Greetings to you all once again. Updating a little early this week, as tomorrow will find me at Tallahassee for a regional academic bowl competition.
If I missed anyone with review replies, please let me know, and I shall answer your question. For those of you who did not review, I hope you have found this story worthy of your time.
Just to let you people know, it'll be a little bit before we get back to Spargus (dodges rotten fruit, arrows, throwing axes, etc.) but for the moment, I'm going to slip in another Tarath flash back in an attempt to get the backstory down and flesh out the bad guys a little more.
Lawyers: I don't own anything but my own creations, so stop calling me!
That said, here is chapter sixteen
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When an Age comes Crashing Down.
The dark armored warrior waved as the elves departed, once more heading for the desert sanctuary of Spargus, a faint smile upon his face as he watched them fly away, becoming mere specks in the distance. However, that smile upon his scarred and partially metallic visage soon became a frown, as his thoughts turned to the upcoming battle, and he wondered who might live, and who might die.
"So what next, Tarath?" Ariki inquired, standing about fifteen feet behind him, her arms crossed and her head cocked to one side.
"I'm not certain," the Reaver responded with a helpless shrug, "I suppose we should begin to try and locate more equipment and vehicles for the upcoming battle."
"Xadec wanted us to do something else too…" the Dragoon began, but she stopped, her breath catching in her throat as Tarath whirled around with blinding speed and paced up to her, before planting an index finger squarely in her visor.
"I know what the good Executor wants, Ariki," he stated, his voice a hiss, and noted the surprise that came over her, "yes, I know about them, I've read the damn report, and I am telling you here and now, we are not going to involve those Channelers in this battle."
"But…" the blue armored warrior began, only to find herself cut off again.
"No buts!" the other Praetor stated, his voice still a venomous whisper. "They have suffered enough because of their heritage, because of us, and we are not going to drag them into a war after all that they've already been through." He paused, literally shaking in anger. "You have not seen what I have seen, Ariki, while you and the others were tucked away in the safety of the Stasis Chamber, I wandered this world," he thumped a hand to his chest, while putting the other one out behind himself, making a large, sweeping gesture with it, "I saw the devastation that the Hora-quan wrought upon the elves as they searched for those with our cursed gift in their blood! I saw village after destroyed village, I saw entire civilizations shattered even as they were beginning to flourish, and I saw countless massacres as those hell spawned abominations ravaged those people."
He took a step close to the other Praetor, until he was up in her face, and he then took the hand that had been gesturing and began to forcefully tap his index finger against the left side of his helmet.
"And I. Can. Not. Forget it!" he snarled, referring to the computer portion of his brain. "I cannot forget the screams of the dying, the sound of the flames as they burned, the sight of the dead lying on the ground, their bodies ripped and torn apart by vicious Grunts and Drones!" he practically roared, though there was a crack that was evident in his voice. "That is the horror that we unleashed upon the elves, upon the Channelers, the terror that we brought to them by dragging them into the conflict! So do not tell me that we are going to involve more in this struggle, as it is bad enough that we are still going to be using Jak and Keira as soldiers in this upcoming battle!"
With that, the dark armored Ancient stormed past Ariki, who was at a loss for words over what had just occurred, and stormed back into the laboratory, pain welling up inside of his soul as he did so.
The partially computerized mind of Tarath Shien ran backwards through his memories, and he was unable to stop it, unable to shut out the memories that he wished so badly that he could forget, could drown out with something. Against his will, he found himself remembering back to one particularly fateful day, many thousands of years ago, in which the Kinslayer War drew itself to a close…
The Praetor sighed as he listened to the humming of the drop ship that he was in, and he looked around the transport compartment, his eyes roaming over the other twenty or so troopers that were inside of the darkened area. Many of them were strangers, people that he had never known, and it did not surprise him in the slightest.
This gods accursed war had raged on all over the planet for more than ten years now, and its devastation was evident almost anywhere one chose to look. Entire cities had been wiped off the map by attacking forces, and whole regions laid to waste by both sides.
Which was to say nothing of the loss of life in general. Both sides had started this conflict with almost half a billion troops at their command, and now…now that number was down to less than a hundred thousand on either side…and that wasn't even counting civilian casualties, which they'd long ago given up on trying to keep track of.
"We're exterminating ourselves…" Tarath muttered, his face one of sorrow as he hung his head.
The conflict had started some five years after he and his brothers had taken the arena by storm, a dispute erupting over this terraforming deal. At first he hadn't paid much heed to the squabbling of the scientists and engineers who were in charge of the project, but once the group that insisted they continue with the experiments broke off and formed their own 'nation' so to speak, things had become much more serious. Not long after that, the first shots were fired, the first blows struck, and for the first time in centuries, the Precursors were at war with each other.
His thoughts drifted to his brothers. Phoenix was on a drop ship on the other side of the aerial fleet, and the other Praetors were also randomly scattered throughout the ships, so that no one blast could kill them all. His adoptive twin had been quiet before the battle, and when others had asked to see whether or not he had had a vision of the upcoming conflict, the Archon had simply murmured that he'd seen devastation and death, but no foreseeable outcome.
Tarath whispered a quiet prayer to the gods, praying to them, begging them that his brother would live out the day, or that they would both die, for the Precursor warrior could not bare to think of being alone upon this world without his family. His adoptive parents had been killed during the onset of the war, when a Fallen Precursor strike force had made a lightning fast, blitzkrieg styled attack against the bastion that they'd been stationed at, completely wiping it out.
And Kerrog…oh how he silently wept for his younger sibling.
When the schism between the two factions had originally started, the Fallen Ones had rallied around a Templar by the name of Zanac, who had called for all who wished to further their race along the path of prosperity and the like to join the cause. Swept up by the frenzy, Kerrog and many other young warriors had joined their side, theArchon himself leaving one night after a furious argument in which he declared that the others were trying to hold their race back from what they truly deserved.
He let out a silent, bitter chuckle as he thought back over the latest intel that they had been given. From all reports, Zanac had been killed during the last major battle, slain when a Juggernaut had blown his drop ship out of the sky as he and his forces retreated. Now, Kerrog, whose skill had apparently resulted in a rapid rise through the ranks, was apparently in charge.
Pain welled up inside of himself, as he thought of all the things that he and Phoenix had told the youngest member of the trio, that the Archon would be a great warrior someday, someone that would be remembered for all time. It would seem as though that little prophecy of theirs had come true, only with a twisted, macabre element to it.
And the Fallen Ones were not the only side to have lost leadership, as was evident by the fact that the average age of the Praetors was now about twenty eight years indicated that many of the originals had fallen. All of the older warriors for the most part, those who had practiced and trained all their lives for a war that was never supposed to have come, were gone, slain in the countless battles that had ravaged Gaia over the past decade.
He shook his head once more, trying to figure out where they had gone wrong, what incorrect path his people had taken that had brought them to this bloody and catastrophic conflict. Much as he wracked his brain, he couldn't think of what had happened, and with a slight snarl, he banished such thinking from his mind. Such philosophizing wasn't necessarily a bad thing, but if he wished to survive the upcoming conflict, he was going to have to keep his mind on the battle and elements that were related to that.
However, one other thought sprung up into his mind before he could completely banish them, that of a potentially wondrous discovery that had been made almost six years ago.
A bizarre forest type region had been discovered about a decade ago, just before this mess had started. It was massive, nearly twenty five hundred square miles in size, and was buried within the heart of a mountain range all but impregnable to ground entry. Within it was contained a wealth of natural resources and Eco that had caused it to become a highly valued reserve in the event of needing such things. Since this happened before the war, both sides knew of it, and it was inevitable that a confration would eventually take place for control of it. For this reason, both sides had sent emissaries to the other and had come to an agreement upon the time of the battle. It had also been agreed that no vehicles or other such weaponry should be used, lest they destroy what they were fighting over.
However, as they were moving themselves into position to prepare for the fight, something had been discovered that the initial surveying team had apparently missed. One warrior had spotted the creature initially, and had called it out to his comrades.
He had been there that day, and could recall the creature with absolute clarity.
It was a most peculiar thing, pale and devoid of any fur save for a black mop of it upon its head, and some sort of fur and leather type garment that it appeared to have been wearing. It was about five feet tall, making it roughly three times the height of a normal Precursor, and its build suggested that it was a male. In its hands was clutched a weapon that Tarath had recognized from holo vids as a weapon used by his own people in ancient days as a bow, and he wondered if it might be a scout or a hunter among its kind…whatever exactly its kind was. The other thing that he couldn't help but notice was the thing's ears, which were enormously long and tapered back to a point.
It stood stock still, riveted in place by the sight of these armored warriors, which in their current form towered over him. Some moments passed, before the thing had bolted, and curiosity overwhelming him, then Centurion Tarath had instructed his troops to wait while he pursued the strange creature from a discreet distance.
He had followed it to a small clearing in the valley, and hovering amongst the tree branches, it was all he could do to keep the concentration necessary to remain in flight as he realized what was in the glade.
Crude huts, made of limbs and vines dotted the clearing, and he realized instantly that there was a whole village of these things.
That was about as far as his line of thinking got before he heard shouting in a foreign tongue and mentally slapped himself, realizing exactly how conspicuous he was, covering in black armor and floating up with the trees.
Before he could draw any more attention to himself, the Reaver dashed back to where he'd left his men, he knew he had to hurry, lest a battle commence while he was away.
Fortunately, the Fallen Ones took their time before arriving, and with some hasty explaining, a full scale conflict had been avoided once they had explained the situation.
After all, it would not have been honorable to involve another race in their war or to have ripped their home apart during a fight.
Forcefully bringing himself back to reality, he looked out over the troops, noticing one that seemed to be fidgeting in his seat. The green color of his armor indicated that he was an Arbiter, and judging by the length of his deadlocks, a rather young one at that.
The Arbiter would likely be in a different place than the Praetor and his own troops, but there hadn't been enough drop ships for all of the transports to have only one kind of soldier on board, as was evident by the Archon and two Zealots that were also onboard. The ship would drop off Tarath and the Reavers in one place, and then head over to the rest of the ground battle to unload the rest.
He strode over to the young warrior, and sat down next to him. The youth said Tarath's name and rank in surprise and started to stand and salute, but the dark armored Ancient merely held up a hand and motioned for him to stay in his seat.
"What's your name, son?" Tarath inquired, noticing inwardly at how old he suddenly felt, realizing. Strangely enough, that he probably was only about thirteen years senior to this other soldier, if his voice was any indicator.
"Solaris Arcana, sir." The Arbiter responded, and the Praetor could feel how nervous he was, and he realized this was probably the young man's first battle.
Compounding the fact was his Green Eco orientation, which made him a high value target on the battlefield, as his kind were the one that kept the army on its feet. Thus, eliminating the combat medics was a high priority on any competent commander's list of objectives.
"Don't worry," he said, placing a hand upon the green armored youth's shoulder, "we all get nervous before we head out to battle. You'll do fine as long as you keep cool and don't panic."
"Sir," the Arbiter asked as Tarath stood up to head back to the front of the craft, "how do you do it, how do you cope with it?"
The Reaver paused in mid stride, pondering the question, before answering.
"I remember that I have a job to do, and that if I don't do it, others will suffer because of it," Was his response.
"Oh…thank you, sir." Solaris said, bowing his head slightly.
The Praetor remained silent, steeling himself for the coming conflict.
It had come, they were now within the very heart of the Quarantine Zone, their name for the waste that had come of their grand experiment all those years ago, and the final battle was at hand.
Tarath felt the drop ship that he was on go into its hover mode, and then the gravity lift that would carry them to the ground activated. Like any leader worth his salt, the Praetor was the first trooper into it, the first of his ship to be dropped into the battle zone.
He felt the sense of vertigo that came over one almost every time the gravity lift was used, and then he was outside of the transport craft. He spared a quick look around, taking a rough tally of the forces that were gather here even as the first wave of Stingers on both sides were streaking in towards each other. It was obvious that both sides were going for broke, as each appeared to have about fifteen Golems and twenty of the huge, spidery Juggernauts stomping around, and even as he gazed at them, their primary weapons glowed, and the next instant the air was filled with the distinctive roar of a Vector Cannon firing at full power. The massive, multi colored energy beam streaked from one of their own vessels and slammed into the lead Fallen Juggernaut. However, the armor of the walking death machine, which was about four meters thick, held up under the assault, and returned the favor a moment later.
The dark armored Ancient was quick to turn his attention to a more pressing matter as far as he was concerned, that of the massive wave of Fallen Stingers that were streaking across the battlefield, heading for the infantry, with an aerial escort composed of Reavers and Templars.
The Reaver knew his duty, and he bolted up into the air, willing himself to move as fast as he could towards the enemy bikes. As he shot towards them, the other black armored soldiers began to link up, with their own yellow armored Templars taking position above them, creating a loose formation.
The Fallen Precursor soldiers were doing the exact same thing, forming up to provide cover for their own bikes, while searching for an opportunity to destroy as many of the enemies' as was possible, as left unchecked, the lightning fast Stingers could wreak havoc upon the ground forces.
His eyes narrowed behind his visored helmet as he sighted up his first opponent, a Templar that was near the right edge of the enemy formation, and he felt within himself, calling upon his powers for the purpose of killing another of his kind…something that had become disturbingly easy for him to do.
He extended his left hand and fired a blast of dark lightning, the opening shot of the infantry on this battle to end all battles. The Templar attempted to twist out of the way, but with an effort of will, the Reaver had his attack follow him. The lightning hit dead on, and coursed its way over the enemy soldier, circulating around him for a couple of seconds before it managed to penetrate his armor. The Fallen Precursor let out a single, sharp cry, and then plummeted towards the ground as gravity took hold of the corpse.
It proved to be a cue, and within moments, energy bursts filled the air, whizzing about and impacting upon their targets, be they dark armored Reavers aiming for enemy soldiers in the air Templars aiming for the Stingers upon the ground.
The Dragoons below, realizing that the fight was on, accelerated to full attack speed, which was approximately six hundred kilometers an hour. At such a speed, attempting to fire at each other was nearly pointless, especially with their bike's Eco casters having a limited charge. Against each other, the blue armored warriors would use their duracon staves, as they were called, to try and slay their opponents.
A flash of light off to one side caught the eye of the Praetor, and he saw another Fallen Templar preparing to unleash a burst of Eco upon the ranks of the mounted soldiers below. Without hesitating for a single second, the Reaver formed and hurled a ball of black energy at the yellow armored warrior. Caught up in the concentration required for precision targeting, the Templar did not realize the danger that he was in until it was too late. The dark bomb impacted, and enveloped him. His cry was drowned out amongst the din of the battle, but Tarath prayed that he had put enough power into the Channeled attack that Death had come to claim his enemy swiftly.
He had seen some soldiers who had survived such attacks, their half disintegrated bodies slowly dying as they screamed in agony…and it was a fate he would not have wished upon anyone.
However, the thought was a quick one, and it swiftly fled from his mind as he heard a death cry from above, and was barely able to twist out of the way in time to avoid having the smoldering corpse of one of his own comrades land upon him. The other Reaver's body tumbled to the ground, where it hit, rolled for a dozen or so yards, and then lay still.
Agony welled up within him, but he would mourn later, right now, the battle depended upon him and his fellows accomplishing their objectives.
Down below, he search the screams of battle wavering upward as the Dragoons slammed into each other, followed swiftly by explosions and death cries as the two lines hit each other at a combined speed of well over mach one. And up on his level, the enemy also reached melee range, so with a flick of his wrist, he snapped his warp blade into an attack position, and charged towards the first opponent he could see.
One might wonder how in the world the two forces managed to tell friend from foe, as they were very similar in appearance. Indeed, the only real difference was that the Precursors themselves had retained the old, angular appearance to their Metatron armor, whilst the Fallen Ones had adopted a more rounded suit. However, when one had been battle a foe for more than a decade, even such subtle differences stood in as stark contrast as night was from day.
Careful not to become too absorbed in the fight, lest death strike from below or above, Tarath Shien met his first adversary blade upon blade in that instant, the enemy Reaver coming in with an uppercut styled attack, while the Praetor countered by catching the weapon with his own. He then tried to slide his scythe like blade down to his opponent's hand, in hopes of cutting it off, but his foe was a crafty one, and had seen his tactic from the moment that he had locked blades.
His foe's left hand shot out, grabbing his right wrist in an iron hard grip, being mindful not to slice his fingers off on the underside of the warp blade. But Tarath was a cunning warrior in his own right, and had not survived more than two hundred engagements with the enemy to be taken down by such a tactic.
Taking advantage of the fact that they were in mid air, the dark armored Ancient flexed himself backwards, before driving both of his feet up into his opponents head. The force behind the blow was so great that even a fair sized yakow would have had its thick skull caved in by impact. However, as it was, the enemy Reaver suffered a badly cracked visor and what would doubtless be a broken jaw. Nonetheless, Tarath's foe did not cry out in pain, but released his grip upon the Praetor, and flipped backwards up into the air, bringing his warp blade around to defend against the charge that he knew was coming.
However, when he completed his flip, he discovered that his opponent was nowhere to be found, and his last thought was something along the lines of 'oh drek' as he realized that the Praetor had used the chaos of the aerial melee to slip around behind him. The Fallen Precursor attempted to stop the inevitable by dashing forward and turning around, but he was not fast enough, and the next thing he felt was a blinding agony across the back of his neck…
Tarath watched the decapitated corpse fall form the sky, and nodded somberly, before turning around at the sound of something approaching him. He was just in time to lock blades with another enemy Reaver. This one did not appear to be as skilled as his previous opponent, and judging by the aggression, this was probably her first battle. Still, even a rookie Precursian warrior was a deadly adversary, and Tarath found himself having to whip his scythe like weapon back and forth rapidly in an attempt to keep his adversary from piercing his defenses and taking care of him.
But as it was in so many cases, experience won out in such fights, and the young fighter made a fatal mistake, overextending herself in one of her downward slashes. The Praetor deftly spun to one side, and the instant that happened, the youth knew that she was doomed. Tarath's warp blade came down hard and stuck his foe on the elbow, where the armor was not present as to allow for maximum movement. The Metatron weapon sliced through without even slowing down, and his foe howled in pain, instinctively bringing her left arm to clutch at the wound. In a blurred motion that was too fast for most eyes to follow, the Praetor spun around, bringing his blade up along the youth's chest, disemboweling her before slicing into her heart, mercifully ending her suffering.
It would only be later that Tarath would allow himself to be haunted by that scream, the scream of a young girl that should have lived far longer upon the face of Gaia.
The dark armored Ancient spared himself a moment to glance down at the ground battle, and frowned to himself. A number of their own Stingers had managed to break free of the cavalry styled battle that was raging down below him, up they were running into problems from a Golem that had apparently marched over here to try and take care of their mounted soldiers.
The Golem was a military vehicle designed just before the war, as preparation for escort forces that would accompany diplomats to other world, just in case the locals turned out to be less than friendly. It was a fairly large piece of bipedal machinery, at about thirty odd feet in height, and was piloted by a single Dragoon from inside of its insectiod head. Their orientation lent the blue armored troopers speed and multitasking capabilities that enabled them to do twice what most others could while behind the seat of those machines. While nowhere near as powerful offensively or defensively as a Juggernaut, it was considerably more agile, and could wreak havoc upon one of the larger machines if they managed to flank them. This was actually where the rest of them were, as whoever emerged from the conflict with the most weapons platforms intact was going to come out on top, and both sides knew it.
The gleaming bronze color of its armor reflected the blazing sunlight as it trained its massive, left arm Eco caster upon a group of three Stingers that had broken free of the mess. Looking back over their shoulders to see if they were truly in the clear, the pilots were swift to realize the danger that they were in, scattered and accelerated up to full speed, trying to present the enemy pilot with as many moving targets as they could. All the while, they streaked towards a battalion of Fallen Zealots that were rushing towards the front lines. But the Fallen pilot was a skilled warrior, who kept his weapon trained upon the lead Stinger even as it tried to evade him, and Tarath watched, helpless, as a massive beam of Yellow Eco came blasting out of the barrel of the weapon. The Dragoon piloting the Stinger tried to make a last second swerve out of the way, but the blast, which left a good, thirty foot crater behind, enveloped him, and he his bike were destroyed in an instant.
There was a garbled sound over the comm., and Tarath was relieved to hear the sound of Phoenix's voice on the other end, despite the fact that this battle had been raging for less than seven minutes.
"Tarath, the Dragoons have a problem." He began, before his adoptive sibling cut him off.
"I know, I'm right up here with the damn thing! Any ideas?" the Reaver growled, watching as another quarter of bikes were vaporized by the Golem, shrapnel scattering in the wake of the explosion.
"Have Araic order a few of his Templars to attack that thing and try to keep it busy," he said, which would have been a rather laughable idea under normal circumstances, as the odds of infantry taking down such a machine weren't very good, "I'll get a message through to the Executor and see if I can't get some of the big guns in to help you out."
Instantly, Tarath saw his brother's plan, and knew what he was going to try to do. Thus, he quickly relayed orders to Araic, and with a bit of an explanation, was able to get a few of the yellow armored troopers to break from battle and head over to harass the thing.
Meanwhile, Phoenix was busy on his comm. system, floating about fifty feet above an engagement of his own forces and some Fallen Dragoons.
"Executor?" he inquired, waiting until his got confirmation that his leader had received his signal.
A screen appeared upon his visor's HUD, showing him a picture of Executor Xadec Thas, clad in his gold and silver battle armor that only the leader of the Precursors had ever been allowed to wear. Their leader was aboard one of the Juggernauts, in the safest place he could be at the moment, with four meters of Metatron battle plate between him and any hostile ground forces. The Executor had a tight grip upon his force pike, and was busy directing the tactical battle between the heavily armored behemoths and their adversaries.
"What is it Phoenix?" Xadec inquired, pausing for a moment to give out some orders to the Dragoon pilots in front of him, and their hands blurred over their control panels in response.
"There is a enemy Golem that is attacking the Stingers," the Archon leader stated, his voice cool despite the situation, "requesting that one of the Juggernauts dispatch it before it can rip them to shreds."
"Show me," was the order that he received.
With a series of rapid blinks, the white armored Praetor called up a black box styled function that allowed his commander to see as he saw, and he was quick to gaze in the direction of the bipedal machine, and was just in time to watch another pair of bikes go up in flames under the assault from the pulse cannon mounted on its right wrist.
"Tell Ariki and her forces to hold on," the Precursor leader stated, before opening up another comm. channel to the bridge commander of one of the other Juggernauts.
The order was dispatched, and Phoenix watched as one of the eight legged constructs, moved slightly out of position, redirecting the massive cannon to where it was aimed at the bronze Golem. Then energy began to gather around the end of the barrel, and Phoenix smiled grimly as he dove back into the battle, knowing that one shot at full power would probably be more than enough to deal with the threat.
Indeed, that was to be the case, as the massive beam of energy flew across the battlefield. The Fallen pilot, having believed that his own force's Juggernauts would keep the enemy's tangled up, was completely caught off guard by attack. To his credit, he saw it coming, and tried to maneuver out of the way, but it would not be enough. The Vector Cannon round nailed it just shy of what would have been a bulls-eye, and the armor, a full meter of Metatron, held for all of a millisecond before it gave way. The vital systems on the inside were shredded and destroyed almost instantly, and a massive fireball consumed the Golem, leaving the path free for Ariki and company to finish trying to mop up the Fallen Dragoons, and then make their way towards the rest of the infantry.
Tarath spared a quick glance around the massive battlefield that rampaged over the desert. Most of the infantry was already engaged, and he could see the different colors mingling as Archons, Dragoons, and Zealots all scrapped it out with each other. He knew that Solaris and the other Arbiters were also to be found there, saving those that were upon death's doorstep so that they might rise and fight again, placing themselves at terrible risk while they were at it.
Above him, the battle between the Reavers and the Templars still raged, but that was of secondary concern to him right now, and he knew that his troops were skilled and open minded enough to manage themselves without his commands for a few minutes. He needed to get Ariki and her fellows freed up from the tangle that they were in, so that they could get over and assist the infantry forces.
Originally, their plan had called for the mounted soldiers to come in from a sideways angle, tearing the largest possible hole in the enemy, and if they were to carry the day down there, it was imperative that those Stingers be put to use against something other than their nemeses.
A quick relay of an order later, and the Praetor and a few hundred Reavers dropped out of the aerial battle, hoping that the chaos that reigned above would be enough to mask their departure.
A battle cry upon his tongue, the dark armored ancient and his comrades, dove towards the ground battle, summoning up dark bombs and other such attacks, before raining them down upon the Fallen Precursors, the shots struck home for the most part, and the enemy Dragoons suddenly found themselves under attack from two fronts as they realized their aerial defensive screen had been penetrated.
But while the Reavers might have had the advantage here, with their ability to fly and rain death and destruction down from above, they were not invincible, and Tarath quickly found himself have to dodge to the sky as a duracon stave came flying in at him, thrown boomerang style by its owner some sixty feet below. Scanning about quickly as the weapon returned to the hands of its wielder, the dark armored Ancient spotted the Dragoon, and let fly a blast of Dark Eco lightning. The bolts coursed their way over the Fallen Precursor, and he slumped from his Stinger. Whether he was dead or merely dying, writhing about in agony on the sand below, the Reaver knew not, for he was quickly forced to turn his attention to another foe.
He ducked underneath a hurled stave, and this time, wishing to conserve his Eco reserves for later battles, charged headlong at the warrior that had chucked it at him. The Fallen Dragoon's eyes widened in surprise as he saw the Praetor diving in at him. He started to move his bike along a different course, but Tarath anticipated such a move, and with a single barrel role, was able to plant himself right in front of the blue armored warrior just a moment before he would have been able to reach out and grasp his weapon once again. His warp blade hissed as he lashed out, decapitating his foe and kicking the corpse off of the hover bike for good measure.
Looking around he saw a group of three that were preparing to charge, and he concentrated as they accelerated, calling upon his powers and forming a large ball of Dark Eco between his hands. With a scream that might have been mistaken for a roar, Tarath smashed his left fist into the Channeled attack, sending it on its way. His foes literally never knew what hit them, as the burst attack exploded, slaying all three of them and blowing up their vehicles as well.
But while those three might have been dealt with, the battle that raged here was still far from won.
A battle cry from above caused Tarath to look upwards, and he saw a Fallen Reaver diving down towards him, and the Praetor cocked his warp blade back behind himself, preparing to meet the reckless dive head on. The two scythe like weapons clashed an instant later, scrapping against one another with a harsh, shrieking sound that would have had many covering their ears and gnashing their teeth. Just as quickly, the two black armored warriors broke the blade lock, flying backwards until they were about five feet apart. They then began to circle each other, floating slowly while down below, the Dragoons of both sides still clashed with one another.
The momentary calm of this battle, just one of thousands of personal struggles that was being carried out upon this field of combat today, renewed itself with a vengeance about three seconds later, and the two Reavers dashed towards each other. Tarath came in from above, bringing his weapon down in a slash that was angled at his adversaries right side, while the Fallen Precursors lashed out from the side, attempting to slip his warp blade in-between the Praetor's ribs. However, both combatants managed to barrel roll out of the way of the attacks.
Not to be deterred, Tarath followed through with a might kick that was aimed at his foe's temple, while said foe retaliated with a punch aimed squarely at his solar plexus. Once again, both attacks failed as their respective targets evaded them. The Praetor was then swift to realize that this was no green rookie that he was dealing with here, but a seasoned veteran that had doubtless survived many battles and probably had more than a few dozen kills under his belt.
They met again with a flurry of blades as Tarath hoped to try and overwhelm his adversary with the sheer aggressiveness of his powers. His weapon came in low, a strike that was aimed at his opponent's groin, while he expertly ducked a blow that would have made him shorter by a head had it managed to connect. His foe drew back in time, but the Praetor would give him neither rest nor quarter in this battle, coming in again from above, this time aiming to strike just below his adversary's left armpit. With a deft spin, the other Reaver evaded the strike, before attempting a similar move, only this time, the dark armored warrior was aiming for the armpit itself, rather than the weaker armor underneath, no doubt hoping to pierce a lung and severely cripple the Praetor.
However, it wasn't the first time that such a tactic had been used upon the leader of the Precursor Reavers, and Tarath hadn't been the reigning arena champion for so long by getting hit by such an attack. With an incredibly fast back flip, the dark armored Ancient was able to get himself above the range of the strike, and at the same time, lash out with a blow of his own. His adversary saw the attack coming, and tried to yank his arm back in time, but was not quite fast enough.
Much to his irritation, though, Tarath discovered a second later that the blow he had managed to land was not near as damaging as he had hoped it would become. His adversary had a superficial cut running the length of his right arm, and was still more than capable of continuing with their little fight.
He was also quick to do such a thing, coming in fast and hard at the other Reaver, his warp blade coming in with wicked speed as he performed a mid air spin. Fortunately, with an effort of will, the Praetor was able to dash backwards out of the way of the strike, and thereby avoid a potentially fatal blow. He then made his move, hoping to strike his opponent from behind and end the scrap then and there, however, his foe was also cunning, and knew that such an attack was to be expected upon presenting an exposed back to a foe of such a caliber, and he quickly shot up into the air as Tarath charged forward, letting the Praetor pass underneath him, where he then hoped to strike.
However, instead of the satisfying sensation of a blade piercing flesh, what he instead got was the harsh cacophony of Metatron grating upon itself as the other Reaver stuck his scythe like weapon behind his head and intercepted the attack, swatting it harmlessly away. Then, with the flexibility that one would normally associate with a person who was double jointed, the Praetor balled himself up and flipped around, bringing his weapon in at his foe's abdomen.
Too late, the other Reaver saw his error, and knew that he had been baited, that his foe had known that he would perform such a dive, and apparently knew a way to counter it.
In vain, he shot backwards, but the blow still hit home. With tremendous force, Tarath's warp blade pierced the stomach region of his armor, the serrated weapon tearing through Metatron and flesh, and the Fallen Precursor felt as if a bolt of lightning had struck him, so great was the pain.
But he was not yet finished, and still had some life left within himself. With one hand clutched to his gut to try and keep his innards from spilling out, the other black armored Precursor still engaged the Praetor, knowing that the odds were long, but it was still possible that he might best this foe of his in battle and retreat to where the Arbiters were.
Tarath, knowing that his adversary was battered but not yet beaten, hammered his attacks home with a fury that he had rarely been seen using before, forcing the other Reaver onto the defensive and doing his best to keep him there. After all, his foe was bleeding rather profusely, and it was only a matter of time before that blood loss caused his reflexes to slow and his strength to desert him.
For some minutes, the Fallen Precursor managed to hold his ground, but he quickly realized that he was a dead man, and sure enough, distracted by the pain and the loss of his own life fluid, he eventually made a fatal error.
Tarath came in from the left, and his foe's weapon went there to stop it. However, the attack proved to be a feint, a distraction. He realized his error just as the Praetor's fist was beginning to fill up his visor, and he inwardly cursed as he realized that the battle was finished now.
Tarath's fist slammed into the face of his opponent with such force that it shattered the visor of the other Reaver's helmet, revealing blood red eyes that reminded Tarath very much of his own. Right now though, the flames of those crimson orbs were nearly extinguished, and he was about to finish the job. The with his foe reeling backwards from the punch, his defenses were wide open, and it was a simple matter to drive the scythe like weapon attached to his wrist into his foe's heart.
The other Reaver made a brief, choking noise before he fell backwards off of the warp blade, his corpse actually knocking a Fallen Dragoon from his Stinger as it fell in gravity's embrace.
Another victory, another kill… another Precursor that would never again draw breath…
About ten minutes had passed since Tarath had engaged the veteran in mortal combat, and finally, a break had come. Some of the Templars had finally managed to fight their way down to the ground battle, and had then began to rain destruction down upon the Fallen Dragoons, creating a big enough opening that a sizeable force of their own cavalry was break through and begin streaking across the desert sands towards the other infantry battle, Ariki Crystala being among them.
Tarath and several thousand Reavers and Templars trailed behind Ariki and the mounted soldiers, and behind them, the sounds of battle still echoed as some forces on both sides continued to wage their own battles.
From the reports that he'd been picking up, not to mention the massive explosions that he had also seen, it appeared as though they were also winning the heavy armor battle, with Xadec's impressive knowledge of such tactics having the current odds of the Juggernaut battle being something in the nature of two to one, their favor.
However, the battle was far from finished, and it was still convincible that they could lose, and Gaia would be the one to pay the price.
The sands of the Quarantine Zone streaked below him as Tarath steeled himself for the second half of this fight, the one that would determine the outcome of the whole struggle. It was time for him to prove his worth to his people once and for all, and he prayed to whatever deity might have been listening, that he would not fail.
Off in the distance, a miniature sun formed as a Fallen Juggernaut went up in smoke.
With a roar, the dark armored Ancient dived into the heart of the conflict once again, streaking down to where he was at the ground level of the fighting, intermingling among Dragoons, Archons, Zealots, and even the odd Arbiter rushing about, frantically trying to heal fallen soldiers and get them back into the battle once again.
The battle had been raging for some time now, and twelve more foes had fallen before him, and now he was working on number thirteen.
For some minutes, the Praetor engaged an unmounted Dragoon. The soldier was another veteran, and had even managed to draw blood from his adversary, striking Tarath twice across the right side of his helmet, giving him two gashes across his cheek that he had little doubt would leave behind reminders of this fight. He growled in frustration, trying to find a means of overpowering his foe. However, assistance was about to come from a most unlikely source.
Tarath's warp blade had just blocked a downward attack from the Dragoon's duracon stave, when another battle cry split the air, and both parties looked in the direction that it had come from.
It was an Arbiter, charging straight at the Fallen Precursor, distortions rippling around his hands and feet as he focused his powers and created the strange, short range telekinetic field that only Arbiters could. Arbiters were normally medics, and to see one in battle was strange thing indeed, but their Niyan hand to hand combat techniques could really ruin someone's day when they connected.
The Dragoon shifted his grip upon his dual bladed staff, sticking one part out in hopes that the Arbiter's own momentum would cause him to impale himself. However, the green armored warrior swatted the blade harmlessly aside and the leapt in, cocking his left fist back before striking out with a mighty punch. The Dragoon, his attention divided between the dark armored Praetor in front of him, and this crazed medic, was unable to shift out of the way of the blow as it connected. Tarath watched the fist, the telekinetic field amplifying its power, slam into the left shoulder of the Fallen Precursor.
The Metatron armor ruptured and was smashed inward under the force of the blow, and even above the din of the battle, the Reaver could hear the sound of bone shattering. Unable to effectively wield its large weapon with one hand, the Fallen Dragoon fell swiftly, his guts spilling out over the battle ground as Tarath disemboweled him.
There was something about the Arbiter that seemed familiar, and then it clicked.
"Nice Job, Solaris." Tarath replied with a grim smile, happy that the youth had managed to survive such battle thus far.
The young Arbiter looked as if he was about to reply, when he suddenly turned and saw something. In the blink of an eye, the green armored warrior had thrust his hands out around himself, and formed a shield of Green Eco. It was a good thing that he did so, too, as a blast of white energy came streaking in at him, a moment later, where it detonated with a thunderous racket.
The flash cleared, revealing Solaris Arcana, unharmed and still shielded, looking up at this new foe. Tarath followed the glance and saw who had created the attack, and he felt his blood run cold while agony began to well up in his soul.
The Archon that had been responsible for the energy ray had horns very similar to his own upon his helmet, and the ornate markings upon his armor singled him out as something more than a mere Praetor.
For the first time in many years, Kerrog and Tarath stared at each other, both wondering what cruel sense of fate it was that would pit them against each other.
Nodding somberly to Solaris, the dark armored Ancient rose upwards, his weapon held at ready while he got to the same altitude that his brother was at.
"Kerrog," the elder of the two siblings remarked, "looks like you've become the warrior that Phoenix predicted you would be…"
"Only not quite as our brother thought, Tarath." The Fallen Archon replied, and Tarath could tell there was a bitter smile on the other side of that white helmet. "Come then, my brother, let us convey our words and feelings as we know how…through battle. Let us see who fights the hardest for what he believes in!"
He then slapped his left fist over his chest in salute to his foe, a gesture that his brother returned, and then both readied themselves.
Time seemed to stop, and the unearthly mixture of explosions from Channeled attacks, the clash of weapons, and the screams of the dying seemed to fade away.
Then the moment passed, and both brothers were streaking towards each other, their blades cocked back and battle cries upon their tongues.
&
Okay, stopping there, as this chapter is already pretty big.
Hope you people enjoyed it, and if anyone was wondering, the Golem is supposed to be what the Precursor Robot was from the first J&D game, though I am not sure if I managed to pull it off properly, and the Juggernauts, of course, are what Errol managed to get his hands upon.
Gotta go now, but if you have any ideas, constructive criticisms, comments, or flames, feel free to let me know, and be certain to have a great day.
See you next time, until then, this is Red Mage 04, signing off.