Prologue Pt2

This isn't the entirety of the Chapter! I just uploaded it for the sake of uploading it. I'm likely going to update later this afternoon, or at the latest, tomorrow. Anyhoo, the story will start out slowly, so I don't expect to get a bunch of awesome reviews.

Every culture, every species has a different interpretation of warfare. He knew how the humans saw it, how the Lekgolo saw it, and regretfully, how the Jiralhanae saw it. To them, warfare ranged from a powerful tool to be seldom used, to a savage frenzy of the crudest barbarism. But for his species? No. For him, war was an art form, to be honed, practiced, and perfected, in its every facet. A timeless tradition.

And perfected it he had.

Amidst the staccato gunfire of his allies, and the crude volleys sent in return from his primitive enemies he fought. With a terrifying grace he slashed through his enemies, leaving a bloodied path of dark crimson through the various rooms. The way the corpses, hideously mutilated by the allied weaponry, always served as a horrifying testament to his skill. Indeed, his ferocity was so great that later, one of his Sangheili allies would comment that he was most reminiscent of the savage beasts in Sangheili folklore. Using the same grace that had carried him through war, he bore the mark of a master.

He quickly sidestepped a lunging Jiralhanae, and then impaled him on his glowing blade, which burned with ease through the weak armor. Like the rest, the wretched creature screamed, hissed and gurgled before he passed away. Seizing an opportunity, the Sangheili used the dead beast to protect him from an incoming volley of spikes, as the rolled to the left. He effortlessly parried another Jiralhanae, before slicing him across the stomach. Another brute came charging at him, screaming a senseless battle cry at the top of its lungs, spiker raised high in the air. As the spiker came bearing down upon him, he kicked it out of his hand with a swift kick to the arm. In a series of motions, to swift for a human to follow, he delivered a strong punch to his stomach, one more to his neck, and a right hook to the side of his head. The Sangheili scooped up the primitive rifle that his opponent had dropped, and sprayed the brute with a flurry of searing hot spikes. Under the barrage of sheer pain, the creature screamed, thrashed, until it was taken by a gruesome death. With no emotion, not even contempt he tossed aside the crude weapon.

A minor witnessed his brutal work, and nodded in appreciation. "These savages are far below an honorable death!" He practically spat. The white armored Sangheili simply shook his head and turned away. He didn't care for the revenge driven slaughter that his kin had relished in. Sure, they had "thoughtlessly massacred our kin with no regard for honor", but then, what did they have to explain for the humans? Not that he was a human sympathizer, no. Far from it, the world outside the battlefield did not make any sense. That's why he did all that he was good at: killing, and being told to kill. That way, things made sense.

That was going to change.

The Sangheili crouched behind cover, along with a major Sangheili. Without the constant danger of sword fighting grabbing his attention, he could perceive the sounds of battle quite clearly. The Jiralhanae were spraying long, inaccurate bursts of automatic fire into their enemies, while his allies made precise shots, efficiently gunning down the hordes of barbarians.

A few months ago, this battle would've been considerably harder. However, a few months ago was also before the battle of the Ark. The war wasn't over, that much was plainly obvious. However, he also knew how badly the Covenant had suffered after that battle. What had been a desperate race against a machination of doom had turned into a bold strike upon the Covenant leadership. Everywhere, he could see that the Covenant was beginning to topple. Their soldiers began to slip up, to make mistakes, both political and tactical. They were getting desperate, disorganized. That was something he could see in their eyes and their movements. They were alone on this mission: the leadership was far too eager to topple what remained of the Covenant. As a result, much of the special operations teams were spread throughout the galaxy, to perform precision strikes upon the Covenant leadership. This mission was one of them. He made note that to topple even a great empire; you needed precision, not brute force.

That knowledge would prove useful.

He slowly emerged from his hiding, and primed a plasma grenade. This action went unnoticed amongst the myriad of sounds permeating throughout the battlefield. With practiced accuracy, the grenade flew straight into a crowd of huddled Jiralhanae. The brilliant explosion of blue sent a searing wave of plasma through the air, killing half a dozen, and disorienting many more. The ultra elite leapt from behind his cover, and charged the Jiralhanae, blazing sword in hand. He leapt upon them, with unparalled ferocity. He sliced through three of them, all the while dodging spike rounds and flailing arms. He made his way to a fourth one, which raised its armor-clad arms in a pitiful gesture of defense. He thoughtlessly impaled the creature on his blazing sword, and sent its limp body to the ground. He turned around, just in time to see a single, staggering brute raise its spike rifle at him, a venomous glare in his eyes. One that no longer spoke of survival, or desperation, but of seething rage. Just then, a flurry of bullets, punctuated by a swarm of plasma bolts closing in on the lone Jiralhanae. As the searing projectiles tore through him, his armor was riddled with holes, blooded splattering against the wall behind him. His end was quick, but not painless. He slumped to the ground, spiker still raised, the glare never leaving his eyes.

He slowly turned around and saw his allies, Sangheili and human approaching him, at the front of the room. Their rifles were at the ready, scanning the walls and all the entrances. The sounds of battle had abruptly ceased, and were now replaced with the calm silence, and the occasional sound of a boot shifting. A gaping hole covered the ceiling, through which the golden light of the glorious sunset filtered through. Like his allies, the Sangheili quickly observed his surroundings. Bodies were strewn all throughout the room; the walls were covered in a gory, dark crimson. For all intents and purposes, it had been a battle, a mission with an objective. However, for anyone that had been in the battle, it was a complete and utter bloodbath.

As his allies slowly assembled around him, he began to issue his orders. His primary objective was to kill, and if possible, seize a certain prophet. Before the Great Schism, he was known as the Prophet of Piety, a councilor. His family, having noble acquaintance knew quite a bit about him, and the many deception and scandals he had pulled. Now, he had become a crafty, albeit desperate leader of a desperate people. He made good note to watch out for any tricks he might pull. Their secondary objectives were to kill a Brute Chieftain, and/or rescue a group of human hostages. The Covenant were likely to try and make their exit at this point, and thus the only logical maneuver was to split up.

"I will take my Sangheili Special Ops team, and eliminate the Prophet." He spoke in a confident, though gritty tone that spoke of years of experience. He shifted, and addressed the human "lieutenant". "You, you will take your team down that hallway, and locate the Brute Chieftain, and take your hostages. Rendezvous with us at the predetermined LZ for extraction within seven minutes." The humans wordlessly complied, and when he turned to address his Sangheili, they were already on their way.

"Let's go."

Once more, this is not all of the chapter! It's just to give you boys another taste of my writing.

Cheers!