Epilogue-Last Rites

"I'm pleased with you, Malleus," the Illusive Man said, taking a puff on his cigarette. "Very pleased indeed."

"I'm glad to hear," Malleus said. They had barely left the core when the Illusive Man had contacted him, and he was still spattered in Collector blood, his arm and stomach aching despite the medi-gel Okeen had administered.

"Frankly, I had my doubts that even you could have accomplished what you did," the Illusive Man continued. "But you amazed me, amazed us all. With the Collectors gone, we've struck a tangible blow against the Reapers. They will think twice before facing us again."

"I somehow doubt they're simply going to give up," Malleus said. "They're still out there, after all, and they haven't been stopped yet."

"You're quite correct, but now that we've shown them just how dangerous we really are, we'll give them pause for thought," the Illusive Man replied. He leant back in his chair, backlit by the star that his station was orbiting, and Malleus couldn't help but notice that the blue tinge at the star's borders was gone; it burned orange now.

"What of the station?" Malleus asked. "Have you recovered anything useful yet?"

"Our salvage teams have only just arrived, and they're still checking for pockets of residual radiation," the Illusive Man said. "But hopefully we can recover some of their technology and use it for ourselves."

Malleus nodded, before saying; "Be careful how we do so. Some of it created abominations, and considering Cerberus' rather chequered past the last thing I want is another technoheresy."

"You're right," the Illusive Man said. "Last thing we should do is lose sight of what we're fighting for, after all."

"Good," Malleus said. "So what's our next move?"

"The fact is, we're still at war," the Illusive Man said. "Whether the Reapers will move against us directly or adopt some new tactic, I don't know, but if we can prepare the galaxy in whatever way possible, we've got a better chance. And more than that, we've got proof."

"Proof?"

"Proof of the Reaper's existence, proof that the Collectors really were taking colonies," the Illusive Man answered. "After all, we've got an entire station that we can use as evidence for any disbelieving Council officials."

"And do you think we can convince them?" Malleus asked.

"Perhaps," the Illusive Man said. "If not, it's up to you to force them from power and take control."

"What?" Malleus asked. "I somehow doubt we're going to gain much sympathy from the people we're supposed be fighting for."

"Not if they want the Council gone too," the Illusive Man replied. "Do you know why I picked you for this job, Malleus?"

"Enlighten me."

"You're a leader," the Illusive Man said. "Look at your team; all from different cultures, different beliefs, different morals, but you united them, forged them into a single unity. People can believe in you, easily, and you've got what it takes to use that belief, to get it behind you, gather an army and a fleet and to stop the Reapers for good."

"True," Malleus said. "I'll start it soon. I've got some final duties to attend to."

"Of course," the Illusive Man said. "I'll be watching. Good luck, Malleus."

The holographic room slid away, the Normandy' briefing room replacing it, and Malleus turned and left. There were other things we had to do.

#

The two coffins stood by the airlock, their white, curved metal surfaces gleaming in the Normandy's overhead lights. The rest of the team were gathered, respectfully silent, heads bowed as Malleus approached.

"We are gathered here to say farewell to two comrades, lost in the fires of battle," Malleus said, stopping in front of the coffins. "Two brave, pure souls that gave their lives so that they may save the lives of others. For this, this ultimate sacrifice, this ultimate act of true courage, for all your work while you lived, we say to you, Jacob Taylor and Gaius Lokin, thank you. Ave Imperator."

His brothers repeated the final two words, while the others said whatever their cultures dictated; a 'Keelah Se'lai' from Tali, a quiet murmured prayer from Thane, 'find peace in the Embrace of the Goddess,' and simply 'rest in peace.' The door of the airlock slid open, and Malleus gently pushed the two coffins within it. Both were empty, true, but it was the thought that counted; Jacob and Gaius's bodies, providing they had not been stripped to nothing by the radiation pulse. He stepped free, and they closed behind him, and there was a rushing noise as the outer doors opened.

Through the viewport, Malleus saw the two coffins shot from Normandy's airlock. He followed their path as they gently tumbled towards the star the ship was orbiting, pulled in by the inexorable grasp of its gravity well, before they were engulfed by light of the burning orb.

"Goodbye, Gaius," Malleus murmured. "Goodbye, young one."

Polgrin IV. The Orks had not been kind to this world; reducing its cities to rubble, slaughtering its people, looting everything that they find. Their PDF had been scattered and destroyed by the wild fury of the Greenskins, and it was only through the efforts of the Sons of Thunder, supported by the Cadian CCCXI, that they had been defeated. Now, it was the final sweep through the ruins of Polgrin IV's primary hive, hunting down the few organised remnants of the Waaaagh that had ravaged this world.

"Hullen, keep further back," Malleus ordered. "Watch those buildings closely. Last thing I want is another ambush."

"Aye, brother captain," Hullen replied, and Malleus saw his battle brother move further away, hefting his melta.

So far, no Greenskins had been encountered since they had started their patrol an hour ago, but Malleus was taking no chances; he hadn't masterminded the campaign to be killed by some lone Ork guerrilla.

Titus walked ahead of him, the campaign banner fluttering in the gentle breeze that scudded down the ruined street, his bolter held in the other hand, raised and scanning for danger. Suddenly, he paused, raising a hand to warn the others, and gestured to Malleus to join him, crouching down to look at something.

It was tripwire, one that would have been near invisible to a mortal man, stretching across the street, waiting for anything to disturb it.

"That's too fine to be Orks," Titus murmured. "Survivor, maybe?"

"Perhaps," Malleus said, before standing. "Is anybody there? My name is Malleus Scandarum of the Adeptus Astartes. Show yourself; I mean you no harm."

The street remained empty and silent, the burned out ruins of the hab-blocks throwing the empty echo of his words back at him.

Malleus walked slowly along the length of the wire, towards an empty window, noticing how it was hooked upwards into a window. Carefully, he peered in, facing the deep black maw of a mortar; no doubt the weapon would lob a shell into the centre of the road if the wire was broken.

He climbed in, taking care not to disturb the wire, and looked around the burned out shell of a room. He drew his thunder hammer, just in case, taking it in both hands and flicking the weapon into activation, lightning crackling around him.

"Found anything, Malleus?" Titus asked.

"Nothing so far," Malleus said. "Cut the wire, let's keep going. Keep your eyes open for more traps."

"Understood. Emperor protects."

There was click from behind Malleus, and slowly the brother captain turned, facing down the barrel of an lasrifle. Its holder looked at him through dirty blonde hair with tired, frightened and defiant eyes, before he said; "Drop the hammer."

"I'm not an enemy," Malleus said gently. "Stay calm."

"I said drop the hammer."

There was panic in the voice, so Malleus gently placed the thunder hammer on the floor, while the black carapace uplink his armour vox-clicked an SOS to Titus, who sent a click of acknowledgement back in return.

"What are you doing here?" the boy holding the weapon asked, aim wavering ever so slightly in worry and uncertainty.

"We're clearing out the last of the Orks," Malleus said. "We've defeated them, and we're finishing off the last of them. I'm amazed you haven't seen us."

"I was hiding from the Orks," he said. "Saw Guardsmen, didn't let them see me."

"Why not?"

"Might get dragged off and conscripted, thrown into their guns. I'm more use setting traps for them."

There was the sound of a bolter cocking, and Titus appeared in the window.

"Put the rifle down, son," he said, his weapon held up. "Come on."

The boy looked between Malleus and Titus, before carefully, warily, placing the lasrifle on the floor.

"What he doing here?" Titus' voice asked in Malleus' ear, inaudible beneath his helmet. "He set up that mortar?"

"The trap on the road," Malleus said. "Was that your work?"

"Yeah," the boy said. "I can't take them in a straight fight, but I've been setting traps; mines, pits, you name it, I've killed Orks with it."

"For how long?"

"Month, two months? I don't know. Wasn't counting. Too busy surviving."

Malleus glanced over to Titus, who once again flicked on the vox and asked; "Do you think that he might be worth a shot."

Malleus nodded, to him, causing the boy to glance warily over at Titus.

"Listen to me," Malleus said. "I know a safe place for you. A few miles along this road, to the North, we've established a firebase. Head there and ask for Scout Sergeant Polis. Tell him Malleus Scandarum sent you, that you wish to join the Sons."

"I'm not being conscripted, am I?" the boy said, raising his rifle once more. "No. I'm not joining the damn guard. I've see what they do; I'm not being thrown into some gun position just because some officer tells me."

"You wouldn't be joining the guard, no," Malleus said.

"Then who would I…oh."

The boy looked at them disbelievingly, and Malleus smiled softly.

"It takes a lot to fight a lone war against an entire Waaaagh for two months," he said. "This isn't the only test you'd need to pass to become Astartes, but it certainly sets you in good stead. What is your name, boy?"

"Gaius," he said. "Gaius Lokin."

"I see," Malleus said. "Go on then, Gaius. Polis will be waiting."

Still clutching his lasrifle to his chest like some protective talisman, Gaius vaulted the window, past Titus, pulled a compass from his pocket and sprinted away.

"Seventy four years ago," Malleus said quietly.

"What was that, Malleus?" Titus asked.

"Polgrin IV," Malleus said. "Where we found him. Seventy four years ago. He would have turned ninety soon enough."

Titus nodded sombrely as the Normandy slid away from the star, the two coffins gently tumbling into its flames, where they would be cremated within the solar furnace.

"Now the Collectors are beaten, what do we do?" the banner bearer asked.

"Now?" Malleus asked. "Now we well and truly go to war."

#

The void between the galaxies was a cold place. No suns were able to bring warmth to its chill depths, the blindingly bright cores of distant galaxies, with their countless suns and supernovae, nothing more than faint dots of light. Only one source of light seemed to permeate the darkness within the great empty space, one uncountable trillions of light years in its span.

A single mass effect relay, the spinning core at the heart of the three kilometre long FTL slingshot station glowing a bright piercing blue in the otherwise empty vacuum. None had traversed it except its creators, and even then it was a rare event; only once every few dozen millennia was it used, for the Great Salvation. The rest of the time, it lay silent in the void.

But now, its creators were thinking. Minds as ancient as continents cogitated and processed, intellects as vast as stars and as cold as the void itself considered the new information that had come to light. The Collectors had failed, their station taken and already it devices were being used for those the Reapers had not intended for. Always silently, they had hidden in the shadows and worked the sentient species of the galaxy to follow the trends and patterns that made them vulnerable; letting them find the relays and the Citadel, moulding them silently to make their extermination all the easier. But now, an unprecedented turn of events had come about; weapons had been found, their weapons, weapons that could easily make them equals to the Reapers.

One by one, lights scattered across great blue-black hulls flicked into life as primary systems came online. Soon, a miniature galaxy of stars, scattered hundreds of kilometres across, lit the void, great flaring supernovae of engines sending immense machines towards the relay. It burned into life, catching the fleet of dreadnought class vessels in a net of massless dark energy, before hurling it forwards at the speed of light, its hideous cargo safe and unharmed.

At the fringes of the galaxy, in a star system left so ignored that it had only a number and a letter to identify it, the relay's twin flared into life. Illuminated by the harsh light of the system's sun, hundreds, no, thousands of hulls were visible, each one of dimensions so vast that a human being would barely be able to comprehend its size. All with one single goal; extermination.

The Reapers had awoken.