In Thy Tomb of Nightly Chambers
"One Step Closer"
So when you or I are made
A fable, a song or fleeting shade
All love, all liking, all delight
Lies downed with us in endless night
His legs felt as if fire licked their lengths, the overused muscles wailing for some fragment of rest, with each jarring footfall, his knees started to create a sickening popping sound, silent to everything else, but he still felt it.
Even his lungs burned, every shuddering drag of air taxing his sore ribcage, making breathing an increased difficulty to maintain.
If just to make matters worse, two days worth of hunger gnawed viciously on his backbone, the angry griping demanding he buckle and find something to ease the pain. Having lost the remaining rations, half of his medigel packs and other weapons to quicksand, life seemed firmly against him. Nor did the impossibly hot, humid jungle, assist in his mission.
The endlessly sprawling, midday hell stole a heavy toll on his person, and complication, would be far too light a word in describing the numerous trails he underwent to reach his target. Five grueling days of strangling heat, five sleepless nights of near freezing temperatures, large aggressive creatures right and left, highly dangerous plant life, by the spirits his list was endless!
Still, he pressed on.
Shepard was close, so nothing short of one hundred rounds to the skull would halt him, and even then, he would attempt to rise again.
Garrus's hard, unrelenting pace devoured the remaining distance, his strides placing him nearer the hidden compound. Dropping a fraction lower, he darted forward, immediately pressing himself between the giant, gnarled roots of the closest native tree. Slipping downward, he twisted his body, lowering himself until the dirt brushed his chin. Now beneath the tangled web of moss-covered wood, he placed both hands forward like the start of a pushup, forcing fatigued legs to ease him cautiously onward. Once his sluggish crawling brought him around, facing his mark, he allowed each tensed sinewy limb to release, resulting in his weary figure landing onto the mercilessly cool floor.
Desperately struggling to recapture elusive oxygen, his narrowed gaze took in the sight lain before him.
Camouflaged walls, made to blend with the natural surroundings, expertly concealed the entrance, leaving the naked eye baffled when looking upon the actual six-foot tall metal dome, partly buried within the dark, moist ground. Because of some electrical charge radiating off the planet's surface, his ship, the Midnight Wyvern was unable to pinpoint the correct placement of the building, leaving him to go alone on foot.
Glaring at the various shades of color, on first glance, he would have mistaken the damn thing for a mound of mud, with decaying logs and multitudes of molded sticks covering it. The only thing that served as a hint for the truly observant, forcing the eye to push past the well-constructed illusion, was a lone dot of glowing crimson. Humbler than a pebble, the faint circle dwelt right on center, standing out, if barely.
Removing the sniper rifle from his back, he tightened his hold, staring blankly at its dirtied face of unreflecting, ebony colored metal.
As a personal gift to him, Shepard had purchased the painfully expensive gun, marking the proud day of his joining the Spectre ranks. Specially made, his gun stood second to none, although its uniqueness did mirror his former commander's own weapon. Only two existed, crafted by a man virtually as secretive as the Shadow Broker himself. This staggering jewel of perfection could demolish an enemy's shields in a single blow, pierce a ship's hull, and cripple any who impeded his path.
It was not an instrument lightly given.
Blinking past the sudden ache reforming beneath his chest, he shook his head, refocusing on the main task.
Loyalty, and though he would hesitate to admit it, never uttering such a word aloud, affection, would no longer hamper him this time…
Bring the rouge Spectre in, dead or alive.
-Tune into the next episode-
"Watered Down Soul"
I do not own Mass Effect