing stronger.
Athria nodded. They had no time to waste. With the CIC ahead and the Colonel's quarters further up, they needed to reach the lift. Every second counted. Athria's thoughts still swirled with worry for Martin, but she pushed it aside for now, focusing on the mission. Find the Colonel, recover the artifact, and get off this damned ship.
They moved down the corridor at a brisk pace, Martin's steps steadying as the stims continued to work through his system. His suit beeped occasionally, signaling the automatic Medi-gel injections as they worked to manage the trauma his body had endured. The pain wasn't gone, but it was tolerable now, enough for him to fight.
As they approached the CIC, the sounds of gunfire grew louder. The echo of combat echoed through the metal walls, the rapid burst of pulse rifles, and the occasional explosive thump of a grenade. Athria's biotic aura flared as she prepared for another fight.
They turned the corner and saw the Quarian marines locked in a firefight with the remaining Turian crew. The Quarians were holding the line but were outnumbered. Athria didn't hesitate. She glanced at Martin, who gave her a nod, his eyes focused despite his injuries. He stayed slightly behind, more cautious than usual, while Athria let her biotics surge with fury.
Athria raised her hand, her biotic energy coiling around her fingers before she unleashed it with a powerful slam. The ground beneath the Turians buckled as the gravitational force of her power sent several of them flying into the air, smashing against the walls of the narrow corridor. Sparks flew from shattered lighting fixtures, casting the battle in intermittent darkness.
"Push forward!" Athria yelled over the gunfire, her voice filled with the intensity of her power. The Quarians took the opportunity, breaking formation and advancing under the cover of Athria's biotic onslaught. They fired in coordinated bursts, their precision cutting through the remaining Turians brutally. Athria followed closely behind, creating shields with her biotics, deflecting incoming fire as her team moved closer.
Martin, though slower, fired methodically, each shot hitting its mark. Despite his injuries, his aim was deadly accurate. He stayed close to Athria, using her biotic shields to his advantage, conserving his energy as much as possible. The pain flared in his limbs, but the stim shots had given him enough clarity to focus on the task at hand.
The firefight raged on, but the Turians were clearly losing ground. Athria threw out another biotic wave, slamming into a group of soldiers attempting to regroup behind a barricade. Her rage was palpable, her attacks vicious as she cleared a path through the enemy. Her face, usually composed, now looked like that of a warrior possessed, her expression cold and driven by a singular goal: finish this fight and get Martin out.
The remaining Turians fell back to the far end of the corridor, retreating into a heavily fortified section of the ship. Athria's eyes darted to the control panel near the bulkhead doors, her mind already calculating their next move.
One of the Quarian marines hurried to the panel and began working furiously, his fingers flying over the holographic interface. "I'm activating the fire suppression system," he said, his voice tight with concentration. "It'll lock the doors and trap them inside."
A few tense seconds passed before the system engaged. The bulkhead doors slammed shut, sealing the Turians in. Athria exhaled sharply, feeling the tension in her muscles ease slightly. Water began to sprinkle from the ceiling as the fire suppression system activated, soaking everyone in the corridor.
"Nice work," Athria said, her voice steady but edged with exhaustion. The Quarian marine gave a short nod, wiping the water from his visor. "It won't hold them forever, but it buys us time. Athria turned to Martin, who was breathing heavily but still on his feet. "You good to keep going?" Martin gave her a tired but determined smile. "Yeah. Not dead yet."
With the Turians temporarily contained, they now had a clear path to the lift. They still needed to reach the Colonel's quarters and retrieve the artifact. Time was running out, and they couldn't afford any more delays. Athria gestured for the Quarians to stay on guard as she and Martin made their way toward the lift with Martin limping beside her, his strength fading but his resolve hard as steel. The two of them had been through hell to get this far, and there was no turning back now. The second Quarian marine team had linked up at the CIC as planned, securing the area with tight precision. As they passed by, Athria caught their attention.
"Keep this lift open for us," she ordered, her voice sharp and commanding.
The Quarian team gave her a firm salute, acknowledging her command as they took up defensive positions around the elevator doors. Athria couldn't afford for anything to go wrong now. The lift ride was quick but tense. The sound of the emergency alarms still echoed faintly throughout the ship, and though their immediate path was clear, both Athria and Martin remained on edge. They stood in silence, the weight of the mission pressing on them. Martin leaned heavily on the wall, his face pale and taut with pain, but he refused to show weakness.
Athria's gaze flicked over to him. "You sure you can keep this up?" she asked, concern slipping into her usually steady tone.
"I'm fine," Martin grunted, his voice strained but dismissive. "Just a scratch."
Athria didn't believe him, but there was no point arguing. They both knew there wasn't much time left. As soon as the lift doors opened, they moved cautiously into the Colonel's quarters, their weapons raised. The room was eerily quiet, and despite their heightened alertness, there was no sign of the Colonel. The room itself was modestly decorated—nothing elaborate, just a few military awards and framed images of Turian insignia on the walls.
Martin stumbled slightly as they entered, his leg giving way momentarily. He caught himself on the edge of a desk, and Athria was at his side in an instant. "Martin—"
"I'm fine!" he snapped, waving her off. "I just tripped." Athria frowned, but she stepped back, knowing better than to push him. His stubbornness was legendary, and while she admired it, she couldn't help but worry that it would get him killed.
Martin moved toward the far side of the room, his eyes scanning every corner until they landed on a familiar metal case. He froze for a moment, his heart skipping a beat as he stared at the artifact's container. He approached it cautiously, reaching out but hesitating before touching it.
Athria watched him carefully, noticing the tension in his posture. "Is it there?" Martin exhaled slowly, unsure of what he felt. The idea of opening the case and confirming the artifact's presence made his skin crawl. After everything that had happened, he didn't want to see it again. He didn't want to feel its presence pulling at his mind. "Yeah... It's here." He finally picked up the case, but his face twisted in discomfort as if the weight of the artifact went beyond its physical form.
"Let me carry it," Athria offered, stepping forward, her hand outstretched. Martin shook his Head, holding the case tightly. "You need both hands free for the fight. I can manage."
Athria narrowed her eyes, but she reluctantly agreed. "Fine. keep it safe." Martin nodded, the case clutched tightly in his hand, and they turned back toward the lift. Athria led the way, moving with the urgency of someone who knew the walls were closing in. By the time they reached the CIC, the Quarian marines were already preparing to depart.
"We're clear to go," one of the marines reported, standing at attention. "But the Turians won't stay down for long." Martin handed them a small satchel of explosives, his hand shaking only slightly. "Here, take these. Head to engineering and plant them near the drive core. We'll cripple this ship and make sure they don't follow us."
The marines took the explosives without hesitation, nodding in understanding. They moved out swiftly, heading toward the engineering deck to complete their mission. Athria stood beside Martin, her mind racing.
"Martin," she said, her voice low, "you can't leave with us."
He looked at her, confused. "What do you mean?"
"You don't have a helmet. The shuttles are outside." Martin's face hardened as the reality hit him. He didn't have the necessary equipment to leave the ship in the same way as the others. His mind scrambled for a solution, and then it hit him.
"The loading bay," Martin said, straightening up. "There should be some shuttles down there. I can fly one of those." Athria gave him a skeptical look. "You know how to fly?"
Through his pain, Martin managed a small grin. "I've been learning. Watching Dez. How hard can it be?" She couldn't argue with that. Athria's gaze softened for a moment before she sighed, realizing his plan was their best chance. "Alright. We'll get you to the loading bay. But I'm doing the flying."
Martin chuckled, though the sound was strained. "Alright."
Athria gave him a final nod before she turned her attention back to the mission. The clock was ticking, and the enemy was surely regrouping. She couldn't afford to lose focus now. Together, they moved toward the loading bay.
'''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''
Martin stood in the lift beside Athria, his body screaming in agony. Every nerve in his skin flared, his muscles trembling with the effort of keeping him upright. He clenched his fists, hiding the pain from Athria as best he could. His suit was drenched with sweat and blood, his skin scabbing and peeling beneath the fabric with every movement. His strength ebbed and flowed, leaving him disoriented and weak one moment and barely capable the next.
But the pain wasn't just physical. His mind throbbed, his thoughts fragmented, trying to make sense of everything. The artifact was at the center of it all, pulling at his consciousness. Every single thing—the death, the destruction, the madness—was tied to that damn device. Was it really worth all this? Was anything? He felt torn, as if something inside him was screaming to just let it go, to stop fighting. But another part of him, the part that refused to die no matter how much suffering it endured, kept pushing him forward.
The lift came to a stop, and the doors slid open. Martin gritted his teeth, forcing himself to stay focused. Ahead of them, a single shuttle sat in the docking bay. There were spaces for two shuttles, but one was already gone.
Athria took a step forward, opening the shuttle's door and helping Martin inside. He staggered, his legs nearly giving out beneath him as he collapsed into the shuttle's interior. "Athria, you—" he started but then stopped, knowing what needed to be done. Without warning, Martin shoved Athria back. She stumbled, her eyes wide with shock, as he slammed the shuttle door closed behind her. "What the hell are you doing?!" Athria yelled, pounding on the shuttle's door.
Martin's heart clenched, but his face remained stoic. He could feel her fists striking the door, her voice muffled through the thick metal. He hated what he was doing, but there wasn't any other way. The Colonel had already escaped, and Martin knew exactly what was coming next. He couldn't let Athria stay with him—not for this.
His entire body ached as he collapsed into the pilot's seat. His hands shook as he flicked the switches to power up the shuttle, every movement sending jolts of pain through his body. The shuttle hummed to life, its engines whirring as it lifted off the deck. Athria's pounding slowly faded as the shuttle drifted away from the Turian frigate.
Athria must have gone back to the Quarian shuttle. She would be safe, at least for now. But Martin was torn. He knew he'd just left her behind, and he hated himself for it. He had shoved her out, forced her away, knowing full well what was going to happen. It felt wrong, but it was the only way he could protect her. The Colonel was coming for him, and he had to face it alone. He needed to buy them all time.
As the shuttle sped away from the ship, Martin's mind finally gave in to the exhaustion. He rested back in his seat, trying to ignore the stabbing pain that throbbed with every breath. His body felt heavy as if it was sinking into the metal. He knew he couldn't relax completely, but for just a moment, he allowed himself to close his eyes and rest. His hands were still trembling, but the humming of the shuttle and the low vibrations of the engines eased him into a shallow respite.
The shuttle entered the planet's atmosphere, the hull vibrating from the pressure change. Warning lights flashed on the control panel, blaring alerts about the descent angle. Martin snapped back to attention, his hands scrambling for the controls. He adjusted the flight path, leveling the shuttle just in time to avoid catastrophe. The alarms cut off, and he breathed a sigh of relief, though the tension never left his shoulders.
The clouds parted, and below him, a massive mountain range came into view. Martin guided the shuttle toward a flat patch of land near the top of one of the peaks. The snow-covered terrain stretched for miles, and the air was frigid, biting through the thin cracks in the shuttle's hull.
He gently landed the shuttle on the snowy surface, the landing gear sinking into the icy ground. For a few moments, he sat there in the pilot's seat, his breath coming out in slow, heavy exhales. The wind howled outside, whipping snowflakes against the windows.
Martin glanced down at the case holding the artifact, the weight of it in his hand feeling unnatural. He stared at it for a long time, debating whether to open it, but he couldn't bring himself to look inside. The thought of the power it held, the damage it could cause, weighed heavily on him. He'd seen too much already. His hands shook as he set the case on the floor beside him, leaning his Head back against the cold metal wall.
A faint noise caught his attention, a shuffling sound just inside the shuttle. He tensed, glancing out into the back. His heart pounded as he strained to listen, but the noise faded as quickly as it had come. He shook it off, telling himself it was just the wind.
He stood slowly, every movement a battle against his battered body. With a groan of pain, he reached for the shuttle door and opened it. The cold air hit him like a wall, stealing the breath from his lungs. Snow swirled around him, stinging his face as he stepped out onto the frozen ground. The wind whipped through his hair, biting at his skin.
He looked down at the case once more, the weight of his decision settling on him. There was no turning back now. He was out here alone, and the Colonel was hunting him. The cold wind howled around him as he stood there, feeling both alive and near death, unsure of what awaited him next.