House Divided Chapter 1: A Simple Spar
His name was Ince Lethor, a Sanghielio soldier-in-training, and my best friend. I called him Quincy for short. Seeing as it sounded better, well, to me anyway. We were in my backyard, and I was helping him spar. I had to say, he was quick, agile, and most of all, powerful. It was a miracle I could keep up with him. We were using UNSC practice batons, medium-sized plastic rods that came in red or blue, which I got from my Dad's closet. I tried a horizontal swing at him, but he ducked and jabbed me right in my gut. Had it been a real Energy Sword, I'd have been dead. Either way it hurt. I bent down on both knees and coughed up the spit building up in my mouth. Quincy laughs, "Come on Atlas, get up." I guess I should have introduced myself. Hi, my name is Atlas Forge, grandson of John Forge and son of Carter Forge. I know in the history books, it'll say that my granddad had no sons, but he kept my Dad a secret. Just like my Dad had kept me a secret. The year is 2615, the Human-Covenant War has been over for decades, but the only Covenant race we were able to secure a peace treaty with were the Kig-Yar, who we trade with regularly, and the Sanghieli, who we fight alongside with. With help from both races, we were able to repair the damage succumbed on Madrigal, Harvest, and Reach. We have renamed them, Unum, a thriving Human-Sanghelio governed planet, Unum-2; a young planet only established a couple years ago, and Unum-3, a practical baby-colony that was just colonized once again a few months ago. The Sanghieli were great engineers and soldiers, helping us restore order and buildings in this thriving colony. Some though, still cannot bear the sight of these fellow citizens. "That was a lucky shot." I rebutted. Quincy laughed again. It was weird, the Sanghieli never took off their armor, what he was wearing right now, practice armor, was just a thinned-out Elite minor uniform. "Come on, let's go again." He replied. I agreed. And Round 2 started. I first came at him with a jab, which he back-flipped away from. I took this advantage to run up to him during his flip and get him with a horizontal swipe across his headpiece. Unscathed, he tried a fast leg sweep as a counter-attack. I jumped over the leg, but he predicted as such and jumped, getting me on the helmet of my UNSC practice gear, which was basically my Dad's old Marine outfit, with a Pele kick. I bent down on both knees once again, but once he hit ground, I took the opportunity to grab him by the neck with my baton and into a sleeper hold. Not one to give in, he flipped me over his shoulder and tried to dig his baton into my chest, but I batted it away and dug mine right into his chin. I got up and tried to go in for the killing-blow. I roared and, like a sword, I held my baton, ready to impale him. He saw right through it. In one quick motion, he got out of his dizzy stupor and swung his baton down onto the back my head. I fell, and he dug his baton into my back. Dazed and hurt, I said, "All right I give." Without looking, I knew he had a smile on his face when he said, "Great! I need to go home now anyway."