Imperial Reckoning: Humanity Return

Chapter 43: Rejoining the Fight

The fires of battle still smoldered on Malevolon Creek as Lord Commander Shepard descended from the Imperial lander with Tali at his side. The ash-filled air, tinged with the scent of burnt metal and blood, was no stranger to him. He had been through this before. But this time, as he stepped onto the war-torn soil, his thoughts were not solely focused on the enemy. His sisters-the three Primarchs-were slowly unraveling the campaign with their own internal struggles, hindering the march toward the Batarian capital, Destin.

Shepard had been knocked out during the brutal siege of the first major Batarian stronghold, struck down by a devastating biotic attack from a Batarian commander. In his absence, the advance continued, but without his steady leadership, it had become mired in personal grievances and raw emotion. Now, freshly recovered, he was here to set things right.

The reports were clear. His sisters needed him.

Primarch Angrya, the leader of the World Eaters, was a force of sheer destructive power, her rage boiling over at every opportunity. Born into the brutal world of Nuceria. she had survived by becoming a weapon of unparalleled fury. The Butcher's Nails, the cybernetic implants in her brain, drove her anger to a near-constant boil, robbing her of peace and any semblance of restraint.

Her command tent was a wreck. Maps and data slates lay scattered, some even torn apart in her fits of rage. Angrya paced back and forth, her armored boots leaving deep grooves in the floor. She had been leading her World Eaters in vicious charges, tearing through Batarian defenses, but her wild fury was costing them. Her warriors followed her into the fray, but their attacks lacked coordination. More than once, they had found themselves overextended and vulnerable to counterattacks.

Sidonas, the Spectre Shepard had assigned to help her, stood nearby, watching her closely. He had tried reasoning with her, reminding her of strategy, of the bigger picture, but Angrya's temper flared every time he spoke. The Butcher's Nails fed on her frustration, and nothing Sidonas said seemed to break through.

"You don't understand," she snarled, glaring at the Spectre. "These cowards deserve to be crushed, not outmaneuvered. The more they hide behind their walls, the more I want to rip them apart."

Sidonas remained calm, knowing better than to meet her aggression with his own. "Angrya, you're weakening your own forces. We need coordination. Your warriors follow you into battle, but without a plan, they're being slaughtered just as easily as the Batarians."

Her fists clenched, the implants in her skull pulsing with rage. For a moment, Sidonas thought she might lash out at him, but she didn't. Instead, she closed her eyes, breathing heavily, trying to rein in the fury that constantly burned inside her.

"I can't... think straight," Angrya growled. "The Nails won't let me."

Sidonas nodded, stepping closer. "Then let me be your voice of reason. Focus your rage on the enemy, but let me help you direct it."

It wasn't much, but it was enough. Angrya gave a reluctant nod, allowing Sidonas to guide her strategy. Under his direction, the World Eaters began to fight with more precision, their devastating charges timed perfectly to break through Batarian lines without leaving themselves exposed.

Meanwhile, Primarch Petra of the Iron Warriors led her legion in their relentless siege. The Iron Warriors were unmatched in siege warfare, their machines of destruction slowly grinding down the Batarian fortifications. But Petra's heart wasn't fully in it. Her bitterness, a festering wound born of jealousy and resentment, was getting in the way. She had watched Angrya lead glorious, bloody charges, while she was relegated to the slow, methodical work of siegecraft. The victories her sister claimed on the battlefield filled her with a deep-seated bitterness.