Once again, my sincerest apologies for the delay in uploading this. I've been… distracted lately. Job, stress, deaths of grandparents and old highschool teachers/mentors, and the like (as well as drumming up a huge review/rant on the utterly god-awful Aliens: Colonial Marines at spacebattles). That's the short version. If you want more details, well, I'll post the full explanation and my subsequent venting after this chapter. I also want to once again thank you all for your patience in this matter.
Chapter Thirty Six: You Called Down the Thunder…
Soft chanting filled the Tiefling's ears as she was carried forward, bound hand and foot, towards the massive, ornate altar at the heart of House Baenre's spider temple. The time for the ritual was nigh, and for the first time since her arrival, her eyes drooped, and her fighting spirit seemed to wane. Much as she tried to avoid the thought, she was about to aid, however unwillingly, in the liberation of what was arguably the most dangerous creature in existence. She suppressed the urge to try and swear or curse them in any language that she knew. It wouldn't do any good. Triel Baenre had taken no chances, and Gromph, the archmage, had cast a spell of silence upon her. They wanted no possibility of her interfering with things in the slightest.
The chanting from the gathered Drow Clerics began to increase in volume and intensity. The moment of their triumph was approaching, and they knew it. Moments later, Triel Baenre herself stepped forward out of the crowd. Neeshka's eyes narrowed, analyzing the Dark Elven Matron as a shark would analyze its prey.
Were he hands not tied and her feet not shackled together, the Tiefling knew she could take the Elf, or at the very least, make a stab at trying to take her down. She might not succeed, but she would at least be able to ruffle Triel's feathers.
Gromph Baenre stepped out moments later, flanked by other archmagi and several Demons. They each held up artifacts and despite the distance between her and the group, Neeshka could feel the magic pulsing from them.
One by one, she watched as arcane artifacts were piled on top of the altar. Each time one was placed there, Triel, Gromph and the others would chant out their spells and bless each of the artifacts with further power. On and on it went, until a small mountain of the objects had been placed upon the altar. It seemed to take hours, but the Tiefling was never certain of the passing of time down here.
She was yanked forward, stumbling and nearly falling to the ground because she couldn't move her feet properly. The House Baenre troops, however, kept her from hitting the floor. Her wrists were stuck over the altar, and Triel produced a ceremonial dagger from inside of her robes. The grip was shaped like a spider, and four of its limbs arched forward to make the blade. There was a flash of pain, and the Tiefling watched as her palms were slashed open. Blood oozed out and trickled down onto the artifacts. She shot a hate filled glare over at Triel, and the Dark Elf seemed to notice. She returned the glare with a smirk.
She had won.
The ground started to rumble, and Neeshka was pulled back, away from the altar. The other Drow withdrew as well, and seconds later, flames skyrocketed up towards the roof of the chapel. Several Drow cried out and clutched at their faces as the heat assaulted their eyes and skin. She saw a form taking shape within the fire, incredibly large, twice the size of a man. It wasn't Demogorgon himself, but it was a Demon, and a big one.
The flames cleared around the altar, and there, hovering in the air with his mighty wings beating to keep him aloft, was a Balor. It was larger than any Balor that Neeshka had ever seen. The one that Ammon Jerro had kept in his haven seemed downright puny compared to the mammoth beast that had emerged from the Abyss. It landed heavily, and shook the ground with its steps. The air temperature around the creature rose to an uncomfortable level, nearly driving the Tiefling to her knees. All throughout the chapel, Drow, slave, and Demon alike bowed before this being.
"You have done as you were commanded. My Lord, Demogorgon, is now free," it spoke in an unearthly voice. "You have done well, Triel Baenre, my master and your goddess are both pleased. You shall be rewarded, as promised."
"My thanks to thee, mighty Errtu," Triel spoke in the Demon's native tongue, and Neeshka suddenly didn't know if it was a good or a bad thing that she could still understand the conversation. "What of thy lord?"
"He retreats to the Gaping Maw to gather his strength and marshal his armies. He will be ready to begin moving before the day's end is out," Errtu said, smiling wickedly down at the Matron. "They will launch their attacks upon the cities of the surface, and clear the way for your troops to resume their march to glory."
"Excellent," Triel replied, and then turned her attention towards the assembled crowd. "Everyone to your posts and prepare yourselves. Once our reinforcements arrive from the other cities we will march again. And this time, the Gods themselves will not be able to stop us!"
As silently as wraiths, the Drow filtered out of the massive chapel, leaving only Triel, Neeshka and her captors, and the mighty Balor. Errtu flexed his talons and seemed to stretch. The sound of popping bones echoed like a gunshot throughout the chamber.
"Enjoying being able to traverse the Prime again, my lord?" Triel inquired with a fiendish smile.
"It feels good to be loose after all the time trapped in the Abyss. I look forward to wreaking some havoc. But first, I understand you have something for me?" He looked over towards Neeshka. The girl felt a pit form in her stomach. This could not possibly be good.
"Indeed," the new Matron Mother nodded her head and gestured towards Neeshka. "Venes Baenre would be happy to show you around our interrogation chambers."
"I will oblige her. It has been centuries since I have had the luxury of observing your people's attempts at information extraction. I would watch her first, before trying my hand at it." Errtu bared his fangs menacingly as he crossed his arms over his chest. His glowing, hellfire eyes settled upon the Tiefling once more, and the Demon's wicked mind was filled with anticipation.
He was going to enjoy every moment of this.
The Drow Ranger sighed as he leaned back.
Three days had passed since the Lord's Alliance, the Dwarven Clans, and the other members of the united people of Faerun had learned of Demogorgon's pending release. That release would happen soon, everyone knew. And they knew that there was nothing that could be done to stop it at the moment. They were not yet readied and properly geared up. Despite their best efforts, there would be a necessary defensive action on the part of the free people of Faerun.
Drizzt's thoughts drifted to the events of the past couple of days, one in particular that stood out in his mind.
He had been standing near Dove Falconhand when it had happened. The young woman had found herself thrust into the role of leadership of Silverymoon. She was sitting at a table within one of the great halls of the Dwarven stronghold, flanked by two other guards, while she discussed defensive measures with the likes of Lord Nasher, Commander Keyes, and several other members of the Lord's Alliance. Even the likes of Regis and Casius of Ten Towns had been present, for this matter was one that concerned them all.
While none could doubt that it was necessary to mount an assault on the Drow's heart in Menzoberranzan, it had been concluded that the Demonic allies the Drow had made were likely to mount their own offensives ahead of the main Dark Elven army in order to soften everything up before the main army arrived, in order to lessen the Dark Elves' already high losses. It was, as Commander Keyes had pointed out, the logical thing to do, what most of the UNSC's Generals would have done under similar circumstances. As such, every city from Ten Towns to Calimport was expected to have to repel attackers to a degree.
As they were discussing what to do about Waterdeep, Helm's Avatar had appeared before them.
"My apologies for the disturbances," he said with a courteous salute towards the gathered nobles. "Eliastree and I have managed to secure additional forces that will aid in the offensive arm of your missions. They are elite troops who know Menzoberranzan like the backs of their hands. I would suggest though, that you keep your hands off your weapons."
Commander Keyes gave the Avatar a strange look, but nodded. Those carrying blades moved their hands a little further away from the grips, those with firearms clicked on their safeties, while the men and women with bows and arrows pointed them towards the ground. Normally such heavy armament during a war council would be unusual, but Commander Keyes was concerned about the possibility of the Dark Elves somehow breaking through the wards. Such things had been done in the past, after all.
The Avatar had nodded, and then there was a flash, and the far side of the hall, more than two hundred Dark Elves had suddenly appeared. Helm held up his hands as the grips on the weapons tightened, and a few swords came halfway out of their scabbards. The Ranger himself, however, had been the first one to find his voice. He had recognized the Dark Elf at the head of the formation, and through him, who the rest were.
"Jarlaxle," the words leapt from his mouth, and his eyes narrowed. He looked over to Helm. "Why is Bregan D'aerthe here?"
"We are mercenaries, Drizzt who was of Do'Urden," Jarlaxle said, sweeping his plumed hat off his head and taking a bow. "Mercenaries work for those who are willing to pay them, and the pockets of Helm and Eilistraee are deep indeed," but there was something behind the eyes of the Mercenary Captain, something that didn't seem proper.
"You'll pardon me if I'm reluctant to take that at face value," Commander Keyes spoke up, her hand resting on the grip of a carbine that was sitting on the table by her seat. Her eyes looked to the armored Avatar. "What are you offering them?"
"Something greater than material wealth, Commander," Helm's voice resonated throughout the chamber. "In exchange for the aid of Bregan D'aerthe in your assault, I have promised to retrieve something for the Captain when I take my fight to Lolth."
"And that would be?" Drizzt pressed. He knew the Mercenary Captain from a few run-ins that they'd had before he'd fled Menzoberranzan. Jarlaxle wasn't evil by most Dark Elven standards. He was, however, extremely opportunistic, and Drizzt trusted him about as far as he could throw him. His loyalty did not extend far beyond his mercenaries.
"Nearly half of my troops fell fighting your defenders as we tried in vain to complete our objectives," Jarlaxle spoke up, walking towards the table. Drizzt noticed the usual swagger was gone from his walk, which was again odd. What had gotten to the Captain? "You know what happens to those who die as failures among our people."
Drizzt winced at the realization. He believed that he was starting to realize what Helm and Eilistraee had offered to the leader of Bregan D'aerthe in order to enlist him. If it was what he thought, it was a tempting prize indeed.
"Ah, I see you have begun to figure it out," the bald Drow said as he walked up next to them. "The souls of the men and women who have fallen under my command are to be freed in exchange for our aid."
Around the table, eyes bulged and jaws dropped open. Drizzt knew why. Assaulting another deity's plane of existence for the purpose of liberating or stealing souls had been done before, but they were rare occurrences indeed. The risk was high, and there were few willing to go to those risks for the apparent pittance that could be garnered in return. It was normally only done when the souls in question were those of powerful clerics or magi that were willing to defect away from their current position, or if a captured soul was to be ransomed for some powerful artifact.
Jarlaxle had been bought at a very high price.
"Touching as your loyalty is, I would prefer more concrete assurances," Commander Keyes said with a frown. "Your kind does not exactly have the best reputations for trustworthiness."
"In that you are correct, madam," Jarlaxle said with a nod of his head. "I can only say that we are not like most of our people. Still, if you wish to bind us with a Geaes, to where we cannot turn upon you, we will willingly submit."
"I would appreciate such cooperation," she said, turning her eyes to Dove and Lord Nasher. The two of them had nodded their heads and sent for their mages.
As messengers for the Many Stared Cloaks and Silverymoon Magi had departed, Drizzt had glanced once more over the assembled members of Bregan D'aerthe, and to his immense surprise, had found a familiar face: Dinin, his brother.
It had taken every ounce of willpower in that moment not to run at his brother and strike him down. He had held himself in check, however, until the arcane ceremony had been completed, and then had withdrawn from the meeting, before his instincts had gotten the better of him. First Briza, now his elder brother. How many more members of his wretched family were still alive?
Drizzt Do'Urden rubbed his chin as he dwelled on the manner in which the dice had fallen. The arrival of Jarlaxle, and the arrival of his elder brother, no less, was something that he had not expected. Then again, over the past half year, there was very little that had transpired that could truly be called "expected," the Ranger thought to himself. At the current moment, he was in one of the open-air marketplaces of the Undercity, or rather, he was in what would have been an open-air market in times past. Right now it was serving as a weapons cache and resource dump. The UNSC troops and their dropships were running round the clock, ferrying what excess weapons had been produced in the "machine shop" of their spelljammer to the cities of the Lord's Alliance and the Sword Coast. Amn, Baldur's Gate, Neverwinter, Waterdeep, the Moonshale Isles, all of them were expected to come under heavy assault. The Elven kingdoms and eastern empires were expected to face a similar attack, but fewer supplies had been ferried that way.
Offers had been made, but many of the Elf cities put more stock and faith in their own magical talents than the mundane weaponry of the UNSC and Neo-Covenant. Even Thay had been approached and offered aid, but while they thanked the Offworlders for their warning, they had outright refused any form of help.
Drizzt frowned as he thought of what might happen if the Demons did invade the Red Wizards' Empire. They were powerful, but against the limitless numbers of the Abyss, they were sure to fall. Part of him abhorred such a loss of life, even if it was Thayan life, but the dark side of him, the Hunter, was swift to point out that Thay had long been an enemy of the free people of Torril, and few would mourn if their desert cities were wiped from the face of the world.
His main concern was the Elvin Kingdoms. His relationship with his surface brothers and sisters had always been cool and tense. Few trusted the renegade Dark Elf, and Drizzt could hardly blame them. Of all the species that the Drow wished to wipe from the worlds, the Elves of the surface held a special place. Raids to the surface had in times past purged whole towns, villages, and bloodlines from existence; all the more reason for him to be concerned about what was going to transpire soon. The Dark Elves would throw everything they had at their hated surface cousins, probably focusing on Cormathor and its large, forested city-states.
The good news though, was that Correlon apparently anticipated such an action, and like the cities of the Sword Coast, most of the Elven military population was gathering at these centers and preparing for the onslaught to come. Bahamut had also pledged a number of his most powerful followers to aid in the defense of the ancient Elven homeland. Metallic Dragon and Elf would once more stand allied against a common foe. Human and Dwarf would as well, Gnomes of both the Surface and the Underdark would stand arm in arm, readying themselves for a war that would surely be the war to end all wars.
"Lost in your thoughts again, I see. The time on the surface has changed you little, brother."
Drizzt's hands instinctively went to his scimitars as he whirled to face the sound of the voice, and saw that Dinin was a few feet away from him. The Ranger cursed himself for his carelessness. Dinin might have been able to slip a blade in his back if he had been any more unawares. Such had been the fate of Nailfen, the eldest Do'Urden male. Dinin had unwittingly saved Drizzt's life, slaying the first born son on the night of his birth, saving him from being sacrificed to Lolth.
The Hunter within him awoke once more, and objected fiercely to the proximity of the elder Do'Urden sibling. Binding geaes or no, it had not forgotten how Dinin had hunted them throughout the Underdark, baying after them like a bloodhound. The Dark Elf checked the urge to draw his blades and begin to defend himself, but he kept his hands on the hilts as he stared into his brother's crimson eyes.
"What is it, Dinin?" He asked, unable to stop himself from searching for any sign of impending attack from his elder sibling.
"Merely contemplating the irony of the situation, Second Boy," he said with a smirk, leaning back against the carved stone of a Dwarven building.
Drizzt's eyes narrowed at the use of the title. It was utterly pointless as far as the Ranger knew. House Do'Urden had been destroyed. It no longer existed. Indeed, as far as Menzoberranzan and the Dark Elves as a whole were concerned, it had never existed in the first place. They were Drizzt and Dinin the Rogues, not Second Boy and Elder Boy of the Eighth House.
"What irony is that?" Drizzt asked, subtly adjusting his stance to that of a combat one, glad for a moment that he was still wearing the UNSC Marine armor that he'd been issued during the battle for the Hall.
"You and I, of course," Dinin replied, throwing his head back and laughing, actually taking his eyes off of his younger brother for a second. Drizzt was surprised. Such a move was an act of trust among the Dark Elves. Or was it a clever ploy, designed to lure him into a false sense of security? Dinin had ever been good at finding loopholes in the arcane. "Think about it, my sibling, we are both outcasts, and we have been enemies for most of our lives. But now, after the most crushing defeat in the history of our people, we are going to be fighting alongside each other as allies. And what is more, we shall both battle against the very city we were born in."
Drizzt remained silent, but he had to admit that fate seemed to have a funny sense of humor these days.
"I know you didn't come here to talk about the fickleness of fate, brother," he spat the word like it was a poison, "why have you really sought me out?"
"Believe it or not, to inquire about our sisters," Dinin crossed his arms over his chest, the links of his armor tinkling softly as he did so. "I know that you killed Briza, or at least contributed heavily to her demise, but I was wondering if you knew anything of Veirna or Maya."
"I assumed that they would have been scooped up by Baenre as well. Our family was gifted before its destruction. I cannot imagine that the old Matron would have turned down the opportunity to add three more High Priestesses to her arsenal."
"I do not believe so. At the very least, I have never seen them under House Baenre's banners," Dinin mused, placing a finger against his chin and stroking his jaw. "Briza was often out in the open, acting as an enforcer of Lolth's will, the same could not be said of the others. Yet I know they were not slain in the destruction of our house."
"House Baenre's influence extends beyond Menzoberranzan. All the cities of the Drow have some of their agents within it. Perhaps that was there fate," Drizzt shrugged. "I do not understand why you are so concerned. I can't find it in me to believe you are the sentimental type."
"You wound me, brother," Dinin sneered, and took a mocking bow. "I care only for the fact that we may eventually have to face them in battle. Both of them were skilled in the Art, and in these desperate times, it is possible that Lolth will throw every ounce of available power into her Clerics. I do not relish the thought of facing them in battle, especially given that they're going to harbor a much greater hatred of us than even a normal Cleric will."
"This I already know," Drizzt narrowed his violet gaze at his sibling. "What is your point?"
"Do you have the stomach to kill another member of our family? You have killed your own father, our mother, and our eldest sibling, true enough," it took every ounce of self-control that Drizzt had not to take his scimitars and smash their butt ends into his sibling's temple at the statement that he had killed his father, "but those were indirect deaths, or done in self-defense. If our sisters are present at the battle for Menzoberranzan, they will try to stop us, and I want to know that I can rely on you to remove them as threats if you possibly can."
"You don't have to worry," Drizzt replied, trying to keep his voice level and civil. "I know well the ways of killing other Drow. Our people, and Lolth's ways, have forced me to become intimately familiar with it."
"Good." Dinin remarked. "I will leave you to your thoughts again, Second Boy."
Laughing once again, the other Dark Elf turned around and walked off, leaving his younger brother to glare at him as he walked away.
"I see that siblings are not always a blessing," he heard another voice, and turned once more.
Dove Falconhand was standing there, her arms crossed over her chest and a look of distaste upon her visage.
"No, there are times when they are a curse," Drizzt said, shaking his head, and then letting out a deep breath, trying to exhale the pent up stress and rage that was inside of his chest, clawing at his heart like a blood mad predator. "I wish at times that I had had a sibling like-" he cut himself off, and cursed himself for his foolishness. Lady Alustriel had scarcely been buried and her funeral rites seen to. How careless of him to mention her!
Dove could see the pain that suddenly manifested on the Dark Elf's face, and reached out to take his arm. "You meant no harm with your words. I take comfort in them," she spoke softly. "I mourn for my sister's loss, and I miss her terribly, as you have confessed that you miss your father." She paused, and looked up into his eyes. "But as you do, I shall not remember her death. I shall remember her life, and all that she taught me, as your father taught you. I will remember how she protected me, as your father tried to protect and shield you from the horrors of your people. I will honor that life, by trying to live not only as she would have me, but as I would have myself. She died to protect our freedom and our lives, as your father died to protect yours." Drizzt thought he saw a tear glisten in one of her eyes as she spoke. "Do not waste that precious time that they bought for us with too much sadness and darkness, for there are enough of those things in this world. To do so would be to waste their sacrifice."
Drizzt nodded his head in understanding. The other Ranger spoke truly. What was more, she would see her sister again, as he would his father, in the next life, if not this one.
"Come," she said, pulling him towards the stairs that led to the upper levels of the Hall. "It is nearly time for the briefing."
Commander Keyes sighed and rubbed her forehead. The world seemed to have turned upside down, more so than usual around this place. Her mind drifted to Jarlaxle and his troops again. Helm had vouched for the soldiers, claiming that while they had fought against them during the battle for Mithril Hall, that they had since forsaken Lolth and her dark ways. The Commander was still suspicious of this Jarlaxle and his comrades in arms, but for the plan that Cortana was drafting up, they would be a necessary element for several stages.
The UNSC officer sighed to herself as she stood up from her seat. It was nearly time for her to call them all to the command room to begin briefing them on the plan that she, Helm, and Cortana had come up with. That nervous twinge that she always felt before a mission began started up in the back of her skull. The young officer ignored it however, and pressed on, moving through the room she was in and heading out into the tunnels of Mithril Hall.
The place was bursting with activity. The Dwarves and their allies had hardly been content to rest upon their laurels once they had learned that Demogorgon was going to be marshaling an army, and the Drow quite possibly returning for a second round. There were concerns that the Demon Prince might also attempt to strike at the cities on the surface, taking advantage of the fewer numbers of troops that would be present due to the activity at the Hall, and citizens were already being evacuated from Neverwinter and Waterdeep. Some of the surface Elves were also evacuating their ancient homes, but the information that the commander had received indicated that most of them were likely to remain where they were and try to weather an potential storm that might be thrown at them. Combined with their reluctance to accept any aid beyond a few HPMG units and a handful of small arms and she worried what fate might await them if the Demons decided to attack en mass.
There was only so much time she could afford to devote to thinking about the Elves, though. Her priority would be to oversee the strike to the heart of the enemy. If they could tear that out, they could stop this attack before it could gather enough momentum to really cause damage. If they couldn't, it was quite possible that millions could lose their lives trying to repel the forces of the Underdark and the Abyss… if they could be repelled at all.
The Commander almost laughed to herself as she thought about all that had transpired since she had arrived, indeed, since she had first signed up at the academy. Her thoughts drifted to her now dead father and the smile on his face when he'd watched her graduate, and then when she'd obtained her first command.
If anyone had said to her that she would one day find herself literally fighting creatures of mythology and planning the destruction of a civilization dedicated to an evil, insane Elven Goddess, and with the aid of the very people who not even a year previously had been trying to wage a genocidal war against Humanity itself she'd have wondered if they'd gotten their hands on some bad raver drugs. Yet here she was. She couldn't say that her training had truly prepared her for this situation, but she seemed to have done well enough so far. Her father had always insisted that she be able to think on her feet, and her training in the officer corps had only improved what he had started.
She suspected that in a few hours, it was going to be put to the ultimate test. She would be in the thick of a combat zone that could literally open up onto 'Hell's' front door at a moment's notice. She would be fighting on the home turf of an enemy that had managed to survive for thousands of years in one of the most hostile environments imaginable. The myth of Drow invincibility may have been shattered, and perhaps more than a million of them killed, but there were many more still capable of fighting, and now there would be more Demons than ever in the mix. There was no way-even with all of their advanced weaponry-that they would walk away from this battle unblooded.
But beating the odds was in her blood. Her father had beaten the odds countless times. He had beaten them when he'd managed to avoid being discharged due to a slipspace accident that had left a dozen officers dead. He'd beaten them again at the first and second battles of Sigma Octanus, at Reach, and for a time, even beaten them at Installation-04.
Commander Miranda Keyes, at that moment and at that time, prayed that she would live up to her legacy. She would need ever ounce of her command skills, combat knowledge, and luck, if she was going to pull this mission off.
She soon arrived at the room, and nodded as she gazed around it. It was shaped somewhat liked an amphitheater, with plenty of seating for everyone who would be present. The holotanks and necessary electronics were ready, as were one other thing: Cortana's newest little toys. The construct had had to use all of her newfound arcane knowledge to craft these things, but Keyes suspected that it would be worth it.
Both of the Golems were molded from spare armor and mechanical parts that had been lying around in the motor pool of the Forward Unto Dawn, and bore resemblance to the old Mark I and Mark II power suits that the military had experimented with nearly a half century ago. Standing nearly three meters tall, weighing the better part of a ton, and covered with glowing runes, they were a sight to behold, and Keyes suspected they would be quite intimidating to anyone who had never beheld one of those suits before. While there were some passive arcane defenses and a handful of offensive capabilities, the true power of the Golems lay in the UNSC firepower that had been bolted onto them. The powered, four fingered, claws that made up each hand could crush stone and steel like it was paper, and onto the left forearm of each one was a thirty-millimeter cannon. The cannon sported self-targeting IR sensors, and a few other aiming devices. For shorter ranged combat, and psychological warfare purposes, both forearms had a thermite-napalm flamethrower attached.
The Dark Elves had learned the horror of pressurized thermite during the Battle of Mithril Hall. Now they would see their own city burn before it.
For really heavy duty work, Cortana had also managed to bolt on a Gauss Canon, which was attached to the left arm of the Golems. Though the ammunition pack for each of those weapons was limited to some thirty rounds, the sheer psychological impact of the powerful anti-material weapons would hopefully make them a potent force multiplier for the Golems. She suspected it would also be handy if any Balors decided to make their presence known. Topping it off was an automated grenade launcher that had been attached to the right shoulder, capable of launching a myriad of explosives, from incendiaries, frags, smoke and flash-bangs.
When she was done admiring the A.I.'s handiwork, she went to go take a closer look at the projectors, and make certain all the last details were ready and everything in order for what was to come.
The soldiers filtered in one by one, or in small groups. However, everyone was in place by thirteen hundred hours. Commander Keyes looked around and once again marveled at the sheer variety of people before her. There were Dwarves, Elves, Elites, Grunts, and Hunters as before. But now the assortment of soldiers and magi were joined by new troops: The Dark Elves of Bregan D'earth, and an agent of the Hells. Jarlalxle Baenre, Dinin Do'Urden, and Mephasm joined the likes of Lord Nasher, Dove Falconhand, and Orna Fulsamee.
The UNSC Commander sighed once more, and called everyone to order, right on time. She activated the hologram generators that filled the room, and typed in the command files. Moments later, a series of detailed three dimensional maps began to fill the room. There were several, but three in particular stood out to those who knew them: Menzoberranzan, the Tier Breche academies where the next generations of Dark Elven elite were trained, and House Baenre. Jarlaxle's magi had pulled the images straight from his mind and painted them onto parchments. Cortana had scanned them and the rest was history.
Above the maps was a holographic message in three languages: For Eyes Only. Operation Overlord.
"Everyone present and accounted for?" she inquired.
"All except for the Master Chief," Orna spoke up from his seat on the left side of the room.
"The Master Chief and Cortana will be joining us in a few minutes," Commander Keyes said, assuming a parade rest stance for a few moments. She took a breath, and launched into the briefing. "As you all know, the Dark Elves are regrouping and have already begun massing for their second assault on the surface. This time they will be aided by the forces of Demogorgon and quite possibly the Demon Prince himself, once he has finished recuperating from his imprisonment." She looked around to everyone who was present, and for a moment, wondered whom she might be speaking to for the last time. There was indeed a chance that this might be the last time she spoke to any of them like this. The mission they were about to do could very well wind up being their last.
"The leaders of the Lords' Alliance, Clans Battle-Hammer and Ironfist, and the Neo-Covenant commanders have conferred and pooled what we know about our enemies. It has thus been concluded that we cannot afford to limit ourselves to a simple defensive battle once again. Our enemy may well be assaulting us with more troops than we have weapons to kill them with." She started to move over towards the Menzoberranzan hologram. "As such, while the troops of the Lords' Alliance mass and prepare to defend their cities, an elite strike force will assault Menzoberranzan and attempt to destroy what is left of the Dark Elves' command and control capabilities. Other assaults will simultaneously be made against other enemy strong points, but those will not concern us. You are here because you are going to be participating in these raids, and you will all have roles to play in the battle."
She looked around once more, trying to draw the attention of every soldier in the room to her. "Should we succeed, we may very well break the Dark Elves as a power for millennia to come, and forever change the course of history on this world." She reached down and picked up a remote, pressing a button on it. Graphs and highlights appeared on the map of Menzoberranzan, reading out information on suspected troop concentrations and patrol routes.
"There will be five major elements to this assault force. The first is the command group, designation Omaha. The four other elements are codenamed Utah, Gold, Juno, and Sword. You will be responsible for accomplishing most of the objects that we've set for ourselves…"
The briefing went on for half an hour without incident. It wasn't until the next task force was named that people started getting restless and questions asked.
She pressed the advance button on her remote; House Baenre and Tier Breche disappeared from their holoprojectors, and were replaced by two enlarged sectors of the city itself. They were heavy residential areas, and it was here that their second mission would occur. Commander Keyes chewed on her lip slightly. If the first operation seemed to be a suicide mission, then this mission went passed that and plowed straight into the realm of the surreal.
Words flashed once again for the eyes of all to see: Operation Double Thunder.
"Some of you are probably still wondering why you are here," she looked over to Bruenor and the elite soldiers of the two Dwarven Clans, some of the Knights of Silverymoon, and other such soldiers of the Lord's Alliance. "Your curiosity is warranted. This mission comes as a personal request from Helm himself, as well as the Goddess Eilistraee. While our troops tie up the Dark Elven military and try to wipe their army from the face of this planet, you will teleport into the residential areas of Menzoberranzan, and with the aid of Bregan D'aerthe and Lord's Alliance Magi, and begin trying to… contain, some of the children of the citizenry." The room grew stiffly silent. Commander Keyes did not blame them in that silence. Their faces mirrored her own when Helm's Avatar had informed her of his intentions to carry this out.
They wanted to know the why of this request. She wasn't certain if this was such a good idea, but the troops before her needed to know why they would be risking life and limb.
"They believe that it is possible to save the Drow from themselves, and to free them from Lolth's control. To break the cycle of damnation that holds them in Lolth's thrall, however, requires the complete and total dismantlement of Dark Elven civilization and their current culture up to a certain point. What you are going to be tasked with doing is trying to save the younger children who have not yet been indoctrinated into Lolth's ways." Quiet murmurs sprung up among the gathered troops, whispers that the Commander couldn't quite hear.
She wondered what they might have been about. She was asking them, in no uncertain terms, to forcibly kidnap hundreds of young children and rip them away from their parents. The alternative, however, was thermonuclear annihilation. Surely this had to be better than that? Or was that her subconscious trying to soothe her weary mind, trying to justify this by telling her that it was a lesser evil that might actually result in some good coming from this whole sordid mess?
She put her thoughts to voice. "I understand that this may strike some of you as strange, or perhaps even wrong. I cannot say I blame you. The alternative, however, is for them to all die when our Havoks go off. On the larger picture, there is also the possibility that unless this cycle is broken, that the Drow will eventually be destroyed entirely, either by themselves, or by some other power." She paused, and let that sink in. "This is our chance to make a difference and try to do something other than just make stuff blow up."
She wasn't certain if she had won anyone over, or made this operation any less uncomfortable for the troops involved, but it was the best she could offer. She clasped her hands behind her back once again and resumed the briefing.
"Once you manage to gather your targets, the magi with you will teleport them out to a secured location within Mithril Hall. You're to keep working until the last possible second. We want to save everyone that we can." She looked out across the gathered soldiers yet again. "Any questions?"
Bruenor raised his hand. "What age group are we talking about here?"
"Helm and Eilistraee have concluded unfortunately, that after about age ten, the ways of Lolth will have too firm a hold upon them. Anyone older than that…" she trailed off. The Dwarven King nodded his head soberly.
Other questions were asked and answered. Expected target density? Low. How to deal with resisting parents? Preferably nonleathal… not that it would make much of a difference in the long run. Would the children be subdued prior to transport? Yes.
Keyes almost felt exhausted by the time it was all over with, and there were elements of this operation she had to admit still felt off. But the briefing was nearly over. Another hand went up, this one belonging to Drizzt.
"What is to stop Lolth herself from trying to hamper our progress?" the Ranger inquired.
"Helm and Moradin, are going to personally mount and assault upon her realm of the Abyss and keep her eyes elsewhere, while Eiliastree and her forces attempt to save some of the souls of the Bregan D'earthe soldiers, the price of their services in this battle." Keyes said. "This is the third and final operation going on. You will not have to concern yourself with it, however. It's not like we could do much anyway as far as support is concern. We are, however, contributing one major element to the operation, which will be with us shortly."
"Actually, it is here now."
Everyone looked over to the entrance of the command room. One of Helm's Avatars was present, and as it strode forward, Keyes could see that there was something behind it. A smile teased at the edges of her face. This was the final morale-raising element that she needed. And it was right on schedule.
"We apologize for the delay," the voice was Cortana's. "Took a little longer for the flash training and everything to settle in properly. We're good to go now."
One could hear a pin drop in the room as the thing behind Helm moved forward. Made of glistening black metal, highlighted by small bits of grey and blue, looking almost like a gemstone with all the sharp angles in it, and bristling with weaponry, was Didact's old Class Twenty combat exoskeleton. It descended the stairs with almost unnatural grace, and looked to be every part the walking weapon that it was. Those who had seen it before, however, noticed something different about the armor. Adorned on the shoulders of the suit was the sigil of Helm: an armored gauntlet with an unblinking, lidless eye. Even those marveling at the plates, the weapon hardpoints, or the thrusters on the back and legs of the power armor noticed that symbol, and whispered inquiries burst out as the suit continued to walk forward. It came to a stop in front of the Commander, and she marveled at the contrast that it presented, moving so easily when it looked to be more like a walking weapons platform than anything else. She stared into the "visor" as the Telo energy rifle it carried was shifted to the left hand and placed against the shoulder, while the right came up to salute her.
"Commander Keyes, Spartan-117 and A.I. Construct CTN 0452-9 reporting for duty ma'am."
The hushed whispers cut off in an instant, and the silence within the chamber was broken only by the sound of breathing as Commander Miranda Keyes returned the salute.
"You understand the nature of your assignment?" she asked, cocking her head to the side slightly.
"Affirmative." Both cyborg and construct said without hesitation.
"Then be prepared to move out with the rest of the operation," she said. Then she turned to face the rest of the gathered troops. "You have approximately eight hours to make preparations before we begin. I don't care how you spend them, but I want everyone sober, rested, and ready to go. No exceptions. No excuses. Am I understood?"
Everyone nodded their heads, and slowly began to filter out of the room, leaving the Golems, Commander Keyes, and the Master Chief alone in the room. All eyes were upon the gleaming Forerunner power armor, and Keyes could hear whispering, indistinct, from the crowd. Judging by the individuals doing it, such as Drizzt, Bruenor, and some of the high ranking Elites, she suspected it dealt with the nature of the suit itself. They had been with Helm when he had "shown" the armors in action, and knew precisely what they were capable of. No matter how bad or ugly things might wind up getting on the ground, there was certainly comfort that could be taken to know that somewhere, that kind of firepower was on their side.
"I think you gave them a much needed boost," Keyes put a voice to her thoughts, turning to face the Master Chief again. "Are you certain that you're up to this?" she asked again, this time away from the ears of others.
"Yes ma'am. Shift into the Abyss, wipe out as many of the Demons as we can, and try and draw Demogorgon out of hiding," Cortana said over the suit's speakers.
"And if that fails, pursue and attempt to destroy." The Spartan finished for her.
Keyes clasped her hands behind her back, and stared up into that visor again, gazing at her own reflection. Helm had spent nearly every waking moment since he had informed them of the 'complication' following the Battle for Mithril Hall training the Spartan in how to use the weapon systems and suit functions. It seemed as though the Master Chief was a swift learner (though she wondered how much had been transmitted directly into his brain), but what the duo would be up against was an opponent of literally biblical proportions.
"Even if we don't succeed in destroying Demogorgon himself, we just have to cripple his operations," the Master Chief spoke up, as if sensing the Commander's doubt. "He's engaged in a perpetual war against the Devils and a half dozen other powers, while the very power structure that he's a part of is waiting for the slightest sign of a slip up or crack. He can only afford to devote so many of his troops to this battle, especially if Overlord succeeds in wiping out the second Drow army." The Spartan tapped his index finger against the side of the trigger guard on the Telo rifle that he was carrying.
"And if you can't stop him?" Keyes inquired.
"We bloody his nose, wound his pride, and keep him too occupied on sating his megalomania to think straight," Cortana spoke up and Keyes thought she noticed a slight, subtle distortion to the A.I.'s voice, "then we lead him on a merry chase through all the slime pits and hellholes the Abyss has to offer. Meanwhile, Helm and the Dwarven Gods keep Lolth occupied and clueless as to what's about to hit most of her remaining military forces."
If everything went to plan, Keyes thought. Of course, it wouldn't, they never did. It was time to see if they could adapt as well on offense as they could on defense.
"Well, in case I don't get a chance to say it later, good luck and Godspeed," the Commander said, saluting the pair once more. They returned the gesture, and she felt the smile return to her face once again. "Whatever happens, good or bad, I want you two to know that serving with you has been an honor."
"Likewise, ma'am." the Master Chief's voice sounded oddly inhuman coming from within the power armor.
"Dismissed, you two. Make whatever preparations you need." Keyes said, nodding to them before turning back around to look at the displays coming out of the hologenerators.
As he turned and walked away from his commanding officer, the Master Chief's mind began to systematically run back through the long training sessions that he'd held with Helm to be able to use the new power armor that he was wearing. The time manipulation devices on the suit had proven useful for extending the training period to allow for more hands-on preparation.
Flash training and muscle programming were good things, but the cyborg still preferred the real deal.
It still felt strange though, to be walking around in this suit. It was not that the Spartan was uncomfortable in this device, or that it felt awkward. Indeed, far from it, the suit acted like it was merely an extension of his body. Thoughts were actions within this alien shell, a command one, single fluid chain of events. Further, Helm had made modifications to the armor over the ages, as he learned more about the arcane, specifically with defenses to the mind. There had also been additional weapon systems hooked up to the exoskeleton, which left the Spartan to wonder if the God had not contemplated challenging the great Demon Prince at some point in time himself. This was especially given that much of the time he had spent in virtual combat against a computer generated Demogorgon. Helm wanted him and Cortana to be as familiarized as possible with the past tactics of the Demon Prince, so that they might better anticipate future tactics and stratagems.
And then there was the power, the sheer, raw, power that the Spartan suddenly found himself in control of. With but a thought, he could wipe an army from the face of this world. Whole nations could crumble before this power armor. He suspected he could even be a threat to Covenant fleets and battle-stations within this device, due to its ability to manipulate space and time. His thoughts went to his fellow Spartans, now dead, and to the war itself. If he'd had this armor then, if his brothers and sisters had had this equipment, how much different might things have been? How many worlds could they have saved, how many lives would not have been lost?
And then there was Neeshka. Right now, the Master Chief wanted to storm down into the Dark Elven city, crush their paltry defenses, and get his sister in arms out of that hellhole. But he could not. That job was for others, and he would have to trust that Sergeant Johnson, Mephasm, and Orna would put as much effort into saving her as he would. His goal was to keep Demogorgon tied up and unable to manifest upon the Prime Material Plane. All data indicated that was the Demon Prince's intention, and if he did cities, nations, and empires would turn to dust and graveyards before him. There was no mortal force on all of Faerun that could face the Demon Prince. No Elf, no Dwarf, no Human, no Dragon, no Wizard or Sorcerer could stand against him. He was a primal force of nature more than a living entity, and Helm had warned that if Demogorgon made his way to the front lines in this fight, that to push him back into the Gaping Maw might literally cost millions of lives, if such an event was even possible.
A small number, compared to Humanities losses in the war with the Covenant, and absolutely paltry compared to the untold quintillions that had died during the war between Flood and Forerunner. But the situation here was different. Torril's peoples had no space colonies, no ships to put their civilians on and evacuate them from the planet. If their defenders were overrun, they would die, and there were several species living here that did not have that number of people to lose.
It was quite possible that this day would see entire sentient races driven to extinction.
It was his job, and Cortana's job, to prevent that from happening. They were to keep this monster away from the cities and the towns. Their job was to stop genocide, and put fear into the heart of Evil itself. His foe was like an infection, stirring up and festering the hearts of men and nations.
It was, he realized, much like the Flood itself. Demogorgon, and the Demons themselves, sought to consume the rest of reality, and to destroy what they could not subdue. Like the Flood, their foe today was a corrupting disease, a cancer that had to be expunged. The Master Chief's eyes narrowed behind the multitude of HUD readouts in front of him. He would not fail. He could not, or millions would pay the price. Nor, as Mendicant Bias once said, was this a fight that could be won by half measures. When the battle was joined, he would hold nothing back, and give no quarter. He would engage the Demon Prince with the intention of destroying him and bring every last weapon system this armor suit had to bear.
It was a battle that the Master Chief felt, might possibly be the hardest that he had ever fought, or would ever fight.
-00-
Okay. For those of you who have kept reading to find out what's been bothering me so much these past few months, I shall say it plain and clear. I ask you to please forgive me if this comes off as a pedantry filled rant/author note here. I've just got to get this out of my system.
I finally had the chance to finish up Spartan Ops on Halo 4… and… well… oh, to heck with it, I can't put it any more eloquently. It freaking sucked!
Those who know me better as Aratech of Spacebattles are likely familiar with the massive review that I posted two years ago on Halo: Reach, where I ruthlessly tore into its single-player campaign. I ranted about the fact that the UNSC and Covenant had both been reduced to drooling morons in this game ("Yes, we shall pull back all our observation and recon teams from the enemy staging area despite the fact that the Covenant have proven the ability to block our high tech observation tools, thereby ensuring that our completely unsupported armored charge in the morning will go screaming into battle with no idea what's waiting for them and as a result of this the troops are more or less slaughtered to the last man."), how Noble Team came off as a special forces team where the writers forgot that special meant elite rather than "special needs" and made it a deliberate point to kill off the team members in increasingly contrived manners (like the supposedly smartest member of Noble forgetting to turn her bloody shields on) and filled with massive plot holes and wallbangers (Like the second most heavily defended planet in the UNSC (it's premier military world no-less!) apparently not having any ground-side nuclear weaponry, despite belonging to an organization that routinely passes out 30 megaton party favors to its black ops teams). A story which, overall, utterly tarnished much of the Halo universe while adding only a single positive thing to the lore (fare thee well, Jorge, you were far too good for this piece of crap).
For the longest time, I was convinced that the Halo franchise would just limp along and finally peter out. Then came Halo 4. For a time, I actually felt a bit of hope playing it. The campaign wasn't perfect, not by any means (I've come to hate how the Promethean Knights were wasted, taking what could have been an interesting and innovative enemy, with entirely new tactics and weaponry, and basically turning them into slightly more powerful elites with what are in essence reskinned UNSC weaponry and a single extra gimmick), but I felt it was a hell of a lot better than the Reach storyline. Cortana's death could have been handled better, I felt, but I was glad they touched on a moment that those of us who have been following the expanded universe from the beginning knew has been coming ever since Fall of Reach came out.
Then came Spartan Ops. Clearly, this is where Reach's storywriters were relegated to. The UNSC has been reduced to drooling idiots once again (Oh, we're not going to station any guards around this super-potent, unknown Forerunner artifact, even though it just freaking ate our head scientist and nearly destroyed our supership. Nope, not even a sign saying "Please Refrain from Touching the Plot Coupon", and we're not going to have any internal defensive mechanisms to protect our super-ship, and in fact we'll keep the air vents large enough that a fully armored Elite can just casually waltz through them with his squad. We can somehow paint a single Jackal sniper from freaking orbit, but we managed to miss the entire Covenant army (including a freaking multi-kilometer long capital ship!) that was sneaking up on our most valuable fireteam!).
And Palmer, dear, sweet, moronic Commander Sarah Palmer. An individual I am clearly supposed to believe is the most badass female in the entire remaining UNSC, despite her willingness to abandon her post and turn off her comm. at the drop of a hat so she can go torment Halsey without telling her subordinates what she's up to, thus leaving them scrambling to try and find her when things go to hell, her strange love for waltzing around in enemy controlled territory without her helmet, thereby denying herself the protection of her shields, motion tracker, NBC and vacuum hardening, and HUD, and her moral cowardice. (Ordered by a commanding officer to arrest the living legend of a Spartan who's fully armored and more than capable of reenacting the case of Hulk v. Loki against her, nope, not happening. Commanding Officer begs her to not assassinate an aging woman completely incapable of mounting any sort of resistance or defense against her? "Orders are orders!") To say nothing of her spectacular incompetence during that little op (I'm going to rush into the most heavily defended outpost on Requiem, of which we more or less have no intelligence and I'm outnumbered bugger-all to one, armed only with two pistols and a knife, completely forsaking heavy weapons, grenades, backup, armor mods, or the like, because I'm super-special-awesome!) directly resulting in not only botching said operation in truly spectacular form, but also giving the UNSC's foremost Forerunner tech expert literally nowhere to go except into the arms of Humanity's most dangerous enemy and doing the one thing that could ever possibly cause a fanatically loyal (and extremely dangerous) combat force like the remaining Spartan-II's to go rogue.
As an additional note, on the extreme off chance that any 343i employees happen to read this, a little word of advice: if you, as professional writers, in order to make one of your characters appear like a complete badass, have to make the enemy forget about key, integrated defensive technologies that they have been established to have access to from their very first appearance and are a core essence of their combat protocols (Palmer one-shotting a fresh-to-the-fight Knight that apparently forgot it had energy shields) you have failed! Return to the drawing board and start anew! Sorry… it's just that there are few things that irk me more than someone attempting to portray a character as this hyper-competent super-awesome badass when the sad reality is that he or she shouldn't be in charge of protecting anything more important than the UNSC's strategic ballpoint pen stockpile.
Again… I apologize for all of this ranting… I just need to vent I suppose. Halo has long been one of my favorite science fiction franchises, and when my friends and I first dreamed up Finishing the Fight's scenario, many years ago on a night where we were all on a caffeine buzz and listening to over-the-top orchestral music, I still had that sense of awe and wonder. Writing this story, and fixing it up and posting it over here has been one of the greatest joys of my life, and I hope one of the critical steps towards one day being a published author myself (it being the first story I've written that doesn't make me look back at it and think "dear god, I sucked back then."). But… well… there are few better ways to suck that joy out of a person than to watch more or less helplessly as that franchise is rammed into the dirt when the writers, programmers, and the like become concerned with money to the expense of everything else, and quality control is allowed to more or less be abandoned in favor of turning out some cheap, un-innovative crap that millions will buy simply because it has the "Halo" ™ logo slapped on it.
I'll still continue to post this story, still try and proofread and correct it… and if I ever get the time, I will try and get the sequel (and even a little ten or so chapter Fall of Reach sidestory I've been planning) off the ground but I'm not sure if it'll be the same anymore.
Thank you for bearing with me while I got that off my chest, and to all of you who have kept following this story through all its ups and downs and putting up with the drama of my personal life, thank you. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.