Under the cold, damp mildew, he can smell notes of death, broken flesh, things that stirred up an old and carnivorous part of his mind millions of years in the making. Something else too, something strange, the saltiness of Virmire's seas but deeper and darker, wrapped up in rotted plant matter, standing brine water and smoke.

It calms him and sets his nerves on edge at the same time.

Darkness wasn't a Turian's friend. They had the sharpest eyes of all the species in daylight, or whatever artificial equivalent was available. In the gloom though? The sharp vision had a cost. Putting on his helmet and turning on nightvision would impede scent and hearing however and right now, he needed the other senses more.

A pretty moot precaution the moment a roar comes rattling through the hallways, loud enough to send parts of the rusted ceiling raining down on him.

That- didn't sound good. Was a crew member in danger?

Source pin-pointed, Nihlus clamps his gun against thigh plate, frees his helmet from the back of his cowl and hurriedly snaps it on as he sprints down the corridors. The world lights up, HUD sensors flickering with alerts of hardsuit damage that he dismisses. Even through the piece of armor, each heavy THUMP of footstep jars the auditory senses under his mandibles and, beneath it, he can hear the familiar shriek of metal being cut through, snapping hisses of sparks.

Nihlus realizes why it's familiar a second after he rounds a corner, pistol back in hand. Just in time to watch the massive, hulking thing stomp past with Rinzler on top of it, whaling away at the monster with his disks.

Just like that, everything slows to a crawl, his finger frozen on the trigger.