The water sloshed around her feet as she stumbled through the rain water pooled on the street. Any other day, and she'd do her best to stay out of it. The water didn't agree with her skin, she remembered getting nasty green rashes on her legs from wearing sogging wet pants for days at a time. Now, however, the voice in her head, and the compulsion in her heart, had no time for even the most minor of detours. So she slogged on, her knees making the water splash with every step as her vision tunneled, focused only on what was ahead of her.

Briefly, memories surfaced, of a name, maybe it was hers? Mayan? Mar'I? She had a sister, didn't she? Moved away when... when... this Meryl person was young. Or was it Mon'Yq? The sister was nice, sent presents, visited, she would even bring Mar to her, and they would spend weekends at a big city. The little sister liked the big city, but she couldn't remember why... she coulnd't remember lots of things. Memories hurt.

The brand pulsed brightly, bringing the asari to her knees in the shallow end of the puddle, cracked and crumbled asphalt scraped and cut at the skin on her knees, but it was nothing comparied to the soul wrenching pain wracking her mind. The burning came not from the realm of the physical, and did nothing to harm her body, aside from scarring her palm. Instead, the wrath of a god she had once worshipped, but could no longer remember the name of, came from the aether, it struck her mind, rained down blow after blunt blow, even as razor blades cut across her soul.

The tree...

Memories of two sisters were washed away by the weighted, demonic command. Her vision rattled whenever it spoke, her blood ran cold when its rumbling bass coursed through her, and her knees went weak as it issued its commands. The voice had been her companion for some time. Or was it recent? She didn't know, time was... weird. How long had she been walking? Where had she even started from? There was something directly ahead of her, some sort of... wall? That was the word for it, sure, or maybe it was supposed to be edifice?

There was a hole in the... barrier. Or maybe it was a breach. She stumbled through it, into the ankle deep swamp water. This was a swamp, she was sure of that, the voice told her so. She had to go through the swamp, had to make it to the tree. The only tree in the swamp for miles. A holy place, a sacred place, where HE was waiting for her. HE needed her strength, the others would prepare her, and the conduit would perform the act, granting the power of her own essence to HIM, and it would finally set the world right.

She would have peace, something she hadn't had for... for...

She had to get to the tree.

The Priestess would be there, she would help her reach transcendence. She would help the Prophet reach his goal, and bring back the Gods. The Dark Ones, from far beyond the visible stars, with minds so great that though she could hear their rumblings in her dreams, barely audible past the heinous demon's dark voice, she couldn't understand them. Their very voice hurt her mind, the mere memory of the sound elicited a pained gasp.

Or maybe that was the patch of thorny weeds she had just barreled through.

It didn't matter, something deep within her mind urged her forward. Her hands, her arms, her legs, even her feet were bleeding by now as the jagged asphalt and the razor sharp grass of the swamps cut at her exposed skin. None of that mattered, only the tree.

Something moved in the swamp, beneath the shallow water, behind the tall grass. Dozens of them, they were following, guiding, clearing the path. She couldn't see them, they might not be real, but they used to be. They were like her, the Chosen, from times before, their souls having been offered, their bodies now served. They rushed through the brush, their numbers, their presence, discouraging any who would interfere.

She was glad for their presence.

Something nibbled at the edge of her mind at the arrival of her entourage though. Someone was coming with her, wasn't it? Something dangerous, something that would keep her safe, something that would get her killed, something that would save her life and soul. Did she want them to scare it away? Did she want it to kill them all and whisk her back to her home?

Her thoughts were crushed by the overwhelming presence of something else in her mind. The Priestess was here. The ancient being's mere presence was crushing her mentally. Any brief knowledge of who she was, why she had been stumbling through the swamp, what had been following her, disappeared as her mind was buried.

…

Kara hunched over her latest test, a simple dextro bacterial agent, used by the Migrant Fleet and many turian agricultural communities as a test basis for the immune responses of livestock and plants. It wasn't capable of harming anything, but the immune system responded the same as it did to a deadly bacterial infection. It helped biologists like herself test the immune response of genetically modified organisms.

Right now she was testing the agent against a quarian algae, the same kind grown on live ships and used to make the nutrient paste tubes. There were four batches, three of which had been exposed to the mutagens of different monsters, while the fourth was the unmodified batch of the standard algae.

She had only applied the bacteria a few hours ago, so the results shouldn't have come in yet, hell, there shouldn't have even been any noticeable change yet, but already one of the samples, one that had been intermixed with the mutagens from the fiend. The solution would turn blue once the bacteria had been eliminated, and red if the algae died. This particular batch had already turned blue.

Grabbing the dish in one gloved hand, the quarian wheeled her chair over to the microscope, and quickly slotted the dish into the machine and turned the viewing screen on.

"What's going on?" a voice asked from behind her.

The nomad turned to regard the blonde human watching over her shoulder at the screen, "One of the samples is ready. I'm doing a visual analysis before I put it through the DNA analyzer to determine viability."

"What are these samples for?"

"Short answer, I'm trying to permanently strengthen quarian immune systems, and I'm hoping the answer can be found in these mutagens," Kara replied with a sigh, it had produced interesting results so far, but nothing conclusive, nothing she could build off of.

"Why in the world would you think to use monster parts?"

"The Trial of the Grasses, Shepard told me they use mutagens to give the witchers their mutations, one of which is total immunity to disease, infection, and even a muted reaction to foreign bodies. They don't get sick, their noses never plug up, their lungs never fill with fluid, and their joints never swell. If I can figure out which of the mutagens was responsible for that, and narrow it down to the DNA sequences, then I can move on to splicing it into complex dextro lifeforms, and eventually, possibly the entire Migrant Fleet."

"Yeah, and they're also sterile."

The nomad just shrugged, "That's why I have to be careful. Though I do think snake eyes would be cool."

Cora smiled and looked over the alien's shoulder, "So what's going on with the sample? Did you get a good result, or bad result?"

"As long as the sample is pure, there is no such thing as a bad result," the biologist claimed, "But this one certainly is interesting."

And it was. The bacteria had been wiped out, and none of the algae had died. Not one cell. And now the algae was mutating, or at least that's what Kara concluded as she watched the normally very passive and immobile single cell life form wriggle across the dish, consuming the remains of the dead bacterial agent. What perhaps was most interesting was that this had only happened to some cells, and the rest lied there passively, soaking in the light from the UV lamp.

She'd have to replicate the test a few hundred times, though that would be easy enough, run it through different variations, ensure that its not just the bacteria it is reacting to, and that it can fight off different things like viruses, parasitic organisms, but for now, she'd need to put this under observation. Once she was done with the next series, likely in a few days, she could start trying to splice it into more complex lifeforms, probably keep it to vegetation, if only just to make sure she could combine the DNA without immediately killing something.

But it was real progress. She had had flashes of promise before, but never a fully successful trial run. Only temporary improvement before the mutagens killed the algae itself, it the mutagens wore off. There was still a chance of that happening, that's why she would have to leave it alone for a few days, under observation of the microscope's VI of course.

"So is it useful?" Cora asked the quarian, who had gone quiet for some time as she contemplated the first real break in her research she had gotten.

"It's too early to tell, but it's the first one I'll be able to take to a second round of trials, but it will be a while before I can start those."

The blonde human sighed and sat back against the wall of the cargo bay, rubbing her armored fingers over a dark stain on the floor of the bay.

"I think that was the werewolf from Elysian, we had its body hung up there for a while, trying to get an ID on the person it used to be," Kara supplied for the unasked question.

Harper grimaced at the thought, "What's it like? Witcher's work?"

What a weird question. It wasn't like she knew what the actual work was like. Occasionally, she got to watch the footage from his bodycam. But only the stalking of the creature, never the kill. Not because she wasn't allowed to see the kill, but frankly, she wasn't sure if she could stomach watching it. Shepard was constantly coming back with injuries, sometimes minor, sometimes bad enough to kill any quarian outright, but those concoctions he so carelessly jammed into his veins do work, and kept him alive.

"Hard... brutal... bloody."

Kara shrugged, "I don't know how to describe it other than that. I've watched him take on nightmares I could never have imagined before meeting him, and he does it every damn day. If he were anyone else, if he were anything else, I'd be worried for him. Mentally I mean."

"I don't know," Cora began lowly, though a small smirk turned her lips up, "You seem pretty concerned about him physically, too."

The nomad's cheeks flushed red, and not for the first time, she was glad her visor was mostly opaque. So she thought Shepard was a physical specimen, so what? His eyes were interesting, their vertical pupils were sharp, and so expressive and deep... Keelah! She needed to focus right now.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

The blonde cackled, "Oh come on! The rest of Talein's Daughters won't stop talking about how in love with him you are. You must have stared at him for five minutes before you realized we were watching!"

This was embarrassing.

"Then there was how you just glared daggers at everyone who looked more than twice at him," Cora continued, either oblivious, or much more likely, encouraged by the wilting quarian, "And when Deela kept trying to get her hands underneath his shirt? I thought we were gonna find her dead in her quarters with three fingered hand prints on her neck!"

"Well she should keep her hands to herself!"

"Hey! Shep didn't seem to mind," Harper pointed out, "I don't think he's new to a, um, 'friendly touch'"

Kara's shoulders slumped, "You know the pirate queen on Omega?"

Cora tilted her head, "Yeah?"

The quarian shrugged, "They send messages to each other nearly every day."

The biotic looked confused, so the biologist continued, "She sends pictures..."

The pieces clicked in place for the commando as she nodded, a wry smile coming over her face, "You better hope Aria T'loak doesn't mind sharing."

"Well, according to the picture I saw, she certainly doesn't mind sharing with him, I don't know about how she feels about..."

Alarms started ringing throughout the small ship.

Both women jumped to their feet at the same time, "Shepard!"

…

"What do you think it is?" the krogan, Drack, spoke directly into Garth's ear through the comm unit he had given the ancient lizard.

Currently, the witcher, his asari commando companion Captain Nirissa, and the old krogan Nakmor Drack were all surrounding a ring of asari, natives to the planet, all holding torches and chanting in some ancient, eldritchian language. At the center of them all, a bloodied pentagram pulsed in tune with their chanting, growing brighter and leaking flames from an unholy source.

"Pretty obvious what it is," the Old Wolf said, creeping through the thick brush that hadn't been cleared by the blue skinned cultists, "What has me curious, is where did these people come from? Nearest town is back the way we came, and there wasn't anyone alive back there."

"There were scattered cabins throughout the forest," Nirissa whispered from her position high in a tree, sniper rifle trained on Garth as he moved through the blue foliage, intent on clearing any one of the patrolling cultists outside the ritual from the witcher's path, "About a dozen, could be they hid among those?"

"Don't know how that giant wouldn't have found them," Drack muttered, the large krogan was with a contingent of his mercs and a couple of rock trolls, ready to storm in on the witcher's signal, "Damn thing was stomping all around the forest."

As the old witcher settled up in a small depression, some scraggly branches tipped in navy blue leaves covering the shine from his viper eyes as he took in the scene before him. He had managed to avoid the sporadic patrolling cultist, the tatooed asari walking an ill defined perimeter with mismatched weapons, and no armor. One was walking without any clothes at all, and only a rusty spiked baseball bat, where they got the human sports tool Garth had no idea, but he had no doubt that while it looked primitive, the bat would do plenty of damage, particularly when wielded by a biotic.

But the six or so asari walking around with poor armor and poor weapons didn't worry the Old Wolf nearly as much as the thirteen gathered in the circle. Five sat at the points of the pentagram, another five at the vertices, all dressed in black robes over nothing but a belt holding wicked daggers as long as their forearms. At the top of the pentagram, two asari stood, one in the same black robe as the ones on the outside, and the other wearing a pure white robe, with bound wrists and a gag in place. The second alien's face was streaked with tear tracks, and her eyes were full of fear as to what was happening, and while Garth was no expert when it came to judging asari ages, the one held captive couldn't have even reached seventy years.

Finally, there was the one in the center of the pentagram, leading the chant, held her dagger out, unsheathed and glimmering dangerously in the red light of the hellfire. This one's hood was down, revealing the whole of the blue woman's head, a multitude of piercings and tattoos shown off with pride. This one was old, maybe matriarch age, maybe late stage matron, but she was clearly the eldest of the group, and where all of the other cultists showed no emotion, and the captive showed fear, this one showed grim, sick pleasure for what was no doubt about to occur.

The chant ended, and the magic in the air coalesced, the center of the evil symbol turned solid red, and began bubbling, as though it were now a pool of unfathomably deep human blood. If Garth's theory about what they were doing and whom they were doing it for was true, then it easily could be that.

From the bloody puddle, a stone slab arose, a sacrificial table. Obsidian stone scarred and scratched from the countless lives taken upon it, but there were no stains upon the unworldly table.

"Deliverance is nigh!"

The voice of the lead woman was sultry, seductive, a good match with her attire, figure, and current position as the leader of a demon worshipping cult.

"The winds are shifting, forces are taking shape, and ancient beasts awaken from a long slumber."

The comm piece in Garth's ear crackles, it was Nirissa, "We waiting for her to finish her speech?"

"I'll let you know," the ancient witcher whispered back, hand on the hilt of his sword.

"Tonight, we commit another soul to the cause, confident that our Master's Servant will use this girl's strength to crush our enemies."

The ten surrounding the three in the center raised their arms, smiles worming their way onto their faces, eyes taking on a manic gleam, and they all chanted a response in the same language.

The cult leader waved to the asari holding the captive in her place, prompting the sadistically smiling blue alien to shove the crying one forward, and force her onto the table. The young maiden bucked and squirmed, trying to escape from the supernatural stone slab, but her captor held her down, not even bothering with her natural biotics.

A tremor of excitement rose through the air as the leader stepped forward, raising the dagger high, more chanting started up, and the matriarch had one last thing to say.

Garth beat her to it.

"Now."

A shot rang out, and the cult leader's head burst apart in a shower of blue gore.

There was no moment of pause for the cultists, for the next thing they knew, they were under attack from two sides.

Three huge bodies burst from the forest, one wielding a shotgon, the other two only carrying their hands, but the unarmed were more than a match for the asari.

One cultist reared back with her iron bar, her entire body and the weapon glowing blue as she flashed out of exsitence, and reappeared right on top of the trolls. With all her significantly augmented strength, the blue skinned alien brought the wrought iron bar down on the troll's head.

"Ow."

The response was swift, as the monster simply reached out, wrapped its long, rocky arms around the slight framed asari, and squeezed, blood bursting from her eyes, nose, and mouth as the troll rearranged her insides with a grisly embrace.

Next to the troll, Drack brought his modified krogan shotgun to bear on a pair of cultists from the circle, daggers ready to at least attempt to skewer the three hard shelled intruders. The heavy flechettes ripped right through the thin robes and relieved the blue aliens of their intestines.

The second troll, on the other side of Drack, had decided he desired a weapon, and found one that fit his hand perfectly, the body of a cultist. From what Garth could see, it was quite effective, slapping aside anyone who came near with efficiency, and a fair amount of gore.

As for the witcher, all by his lonesome on the other side of the sinister circle, the silver/dimeritium blade clashed with the strange wicked daggers of the cultists. Garth supposed he should be a little more active, but he wanted some of these people alive, to determine what was going on. There were a lot of questions here. Who were the Masters? Who was their Servant?

One of these people had to know, the witcher reasoned, and rather than slapping down a sloppy thrust from a dagger and skewering the cultist, he slid the razor edge of his sword down the blade of the dagger, past the hilt, and severed a few fingers. A silver studded backhand knocked the blue woman's lights out.

A bioticially enhanced slash was easily avoided, with the highly trained ancient witcher knocking out the amatuer fencer with ease. Behind him, and high up in the navy tinted foliage, Narissa had forgone the sniper rifle, picking up on her mutated partner's intentions, and began using her biotics to pluck a few unfortunate cultists and slam them against the ground.

"Figured we'd get a little more fight outta these," Drack rumbled as the fight came to a close, the cult leader's face firmly clenched in one massive, fleshy three fingered hand, "I've taken down cults before, usually got a few tricks up their sleeves."

"I don't know if we can call this a cult at this point," Garth replied as he directed a turian merc towards a pair of unconscious asari, "more like some sort of wild tribe in the middle of the woods."

"What was this ritual?" Narissa asked as she had finally descended from her perch in the trees and was moving along the site, pointing her body cam at everything that was of significance, no doubt making sure there was a record of the entire incident her superiors to breakdown as much as possible. Wasting her time, no two summoning's were entirely the same. Particularly when you get into the realm of evil entities.

The witcher tapped the millenium old krogan with the tip of his silver sword, nodding to the cult leader the krogan was still palming. Drack tossedthe alien against the altar, delivering a swift kick to the ribs when she briefly flashed with biotics, quelling the possible escape attempt.

With a mild shake of his head, the Old Wolf kneeled next to the shapely, and barely clothed, alien. Viper eyes were sharp as they regarded the markings covering her skin, "What was the point of all this?"

The purple iris of the asari were barely visible, so dilated were her pupils, giving her a crazed, manic look, "Power."

The asari grabbed something from a band around her upper left arm. Belatedly, the witcher realized it was a knife, but by then, it was too late, and viscous purple blood poured over her blue skin, running in rivers past the rough edges of the tattered cloak, and onto the dark obsidian stone upon which she was propped against.

The response of the stone, and the circle it was in the center of, was immediate. Engravings appeared along its sides, glowing with an internal hellish energy, and the pentagram, which had been dying in its intensity as soon as the ambush had begun, roared back to life.

The two smiles of the cult leader, one bearing gleaming white teeth while the other still spilling out the alien's life through its jagged opening, took on a sinister tone in the light before the body burst into flame.

Witcher and krogan covered their eyes as the hellfire grew to outshine the midday sun. The heat blistered skin and scales alike with its unholy ferocity. And then, as quickly and as suddenly as it started, the fire was gone, taking with it the altar, and pentagram around it.

"Oh fuck me!" Drack bellowed as he looked around the suddenly dark camp, "What in Verun's itchy quad was that?"

…

"What was that?"

Jared let the burnt out husk of what used to be an asari drop to the ground, flexing his fist to get used to the blisters the heat of the fire had left there. All around the Bear, smoldering husks of what used to be cultists, whose ritual he and Arysa had interrupted. There was no evidence left of their circle, nor the stone altar they had been prepared to sacrifice a young human girl upon.

Instead, the leader had sacrificed herself, ripping her own stomach open with a wickedly curved dagger and spilling her intestines upon the stone. Then her, and the bodies of all the others the witcher and commando had slain had burst to flames, but the bodies weren't burnt, not in the sense they had been caught in an inferno at least. It was more like they had been sunburnt, or dessicated. Completely dried out.

The witcher was at a loss, "Don't know."

Seemed like they were sacrificing the soul of the young girl, but instead wound up sacrificing themselves. They were dedicated, that was for sure.

"What was the point of all this?" the commando was gesturing with her free hand to the surroundings, a swampy copse of trees, decorated in demonic runes and an ancient and arcane language. From the branches, hung the intestinal tracts of dozens of different species. Some were sentient, others belonged to the animals crawling across the swamp. Jared had assumed this to be the lair of some beast nearby, some sort of water hag, or foglet.

"Don't know."

The commando didn't like that answer, but wasn't going to pick a fight with the seven foot tall goliath covered in the ichor of the slain. But he wasn't the only target in the clearing.

"What about you!?" Arysa barked, moving on the frightened human girl they had saved from the ritual, "You've been with these people for weeks, you must have seen something! Heard something!"

Interesting interrogation technique, just yell at someone till they tell you what you want to hear. Jared doubted the girl knew much anyway, but it was an interesting process to witness all the same. The Bear moved on to the environment, keeping an ear open for the questioning going on behind him.

"I don't know why they did this!" the girl, probably only fifteen or sixteen years old. Once rich chocolate skin had been leeched of color and vitality, only remnants of what was once great youth and vigor remained. Perhaps she would gain it back in the end...

Something shifted in the swamp.

"They captured me months ago! Me and fifteen others! I'm all that's left!"

Olaf still glistened with the blue blood of cultists in the dim torchlight, its tip plunged right through the chest of one cultist and into the muddy ground beneath.

Ripples on the swamp water lapped up at the edge of the muddy island.

"So what? Now they've decided to start killing you off? What for?"

There was a story carved onto the trunks of one of the trees, a figure standing above a crowd, arms spread, wreathed in some sort of power. Above the figure was something else. Was that a squid?

A twig snapped in the darkness.

"No, they've been doing it on a regular schedule!" the girl cried, terrified both of the circumstances and the angry asari commando standing over her, "They said something about the empowerment of the Masters. I swear I don't know anymore!"

There were more carvings upon the trunks of the gnarled blue trees. A figure, much taller than anything else depicted, was devouring the screaming masses, one at a time. Another trunk showed a different figure, devouring yet more people, people who were already mortally wounded, yet still able to show their horror at their fate. A third trunk showed a smaller figure, cloaked, standing above another body.

Branches in the swamp's canopy shook violently as something moved through it with speed.

Jared ripped Olaf from the ground and whirled on the darkness, sensing something coming closer and nearly breaking into the circle of light. Arysa and the young girl both looked up shocked as the huge man moved at great speed, his massive silver sword whirling around in the light, casting ominous reflections from the torchlight.

Water sloshed as something rushed through the shin high swamp towards them, and the Bear and commando prepared for a fight...

When a four legged mammal burst into the light, paused at the sight of the three sentient creatures, and bolted through the muddy island pushed up by the tree roots. The creature was followed by more of its brethren, most passing around the sacrificial site. Vaguely reminiscent of deer, they were clearly running from something.

Above their heads, avian creatures and primitive primates rushed through the branches, running in the same direction as the deer like mammals, and from the direction they had come from, a green light lit up the forested swamp, followed by the unholy wail of the undead.

"Wraiths."

…

Wraiths.

A dozen of them, all circled around the unfortunate victim of the telepathic manipulation that Shepard had followed here. The asari had stumbled her entire way to the circle, found directly underneath the lone tree of the marshes, the witcher following at a distance as had been agreed upon, but it hadn't taken long for the Wolf to notice a change in his charge.

Where in the town she had been in pain, but fully in control of her own faculties. Here in the wide open bog, there was no control in her movements. Her strides had become desperate shambling, her breath had turned from measured, if fearful, pants, to panicked gasping and painful moans. The towering grasses had slashed at her bared skin, and cuts bled an easily followed trail through the moonlit marsh, but they weren't what was causing the alien pain.

The brand burned bright in the shadows.

That's what led Shepard to the scene he was at now. Twelve wraiths, hellfire portals, and a brain dead asari offering herself up for some sort of sacrifice.

The pentagram circle the wraiths and the sacrifice occupied pulsed again and another wraith joined the group, bringing the number of souls currently not bound by physical form up to thirteen. The number must have been significant, because it was at that moment, a portal opened up outside of the pentagram, and out stepped a figure.

Hunched and hobbled, it was vaguely... humanoid. At least it had two legs, two arms, and a head on top... scratch that, it had four arms, Shepard just wasn't sure the lower pair coming out of the stomach pouch belonged to it. The creature wore a pointed red hat that came down into some sort of eyepatch covering one of its eyes, drawing attention to the second eye, or eyes, for they appeared to be the compound eyes of an insect.

Its limbs were misshapen, with arms far too long for its short body, hands too large, fingers too few, and long, dull claws on each digit. Its legs were short, squat, and unmatched in length, leading to a hobbling gate as it waddled towards the victim in the center.

This is the point where a hero would intervene. Would swoop in, take out the obvious monster, ward off the wraiths, and save the helpless maiden. This would also not answer any questions. This entire planet was in the grip of something heinous, something sinister. If it were just monsters, doubtless Shepard would have already moved, hacking and slashing and shooting his way through the hordes of the supernatural, but these weren't simple monsters.

The creature down there, the hag, the crone, was something that had never been mentioned in any bestiary. It wasn't a demon, in the typical sense of the word, nor was it a relict or any sort of spirit. Obviously the creature was intelligent, and powerful, to be so at ease with the wraiths as it was, as though it controlled the undead, when even ghouls would find it difficult to cohabit with spirits.

Was it responsible for the energy field surrounding the planet? One that made it difficult to even broadly communicate with the cruiser Illyana. Was it responsible for the almost militarized distribution and mass tactics of the monsters inhabiting this planet?

The mutant didn't know the answers to any of those questions, but at the cost of one asari life, he would have a much better chance of answering them.

He was no hero, he was a professional.

The crone reached the edge of the circle and stopped. The asari in the center whimpered pathetically, barely audible over the crackling hellfire to the witcher's straining ears. The creature ran a thumb across her palm and the brand on the blue woman's hand burned bright once again, dropping her to her knees in pain and screaming in agony.

"Ring the dinner bell," the creature rasped, its voice sending chills through Shepard as he watched the scene through the scope on his heavy assault rifle, "Time to eat, Nihlus!"

Nihlus? That was a turian name.

The crone ran her thumb across her palm again, and once again the asari was wracked with pain. Her body convulsed, energy pouring from wounds, and soon from her very essence itself. The summoning circle they were upon began to change. The ground within its bounds swirled, as though it were a vortex, though the one person standing upon it was not tripped by the shifting dirt and mud in the slightest.

"Ring, ring, hateful creature!" the crone continued to cackle in her harsh voice, "Maybe this time you'll actually be of use to Lord Saren!"

Saren. Saren Arterius? Saren the Spectre that is responsible for an attack on an Alliance colony that left thousands dead, and responsible for Geth rampaging through the Kepler Verge, the same Saren, whose brother Shepard had captured, tortured, and beheaded above Shanxi.

Finally, a flash of energy burst forth from the woman in the center of the circle, seemingly releasing the asari from whatever hold held her, as she bolted from the circle, espousing nonsense and gibberish as she tore through the tall grass and disappeared.

Even before the alien was gone, the ground beneath the summoning circle dropped away, and a vortex of hellfire spun into existence, extending down deep into the earth, seemingly into the bowels of hell itself, and from this opening a three clawed hand shot up, followed by a spray of molten rock. It was as if some creature was pulling itself from the liquid magma core of the planet.

The vortex stopped spinning, the hellfire burned out, and the ground rose back up, leaving a nine foot tall figure draped in a heavy cloak, leaning heavily on a rusted polearm, one that Shepard had seen before in the offices of Hierarchy admirals, it looked closest to an battleax of ancient Homeworld history, but was in fact, an ancient turian weapon, used when they had yet to learn to sail the meager oceans of Palaven.

"Feast, demon," the crone spoke again, "Lord Saren wouldn't want to lose another of his kin to... humans."

Without delay, the demon reached out towards a wraith, its massive, taloned hand piercing the ethereal nature of the spirit, and brought the lost soul to its mouth, where shockingly, it devoured the wraith, one bite at a time.

Okay, that was enough questions answered for now.

Three rounds burst from his rifle, the fifty calibre rounds impacting what Shepard presumed to be the greatest threat, the demonic turian devouring wraiths for energy. The silver slugs fragmented upon impact, shredding through the soft flesh of the caricature with ease, but feasting as it was, the wounds upon the hell spawn healed as soon as they appeared.

The crone, for its part, didn't even have the decency to appear surprised by his appearance, even going so far as to taunt him without turning towards him.

"I was wondering when you would show up, Wolf. I've been watching you since you landed."

Two more rounds had a similar effect upon the demon, inflicting great damage that was quickly repaired as the unholy terror split the wraith in two and finished feasting upon its energy, reaching for the next one. So, Shepard switched targets, this time sending a trio of shots right at the hag.

These slugs didn't even have a chance to make their impact, however, as the unknown creature merely dissipated, into a murder of crows that beelined for the hiding witcher.

The Wolf barely had time to bail on his hiding spot and get into the open as the crone reformed as the crows came back together, bringing a heavy claw down on the ground where he had been prone, mud flying from her supernatural strength.

"When that insufferable wretch came seeking to employ me, I nearly tried my hand at a stew," the crone said as it scuttled with surprising speed, avoiding another fifty caliber round that sailed through the tall grass instead.

The creature charged forward at absurd speeds, mud flinging through the air as its malformed feet churned underneath it. The Wolf moved to halt its charge with a burst of Aard, his fingers twisting to form the complex runes necessary. The wave of kinetic energy impacted the wretched witch, who merely burst apart into her murder of crows yet again.

"But he offered me a chance at revenge," came the continuation as it reformed, some distance away, squatting amidst the shallow, ankle deep water, "It's been so long since I last had a chance at a witcher, since that bitch Cirilla stole my sisters from me!"

The crone shot its hands into the mud, and the ground before her erupted in a spray of mud and dirty water that was headed right for the witcher.

The game of move, countermove, continued as Shepard merely rolled away from the dark spray of energy and squeezed off a few more rounds into the creature, who this time, chose to slap them away in a hiss of rage.

"Taught by that foul White Wolf!" it spat before rushing forward again, this time Shepard chose to meet her head on, Grey Wolf singing from its scabbard.

"He thought himself so high and mighty! Some sort of savior!"

At this distance, the witcher was able to pick up on the insects buzzing around the crone's compound eye. The creature was strong, there was no doubt, and very fast, but it was clear early on that there was little actual skill in a melee for its part.

"He couldn't save those children! He couldn't save the Baron's wife from insanity!"

Still, it was difficult keeping up with the pure savagery coming from the monster in front of him. He covered its arms and hands in cuts and scrapes, but had yet to be afforded the opportunity to go on the offensive.

"And he was able to stop our Solstice! So what? My sisters and I had given that land everything they had! When we left, what did they have? Misery and despair!"

"Do you ever shut up?"

Another burst of Aard kicked the legs out from under the hag and gave Shepard the space and time he needed to pirouette and bring Grey Wolf around to start going on the offensive. The creature recovered quickly, but reacted poorly to the first feint, and the silver/dimeritium tip dug a gouge through the flabby chest region of the crone.

That was no galactic treasure he had just ruined.

"Foul mutant! Do you think to best me? I've collected the medallions from your brothers for centuries before the White Wolf!"

"Good gods, hag, shut up and fight!"

A savage right hook was stopped by the tip of Grey Wolf punching through, spraying black ichor from the open palm. The silver blade whirled around and caught the left swipe, turning it down, and followed up with a slash that cut into the crone's shoulder.

Enraged, the crone simply smashed its ape-like arms into the ground, creating a shockwave that picked the witcher off the ground and tossed him back a few meters, his back making a wet thud as it hit the soft marshy ground.

Quen was all that saved his life as dark claws rained down upon him as soon as he hit the ground. With no space and no position to use his sword, one of his twin pistols found its way into his hand and punched a shot straight through the hag's belly. The wound, though not fatal for a creature as ancient and powerful as this crone, but it gave him space, and a defensless target.

Igni cast a different light than the evil hellfire that populated the summoning circle. It was brighter, hotter, more full of life.

And just as capable of taking it.

The crone reared back, the tattered rags it called clothing were set ablaze, wrinkled skin blistered under the supernatural heat, and raspy, distorted voice screamed in agony at the pain.

Shepard flipped to his feet, sword shimmering as it danced in the unholy fires setting the light by which viper eyes could see. The crone wasn't done, not by a long shot, and now he had well and truly pissed it off. Now was when he needed to press an advantage and finish this fight quickly.

Unfortunately, that didn't seem to be in the cards for Shepard, as the crone's compound eye twinkled despite the pain, "Time's up for you, Young Wolf!"

Viper eyes narrowed briefly before he felt something behind him. They widened when he realized what it was.

A crushing blow to the side lifted the monster slayer off his feet and slammed him against the trunk of the lonely marsh tree. The heavy assault rifle had been thrown clear of his body, as well as one of his twin hand cannons. Grey Wolf had slipped from his grip, but managed to land next to where his crumpled form hit the ground.

Alarms on his suit gave him single, quiet beeps to inform him that something, most likely a lot of somethings, had gone horribly wrong with the suit. He didn't even need the alarm, truthfully, for the witcher could feel as he lay on the ground, that his armor plating had cracked, and the right shoulder pauldron had simply been crushed completely.

Still, the armor did its job as there were no broken bones, and the auto injector on his wrist still seemed to be functional. Good thing too, he was gonna need it in a minute as he felt a three clawed hand reach down and grab him by the waist.

With barely enough time to slip his fingers around Grey Wolf, Shepard found himself airborne again, this time flying back into the center of the summoning circle. Fortunately this landing was softer, unfortunately, he did not have the protection he had last time, and felt the jagged edge of his broken armor plates cut into his torso.

A quick command to his omnitool, and the auto-injector on his right gauntlet smashed two plungers down on preloaded vials. Swallow always hits the system hard, especially since it did nothing to help with the pain, but Thunderbolt was the worst. Taking his typical twenty eight beats per minute heartrate and ramping it all the way up to nearly two hundred. He'd had broken bones that hurt less than that.

He wouldn't deny their effectiveness, however, as his limbs found new energy and the mutant flipped to his feet, sword at the ready.

Demon and witch squared up on him. One on one, the witcher could take down the crone, of that he was certain. It would be a hard fight, and require a bit of luck, but he'd had harder fights. The demon... Shepard was not as confident. He'd felt the raw power, and having freshly feasted on the souls of whomever those unfortunate wraith's were, it was at the height of its abilities. There was no record of fights won against these things, though in truth, it was difficult to have any sort of record on creatures of the darkness between worlds. They defied logic, and therefore defied classification.

"I trust you enjoyed your meal, Nihlus?"

The hood fell back on the towering demon, revealing a turian face. Was this Nihlus Kryik? The Spectre who had been on Eden Prime with Jane? The Nihlus that had had his face and brain cut out of his corpse?

"Here's desert!" the crone cackled gleefully.

"Just shut up," the Wolf grumbled under his breath as he surged forward.

The witcher ducked under one sweeping strike from the turian ax, and ran the blade of Grey Wolf across the arm and slipped it underneath one armpit to drag it along the slender unholy terror.

There was no grunt of pain from the creature, and indeed, the wound disappeared as quickly as it was put there. The rusted alien weapon came around again, finding air again as the mutant, hopped up on his cocktail of chemicals, moved far too quickly for the slow weapon to find him. Shepard ran his sword nearly to the hilt through the midsection of the creature, and was quick to rip it out through one side, going for maximum damage before rolling away, narrowly avoiding the counterattack.

Again, the massive chunk of flesh missing in its side healed nearly instantly, though slower than the other wounds had before it. Could it be possible to outlast this thing? Whittle away at its unreal healing factor? Or was the healing factor only temporary and Shepard would just have to wait it out and just stay alive?

Lightning reflexes saved him from the flanking wave of magical force.

Right, two of them. Kill one first.

The alien ax nearly took his head, the Wolf replied by taking another chunk of flesh that merely regenerated, again, slower than last time.

The mutant danced around the hag, delivering another nasty cut along the back of the evil creature. The witcher ducked underneath a three clawed hand and put another hole in the demon's midsection.

Igni burned bright, driving back the witch, followed by a North Wind bomb to slow down the unholy specter's advances. Aard knocked the towering terror off balance and Samum kept the hag distracted.

It was a dance with little to no progression, and the only one wearing down was him. No surprise the demon didn't get tired, even if it was getting easier to wound, but the crone only seemed to get stronger the longer the fight went on. There was a bloodlust there, a hatred that the beastly version of a woman had more than hinted at. It was clear it hated witchers, Wolve's in particular. Most likely because the famous Geralt of Rivia, the White Wolf, had supposedly slain her sisters, or had a hand in their deaths. Though what the bit about a girl named Cirilla was all about, Shepard had no clue.

And no time to dwell upon it, as fatigue was working its way through him, and the moisture from the humid night had made the already muddy ground slicker. A momentary lapse in concentration was all it took for the witcher's footing to fail him, and the Wolf found himself flat on his ass, staring right into the merciless gaze of a former turian's possessed corpse.

The hellfire was still raging throughout the circle, casting an unholy yellow light over the figure as it raised its turian melee weapon high. so that begged the question, why was the side of the demon lit bright white?

The sound of an airhorn caused all three combatants to look for its source, just in time to watch a restored swamp bug slam into the side of the demon, burying it under five tons of steel, rubber, and diesel.

The roar of Roach's engine and blare of its horn was drowned out in that moment by the pounding thrum of batlike wings from the back of the swamp bug and the roar of a great beast as a manticore launched into the air.

Lion sized jaws powerful enough to crush through the chitin of a shaelmaar latched onto the arm of the crone. With a jerk of its powerful head, the manticore threw the malformed witch into the air, where it grabbed her with its strong, spiked tail and slammed her back into the mud.

The great beast, and now apparently Kara's personal attack dog, reared up, ready to slam down two gigantic paws onto the hag when it pulled its disappearing act yet again.

The witcher lunged to his feet, looking for where it might reform, but the sound of wings were still sounding, beating further and further away. It ran?

"Looks like we got here just in time," Cora exclaimed breathlessly from the driver's seat of Roach, "You don't look so good."

Shepard was still listening hard for the sound of crow wings. The hag had been injured very severely by the witcher, add onto that a manticore attack, and it was possible it was too injured to continue, or had thought the fight had shifted out of its favor, what with the demon having been run over and all...

"Cora, Kara! Get out of the damn..."

A three fingered hand shot up, grabbing Harper by the face through the driver's side window, and pulled the blonde biotic from the vehicle, slamming her head first into the mud. The only reason the human commando survived was by the incidental protection the clawed hand provided.

Kara, who had nearly frozen at the sight of Cora being yanked from the vehicle, was tossed around the cabin as the swamp bug bucked violently, the demon underneath forcing the heavy vehicle out of its way.

The nine foot towering terror reeled up to its full height, human still clutched in its claws, and let out a bellowing roar that shook the very world around them.

The second of the twin pistols found Shepard's left hand, and barked its own retort. The former turian face bloomed with a new hole that definitely wasn't supposed to be there, and for the first time, the demon showed pain, and dropped Cora Harper.

The fight had turned, finally in the witcher's favor.

"Kara, grab Harper!"

With a whistle, the witcher leapt at the front of the demon, taking its concentration, and allowing a lion sized hybrid to leap upon its back, all six hundred pounds of muscle, claws, and fury flattening the horror.

While the demon was down, Grey Wolf feasted on flesh, this time the chunks it hacked away didn't regenerate. This time, it was going to stay down...

The manticore was flung from the monster's back, and a backhand launched Shepard across the summoning circle yet again. This time, ribs broke under the pressure, and blood ran freely from the cuts inflicted by the jagged armor. Swallow was doing its best, but it was taking everything it had to keep the Wolf alive, let alone conscious.

Three thundering steps had the huge nightmare above Shepard and ready to kill when a blue aura wrapped around the demon and flung it back against Roach, where its head promptly exploded outwards.

It stumbled forward, rolling away from the swamp bug, revealing Kara and Cora in the cab of the vehicle, the quarian still firing her custom purple rifle into the demon, as the ethereal aura of biotics winked out around the human's bruising face.

Finally the rifle in the biologist's hands overheated, giving the terror a second of reprieve, before the manticore was upon it again, latching on to one arm with armor crushing jaws and pinning it in one place.

That place, is where Grey Wolf took its head, and its other arm, cut it in half from hip to hip. The battered and bruised Shepard took no chances. This fight was over, here, and now.

And as the last cube of rotted flesh hit the marshy soil, and the first rays of dawn began to pinken the horizon, Jon actually let himself believe the thing was dead for good.

Meh, not sure about this, but you guys had waited long enough.

Dragon of Dragonstone will probably not get an update till I'm through ME1 with this fic. If I choose to continue writing at all.

The computer this chapter was on originally drowned, which is why you guys had to wait so long for this one, as I had to completely rewrite it. That's what I get for not trusting the cloud I suppose, but I don't understand how suspended water vapor is supposed to save my data?

I have a challenge I'd like to issue some ambitious writer out there, PM me if you're interested, but I'd really like to see a well done fic of various superheroes, versus slasher villains. I want to see Batman vs Jason Voorhees. I really do. I'm sure that fic exists on this site, but I'm equally sure its riddled with grammatical and spelling errors, as well as sporting a very poorly written Jason.

If you've been trying to message me and I haven't gotten back to you, I will try and do so very soon, I had some health issues and my immediate schedule has opened up a little as a result.

One last question before I go, am I going too far with this? Have I gone too far with this storyline? Let me know.