What would later be known as the Great Schism had began only moments ago, when a Jiralhanae turned to one of our zealots. At first, we'd thought he'd only gone mad. Then the killings continued, and soon it wasn't just one Jiralhanae, but all of them. Enraged, we had no option but to fight back.
I had been doing well. Many of the Jiralhanae standing before the small group of stragglers I had associated with had fallen. We all knew making it off High Charity alive would be difficult, what with the vast number of Jiralhanae within the city, but I'd been doing quite well.
And then my shields fell. I attempted to get out of the line of fire, to find cover until they regenerated. I wasn't fast enough though, and a round of ammo from a Spiker punctured my armor in several places. I knew I had only moments. My blood already soaked the soil. Spasms of pain shot through my body like electricity. I grasped with all my might at one of the spikes in a row down my front.
There was nothing honorable about dying at the hands of your allies. It meant you were too weak to see betrayal coming at you. It meant you were weaker than your allies.
Another spasm of pain swept through my body. I cringed, breathing heavily, attempting to take it as well as I could. It was, perhaps, the hardest thing I'd ever done.
The Prophets would pay dearly for their mistake in appointing the Jiralhanae as the new ruling class. They would pay for ordering our executions, that much I knew. Either at the hands of the Demon or by infection from the parasite, without their Sangheili Honor Guard the Prophets stood little to no chance.
I cried out to my brothers. Maybe with enough help, I could still come out of this alive... But none heard me. Maybe my voice was lost among the battle cries. Maybe my vocal chords were too overrun with pain to work. Or, maybe, they were just too busy trying to survive. I was just another casualty to them. Just another brother lost to the tyrannical Jiralhanae.
It had been a lie all along. It had been a lie that we hadn't seen coming. There was no "Great Journey," only a fiery suicide. There was no honor in suicide.
If only we had allied with the Demon. There would be no betrayal. There would be no executions of the Honor Guard. Hundreds of Sangheili wouldn't be dying aboard our Holy City. Hundreds more dead Sangheili could possibly have still been alive.
It was our fault. We helped release the parasite. We believed, honored, worship the Prophets lies. We gave in to their treachery and killed innocent beings. We'd destroyed entire planets just because the Prophets had told us it was necessary. Civilians who hadn't fough had died at our hands. The humans could never, would never forgive us. We were on our own. The Sangheili were a dying race.
My thoughts wandered. My mate, home on Sangheilios, would likely never hear of my fate. My brothers and friends on High Charity would share my fate. My friends who were elsewhere , would likely die sooner or later.
My vision went blurry and the pain began to subside. I knew my time had come. I took my final breath with one thought running through my mind: If only we'd seen the error in our ways earlier.
A/N- Thank you to the anonymous reviewer Delta-57. You really helped me step up my game with this edit. Once I got your review, I was like, "Hey, your right... I do need to change it a little!" I really appreciate that. Thanks again, so much. Hoping it's better now.