A/N: I won't be following much of Gangplank's canon story, or pretty much anyone else in league of legends. To be precise, I'm going to do a mish-mash of the Projekt skins Lore, some of the Dreadnova skin lore and a bit of my own. There might be some similarities, but that's about it. Inspired by OmeganQueen's Wrath of the Dreadnova, reposted with permission.

And the usual disclaimer: I don't own Riot Games' Gangplank and related characters nor Bioware's legendary characters like Commander Shepard.

Enjoy :)

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"Um, sir? We've got heavy comm traffic incoming from a disclosed emergency channel, I think you'd better come take a look at this."

Admiral Steven Hackett approached the ensign, looking over the young man's shoulder to observe the spy comm bouy they installed close to the Terminus Systems. With that portion of the galaxy justly reputed to being the cesspool of the criminal underground, the Alliance felt it necessary to keep tabs on it. Instances like these proved the decision wise. Now, they have a better feel on the waters in case of an attack on Alliance territories.

"A lot of it's just white noise, but the message keeps repeating."

"…We are under attack! Taking heavy casualties! All loyal members of the Hegemony respond!...Repeat…We are under attack!"

"Sounds like the batarians bit off more than they can chew." Hackett commented, "As you were, ensign."

"We're not going to do something about it, sir?" Ensign Damon asked, feeling a bit stupid for doing so a second later.

"Oh yeah, we are. We're leaving them alone." The Admiral's reply may have been sarcastic in all tones, but was clear on its meaning. The batarians had never been in good terms with mankind, and intervening would raise a lot of questions. The Alliance will be accused of spying on them, which was true if taken into account, and tensions will rise. That wasn't something the Council nor the Alliance needed. Also, it was sort of Hackett's way of dishing out a little of his own frustration on the four-eyed bipeds. It was time they got a taste of their own medicine.

And he was right in thinking so, for as the Alliance turned a deaf ear to the batarian distress call, hundreds of the said batarians were getting slaughtered on the edge of the divide called the Skyllian Verge.

It began with a mistake on their part. A big one, at that.

Four hours ago, an enormous space rift opened up that scrambled communications and sent every ship systems haywire within a five lightyear radius. When batarian pirate ships moved in to investigate, they found a ship that looked derelict from the way it just floated about. Thinking this was a lucky find, the vultures dove in for their prize. It was a massive thing too, nobody could blame the batarians for jumping at the chance.

But then, the ship opened fire.

Red beams of pure plasma disintegrated whole frigates like a hot knife on butter, and the suddeness of the attack forced the batarians to fall back, but not before firing back and scraping the hull of the opposing dreadnought.

Then, they retreated back into the mass relay to regroup at Verenor II, which was the closest space port within the cluster.

A man sat on the command throne of the Kraken, knife on a golden citrus fruit and proceeding to peel the flesh, while gazing out at the debris field left from the skirmish he initiated. "Report."

"They haven't left a trail, Captain!" The helmsman replied, "Whatever those ships were, they seem to rely on one of those swirling ring constructs we've been seeing the past few weeks."

The captain arched a brow and stroked his chin, "Ah, so we're not flying through Shuriman space anymore, eh?"

"No, captain. Otherwise, we'd have those swells on our necks by now. What be yer orders now?"

"Well, find a way to access those ring constructs. Those bastards hurt me ship, and that's a slight I won't ever forgive! Understood?"

The helmsman nodded, "I hear ya, captain! Making a steady headway…"

"Good, they couldn't have gone far." He sat back on his throne and munched down on the orange.

The helmsman issued the shipwide warning for them enter an unknown FTL travel conduit, and approached the mass relay with which the batarians used for their escape. Of course, the visitors had no idea how the thing worked, so accessing it was entirely an accident.

The procedure was quick, and the Kraken found itself in the middle of the traversan highway of the Skyllian Verge. There, a small fleet made up of batarian and Blue Suns mercenary ships was stationed to protect Arnessa, a world rich in element zero that the Hegemony had laid claim to in their race to seize as many territories as possible before the Alliance got their hands on every planet left untouched.

Unfortunately for either side, the Dreadnova was an ambitious man, and he was just in the mood for conquering.

"Fresh for the taking!" He grinned, bellowing into the intercom for all the crew to hear. "Listen up! There's a whole new galaxy out here, and I'm about to carve out a piece of it for meself. Step lively now!"

Cheers erupted from all over the Kraken's interior, and the gunners manned their stations on the main and lesser guns in preparation for the following battle. This was where the distress calls came in, and where the Alliance ignored them.

Kinetic barriers were insufficient against the Scourge's cannons, breaking apart easily and bursting from the inside as the particle beams triggered their mass engines. The Captain laughed as their weapons returned fire, bouncing harmlessly against the Kraken's front shields. "Show them how a real gun fires." And the Kraken fired again.

Soon, there wasn't much left of the fleet as the Kraken hurtled past the debris field left behind.

"Captain, we're getting a lot of activity down there. I think they called in some reinforcements from the planet's surface." The man handling the longrange scanners reported. "Methinks we can take em."

He smiled, "Feed them the Long Nines."

The Dreadnova left its skull signature on the planet's surface before introducing its full wrath on the approaching frigates, leaving nothing but a gaping wound in the planet's face.

"All ashore that's going ashore." Captain Gangplank said as he rose from his throne. At his command, the crew readied the transporters for the mop-up team to get planetside. The klaxons blare throughout his ship, prompting the crew to pick up the pace. Metal heels clack loudly on the platform as his lieutenant walks in step with him. Kai'sa, recently thawed from stasis, wasted no time getting back to work and assisting her superior with the many tasks ahead.

"Bullet-Angel reporting for duty, sir." The woman saluted.

"Where the hell's the rest of you?" Gangplank inquired, checking his sidearm out and holstering it.

"In the chop-shop." Kai'sa referred to the infirmary with the popular pet name, "Our marksman's still under ice. Doctor's trying her best to pull her out of stasis without damaging her core. Infiltrator's not looking good."

"I'll know all the details in due time." The captain nodded, "Come on, gotta see if this world's worth the effort."

Gangplank surveyed the chaos and destruction before him and smiled. Amidst the smoking ruins and charred remains of batarian soldiers, he could see the perfect spot for setting up a base of operations.

"Yes, this will do quite nicely." He chuckled, poking at the strange four-eyed corpse that lay before him with his sword. The plasma serrated blade ignited the corpse on contact and burned off the skin up to the bone within seconds.

The planet Arnessa was his property now and he would use it as he saw fit. Already the technicians had analyzed the batarian base's shipment of eezo and discovered the potential applicants of such a powerful element. Of course, deciphering and implenting the specimens onto their development programs would take time, and more importantly a proper staging ground for them to continue their operations. That was partly the reason why Gangplank ordered in the mechanized servitors to begin construction out of the materials on site and salvage or repurpose the parts of the batarian base that survived the Long Nines' barrage.

Working quickly had been one of the core values of the crew of the Dreadnova, since they were always on the run when back in Shuriman space.

Not too long before entering this strange new galaxy, a desperate assault was initiated by the leader of the feared Dreadnova Corps. on Runeterra, which was the capital world of the New Shuriman Empire. It was his way of thrusting a middle finger in the face of the Emperor, to make a point that not even the immortal Ascended was invincible.

While the Emperor waged his war against the combined might of the twin empires Noxus and Demacia far away, the Dreadnova and his pirate horde bore down hard on the Shuriman capital.

The cost didn't matter to Gangplank, who was willing to sacrifice every man under his command as well as his beloved ship in finishing the mission.

They did, sort of.

The planet cracked in half, with more than 43 trillion Shuriman citizens lying dead on its shattered surface. The Kraken, the only ship left standing by the end of the day, vanished from Imperial space the same moment the reports reached the Emperor. Gangplank wasn't one to stick around to hear the angry rants of someone he had just slighted. Smiling in triumph, he activated the experimental Hexmaturgic Hypercapacitor Jumpdrive, expecting to reappear safely back into the oceanic world of Bilgewater.

Instead, it got him here.

He lost his whole fleet, and probably will lose his homeworld as repercussion for destroying the capital world. And in truth, he couldn't care less.

Hell, he could become king again here! He could just say goodbye to Azir, Shurima and the whole mess of a galaxy from which he came! And if there was the slightest chance that Azir would follow him through, Gangplank would be having an even bigger fleet waiting for him.

But first thing's first. He'd have to carve his name into the bones of this new galaxy, starting with Arnessa.

"This is the Captain to the bridge, what do you see up there?" He radioed in.

"I'm seeing dots of settlements all over that world, cap'n." The helmsman replied, "Long-range scanners don't detect any incoming vessels. I'd say we're safe to raid for a few hours or so. I'll let ya know when that changes."

"Roger that, Gangplank out."

The Dreadnova boarded the shuttle with the Bullet-Angel, heading east, leaving the task-force to oversee the miners and the technicians as they went about their routine. The base had been set up quickly thanks to the mech servitors, and the analysts got set up comfortably while the gunsmiths built up the base's defenses.

Gangplank leaned out from the open door, peering across the many mountains that covered the landscape to see the settlements the helmsman was talking about. There were hundreds of workers lined up to enter the mines, and seeing how they were being goaded with what looked like taser-staves.

Gangplank may be in his thirties, but his eyesight was still good. He knew what he saw down there. Those were slaves.

The Dreadnova was no stranger to this, though he detested it in secret. Bilgewater, heart of the Badlands criminal underground, flowed with slaves such as these, practically dependent on them so much that the empire would crumble should they be denied of them. Slaves make an empire strong for a time, but errodes its foundations. Gangplank was a ruthless general, but had a code where all others least expected.

"Captain, what are your orders?" Kai'sa asked.

"Give them hell." At Gangplank's command, she dropped from the open shuttle door, brandishing twin rotary cannons that promised a painful end to the slavers. Looking up in horror at the shrill noise of the Bullet-Angel's engines, the batarians had but a moment to witness the glory of Dreadnova hexmaturgy, technology that far surpasses what they owned. Ionized bolts filled the air, forcing the batarians to take cover as the slaves panicked all around them and scattered in different directions.

Then, a chain of explosive metal barrels suddenly dropped from the sky, lining up in a neat little row close to the cowering slavers before detonating from a well placed shot from Gangplank's prized handcannon.

Clumps of flesh and blood burst out from behind the crates as the barrels did a gruesome job, just the way Gangplank likes it.

The wetworkers disembarked from the transporters, gaining ground until they backed the slavers into a corner. After an hour of fighting, the batarians promptly gave up and surrendered. They threw aside their weapons and lined up before the augments with their hands raised in defeat. Gangplank's shuttle hovered down to land, and the Dreadnova made landfall on Arnessa.

All eyes turned to the captain, both slave and free. The leader began to speak, "A truce is in order, human?"

And Gangplank's steel-grey orbs held nothing but disdain for the slavers, "A truce? I'll stop shooting when you die!" The gun sneezed a bolt of red plasma, killing a batarian lieutenant when he opened his mouth to plead for mercy. The next instant, Gangplank's sword swishes through the air, effectively disemboweling another and setting the next on fire from the plasma coating the blade. Kai'sa did not take part in the executions, but simply watched as her commander slaughtered the slavers in cold blood.

He had his good moments, and he had his bad moments. This was an unholy joining of both.

The slaves whimpered and looked away as blood spilled and body parts were dismembered. Gangplank reveled in the smell of burning flesh and the wide-eyed screams of the the dying aliens.

He hacked, he slashed. He shot, he stomped.

His killing spree ended with a brutal evisceration from shoulder to groin of the last batarian standing. Gangplank's chest heaved with exertion, and he wiped the sweat off his brow as he paused to admire his work. The way the blood smeared across the courtyard floor, with the limbs and bodies positioned, a twisted mind would've called such an atrocity a work of art.

He turns towards his crew. "Move out! Get these slaves to work, on the double!"

Hope gives way to despair as the slaves realized they weren't being saved that day, they were just under new management.

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