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The Great Schism Part I
Posted By: Jack Lang<Molotovsniper@hotmail.co.uk>
Date: 29 June 2009, 6:04 am
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Gunfire echoed throughout the narrow corridors, strobes of blue and green light lit the enclosed spaces.
The easy attack had become a life and death struggle.
A Warrior fell, his head gone. Another toppled with a neat hole through his chest.
They fired into the fog, hazy figures exchanging shots in the gloom.
The shape of a human materialised, it swung forward with a Plasma rifle and knocked a Zealot from his feet. Another leapt and bowled a Major Domo over. Plasma blasts felled the two assailants but more rushed forward to assault the dwindling defenders. They slumped to the floor. But soon only two figures stood against the tide. Small sickly yellow blobs fell from the ceiling, and more clambered from open vents. A flood of the terrifying apparitions closed in for the kill.
*
Twelve years earlier: Sangheilos (Elite homeworld)
Two figures circled each other warily. Each grasped a long stave firmly in four fingered hands. One lunged, the other parried. Sticks clattered and smacked as the two warriors fought for dominance.
Two older warriors watched the fight. They gazed with interest at the blows and counter blows.
"Good blood in that one."
"Good blood in them both."
The eldest observer, a grizzled veteran in his autumn years, clicked his mandibles happily at the compliment.
Sangheili Law dictated that the father of an infant would remain unknown so that no prejudice accompanied a budding warrior. Good blood would show, and be rewarded. Bad blood would be justly punished.
The veteran was Ara 'Naamanee, uncle to the pair, who had been commanded (as was the custom) by his sister to raise her sons as warriors. As the blood of the family ran through student and mentor, if the uncle failed to raise strong warriors then that meant that his bloodline was weak by default. There was no greater shame for a proud Sangheili.
'Naamanee turned his attention back to the combatants. They were near evenly matched and the fight went on and on as they struggled in the sandy arena.
Then one struck the other, a broad swipe that sent him flying. The young Sangheili rolled and came back up, drawing his hunting knife. He ran forward but 'Naamanee's staff rose and struck.
SMACK. It connected with the infant's skull. Another strike and both the young ones were sprawled in the dirt.
"Teil, you disgrace yourself, drawing a blade. Do not give in to anger so easily."
The golden warrior glared at his student as he spoke. "Anger leads to reckless action, reckless action leads to mistakes-."
"Mistakes lead to loss of blood and honour." The young one intoned.
"Very well. You know what to do."
A blade drawn in anger required blood and so it must be. The young warrior held out his left palm flat and drew his blade across the scaly flesh. He did not flinch as the sharp blade cut deep and drew blood.
'Naamanee nodded. With loss of blood went loss of honour, but for one so young to not show the pain…there was hope for him yet.
*
The Ghost fast attack vehicle powered forward, one of many fighting for the glory of first into the fray. The driver is clad in the adorned red armour or an 'Elite Major Domo' to use the human terminology.
His scarred left hand grips the controls tightly as the Ghost is pushed to its limits.
Twelve years have passed, and they show. His body is scarred and strong, his eyes burn with anger and hate. A mark of vengeance adorns his left arm, a mark of pain the other.
Teil's brother is MIA. He assumes the worst.
They are close, the humans are in sight, Teil can smell the fear.
A rocket streaks towards him, it will not miss. He rises up and leaps. The Ghost is hit, it splinters and tumbles.
Teil lands, rolls and continues his forward charge on foot. He draws his uncle's energy sword, an unusual gift-most Sangheili are buried with their swords. It crackles into life. Bullets ping and sparkle against his energy shield, his mandibles split in a roar of fury. A warning alarm sounds, he ignores it. The blood lust is too great, he is a beserker, and the red mist has descended and clouded his judgement.
The first human goes down, cut in half by a swipe. The second falls, clutching the stump of his arm.
More and more die as he slashes and cuts. He does not notice the pain of bullet hits, nor the agony of shrapnel in his back. A human sinks a combat knife into his abdomen, he does not flinch.
*
They are all dead, heaps of corpses lie at his feet. Only now does pain pierce the fog of his conscious mind.
He falls to one knee, the sword slips in his grip. A moment of weakness before he pushes it aside.
He yanks the combat knife from his side, and pulls a chunk of Ghost from his back. The bullets he will remove later, more metal to add to his warrior necklace.
He stands..
Other warriors now approached, awed by the violence they have witnessed.
A Zealot neared. The others moved aside and dipped their heads respectfully as he passed.
The Zealot nodded to 'Naamanee, then turned to address the group.
"We must head back to the Carrier."
He raised a hand to quell the dissent.
"The Hierarch commands it, we have a greater objective." He paused. "A Sacred Ring!"
As one the Sangheili gaped at him in shock. Rows of teeth glinted in the light.
"By the Gods, another Sacred Ring!"
Several Sangheili raised their heads and roared, soon all of the warriors have joined the chorus, caught up in the moment.
The Zealot turned and looked at 'Naamanee.
"Teil, a word."
The two moved off to the side.
"I have received news from Adar 'Mibharee."
He looked up at Teil.
"A Sangheili Major was captured by the humans and transported to one of their 'ships'."
New Hope shone all to clearly in Teil's eyes.
"Which vessel?"
"It is called…In Amber Clad."
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