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The High Charity <1-3>
Posted By: Tenebrous Proficient<ForbiddenDeity@hotmail.com>
Date: 3 January 2005, 2:56 AM
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Records of the Last Days of the High Charity
Episode the First
Latter Segment
- Continued from the Intermediary Segment -
They sprinted in nearly single-file down the lightless corridor. Rago cursed at his inability to engage the enemy, when an Unggoy fell behind, nearly trampled by one of the Lekgolo brothers. Rago 'Tarkomee, last in line,
"Let's go!" Rago roared, last in line. The Unggoy's burden was a fuel rod cannon, and as the creature couldn't be trusted to keep up with the rest with the weapon in hand, Rago took it for himself. He lifted the gas-sucker on his feet and prodded him to get back in formation, but in the blackness of the hallway they had lost the main group.
Hurrying to regroup, Rago nearly carried the unarmed weakling of a creature as they sprinted to find their allies. Suddenly, they stepped into the middle of a battle field. He knew the sounds more than he wished to: the buzz of Yanme'e wings in the air, muffled methane explosions, the echoes of high-pitched Kig-Yar screeches upon metallic walls. Within plasma illuminated darkness, Rago 'Tarkomee's squadron had made their way behind several large pillars and were pummeling the enemy forces with as much destructive weaponry they could use at one time. Their two Lekgolo fighters had burned through entire rows of Kig-Yar shields, and the air was a-glow with plasma grenades. But as Rago jumped behind the columns for cover, he realized that the battle would be lost if they stayed. They didn't have enough warriors to match the mob that he heard behind them. Energy shields lit up the cavernous room like a river of fire, and the darting Yanme'e distorted the darkness like a windblown curtain. Whatever the number, Rago knew it would crush him and his fellow warriors if they stood their ground.
"Retreat! Retreat! Follow my lead!" Rago ordered over the angry clamor.
With their Lekgolo guarding the flank, green plasma mortar in the air, Rago charged deep into the darkness, struggling to remember their escape exit.
After what seemd an age of Unggoy sobbing, bloodthirsty wails, and the panting of tired, dying soldiers, Rago found it. All it was was a large hole in the floor. When he found it before, Rago had guessed that there was once a gravity lift here, but now there was no comforting assistance for the drop. He had remembered where it was, but he did not know what lie at its bottom. But, it was their only chance.
"Move, move, move!" Rago urged them, and his small army threw themselves down into the abyss, and he wouldn't ever know what would happen to them. Whether they died as cowards die, or survived to fight another day, Rago didn't know.
"Both of you get down there!" the valiant Sangheili roared at the two Lekgolo, his voice straining. They shook their plated heads. Rago saw that both were sustaining serious wounds, orange blood emptying out into the ground. They wouldn't make it.
"What would you have me do? Leave you here?!" Rago yelled.
Edebu pointed a blood-dripping hand to a barely visible hole in the ceiling nearly thirty units high, directly over the abyss that his squad had dropped into. The grav-lift must have covered more levels than this, including up to the rooftop. Above he could see the all-consuming darkness that stretched from the lowest levels of the city to the highest reaches of the High Charity's ceiling. He didn't need a translator to figure out what the two Lekgolo were trying to say. If before he had doubted their intelligence, Rago knew now that the Lekgolo were as smart as any Sangheili.
The two dying Lekgolo held each of Rago's legs, and with one echoing howl they threw him as hard they could towards the upward opening. As Rago sailed through the air, his limbs flapping, hopelessly trying to stabilize himself, he watched as plasma fire consumed the room below him. He couldn't think about the two giants dying, and instead glorified in their accuracy. They were good shots with plasma and Sangheili. They had launched him without error. He shot out of the building, and then fell two units onto the roof, his armor's force-shields breaking his fall.
The Phantom-Wraith combination loomed overhead. They were moving slowly down to the ground, picking up passengers. Rago 'Tarkomee didn't have enough time to observe them more closely. With the rest of his energy, carrying a heavy fuel rod cannon, he made a run for the edge of the roof. It was so far away... but he had to get there before the Phantom changed position.
His legs burned and his hoofs chipped, Rago swallowed his own blood and felt his lungs wither. The darkness illuminated by the bright lights of the Phantom, he found the edge of the roof and jumped down, falling another eight units to the second floor.
The Sangheili kept on running, through forests of columns and strange statues that he couldn't examine. The Phantom was so close, just past the next arch. Rago came to a skidding standstill at the edge of the roof, directly over the Phantom and its Wraith luggage. He paused for a moment to get his breath, but there just wasn't enough time. It was now or never.
Cannon sights on the Wraith. It was suspended in the air, immobile as its Phantom support lowered to the ground to pick up troops. Perfect. Rago squeezed the trigger, and a green cloud of destructive energy flew towards the mortar tank. However, the energy bolt flew by, missing it by barely a unit. He swiftly adjusted his aim and fired again, trying to keep his focus. The missile soared... A direct hit against the mortar's barrel! The Wraith rotated and desperately tried to get its crosshairs on its enemy, its glossy metal carapace battered and smoking. A swarm of Yanme'e erupted from the Phantom, their wings flitting as fast as they could manage to thwart the single warrior's attempt to destroy the tank.
With the insects coming onto his position, he knew he wouldn't have time to make it out. He would die on the rooftop, but as honor goes, it is better to take your enemies with you. Two more fuel rod blasts, one miss and a hit. The Wraith started to spark, its gravity engine started stuttering, and it looked like a giant and squeezed it with one hand. But it was still functioning. The tank couldn't take more than another fuel rod blast, Rago knew it. But, it was a long shot, and Rago wasn't good at long shots... but it had to work. He couldn't have come all this way without taking some sort of victory.
The fuel rod cannon had one last shot, and his last opportunity. Rago adjusted his aim and launched the missile. It sailed over the void, flying as if it would never stop... and then struck the tank head-on. The green plasma washed over the fuel tanks and the entire machine went off with an azure explosion. The blast mushroomed upward, and the Phantom, already smoking from prior fuel rod barrages, overheated and its grav-lift warped and melted. The disabled Phantom plummeted to the ground and crumpled like paper. The resulting detonation was twenty times that of the Wraith, and its blue flames licked up the surrounding Kig-Yar and hovering drones.
But Rago didn't see if his maneuver succeeded. The buzzing of insectile wings alerted him to the danger of the aerial Yanme'e. His plasma rifle out, he picked off one bug at a time. Six down, seven down, eight down... But he was outmatched. Bleeding, he tried to escape the swarm, but he knew it was for naught.
He clutched the plasma grenade to his chest and held it tight. The Yanme'e continued to circle around him, unaware of the weapon. The fire was cool at first, comforting even as it stuck to his armor. Rago 'Tarkomee watched the darkness of the High Charity. When the bomb exploded, just before he died, he thought he could see through the black. He could see the beautiful structures, the crystal waterworks that ran throughout, he saw the temples and statues of the great capital of the Covenant. He even thought he could see it as it was before, buildings all standing straight, light everywhere, peaceful citizens, like a river flowing through the passages of the High Charity.
Another hero passed on to the Glorious Beyond, as many would. During the Last Days heroes would rise, and more would fall, as was read in ancient Covenant prophecy. Unknown was, during the trials ahead, who would be the last creature standing to claim the role of the victor.
***
Amid the rubble, the projector still continued its message. The councilor continued his speech in his water-smooth voice. The holograph flickered on and off, but the auditory component had survived the damage.
"... We are the Syndicate... we are the True Covenant. We will take the High Charity for our own; clean out the treachery and blasphemy. Together... three races united... we will win this fight. No one will escape from this holy construct, we declare that this act is heresy. We are the city's saviors that will be spoken for ages in history. The Covenant depends solely on our vigilance... We are warriors of the holy capital, and no honor is greater. The real war will start soon, join our forces and you may survive, refuse and you will be purged by your dishonor. Only one will earn the High Charity."
End Episode
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