A.N: Sorry for the delay. Too much shit going on in IRL, and too many people to argue with both in work and in other parts of my life. Anyway, im back, and we're continuing. Hope you all enjoy :)
The Council did not see it at first. Thessia had always been a world of elegance, a jewel of culture and knowledge, wrapped in the pride of the Asari. But when the reports began to pour in, they came as fragments—frantic, contradictory, impossible to reconcile. At first it was whispers of civil unrest: scattered riots, cells of zealots screaming about a new dawn, about visions and promises written in fire. Then came the first disappearances—matriarchs, priestesses, whole enclaves vanishing into the night without trace, their homes desecrated with spirals of blood and strange glyphs etched into the walls.
By the third night, Thessia's serenity was gone. The skies over Armali burned with the sickly hues of warp-born storms. Civilians spoke of how the air itself tasted of copper, of how the shadows stretched too far and clung to their heels like tar. Those who lingered near the shrines found themselves muttering prayers not to Athame, but to something incomprehensible—something they could not even remember once the words passed their lips. Entire city blocks found themselves overcome with hysteria, neighbors tearing each other apart in streets slick with gore, while others simply collapsed, their bodies writhing with seizures as whispers filled their minds.
The Council tried to intervene with precision at first, dispatching Spectres and Asari Commandos to restore order. None returned whole. Some vanished entirely, their biotic flares leaving only scorch marks on the walls; others were found days later, babbling nonsense, eyes glowing faintly with alien light, carving spirals into their own skin with bare nails. One squad sent to investigate the catacombs beneath Armali broadcast only a single transmission before contact was lost: screams, a wet tearing noise, and then the sound of dozens of voices chanting in unison, "The veil is lifted."
Over the next week, Thessia descended into what could only be described as damnation. Grotesque abominations shambled through the alleys—stitched together from the corpses of fallen citizens, bound with biotic energy and flesh-corrupted sinew, pulsing with unknown energy. Some bore the faces of daughters grafted onto the torsos of mothers, limbs sprouting from places they did not belong, screaming endlessly in voices that should not exist. They were herded by figures cloaked in dark blue fire, Asari maidens twisted into mockeries of priestesses, leading their flocks in rituals written in symbols no scholar could translate.
Temples once dedicated to Athame erupted with new rites. Sacrificial altars burned with violet flames, and rivers of blood pooled into intricate sigils across marble floors. From these circles rose not just light, but the faintest shimmer of something beyond—a ripple of unreality, a wound in the fabric of the world. Those who gazed into it saw not their reflections, but shapes that defied reason: eyes too large, wings of shifting feathers that bled into scales, mouths that laughed without sound.
As the Council watched in horror, entire Asari legions faltered. Sisters turned on sisters, Matriarchs ordered orbital bombardments of their own cities, some in desperation, and some in feverous unexplainable zeal... and still it spread, like an infection. Thessia was transforming. Every death seemed to fuel it, every prayer twisted into power, every scream becoming part of a chorus that rose into the heavens.
By the time the Council realized what had taken root, it was too late. Thessia was no longer merely a world of the Asari. It had become a shrine to madness, a world where Chaos had set its roots deep. The proud jewel of the Republics now glowed with sickly light visible from orbit, stormfronts of psychic energy wreathing it in perpetual twilight. And beneath it all, in the slums where it had begun, Liara T'Soni smiled, her hands drenched in blood, her eyes burning with a brilliance that was not her own.
The fall of Thessia had begun—and there would be no salvation.
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The first reports that reached the Imperial Expedition Fleet were treated as background noise at first—disturbances in Asari space, another Council "local crisis." But they climbed the priority channels with unnatural speed: commandos slaughtered, entire population centers collapsing into hysteria, a planetary government toppled overnight. Sors Bandeam stood before the holomap in the Excalibur's war room, watching as data packets streamed in, the outline of Thessia flickering in crimson highlights.
When the final dossier arrived—grainy feeds of twisted figures parading through Armali, biotic flames burning sigils into the streets, and words of madness carved into marble—Sors' jaw tightened. This was no rebellion. No war of attrition. This was something fouler, something that gnawed at the fabric of reality.
He did not delay. Within moments, the data was relayed to Darth Vader's private chamber aboard the Excalibur. The room darkened as the report finished playing, and Sors felt the weight of silence, broken only by the steady, mechanical rhythm of Vader's breathing. The Dark Lord did not look at him immediately. He stood at the viewport, hands clasped behind his back, beneath his cloak, as the void beyond shimmered faintly in starlight.
Only when Sors cleared his throat and asked for guidance did Vader turn—slowly, deliberately—his mask angling to give Sors no comfort, only dread.
"I know it well…" Vader's voice rolled through the chamber like thunder contained in steel. "I was there when it was being conceived. Chaos, The Immaterium, The Emperor's Hatred. Many names for an aspect of the Force… the Emperor, that tracks its source on the Forge of Souls. The Emperor started its creation long before his ascension."
Each word seemed to weigh down the air. Sors swallowed hard, but he did not move. At his level, few could rival him, and they rarely had time to indulge him, but he took any reason he could to experience the Force, the very will of the Emperor made manifest when wielded by the second most powerful being in the Empire. Just being in his presence allowed him to witness how much more there was to aspire to.
"Such is the worst possible fate that befalls the enemies of the Empire. While many may see the act of obliterating a planet from orbit—or through the power of the Force—as malevolent…" The mechanical rasp of Vader's breath echoed between each phrase. "…few of our enemies will ever know this is the greatest kindness they will ever be afforded. They will be allowed to keep their souls."
Sors' eyes flickered toward the holomap, Thessia glowing faintly red. He understood then that Vader did not see this as a threat alone, but as inevitability.
"The Emperor's curiosity," Vader continued, turning back to the stars, "has befallen their race. Chaos is spreading. Their mere existence will contaminate this galaxy… weaken it… the walls of reality will crack, and then break."
He paused. The silence stretched until it felt unbearable. Then, Vader raised a single gloved hand.
"I advise you—all of you—to witness it with your own eyes. It will open you to the true possibilities of the Force. Beyond throwing rocks. Beyond lighting fires. To manipulate life and death itself… to manipulate reality… should you have the will."
The Force coiled in the chamber like a storm. Sors staggered as the viewport distorted. Space itself bent inward, collapsing into a pinpoint singularity. The alarms on the Excalibur screamed, klaxons blaring as the stars elongated into streaks, pulled toward the anomaly Vader had birthed with a gesture.
A black hole blossomed in miniature. Tiny, but real. Its gravitational field, greatly reduced, to but a tiny fraction, rippled across the ship, systems struggling to calculate a compensation for a force within the ship. Droids blinked reports, lights flickered, and still Vader held it there—suspended in the palm of his hand... his will.
Then, as calmly as one might extinguish a candle, he closed his fist.
The black hole collapsed into nothing. Silence returned, broken only by his breathing.
Sors dropped to one knee, breath caught in his throat and not so light internal injuries. He barely kept his body from being torn apart, and this at what he assumed to be quite a smaller scale of what that tiny black hole was capable of. He might not be a scientist, but he was sure that at least several thousands Gs, if not more than 10k G was guaranteed in a 10 cm black hole as opposed to the few tens he calculated he endured. This lesson had been pricey... and likely because Lord Vader had caught on to his intentional prying... and had finally grown tired. The untouched furniture further enforced this point.
He had seen many things—droids crushing battalions, fleets reducing planets to ash—but this was different. This was power that transcended war. Power to unmake and create existence itself.
"Such are the gifts of the Force," Vader intoned, his tone as flat and merciless as steel. "Knight Bandeam. The Emperor will demand more of you than diplomacy. And if you are to command in his name, you will learn to see the galaxy for what it truly is… fragile. Breakable. And in the end... Malleable."
The alarms faded into background silence, and Sors realized, with a chill, that the fall of Thessia was no accident. It was a lesson and a testing ground.
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Shepard sat back in her chair aboard the Normandy, rubbing her temples. The comms feed still glowed in front of her—TIM's private channel, pulsing faintly in that way that always made her feel like she was standing in some sterile, suffocating laboratory rather than talking to a man. Thessia. The word itself had been cycling through her thoughts for days. Not just the reports—those were bad enough—but what they meant.
Omega was locked down by the Empire. That meant no access to the relay, no access to the Collector base, and no way for the Collectors themselves to leave. A stalemate, frozen in place by forces far larger than her. And then Thessia went to hell overnight.
TIM's hologram flickered into sharper resolution, blue eyes glinting like scalpel blades as he leaned into the feed.
"Disturbing, isn't it?" he said softly, as if the understatement made it easier to digest. "A world as secure as Thessia, a symbol of Asari superiority and longevity, undone in days by its own daughters. What we've seen coming out of the slums…" He trailed off, and Shepard caught the faint curl of his lip, half-disgust and half-fascination. "It doesn't match Reaper indoctrination. Not entirely. And that's… troubling."
Shepard folded her arms. "The Reapers use tech, implants, husk conversion. This…" She exhaled sharply. "This is different. Those abominations—they look like husks, they act like husks, but it's not the same. The symbols, the way the energy flows—it's biotic, but twisted. No tech grafts. No visible machinery. And the cultists? They don't even look drugged or controlled. Scratch that, they might be anywhere from drugged, to controlled or simply zealots."
TIM steepled his fingers. His voice was smooth, too smooth. "That's the part that intrigues me. The symbology, the energy manipulation, the complete absence of augmentation. The Reapers are systematic. Predictable, even if horrifying. What's happening on Thessia doesn't fit their model." His gaze sharpened. "But it does resemble something else: spontaneous cultural collapse, driven by mass hysteria. Except here, hysteria produces power. Rituals that reshape flesh and bone. The grotesque, made functional."
Shepard leaned forward, eyes narrowing. "You're suggesting it's not Reapers. That it's something else."
"I'm suggesting," TIM replied carefully, "that the Reapers may not be the only predators in this galaxy. Or perhaps…" He allowed the pause to stretch, blue eyes catching the dim glow of his ever-present cigarette, "…perhaps they've found a new vector. A way of seeding corruption without metal or machine. A biological or psychological weapon, something even the Asari's millennia of governance couldn't resist."
Shepard's stomach tightened. She hated when he speculated like this, hated the way he made it sound like vivisection. But he wasn't wrong. The reports had been too clean. No indoctrination signatures, no implants. Just people breaking, folding themselves into something monstrous.
"You've fought husks before," TIM went on, voice low. "You've seen what the Reapers can twist with metal. Tell me—what do you think happens when the same force learns to twist without it?"
Shepard didn't answer immediately. She thought about Liara. About Thessia. About the way the Council had gone silent, almost suspiciously, as if they couldn't admit what was happening to their jewel. Then she said, flatly: "Then we're screwed."
TIM allowed himself the faintest smile. "Not screwed, Shepard. Challenged. Opportunities always arise from disruption. The Council is paralyzed. The Empire will move on Thessia only if it suits their so-called Emperor's curiosity. That leaves us… flexible."
Shepard's jaw clenched. "You're really going to sit there and talk about opportunity while an entire planet burns?"
"I'm going to sit here and make sure you don't waste yourself on theatrics," TIM countered, calm as ever. "This isn't a war you can fight in the streets of Thessia. Not now. What you can do is explore other avenues before either the Empire or the Council decides what to do with this… outbreak."
The hologram shifted as TIM keyed new data into the feed. A star map unfurled between them, the blue glow outlining a cluster of systems Shepard had only glanced at on charts before. The Bahak System. Viper Nebula.
Shepard leaned back, tired but attentive. "I'm listening."
"The Bahak system," he said, voice sharpening with command. "Within the Viper Nebula. An Alliance operative—Dr. Amanda Kenson—has been embedded there. Her mission was simple: investigate signs of imminent Reaper activity. An intercepted communication reveals that she claims to have proof, hard proof, that an invasion is coming sooner than any of us expected."
That pulled Shepard upright. "Then why hasn't the Alliance made a move?"
The Illusive Man's smile was bitter, humorless. "Because even without the recent outbreak on Thessia, the invaders likely from a galaxy far far away, or the risk of the Reaper invasion, The Alliance and the Hegemony are like oil and water."
Shepard scowled. "So you want me to rescue her."
"I want you to secure her," he corrected, flicking ash into the void of his hologram. "And more importantly, whatever intelligence she's uncovered. Bring it back intact. The Alliance may nevertheless try to interfere. Don't let them take her, at least not without the intelligence or at least a copy of it. This is too important to lose to politics or military bureaucracy."
The flame of his cigarette burned low. He crushed it out, eyes locking onto hers, glowing with unwavering intent.
"Get to the Bahak system. Find Dr. Kenson. Retrieve her data. Humanity's future—and maybe the galaxy's—could depend on it."
The channel closed, leaving Shepard alone in the dim CIC, the stars still drifting silently outside. She sat in silence for a long moment, feeling the weight of yet another impossible mission drop onto her shoulders. Thessia in flames. Omega sealed off. The Collectors still waiting. And now… this.
She rubbed her temples, muttering under her breath. "Tomorrow's Shepard problem."