Chapter 50: Battle of Magnus Vae I
"Thrall are rabid. If they find you, they'll charge without a second thought. Nigh-on suicidal." Ikharos paused. "Actually, if you see a Thrall with a glowing head, then it is suicidal. It'll explode upon death. Or if it thinks it's close enough to its target. Either way, shoot it at a distance."
"That's... horrible." Formora looked, if anything, seriously disturbed.
"Yep. If things go south, make sure none get close, glowing or not. Thrall claws are sharp enough to tear through bone. But they're clumsy too. Starvation does that. And very, very fragile. A bullet to the chest or head will put 'em down. Even a hefty punch could work. Easy to deal with, all considered."
"Thrall are not the only Hive," Formora stated curiously. It wasn't a question. She'd seen the hologram of the battle. She saw the slaughter.
Ikharos nodded. "Acolytes are smarter. They make use of Shredders - cursed firearms. They're probably your biggest worry. More numerous than the older morphs and deadlier than Thrall. Cross them and you'll have a gunfight on your hands. They're human-sized, three-eyed like most older Hive, and clad in thin armour. Go for the head if you can, stomach if you can't."
"Stomach?"
"It's where their Worms are. The parasites that give them their powers. Hurt the Worms, you hurt the Hive."
"I... see." She checked over her sword. "What else?"
Ikharos's voice fell. "Knights are like Acolytes, but bigger. Much bigger. And their armour is thick. If you see one holding a sword, keep your distance. Those blades are beyond dangerous. If not, if they're holding something else, then find cover but prepare to run. When they choose a gun at all Knights like to use Boomers. Cannons capable of lobbing Dark explosives."
"I'll keep that in mind."
"Then there's the Wizards. Listen. If... Traveler above, if you find yourself on the receiving end of a Wizard's ire, get the hell out. You'll know one when you see it, what with the floating and screaming and bloodied robes. They're Hive sorcerers, magicians, and mothers. Do not let them catch you."
"What if they do?"
"Then fight for your life. Give no quarter. Their wards can regenerate within seconds after breaking. Kill them fast. And watch the hands. They can cast a whole lot of killer spells - poison clouds, Arc spikes, Solar bombs, Void caltrops, and a whole lot more."
Formora grimly nodded. She wore a hard, resigned expression. If she was regretting her choice to join their venture into the Dark, Ikharos didn't blame her. The Skiff around them shook. Ikharos braced himself against a handhold built into the hull. Formora hung onto the edge of her seat and irritably glared at the floor.
"Turbulence," he muttered. His voice was almost swallowed up by the rumbling of the starship.
Formora nodded. "I know."
He raised an eyebrow. "You're getting used to this."
"I... am..." She trailed off, distracted. Ikharos nudged her shoulder.
"Stick with Melkris. He's fought Hive before. Listen to him and you'll be fine."
Formora looked up with a strained half-smile. "Listen to Melkris? Is that wise?"
"Probably not, but here's hoping he'll behave." He lowered his voice. "You'll be fine."
"I know I will," Formora said quickly. Almost angrily. "That is not what I worry for."
Ikharos mentally berated himself. "Sorry. I thought-"
Claws tapped against his arm. He buried the urge to bristle and calmly turned around. Kiphoris blinked back and wordlessly indicated to the front of the Skiff. Ikharos nodded; he'd be there in a moment. The Captain returned it and retreated back to his gaggle of Marauders.
Ikharos squeezed Formora's shoulder. "Be careful."
Her hand fell on his. Her eyes found his and said more than any words could. "And you."
Ikharos lingered for a moment longer before lurching towards the space just before the hatch to the cockpit, shifting his balance with the turbulent movements of the Skiff. Seven Eliksni chittered and fidgeted with blades and guns. Xiān hovered in their midst. Occasionally, a Marauder would hold up his or her stealth generator and the humming Ghost would install the Promethean Code with a brief surge of Light.
One of them reached out to her, empty-handed, and Ikharos's own hand snapped out to clamp around the wrist of the offending arm. He squeezed - not enough to hurt, but enough to send a message - and let go. The Marauder trilled a panicked apology and shrunk back into his seat. Kiphoris watched it all with a guarded expression. Where once he had been (to some extent) open and outgoing, now he had assumed the cold and reserved attitude of a classic Eliksni reaver - which wasn't near as frightening as it should have been.
"When we strike down," Kiphoris began in Low Eliksni. His Marauders - gathered from across the many Skiff crews following Tarrhis and his lieutenants - perked up and ceased their clicking chatter. "We activate short-band communications. It is all that will survive the Cabal transmission blockers. Each of you will activate your light-bender before disembarking. Is this clear?"
The gathered scouts and assassins responded with a chorus of "Yes, mine-Captain."
Satisfied, Kiphoris looked at Ikharos. He, in turn, motioned for Xiān to help out. With an exasperated sigh, she unleashed a holographic image of the Cabal encampment.
Ikharos pointed far south of it. "We're dropping here. Our first move is to infiltrate the camp unnoticed - together. If we're discovered, we're pulling back immediately and calling this a loss. So, uh, don't get caught."
A low chitter rose from a couple of Eliksni. Not laughter, not quite, but close enough.
Ikharos continued: "Next step is to slip into the carrier. Odds are I'll be with you up until that point, but we're going to separate eventually. Once I pick up on the Witch's scent, I'm going straight for her. The rest of you make your way towards the bridge, which is here." He gestured to the front of the battered carrier. "When I engage the Broodqueen, the Hive will be put on high alert, but with any luck their gaze will be focused on me. Your job - and only job - is to knock out those jammers for good. And, if you're feeling real generous, get a transmat zone up and running."
One the Marauders - a higher ranking one if his gilded helmet was anything to judge - raised a meter-long pole with a blinking light on the end. It was a transmat beacon.
"Yeah, that." Ikharos leaned against the wall as the Skiff hit another gale. "Clear?"
They gave him a series of mumbled affirmatives. Most of them just stared at him, faces hidden beneath their many-eyed masks, as if they'd never seen a human before. They probably hadn't. Not up close in any case.
"When we're done, return to-"
The Skiff rocked again. So violently Ikharos almost lost his footing and bashed his head on the bench. His gaze snapped to Kiphoris. "The hell is going on out there?!"
Kiphoris didn't reply. Instead, he stood up, opened the hatch to the cockpit, and climbed through. Ikharos waited for him to return, and when he did, his inner eyes were half-lidded with grim concern.
"The storm has returned," Kiphoris reported.
"You're kidding."
"Nama. It's building around us. The worst of it lies ahead."
"Where are we? Right now?"
"Over Du Weldenvarden's western edge."
"So it's-"
"Gathering above the Hive." Kiphoris slid back into his seat. "Is this their magic?"
Ikharos shook his head. "No chance in hell. There's nothing Dark about this. Or Light. I can't feel either. Or anything, yet. It's something else."
"It will grow ever stronger the further we fly."
"Then tell your pilots to go low. And get the others to space out. We have to keep going."
Kiphoris unhappily clacked his teeth together. "Eia, I will tell them. Accursed storm. When I find the perpetrator, I will make them regret crossing mine-Scars..." He disappeared back into the cabin.
Xiān deactivated the hologram and flew to Ikharos. "Looks like we're not the only ones to notice the Hive. Think the storm'll prove a problem?"
He shrugged. "Whatever happens, we have to kill that Broodqueen."
"You know, you didn't really answer my question, but okay. I'll take that as a 'yes, Xiān, I do think the storm will prove a problem, Xiān. But thanks for asking, Xiān. Your foresight will see us through any struggle, because you are the best Ghost, Xiān.'"
Ikharos sighed.
"I am the best Ghost, right?" She flew around his head. "The very bestest?"
He tried warding her off. "Quiet. I'm thinking."
"Ooh, dangerous."
"Stop."
She settled on his shoulder. "Fine."
The rest of the flight was rocky, but the storm otherwise left them be. Ikharos didn't know if it was because of the almost dangerous low altitude at which the pilots flew, or if it was because the storm was otherwise occupied. It could have been both. When they passed over Ceunon, he sat by a viewport to see it. The city was dark and utterly desolate. A shell of what it used to be. It was unfortunate, and yet ultimately for the greater good. He hoped the former denizens weren't going to return. Nothing waited for them but death and worse.
Then they were past it and flitting over the crystal-calm fjord. Ikharos swallowed and tried, in vain, to assuage his spiking nerves.
I'm afraid, he realized. The admittance shocked him to the core. Fear of the Hive wasn't something new, but he'd grown familiar with their dark ways. He knew what to expect.
He looked around. Eliksni warriors talked to one another in their barking, clicking language, but it wasn't them he was afraid of. And though he worried for those he'd grown attached to, like Melkris and Formora - especially Formora - it wasn't that fear that held his heart hostage.
I'm afraid because I'm alone.
There wasn't a single other Risen in sight. None aboard the other Skiffs. No Quantis, no Octavius-8, no Mervath. No Wei, no Eriana, no Eris, no Vell, no Jaren, no Kabr, and no Marin. Those he'd considered friends he could count on were dead or scattered.
No Jaxon. No Lennox-2. No Fireteam Sagittarius.
He had no one to watch his back. No one to keep his flanks clear. It finally hit him: he was alone. Utterly. Alone. On a distant world where hundreds of millions of human lives hung in the balance.
The Vanguard should have been told. This was something only they had the resources to cover, and even then it would have been a messy struggle. He could almost imagine how pained Zavala would be when they failed to prevent Kepler's very own Collapse. Or Ikora's guilt as the Hive and the Dark laid claim to yet another human stronghold.
But they wouldn't know. No one knew about Kepler.
No one but the Drifter.
He clenched his jaw. The rat knew, but he wasn't about to tell anyone. There was no doubt about that. He'd feign ignorance and offer hollow condolences if anyone got curious about Ikharos's absence.
The bastard.
"Ëfa eka ae fá hrygr, eka weohnata efla älfr kaupa," Ikharos quietly swore.
Xiān burrowed further into the crook of his neck. "I hope we never have to see that oath through."
"You don't think he deserves it?"
"I don't think we deserve it. I've said it before, and I'll say it again: forget Earth. Kepler is our new home."
Ikharos closed his eyes. He had a hard time imagining that. "I'm not happy here."
"You could be. Don't think I haven't noticed."
"I'm not hiding it from you."
"You didn't exactly tell me."
"It's... just something for me to deal with."
"How will you deal with it?"
"I don't know."
"Yeah, you do."
"There's already so much going on."
"Pfft, so?"
"So nothing. Stay out of it."
"Maybe I will, maybe I won't."
"Traveler above, you are so annoying."
When the four Skiffs slowed and activated their stealth generators, Ikharos knew they were closing in. He checked his armour and weapons one final time as the vessel around him swooped low and prepared to land. Kiphoris caught his eye and motioned him on; he followed the Marauders to the tail of the Skiff, where the floor was marked by two rows of four circular hatches.
At a bark from their Captain, the Marauders activated their generators. Arc webbing spread across each and every one of them, bending the light and, eventually, hiding them from view. Kiphoris was the last to do so. The speakers in Ikharos's helmet buzzed as Xiān keyed them into the local channel. A series of clicks confirmed that all the present Eliksni in their small band were connected. He murmured the same and gathered the Void around himself. It was comfortingly familiar, and he took solace in the serene calm of it. It wrapped around him like a blanket - a veil to hide him from the world.
When the hatches opened, and the metal bars lowered, Ikharos was first out. He fell twenty feet and cushioned his landing with a Light-formed glide. His only indications of the Eliksni joining him were a faint rustle of short mountain grass and the blue blips on his radar. Ikharos scanned his surroundings. They were overlooking the valley in which the Cabal carrier - and the encampment around it - were nestled. They were still miles away from the Hive infestation, but that didn't stop him from checking around him for hostiles.
There was nothing. No Hive, no Cabal, no animals. Everything was quiet. Nothing made a sound - save for the odd shrieking gale.
"We're clear," he reported.
Kiphoris hummed through the radio channel. "So we are. Standby."
Ikharos stepped aside as the Skiffs landed. Two starships slid out of stealth so silently that, had he not been expecting it, he wouldn't have noticed their arrival in the first place. Docking clamps engaged and propped the vessels up on insect-like legs. They looked like wingless bronze dragonflies - a sight to behold.
The moment they were landed their skeleton crews disembarked, with a few familiar faces among them. From the second ship, Ikharos vaguely recognized the crested helmet of Nyreks. The high-ranking Vandal barked orders to the sparse group of reavers and shockshooters, but Ikharos didn't stick around long enough to see what happened next. At a word from Kiphoris, he slipped away with the Marauders and delved deeper into the valley.
They moved quickly. Almost too quickly for him to keep up. Ikharos drew his Lumina in one hand and knife in the other. His eyes were fixed to the north, where towers of hideous black smoke climbed into the sky and smothered the stars. He could already smell the burning oil. And the blood. The Hive weren't being subtle.
He whispered into his mic: "Keep your distance. Don't get close, or they'll realize you're there."
The Eliksni chirped back.
As a group, they crested the final slope between them and the camp. Ikharos slowed to a stop.
Fires raged across the camp where stray oil had splashed across the beaten earth. Distant figures milled about. Many of them had the telltale three eyes. More didn't. There were a lot of Thrall. Too many. A small horde had gathered around a single emerald pyre, below a circling coven of floating Wizards. Ikharos could only just make out their eerie screams.
000
Formora leaned her rifle against her shoulder as she wandered around the perimeter of the landing zone. The Skiffs had already left, along with their crews, leaving only those few chosen to remain behind. A mercifully silent Melkris shadowed her as she set to work. Whomever had picked the area had chosen well. While the landing zone itself was in the open, it was situated on a rise that provided ample view of the open valley. The forest behind offered some measure of cover, if it was needed. The only issue she took with it was the possibility of foes approaching from the south. Thus, she took measures to ensure that didn't happen.
She was already on her third ward when Nyreks sought her out. He spoke too quickly for her to properly comprehend. His posture revealed nothing on the matter - Eliksni body language was still beyond her.
"Could you please say that again?" Formora asked.
Melkris took over. "Wants to know what doing."
"Setting..." She didn't know if there was a word for 'ward' in Eliksni. "Setting magic-alarm."
Nyreks stared at her. All four of his eyes were narrowed to equal amounts, amounting to a neutral, thoughtful expression. "Good," he finally said, and walked away.
Melkris chuckled. "Formora-Zeshus puzzle-think Nyreks-Va'ha."
It took her a moment to realize what he meant. Confuse. "Not you?"
"Nama. Melkris is high-smart."
If it had been any other time, Formora might have smiled. As it was, her mood was grim and reluctant to meander away from the cold, practical mindset she'd adopted.
But Melkris didn't care. She didn't think anything could dampen his ever-high spirits. He nudged her elbow, shook his wire rifle, and pointed to the edge of the ridge. "We watch now?"
Formora nodded. "We can watch."
000
There were enough breakages in the camp barricades for Ikharos to slip in with ease. The full stench of the place hit him as he took his first steps inside - acrid smoke, coppery gore, and the sickly-sweet scent of Hive. Ikharos almost choked on it. Xiān hastily activated his helmet's filters.
"That's... That's the smell of death." He shuddered.
There was no other choice but to go on.
Not all the Cabal had been killed. Ikharos found that out when he almost bumped into a Centurion and his underlings. They gave no indication of having noticed him or the Marauders; the Promethean Code was working. He watched as the column of Uluru lurched by with all the unbalanced clumsiness of a mindless puppet. A Wizard flew to them. She hissed at the Cabal and, almost tenderly, shepherded a Legionary away from his group. She guided him forth... and watched with a cackling laugh as a band of Thrall jumped him. They shrieked, clawed, and bit with animalistic savagery. Armour was torn aside. The Thrall hungrily scrabbled at the flesh revealed beneath. The savaged Uluru just stood there, blank-eyed, and allowed it to happen.
The other Cabal marched on, oblivious and uncaring.
Infected.
It had all the cruel hallmarks of a Witch's handiwork - and it didn't end there. As the blood loss and mortal wounds finally brought the dying Uluru down, the Wizard darted in and briefly shoved her hand inside. She removed it in a single, brutal motion, and held up, for all to see, the Uluru's bleeding heart. Her eyes - three baleful stars - glittered. She was ecstatic.
It sickened him.
"They are cruelty incarnate."
The heart lit up. Not with ordinary fire, nor Solar energy. A soft green flame grew around it. Soulfire. Life-kindling.
Xiān shook with horror. "They're harvesting the Cabal like cattle."
Ikharos withheld the urge to shoot the Wizard then and there. Kiphoris and his warriors had already moved on. He rushed to catch up and tried, in vain, to purge the image from his mind.
The camp had the simple layout all Cabal architecture did, but avoiding the Hive turned it into an ever-changing maze. They slipped from cover to cover, keeping their heads down and weapons readied. It felt wrong to just walk inside the new nest without a horde bearing down on him. Ikharos couldn't shake the fear that, at any moment, the Hive would realize he was there and swarm him. But they didn't. The Promethean Code held. They made it to the carrier unmarked and undiscovered, and to the broken hull from where the Hive burst out.
"This is where we part ways," Kiphoris whispered.
"Yeah." Ikharos took a deep breath. "Good luck?"
"Fight well, Ikha Riis."
It was better than nothing. Ikharos glared at the colossal rupture and pulled the Void ever closer. He took one step, two, three, four, five, and off he went. Into the belly of the beast.
The inside of the carrier looked more like a nest than a Cabal vessel. Hive growths sprouted along the walls and corners, reaching up towards the ceiling. It was a grotesque mess of bio-organic matter - like a cross between plant and animal. Glowing orange sacs marked where Worm colonies had been seeded. He could feel the keen hunger of the unhatched parasites within.
As despicable as Ahamkara were, they were never so repulsive as this. The Worm's presence were as teeth against his Light, idly scraping against his very soul.
"They're awful," Xiān whispered. "They're the worst. The worst."
"Agreed."
There was naught to do but keep on going, no matter how much he wanted to burn it all down. To do otherwise would draw the eyes of the Hive on him prematurely and lose all chances of finding the Broodqueen - or at least finding her without an army at her back. Ikharos marched ahead, looking between his radar and his surroundings, and delved ever deeper. A dull pressure built up within his skull, and it increased with every step. Ikharos gritted his teeth and trudged through the overpowering nausea. The Darkness had a strong presence; the dead carrier was chock full of it.
His path through the carrier wasn't devoid of Hive either. Thrall wandered about here and there, with the odd Acolyte rummaging through the shattered debris left in the Darkblade's stale wake. Not one turned to look at him. They had no idea he was there. Finally, after creeping past pack after pack of fresh Hive, he arrived in the hanger. He almost wished he hadn't.
Where the way in was only beginning to sprout the foundations of growths, the hanger had already been converted into a Hive spawning grounds. Nothing was untouched. Chitinous matter coated every surface, with soulfire crystals and more Worm colonies adorning the odd pillar. It was practically identical to the nests on Luna and Titan. There were only half as many Hive present as there were outside, but many were of higher ranks. Seven Wizards sang in tandem over a clutch of recently-hatched Thrall. A gang of Knights stood guard, looking thoroughly bored. They were led by a larger specimen adorned with thick armour and a heavy, crested helmet. A sword longer than Ikharos was tall was clutched in the monster's massive fist.
It was one of the Darkblade's personal soldiers, and it easily stood at nine, perhaps even ten feet tall.
Ikharos set his jaw. Taking them on was going to be tough.
"I'm..." Xiān hesitated. "I'm picking up on something."
"What?"
"A sound. It's echoing from the other side of the chamber. It's... singing?"
"The Wizards?"
"No. Different. Stronger. But less... malicious. I mean, it's not a curse."
One of the Thrall started to glow blue. It was time to leave.
"Other side of the chamber?" Ikharos asked. He started moving towards the perimeter of the chamber.
"Yeah."
"Anything else?"
"It's... it's paracausal. The sound shouldn't be reaching us, but it is. Like the walls of this place aren't even there."
"So definitely Hive."
"Yep. Wanna bet it's our queen?"
"Almost certainly."
They traced the song to what had once been the carrier's medical wing. Ikharos only knew it from the large amount of beds and spare oil tossed all around the first room they came across. Mutilated bodies too, but he'd already had more than his fill of horror, so he tried his best to ignore them. From room to room, the result was the same - nothing left but the dead. Until they reached the last chamber in the wing.
Ikharos didn't even need to enter to know the Witch was in there. He could hear her himself. Her cries were softened, but no less cutting. They scraped against his ears and burrowed the meaning of her words in his brain. The Royal Tongue, the Hive called it. The language of the Ascendants. Understandable to all peoples, no matter their vocabulary.
Ikharos wondered if Kepler's ancient language, Harmonic, worked on the same principles. Both were languages of power. Both held meaning beyond simple words. But, he concluded, one was drenched in Darkness and the other chose the space between. Their similarities sparked in him a new wave of concerns. More immediately worrying, however, was the presence of one learned in their wicked language. He swore under his breath. Ascendant. His heart raced and his blood roared in his ears, but he forced himself to wait and draw on the nullscape to banish the anger and fear from his mind. When it was done, and his nerves assuaged by the calm presence of the Void, he made to enter.
The doors to the last chamber had been wrenched open by something colossal and replaced with a thin veil of phantasmal webbing. Ikharos studied the clawmarks and decided it was the work of some sort of Ogre. He inhaled abruptly; if an Ogre was guarding the Broodqueen, then his current task had just become a whole lot more tricky. Ikharos raised his knife and cut through, but he'd barely made it a single pace when the singing (not a curse, he decided, but a Hive version of a lullaby) ceased.
She was in the centre of the room, floating above the floor. Her eyes - five of them, all filled with fire - glared at where he'd slipped in from. She had no mouth. Her head was smooth and featureless but for the eyes and the two massive, crooked horns pointing to the ceiling. A rough, chitinous growth almost identical to a corset folded across her torso, and everything below her waist was hidden with a ragged purple dress painted with pus-yellow runes. Her arms were long and thin, and tipped with slim claws.
The Broodqueen hissed. Ikharos tensed and gave the rest of the room a cursory glance. It had been cleared out - no beds, no oilspills, no bodies. In fact, the only Uluru present were alive - two Colossi, kneeling down and bodies bared from the waist up. They swayed and bled from where the Witch's claws had scored new runes into their leathery skin. That wasn't the end of her work. Paper - a leathery sort of vellum he really didn't want to know the origin of - hung all along the walls. Lines of winding Hive script danced across them. At the end of the chamber was a podium upon which a chitin-bound scroll floated.
It was a cathedral. A Hive cathedral. And he'd disturbed the abbess's work.
"One enters, and yet I do not see them," the Witch hissed. "One enters, and yet I do not smell them. One enters, and yet I do not taste them. One enters and hides themselves, but they are here. They are here. They are heeeere..." Her gaze lifted to meet that of Ikharos's. Had she possessed a mouth, he'd imagine it would have been grinning. "You hide yourself in nothing, but you are not nothing. You see, you walk, you creep, you stalk - you are something. You are here."
She flicked a sharpened finger in his direction. A fizzling sound surrounded him; the Promethean Code had shorted out. Ikharos dropped the veil and aimed at her fifth eye, set in the middle of her forehead. His finger tightened around the trigger. He wasn't certain it would have any effect, and it was that undecidedness that stayed his hand for a moment longer.
The Broodqueen didn't react. Not in the way he'd thought she would. Her head tilted ever-so-slightly to the sight, almost innocently. "Skyborn."
Ikharos didn't reply. He fired anyway. Just so see what would happen. The bullet crashed through her wards and shattered against the shell of her head. She laughed. He formed a spike of Void and let it loose, just as he broke out into a run. She darted away, backwards, and mouthed a shriek. His violet javelin missed and incinerated a part of the podium instead. The Broodqueen screamed in outrage. The two Colossi surged to their feet, hefted slug launchers, and swiveled about. When they opened fire, Ikharos was already gone, having Blinked past, and buried his knife in the throat of the first. It gurgled, stared at him with sudden awareness, and fell away.
The second fired again. This time it hit him. His shields held on but he didn't, and the blast tossed him hard against the wall. Ikharos didn't give himself time to process the pain or to regain his lost breath, and jumped back into the fray. The remaining Uluru charged, launcher held up in the air like a makeshift club. Ikharos didn't even think; he raised his hand on instinct. Energy ripped from his palm: boiling, potent, and devoid of all mercy. Armour cracked and flesh cooked. The Colossus disintegrated before it even had time to scream.
The Broodqueen took the Uluru's place. She swung in too fast to dodge, too fast to even mount a defense, and her claws swept against him. His shields were his saving grace, and though they shattered they gave him the split second he needed to pull himself through the beyond and Blink behind her. His Eternity Edge was suddenly in hand, and he brought it down on her back. Shell chipped and the queen cried out, but it wasn't enough. Little more than an uncoordinated glancing blow.
She tried to dart away. Ikharos loosed a half dozen Solar Seekers after her. They burrowed into her back and erupted into gouts of Solar flames. She screamed - again - and almost fell. The stumbling pause gave him enough time to catch up and-
Ikharos slid to a stop and jumped into a glide just as Void spikes erupted from the floor. The Broodqueen twirled around, no longer feigning injury, and shot a flurry of Arc bolts. He Blinked past her, but not before one of the bolts seared its way across the skin of his shoulder. Ikharos landed with a stumble and emptied the Lumina's chamber onto her. Despite the Light-payload in each bullet, they did little other than chip away tiny notches in her head. He'd hoped to take one of her eyes out, but luck wasn't on his side.
Back to the sword. He propelled himself with a jet of Solar and struck in with a quick, vicious swipe aimed for her neck. The Broodqueen caught the blade in her hands with a sickening crunch - it had lodged deep in the bones of her palms. She shrieked and forcibly twisted away. The blade shattered.
Ikharos, without stopping, tried to drive the jagged hilt into her eyes.
A limb - not one of hers - shot out and swatted him aside. Ikharos hit the ground and rolled up into a defensive stance, but she didn't retaliate. Instead, the Broodqueen contorted in sheer agony, and it left him baffled.
At least until the shadowy outline of a second Broodqueen began to tear away from her.
Echo.
The two Broodqueens - one made of flesh and chitin, the other of shadow and Worm-magic - broke apart from one another with a squelch. Ten burning orange eyes found Ikharos. The original Witch sucked in a deep breath.
"Find cover!" Xiān cried out.
He didn't need to be told twice. Ikharos dove behind one of the Colossi - the only thing within reach, and pulled the corpse up between himself and the Broodqueens. Her next scream carried fire. Parchment burned. The Colossus sizzled. Ikharos shut his eyes against the glare and curled in on himself as flames flowed past his rapidly disintegrating cover.
At last, to his vast relief, the Broodqueen's cry died off. He shoved the dead Uluru off and tossed what remained of his Eternity's Edge. It caught on the Broodqueen's horn. She lurched back.
Her shadow twin hissed and struck at him with a vengeance. Ikharos danced away from the energy bolts and swinging claws, not able to do much more than slash back with his knife. It dwarfed him, by a large amount, and his knife only had so much reach. He dodged and evaded the shadow Witch to the best of his ability and blocked her strikes with gathered Light when he couldn't. She was forcing him back, right to the podium upon which rested her beloved scroll.
Ikharos kicked the corner of it on a whim. The scroll trembled and began to roll off.
The original Witch cried out in alarm and rushed past her Dark sister.
Perfect.
"Jierda!" Ikharos snapped. A pulse of golden-purple energy violently slammed the Echo aside. His magic turned to the Void and it filled his hands as a hungry blade. As the original Broodqueen reached to catch her precious scroll, he struck out and separated her right arm from the elbow down. She recoiled, shrieked with genuine pain, and scarcely managed to avoid the strike that would have bisected her from shoulder to hip. He still managed to score a cut across her front. Black blood spilled across her pale green shell and soaked the purple cloth.
She fled the fight entirely. Her Echo flew after her and left more Void caltrops in its wake, though they did little more than stall Ikharos for but a few moments. He kept after them. Xiān transmatted an auto rifle into his hands just for good measure.
The Broodqueen flew to the cargo bay. Ikharos knew it, if only because the trail of blood led in that direction. Hapless to do anything else, he followed. It was an ambush. He knew it straight away. All the lights - even the Hive crystals - had dimmed away to plunge the entire area in darkness. It was steeped in malice and hunger, and it waited for him to whet its appetite.
"Who am I to deny it?" Ikharos muttered. "Atra thar waíse garjzla."
A small bluish-white werelight appeared over his shoulder. Its rays should have reached far and white, but the all-consuming shadows buffeted its advances and only allowed him to see a few feet in either direction. There wasn't a sound to be heard, nor an eye to be seen. The Hive had seemingly abandoned the hanger.
Ikharos didn't believe it for a second. It didn't help that his radar was nothing but blinding red.
He entered, with the rifle's stock pressed against his shoulder and his eyes glued to the holographic sight. He swept it around, looking for the flicker of green that would pre-empt the first strike. There wasn't any. Not one.
Where are they? What are they waiting for?
Ikharos drifted further and further in. He scanned the ground, but there was no trap lying in wait. Nothing. He knew they were there. They likely knew that he was aware of them. But they didn't act. And that threw him for a loop. Then he heard the sound of heavy footfalls rapidly approaching.
"Roll!" Xiān yelped. He rolled. A colossal axe slammed down where he'd just been standing. Ikharos found his footing and opened fire, but his assailant was gone and the axe with it. Ikharos fired in the direction it had disappeared and the gloom swallowed his bullets. He didn't even hear them hit the walls of the hanger.
"Hive magic," he growled. They were isolating him. Cornering him. And letting the Darkblade have his fun. "Oh, psekisk. Xiān, see where she's gone?"
"No idea. Could be anywhere."
"What about the Darkblade?"
"Can't see him either." Her voice was shaky.
Ikharos's breathing hastened. He couldn't control it. "We need to get out of here. Regroup and-"
"Reconsider?"
"Now's not the time for jokes."
"Well, we're not getting out. They're here."
"I know, that's why I'm-"
"No. They're all here."
Almost on cue, the whisperings began. A thousand voices hissed out and a sea of green eyes opened and pierced the dark. On the far side of the chamber three purple searchlights glared at him - Shriekers. They hovered over a downed Harvester, upon which floated the dual Broodqueens.
Ikharos never had any luck with Hive expressions. He could understand an Uluru and an Eliksni well enough, yet Hive were completely alien to him. But hate was universal. And there was no mistaking the hatred radiating off the queens as they both glared at him.
"There she is." He took a step in her direction.
"DOWN!"
Ikharos dropped without hesitation. The axe swept just over him, missing by centimetres, but the follow-up strike of the Darkblade's fist hit him in full. It knocked the wind out of him and tossed him aside. Ikharos landed hard and tumbled to stop. His auto rifle was gone.
He lurched to his feet, weaponless. And when the Darkblade came in again, he turned to the Light. A blade of pure flame clashed against the bone-hadium weapon and held it still, right above his head. The Darkblade's featureless visage leered at him in the flickering light. "Skyyyyyborn," it rumbled in its hateful native tongue.
Ikharos filled its face with crackling electricity. It broke away with a huff and disappeared into the shadows. A throng of Thrall took its place. They came in their dozens, drawn to his Light like moths to a flame.
So he gave them flame.
Ikharos stretched out his Solar wings and took to the air. With each wave of his hands Hive burned. They screamed and died. And still they came. More and more, swarming for a morsel of stolen Light. They charged, egged on by peers and Worms. They ended, wishes unfulfilled and parasites unsated. And more yet ran to take their place, all hoping to be the one to end him.
It was disgusting. A grand show of selfishness and glory-hogging. When he slew them, Ikharos held no remorse. They were lesser beings. Always lesser. They deserved nothing short of gruesome deaths, so that's what he did. Killed gruesomely. It wasn't long before alien dust and viscera coated his robes so thoroughly there wasn't an inch of blue and silver to be found.
A Knight charged in. It was one of the larger ones. Ikharos ducked beneath its overly ambitious strike and stepped in close. He shot a palm full of power against the elbow of its sword arm. The weapon dropped from nerveless fingers. He caught it out of the air and decapitated its previous owner. Rearmed, he faced the oncoming waves of bodies and met them with knife and cleaver and Light.
000
Formora didn't move. She breathed slowly and shallowly, and forced herself to remain as still as a statue. Her shoulder ached where her rifle pressed against it, but it was a lowly, unimportant ache. She ignored it. And, not least of all, she made no sound.
Melkris, surprisingly, did just the same. The normal rambunctious shockshooter had become an entirely different person. He watched the northern horizon and didn't move for anything. He was seated beside her, with his cloak gathered about himself to keep the cold at bay. Formora resisted the urge to shiver; the winds carried with them a northern chill. She glanced up. The clouds were low and dark, blanketing the starry sky with their ugly mass. She imagined it was going to rain soon. Perhaps before Kiphoris and Ikharos returned. Which may have been advantageous - or perhaps not. She didn't know how the Hive worked where the elements were concerned.
A tingling sensation ran up her back. Formora's breath caught in her throat. She turned to Melkris, eyes wide, and whispered, "My wards have been sprung."
He looked back with his inner eyes shuttered. "... Psekisk," he muttered, and reached for something at his belt. He held it up to his mouth and chittered too quietly and quickly for her to make out the words. The response was immediate. The other Eliksni nearby shuffled and turned around with weapons drawn.
Melkris stood up. Formora stood with him and scanned the treeline. Nothing moved within, but her wards were still warning her. And not just the one - more than half of them were acting up, sending shrieking warnings into her mind. Melkris removed his facemask and tasted the air. Almost immediately he recoiled and hissed viciously. "Er'kanii! Many! Nyreks!" He called out. The commanding swiveled about. "Er'kanii!"
"Psekisk!" The lead Vandal looked about. "What do?"
"Nama..." Melkris turned to Formora. "Hide us! Quick-act!"
"I'll... try," she hesitated. Disguising oneself was a complex spell. There were too many senses to feasibly fool.
Melkris turned back to Nyreks. "Zeshus hide us! Quick, gather!"
Nyreks chirped. The Eliksni drifted in with their claws on triggers. They refused to group together as a crowd, but they were close enough together that Formora reasoned hiding them was possible. She pieced together the appropriate incantation and whispered it under her breath. "Garjzla, eitha nosu. Vindr, kunna nosu néiat. Frethya nosu frá allr."
No sooner had she enacted the spell when a distant howl split the air. It sent chills running down her spine. Whatever it was, it was no person or beast native to Alagaësia. Nothing she knew of could make a sound like that.
"We far-wind," Melkris muttered into her ear. He crouched down beside her. It took her a moment to translate his words. We are downwind of them.
"What are they?" She whispered back.
"Er'kanii. Flesh-Eaters. Act-serve for Cabal."
"What about-"
Melkris jerked and stared into the trees. Formora saw nothing - only shadows. But she didn't dare move. The shockshooter had caught sight of something, and she doubted it was a stray human traveler. He pointed. Formora followed his claw and frowned. Nothing... then something. It stalked out of the undergrowth some distance away, but there was nothing human, elven, or dwarven about it. At first, given how it moved, she presumed it to be another Eliksni, but the dimensions were all wrong. Its legs were shorter and stockier, it only had two long and gangly arms, it had an strangely arched back, and its head was almost twice as large and consisted mostly of jaw.
While it wore armour not entirely different from that worn by Cabal, as she'd seen on the corpses in Ceunon, it had no helmet. Its head was elongated, with a blunt snout upon which sat four sensitive nostrils. Its lower jaw jutted forward, giving it an underbite, and from it sprouted curved fangs so large that it couldn't truly close its mouth. More of the same hung from the upper jaw and interlocked with those of the lower, but they were marginally shorter. Rivulets of saliva freely dripped from its chin.
It looked to be grinning.
In place of ears it had two tympanums, like a reptile - or an Eliksni, though more prominent. There were no eyes, or even eye sockets, anywhere on its head. Only a series of dark patches towards the rear of its skull and down its neck. The reddish skin of the creature was smooth - no fur or scales. It almost looked wet, as if covered in a transparent coating of mucus. The creature took a few steps out of the tree line and lowered itself onto all fours. There was a weapon tucked under one arm. Some sort of massive firearm, again not dissimilar to those she'd seen by Cabal corpses in Ceunon. It brought its head low and all four of its nostrils cycled in air.
It was checking for scents.
Melkris raised his rifle and aimed directly at the creature's head, though he did not immediately fire. His inner eyes were completely closed and his outer had narrowed to needle-thin points. Anger and disgust radiated off of him in waves.
"Wait." Formora put a hand on his shoulder.
The creature, still oblivious to the guns trained on it, raised its head and loosed a throaty bellow. Identical calls echoed from the forest. There were others nearby, and they were many.
"What now?" Formora asked as quietly as she could.
Melkris glanced at her but didn't answer. He had no idea, evidently.
So much for keeping the area clear.
Other creatures - other Er'kanii - arrived. The first turned to the second and snapped at it. The second snapped back. They fought, like squabbling hounds, and broke apart only when the third arrived. Then there was more snapping. More quarrelling. And more howls. The only ones who seemed capable of commanding them to stop where those of larger sizes, and even then they did so solely through bullying and punishing those beneath them.
The Er'kanii drifted away further down the treeline. They were steadily edging in the direction of the Cabal camp, but they shied away from the open valley. Formora wondered if it was the presence of the Hive that gave them pause.
They numbered three dozen, four dozen, more. A final pack, consisting of the biggest Er'kanii of all, arrived and prodded some semblance of order into their underlings. They were, in turn, led by an individual easily as tall as Kiphoris and Sundrass. It had dorsal spines, and when its quills shook the other Er'kanii fell silent. It barked over its shoulder, to the rear of its personal pack, and they hurried along. They were carrying something between them. Formora corrected herself: someone. It was large, many limbed, and- Eliksni!
Melkris made a soft growling sound. "Nama..." He rasped.
"Who..." Formora began to ask, but then she caught sight of the horns sprouting from its back and she knew.
It was Skolas. The Ahamkara of Ceunon.
000
Kiphoris chirped, quietly, into his helmet's microphone. "Thrall seven paces left. Circle around."
They were closing in on the bridge. There was an initial difficulty in making it past the roving Hive, but Ikharos's attack had worked splendidly and cleared them a path in little time. The moment the Broodqueen's screams rippled throughout the ship, gangs of loping cultists surged back towards the hanger.
But not all. Some remained. Others yet charged in the opposite direction. The distant cries of Acolytes and Thralls and, on rare occasion, a Knight echoed down the corridors to reach them. The Hive were hunting. Or chasing. Or both.
They weren't the only ones taking advantage of the Lightbearer's distraction.
Sometimes, they even found the Hive weaklings already dead and lying in the hallway. Ugly craters marked where Cabal slugs had ripped through their thin exoskeleton. Others bore fatal wounds that could only have been left by the burning touch of a Severus.
"Cabal ahead," Arxiks muttered. "Their heading aligns with ours, mine-Captain."
Kiphoris pulled his mandibles against his jaw and clicked his teeth together. "Eia, it does." He straightened. "Remain hidden. If Cabal and Hive fight, it is to our advantage. We need only the bridge. Their deaths do not interest me."
Beraskes growled. "If they bring the Hive to the bridge, we will have no choice but to fight."
"They will be distracted with one another," Kiphoris reminded her. "We will slip our blades between their ribs when their eyes are focused elsewhere."
His Marauders chirped in approval. They liked the idea.
The Hive cries were soon accompanied by the sounds of battle, and then soon after by Uluru roars - though whether infected or not, he didn't know. Kiphoris drew Ka'Den and let his fingers drift over the Arc-trigger beneath the basket-guard. He gripped it tight and held it close, while he drew twin shock pistols with his secondary arms. Around him, his warriors brandished their own weapons: shock blades, Arcarms, grenades, and bare claws.
And all would prove near useless if the Hive ahead were led by a seasoned Wizard.
In that moment, Kiphoris wished, more than anything, to have been capable of wielding magic as Javek was. He would have given up an arm for the gift. Perhaps more. To be elevated to a position equal to that of a Maw-worshipping Witch would have proven invaluable in the fight against the Hive and the Shades. It had not escaped his attention that the current war had entirely outclassed him and his people. Everything had magic - Hive, Cabal with their Psions, humans, Harmony, even the Vex. But not Eliksni. All they had were latent abilities they could only improve by begging the elves to teach them. For all their swords, all their guns, and all their machines, all of it meant nothing if a Shade could kill a dozen of his people with a single word.
"Mine-Captain?"
"Arxiks?" He replied, harsher than he should have been.
"We... we are approaching the command deck. The gravity lift ahead may be deactivated."
"Then we will climb." Kiphoris marched ahead. He sheathed Ka'Den and holstered his pistols, then shoved his claws between the unmoving doors to the elevator and forced them open. They moved with a dull metallic shriek that was far too loud for his liking. He only stopped when the gap was large enough for him to squeeze through - which he did. He looked up and down the dark elevator shaft, found a handhold by the doors, and hefted himself up.
They needed a new weapon. Elven magic was one, Arke another, but those were fledging edges. Little knives in a game of swords. All he could do was hone those knives to a deadly edge in the low hopes that the first sword to strike would miss. The Monoliks-Syn used to be their sword, but it was lost to Krinok's mad dash for glory. It was the blade by which Valdas-kel had carved her path through the stars for centuries.
They needed to reclaim it. Kiphoris growled as he climbed. Krinok was going to try to keep it from them and Tarrhis was too afraid to strike against his own people, but every day they remained in exile from their house was another day for the other Eliksni to lose faith. He would have to speak with Ikharos about that. The Lightmonger was useful in a fight and resourceful when pressed. His insight was a breath of fresh air compared to the stale taste of Tarrhis's traditional approach.
Kiphoris shook his head to clear away the fanciful thoughts. There were more pressing matters to confront. And Hive to kill.
The roar of combat had reached a ferocious pitch. The doors to the floor above them were ajar, and as he levered himself up to the ledge, he practically found himself face-to-face with a Thrall. Kiphoris burrowed his claws in its throat on instinct, only to realize it was already dead. He hissed, pulled his hand away and flicked the viscera off. A chunk had been blown out of its head.
Beyond the prone corpse, other Thrall lay strewn about. They'd been the ones to take the brunt of the Cabals' counterattack. The Hive remaining consisted of surviving Acolytes and a single cleaver-bearing Knight. They stood scattered around the corridor, focus firing on the massive doorway at the end.
Kiphoris narrowed all four eyes. It was the bridge. And the defending Cabal were taking cover inside. At least, those who'd survived had. More than a few of their number had already fallen outside the room. The Knight himself was finishing one off; a Centurion who'd thought himself a hero.
"Psekisk." Kiphoris vaulted into the corridor and crouched low, lest a stray slug catch him in the head. The Cabal and Hive were exchanging fire, but the former were doing so more irregularly than they should have. They were running out of ammunition.
Behind him, the rest of the Marauders clambered inside. Arcarms were charged and shock blades activated. He would have feared for the sound if not for the din of battle covering every electrical crackle. Beraskes made a disappointed sound. "Cabal have settled in. Their position is... unfortunate."
"Let them expend themselves upon the Hive," Ursin spat. "Then we strike."
"Nama," Kiphoris said severely. He had to speak up to be heard over the whine of gunfire. "Ikha Riis cannot distract the Hive for much longer. Once he is finished with the Witch, so are we. Whatever we do, we do it now."
By his count, the Hive numbered twenty-five strong. A trio of Thralls ripped at a Psion's cooling corpse, and the single Knight just finished removing the Centurion's head, but the rest were Acolytes determined on killing the rest of the free Cabal.
A red laser briefly hovered over an Acolyte's sternum. Not a moment later, a rocket-propelled slug crashed right through and out the other side. The Hive's lifeless body fell with a thump.
He stood corrected: twenty-four.
The Cabal numbered less. Two Phalanx covered the entrance, and behind them three other Uluru hid and waited for the opportunity to fire back. A couple of Psions scampered around them, either taking part in the fight or resuppling their overlords. And somewhere, further back, a sniper patiently waited for his golden chance to pick off targets.
"Kill the Hive first," Kiphoris ordered, "and then we deal with the Cabal after. Watch their fire. Don't get shot."
Beraskes snorted. "Don't get shot? Did Melkris tell you that, mine-Captain?"
"Enough," Kiphoris snarled. He hadn't the patience to deal with her jokes. "Follow my lead."
He edged forwards, to where the rearmost Acolytes had gathered, and without slowing down lanced Ka'Den directed through the spine and stomach of the first he reached. His claws clamped around the Acolyte's head to silence its cries and twisted until he heard a dull crack. Its fellows surged to their feet, but they were similarly cut down by cloaked Marauders.
Their absence wouldn't stay unnoticed. Kiphoris kept going to make the most of the Hive's unawareness. He dragged another Acolyte back and discharged an Arc round into its head while Arxiks killed its squealing Worm. Around them, others tackled down Hive and hastily ended them. The more they killed, the less intense the barrage assailing the Cabal was. It didn't take long for the Knight and its underlings to realize something was amiss, and they turned around with perplexed snarls. The Knight raised its swords and bellowed a challenge.
Kiphoris burst out of stealth and tore its throat out with a twitch of his sword. The beast lurched back, surprised, and clutched its neck in a vain attempt to stem the bleeding. He didn't even allow it the chance to do that; Kiphoris closed the distance and swept his blade to and fro. Ka'Den flickered with power and dove through flesh and armour without caring to slow. It moved as he desired it to move, and when he finished eviscerating the Knight he moved onto the beast's children.
He severed heads and hewed limbs with effortless strokes of his crackling blade. Kiphoris made of himself a gale of violence and ruthlessness, stamping out green-eyed life wherever he found it. If he was weaver and battle was his loom, then his blade was his needle. Over and around him Arc bolts seared past and cut down Hive en masse. His Marauders were warriors proven, and they did not miss. Their trade was war and death their specialty. Their ambush was to have one end, and that was the conclusion they reached. Not a single Hive, or dreaded Worm, remained when they finished their grim work.
Which left only the Cabal between them and their goal.
In a flash, Kiphoris held Ka'Den up in a guarding position and raised his pistols. A half-dozen rifles aimed right back, but not one slug or bolt was exchanged. All the watching Cabal gave him were baffled stares.
"Captain?" Arxiks whispered. His voice carried through their radio. "What now?"
Kiphoris spoke quietly, so as to not alert the Uluru. "Beraskes, Ursin: flank the door. The rest of you: hold. Remain hidden."
"BARBARIAN!" A voice called from the bridge. The speaker roared the word in odd-sounding Ulurant - the Torobatlaan accent. It had been some time since he'd last heard it.
Not a moment later, another voice greeted him with a softer, but no less cold, "Eliksni."
Kiphoris tilted his head. "You know Low Speak?" He called.
The answer came after a lengthy pause. "I do."
It was a Psion. The voice was significantly higher pitched and no Uluru would ever speak so civilly to one of his people.
"If you run," Kiphoris said slowly, "you might live."
The Psion - he couldn't see... him? her? them - didn't say anything for a long time. Then, likely after speaking with their cohorts, they replied, "Is that a threat?"
A threat?
He almost choked on his disbelief. Cabal audacity never ceased to amaze him. "You... are surrounded by Hive and faced with me. Your precious victory is out of question. Eia, it is a threat." Kiphoris took edged closer. The Uluru shook their weapons for emphasis, but he was not afraid. "Shall I make mine-words clearer? Run, little Cabal. Run. Before you exhaust mine-mercy."
The Psion ignored that. Of course they did. They were as much Cabal as their Uluru masters. "Where are your Marauders?"
Kiphoris shrugged with all four arms. "Here and there."
"What do you want, Eliksni?"
"The same as you, little Cabal. An end to these... fiends." He nudged the limp form of an Acolyte. "Poisonous things. They ruin all they touch."
"There are no Hive in here."
"Nama. But I still wish to take that room. Leave it to me and mine, and I will allow you to keep your lives."
"You'll kill us the moment we move."
"You'll die regardless. Take a chance or wait for a certainty - it matters not to me."
"The Cabal Empire doesn't negotiate with barbarians."
Kiphoris sighed - for show more than anything else. He knew they wouldn't take up his offer. "Great Machine knows I tried to be merciful."
"Mine-Captain?" Beraskes whispered.
Kiphoris leaned forward and tightened his hold on Ka'Den. "Take them. Alive if you can. There are answers I want to draw from them."
As ever, he attacked first. Kiphoris needed to set the example - he was the Captain, the Dreamer, the Wolfborn who navigated the Network, an outrider to the Scars, and a trailblazer for paths unwalked. Just as slugs rippled through the air and crashed against his Arc shield, he teleported past the flying munitions, past the Phalanx and into the bridge.
The result was immediate; the Cabal were rendered shocked by the audacious move and he made the most of it. A flurry of Arc bolts sent the Psion sniper by a computer terminal ducking for cover. With another hand, he grabbed a second Psion and roughly shoved it to the ground. Ka'Den pierced a Legionary's suit and went right through the Uluru's arm, forcing it to drop its gun.
The lead Cabal swiveled about, a Severus already in hand, and tried to take Kiphoris's head off. Ka'Den met it and redirected the blow into the floor. The superheated blade carried right through the steel floor and kept on going, throwing the apparent Uluru Centurion (though Kiphoris couldn't be sure) off-kilter.
A well-tossed shock grenade sent the two Phalanx reeling back. His Marauders flooded in, firing and slashing with purpose. A heavy shield struck out towards Ursin, but he effortlessly slipped around the assault and tripped the Phalanx up with a flurry of sword strikes. He laughed the entire time.
The Severus-bearing Uluru recovered and rushed back to resume their duel. Kiphoris didn't keep him waiting. He deflected the first strike, dodged the second, and parried the third. His opponent - clad in eloquent armour of cream and gold - huffed and kept on fighting. As lacking as the Cabal was when it came to finesse, his foe was no stranger to bladework: each of their attacks had a directive, and though Kiphoris swatted them all aside, he couldn't deny that the Uluru had some measure of skill.
A Gladiator perhaps? Few legions employed them, and the Uluru he fought wasn't garbed in a traditional pit fighter's garb. His dress was heavier, like a cross between an Incendior and a Colossus. But there was something different that he couldn't put his claw on. A familiarity in the subtle curves and tilts of the plating, as if it were hiding something between the layers of alloy.
"Blighter," the Uluru hissed through gritted teeth. He wore no helmet, leaving his head bare. His leathery skin shone with sweat and his lips were pulled back in a fierce grimace. With a push, the not-Gladiator shoved Kiphoris back and-
And he disappeared. Out of sight
Kiphoris blinked in surprise. He stepped away, too late, and the Severus scored a burning line across his chest. Kiphoris stumbled back, snarling with pain, and hastily looked around. The fight was going the way of the Eliksni, but he couldn't see any sign of the not-Gladiator.
Invisible. Cloaked. Out of sight.
Ignoring the pain, Kiphoris laughed just as loudly as Ursin was. He found it endlessly amusing, and when he backed away and prepared to defend himself, he kept on chuckling. "I love fighting your Cabal," he admitted, just loudly enough for his opponent to hear. "Never are there more dangerous fools than your people."
Kiphoris heard the scream of air splitting across a blade's edge and he ducked away as the invisible Severus swept just overhead. He closed his outer eyes; he didn't need to rely on sight for this.
"You use mine-own people's weapons against me? I know these machines. I have known them all my life. I was hatched to stalk mine-foes unseen."
Another strike came for him. The Severus was too loud. It did the Uluru no favours.
"You were not. You were born to bellow and pummel. Primitive tools. I admire your desire to surpass your poor beginnings, but it will not save you."
Kiphoris flicked the tip of Ka'Den up, catching the unseen Cabal cleaver and holding it in place. He discharged both pistols into where he imagined the Uluru's stomach would be. His opponent jerked and twitched, and its form returned to view as the Arc rounds overcharged its reverse-engineered stealth generator. Its sword dangled from a weak grip.
It was all the invitation Kiphoris needed. He pounced, drove the not-Gladiator to the ground, and directed Ka'Den through the Uluru's shoulder and into the floor below. The skewered soldier groaned and tried to push Kiphoris off, but its strength had all but abandoned it.
Around them, the fight paused. An echoing shout bounced around the room. One of the Psions stared at Kiphoris. Her eye was wide and her alien face unreadable, but her stance was not. She slowly placed her rifle on the ground and raised her empty hands.
"Don't," she said in fluent Low Speak. She was the translator, then.
Kiphoris pressed a claw against the not-Gladiator's throat for good measure. "You rebuffed mine-mercy already. Tell me why I shouldn't end this mine-way."
The Psion took a deep breath. "You want Glimmer, yes? That's what you Eliksni love, right?"
"Glimmer?" Kiphoris's interest turned to white-hot rage. "You think me a common pirate? You think me nothing but a creature of greed?!" He emptied his lungs and refilled them. The cool, stuffy air reined in his mounting anger. "And where is this Glimmer you offer? If I were a pirate, I'd kill you and take it anyways!"
"We don't have it," the Psion admitted reluctantly. "But our comrades do. Ransom."
"Neuroc!" The not-Gladiator weakly scolded.
"You have no comrades left," Kiphoris pointed out. "None but those in this room. Or... have others escaped?"
The Psion, Neuroc, said nothing.
"Bah!" Kiphoris pressed his knee into his opponent's stomach to stifle his complaints. "I need no Glimmer." He met the Psion's one-eyed gaze and said, in flawed Ulurant, "You will gift me something else. Information."
"We'll never betray-" One of the Phalanxes began to say, until Beraskes pressed a sword against its throat.
Kiphoris waved the rebuttal aside. "Take their weapons," he ordered, switching back to Eliksni. The first Psion quietly translated to her fellow soldiers. "Any who resists will die. Those who comply with my demands may live. Arxiks!"
"Yes, mine-Captain?" The Marauder came into view not five paces away.
Kiphoris gestured to the back of the room. "Do what we came here for and send a message to Sundrass. The bridge is ours."
AN: Massive thanks to Nomad Blue for editing!
The Erechaani, or Er'kanii to the Eliksni, are one of the few not-in-Destiny races I've made for this fic (Harmony are technically already in the Destiny universe but probably not as I've made them here), and the only ones I've fleshed out. I like the idea of creating new races and all, but I feel it'll stray too far from the spirit of what Destiny is, so they're the extent of how far I'd go.
Their presence is mainly to show that there would be some influence of different client species on the Cabal Empire, even in the military. Even if it's all we've seen ingame, I like to think that the Cabal military isn't just the Cabal and the Psions and their dogs.
The Erechaani were influenced by SCP-939(from the SCP Mythos), a viperfish(from real life), and touch of the the savage and monomaniacal Brutes/Jiralhanae(from Halo).