Another Halo fic
Moderator: LadyTevar
-
Grand Admiral Thrawn
- Ruthless Imperial Tyrant
- Posts: 5755
- Joined: 2002-07-03 06:11pm
- Location: Canada
From the Halo 2 manual:Grand Admiral Thrawn wrote:Before I read through this can someone tell me how the real (are these official or made up?) names of various races match up to Elite, Grunt, etc?
Elite - Sangheili
Brute - Jiralhanae
Hunter - Lekgolo
Jackal - Kig-Yar
Grunt - Unggoy
Drone - Yanme'e
Engineer - Hunagok
Prophet - Prophet
JADAFETWA
-
Singular Quartet
- Sith Marauder
- Posts: 3896
- Joined: 2002-07-04 05:33pm
- Location: This is sky. It is made of FUCKING and LIMIT.
I'm reffering to the XBox. MS wants to keep the XBox in business, therefore has blocked Bungie from releasing PC/Mac versions of it, thereby forcing people to buy an XBox w/ HALO 2, and thereby other games since you this system, and nothing else to do with it. Microsoft sells the XBox at a loss, whereas both Sony and Nintendo sell there systems at or above cost (Meaning they don't loss money). This, of course, is the reason why Nintendo is still in the market, even though they don't have as many games as the PS2.White Haven wrote:Given what I have to sell Office for, even OEM copies, my heart bleeds for their wallet. But I digress again. Sorry Kuja!
As to prices of stuff, just remember this info: Grand Theft Auto: San Andreas cost Fifty Million dollars to produce. Consider how much Windows costs to produce, and how often they sell a copy.
Oh, and that definately is a classy way to die.
Chapter 13: Run
"Shoot straight, fly true, run fast, hit hard." – Sangheili general
The two Covenant forces hit the Shining Light with the brute force of a sledgehammer blow, and though they occasionally exchanged fire, the heretic group was easily getting the worst of it. The explosives meant to wipe out the SpecOps had failed miserably, and the Jiralhanae had been lucky enough to bypass the traps entirely.
Rota fired wildly at the black forms that crouched at the other end of the hall, hitting nothing but at least making them cover. A moment later, the smaller figure stuck his arm out and a trio of translucent purple needles zipped towards him, homing in on his body heat. He ducked back behind the wall and they bounced off, shattering on contact with the tough metal. He checked his rifle. "I'm running out," he said.
On the other side of the passage, Kalis leaned out long enough to fire a shot from her plasma pistol before resuming her cover. "So am I," she replied.
"Grenade!" someone yelled from behind them, and a moment later a flaming blue ball went sailing down the corridor, sending the two Covenant diving for cover. As it exploded, Rota felt someone tug his arm. "Come on," Ilor said. His red eyes were full of fire as he led the two lovers away from the enemies. At the end of the hall, they found Jara waiting for them. "I'm sorry Rota," Ilor said as they cowered in the dark alcove. "I told him."
"I don't think we have a choice any longer," Jara said. "Even with the Sentinels, we don't have what it takes to fight off two Covenant squads."
Rota felt electricity run through him. "We're going to detonate the ring?"
"As I said," Jara replied calmly. "We no longer have a choice."
Ilor drew what appeared to be a metal rod from his belt. "Let's go," he said. The four of them set off down the adjoining hall before the Covenant troops could follow them and ran as quickly as their legs could carry them. Kalis led the way down the first and second corridors, and then Rota took over as they reached a new junction and led them down a long ramp that ended three stories deeper in the ring. Ahead of them was the longest corridor yet, and more then wide enough for them to run two by two. They sprinted hard, and Rota felt his breath rattling in his chest. Without warning, a door ahead of them began to cycle open. Rota didn't hesitate to draw and fire before even seeing who was behind it, and return fire answered back a moment later, one of the shots striking Rota's personal shield. They bolted past the door, both Rota and Jara sending a volley of plasma into the frame, not even seeing who they were firing at. As they passed the door, Jara nudged Rota.
"You two keep going. Set it off. We'll try to draw them off."
"Good luck, sir."
"Good luck, Rota."
Rota and Kalis ducked into the next adjoining corridor while Ilor and Jara continued on. Behind him, he heard the exchange of fire continue. He and Kalis continued to run hard, passing through alternating halls of light and dark, not knowing who else was dead or alive. Rota mentally ran through a list of prayers, jumbling context and position in his haste. Hail the light, hail the riders of savior...oh hell, that was certainly wrong.
Kalis turned a sharp corner and Rota nearly ran into the wall, but he pushed off of it and spun into the next hall. The move saved his life as an energy beam slammed into the metal next to his head. "Go!" he shouted, and Kalis ran without a look back. Her lighter frame took her far ahead of him in a few seconds and he realized what he had to go. I love you, Kalis, he thought as he watched her disappear up the next turn.
He stopped, turned, and waited. Within moments, he caught the movement of his pursuers and fired a few shots, at least one of them striking home. An Unggoy squealed in pain and he smiled grimly. "Come and get me, cowards!" he shouted, then spun and dashed off, deliberately taking the way opposite of that which Kalis had gone. At the next intersection, he again stopped and fired at the first movement, hitting a Sangheili this time. As he squeezed the trigger, his rifle buzzed a warning: the charge was nearly exhausted. He drained it with a few more shots, then dropped the rifle and bolted, weaponless.
He ran aimlessly, picking turns at random, occasionally stopping to ensure that he was still being tailed. Once, he hesitated too long and saw the bright flash of a needle flying at him before bolting up the hall and away from his pursuers. He ran as if devils chased him.
No...you're the devil. They're the angels.
He snorted in bitter amusement and barreled towards the door at the end of the hall. It barely managed to cycle open before he sprinted through it into a large room that looked like a warehouse with a ramp in the center that led to a catwalk that circled the room. Without hesitating, he dashed up the ramp and onto the catwalk to find-
-nothing.
The room was empty. Empty of anything helpful. Empty of any other exits.
He had trapped himself.
He turned, his hands balling into fists as he faced the door. Without a weapon, his lifespan in a combat situation could be measured in seconds, but he could still show them that he was unbroken. He could still show them that he was willing to die for what he believed in! Willing to die for Kalis!
The door cycled open and Rota was handed a surprise. His pursuer was a lone Unggoy in the black SpecOps armor. His claws were bare. The Unggoy looked left and right, then up the ramp to where Rota was frozen in shock. His face contorted in what Rota suspected was a grin. "So, here you are," the Unggoy said in his scratchy voice as he started up the ramp. "You look surprised to see me."
"I...I didn't-"
"Expect one little grunt to keep up with you, did you?" He chuckled. "I am half-captain Gedda, little one. I can outrun Sangheili with twice your endurance." Gedda reached the top of the ramp and stopped, watching Rota cautiously.
Rota smiled. "You might be fast, but you're not that smart."
Gedda crossed his arms and cocked his head. "And how did you figure that out?"
"I've been leading you astray, squat one. Any moment now, we're both going to be blown to bits."
"Ah, you're referring to that female who was with you. Then it's a good thing Ensu and Meras decided to chase her while I went after you."
Rota froze. Those were Sangheili names. "No," he whispered.
Gedda uncrossed his arms and snarled. "You thought you fooled us, you worthless piece of excrement?!" he shouted. "We are Special Operations! We eat heretics like you for breakfast!"
"Then I'll give you something to chew on," he said in equal parts rage and panic. Without thinking, he lunged at the Unggoy. Gedda spun on his heel and moved out the line of the attack, at the same time grapping Rota's arm and yanking. Overbalanced, Rota went sprawling down the ramp. When he came to his feet, he spun around again, only to find himself looking down the barrel of a needler that seemed to fill the entire universe.
"I would say this was for the Covenant," Gedda said. "But that wouldn't be precisely true. This is for Yalad. He's the one you caught with that lucky shot."
"Then pull the trigger," Rota said defiantly. Gedda did, sending an avalanche of razor-sharp projectiles into Rota's face and chest. His shield took the first few, but the sheer number of them overloaded it and they stuck deep into his flesh. He howled in pain and fell backwards.
Oh, Kalis. I've failed you. I'm so sorry.
Gedda clicked his secondary trigger and the needles detonated, killing Rota instantly.
"So long on talk, so short on skill," Gedda muttered as he reloaded. "I'd rather fight humans."
"Shoot straight, fly true, run fast, hit hard." – Sangheili general
The two Covenant forces hit the Shining Light with the brute force of a sledgehammer blow, and though they occasionally exchanged fire, the heretic group was easily getting the worst of it. The explosives meant to wipe out the SpecOps had failed miserably, and the Jiralhanae had been lucky enough to bypass the traps entirely.
Rota fired wildly at the black forms that crouched at the other end of the hall, hitting nothing but at least making them cover. A moment later, the smaller figure stuck his arm out and a trio of translucent purple needles zipped towards him, homing in on his body heat. He ducked back behind the wall and they bounced off, shattering on contact with the tough metal. He checked his rifle. "I'm running out," he said.
On the other side of the passage, Kalis leaned out long enough to fire a shot from her plasma pistol before resuming her cover. "So am I," she replied.
"Grenade!" someone yelled from behind them, and a moment later a flaming blue ball went sailing down the corridor, sending the two Covenant diving for cover. As it exploded, Rota felt someone tug his arm. "Come on," Ilor said. His red eyes were full of fire as he led the two lovers away from the enemies. At the end of the hall, they found Jara waiting for them. "I'm sorry Rota," Ilor said as they cowered in the dark alcove. "I told him."
"I don't think we have a choice any longer," Jara said. "Even with the Sentinels, we don't have what it takes to fight off two Covenant squads."
Rota felt electricity run through him. "We're going to detonate the ring?"
"As I said," Jara replied calmly. "We no longer have a choice."
Ilor drew what appeared to be a metal rod from his belt. "Let's go," he said. The four of them set off down the adjoining hall before the Covenant troops could follow them and ran as quickly as their legs could carry them. Kalis led the way down the first and second corridors, and then Rota took over as they reached a new junction and led them down a long ramp that ended three stories deeper in the ring. Ahead of them was the longest corridor yet, and more then wide enough for them to run two by two. They sprinted hard, and Rota felt his breath rattling in his chest. Without warning, a door ahead of them began to cycle open. Rota didn't hesitate to draw and fire before even seeing who was behind it, and return fire answered back a moment later, one of the shots striking Rota's personal shield. They bolted past the door, both Rota and Jara sending a volley of plasma into the frame, not even seeing who they were firing at. As they passed the door, Jara nudged Rota.
"You two keep going. Set it off. We'll try to draw them off."
"Good luck, sir."
"Good luck, Rota."
Rota and Kalis ducked into the next adjoining corridor while Ilor and Jara continued on. Behind him, he heard the exchange of fire continue. He and Kalis continued to run hard, passing through alternating halls of light and dark, not knowing who else was dead or alive. Rota mentally ran through a list of prayers, jumbling context and position in his haste. Hail the light, hail the riders of savior...oh hell, that was certainly wrong.
Kalis turned a sharp corner and Rota nearly ran into the wall, but he pushed off of it and spun into the next hall. The move saved his life as an energy beam slammed into the metal next to his head. "Go!" he shouted, and Kalis ran without a look back. Her lighter frame took her far ahead of him in a few seconds and he realized what he had to go. I love you, Kalis, he thought as he watched her disappear up the next turn.
He stopped, turned, and waited. Within moments, he caught the movement of his pursuers and fired a few shots, at least one of them striking home. An Unggoy squealed in pain and he smiled grimly. "Come and get me, cowards!" he shouted, then spun and dashed off, deliberately taking the way opposite of that which Kalis had gone. At the next intersection, he again stopped and fired at the first movement, hitting a Sangheili this time. As he squeezed the trigger, his rifle buzzed a warning: the charge was nearly exhausted. He drained it with a few more shots, then dropped the rifle and bolted, weaponless.
He ran aimlessly, picking turns at random, occasionally stopping to ensure that he was still being tailed. Once, he hesitated too long and saw the bright flash of a needle flying at him before bolting up the hall and away from his pursuers. He ran as if devils chased him.
No...you're the devil. They're the angels.
He snorted in bitter amusement and barreled towards the door at the end of the hall. It barely managed to cycle open before he sprinted through it into a large room that looked like a warehouse with a ramp in the center that led to a catwalk that circled the room. Without hesitating, he dashed up the ramp and onto the catwalk to find-
-nothing.
The room was empty. Empty of anything helpful. Empty of any other exits.
He had trapped himself.
He turned, his hands balling into fists as he faced the door. Without a weapon, his lifespan in a combat situation could be measured in seconds, but he could still show them that he was unbroken. He could still show them that he was willing to die for what he believed in! Willing to die for Kalis!
The door cycled open and Rota was handed a surprise. His pursuer was a lone Unggoy in the black SpecOps armor. His claws were bare. The Unggoy looked left and right, then up the ramp to where Rota was frozen in shock. His face contorted in what Rota suspected was a grin. "So, here you are," the Unggoy said in his scratchy voice as he started up the ramp. "You look surprised to see me."
"I...I didn't-"
"Expect one little grunt to keep up with you, did you?" He chuckled. "I am half-captain Gedda, little one. I can outrun Sangheili with twice your endurance." Gedda reached the top of the ramp and stopped, watching Rota cautiously.
Rota smiled. "You might be fast, but you're not that smart."
Gedda crossed his arms and cocked his head. "And how did you figure that out?"
"I've been leading you astray, squat one. Any moment now, we're both going to be blown to bits."
"Ah, you're referring to that female who was with you. Then it's a good thing Ensu and Meras decided to chase her while I went after you."
Rota froze. Those were Sangheili names. "No," he whispered.
Gedda uncrossed his arms and snarled. "You thought you fooled us, you worthless piece of excrement?!" he shouted. "We are Special Operations! We eat heretics like you for breakfast!"
"Then I'll give you something to chew on," he said in equal parts rage and panic. Without thinking, he lunged at the Unggoy. Gedda spun on his heel and moved out the line of the attack, at the same time grapping Rota's arm and yanking. Overbalanced, Rota went sprawling down the ramp. When he came to his feet, he spun around again, only to find himself looking down the barrel of a needler that seemed to fill the entire universe.
"I would say this was for the Covenant," Gedda said. "But that wouldn't be precisely true. This is for Yalad. He's the one you caught with that lucky shot."
"Then pull the trigger," Rota said defiantly. Gedda did, sending an avalanche of razor-sharp projectiles into Rota's face and chest. His shield took the first few, but the sheer number of them overloaded it and they stuck deep into his flesh. He howled in pain and fell backwards.
Oh, Kalis. I've failed you. I'm so sorry.
Gedda clicked his secondary trigger and the needles detonated, killing Rota instantly.
"So long on talk, so short on skill," Gedda muttered as he reloaded. "I'd rather fight humans."
JADAFETWA
-
Ghost Rider
- Spirit of Vengeance
- Posts: 27779
- Joined: 2002-09-24 01:48pm
- Location: DC...looking up from the gutters to the stars
Nicely done with the last part. Ah, poor guy...getting killed by one of those little bastards.
MM /CF/WG/BOTM/JL/Original Warsie/ACPATHNTDWATGODW FOREVER!!
Sometimes we can choose the path we follow. Sometimes our choices are made for us. And sometimes we have no choice at all
Saying and doing are chocolate and concrete
Sometimes we can choose the path we follow. Sometimes our choices are made for us. And sometimes we have no choice at all
Saying and doing are chocolate and concrete
-
Singular Quartet
- Sith Marauder
- Posts: 3896
- Joined: 2002-07-04 05:33pm
- Location: This is sky. It is made of FUCKING and LIMIT.
Chapter 14: Honor Between Hunters and Hunted
"I would rather go up against a Wraith tank barehanded than fight an angry Lekgolo. Wraiths don't hold grudges." –Sangheili officer
Bovue and Kodul were a moving wall of steel and muscle. Separated from the rest of the squad by the explosives' detonation, they thundered down the first open corridor to flank both the heretics and the treacherous Jiralhanae. As they ran, a Sentinel came around the next corner, doubtless attracted by the sound of their two-man stampede. Before it even had a chance to fire, Bovue raised an arm and smashed it, his speed such that his arm crushed the Sentinel between his shield and the next wall. The two continued on.
At the next corner, they wheeled left and came upon a lone Sangheili fleeing the battle. Bovue crushed his skull with one swipe and they continued without missing a step. Next they knew they were erupting into a large domed room utterly filled with Unggoy and Sangheili. Bovue charged in without hesitation, his shield bash killing one of the smaller figures and sending another into the wall with a sickening crack. Ever the calmer of the pair, Kodul skidded to a halt and unleashed his fuel rod cannon, killing a dozen enemies with one blast. Panicking, the heretics turned their weapons on the two killing machines. Plasma shots and the occasional guided needle bounced off their heavy armor, searching in vain for a weak point.
The sole moment of true danger came when Bovue saw a bright blue ball of fire arcing through the air towards him. Stepping forward and incidentally crushing an unlucky Unggoy's skull in the process, he swung his shield as hard as he could, deflecting the grenade and sending it flying back towards the heretics with the speed of a rocket. Before they could dive out of the way, it detonated. Kodul complicated things further by launching another shot. The group – by now it was more like a mob – began to flee in panic, but concentrated plasma fire from the other end of the room ensured that they only ran to their deaths. As the smoke from the detonations began to clear, Bovue saw the figures of a Jiralhanae pair.
Knowing his brother was covering him, Bovue plunged into the panicked throng, knowing he was exposing his vulnerable back to a shot from behind but also crushing bones and snapping necks with his great strength as he tore through the heretics to get to the traitors. They saw him coming and opened fire, aiming for the gaps in his armor. They weren't accurate enough, as Bovue proved when he suddenly reared and brought his shield arm down on one's head. The force of the blow drove the normally strong and stable creature to the ground and crushed his skull. At this terrifying sight, the heretics finally gave up any semblance of fighting and fled in terror, many even dropping their weapons as they ran. The other Jiralhanae – a small specimen for his race, with fur darker than the norm – stayed long enough to fire a few more shots before darting away as Bovue turned towards him. With a bellow like some demon raised, Bovue pounded after the enemy soldier, comforted by the sound of his bond brother dashing towards him from behind.
The Jiralhanae was a fast one, maybe a tad faster than the two Lekgolo. He was smart as well, quickly making turns before either of the two could line up a shot with their cannons. Had he not been a traitor, Bovue might have been impressed with his skill. As things were, however, he only swore to himself and put every ounce of effort into keeping up.
The tables turned when they reached the dead end. At first, the Lekgolo didn't realize it, but then they turned the corner and skidded to a halt. Less than thirty feet away, their quarry stood facing a steel wall as though the installation itself had betrayed him. Then, he turned and raised his rifle. A moment later, he seemed to hesitate and sheathed it. Bovue looked on in surprise as the traitor spread his feet and stood in a rock solid fighting stance.
"If you want Nocturnus," he said defiantly, "come and get him."
Bovue could not resist rising to the challenge. He charged forward, bringing both arms up to smash the traitor's head in, but the one called Nocturnus braced himself and reached out, his hands clenching Bovue's arms and stopping them in their tracks. There they stood, two mountains of muscle, neither willing to give an inch. Though Bovue was the stronger of the pair, Nocturnus was better braced and only had to hold himself steady while the Lekgolo had to press harder and harder. For a long moment, they seemed to stand perfectly still, though each was pouring all his strength into the confrontation.
Nocturnus thought he heard a sound. It seemed to be coming from far away, a repetitive thrumming like a damaged machine. As it grew louder, he realized that it was coming from his opponent. The damned thing was laughing at him! At once enraged and embarrassed, Nocturnus bared his teeth and snarled. That sound of defiance evaporated, however, when he felt something cold slithering around his fingers. When he looked up, he was what appeared to be orange tendrils curling around his finger joints and wrist. In panic, he looked back at Bovue, whose head seemed to be snaking out of his armor and towards his opponent.
Of course. Lekgolo physiology wasn't like his own, and he had been stupid to forget it. Unlike Jiralhanae, who were a single living creature, Lekgolo were each a colony of wormlike creatures unto themselves. A colony of immensely strong wormlike creatures.
"That's cheating," he blurted.
The Lekgolo burbled something and a device on his chest spoke with him: "Cry then, traitor."
The worms pulled taught and Nocturnus screamed as his fingers were snapped like rotten twigs, his wrist like a dry branch. His defense crumbled immediately and Bovue bore him to the ground, crushing Nocturnus with his weight and smothering him against his armor. In panic, he did the only thing that came to mind: he reached for his rifle and drew it, pressing it deeply into the mass of cordlike worms. Just before he pulled the trigger, he again heard Bovue's voice.
"You lived without honor, traitor. The least you could do is die with some."
Something stopped Nocturnus then. Maybe it was that he knew the Lekgolo was right.
A moment later, his decision proved meaningless as something slammed into Bovue and exploded, smashing him against Nocturnus, who felt bones break at the sudden pressure even as the world seemed to erupt in heat and light. Spots exploded before the Jiralhanae's eyes and for one terrible moment, he thought he would truly suffocate. Then, Bovue's body went limp over him and he gasped for air, despite the stabbing pain he felt with each breath.
As hearing returned, he heard the furious scream of a Lekgolo, doubtless the other member of the bond pair. A moment later, explosions seemed to fill the air and the Lekgolo screamed again, this time in pain. Another blast silenced it, and then he felt the dead body being pulled off of him and he looked up into his commander's face. Denhuse held his grenade launcher in one arm as he pulled Bovue's body away with the other, looking down at Nocturnus as he did so. "Are you alright?" he asked.
Nocturnus tried to manage a glare, but his vision was fading. "You shot him in the back," he accused.
Denhuse looked startled. "He was trying to kill you."
"Was he wrong?" Nocturnus asked softly.
"What are you-"
"Leave me, Denhuse," Nocturnus said. He could barely see anything any longer.
"You're delirious."
"No. I am a son of the Covenant, left to die a traitor's death."
"I can still save you-"
"You cheapen them by intervening and you cheapen me by encouraging me to live without honor." He chuckled thickly, feeling blood coat his lips. "I never thought I'd say something like this, but I'm almost glad he killed me. Now I won't have to worry about the inquiry following this debacle."
"As your commanding officer-"
"You're a traitor who shot a good solider in the back," Nocturnus said with as much venom as he could manage. "I hope you find them waiting for you in hell, and I hope that bastard Erebus joins you. Me, I'll be on their side."
Blackness. If Denhuse replied, or if he simply walked away, Nocturnus never knew.
"I would rather go up against a Wraith tank barehanded than fight an angry Lekgolo. Wraiths don't hold grudges." –Sangheili officer
Bovue and Kodul were a moving wall of steel and muscle. Separated from the rest of the squad by the explosives' detonation, they thundered down the first open corridor to flank both the heretics and the treacherous Jiralhanae. As they ran, a Sentinel came around the next corner, doubtless attracted by the sound of their two-man stampede. Before it even had a chance to fire, Bovue raised an arm and smashed it, his speed such that his arm crushed the Sentinel between his shield and the next wall. The two continued on.
At the next corner, they wheeled left and came upon a lone Sangheili fleeing the battle. Bovue crushed his skull with one swipe and they continued without missing a step. Next they knew they were erupting into a large domed room utterly filled with Unggoy and Sangheili. Bovue charged in without hesitation, his shield bash killing one of the smaller figures and sending another into the wall with a sickening crack. Ever the calmer of the pair, Kodul skidded to a halt and unleashed his fuel rod cannon, killing a dozen enemies with one blast. Panicking, the heretics turned their weapons on the two killing machines. Plasma shots and the occasional guided needle bounced off their heavy armor, searching in vain for a weak point.
The sole moment of true danger came when Bovue saw a bright blue ball of fire arcing through the air towards him. Stepping forward and incidentally crushing an unlucky Unggoy's skull in the process, he swung his shield as hard as he could, deflecting the grenade and sending it flying back towards the heretics with the speed of a rocket. Before they could dive out of the way, it detonated. Kodul complicated things further by launching another shot. The group – by now it was more like a mob – began to flee in panic, but concentrated plasma fire from the other end of the room ensured that they only ran to their deaths. As the smoke from the detonations began to clear, Bovue saw the figures of a Jiralhanae pair.
Knowing his brother was covering him, Bovue plunged into the panicked throng, knowing he was exposing his vulnerable back to a shot from behind but also crushing bones and snapping necks with his great strength as he tore through the heretics to get to the traitors. They saw him coming and opened fire, aiming for the gaps in his armor. They weren't accurate enough, as Bovue proved when he suddenly reared and brought his shield arm down on one's head. The force of the blow drove the normally strong and stable creature to the ground and crushed his skull. At this terrifying sight, the heretics finally gave up any semblance of fighting and fled in terror, many even dropping their weapons as they ran. The other Jiralhanae – a small specimen for his race, with fur darker than the norm – stayed long enough to fire a few more shots before darting away as Bovue turned towards him. With a bellow like some demon raised, Bovue pounded after the enemy soldier, comforted by the sound of his bond brother dashing towards him from behind.
The Jiralhanae was a fast one, maybe a tad faster than the two Lekgolo. He was smart as well, quickly making turns before either of the two could line up a shot with their cannons. Had he not been a traitor, Bovue might have been impressed with his skill. As things were, however, he only swore to himself and put every ounce of effort into keeping up.
The tables turned when they reached the dead end. At first, the Lekgolo didn't realize it, but then they turned the corner and skidded to a halt. Less than thirty feet away, their quarry stood facing a steel wall as though the installation itself had betrayed him. Then, he turned and raised his rifle. A moment later, he seemed to hesitate and sheathed it. Bovue looked on in surprise as the traitor spread his feet and stood in a rock solid fighting stance.
"If you want Nocturnus," he said defiantly, "come and get him."
Bovue could not resist rising to the challenge. He charged forward, bringing both arms up to smash the traitor's head in, but the one called Nocturnus braced himself and reached out, his hands clenching Bovue's arms and stopping them in their tracks. There they stood, two mountains of muscle, neither willing to give an inch. Though Bovue was the stronger of the pair, Nocturnus was better braced and only had to hold himself steady while the Lekgolo had to press harder and harder. For a long moment, they seemed to stand perfectly still, though each was pouring all his strength into the confrontation.
Nocturnus thought he heard a sound. It seemed to be coming from far away, a repetitive thrumming like a damaged machine. As it grew louder, he realized that it was coming from his opponent. The damned thing was laughing at him! At once enraged and embarrassed, Nocturnus bared his teeth and snarled. That sound of defiance evaporated, however, when he felt something cold slithering around his fingers. When he looked up, he was what appeared to be orange tendrils curling around his finger joints and wrist. In panic, he looked back at Bovue, whose head seemed to be snaking out of his armor and towards his opponent.
Of course. Lekgolo physiology wasn't like his own, and he had been stupid to forget it. Unlike Jiralhanae, who were a single living creature, Lekgolo were each a colony of wormlike creatures unto themselves. A colony of immensely strong wormlike creatures.
"That's cheating," he blurted.
The Lekgolo burbled something and a device on his chest spoke with him: "Cry then, traitor."
The worms pulled taught and Nocturnus screamed as his fingers were snapped like rotten twigs, his wrist like a dry branch. His defense crumbled immediately and Bovue bore him to the ground, crushing Nocturnus with his weight and smothering him against his armor. In panic, he did the only thing that came to mind: he reached for his rifle and drew it, pressing it deeply into the mass of cordlike worms. Just before he pulled the trigger, he again heard Bovue's voice.
"You lived without honor, traitor. The least you could do is die with some."
Something stopped Nocturnus then. Maybe it was that he knew the Lekgolo was right.
A moment later, his decision proved meaningless as something slammed into Bovue and exploded, smashing him against Nocturnus, who felt bones break at the sudden pressure even as the world seemed to erupt in heat and light. Spots exploded before the Jiralhanae's eyes and for one terrible moment, he thought he would truly suffocate. Then, Bovue's body went limp over him and he gasped for air, despite the stabbing pain he felt with each breath.
As hearing returned, he heard the furious scream of a Lekgolo, doubtless the other member of the bond pair. A moment later, explosions seemed to fill the air and the Lekgolo screamed again, this time in pain. Another blast silenced it, and then he felt the dead body being pulled off of him and he looked up into his commander's face. Denhuse held his grenade launcher in one arm as he pulled Bovue's body away with the other, looking down at Nocturnus as he did so. "Are you alright?" he asked.
Nocturnus tried to manage a glare, but his vision was fading. "You shot him in the back," he accused.
Denhuse looked startled. "He was trying to kill you."
"Was he wrong?" Nocturnus asked softly.
"What are you-"
"Leave me, Denhuse," Nocturnus said. He could barely see anything any longer.
"You're delirious."
"No. I am a son of the Covenant, left to die a traitor's death."
"I can still save you-"
"You cheapen them by intervening and you cheapen me by encouraging me to live without honor." He chuckled thickly, feeling blood coat his lips. "I never thought I'd say something like this, but I'm almost glad he killed me. Now I won't have to worry about the inquiry following this debacle."
"As your commanding officer-"
"You're a traitor who shot a good solider in the back," Nocturnus said with as much venom as he could manage. "I hope you find them waiting for you in hell, and I hope that bastard Erebus joins you. Me, I'll be on their side."
Blackness. If Denhuse replied, or if he simply walked away, Nocturnus never knew.
JADAFETWA
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Chris OFarrell
- Durandal's Bitch
- Posts: 5724
- Joined: 2002-08-02 07:57pm
- Contact:
Nice. I've been hoping that you would have the Hunters come up against a Brute...those things are just walking tanks.
Glad to see the Brute couldn't win in a stand up fight, only by 'cheating'...but its nice to know not all the Brutes were like Tarty and were just doing what they thought of as their duty...
Glad to see the Brute couldn't win in a stand up fight, only by 'cheating'...but its nice to know not all the Brutes were like Tarty and were just doing what they thought of as their duty...
Chapter 15: Swordsmen
"You'll never find a weapon more elegant, more deadly, and more treacherous than the plasma sword. Use it well and you will prosper. Use it poorly and you will die." – Sangheili instructor
"'Essonee to 'Pulomee, come in." Silence. "Ensu, Meras, Gedda, is anyone reading me?" Silence. Alve sighed in resignation and switched off his communicator. The corridor ahead of him was set at a slight angle downwards and the lights were out in the next section. Alve didn't want to go in there without backup, but now, cut off from his entire squad, it looked like he might not have a choice. He glanced back over his shoulder at the larger passageway behind him. He'd chased the pair of heretics a long way. At a thought, he blinked and a small red mark showed up on his HUD, denoting the point where the squad had entered the facility. Well, at least now I won't get lost, he thought with grim cheer. With that, he twisted his camouflage control and crept into the darkness, unlit sword in hand.
The corridor made a left turn and Alve found himself at the top of a steep ramp. Silently, he descended like some kind of invisible stalker. The passage dropped deeper and deeper into the ring and he found himself wondering whether the heretics had purposely chosen this route or if they had simply fled down it at random. He decided that he would find out soon enough and stopped thinking about it. The passage kept making left turns and before long, Alve had to keep on hand brushing the wall to keep from being disoriented.
Finally, the endless ramps gave way to a long and narrow corridor that ended after about forty feet with a window along one wall. Crouched, Alve kept next to the wall until getting to the nearest corner of the window. Cautiously, he turned to face the wall on one knee and rose high enough to peek over the bottom edge. The sight that greeted him was of another room, though he thought "abyss with a catwalk" would have been a better description. At each end of the long pathway (no rails, of course, the Forerunners must have been allergic to them) was a doorway. Instinctively, Alve knew that the corridor he was in now connected to that one after one more turn. And waiting for him...
It was a Sangheili with a lit plasma sword in his left hand.
Even from where he crouched, Alve felt the heat from those burning crimson eyes, even though the Sangheili wasn't even aware of his presence. Seized by impulse, he suddenly switched off his camouflage and stood. The other Sangheili noticed him immediately, but neither panicked nor charged to meet him. Instead, he simply raised his free arm and beckoned to the captain. Come down, my friend, Alve's imagination supplied. I have been waiting for you.
Alve switched off the voice and calmly turned away from the window, striding down the corridor to – surprise – the ramp leading down and to the left. He followed the path, his mind already rehearsing for the coming fight. As he stepped through the doorway, he tapped the control and with a serpent's hiss the plasma blade snapped into existence.
They stood thirty feet apart, emerald and crimson eyes meeting and neither giving an inch. The heretic pointed his blade at Alve and straightened his arm in a duelist's salute. "Ilor 'Ssadaevu," he said simply, the syllables rolling off his jaws like oil.
Alve returned the salute. "Alve 'Essonee," he replied.
Without further delay, they launched themselves at each other, Alve moving just a fraction slower than Ilor. Forty feet separated them, but they closed the distance in an eyeblink. Ilor brought his blade down in a vertical slash, but Alve went to one knee and brought his own in to block it. They each retreated a step and then Ilor came in, jabbing experimentally. Alve gave ground and delicately parried each thrust, then tried a riposte. Ilor spun away from it, a gutsy move on the narrow catwalk. Alve followed him up and swung hard, but Ilor gathered himself in time to dive forward and roll past Alve's flank, his sword nicking the captain's shield as he did so. Alve's HUD warned him of a sudden thirty-percent shield loss. He spun and tried to catch Ilor as he rose, but the heretic was no fool and ensured that he moved out of Alve's attack range before coming to his feet and turning.
Alve had considerably upped his estimate of the heretic's skill level. Ilor was no slouch; he was at least in Alve's class if not higher. However, he seemed to be hiding a flaw in his aggressive stance. As he moved in to challenge the Covenant captain a second time, Alve once again delicately gave ground as he watched Ilor's movements. In a flash, it occurred to him that Ilor was rusty and unsure of his skill. He wanted to dispatch the captain quickly, before Alve could discern his lack of confidence. A good gamble, but it had failed.
Alve parried once more, then lunged quickly. Ilor was slow in getting away and the point of Alve's blade pierced his shield, going to far as to score the armor beneath but failing to get to the heretic's flesh. They both hesitated and Alve looked Ilor in the eyes. "Special Operations," he said evenly.
"A lifetime ago," Ilor replied, confirming Alve's suspicions. Alve slid forward and began to fill the air with thrusts and slashes while Ilor worked hard to turn them back at his opponent. This time, there was no back-and-forth byplay. Both combatants remained relatively in place as they filled the air with deadly blurs of light.
The crucial moment came when Ilor lunged and punched towards Alve's chest. The captain spun to avoid the blow even though he knew he would fail. Sure enough, the sword sparked as it touched his shields and Alve's HUD screamed a warning of complete failure. Ilor's sword continued forward, scoring Alve's armor heavily enough to disable the captain's camouflage system. But before the sword could pierce through to Alve's flesh, the captain's spin moved him safely out of the line of attack. Both knew what would happen next, and both knew in was unavoidable. Alve's spin brought him around into a powerful swing that cleaved right through Ilor's shield and struck his head from his shoulders.
The dead body's momentum bounced it off Alve's shoulder and he instinctively took a step back and shoved it away. Both it and the decapitated head fell into the abyss below, the sword sputtering out as Ilor's dead hand lost its grip on the handle. Alve watched it fall, a part of his attention diverted to watching his shields struggle to raise themselves. Both his motion sensor and his active camouflage had been disabled by Ilor's final thrust.
So it was that when a huge figure stepped into the doorway at the beginning of the catwalk and opened fire, Alve was caught totally off guard. A projectile bounced off the catwalk steel, slammed into him and promptly detonated in a burst of light. Alve's shields dropped back to zero and he desperately spun to meet this new attack.
Erebus stepped out onto the catwalk, a wicked smile on his face. Somehow, the barrel of his grenade launcher looked even uglier. "End of the line, 'Essonee," he said shortly. Alve tried to dodge the next shot, but Erebus had anticipated him. The grenade arced through the air in a strangely graceful parabola that seemed to last a thousand years before coming down towards him.
He actually felt the impact on his helmet before it exploded.
By that point, there was no checking his progress. Alve's momentum brought him down onto the steel edge of the catwalk and over the side. Had he had the presence of mind, he might have been able to grasp the edge in time. But his head was screaming in pain and shock and his ears were ringing loudly, so the thought never even occurred to him as he plunged into the abyss below.
"You'll never find a weapon more elegant, more deadly, and more treacherous than the plasma sword. Use it well and you will prosper. Use it poorly and you will die." – Sangheili instructor
"'Essonee to 'Pulomee, come in." Silence. "Ensu, Meras, Gedda, is anyone reading me?" Silence. Alve sighed in resignation and switched off his communicator. The corridor ahead of him was set at a slight angle downwards and the lights were out in the next section. Alve didn't want to go in there without backup, but now, cut off from his entire squad, it looked like he might not have a choice. He glanced back over his shoulder at the larger passageway behind him. He'd chased the pair of heretics a long way. At a thought, he blinked and a small red mark showed up on his HUD, denoting the point where the squad had entered the facility. Well, at least now I won't get lost, he thought with grim cheer. With that, he twisted his camouflage control and crept into the darkness, unlit sword in hand.
The corridor made a left turn and Alve found himself at the top of a steep ramp. Silently, he descended like some kind of invisible stalker. The passage dropped deeper and deeper into the ring and he found himself wondering whether the heretics had purposely chosen this route or if they had simply fled down it at random. He decided that he would find out soon enough and stopped thinking about it. The passage kept making left turns and before long, Alve had to keep on hand brushing the wall to keep from being disoriented.
Finally, the endless ramps gave way to a long and narrow corridor that ended after about forty feet with a window along one wall. Crouched, Alve kept next to the wall until getting to the nearest corner of the window. Cautiously, he turned to face the wall on one knee and rose high enough to peek over the bottom edge. The sight that greeted him was of another room, though he thought "abyss with a catwalk" would have been a better description. At each end of the long pathway (no rails, of course, the Forerunners must have been allergic to them) was a doorway. Instinctively, Alve knew that the corridor he was in now connected to that one after one more turn. And waiting for him...
It was a Sangheili with a lit plasma sword in his left hand.
Even from where he crouched, Alve felt the heat from those burning crimson eyes, even though the Sangheili wasn't even aware of his presence. Seized by impulse, he suddenly switched off his camouflage and stood. The other Sangheili noticed him immediately, but neither panicked nor charged to meet him. Instead, he simply raised his free arm and beckoned to the captain. Come down, my friend, Alve's imagination supplied. I have been waiting for you.
Alve switched off the voice and calmly turned away from the window, striding down the corridor to – surprise – the ramp leading down and to the left. He followed the path, his mind already rehearsing for the coming fight. As he stepped through the doorway, he tapped the control and with a serpent's hiss the plasma blade snapped into existence.
They stood thirty feet apart, emerald and crimson eyes meeting and neither giving an inch. The heretic pointed his blade at Alve and straightened his arm in a duelist's salute. "Ilor 'Ssadaevu," he said simply, the syllables rolling off his jaws like oil.
Alve returned the salute. "Alve 'Essonee," he replied.
Without further delay, they launched themselves at each other, Alve moving just a fraction slower than Ilor. Forty feet separated them, but they closed the distance in an eyeblink. Ilor brought his blade down in a vertical slash, but Alve went to one knee and brought his own in to block it. They each retreated a step and then Ilor came in, jabbing experimentally. Alve gave ground and delicately parried each thrust, then tried a riposte. Ilor spun away from it, a gutsy move on the narrow catwalk. Alve followed him up and swung hard, but Ilor gathered himself in time to dive forward and roll past Alve's flank, his sword nicking the captain's shield as he did so. Alve's HUD warned him of a sudden thirty-percent shield loss. He spun and tried to catch Ilor as he rose, but the heretic was no fool and ensured that he moved out of Alve's attack range before coming to his feet and turning.
Alve had considerably upped his estimate of the heretic's skill level. Ilor was no slouch; he was at least in Alve's class if not higher. However, he seemed to be hiding a flaw in his aggressive stance. As he moved in to challenge the Covenant captain a second time, Alve once again delicately gave ground as he watched Ilor's movements. In a flash, it occurred to him that Ilor was rusty and unsure of his skill. He wanted to dispatch the captain quickly, before Alve could discern his lack of confidence. A good gamble, but it had failed.
Alve parried once more, then lunged quickly. Ilor was slow in getting away and the point of Alve's blade pierced his shield, going to far as to score the armor beneath but failing to get to the heretic's flesh. They both hesitated and Alve looked Ilor in the eyes. "Special Operations," he said evenly.
"A lifetime ago," Ilor replied, confirming Alve's suspicions. Alve slid forward and began to fill the air with thrusts and slashes while Ilor worked hard to turn them back at his opponent. This time, there was no back-and-forth byplay. Both combatants remained relatively in place as they filled the air with deadly blurs of light.
The crucial moment came when Ilor lunged and punched towards Alve's chest. The captain spun to avoid the blow even though he knew he would fail. Sure enough, the sword sparked as it touched his shields and Alve's HUD screamed a warning of complete failure. Ilor's sword continued forward, scoring Alve's armor heavily enough to disable the captain's camouflage system. But before the sword could pierce through to Alve's flesh, the captain's spin moved him safely out of the line of attack. Both knew what would happen next, and both knew in was unavoidable. Alve's spin brought him around into a powerful swing that cleaved right through Ilor's shield and struck his head from his shoulders.
The dead body's momentum bounced it off Alve's shoulder and he instinctively took a step back and shoved it away. Both it and the decapitated head fell into the abyss below, the sword sputtering out as Ilor's dead hand lost its grip on the handle. Alve watched it fall, a part of his attention diverted to watching his shields struggle to raise themselves. Both his motion sensor and his active camouflage had been disabled by Ilor's final thrust.
So it was that when a huge figure stepped into the doorway at the beginning of the catwalk and opened fire, Alve was caught totally off guard. A projectile bounced off the catwalk steel, slammed into him and promptly detonated in a burst of light. Alve's shields dropped back to zero and he desperately spun to meet this new attack.
Erebus stepped out onto the catwalk, a wicked smile on his face. Somehow, the barrel of his grenade launcher looked even uglier. "End of the line, 'Essonee," he said shortly. Alve tried to dodge the next shot, but Erebus had anticipated him. The grenade arced through the air in a strangely graceful parabola that seemed to last a thousand years before coming down towards him.
He actually felt the impact on his helmet before it exploded.
By that point, there was no checking his progress. Alve's momentum brought him down onto the steel edge of the catwalk and over the side. Had he had the presence of mind, he might have been able to grasp the edge in time. But his head was screaming in pain and shock and his ears were ringing loudly, so the thought never even occurred to him as he plunged into the abyss below.
JADAFETWA
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White Haven
- Sith Acolyte
- Posts: 6360
- Joined: 2004-05-17 03:14pm
- Location: The North Remembers, When It Can Be Bothered
Mmm....again, very well-written, only thing I'm noticing is that everything seems to be going for either the SpecOps or traitor elements, with the defending heretics providing little more than mild OpFor excercise. Stretches plausibility for me, as in a society that heavily religious, any armed group that fell to heresy would know damn well they'd have to fight eventually...and so would logically prepare for it. And especially given that they've the advantage of defense..yet no mining, no fortified positions, no crew-served weaponry...
Out of Context Theatre, this week starring Darth Nostril.
-'If you really want to fuck with these idiots tell them that there is a vaccine for chemtrails.'
Fiction!: The Final War (Bolo/Lovecraft) (Ch 7 9/15/11), Living (D&D, Complete)
*shakes head, watches cobwebs fall to ground* Can't believe I let this sit for so long unanswrered. Ah, the joys of a fast-paced college student life...
The wasn't the way it was originally planned, but as the chapters came up, the heretics part kind of diminished in favor of a duel between the Brutes and SpecOps. *shrug*White Haven wrote:Mmm....again, very well-written, only thing I'm noticing is that everything seems to be going for either the SpecOps or traitor elements, with the defending heretics providing little more than mild OpFor excercise.
Two reasons. First, you can prepare all you like, but if you can't get ahold of the equipment (come on, how easy do you think it you be for them to get anything really useful in a society like the Covenant?) you're in trouble. The second is some conjecture on my part: Kade took most of the elite members with him to Threshold to protect him. Then the SpecOps hit them and, well, you know the rest.Stretches plausibility for me, as in a society that heavily religious, any armed group that fell to heresy would know damn well they'd have to fight eventually...and so would logically prepare for it. And especially given that they've the advantage of defense..yet no mining, no fortified positions, no crew-served weaponry...
JADAFETWA
Chapter 16: Cutting the Fuse
"You have three obligations as a soldier. Protect the Covenant. Protect your fellows. Protect yourself. Keep them in order." – Sangheili instructor
In the confines of the narrow corridor, Meras had to struggle to avoid entangling her legs with Ensu's as he ran beside her. The heretic they pursued – Meras was almost positive it was a female – seemed to be running with purpose in mind, and that frightened Meras. It meant that she hadn't given up hope.
The implications behind that were nasty indeed.
They came around a corner just in time to catch a brief flash of movement at the left side of the next crossing. "There she is," Meras said. "Put it in gear, sniper."
Ensu snorted, but his annoyance failed to reach his reply. "As ordered," he said crisply. A moment later, he lowered his head and bulled down the corridor, even outpacing her for a moment. Meras though, was naturally light on her feet, like virtually all the females of her race, and a moment later they were side by side once again. Meras could hear Ensu's labored breathing.
"Didn't you fail the run test?" she asked conversationally.
"I hope you die," he said acidly. She snickered as they turned the corner. This time, the heretic female was waiting for them. From the other end of the corridor, she let loose a shot from a fully charged plasma pistol. Before either of the soldiers could dodge, it struck Ensu and dropped his shields down to nil. Had she chosen to follow it up, the heretic would likely have killed the sniper. But being untrained, she chose to run instead, and Meras' snapshot zipped past her shoulder to ping off the wall. Ensu gathered hit wits and a moment later, they were off again. "Did you see that?" he asked. "She was wearing a damned flight suit!"
"I saw," Meras confirmed with a shake of her head. Even for soldiers with energy shields and camouflage, a battlefield like this one was one of the most dangerous places in existence. To wander into it protected by nothing more than some fabric...it was either insane or suicidal, maybe both.
Meras liked this situation even less knowing that.
The chase continued down the next three corridors. The heretic didn't try another ambush, but Ensu did manage to get a shot off from his beam rifle, missing but sending her into a panicked sprint. It was after another three turns that she got the drop on them.
They barreled around a corner fully expecting to see her at the end. Meras caught movement out of the corner of her eye and was filling her lungs to shout warning as the heretic stepped out from behind a tangle of pipes and fired a fully charged shot.
This was point-blank range. There would be no dodging.
The glob of plasma blew through Ensu's shields and struck him at the small of his back. He howled in pain as he was picked up off his feet and thrown forward to the floor, skin burning. Meras whirled and fired off a shot, but the female dropped down some kind of service hatch and the shell zipped over her head.
Keeping her eyes on the hatch, Meras quickly made her way to Ensu's side and laid a hand on him near his injury. His flesh still smoked and his damaged armor sparked. The skin around the injury was charred and the inside was an angry red. Meras could see blackened bone. By chance or skill, the female's shot just reached his spine, and it wasn't looking well. His breath came fast and shallow, and she heard a groan in every inhalation. "Hold up, sniper," she said firmly. "Can you move?"
"Can't feel my legs. Everything above that feels like it's on fire," Ensu said breathlessly.
"Can you move?" she repeated, speaking more slowly.
"No, not yet," he looked up at her. "Go on, stop her. I have my rifle. I will be waiting for you."
"Don't die, Ensu," she said thickly. A moment later she was up and heading for the hatch. Rather than taking the ladder, she leaped down to the floor below, ejecting her clip in the process and slamming a new one home. "It's just you and me now, bitch," she snarled to herself. "Pay time."
The corridor she'd dropped into was a long one, long enough that she could still see the heretic running towards the end of it. With deliberate slowness, Meras raised her carbine's sight to her eyes and carefully aimed at the fleeing female. Just as the heretic reached the door at the end of the hallway, Meras squeezed off a single shot that streaked down the corridor in a flash and punched into the heretic's back. The shot was a little high and to the left, but it served its purpose as it knocked her target to the floor. Unfortunately, as Meras lost sight of the other female as she rolled through the doorway and out of sight. Meras cursed, realizing that there was a ramp just past the door. She took off, sprinting down the hallway at top speed. Her legs screamed at her to stop, but she ignored them and spread her jaws, sucking in air. As she did so, she noticed a tang in the air. Fuel.
The crazy bitch is going to blow us up! she realized.
Unconsciously imitating Ensu, she put her head down and willed her legs to be a little stronger, reach a little farther, and carry her just a little faster as she loped down the hallway so fast it made her eyes tear up. The door began to open and she hurtled through it so quickly that her shoulders clipped the edges. Immediately, the heavy reek of fuel hit her like a sledgehammer and she nearly vomited. It was the sight of the blood trail that got her moving again. At the bottom of the landing it went left, then took an immediate right, moving from the floor to the wall as it did so. There, Meras found her heretic, leaning against the wall as she staggered towards an open panel in the floor.
An impulsive rage griped the Covenant soldier and she stalked forward. The heretic heard her coming and turned back, weakly raising the plasma pistol she carried. Meras batted it out of her hand with the barrel of her carbine and the weakened female fell to the floor, groaning in pain as her injured shoulder struck the ground. Meras stuck her foot out and flipped her impromptu prisoner over, then rose to her full height and aimed down at her chest. "You think that you're smart, don't you, bitch?" she snarled. "Trying to blow the ring and send us all on the Great Journey together."
The female wheezed, but somehow managed to look Meras in the eye. "My name is Kalis 'Setauvu, bitch," she snarled back. "And I'd do anything to ensure my child isn't raised in a world full of your kind."
"Child?" Meras said, momentarily startled. A moment later, she had applied a filter to her HUD. Her eyes widened.
Kalis took advantage of her distracted and used her good arm to strike Meras on the back of her knee. In her astonishment, Meras had untensed her muscles and so she ended up off balance. In panic, she pulled the trigger and a slug ricocheted off the floor next to Kalis' head. Moving with determination, Kalis reached up, grabbed the carbine's barrel, and pulled herself to her feet. Meras yanked on the carbine as Kalis came up and overbalanced the other female, who managed to change her momentum enough to body check the soldier. Already off balance, Meras was slammed into the war. She pulled the trigger again, but missed Kalis by inches. A moment later, the heretic head butted Meras, her skull crashing into her jaws. Meras felt pain explode, yet strangely, clarity seemed to come with it. She pulled her leg up and caught Kalis in the midsection, then fired all her muscles and knocked the other female back. Kalis lost her footing and fell, striking her head against the opposite wall as she did. Meras took aim, unwilling to make any more mistakes.
"I'm sorry about your child," she said gravely.
"Go to hell," Kalis said succinctly, meeting Meras' gaze and unwilling to yield.
Unable to look away, Meras squeezed her eyes shut and pulled the trigger. Again. Again. Again. And again. Until she had run through her entire clip. Even then, she kept pulling the trigger, dry-firing the gun over and over until she finally realized that she had not ammunition left. She turned away before opening her eyes, refusing to look to the other female's corpse. She forced herself to concentrate on Ensu. He was still injured, maybe dying. He needed her help. Abruptly, she realized that the nausea from the fumes had returned.
"I hate this mission," she said under her breath as she started back. "I really, really do."
"You have three obligations as a soldier. Protect the Covenant. Protect your fellows. Protect yourself. Keep them in order." – Sangheili instructor
In the confines of the narrow corridor, Meras had to struggle to avoid entangling her legs with Ensu's as he ran beside her. The heretic they pursued – Meras was almost positive it was a female – seemed to be running with purpose in mind, and that frightened Meras. It meant that she hadn't given up hope.
The implications behind that were nasty indeed.
They came around a corner just in time to catch a brief flash of movement at the left side of the next crossing. "There she is," Meras said. "Put it in gear, sniper."
Ensu snorted, but his annoyance failed to reach his reply. "As ordered," he said crisply. A moment later, he lowered his head and bulled down the corridor, even outpacing her for a moment. Meras though, was naturally light on her feet, like virtually all the females of her race, and a moment later they were side by side once again. Meras could hear Ensu's labored breathing.
"Didn't you fail the run test?" she asked conversationally.
"I hope you die," he said acidly. She snickered as they turned the corner. This time, the heretic female was waiting for them. From the other end of the corridor, she let loose a shot from a fully charged plasma pistol. Before either of the soldiers could dodge, it struck Ensu and dropped his shields down to nil. Had she chosen to follow it up, the heretic would likely have killed the sniper. But being untrained, she chose to run instead, and Meras' snapshot zipped past her shoulder to ping off the wall. Ensu gathered hit wits and a moment later, they were off again. "Did you see that?" he asked. "She was wearing a damned flight suit!"
"I saw," Meras confirmed with a shake of her head. Even for soldiers with energy shields and camouflage, a battlefield like this one was one of the most dangerous places in existence. To wander into it protected by nothing more than some fabric...it was either insane or suicidal, maybe both.
Meras liked this situation even less knowing that.
The chase continued down the next three corridors. The heretic didn't try another ambush, but Ensu did manage to get a shot off from his beam rifle, missing but sending her into a panicked sprint. It was after another three turns that she got the drop on them.
They barreled around a corner fully expecting to see her at the end. Meras caught movement out of the corner of her eye and was filling her lungs to shout warning as the heretic stepped out from behind a tangle of pipes and fired a fully charged shot.
This was point-blank range. There would be no dodging.
The glob of plasma blew through Ensu's shields and struck him at the small of his back. He howled in pain as he was picked up off his feet and thrown forward to the floor, skin burning. Meras whirled and fired off a shot, but the female dropped down some kind of service hatch and the shell zipped over her head.
Keeping her eyes on the hatch, Meras quickly made her way to Ensu's side and laid a hand on him near his injury. His flesh still smoked and his damaged armor sparked. The skin around the injury was charred and the inside was an angry red. Meras could see blackened bone. By chance or skill, the female's shot just reached his spine, and it wasn't looking well. His breath came fast and shallow, and she heard a groan in every inhalation. "Hold up, sniper," she said firmly. "Can you move?"
"Can't feel my legs. Everything above that feels like it's on fire," Ensu said breathlessly.
"Can you move?" she repeated, speaking more slowly.
"No, not yet," he looked up at her. "Go on, stop her. I have my rifle. I will be waiting for you."
"Don't die, Ensu," she said thickly. A moment later she was up and heading for the hatch. Rather than taking the ladder, she leaped down to the floor below, ejecting her clip in the process and slamming a new one home. "It's just you and me now, bitch," she snarled to herself. "Pay time."
The corridor she'd dropped into was a long one, long enough that she could still see the heretic running towards the end of it. With deliberate slowness, Meras raised her carbine's sight to her eyes and carefully aimed at the fleeing female. Just as the heretic reached the door at the end of the hallway, Meras squeezed off a single shot that streaked down the corridor in a flash and punched into the heretic's back. The shot was a little high and to the left, but it served its purpose as it knocked her target to the floor. Unfortunately, as Meras lost sight of the other female as she rolled through the doorway and out of sight. Meras cursed, realizing that there was a ramp just past the door. She took off, sprinting down the hallway at top speed. Her legs screamed at her to stop, but she ignored them and spread her jaws, sucking in air. As she did so, she noticed a tang in the air. Fuel.
The crazy bitch is going to blow us up! she realized.
Unconsciously imitating Ensu, she put her head down and willed her legs to be a little stronger, reach a little farther, and carry her just a little faster as she loped down the hallway so fast it made her eyes tear up. The door began to open and she hurtled through it so quickly that her shoulders clipped the edges. Immediately, the heavy reek of fuel hit her like a sledgehammer and she nearly vomited. It was the sight of the blood trail that got her moving again. At the bottom of the landing it went left, then took an immediate right, moving from the floor to the wall as it did so. There, Meras found her heretic, leaning against the wall as she staggered towards an open panel in the floor.
An impulsive rage griped the Covenant soldier and she stalked forward. The heretic heard her coming and turned back, weakly raising the plasma pistol she carried. Meras batted it out of her hand with the barrel of her carbine and the weakened female fell to the floor, groaning in pain as her injured shoulder struck the ground. Meras stuck her foot out and flipped her impromptu prisoner over, then rose to her full height and aimed down at her chest. "You think that you're smart, don't you, bitch?" she snarled. "Trying to blow the ring and send us all on the Great Journey together."
The female wheezed, but somehow managed to look Meras in the eye. "My name is Kalis 'Setauvu, bitch," she snarled back. "And I'd do anything to ensure my child isn't raised in a world full of your kind."
"Child?" Meras said, momentarily startled. A moment later, she had applied a filter to her HUD. Her eyes widened.
Kalis took advantage of her distracted and used her good arm to strike Meras on the back of her knee. In her astonishment, Meras had untensed her muscles and so she ended up off balance. In panic, she pulled the trigger and a slug ricocheted off the floor next to Kalis' head. Moving with determination, Kalis reached up, grabbed the carbine's barrel, and pulled herself to her feet. Meras yanked on the carbine as Kalis came up and overbalanced the other female, who managed to change her momentum enough to body check the soldier. Already off balance, Meras was slammed into the war. She pulled the trigger again, but missed Kalis by inches. A moment later, the heretic head butted Meras, her skull crashing into her jaws. Meras felt pain explode, yet strangely, clarity seemed to come with it. She pulled her leg up and caught Kalis in the midsection, then fired all her muscles and knocked the other female back. Kalis lost her footing and fell, striking her head against the opposite wall as she did. Meras took aim, unwilling to make any more mistakes.
"I'm sorry about your child," she said gravely.
"Go to hell," Kalis said succinctly, meeting Meras' gaze and unwilling to yield.
Unable to look away, Meras squeezed her eyes shut and pulled the trigger. Again. Again. Again. And again. Until she had run through her entire clip. Even then, she kept pulling the trigger, dry-firing the gun over and over until she finally realized that she had not ammunition left. She turned away before opening her eyes, refusing to look to the other female's corpse. She forced herself to concentrate on Ensu. He was still injured, maybe dying. He needed her help. Abruptly, she realized that the nausea from the fumes had returned.
"I hate this mission," she said under her breath as she started back. "I really, really do."
JADAFETWA
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Singular Quartet
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Chapter 17: Breath and Plunge
"When I see a soldier stick his head up in a live-fire situation, I put him right at the battlefront. Either he's extraordinarily brave and will lead his fellows to victory, or he's extraordinarily stupid and maybe he'll distract the enemy for a crucial moment." – Jiralhanae chieftain
The Jiralhanae padded down the hallway at a snail's pace. Separated from his fellows, he cradled his plasma rifle with extreme delicacy, as though afraid it would shatter if he gripped it too tightly. His eyes flicked back and forth, though as far as he could see, the corridor was empty of any but himself. Ahead of him, the corridor met a larger room. He sniffed the air. The scent of Sangheili and Unggoy was strong here, but the heretics had been here for an unknown amount of time, so this told him little.
He drummed nervously on the barrel of his rifle.
As he approached the end of the corridor, he slowed his pace even further, straining to listen for any warning of threat.
His ears failed him.
As he reached the threshold, a figure spun around from around the corner with astonishing speed. Before the soldier could react, the barrel of a weapon had been jammed into his mouth.
The lithe Sangheili glared at him with piercing green eyes. "Eat this," he snarled. With that, Hola pulled the trigger of his grenade launcher and blew the traitor's head off. Even before the body had toppled over, he was turning back into the room ahead. He'd stalked the Jiralhanae far from the center of the action, but fortunately for him, he'd always had a good sense of direction. He worked as he ran, yanking a spent clip from the launcher and dropping a foursome of fresh shells into it.
The normally easygoing Hola 'Lattavoh had been transformed into a veritable whirlwind as the situation around him fell apart. Normally, he was the butt of the squad's humor, especially from Vene. Well, Vene was dead now, Alve and Ensu were out of contact, and Gedda was nowhere to be found. As such, Hola had effectively taken the reins of the fragmenting squad.
Now, his rapidly-pumping legs brought him back to the fruits of his labor. Five Unggoy in black armor hid behind a series of obtrusions, occasionally popping up to deliver fire against the band of heretics at the other end of the giant room they occupied. Between them, a depression in the floor held at least a dozen bodies, all heretics. Hola came skidding to a stop and ducked behind a large metal barrier alongside an Unggoy holding a glowing plasma pistol. He glanced at Hola briefly. "Nice to have you back, Credit Boy," he grunted.
Credit Boy. That had been Hola's nickname ever since he'd joined the squad. Descended from a merchant family instead of a military background, Vene had quickly tagged him with the nickname and it had stuck with him ever since.
"What's the situation?" he snapped.
Ranak, Gedda's second, paused to snap a shot over the barrier and was rewarded with a smattering of return fire. "Same as when you left," he replied. "I think this is the last group of heretics. Did you manage to take care of your friend?"
"I did," Hola replied without emotion as his mind raced. A moment later, he clicked his communicator on. "Now, here is our plan. Everyone is going to release one last barrage of fire, then go to active camouflage and rush them. Take them on at point-blank range and stay cloaked. Maybe if we're lucky they'll shoot each other in the crossfire. Ready?" They checked in, one by one. "Barrage on three. One, two, three!" Perfectly timed, they all rose and squeezed off a shot or two, Hola was pleased with the sight of heretic heads ducking beneath barriers. "Now," he ordered. The SpecOps huddled a moment as their forms became seemingly incorporeal. "Now," he repeated, and six ethereal forms went over the top, charging silently towards their enemies.
The heretics must have thought they were seeing smoke swirl.
Hola made it to the opposite barricade, planted one off on the top of it, and fired his grenade launcher directly into the mass of living bodies on the other side. The result was satisfying: a lot of burning meat and panicked screams that only got worse as the Unggoy joined him in opening fire right in their opponents' faces. Wild return fire answered them, but Hola didn't think any of his troops went down. He clicked the trigger again as he came over the barrier. The grenade bounced once and struck one of the heretics, the explosion cutting him in half. Hola dropped back down to the floor and swung the grenade launcher, the bayonet on the end eviscerating a Sangheili.
For the next few moments, Hola lost himself in the frenzy. Unsure of how to pick out the blurs of the SpecOps, the panicked fire of the heretics did exactly what Hola wanted and struck comrade far more often than enemy. Only a few glancing shots caught Hola's shields, which never dropped before half. He fired, fired, fired, and reloaded, losing reality in the repetition.
Only when a thunderous howl split the air was Hola shaken back to himself. A sudden barrage of plasma fire slammed into the heretics and Hola saw the unmistakable forms of the Jiralhanae. "Shift fire," he ordered grimly.
The tactic worked. The Jiralhanae, unable to see the cloaked SpecOps, assumed that the heretics were the only ones firing and responded accordingly. Hola's men ignored the heretics less than a meter away from them and concentrated on the Jiralhanae, helping to fell two of the seven massive figures. Unfortunately, plasma fire happened to catch one of the cloaked Unggoy. He fell with a scream and his cloak dropped as he hit the ground. The Jiralhanae captain bellowed and his men started firing more wildly. Hola felt a bolt strike him and dove for cover as the shield scatter attracted a concentrated volley of fire.
He was about to order a retreat when a half-dozen plasma grenades came sailing over the barricades. By the time he'd opened his mouth to shout and half-turned to run, they detonated. Hola felt a massive, invisible hand take hold of him and throw him more than twenty feet into the wall. Having been drained absorbing the energy of the grenades, his shields did nothing to protect him from the impact and he felt multiple bones break. A moment later, his cloak failed and he dropped to the ground, rolling onto his back against the corner of the room. He tasted blood, and a lot of it. He could barely breathe, his eyes clouding with pain every time he inhaled.
But with pain came clarity. He released his grenade launcher – the barrel was broken anyway – and slipped one shaking hand into his armor. Ignoring the sound of gunfire and the sharp pain in his chest that seemed to get worse with every breath, he struggled to open a small compartment near his shoulder. His fingers found a clasp and pulled it, undoing one of the armor catches. As it popped loose, Hola took in a deep breath, ignoring the stabbing pain it caused. Pain was good. Pain meant focus. Pain was what let him slip his hand into a nonstandard armor compartment and retrieve a small bundle he'd always kept there for a last stand.
He leaned his head against the wall and gasped for breath. The fighting had ended with the death of the last Unggoy – it looked like Ranak to him, though he couldn't be certain – and now the Jiralhanae were making their way towards him, attracted by his gasps. Mother, father, brothers and sisters, he thought, I am about to make you all very proud of me.
The Jiralhanae leaned over him, five massive figures with really ugly grins. "Looks like this one made it," one commented.
"Let's finish him."
"Waste of food."
"You always think with your stomach."
"That's enough," the biggest one said as he stepped forward and leveled his grenade launcher. "Time for the Great Journey, Sangheili."
"Happily," Hola gasped. "I will not be going alone." With that, he relaxed his fist. The explosive contraption he had held tightly activated with a high-pitched whine as it built up. In just another few seconds, everything within fifteen meters of Hola would be little more than a memory. Fortunately, the warm-up took long enough to allow him to see the expressions of panicked fright on the faces of the Jiralhanae. He also had time for one more deep breath.
"Baaaaaaaaaaaaaang!" he hissed victoriously.
"When I see a soldier stick his head up in a live-fire situation, I put him right at the battlefront. Either he's extraordinarily brave and will lead his fellows to victory, or he's extraordinarily stupid and maybe he'll distract the enemy for a crucial moment." – Jiralhanae chieftain
The Jiralhanae padded down the hallway at a snail's pace. Separated from his fellows, he cradled his plasma rifle with extreme delicacy, as though afraid it would shatter if he gripped it too tightly. His eyes flicked back and forth, though as far as he could see, the corridor was empty of any but himself. Ahead of him, the corridor met a larger room. He sniffed the air. The scent of Sangheili and Unggoy was strong here, but the heretics had been here for an unknown amount of time, so this told him little.
He drummed nervously on the barrel of his rifle.
As he approached the end of the corridor, he slowed his pace even further, straining to listen for any warning of threat.
His ears failed him.
As he reached the threshold, a figure spun around from around the corner with astonishing speed. Before the soldier could react, the barrel of a weapon had been jammed into his mouth.
The lithe Sangheili glared at him with piercing green eyes. "Eat this," he snarled. With that, Hola pulled the trigger of his grenade launcher and blew the traitor's head off. Even before the body had toppled over, he was turning back into the room ahead. He'd stalked the Jiralhanae far from the center of the action, but fortunately for him, he'd always had a good sense of direction. He worked as he ran, yanking a spent clip from the launcher and dropping a foursome of fresh shells into it.
The normally easygoing Hola 'Lattavoh had been transformed into a veritable whirlwind as the situation around him fell apart. Normally, he was the butt of the squad's humor, especially from Vene. Well, Vene was dead now, Alve and Ensu were out of contact, and Gedda was nowhere to be found. As such, Hola had effectively taken the reins of the fragmenting squad.
Now, his rapidly-pumping legs brought him back to the fruits of his labor. Five Unggoy in black armor hid behind a series of obtrusions, occasionally popping up to deliver fire against the band of heretics at the other end of the giant room they occupied. Between them, a depression in the floor held at least a dozen bodies, all heretics. Hola came skidding to a stop and ducked behind a large metal barrier alongside an Unggoy holding a glowing plasma pistol. He glanced at Hola briefly. "Nice to have you back, Credit Boy," he grunted.
Credit Boy. That had been Hola's nickname ever since he'd joined the squad. Descended from a merchant family instead of a military background, Vene had quickly tagged him with the nickname and it had stuck with him ever since.
"What's the situation?" he snapped.
Ranak, Gedda's second, paused to snap a shot over the barrier and was rewarded with a smattering of return fire. "Same as when you left," he replied. "I think this is the last group of heretics. Did you manage to take care of your friend?"
"I did," Hola replied without emotion as his mind raced. A moment later, he clicked his communicator on. "Now, here is our plan. Everyone is going to release one last barrage of fire, then go to active camouflage and rush them. Take them on at point-blank range and stay cloaked. Maybe if we're lucky they'll shoot each other in the crossfire. Ready?" They checked in, one by one. "Barrage on three. One, two, three!" Perfectly timed, they all rose and squeezed off a shot or two, Hola was pleased with the sight of heretic heads ducking beneath barriers. "Now," he ordered. The SpecOps huddled a moment as their forms became seemingly incorporeal. "Now," he repeated, and six ethereal forms went over the top, charging silently towards their enemies.
The heretics must have thought they were seeing smoke swirl.
Hola made it to the opposite barricade, planted one off on the top of it, and fired his grenade launcher directly into the mass of living bodies on the other side. The result was satisfying: a lot of burning meat and panicked screams that only got worse as the Unggoy joined him in opening fire right in their opponents' faces. Wild return fire answered them, but Hola didn't think any of his troops went down. He clicked the trigger again as he came over the barrier. The grenade bounced once and struck one of the heretics, the explosion cutting him in half. Hola dropped back down to the floor and swung the grenade launcher, the bayonet on the end eviscerating a Sangheili.
For the next few moments, Hola lost himself in the frenzy. Unsure of how to pick out the blurs of the SpecOps, the panicked fire of the heretics did exactly what Hola wanted and struck comrade far more often than enemy. Only a few glancing shots caught Hola's shields, which never dropped before half. He fired, fired, fired, and reloaded, losing reality in the repetition.
Only when a thunderous howl split the air was Hola shaken back to himself. A sudden barrage of plasma fire slammed into the heretics and Hola saw the unmistakable forms of the Jiralhanae. "Shift fire," he ordered grimly.
The tactic worked. The Jiralhanae, unable to see the cloaked SpecOps, assumed that the heretics were the only ones firing and responded accordingly. Hola's men ignored the heretics less than a meter away from them and concentrated on the Jiralhanae, helping to fell two of the seven massive figures. Unfortunately, plasma fire happened to catch one of the cloaked Unggoy. He fell with a scream and his cloak dropped as he hit the ground. The Jiralhanae captain bellowed and his men started firing more wildly. Hola felt a bolt strike him and dove for cover as the shield scatter attracted a concentrated volley of fire.
He was about to order a retreat when a half-dozen plasma grenades came sailing over the barricades. By the time he'd opened his mouth to shout and half-turned to run, they detonated. Hola felt a massive, invisible hand take hold of him and throw him more than twenty feet into the wall. Having been drained absorbing the energy of the grenades, his shields did nothing to protect him from the impact and he felt multiple bones break. A moment later, his cloak failed and he dropped to the ground, rolling onto his back against the corner of the room. He tasted blood, and a lot of it. He could barely breathe, his eyes clouding with pain every time he inhaled.
But with pain came clarity. He released his grenade launcher – the barrel was broken anyway – and slipped one shaking hand into his armor. Ignoring the sound of gunfire and the sharp pain in his chest that seemed to get worse with every breath, he struggled to open a small compartment near his shoulder. His fingers found a clasp and pulled it, undoing one of the armor catches. As it popped loose, Hola took in a deep breath, ignoring the stabbing pain it caused. Pain was good. Pain meant focus. Pain was what let him slip his hand into a nonstandard armor compartment and retrieve a small bundle he'd always kept there for a last stand.
He leaned his head against the wall and gasped for breath. The fighting had ended with the death of the last Unggoy – it looked like Ranak to him, though he couldn't be certain – and now the Jiralhanae were making their way towards him, attracted by his gasps. Mother, father, brothers and sisters, he thought, I am about to make you all very proud of me.
The Jiralhanae leaned over him, five massive figures with really ugly grins. "Looks like this one made it," one commented.
"Let's finish him."
"Waste of food."
"You always think with your stomach."
"That's enough," the biggest one said as he stepped forward and leveled his grenade launcher. "Time for the Great Journey, Sangheili."
"Happily," Hola gasped. "I will not be going alone." With that, he relaxed his fist. The explosive contraption he had held tightly activated with a high-pitched whine as it built up. In just another few seconds, everything within fifteen meters of Hola would be little more than a memory. Fortunately, the warm-up took long enough to allow him to see the expressions of panicked fright on the faces of the Jiralhanae. He also had time for one more deep breath.
"Baaaaaaaaaaaaaang!" he hissed victoriously.
JADAFETWA
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Ghost Rider
- Spirit of Vengeance
- Posts: 27779
- Joined: 2002-09-24 01:48pm
- Location: DC...looking up from the gutters to the stars
.
Sorry I missed this originally.
I don't know if it's because I have no real point of reference since I don't play Halo, or if it's because of some underlying current, but I get flashes of Cowboy Bebop. Specifically the duels between Vicious and Spike. Maybe I'm just imagining it, but sometimes it feels very similar to me.
I don't know if it's because I have no real point of reference since I don't play Halo, or if it's because of some underlying current, but I get flashes of Cowboy Bebop. Specifically the duels between Vicious and Spike. Maybe I'm just imagining it, but sometimes it feels very similar to me.
"On the infrequent occasions when I have been called upon in a formal place to play the bongo drums, the introducer never seems to find it necessary to mention that I also do theoretical physics." -Richard Feynman
A big thanks to the elegantly awesome music of Nightwish for inspiring this chapter.
Chapter 18: Dogs of War
Kill or be killed.
Erebus charged down the ever-winding pathway, heart pounding in his chest. One thought repeated itself in his mind, over and over. Alve is dead! Alve is dead! That damned Sangheili is finally dead! So near to delirium with excitement he was, he had virtually forgotten that the heretic leader had also fled down this way. Right now, all that he cared about was getting to the bottom and finding the fallen body of Alve 'Essonee so that he could gloat. No doubt he had fallen beside the heretic he'd killed with his plasma sword. Erebus could taste the delicious irony in that thought and he savored it like the finest wine. The grenade launcher slung around his shoulder felt as light as air, and he didn't even realize that he was breathing heavily as he continued to pound down the walkway, not even attempting to mask his steps.
Finally, he reached the bottom. The communicator fizzled lightly and he absently switched it off, not wishing to be distracted. It was dark down here, but Erebus' night vision was good enough to see the room around him. It was not extremely large, its walls corresponding to the yawning abyss above. When Erebus glanced up briefly, he realized that he could distantly make out the shape of the bridge where he had seen 'Essonee and the heretic do battle. The bridge where he had killed the Sangheili. He looked around the room, noting that the walls from floor to a height of almost ten feet were largely hidden behind a variety of machines and piping. But it was what was in the center of the room that really drew his attention.
A lone Sangheili body, clad in white armor, lay unmoving in a pool of blood.
Erebus couldn't resist a chuckle as he stepped into the room. "You were quite the soldier, 'Essonee," he said aloud, smugness clouding his tone. "But not quite good enough were you?" Naturally, there was no answer, and he continued to advance.
As he came closer, Erebus realized that something was wrong. Although the body's torso armor was the white of the SpecOps, that of the lower body was a rusty reddish-brown. Then he realized that the color of the body did was not Alve's skin tone. Anxiety creeping over him, he then realized that the body's helmet seemed to be unnaturally askew.
Tentatively, he reached out and pulled the body over. The head stayed where it was, lying on the ground and seemingly collapsed into itself with one dead crimson eye looking up at the ceiling. It wasn't 'Essonee. It was the heretic. "You bastard," Erebus breathed. That was when he felt something strike the grenade launcher. When he looked, he saw a piece of metal deeply lodged in the barrel. In panic, he tried to pull it out but only succeeded in slicing his own fingers on its sharpened sides.
"No escape, Erebus," a familiar voice said from the darkness. Erebus ignored the panic welling inside him and quickly unclasped the launcher's harness, letting it drop to the floor. A moment later he'd pulled his polearm and snapped it to the ready position, but did not yet ignite it.
"Where are you?" he snapped.
With that, Alve 'Essonee stepped out from the shadows. His torso was bare and streaked with Sangheili blood, though whether it was his or the heretic's Erebus couldn't tell. In each hand he held a slender metal bar. On his head was what looked like some kind of primitive helmet, heavily streaked with blood. Erebus wondered briefly what it could be, then glanced down at the softened head of the heretic and made the connection in horror. Alve stepped forward and he hopped back a step, igniting his blade as he did so. "You're insane," he said.
"In ancient times," Alve replied smoothly, "my people would take the bones of their kills and fashion armor for themselves. In addition to the protection they provided, great champions could be recognized by the bones they wore. So it was that the strongest became the most likely to survive, and the weak were culled." His flashing emerald eyes met Erebus'. "You see, Erebus, your Jiralhanae are not the only ones in the Covenant who understand savagery." His left had squeezed the bar in his palm and a plasma sword ignited. A moment later, another sprang to life in his right hand. "Your ribcage will make a fine set of armor Erebus."
"S-stay away from me," Erebus said, unable to keep the fear out of his voice. He'd never been afraid of Alve, but this, this feral Sangheili warrior before him that wore the skull of one of his own was more frightening than anything he'd seen before. Alve dropped into a half-crouch and stooped forward, the swords moving forward to guard his flanks. Erebus knew that one swipe from those swords and he would lose a leg, and shortly after that, his life.
"It ends now, Erebus," Alve hissed. "You came here seeking your glory and my death. I will take from you the first and give to you the latter in return. Now, it ends!" Alve sprang forward, moving like an attack hound. The swords flashed back and forth, and Erebus quickly gave ground, swiping to desperately turn the attacks aside before they could cut into him. Alve drove him back and back until he felt metal brush his fur. Alve stepped in and swung and Erebus dove aside, letting the plasma blade cleave through a metal pipe instead. The second sward clipped his heel and Erebus felt pain explode as a slice of his foot fell away.
The battle belonged to Alve. He thrust, swiped, drilled, and stabbed at Erebus without respite, keeping him completely defensive and unable to attack. Erebus was forced to favor his good leg as the blood coming from his injured heel spilled onto the floor and threatened to make him slip. Alve stayed in his half-crouch, forcing the much larger Erebus to awkwardly defend his midsection from the feral creature. Erebus tried to put distance between him and his opponent so that he could use the long polearm to its full effect, but Alve was ever there, always right in his face, never allowing him to back away.
Jara 'Tazaanvu found himself watching the battle with equal parts amazement and fear. He'd stayed crouched in the far corner, watching as the Sangheili captain had dropped from above, his plasma sword thrust into the wall and slowing his fall just enough to let him roll upon landing, seemingly without injury. But Jara had seen the truth. The Sangheili captain had at least two broken ribs and a broken ankle, maybe more, and as he stood he'd suddenly spasmed and clutched at his midsection and leg with a groan of pain. Jara had aimed and pulled the trigger of his rifle only to have it vibrate silently and refuse to spit its deadly fire. Bereft of a weapon, he'd watched in horror as the captain had torn Ilor's skull out of his head and set the trap for the Jiralhanae. Now they battled with the Sangheili at a clear advantage. Though he must have been in extreme pain from his broken bones, the Sangheili was fighting as one immortal.
Jara suddenly realized that while the two of them were distracted with each other, he could escape. Putting the idea into action, he began crawling for the door, keeping low and behind the machinery of the room. Then he stumbled over something. Something cold. Something that wore clothes. He looked down and swallowed the bile rising in his throat as he realized that it was a human corpse, one of their warriors. It must have lain here since the destruction of the ring, unnoticed by any. Then he realized that the dead human still had a gun in one had. Carefully, he unfolded the stiff fingers and wrapped his own around the unfamiliar weapon. Maybe he wouldn't have to run after all.
Erebus howled as Alve's swipe cut him across the knees, but still managed to turn the next blow aside. That was when Alve flung himself forward and threw his arms out to the side. He dove between Erebus' legs and the swords sliced right through his shins. Erebus fell onto his stomach with another scream of pain. Alve stood, spun and kicked away the chieftain's polearm as Erebus rolled to try and defend himself. Then he stood poised over his fallen enemy, the tips of his blades pointing right at Erebus' chest.
"No, no, no," Erebus whimpered.
Alve considered his response. "No," he finally replied, then thrust both swords forward to pierce Erebus' chest on either side of his breastbone. The Jiralhanae screamed, choked, thrashed, and finally lay flat against the deck, dead.
"Well done," said a voice. Alve spun on his good leg to see there familiar face of the heretic leader standing in the room's doorway, a small black gun trained on him. "But victory still eludes your grasp." With that, he pulled the trigger.
Click. The gun refused to fire.
Alve chuckled darkly and advanced, glowing blades ready to claim one more life.
Chapter 18: Dogs of War
Kill or be killed.
Erebus charged down the ever-winding pathway, heart pounding in his chest. One thought repeated itself in his mind, over and over. Alve is dead! Alve is dead! That damned Sangheili is finally dead! So near to delirium with excitement he was, he had virtually forgotten that the heretic leader had also fled down this way. Right now, all that he cared about was getting to the bottom and finding the fallen body of Alve 'Essonee so that he could gloat. No doubt he had fallen beside the heretic he'd killed with his plasma sword. Erebus could taste the delicious irony in that thought and he savored it like the finest wine. The grenade launcher slung around his shoulder felt as light as air, and he didn't even realize that he was breathing heavily as he continued to pound down the walkway, not even attempting to mask his steps.
Finally, he reached the bottom. The communicator fizzled lightly and he absently switched it off, not wishing to be distracted. It was dark down here, but Erebus' night vision was good enough to see the room around him. It was not extremely large, its walls corresponding to the yawning abyss above. When Erebus glanced up briefly, he realized that he could distantly make out the shape of the bridge where he had seen 'Essonee and the heretic do battle. The bridge where he had killed the Sangheili. He looked around the room, noting that the walls from floor to a height of almost ten feet were largely hidden behind a variety of machines and piping. But it was what was in the center of the room that really drew his attention.
A lone Sangheili body, clad in white armor, lay unmoving in a pool of blood.
Erebus couldn't resist a chuckle as he stepped into the room. "You were quite the soldier, 'Essonee," he said aloud, smugness clouding his tone. "But not quite good enough were you?" Naturally, there was no answer, and he continued to advance.
As he came closer, Erebus realized that something was wrong. Although the body's torso armor was the white of the SpecOps, that of the lower body was a rusty reddish-brown. Then he realized that the color of the body did was not Alve's skin tone. Anxiety creeping over him, he then realized that the body's helmet seemed to be unnaturally askew.
Tentatively, he reached out and pulled the body over. The head stayed where it was, lying on the ground and seemingly collapsed into itself with one dead crimson eye looking up at the ceiling. It wasn't 'Essonee. It was the heretic. "You bastard," Erebus breathed. That was when he felt something strike the grenade launcher. When he looked, he saw a piece of metal deeply lodged in the barrel. In panic, he tried to pull it out but only succeeded in slicing his own fingers on its sharpened sides.
"No escape, Erebus," a familiar voice said from the darkness. Erebus ignored the panic welling inside him and quickly unclasped the launcher's harness, letting it drop to the floor. A moment later he'd pulled his polearm and snapped it to the ready position, but did not yet ignite it.
"Where are you?" he snapped.
With that, Alve 'Essonee stepped out from the shadows. His torso was bare and streaked with Sangheili blood, though whether it was his or the heretic's Erebus couldn't tell. In each hand he held a slender metal bar. On his head was what looked like some kind of primitive helmet, heavily streaked with blood. Erebus wondered briefly what it could be, then glanced down at the softened head of the heretic and made the connection in horror. Alve stepped forward and he hopped back a step, igniting his blade as he did so. "You're insane," he said.
"In ancient times," Alve replied smoothly, "my people would take the bones of their kills and fashion armor for themselves. In addition to the protection they provided, great champions could be recognized by the bones they wore. So it was that the strongest became the most likely to survive, and the weak were culled." His flashing emerald eyes met Erebus'. "You see, Erebus, your Jiralhanae are not the only ones in the Covenant who understand savagery." His left had squeezed the bar in his palm and a plasma sword ignited. A moment later, another sprang to life in his right hand. "Your ribcage will make a fine set of armor Erebus."
"S-stay away from me," Erebus said, unable to keep the fear out of his voice. He'd never been afraid of Alve, but this, this feral Sangheili warrior before him that wore the skull of one of his own was more frightening than anything he'd seen before. Alve dropped into a half-crouch and stooped forward, the swords moving forward to guard his flanks. Erebus knew that one swipe from those swords and he would lose a leg, and shortly after that, his life.
"It ends now, Erebus," Alve hissed. "You came here seeking your glory and my death. I will take from you the first and give to you the latter in return. Now, it ends!" Alve sprang forward, moving like an attack hound. The swords flashed back and forth, and Erebus quickly gave ground, swiping to desperately turn the attacks aside before they could cut into him. Alve drove him back and back until he felt metal brush his fur. Alve stepped in and swung and Erebus dove aside, letting the plasma blade cleave through a metal pipe instead. The second sward clipped his heel and Erebus felt pain explode as a slice of his foot fell away.
The battle belonged to Alve. He thrust, swiped, drilled, and stabbed at Erebus without respite, keeping him completely defensive and unable to attack. Erebus was forced to favor his good leg as the blood coming from his injured heel spilled onto the floor and threatened to make him slip. Alve stayed in his half-crouch, forcing the much larger Erebus to awkwardly defend his midsection from the feral creature. Erebus tried to put distance between him and his opponent so that he could use the long polearm to its full effect, but Alve was ever there, always right in his face, never allowing him to back away.
Jara 'Tazaanvu found himself watching the battle with equal parts amazement and fear. He'd stayed crouched in the far corner, watching as the Sangheili captain had dropped from above, his plasma sword thrust into the wall and slowing his fall just enough to let him roll upon landing, seemingly without injury. But Jara had seen the truth. The Sangheili captain had at least two broken ribs and a broken ankle, maybe more, and as he stood he'd suddenly spasmed and clutched at his midsection and leg with a groan of pain. Jara had aimed and pulled the trigger of his rifle only to have it vibrate silently and refuse to spit its deadly fire. Bereft of a weapon, he'd watched in horror as the captain had torn Ilor's skull out of his head and set the trap for the Jiralhanae. Now they battled with the Sangheili at a clear advantage. Though he must have been in extreme pain from his broken bones, the Sangheili was fighting as one immortal.
Jara suddenly realized that while the two of them were distracted with each other, he could escape. Putting the idea into action, he began crawling for the door, keeping low and behind the machinery of the room. Then he stumbled over something. Something cold. Something that wore clothes. He looked down and swallowed the bile rising in his throat as he realized that it was a human corpse, one of their warriors. It must have lain here since the destruction of the ring, unnoticed by any. Then he realized that the dead human still had a gun in one had. Carefully, he unfolded the stiff fingers and wrapped his own around the unfamiliar weapon. Maybe he wouldn't have to run after all.
Erebus howled as Alve's swipe cut him across the knees, but still managed to turn the next blow aside. That was when Alve flung himself forward and threw his arms out to the side. He dove between Erebus' legs and the swords sliced right through his shins. Erebus fell onto his stomach with another scream of pain. Alve stood, spun and kicked away the chieftain's polearm as Erebus rolled to try and defend himself. Then he stood poised over his fallen enemy, the tips of his blades pointing right at Erebus' chest.
"No, no, no," Erebus whimpered.
Alve considered his response. "No," he finally replied, then thrust both swords forward to pierce Erebus' chest on either side of his breastbone. The Jiralhanae screamed, choked, thrashed, and finally lay flat against the deck, dead.
"Well done," said a voice. Alve spun on his good leg to see there familiar face of the heretic leader standing in the room's doorway, a small black gun trained on him. "But victory still eludes your grasp." With that, he pulled the trigger.
Click. The gun refused to fire.
Alve chuckled darkly and advanced, glowing blades ready to claim one more life.
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Chapter 19: Extraction
"Everyone remembers the general who masterminded the plan, or the warrior who led the charge. Nobody remembers the dropship pilot who flew in under fire to make it all happen." – Yanme'e pilot
"He's not coming."
"He will be here."
"It's been too long."
"He will be here."
"He must be dead."
"He will be here."
"Damnation, Gedda, can't you see the truth?" Meras spat. "Alve is not coming back! We've been waiting an hour! The operation time limit is almost up! We have to get back outside!"
"He will be here," Gedda said resolutely. Meras bit off an obscene reply and turned to check on Ensu. The sniper was lying on his stomach and his breathing was shallow, but he appeared stable. He couldn't walk without help, though, and Meras was starting to fear that even now they'd be unable to get to the extraction point before Swift was ordered to leave them. Then they would all die in the cleansing fire of the Hallowed Avenger. Ship Master Uje had been clear with them: orders or not, if they failed to come back he would assume the worst and barrage the ring fragment into liquid. "Gedda, we have to leave now," she said as calmly as he could.
"He will be here," was the imperturbable reply. She snarled and turned on the smaller figure when she heard Ensu speak softly.
"Gedda is right, Meras," he whispered. "Alve would not let us down."
"Don't you start on this!" she said, feeling hope slip away. "You are as bad as he is! I need to get you back!" She snapped off any further words before she said something she would regret.
"Alve has never let us down," Ensu said. "He will not start now."
Minutes passed in tense silence as Meras drummed her fingers on her legs. Finally, Gedda cleared his throat. "I told you," he said. Meras turned to see Alve slowly coming up the hall, dragging his left leg. His armor was battered and blackened, he carried his dented helmet in one arm, and he was streaked with blood, but he was clearly not dead.
"I am sorry I am late," he said as he reached them. His voice fell flatly on her ears.
"It is good to see you again," Gedda said.
Alve looked around. "The others?" he asked, voice still devoid of emotion.
Meras gestured helplessly. "We're all that's left," she said. "Everyone else is gone."
Alve nodded. "Then let's go. We can mourn later."
It was slow going. Meras had hoped Alve could help her support Ensu, but his broken ankle prevented that. Gedda had to help Alve walk as Meras hauled Ensu up onto her back and carried him. They staggered back the way they had come, passing through the doors Alve and the Lekgolo had forced open and back into the darkened area. Meras found herself hoping that at least one of the two huge bond brothers would step out and offer to take Ensu for her. She narrowed her eyes angrily and dismissed that useless wish. Bovue and Kodul were both dead, she'd seen the bodies herself, and it was a waste of energy to even think about such a thing now.
"How long...until the time limit?" Alve asked between steps.
"Six minutes and forty," Ensu replied softly.
"Save your strength," Meras said to him.
What a contrast the four of them made to the eighteen-member team, full of pride and fire, that had come storming through these corridors such a short time ago. Reduced to less than a third of their original number, with half of the survivors unable to move on their own, Meras wondered if they could ever rebuild the squad. Maybe they wouldn't even get the chance. Maybe they would just be split up to reinforce other SpecOps teams.
None of it would matter if they didn't make it out in time.
"Fuppu, Gorda, come back," Gedda suddenly hissed into his communicator. They all listened expectantly for a reply, but there was none. "Rearguard, report," Gedda snapped after a full minute. Again there was no reply. Gedda sighed. "They're dead."
Another minute and they had finally reached the entrance with two minutes remaining on the clock. There they found the bodies of the two Unggoy Gedda had left behind. He looked at them and slowly shook his head. "All for nothing," he growled under his breath.
"SpecOps to Drop, come in," Alve said, looking out at the empty desolation of the ring fragment.
No reply.
"Drop, this is SpecOps, come in."
No reply.
Alve met Meras' eyes and saw the fear dawning there. "Drop! Swift, where the hell are you?"
That was when something came out from behind the installation and swept over them, blasting air and nearly knocking Alve to the ground. It was a Covenant dropship, not their Phantom. "Get back inside!" Alve shouted as the dropship's turret gun opened fire on them. The violet bolts of plasma traced a path towards the group as they dashed for the safety of the Forerunner installation. His broken ankle giving out under him, Alve fell and would have fallen prey to the gun had Gedda not spun and hauled him into the hallway by the arms. A moment later, the plasma fire splashed into doorway and the frame around it, leaving blackened metal behind.
"What's going on?" Meras shouted over the storm of fire.
"It's the Jiralhanae!" Gedda shouted back. "It must be their ship!"
Meras checked her timer. One minute and ten left on the drop clock. She felt her heart tighten. They were going to die.
Her last hope was dead.
"Drop to SpecOps, hang on, here I come!"
Hope exploded again as Swift's voice registered on the airwaves. What happened next was simply unbelievable. The Phantom surged over the nearest ridge, moving at top speed. Its guns opened fire on the dropship, tearing open its starboard side, but the turret ball began to swing around to return fire. Before it could get a clear shot, though, Swift did something completely unexpected. The Phantom slammed into the dropship's rear starboard quarter, instantly snapping the ship in half and throwing it to the ground with enough force that the SpecOps felt the impact even from where they were. As the Phantom banked and slowly came around to pick them up, they saw that Swift's ship had not escaped the collision unscathed. It wobbled unsteadily, and the bow looked like a giant had closed his fist around it. Nevertheless, to the battered SpecOps survivors, it looked like home, and they ran as fast as they could towards it.
Less than a minute remained on the mission clock.
The door of the Phantom opened just in time for Meras to sprint inside with Ensu on her back. Precious moments ticked by as Gedda half-led, half-dragged Alve into the ship.
The clock hit zero.
A half-kilometer away, a massive bolt of plasma struck the ring fragment, erupting into a beautiful and destructive spray of light that sent shudders throughout the structure. As more of the devastating blasts struck, the Phantom's door closed and the shuttle spun on its axis, igniting its engines and rocketing away from the rain of fire towards safety.
The cruiser's gunners slowly walked their fire across the ring fragment, leaving nothing but liquefied metal in their wake. Several of the bolts struck the heretics' transport, blowing it apart in a fountain of sparks.
By the time Hallowed Avenger was finished, nothing was left of the structure but rapidly solidifying metal and bad memories.
"Everyone remembers the general who masterminded the plan, or the warrior who led the charge. Nobody remembers the dropship pilot who flew in under fire to make it all happen." – Yanme'e pilot
"He's not coming."
"He will be here."
"It's been too long."
"He will be here."
"He must be dead."
"He will be here."
"Damnation, Gedda, can't you see the truth?" Meras spat. "Alve is not coming back! We've been waiting an hour! The operation time limit is almost up! We have to get back outside!"
"He will be here," Gedda said resolutely. Meras bit off an obscene reply and turned to check on Ensu. The sniper was lying on his stomach and his breathing was shallow, but he appeared stable. He couldn't walk without help, though, and Meras was starting to fear that even now they'd be unable to get to the extraction point before Swift was ordered to leave them. Then they would all die in the cleansing fire of the Hallowed Avenger. Ship Master Uje had been clear with them: orders or not, if they failed to come back he would assume the worst and barrage the ring fragment into liquid. "Gedda, we have to leave now," she said as calmly as he could.
"He will be here," was the imperturbable reply. She snarled and turned on the smaller figure when she heard Ensu speak softly.
"Gedda is right, Meras," he whispered. "Alve would not let us down."
"Don't you start on this!" she said, feeling hope slip away. "You are as bad as he is! I need to get you back!" She snapped off any further words before she said something she would regret.
"Alve has never let us down," Ensu said. "He will not start now."
Minutes passed in tense silence as Meras drummed her fingers on her legs. Finally, Gedda cleared his throat. "I told you," he said. Meras turned to see Alve slowly coming up the hall, dragging his left leg. His armor was battered and blackened, he carried his dented helmet in one arm, and he was streaked with blood, but he was clearly not dead.
"I am sorry I am late," he said as he reached them. His voice fell flatly on her ears.
"It is good to see you again," Gedda said.
Alve looked around. "The others?" he asked, voice still devoid of emotion.
Meras gestured helplessly. "We're all that's left," she said. "Everyone else is gone."
Alve nodded. "Then let's go. We can mourn later."
It was slow going. Meras had hoped Alve could help her support Ensu, but his broken ankle prevented that. Gedda had to help Alve walk as Meras hauled Ensu up onto her back and carried him. They staggered back the way they had come, passing through the doors Alve and the Lekgolo had forced open and back into the darkened area. Meras found herself hoping that at least one of the two huge bond brothers would step out and offer to take Ensu for her. She narrowed her eyes angrily and dismissed that useless wish. Bovue and Kodul were both dead, she'd seen the bodies herself, and it was a waste of energy to even think about such a thing now.
"How long...until the time limit?" Alve asked between steps.
"Six minutes and forty," Ensu replied softly.
"Save your strength," Meras said to him.
What a contrast the four of them made to the eighteen-member team, full of pride and fire, that had come storming through these corridors such a short time ago. Reduced to less than a third of their original number, with half of the survivors unable to move on their own, Meras wondered if they could ever rebuild the squad. Maybe they wouldn't even get the chance. Maybe they would just be split up to reinforce other SpecOps teams.
None of it would matter if they didn't make it out in time.
"Fuppu, Gorda, come back," Gedda suddenly hissed into his communicator. They all listened expectantly for a reply, but there was none. "Rearguard, report," Gedda snapped after a full minute. Again there was no reply. Gedda sighed. "They're dead."
Another minute and they had finally reached the entrance with two minutes remaining on the clock. There they found the bodies of the two Unggoy Gedda had left behind. He looked at them and slowly shook his head. "All for nothing," he growled under his breath.
"SpecOps to Drop, come in," Alve said, looking out at the empty desolation of the ring fragment.
No reply.
"Drop, this is SpecOps, come in."
No reply.
Alve met Meras' eyes and saw the fear dawning there. "Drop! Swift, where the hell are you?"
That was when something came out from behind the installation and swept over them, blasting air and nearly knocking Alve to the ground. It was a Covenant dropship, not their Phantom. "Get back inside!" Alve shouted as the dropship's turret gun opened fire on them. The violet bolts of plasma traced a path towards the group as they dashed for the safety of the Forerunner installation. His broken ankle giving out under him, Alve fell and would have fallen prey to the gun had Gedda not spun and hauled him into the hallway by the arms. A moment later, the plasma fire splashed into doorway and the frame around it, leaving blackened metal behind.
"What's going on?" Meras shouted over the storm of fire.
"It's the Jiralhanae!" Gedda shouted back. "It must be their ship!"
Meras checked her timer. One minute and ten left on the drop clock. She felt her heart tighten. They were going to die.
Her last hope was dead.
"Drop to SpecOps, hang on, here I come!"
Hope exploded again as Swift's voice registered on the airwaves. What happened next was simply unbelievable. The Phantom surged over the nearest ridge, moving at top speed. Its guns opened fire on the dropship, tearing open its starboard side, but the turret ball began to swing around to return fire. Before it could get a clear shot, though, Swift did something completely unexpected. The Phantom slammed into the dropship's rear starboard quarter, instantly snapping the ship in half and throwing it to the ground with enough force that the SpecOps felt the impact even from where they were. As the Phantom banked and slowly came around to pick them up, they saw that Swift's ship had not escaped the collision unscathed. It wobbled unsteadily, and the bow looked like a giant had closed his fist around it. Nevertheless, to the battered SpecOps survivors, it looked like home, and they ran as fast as they could towards it.
Less than a minute remained on the mission clock.
The door of the Phantom opened just in time for Meras to sprint inside with Ensu on her back. Precious moments ticked by as Gedda half-led, half-dragged Alve into the ship.
The clock hit zero.
A half-kilometer away, a massive bolt of plasma struck the ring fragment, erupting into a beautiful and destructive spray of light that sent shudders throughout the structure. As more of the devastating blasts struck, the Phantom's door closed and the shuttle spun on its axis, igniting its engines and rocketing away from the rain of fire towards safety.
The cruiser's gunners slowly walked their fire across the ring fragment, leaving nothing but liquefied metal in their wake. Several of the bolts struck the heretics' transport, blowing it apart in a fountain of sparks.
By the time Hallowed Avenger was finished, nothing was left of the structure but rapidly solidifying metal and bad memories.
JADAFETWA