He looked up, and saw the end of all things.[1]

Explosions, soft and peaceful in the darkness of space, rippled and bloomed like tender flowers in a predawn mist. The violence of war played out in silence, as if someone had bothered to turn the volume of the morbid scene off completely. From where he stood, he could see thousands of individual detonations, caused from oxidizing gases as flames came into contact with them. The whirls of the separate infernos raged in their beautiful blooms before being snuffed out at the end of their half-lives upon expending the accelerants almost instantaneously.

He could see veins of smoke and particulates making a cross-stitch across space from small attack ships spiraling out of control before they exploded, their pilots desperately doing everything in their power to prevent themselves from meeting annihilation, only for the inevitable to claim them in fiery conflagrations.

He could see capital ships in the distance peeling apart as their cores detonated from within, again reminding him of flowers. Strips of metal more than a mile long splintered and fragmented, creating spirals of debris that orbited around the hulks only to scatter once the ships erupted, sending out overlapping shockwaves throughout space.

He could see the lattice of magnetohydronamic beams race from the undercarriages of the multi-appendaged and enormous ships that dominated the battlefield, the orbit of the sapphire planet that loomed above the scene. The ruby lasers seemed to divide the heavens itself, for they only needed to touch a ship, no matter the size, and it would part, cleaved in two.

But with every kill, the massive machines, Reapers, made no sign of jubilation. No motion of a celebratory nature. For it was not their way—they were programmed with a simple purpose and they were carrying out the extinction of everything organic, their grand design, as dispassionate and as remorseless as they had been since the start of this terrible conflict and from the history of the concept of conflict.

All of this meshed together to create a beautiful and terrifying tableau of the galaxy's last moments. Thousands upon thousands of ships, all linked together in a valiant last stand, standing firm against impossible odds, as the Reapers cut into them mercilessly. Lasers, missiles, and autocannon fire warped the skies like comets. And beyond, the curtain of stars that glimmered, nestled within the clouds of the Milky Way's arms. Impervious to the destruction in this tiny corner of the universe, the stars glimmered in their position, projecting their billion-year-old light.

From where he stood, upon a lonely point on the Citadel, John Shepard tracked the scene, breathing intensely. He was rooted to the spot where he stood, his whole body hurting.

His eyes moved from ship to ship, internally crying out whenever he saw a ship he recognized meet its fiery end, while he would feel a soaring sensation in his chest when he saw the same fate befall a Reaper. One such enemy had been so devastated from a missile strike, about a hundred miles away, that the impacts sent it into a spin like a top, three of its legs sheared off into their own separate spirals.

Blood festered from a wound in his side and he gave a hiss of pain. A gunshot had nicked him right there just an hour ago, before he had made it onto the station. Medi-gel had not fixed the injury entirely and he knew he was suffering from internal bleeding. His armor had also melted into his skin, the N7 logo upon the breast distorted, courtesy of an attack from Harbinger back on the surface. Though his nerves had been so overloaded from all his injuries that the collective pain had dulled to a numb simmer by now, he was not completely beyond agony. The majority of his skin had suffered third-degree burns and it was only from his armor being sealed against him had it not all sloughed off his body by now. His breathing had taken on a dreadful rasp—he suspected that one of his lungs had collapsed. He had a splitting headache that threatened to bring him to his knees with every fresh throb, and his face was slick with blood and sweat.

Miraculously, he still found the strength to keep himself standing.

Blinking away the blood that threatened to blind him, a dazed Shepard tried to take stock of his surroundings. It looked like… like he was somewhere on the underside of the Citadel. If he looked directly above him, he could see the massive spindle-like structure of the Crucible, the galaxy's last chance to tear off the yoke of its enslavers. It brimmed with radiant energy. Electric bolts crackled from the emitter that was positioned towards the center of the Citadel, the cascading and jagged vines moving so slowly they appeared almost in liquid form.

Strangely, given that he had a clear view towards the endless battle that appeared to wrap its way around the entire planet, Shepard could detect no barrier between him and the vacuum of space that allowed him to survive out here. It was cold, but there was oxygen. He could breathe. Perhaps there was an invisible field somewhere out there, keeping in the atmosphere, giving him the opportunity to do this one, final thing.

His last act.

The pathways in front of him splintered into three different directions, like a trident. In the center of the platform, just beyond the tip of the central path, was a pillar of light that brimmed a brilliant sapphire. The energy being generated by the Catalyst and Crucible in their union. It was not yet unleashed—he was looking at the massive vault of power, waiting to be dispelled by some fateful act. Something on the Citadel was holding it back, damming back the tide in advance of the rampaging flood.

Darkness clung at the edges of his vision, threatening to drag him down into the depths. But he kept standing with a grunt, noting that a dark puddle had begun to spread on the floor between his fleet. He was bleeding out. There was not much time left.

Time… I want more time… a voice that was not his was ringing in his head.

Another voice overwhelmed the smaller one. It was loud and angry and metallic. It thrummed with the violence of a thousand suns and spoke with the assuredness of one who had ruled for millennia. It said nothing else—screamed nothing else—except his name.

A curse.

A plea.

SHEPARD.

The buzzing in Shepard's head grew fierce and he gave another groan, the pressure in his eyes momentarily becoming so overwhelming he figured they were going to pop in their sockets. But he focused on that quieter voice. That calming voice. He beat through the murk that had infected his brain like a swarm of locusts, fighting through the horde until he could find that voice there and clutch it with what strength he had left. It was all he carried now, all he could ever hope for.

But it was not a hope for himself. No, he figured with a serene smile on his face, he knew that everything was going to end here, for him. There was no more hope that he could reserve, for he had already dispersed it all.

At least she would be safe.

There was no one else he could think of. Shepard knew there were so many souls in and around this little planet that loved him and cared for him. But he only wanted to keep one person in his thoughts, for she had been the reason he had gone on for so long, had kept on living. She had been the fire that had carried him to this place, this moment.

God, Tali… I'm so sorry… his own voice was finally allowed to intrude into his own mind like a sudden shaft of sunlight through a screen of storm clouds.

Then that meant the angry whispers were being fanned away, like pathetic and dying embers, if he could hear again. Hear himself again.

That voice—the embodiment of all the Reapers—bellowed his name again, but it was now nothing but an impotent cry that only underscored how dire they saw the situation. After so many cycles of death and destruction, carrying out programming and patterns in such ways that it had become almost clinical in its mathematical precision, did they now come up against something their equations had not accounted for. There was no misinterpreting it—this cycle, this outlier—scared the Reapers. It scared them because they could now see a future in which there were no more cycles, no more need for their influence. They were on the brink of being surpassed, for a new apex race had come to overthrow them and wrest away the yoke of control.

Come back to me… the fire inside him whispered.

I can't.

Shepard returned his gaze back to the beam and the Crucible, his heart on the verge of being rent in two. On the rightmost path, slightly elevated, he could see a bundle of tubes and wiring sealed behind a curved glass housing. The moderator feeds—open those up and the energy would be allowed to disperse. He had already decided long ago what he was going to do when he was going to come here. It did not matter if he could control the Reapers or merge with them. There was only one way this was ever going to truly end.

Annihilation. One side, or the other.

He staggered forward, towards the conduits in their glass temple. His left foot lagged behind, the result of a broken ankle. In his right hand, he clenched his pistol, the grip of which was matted and smeared with blood left behind from his sticky palm. He looked down at the weapon, turning it over almost thoughtfully. It only had one thermal clip left—it would have to be enough.

The Reapers kept on wailing his name, but he was able to ignore them all. Explosions warped around the perimeter of his vision from the capital ships unfurling from enemy fire. He could see a few of the Reapers wheel about, setting a new course for the Crucible, their limbs spread wide as they fired every single thruster upon their hull as they sped towards the station at a frightening speed, desperate to stop this final defiant act from the true inheritors of the galaxy.

They would be too late. Shepard would guarantee that much.

The pistol in his hand felt like it weighed a ton, but Shepard was able to lift it with the last of his faltering strength, the muscles in his arms quaking, on the verge of failure. Muscle memory slotted the gun in the direction that he willed it to—the iron sights levelled off upon the glass face of the tubing right in front of him.

Come back to me…

A last jolt of remembrance stayed his fateful pull of the trigger, if only for a moment. Pushing past the myopia in the fog that was his ruined brain, a figure clothed in a jet-black enviro-suit, kingly purple fabric delicately swathed about their form, accented ornamentation colored a dulled gold—as if they had been excavated from deep beneath the surface of some ancient world—had been bound upon their limbs and waist. Devotion to his duty was no reason to live—but she was. All he had to do was think of her and life itself would make sense, have a purpose. There was no need to question what he knew to be true.

Maybe she thought that things would be different, that there would have been another way for this to end. One where they would have been together until the end of their days. Shepard would have liked to have thought that, but he always kept a part of himself tampered down, knowing that there would be a time—in a future so unfairly near—when he would not be there for her.

At least she'll be safe, he thought. She'll be alive. I'm giving her a future. Everything I have.

Tali…

The name of his beloved nearly caused him to lower the pistol and run away. Run back to her so that they could watch the ending together. As dearly as he wanted to just retreat, turn away from his responsibilities and hopes the entire galaxy pinned on him, he could not, even though he knew he was going to be causing her more pain than was imaginable. For he had left her life once before—Tali had put herself back together in the aftermath. But this time, he did not know if she would have the strength to rebuild herself once more after this day was over.

However, he reassured himself that he was giving her that chance.

So many promises he had made to her over the last several months. All the times they had spent, those nights on the Normandy, curled up against one another in bed together, imagining the future. Now, nothing but ashes.

The life they were going to spend together. He would be forever absent.

The house Tali wanted to build. He would never help her with it.

And… the prospect of a family. The denial of that moment caused the freshest stab of pain that cut more deeply than all the wounds he had sustained.

I want more time… his own voice now echoed, a prayer within himself. I want more time for you, Tali. No one could be loved more. Forgive me for this. For all of this. You are worth everything to me.

You could have asked me for my heart and I would have given it to you. Asked me for Earth, and it would have been yours. Asked me for the galaxy, and I would have pledged it to you without hesitation.

I'm giving you everything. Right now.

He breathed, and he returned to himself. Focus slid together with clarity like a lens slotting into the correct position.

The pistol was still raised, the barrel aimed towards the massive pipe and the arterial conduits within. He unleashed a breath, imagining that he was expelling all of his remorse and guilt, all of his failures, the things that made him a hypocrite.

And when he opened his eyes again, his dreams had finally burned away, left to scatter amidst the sudden clarity in his mind.

Right… now.

He pulled the trigger.

An angry fracture grasped the glass.

Shepard walked forward, the pain in his body forgotten. He straightened, his ankle no longer affecting him, a hard look in his eyes as sharp as steel.

The Reapers made one final plea to him. It struck Shepard as amusing, faintly, that their last words were to beg for their lives. As if they had anything to offer him.

He fired again.

The crack in the tubing grew larger.

He let the gun settle back in his hand, but the instant he knew the sights were set back on the pipe, he fired once more.

And again.

And again.

And again.

He grasped the weapon with both hands as shards of glass and knots of flame begin to spit back at him. He walked closer to the malfunctioning conduit, as if in a dream. Fractions of memories spat through his mind for the last time. Faces of those that he had met across his incredible journey. Captain Anderson saluting him after his Spectre ceremony. Liara embracing him after they had defeated the Shadow Broker. Garrus, bloodstained and weary, pulling off his Archangel helmet on Omega. And Tali, gently prying aside her visor, letting Shepard see the exquisite face that had been locked away from him for so long.

But still, he fired.

He was so close to the ductwork of combustible gases now and he emptied the clip of his pistol. The glass whited out and finally gave way with the last bullet, which punched through the shattered layer and sliced on through the main hoses, depressurizing the valve safeties and causing the entire system to fail. Catastrophic feedback chained up from within, a series of detonations that began to rip paneling out from the Citadel, traveling up to Shepard's position, a kilometer away. He could hear the sounds of the explosions growing closer. He made to turn away, but knew that he had no time to retreat.

The commander, the savior of all life, managed one last glance upward, past the curvature of the Crucible. Silhouetted against Earth, he could see the frantic shadows of the ships of his fleet, having recognized the danger, making a break towards the Charon relay at the edge of the system. There was the brief cerulean glimmer from each vessel as they jumped to FTL, but the Reapers, strangely, stayed in place. Perhaps the Reapers had realized that they could no longer outrun the inevitable and if this was the future this galaxy had chosen for themselves, then so be it. These disparate races would be left to dictate their own fate, wherever it may lead.

As the greatest fleet in the history of all memory scattered to the edge of safety, Commander Shepard watched them all go. He hoped one of them was the Normandy. He knew that Tali was there on it. They could certainly get away. They had their whole lives to look forward to, now.

There was no need to shout at the darkness anymore. For there was no darkness.

There was only light. And life.

His grimace slowly transformed into a serene smile. Warm relief flooded his body and ached his tired bones.

And, impossibly, in the far corner of his nerve bundles, deep within the core of his gray matter, a voice cried out to him that stretched across the stars and time.

"John!"

His eyes widened, as if he meant to call out to the voice, there was the final jolt of chained explosions beneath his feet. An electric burst flowed from the emitter of the Crucible and the stars all became whited out.

He could feel her against him. The taste of her lips. The warmth of her body. The ache in her heart.

He opened himself up to the last memory of being with another person when the fire finally burst forth from the shattered pipe. Shepard did not even feel the heat as it washed over him in totality. There was just a burst of yellow and a razed orange that flashed across his vision.

It was bright… bright… so bright.

Commander Shepard smiled.

And then he never saw anything after that.

A/N: Well, damn it all. Despite my usual promise to myself to try and not write any more Shepard/Tali fics, thinking that I've run the gamut with what I have to offer, once again I have failed and am back with one more (hopefully my last) story. All that aside, this is something that I've been fiddling about with for several months now. I'm excited to finally begin sharing it with everyone.

Aftershocks is going to be the equivalent of me throwing the kitchen sink at making what is *hopefully* my final Shepard/Tali story. Consider this my official coda to a part of my life that has led to the bulk of my creative inspiration (or until another idea comes around, but I'm hoping that such an eventuality will be EXTREMELY difficult once this story is complete). There will be love, loss, and plenty of darkness to go around in this story, as befitting my usual sensibilities.

As to what this prologue is leading to, you'll just have to read the next chapter when it comes out in about a week to figure that out. After that, it'll be a 2 week release schedule on average. Rest assured, you'll get no spoilers out of me.

I hope you enjoy Aftershocks.

Playlist:

[1] Opening
"Aurora"
Hans Zimmer
Aurora - Single