Mass Effect: Seraphim

The Admiralty

Chapter 3: The Admiralty.
-
Seventeen hours after their harrowing discovery on Verdantia, the Dauntless emerged from the Charon mass relay into normal space at the edge of the Sol system. The ship hummed with energy as it decelerated, stars twinkling against the black expanse of space, with the distant glow of Earth just visible. As protocol dictated, a message was sent through the system's communication buoys, reaching high command within moments. The response was swift. Ten minutes later, Captain Amara Thorn received orders for the Dauntless to dock in Bay Six of the central Alliance naval station.

The tension aboard the Dauntless was palpable. Though they had escaped Verdantia without further incident, the weight of what they had discovered hung heavy over them all. Amara could feel it in her bones as she stepped off the docking ramp, Elara Nezrin following closely behind her. They were about to deliver the most critical report of their careers.

The briefing room they entered was cold and clinical, the kind of space designed to strip away emotion and focus on the facts. The polished metal surfaces gleamed under the harsh lighting, and the reflective glass walls gave the room an almost unsettling clarity. Four admirals sat waiting around an oval conference table, their faces hard with expectation.

Admiral Alastair Drake, the oldest among them with weathered skin and graying hair, sat at the head of the table. His reputation was one of steadfastness—he wasn't easily moved by sensational reports or speculation. To his right was Admiral Hana Kurata, a sharp-eyed tactician known for her careful and often skeptical analysis. Next to her was Admiral Tariq El-Amin, whose deep-set eyes and calculating mind earned him the respect and fear of many. Finally, Admiral Elena Petrova, a former Marine known for her directness, sat silently, her sharp gaze never leaving Amara.

The room fell silent as Amara and Elara took their positions at the head of the table. Amara felt the intensity of their gazes on her, but she remained calm, knowing that what she was about to reveal could shift the very direction of human history.

Admiral El-Amin, ever the pragmatic leader, was the first to speak. His deep, authoritative voice filled the room. "Captain Thorn, Lieutenant Nezrin. I understand you've returned from Verdantia with some... troubling findings. What exactly are we dealing with here?"

Amara inhaled slowly, standing tall as she addressed the Admiralty. "Admiral El-Amin, Admirals, thank you for seeing us on such short notice. The mission to Verdantia was not what we expected. What we found there is... unprecedented. The facility we located was an ancient structure, belonging to a civilization known as the Seraphim."

She paused, noting the flicker of confusion on their faces, particularly on El-Amin's. He leaned forward slightly, his brow furrowed. "The Seraphim? I've heard nothing about such a species. Explain."

Amara nodded, choosing her words carefully. "The Seraphim were a race that ruled much of the galaxy in that region over 50,000 years ago. Records of their existence have been scarce, but we found their cryogenic facility—a bunker housing thousands of pods. One of those pods opened, and we encountered a Seraphim named Nyrathiel Astraeus."

A murmur passed between the admirals, Admiral Petrova raising an eyebrow. "And what happened to this Seraphim? Is he still... alive?"

Amara shook her head, a somber tone creeping into her voice. "No. Nyrathiel... died shortly after exiting the pod. But before he did, he gave us a warning. He spoke of a great threat that wiped out his people, something they called the Abyssal Hunger. He said that whatever destroyed the Seraphim may still be out there."

The room fell into a cold, heavy silence. Admiral Kurata exchanged a glance with Drake, her sharp eyes narrowing. "You expect us to believe that some ancient alien threat—one that annihilated a race that predates our own—is still lurking in the dark, waiting to strike?"

Elara, sensing the growing skepticism, stepped forward. "Admirals, I've personally gone over the data we collected from the Seraphim systems. Nyrathiel wasn't the only one who left us a message. We found a distress signal. It's broadcasting from deep space—coordinates that don't match any known systems. The signal was sent just before the Seraphim vanished. We believe they were calling for help."

Admiral Petrova's lips thinned into a hard line. "Help for what, exactly?"

Elara hesitated, glancing at Amara for guidance. Amara stepped in. "We don't know the full extent yet, but if the Seraphim couldn't stop this Abyssal Hunger, it's possible we'll need to prepare for something beyond anything we've faced before."

El-Amin leaned back in his chair, his eyes locked onto Amara. "And what of this Krogan you encountered? You mentioned a warlord, Throgar Nex?"

Amara shifted slightly. "Yes, sir. Throgar Nex is a Krogan warlord. He was on Verdantia, likely searching for the same technology we were. He claims to have knowledge of the Seraphim, though we've yet to confirm how much he truly knows. Given the situation, I decided to bring him along. He might be of use."

Drake, who had been silent up to this point, finally spoke. His voice was low, but it carried the weight of his authority. "So, let me get this straight. You've returned from a mission with an unverified warning from a long-dead alien race, a Krogan warlord, and a distress signal from deep space. And you believe we should mobilize based on this?"

Amara didn't flinch. "Yes, Admiral. I believe the threat is real, and I believe we need to take this seriously. The Seraphim were far more advanced than we are. If they couldn't stop what came for them, then we need to be ready for whatever might be coming for us."

Drake locked eyes with her for a long, silent moment before nodding slowly. "We'll review the data. But understand this, Captain: if this is a false alarm, or if you're exaggerating the threat, it'll be on your head. However, if you're right... we'll need to act fast."

Amara exhaled, the tension finally leaving her shoulders. "I understand, Admiral."

El-Amin leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. "In the meantime, Captain, we'll need you to stay on standby. There's no telling what might come of this, and I want your team ready to move at a moment's notice."

"Yes, sir," Amara said, her voice firm.

As she and Elara left the room, the weight of their discovery still hung heavy over them. The Admiralty would deliberate, but Amara knew one thing for certain: whatever was out there, lurking in the dark, humanity was far from ready. And time, as Nyrathiel had warned them, was running out.
-
As the meeting was winding down in the sterile, high-security room of the Admiralty, across the galaxy, on the moon of Thalassa, the shadows played host to an entirely different kind of operation. The Salarian spy Nivara Lyzal, cloaked in darkness, her movements precise and deliberate, was deep within the digital labyrinth of a notorious arms dealer's lair. Her mission was simple: plant a set of bugged files onto the dealer's computer, ones that would not only lock the system but siphon off all valuable data to a location where she could retrieve it later.

The room was dim, illuminated only by the soft glow of the terminal she was hacking. Nivara's gloved fingers moved with practiced ease over the interface of her omnitool, her amphibian eyes narrowing with intense focus as the files were transferred. The arms dealer, known for his dealings in both human and alien weaponry, was currently away, ensuring that Nivara had just enough time to complete the upload without any interruptions.

Her tool beeped softly, a comforting sound that signaled the successful placement of the digital trap. The bugged files would lie dormant until the dealer or one of his henchmen accessed them, unleashing a flood of data back to her employer. Everything from weapons blueprints to supply chains would soon be in her possession.

But just as she was about to finish, a high-pitched bleep emanated from her omnitool, cutting through the silence like a knife. Nivara's instincts kicked in, and her heart leaped in her chest as she glanced down at the device.

The alert flashing on her omnitool was marked with high-priority clearance—something unexpected, something dangerous. Nivara's eyes flicked over the message. The contents made her blood run cold:

URGENT: Unauthorized signal detected near your location. Classified data transmission in progress. Possible breach.

Her mind raced. The message was from an encrypted Salarian STG channel, warning her that another transmission, unauthorized and likely linked to an intelligence leak, was occurring nearby. The possibility that she was being compromised or, worse, had been unknowingly monitored from the moment she arrived filled her with dread. Her omnitool continued to flash red with the warning.

Nivara cursed under her breath. The location was too hot, and she was alone. Was someone else already targeting the arms dealer? And if so, how much had they already seen?

Quickly, she scanned her surroundings, her eyes darting between the dim corners of the room, searching for any sign of intrusion. The walls of the dealer's hideout, filled with crates of illicit weapons and high-tech gear, suddenly seemed far more dangerous.

Whoever was transmitting had to be close, and it wouldn't be long before they realized Nivara was on the same job. The arms dealer's network had multiple layers, and if the intruder was already inside, the chance of a full-blown firefight was increasing by the second.

She exhaled slowly, forcing herself to think. First, secure the data. Then, find the source of the breach.

With one final tap, she locked in the bugged files, ensuring the trap was in place. She then switched her omnitool's functions, quickly scanning for any nearby transmissions. The readout pinged faintly—a signal, faint but active, coming from the far side of the compound.

Nivara's heart beat faster. Whoever was there, they weren't amateurs.

She silently disengaged from the terminal, her lithe form slipping into the shadows as she moved toward the source of the signal. Every step was calculated, quiet, her senses heightened to pick up even the slightest sound.

As she rounded a corner in the dimly lit corridor, her omnitool flashed again, this time showing her the precise location of the transmission: a small, isolated office across the compound. The transmission was being encrypted and directed toward an unknown destination.

She narrowed her eyes. Someone was stealing information—possibly her information—and that made them a threat. She couldn't leave without discovering who they were working for.

Nivara pressed a hand to her hip, where her small but deadly sidearm was holstered. Salarian spies weren't known for brute force, but Nivara knew how to use precision and speed to her advantage. Whoever was in that office wasn't going to leave unscathed.

Creeping through the compound, Nivara reached the door. A faint glow seeped out from beneath it. The spy inside was unaware of her presence. With practiced ease, she disabled the door's security and slipped inside like a ghost.

The figure seated at the terminal didn't even notice her until the cold press of her sidearm met the back of their head.

"Care to explain what you're doing?" Nivara whispered, her voice as smooth as silk but laced with threat.

The figure froze, hands suspended above the keyboard. They turned slowly in the chair, revealing the wide, panicked eyes of a Quarian, his glowing visor flickering as he met her gaze.

"Well," Nivara said, her lips curling into a dangerous smile, "this just got interesting." As the Quarian stood, Nivara's sharp eyes immediately recognized the distinct markings etched into the alien's suit—the unmistakable symbols of a slave. Her grip on the sidearm remained firm, but she loosened her posture ever so slightly. A slave—especially one caught in a situation like this—was often more desperate than dangerous.The Quarian, calm despite the cold threat of Nivara's weapon, gestured toward a small red data stick resting on the console. His voice was resigned, almost robotic, as he spoke. "Oh, this is nothing you need worry about," he said, his tone laced with the hollow apathy of someone long past hope.

"Your download will not harm my master in any way that will matter. He already knows your government has discovered his dealings, and he's been busy... sealing the holes in his organization."The mention of Voronk Uxkra sent a chill down Nivara's spine. Uxkra wasn't just any arms dealer; he was one of the most feared and notorious in the galaxy, a ruthless tyrant whose reach extended across species and borders. His name alone was enough to make most spies reconsider their missions. But Nivara wasn't most spies.Her eyes flicked to the data stick. The way the Quarian presented it was deliberate, almost ceremonial.

"Take it," he continued, his voice low and devoid of emotion. "Once I'm done, my life will be at an end. Such is my life's worth to the great Voronk Uxkra."Nivara raised an eyebrow, her omnitool whirring softly as it continued to scan the room for any further threats. There was no sign of reinforcements, no alarms—nothing. Just this Quarian slave, resigned to his fate, offering her a piece of information that might be critical—or it might be a trap. The weight of his words hung heavy in the air, but Nivara was no stranger to manipulations or broken people.

"You expect me to believe your master, Uxkra, would let a slave like you give away anything important?" Nivara's voice was sharp, calculating, as she weighed the odds. "He wouldn't risk even a servant knowing something dangerous enough to trade." The Quarian's visor flickered again as if trying to decide how to answer, but then he simply shrugged. "I'm not asking you to believe me, Salarian. I have no worth beyond the task I've been given. Once it's done, so am I. Uxkra will not mourn my passing. Take it or leave it—it makes no difference to me."Nivara studied him for a moment longer, then slowly lowered her weapon, though her hand remained close to it. This Quarian had the look of someone utterly defeated, someone who had long since accepted their fate. Still, every instinct in her body screamed caution.She stepped forward, carefully picking up the data stick, but she didn't pocket it just yet. Instead, she held it up to the dim light, examining it closely.

"What's on this?" The Quarian's voice softened, as though this was the one piece of control he had left.

"Everything. Uxkra's hidden dealings, his secret communications—everything your government would need to dismantle his network. The only catch is... once I finish transmitting, this terminal will wipe itself clean, and Uxkra's enemies will learn nothing from my death."Nivara narrowed her eyes. A slave who had resigned himself to death wouldn't bother with lies, not like this. Still, the situation felt... off. Why give her the data willingly? Why not simply disappear into the system like all the other pawns in Uxkra's vast web of crime?"Why give me this?" Nivara asked, her tone now edged with suspicion.

"What's in it for you? No one does anything for nothing."The Quarian looked up, meeting her gaze through the glowing visor.

"Because maybe... if this information gets out, Uxkra's hold on the galaxy weakens. And maybe, just maybe, others like me won't have to die just because they're useful for a moment." It was a gamble. The data stick could hold the key to dismantling one of the most dangerous criminal empires in the galaxy, or it could be a trap designed to lead Nivara—and the Salarian Union—into a catastrophic failure. Nivara weighed her options. She could take the data and risk Uxkra retaliating, but if it was real, if it truly held the information to tear apart his empire, then the mission would be more than just a success. It would be historic.After a tense pause, she slipped the data stick into a secure compartment of her suit."Transmission's almost done," the Quarian said, turning back to the terminal. His fingers danced across the keys one last time before he sat back in the chair, his shoulders slumping in defeat.

"Leave, Salarian. I've served my purpose." His voice was hollow again, emotionless, as though he'd already consigned himself to oblivion. Nivara hesitated for just a moment. Her omnitool flashed, signaling that her download was complete, the bugged files securely in place. Everything she needed was done. The mission was a success. But something about the Quarian's words stuck with her. She stared at him, the flickering glow of his visor reflecting the hopelessness of a life lived in chains.

"I could help you. You needn't die here alone in this room. You could help me end your master's empire. You could save more people like yourself". Nivara said.

"No this is my task and once done my life shall end. This collar will override my life-support and I'll die. If I were to leave this room I'll die. If I fail to do this task I'll shall die. My fate is sealed. My life at an end. This I have accepted. But that data stick is my defiance. Do with that as you wish" the quarian said before entering enter and falling to the floor. The bleeping slowly dying off until he was still and lifeless.

Nivara stood frozen for a moment, her eyes fixed on the lifeless form of the Quarian as he slumped to the floor. His words echoed in her mind—this data stick is my defiance. The air was thick with a suffocating silence, broken only by the quiet hum of the terminal as it wiped itself clean. The terminal's glow faded, and with it, any trace of the Quarian's final task vanished into nothingness.

Her pulse steadied, the cool detachment of a Salarian agent settling back into place as she processed what had just happened. The Quarian had known his fate all along, had accepted it with a cold resignation that made her stomach twist. She'd encountered death before, but this was different. This was a death that meant something—a final act of rebellion from a slave whose existence had been defined by the whims of his master. Nivara crouched beside the body, her eyes lingering on the collar that had sealed his fate. It was a cruel device, built to ensure absolute obedience. The technology was advanced, likely designed by Uxkra's personal engineers to keep his slaves in check. It had been the Quarian's constant companion, a silent executioner waiting for the moment to strike. And it had done its job, cutting off his life support the instant his task was complete.

She stood, gripping the data stick more tightly. It was now more than just a mission objective—it was a testament to the Quarian's final stand against a master who had reduced him to nothing but a tool. In the world of spies and shadows, such acts of rebellion were rare, and rarer still did they come with the promise of something as potent as what might be on this stick.
Nivara turned her back on the corpse, making her way out of the compound. Her omnitool pulsed quietly, signaling that her download from the arms dealer's terminal had been completed successfully. She had everything she needed—the bugged files, the stolen data—but this data stick? This was something else entirely.
As she moved swiftly through the shadows, her mind raced. What she carried could very well be the key to dismantling Voronk Uxkra's empire, a vast criminal network that stretched across the galaxy. If the stick contained everything the Quarian had claimed, it would make Uxkra vulnerable in ways no one had ever thought possible. But it was a dangerous game. Uxkra would not take this lightly. If he realized what had been stolen, he'd send every mercenary, bounty hunter, and assassin he could find to retrieve it—and to eliminate the one responsible.
Nivara's mission had been clear from the start: bug the terminal, extract data, and report back. But the data stick changed everything. She could still follow protocol, return to her handler and hand over the information. But something about this felt different. The Quarian's sacrifice, the desperation behind his last words—it demanded more than a standard mission report. This had become personal.

The moon of Thalassa was bathed in the cold light of its distant star as Nivara emerged from the compound. Her extraction point was close, a small Salarian shuttle concealed in the rocky terrain. As she approached, she activated the shuttle's systems with a quick command from her omnitool. The engines hummed to life, the soft glow of the control panel lighting up the otherwise dark interior.
Sliding into the pilot's seat, Nivara set the shuttle on course, her fingers dancing over the controls with practiced ease. The ship lifted off, breaking through Thalassa's thin atmosphere and soaring into the void of space. She sat back, her mind still turning over the events of the night, the weight of the data stick pressing against her.
The Salarian Union would be eager to see what she'd uncovered, but Nivara couldn't shake the feeling that there was more at stake here than just another successful mission. Uxkra wasn't just a powerful arms dealer; he was a symbol of everything that was wrong with the galaxy's underbelly. His empire thrived on the suffering of others—slaves like the Quarian, who had no voice, no choice, and no future. But now, with this data, maybe that could change. As the stars streaked past her cockpit, Nivara activated a secure channel on her omnitool, transmitting a coded message back to her handler. Mission complete. Returning with high-priority data. Possible lead on Uxkra's network. Full debrief upon arrival. She leaned back in her seat, the hum of the shuttle's engines a comforting background to her thoughts. Whatever happened next, she would be ready. Voronk Uxkra's time was running out.
-
The Dauntless had been jumping from one mass relay to another for close to a full-on day. With every jump the ship would need to stop and vent the store heat made by going to FTL speeds. As a midsized ship the Dauntless didn't have the cutting-edge technology of bigger ships but what it lacked in size it made up for in firepower. As the small crew talked over their next course of action Throgar Nex placed his shotgun onto the table making everybody look at him.

"If we are going there you need to know something. We have a story we tell our children about this moon. We send our hunters there to train. The wildlife is massive and killing any one of them is a task worthy of song. Just be ready to fire off those guns of yours". A low murmur rippled through the crew as they tried to digest his words. Griz Anvar, the gruff marine who had seen his share of war, folded his arms across his chest, his brow raised skeptically.

"You're telling us the wildlife's gonna be our biggest problem?"Throgar's eye narrowed, his gaze locking onto Griz.

"That's exactly what I'm saying. Those creatures are ancient, and they don't care about your guns or tech. You fire off one shot, and you'll be lucky if it takes one down. They're the perfect predators—hardened by time, survival, and the blood of those foolish enough to test them."Elara shifted uneasily in her seat.

"Why don't we just scan the moon from orbit"? Elara said looking every bit the five foot two she was.

"Because the moon makes such scans unhelpful. The atmospheric composition fucks with scanners. Whatever you may get from a scan would have a resolution clarity of 1 kilometer par 12 kilometers. You would end up looking at big colored blocks of nothing". Throgar said as he kicked away from the table. "We'll be there in 20 minutes. So ready up apes the fun is about to start".
As Throgar's words settled in, the mood aboard the Dauntless shifted. The gruff Krogan's warning wasn't something they could afford to dismiss lightly. His experience with this moon, its wildlife, and the stories passed down through generations of Krogan warriors carried a weight that even the most battle-hardened of them couldn't ignore.

Griz Anvar grunted, his arms still crossed, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes now—caution, maybe even respect. The marine leaned back in his chair, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "So, we're walking into a death trap. Good to know. Sounds like just another day for us."

Amara Thorn, standing at the far end of the table, tapped a finger against the hilt of her sidearm. Her eyes scanned her crew, gauging their reactions. She had faced plenty of hostile environments before, but an ecosystem designed to challenge the galaxy's most resilient predators? That was a different kind of beast. Throgar's words made it clear—this mission wasn't going to be a standard in-and-out op.

"Alright, you heard the Krogan," Amara said, her voice steady and firm. "We're walking into something bigger than just an intel grab. I want everyone geared up for heavy combat. Full armor, full ammo. Don't take anything for granted down there."

Elara glanced uneasily at the map of the moon projected on the central display. The faint, pixelated outlines were all they had—thanks to the scrambled readings caused by the moon's dense atmosphere. She couldn't shake the feeling that they were walking blind into a jungle of unknown horrors. "This place is going to be like trying to fight in the dark," she muttered.

"It's worse than that," Throgar rumbled, pacing toward the window that looked out into the void of space. "These creatures have been honed by time itself. They don't care about your fancy tech. They don't care about your tactics. They survive by killing everything in their path. And some of them... they hunt in packs."

A murmur went through the room again, quieter this time. The reality of the situation was sinking in. There wouldn't be any easy firefights here. Whatever waited for them down there would be brutal, relentless, and unpredictable.

"We can't avoid this," Amara said, cutting through the tension. "We need whatever data is on that moon. Command is relying on us, and this isn't a situation where we can turn tail and run."

Griz's smirk faded, replaced with a grim resolve. He uncrossed his arms and reached for his sidearm, inspecting it absentmindedly. "I just hope the stories aren't worse than the reality. Hell, I'd rather face a mercenary army than some mindless monster that doesn't stop until it's dead."

Throgar chuckled darkly, his single eye gleaming. "You'll wish it was an army by the time we're through."

Amara caught Elara's gaze, the worry in the tech specialist's eyes mirroring her own thoughts. They were walking into the unknown, but they had no choice. The mission wasn't negotiable, and now, it seemed, neither was the danger.

"Alright," Amara barked, straightening her posture. "Gear up, people. In twenty minutes, we hit dirt. We stay sharp, we stay together, and we get the job done. And remember—this moon is going to be a fight from the second we touch down."

The crew began moving, weapons were checked, armor adjusted, and silent prayers muttered. The tension was palpable as they prepared for the landing. The stakes had been raised, and now it wasn't just about completing the mission—it was about survival.

Darius Davenport's voice crackled over the intercom, cutting through the preparations. "Captain, we're approaching the moon now. ETA is fifteen minutes. You'd better hope Throgar's exaggerating, but if he's not... this is going to be a hell of a ride."

Throgar grunted, strapping his shotgun to his back. "Oh, I'm not exaggerating, pilot. You'll see soon enough."

Amara slipped on her helmet, the visor flickering to life as it adjusted to her commands. She looked at her crew, their faces hidden behind the reflective visors of their helmets, but she could feel their resolve. They had been through fire together before—this was just another trial, another battle to be won.

"Let's move out," she ordered, her voice cutting through the low hum of the ship. "And for what it's worth... trust your instincts. And for god's sake, don't hesitate to fire."

The Dauntless shuddered as it approached the moon's atmosphere, the first signs of turbulence shaking the hull. Below them, the moon loomed, a dark and untamed wilderness that seemed to pulse with danger. The wildlife down there had evolved in isolation for millennia—untouched by civilization, honed into something primal and terrifying.

As the shuttle doors sealed and the crew readied themselves for deployment, the weight of what was to come pressed down on them all. This moon wasn't just a battlefield—it was a hunting ground. And they were about to become the prey.

"Just remember," Throgar said, his voice a low growl as they prepared for descent, "the predators down there... they've never met something like me."

The Dauntless descended into the unknown, the howling winds of the moon's surface drowning out any last-minute doubts.