Post by Huka on May 23, 2012 20:44:19 GMT -6
After an ursian quarter-cycle, I have rooted out the nest of heretics. They hide on the moon of this ignorant colony, took me to interrogate about seven of the scuttling cowards hiding in the crowd, but I have found the source of this evil.
They scream to me that this B’Dri ‘Refumee is leading them in the Citadel of the Arbiter, an legendary and sacred place that no one but the most noble of Sangheili reside in, but these Heretics have dared to dirty with their corrupted footsteps, and they will be dealt with accordingly.
The others are approaching the citadel now and together, we will execute every last one of them for their crimes.
Walking on the barren lands of the second moon Didun, a pair of Sangheili clad in the armor of Special Operators walked through the mists. The somewhat smaller and more forefront Sangheili walked with the absolute confidence and authority of a noble leader, each steps practically calling for attention and at his side, a much larger fellow in a grey harness that almost phased him with the mist, a slender singular scarlet visor beaming in the mist with his massive form hidden under a heavy cloak. His steps were powerful and assertive, but no noise were made as his boots touched the ground.
Soon enough, their boots touched a sleek stone walkway, and the mist made way for the view of a massive and ancient stronghold.
At the front of the massive gates, five Sangheili minors, and a Major, approached them to halt their progress.
Like snakes, the two operators struck without warning and ruthlessly. The larger flicked his wrists, summoning two decorated hilted into his clawed fists, and from them, azure blades of plasma flared out and sliced three of the minors with a deadly wave of his arms, catching the others’ attention, prompting his comrade to pull a similar hilt from his waist, summoning a singular plasma blade from its center, and whipped his sword left to right, slicing the left minor’s neck and it moved to slice open the right minor’s torso.
As the two fell at the same time from the lightning-fast strike, the third minor on that side looked in horror at this before the ruthless duelist thrusted his blade through his mouth and exited out of the back of his skull.
The duelist looked in his victim’s eyes as the minor gurgled very painfully before his eyes glazed away.
Kicking the corpse away, the duelist and his fellow looked at the horrified major, his hand wasn’t even able to touch his holstered plasma rifle when he found his lessers on the ground dead in a nearly three heartbeats. Was that even possible, or did it look that fast because of his fear? He couldn’t tell.
The two murderers looked at him with eerie silence before the larger sliced him in half by the waist.
Walking over the corpses, the two continued to the gate before it started to open on its own and deactivated their respective swords. Above them, another white-armored Special Operator was scaling up with barely graspable wall before jumping through a large shaft.
Within the citadel, a robed Sangheili was crowded by corpses of armored warriors, looking over a console, drawing a claw away from it after allowing the gate to open. Underneath his assault-class helmet, the Sangheili clicked a sinister chuckle.
In a hall, a pair of minors patrolled. One was about to walk around a corner when a curved blade whipped around the same corner and pulled itself into his neck. The other turned at the sudden smell of burnt flesh to see a slender operator. Moving to unholster his plasma pistol, the minor was too slow as an energy-bladed scythe spinning through the air, and into his face.
In the main hall, the two intruders walked inside, only to be halted by a large and crossed armed Ultra officer, joining him was a handful of Special Operators with energy blades.
The leader of the invaders and the Ultra met eye-to-eye, neither showing any fear for the other’s satisfaction. However, as the Ultra’s eyes were of common Sangheilian arrogance, the Operator was of a unnatural coldness that only an assassin could possess.
One who cared little for his targets and would kill anyone who stood in his way. The same for his giant companion. Everything was silent for the exception of their burning blades.
Suddenly a certain hum sung into the hall, and while the Ultra took a split moment to avert his sight to gate, and with the nervous steps of his guards, he could see a phantom speeding through the mist and into the hall, firing its plasma turrets to burn down the door.
In this sudden attack, dozens of black-armored special operators materialized from out of thin air with flaring swords behind the invaders.
The Ultra unfolded his arms at this and glared at the Operator, whose mandibles shifted very slightly.
“Execute them all.” He ordered simply and the special operators lunged with a zealous fury.
As the others attacked one another, the Ultra drawn his sword, and swung. The Assassin simply backed from the attack, angling his blade, he chopped downward, but the operator sidestepped it.
Slashing, the Ultra’s blade was blocked by the Special Operator’s energy rapier. Opposing blades sizzling and hissing, the Operator and Ultra separated from one another, but the Ultra made the opportunity to lunge again.
The Assassin was more faster than his smaller size seemed to appear, blocking each attack with the completely perfect finesse and precision of a master duelist, even to the point of having the arrogance of folding his free hand behind his back.
Seeing this infuriated the Ultra, making the fatal error of thrust forward with his stance wide and open.
Taking this opportunity without a second thought, the assassin slid pass the Ultra’s arm, and thrusted his blade through his unarmored waist. Frozen, the Ultra gasped painfully as his intestines were being burning inside by the blade, but to his unfortunate existence, the assassin didn’t stop there, he ripped his sword out, and rapidly stabbed his blade into the Ultra multiple times, each stab more painfully than the last, and finally at the last one, the assassin ripped his blade from the soldier’s innards and out through his spine. Following forward, the dead Ultra fell in a disgusting pool of his own blood.
Whipping his sword in an aristocratic salute, the assassin moved forward to join his brothers in the extermination.
Slaying enemies on all sides, avoiding striking down his own, who did their own best to avoid the whirlwind of blades, the grey-armored assassin snarled and grunted as his blades sliced through armor and flesh, elbows and boots struck and broke faces and legs, occasionally blocking incoming plasma bolts and blades with incredible mastery. A Dervish of Blades, the assassin made a X with his swords as he caught an equally large Sangheili’s greatsword, and kicked him back in the lower stomach. Taking the stunned fool’s weakness, he impaled his blades into his chest, and thrown the corpse into a pair.
Roaring, he flipped through the air, and slammed his blades through a inattentive minor, landing on the sliced corpse in a kneeling position. Suddenly his blades died out, growling to himself, the assassin angled his head in time to see a brave, or foolish, Major with a energy sword lunging from the air with a intent of skewering him through.
In a split moment, his basket hilts hidden themselves again, and he spun back to his feet, knifehand striking the major in the stomach, using his own incredible strength and the fool’s momentum to intensify the blow. As the major was easily vulnerable and hurt from the sudden attack, the assassin was grabbed the back of the major’s thoracic cage, and slammed him on his helmed head.
Completely hurt and dazed to the border of nausea, the major corrected himself from his awkward position and crawled with a pained groan. With his scarlet visor looking down at the fool, the assassin lifted a heavy boot, and stomped on his neck. Pushing down hard, the assassin looked down as the major feebly squirmed, before finishing it out.
Above on the upper level of the main hall, another part of the battle occurred with the slender Assassin and his prey. Spinning his scythe as a larger blade on one end and small on the other flashed maliciously, the assassin deflected a plasma bolt with a slight angle of his scythe, chuckling evilly at the scared face of a minor who stood petrified with his plasma rifle shaking his hand before he sliced his arm and head off with a couple quick snaps of his arm.
Fast and agile, he saw a barrage of plasma flashing towards him, striking his armor for a moment before he flashed to the side, seeing a major and his small lance of minors trying to shoot him. Unbelievable fast, even for a Sangheili, the assassin seemed to run on the walls and with perfect balance, bounce off the upper level’s railing that overlooked the battlefield below, swinging and deflecting as much of the plasma as he can.
When close enough, he pounced through the air, keeping his scythe in his hands; he spun into a flying buzzsaw, slicing a stunned minor’s head in half like a melon.
Landing behind the formation, the assassin swung into a low crouch with his scythe slicing two into different pieces, seeing the others turning with their guns to him. He flashed his scythe in a swooping slash, he gutted the other two minors’ stomachs, and when the Major took the initiative to fire, the assassin thrusted his scythe forward, its curved blade blunted by the Major’s shields as he was pushed back into the wall.
The Major grabbed the cold shaft of the scythe and tried to push the weapon away from him but it didn’t budge. The assassin stared in the stared Sangheili’s eyes as he realized his shields were quickly failing and if he didn’t act soon, the blade will slice through his neck.
Cocking his head, the assassin pushed harder, having simply kept the blade from slicing through immediately. “Quit struggling and look into my eyes, Heretic. I want to see the light in your eyes dim out as you die.” He said with a deep and cruel tone.
The Major still tried harder, making the scythe move some but the blade dug deeper. The assassin was emotionless as he pushed harder, the energy shields flared dead, and the blade hissing as it cut flesh slowly. The major gurgled in painful horror as the blade was entering very slowly towards his cervical vertebrae.
The assassin continues his slow killing but the major took the only way out possible for him. Grabbing the scythe with both hand, he pulled himself into the blade, slicing his own head off his shoulders.
The assassin was motionless as the body jerked once before falling over on one side and the head on the other. Shaking his head, he simply said, “Shame.” Then he looked to his side to see more heretics rushing to kill him, and the assassin simply shrugged and readied his weapon for more blood.
In the middle of the battlefield, the Leader had cut down another heretic in his path, and looked to his side to see another of his own fighting with the elegant agility and speed only possible for a spearmaster, which he was, armed with a plasma-bladed glaive. Despite the close quarters and chance of hitting his own allies, the warrior struck precisely and each movement-staff or otherwise-was not wasted on mercy for the enemy.
A blur in the battlefield, the spearman’s white armor was carved with tribal tattoos, each telling a different tale, his gauntlets and boots ending with bloody avian talons. Skewering, slicing, slashing, and cutting down at every foe that stood in his way, the spearman jumped out of the bloodshed, and landed gracefully. Twirling his staff, he looked to the door that seperates him from his real prey, the spearman clicked at the inner mechanisms of his mask with his tusks, contacting the firing phantom, scarred from several fuel rod shots but still functioning.
“Destroy the door.” He ordered and the phantom aimed its turrets and fired all three at once.
“Brothers, forward!” He called and at once, the assassins charged toward the door as the combined bolts flung across the room, and blew the door apart in a explosion of metal and fire.
Through the inferno like vengeful demons, the Four Holy Inquisitors of the Covenant lunged through the fires, looking for death.
R’ha ‘Katolai, the High Inquisitor, noble and faithful, his armor a blessed white and shining with a holiness only his rank could provide. Armed with rapier and parrying kata, he strikes with no error and on point, none but his fellow brothers of their holy mission could match him.
At his sides were Sorsa ‘Xirasai and Til ‘Muramai,
Sorsa, a master who have bent the coin of strength and speed into a perfect union, as his rank spoke of diplomacy and constant vigilance, his mighty body spoke of countless battles and awakening bloodlust, with greatswords blazing, this demi-god of war carved through his foes like a plasma blade to grass.
Til ‘Murmai, a shadow of his former nobility, replaced by a more relentless and ruthless creature, who hunts only for his own demented vengeance against all of the Heretics have stained his honor with betrayal. Like his fellows, his armor was of a bone-white, but is nearly completely covered by tribal markings that spoke of his life before his fall from grace, with the robes of his discarded clan left from his previous life. With plasma glaive in hand, he impales his foes to remain high like gruesome standards for all to know and see the price of heresy.
And at the edge, by Til’s flank was Zyla 'Juluntai, ever a shadow of the Inquisitors, cold and sharp as the coldest night in the frozen wastes of far northern Sanghelios, his armor just as pale, and in his hands was a iconic symbol of death for humanity, a scythe with blades of plasma on each ends, both hungry for death to take its victims, uncaring of whether slow or quick.
And at the other side of the destroyed gate was their prey, who dares to clad the glorified armor of a General, B’Dri ‘Refumee, and his last honor guards stand ready to face death with blades in hand.
And Death is what came to them, as swift and decisive as the Inquisitors’ unprejudice judgment.
At the end of this fierce battle, the heretics lay dead, and line the road leading to the Citadel, and B’Dri’s head within Til’s trophy chambers, whilst he now sits as Master of the rechristened Citadel of Lidless Inquisition, and the rise of the holy Advocates has begun, marking the secret war between him and the Heretics.
They scream to me that this B’Dri ‘Refumee is leading them in the Citadel of the Arbiter, an legendary and sacred place that no one but the most noble of Sangheili reside in, but these Heretics have dared to dirty with their corrupted footsteps, and they will be dealt with accordingly.
The others are approaching the citadel now and together, we will execute every last one of them for their crimes.
Walking on the barren lands of the second moon Didun, a pair of Sangheili clad in the armor of Special Operators walked through the mists. The somewhat smaller and more forefront Sangheili walked with the absolute confidence and authority of a noble leader, each steps practically calling for attention and at his side, a much larger fellow in a grey harness that almost phased him with the mist, a slender singular scarlet visor beaming in the mist with his massive form hidden under a heavy cloak. His steps were powerful and assertive, but no noise were made as his boots touched the ground.
Soon enough, their boots touched a sleek stone walkway, and the mist made way for the view of a massive and ancient stronghold.
At the front of the massive gates, five Sangheili minors, and a Major, approached them to halt their progress.
Like snakes, the two operators struck without warning and ruthlessly. The larger flicked his wrists, summoning two decorated hilted into his clawed fists, and from them, azure blades of plasma flared out and sliced three of the minors with a deadly wave of his arms, catching the others’ attention, prompting his comrade to pull a similar hilt from his waist, summoning a singular plasma blade from its center, and whipped his sword left to right, slicing the left minor’s neck and it moved to slice open the right minor’s torso.
As the two fell at the same time from the lightning-fast strike, the third minor on that side looked in horror at this before the ruthless duelist thrusted his blade through his mouth and exited out of the back of his skull.
The duelist looked in his victim’s eyes as the minor gurgled very painfully before his eyes glazed away.
Kicking the corpse away, the duelist and his fellow looked at the horrified major, his hand wasn’t even able to touch his holstered plasma rifle when he found his lessers on the ground dead in a nearly three heartbeats. Was that even possible, or did it look that fast because of his fear? He couldn’t tell.
The two murderers looked at him with eerie silence before the larger sliced him in half by the waist.
Walking over the corpses, the two continued to the gate before it started to open on its own and deactivated their respective swords. Above them, another white-armored Special Operator was scaling up with barely graspable wall before jumping through a large shaft.
Within the citadel, a robed Sangheili was crowded by corpses of armored warriors, looking over a console, drawing a claw away from it after allowing the gate to open. Underneath his assault-class helmet, the Sangheili clicked a sinister chuckle.
In a hall, a pair of minors patrolled. One was about to walk around a corner when a curved blade whipped around the same corner and pulled itself into his neck. The other turned at the sudden smell of burnt flesh to see a slender operator. Moving to unholster his plasma pistol, the minor was too slow as an energy-bladed scythe spinning through the air, and into his face.
In the main hall, the two intruders walked inside, only to be halted by a large and crossed armed Ultra officer, joining him was a handful of Special Operators with energy blades.
The leader of the invaders and the Ultra met eye-to-eye, neither showing any fear for the other’s satisfaction. However, as the Ultra’s eyes were of common Sangheilian arrogance, the Operator was of a unnatural coldness that only an assassin could possess.
One who cared little for his targets and would kill anyone who stood in his way. The same for his giant companion. Everything was silent for the exception of their burning blades.
Suddenly a certain hum sung into the hall, and while the Ultra took a split moment to avert his sight to gate, and with the nervous steps of his guards, he could see a phantom speeding through the mist and into the hall, firing its plasma turrets to burn down the door.
In this sudden attack, dozens of black-armored special operators materialized from out of thin air with flaring swords behind the invaders.
The Ultra unfolded his arms at this and glared at the Operator, whose mandibles shifted very slightly.
“Execute them all.” He ordered simply and the special operators lunged with a zealous fury.
As the others attacked one another, the Ultra drawn his sword, and swung. The Assassin simply backed from the attack, angling his blade, he chopped downward, but the operator sidestepped it.
Slashing, the Ultra’s blade was blocked by the Special Operator’s energy rapier. Opposing blades sizzling and hissing, the Operator and Ultra separated from one another, but the Ultra made the opportunity to lunge again.
The Assassin was more faster than his smaller size seemed to appear, blocking each attack with the completely perfect finesse and precision of a master duelist, even to the point of having the arrogance of folding his free hand behind his back.
Seeing this infuriated the Ultra, making the fatal error of thrust forward with his stance wide and open.
Taking this opportunity without a second thought, the assassin slid pass the Ultra’s arm, and thrusted his blade through his unarmored waist. Frozen, the Ultra gasped painfully as his intestines were being burning inside by the blade, but to his unfortunate existence, the assassin didn’t stop there, he ripped his sword out, and rapidly stabbed his blade into the Ultra multiple times, each stab more painfully than the last, and finally at the last one, the assassin ripped his blade from the soldier’s innards and out through his spine. Following forward, the dead Ultra fell in a disgusting pool of his own blood.
Whipping his sword in an aristocratic salute, the assassin moved forward to join his brothers in the extermination.
Slaying enemies on all sides, avoiding striking down his own, who did their own best to avoid the whirlwind of blades, the grey-armored assassin snarled and grunted as his blades sliced through armor and flesh, elbows and boots struck and broke faces and legs, occasionally blocking incoming plasma bolts and blades with incredible mastery. A Dervish of Blades, the assassin made a X with his swords as he caught an equally large Sangheili’s greatsword, and kicked him back in the lower stomach. Taking the stunned fool’s weakness, he impaled his blades into his chest, and thrown the corpse into a pair.
Roaring, he flipped through the air, and slammed his blades through a inattentive minor, landing on the sliced corpse in a kneeling position. Suddenly his blades died out, growling to himself, the assassin angled his head in time to see a brave, or foolish, Major with a energy sword lunging from the air with a intent of skewering him through.
In a split moment, his basket hilts hidden themselves again, and he spun back to his feet, knifehand striking the major in the stomach, using his own incredible strength and the fool’s momentum to intensify the blow. As the major was easily vulnerable and hurt from the sudden attack, the assassin was grabbed the back of the major’s thoracic cage, and slammed him on his helmed head.
Completely hurt and dazed to the border of nausea, the major corrected himself from his awkward position and crawled with a pained groan. With his scarlet visor looking down at the fool, the assassin lifted a heavy boot, and stomped on his neck. Pushing down hard, the assassin looked down as the major feebly squirmed, before finishing it out.
Above on the upper level of the main hall, another part of the battle occurred with the slender Assassin and his prey. Spinning his scythe as a larger blade on one end and small on the other flashed maliciously, the assassin deflected a plasma bolt with a slight angle of his scythe, chuckling evilly at the scared face of a minor who stood petrified with his plasma rifle shaking his hand before he sliced his arm and head off with a couple quick snaps of his arm.
Fast and agile, he saw a barrage of plasma flashing towards him, striking his armor for a moment before he flashed to the side, seeing a major and his small lance of minors trying to shoot him. Unbelievable fast, even for a Sangheili, the assassin seemed to run on the walls and with perfect balance, bounce off the upper level’s railing that overlooked the battlefield below, swinging and deflecting as much of the plasma as he can.
When close enough, he pounced through the air, keeping his scythe in his hands; he spun into a flying buzzsaw, slicing a stunned minor’s head in half like a melon.
Landing behind the formation, the assassin swung into a low crouch with his scythe slicing two into different pieces, seeing the others turning with their guns to him. He flashed his scythe in a swooping slash, he gutted the other two minors’ stomachs, and when the Major took the initiative to fire, the assassin thrusted his scythe forward, its curved blade blunted by the Major’s shields as he was pushed back into the wall.
The Major grabbed the cold shaft of the scythe and tried to push the weapon away from him but it didn’t budge. The assassin stared in the stared Sangheili’s eyes as he realized his shields were quickly failing and if he didn’t act soon, the blade will slice through his neck.
Cocking his head, the assassin pushed harder, having simply kept the blade from slicing through immediately. “Quit struggling and look into my eyes, Heretic. I want to see the light in your eyes dim out as you die.” He said with a deep and cruel tone.
The Major still tried harder, making the scythe move some but the blade dug deeper. The assassin was emotionless as he pushed harder, the energy shields flared dead, and the blade hissing as it cut flesh slowly. The major gurgled in painful horror as the blade was entering very slowly towards his cervical vertebrae.
The assassin continues his slow killing but the major took the only way out possible for him. Grabbing the scythe with both hand, he pulled himself into the blade, slicing his own head off his shoulders.
The assassin was motionless as the body jerked once before falling over on one side and the head on the other. Shaking his head, he simply said, “Shame.” Then he looked to his side to see more heretics rushing to kill him, and the assassin simply shrugged and readied his weapon for more blood.
In the middle of the battlefield, the Leader had cut down another heretic in his path, and looked to his side to see another of his own fighting with the elegant agility and speed only possible for a spearmaster, which he was, armed with a plasma-bladed glaive. Despite the close quarters and chance of hitting his own allies, the warrior struck precisely and each movement-staff or otherwise-was not wasted on mercy for the enemy.
A blur in the battlefield, the spearman’s white armor was carved with tribal tattoos, each telling a different tale, his gauntlets and boots ending with bloody avian talons. Skewering, slicing, slashing, and cutting down at every foe that stood in his way, the spearman jumped out of the bloodshed, and landed gracefully. Twirling his staff, he looked to the door that seperates him from his real prey, the spearman clicked at the inner mechanisms of his mask with his tusks, contacting the firing phantom, scarred from several fuel rod shots but still functioning.
“Destroy the door.” He ordered and the phantom aimed its turrets and fired all three at once.
“Brothers, forward!” He called and at once, the assassins charged toward the door as the combined bolts flung across the room, and blew the door apart in a explosion of metal and fire.
Through the inferno like vengeful demons, the Four Holy Inquisitors of the Covenant lunged through the fires, looking for death.
R’ha ‘Katolai, the High Inquisitor, noble and faithful, his armor a blessed white and shining with a holiness only his rank could provide. Armed with rapier and parrying kata, he strikes with no error and on point, none but his fellow brothers of their holy mission could match him.
At his sides were Sorsa ‘Xirasai and Til ‘Muramai,
Sorsa, a master who have bent the coin of strength and speed into a perfect union, as his rank spoke of diplomacy and constant vigilance, his mighty body spoke of countless battles and awakening bloodlust, with greatswords blazing, this demi-god of war carved through his foes like a plasma blade to grass.
Til ‘Murmai, a shadow of his former nobility, replaced by a more relentless and ruthless creature, who hunts only for his own demented vengeance against all of the Heretics have stained his honor with betrayal. Like his fellows, his armor was of a bone-white, but is nearly completely covered by tribal markings that spoke of his life before his fall from grace, with the robes of his discarded clan left from his previous life. With plasma glaive in hand, he impales his foes to remain high like gruesome standards for all to know and see the price of heresy.
And at the edge, by Til’s flank was Zyla 'Juluntai, ever a shadow of the Inquisitors, cold and sharp as the coldest night in the frozen wastes of far northern Sanghelios, his armor just as pale, and in his hands was a iconic symbol of death for humanity, a scythe with blades of plasma on each ends, both hungry for death to take its victims, uncaring of whether slow or quick.
And at the other side of the destroyed gate was their prey, who dares to clad the glorified armor of a General, B’Dri ‘Refumee, and his last honor guards stand ready to face death with blades in hand.
And Death is what came to them, as swift and decisive as the Inquisitors’ unprejudice judgment.
At the end of this fierce battle, the heretics lay dead, and line the road leading to the Citadel, and B’Dri’s head within Til’s trophy chambers, whilst he now sits as Master of the rechristened Citadel of Lidless Inquisition, and the rise of the holy Advocates has begun, marking the secret war between him and the Heretics.
