The Four
Urdnot Garim was peerless.
The pinnacle of krogan warrior culture. A weapon that had been forged over many centuries and countless battles. Turians, Salarians, all the races of the galaxy that challenged his prowess were inevitably crushed beneath the weight of his hammer.
But the greatest test of his strength was not upon the holy, blood soaked fields of Tuchanka, but here, on Earth. For hours he and the mightiest of his clan faced the endless hordes of monstrosities the reapers dared to throw at them. Many of his kinsmen ultimately fell to their onslaught, but Garim endured.
With hammer in hand, and wearing the strongest of krogan armor, Garim met the machine horde and one by one, he sent them screaming back to the void from whence they came. Husks, banshees, and even the imposing brutes couldn't hope to put even a single dent in his armor.
He felt invincible.
But now, he felt insulted.
After the battle and the celebration of defeating a worthy foe, he was summoned by his chieftain, Urdnot Wrex.
He had hoped, upon seeing his prowess on the battlefield, that Wrex would finally give him the recognition he deserved. To give him the title he believed he undoubtedly was due; The Chieftain's Right Hand.
Instead he was given a new mission. One that he felt was a waste of his more than considerable talents. But worst of all, it was an assignment that bored him.
Waste removal.
Or as Wrex called it, "Ordnance disposal duty."
Garim fumed for hours after being given his new assignment. Had Wrex not seen his accomplishments? Has the chieftain's age finally caught up with him? Or perhaps, Wrex's love for the lesser races has clouded and polluted his already strange way of thinking.
Dark thoughts festered in the prideful warrior's head as he patrolled the perimeter. He wondered if Wrex truly had the quads to stand up for the krogan. If the other races were to deny the krogan what they were rightfully owed, would he fight for them? Would he allow the krogan to become lapdogs to creatures that barely live more than a century? If he couldn't recognize Garim's strength, does he know what strength really is?
Perhaps a change in leadership would be needed soon…
"Quit crowdin me, you overgrown excuse for varren shit!"
Garim grumbled audibly and rolled his yellow eyes in frustration as his train of thought was abruptly derailed by the grating voices of his bickering companions.
His mission was frustratingly simple. Most of the tanks that were part of the battle of London never made it to their destination, which left dangerous amounts of live ordnance scattered throughout the city. The human leader worried that opportunistic scavengers would take advantage of the chaotic aftermath and try to smuggle out some of the unused missiles.
Garim didn't see what the big fuss was about. Sure, Thanix missiles were powerful enough to take out a small reaper, but a few large explosions every now and then would liven the place up. And if it took out a few turians or salarians in the process, even better.
But what bothered him most was the crew he was forced to babysit. The other krogan; Ravenor Turk, Urdnot Dom, and Weyrloc Renk, were all idiots as far as he was concerned.
Turk was large for a krogan. Not large enough to intimidate Garim, but his imposing size and gruff temperament was enough to give most others pause.
Dom was a runt. Garim was surprised the young krogan even survived the battle of London. Spent most of his time tinkering with machines or vehicles rather than fighting, which inevitably made him a shit shot.
Renk was a loose cannon. Had a love for all things explosive. Perfect for the job according to Wrex. However, Wrex made sure to warn Renk that if he blew up anything he wasn't supposed to, Wrex would personally shove a missile up his ass and launch him toward the nearest star. Garim hoped Renk wouldn't listen, just so he could watch.
"Will you idiots hurry up!" Garim shouted to Renk and Dom, both of whom were precariously perched atop the one remaining missile still clamped to the top of a broken down tank. "I've got a bottle of ryncol that I'd very much like to drink today!"
"Come up and do this yourself if you'd like," Renk shouted back, angrily waving his dirty wrench at Garim. "But if you want to get back to your ryncol in one ugly piece, then I suggest you shut up and let me work!"
Garim grumbled again and waved him off, returning to his patrol around the wrecked tank. He hardly saw the point standing guard. The scavengers here were pathetic cowards. A few humans would occasionally scurry up and take pot shots at them, but a few warning shots followed by a threatening roar from a krogan would almost never fail to send them packing.
He circled around the tank again, keeping his keen eyes peeled for any sign of movement, but just as every time before, he saw nothing.
After finishing yet another boring lap around the perimeter, he caught a glimpse of something out of the corner of his eye. Not any scavengers, but a large piece of bronze colored metal lying in the middle of the street several dozen meters away. He peered over his wide shoulder back to the crew. Dom and Renk were still struggling getting some of the bolts loose, and Turk was busy patrolling the other side of the street.
Garim gave into his curiosity. He broke from his patrol route and strode over to the metal object. The road was filled with rubble and debris, along with large multi-storied buildings flanking the street where he was walking. Perfect places for scavengers to hide, but he didn't care. At this point, anything shooting at him would be a blessing.
Upon finally reaching his target, he realized the object that had fascinated him was little more than a statue. A bald, portly looking old human man wearing a trench coat and holding a broken cane in one of his hands. Despite being thrown from its pedestal, which was now a pile white rubble, the statue was mostly intact.
Garim's lips curled in disgust as he studied the statue. Of all the things humans would venerate, why would they choose someone so… soft? The human had no markings of a warrior. No armor, no battle scars, and the cane in his hand didn't look like it could hurt even the smallest of insects.
Garim found what little respect he had for humans dropping even further. He had only ever met a few of them in his lifetime, and none of them had proven to be worthy of the title of warrior. They were brave for sure, he had to give them that, but compared to a krogan they were little more than hairless, overgrown pyjaks.
A fun idea crept into his mind. A way to break boredom's tight grip on his mind.
He reached behind his back and drew his enormous battle hammer from its holster. Carefully he stepped up beside the statue and leveled his weapon so that it lined up with the statue's round head. After a few test swings to eyeball trajectory, Garim reared the hammer up in the air, and in a quick circular motion, swung down and back up.
With a loud clang the metallic hammer connected with the statue's head, snapping it clean off and sending it sailing into the air like a missile. The head sped gracefully through a small window in a nearby building, shattering glass and smashing through the interior walls with a series of heavy crashes.
Lifting his hammer into the air and grinning with satisfaction, Garim let out a mirthful roar that echoed through the street. Part of him considered going through the building and retrieving the head. To take it back to Tuchanka as a trophy for helping the soft humans reclaim their soft planet, but a booming, gravelly voice from behind him quickly jolted him back from his momentary reprieve from the doldrums.
"What the hell are you doing!"
Garim spun around to see Ravenor Turk furiously stomping towards him.
"What?"he laughed, playfully feigning ignorance. "Just having a little fun!"
Turk aggressively stepped up to him and lifted his huge head to its full height above Garim. Garim attempted to mimic the intimidating gesture back at Turk, but he couldn't match his height. A fact that greatly bothered the proud warrior.
"Don't play dumb with me, whelp. We all saw what you did, Garim. Hell, the whole damn planet probably heard that racket!"
"Your point?" Garim growled, tightening his grip on his hammer ever so slightly.
"You know Wrex's orders," Turk rumbled. "Don't destroy nothin. Retrieve the ordnance and get back to base. That's it."
Garim continued to glare up at Turk before finally shrugging his large, armored shoulders in resignation. "Wrex told us to clear rubble if we had to, and well…"
He pointed down to the headless statue on the ground with his hammer. "I cleaned up a piece of it. Besides, I think it looks better this way."
Turk let out a low growl before shaking his massive head. "Just quit fuckin around and get back on patrol," he grumbled, turning his back to Garim and stomping away towards the tank.
Garim considered shouting out to Turk. To warn the large krogan to never speak to him that way again. But the further Turk got away from him, the less impactful that idea became. While he was sure he would win in any potential battle against his slightly oversized companion, he didn't want to have to deal with what Wrex might do if word got back to him of infighting.
Quietly groaning in frustration, Garim started making his way back to his patrol route, but as he lifted his hammer to the holster on his back, Garim felt something strange. A slight itch at the back of the large plate on his forehead. It was an odd feeling, but it was one he was intimately familiar with.
A subtle noise from behind him caused his nostrils to flare in alarm. With his hand still gripping his weapon, he quickly spun around and scanned the area. He waited anxiously in anticipation, nearly holding his breath as he put all his focus on his surroundings. But after several long, tense seconds, he saw nothing. No sound or movement to justify that uncomfortable sensation.
"What is it now?"
Out of the corner of his eye he could see Turk giving him an annoyed look and tapping his foot impatiently.
Garim ignored him. Something was off. He could feel it, but he wasn't quite sure what it was.
"Come on!" Turk barked again. "We've got work to do."
Garim glowered angrily while finally gholstering his hammer upon his broad back and heading back to his monotonous patrol. "Just tell those two to hurry the hell up. I've had enough of this stinking place..."
"Got it!" Renk yelled from on top of the tank. "Turk! Get your ass up here and help us move this! Baby pyjak over here can barely lift a gun, let alone a warhead."
"Shut up!" Dom spat back.
With an annoyed groan, Turk stashed his shotgun behind his large back and awkwardly climbed on top of the tank.
While the others struggled lifting the large warhead, Garim stayed on the ground. His eyes kept wandering back over to the area where he heard the noise. The itch had gone away, but he couldn't shake the idea that there was a real reason for it.
In one way it excited him. The thrill that danger could show itself at any moment helped keep the dreaded boredom away. However, for Garim, most battles would never trigger that uncomfortable itch. And that feeling gave him pause.
A loud chorus of grunts drew Garim's attention away from the building and back to the trio of krogan who were busy removing the warhead from its awkward mount on the missile.
With a hard twist, followed by the irritating whine of grinding metal, they lifted the warhead from the missile on top of the tank and brought it carefully down to the ground. Walking in unison, Dom, Renk, and Turk carried it over to their truck with the other warheads they collected that day, and not-so-gently dropped it in the bed with a harsh CLUNK.
The driver of the truck, an unlucky human technician assigned by the human leaders, immediately jumped out of the driver's seat in a panic. "Hey! Be careful with that!" He shouted fretfully at the three krogan. "A single warhead could take out a city block!"
"Quit shittin your pants, human!" Renk shot back while casually wiping the dust from his hands. "It's deactivated."
Renk demonstrated his claim by forcefully smacking the top of the warhead with the heavy end of his wrench, making a sudden, and surprisingly loud, banging sound. The human and the other two krogan froze, each one wondering if their companion had just inadvertently consigned them to an abrupt and fiery death. But after a few seconds of silent panic, Renk smirked. The warhead, although now dented, was indeed deactivated.
"See? You people worry too much."
The human took off his hat to wipe the freshly gathered sweat from his brow. "Christ, you lot are gonna be the death of me," he groaned as he awkwardly climbed back into his truck.
Still grinning from the pleasure he took in everyone's reaction, Renk replaced his wrench and activated his omni-tool. "Looks like that was the last one," he said, pouring through a list of coordinates on the orange display that wrapped around his arm. "Let's finish packing, and get the hell out of here."
Turk and Renk were quick to pull themselves up on the truck and make themselves comfortable for another bumpy ride back to base, but Dom stopped when he noticed someone was missing.
He turned to see Garim still standing in the middle of the street, assault rifle clutched in his hands, and eyes glued to one of the buildings up the street from them.
"Garim? Lets go!" shouted the younger krogan.
Garim ignored him. During one of the many times he gazed back to that suspicious area, he thought he caught movement in the shadows. A faint shift in the dark of a window on the third floor of the building. A shift that brought the itch back.
Turk shook his head watching Garim stand in the street like an idiot. "Dom, go get him and drag his ass back here," he grumbled, waving a hand at the younger krogan.
Dom shrugged and marched over toward Garim. "Garim!" he called out again when he was only a few meters behind him. "You deaf? We gotta go."
"Quiet…" hissed Garim.
Dom stopped and tilted his head. "What is it?"
Garim didn't answer. He considered warning Dom about what was bothering him, but then he saw it. The justification for the itch at the back of his plates.
A very quick and subtle glint in the window.
Garim's battle instincts immediately took over and he jumped. The instant he moved, a quick flash and the crack of a rifle illuminated one of the windows in the building, and Dom's throat exploded.
"Sniper!" Garim yelled as he sprinted for cover behind the tank they had just disarmed.
Dom fell backwards onto the pavement, his eyes bulging in pain and surprise while desperately clawing at the bloody hole where his neck used to be.
Turk and Renk's instincts instantly flared to life as well after the sudden bang, and the both of them leapt from the bed of the truck to the pavement with their weapons drawn.
More flashes and bangs echoed from the window and Garim could feel slug after slug smash against his kinetic barriers. Just as his barriers were about to fail from the continued attack, he ducked behind the ruined tank and primed his rifle, angling himself just well enough so that he still had a good view of the battlefield.
Dom was still in the middle of the street. Garim could hear him gurgling, struggling in vain to stem the flow of blood from his gaping wound and cry out for help.
He's fucked, thought Garim. He shifted his focus back toward the window. It was dark now with no sign of movement. Either the sniper had scampered off, or he was waiting. Garim looked over to Turk and Renk. They were both taking position behind some rubble for cover.
He looked back to the struggling Dom and a dark idea crossed his mind. "Turk!" he called out across the rubble strewn street. "Sniper's reloading! Get Dom back to the truck!"
He saw Turk nod his huge head and lean over to Renk, who was just now finishing loading his favorite grenade launcher. "Cover me!"
Trying to keep as low as physically possible, Turk broke from his cover and sprinted toward Dom, but the instant his body was completely exposed, the flash returned, and Turk's kinetic barriers flared to life. Turk took several rounds to the chest before being forced back to his cover.
Garim grinned wickedly to himself. The sniper had moved. Two windows over from its original perch on the same floor. "Third floor! Fifth window!" he called out to Renk as he popped out from behind the tank and unloaded his rifle into the window.
Renk, easily understanding Garim's order, jumped up from his hiding spot and took aim. Letting loose a roar that shook the windows of the surrounding buildings, Renk unleashed a furious barrage of grenades at the third floor of the building.
One by one, the grenades exploded as they hit their mark, only stopping when almost the entirety of the 3rd floor had been obliterated, leaving gaping, smoldering holes billowing with black smoke. Renk let loose another victorious roar as the last grenade opened up another section of the building's facade. "Choke on that you scavenger shits!"
Unlike Renk, Turk's face twisted into an expression of pure hatred looking over to Garim. "You coward! I'll make you pay for that!"
Garim ignored the angry Turk, and scanned the ruin of the building's third floor. He scowled angrily when he saw no sign of the sniper. No cries of pain. No movement. Nothing.
Refusing to waste another second, Garim sprang from behind the tank and sprinted for the building.
"Garim! Get back here! Dom needs help!" Turk called out to Garim, but by the time he finished the order, Garim had already disappeared into the building.
Turk growled furiously as he looked out to Dom. The young krogan wasn't moving much anymore. The skin of his face looked pale, and his green eyes were beginning to roll into the back of his head. "Dammit! We are losing him! Renk, get a medkit!"
Renk, who had been busy admiring his handiwork, nodded to Turk and raced back toward the truck. But a sudden whining sound from another building, this time one across the street, caught their attention. Both krogan turned too late to see a hail of blue plasma bolts zip endlessly out of a dark and ruined storefront one the first floor, and evaporate Renk's barriers.
The hot plasma splashed into his flesh, causing Renk to cry out in pain as a multitude of the blue rounds scorched the left side of his body. He crumbled back to his cover, keeping a tight grip on his grenade launcher with one hand and grasping at his fresh wounds with the other.
Turk peered into the storefront to see who or what was shooting at them, but only managed to make out the silhouette of some large armored creature behind the shadowy doorway.
"Bastards flanked us!" he barked at the struggling Renk.
"You think!?" Renk sarcastically shot back through gritted teeth.
The stream of plasma continued splashing into the pile of rubble that was Renk's cover, and Turk worried that soon the stone itself would melt under the ever increasing heat. He considered providing Renk some cover fire, to maybe give the wounded krogan enough time to find a better hiding place. But the second he stood up, his barriers flared to life from the sudden impact of yet another sniper round.
"Dammit!" he roared before once again ducking back down. "Sniper is still alive! Where the hell is Garim?"
"Forget him!" Renk yelled over the roar of plasma. "Lets get to the truck, and get the fuck out of here!"
But almost on cue, the truck's engine roared to life, and the vehicle quickly rolled away, leaving the two krogan to their fate.
The human driver, having decided that he no longer wanted to sit in what seemed like a hopeless firefight, slammed his foot on the accelerator and sped down the avenue. His mind raced as he maneuvered around debris in the street, struggling to figure out what the hell was happening, and what he should do now. Finally remembering that he had a radio he took his eyes off the road to reach for it, but when his shaking hands finally found their target his truck came to a sudden stop.
He lurched forward from the inertia and slammed into the steering wheel. The force from the impact nearly knocked the air out of him and he sat back up to breathe. Cursing himself for taking his eyes off the road, the driver looked out the window expecting to see a light post or the wall of some building he had crashed into. He was surprised to see a woman instead. A masked woman in a tight, black bodysuit with a shadowy hood was standing directly in front of the truck with a hand reaching out toward him. A hand wreathed in biotic energy.
He dropped his foot on the gas pedal again, hoping to break free from the terrifying woman's grasp, but all that did was cause the truck's tires to screech hopelessly against the pavement.
With desperate panic taking over, the man hastily unbuckled himself and flung open the door. The only thing he could think to do now was to make a run for one of the nearby buildings and hide. He jumped out of the cab as fast as he could but yelped in horror when his feet didn't touch the ground. A strange sensation washed over him. The purple biotic energy that was around the woman's hand was now enveloping him. The man cried out and flailed his arms and legs as he began steadily rising up into the air. He looked over to see that the woman's glowing hand was tilting upward, and he was rising higher and higher in response.
"Let me go! Please!" he pleaded desperately to his captor. In a smooth motion she spun her hand around on her wrist, reorienting the man until his head was pointed to the pavement. "Please don't!" he cried one final time before she forcefully brought her hand back down to her side, speeding the man down to the pavement with a wet crunch.
Turk starred in hopeless awe watching their only escape vehicle rapidly speed away from them, only to come to an abrupt stop meters down the road and have its driver get slammed against the pavement by yet another new attacker.
"They've got a biotic! We're outnumbered!" he bellowed to Renk at the top of his lungs. Renk wasn't paying attention. With his burned arm he propped up his grenade launcher and proceeded to load it with his good one. Once he finished, he cocked it with his good hand, reached into his pocket and produced another grenade.
"We're krogan!" he hollered back to Turk. "We're always outnumbered!"
And with a flick of his thumb, Renk primed the grenade and tossed it over his cover toward the source of the blue plasma bolts. Turk watched the explosive bounce and skid all the way across the street before coming to a stop just outside the ruined storefront. The blue plasma barrage finally abated and Turk thought he was able to see their mysterious assailant jump further back into the shadows just before the grenade exploded.
A plume of dust and debris filled the air in front of the store, obscuring almost all vision. Renk seized the opportunity. Gritting his teeth and fighting through the intense pain in his arm and side, he jumped from his hiding place, leveled his grenade launcher, and unleashed hell into the storefront. One by one his grenades bounced into the ruined building and exploded, sending more debris and dust flying into the air. Renk roared viciously as he fired, only letting off the trigger when the last grenade flew from the barrel of his gun.
After the chorus of destruction had finally ended, Turk rose from his cover. A thick cloud of dust now sat where the ruined storefront had been, and pieces of burning wood and other materials now littered the street before them. Renk was motionless staring at the carnage, save for the heavy breathing he was doing from all the pain and excitement.
"Did you get him?" Turk asked in a low voice.
Renk paused to finish catching his breath but then smirked victoriously. "What do you think?"
Turk was answered with three sharp bursts of air followed by three small whistling projectiles suddenly flying out of the dust cloud and twirling up overhead. Both krogan watched the metallic bird-like objects with confused awe, unsure as to what they were looking at.
But in an instant before either of them could truly react to the strange spectacle, the three whistling objects quickly turned and descended on Renk. They collided with the dumbstruck krogan in tandem, causing an explosion big enough to ignite the remaining grenades on his belt and shred him to pieces.
In a sudden burst of hot light and a thunderous bang, Renk was reduced to nothing more than a smoldering heap of burning gore.
Turk froze in horror as bits of his friend splattered the ground around him.
A sudden thump from the ruined storefront stole his attention. Out of the dust he saw the silhouette. It was faint at first, but it became more prominent with each heavy footstep it made. The dust parted as it drew closer, and soon Turk was staring at a large human wearing power armor.
He was massive. Nearly as tall as Turk. His armor was jet black like the biotic in the street, and the angular plates that covered his body looked heavy and thick. His helmet matched the angular design of the rest of him, along with a dark visor in the shape of a Y. On his shoulder rested a small cannon of some kind, something that was eagerly twitching back and forth as if it was searching for targets. And in his hands was a large, multi-barreled weapon, with a distinct design that Turk figured could only have come from the robotic minds of the geth.
The corners of Turk's vision became red as a powerful rage began to swell within him. The krogan's bloodlust quickly shut out any consideration of retreat or tactics. Only one thought raced through his mind: Kill. Turk wanted nothing more than to charge the oversized human and rip him apart, piece by bloody piece.
He gripped his shotgun firmly and rose to his full, imposing height. He opened his large mouth to loose his warcry before charging headfirst at the one who murdered his friends, but a sharp pain in his chest took all his breath away.
He staggered. Confusion swiftly replaced his bloodlust and he looked down at his chest. His eyes opened wide when he saw his own blood floating in the air in front of him. There was a faint shimmer underneath the hanging blood, and soon the shimmer broke revealing the end of a blood soaked sword poking out of the front of his breastplate.
Turk tried to take a breath but his lungs would not obey. The red in the corners of his vision soon turned black and a sensation of weightlessness coursed through his heavy body. Turk fell face first to the ground and never rose again.
It was easy for Garim to ignore the shouts of his companions. They were a distraction. A distraction to him, but better yet, his target. With his rifle in hand Garim raced into the ruined building where the sniper had been and quickly wound his way up to the second floor. The area was sparse. An office building once perhaps. Cubicles that once housed dozens of workers had been strewn across the floor only accompanied by pieces of paper that were endlessly fluttering across the ground thanks to the breezes coming from the many broken windows.
Rather than delve deeper into the space, Garim waited. He knew that if the sniper was still alive, he'd have to move from the third floor. There was no fourth. The Reaper's invasion and Renk's grenades had made sure of that, so that left Garim with only one possible location for him to run.
Garim tightly gripped his rifle as he waited in the stairwell, ready to pounce the moment he saw any sort of movement. He heard more strange noises coming from the street below. The unmistakable roar of Turk along with gunfire and the screech of tires on pavement.
He pushed them out of his mind. The only thing he cared about now was finding the one who dared to attack him and smash him into a bloody paste. The others could take care of themselves, he figured. And if they died, then that just meant more for him to kill.
A sudden noise from across the room stole his attention, and he held his breath in anticipation. His nostrils flared when the source of the noise had come into view.
His sniper.
A human man holding a long black rifle had jumped out of another stairwell and rushed to take position in one of the nearby windows. He wore a dark combat suit that was unlike the others he had seen humans wear. It was jet black with an angular helmet that sported a wide visor stretching from the top of his crown to his chin. The visor was polarized, making it impossible to see the human's face, but what really stood out to Garim was a strange symbol that was emblazoned upon the human's breastplate. He had seen it before, but couldn't quite remember where. It didn't matter. He'd figure it out once the human was dead.
The human deftly propped himself up beside the window and shouldered his rifle so that he could see down it's scope. Eventually the human pulled the trigger and fired down at someone on the ground. Judging by the resulting roar, Garim figured it was Turk.
Garim leveled his own rifle at the human.
What a fool! he thought while grinning wickedly. Didn't even bother to check his surroundings before taking aim!
He paused for a brief moment. One of the reasons he was so intent on killing this particular human was because he had tried to kill Garim in one of the most cowardly ways imaginable, shooting a warrior while they didn't suspect it.
No, he thought while slowly lowering his weapon. He will see me kill him.
Quietly, Garim stashed his rifle to his hip and reached up to draw his hammer. He moved as silently as possible out of the stairwell. The human didn't seem to notice. He took another shot out the window before pulling his rifle back in to swap out his spent heat sink. That's when Garim took his chance.
With a roar that would give any warrior pause, Garim hefted his hammer and sprinted full speed to the unsuspecting human. The man turned with a start, but swiftly jumped backward from the window, holding out his rifle in an attempt to block the savage attack.
Garrim swung, slamming into the black rifle and shattering it to pieces. The human, knocked back from the impact, skidded across the floor. Garim lept quickly to smash the human as he was sprawled on the ground, but the human kicked his legs and rolled away, once again narrowly missing the flat end of the krogans hammer as it came crashing through the floor where he once was.
In a fluid motion the human jumped up to his feet. Raising his left arm up to his face and making a fist, he summoned a large orange omni-shield that was nearly as tall and wide as him.
Garim wrenched his hammer from the broken floorboards and lunged again. With his free hand, the human swiftly pulled a pistol from his hip, angled it so that only his pistol and hand were exposed from behind his large shield, and fired directly into the charging krogan's face.
Shot after shot smashed into Garim's kinetic barriers, but it did little to stop the furious krogan's charge. The man moved to avoid the attack but was too late. He raised his shield just as Garim dropped his hammer right on top of him.
The shield flickered and the man staggered backward from the sudden impact, and to Garim's frustration, the shield held. The human once again raised his pistol and fired into Garim, but the krogan refused to give up his momentum.
Again and again he rushed the human with his hammer, bringing it down upon his shield over and over. With each blow the shield shimmered and the man staggered backward.
Bloodrage soon began to take over Garim's body and his strikes became less calculated and more forceful. With a twist of the handle of his hammer, Garim activated the weapon's built in mass effect core. The hammer thrummed to life in his hands as he felt the energy build within the weapon. The sensation brought a twisted smile to his face and he reared his hammer back. The human once again tried to jump away from the mad krogan, but the adrenaline in Garim's system gave him the boost of speed he needed to make that plan fruitless
Swinging his hammer sideways, he smashed it against the man's orange shield, and with another twist of his wrist, unleashed the pent up energy inside.
The shield finally shattered, and the man went flying. The sheer force of the impact took the human clean off his feet and sent him crashing out of one the nearby windows and skidding onto the pavement outside.
Garim let out a victorious laugh as he gave chase, carelessly jumping out of the same window and landing with a heavy thud on the pavement below. The man's pistol laid on the ground before Garim. He grinned gleefully as he brought a heavy boot down on it, utterly crushing it.
To his surprise, the unfortunate human was still moving. Groggily the man rolled onto his stomach and pushed himself back up to his feet. The man swayed slightly, listing from side to side as he tried to regain his balance. When he turned to face the approaching krogan, Garim let out a throaty laugh.
The visor of the man's helmet had been shattered. Cracked to the point that he could no longer see out of it. With both hands he reached up, pried off the broken helmet and cast it aside. Garim stopped his laughter as he took in his appearance.
He was older for a human. Messy, silver hair dangled down toward his jaw, partially covering his heavily scarred face. But it was mostly his piercing amber eyes that gave Garim pause. There was a strange intensity to them. A look that didn't convey fear or weakness, but sheer determination and will.
"You're tough for a human, I'll give ya that," Garim grunted while hefting his hammer. "But you'll die just the same."
The man balled his right hand into a fist, this time summoning an orange omni-blade rather than the shield. He spaced his feet apart and crouched low into a defensive stance while rearing his blade back as if poised to strike.
Garim happily accepted the invitation.
With a vicious roar Garim raised his hammer and charged the human. The man didn't budge. His amber eyes were locked on Garim's. When the krogan was only a few steps away, Garim swung, aiming directly for the human's skull.
The man finally moved. Twisting to the side, narrowly missing the hammer by a few inches, he clenched his other fist, summoning a second glowing omni-blade, and with a roar of his own, he swung both of his blades out at the krogan, slicing into the krogan's elbow and knee as he bowled past him.
Garim grunted in surprise at the sudden pain shooting through his arm and leg, and he stumbled forward from the momentum, dropping his hammer to the ground after losing all feeling in his right hand. His right leg buckled from the strain and he felt himself falling. He shifted his weight to his other leg to prevent this, but a quick omni-blade through the back of his other knee brought him to the ground.
With his good arm he caught himself before he could fully face-plant into the pavement. Fighting through the pain, the enraged krogan tried pushing himself back to his feet, hoping to somehow grab the human and crush him to death, but now both his knees were buckling under his weight and he fell again.
A sudden, burning slice into his last arm sent Garim crashing headfirst into the dusty pavement.
Garim rolled onto his back and lied there breathing heavily. He struggled again to pick himself back up, but the ends of his arms and legs felt numb and were no longer listening to his commands. In a fit of rage he let out a hateful roar to the sky.
He caught movement out of the corner of his eye. Turning his head, he looked down the street to where he last saw his fellow krogan. Dom had stopped moving and was lying in a growing pool of his own blood. Turk was lying face first in a heap behind some smoking rubble. He saw no sign of Renk at first, but pieces of smoldering meat lying in the road gave Garim a sinking feeling.
They were all dead.
Then he saw them. Three humans in similar black armor to the one that severed his tendons were walking up the street toward him with weapons drawn. A large man holding an enormous geth weapon, and two women in black combat suits. One wielding a blood stained sword, and the other glowing with terrible biotic energy.
Humans?… How?...
The sound of metal scraping concrete brought his attention back to the silver haired man. He was holding Garim's hammer now, dragging it across the pavement before hoisting the heavy weapon in both of his hands.
Garim did not feel fear as he looked up at the human now hovering over him. Only hatred. Only disgust. Being bested by a singular human caused an anger to swell up within the krogan that he didn't think possible, and in defiance, he spat at the human.
"Cowards!" he bellowed. "Striking from the shadows like puny salarians! I swear, I will-"
In a fluid motion the silver haired man raised the hammer and brought it down, crushing Garim's skull and silencing the proud warrior forever.