Preterhuman
Part 1.3-3 Final
The Missive of Nightmares
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They survived. Lotris and several of his fellow soldiers survived the ordeal in space. But now they were stranded on an inhospitable, hostile, alien dominated planet. He had enough oxygen in his suit to last him well over ten hours. The atmospheric filters could dig up a bit more from the atmosphere, but it was not enough to last for more than that and his power suit's battery would not last any more than twelve hours. That meant that there was no other alternative aside from heading towards the alien cities.
In any other position, it would mean suicide. But in their case, something was happening that may or may not be advantageous.
[Captain, what is it in your mind?] One of the soldiers asked him through the Touch. Protheans had long since discarded the need to converse through vocal sounds, instead using the more sophisticated and complex Touch senses to convey better meaning and communication. It is why the Prothean race was so dominant in the galaxy. While there were other species with senses akin to the touch, they were all inferior in some crucial way when compared to the Prothean race's. Though they still had the ability to speak with their oral cavities.
[It makes no sense, they are leaving.] He stated as he watched as hundreds upon hundreds of ships left the city he was a couple of MUs off. The Prothean fleet was annihilated and yet air traffic increased exponentially, and he counted more ships leaving than coming back.
[Why? Do they think that it is not worth staying in the system after we found them?]
[Whatever the reason it may be, we need to wait for evacuation.] Lotris informed.
[If it would ever come.]
[You can almost feel it coming from the air itself… somehow. They are leaving… and never coming back.]
[So what shall we do?]
[Staying here makes us easy targets for their ships to hit us from orbit. That, and we will run out of breathable air within ten hours.] He conveyed more than that through the Touch. All in all, their objectives can be summed up as; heading towards the cities and pray that these aliens breathe oxygen. Fight their way in if they must, as without air, there is no point in them staying out here.
It was an easy point to agree upon. They still had their weapons and their biotic abilities. But… if the space conflict was anything to go by… shouldn't these creatures possess equally powerful weapons on their persons?
It was a question for when they reached there, as the point still stands. Air is a first priority. The rest comes after. And besides, if the aliens are leaving… then the probabilities of them having to fight their way into the city was minimal.
At least… they hoped it was.
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The walk to the giant city took three hours. Lotris looked at the giant structure as the passed its peripheral buildings.
Constructed upon dead soil, edifices made out of obsidian black stone like metal grew up towards the heavens. Shaped like a mixture of geological and technological masterpieces where the dominant shapes were broad arches, hexagonal floors and rectangular towers, decorated by angular shapes and glowing runes of unknown esoteric purposes.
Prismatic domes of sapphire golden glass and pillars of jet black stone incrusted with jewels of near natural silicates like opals, amethysts and other quartz. Yet within these glass structures, the light of microscopic sigils of digital circuitry flowed still. Alive, yet, Lotris could tell, its glow was slowly diminishing. Nonexistent eyes were staring at him from the shadows but as time passed he could feel the gaze diminish, as the aliens evacuated.
And at the center of the collection of buildings lay the beginnings of a colossal obsidian and ruby castle of inconceivable proportions, its direct surroundings encased by crystalline domes trimmed with metal edges and walls. Its completion forever halted by the departure of its inhabitants. Lotris could still see every now and then a ship or two leave the city before heading into the void of space. Forever leaving the system.
It was here that they wanted to go. If there was a chance of things going their way, they needed air. And the only place they could get it, was in the hopes of these aliens. He dearly hoped that they did not need to fight their way in.
Yet when they followed the pathways that snaked their way towards the citadel core, they were all surprised when they met no resistance. None, even as they came to a halt by what seemed to be an airlock. But there was a problem at last.
[How are we going to open it?] One of the soldiers asked, almost worried that their plan for entry was going to be halted not by gunfire, but by a simple door. The issue was that all technology in the galaxy came from the precursors, the Innusannon. All species followed the same design one way or another, but with their own flavor of aesthetics.
There was always a pattern to follow.
These aliens, followed none of it. Their technology was fully developed by their own hands and not guided by the designs of the galaxy's precursors. So how they were going to open it was a bit tricky.
To answer that conundrum, one of the group's combat engineers came forth and started tinkering with his omnitool. Then, the moment he neared the door to begin trying to assess a signal to it, the airlock's systems activated and a small hologram manifested with a circle made out of incomplete rings dancing across the image, and three runes. One blue, one white and one yellow.
Curiously the engineer pressed the yellow rune and it blared red before becoming yellow again.
Then he tried the white. It then extended another hologram, square in shape with a lot of symbols reading across the display. A password? Slightly annoyed, the engineer pressed the blue rune and then all the display disappeared before the airlock blared something in an unknown language before opening.
Press the blue display button. Remember that for the future doors.
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Good news, they made it in. Another good news, no guns firing at them or anyone so far. And another good news? There was oxygen.
[Good that we can breathe again without having to worry about our supplies going out.] Spoke one of the soldiers in his group.
"I hope that we get picked up soon. Before the aliens send reinforcements."
[I doubt that. These aliens have only one planet and they abandoned it when we showed up.] Lotris interjected in the conversation and all heads turned to him.
[How do you know that captain?]
"Call it a feeling." Something about this place almost whispered to him. Secrets of loss and banishment. Of traveling distance unknown, fearful of something…. Something else. Something old… something powerful. Something… unfathomable.
He idly thought why that was the case as he studied the inner halls of the labyrinthine structure. It was a vast open area, constructed out of nearly natural stone and metal. A lot of metal. If he did not know better, Lotris would have though he was inside a massive space station like the Citadel, except this place felt open and vast. Like a grandeur incomplete that could be as vast as the greatest cities of the Prothean diaspora, yet all built underground. In here there was enough space to fit a frigate with ease.
No surprise there considering that if the scanners in his helmet were accurate, this massive edifice could be about ten kilometers wide. And yet, he felt like if the walls were mourning at being small. Like if this was only a small portion of how big it could have become.
Another thing of note was the general lack of lighting in this place. Reminded him of the places the Ronukhangi built. Dim and underground. Then again those aliens were nocturnal. Probably the same goes for these.
+Come+
It was then that they reached another door. Except this one was vastly different. For once, it was truly a large gate. And unlike the other entrances he had seen in their way there, exploring this place, this one was well decorated with stone statues of armored giants holding shields and swords of immense proportions. And the colors. Unlike the vast majority of the areas he had been, this one was filled with decorative jewels forming pillars and art.
[These aliens know how to do things with crystals, that's for sure.] One of Lotris' soldiers remarked as he examined a glass pillar that had a near life like aquatic animal made of metal inside and a whole host of corals and other sea life.
[We learn their sculpting techniques later. Now, we have to know where this door leads.] Another chided and brought the former back into the group.
By now, everyone knew how to open the doors. Press the blue sigil. And when the door opened, the art displays outside became dull in comparison.
It was a city, so reminiscent of the Prothean's greatest cities, yet unlike the simple architecture and coloring of the four eyed race, this underground city was painted in colorful arrays of light, artworks of stone and multicolored glass, vast plant life doted by stonework only the greatest masons could reproduce and things they had no name for. The entire city was a living, breathing work of art. Yet empty.
Not a soul was in there, yet the colors of the city lived on. But even as the eyes were mesmerized by the stunning display of colors, Lotris could only feel growing dread.
[Okay, these aliens have a thing for art that not even the Luvie could match.] It was true. The Luvie were a pacifist empire, key word being 'were', whose culture had great emphasis in art in all its forms. Even after being absorbed by the Prothean Empire, they still were the most artistically endowed species under the empire's banner.
But these aliens, they trumped the Luvie even before their assimilation. Then again, the Luvie were nowhere near as advanced as the Protheans, much less these aliens.
+Closer… into the vowels+
The sounds of footsteps were heard and all warriors took a defensive stance, aiming their weapons towards the source of the noise. "Don't shoot!" That voice… it was distinctively Prothean.
It was when the first figure among twenty three emerged. Another fellow Prothean warrior, one decorated with the regalia of a squad captain, much like himself, and relief washed over Lotris, setting down his weapon the moment he felt the Touch of his fellow brethren make contact with his coms systems. "It is good to see one of our own kind around here. It means more survived the disaster in space that occurred." The other captain said, initiating a Handshake through the Touch, providing name, rank, as well as a curt over description of the accompanying squad.
"Indeed." Unsaid was how relieved the other group was. Lotris met his fellow captain. A fierce warrior named Staal Roern from the core colonies. One slightly younger than him and skilled in close courter combat.
"What should we do now?" A fellow warrior from the other squad inquired.
"We wait for rescue." Spoke Lotris.
Staal interjected. "Or we could explore a bit. Make sure that no one is around. Find some coms system to relay an SOS." That idea made sense, but something inside Lotris made him feel not so sure of how great the idea was. Something… something felt wrong.
"And collect some of the riches of this world before the scientists arrive." Another interjected, letting his curiosity and kleptomania seep through their connection.
Something that made Lotris feel uneasy. This planet… its felt wrong. Wrong in some vague way he could not describe. He wondered why no one seemed affected by it. "We shouldn't do that." Lotris told the prothean and he earned an odd look from the squad.
[Why is that?]
[This planet… it's wrong somehow. But I cannot tell why.] For some unfathomable reason, he really wanted off the planet. And not only because he was standing on currently enemy soil. The planet felt wrong, he said that. But his thoughts never elaborated on why. As if there was a dark miasma, a sickly scent in the air that seeped through even the filters and atmospheric seals. He could hear whispers in the far distance, through walls and in every shadow, every corner. There was something malignant lurking, seeping from this planet.
And it did not want them there. Or more accurately… it wanted them to be there… so as to claim them. And what wanted him to leave were his every instinct telling him to run. To flee, to never come back. He told them so, but all he got from them, was odd looks.
"I hope you are only saying that to scare us sir." One of the warriors in his squad remarked, feeling the unease in their captain's aura… how it genuine it felt.
"I wish I was Norro. I wish I was."
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The Protheans kept exploring the city. It was like a labyrinth that winded and turned in strange ways, making absolutely no sense to anyone with a visible pair of eyes. At times gravity felt off and at times Lotris swore he was walking upside down or on the walls. Maybe it was an optical illusion. Maybe it was whatever these aliens used for grav-tech and they decided to use it for their own amusement, or they enjoyed places with weird architecture.
It did not matter. Exploration was going smoothly, as they looked for something that could be a communications station. Eventually, the teams converged when they reached a large stairways upwards. And for some unfathomable reason Lotris felt his blood run cold.
Something was going to happen. He just knew it.
+Come, walk up the stairs.+
Yet despite his inner objections to going up the structure, the other team started making their way up, as well as his own men. Eventually he was almost left behind until he decided to start walking up the stairs, following his men.
They walked up the structure, eventually reaching a large circular opening with several tall pillars on the circumference of the area. Pillars of black stone that did not support the ceiling, but were more like giant pedestals. Yes, that was the word that Lotris wanted to use. Pedestals, to present something.
Something. Something…
…
…
…
They were here.
Pain erupted throughout the Touch and they felt it. Like a sudden thunderclap of hatred and rage and indifference and curiosity and disdain and hunger and wanting. Like a chorus of a thousand voices all garbled together in a unholy abomination of thought. Some beautiful and smooth, clear like the breeze of a warm summer, some were cold and twisted, malevolent like freezing, jagged daggers from their darkest nightmares. And they were all inside their heads. Inside. Inside! Inside!!
+[Welcome to the arena.]+
Then darkness.
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When the Protheans came, they stood and looked up. There, they saw their fate.
And before them stood, like kings of old, about to cast their judgment upon the interlopers. And Lotris, along with those who accompanied him were all unworthy.
From left to right, they stood upon their pedestals of stylized obsidian stone.
A massive machine, at least four times the height of the Protheans, and several times as heavy. Armored with broad, stylized silver armor incrusted with ruby red glass, which they themselves were inscribed with sigils that only increased its sheer presence. Like the light of a beacon, only shimmering in hateful red light. Armed it was with a iron tower shield as tall as itself on its left hand and on its other it carried a cannon that looked befitting on a super heavy tank and around its head, hovered six rectangular, box like drones with a rifle like gun at their bottom. Its three crimson eyes stared down at the Protheans and judged them unfit for facing them in combat.
A long, segmented metal monstrosity, raised erect like a threatening serpent, only unlike the creatures that slithered the earth, this one had rows upon rows of legs that allowed it to stick to all surfaces with unprecedented ease. Three pairs of these metallic limbs were for attacking. The front most were long blades as sharp as the razor of a warp sword. The following held massive ranged weapons grafted to their frame and further beyond, the next were long, iron rods that made the mind crawl to as top at their mere sight. And at its hooded head, hundreds of smaller legs parted to reveal the grey figure of a lithe alien deeply grafted into the machine as if they were one and the same. Its eyes were covered in a black cloth, but by the will of the machine's hundred segmented violet optics, it could see them all with stark clarity beyond that of the most advanced implants borne of Prothean artisans could achieve.
Next, at the center pedestal stood two figures. One was a head taller than the Protheans and even more muscular than a Krogan, armored in thick armor, it was a creature built for raw strength and brutality, one that could face the mightiest armament the Prothean infantry possessed and come out unscathed. The other was smaller, and suppler, but its body hid a strength that belied its thin built. The way it moved, it possessed an unnatural grace that sent shivers down the spines of the Protheans. Both clad in black armor with six golden shining slits for visors. The larger was armed with a great sword at its back, one that somehow hurt to look at, eliciting a sense of dread in the eyes of those who gazed it. While the other held a smaller, slender blade attached at its hip. Yet by merely gazing at the weapon, Lotris felt a deep hunger deriving from the weapon, one that wanted,
demanded to feed upon the life of its master's enemies.
Tearing his gaze from the pair of unnatural creatures, he turned to the next mechanical abomination. Only twice the height of a Prothean, this one's form was an oddity, an exaggerated body with wide hips and upper body and back sustained by a thin, skeletal like hip. A large head adorned with a strange halo like crest with spikes protruding from it making it look like some metallic parody of the rendition of a star. Strapped to its left hand, rocking side to side on a translucent chain, a metallic jagged cage containing blue flames that made painful, metallic shrieks whenever the cage swung on its chain. On its right, it held a staff that it used for supporting its stance. It was a thing that defied logic, a long, sharp metallic rod that ended with six stone orbs of different color orbiting its top as if small planetoids circling its parent star, leaving behind a trail of luminous particles wherever their respective orbs passed. Its four blue eyes staring down at the Protheans with disdainful apathy.
And last, but certainly not least. A giant armored creature, with a long, slender body. But its sheer proportions made its body seem anything but slender for the Protheans on the ground. It coiled around the pedestal and its neighboring pillars with ease, in many cases going round some twice. Easily it could be anywhere between three or four hundred meters long. Its long ten meter long jaws were filled with rows upon rows of needle sharp teeth, yet each was at least as long as a prothean's arm. Its eyes were small, considering its relative size, yet it mattered not, for each of the four optics outsized the largest animal's eyes on any planet, each boring down into the protheans with a hateful glare that would etch steel.
The two at the center stood to their full height and pointed their weapons at the protheans, which the interlopers saw as a prelude to an attack. Seeing no way to win this they turned to escape, only to find that the doors were locked shut on them, trapping them, in this arena of sorts where their final moments would be played.
Yet as they saw the titans poise themselves to deliver a killing blow, a voice froze the aliens on the spot. The attack never came for something else had spoken. A shadow emerged from behind the twin center aliens. Its body plan similar to those it shadowed, but unlike them, this one was unarmored aside from the decorative metal gown on its shoulders, showing what these aliens might look like underneath the armor. Pale, with dark, sunken eyes that seemed to look in all directions as once.
It spoke with a guttural tongue that hurt the ears of the protheans, but it seemed that whatever it said, it managed to cause the rest of the creatures to forego killing the protheans for they began to sheathe their weapons.
Would they survive? Or… would a more terrible fate await them? Are they to be captured for intelligence?
But instead of these questions being answered, the giant serpent
hovered forwards, much to the astonishment of the protheans present, and the rest started mounting it, before it, along with the other aliens and machines left through some exit beyond the prothean's view. The sight of such a massive being, swimming through the air with such profound grace was something none of the interlopers expected. But then again, none expected these aliens to be able to not only repell, but defeat the prothean fleet.
They were left alone. Their deaths or capture something distant, until they realized that the pale alien still lingered on top of the pedestal. They all turned to it, slowly raising their firearms and taking aim, just in case, for what little might it be.
But even so, despite being 'saved' by this creature, it was a complete unknown, with goals and motives outside of the Prothean's understanding. So it was best to reat it as a potentially dangerous oppoenent.
Then it broke the minds of every living prothean present by walking down the pedestal… as if it wasn't a completely vertical object in total defiance of the laws of physics.
Its head looking 'up' to regard the warriors. Then it spoke, in perfect, flawless Prothean Lexicon and without any hints of accent.
"Allow me to present myself. I… am Hermaeus Mora. The Sixth Finger of the Fifteenth Right Hand. I am the guardian of the book of the Worm, and knower, of the unknown. And you… have trespassed in my domain." Its voice was smooth, distant, yet deep in ways that made little sense. Alien in its tone and depth as it undulated between a polite, calm tone to a threatening, ominous snarl. "Before we do all the shooting and screaming and killing, I really would to talk to you. My people are touched by the Void of Dreams and we have met and spoken with beings from the beyond countless times. But never once an alien borne of the Void of Stars." It came to stop at the base of the pillar, standing on solid ground and not in defiance to the laws of physics. "It's a truly novel experience." It said with such friendliness that was off putting. As if it did not regard 41 heavily armed Protheans aiming at it with enough firepower to take down a tank in seconds to be any danger. That single fact alone made Lotris shiver, something that the creature apparently noticed because it turned its alien gaze upon Lotris and gave him a gentle, serene smile. A smile that showed far too many teeth.
"We are not here to talk, alien." Staal snarled, to which the alien didn't seem to regard the hostility in the tone. Merely the words spoken.
"My, is that so? Alright then, I think I should monologue then." It began as it started pacing about the place without a care in the world. "My kin are varied and oftentimes strange, but my specific species, my order… well… we are a special case indeed. We are the only ones gifted understanding of the deeper, more esoteric powers of the Void of Dreams. A place where dreams are real, hope changes probability, hatred burns the worlds beyond, love nurtures and emotions all great and small become alive. It is a place where meaning holds power, fueled by emotion, sharpened by belief, and hardened by memories." Then it turned to them as a teacher in a conference. "There are three schools of battle we invoke when fighting the various incursions from the Empyrean. The Warrior, who embodies strength, the might of body and spirit, to resist and to fight back. The Rogue, who embodies guile, speed and stealth, and the art of engaging the enemy in your own terms." All Protheans shivered at once when it gave a dark grin as each of its pupils stared at each and every single prothean. "Then there is the Mage, who embodies strength of mind, raw power, the will over matter and the dominion of the esoteric energies in reality."
Breaking through the incredulous shock, one warrior snorted. "Magic?! You have to be kidding!" Like the turn of a predator's gaze, the alien's eyes turned to the offending speaker and with a manic smile, darkness was unleased.
Striking faster than the protheans could blink, the alien's own shadow shot forwards and casted its umbral blanket over the prothean who dared speak. Then the warrior fell screaming as wisps of white light tore themselves off the prothean and were violently drawn towards the alien.
It was then that all eyes turned to the being in a new light. No longer seeing it as an unarmed creature. In less than an eye blink, the creature's shadow killed one of their own and by the sense they felt through the Touch… the pain that it inflicted with that simple, singular act. The utter impossibility of the atrocity.
Yet through the looks of utter horror they all shared, a manic cackle reverberated through the arena. The creature was laughing. It was a laughter that shilled their blood and made their flesh crawl with horror. It was the laughter of something cruel and malevolent unlike anything the Protheans had ever heard before. "That's it…! The taste of fear…. So similar to humanity's yet so different! This is what I have been wanting for so long!" The laughter stifled as the alien turned to each and every one, all of them gazed with its alien multi pupil gaze. Its body trembling with barely contained anticipation and bloodlust. "I am a creature borne of the both the
Sea of Souls and the Sea of Stars! I am the Sixth Finger of the Fiftieth's Right Hand!" It proclaimed. Pain washed through their skin as it spoke. Every word spoke a twisted mockery of oration. A voice so perverse and alien and cruel that denied,
defied, mocked reason. And yet the creature kept speaking, ranting with uncontained frivolity and joy.
"The taste, the flavor, the texture of the release of the life force of a slain enemy! How long has it been since I have tasted this?! A thousand years! A thousand years since I have drank the souls of my foes!!" As it spoke its hands clasped its blissfully grinning pale head, staring into the ceiling of the compound as if it were undergoing a religious revelation.
"And it's glorious…."
"Kill that thing!!" Someone shouted and all hell broke loose.
Plasma, particle and mass pellets were unleashed towards the unholy abomination before them in a single volley of hundreds of rounds.
It might as well been throwing rocks at it, with the speed it unleashed, closing the distance between itself and one of Lotris' men. The Prothean used his biotic powers to try and put some distance between himself and the creature, but the alien's arm shot out, stretching beyond what would be physically possible and with needle sharp claws it sank into the Prothean's chest, bypassing armor and biotics as if they did not exist at all.
A single moment of shock echoed through the touch. Then PAIN!!!
Pain, and they all felt it as their link between each other was exploited to release a wave of undiluted pain. It was a pain of the soul that hurt in ways no mortal could conceive. It as a pain of cold, dark tendrils that licked their minds with tongues filled with needle sharp razors. And it was too much.
Three Protheans shrieked in agony as their link through the Touch became burned into excessive agony. Their minds fractured and bitten by the unholy powers of the creature. Something it took advantage of just as quickly by tearing the heart out of its previous victim, along with every blood vessel connected with the organ throughout the body and leaving a trail of levitating shimmering ichor behind.
As the desiccated body of the Prothean fell to the ground, sorcerous paranatural energy shimmered in the air and the ritual was cast before the other Protheans managed to recover from the mental attack. Darkness and gold began to weave together.
The first rites were made.
Then they were unleashed by the tones of six black tongues that spoke of the Mirror Faces of Kalibael. One alien became six, all translucent, like a memory. But unlike the figments of mental recollection these images were very much real, and very much lethal.
Hidden between being split into six phantom forms, the abomination that called itself Hermaeus shot forwards, dodging and evading gunshots as if they were mere slow balls frozen in the air. Three protheans met their ends by the sharp blades the demon had for hands, while four more were electrocuted by an electrical orb that had come into existence when none saw it.
The protheans responded in kind by evading the phantom forms, using their biotic powers to never stay in one same place for any mildly prolonged periods of time. Those warriors most skilled in the arts of biotics remained at the center, dancing and weaving, unleashing orbs of gravitational distortion and dark energy towards any phantom from that stopped moving for a single second, opening up opportunities for their brethren to gun down the murderous mental images.
The arena was filled with a hail of hyper-accelerated bullets and particle showers that would have long since killed any living being that had been in there.
The alien is not like any living being. Its movements, despite not possessing biotics, were able to match the rain of fire that was being sent into it location. Eventually something gave, and the illusions shattered like glass, exposing the creature's true location and for a brief instant, the protheans managed to see a sign of shock in its features.
For that single instant, they had hoped they would have a chance at winning. That hope was crushed before it truly began, when the alien grinned like a deranged maniac and twisted its body in a way that would have broken most bones in the bodies of anything else that lived.
Gunfire came down upon it when a sense of horrid dread washed over the protheans. For they realized that the creature was still under a cloak of illusions and it was not where it seemed. A wave of its hand and a prothean was flash frozen before a fist punched through his heart and turned his frigid corpse into a mass of icy shards.
The next two suffered an equally gruesome fate when a gout of baleful green flames was regurgitated by the creature and consumed them in undying flames that peeled their flesh off their bones instead of burning them.
Yet as all this happened, Lotris saw it all, or more like, his Touch felt it. His eyes and ears saw the illusions the creature used for cover, but his senses told it where it truly was. Where its form danced and weaved past weapon fire and where it struck down a target with impossible acts of malevolent sorceries and defilements of reality. How come he was the only one who noticed may be a gift of his. But it's not one he is going to waste away by letting his enemy know he has seen past its deceptions.
So, Lotris mentally braced himself for what he was about to do and flared a biotic corona on himself. He waited, aiming and shooting at false shadows until he got a clear chance to take the alien on without being played at its games.
It did not take long for an opportunity to show itself when the illusion came running at him and not far behind so followed the alien. He grinned behind his helmet and adjusted his aim, past the illusion and down at the alien. That single action managed to get a response from the alien, because its illusion's face turned to shock.
Then Lotris let out a barrage of particle rounds at the alien. It quickly evaded the attack, but he readjusted, using his biotic abilities to close the distance as quickly as he could and brandishing his warp sword to strike at the creature. A horrid sense of dread washed over him and through instinct alone he evaded a bold of lighting at his face. Yet even as the bolt of sentient electricity tore away at his armor's systems, Lotris did not stop his attack. Swinging his sword with as much speed as he could, each strike a precise swing that was only barely avoided by the alien and dancing around it, never staying at the same spot for more than an eye blink lest the creature unleash some unholy spell at him.
And slowly, the battle was turned. The abomination's attacks attacking at the prothean, yet the warrior's skill and biotics kept him from being turned into a mass of blood. His strikes too fast, too unrelenting and not giving the alien any respite. Even when he thought that the alien was about to unleash something that could kill him, his every instinct told him to press on even harder and with more abandon than before.
It was when he felt a sense through the Touch to get away that he only evaded the barrage of bullets in the nick of time. The alien had next to no time to react and casted a shield to protect itself from the barrage of gun shots. But it was too little, too late.
Dozens of mass accelerated pellets pierced the creature, a couple particle rounds and plasma blasts added to the equation and in a bloody, burning heap the creature was thrown to the ground. Unmoving, still, and dead.
They… they won.
They actually won.
Lotris was filled with immense relief, even more so when the surviving ten protheans expressed their own cheer and relief through the Touch. It was a feeling of liberation. Of having battled through a nightmare and having escaped with their lives and minds intact.
It was enough to make Lotris start to laugh. Even the death of so many of his brothers in arms did not matter now. They survived the demon!
They survived!
And it was then when Lotris turned to his fellows behind him that a massive mass of darkness and lighting shot past him and froze a prothean solid in an agonized silent shriek.
Then the eyes of every prothean past their helm widened in horror. No, not horror. It was a feeling of terror so deep and indescribable that no word could ever convey the meaning. But the Touch could, and images failed to materialize in his mind at the living atrocity they were watching. It was so terrible that its mere sight was anathema to reason and caused the prothean's touch to fail miserably, collapsing into nonsensical empathetic nightmares.
Nightmares that still were but pale shadows of the sight of what they were all beholding. All but Lotris, for he was frozen in abject horror when his back was turned to it. His ever instinct telling him,
screaming at him to not look. To run and never,
ever look back at it!!
The alien… the creature… the nightmare was still alive!
"MoRtaLs…"
Its voice sounded like pain! No, it was pain itself! Transmitted through hatred and nightmare thought! Its sheer tone and depth alone being able to send mortals into hysterical fits of terror.
"…YoU mOrTaLs AcTuAlLy HaRmEd Me!! AHaHaHHAhAHhahHAHAh!!!!!!"
It laughed! It Laughed! And it broadcasted the most horrifying nightmares into their minds by its sheer presence. Nightmares that it was going to conduct on each and every single one of them.
Lotris didn't turn when the light of the world was diminished by the unquantifiable evil behind him. He shrunk to the ground into a quivering, fetal position, tearing his helmet off and covering his ears as he closed his eyes as hard as he could. Screaming, crying, sobbing into quivering mess of frozen hysteria.
But mercy was not for him, for he bore witness to something far worse. The screams of horror of his brethren that shrieked past his covered ears holes. Screams of pain and horror and the laughter of madness. Of whom he could not tell. Was it from his brethren? From the demonic atrocity that he dared not look. Or was it his own.
It did not matter. Nothing mattered. For in the twenty seconds that followed, all that existed was darkness and the screams and terror of his brethren being ripped apart in the most atrocious manners imaginable. Twenty long, excruciating seconds that seemed to stretch on forever as the screams never ended. They only rose in horror and in pain.
But it did subside eventually. And only when they did, did Lotris realized he was bathed in the blood and viscera of his brethren. The terror and nightmares that they felt in those twenty seconds. The pain of a death more terrible than the most nightmarish tortured ever devised by the most perverse beings in history seeping through the touch into him. Making him feel everything. Yet even as all that horror sipped into his being, he knew that the nightmares he could see through the Tocuh did not compare to the actual thing.
"LoOk UpOn Me MoRtAl."
It was like grating glass, lanced with needles of burning ice. It was not an order. It was a statement made fact, one that could not be denied no matter how much the body, the mind and the soul protested against.
Slowly lotris' eyes opened and from the ground his sight slowly rose to his right where the horror lay standing.
His first object in sight were its long robes that seemed to stretch down into the ground for infinity. Made of unfathomable darkness so deep and cold that even the void of space felt like the warmth of an embrace. Yet as his eyes kept rising and darkness deepened into impossible forms of twisting, roiling tongues of alien emotions and abominable desires built upon an anathema of thought, blurs of shadows of past lives taken, of stars made dead and of empires fallen coursed through the epileptic background of mentally twisted geometries.
The song of anguished souls, of sobbing demons and of abyssal depths in the void between realities bit into his mind.
And then all became deathly silent when he bore sight of the demon's face. There were no words to describe what Lotris witnessed that moment. But all he could speak into sanity were the presence of eyes within eyes that stared at every part of his being, dissecting him in ways that the best machines in the prothean's archives could never dissect an insect. Long, roiling, grotesque tendrils of sentient darkness slithered in its many mouths rising forever upwards towards the skies beyond his sight. A halo of paranormal light crowning the corpse of a star, being the center piece of a silent dance of a twisting, looping Worm that swam past the crevices in time and space.
This was what he was witness being to.
This was the eldritch uncontained. Unrestrained. Unfathomable.
And Lotris' mind had been broken into shattered fragments of silent bottomless despair and madness.
"A mEsSaGe FoR yOuR lEaDeRs…"
A hand reached out. A hand made out of infinite darkness surrounded by a halo of blood and within its palm, an eye that bore witness to dreams so beautiful they were a nightmare.
And then it touched the prothean.
"…So ThAt ThEy MaY kNoW tHeIr PlAcE."
Then he witnessed true horror.
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Silence.
It was all he knew for the last twenty hours.
Terror.
It was all he heard in his mind for the last twenty hours.
That was all that the prothean ever knew.
For the last twenty hours he rocked back and forth on a corner. His eyelids wide open, seeing only nightmares and madness that did not want to end. Nightmares so horrible that if he so much as dared to blink would return and leer into his fragmented, shattered, weak, broken, defiled, traumatized soul.
"We found one alive!" It was a prothean's voice. A search party, wanting to know what happened to the fleet. But Lotris never heard her voice. The giggling darkness never let him hear anything else. "Oh… by the Ancestors… what happened here?"
She would not feel anything. Such was the terror inflicted upon the dead that the flesh burned off the terror through sheer trauma. None of the blood and viscera would
"Hey. What's your name?" She called out. Her calls through the Touch never reached Lotris. The Spawns that crawled beyond the wall of space and time were calling to him too loudly for him to hear.
But then she touched his skin, and the horror filled scream that broke out bathed the broken warrior in the light of six different illumination devices attacked to the weapons that belonged in the hands of both protheans and machines.
They were all aiming at him. They felt the terror through her screams. Screams that still echoed nonstop until her voice broke and only silent wails of torment echoed.
He did not care for the lights. He did not care for the guns aiming at him. He had seen hell itself, stared into the darkest abyss, beheld the nightmares of a race so beyond them that his wildest dreams could only be mere childlike fantasies compared to the powers they wielded.
But he did care for the female's touch.
So he turned to those who were still aiming their weapons at him and spoke one single sentence. "I am the messenger of the Gods, and I carry their unholy words."
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AN: Finally! I am done!! I hope you like. And if you do, please don't forget to leave a comment.
