READ THIS FIRST

Have you read Sideris's Cyclical? If not, take the following line below and add it on top of the FFnet frontpage address (thanks to the stupid autofilters killing full links):

s/8321022/1/Cyclical

Witness Testament is a complementary piece to Cyclical. If you have not read it yet, this story will make no sense to you. If you have, then enjoy.

Witness Testament

The historic Battle of Torfan continues to be a hot button topic for many despite the passage of years, the level of brutality and death encountered during the fighting on the moon unmatched since the Skyllian Blitz. Though Alliance officials continue to refuse disclosure of documents detailing the events on the pirate haven, citing security concerns, our investigation crews have not given up the fight. From the sterile halls of Acturus Station to the seediest dives of crime ridden Omega, we interview the very people who participated in the Battle for Torfan. Join us as we delve into one of the most defining moments of Alliance foreign policy out in the Terminus Systems.

Jonathan Harrington, War History

Rising From the Ashes

Part 1

THE BROKEN

Yet another who comes, with pride in his step and arrogance in his face. And why have you come then? To mock one such as I? To climb one step higher by steeping small glories on this crippled slave caste? Or have you come seeking answers and truth instead? Yes... I see it in your manner now. You understand, and you seek beyond the easy lies of the extranet.

There may yet be hope for your generation.

You may already know much of my story if you have come seeking me, but that matters not. Pah. You may know every detail, but it is my story, and I will tell it as I see fit.

I am Ajak Charr, and once I was warlord to the greatest independent warband to ever exist within the Terminus Systems. My enemies of the era would say it to be a lie, and many have tried to prove it so. And yet it is they who are dead, their men crushed beneath my heel. No other warband had as many ships, weapons or warriors as ours. Our power was such that, whole worlds, entire star clusters even, paid tribute to avoid the depredations of our raids. The Ki'shakan Storm they called us, named for the great maelstrom that covers the world of Verush. Even the Batarian Hegemony respected our power, and courted us with richly gifts in the hopes that we would strike at the cowardly humans.

My name would be writ large across the entire Terminus Systems as the greatest warlord who lived were it not for Elanos Haliat, pah! I curse his name a thousand times over. I know not what dark designs he uncovered or what he did with them, but our fall from power, the bands of the Terminus, of the destruction of the Ki'shakan Storm and all my sons and daughters within it lies upon his hands.

It was he who unearthed the Agrat'kar, Sight Scorcher. He who incurred its insatiable wrath. And it is we who still pay the price of his folly.

Pah, you think the Agrat'kar, the accursed Golden Scourge of Humanity is but a soldier? A sign of their technological prowess at twisting life to new and unspeakable horrors? It is an understandable assumption, but you are still a fool for thinking so.

We were fools as well then, because we did not know the truth. Because we, like all the galaxy, believed Elysium to be proof of the utmost limits of what humans could do to their own, binding flesh with machine and biotics to create superior soldiers. I warn you now. If you came to hear my tale, then take heed and do not be the unprepared fools that we were.

The Agrat'kar, the accursed demon that humanity calls their hero, is not human.

We were prepared for the Scourge of Elysium when it came for us on the moon of Torfan, leading the armies of humanity. Pirates, warlords, slavers and the Hegemony. All were united in our desire to crush the human's greatest symbol of their strength. We planned, plotted, and laid our traps, believing that we had seen all that the humans could do with their vaunted Scourge. More ships than any dozen clans put together defended our fortresses, and many more lay in the darkest reaches of space, awaiting our signal to become the hammer to our anvil. The human hero would die, and we would gorge on the broken armies of the Systems Alliance.

But the Agrat'kar is beyond mortal. It is power given flesh, a demonic creature spun from our nightmares and clothed in human skin and purpose.

And on that black day, the Agrat'kar showed us what a demon was truly capable of.

Ajak Charr looked at the holographic strategic display on his command map, and failed to hide the grin that crept up his fanged mouth. Most would have thought it out of place with the evidence before him. The sickly blue of the human varren outnumbered the warm orange of Torfan's orbital defences by a ratio of three to one, the gap widening with every salvo from the invaders. The Alliance had sent some of their newest and best, while Torfan's defending vessels were aged and underpowered by comparison. The loss of orbital control seemed fated, and with it, a ground invasion that would wipe out the biggest pirate bastion in the Terminus Systems. But most wouldn't know what he did.

Heilat's Raiders and Bleeders Edge lay in wait behind Karshin, the gas giant's electromagnetic storms hiding the largest coalition of pirate ships from the human's sensors. Generous gifts, secretly donated by the Hegemony, had stemmed their losses on Elysium. They boasted enough numbers now to take on the forces arrayed against Torfan, waiting for the exact moment to enact their revenge. And on Torfan itself, Blood Pack mercenaries had committed themselves in droves, hundreds of krogan warriors waiting in shielded and disguised bunkers for the time when the humans would make their landing. Unlike the pirates and slavers, they were not here for the pay, or for the revenge, but the glory of taking part in the largest battle to come in many years.

It didn't matter to the commanding warlord, because they and all the bands on Torfan wanted the same thing. Revenge, glory, greed. All would be served in this battle. The destruction the Alliance force here, and of their most precious 'hero'.

Shepard.

As if the thought had been a signal, the defending fleet broke apart, ships scattering to FTL transit after one loss too many. Some made the transition successfully. Others were destroyed as they brought their ships to bear on escape vectors. Fire from the invaders increased, chasing after the scent of spilled blood. He watched the tableau of destruction pan out without fear as the seconds ticked by. Observed the detaching shuttles, the first orbital strikes suppressing anti-aerospace defenses dispassionately. But inside, he felt the familiar thud of his heart increasing the pace, the anticipation of battle soon to be joined, and the inevitable closing of the trap.

"Squad seven reporting! We have contact with human recon elements. Beginning engagement according to-"

Flashes of light flickered on the tactical display as the voice was drowned out by static. Icons for defending forces winking out in tandem with those of the enemy as they fought.

"Echo actual! Line holding, but we need reinforcements!"

"Bravo has contact with enemy armor! Cannot hold! Falling back to second line!"

Charr tapped a finger as the reports came in, the troops pushing and being pushed in return, and felt a moment of disquiet. Where was the Golden Scourge? It should have been impossible to miss. Everywhere along the battlefront, the fighting was nowhere near what should have been had that particular human been- there. Sector 27, Hardan's line was faltering faster than it should be- no. A knotted blue square appeared, signalling the approach of an armored squadron as the reason. Human armor was formidable, but it was not the Scourge. And the Scourge would be here. He knew the Humans well enough, how they thought. This invasion was their message, a show of force. They would not have begun it without the most obvious sign of their might... unless they were keeping him as their trump.

If so, he would force their hand.

A tap of a button, and an encrypted channel opened between him and one of his more competent lieutenants.

"Tell Krashak to activate the auxiliaries."

Thousands of lights flickered on in the display. Not the orange of defending forces, or the blue of the humans. Instead they pulsed a virulent yellow, massing in a tide of numbers that began accelerating towards the blue line. Like a living thing, the blue line recoiled from the yellow dots, whole clusters disappearing from its body as yellow pinpricks made contact with one another. Fragments of intercepted communications came streaming back, shock, horror, disgust and panic from the humans as they faced Charr's gambit.

"-suicide units!"

"-don't let them get close-"

"-Seraph two is down!"

"-there's fucking kids among them-"

"-keep firing-"

Even without direct video feeds, it was easy to imagine the havoc the auxiliaries sowed, their explosive payloads powerful enough to turn armored vehicles into burning wrecks, much less infantry companies. He suppressed a small, irrational pang at the loss of resources. It would take many months of raiding to rebuild Krashak's depleting stocks, and more to train the thralls to fear the neural collar more than death. No matter. They served him better this way.

On the other side of the command bunker, a Krogan in crimson armor snorts. "No fun if you thin them out too much." The Blood Pack leader rumbles, nonchalantly checking the action of his heavy shotgun.

"What do you care about a bunch of humans Dagyr? They're not why the Pack is here."

"There's three hundred Krogan on this rock, but only one glowing human." Dagyr grunts as if it's all the explanation he needs. "If he shows."

And it is, Charr admits with a sour grimace, turning his attention back to the readouts. "Patience warlord, my informants guarantee his presence in that force, and he will appear soon enough. You've waited centuries for a glorious battle, a few more minutes won't matter."

Not all the yellow icons make contact with their final destiny, many winking out before they touched the invaders. But enough did that the line was reeling, falling back as they felt the press of the defenders while explosions tore their ranks apart. Minutes passed by as the line of battle wavered, ceding ground for time to regroup. But it was too little, and far too late, the momentum lost and now on their side. The first wave would be butchered before long.

And yet, still no Scourge.

Without warning, spherical lights bloom on the battlefield above the defenders, negating most of the auxiliaries and the leading edge of the counter-attack in a flash of orbital fire.

Charr bit off a curse as the command bunker shook from the impact. He hadn't expected the humans to start firing on their, no- he scowled as the tactical VIs spat out the results of their analysis. It was too accurate, too precisely timed. Despite the proximity to the blast, none of the invaders had been hit. That should have been impossible. Torfan's jamming systems were extensive, the human ships in orbit shouldn't have been able to penetrate it long enough to get that accurate a firing solution. Someone on the ground must have managed to break through the noise with a particularly powerful signal.

But the tactical VIs are silent. No captured communications bursts with relevant data packets. Nothing but encrypted fragments of orders to advance. Elite forces he reasons, equipped with better secured comm gear. No matter. He still has cards to play, and the human ships are committed now. Whether the Scourge reveals himself or not, no one will be retreating from this battle until the other side is destroyed in detail.

There is no hesitation, no pause as he activates a single command, broadcasting an order to every force under his command.

Now is the time to reveal their hand.

The skies above Torfan flash blue with the discharge of ships dropping out of FTL, corvettes, frigates and even cruisers diving on the exposed backs of the human ships. It is a brutal, merciless first strike. Two human ships shatter and burn in the first few seconds, trailing pillars of fire into Torfan's atmosphere. Others turn to engage the counter-attack, taking punishing firepower in the process. A fierce grin makes its way up Charr's face as a third ship joins the previous two. On the ground, the armoured company takes the opportunity to act, roaring out of hidden emplacements as their automatic mortars hammer away, detonations tearing apart the human forces. Intercepted communications depict calls for reinforcements and orders... only to fall to static as electronic warfare suites across the globe switch to full spectrum jamming, cutting off the humans from succor.

Even without access to the humans orbital communications net, it was easy to observe their reactions, see the panic seeping in despite their training. Ships respond too slowly and die, the human line on the ground falters as uncertainty grips their fragmented command networks while death rains from above. Malicious glee fills him as he takes in their panic, but not enough for him to savour the moment and ignore the next part of his plan.

Grizzled laughter across the communication channels acknowledges his new order.

Behind fixed defenses, inside natural cave formations, beneath rock overhangs, within simple but deep pits, a dozen Bor'lsaam anti-orbital platforms discard their camouflage shrouds, massive cannons rising to the sky like accusing fingers. Ancient in design, yet upgraded with cutting edge technology produced by Karshaan's secret weapons labs, their drive pods dig into the ground, automated entrenching tools firmly establishing themselves as part of the bedrock. Capacitors large enough to power a mid sized city for a year charge, then discharge all in less then a second. The Bor'lsaams roar, star bright matter streaking into the heavens and lighting up the skies with the electrical fountain of 250mm mass accelerators discharging. The ground shakes with their fire, thunderclap reports reaching through meter thick layers of dirt and armour to shake the command bunker with an angry rumble.

And high in orbit, human ships explode as their shields are punctured, their hulls ripped apart by the destructive force of near cruiser grade firepower. Dropships tumble out of the sky like poisoned pests.

A grin etches itself on Charr's face, all teeth and viciousness at the increasing panic on the enemy communications as he orders the platforms to disperse and seek new targets. Even with the humans caught between the orbital fleets and Torfan's guns, the anti-orbital platforms would be tempting and obvious targets so long as they remain in the open. A few of the human ships in orbit react, changing their vectors to avoid the Bor'slaam's thunder. A few slip past, hiding behind the cored wreckage of falling ships. Some strike at the ground, wild counter-battery fire seeking the platforms in desperation. But between Torfan and the hammer of his reinforcements, their response is wholly inadequate. Caught between the anvil and the hammer, more ships fall to Batarian made lightning.

But then things change for the worse. Two Bor'slaam's skid to a halt in the process of relocation, damage reports slewing in with the chatter of confusion of his own men. Static replaces confusion an instant later when one of the pair blink out, tactical VIs marking their positions as lost while crew from the second vehicle scream amidst the crackle of roaring flames.

One more vanishes in the time it takes for the VIs to confirm the deaths of the first two, and another fleeing vehicle lost as the cavern roof above is blasted free, burying the platform beneath thousands of tons of rock. Confusion reigns as rearguard units shout about an enemy attack.

The realization is instantaneous. The Alliance must have deployed forward infiltrators beforehand, setting up their traps exactly for moments like this, taking out the most critical defenses at key moments. Not for long. Sensor pings lash out as he spits commands, scanning the burning areas with high powered radiation, sacrificing hidden sensor posts to find the culprits and flush them out of their positions. Rearguard infantry are redirected, racing into the position to catch the infiltrators before they can do more damage.

And then... nothing.

Just another powerful detonation flipping nearly a hundred tons of armored fighting vehicle upside down.

A fist slams on the console, analytical programs terminated as raw visual data is sent to his display. Four eyes burn themselves into the image, seeking out hunters before they can destroy his remaining Bor'slaams. He can't lose them, not yet. Too many human ships still remain.

A priority call comes in.

"Echo squad here! We've found-"

And terminates in a gunshot punctuated death rattle. The roar of automatic fire fills the communication channel. Infantry closing on the number 8 Bor'slaam shout in confusion, firing randomly at phantom targets they can't see. Squad sergeants try to establish fire discipline, only for whipcrack gunfire to drown out their orders, discoloring their markers to the dull grey of KIA.

"-jamming! Command, enemy contact but we can't see them! Sensors are down and we have no visual! Repeat, no visual. We're getting slaughtered!"

He sees it then, a final three second clip on an one of the infantry helmet cameras. A lump of terrain moving when rocks have no business walking. A flash of light from a muzzle that wasn't there before. Then it all goes to static.

"Movement! Frag out!"

Visuals from the other units show puffs of smoke and shrapnel, streams of fire stitching patterns across rock face, lunar soil, packing crates, all without finding their marks. Crackling gunfire responds in kind, short, sharp, and all much more lethal, dropping his men far too efficiently for his liking. The Bor'slaams added their own fire into the mix, co-axial and commander guns firing with wild abandon. Terrain explodes from the fusilade, to little-

No.

The weight of numbers have made their mark. A large lump of dirt jerks from hammerblow impacts of Bor'slaam eights mounted machineguns. Sparks, shrapnel and blood splash the grey lunar rock as the flailing object loses its stony hue to recognizable greys and red. Howls of victory issue from the escorts, their fire focusing on the humanoid figure-

Who vanishes, obscured by a newborn sun flaring into existence out of nothing. Blink fast, it streaks past the advancing fireteams, weaving in and out of their firing lanes, never taking a hit while solar bright muzzle flashes cut down his own men. Three pirates die in a second, another two collapse, their vitals monitors registering critical distress. An instant later, and it's upon the falling Alliance soldier, snatching the human before it can even hit the ground and taking the both of them behind the shelter of a rock outcropping.

For a single heartbeat, it's all silent for Charr. The babble of his communications officers, underlings barking out orders and directing the rest of the defense, the thunder of the remaining Bor'slaam guns, none of it registers on his mind. Only one thing occupies the forefront of his consciousness, working overtime as the sight is processed.

And yet someone is faster still.

"Delta actual! Contact confirmed! It's him!"

Two things happen at that exact moment. The first is that the tactical VIs complete their analysis, providing now obsolete positive identification of the blazing symbol sowing havoc in his rearguard.

Shepard. Systems Alliance Marine. Hero of Elysium-

The second is the sun bursting from behind the shelter, ascending into the air faster than even the nimblest of drones. Time seems to slow for Charr as dark spots appear in its halo, shadows in the shape of pistols as it reaches the apex of its leap. Both guns snarl, spitting rounds as fast as a submachine gun. Infantry whither in the fire, vanishing off his tactical display faster than he can count. But even in that stretched out slaughter he can see the human's mistake, exposing himself to his doom. Guided by smart VIs, fitted with precision tracking systems, Bor'slaam eight fires its anti-personnel guns, filling the air with a hail of hypervelocity steel in a fraction of a second that would tear the vaunted hero into bloody chunks.

Impossibly, nothing hits. No flares of shields collapsing, no spray of blood as armor is shredded and flesh torn. The blazing human shaped light simply bobs and weaves through the storm of fire like a maddened drone as it plummets back to the earth. Something detaches from the glowing figure then, streaking across the air like a rocket where it vanishes into the main barrel of the Bor'slaam.

-The Golden Scourge.

Behind his strongest defenses. Tearing his precious guns apart.

As if the thought bent reality to fit, number eight splits apart like rotten fruit in a microwave oven, hurling flames and chunks of machinery in every direction, scything down the remaining escorts. A moment later and the drone dies along with the visual, the bunker shaking under the wave of gravity distorting dark energy of an exploding eezo core.

Charr spent all of a second in stony silence as panicked communications streamed in from the remaining anti-orbital guns.

"Hammer three taking enemy fire! Main gun is out of commission!"

"Seven actual, heavy enemy contact! Armour breach! Losing contai-!"

"Six is immobilized, they have incendiaries!"

But then the ground shakes, once, twice. The thunderclap reports of the Bor'slaams discharging their main guns. Tactical displays track their outbound payloads streaking into orbit. A small consolation, but at least the humans will bleed ships just a little longer. It's enough to give him a brief moment of revenge driven satisfaction.

Until the systems plot the final projected path. By then, it is already too late to even shout a warning. A pirate command cruiser shatters, torn apart by the double blow of both projectiles.

"This is Heilat, taking groundfire! We just lost Shin'kar! What's going on Charr? Those are your guns!"

"The guns are compromised!" Charr yells, both at the enraged pirate captain and at his communications techs, "Get those shutdown codes out now!"

"They're not responding!" the tech yells back, frustration and fear in his voice as the bunker rumbles again, another pirate cruiser in orbit exploding soon after, "we've been locked out of their coms systems!"

He pounds his fists against the console, fuzzing the holographic tables with the force of impact as the Krogan chieftain rumbles with amusement.

"These humans have got a quint." The hulking alien dislodges himself from the wall and cocks his shotgun, the distinct sound seizing the attention of everyone in the command bunker. "Glad I took you up on your offer Charr, it was worth the trip just for this."

Balefully glaring at the Blood pack leader, Charr waves a dismissive hand at the wary guards. "Where do you think you're going Dagyr?"

He snorts. "Your fancy toys will be scrap metal soon enough and you know it. There's only one way this is going to end now. The rest is all just useless distractions." With that, the Krogan walks out the door, pausing only long enough to say, "And tell your men to back off from our sector. Unless you want them underfoot."

The darkly amused grunt from the retreating chieftain leaves no doubt as to how literally the term 'underfoot' would be applied. Glaring just a little longer at the now empty corridor, Charr balls his fist and opens a general communications line.

Only to be interrupted by an inbound communication, its ID tag indicating it as one of the infantry commanders escorting the erstwhile number eight Bor'slaam. But the voice that comes through isn't the distinctive flanging baritone of the turian commander. Instead, it's the mushy voice of a human. One he knows all too well, even if he's never met him before.

"It ends today, pirate. All of it" The voice of the Scourge demands with equal parts certainty and disdain. "There's nowhere for you to go, and you have nothing left to stop us with. Surrender."

"Damn you human." Charr snarls, updates from the forward defenses depicting the truth of the words. With the Bor'slaams gone, supporting the enemy instead of harassing them, the humans were holding their own, even landing more reinforcements. The defensive perimeter was collapsing. "you'll get nothing from us."

"Only your lives." The Scourge replies with absolute conviction. "An acceptable trade."

The line goes dead.

Charr looks up, meeting the uncertain gazes of his command staff. An angry retort begins to form on his lips.

Only to die prematurely as an earth shattering crack rocks the bunker. Ferrocrete walls crack and collapse, display consoles dissolve into static, electrical fuses exploding from massive overload. People fall. Somewhere, someone screams. The reinforced supports of the roof give way.

The last thing Charr sees as the lights short out is the ceiling coming down on him.

And then it goes dark.

AN: And here we have the first part of Witness Testament, a documentary style piece that follows the exploits of Sideris's Dawn caste Shepard in Cyclical. More to come in the future, with a deeper look into just what Shepard can really do.