John cursed, remembering Shepard's description of that 'prototype' Solar Exaltation. He could only hope that his errant partner still retained the sense not to destroy something important.<br/><br/>'One, Four. Uh, let's just say that something's pissed off the El-Tee.'<br/><br/>'Ah, crap.'<br/><br/>'You don't even know the half of it.'<br/><br/>Vaulting over a chest-high wall (Why does everything in this ship have chest-high walls? Seriously, this is a hangar. Were these guys expecting shootouts in a hangar bay?), John threw himself into the raging melee, relying solely on his mundane strength and biotics to kill Collectors. He needed to save his energy for blocking the other Exalt's wild strikes. Sometimes, he even had to land a few jabs of his own just to knock some sense into his companion. Ten minutes in and already, he'd been forced to tank blows that would have destroyed a support beam or vital power conduit or his own organs.<br/><br/>'Dammit, Lieutenant,' he yelled ineffectually, 'Get a hold of yourself, man!'<br/><br/>Taking his attention away from the berserk Exalt for a moment, John turned to shoot a Collector Captain in the face. An explosive round would have pulped brain matter and flesh and disintegrated bone, essentially turning the average Collector skull hollow. That didn't happen. Instead, the creature seemed to stand still, a neat hole in the center of its forehead. And over that hole manifested the Soulsteel exoskeleton of a familiar foe.<br/><br/><span style="font-weight: bold">CHILDREN OF MY ENEMY, YOU ARE UNWELCOME.</span><br/><br/>Oh. Just great. Absolutely<span style="font-style: italic">wonderful</span>.<br/><br/>'Dude, I have had a long, long day, so if you could just--'<br/><br/><span style="font-weight: bold">DISGUISING FEAR WITH ATTEMPTS AT HUMOR. IT WOULD HAVE BEEN AMUSING WERE IT NOT SO PATHETIC.</span><br/><br/>Harbinger's new host unsheathed a pair of Soulsteel daiklaves from its exoskeleton with wet, fleshy cracks of chitin.<br/><br/><span style="font-weight: bold">YOUR JOURNEYS END HERE. RESISTANCE IS FUTILE. YOUR EXALTATIONS SHALL BE ASSIMILATED.</span><br/><br/>Further cracking noises elicited the formation of a crustacean mouth, dripping with thick, steaming mucus. Black eyes burning with an ageless hatred stared back at him. All around, the noises of starship engines and machinery were silenced, replaced with the mad gibbering of tormented souls torn from the dust of countless civilizations.<br/><br/>John didn't know whether HP Lovecraft would be giggling with glee or rolling in his grave.