The Anti-Spartan
Intro
"What shall we do?" said the Prophet of Truth.
"Oh Holy Prophet," started the Prophet of Remorse," we have been discussing this for a great time. I have given you the High Council's suggestions, but only you can guide us down the Holy Path. Of course, we could also try our hand and brand a brute the next Arbiter."
"No," said Truth," that would be an unnecessary waste of time and effort. And besides, Tartarus is the only worthy candidate, and he is DEAD!" Truth was becoming angry. Why did the Demon ruin everything that the Gods had blessed the Covenant with?
The Holy Prophet sighed. The Demon was a thorn in his side, an ink stain in his holy document. What could be done? Numbers of troops did not work. Desperation had failed. Isolation of his targets did not work. Even capturing his superiors was unsuccessful. He rubbed his great, ancient head.
"Inform the Council that I will have my solution by tomorrow. I will consult the Gods. And please also arrange a meeting in the Council Chambers at my command. You are dismissed, Prophet."
"Oh, thank you sir," he said, and bowed low," the Council will be greatly pleased." He left the high, circular room.
"May the Gods give the Holy Prophet a solution, or may we all be damned," said Remorse, when he was out of earshot.
A session of meditation should help, he thought. May the Gods give they're loyal subjects' strength.
It was now late, and after a long day of debate, Truth was exhausted. He could feel more wrinkles etching in his head every moment. How could something so impure be so strong? What was it? Certainly not any means of heavenly power. So many ideas swirled in his head at once. He dimmed the lights in the room from his chair, plugged his chair in the base, and began his ritual.
Part I
Truth removed his crown, and activated a galactic map, which swirled around him like mist. He pressed another button, and the six remaining relics circled his head like a series of halos. Truth took a small tin from his robes, and sprinkled the contents around him. He closed his eyes, and raised his hands. The prayer began.
"Oh, mighty Gods of Ancient Light!" He bellowed," There is a bump, an obstacle, in our journey! The Heretics have a Demon in their ranks, and have been a problem throughout our quest! He has killed your warriors, and destroyed my brothers and your prophets! The demon has even destroyed one of your Holy Relics! Please, offer us your guidance! We walk the blessed path, and need your intervention!"
Suddenly, Truth was in a clearing, in a forest that did not look familiar to him. A squad of Demons (wait, a whole squad?) was walking through it, oblivious to him.
"Stop, Heretics!" Truth's mouth was opening, but nothing could come out.
A rustle was in the bushes. The Spartans raised their SMGs, sights on the bush.
"Fire!" said one. A hail of bullets hit the bush, and it jittered and shook like a leaf. After a clip was gone from each one, they stopped. Right at that second, a black silhouette jumped out of the bush, and landed on all fours. The light revealed a large, muscular elite. The beast pounced right into the thick of them, ripping their hands (and weapons) right from their bodies. Spinning around on its hands, the elite then cracked the ribs of the Spartans, one, two, three, four all fell. It gracefully spun back to a standing position.
This…said a voice….your answer.
Part II
Reality rushed back into Truth with a jolt.
"Must…tell the council!" He got (well, floated) up from the base, and went over to his tele-communicator, and turned it on.
"Remorse…REMORSE!" the Prophet of Remorse was sound asleep in his room.
"What, what?" He waddled over to the screen. "Holy Prophet, it is still very early, and not a soul in the council will give all their attention at this hour," he groaned.
"Prophet, do you honestly think that I care about the well being and needs of the lesser prophets? If I want a meeting, there shall be a meeting! Have all one hundred of them, in the council chambers in fifteen minutes!"
"Yes, Holy Prophet." The screen went blank.
Now, the hard part. Since the recent infection of High Charity, everyone still alive was moved to the bottom third of the ship. This had cramped everyone, and conditions were terrible. The rooms designed for the special needs of the various races of the Covenant were largely quarantined. This meant that everyone was on edge, and it got worse. The only room that could accommodate the Holy Prophet was right on the border of the quarantine zone. Thus, Truth's security had been doubled, and almost every day was a challenge to keep the Holy Prophet kicking, and feeding the Covenant the lies they had so long been addicted to.
He hovered over to the door, and put his lips up to the small microphone. "Guards!"
In a few moments, ten Honor Guards appeared at the door. "Go! We have only fifteen minutes! Move it!" Truth hovered out of the room; the Honor Guards circled around him. Even though only a third of the ship was habitable, it was still too large for the ancient Prophet to remember.
The pack stepped out. Why is the right side the quarantine zone? It was covered, no, engulfed, with flood spores. The only thing keeping them from popping was a wall of shield doors, cutting off half the hall. This made the trip unpleasant, with Truth sandwiched between five brutes on each side. And this huddled mach continued, not for five or ten minutes, but twenty.
But, although late, the Prophet made it to the high, cylindrical Council Chambers. This room was almost at the lower tip of High Charity, and was used only in emergencies. Looking from the doorway, the room had benches on either side. Directly across from the door, was a panel of windows. A tall, purple throne was placed in front of the panel. Flanking it on either side was a huge gold statue of a Sangheili(for the Elites) in Councilor Dress on the left, and a San 'Shyuum( for the lesser prophets, which was the only side filled) awkwardly dressed in ceremonial armor. This was the throne for Truth. It was made before the San 'Shyuum became as frail as they are.
He hovered over to the throne, and slowly sat down.
"Well, I am not going to 'beat around the bush', Truth started, "the Gods were very clear in the solution to our dilemma. He wants us to make our own demon."
A sharp gasp filled the air, followed by murmur.
"Order! Order in the Council!" said Truth, "now, I have a proposition. My vision showed a Sangheili, very specifically, as a candidate. Why? I do not know. Maybe as some kind of redemption? In any case, we must find a worthy candidate. And, of course, this means we will have to go into the quarantine zone."
And, just before the gasp started, Truth yelled "Refrain yourselves!"
"No!" came a shout from the San 'Shyuum side of the chamber, "We cannot risk our own irreplaceable protection to get some Sangheili exile who might not even be alive! And on top of that, what if the gods are incorrect! You know that has been true once before, so how can we be sure?!"
"Lesser Prophet of…what is your name? Well, anyway, I would have never expected such… heresy… from you! Guards! Take him away! Throw him out the air lock!"
"No! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" he yelled as he was carried off by the guards.
"Now, who else disagrees with my solution?" asked Truth.
Of course, the room was silent.
Part III
"The next order of business is the making of this demon. I have been trying to track down the demons' creation technique for several days, for other, unrelated, reasons, but have come up with nothing, until now.
"Our technicians have been blessed with Gods luck, and have able to track down a small fragment of the Demon's "A.I", Cortana. This tiny fragment had a treasure trove of not only Demon-related information, but other invaluable information in general. It appears the source of the strength and speed of the Demon, and its precursors, is augmentations. These augmentations will boost strength, speed, and cunning of the individual tenfold! And, as we know, we have very little time. So, I am going to have to ask for anyone who is willing to help in this matter. But before we do so, I have another proposition.
"After the Demon left our Holy City in ruins, it seemed to just disappear! But, it cannot hide from the power of the God's servants! A Destroyer in that area detected the Forerunner vessel, and captured it. Now, they have the Demon hostage! The Demon is merely waiting for me to tell his captors his fate! Unfortunately, we lost several packs of Brutes, and a squad of Jackals, but if my plan follows through, a million packs of Brutes shall not matter! I-"
"Um, H-Holy Prophet?" interrupted another councilor," I just have seen a flaw in your strategy." He flinched, ready for a shout of "Take him away!" But, after Truth did not respond, he continued. "Would it not be easier to simply execute him while he is still in our grasp? It just seems unnecessary to use all this effort and time for such simple a task."
"Ah!" exclaimed the Holy Prophet, "I am glad you asked, actually. Let us say we were to merely execute him, there and then. This would certainly hurt the morals of the Heretics, but they would be more fueled by rage, rather than crushed by grief. Now, let us say that we were to follow through with my original idea, of making this, this monster of ultimate power! Then, we were to have them fight for survival. Once our superior being won, the Heretic's morale would be permanently destroyed, and the knowledge of the Covenant superiority would destroy them! And, as an added bonus, we could continue to make these super-soldiers and cleanse the galaxy of this scum!"
"Of course, sir," the prophet said," that is most certainly a superior plan."
"Good! Now, let's get to work!"
Part IV
"Today is your lucky day, Heretic maggot."
The jailor opened a slit in the cell door. Its inhabitant, the only remaining Sangheili on High Charity, had been rescued from a flood infestation in his cell. A perilous journey to the upper reaches of High Charity had been made, and it was close to disaster. Only one brute had made it out with the prisoner, and a spare room was refurbished into a makeshift cell.
The Sangheili, Shormai 'Karee (now just Shormai 'Kar), was the most unlucky Sangheili possible. He had gotten the news of the formation of the Covenant Separatists after Truth did, so he was put under arrest while still on board. He was then forgotten about during the infection of High Charity, and just barely survived.
The jailor walked inside. "Stand up, scum!"
Shormai did as he was told. His armor had been ripped off, so he was scarred. Instead, he wore a bed sheet shirt and pillowcase shorts. It was sad, really. His teeth were largely broken, and his eyes were milky.
"What do you want, savage?" he muttered.
"Be lucky we have a use for you, Traitor!" the brute replied. "If it were up to me, they would still be mopping you up! Follow me!"
The jailor bound his hands in plasma cuffs, and shoved him out the door. The halls were packed with unggoy, kig-yar, and a couple brutes. The whole way, trash was thrown at him, death threats were abundant, and curses were said that are too harsh to repeat. Shormai, on the other hand, just looked ahead, trying to ignore them. He still had honor, if not a small amount.
"Here we are meat. Try not to embarrass the council's decision."
Shormai stepped inside the Council Chambers. All at once, 100 shriveled faces turned towards him. Gasps filled the room, and it was obvious most wanted to kill him then and there.
"…And here is our subject now," Truth said. "While you may not feel it, you are very lucky. If not under the circumstances, we would most definitely not be having this discussion."
"Oh Holy Prophet", replied Shormai," unlike my brothers, I still strive for the Great Journey."
"Well, I surely hope so", said Truth," but no Sangheili can be trusted further. But, before we go into a debate about how trustworthy you are, I sent you here so I can inform you of your fate. The gods have granted us with the recipe for the first wave of augmentations you will be given. The Prophetess of Responsibility will follow out the procedures in the medical wing. You are then to return here afterwards to receive your new armor. Our jailor, Cycnus, will escort you there immediately. Now be off!"
"Follow me!" barked Cycnus.
And, once more, he shoved Shormai out the door.
Part V
The medical wing was a short walk from the council chambers. In fact, it was a short walk from most places. Almost every spare room had been converted into a hospital, considering how many Covenants were partially infected, or trampled from the panic of the initial outbreak. They needed as many troops they could afford.
Shormai and Cycnus approached the door. Many grunts and moans filled the air near the door, and was not very reassuring.
"Get in there, and I hope your injection needle is infected!"
Shormai loved Cycnuses reassuring remarks. He stepped in. The room had, at one point, been one of the purple, dim lit barracks of the High Charities reserve. It was long and narrow room with open beds, and several floors for as many troops in minimal space. But, the Prophetess didn't get her title for nothing. Half of the infirmed had their bandages properly dressed, and Unggoys had their methane tanks filled. Unfortunately, though, the groans and grunts where coming from the other half of the room. Many had open wounds, or still had bloody, forgotten medical instruments by their beds. Unggoys were gasping for "gas! I need the gas!" and it was getting on Shormai's nerves.
This is half my punishment, even before my punishment has began…Shormai thought, as he walked by a brute with a large part of chest missing. While these monsters have taken my job AND honor, no demon deserved this.
Shormai picked up his pace. One more minute, and he would be sick. At the end of the long, rectangular room was a single, large suite. This was the home of the Commander, the room placed so the Commander had near full view of the barracks. It also served as a nice room for minor to moderate surgery. The porthole in the door (which was added so "clean" air could get to the patient) had a faint wisp of smoke furling out of it.
The door slid open.
"Come in!" said a voice as old as time itself.
Shormai got a puff of smoke right into his mouth. There, in the corner of the room, was an ancient pile of old, dirty rags in the shape of a San 'Shyuum. Yah, she was that old and time worn. A long pipe left her lips, and another puff of gray smoke circled the room and out the door.
"Close the door!" shouted a voice somewhere from the barracks.
"Fine! Fine!" The Prophetess croaked. The door slid shut, trapping in most of the smoke.
"Well, look what the Unggoy dragged in! You must be the last Sangheili in 300,000 miles! Come, come, and sit! Stay a while!"
She motioned to a floating medical cot. It had several upgrades, like a medical light, compartments for carry-on surgical apparatuses, and several plasma-restraints for restraining the patient. He did what he was told, not wanting to upset a Prophetess with several sharp medical tools nearby.
"Now, these augmentations are needle-injected. Unfortunately, the wave of Parasite victims have tripled, and you couldn't believe how little we can do. I am forced to just amputate. As a result, we are out of numbing and sleeping agents, but I think if you could survive that long with the Parasite, you can survive one little needle."
"First," said Shormai, "if you don't mind, I'd like to hear your origins. I did not know there was a new prophet."
"Oh, I was appointed soon after the infestation as 'Supreme Court Healer and Head Pharmacist'. I am just glad the Holy Prophet allowed me to continue my more...sinful pleasures. My work in healing our Holy Warriors makes up, I think."
"But-"
"Ah-ah-ah, Augmentation time!"
While talking, the Prophetess had activated the plasma-restraints, and was ready to go. She jabbed the needle into Shormai's arm.
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!"
Part VI
Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump.
Life began to fill the heart of Shormai once more. His vision was fuzzy, like he was looking at the world through a wall of water. Two nearly identical large brown lumps were leaned over him, and a bright, blue light shown directly in his face. He blinked.
"A double miracle!" said one.
"No,no", said the other, "this is all my fault. What will we do?"
"What do you mean?" replied the first one, "He must truly be a gift from the gods! The operation will continue full speed!"
"Shormai?" said the slightly higher voice, "It's the Prophetess. How are you feeling?"
Shormai muttered something unintelligible. His head felt like it was literally splitting. He propped up, and braced himself to fall back on his pillow. But, he was sitting up.
"W…what happened….?" said Shormai.
"Well", said the Prophetess, "to be honest, you took the injection like an unggoy. For ten minutes, you screamed 'IT BURNS! MAKE IT STOP!' Fortunately, you are still in one piece. Unfortunately, there is a…major side effect of your augmentation."
"Side effect?" said Shormai, "what is wrong?"
"Uh… here, look for yourself." The Prophetess handed Shormai a mirror.
Shormai was bandaged from head to toe. He peeled away a section of gauze from his arm. Underneath was another layer.
"Why am I double-layered in gauze?" Shormai asked.
"It isn't gauze, Shormai."
"Wait, what do you mean, not gauze?" Shormai peeled another chunk from his head, and his legs, and his chest.
All over his body, from his feet to his jaws, his skin was pure, paper white.
Finally, Truth spoke. "It is a mark from the gods! It is a sign, a brand of your separation from your blinded brothers, to show you are the true demon-slayer! The Holy Anti-Spartan! I will be in the Council Chambers, preparing your new armor. When you are ready, we will be ready to discuss our plans." Truth hovered out of the room.
Shormai lied there, staring at his forearm. It seemed like hours before he could look up.
"I am ready to leave," he said, "Do you have any spare clothes?"
Part VII
Several minutes later, Shormai stood in the Council Chambers, clad in a white cloak. Every single pair of eyes in the room (except Truth and his assistant's) stared at him. Shormai clenched his fists, and traced the pattern on the floor with his eyes. In the middle of the room was the case for his armor, which looked more like a large coffin.
"Shormai Kar," started Truth, "Today is a day that I hope will be remembered for ages to come! If and when we destroy the Demon, we can vanquish your blind brothers! I see a great leap forward in the Great Journey. This will truly win the favor of the gods! Now, step forward."
Shormai stepped towards the case. He waited for further instructions.
"Well, go on!"
Shormai slid open the heavy metal lid. He gasped at what he saw.
The armor rested on silk (a material so rare, only that is made from it) and was fashioned out of a hard gold metal. The helmet was that of a standard soldier, but had sweeping white wings starting from the eyes to several inches behind his head. The jaw-plates were curved and ended in sharp, crystal studded tips. The chest plate was made tight fitting, and consisted of 7 plates shaped in half circles, interloping down his chest. The armor had no shoulder pads. The upper arm guards were simply metal bands running down his arm, ending at his elbows. His gauntlets were curvy and light, with little decoration. His leggings were of the same style as his arms, metal bands running down his thighs, with his shins protected with light, simple armor. He also had standard-issue boots, but with metal wings sprouting out of them.
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This story will be edited as I write it. Please check by every week or so for edits.