WARHAMMER DOES NOT BELONG TO ME. MASS EFFECT DOES NOT BELONG TO ME. DESPITE THE WARNINGS, I TRIED TO MAKE A SYSTEM OF LINKED ARTIFICIAL INTELLIGENCES, AND NOW THEY WON'T SHUT UP.

So, the good news is that Commorragh is taken. The bad news is that a lot of people died.

Star-Bound

Chapter 28

Grief

"Throne of the God-Emperor, but this never gets easier," Helmin muttered as he went over the reports for what felt like the thousandth time. While the rank and file celebrated the great victory, the officers still had work to do, not the least of which was tallying up the many casualties of the campaign.

Even with surprise on their side, the number of dead for the entire army was terrible. Over forty percent of Militarum forces assigned to the campaign were wiped out, or had been so terribly afflicted by Drukhari poison that they had to be put out of their misery. Fifteen regiments from the Shepard Crusade alone would have to be reconstituted from their home planets, or otherwise replaced. The number of wounded was over twice that, and many would need replacement limbs or other organs.

The Mechanicus had gotten off better than most, as their bionics had largely protected them from poisoned weapons. Still, tens of thousands of dead Skitarii and battle-servitors were being dragged away, so that their precious machine-parts could be reused.

The Space Marines had suffered worse than Helmin had anticipated. Their rapid and mobile form of warfare was understood by the Drukhari, and could be matched in speed and firepower, if not durability. Over twenty thousand Astartes had fought in the war, and over two thousand were dead. Among the Shepard Crusade, the Necropolis Hawks had suffered the worst, with more than two hundred slain, and hundreds more wounded so badly that the Chapter was rendered combat ineffective for the next few months. Zandtus had been beside himself with fury, and only the assurances of his Master of Recruits that the Chapter had ample aspirants—and gene-seed—to rebuild their numbers quickly kept him from losing his composure. It was fortunate that Primaris Marines were easier to create than their Firstborn brethren, and the Hawks had had many aspirants on the cusp of full ascension anyway. Even so, if not for their armor and augmentations, the Space Marines could have been nearly wiped out.

Similarly, the powers of their faith had protected the Sisters of Battle from worse casualties, but in the early stages of the war, the Drukhari had focused their efforts on them. Breaking such fanatical warriors was seen as a great achievement among their depraved race, and many Sororitas had been dragged away to be tortured in the early hours. Fortunately, many had been recovered in time, but over five thousand out of fifty thousand were declared martyrs, including the entirety of a small Order that had only existed for a few decades.

Thinking of the Sororitas made Helmin wince. The loss of Constance Mallis had been a deep blow to Shepard on a personal level, while the huge casualties across the entire Crusade meant that they would be unable to operate effectively for months, perhaps even longer. Even so, Shepard made her rounds, speaking to anyone she came across, from commanders to the common soldiery. Her presence and her words kept morale up as the dead were collected and the Imperium prepared to leave the Dark City.

"Stevron?" Helmin turned in his chair; to his surprise, Blaise had entered his office in the strategium. "May I speak with you?"

Helmin was slightly alarmed that Blaise used his first name; though they had become friends over the years, they were always strictly professional when on campaign.

"Of course, Temperance." Helmin gestured to one of the free chairs. "Please, close the door behind you."

Blaise obliged, and the distant noise of the strategium was cut off entirely. "How goes the withdrawal efforts?"

Helmin sighed. "If we are able to leave in five days, I'll be surprised. The Guard moves slowly, especially when our souls are heavy with grief."

"The same can be said across the entire Crusade." Blaise sat down and brought her rosarius to her lips for a moment. "This was a tremendous victory, but many question why we are handing the city back to the xenos, and not burning it out of existence."

"If the Ynnari want to fight the Archenemy and die instead of us, who am I to argue?" Helmin looked down at his hands; only hours ago, they had been crusted with the blood of a man who had jumped in the way of a Drukhari assassin, taking the blade meant for the Lord-Marshal. "Though we paid for that alliance with many lives."

Blaise nodded. "And that is what bothers so many. I have heard that even the Primarchs are disquieted, and Saint Shepard is…"

"Furious?"

"She keeps up her smile, but she asked Lord Guilliman ensure that she and the xenos witches are not in the same room."

Helmin chuckled, but even to him, it sounded weak. "Part of me wishes they were, just so I can watch what happens."

Blaise smiled. "That would be an interesting way to end this war. Regardless, I wanted to know if you would be able to step away from your duties when we return to Ultramar."

"Is there any particular reason, other than enjoying my charms?"

Blaise ignored the joke. "Saint Shepard wishes to conduct a ceremony for the souls of the dead. Two, actually; one for the many slain, and another for Canoness Mallis."

The last of Helmin's good cheer was gone. "Of course. I am honored to be invited."

"Most of the Crusade's dead were under your command; you have as much right to be there as anyone." Blaise closed her eye. "I knew Constance for most of my life. We both attained our rank at the same time, when new Preceptories were being founded for the Order of Our Martyred Lady. She was one of my closest friends, and now she is gone."

"A conundrum that has plagued humanity for eons," Helmin said. "If we choose to cut all ties from our fellow soldiers, we cannot be hurt, but we also lose what makes us human. Which is more important?"

"I suspect that Saint Shepard would tell us to cherish the memories we had with those we lost." Blaise hesitated. "I believe she speaks from experience."

"Yes, her husband, now dead for many years." Helmin leaned back in his chair with an uncharacteristic scowl. "She must have loved him very much. I would dearly like to meet whoever killed him and murder them on her behalf."

"As would I." Both of them had seen how hurt Shepard had been after the loss of a friend; they could only imagine how wounded her heart was after the death of someone she'd loved. "Though I suspect she handled that herself."

"Indeed." Helmin sat in companionable silence for a moment. "I don't suppose you'll help me with these reports while you're here?"

Blaise smiled as she rose. "You have many junior officers for that, Stevron; besides, I have prayers to lead."

Helmin almost called her out for that; he knew for a fact that Blaise had already led a prayer not two hours ago. Friend or not, however, he knew not to confront the Sororitas on matters of faith.

"Until we meet again," he said; when he was alone, he reluctantly returned his attention to the reports on his desk.

There were still many more deaths to count.

…

"Our forces are withdrawing as we speak," Guilliman said. "We will leave you to your new base of operations."

"Your aid in this endeavor is greatly appreciated," Eldrad replied. "I promise you, once repairs have been completed, the Ynnari will begin attacks on the forces of Chaos."

"I would hope so." Guilliman had yet to look Eldrad in the eye, focused as he was on the many readouts around him.

Eldrad would have thought it foolish for the Primarch to not keep someone like him in direct line of sight, if not for knowing that a being such as Guilliman was well aware of every move he made. Even if he wasn't, Eldrad was extremely conscious of how close Corvus Corax was; he would get off one, perhaps two psychic attacks before the Raven Lord's talons tore him apart.

"Believe me, Avenging Son, I am more aware of the threat the Dark Gods pose than most in this galaxy. It may offend some of my people to work with humans, but I will do whatever it takes to free us all from their grasp."

With that, Eldrad strode away, though Corax kept his eyes on him until he was out of the strategium entirely.

"Do you truly trust them not to betray us, Roboute?"

"So long as Chaos exists, yes." Out of respect for his brother, Guilliman gave him his full attention. "And despite Eldrad's lofty goals, I do not believe that Chaos is even capable of being destroyed. We might find some way to defend ourselves from it, perhaps even seal it away, but it will always be a threat. And I believe that Eldrad knows this."

Corax smirked. "And his obsession with fighting it will keep that dangerous mind away from us."

"Every time other powers are focused on each other, it gives the Imperium room to breathe. Eliminating one of those powers is even better." Guilliman nodded to himself. "Considering the damage the Drukhari have done to the Imperium over ten thousand years, the losses we suffered were well worth it."

Corax had been idly scanning one of the readouts, but paused. "I would advise that you not say such things to Shepard."

"Which is why I am saying them to you." Guilliman closed his eyes for a moment. "What is the status of the Shepard Crusade?"

"Mauled," Corax said bluntly. "They will return with us to Macragge for repairs and resupply, but their numbers will need to be replenished at Vigilus. The Militarum and Mechanicus forces are easy enough to replace, but her Sororitas Order took heavy casualties, as did the Space Marines under her command. That will take some time."

"Shepard has done more for the Imperium than most mortals could ever dream," Guilliman said. "She and her forces have earned their rest, for now. They will need to be fresh for the next time the Emperor has need of them."

"Do you truly think there are more of our brothers to find?" Corax fervently hoped so, but he had long since tempered hope with realism.

"According to Shepard, the Emperor is certain that Vulkan and Jaghatai still live, and possibly Rogal as well." Guilliman's gaze drifted down to the Emperor's sword. "If that is true, then I am thankful. Not long ago, I was close to believing that I was the only one of us who remained loyal that still lived."

"And yet, here we are, the four of us, presiding over a victory long overdue." Corax put a hand on his brother's shoulder. "I know it is futile, but please, relax a little, at least until we return to Macragge. We have earned it today."

Guilliman sighed. "Very well, brother; perhaps I will get four hours of sleep."

"I said relax a little, not throw a party."

Guilliman couldn't help but laugh.

…

The prayer-deck of the Oath of Fire was dimly lit, its darkness and the censer-cherubs lending a heavy air to an already somber occasion. Throughout the deck, thousands of Sororitas knelt in silent reflection, or allowed their grief to spill out through tears—for as Saint Shepard had said, once those tears were shed, their souls would be stronger in the future.

Over two thousand caskets lay before the Order of the Iron Tears; a fifth of their number, slain in battle against a hated foe. Most of the bodies had been recovered, but some had been vaporized, or otherwise never found. Empty caskets with the names of the fallen were all that would mark their passing.

Shepard placed her hand on one casket in particular; behind her, Canoness Superior Blaise and the nine surviving canonesses stood in silence. After several long minutes of private thought, Shepard nodded at a Sister seated at an organ; she played a long, dolorous note, and the entire Order brought its attention to its Matriarch.

"We have all lost friends in this war," Shepard said; her voice was quiet, but her vox carried her words to the entire ship. "We have lost friends before now, even before this Crusade began. Anyone who picks up a weapon should expect death, either for themselves, or for others. Anyone who thinks otherwise is fooling themselves. That doesn't mean we shouldn't fight; if anything, fighting alongside our friends and comrades reminds us of our humanity. We should always remember the good times we had with those we lost, and we will—but for now, we say goodbye to those who will live on only in our memories, and at the Emperor's side."

Shepard's fingers traced over the adamantium letters spelling out Mallis' name. "Constance Mallis was the best kind of person—she was gentle and kind to those who needed it, but she had a core of iron that made her stand up and fight. She fought not just because it was her duty, or out of faith, but because she knew that every second she bled on the front lines was one second that some other poor soul wouldn't have to. We should all remember her sacrifice, and do everything in our power to live up to her example."

She stepped back to allow an artificer to do her work; as had become custom within the order, the caskets of the fallen were sealed with molten iron, which were then etched with the individual Sister's favorite prayers before the metal cooled.

"Sister Rychelle, step forward."

There was a brief stir among the Order; individuals were not usually called up during these ceremonies. Then again, this was the first time a canoness had fallen, so the rules were different.

Rychelle held her head high as she walked, unashamed of the tears staining her face. She knelt before Shepard and the leadership of her Order.

"You are the highest-ranking survivor of your Preceptory," Shepard said gently. "I have spoken to the other Sister Superior, and they agreed that you were most suited for leadership."

Rychelle started. "Your Holiness, I am not ready for that kind of command…"

Shepard knelt to look her in the eye. "And I am not granting you the rank of canoness. Not yet, anyway; I know that you still have much to learn. Until such time as you are ready, Canoness Superior Blaise will take direct command of your Preceptory. You will study under her, and when the time is right, she will hand over command. Until then, rise… Palatine Rychelle."

Rychelle was less surprised now; a palatine was similar to a Space Marine Lieutenant, though there were far more of them in a Preceptory. All of them had been killed along with Mallis on Commorragh, so new ones would have to be selected among the Sisters Superior. Her pride was greatly overshadowed by her grief, however; she would have been happy with a greater leadership role, had it not come at such a great cost.

"I swear to you, Saint Shepard, and to the God-Emperor, I will live up to Canoness Mallis' memory."

Shepard gestured to the empty casket. "If that is the case, I would like you to lead the next prayer. I believe Constance had a few favorites when it came to funerals. Do you know them?"

"I do, Your Holiness." Rychelle hesitated, but when she received encouraging nods from Shepard, Blaise, and the other canonesses, her spirit was bolstered. She turned to the Order, clasped her hands together, and began to pray.

…

"You handled that well," Phoros said as he and Shepard walked; few outside the Order of the Iron Tears had been invited to the ceremony, though the Chapter Masters had been among them. They had remained respectfully silent throughout, and only now did Phoros have a chance to speak with her. "It is never easy to say goodbye to a friend."

"If it ever is, I'm eating my gun." Shepard was quiet, almost distracted; more than once, Phoros thought she would walk into someone, but she deftly avoided any collision.

"How long before the Order is back to full strength?"

"Officially, their sanctuaries are all on Vigilus, and they never stopped recruiting. A lot of the girls there should be finishing their training; a few months, maybe a year."

"That is remarkably fast."

"Yeah, but this is actually the first batch, from even before the Crusade started." Shepard paused as a priest hurried past them on his way to bless several weapons in the armorium. "I guess we got lucky."

Phoros had never heard such bitterness in Shepard's voice before, and it concerned him. "I have heard that our Mechanicus friends will be departing the Crusade for a time."

"Only until we're reinforced and ready to head out again. Xem-Beta lost a lot of troops, and needs to go to Stygies itself to get replacements." Shepard took a deep breath. "He said he would try to get even more people to join us—Knights, maybe even Titans, though he couldn't promise anything."

"If such allies were to come, we would only be able to petition their aid during dire circumstances," Phoros warned. "God-Machines do not walk for what they consider paltry foes."

"Yeah, I figured it wouldn't be easy." Shepard halted when they arrived at the hangar. "Thanks for walking me here, Malakim. Carolya would have done it, but I told her to get her own grief out of her system, and then rebuild the Alexian Guard."

Phoros gently put his fist over his chest. "It was my pleasure, Saint Shepard."

Shepard was about to turn away, but stopped. "Hey, Malakim, I read an interesting report earlier. It was about the Lamenters."

"Oh?" Phoros raised an eyebrow. "Should I be concerned?"

"I don't think so. It was just some observations from other units." Shepard tilted her head back to look him in the eye. "Your boys took the smallest number of casualties in this campaign out of all the Space Marines who fought; you had less than thirty fatalities, and only maybe twice that number seriously wounded. Those reports said that you guys had a much easier time than a lot of other Chapters." She held up a hand when Phoros started to look indignant. "I'm not saying that you didn't fight any easier than anyone else. I just read about lucky shots through walls, Lamenters avoiding lethal injuries at the last second, that sort of thing."

"Is that… wrong?" Phoros couldn't help the sliver of doubt wriggling through his soul.

"Let me check something." Shepard put a hand on Phoros' arm, and there was a small burst of golden light. "Yeah, I'm not sensing that curse coming back. If anything, what I did seems to have… gotten stronger."

"That does not sound like a problem."

"I agree." Shepard tapped her chin. "Now, this is just a theory, but maybe when I undid that curse, it made… I don't know, the opposite happen?"

"You mean that, instead of misfortune, we have become blessed?"

"Maybe?" Shepard shrugged. "If you want a rational explanation, maybe your guys have fought so hard despite the curse that, now that you have a level playing field, you're on the upswing."

Phoros was quiet for a moment. "Not to state the obvious, but I would rather have good fortune from the light of the Emperor than poor fortune from dark forces." He smiled. "It seems that my brothers and I have yet more to thank you for."

"Any time, Malakim." Shepard turned to leave. "I'm just glad I got some good news today."

…

Hiral found Rychelle in one of the many smaller church-alcoves aboard the Oath of Fire. Normally, he wouldn't be allowed aboard a Sororitas vessel without a good reason, but in the chaos of the withdrawal, Shepard had allowed him to stay in her entourage during the trip to Ultramar. At any other time, she might have teased him, but with the grief still hanging over her head, she merely patted him on the shoulder and told him to behave.

Rychelle was kneeling in front of three small statues, all surrounded by candles of red wax. One statue, the largest, was of the God-Emperor, and was the center of the formation; He was depicted holding His flaming sword in one hand, while reading an open book in the other. The second, on the Emperor's left, was Saint Katherine; while no longer the Matriarch of the Order of the Iron Tears, she was still revered, and her statue was carved to hold her famous shield at rest, her head bowed in humility. Last, on the Emperor's right, was the statue of Saint Shepard, depicted with remarkable detail; her weapons weren't drawn, but her wings were outstretched, and one hand was raised, as if reaching for the heavens.

Hiral had often wondered why the Order of the Iron Tears made certain statues out of different materials. The Emperor was carved from marble, Saint Katherine from silver, and Shepard from brass; when he finally worked up the courage to ask, Rychelle had told him that the Emperor and Saint Katherine's statues were made with sacred reverence, but in keeping with Shepard's emphasis on practicality, her statues were made with spent bolter shells, melted down and recast.

He waited until Rychelle was finished with her prayers, and she waved him over. "How did you know I was behind you?"

Rychelle smiled. "Your arm. It has an odd double-click sound when you open and close it, and you do that when you try to stay still."

Hiral blinked, then looked down at his bionic arm. "Huh." He shook his head and knelt next to her. "So. Palatine, and slated to be named canoness."

Rychelle nodded. "It is a tremendous honor."

"I'll bet." Hiral put his hands together and took a moment to silently pray to the Emperor. "What does that mean for us?"

For one of the only times since Hiral had known her, Rychelle looked uncertain. "I don't know. I do know that I don't want what we have to end, but as a palatine, I will have many more responsibilities, and when I become a canoness, I will have even more. We may not… have time."

"I know." Hiral saw that her hands were still clasped, and didn't dare try to unclasp them; instead, he gently leaned against her for a moment. "And I know that I also don't want what we have to end."

Rychelle smiled, but even with only the flickering candlelight for illumination, Hiral could see how hurt and tired she was. "Then we should fight for it."

"I doubt we have to," Hiral pointed out. "Everyone seems to want us to be happy. Maybe even Saint Shepard will pull some strings."

"Talking about a Living Saint doing something so petty sounds blasphemous."

Hiral shrugged. "Nah, she loves us."

"Well…" Rychelle clasped her hands together again and faced the statuette of Shepard. "Perhaps we should pray for her protection, just in case."

"You don't mind if I join you?" The two shared many things, but the prayers of a Sororitas were not something a Guardsman was usually included in.

Rychelle smiled again. "Never."

…

Brol watched impassively as the bodies of his fallen brothers were incinerated, and their names inscribed in a massive tome that listed each of their achievements, and how they died. The Reapers had suffered over fifty fatalities, but nearly half the Chapter was recovering from wounds, including Brol himself. The injuries would be healed in a few weeks at the most, and the Reapers considered themselves fortunate after they found out how badly other Chapters had suffered.

"High Commander, may I have a word?"

Brol's Gravis armor growled as he turned to face Commander Fralk. The commander of the Second had gained yet another scar across his face, one deep enough to expose bone, and though it had to be agonizing, he showed no sign of pain.

"Yes, Fralk?"

The younger Primaris held out a dataslate in one battle-scarred gauntlet. "The Crusade will be returning to Vigilus soon, but the Techmarines report that our departure will be delayed; three of our ships suffered engine damage, and they have not yet been repaired."

Brol wondered if he should reprimand his brother for interrupting a solemn moment with his report, but dismissed it. "How much longer must we wait?"

"Six hours. Perhaps less, if the machine spirits are cooperative."

Brol didn't know if the Reapers would be that fortunate. The ships his Chapter had been given were as belligerent as the Astartes that flew them; in particular, their flagship, the Furious, had occasionally fired her own guns without command from the bridge. It had become standard practice to make sure that the Reapers' ships were never loaded or charged when not in battle.

"Instruct our brothers and all serfs to do anything that might speed up repairs," he ordered. "I do not want to stay in this dark place any longer than is necessary."

Fralk nodded, but Brol noticed that his attention was fixed on one of the Reapers not yet turned to ash. Something flashed across his scarred face, the closest thing to grief a transhuman warrior like Fralk was capable of feeling.

"Did you know him well?"

"Sergeant Akpo," Fralk said, his deep voice not betraying any emotion. "A good man, and a great warrior. He could have been made lieutenant, perhaps even commander, but he refused promotion, always pointing out brothers who were better suited to the role." Fralk reached out for the corpse, but pulled his hand back at the last second. "He often said that he was better at recognizing rising stars than becoming one himself."

Brol sighed. "The only solace we can take is knowing that our brothers and comrades died to ensure that the Drukhari will never again torment the galaxy."

"I only wish we could have burned that accursed city to ash," Fralk growled.

"A small price to pay, and you know it," Brol chastised. "Any of us would make that sacrifice."

"Of course, High Commander." Fralk bowed his head. "By your leave, I will return to my Company."

Brol waved him off, and returned his attention to the funerary rites of his Chapter. There were many duties he had yet to fulfil, but he put them off for later; for him, now was the time to say farewell to his brothers.

…

Guilliman was not a man who let pride outweigh his sense of responsibility, but after dealing with the many matters upon his return to the Fortress of Hera, he allowed himself a few minutes of peace and quiet within his private sanctum. There were a thousand other tasks he needed to handle, and he was subconsciously organizing them already, but he permitted himself the small pleasure of relaxing after the completion of a major campaign.

His quiet moment ended when someone loudly knocked on his door. He was certain he knew who it was, but—

"Damn it, Roboute, open the bloody door before I kick it down!"

Guilliman sighed; of course Russ would ruin his calm. He opened the door, and his brothers charged in—well, Russ charged in, while Jonson and Corax were much more dignified in their entrance. Russ gave the Avenging Son a rough embrace with one arm, then hefted a barrel with the other.

"I brought mjod!" he cried. "Finally, we can drink like proper warriors after such murder-make!"

"He's been badgering us about this since we arrived in-system," Jonson said, and Guilliman almost laughed at the exasperation in his brother's tone. "Please, just humor the hairy bastard so that we can get back to work."

"Jonson isn't wrong." Corax accepted a mug from Russ, and tried not to react to the stains on it. "Though we won a great victory, there is still much to do, especially in Imperium Nihilus."

"Of course, brother, but Leman also makes a good point." Guilliman accepted the sloshing alcohol with all the grace of a master statesman. "The Imperium needs this, and it may be many years before we can celebrate privately like this again. We should enjoy it while we can."

"See? Even Roboute has worked that stick out of his arse!" Russ elbowed Jonson, and though the Lion looked at the drink with disdain, he was also careful not to spill any of it.

"I never said I wouldn't drink with you," Jonson said, "I only remind you that we cannot become complacent after one victory, however important it may be."

"Bah!" Russ held up his stein. "A toast! To brothers reunited, foes vanquished, and glory earned!"

Corax and Jonson quietly echoed his words, but Guilliman had more to add. "And to a future with more of all."

The four Primarchs downed the mjod; Jonson looked faintly disgusted, but made no comment, and Russ laughed at him.

"Speaking of brothers reunited," Corax said after a moment, "do you think Shepard will search for another Primarch soon?"

"I am certain she will," Guilliman replied. "Though she may not set out again until her Crusade is ready. Her forces suffered greatly on Commorragh, and the survivors need rest."

"It is surprising that you are granting her a reprieve at all." Jonson's gaze drifted to a stasis-trapped parchment on the wall, listing ancient glories from before the Ultramarines met their Primarch during the Great Crusade. "With all that must be done, we need every soldier at the front."

"Shepard's task means that she must be available for the Emperor's task." For a moment, Guilliman's expression darkened in a way he would never have allowed in front of anyone but another Primarch. "Her Crusade is a useful military asset that I would have sent elsewhere, but Father's mission is also endorsed by the Ecclesiarchy."

"You would have disobeyed the Emperor's edict?" Russ didn't appear serious; if anything, he seemed amused.

"Our father is many things, but I never knew Him to be so caring towards a single mortal woman." Guilliman schooled his features into something less hostile. "It just makes me wonder what His plan truly entails."

…

The last person Shepard wanted to see on Macragge was the man who had led her friend to her death. However, the Inquisition was not an organization Shepard wanted to make an enemy of, and Strakk had let her choose the time of their meeting. If anything, he had encouraged her to take as much time as she needed; he told her that he had many matters to attend to as well, and was in no rush.

Shepard was perfectly happy to take her time. While she had grieved for all those who had died under her command—especially Mallis—and the worst of the pain had passed, it would be a long time before she was back to her old self. Shortly after arriving in Ultramar, a brief triumph had been held for the conquering heroes, Shepard included; days passed before she could stop acting like a Living Saint, and more like the woman her friends had come to know. In an effort to keep herself occupied without distressing her friends by actually working, she made her way to the Ultramarines' archives to find something to read. Most of the contents were reserved for the Ultramarines themselves, though some sections were available to various high-ranking dignitaries who needed such information. Shepard was taking advantage of her position as one of the more famous people in the Imperium's recent history—and a friend of the Ultramarines' Primarch—to give herself a pass.

It was several hours later that Tigurius found her at a lectern, reading from an ancient tome. "'The Deeds of the Tetrarchy'? An interesting choice."

Shepard looked up at him and smiled. "Most of my life has been about either fighting wars or building things that were used in wars. I thought I'd read about people who were good at leading civilizations, not armies."

"The original Tetrarchy were warriors, first and foremost," Tigurius reminded her.

"But their most celebrated achievements all revolved around governing and civil reforms." Shepard gestured to the tome—with hands that Tigurius was pleased to see were gloved. "The only time any battles were mentioned was during the Great Heresy."

"Very true." Tigurius reached out to the book and closed his eyes; his mind was awash with soul-memories of the many thousands who had read it, and in the very back, the spirit-echoes of the mighty men who had written it. "Such records are the closest we have to accounts of peace."

"And if I can't have peace for myself, maybe I can learn to help build it for others." Shepard's smile was tired and bitter. "I'd rather my legacy have more than just blood on it."

Tigurius almost chided her; after all, she was the embodiment of the Emperor's rage, and her duty was war. But then he reminded himself that she was not an Astartes, and however strong her will was, however bolstered her spirit, she could not be strong all the time. Behind her mental and spiritual walls, he could sense great sadness, and pain from memories both old and new.

"Perhaps I can provide you with copies of some documents you might find interesting," he offered instead. That wasn't usually done, but he was Master of the Librarius, and he was certain he could obtain permission from his Primarch. "I will do my best to give them to you before you depart for Vigilus."

Shepard's smile was a little brighter. "Thanks. Even if I never get the chance to use those lessons myself, maybe I can pass them on to whoever rebuilds those worlds I leave behind."

"A beautiful sentiment, Saint Shepard."

Tigurius' hand gripped his force stave as he whirled, and his eyes crackled with eldritch power upon hearing an unfamiliar voice in his domain. Shepard resisted the urge to snarl as the peace and quiet was ruined by Inquisitor Strakk walking through the archives like he owned them.

"You have no right to be here, Inquisitor," Tigurius growled.

Strakk chuckled. "With all due respect, Chief Librarian, no doors are closed to me. Fear not, I have no intention of peering into whatever secrets the Ultramarines keep. I simply came here to meet with Saint Shepard to discuss some matters, and this place seemed quiet enough."

"It was quiet," Shepard grumbled, and Tigurius had to agree with her; the archives were as much a place of meditation as they were repositories of knowledge. "Anyway, what did you want to talk about? Not another mission that would get one of my friends killed, I hope."

"Death in the service of the Emperor is a reward," Strakk admonished lightly.

"And I'd rather people make as much difference as they can before they die," Shepard replied, her voice heavy with exhaustion.

Tigurius wanted to warn her; it was dangerous to the point of suicidal to argue with an Inquisitor, but he sensed no anger or malice from Strakk.

Actually… I sense nothing from him at all. He is no blank, so what blocks my senses? Some kind of null-field?

Tigurius was an Astartes, his reflexes honed by his post-human augmentations and centuries of experience; he should have acted sooner, and later, he would berate himself for being lax. He had hesitated because the archives were one of the few places in the galaxy that he considered safe.

Strakk dropped the psyk-out grenade at Tigurius' feet, and had he been a normal human, the pain it caused would have killed him then and there. As such, he was still thrown off his feet, and he was barely conscious, and Strakk was moving fast.

Shepard wore no armor and carried no weapons, and she was sitting down; she tried to rise, but Strakk punched her in the throat and hurled her to the marble floor with strength enhanced by his power armor. Shepard gasped for breath as she tried to fight through the shock of several broken bones and a crushed larynx. She weakly raised one hand to hold off Strakk, but he easily held her down and shoved a dagger into her wrist. The cut was small, but Shepard felt something oily and hot crawling through her veins; Strakk had poisoned her.

"You will answer for your heresy," Strakk hissed, and as Ultramarines stormed into the archives to stop him, he slipped a spiked teleport homer from his belt and stabbed it into Shepard's chest. "Target acquired. Emergency teleport, now!"

Tigurius could only watch as Shepard and Strakk vanished in a flash of blinding light; through his pain, he felt shock, horror, and building behind it all, a towering rage.

"Lord Tigurius," an Ultramarine said as he knelt and helped the Chief Librarian to his feet. "What has happened?"

"Contact the Primarchs, and the Shepard Crusade," Tigurius said, and then wiped his mouth; his gauntlet came away bloody. "We have been betrayed."

Just when you think Shepard can finally decompress after saying goodbye to so many friends, Strakk pulls this BS. Of course, Shepard didn't see it coming. No one expects the Imperial Inquisition, after all. Also, Rychelle got a promotion, we see some more of her relationship with Hiral, and more aftermath stuff.

Oh, and a quick note: while I'm reasonably sure Games Workshop will not go after me, as they are focused on fan animations, I am going to be walking on eggshells for a while. If the overlords of GW tell me to cease and desist, my Warhammer-related stories will immediately be pulled. I do not have the resources to win that kind of legal battle.

As always, please consider buying my book, Alpha Sanction, by Josh Gottlieb. You can find it on my website (link in my profile), or on Amazon as an eBook or physical copy. If you enjoy large-scale battles in the far future, maybe you'll like my book.

You can also support me on P-atreon (link in my profile), if you're feeling really generous and want me to update something once a month, because 2 full-time jobs suck. One day, I'd like to wake up and not have to slave away on a computer for work, and instead slave away at a computer for writing.

And I'd like to thank the following Patrons for helping me reach that dream:

Serious Muffins: Nimrod009, Anders Lyngbye, Matthias Matanovic, John Collins, Red Bard, Aaron Meek, Shaolin Khalil, killroy225, Zann Nightroad, Lokthar

Incredible Muffins: RaptorusMaximus, michaelb958, Crazyman844, Ben Stueckle

Ultra Muffins: RangersRoll, Adam Costello

Next Chapter: Shepard suffers at the hands of the Inquisition, while her allies desperately search for her before it's too late…

Courage and Muffins!