Chapter 33: Push to the Shore, part 1.
The wind whistled by the open end of the cargo container. Silicate particles covered the floor. Locke left bootprints behind in the solid layer as he moved toward the entrance.
The container was filled with someone's personal effects. Disposable bags full of clothes, improvised furniture held together with tape, broken down shoes and sandals. Locke recognized the setup: this was a refugee's home. He had lived in such a place after his homeworld got glassed, before he was shipped off into the foster system.
A simple, tattered tarp served as the barrier between the improvised domicile and the outside world. Locke brushed it aside with one arm as he exited.
A charred and broken world greeted him. It took the supersoldier a moment to recognize Jericho VII. His homeworld. From the looks of things, the Covenant invasion had just rolled through here.
Locke pressed on. He was looking for something. He wasn't sure what it was, but he knew it was important. Important enough to come back here.
Molten, gutted buildings surrounded him on all sides. Human bodies littered the streets, forcing Locke to step carefully. The bodies of soldiers, Marines, lay, often a few meters in front of the bodies of civilians. The Marines had clearly tried to protect the non-combatants.
None had succeeded. Jericho VII was populated only by corpses, now.
Locke pressed on.
There was a landing field up ahead. A ball of dark matter formed in the orphan's gut. He knew what had happened there. What had almost happened to him. What would he find if he returned there?
It didn't matter. Locke needed to find what he was looking for. He kept moving.
Wreckage blocked the gate to the airfield. Locke clambered over it, sending small bits of debris clattering to the pavement, the weight of his MJOLNIR armor making him crash through the obstacle as much as climb over it. He took a moment to find his balance, looked up, and found himself staring at Waterloo. The former bar was covered in battle scars. Scorch marks and bullet holes adorned every exterior surface. When did he arrive on Meridian?
The wind kicked up, blowing away the smoke that lingered on the battlefield. Locke noticed a statue in front of the building itself. Curious, he moved to get a closer look. The open expanse of the auxiliary airfield was pockmarked with craters. It took him a minute to navigate his way through it.
The statue was of the Master Chief. The legendary Spartan was standing heroically, his rifle resting on his shoulder, his gaze inscrutable behind his marble visor. It was a depiction that was a common sight across all of human space: the Master Chief standing triumphant after the final days of the Human-Covenant War. A symbol of human victory and, more importantly, human survival.
There was movement at the base of the statue itself. Locke's eyes darted to the source: an injured figure, clad in badly damaged MJOLNIR armor, lying on its back, facing him, helpless. This was it. This was what he had been looking for.
The Master Chief.
Finally. Locke had found him. He had found the man responsible for the destruction of Meridian. For all of the lives lost there.
He couldn't resist rubbing it in the man's face.
"All hail the conquering hero," Locke sneered. "Let us remember him as our protector, and not the one that gave us," Locke gestured at the scorched remains of Meridian Colony, "this".
Locke's movement's were large. His gestures were broad and encompassing. He moved as if on a stage, playing up the drama, trying to make a good scene for posterity. Trying to sell the story.
"As our savior and not our betrayer. Let us see him forever as you," Locke said to the statue, its marble surface pristine, its heroic visage unmarred by rebellion or sin, "and not as you," he said to the wretched, guilty soldier at his feet.
"All hail the conquering hero. The one who was supposed to save us all!" Locke shouted, his voice tinged with pain and grief. He steeled himself, tried to calm his nerves. He was a professional. He could do this.
"But now I must save us," Locke aimed his battle rifle at the Master Chief's head, "from you."
A fierce wind blew over the airfield before Locke could pull the trigger. Silicate particles and dust completely blocked his vision. He became disoriented from the sheer force of the gale and his utter inability to get his bearings.
The silicate smoke started to clear. The statue and the Master Chief were gone. Locke saw a figure moving toward him through the smoke.
The Spartan IV tried to raise his battle rifle, but...he couldn't move. He looked down at his body to find himself lying on his back. His armor had been badly damaged; a beam rifle shot had clearly pierced straight into his chest cavity. Locke was helpless.
The figure moved closer. The wind finally blew the last of the smoke clear. The Master Chief was standing before him, rifle in hand.
No...
The legendary Spartan began to speak. His voice was rough, wearied, almost sorrowful in tone. He sounded every bit the decades-long veteran that he was.
"This...is this what you wanted? Is this what you were looking for?" he asked Locke. The Chief looked around him at the ruins of Meridian. His movements were small, economical. He was a man on the job. He sighed and looked back at the ONI Agent laying helpless before him. "Was everything you've compromised, everything you've done—worth it? Was it?"
Indignant, desperate rage burned in Locke's chest. How dare this man blame him for the destruction of Meridian, for the deaths of its colonists! This was all his doing!
It had to be...
The Master Chief looked over Locke's shoulder. The wounded man followed his gaze to find the statue of the Chief towering over him. The image had been badly damaged. Bullet holes and scorch marks decorated the facade and chunks had been blown off of the arm, revealing the steel framework underneath. Whatever inspiring words were inscribed in the base were obscured by a smear of fresh, red blood.
"You've completed your mission, Agent Locke," the Chief spat out the name, his voice laden with disdain. He raised his assault rifle and pointed it at Locke's head. "Mine is just beginning..."
The barrel of the assault rifle flashed. The world exploded in light.
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Locke jerked awake. He moved in an uncoordinated mess for several seconds before he managed to get his bearings. He was in his bunk, in the quarters that the Arbiter had assigned to Fireteam Osiris. Right.
The Spartan IV sat up. He was drenched in sweat. Another damn nightmare. It seemed like he couldn't shut his eyes without finding himself in another one. He grabbed his compad and checked the time. There were still several hours to go before reveille. A few more after that before the Arbiter's war council.
Wonderful, Locke grumbled to himself, swinging his legs out of the cot.
There would be no getting back to sleep. Locke knew better than that by now. He stifled a yawn, careful not to wake up any of his subordinates, and moved to take a shower. Hopefully he'd find a way to make the next few hours go by quicker than a snail's pace.
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The war council was held in a command tent perilously close to the front lines. The sounds of moving vehicles and roving sentries could occasionally be heard through the weapons-resistant fabric of the enclosure. Locke could respect a commander that led from the front, but the Arbiter was starting to seem positively reckless with how often he put himself at risk.
The ONI Agent gave the Arbiter a sangheili salute and received a nod in return. He moved to take his place around the circular holographic projector. Several sangheili high-officers flanked him on both sides. One of them directed a slight sneer at him after he took his place. Locke tried to shrug it off. It wasn't like he had intended to win any popularity contests when he came to this piss-stain of a planet.
The rest of Fireteam Osiris took their places toward the rear of the tent. Apparently, they had earned enough trust and respect to be included in the briefing itself.
An intense pain suddenlyt lanced through Locke's skull. He kept any sign of his discomfort off of his face through what felt like a herculean effort. He surreptitiously scanned the other occupants of the room to see if anyone had noticed this latest episode. He breathed a bit easier when none of them showed any signs of being aware.
These headaches had been getting more and more frequent in the last month. Combined with his fatigue from poor sleep, the pain made Locke...testy. He would have to watch himself.
The final attendee of the war council finally entered the tent.
The unggoy general was clothed in a white uniform. With an effort, Locke recalled that before the fall of the old Covenant, the highest rank an unggoy could aspire to was that of a low-officer, the equivalent of a non-com. Said unggoy low-officers received a suit of white armor to mark their station. Judging by what he had seen since his arrival, the color had become a sign of authority among the post-War unggoy. He'd have to mention that in his next report to ONI Command.
The prospect of gaining valuable intelligence reminded Locke of the importance of being on top of his game. He forced himself to power through his fatigue and continue analyzing the scene as it played out.
The diminutive general saluted the Arbiter. The sangheili leader responded with the same nod of recognition and respect he had given all of those present. The unggoy waddled to his seat, apparently abstaining from his kind's normal 4-legged casual walk in order to keep up appearances. He climbed atop the stool that allowed him to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with the sangheili officers.
Some of the sangheili officers, including the one that had sneered at Locke a moment ago, noticeably bristled at the presence of the unggoy. It seemed not all of the sangheili were happy about the Arbiter's ideals of equality. Locke filed this fact away for later use. Anything that could undermine the sangheili's racial unity would be an advantage for humanity, after all.
"General Key-sam, how goes New Balaho?" the Arbiter asked, referring to the first of the so-called 'free' unggoy colony worlds.
"My people and I thank you for your concern, Arbiter," the unggoy said in its kind's typical high-pitched, squeaky voice. "Things are progressing well. We should be fully self-sufficient within 5 stellar cycles."
"It may well be sooner," the Arbiter replied, his upper mandibles spreading in a grin. "We have recently made a breakthrough in our agricultural efforts. Coordinator Ya-yap should contact your people soon."
Strangely, some of the sangheili officers seemed to approve of this, although they were notably not the ones who had bristled at the unggoy's entrance. Locke found it odd that any of them were happy about the elevation of the unggoy to true independence. Then again, the whole program had always baffled him. He would have expected the sangheili to keep the unggoy as subservient as possible to keep them from becoming a threat.
More strange was the Arbiter's personal involvement. Locke had noticed that the sangheili leader seemed to have a hand in every aspect of his nascent empire. While this was beneficial in some ways, it also seemed to indicate that the Arbiter had difficulty with delegating authority. Locke supposed it made sense that he would have a difficult time trusting after the betrayal of his Prophets.
The Arbiter's MO would ensure that his ideals were uniformly represented but it also made him the linchpin for the entire operation. Everything would likely fall apart if he was removed for any extended period of time. If he died, it could well spell the end of his cultural revolution.
Locke filed that thought away for future use.
"Now, to the matters at hand," the Arbiter said. He pressed a button on the holographic terminal. An aerial view of the seaport appeared over the table's surface. The region was full of rocky cliffs and jagged terrain. The port itself occupied the one stretch of shore that could be called 'hilly' rather than utterly insurmountable . Unfortunately, the only way to access this area was via a single, heavily fortified ravine. "We must move to capture this port at the earliest possible moment. I trust you have all devised your own strategies. Legionmaster 'Heran?"
The various high-officers spent the next hour trying to convince the Arbiter to choose their battle plans over those of their peers. None of them factored in an aerial assault, as the anti-air turrets made such an approach non-feasible. Theoretically they could have Fireteam Osiris perform another High Altitude Load Open drop like at the slaver fortress, but it had been risky enough doing that once. The defenses in the ravine were far more extensive and jeopardizing a high-value asset like Osiris in such a way was unacceptable.
Each officer's proposal was, Locke thought, overly conventional. They were all some variation on a direct assault with various forms of indirect support. Plasma mortar fire to soften up the defenses, armored vehicles leading the charge, etc., etc. All of these plans would result in enormous numbers of Swords casualties.
More importantly to Locke, they would take far too much time.
"If I may, Arbiter, I would like to suggest an alternative course," Locke interjected. The sangheili all stared at him in disbelief.
"You speak out of turn, wretch!" one of them, 'Heran, bit out.
"Peace, Legionmaster," the Arbiter said, trying to play peacemaker.
'Heran was having none of it. "My liege, he goes too far! We should never have allowed this mon-kay into our proceedings-"
"WHO IS ARBITER?"
Everyone present sat up straighter. Even Locke was taken aback by the sheer authority the sangheili leader poured into his words. For his part, 'Heran immediately turned his gaze downward and lowered his head into a bow. "You are Arbiter, my liege," he said, the scolding having its desired effect.
"Spartan Locke is unfamiliar with our ways," the Arbiter continued. "I am confident that he meant no disrespect and that he will endeavor not to speak out of turn in the future. Correct?" Here he glanced at the Spartan IV. Locke nodded in agreement. The Arbiter turned back to 'Heran. "In addition, you will refrain from using any more racial epithets while you are speaking of or with one of my guests. Is that understood?" 'Heran nodded again. That task done, the Arbiter turned back toward the war council as a whole. "At any rate, I find myself interested in what he wishes to add. Spartan?"
"Thank you, Arbiter," Locke began, forcing false respect into his tone. The sangheili general's outburst had affected him more than he would have expected it to. He made sure to pick his words carefully from here on. "According to the intelligence reports, there is a large number of kig-yar mercenaries within the bottleneck. The Storm's financial troubles, exacerbated by the destruction of their slaver fortress, has resulted in delayed and decreased wages for said mercenaries." Locke braced himself before continuing. "My proposal is simple: we bribe the kig-yar to pull out, preferably sabotaging the defenses along the way. We stand to save lives, resources, and time."
The Arbiter and a few of the sangheili generals calmly thought over Locke's proposal.
The rest of the room exploded in outrage.
"Surely you jest!"
"There is no honor in cheating our way out of battle!"
"We shall not lower ourselves to work with sell-swords!"
"You would have us reward those who make war against us and rape our homeworld?!"
None were louder in their opposition than 'Heran. Apparently, he had decided to channel his embarrassment from being reprimanded into rage and to vent it upon the most convenient target of opportunity.
"Outrageous!" Locke's new best friend shouted. "This proposal is hideous and dishonorable! Such subterfuge may suit a weak race like yours, but the sangheili are above such petty tricks!"
That did it. The headache, the lack of sleep, the explosion of noise...Locke couldn't take it anymore. He had to respond.
"And your tactics are juvenile and stupid! I suppose I shouldn't have expected more from a rabid brute of a general officer!"
Silence.
Locke's shout had overpowered the entire room. Everyone had heard it. The Arbiter, who had rushed to his defense earlier, did nothing. He stared at the Spartan with an impenetrable expression. Locke got the impression he'd just screwed up. Pretty badly.
A line of text scrolled across the bottom of his HUD.
Sir. Challenge him to a duel. It's the only way to maintain your respectability, Sir.
Spartan Olympia Vale. One of the foremost experts on sangheili culture in the galaxy, standing in the back of the room and having witnessed the entire exchange, had just advised him on how to proceed. Locke decided he would be foolish not to listen to her.
The fact that he would get to pound the split-lipped prick's face into the ground was completely beside the point.
"Legionmaster 'Heran," Locke began in a far more restrained, formal tone. "I believe we have reached an impasse. Perhaps if we were to engage in an honorable duel, this strife would be resolved."
'Heran's reptilian eyes were trying to burn holes through Locke's skull. His mandibles were so tight against his face that Locke was surprised he was able to talk at all. "If the Arbiter permits, it would appease my dignity entirely."
"Hmmm. I consent to this duel," the Arbiter weighed in after a moment of contemplation. "It will give us each time to meditate upon Spartan Locke's proposal. I caution you to be swift, however—we shall not wait more than an hour for your return."
A low growl emanated from 'Heran's throat. "Fear not, my liege. It will take but a moment."
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A circular patch of ground was quickly marked off with glowing stakes driven into the ground. Various members of the sangheili forces gathered to watch. Locke scowled as he examined the practice energy sword he had been given.
"Legionmaster 'Heran's record indicates that he favors brute force tactics to achieve victory," Vale said, playing the role of boxing coach. "You'll want to focus on evading his strikes and taking shots of opportunity. You-"
"I've got this, Spartan Vale," Locke interrupted. He wanted to get in the ring, beat the split-lip into submission, and be done with this. There was a war to fight, after all.
For his part, 'Heran looked as ready to go as he did. The 2 combatants entered the ring, armor off and weapons drawn. Locke missed the strength and speed enhancing functions of his MJOLNIR but figured he could handle things just fine. They reached the center of the ring.
The opponents saluted each other as expected.
The sangheili roared and rushed to his target. Locke had been expecting this. He dodged the strike, pivoting around to slash at the alien's back. The sangheili roared again, this time in pain. Locke grinned at the minor burn that the sangheili would sport.
'Heran turned and struck Locke across the gut with his free hand.
Locke collapsed on the ground, unable to breathe.
There was no way someone that big should have been able to move that fast. He twisted out of the way a millisecond before the sangheili's hoof would have crashed through his head. Locke attempted to strike back.
'Heran dodged Locke's attempt to swipe at his legs.
The sangheili snorted in contempt, but the move had the desired effect of giving Locke room to get to his feet. His muscles burned at the lack of oxygen as the human attempted to breathe normally again after the blow to his stomach.
'Heran charged again, cleaving a large swipe through the air.
This time, Locke managed to dodge.
'Heran's followup still managed to clip his shoulder and spin him around like a top.
It occurred to Locke's fatigue-addled brain that he had neglected to factor in the sangheili general's decades of experience with melee combat. He had probably started learning to wield a blade from the day he could walk. In a restricted duel, without MJOLNIR armor and where fighting dirty was off the table, the Spartan IV was thoroughly outclassed.
'Heran pushed the attack. Locke was forced to put all of his energy into dodging.
'Heran struck. Locke dodged.
'Heran swiped. Locke barely managed to parry.
'Heran struck high. Locke dodged, only to find himself having fallen for a feint.
The kick landed on his ribs. He bit back the pain as he desperately moved to stay ahead of his opponent.
Theoretically, all Locke had to do was keep dodging for long enough for his opponent to tire himself out. The sangheili's swings and movements were so broad and powerful that Locke was surprised he hadn't collapsed yet.
The problem was, Locke was getting tired, too. The damage from the blows that 'Heran managed to land were starting to take their toll, as well.
'Heran managed to clip Locke's ribs again.
Judging by the pain, the human guessed that the super-strong materials coating his bones were the only reason he wasn't dealing with a fractured rib cage.
'Heran chuckled in amusement.
That's it. That was it!
Locke roared as he charged the sangheili.
Taken by surprise, 'Heran brought his weapon up and struck at Locke. The Spartan took the blow on his left arm.
Locke battered the sword away, pushing past the pain, and landed a slash directly across 'Heran's chest.
The sangheili roared, in anger more than agony. He moved to counterattack-
Locke pushed in again. This time, the blade struck the human's leg. Locke didn't care—he'd landed a stab into 'Heran's sword-arm.
Locke threw everything he had into the next few seconds. 'Heran could only bring his weapon up in guard as the human battered away at his defenses.
Smash!
Smash!
Smash!
Locke shouted one final time and threw his whole weight onto his opponent, carrying them both to the ground. The Spartan held down his opponent's weakened primary arm and pressed his own weapon to the sangheili's throat.
"Yield!" Locke managed to say between desperate breaths. He prayed 'Heran would submit. He had nothing left to throw at the alien.
"...I yield."
Relief crashed over Locke. Unfortunately, this meant his adrenaline levels dropped.
Locke collapsed onto the ground next to his opponent.
"Ha!"
Laughter. The sangheili was laughing at him. Anger started to push its way past the wall of fatigue.
"You fought well, human!"
Wait...what?
Locke, still gulping down air, turned his head to look at his opponent. 'Heran was also lying on the ground, propped up on an elbow. His upper mandibles were spread in a smile as he looked at him.
"I was not expecting such a fight," 'Heran stated. He continued to stare at Locke for a few moments, apparently mulling something over. "Perhaps...there is more to you than I suspected."
This fucking planet...
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The combat stims burned their way through Locke's veins. Energy transfused his body, pushing back the fatigue that had hindered him earlier.
They also helped him ignore the bruises and minor burns from the duel a few hours ago.
Locke pushed the memory of that unpleasant encounter out of his mind and turned around. The other members of Fireteam Osiris were doing a last minute check of their gear. Good. None of them had noticed his surreptitious use of stimulants.
"Status report," Locke ordered.
"We're good to go, boss," Tanaka replied. The rest of the Spartans IVs nodded in confirmation. Excellent.
"Mount up, people. We're Oscar Mike."
The Spartans all took their respective places. Locke boarded the Type-46 Infantry Support Vehicle, or 'Spectre', taking the driver's seat. Buck climbed in the passenger seat, his SMG ready to provide fire support. Tanaka, naturally, took the gunner position toward the rear of the vehicle. The powerful Class-1 light plasma cannon made for a formidable weapon. The SAW gunner's thick armor would mitigate the lack of protection that the 360º turret normally suffered from.
Vale boarded the Type-32 Rapid Attack Vehicle, or 'Ghost', there being no more room on the 3-passenger Spectre. The fast, agile Ghost suited her skillset better, anyway.
The members of Fireteam Osiris moved to take their place with the rest of the Swords assault force. A number of vehicles, from Wraith tanks to Ghosts, would be charging the fortified ravine. Locke just hoped that the plan worked.
Within 20 minutes the order was given and the assault force moved out. The gravity drives kicked up clouds of beige dirt and loose sandstone as it moved toward the target. As time went on, the debris took on a darker shade, indicating their proximity to the coast. They were getting closer.
The vehicles turned a corner in the rocky landscape and came within sight of the ravine. What seemed like dozens of defensive turrets oriented to target the Swords vehicles. They glowed with a bright, blue light as plasma began to collect along their barrels.
Come on, come on...
Abruptly, one of the turrets exploded.
Then, another.
Within moments, all of the defensive turrets not dedicated to anti-air had been disabled. The sounds of energy weapons fire being traded back and forth echoed over the distance. Locke grinned within his helmet. His plan had worked.
The kig-yar were retreating.
The under-paid mercenaries were holding up their end of the bargain. In exchange for a large sum of currency and the guarantee of safe passage off of the planet, the kig-yar had agreed to retreat from the fortified position and disable what defenses they could along the way. They had refused to disable the anti-air batteries for fear that the Swords would simply direct an air-strike against the area while they were still there.
Locke imagined he could see the line of avian sapients making a fighting retreat to whatever holes they planned on hiding in until the fighting was over. It seemed they didn't relish the prospect of continuing to fight for the losing side. Locke was reminded of rats deserting a sinking ship.
The Wraith tanks finally came into range. Plasma mortars arced over the field and impacted the defenses.
Energy barriers flared and fizzled out of existence. Alien metals began to glow red, struggling valiantly to withstand the barrage. Several parts of the barricades began to melt into slag.
The faster vehicles, including those assigned to Fireteam Osiris, opened up as they got into range. Tanaka fired her plasma canon in long bursts, raking the tops of the walls with fire. Several hostiles were partially vaporized as the large balls of plasma impacted them. Others lunged for cover. Locke would swear he could hear Tanaka whooping in excitement as she unloaded on the enemy.
Multiple Swords vehicles began exploding around them. The sheer volume of small weapons fire, as well as shots from shoulder-mounted fuel rod guns, were starting to take their toll. Locke and Vale used their enhanced reflexes to dodge and weave their way through the enemy fire. Their vehicles didn't receive so much as a scratch as they closed the distance.
Eventually, they reached the defenses themselves. Solid metal walls flanked a large entrance blocked by an energy barrier. They would have to scale the walls and disable the generators if they were going to get through.
Buck and Vale dismounted as the vehicles continued to provide suppressing fire. Multiple squads of spec ops sangheili joined them at the base of the wall. As one, they all activated their maneuvering jets and ascended the 10 meters to the top of the walls.
The vehicles stepped back their assault, not wanting to hit their own soldiers. They restricted their fire to groups of enemies that popped up to try vainly to damage them. The sounds of weapons fire picked up again, having died down as the kig-yar moved out of sight.
Eventually, the sound of demo charges overwhelmed the chatter of small-arms fire. The energy barrier blinked out of existence. The Swords vehicles moved forward.
Fire lanced down from the steep hills surrounding the ravine. Spectres and Ghosts exploded in balls of blue flame as they were overwhelmed.
"Fireteam Osiris, dismount!" Locke commed. He had no intention of charging into a kill-zone.
Instead, he had his troops move to scale the steep inclines to the tops of the hills themselves. With the Storm forces' attention fixed on the main assault, the resistance to their ascent was relatively minor. They used their maneuvering thrusters to keep their balance as they moved up. Tanaka provided suppressing fire from her SAW, forcing the smarter enemies to duck into cover. The dumber ones kept firing and had their energy shields depleted. Locke took them down with expert headshots.
The Storm forces at the top of the hill were completely unprepared for their flanking maneuver. The Spartan IVs cut into their defenses with their trademark efficiency. The resistance having been thinned, they were soon joined by the spec ops sangheili.
They all moved to disable the anti-air turrets next. With those out of the way, the Swords aircraft would be able to move in and mop up the remaining resistance with precision bombardment.
The defenses around the guns were in disarray. Apparently, the kig-yar retreat had been as effective as they could have hoped. It was a swift matter to neutralize the defenders, plant the charges, and watch the mighty Tyrant guns go up in blue flame.
The battle lasted less than an hour. The Phantoms and Banshees did their work, reducing any remaining resistance to molten glass. That finished, they moved on, flying low to attack the seaport itself.
The ground shook. A large section of the terrain collapsed downward only to explode back up in a geyser of soil and rock. Terror spiked through Locke as memories of the Guardian of Meridian flew before his eyes.
No. Not yet!
Thankfully, a Guardian did not emerge from the ground between them and the seaport. Unfortunately for the aircraft, what did was still quite deadly.
A massive shape rose out of the ground. Then it kept rising.
And rising.
And rising.
A bulbous, oval shape was the first part to rise into view. The gleaming dark-blue armor-plating was marred by the soil and rocks still sticking to its surface. A rain of debris fell as the thing continued to rise into sight.
10 meters of what seemed like solid metal rose, followed by a ring of 7-meter tall energy barriers. Below that was a 25 meter tall, 30-meter wide cylindrical base being lifted out of its hole by 3 insectoid, 50-meter tall mechanical legs.
The titanic machine climbed out of its resting place like an ancient monster out of its own grave. The soldiers below looked like insects staring up at an utterly alien apex predator. The world seemed to slow to a crawl as the tripedal monstrosity settled onto its feet.
Green lights began appearing all around the sides of the base. His mouth hanging open, Locke used his helmet's zoom function to get a better look. His eyes widened as he saw the fuel rod canons mounted there.
Green fuel rod rounds shot into the air. Phantoms and Banshee gunships exploded as they were blown out of the sky by the heavy turrets. What few managed to survive the initial volleys banked and flew back to safety behind Swords lines.
The aerial threat neutralized, the behemoth turned its attention to the armored transports and attack vehicles that had been moving toward the seaport. The dozens of fuel rod canons transformed the convoy into something resembling a cross between the surface of Luna and the molten remains of a volcanic eruption.
"What the fuck is that?!" Tanaka shouted. "Some kind of Scarab?!"
"Bigger than any I've ever seen," Buck replied. Even the veteran ODST's voice seemed awed by the spectacle before him.
Locke pulled his mouth closed with an effort, grateful for his polarized visor. "Regroup, Osiris," he ordered. "This just got more complicated."
Note: The Kraken finally makes its appearance. I couldn't find the dimensions of the things online, so I just made it as big as I figured I should.
Note: The Kraken was another bungled element of Halo 5's story. It's supposed to be this huge, intimidating thing, but it never pulls it off, imo. Sure, it's big, but like the Guardians, we never get to see it actually do anything. The first thing it actually does is to lose a fight against the Forerunner Soldiers in the first level. How intimidating. Compare that to the Scarab's introduction in Halo 2—the first time you see it, it shoots down your Pelican with you in it. The second time, it's walking away into the distance, having just annihilated a fortified position without taking a dent. The 3rd time, it oneshots a Scorpion tank with its main gun. Now that's how you set up a major threat.
Note: The beginning dream sequence is an adaptation of the 'All Hail' and 'The Cost' trailers that were released prior to the launch of Halo 5. One of you noticed the similarity between the scene of Locke's near assassination and those trailers. One of the reasons I designed the scene like that was to setup the dream sequence in this chapter.
Thanks for reading. Love you guys.
Slipspace Anomaly