There is a realm of existence so far beyond your own you cannot even imagine it.
I am beyond your comprehension, i am Sovereign.
Rudimentary creatures of blood and flesh.
You touch my mind, fumbling in ignorance, incapable of understanding.
Reaper? A label created by the Protheans to give voice to their destruction.
In the end, what they choose to call us is irelevant. We simply are.
Organic life is nothing but genetic mutation, an accident.
Your lives are measured in years and decades. You wither and die.
We are eternal. The pinnacle of evolution and existence. Before us, you are nothing.
Your extinction is inevitable. We are the end of everything.
Confidence born and ignorance. The cycle cannot be broken.
The pattern has repeated itself more times than you can fathom.
Organic civilizations rise, evolve, advance.
And at the apex of their glory, they are extinguished.
My kind, transcends your very understanding.
We are each a nation. Independent, free of all weakness.
You cannot even grasp the nature of our existence.
We have no beginning. We have no end. We are infinite.
Millions of years after your civilization has been eradicated and forgoten, we will endure.
We are legion. The time of our return is comming.
Our numbers will darken the sky of every world. You cannot escape your doom.
We impose order on the chaos of organic evolution.
You extist because we allow it. And you will end because we demand it.
Your words are as empty as your future. I am the vanguard of your destruction.
This exchange is over.