Chapter 24 – Ultio
May 10th, 2545 (08:43 Hours – Military Calendar)
Aquilla System, Actium
High Mediolanum, Republic of Pavia
Eastern City Limits
:********:
"I will ask you a question, human." The Elite said, raising his sword at Mito. "And you will answer it."
"What?"
"Why do you and those of your kind keep fighting against us when you know, and have at least surely seen, that your destruction is the will of the Gods?"
"Your Gods, not ours."
"Ah, yes, that must be it. You hold faith in the words and promises of false Gods and false oracles that you will survive this. That settles it then."
Mito threw off his rucksack and let it fall behind him. He rolled his shoulders to loosen the muscles. The less weight on him the better. "Nothing's settled until one of us is dead."
The Elite glared at him. "One of us or all of you?"
"There'll always be someone left to stop things like you, no matter what or who you decide to glass. As things stand, it's just my turn now."
"Perhaps so. Then I will pose yet a final question, for you alone. Why not accept your fate honorably? At the very least you are taking an honorable route to your own demise so I can at most pity you. But you still remain defiantly adamant that you may yet win." His energy sword lowered back to his side. "You will not stop our Covenant or any of our kind in our efforts to destroy you. You should accept here and now the truth of our cause. Maybe then the Gods will be merciful and lighten your punishment in the life after this."
Mito's grip on the Yamamoto Aka tightened as he brought it fully to bear before him. "I'd rather be in your hell with my Gods than in your heaven with yours."
The Elite straightened, looking taken aback. Then his demeanor darkened beneath the brim of his angular helmet. "Very well then. Let me not delay your reunion any longer."
Muscles tensed, legs bent then pushed out from the grass as both opponents ran headlong towards the other, swords at the ready.
They covered the short distance between them in 2 seconds. The Elite was already preparing an overhead swipe and Mito was prepping to strike at his stomach. But in the last few steps before they would have collided, as the alien's sword came down, Mito dropped nearly to the ground like an athlete launching from a starting block, using the slight traction of the dew-covered grass to launch at the creature's legs. He simultaneously threw his katana past the Elite, freeing his sword-hand to grab the vulnerable weapon on the alien's thigh bracer: the D-shaped handle of an energy curveblade. As the weapon flashed to life in his hands, his momentum helped him spin around to stab it deep into the side of the Elite's thigh. The blade burst through energy shields, burned through armor and plunged through flesh and bone. In the same movement he leaped again to avoid a downward arc of the energy sword slashing the spot where he'd once been. He grasped his katana mid-roll, using the wetness of the grass to slide a few safe meters away and came up in a defensive crouch.
The Elite briefly staggered in his steps as he turned on Mito, his expression furious and teeth nearly bared when he caught sight of the energy blade embedded nearly to the hilt in his left leg. Blue blood began streaming from the wound down that part of the armor.
Taking one last angered look at Mito, he reached down to pull out the weapon.
Mito chose that exact moment to run forward and leap. He closed the distance between them before his foe could grasp the handle and descended on him with a blow aimed at his neck. At the last second the Elite changed his mind and ducked beneath the death-blow, instead lashing out to try and cut the ODST in half.
But Mito also ducked and slid across the wet grass until he was within arm's reach of the alien before jumping up to kick off from the front of his armor like a wall. He flew back while forcing his foe to briefly lose his balance.
Landing at a relatively safe distance, Mito brought the Aka up to his visor with the tip aimed at his adversary. He waited.
However, the Elite seemed to figure out his strategy because he didn't try to pull out the weapon stuck in his leg again. Instead, he stood upright and set his focus distinctly on the shock trooper.
That wasn't a good sign, Mito knew.
It meant he was dealing with a 2-meter-tall warrior with better weapons, better armor and better reach that was also a fast learner.
His strategy was three-pronged.
First, he would plant the curveblade into one of the Elite's legs to keep his energy shields from being a factor, one less advantage he would have over him. Then the Field Marshal would have to decide on whether to take the blade out and risk being cut down or leaving it in and slowly bleeding to death throughout the fight, gradually losing momentum until his lights finally winked out. Either way, as long as Mito was fast enough, he would have him pegged. Second was the terrain. There were parts of the grass left slippery from the morning dew. While the rising Aquilla would eventually dry it up, it left him with an opportunity to use these spots of glimmering grass around them. It made his own maneuvers easier to pull off while hampering the Elite's larger movements by making him slip around more. Third was the distance he kept between them. As long as Mito stayed just on the edge of his reach, he would be able to dodge anything he threw at him while having access to the critical points of contact he would need to hit.
This was a fight unlike any other he'd ever faced. Here he would have to defeat his opponent without their swords ever making contact. The moment they did, the Yamamoto Aka would be sliced in two. He would have to manage with quick actions and fast withdrawals, nothing protracted. After all he only had so much time before all the grass was dry and the Elite became less restricted.
But the Marshal wasn't waiting for anything at all and suddenly charged forward.
To Mito's surprise he moved as if the curveblade stuck in his leg wasn't even there.
The ODST barely had the chance to leap back at a sidelong swipe at his stomach. He found himself dodging and diving away from a rapid series of follow-ups that came on the heels of the first in a seemingly unending cycle that singed the air. The Elite was now far closer than he wanted him. Needing to get some distance he started rolling away from potential decapitations and jumping back from strikes headed for his waist. All the while he searched for an opening, one the Elite wasn't keen on providing as he stayed on him, negating his spatial advantage.
Mito found a window just as the Elite reeled back for a downward thrust through his abdomen. With some quick footwork, he dodged right of it then shot up from a crouch to slice upwards through his foe's exposed wrist. Drawing fresh blood, he landed back down to again strike along the jagged wound, deepening it like a two-handed saw through thick tree bark. He immediately jumped, barreling leftward over another attempt by the Elite to cut him in half then, when the Marshal twisted his grip for a mirroring strike, fell to the ground and rolled underneath the attack so that he was right in front of the alien's feet. He was already in a starting position and launched himself through the gap in the legs to cut across the right heel.
He slid a short meter away and swung his foot around to turn to the Elite, aiming the Aka at him which dripped blue blood.
Now his enemy was staggering. But instead of dropping from a wounded Achilles heel, he rounded on Mito and swung a powerful overhead strike that arced towards the ground, straight for him.
Mito rolled out of the way to allow the twin-forks of azure energy to cut a divot across the ground, evaporating the dew and unleashing a burst of steam.
The Field Marshal charged again yet stopped mid-lunge to lower itself into a crouch so that the sudden change of movement made him momentarily glide over the grass. It was enough to get him closer to Mito, closer than he could easily dodge.
Knowing he couldn't simply roll left or right, Mito tensed the muscles in his arms and legs and, with all his strength, pushed himself half-a-meter off the ground. It was enough to have the incoming energy sword pass mere centimeters underneath him. But the Elite had glided so close that he could touch him, and he did. He had held the Yamamoto Aka in the crux of his arm, then in a matter befitting of Iado, 'unsheathed' it to lash out at the Elite's vulnerable eyes. However, the Marshal brought up his freehand so that the Aka struck against that instead, ploughing across the reptilian flesh to leave a bloody wake below the knuckles.
Mito landed in a crouch amidst a fresh spray of blue blood. He swiveled about at the same time as the Elite who'd finished racing across the grass was about to round on him.
Not wasting a breath, Mito ran forward to the opening of his vulnerable back...only to stop upon noticing that the grass at his foe's feet was not glistening. It was dry, just like the rest of the spot around him where he would have ended up. The thing had tried to remove him from his place of advantage, to lessen the ODST's movements and increase his own.
He stayed put and waited for the other to make a move.
Seeing that the shock trooper hadn't taken the bait, the Elite growled and again charged at him.
:********:
From the sidelines Duncan was no less awestruck than a man going into open space for the first time. Seeing Ep-10, a rookie ODST and a new addition to the squad, going toe to toe or rather sword to sword with an Elite, and a Field Marshal no less, was nothing short of jaw-dropping. The fact he was somehow still in one piece after so many close-calls left him speechless. He couldn't tell what the Staff's reaction was since he was also quietly watching behind a polarized visor. His best guess was that he was thinking something similar. The same probably applied to the two Ultras keeping them pinned underfoot that he'd almost forgotten were there. They too were quietly watching with an air of growing concern. Nevertheless, they probably wouldn't hesitate to shoot them if they made any sudden moves.
Then he was struck with an idea. He couldn't believe he hadn't thought of it before. Though his arms and legs were useless at the moment, his neural interface wasn't. Neither was his HUD or the recording option.
Back at the base of the Luna Alta when he'd interacted with the special holo-pedestals, he had decided to keep the wireless link to his BDU going. He had also turned the dial for the broadcasting distance to the max possible signal range of what he guessed to be almost 150 kilometers. It was just in case they caught something that could weaken the morale of Covenant forces in the area if he showed it. While he hadn't exactly captured that kind of footage on the way to the 3rd Premiere Wall, there was certainly great material here now. He took the risk and started recording the fight.
:********:
Field Marshal Duracomee had always thought the greatest defense to be an excellent and efficient offense. To keep the enemy under such continuous pressure that they had no chance to actually plan or retaliate would increase the chances of them making a mistake and giving him the chance to cut them down. That was the strategy the Covenant used to handle its affairs against the humans. So surely it was the best strategy in this instance.
However, his old teacher would have disagreed now just as he had cycles ago when he was still under his tutelage. The great War Instructor and Master of Arms, Maragek Ontomee, believed the best measure was not to lean predominantly on any single strategy but to rely on a pragmatically wise balance. He'd taught that a lack of strategic equalization between the two forms of confrontation and an overreliance on one over the other was dangerous. It could become a crutch and weaken a Sangheili's abilities in the other area, leaving them much more susceptible to the wiles of an opponent fighting them where they were weakest. The matter would be even worse were it applied to an entire army or fleet.
Maragek was possibly ahead of his time in an era where the Covenant rarely ever had to defend anything against an enemy that had everything to lose. Even so, it was good advice that Duracomee simply hadn't listened to when he attended his practices at his teacher's War College. He was heeding it more at the moment, because here was a human that was besting him despite his use of the craft in which his own kin were superior, or should have been.
The shock trooper was constantly slipping through his grasp. Every time he was about to deliver a decisive blow either the pain in his leg would distract him or the human would simply jump, leap and roll away. All the while he had to restrain his own movements to avoid slipping about out of control.
What made it even worse was that he had yet to land a solid blow on his enemy while said foe was using his own tactics to exploit his lack of a real defense.
After another failed attempt to cleave its helmeted head from its shoulders he decided it was time to change strategy, and he already had an idea in mind. While he wasn't about to go on the defensive against just one human, he was willing to alter his approach.
Duracomee broke his constant barrage of attacks without warning and jumped back a few meters. Landing caused the pulsing pain in his stabbed leg to flare like fire. He ignored it and kept an eye on the human as he whipped his energy sword across the wet grass. In doing so the sheer heat evaporated the dew while lighting the grass itself on fire. Steam poured out from the earthy gash due to the superheated nature of his weapon that made the water droplets nearly explode. Steam arose in such high quantities that it covered his visage almost instantaneously. He lashed out a few more times to a similar effect, creating a rising cloud that would cover his movements.
He dashed towards the human at a full-sprint while keeping his blade trailing through the grass to create a rising wall of steam.
A few steps short of the human he changed course and went around it. The shock trooper followed his movements as he went. In under a few seconds the sight of the smaller figure was sealed off behind an encircling wall of steam, just as planned.
If the human wanted to use the wet grass to its advantage, then he would turn it into a disadvantage and blind it completely. He knew that these black-armored types used specialized visor technologies that helped them identify friends from foes. By creating a storm of steam, it would hide him until he was too close for even that technology to be of use to it.
When there was enough condensation, he stopped and maneuvered around to where he last saw the human. He stopped then jumped into the cloud, coming out right behind his opponent.
His energy sword raced diagonally towards the target. But the human must have heard him as it fell away from the overhead strike at the last second. Instead, only the edge of the sword cut across its side to leave a bleeding and molten gash.
He watched it roll away then come back around to face him. Again, he receded into the steam then came back out, once more right behind his quarry. He lunged. The smaller alien sensed that as well and span around it so that the fork of energy only cut across his shoulder guard.
Having avoided two close calls, it lashed out and cut even deeper into the wounds of his wrist to the point that flecks of bone flew out.
Duracomee paid no heed to the pain. He swatted the alien in the helmet with his other arm to send it spiraling aside. It managed to land on its two feet low to the ground. He wouldn't give it a moment's reprieve. With his command of the offensive style 'Rite of Severance', a well-known standard of Covenant Field Commanders, he manipulated the creature to his will like a puppet on strings. It became more and more desperate to evade his attacks. His side-swipes and overhead swings couldn't be parried at the increasing speeds to which he was delivering them and it kept his enemy ever on the move. But his focus was on pressing it to use its sword so that he could cut it to pieces and leave it defenseless.
Amidst the flurry of his actions, he hadn't noticed that he was inadvertently breaking up the steam cloud until they were nearly to the edge.
He lunged again before the human was completely clear of the haze, then without warning, deactivated his sword.
The human was momentarily caught off guard by this, just as he'd intended. He raced close enough to strike a powerful uppercut to the underside of its helmet that launched it a full meter off the ground. He punched the handle of his blade into its stomach in midair and was about to reactivate the blade when the trooper responded by batting away his arm with both of its own, scoring yet another sword strike on his bleeding wrist in the process. Still, it hadn't done so in time to stop the energy from lancing across its chest and burning across its armor.
As it landed clear of the steam it gave an agonized scream, clutching at its stomach. He took the chance to leap upon it.
The trooper saw him coming and barreled off to the side to avoid his crushing weight.
Duracomee's mandibles flared outward in an enraged and frustrated roar. He raised his sword and sprinted after it to unleash his growing fury. Yet his anger waned at feeling somewhat lightheaded. The pulsing pain in his leg had dulled. He saw that much of his lifeblood had already dried from where it leaked over his leg. The energy curveblade buried there had at the very least stopped causing him to bleed, not that he was doing himself any favors by moving around. It was just another reminder that he needed to finish this fight and quickly.
:********:
It was becoming harder and harder for Mito to dodge. The Marshal was beginning to catch on to his movements. He was rapidly adding follow-ups to his attacks that counteracted many of his evasion attempts, so much so that he had several more burning gashes across his armor to prove it. He would need to find some way to end this fight and fast or the Elite would adapt to all his tricks.
Throughout the fighting he'd kept an eye on the curveblade embedded in the alien's thigh. He was curious as to why hadn't it bled out yet. When he got the chance, he glanced at its wounded leg and realized the problem. The energy blade, by its very nature of superheated ignition had likely cauterized the wounded flesh around it, incidentally limiting the amount of internal damage it could inflict. It was possible the Elite had understood that as well and was leaving it in for that purpose along with denying him an opening to attack during any attempt to pull it out. He would have to do something about it if he wanted to stand a chance.
After kicking off from another close-call that had nearly severed his throat he decided on a final plan.
He reached down and pulled out a frag grenade from his utility belt. He held it out for the Elite to see what he had. It had the desired effect. The alien briefly stopped his attacks, buying him enough time to retreat a few more meters. The reprieve lasted no longer than 2 seconds before the Elite was after him again, probably assuming it was a faint.
Nevertheless, he had all the space he needed.
For the first time Mito counter-charged, running straight towards his enemy who was also doing the same. He had every intention of keeping this fight honorable and didn't plan to use the frag for anything direct. Rather, he predicted the spot where they would collide well in advance and timed it so that he threw the grenade as far behind him as he could. Then he jumped to eye-level with the alien and folded his limbs in close to his chest.
The grenade detonated.
Searing shrapnel pierced into his lower body in tandem with a blast force that shot him forward like a human cannonball. He flew directly over the oncoming Elite while spiraling with his katana to slice it clean across a vulnerable section of the shoulder.
He landed hard on his back just behind his foe. He saw that the Elite's sword arm now drooped, meaning he had likely struck a tendon. He swiped out again to hit it in the other Achilles heel. The sharpened metal diced through thick flesh but only to make the alien grunt in pain and briefly fall to a knee. Mito rolled leftward to avoid another overhead strike from the energy sword, stopped near the curveblade and kicked the handle upwards. The weapon again cut deep through muscle and bone. His prayers were answered when renewed spurts of blood rhythmically leaped out of the wound, likely from a severed artery. The Elite growled in renewed pain.
Mito rolled backwards then pushed off with his hands to throw himself onto his feet.
Much to his dismay the Elite, battered and bloodied as he was, also got up. But something felt different this time as he slowly turned on him and walked towards him, now with a noticeable stagger.
Stopping, the Field Marshal merely stared at him. He didn't seem to mind or care for the profuse amounts of blood streaming out of his leg. The sole attention and intention of his black eyes were focused on the ODST alone.
Mito began to feel uneasy at seeing the killing machine that was before him standing so perfectly still that he was nearly statuesque against the waving grass at his feet. In that moment it became apparent that Aquilla was higher in the sky now. The grass was dry, all of it, including the area around them.
The ODST's nerves grew more frayed when the alien's mandibles began splitting apart in their normal but increasingly threatening manner. He gradually realized what he was looking at was the Elite equivalent of a menacingly deep scowl.
The Field Marshal leaned forward, dragging a foot back across the dry grass to bring himself down into a crouch.
Mito winced. He barely got to react before his 2-meter-tall foe launched forward with such speed that he covered the ground between them mid-heartbeat. The alien swung first in a lateral strike that forced him to nearly bend over backwards. To his surprise the Elite stopped mid-swing, twisting his grip to make the blade arc down towards him.
Already bent backwards, Mito had to raise his right leg like a crane, shifting his weight so that he fell at an angle parallel to the blade, just out of its path of descent. He grabbed hold of the Elite's own arm to steady himself as the energy sword plunged into the earth rather than his chest, then pulled himself up on the same arm. He used his rising momentum to slash the Yamamoto Aka across his face, cutting off one of the lower mandibles and followed it with an upward kick aimed at the head.
The Elite caught his boot in his freehand. With a roar he pulled him into the air by his leg and tossed him like a rock in a sling.
Mito tumbled across the grass, skidding to a halt several meters away. The impact had winded him to the degree that he wheezed while getting back up. His legs were shakier but he stood nonetheless. He gripped nothing save for the air flowing through his palms.
His eyes went wide. He looked left and right and found that the Aka had landed between the Elite and himself, the former of which was well on his way. He had no choice but to run straight for it hoping he would reach it first.
Predicting his actions, the Field Marshal reeled back for what would undoubtedly be a low-sweeping strike.
They reached the katana at the same time. Mito pretended to reach for it then suddenly jumped right above the sweep of the energy sword to torpedo his own helmet straight into the Elite's face. He watched him stagger back and grabbed his weapon off the ground.
He risked glancing over at the spot before the bridge. Duncan and the Staff were thankfully still alive. The Elites had held up their end of the deal, even though the Ultras could probably change their minds at a moment's notice. However, he wondered what the chances were that they would actually let them go, even if he won? It would be safer to execute them from a tactical standpoint since they weren't participating in the duel and thus were not under any such preconditions to honor it themselves. Whether the others had thought about it or not wasn't obvious because both they and the Elites were too busy watching him fight the Field Marshal.
The two fighters eyed each other from the ends of their respective swords. They incidentally began to circle around the other, waiting for the opportune moment to present itself.
That moment came for Mito as he saw the Elite begin blinking more frequently before again staggering and almost losing his balance. He seized the moment to charge.
He wasn't expecting for him to recover as fast as he did in ducking at a blow meant to pry open his neck in order to thrust his elbow into his chest, pushing him back. Now it was Mito's turn to stagger. He fought to get more breath into his winded lungs as the Elite countered with a renewed series of attacks. The newest assault that Mito found himself dodging and diving away from, to him at least, seemed more sporadic. The Field Marshal's recoveries were fewer and farther in between while he fought with near reckless abandon. It was both a good and a bad sign. His opponent was weakening. However, if he knew his time was limited then he was probably becoming desperate, making him even more dangerous than he already was.
He started struggling to evade the lateral slashes and vertical cuts that came down at him in rapid succession. Some started to catch him, cutting away his armor and scarring the flesh beneath. He'd sustained new glowing gouges in his other shoulder guard, across his left shin and on his waist in under five seconds.
The Field Marshal's angered desperation was palpable as he growled and roared with each successful swing.
At this rate he couldn't leap away anymore without risking being torn apart. Seeking to use his desperation against him, Mito sought another opening.
After taking another grazing hit off his breastplate, he jumped left out of the way of a follow-up then leaped well into the Elite's range and implored a lateral, overhead swing. The Yamamoto Aka struck out the alien's right eye completely, leaving a bloody mess behind.
The Marshal didn't even flinch. He barreled forward into another series of rapid blows that became less and less organized with each once-disciplined repetition. It was like watching a former sword master slowly losing his edge.
Mito was starting to feel exhaustion seeping into his own bones. His movements coincidentally became less organized and more and more glancing blows hit their mark on him. He knew he had to end this before they both dropped out.
The ODST side-stepped a duo of unbalanced strokes of the energy sword to cut off a finger on his enemy's right hand in return. Regardless the Elite kept coming at him. The Yamamoto Aka took out two more fingers on the left hand, foiling an attempt to claw at him and hold him in place. The Elite kept coming.
He was expecting the barrage to go on forever when the Field Marshal's body unexpectedly gave out and he fell into an exasperated crouch. Mito could hear his shaky breathing. He saw him reach with the remaining fingers of his freehand towards the curveblade in his thigh where the spurting blood had diminished into a trickle.
Seeing his chance, the ODST dashed over to finish him off...then reeled back as the Elite sprung forward with sudden speed and slashed him clean across the visor.
Mito's vision blurred as something on his face burned. Warning sirens went off throughout his armor. He felt himself falling back on one leg, about to crumple. But what surprised him most was that aside from his red-hued visor he could see the outside world through a diagonal gash burned across the glass. He also saw the Elite standing over him, moving in slow-motion as he pivoted from the strong momentum of his own swing.
For the longest second of his life, he thought he saw a man wearing a black-padded Bogu in the Elite's place. He was standing victoriously with bamboo sword in hand, smiling behind his faceguard. A familiar voice spoke in his dulling mind:
"You're off-balance, little brother."
The world snapped back into crisp resolution. A great heat hotter than whatever was burning his face surged through mind and body alike as Mito stopped his backwards fall, slamming his left foot down to the ground and dragging it back. With his right he rose back up and pushed off towards the Elite who was still recovering from his overly-wide swing. It left him wide open.
Mito screamed at the top of his lungs as he sliced the Yamamoto Aka across the Elite's exposed midsection, easily cutting though the light armor to dig deep across the flesh. He recovered from his swing by twirling the blade back around in his grip, reeled the handle to his neck then thrust the katana deep into the wound, sliding into organs and crunching through bones until it punctured through the back.
The Elite gave a surprised and strained grunt. He swung down with his energy sword but was too slow to catch the other swordsman who swiftly withdrew his blade and used his momentum to spin behind him.
Mito spiraled around to slice through both of his heels in a single strike, finally cutting through the toughened tendons.
The towering visage of the Field Marshal collapsed onto his knees. His energy sword slowly fell after each of the three fingers left on that hand grew too weak to hold on. His head lowered.
Mito cautiously kicked the fallen energy sword out of reach. He came out in front of the Marshal with his katana, ready to cut down any more of his attempts to get back up. But he didn't make a move save for his eyes which stared back blankly into the ODST's scarred visor.
Mito stiffened at hearing the preparatory wine of energy weapons, turned and saw the Ultras taking aim at him.
The Field Marshal shouted something that drew his attention back to him. The Elite held up his two-fingered hand at the two Ultras that he figured was an order for them to stop.
The pair hesitantly lowered their weapons.
His grip tensed on his katana at seeing the enemy officer in front of him rest that same hand on his own horned helmet. He relaxed when he saw that the Elite was just trying to lift it off, but had some trouble with just those two fingers. An urge from some depth of his mind took over and Mito moved to help him.
The Marshal held up a hand, stopping him. He used the three remaining fingers on his other hand to finally raise the helmet off his serpent-like head which by now was missing both an eye and a mandible. He laid his helmet down beside him with the delicate care of a man carrying a child. His last eye refocused on the ODST, scrutinizing him at first. Then his hard gaze softened.
"What...is your name...human?"
It was strange enough hearing the alien speaking in one of his own languages. It was far stranger to have him not pronounce death threats, but instead ask for his name. He was stuck for a moment, unsure of what to say.
He felt the need to take off his helmet. He popped the seal and removed it then lay it down at his feet. "...Private Wagatsumo Ikimoto. And you?"
The Elite looked like it was considering his next words, weighing them in a similar line of thought.
"I am Field Marshal...Kozon Duracomee."
Mito gave him a respectful nod. "I'll remember the name."
Duracomee's remaining mandibles moved around uncertainly like those of a crab. Mito couldn't tell what kind of expression it was or what he was thinking. In the end, the Elite began making a sound that took him a moment to recognize: laughter, muffled, blood-gargling laughter.
"It is fitting then, that my name should only be remembered by vermin like you, and forgotten in the eyes of the Gods." His voice was now only a little above a horse whisper. His posture slowly straightened to where he could look Mito straight in the eyes. "Now then, send me on to my punishment."
Mito raised a brow, shaking his head. "Haven't we all had enough of that in this life? Isn't it punishing by itself?"
Duracomee closed his single eye in thought. "You do not understand because you do not know the path I walk." He opened his eye to stare at the missing fingers on his hands and the wound in his stomach. "Our Covenant will endure, but my path ends here."
Mito found he could do nothing except give a grim nod in reply. He glanced at the Ultras then slowly came beside Duracomee so that there was nothing blocking his sight of the rising sun. He leveled the Yamamoto Aka at his neck then raised it for an overhead strike.
The Elite's gaze shifted to lock eyes with the Helljumper.
"Private Wagatsumo Ikimoto. I will remember the name."
:********:
Duracomee spent his last moment of life looking to the bright star of the system. His thoughts drifted to the human whose blade was above him. He considered the honorable way that the shock trooper had conducted himself in the fight. There was no expectation for the things that he saw Ikimoto do, which was why behind his subdued anger was a quiet amazement at the lengths to which one human was willing to fight, and how he had ultimately won what should have been an unwinnable match.
Unwinnable.
That word made him think back to the war. For the first time in his journey among the living, he wondered how unwinnable it truly was for the humans. If they were all so honorable, their species might just...
He felt too tired to finish the thought. What he could understand was that a human had fought as ferociously as one of his own kin, one of his own brothers, and won.
A human had won.
It was almost enough to make him laugh again. Had he had more life in him he would have done so. Even if someone told him this would be how he died he would've treated them with just as much derision as he would himself at current. Now, that was something that was forever lost to him. At most he could hope that those ancestors had put in a few good words with the divine on his behalf.
He could hope.
But as he felt Ikimoto's blade finally begin its descent, he wondered that if a human could fight just as hard as one of his brothers, then could he really be called vermin? If even one of them could fight so honorably, were all the rest of his kind really vermin?
As another first in his life, he couldn't say yes about such a matter with absolute certainty. And for once in his life, his attention changed from his hope in the Gods to a final, forbidden curiosity. How different from the Sangheili were they, really?
:********:
Mito struck the Yamamoto Aka down through the Elite's neck with enough force to nearly decapitate him. Blue blood poured precipitously from the gaping wound.
Kozon Duracomee gave a long, deep sigh. There was no hint of pain or anger in his tone, merely a sense of quiet exhaustion as he bowed his head, slowly slumped forward then became still.
Mito looked upon the fallen body before him as he rose to his feet. He felt his father's words guiding him. He stepped in front of him to provide a standing bow to his former opponent.
He gazed upon the sway of the surrounding grass and the red surface of the Yamamoto Aka covered in the Field Marshal's blue blood. He cast off the liquid in two succinct swings.
Still, he could see that in some spots the red surface had changed colors. It would have been imperceptible to anyone less affiliated with the weapon. To his trained eyes it was easily discernable.
Several small spots of purple the size of his fingernails were now faintly visible on both faces of the blade, melding with the rest of the reddened metal sheen. It was slowly beginning to change. He decided right then and there that this would only be the beginning, that he would be the one to aid it in its full transformation from the Ikimoto family's legacy sword 'Red Mountain' to the 'Purple Mountain' - the Yamamoto Murasakino.
Ultio – Revenging