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Chapter 2
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Part 1
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3 AIF (After Imperial Founding)/
14.08.2552 UNSC Military Calendar/
Bridge
UNSC Leviathan
high orbit above Reach
Epsilon Eridiani system
Milky Way galaxy
Once you've seen it, there was no mistaking a slipspace portal for anything else. The orb was large enough to see from orbit with the naked eye, and it was indeed a giant slipspace portal. Of course, its very presence made no sense.
The Covenant Super Carrier, the Spartans, used a slipspace drive as a weapon against was in orbit. Now it was gone, and that was the only thing that went as expected.
The massive flash of light and radiation which blinded sensors across AU's wasn't anticipated. What they heralded wasn't either—the apparent stable slipspace portal above a mountain range on Reach. The presence of a massive, clearly alien in origin structure below that new portal was yet another surprise. The very visible shield now defending that installation, the fighter squadrons, and what looked like small corvettes or frigates it launched as a CAP raised many questions. Their designs were much closer to what the UNSC might build than the Covenant. For example, there was no trace of purple in their color scheme.
Curiously enough, the Covenant so far refused to attack the facility, or worse, use it as a staging area for further attacks on Reach. Despite the near-constant arrival of enemy reinforcements, now numbering in the hundreds, the enemy naval forces kept their distance as if confused by what had happened.
Vice Admiral Michael Standforth wasn't about to look this particular gift horse in the mouth. A major fleet action two days ago left his Battle Group damaged and depleted. The same was true for the other survivors of Reach's defense fleet or the reinforcements that managed to get to Epsilon Eridiani in time. Now, only the presence of the strange artifacts and surviving Super MACs kept the enemy at bay.
Usually, the UNSC Navy needed three to one advantage to win a fight in space. On a good day, with enough potent surprises up your sleeve, something approaching an even fight might be winnable, though at a punishing cost.
Today, the Covenant outnumbered the remaining UNSC warships in the system by more than three to one, to make things worse. There was a constant stream of enemy reinforcements arriving. An enemy fleet twice the size and at least four times the tonnage Standforth had available hung in a higher orbit, ready to pounce if he made any move. A smaller Covenant fleet, a hundred ships, primarily cruisers of various types, hung farther back, watching the slipspace portal and the alien structure below it. The incoming enemy reinforcements were busy assembling into a third fleet. That one was close to thirty ships strong and growing by the hour. In comparison, any UNSC reinforcements were a wooden fence hoping to stand up against an incoming tidal wave. Still, every passing hour meant more civilians could make it to the dubious safety of the still-active spaceports and the waiting transports.
Without the Super MACs, Standforth knew he and his soldiers would be already dead. As things stood, the Covenant had the numbers to secure the system if they were willing to pay the price for it. The only question was if the enemy would want to pay the butcher's bill in space or try for a subtler approach, targeting the MACs and their reactors on the surface first.
"Do we have anything useful on that structure?" Standforth kept the frustration he felt out of his voice.
Any attempts to contact the new installation planet side was met with silence by the newcomers. For all the Admiral knew, they were incapable of receiving good old-fashioned radio transmissions, which was the only way for him to try and talk with them. With the increasing Covenant presence, there was no way to slip a warship nearby, perhaps an ONI Prowler… Then again, the few left in the system had gone dark as soon as the latest wave of enemy reinforcements arrived. All they would or could do now was watch and bring the news back to Earth.
A single stealth satellite provided infrequent pictures from the artifacts. It could transmit over laser comms every few minutes. That safe window steadily increased as more and more enemy ships came into the picture.
"Spectral analysis gives us a high likelihood of unknown steel alloys mixed with a high percentage of unknown materials and alloys for the construction of that building. Their shield is obvious, so we can assume it's different from those used by the Covenant ships. We can only speculate on capabilities beyond the obvious – their small craft could pass through the shield. We know that even since the start of the war, the Covenant need to lower their shields locally to fire or launch small craft, so there's a difference there. The few stylized letters we've seen on the satellite feed are nothing like known Covenant languages. We are likely looking at a new group. If that is a good or bad thing?" Standforth's XO shrugged in his nearby seat, where he was busy going through every bit of information they could glean on the newcomers.
"I don't care what it takes. Get in contact with an ONI Prowler. There must be a few left skulking around. I need them to make a stealth insertion and initiate contact with whoever operates that facility!" The Admiral demanded.
He didn't say it aloud, however, the strategic situation was painfully clear. Without an outside factor intervening, the mythical Latchkey event the UNSC had been desperately searching for, Reach, would fall soon. With its fall, Earth would have less than a year before the military collapse was imminent, and that was in case the Covenant failed to locate and strike at the cradle of humanity first.
Reach was the last fortress before Earth. It was the industrial heart of the UNSC military or the closest thing it had left after decades of losing world after world and whole fleets.
An advanced new player might be the only thing that could buy humanity enough time now. Unfortunately, if the Covenant moved in to neutralize the alien facility, there was precious little Standforth could do. Attempting to intervene would take his ship beyond the effective range of the Super MACs, where they would get cut to pieces for no practical gain.
"Contact all remaining Spartan assets in the system," Standforth decided, "I have two tasks for them. Most of them will deploy to cover the MAC platforms generator complex. Those in a position to do so will attempt a covert insertion under the slipspace portal and make contact with whoever is operating the alien facility below the portal."
That was less than ideal but perhaps the only practical option he had. The Spartans were super-soldiers, not diplomats, after all. While the stealth of the ONI prowlers was excellent, there was no guarantee that one of them would succeed in making a planetary insertion under the watchful sensors of hundreds of enemy ships. On the other hand, a handful of Spartans might make it. They have achieved the impossible before, if at a high cost.
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Part 2
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3 AIF (After Imperial Founding)/
14.08.2552 UNSC Military Calendar/
Bridge
Varric-pattern heavy cruiser Sacred Covenant
high orbit above Reach
Epsilon Eridiani system
Milky Way galaxy
Kantar' Utaralee, now the acting Fleetmaster of the Fleet of Feverent Intercession, wasn't particularly fond of surprises. Those usually meant people under his command tended to die to the unexpected. That was a failure, even if it happened for a glorious cause.
Other times, surprises meant complications, and worst of all, complications of a political nature. Kantar was curious to know if what happened to the fleet's flagship and its original Fleetmaster was the will of the Gods or some form of new human heresy. Perhaps it was both, for who was he to say the Forerunners couldn't use even treachery to spread their light?
The sensors of his remaining ships didn't lie. Those on the constantly arriving reinforcements didn't lie either. Whatever happened to the carrier in orbit shouldn't have ended up opening what appeared to be a stable slipspace portal a few thousand kilometers lower in the atmosphere. It shouldn't have brought an odd alien structure to replace a covert Covenant military base.
Yet, over half the stations and holographic projectors on the bridge displayed that mushroom-shaped building, its prominent energy shield, and the handful of corvettes that rose to protect it. They were all alien in origin and, indeed, not human. The letters Kantar could see – either names or designations both on the building and ships alike were like nothing they knew the humans to use. The same was true for the designs or the shield. The only shields the heretics had were those protecting their Demons. So far, they have not displayed the capability to shield structures or ships.
The materials used to construct that building were largely unfamiliar alloys, radically different from what the UNSC used. That was yet another point against the structure being human in origin.
The Luminaries on board the fleet shined, confirming the presence of artifacts in the building, making things complicated. If it were a human one, then the Fleetmaster wouldn't have hesitated to strike at it and retrieve the relics to safeguard them from heresy.
However, it was not Kantar's place to start a war unless he absolutely had to. So far, his attempts to contact the structure have failed, and it will be some time before he receives a response from the relevant ministries. That meant either the small ministry of Relative Reconciliation, which would be needed to negotiate with a peer power, something that had not happened since the early days of the Covenant, or, more likely, the Ministry of Tranquility. Their job was exploration, finding Forerunner artifacts, and bringing in new client species into the sacred Covenant.
"Fleetmaster, we have movement from the new aliens!" One of the warriors overseeing the sensors exclaimed.
Kantar's head snapped to the right and looked at one of the major tactical displays, now dedicated to monitoring the odd structure. Three oddly shaped small craft had launched from a hangar hidden in the building and headed straight for the slipspace portal. They displayed a respectable acceleration before soon entering the alternate dimension.
"Keep monitoring for response or further actions. We will not risk another conflict without a clear reason. Were there artifacts on board?" Kantar demanded.
It took a few moments to get the response, and it was fortunately negative.
For the next few minutes, the Fleetmaster focused on updating the plans for securing most of the human world away from the cover of their monstrous kinetic cannons. Some artifacts in many locations required careful ground assaults to secure in a way that would ensure no harm came to the sacred relics left behind by the Forerunners. Only when that was done Kantar could begin cleansing this planet from the taint of heresy.
A transport shuttle, escorted by Seraphs, came screaming out of the slipspace portal, singing IFFs from the presumed lost fleet flagship. They carried the Fleetmaster's personal codes and messages with absolute priority.
"Get them on board and authenticated as genuine," Kantar snapped. He didn't know what happened to Rho'Barutamee or the Long Night of Solace. While he hoped they somehow survived, he wasn't prepared to take any chances. That was how Demons killed whole armies.
In hindsight, Kantar might have preferred to have had to deal with a Demon-led subverted craft. The news from the portal's other side was glorious and disturbing. An unknown world, chock-full of humans and unfamiliar aliens working and living together, the heresy. Relics, many magnificent relics ripe for recovery.
Other bits of news were less welcoming. They now faced proper military opposition that might be a peer opponent on the ground and in the air. In space, it was still unknown. The message ended with a demand for reinforcements and orders to send the new data to High Charity for the Prophets to ponder.
Well, Kantar's path was now clear.
"Deploy two cruiser squadrons with full escorts through the portal to support the Long Night of Solace. Begin deploying ground forces to staging areas for assault on the alien building. I want a cruiser squadron in place between that place and the portal, ensuring they won't be able to flee with the relics. A general ground assault will serve as a cover for Special Operations teams to infiltrate the building, to recover relics, and gather intelligence on this new foe!"
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3 AIF (After Imperial Founding)/
14.08.2552 UNSC Military Calendar/
Senate building
Reach
Epsilon Eridiani system
Milky Way galaxy
The golden robot Six talked with was an odd one. Well, droid, as they were called in this weird place. The more time passed, the more Six was sure this wasn't some elaborate hallucination or a mind game by ONI. That still left the Covenant being more than uncommonly sneaky, so he kept his cards close to his chest.
The Spartan briefly thought that he might have somehow ended up in the Insurrectionists' hands. However, these people were too advanced for that to be plausible. He also saw more than a few aliens that weren't part of the Covenant that he knew of anyway. Over the years, the Covies surprised the UNSC with either new members with new capabilities or members they hadn't seen before.
That said, he was a Spartan, and the Covenant loathed his kind with a great passion. If he was in their hands, Six was sure he wouldn't have received proper medical attention, much less enjoyed a hospital stay teaching English to a robot. Instead, he would have been tortured or shot out of hand.
Nevertheless, he kept to safe topics. The kind of the Covenant had to be more than aware of after thirty years of war. Yes, Earth was the cradle of Humanity, and there was archaeological evidence going back hundreds of thousands of years covering Humanity's evolution and early civilizations. The UNSC was Humanity's sword and shield, and de-facto ran things after the UEG proved to be not up to the task some time before Six became a Spartan.
The droid, C-3PO, was happy to answer a few questions, which pointed at either Six going insane or something terrible happening with that cursed slipspace drive.
They were in a medical bay in a Senate building. What Senate? The Senate of the Federated Empire, which of course, begged the question of what empire?
That particular answer, as condensed as it was to match Six's words on the UNSC, was a head-scratcher. This supposed Empire had hundreds of thousands of member worlds and thousands of species, with Humanity being one among many. Perhaps first among equals because, as it turned out, the blond man he met earlier happened to be the Emperor himself. As if that wasn't crazy enough, whatever slipspace-related madness happened, apparently transported the heart of the government of an alien Empire to Reach right in the middle of a Covenant invasion. When that possibility became clear, Six decided he perhaps should not share what he had to do with delivering that slipspace drive to the Covenant carrier…
"Soon, I will have a good enough language database to facilitate official contact!" The golden droid happily exclaimed and waved its impractical-looking arms. Six had the nagging suspicion that said design choice was to limit the damage the robot could cause if it went rampant. He was sure that if the UNSC ever gave their Smart AIs human-like bodies, there would be similar fail-safes in place just in case.
"That's good?" Six allowed. Perhaps he could soon get some answers and confirmation about the precise mess he got himself in.
Instead, a distinct shrill alarm blared, echoing throughout the hospital room. An unmistakable female voice followed, speaking the same language most of the people here seemingly shared. Six focused his attention on the power-armored guards making sure he behaved. His impression remained the same – they were veterans, well trained, but lacked the unshakable discipline of Spartans. That might not matter if what he suspected about their gear was true. If this Federated Empire was true and could equip its rank and file with armors that might be Mjolnir equivalent…
It was rare for a Spartan to wonder if he could take on a handful of soldiers by themselves. On the other hand, for all he knew, a platoon of them was waiting outside the room. He didn't know their capabilities, and with Reach being invaded, making the first hostile move would be sheer insanity. The UNSC was already losing one war, and it didn't need another.
One of the soldiers spoke to the robot, which quickly translated.
"We have alien ships of unknown design moving to the anomaly that presumably brought us here. Others are moving to surround this building and presumably deploy ground forces. The Emperor requests your presence and expertise in case we are about to engage this Covenant of yours in combat," C-3PO bemoaned. "I've had enough of combat!"
The same soldier tapped a button built into the arms guard and
waved at him to get up. He then spoke to the droid some more.
"The Sergeant suggests that you cause no trouble. Due to the nature of this facility and the situation, lethal force is authorized."
That was the least surprising thing for Six to hear since awakening in this bed.
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Part 3
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3 AIF (After Imperial Founding)/
14.08.2552 UNSC Military Calendar/
Coruscant
Corcusca Galaxy
Nearly a thousand small craft ranging from small interceptors to squadrons of Mobile Armor descended through Coruscant's light clouds falling like meteors from orbit. At the same time, fighters and bombers from bases all around the planet entered the enemy's defensive perimeter, engaging surviving alien fighters and ground-based anti-air emplacements. On their heels raced an army worth of transports carrying hundreds of vehicles and tens of thousands of infantry clad in power armor.
The sudden onslaught came as a rude shock for the already uneasy feeling Covenant commanders. If the attackers were the long-hated UNSC, then pulse lasers, plasma beams, torpedoes, and even energy projectors would have reaped a heavy toll upon the attacking force. Any survivors would have broken impotently against the powerful shields and armor of the Super Carrier. It didn't help that much of their remaining fighters were concentrated on fending off the onslaught coming from the direction of what used to be the Jedi Temple. Much of the remaining Covenant ground forces, which weren't already deployed against Republica 500, were massing for a potential assault in that direction.
Depleted Seraph squadrons suddenly found themselves engaged by superior numbers of superior fighters. All the while, the Fleetmaster needed them to cover his flagship from the strike force descending from orbit.
Depleted reserve squadrons, damaged fighters, and surviving Banshees rose to meet the challenge. Meanwhile, the first waves of ground-based fighters and bombers dismantled what ground defenses the Covenant had deployed in most directions.
Proton torpedoes, concussion missiles, and laser cannons turned ravaged streets into burning reminders of the war that ended a mere three years ago. The broken facades of space scrapers shattered once again as stray fire and damaged craft smashed into them, turning office spaces into personal crematoriums for those who couldn't evacuate in time.
Plasma torpedoes burned a few unfortunate small craft that found themselves with no vectors allowing survival. However, most damage they caused was to the cityscape after burning their way through wildly maneuvering formations of fighters and bombers. Buildings that had stood for millennia and survived everything the Confederacy could throw at Coruscant burned like candles. Molten metal splashed down in a sick parody of waterfalls immolating everything in its path.
The Long Night of Solace was nearly thirty kilometers long fleet killer, with enough weapons and defenses to make the attack waves clashing at it a suicidal proposition for both the UNSC and Covenant. The same couldn't necessarily be said for the Federated Empire. Both sides deployed super capital ships in limited numbers in the war that forged it and its military. The art of killing them, especially if anyone was stupid enough to deploy them without a whole supporting fleet, was a well understood the problem.
The only real questions were if you had the necessary assets and were willing to sacrifice them to get the job done. The Federated Empire had the assets on Coruscant and in orbit. Considering the Super Carrier was busy assaulting the heart of the Imperial government and was currently to blame for a quite successful decapitation strike, there was no question about the willingness to take it out.
The only question was how to do it without leveling a large chunk of Coruscant and murdering billions of Imperial citizens as collateral damage.
The solution was a massive strike craft deployment – something that would have been a suicide mission against a proper fleet with integrated point defense and deployed fighter and interceptor squadrons. The Long Night of Solace was alone, and its fighter wings were already depleted. They were also out of position and heavily engaged by a strike force they couldn't simply ignore.
Nevertheless, the price to reach the target was high. Hundreds of fighters and bombers died, escorting whole wings worth of strike packages to the target. A distant observer, which included camera droids from dozens of news organizations, saw waves of explosion approach the Super Carrier from multiple directions, primarily above. The Seraphs and Banshees that rose to intercept the incoming swarm died before reaching their real targets – the bombers and Mobile Armor. Moments before the incoming strike craft would collide with the Super Carrier. They blossomed, decelerating in a way that pushed their inertial dampeners to their limits. Y-Wing bombers rained proton torpedoes against the unfamiliar shields of the target. Moments later, entire Mobile Armor squadrons followed and unleashed ion bombs and torpedoes at point-blank range.
Ionic energy cracked against the shields struggling to reflect and absorb focused repeated strikes of enough potency to shatter a regular-sized capital ship, followed by hundreds of regular torpedoes and thousands of concussion missiles. The shield glowed with the intensity of effort—massive reactors, larger than some capital ships, struggled to feed it more power. Shield emitters, power lines, and capacitors glowed from the energies they had to channel, and in the end, it was that hardware, not the shield itself, that fractured in places.
Internal explosions shook portions of the Super Carrier. Then it shook from hundreds of torpedoes that boiled away and shattered its thick nanolaminate armor. Even as sections of the shield failed, forcing it to recycle and restart to compensate for blown-up hardware, Imperial strike craft flew around it, attacking weapon emplacements and anything else that appeared to be important.
At the same time, hundreds of assault shuttles and LAATs that followed the naval strike headed straight for the enormous gaping hole burning on the spine of the Covenant ship. Over a dozen square kilometers of armor was gone, opening deep wounds in many decks below. The damage would have been enough to destroy any capital ship in the Imperial arsenal. Yet, the sheer bulk of the Long Night of Solace acted as ablative armor.
For most of the Covenant ground forces and virtually all those that weren't under cover within alien buildings, the success of the naval strike against their mother ship heralded their death knell. Whole wings of fighters and bombers hunted any unknown targets in the open, destroying them with extreme prejudice, thus clearing the way for the following ground forces.
Even as the momentum of the battle outside shifted, the fighting within Republica 500 and a score of other buildings only intensified as surviving Covenant forces raced for cover.
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Moments ago, flying through the open space above the plazas near what used to be the Senate building would have been a suicide. Krell could only smile at seeing the monstrous ship burning above them. The odd point-defense laser and heavy weapon still kept shooting, desperately trying to swat down the swarm of bombers and Mobile Armor busy methodically neutering it.
More strike craft and escorting fighters raced in front of the Knight-led reinforcements, dismantling any surviving enemy vehicle and forcing their soldiers into a hard cover. Republica 500 soon came into view, and it was only thanks to its still mostly active shield that the facade of the building was largely intact. It was burning, with dozens of visible impacts where assault shuttles had rammed into it to deploy troops. Still, even that was a far cry from the bare metal skeletons of hundreds of other buildings that suffered the rage of that monstrous ship.
Krell listened to the chatter coming from the other units deploying all over the hundreds of kilometers-long perimeter around the alien ship. The resistance in the open had almost wholly ceased, thanks to the overwhelming air support shredding any alien vehicle that dared show its face. That was the good news. The former Jedi didn't need someone to tell him the bad news – he could feel all the fear and pain of all the innocent people who died, the sheer surprise and horror of the initial attack. Even now, he could feel hundreds of lives flicker out as those mad beasts kept murdering people all around.
"Sir, we've got emergency beacons from the Imperial Guard!" Krell's second in command, a Clone Captain, announced. He was a new face, so to speak, not one of the people he had fought beside before. However, the man made it all the way to an officer from a regular Clone Trooper. He was a veteran of hundreds of battlefields, from the first Geonosis to the last battle of Coruscant. In that regard, Krell had no qualms about the man's capability as either soldier or officer.
"Show me," Pong used his right lower hand to shut down the side door of the LAAT gunship/transport hybrid they rode.
A holoprojector built in the ceiling of the troop compartment flickered, showing a high-definition map of the area. The beacons' signals were muted, coming from underground where a station of Coruscant's under-rail system was supposed to serve Republica 500 and nearby buildings.
The station itself was marked as hit by heavy artillery and out of commission. With that colossal ship above their heads, it was no surprise that the Imperial Guard chose an underground extraction route. Unfortunately, the enemy had a vote too.
"Find me the nearest viable entrance for the underground," Krell ordered. Securing Republica 500 was a tertiary objective at best right now. They had to secure the Heir of the Empire first. Once that was done, evacuating civilians, neutralizing the enemy combatants, and capturing prisoners would be the next task.
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Part 4
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3 AIF (After Imperial Founding)/
14.08.2552 UNSC Military Calendar/
CSO Long Night of Solace
Coruscant
Corcusca Galaxy
Distant, irritating noise. Dull, all-encompassing pain. Unpleasant jolts and constant tugging. The noises became closer, more real. An angry, painfully familiar roar. A sudden movement that almost brought him to the surface of the painful cloud that was his world. A sharp slicing sensation, slowly followed by burning agony. The world shook, and Jorge came to it with a bleary, cottoned mind that refused to process what was happening correctly. A pair of bloodshot eyes cracked open to see a blurry, possibly furry figure towering above him. He had the distinct impression that someone or something held him in the air. There was pressure in his shoulders that was barely there compared to the constant pounding pain screaming at him from everywhere.
The world shook again, and the sharp agony in his midsection twisted, searing and slicing. Adrenaline and combat drugs kicked in, allowing Jorge a semblance of focus. It was a far cry from the Spartan time. Those same drugs and his enhancements allowed for high-stress situations. Instead, all he could do was turn his head like a weak, newborn kitten and try to figure out what was happening. He could smell copper and something burned. His eyes focused a bit, and the picture he saw was far from heartening. A huge Brute Chieftain was standing before him, barking angrily. A glance down confirmed what a distant part of his mind already knew – the pain in the gut was from the wicked bayonet attached to the Brute's gun, which had sliced through the flexible parts of his armor and fucked up his gut something fierce. Not that it mattered.
Jorge could recognize the symptoms – deadly radiation poisoning. With a bit of luck, the bastards killing him a bit faster would leave with a fatal little gift from barging into this hangar, which had to be contaminated to hell and back from the failed slipspace accident. At that thought, the Spartan vaguely remembered his disbelief at what had happened before reality kicked in and his attempt to find a way out. He could recall ending up in a small service shaft or something in that vein before something with tentacles exploded in his face.
Surprisingly enough, the Chieftain didn't finish gutting him like a fish. Instead, it turned around and roared something to the bunch of Covenant watching the show. Meanwhile, the deck below them shook, and the Brutes holding Jorge nearly dropped him. He barely felt pain flare from all the shaking, which wasn't a good sign.
The lighting cut off before emergency lights came online, drowning the hangar in twilight. The alarms became more insistent. The almost panicking Covenant voice that followed speaking nonsense was almost a balm to the soul of the dying Spartan. It was apparent that the bastards had chewed more than they could handle for once.
A scream of surprise, followed by a whining noise that was both distinct and unfamiliar, disrupted Jogres' musings. The Covenant troops surrounding him all but forgot about him at that point. If he could have done something about it, that would have been insulting. As it was, all the Spartan could do was watch and try to ignore the pain of his body breaking down.
An assault shuttle that was not Covenant entered the hangar, followed by two tubby, odd gunship/transport hybrids. Strangely, the pilots and gunners didn't like the Covies much. They opened fire on them with pulse and beam lasers slicing through the cluster of aliens around Jorge like a hot knife through butter. The next thing he knew, the Brutes holding him threw him down just in time for the Spartan to feel heat passing above him. The deck's metal felt cool and soothing against his cheek, though the fall did no favors to his gut, which made him choke off a scream.
The next thing Jorge knew, he was on his back, with a pair of humanoid figures in bulky armor fusing over him. He could hear them speak in an unfamiliar language before one of them pressed a glowing blue vial to his neck. Instead of agony, his gut felt pleasantly cool. For that matter…
Jorge blinked, and he was looking at a low gray ceiling. He could barely hear more unfamiliar words then someone shoved him in what appeared to be a cryostasis pod. A transparent lid closed over him, and the world turned pleasantly dark and calm.
=RF=
under-rail station Republica 500
Coruscant
Corcusca Galaxy
The fortunate timing of a Yanme'e swarm saved Mato'Varee's life. The impossible abilities of that yellow-furred Human, combined with the open terrain and the arrival of enemy reinforcements, turned the tables on the Special Operations Shangheli. Instead of catching the enemy in the open, where they would have been ripe for slaughter, the same was true for Mato'Varee and his surviving warriors.
The sudden attack of the swarm, followed by the arrival of snipers and more Shangheli, led to a bloody stalemate—a phalanx of armored bodies and shields formed around Mato'Varee's target. Plasma and alien energy flew in all directions, burning veteran warriors on both sides where they stood. The impossible Human raised a hand, and purple lighting exploded from his twitching fingers, ravaging scores of the Yanme'e swarming above their heads.
The reality of the situation stung the Commander's pride. However, remaining here in the open was suicide. The warriors who followed him fell one after another, and the enemy wasn't dying fast enough, even if they were an easy stationary target. Mato'Varee cursed, activated his cloak, and ran after ordering a tactical retreat. They would secure the high round and pick up these damned humans one by one from relative safety!
An enemy shot struck his back, staggering him. The Commander hissed in pain as his armor boiled and melted. The sheer hit of the impact was too much for his undersuit to disperse, searing his tough skin between the shoulder blades.
Mato'Varee ran up a stairway and joined a bunch of elite mercenary snipers. A line of shield-wielding Kig-Yars provided mobile cover for their brothers and sisters. A glance at the courtyard below painted a grim picture. Only a handful of the Spec Ops who followed him down there managed to get out of the killing ground.
These humans were different. Much tougher even than Demons! Even those heretical abominations wouldn't have survived standing still under such an onslaught for so long. These humans didn't care about what was possible and how the universe should be. Instead, they almost calmly moved, shifting their formation to interpose armored bodies between the Covenant forces and the precious cargo the heretics were protecting.
"This is Special Operations Commander Mato'Varee! I have relics inside under heavy heretic guard! I need reinforcements to secure the legacy of our Gods! All available forces converge on my position!" The Shangheli roared in his communicator.
He glanced at the enemy to see sniper rounds splash over shields and bite into armor. However, more often than not, the damned humans shrugged off the shots. As if that wasn't insulting enough, that new Demon ignited a blue blade and began deflecting sniper shots! Enemy sharpshooters opened fire across the large station, dividing Mato'Varee's attention. More human reinforcements were coming. These weren't the soldiers in blue armor he knew how to kill or the heavily protected demons below. The Commander narrowed his sharp eyes at the new pests and found it hard to follow their movements. The color of their armors blurred and shifted, changing to fade in with the environment. Return fire from the snipers proved that they also had shields. What should have been killing shots merely staggered humans, sending them to search for hard cover.