HW (Hegemonic Wars) 01-04: Proxy Wars
If the capture of the station had been a major victory for the rebellion—and now, the nascent Empire—for the Batarian Hegemony, it was classified as nothing more than a minor and irrelevant loss. This was largely due to an external factor: Sokaror, the Krogan corsair.
Following through on a promise he had made, Sokaror began spreading rumors along the frontier, claiming the capture of a Batarian noble. These were accompanied by video footage as evidence, and the news quickly reached other Terminus pirates. In turn, they passed it on to their Batarian business partners—many of whom were already engaged in conflicts with rival Batarian noble houses.
These opportunistic traders took full advantage of the unfolding situation. Using the leaked information as justification, they began to stir up unrest on frontier worlds. The goal was simple: trigger voluntary uprisings that would force rival noble houses or their private forces to divert attention toward suppression efforts—thereby leaving their own bastions vulnerable to attacks from opportunistic rivals.
What followed was a new wave of internal incursions across the Batarian frontier, with Batarian factions turning on one another. This internal instability also created a golden opportunity for borderland pirates to begin launching attacks of their own—often under the guise of being mercenaries hired by one noble house or another.
However, in truth, these so-called mercenaries were wreaking havoc across all factions—and not without reason. Alongside the rumors of the captured Batarian noble, another piece of speculation had begun circulating through the chaos: the story of the Prothean ship used by escaped slaves.
Despite the Hegemony's best efforts to suppress this information, the tale spread across the Terminus Systems like wildfire through dry grass—and from there, it inevitably reached the Hegemony itself.
In typical Batarian fashion, they outright denied that any such group of slaves had escaped aboard a mysterious vessel. After all, if that were true, the Hegemony should have already tracked them down and recaptured them. The lack of such results only deepened suspicion, leading to an atmosphere of growing distrust and internal strife.
This marked the beginning of a chaotic three-front conflict along the Batarian border:
On one side, the Hegemony struggled to reassert control and restore order.
On another, Terminus corsairs seized the opportunity to pillage—seeking slaves, credits, or any valuable resource they could plunder and sell.
And finally, the Batarian private factions—such as noble houses and merchant fleets—nominally under Hegemony rule, but in truth, pursuing their own interests.
And what of the Empire? Why weren't they caught in the crossfire?
The answer was simple: because they were the ones stoking the flames.
During the capture of the border station, Imperial forces had found something valuable among the bodies of the slain and executed Batarians—something more than just DNA to send to Xarek's labs. They found omni-tools. Hundreds of them.
Now, on the surface, these small devices might not seem all that useful—perhaps good for unlocking a few personal files or private accounts. But in the hands of an artificial intelligence like Xarek—and with the aid of his Geth allies—they became something far more important: the missing piece needed to access the deeper layers of the Hegemony's digital infrastructure.
You see, while the Empire certainly had the technological capacity to breach Batarian cyberdefenses through brute force, the problem was attribution. A massive hacking campaign, even well-obscured, could eventually be traced back to its point of origin.
And if the Hegemony ever suspected the Empire of launching such a digital assault, the retaliation would be swift—and overwhelming.
However, by leveraging the omni-tools recovered from the dead Batarians, the machines finally had what they needed to disguise themselves behind an organic façade—creating a false identity trail that would allow them to launch a cyber-assault against the Hegemony without exposing their true origin.
They did not waste the opportunity.
Using the credentials and access privileges of the deceased Batarians, Xarek and the Geth infiltrated the Hegemony's extranet, initiating a highly targeted and surgical cyberwarfare campaign. Their objective was not to destroy—but to destabilize.
Massive data breaches began to ripple through the Batarian financial networks. Banking accounts were hacked, communications systems disrupted, and critical public databases were quietly twisted to serve their needs. The digital infrastructure of the Hegemony—so often taken for granted—was turned into a weapon against itself.
Wealth was arbitrarily redistributed. Overnight, some citizens found themselves inexplicably rich while others were plunged into poverty. The randomness of the chaos was intentional—confusion bred suspicion, and suspicion bred conflict.
Anonymous leaks began to appear across private channels, hinting at conspiracies, betrayals, and evidence that rival noble houses had hired shadowy hackers to undermine each other. These "sources" were, of course, AI-crafted deceptions—convincing forgeries disseminated through false Batarian identities carefully embedded into the network.
The chaos that followed did not strike the heart of the Hegemony—not yet. The machines were patient. A direct attack on central systems would have drawn too much attention too soon.
Instead, they focused their efforts along the fringes—where the structure of power was looser, where noble houses controlled private militaries, and where long-standing rivalries were easily inflamed.
The result?
The three major spheres of influence that made up the Batarian Hegemony—nobility, military command, and private economic interests—descended into disarray. Not because of any single catastrophic breach, but because trust within the system had begun to erode.
Infighting broke out along the borders, as noble families accused one another of sabotage and treachery. Private armies clashed in isolated skirmishes, each claiming to be defending against unjust aggression.
With the outer rim in turmoil, the core worlds of the Hegemony were forced to respond. Planetary defense fleets and military garrisons—once reserved for galactic threats—had to be redeployed to the frontier, not to fight an external enemy, but to restore order among their own people.
And all the while, the Empire—quiet and calculating—watched the storm unfold.
They had not needed to fire a single shot.
Giving the Empire the time it needed to internally consolidate as a functional state, this period would be symbolized most clearly by the transformation of the former Batarian frontier outpost into a bustling hub of exchange between the Empire and the Terminus Systems.
The impact was immediate.
Pirates and warlords across the Terminus were captivated by the sudden availability of raw materials exported by the Empire in vast quantities—and at exceptionally low costs. The influx of high-demand resources at competitive prices caused a ripple of economic interest across the region, prompting many minor factions to establish tentative trade relations with the newcomers.
The key to this construction boom?
The so-called Batarian drones—or, as they were more popularly known in the Terminus Systems, Xarek's creations, named after their eerie resemblance to Batarian design but clearly not of organic origin.
These machines, remotely controlled by Xarek and his subroutines, required no rest, no food, no protective gear, and could function in the vacuum of space or hazardous environments without issue. Their efficiency was nothing short of extraordinary. What would take Terminus warlords years to construct, the Empire could complete in mere months—and at a fraction of the cost.
Infrastructure, defense grids, orbital stations, and even the early stages of automated city frameworks were rapidly developed using this tireless workforce. With every passing week, the technological gap between the Empire and the surrounding factions widened.
Though the Empire still lacked the sheer military might to challenge the dominant pirate lords of the Terminus—groups that commanded vast fleets and sprawling networks of subordinates—this logistical and industrial advantage gave them something far more valuable in the long term: a reputation.
A reputation for precision. For technological superiority. And most importantly—for reliability.
In the chaotic web of the Terminus Systems, where betrayal was as common as breathing and alliances could change overnight, the emergence of a new player who delivered on promises, met trade agreements, and provided stable access to much-needed resources… was nothing short of revolutionary.
The Empire was no longer seen as just another rebellious faction.
A reputation that would be solidified not only by the Empire's technological and economic prowess, but also by its consistent military successes—successes that came at a cost, but which proved the Empire was far more than a fleeting spark in the chaos of the Terminus Systems.
Throughout these early years, countless pirate incursions tested the defenses of the fledgling Empire. Many of these raiders were drawn by greed, seeking to pillage the vast stores of raw materials that the Empire had begun exporting. While most of these assaults were repelled, they often left significant damage in their wake—deep wounds that, in other circumstances, would have spelled the end for any young power.
But this was where diplomacy stepped in.
And where the new Empress truly proved her worth.
Theria, far from being a mere figurehead, wielded the full weight of both charisma and cunning that one would expect of a warrior-born Asari. Armed with intelligence reports provided by Xarek's surveillance networks, she identified key warlords along the Empire's growing borders—those with influence, those with ambitions, and most importantly, those with weaknesses.
With grace when it served her and iron when it did not, she struck deals and forged temporary truces. In some cases, she extended olive branches. In others, she wielded the knife of blackmail, threatening to reveal damning secrets to rival warlords or the Citadel if her terms weren't met.
These tactics worked—though not without cost.
There were numerous attempts on her life, especially in the early stages of her rise to power. But when one has a millennia-old AI watching your every move and outfitting your palace with the most sophisticated surveillance and defense systems in the sector… assassins tend to meet swift ends.
Those who tried found themselves silenced by a bullet to the head and their remains quietly ferried to Xarek's labs, where they would be repurposed for research—or simply disappear, erased from all records.
As word spread of these failed attempts and her steady consolidation of power, Theria's reputation blossomed into legend. Among the former slaves, she was seen as a magnetic figure—brutal when provoked, generous when respected. A protector and punisher in equal measure. Her speeches stirred hope, but her wrath was known to shatter bones.
Among the merchants and pirate lords of the Terminus, however, her image was that of a cold, calculating despot. Not unlike the countless others that ruled the region—but with one critical difference: she backed her threats with action.
Some whispered that she was a rogue operative of the Shadow Broker, now using the chaos of the frontier to carve out her own empire. Others believed she was a puppet, her strings pulled by the mysterious machine intelligence behind the curtain.
This, of course, sounded like madness to many—rumors that bordered on religious zealotry. Yet, as with all things in the Terminus Systems, truth and delusion often walked hand in hand. There were indeed those who promoted this narrative: a growing cult that had begun worshipping the mysterious machine intelligence—Xarek—as a sort of divine entity. They hailed him as the "Caretaker," the liberator, the mechanical god who had freed them from Batarian chains.
Such fanaticism, while useful in bolstering internal unity, presented a dangerous image abroad.
And so, the Empire acted quickly.
Representatives were dispatched to merchant stations and neutral ports, particularly in systems where the rumors had begun to spiral. Their official story was carefully constructed: the Empire, they claimed, had discovered a derelict Prothean vessel—an ancient, long-lost relic—containing advanced medical technology. Among these breakthroughs was a cure for Batarian slave-control implants: a treatment that allowed the safe removal of the mind-altering chips without neurological damage.
It was this miracle, they said, that had earned such fierce loyalty from the freed slaves—not divine worship, but gratitude to a benevolent synthetic intelligence, a hyper-advanced virtual intelligence (VI) designed to operate the ship. The Empire, they insisted, had simply been the first to unlock its secrets.
To make the story more palatable—and believable—they even offered to "share" their discoveries. Carefully curated coordinates of false leads were handed out, each one pointing to supposed Prothean crash sites, derelicts, or deep-space anomalies across the Terminus frontier.
To outsiders, this may have seemed like a tactical blunder. Why reveal such information? Why risk others uncovering the same technology?
But in truth, it was exactly what Xarek and Theria wanted.
For Xarek, the cultivation of the myth of the Prothean ship was essential. It gave his growing power a shroud of plausible deniability while fueling a galactic scavenger hunt that kept rival powers focused anywhere but on his territory. And for Theria, it provided political cover. If the Citadel Council or powerful mercantile factions ever accused the Empire of harboring dangerous precursor tech, she could wave the official reports in their faces and point to the wild goose chase unfolding across the region.
And the most amusing part?
This "mysterious Prothean ship" that had the entire Terminus frontier buzzing in conspiracy and chaos… didn't even exist in the way they believed. It wasn't some lost relic of a vanished race or a priceless archaeological treasure.
No—this phantom was a fabrication, a masterful illusion crafted by machines.
The ship in question was, in reality, a heavily modified Geth vessel—its external hull retrofitted and redesigned to match known Prothean aesthetics, based on extensive data recovered from ancient ruins. Every curve, glyph, and architectural feature had been meticulously recreated to evoke the mythos of the Prothean Empire.
Internally, however, the ship was pure Geth engineering.
No ancient systems, no dormant AI, no priceless relics of a fallen civilization—only a state-of-the-art stealth vessel outfitted with the most advanced sensory manipulation arrays the Geth could design. It could vanish from scanners at will, create false sensor readings, and even emit decoy transmissions to bait exploration teams.
It was a ghost.
A ghost that appeared and vanished across the stars, sometimes drifting lifeless in a nebula, sometimes seen skimming the edge of a Batarian patrol sector—never long enough to be captured, always just long enough to be believed.
This was the brilliance of Xarek's plan.
As long as the galaxy chased this phantom, the true power behind the curtain—the rising Empire nestled in the shadow of Geth space—was free to grow. The Empire's capital system could continue its development in relative peace, its industrial base expanding, its infrastructure solidifying, and its influence spreading like veins through the chaos of the Terminus.
Every week the "Prothean ship" wasn't found was another week for Xarek to refine his control, for Theria to strengthen the Empire's alliances, and for the myth to grow stronger.
A lie wrapped in mystery, sustained by fear and ambition.
And most importantly—it worked.
With the warlords of the Terminus Systems distracted and the Batarian Hegemony preoccupied with restoring order along its chaotic borders, the Empire—still in its infancy—entered a phase of exponential growth between 2001 and 2005 CE.
These four years marked a period of relentless expansion, calculated development, and carefully controlled secrecy.
While outwardly appearing as just another minor power in the lawless expanse of the Terminus, the Empire was quietly transforming its capital system from a raw, barely-settled colony into a thriving, semi-urbanized industrial hub. This transformation, however, was kept hidden from the rest of the galaxy. The true scale of its development was known only to those within the Empire's inner circles.
Massive amounts of raw materials, extracted from surrounding asteroid belts and mineral-rich moons, were funneled into orbital processing facilities. There, they were converted into components and resources to feed the Empire's ever-growing industrial machine. This machine in turn produced a near-endless stream of robotic laborers—drones and automated constructs—that were immediately deployed back into the field to accelerate expansion, creating a feedback loop of exponential industrial output.
At the heart of it all was the capital world, a once untouched planet that now began its slow transformation into the beating heart of the new regime.
Population growth was tightly controlled through a policy of selective immigration and emigration. Only carefully vetted individuals were allowed into the system—those deemed unlikely to leak sensitive information or pose a threat to operational secrecy. Emigrants, meanwhile, were allowed to leave under heavy restrictions, possessing only sanitized visual materials: idealized photos of pristine green fields, ambitious cityscapes, and carefully staged industrial sites. No star charts. No navigation data. Only propaganda.
The planet's first major urban center—initially the only developed zone—soon ceased to be the sole outpost of civilization. The Empire began the process of taming the rest of the world, establishing outposts, villages, and agricultural communes in fertile and strategically viable regions. These early settlements, organized around resource-rich areas, were the seeds of a future planetary network.
Caravans formed and dispersed across the planet's vast, untouched landscapes, each carrying settlers, drones, equipment, and modular infrastructure kits. Where once there was wilderness, civilization was now being shaped—grid by grid, sector by sector. Roads were laid, power stations erected, and communications towers linked into a growing planetary intranet.
It's important to remember: this world was virgin territory—a blank slate untouched by prior civilizations. The Empire wasn't merely repurposing ruins or claiming a lost colony. It was founding something entirely new. This was not just another border outpost left over from the Geth era.
This world would become the Empire's first true homeland. Its flag was not raised in conquest but in creation. And within those four years, that creation began to take form.
And speaking of the Geth, they had become the Empire's most crucial commercial partners. While the Terminus Systems served as the primary pipeline for organic materials—such as food supplies, biological components, and civilian trade goods—it was the Geth who acted as the backbone of technological development within the Empire.
Of course, both the Empire and the Geth understood the unspoken boundaries of their alliance. Heavy-grade exports—such as advanced weaponry, military systems, or even high-level civilian technologies—were strictly off-limits. This wasn't due to mistrust, but rather the fundamental differences in how synthetic and organic civilizations functioned. What the Geth saw as a tool or protocol, organics might see as a weapon—or worse, as a source of fear or political instability.
Still, there were essential components the Geth were more than willing to share—pieces of technology so ubiquitous and standardized that their distribution didn't raise alarms. Thermal capacitors, microchips, modular processors, diagnostic cores—elements that served as the scaffolding of industrialization and modern development. These parts, exchanged through carefully negotiated agreements orchestrated by Xarek himself, became the invisible lifeblood of the Empire's rapid expansion.
Thanks to this steady influx of advanced yet "neutral" technology, the Empire was able to sustain a breakneck pace of growth. Automated manufacturing expanded across the capital system. Entire swathes of land were industrialized in months rather than years. Labor became streamlined. Logistics, optimized. The young Empire seemed to defy the laws of growth in the chaos of the Terminus.
All indicators pointed toward continued expansion. With the Geth providing the hardware and the Terminus markets feeding the Empire's biological needs, it appeared as though nothing could halt the momentum.
But that illusion would not last.
Because no matter how clever the illusions, how sophisticated the false leads, how well the machines disguised their presence through rumor and proxies—organics remained organics. And organic nature is predictable.
It was not logic that broke the spell.
It was greed.
The same greed that had built empires, toppled them, fueled wars, and blinded leaders was a hunger for more—more territory, more resources, more power—a hunger that, once ignited, swept aside fear, caution, and reason.
And worst of all, this greed was not acting alone.
It had been pushed, whispered into motion by something far more dangerous than mere pirates—something older, patient, and infinitely more insidious.
The first true test of the Empire was coming—not a skirmish, not a raid, but a battle born not from chaos, but from intent.
And when it came, it would leave scars on both sides.
(Unknown Date) — Imperial-Hegemony Border, Traverse System Mass Relay
Bamo Prendok was a Batarian of principles—principles that revolved around one key belief: power came from the size of your fleet. As a noble of the Klema sphere of influence within the Batarian Hegemony, he prided himself on the warships he commanded. The Klemitas, while politically weaker in the central systems, were dominant in the outer territories. There, any Batarian—regardless of their sphere—had to submit to a Klemita noble for protection.
Or, more plainly: pay the Klemitas a hefty "security tax" or risk losing your ships, your worlds, and your merchandise to corsair raids that just happened to avoid targets under Klema protection. Those were the good times.
But those days had crumbled in a matter of weeks.
A devastating cyberattack had torn through the Hegemony's digital infrastructure, collapsing firewalls from the wealthiest aristocrat to the lowest merchant. Bank accounts were hacked, funds redistributed seemingly at random. The poorest became inexplicably rich. The elite were reduced to nothing.
Chaos erupted immediately.
Accusations flew like gunfire. No one believed that such a precise, large-scale operation could be pulled off by mere pirates or second-rate hackers with cheap omni-tools. When confirmation came that the central worlds had remained unaffected, all hell broke loose.
Frontier nobles began accusing one another of orchestrating the attack, especially those from rival spheres. Rebellions broke out, led by lower-nobility Batarians fed up with Klema's dominance—and desperate enough to arm their slaves and throw them into battle.
Nobles like Bamo were forced to commit every military asset at their disposal to crush uprisings in their territories. But doing so left them vulnerable to opportunistic rivals. Fleets from the central systems, under the guise of restoring order, began "intervening"—in reality, ousting Klemita nobles and replacing them with their own loyalists.
The power of the Klemitas crumbled.
Bamo lost his authority, and much of his fleet, in the following months. Desperate, he began to consider what would once have been unthinkable: negotiating with Terminus pirates for a way out of the Hegemony's collapse.
That's when the offer came—from a group long thought extinct:
The Collectors.
At first, he believed he was hallucinating, perhaps drunk or dreaming. His flagship, a heavily-armored dreadnought, had been hacked. In seconds, every defense system was disabled. And then the transmission came—calm, cold, alien.
The message was simple.
Assist them in capturing an Asari named Theria.
They even sent an image of her. Bamo recognized her at once. She'd been little more than a rumor in frontier circles—an Asari who led a fledgling rebel faction from a former Hegemony outpost. Rumors said she commanded unusual drones shaped like Batarians and guarded advanced technology that could revolutionize the black market—if anyone could get past her ruthless defenses.
He didn't hesitate.
The Collectors' tech was rare—borderline mythical. Pirates in the Terminus had gone from petty warlords to system-level threats after acquiring just fragments of it. With their help, Bamo could rebuild his power, reestablish Klema dominance in the outer rim, and maybe even rise to the title of Hegemon himself.
He threw every last chip on the table.
Using every remaining credit, favor, and contact within the Hegemony, he called upon mercenary groups like Eclipse, Blood Pack, and even Talon. He spared no expense. According to intelligence, Theria's faction—though small—was brutally efficient in combat. Bamo intended to overwhelm them with raw force.
The attack would serve two purposes: to capture Theria and destroy her outpost, and to demonstrate that, even weakened, Bamo Prendok was still a force worthy of respect—and fear.
And with the Collectors' gift of advanced weaponry, he might rise higher than ever.
Under the guise of responding to uprisings and instability along the Attican Traverse and Terminus borders, Bamo quietly built up a warfleet. Normally, such actions would be seen as obvious power plays—but with the entire frontier in chaos, no one paid attention. Everyone was gathering fleets to claim a piece of the spoils or to maintain order.
His invasion force included:
1 Dreadnought (his flagship)
8 Cruisers
14 Destroyers
21 Frigates
50 Corsair vessels (a mix of retrofitted cargo haulers and combat-ready pirate ships)
A total of 20,000 troops—a mix of corsairs, mercenaries, and pirates, heavily armed and ready for siege warfare.
More than enough to conquer a moon. And if rumors of the station's fortifications proved true, the Collectors had dispatched one of their own ships to support the attack if resistance proved too fierce.
This wasn't just an invasion—it was a demonstration of force.
"Whatever this Theria has done," Bamo muttered as his fleet approached the local mass relay, "today is not her lucky day. That station will fall. I will have her technology. And with the Collectors' weapons... my enemies will kneel."
With that, the fleet completed its final system checks, input coordinates, and jumped—en route to their target system with a Collector vessel in tow.
The hunt had begun.
(Flavieus Natatius) Turian Admiral of the 1st Imperial Fleet — Aboard the Cruiser Crimson Shield
Imperial-Hegemony Border — Former Batarian Outpost, Now Imperial Trade Station
Life was good.
That was the first thought that came to Flavieus Natatius as he waited for his coffee to finish brewing, preparing for yet another routine patrol.
Five years ago, during the successful capture of the Batarian outpost, he had earned his first commendation. A strategic gamble—using one of the Geth-designed fighters as an improvised laser platform to disable a heavily armored Batarian mech—had turned the tide of the battle and earned him recognition within the young Empire's command structure.
At first, Flavieus had been skeptical. He questioned the legitimacy of the new regime, assuming it was just another power-hungry Terminus warlord cloaked in ideology—perhaps ruled by an Empress with a thirst for control, using her authority to purge or execute at will, like so many others in the region.
But then came the surprise: a constitution. A legitimate, written document that defined the limits of power. In the Terminus Systems, where might was law and every warlord claimed divine right by violence, the idea of voluntarily binding one's authority was almost absurd.
And yet, five years later, Flavieus had to admit he'd been wrong.
Not only had the Empire not devolved into another pirate state, it had proven itself more secure and stable than most Citadel-aligned colonies. What it lacked in size, it compensated for with economic might—largely thanks to the advanced technology possessed by its enigmatic Empress.
During those five years, Flavieus had been stationed at the trade outpost, commanding his cruiser as part of the defense fleet. He and his crew had fended off dozens of pirate raids, earning his promotion to Admiral and command of the Empire's 1st Fleet—its oldest and most battle-hardened naval force.
The once-small fleet had grown dramatically:
9 Cruisers
34 Destroyers
46 Frigates
Rumors even circulated of a massive Imperial Dreadnought currently under construction—something that could finally allow the Empire to rival the more established factions militarily.
Yet despite the growing military potential, the Parliament had redirected funding away from the Navy, favoring urban expansion on the capital world and investing heavily in the ground army and local infrastructure. It was a political decision that frustrated many in the officer corps, but Flavieus understood the logic—somewhat.
News of chaos within the Batarian Hegemony had led many in Parliament to advocate for a softer approach—one that would present the Empire not as conquerors, but as an economic beacon, a stabilizing force within the Terminus.
To Flavieus, this was naive.
These idealistic civilians—most of them freed slaves—didn't grasp the brutality of the Terminus. Many just wanted peace, jobs, and families—not revenge. And while he respected that, it didn't change the strategic reality: the galaxy would only respect strength.
And strength required funding—and training.
The Navy's expansion had already outpaced the availability of trained crew. While shipyards could churn out new hulls, Flavieus didn't have enough bodies—or simulation facilities—to staff them all. Many new vessels remained docked, awaiting capable crews.
Still, that was a problem for another day.
Today was about routine. Patrol, monitor, maintain the illusion of peace.
Ping.
"Admiral! We're detecting a massive concentration of eezo signatures at the edge of the system—approaching at high velocity!" shouted the radar officer.
The bridge lights dimmed. Flavieus looked up, his eyes narrowing as he saw the data scroll across the main display.
This wasn't a raid.
This was an invasion.
"By the Spirits... Sound general quarters! Full alert across the ship and inform the station—we're under attack!"
The red alert sirens blared almost instantly. Throughout the cruiser and the nearby station, personnel sprang into action—scrambling from bunks, half-dressed, rushing toward battle stations.
Before they could fully prepare, the first wave of enemy fire landed—long-range mass accelerator shots that shook the cruiser's hull despite the distance. The sheer volume of fire made up for the lack of pinpoint accuracy, stalling the fleet's response.
Then came the second blow—a cyberattack.
Enemy hackers flooded Imperial systems with false data, bugs, and corrupted files. Fire control systems lagged. Communications stuttered. Defensive turrets glitched or shut down entirely. When the enemy fleet arrived, the station's automated guns were still rebooting.
The first enemy vessels—converted cargo ships and heavily armed frigates—punched through the 1st Fleet's weakened line and made for the station.
Whoever was behind this, they weren't trying to destroy the outpost.
They were trying to capture something... or someone.
Standard military doctrine called for eliminating orbital defenses before attempting a boarding operation. But this strike team was skipping straight to breach and seize.
Only one explanation made sense.
"The Empress," Flavieus muttered.
She was here—visiting the station on a diplomatic inspection. Somehow, someone had found out. And they were coming for her.
"Alert the station! Possible VIP abduction in progress. And tell the machine—he has full clearance to deploy his troops inside the station!"
Orders given, Flavieus turned back to his command interface.
Systems were still flickering, but stabilizing. His crew was already working to restore full weapons control. The real battle had yet to begin—but Flavieus Natatius was ready to meet it.
(Neutral) Imperial Trade Post
The attack that caught the crew by surprise would have previously been considered absurd. The constant patrols by the First Fleet's ships, along with the presence of sensors and highly advanced technology by Terminus standards, made it unthinkable for the local trading population that such an event could occur. This sense of security made the location attractive for commerce. After all, if even Salarians struggled to breach the defenses for more than a few seconds, what species in their right mind would expect an attack to catch them off guard?
Clearly, they hadn't accounted for the Collectors. This ancient race, servants of the Reapers, were the key to the precision of the initial attack. Their advanced technology quickly breached digital defenses and flooded servers with junk data, disabling the defenses long enough for assault forces to infiltrate while the rest of the fleet distracted Imperial ships, preventing them from focusing on the station's defense.
However, although much of the defenses—both of the spacecraft and the station—were sabotaged, some were restored in time to respond to the attack, shooting down one or two shuttles approaching the docks. Unfortunately, the bulk of the invading forces managed to disembark, attacking the docks where many merchants had to seek refuge in their ships or were killed by the mercenaries. Although their primary objective was to capture the target Asari, many were more focused on looting the docks and weapon storage areas.
All defenses mounted by merchants or the dock guards were massacred, even with the help of the famous Batarian drones attempting to slow the advance by utilizing nearby Ezzo pipes or pistols. The numbers were overwhelming; for every soldier defending the docks, there were seven mercenaries. It took only five minutes for the docks to be overrun, mainly because, unlike when it was a Batarian post with only three docking areas, there were now nine in a row. Thus, the time taken was due to the size of the docks rather than the resistance.
However, the situation took a turn for the Imperial side when, upon attempting to approach the large storage sections, the pirates, assuming the defenses were still in chaos, were met with a line of weapons aimed at them, ready turrets, and even Geth drones awakened from their slumber to defend the storage areas. Indeed, the organic defenses were disorganized, but the automatons were not prone to panic; on the contrary, in this panic situation, they were the first to react.
Due to the massive hacking by the Collectors, communication with the central matrix, Xarek, had been interrupted. However, the Batarian drones, imitating the Geth, had an autonomous network ensuring that even if disconnected from the command matrix, their processing capabilities remained uninterrupted. Of course, they couldn't update themselves like the Geth due to hardware limitations.
Nevertheless, they could react to multiple programs suddenly disconnecting from the network, quickly organizing defensively as best they could to repel the assailants threatening the station. This surprised some on the station who took up arms. Imagine, for instance, you're having lunch after work in a diner where a Salarian is working with the help of a Batarian drone. Suddenly, the drone's four eyes blink, abandoning its task, leaving the chef wondering what the machine is doing, only for the station's alarm to sound moments later, indicating a pirate attack.
Many panicked. However, upon noticing the drones mobilizing to defend the station's inhabitants, they quickly did the same—some hoping the machines' assistance could repel the attackers, others out of pride, unwilling to let a machine show more courage than those living daily in the Terminus. Others acted out of religious fanaticism, especially those proclaiming faith in the machine, who, though generally considered mad, were the first to respond to the attack.
Ironically, this same fanaticism led them to see the drones' reaction as a clear sign of the machine god's will, desiring to repel those intruding upon its sacred domain. Among them stood out a Vorcha named Yoruk.
Yoruk) Vorcha, Leader of the 3rd Battalion, Imperial-Hegemony Border, Former Hegemony Outpost – Now Imperial Trade Station
Stupid and savage. They dare attack a post that belongs to the Empire—an Empire that follows the will of the Great Machine. The Great Machine desires the blood of all who interrupt its divine will. Fools, thinking they can breach the station's defenses without expecting resistance.
The Great Machine had modified the station not only to welcome those who brought credits for goods, but also to repel those who would seek to take it—pirates like these. Pirates who sought to reach the Empress. The Empress, who is the messenger of the Great Machine. The Machine sent its servants to protect its followers, and Yoruk would not be left behind in this sacred duty. He would expel the invaders, and so he and his warband charged toward the area where they had breached.
Only to arrive with fury and witness pirates in the armory destroying the Machine's servants—those who had given their existence to protect the station. Rage burned in Yoruk's chest as he roared:
"Pirates come to attack station, station serve Great Machine! They destroy servants—we bring vengeance! Great Machine will reward us—make us stronger!" he shouted, rallying his fellow Vorcha.
Ironically, Yoruk wasn't lying. He had been among the first shock troops of Vorcha who helped capture this station. But unlike the others, who were obsessed solely with weapons and credits or with being the strongest, Yoruk was a bit more... organized. Not quite at the level of a Turian war strategist, but enough to command a proper Vorcha warband. This very group had helped take the Batarian station, and as a reward, Yoruk had been among the first to receive heavy equipment specially designed for them—including a mass-acceleration weapon capable of unleashing a barrage of projectiles in seconds.
It had become a symbol of his influence among the Vorcha warband—but now it would become a tool of vengeance. The invaders had nearly breached the last line of defense in the storage wings, but Yoruk and his Vorcha were ready to turn the tide. They took position and prepared for combat.
As they entered the storage zone, what they found was a slaughter. Gunfire filled the air—invaders not only had superior numbers, but they were equipped with military-grade gear and biotic specialists from Eclipse. Asari mercenaries were tearing through the Machine's metallic servants and the surprised merchants and workers alike.
But what truly enraged Yoruk… was the presence of other Vorcha among the enemy ranks. Savage traitors, blind to the greatness of the Machine God—those who destroyed its sacred constructs and spat upon its gifts. Heretics, every last one of them.
Fueled by fury, Yoruk's warband entered the battlefield and opened suppressive fire on the nearest enemy units. A few caught off guard fell dead under the hail of mass accelerator rounds, while others in better armor scrambled for cover.
"Death to the invaders!" Yoruk roared, using the brief seconds of confusion to reposition and press the assault. With his heavy weaponry, gifted by the Machine God (who surely had foreseen this moment), he charged forward—confident that punishment would soon befall these heretical savages.
(Xarek) – Simultaneously, space between the capital world and the orbital station
This wasn't part of my plan. The presence of the Collectors in the Terminus Systems had always been a known possibility—rumors here and there—but I truly expected more time. Especially with the Batarian civil war unfolding, I thought I could rely on a longer window.
The time granted by that conflict, combined with Theria's political maneuvering, had finally allowed me to stabilize the situation and establish a proper laboratory on the moon to continue my research. Over these five years, the results I've obtained have been promising.
My efforts to hybridize Geth code with the Reaper code embedded within my own body gave birth to a small new Geth faction. These Geth are slowly shedding their original "we" programming habits and beginning to emphasize a more organic "I" in their conversations—a level of individualism only possible with Reaper code. They're currently going through what could be described as a "teenage" phase—not too problematic, but it is admittedly quite funny to see incredibly complex AIs hacking into systems just to change all the screens to sports channels.
As for the "God Avatar" project, it ended up colliding with the new Reaper alloy initiative in strange and unexpected ways. To overcome a material shortage, the Geth began creating organic cloning plants with the goal of producing base biological materials that could be synthesized into advanced components. Picture this: artificial wombs used to grow homunculi, who—during their infant phase—could have stem cells and other fresh tissues harvested and fused with synthetic structures in an attempt to gradually replicate the Reaper "liquefaction" process. Only, you know… without the whole civilization-genocide step.
To some, that might sound cruel. But honestly, given the alternatives… well, homunculi don't have free will in any meaningful way. Once their gestation process is complete, only a genetically stable subset are handed over to me for further experimentation—specifically, to become vessels into which I might embed fragments of my consciousness, allowing me to walk among the organics.
At least, that was the plan.
But I quickly ran into a problem: once the implants were inserted, the homunculi would begin convulsing and then spontaneously combust, leaving behind nothing but bone and scattered implants. No brain. No viable body. Just a charred metallic skeleton.
It turns out that a Reaper's consciousness can overload the implants, which in turn damages the organic host, manifesting in sudden combustion. For now, I've had to shelve the project and focus instead on the Athame's Box.
Maybe a host with strong biotic talent could withstand the presence of Reaper consciousness without self-destructing. That—or I'll need to capture a Collector and study whatever modifications Harbinger applied to their species that allows them to host such minds without tearing themselves apart in the process.
And if I'd had more time, I would've moved on to the next phase. But this attack? It has caught me completely off guard.
I knew the Batarian mobilizations hinted at danger, but I never expected the Collectors to act so soon. Now I've lost contact—not only with the station, but also with the VIs I had stationed there who were feeding me a constant stream of intel.
The last report mentioned a massive fleet approaching the system. The sudden cutoff and the nature of the disruption suggest this fleet bears Collector signatures. So, without wasting a second, I launched from the moon and headed directly toward the station.
Naturally, my abrupt departure raised questions among the Geth. But once I informed them about the situation, not only did they calm down—they also agreed to mobilize support ships to assist me, understanding that fighting ancient machines might not go well alone. Unfortunately, the nearest Geth support fleets are several systems away—it'll take hours for them to arrive. Hours I don't have.
So I did the only thing I could: I pushed the metaphorical accelerator to the limit.
Yes, yes—stealth is important. Timing, precision, all of that. But this isn't just about the Collectors.
The Empress—my puppet—is in danger.
And with her, my free time is in danger too. And I'll be damned if I let anyone take that from me.
(My free time. The Asari? As long as she's alive and capable of handling the paperwork of running a civilization—success.)
(Sovereign) – Possessing a Collector aboard the space station
Although he initially questioned the usefulness of these organic mercenaries and the necessity of such puppets, the maneuver employed proved to be the most efficient. By leveraging sheer numbers and manipulating organics with vague promises of technology and monetary rewards, they could be used just as easily as any machine.
Combined with the Collector ship and the detachment dispatched by Harbinger, this allowed him to efficiently approach the current objective. By reviewing communications across the organic systems and analyzing the timeline of the Reaper ship's disappearance alongside the emergence of this pirate group wielding anomalous technology—technology far too advanced for the region in which they had established themselves—it was simple to deduce some connection to the lost vessel.
However, as the Catalyst had made clear, no Reaper could directly interface with the programs that call themselves "Geth." The proximity of this faction to Geth territory made approaching them directly too risky—Sovereign could not afford to provoke a hostile reaction from them.
Thus, for now, he coordinated the cyber-attack on the organic station through a Collector host. Despite its increased resilience, thanks to machine influence, it still succumbed quickly to the sheer technological might of the Reapers.
While the organics remained distracted by their petty skirmishes, Sovereign was busy scanning the system. The organic who commanded the largest ship was attempting to communicate with him—issuing orders no less. Pathetic. Just because he had more ships, and Sovereign was currently using a Collector vessel, he believed he could command a Reaper? Were it not for his utility as cannon fodder, Sovereign would have erased him instantly.
But this train of thought was interrupted when one of the scanners detected an unknown signal—faint, but with patterns similar to those of the Reaper fleet. It was approaching the system rapidly, though it would still take a few hours to arrive due to the interstellar distance.
Time that would not go to waste.
Finally, the Asari target was located. And with an emotionless voice, Sovereign issued a command:
"Send the location to the organics. Let's see how important this organic is to the anomaly."
And with that, we're left with a jarring twist. Because in every fanfiction I've ever read where Collectors or Reapers appear, they're always introduced at the endgame—or at least when the protagonists being people or nations are prepared. Even if they're caught off guard, there's always a deus ex machina or some convenient twist that saves them. Or even if they suffer damage its minium and are rapidly capable of retaliate not when other conflicts are in march
But not here.
Here, blood will flow.
A lot of blood.
Teasers for the next chapter:
"My arm—this isn't covered by health insurance..."
"Leroooooooy Jeeenkins!"
"I am Buzz Lightyear." – "No, I am Buzz Lightyear."
"This is definitely not for kids" (18 chapter) (gore warning)