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The Soldiers of Angelon: At Angelon They Wait
Posted By: Jinkaiden-XI<Nolimits4csk@aol.com>
Date: 14 February 2004, 2:41 AM
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There may, at some points in time, be reasons to seek the origins of all existence.
To avoid being rather vague, I would go as far as to say that one may simply take a moment to gaze up at the expanding horizons and watch the stars glimmer and the moon shine with brilliant radiance. The mind is at ease for the time being, and all is left untouched. There remains a crisp feeling in the air, something of a mystic haze that soothes the penetrating cold for a minute or two. And the questions come.
War can do such a thing with grim precision and effect. As a human soldier you are trained to see things as they are not in your own backyard, and then you must learn to understand and overcome them. But the mind is not easily adapted to such a quick change. War is an incredibly hideous concept at its heart, but necessity at its roots. War is liberation for the dead and new understanding for the living.
Where does time begin and existence end?
The Spartan makes a deal with the demon Lord. He promises the safekeeping of the people in exchange for a truth. A truth he has sought for many untold years.
"There are three keys, Spartan, from the days of ancient realms. On each is inscribed a message that will foretell the future. I myself have one, and the second belongs to the honorable and wise High Priest of the Angelons. The third is in the hands of the Priestess of the Covenant Wonder."
The Spartan asks, "And what door do these three keys unlock?"
The most cautious demon replies, "These are times of war, great Spartan, and the keys will do magnificent deeds if they are to be gathered. The Covenant Wonder will take to capturing the High Priest if they desire his own key. From there I will join them at Angelon, where everything draws to its end."
The Spartan is lost. The demon continues, "At Angelon there is the Heart, where all time begins and existence ends. It is the ultimate center of the universe, Spartan, and it is where untold power and truth can be gained."
The Spartan stares blankly skyward. For a moment he sees a shooting star glimmer faintly through the sky, and then it is gone as fast as it came.
"Go, Spartan. At Angelon they wait for you."
And who was I to believe this fairy tale? A sack of worthless lies, that demon sputters.
But as he came to thinking about the possibilities of it all being true, his conscience began to clear and his thoughts wandered. If you listen closely, Spartan, you can hear the cry of the planet. He had listened.
And indeed he had heard faint cries from beneath him. There were cries of agony and suffering, and yet he caught the sound of children laughing as they played silly games in the afternoon sunlight. And as the sun went down he heard their laughter faint as they slept, and from there he could hear nothing but sadness.
The Spartan gazed aimlessly through a distant window. Beyond that window is yet another window, and the same is for the stretches beyond the second. There is an endless row of windows lined up to face the other. Each holds the truth of the next.
The Commodore quietly took the helm of his ship and guided her through the blackness. He glanced, periodically and cautiously, at the Spartan with increasing curiosity. And each time he refrained from speaking, his thoughts boiling over in his mind.
If You listen closely, you can hear the cry of the planet.
Yes, I heard it, oh wise Lord of the demons! I heard it with my own ears, if that satisfies your own liking. I heard it and I despise it, oh wise Lord of the demons, and I wish not to hear it again.
The Spartan took a great interest in studying his own thoughts, and conclusively imagined that he began to feel bitterness rise within him. For whatever reasons the answer may lie beside the Spartan did not know, and he had not the slightest idea why he had become to impatient with his surroundings lately.
The other windows vanished suddenly, leaving only but one window through which to gaze. Beyond this window there hung in the blackness abound many forms and unclear shapes. Gradually they became more visible, revealing many alien hands and arms attached to the hilts of ornate swords and daggers. These were the hands of alien warriors who reached through such windows and died in brutal battles with their brothers.
One severed hand came dangerously close to the window, or so it appeared. It slowly passed through window and began to dissolve into nothing. Seconds passed, and it was gone. The window closed into nothing more than a mirror.
Bam! Bam! The sound of fuel rod guns firing can be heard echoing through the air. Several Covenant snipers fire mercilessly on demon soldiers. The demons turn to greet a great Covenant battle force under the wise and honorable Priestess. She sits elegantly upon a Ghost reconnaissance vehicle, a long staff in one hand. At the end of the staff is a mysterious key wrapped in cloths.
Many of the Covenant Wonder have unsheathed ancient blades – not long energy swords like those of the Elite but rather normal short swords and daggers as well as hunting knives. They shout battle cries in an untold language as they charge the field and prepare to clash with the demons.
The demon Lord General also sits upright on a vehicle, but this one is relatively slow compared to the quick and hasty Covenant Ghosts. The Lord General carries a sheathed sword on one side of his belt. Mounted on the hilt is a removable key, filled with mystery. Its shape is protected from exposure by many colored yet thin cloths that are wrapped tightly around the blade.
The demons prepare to meet the charge. Now, a demon soldier is not very good with long range ammunition weapons, but each is remarkably efficient at using short blades and knives as well as brutal melee attacks. However, today they will resort to their sheathed weapons – hunting spears and knives.
Just as the two battle forces meet, the demons remove their own weapons and savagely counter the Covenant charge. They brutally fight, each with an uncontrollable rage in their eyes.
John whispers, "Eternity is at stake."
Great numbers of human transports pass among the variable planets of the Web of Mar. Many others among the Spartan whisper as well; however these individuals are praying for luck and accuracy and the good Lord's blessings.
The human transports will be the last to arrive at Angelon. The fabled world has already begun to fall to the Priestess of the Covenant and Lord General of the demons.
It is not because the Angelons are a weak race of lesser intelligence or strength. It is because a great number of the Angelons are asleep – that is, waiting for the day that the savior will come and prove his worth – a task that will result in the awakening of the Angelons for the first time in nearly a thousand years.
Many Angelons have already awakened, for it is their destiny to return before the others so that they may defend the people at all costs. It is their fate.
The battle will turn considerably with the arrival of the human transports. With the Spartan leading men into war there will be a differ in strengths and one alliance will overpower the other. A human soldier, in comparison with a Covenant or demon soldier, is quite efficient at defeating an enemy in either large fierce battles or one on one combat. A Covenant energy sword, while remarkably strong, does not necessarily match up with a good rifle or demon slug thrower.
The task at hand is great. John ponders the twist of fate his arrival will bring, and also considers the strength of the Angelon armies (should these fabled killing machines actually exist). Likewise, they will not hand full control to either side easily. Trust must be won with the mighty High Priest before the gateway to the great Heart is opened again.
Elsewhere, another story unfolds...
There is, in these times of war, never really one battle. There are dozens of them, often at the same time. A massive Covenant battle force (this battalion lead by one of the Priestess' subordinates) has marched onto a sacred battleground outside an abandoned city. The soldiers take notice of the planet's ornate beauty – stone statues of old sculpting and design lay beneath a grand tree of the season's wondrous colors. The spirits of warriors passed dance gracefully across the plain. They give extra strength to the pure of heart.
A line of soldiers rises across the horizon. They, clad in ancient battle armor and painted in ceremonial colors, are preparing for the Covenant assault.
This is the Angelonian Imperial Guard – the High Priest's elite force. They carry plasma rifles as well as slug throwers and also bear sheathed swords and hidden knives. Their knowledge of warfare is unprecedented.
Angelonian generals ride alongside the force on light vehicles. Each carries a sword more elaborate than anything ever conceived by the human mind; a weapon that seems too pure to be stained with blood.
A few uniformed officers march with the soldiers as well – these honorable fighters are carrying the symbolic flag of Angelon, each representing a great nation and its monarch. These are to determine for whom the battle will be fought.
History tells us that the Angelons were very civilized fighters as well as tactical guerilla soldiers. To their enemies their armies are endless by the numbers and undefeatable by the reputation. But centuries in stasis have weakened the Angelons' ability to do battle like the old ones – a weakness that could prove to be fatal.
Regardless of previous warnings, the Covenant stand their ground. Snipers take positions in the brush, waiting in ambush.
The Angelons have arrived late, which has given the upper hand to the Covenant. Their battle force is now ready to open fire upon the Angelonian army.
And they do. Seconds pass before the Angelons are in firing range of Covenant weaponry, and the assault begins immediately. They mercilessly unleash their fury upon the enemy, hoping one long attack period will be enough to drive the Angelons back into retreat.
But the Angelons have retained much of their former courage and bravery. Despite the dwindling numbers they hold their lines and continue steadily in perfect formation. Those still standing remain emotionless as they march directly into the center of oblivion.
In the distant skies above, John the Spartan gazes half-heartedly into eternity. Never before has he pondered such an idea – that what he sees now stretches on for endless lifetimes and perhaps further than that.
"Chief...are you feeling okay? Your vital signs are wavering."
"I'm fine, Cortana," John replies impassively. "I've just got a lot to think about."
"I know, Chief. I know. We all do."
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