Chapter 32: Collector Assault - Part 2
The moment my health dropped below fifty percent, the Warlord's Legacy exploded into activation with the force of a genetic bomb detonating in my nervous system.
Pain vanished, replaced by crystal-clear predatory focus where only combat mattered. My strength surge felt like divine ascension—suddenly I could punch through kinetic barriers, shrug off attacks that would pulp baseline humans, regenerate through injuries faster than enemies could inflict them.
But the worst part was how right it felt.
The world transformed into a target-rich environment painted in shades of violence. Harbinger's possessed drone became not a terrifying Reaper agent but prey to be hunted. The supporting Collector swarm shifted from overwhelming threat to obstacles requiring efficient removal.
I exploded from cover with inhuman speed, my enhanced strength driving a fist through the possessed drone's chest armor with casual ease. Organic circuits sparked and died as my fingers closed around cybernetic components, crushing technology that had lasted fifty thousand years.
"FASCINATING," Harbinger's voice resonated from the dying drone as its consciousness transferred to another nearby specimen. "THIS HUMAN HAS INTEGRATED MULTIPLE SPECIES' TRAITS. GENETIC EVOLUTION EXCEEDS COLLECTOR ASSIMILATION EFFICIENCY."
"Hunt. Kill. Dominate. Show them what strength means."
The new possessed drone fell before Harbinger finished speaking, my regenerating hands tearing through its defensive barriers like they were made of paper. But the Reaper agent simply jumped to another host, and another, forcing me to fight an endless sequence of bodies while the legendary gene kept me locked in berserker state.
I was dimly aware of Anto and Kreek providing support—rifle fire from elevated positions, vorcha pack tactics creating openings for my assault. But they stayed well back from my immediate combat zone, and even through the haze of genetic fury, I could sense their fear.
"They're terrified of me. Of what I've become. Good. Fear keeps them alive."
I was a roaring, bleeding, unstoppable force that fought like death incarnate. Every strike was perfect, purposeful, beautiful in its efficiency. Blood flowed from wounds that healed before enemies could exploit them. My enhanced strength broke bones with casual blows while accelerated healing made me functionally immortal in combat.
Violence became poetry, and I was its author.
The realization should have horrified me. Instead, it felt like coming home.
"This is what power means. This is why Krogan rule through strength. This is the truth weak species refuse to accept."
Somewhere in the shrinking human part of my consciousness, warning signals screamed that I was losing myself to alien instincts. But the warnings were distant noise compared to the symphony of combat fury that filled every nerve ending.
I tore through another possessed drone, then spun to track the next target. Kreek stood fifteen meters away, his pack clustered behind him, all of them staring at me with expressions I couldn't quite process through berserker haze.
"Prey. Weak. Easy to break. Why aren't they fighting?"
I took a step toward them, enhanced muscles coiling for an attack that would scatter the pack like leaves. Kreek raised his hands in submission, but that just made the predatory instincts stronger.
"Submit or die. Those are the only choices. This is how it should be."
Then Miranda stepped between us.
"Marcus Wayne, look at me!"
Her voice cut through the bloodlust like a blade finding the gap in armor. My heterochromatic eyes focused on her face—brilliant blue eyes, determined expression, hands steady despite facing down a legendary-tier berserker.
"Enemy? No. Something else. Something important."
"You're not a Krogan warlord," she continued, voice breaking with emotion I could barely process. "You're a software developer from Earth who makes terrible jokes about memes nobody understands!"
Recognition flickered through alien rage as human memories surfaced. Earth. Software development. Jokes about cat videos and pop culture references that confused alien species.
"Marc Wayne. That's who I am. Not this monster."
"You're the man who saved Tali without taking credit," Miranda pressed, stepping closer despite the danger. "Who let Garm live when you could have killed. Who kisses me like I'm not a weapon but a woman. Come back to me."
The Warlord's Legacy fought her words, alien instincts insisting that mercy was weakness, that dominance was truth, that strength was the only virtue that mattered. But underneath the genetic fury lay something stronger—love freely chosen, trust willingly given, connection that transcended species barriers.
[PERSONALITY STABILIZATION: MIRANDA LAWSON ANCHOR DETECTED]
[USER IDENTITY INTEGRITY: 67% → 82%]
[WARLORD'S LEGACY INFLUENCE CONTAINED]
[RECOMMENDATION: MAINTAIN EMOTIONAL ANCHOR DURING LEGENDARY ACTIVATION]
I was still empowered by legendary enhancement—strength beyond human limits, regeneration that defied biology, combat reflexes sharpened to preternatural levels. But my tactical mind returned, now enhanced by controlled fury instead of overwhelmed by it.
"Miranda," I managed, voice rough from inhuman growling. "Coordinate fire support. I'm going to end this."
She smiled through tears I didn't remember seeing her shed. "There you are."
Together, we turned to face Harbinger's remaining forces with devastating coordination. My berserker strength guided by human intelligence, her tactical brilliance amplified by biotic power. We moved through Collector drones like a matched pair of predators, destroying targets faster than Harbinger could assume new bodies.
The Reaper agent tried everything—coordinated swarm tactics, environmental hazards, psychological warfare designed to fragment organic minds. But we stayed linked through shared trust and desperate love, each of us covering the other's weaknesses while amplifying their strengths.
Finally, as I crushed the last possessed drone's cybernetic components, Harbinger's voice echoed through the smoking battlefield with something like frustration:
"THIS HUMAN IS... PROBLEMATIC. RETREAT. FURTHER ANALYSIS REQUIRED."
The remaining Collector forces withdrew with alien discipline, taking prisoners they'd already captured but abandoning their assault on Omega's core districts. They'd come to harvest thousands and settled for hundreds—still a victory for them, but not the overwhelming success they'd planned.
As the immediate threat faded, so did the Warlord's Legacy's activation. Legendary power drained away like water through broken glass, leaving me exhausted, horrified by memories of what I'd become, and grateful beyond words for the woman who'd risked her life to save my soul.
I collapsed.
[LEVEL UP! LEVEL 7 → 8]
[MASSIVE EXPERIENCE GAIN FROM HARBINGER COMBAT]
[OVERFLOW: 1100/4500 TO LEVEL 9]
[STATS INCREASED: +5 BONUS POINTS AVAILABLE]
[WARLORD'S LEGACY TESTED TO LIMITS: EXTREMELY POWERFUL BUT DANGEROUSLY UNSTABLE]
[SPECIAL RELATIONSHIP MECHANIC UNLOCKED: MIRANDA LAWSON CAN STABILIZE USER DURING LEGENDARY ACTIVATION]
[QUEST MILESTONE: "THE COLLECTOR WARNING" - 75% COMPLETE]
[COLLECTOR ASSAULT REPELLED: MAJOR VICTORY WITH SIGNIFICANT CASUALTIES]
I woke in Omega's medical center with Miranda holding my hand, her presence the first thing my consciousness registered as it clawed back from post-berserker exhaustion.
"How long?" I asked.
"Eighteen hours. You've been unconscious since the Warlord's Legacy deactivated."
She looked tired, worried, and beautiful in the way that only comes from someone who'd chosen to love a monster and found a man underneath.
"The casualties?"
Her expression grew somber. "Two hundred and thirty-seven confirmed taken by Collectors before retreat. Forty-one dead from the initial assault. Hundreds more injured."
"Two hundred and thirty-seven people who are going to become raw material for the Human-Reaper project. Two hundred and thirty-seven failures I have to live with."
"But thousands more survived because of the preparations you made," Miranda continued. "The defensive positions held. The evacuation routes worked. The faction cooperation saved lives."
Before I could respond, Aria T'Loak entered the medical bay—an unprecedented honor from someone who barely acknowledged subordinates existed.
"Marcus," she said, setting down a credit chip beside my bed. "You saved my station, bought time for people to evacuate, and fought a Reaper agent to a standstill. Impressive."
The chip displayed five hundred thousand credits—a fortune by Omega standards, more money than most people saw in a lifetime.
"But the cost is clear," Aria continued, her expression hardening. "The Collectors know about you now. You're not just another enhanced human anymore—you're a specific target for forces that don't usually notice individuals."
She was right. The System confirmed it with updated threat assessment:
[HARBINGER NOW AWARE OF USER]
[FUTURE COLLECTOR ENCOUNTERS WILL TARGET SPECIFICALLY]
[RECOMMEND INCREASED CAUTION AND POWER ACQUISITION]
[WARNING: USER HAS BECOME TARGET FOR REAPER AGENTS]
I'd won a major victory against impossible odds, gained a level and legendary combat experience, and proven that Omega could stand against Collector assault. But the price was becoming a named enemy of the Reapers themselves—beings that had been harvesting galactic civilization since before humanity learned to make fire.
"I used to be nobody. A scared transmigrant trying to survive. Now I'm important enough for Harbinger to remember my genetic signature."
Miranda squeezed my hand. "We'll face whatever comes next. Together."
Outside the medical center, Omega continued its eternal rotation. Construction crews were already repairing damage from the assault while faction leaders coordinated security against future attacks. The station would survive, adapt, and prepare for the next crisis.
But somewhere in the depths of space, Collector ships carried two hundred and thirty-seven people toward a fate worse than death. And somewhere beyond that, ancient intelligences that had destroyed countless civilizations now knew that a human named Marcus Wayne was becoming a problem worth solving.
I'd wanted power to protect people. Now I had it, along with the responsibility and the enemies that came with significance.
The Collectors would return. The Reapers would take notice. And somewhere in the galaxy, Shepard was still years away from beginning the journey that might save everyone.
But for today, we'd won. Today, love had anchored power to purpose, and the monsters had retreated.
Tomorrow would bring new challenges, new choices, and new opportunities to prove that becoming something more than human didn't have to mean losing everything that made humanity worth saving.
The real war was just beginning.
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