WARHAMMER DOES NOT BELONG TO ME. MASS EFFECT DOES NOT BELONG TO ME. I'M NO LONGER ALLOWED TO CREATE SUPER-SOLDIERS IN THE STATE OF MINNESOTA. NO, I'M NOT SAYING WHY.

Sorry for taking so long with this update. Real life got in the way, as it so often does. To make it up to you, here's Shepard with power armor, about to bring the hurt on some heretics.

Star-Bound

Chapter 8

Sons

"Your Holiness, I'm receiving a message from the Vehemence," a Scion reported. "Heretic vessels have arrived in-system, and have deployed ground forces. They will arrive at Tizca in several hours."

Shepard scowled. "So much for a quick mission. I should have known. All right, what are our forces doing in response?"

"The High Admiral has sent our smaller vessels to harry the enemy fleet until some of the larger ships can get into range. The entire fleet cannot engage, or else our own landing zone will be exposed." The Scion listened to her vox for a moment. "And the Lord-Marshal is landing our ground forces now."

"Well, at least we'll have backup," Shepard said. "Who's joining the party down here?"

"Five regiments of Astra Militarum—three infantry, one armored, one artillery. The Mechanicus, Sororitas and the Necropolis Hawks are preparing for boarding or counter-boarding actions against the enemy fleet, depending on the situation."

Shepard turned to Lieutenant Artin. "Can those forces hold out against the enemy here?"

"It would depend on the enemy's strength," Artin said. "Fortunately, there are plenty of reinforcements to draw on, if necessary."

"Well, I don't want to take chances." Shepard addressed the Scion again. "Ask the High Admiral if he can spare a few squadrons of fighters and bombers. If we can establish air superiority, it'll make our lives a lot easier."

"As you command, Your Holiness."

"As for the rest of us, we still have our mission. There's something inside the pyramid, I just know it, and we have to find it."

Her strike force made the sign of the Aquila, saluted, or just stood at attention. Satisfied, Shepard turned to the pyramid.

"Let's go."

…

Helmin nodded in approval as his soldiers marched off their landers. They lacked the speed of the Sororitas or Astartes, but that was to be expected; regardless, they made good time, and established a perimeter within an hour.

"The Eleventh are out of formation," he noted, and then reached for his vox. "Colonel Klinner, pull your soldiers back one hundred meters."

"Apologies, sir," the commanding officer of the Eleventh Vigilant Guard said, her voice raspy from a cut to her throat during the war on Vigilus. "Correcting now."

Klinner was as devout as any Vigilus soldier, but the Eleventh had apparently spent a great deal of time working alongside the Mechanicus, and had picked up a few quirks from them. They were as disciplined as the most veteran units, and their accuracy ratings were far above average, but the way they marched with such clockwork precision and the emotionless way they talked to those outside their regiment could be unsettling at times. Still, Helmin had gladly accepted them when Klinner had volunteered her soldiers to be in the first wave.

Shepard had made a point of getting the many different units of her Crusade to work together, and Helmin had followed her example. Every single regiment that made up the first wave came from a different world, and had never worked together before; he hoped that the crucible ahead would forge them into a united force.

Satisfied that his orders were being followed, Helmin leaned back in the command throne of Iron Judge, a Baneblade super-heavy tank that had served as his favored steed for over thirty years. His crew had served him ably for just as long, and he sometimes joked that they were more in tune with Iron Judge's machine-spirit than the Mechanicus—though he never said it within earshot of the Tech-Priests.

"Driver, bring us up to the Ten-Twenty-Two's center and hold position."

The Cadian One-Thousand-Twenty-Second Armored was actually a regiment that Helmin had commanded before the Crusade. Though their regiment hadn't been on Cadia when the planet had fallen, and none of the tank crews had been alive at the time, they fought with a ferocity that would have made the dead on their shattered homeworld proud.

Commander Rand, the commanding officer of the regiment, stood ramrod-straight in his Leman Russ tank's cupola, and saluted when Helmin emerged from Iron Judge's hatch. As always, his uniform was perfectly pressed, and his face clean and groomed. "Sir! Glad to have you with us."

Helmin returned the salute, though his easygoing smile never faded. "At ease, Commander. Any problems thus far?"

"Negative, sir." Rand frowned. "Permission to speak freely?"

"Of course, Commander."

"I don't like having our tanks sitting out in the open like this, and it has to be worse for the infantry."

"I'm aware, Commander," Helmin said confidently. "As soon as the last of the supplies are offloaded, we'll head to Tizca and fortify the city as best we can while Saint Shepard completes her task."

"Understood, sir." Rand saluted again. "I apologize for thinking you were making a mistake, sir. I can submit myself for disciplinary action immediately, sir."

"There's no need for that," Helmin assured. "You brought up a valid concern, and I just happened to be prepared for it. Remember, Saint Shepard herself decreed that this Crusade should not be lined with a road made from the bones of martyrs, and I have no intention of sacrificing lives needlessly."

At the mention of their Crusade's namesake, Rand managed to stand even straighter. "I understand, sir."

A short squawk from Helmin's vox informed him that the first wave was now deployed. "Ah, excellent. Commander, I want you to divide your companies to protect our front, rear, and flanks. You'll have infantry support as you go, and our artillery will be protected at the center of our formation."

"Understood, sir." Rand raised an eyebrow. "Permission to join the forward companies, sir?"

"Only if you don't mind if I join you, Commander." Helmin patted Iron Judge's turret fondly. "It's been some time since this old boy has fought the Emperor's enemies, and I'd hate to deny him."

"Happy to have you with us, sir." Rand mirrored the Lord-Marshal and patted the turret of his Leman Russ Executioner, Cadia's Hate. It could have been Helmin's imagination, or a trick of Prospero's light, but he thought that the glowing plasma cells burned a little brighter at the prospect of war.

"Very well, then." Helmin ducked back inside Iron Judge, sealed the hatch, and activated the battlegroup-wide vox channel. "All regiments, fall into formation and move out!"

…

"Your Holiness, we may have something."

Shepard perked up at Artin's voice over the vox. They had been searching around the base of the pyramid for some time, but to everyone's growing frustration, there was nothing to hint at why they were there.

"What did you find?" Shepard asked.

"It appears to be a small tunnel that leads into the pyramid," Artin reported. "My brothers can shift the larger stones to widen the opening."

"Do it, we're on our way to you." Shepard turned to the Seraphim squad that had been escorting her. "Looks like we have a lead, let's go!"

Channeling her earlier frustration into anger, Shepard activated her wings and flew towards Artin's position. The Seraphim were right behind her, though the power of Shepard's wings put her slightly ahead of the jump pack-wearing women. She arrived several seconds before them, and was marching up to Artin before they even touched down.

"Where's this tunnel?" she asked.

Artin guided her to a small breach at the base of the pyramid. "I believe that someone recently accessed this entrance; the dust was disturbed, and the stone has several scrapes along the edges, suggesting that it was pulled out of place."

Shepard sighed. "That also means that we won't be alone down there. How wide does it look?"

Artin shook his head. "I doubt it was meant to allow entire armies access. It is barely wide enough for me to walk through." He paused. "A previous generation of Astartes would have had less trouble. It would still be a tight fit."

"I guess size isn't everything, huh?" Shepard gently rapped her knuckles against Artin's shoulder plate. "At least I won't have as much trouble. Still, I agree that this tunnel probably wasn't built for an entire strike force. Artin, you and your Incursors will come with me; everyone else will hold this position."

"Your Holiness—" one of the Seraphim tried to protest, but Shepard waved her off.

"Jump packs aren't going to be much use down there," she said, not unkindly. "And with such close quarters, the Space Marines' armor gives them the best chance of surviving whatever's down there."

After a moment, one of the Sisters Superior nodded. "As you command, Your Holiness."

"See if the Lord-Marshal can spare some soldiers to reinforce you when he gets here," Shepard continued. "Oh, and just in case—before anyone comes out of this tunnel, the challenge is 'David'. If the response is anything other than 'Gregor', don't hesitate; just shoot them."

Those Imperials not joining Shepard into the pyramid gripped their weapons a little tighter. They understood that Chaos was not something to take lightly.

Shepard held up Liberator as she descended into the dark tunnel; her helmet allowed her to see in the dark, so the activated power field was unnecessary, but having the weapon ready was comforting.

"Anyone see anything?" she asked over a closed vox channel after a few minutes.

"Negative," the sergeant replied. If he had been anything but a Space Marine, Shepard would have thought he sounded nervous. "There isn't anything coming up at all. Damnable sorcery makes everything unfair."

"Let's see if I can't fix that," Shepard said. She tapped into her power, and a pulse of golden light briefly illuminated the tunnel. Shadowy runes etched into the stone walls screamed as they were burned away, leaving only ashes behind. As the darkness returned, Shepard looked back at the sergeant. "How about now?"

To his credit, the Space Marine barely reacted to Shepard's display. "I'm getting readings. No signs of enemy movement yet, but at least my instruments are telling me we are in a place that exists now. Many thanks."

Shepard was glad that her helmet concealed how tired that stunt made her. "My pleasure. I like knowing that where I'm walking actually exists."

It could have been her imagination, but she thought a few of the Necropolis Hawks laughed behind their helmets. The idea that she could amuse such stoic warriors lifted her spirits; it reminded her of her days on the Normandy, when she made Grunt and Wrex laugh.

She resisted the urge to physically shake herself out of her nostalgia. Falling into her memories during a mission would get her killed.

"Movement ahead," the Incursor sergeant reported, all traces of humor gone from his voice. "Nine Astartes-sized targets, all within twenty meters of each other. They are in a chamber roughly one hundred meters in diameter, plenty of terrain inside, probable cover."

"Approach with caution," Shepard ordered. "Don't engage until we have clear line of sight on all targets."

The tunnel opened up to a wide, hexagonal chamber, just as the sergeant said. Where Shepard had expected collapsed columns and piles of dust, there was instead row upon row of sturdy bookshelves, illuminated by blue flame that hovered above oil lamps in the walls. Each bookshelf was filled to bursting with tomes, scrolls, dataslates, and every other form of containing information that Shepard knew of.

At any other time, she would have immediately grabbed the nearest book and become lost in its pages—assuming it didn't have anything to do with Chaos. However, this treasure trove of knowledge was occupied, and guarded.

Eight warriors were at the perimeter of the library, completely immobile. They reminded Shepard of the Iron Warriors, but only in that both of them were affected by Chaos. These wore blur armor that was chased with gold, as were the bolters they held in their gauntlets. Their helms were ornately decorated, as were their tabards. Shepard recognized the swirling symbol they all wore—the sign of Tzeentch.

That symbol decorated the golden staff held by the figure at the far end of the room. He also wore blue and gold armor, though he had a flowing white cape that ended with golden tassels. His helmet had three curving horns, and tiny bolts of lightning crackled in the space between them. Between that display, and the staff, Shepard assumed that he was like the Chaos Sorcerers she'd fought back home, only on the level of a Space Marine.

Fantastic, she thought dryly. Even with her new powers, she found herself missing Spellmaw, her old shield; it would have protected her against any magic the sorcerer threw at her. Unless psychic powers work differently from magic, then I'd be screwed.

With a few hand-signals shared between them, Shepard and the Necropolis Hawks spread out. Shepard darted from one bookshelf to another, doing her best to stay out of sight. The Primaris Marines did the same, though as scions of the Raven Guard Legion, their gift of stealth was such that Shepard almost didn't notice Artin, even when he was right next to her.

"You can come out, little one," the sorcerer rasped, not looking up from the book he was reading. "I heard your footsteps some time ago. You are not as quiet as you believe."

Artin gripped his weapons tightly, but Shepard shook her head; she would buy time for him to move to a better position. Reluctantly, the lieutenant nodded and withdrew, while Shepard stepped into the open.

"All right, I'm here," she said. "Do you want to talk? Because it's kind of rude to read during a conversation."

The sorcerer chuckled and gently turned the page. "Perhaps it is, but I am more than capable of doing two things at once. Now, who are you, and why are you here?"

Shepard casually rolled her shoulders. "You can call me Saint Shepard. I know better than to give my full name to sorcerers. And I'm not about to tell my life's story to someone I just met."

"Clever. With your full name, I could have snuffed out your soul in a heartbeat." Despite his words, the sorcerer didn't seem too upset. "Shepard… I have heard that name, whispered in fear from the neverborn. It is rare that the denizens of the Empyrean recoil from a mortal; how intriguing."

"Nice to know I'm making waves." Shepard put aside the fact that Daemons were apparently afraid of her now. It would be another question for Revelation. "I gave you my name, but you haven't returned the favor."

"You may call me Adjo Gahiji." Finally, the sorcerer stood up, though not before carefully closing his book. "If the pleasantries are finished, I would ask that you leave this place. This is my home, and you have no right to be in this sacred place."

Shepard made a show of looking at the cracked stone of the ceiling. "This place could use some fixing-up after ten thousand years."

Gahiji's grip tightened on his staff, and it could have been Shepard's imagination, but it looked like the other Chaos Marines did the same with their weapons.

"Do not mock me, Imperial," Gahiji hissed. "The Wolves came, under the Corpse-Emperor's orders, and burned the greatest trove of knowledge in the galaxy! Their ignorance doomed my Legion, and all of humanity!"

Shepard lowered her stance and brought up Liberator. "And you dabbled in powers that enslaved your soul. I guess everyone is at fault, huh?"

Gahiji apparently had tired of talking, because he only lowered his staff at her. A crackling bolt of purple energy lanced toward her; Shepard had no plan to see what happened if she tried matching his power with her own, so she twisted out of the way instead.

"Destroy her!" Gahiji commanded, and the Astartes by the walls sprang into action. Where once they had been unmoving, almost like statues, they fought with ruthless efficiency. Shepard desperately jumped behind a bookshelf, only for it to explode into kindling.

A moment later, the Necropolis Hawks attacked. The Incursors' weapons lacked the sorcerous enhancements of the Rubric Marines' bolts, but they were just as efficient. Some bolts exploded harmlessly against some kind of energy shield, but others got through. Instead of blood and meat bursting from the ruptured armor, there was just a gasp of air, and a few handfuls of dust.

The Thousand Sons weren't about to let their Imperial counterparts' attack go unanswered, and one Hawk was blown in half by dozens of bolts. Two more were badly injured, though they continued to fight. Artin also went down, his left arm disintegrated at the elbow by Gahiji's sorcery. The sorcerer raised his glowing staff over the fallen lieutenant.

Upon reflection, Shepard had no idea why she had done what she did. Perhaps it was subconsciously knowing that her bolt pistol wouldn't have the power to stop Gahiji in time, or perhaps it was the guidance of the Emperor. Whatever the reason, she drew back Liberator, judged the correct angle, and hurled it with all her strength.

Despite leaving her hand, the war-pick was still coated in her golden energy, and connected to her by a thin tether of light, as it flew through the air, spun end over end, before connecting hammer-side-first with the sorcerer's chest. There was a thunderous crack as his breastplate shattered, and Chaos-tainted flesh was exposed to its greatest weakness. Gahiji screamed as he fell onto his back, but even in his agony, he watched in amazement as Liberator stopped before hitting the ground, and flew back into Shepard's waiting hand. For a moment, even the Rubric Marines halted their attack as they processed this unforeseen development.

"Oh, baby," Shepard said, her grin evident through her voice, "you guys are in serious trouble."

"Kill her!" Gahiji screamed.

The remaining Rubric Marines opened fire, but Shepard was already moving. One unliving warrior was blasted back by a beam of golden light, while another was split down the middle by Liberator's blade. The others were gunned down by the surviving Primaris Marines, leaving only Gahiji; his transhuman physiology was only barely keeping him alive, but he was able to glare hatefully at the Living Saint.

"You…" he hissed. "You've ruined everything! I would have cured my brothers of their curse, reversed the Rubric, and restored my Legion to its former glory!"

Shepard stood over him; in a moment of arrogance, she almost considered removing her helmet, just so she could give him the unimpressed look he deserved. "Lots of people do stupid things for reasons that are noble only to them. The fact that I can look back on the cost of my actions and care about the people who died for me tells me that I, at least, still have my humanity. I guess you lost that when you bent over backwards for your fucking gods." She aimed one palm at his head. "When you see them, tell them that when I'm done here, I'm coming for them."

Before Gahiji could speak, a beam of golden light lanced through his helm, killing him instantly. The smoke hadn't finished rising from his ruined head, and Shepard was helping Artin to his feet.

"Are you going to be okay?" she asked, looking worriedly at what was left of his arm.

Artin glanced down. "I worry that my flesh has been corrupted. Perhaps it would be better if I were given the Emperor's Peace, rather than bring contamination to my brothers."

"Hold that thought." Shepard placed her hand on the stump—which she noticed had already stopped bleeding—and sent a pulse of her power through the wound. She stepped back and nodded. "If there was any corruption, I'm pretty sure I purified it."

Artin wore his helm, but Shepard would have bet money that his jaw had dropped. "How can you be sure?"

"Hey, I purified a whole system, and I made a stable passageway through the Rift." Shepard kept her tone light, even teasing. "I think I can handle one injured Space Marine." She patted him on his uninjured arm. "Take care of your wounded, Lieutenant. I need to see why I had to come here."

Artin staggered over to what was left of the Incursor squad, leaving Shepard to root through the remains of the library. Much of it had been destroyed in the fight, but a few bookshelves had survived more-or-less intact; Shepard started with those, but nothing caught her attention as anything more than theories on how the Warp worked. Judging by how old many of the texts were, Shepard guessed that they had been written by Magnus the Red, before he fell to Chaos.

After a while, Shepard started to feel discouraged, but something bumped against her foot. It was half-buried by smoldering books and cracked dataslates, and it took Shepard a moment to dig the item free.

It was a jar, nearly the size of a Space Marine's fist, and inside it was a single black feather. Shepard didn't need anyone to tell her that it wasn't a normal feather—just the fact that it was among a collection of esoteric knowledge was a clue. However, when she blinked, the feather vanished from her sight for just an instant. Then it was back inside the jar, as if it never left.

Something nudged at her mind; it almost felt like a tug, and all her attention became focused on the feather. Her golden aura returned, reaching through the glass jar and onto the feather; as if by its own accord, the tip of the feather suddenly turned like the needle of a compass… only it turned straight up.

"Okay, that's… weird," Shepard said, and then frowned. "Are you telling me that this is why I'm here!? Oh, come on!" She shook her head, and then went back to the Necropolis Hawks. "I think we need to leave, now."

Artin nodded. "Agreed. We just received word that heretic forces are on their way to the city."

"All right, we'll head to Helmin and get the wounded airlifted to safety." She gave him a look, though it was wasted behind her helmet. "That includes you."

Artin looked down at what remained of his arm. "I understand. I am sure Lord Zandtus will send reinforcements; the Thousand Sons are the direst of traitors, and it would be our honor to help send them to their graves."

Shepard chuckled. "I'm not going to say no to more Space Marines helping out. For now, though, let's get out of this tomb."

The group tried to speed up their progress, but they were slowed by their wounded, and because Artin requested—and Shepard agreed—that they take the dead Hawks with them. One of the more badly injured had died from his wounds, and it required two of the living to carry each dead.

"Just a second," Shepard ordered as they reached the entrance. "Gregor!"

"David!" came the reply a moment later, and Shepard heard the sound of many weapons being lowered.

"Thanks for not shooting us," Shepard said cheerfully; her helmet's autosenses immediately shielded her eyes from the afternoon sun. "Did we miss anything?"

The Sister Superior of one of the Seraphim squads shook her head. "No, Your Holiness, though we received word that a battlegroup is on its way to reinforce our position, and that the enemy is not far behind them."

"I don't suppose we could get picked up and be on our way before then?"

"It seems that the void is contested between our fleet and that of the heretics. Attempting to withdraw now would be…" she trailed off, trying to find the right words.

"Suicide, I'm guessing?" Shepard sighed. "Just once, I'd like a mission like this to be simple. 'Go to the planet, pick up the package, go home'. Is that too much to ask?"

"We are tempered by our struggles," the Sister Superior quoted mildly. "They make us stronger."

"I know, I know." Shepard took a deep breath. "I just like to complain once in a while." She took another moment to compose herself. "All right, let's move out and try to meet up with Helmin. I'd like to get to the battle before it starts, for once."

…

It seemed that the universe took a small amount of pity on Shepard, because she got her wish. The five regiments were still building a field camp at the outskirts of the city when Shepard and her strike force arrived.

While she had known, intellectually, that so many people had signed on with the Crusade, it was another matter to actually see even a small percentage of them together like this. Tens of thousands of soldiers walked, marched or ran through the camp, passing messages, giving orders, or helping to fortify their position. Regimental priests chanted hymns or said prayers to kneeling platoons, while Enginseers blessed lasguns or performed maintenance on equipment. Hundreds of tanks rumbled into place, kicking up clouds of dust as they moved. Artillery pieces clanked and rattled as they adjusted their barrels to create optimal killzones.

At the center of the confusion was Iron Judge. The Baneblade was the largest land-based military vehicle that Shepard had ever seen, even larger than the Tomkahs of the Krogan. Standing on the chassis, hand resting on the turret, was Helmin, who occasionally barked orders to vox-officers. The Lord-Marshal smiled when he saw Shepard.

"Ah, Your Holiness!" He hopped down from the Baneblade with practiced ease. "It is good to see you with us on the field of battle! Did you succeed in your task?"

Shepard held up the jar with the feather. "I think so, but for the life of me, I still don't know why we needed it."

"I'm sure that the Emperor's plan will be laid out for you in time," Helmin said confidently. "For now, we should deal with the approaching foe."

"Agreed. Do we have a grasp of enemy numbers and disposition?"

Helmin nodded. "It's being led by hordes of mutant cultists, followed by transports, likely filled with heretic Astartes. Our scouts also reported seeing unholy daemon engines, both on the ground and in the air. If our estimates are correct, there are nearly five hundred Chaos Marines, and about a hundred times that many cultists."

Shepard glanced at the Imperials all around her. "We're outnumbered two-to-one?"

"Indeed, and we have little chance of reinforcement at this time." Helmin's smile became a little forced. "Our fleet is likely engaged in battle by now, including the Necropolis Hawks and the Sororitas."

"So much for reinforcements," Shepard muttered, then hardened her resolve. "Then we just hold our position, and make the enemy pay for every meter."

"An excellent decision, Your Holiness. I've already ordered our infantry to begin fortifications; they will have both armored and artillery support." He eyed her speculatively. "They might also take heart if a Living Saint were to inspire them."

Shepard smiled, and if there was bitterness there, she hid it well. "Oh, don't worry, I've got a plan for that."

"You do?"

"Just watch." Shepard summoned her wings and flew through the air, catching the attention of hundreds of soldiers as she landed in front of the half-dug trench line. After making sure her secondary vox in her gorget was functioning, she removed her helmet and began to speak.

"Soldiers of the Imperium!" She put on her most confident smile, the kind that had convinced soldiers in two other universes to follow her into hell. "I have recovered what the Emperor sent me to find." She waited until the cheers died down before continuing. "That, however, was the easy part. Now, we face traitors from the Imperium's darkest hour. They would deny the Emperor His prize, and they would deny the destiny that He has set out for us! Will you allow the mutants and heretics out there to stop us?"

Thousands of voices rose up as one. "NO!"

"Then it is time for our Crusade to truly begin. Here, on this world, the blasted remains of a traitor's home, we make our stand! Remember that every enemy you kill is one less that threatens the soldier next to you. Every moment you hold out is another moment the fleet has to send reinforcements! The enemy will throw everything they have at us, but they will fail, and I will tell you why!"

Shepard glowed so bright that it was hard to see her, but every soldier that laid eyes upon her would later swear that they could feel her gaze upon them.

"They fight for personal glory, or for a god that doesn't care about their fate. We fight for each other! We fight so that we can still laugh with our friends tomorrow, so that we can continue to protect the Imperium another day! So, fight! Fight with everything you have, and by the Emperor, I will do the same for you!"

Lasguns were raised in salute, while thousands of voices roared in support. Shepard grinned fiercely, the Emperor's rage and her own adrenaline creating a cocktail of emotions within her. She raised Liberator over her head, and then turned to face the incoming enemy.

"Now, let's send these bastards back to hell!" She glanced back at Helmin, who looked ready to leap from his tank to charge by himself, but nodded at her unspoken question. "Artillery! Fire when ready!"

And the guns began to sing.

I've been watching Lord of the Rings too much (blasphemy to even suggest that it's possible, I know), and I wanted to write an epic pre-battle speech for Shepard. Don't expect her to do this for every battle, but this is her first one as leader of the Crusade, so she had to make it count. And she might not believe in the Emperor's divinity—she has yet to drink the Imperium's Kool-Aid—but she's been doing this kind of job long enough to know what to say to inspire.

Also, that bit with Shepard throwing Liberator, and then coming back to her hand? Yes, I was inspired by Thor, but more by Stormbreaker, and less by the magic mallet. Rule of cool applies here.

For those of you who don't know what the feather means, I'm not going to spoil anything, but it involves my favorite Primarch.

Anyway, I want to thank those of you who have bought my book, but for those of you who haven't, and want to read a completed story, I would suggest you look up Alpha Sanction, by Josh Gottlieb, on Amazon. It is both an eBook and trade paperback, so there's that. Remember, every sale helps keep me from being thrown out on the street!

Another way you can help is to donate on P-atreon. If every person who read my stories donated at the minimum tier, I'd be pretty much set, and I'd be able to write a chapter every week, instead of trying to get a few hours once in a while, because I'm exhausted after hunting for jobs and advertising stuff.

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Next Chapter: Shepard has to hold out, while the battle in space heats up…

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