Bekam Keep, Sanghelios: APRIL 23, 2553 IN THE HUMAN CALENDAR.
The sun was beating down full force to Covenant troops outside of the Keep. Yet despite being Drenched in sweat, Rtika did not mind as he and another warrior drag a fallen Sangheili away from the battlefield. He was more than happy to join his men in their manual labor.
The best leaders are those who lead by example, and any warrior who sees their leader not raising a complaint at the hardship they are all facing will be less inclined to protest.
Grunting loudly, he sets the body down by the roadside where a pair of Unggoy hurriedly, yet carefully remove the warriors armor. The dead warrior suffered from multiple plasma burns and parts of his armor were even scorched to his body. It took a little extra effort, but the squat aliens were able to pry it all off.
A Kig-yar picks up the dead Sangheili's plasma rifle and wipes flecks of dark purple blood off the weapon before carelessly throwing to a box filled similar spoils.
The other Sangheili, an inexperienced soldier it seems based on his undamaged cobalt Storm harness growls. "Careful pirate. If so much as a single helmet is missing, you are the one to blame." He kicks the corpse with his boot. "You might even find yourself in this ones place."
The avian creature gulps nervously which causes his two officers to laugh. Rtika surveys the field and spots no more stray bodies. He picks up the box and loads it onto a cart. "Let's get these back to the keep."
"It's shameful what we're doing." The younger warrior says as he climbs onto a Velithra and kicks its ribs. The beast of burden moans loudly, but begins to walk to the direction of the keep.
"It is indeed degrading that we must scavenge the dead for supplies." The Shipmaster admits, walking beside the cart while the Unggoy and Kig-yar march behind him. "But without factories to produce weapons and armor, this is the best we can do."
Though even as he says it, he feels a twinge of bitterness in his chest. Once supply armies much bigger would have been of little issue, yet now the mighty Sangheili have been reduced to scavenging through corpses of fellow warriors like vultures just to equip their troops with the most basic of equipment.
Rtika quickly brushes those thoughts aside. Under the Didact's Hand they will be restored to greatness. He already unified the clans of Hesduros, its only a matter of time until they would be able to industrialize it.
Still. He shoots a glance back at the wagon. Hopefully his men would still be alive to see that dream given how damaged their new equipment is. The weapons at least were of acceptable condition, however it's the armor is what concerns Rtika. Much if what they found was in bad condition and to him at least, it looks like repairing it would be a fruitless endeavor.
Though he wasn't about to deny his engineers the chance to try.
By the time they have returned to the keep the sun was at its zenith which causes the Unggoy who were huffing as they had to lug their methane tanks all the way back to sweat profusely. The cleanup of the keep had already begun. Women are sweeping rubble away from the streets while Unggoy and Sangheili workers have taken to repairing the buildings.
Despite all that destruction, everyone was in a good mood and confidence was high among warrior and civilians alike. As Rtika and his men walk past them, people were quick to greet him or clap him on the back and offer their adulations to him.
Rtika's communicator begins to beep loudly causing all of them to stop. "Sir. The Didact's Hand requests your presence on his ship immediately."
He pulls it out of his belt and taps the glowing button on the top. "Speak." He barks to the sentry on the other end.
"Shipmaster." The sentry replies sounding quite nervous. "The Didact's Hand requests your presence on his carrier immediately."
"Understood." He says before shutting the communicator off and detaching himself from his warriors. When the young Storm gives him a questioning look and hesitates. The Shipmaster shakes his head with a smile. "Go. You're done for the day. Now get some rest."
The Storm nods and follows the rest of his squad to the inn. Rtika goes in the opposite direction to the landing pad where one of his Phantoms has landed on the pad for supplies to be loaded. He stiffens slightly as he sees the laborers at work were Jiralhanae. Two of them with brown shaggy fur and reeking of musk.
The Shipmaster knew that the furred aliens express their emotions with the scent the excrete. And by the smell of it they were equally put off by his presence. He snorts and ignores them and steps onto the sleek purple dropships platform.
The pilot steps out and bows his head. It was a silent looking Storm with his left eye missing and in its place was a long scar. As far as he knew, none of his warriors knew this Storms name and had just taken to referring to him as 'Cyclops.'
But he did know that while Cyclops only had one eye, its vision was impeccable making him an impressive sniper and pilot.
"To the Didact's Hands ship." I inform him and strap myself down to a chair.
Cyclops points at the supplies meant to be transported on the Clarities Virtue. "You can deliver them later on the way back." He grunts in compliance and shrugs as he heads back to his station.
From the camera he can see a full view of the Keep below. The Clarities Virtue was also there, hovering over the city for added protection. It was stationed there by the Didact's Hand personally just in case any of the Ontom Clan decided to return. As doubtful as it was, Rtika could appreciate the caution.
The doors of the dropship suddenly open and reveal the polished hanger of the Philosopher. Although it could have held over five hundred fighters and forty dropships, there was a mere fraction. Maybe about a dozen or so Seraph fighters, just as many Banshees and a few older fighters. There were half that number of Dropships.
Though what there was in abundance were recruits. After driving off the armies of Ontom back, many decided to join the Covenant and their ranks have swelled with new troops.
Rtika walks to the bridge with his arms folded and his cape billowing behind him. The metallic doors slide open to reveal the bridge. The bridge of the Carrier was not so different as the one he had on his own destroyer.
An elevated platform dominates the center of the room where the command chair is placed with screens and computers. The rest of the bridge were scattered terminals with Sangheili hard at work.
Jul 'Mdama was sitting on the command chair, staring at holographic maps and absently tapping on it. The Shipmaster stops a few feet from him. "Supreme Commander." Rtika sinks to one knee and bows before him.
He swivels his chair to face Rtika. "Ah. Shipmaster." He nods and stands up, gesturing for his subordinate to rise. Rtika climbs to the feet. "You summoned me my lord?"
"Indeed." He nods and swipes the screen to show the map off Mdama land and a nearby island. "I summoned you here to discuss our next move against Ontom."
Rtika feels his hearts beat faster in excitement. Like the rest of his men, he'd also was eager for another fight against the Ontom. "What did you have in mind?" He tries to keep his voice even and his rapidly growing elation in check.
Jul places a hand on Rtika's shoulder. "The army of Ontom is in disarray thanks to our efforts. We must now press our advantage and go on the offensive. I want you to take you're Destroyer and assault their state. You shall be my spear ready to strike at the heart of our foe."
The Shipmaster resists the urge to roar out loud from simple religious zeal, but he again keeps his composure. "It will be an honor Supreme Commander, but where will you be?"
"I shall remain here for a few days to arm and train the new recruits, and perhaps interrogate the deserters who joined our force."
"Will you spare them?" Rtika asks cautiously, mandibles pressing together.
A cold, calculating smile plays across his own mandibles. "They have use to me, so I will spare them. For the time being."
Rtika gulps nervously and salutes before walking out. While he definitely approved of killing such Sangheili who sell out their kin so quickly, it leaves a lingering thought in the back of his mind. Would the Supreme Commander do the same to him if he were to fail.
He pushes those thoughts aside and focuses on the mission.
Bridge CPV-class Heavy Destroyer Clarities Virtue, Ontom, Sanghelios: APRIL 23, 2553 IN THE HUMAN CALENDAR
One of the plasma torpedo turrets charges up onthe ship's prow, then fires the red bolt down at the city.
The torpedo was like a lance piercing the belly of a monster. A towering spire was gutted completely and rumbles loudly before vanishing from the city's skyline. In response, turrets from a different structure open fires and pounds against the Destroyer's shields.
A tremor goes off across the entire ship, sending most of the Sangheili on the bridge stumbling a step. All except for Rtika had his feet firmly planted on the floor. He watches all of this from the external cameras and with increasing frustration.
He had taken a stab directly at Ontom's capital, unleashing his entire arsenal upon them. Now he's beginning to regret his decision. Their defenses proved to be more formidable than he initially anticipated and there were a number of hidden turrets below within the city. "Intensify the shields on the stern and direct some laser turrets to that tower." Rtika commands, jabbing his finger to the tower where flak is coming from. The bridge officers nod and turn back to their stations, feverously typing on their consoles.
Several of the turrets on the stern swivel away from their inactive position and are aimed at their targets. A score of them power up and fire at the tower. Like butter exposed to a flame, each lance of plasma sears the sides of the towers, weakening the structures until it finally collapses.
But it was like fighting a swarm of Unggoy. Every one you kill, there were always more waiting. Anti-air cannons from other towers and even the street open fire again.
Zola steps towards his Commander. "Shipmaster. I recommend that we withdraw our ship to regroup."
Rtika bares his fangs and leaps to his feet. If he had been the violent type, would have struck his second-in-command. "I would not retreat now. Not when we can defeat them."
"We are not in a favorable position Shipmaster." He persists. "Their defenses are strong and we must rethink our plan of attack."
He did have a point there. Despite the destruction they were able to wrought upon the city, the defenders didn't seem close to breaking. An alarm bell suddenly blares behind the Shipmaster and causes him to swivel back.
A panicked young officer who was standing with him in the elevated platform turns and faces him. "Incoming plasma rounds." He cries. "High velocity plasma shells."
"Evasive action!" Rtika roars and grips the armrest of his chair as the helmsman struggles to turn the ship away. He looks out his monitor and sees the rapidly approaching bolt. "Brace yourselves."
As the ship turns, the bolt pierces right through the one of the fins extending out of the ship's bottom and then moving towards the bottom side of the Clarity. For a moment it seemed like the shields would hold.
But a moment later, the shield in that area shatters like glass and the lance grazes the Clarity's side. Small explosions blossom from that area and the ship begins to tilt to one side. Rtika's hearts stop, for a dreadful moment it seemed like something important had been hit, but seconds later the helmsman corrects himself and the ship moves back to its upright position.
Zola was behind him, his dark green eyes filled with concerned, though his expression remains emotionless. Rtika sighs inwardly and gestures to the helmsman. "Very well, we shall withdraw. For now."
Even as he turns, Rtika could see Zola sighing in relief. The ship's engines begin to power up, it was just hovering over the city and now begins to hum loudly as the engines burst into motion. Though it was not towards the sea where they came from, but to the mountains nearby.
Once they were out of the city turrets effective range, Rtika looks back at his second in command. "Well then Major. What do you suggest we do?" He sinks back into his chair and rests his arm on his knee and covers his face with his hand.
Zola winces slightly at Rtika's sharp tone. Though he couldn't fault him for his impatience. Realistically their options were very limited.
Returning back to Mdama to without having anything less than total victory would be unthinkable. With most of their fleet in some other part of the galaxy, reinforcements were unlikely save for the new recruits the Didact's Hand has with him. It certainly would not be wise to simply wait here for in their own territory and let them rebuild without putting some pressure on them. Despite their weakened state, Ontom can still levy many soldiers.
That leaves only one option to Zola.
"We could send a team inside the city." He offers. "They could gather information and perhaps sabotage the defenses."
Rtika glances up and looks at him. He was slightly surprised and seems to genuinely consider it. Finally his mandibles relax part. Pleased. "A sound strategy Major. I will assemble a team to move to the surface, and a ship for them to use."
He grabs Zola's shoulder. "And you my friend, shall lead this team into the city."
The orange armored Sangheili blinks in surprise. He slowly begins to plant his fist firmly into his chest and bows down in humility. "It would be an honor shipmaster. I will not fail you."
"I know you won't." Rtika helps him to his feet.
Hangar Deck of CPV-class Heavy Destroyer Clarities Virtue, Ontom, Sanghelios: APRIL 23, 2553 IN THE HUMAN CALENDAR
"Prepare for launch. Freighter Bounty of the Harvest prepare for launch." The AI drones in its monotone voice through the speakers. Unlike human constructs who enjoyed personifying themselves in a physical body, Covenant AIs were satisfied with simply doing their designated duties.
Zola finishes packing his supplies and slings the bag over his back as he begins walking to the freighter. It was clearly not off Sangheili design and looked like a bizarre hodgepodge of thrusters, wires, girders and other modules haphazardly joined together on the hull.
More likely a Kig-yar vessel. Thought Zola as he steps onto the ramp on the side of the ship's hull. He adjusts his tan tunic which he wore over his Combat harness in order to appear as a merchant. Though his armor made his tunic puff up a bit, at least it wouldn't be noticed to the casual viewer.
The inside was compact and filled with a few crates that were loaded with some crops just to make their disguises look convincing. His team consisted off a handful of Kig-yar and Unggoy who would acts as a crew, along with Dasa, and the female weapons master.
Most of the crewmen were busy with the ship and didn't respond, but the two other Sangheili stand up and nod. "Greetings Zola." Dasa nods. One of the Kig-yar moves to the pilot's seat and starts up the ship.
The weapons master smiles and extends her hand towards me. "Greetings Major. I am Nuia 'Suralumai."
"Suralumai?" He looks at her hand in surprise. The -ai suffix was only used for Aristocrats. "A name of a swordsman."
She clicks her mandibles and shrugs as if it were obvious. "Well my father is a swordsman after all."
Now that was truly surprising. Sangheili fathers never revealed their identity to their children. Something like this was completely unheard of on Hesduros, much less of an Aristocrat who would never be allowed to wed.
"Why would he do that?" Zola questions bluntly. He quickly clamps his mandibles shut as soon as the words come out. A throaty chuckles comes out of Dasa, and Nuia glares at him.
Even two of the Kig-yar stop briefly working snigger amongst themselves. He takes mental note of their faces. Those two would receive quite the thrashing later. But he turns back to the weapons master. "What I meant was it seemed unorthodox for that to happen." Zola adds hurriedly.
The Weapons Master still looks annoyed, but when she speaks it was civil. "He didn't tell me. I come from a colony where there are only a few hundred souls who live there, it was not too difficult to track him down and ask him to train me." She indicates to the plasma sword hilt strapped to her belt.
So she's a warrior. Zola smiles. It was oddly attractive to see this female not simply cowed by tradition. "Then it will be an honor to fight alongside you." He clasps her hand tightly. "I am Major Zola 'Teham."
A smile forms on her mouth and she shakes it. "So what shall be our story? When we arrive to the city and someone asks us, it would be important that we have our stories coherent."
Dasa thinks for a minute and his face lights up. "We are refugees from a far off colony that has been continuously raided by the Jiralhanae so we moved here to sell our wares and search for a better life. That way no one will ask questions to why we have so little food to sell."
"I like it." Nuia nods and taps her chin. "It would also explain why we have weapons and armor."
All of them begin packing our gears, hiding weapons in our packs. The Clarity didn't move too far away from the city, just enough that we were out of site from the city.
The Kig-Yar pilot hisses loudly over the microphone in a guttural tone. The only thing that gives an indication to what he was screeching was the ship's loud thud. "We've arrived." It hisses again in broken Sangheili.
Zola nods to the two of them who begin to prepare themselves. The Major stands in front of them as the door opens and the bright light breaks through the opening. He hisses and blinks several times as his eyes adjust to the change in lighting.
He steps down to the ground and gestures for the rest of his team down. There were two Sangheili guards standing in front of their ship watching them expectantly. "Halt." One calls out at them. "Identify yourselves."
Dasa blinks in confusion. "Excuse me?" The Unggoy begin lugging the crates down the ramp and dropping it on the ground.
The elite holds out his datapad. "This is a listing of ships. And it appears you're ship is not in this list." He brandishes his plasma rifle. "Care to explain?"
"We are refugees from the colonies." Nuia begins to choke up as she explains. She spoke so convincingly that even Zola felt convinced. She an amazing actress. "We were forced to leave our world because of Jiralhanae raids there. The rest of our family did not survive."
"I'm sorry to hear that sister." The second guard says sympathetically. "You have my-
"But this is still in violation to our rules here." The first one interjects, baring his fangs threateningly. "Now get your ship out of here now."
The second guard seems irritated at his partners aggressiveness and gives the three of them an apologetic look. "They did not now. I suppose we can forget about this if you unload your cargo now and be quick about it. There are still others who are waiting for their turn."
"I understand and we are sorry for the inconvenience we caused." Zola replies.
The second guard simply waves it off. "Hardly a problem friends."
"At least inspect their cargo." The first guard huff irritably. "I hope you don't forget our protocol brother."
His partner sighs in exasperation and was practically grinding his teeth together . "I haven't. Let's go then."
The guards approached one of the containers and wrench the lid off. One of them gags. "Gah. What a foul smell." He pulls a melon out and hefts it in his hand before sniffing it. He cringes and drops it back into the crate.
"Just the smell of your food is enough to kill a Jiralhanae." He spats on the ground.
"Well they had their world, I doubt the conditions would have been ideal for transporting food." The other elite reasons evenly.
He sneers and shuts the crate. "I half expected there to be flies included in it. You're just lucky that there's no prohibition terrible wares. Just get it out of the way." With that he turns at his heel and begins to walk away.
"Thank you my lord." Zola bows and keeps his head low simply because he didn't trust himself with remaining civil if he looked the warrior in the eye. "What do you suggest we do?" He turns to Dasa who was right behind him, walking in a casual pace.
He smiles. "Well we are merchants. We go to the market and sell crops."
Zola nods to his teammates and each pick up a box to carry it to the market area.
Despite the recent attack by the Clarity, the outside was still active with life. Many of the cities citizens were out and about the market, shopping at perusing through the stalls of merchants. Though there were surprisingly few vendors for such a large city so it wasn't hard to find an empty spot to use.
"Oh that looks like nice spot." Nuia walks ahead of them and points to an empty spot beside two stalls. We grunt in agreement and begin setting the boxes down while the Weapons Master pulls out a handmade blanket and setting it down on the spot.
"I'll get the Unggoy to bring the rest of our crops down." Nuia says and disappears into the crowds. Zola and Dasa begins to unload the crops and starts to shout promotions to their food and whenever a customer stops by, he begins to converse with them.
Zola grunts and absently throws crops that citizens request to them and watches his partner with annoyance. While he respected the spy's ability to gather information, at the same time he way too much time simply talking and was too laid back for her taste.
He reaches into the crate for some fruits when he realizes that it was near empty. He pulls out the last fruit and drops it into the customer's hand. "No more." He says to the other Sangheili waiting behind him.
The groan in frustration and begin to disperse. "Don't worry, more crates will arrive shortly." The people seem to light up at this and talk amongst themselves.
"You know brother, our mission is to gather information." Zola whispers harshly to his comrades ears. "Yet you seem to spend your time engaging in idle chatter with the people."
Dasa simply chuckles in amusement. "I see." He shakes his head. "I see how you look at me Major. You think me a fool for simply talking to every person I see, but with each person I speak to is an opportunity to gather more information."
"What?" He hisses incredulous. "How could that possibly be true?"
His mirth seems to grow as he hears this. "Well there is a saying: loose lips sink ships. It means that unguarded talk can be dangerous. What appears to be simple small talk can have dangerous consequences to the enemy."
"I find that hard to believe." He replies skeptically.
"Oh really?" He rises to that challenge. "Then observe brother."
Dasa leaves their spot and approaches one of the nearby stalls were some women who could have passed off as his mother are talking. He walks right past them and approaches the stand and sets some credits down. "I wish to buy some wine, you're best bottle please."
The chubby Unggoy takes the money reaches down digs around for a bottle. "A special occasion?" He asks then grunts in pain as his head bangs against the wooden stall.
"The survivors of the army are returning later. If my brother is among them then it shall be used as an offering to the Gods for smiling upon him. If not, then it shall be a small consolation to my family." Dasa replies and pretends to wipe his eyes with the sleeve of his robe.
A withered hand grabs his shoulder. "I'm sorry to hear that child." One of the women rasps, her voice was filled with warmth when she speaks. "My own son was part of the invasion force. I've prayed every night that he would return safe."
"Then I pray that the Gods show favor to your son as much as my brother." Dasa replies kindly.
"Thank you child." The woman smiles, revealing several missing teeth and squeezes his shoulder. "Thouh we should pray for ourselves as well. With that Destroyer here I fear it will affect imports and leave us without food."
Another woman pushes herself past them and orders her food. "Well that is precisely why I need to get my food now." She says hurriedly and takes the bag of her purchase. "After that attack everyone will be stockpiling supplies. I need to buy my food before the markets dry up."
"Aye, once the warriors of Mdama return, even those slimy Kig-yar would not stick around." A warrior who was passing by stops and joins in. He nudges his head to a group of the bird headed aliens hissing and screaming at each other, seemingly in an argument. "I can't believe we were once allies to those creatures."
"Shameful indeed." Dasa agrees readily.
The guard laughs and picks up one of the fruits, tracing his finger across it. "Well don't worry about food. The Kaidon has prepared for shortages and begun to store food up so that his city will be able to eat for months."
The women fold their arms together skeptically. "And how would you know that?"
"I was tasked with guarding the warehouse later tonight." He replies simply.
Dasa smiles inwardly with renewed interest. He could scarcely believe his good fortune. Information like this could be extremely valuable in the right hands. He would have to tell Zola immediately.
"He better be able to feed us." One of the elders shouts in a nasty tone. "His plans for granting us farmland had already failed."
There was an unhappy ripple among the others gathered. They grumble their agreement while braver ones outright shout it, accompanied by insults to the Kaidon. The guard was unnerved by the crowds angry shrinks away into the crowd.
But Dasa got the information he wanted, he returns to his spot where Zola was waiting impatiently with his arms folded. "Well?" He snaps sharply.
The Minor smirks and leans on the crate. "Do you see that guard there?"
He nods. "What about him?"
"He's going to be guarding the warehouse that holds the cities stockpiled food." Dasa says casually as if this were something he did with all time. "We're going to follow him and later we shall set their warehouse on fire."
Zola's jaw goes slack and his mouth forms an O. "You found out all of that just from one conversation?"
"Indeed. This ship had just been sunk."
"Hmmm." The Major grunts with newfound respect. "But I think it would be best if we also informed the Shipmaster of our plan."
"What plan?" A voice interrupts from behind them followed by a loud crunch. Nuia had taken a bite from the fruit and was accompanied with the Unggoy crewmen. "What are you too planning?"
Dasa smiles broadly. "We are going to take out Ontoms food supply."
Zola hisses, looking around for anyone nearby who could have heard this. "Quiet you fools. There could be people listening us."
A Kig-yar hisses something to Nuia's ear. She nods and hisses something back before sending the bird headed alien away. "The Kig-yar said they found an inn for us to stay at. Come on." She disappears into the crowd moments later and reappears in an alley, gesturing us forward.
"Spirited one isn't she?" Dasa grins.
"That's putting it lightly." Zola grins back and hurries after her. "Come now, my legs are aching and I could use a half decent bed."
The inn here got off rather well from our attack. There were only a handful of burns that were caused by stray plasma rounds. The Sangheili do a quick survey of the building as the enter. It seemed structurally sound and was sufficiently deserted that no one would notice them when they left later.
The room was decently sized for the three of them, though Zola wasn't too sure about the Unggoy and Kig-yar who came with them. He shuts the door behind them and locks it. "This should suffice for the evening, but what of the rest of our crew."
"They are going to be sent back to the ship." She assures them.
The two male elites share a glance before Dasa turns back to Nuia. "We want you to return with them when they go."
"What?" She jumps to her feet and looks at them in surprise. "Why? If you are going to attack the warehouse then you will need my help."
"We understand that you wish to join us." Zola says in his most civil tone he can manage. "But we need someone to relay the information to the Shipmaster so we can coordinate." He swallows a breath. "And if we are to fail, he can try again."
"Why can't you send the Unggoy to do that!" She cries angrily. "I want to also have a chance to fight for our Covenant."
Zola places his hand on the female's shoulder consolingly. "And you will Nuia." He says softly. "But now is not the time for you to fight."
She growls and pulls herself away and begins unlock the door. "Wait where are you going?" Dasa calls after her.
Nuia stops and half turns to them. "To head back to the ship to inform the Shipmaster of your plan." She storms out and kicks the door behind her.
Ontom, Sanghelios: APRIL 23, 2553 IN THE HUMAN CALENDAR
Night had fallen on the city, with that the two Covenant Sangheili stand by the roof of a nearby building of the food stores. It was easy enough to follow one of the guards who was going to change shifts with the guards currently there.
Dasa uses some binoculars to scan the facility while Zola was was on patrol around him. The darkness offered by the lack of streetlights did a good job in keeping them hidden. The Minor spots three guards in total outside.
They were all with plasma rifles, pistols and grenades. Despite that, it wasn't long until the plasma rifles in their hands were placed back in their belts.
Dasa puts his binoculars back into his belt and flicks his wrist, a blade of energy several inches long materializes into his gauntlet. The two of them vault over the roofs ledge and slide down the angled rooftop and drop into a crouch.
They share a nod before goings off in separate directions. Zola moves to one side of the warehouse, careful to avoid the search lights. Dasa moves to the side of the building just as the guard turns a corner.
He presses his back on the shadows and tries to expose as little of him as he can. The guard walks right past him and grunts gruffly about the cold. Dasa trails after him and drives the blade into the guards spine.
He clamps his hand over the guards mouth to prevent him from screaming before dropping him to the ground. For good measure he jabs the emergy dagger into his back one more time before dragging him to the bushes out of sight.
Quickly retracting his blade, Dasa keeps moving to the back of the warehouse. Buildings like this were common enough in his keep that he knew that there was a secondary entrance in the rear for emergencies.
He finds is partially hidden with some plants but the guards clearly didn't put too much effort in hiding it. There was a brief struggle coming from another part of the warehouse. A tall Sangheili emerges from the bushes and Dasa was relieved to see it was Zola.
"Let's go." Zola pulls out his plasma rifle and takes point. Dasa grips the door handle in his hand and feels the rust nearly break the handle in his arms as he pulls the door open. The pair move in, flipping the light switch open. About a dozen overhead lights flicker to life to show the narrow, dank tunnel.
Keeping their voices low, they quickly cover the length of the underground hallway.
Their boots splash against the puddles on the floor and the only other sound aside from their footsteps was the faint hiss of steam coming from a leaky pipe. At the end there was a short flight of stair followed by another set of doors.
Zola shoves them open and was surprised at what he sees. It was a labyrinth boxes with them piled high in the air. So much that the walls were barely visible and he couldn't even find the door.
He sniffs the air and catches a whiff of the sweet scent of fruits then the smell of raw meat. "You were right." He mutters silently, not quite believing what he saw. There could have been enough food to last then city for months. He scans the area for any possible threats, sweeping his plasma rifle around. Slowly he makes his way past some boxes to reach one side.
Dasa was at his side, crouching down and levels his weapon in front of him. He advances to another side.
The air inside was stale and dusty which causes him to cough as a few specks of dust gets caught in his mouth. He swipes his hand across the dust and then freezes. There was something...off with the air in front of him.
He blinks twice and rubs his eyes. It looked fine to him when he looked again. Perhaps it was just his eyes were just playing tricks on him, but something at the pit of his stomach didn't sit right.
But Zola had already begun planting the explosives on his side and he would need to do his best to catch up. Besides the sooner they finished, the sooner they could leave this place. He pulls out the explosive charges and begins planting to them on support pillars and on two of the corners.
Then a rapid snapping noise followed by explosions of rounds striking against the back of my armor. My shields spark and absorb the crystalline needles, though it depletes a third of his shields.
Dasa hisses and spins around, firing his rifle wildly. At first it seemed like his shots were clean misses, but one round splashes against something and a vague outline of a Sangheili forms before completely materializing.
His would be assassin growls and taps his camouflage module uselessly before being dropped by another burst of plasma fire. Not too far away, Dasa hears his partner grunting and shouting followed by the sizzling noise of an energy blade being drawn.
He would have gone to help him had another warrior leap down from the catwalk above. Although he was cloaked as well, Dasa could tell where he was because of the ignited energy sword gave away his position.
Dasa didn't have his own sword so he draws his crescent shaped dagger. The stealth elite doesn't give him and quarter and lunges at him. The energy blade stops a few inches from his forehead by the Minors weapon.
Sparks fly his knife begins to smoke as the other Elite tries to shove his blade down the remaining inches. With his free hands, Dasa begins punching the side of the Sangheili's face.
With a grunt, the assassin staggers to the side and rubs his mandibles with one hand. Dasa wastes no time to ram his blade into his adversaries ribcage. His eyes go wide as his blade pierces one of his hearts and blood explodes everywhere from his body like a piñata.
He could still hear Zola's vicious roars against his own foes. That at least meant he was alive.
Dasa moves to join him when the stacked crates above him begins to shake. He backs up and raises his arms in front of his face protectively as it tumbles on top of him. Pain explodes all over him and a rectangular box slams into him.
The Sangheili cries out in agony as his body and both his arms were pinned to the wall. He struggles to free his arm when another Elite materializing in front of his eyes with a plasma rifle. His head still was spinning from the force of the blow and he wasn't entirely sure if what he was seeing was real. Yet Dasa still closes his eyes and prepares for the killing blow that does not happen.
Instead the warrior begins to walk towards him, in his white armor he looked more like a vengeful spirit from his peoples folklore. His foot suddenly slams into the side of Dasa's head and knocks the warrior out.
With a satisfied grunt, the Elite gabs Dasa by the nape of his neck and drags him away.