Offensive Bias: Wolverfrog49:Yeah, I started spacing things out a while ago, as I found it harder to read bunched together text on the internet rather than in, say, a book. Sorry for the angry esque comment before Socom, but you've gotta admit, you do tend to praise no fan fic but your own. And I suppose that's okay, I'm just used to the Gallery forum on Bungie, where us writers stick together, offer tips, give praise when needed, form private groups. I was sort of naive to expect the Libary to be the same.
He praises mine... At least... I think so. I've been thinking about joining Bungie.Net. But, I have heard bad things about those Forums. Apparently, there are noobs everywhere.
Oh my, yes, in every dark, festering corner of it. But you do get little gems every so often, The Gallery and the Septagon are sane enough. The best feature of it is private groups though, it's nice to be in a forum soley comprised of Fan Fiction writers, or Forgers, things like that. If you do join though, remember this. Never, ever, go in the Halo 3 forum. A part of you will wither and die. Anyway, here's Part Eight.
Part 8 - Judgement
Two days later...
"Demon! Wake up, it's time."
An
escort of Elite Honour Guards were descending down the steps to his
cell, garbed in full golden armour. They were there to take John to his
death.
"No last meal?" John asked, confident as ever, not worried by what lay before him.
One
of the Elites sneered, and deactivated the barrier. Making sure his
brothers were behind him, he moved into the room and cautiously
attached energy manacles to his wrists, holding him in place.
"I hope you won't struggle Demon. It would tarnish the little honour you possess."
He
was led quietly out of the cell, and slowly ascended up the staircase.
Flickering torches on the walls lit the way. It was all very medieval
looking.
It seemed that John's time was up. His only wish now was to go out with a bang.
*********
"Please
Thel, there must be another way." Saran pleaded to the Arbiter, as the
great Elite prepared to leave for the execution hall.
"Nay brother, there isn't, I must do this. I'm sorry." Came a calm reply.
Thel
Vadam was garbed in ceremonial Sangheili armour, white with silver t-i
am not good with computer!-s, and an intricate headpiece. It was the
traditional attire one wore for such an event.
"Then let me come with you!" His friend pleaded for the fifth time. Thel let out a long sigh.
"I
could not in good conscience allow you to risk your life on the behalf
of me Saran, you have a good life here, don't throw it away so
carelessly. Fear not, if I and the Spartan make it out alive, we shall
come here before departing."
Saran paled noticeably, his face lit by the dim candle on the mantelpiece.
"The Demon? In my house? But, Thel, I-"
"He is not a cyborg Saran, nor a Demon. He is a man with a great heart, and as powerful a warrior as any of our kind."
A long, awkward pause followed, and both the Elites could think of nothing to say. Finally, Saran broke the silence.
"Thel,
I would like you to take my sword with you. It has been passed down
through my family for generations, and it is an ancient and divine
weapon, hand crafted by a skilful forger, much more powerful than the
ones they mass produce in the factories these days."
Saran
walked over to a display case in the corner of the room, and slowly
unlocked it. He bent down, and picked up a metallic, curved device.
"Here,"
The Elite said, passing it gently over to the Arbiter. "It has saved my
life on many occasions, may it do the same for you."
"Saran...I
don't know what to say..." Thel whispered, marvelling at the fine
crafting of the weapon. He traced the runes on the side with his long,
tapered finger.
"Through battle and hardship, this blade shall find it's mark, if thy heart is pure..." He translated out loud.
"Treat it well Thel, and it shall do likewise to you."
Holding
the blade firmly in his hand, the Arbiter activated it. Suddenly, with
a sharp, sliding crack, a beam of pure violet light emerged, hanging in
the air like some lit up angel. The hum it made filled the room with
joy.
"Thank you Saran. I know how difficult it was for you to part with this."
"It was nothing. Now go, I'm sure your friend needs help, his execution is in five hours, after all."
"Goodbye Saran, you've been such a good friend all these years."
"Don't
get me started off Thel, just go." The Elite replied with a dismissive
wave. Both knew that this might be the last time they saw each other.
"Farewell."
Thel left through the back door, and made for the Citadel.
*************
A
large crack of light shot through the air of the Elite structure, and
with a large bang, Sergeant Johnson and Mendicant Bias fell to the
floor.
"That took a bit of effort. The further you get from a
teleportation matrix, the harder it is to travel." The Monitor said,
drifting off the floor.
"Where are we now?" Avery asked, taking a good look around.
"About five miles west of the Great Citadel of Vadam, where John is being held. To be precise, we are inside a factory of sorts.
Johnson
took a cigar from his belt, and began chewing it. He was dismayed to
find out he only had seven left, barely enough to last him the week.
"Oh yeah? And what kind of factory is it?" He queried.
"My analysis indicates that we appear to be inside a Scarab factory, one which produces the mining models."
"A Scarab? Are there any that are functional?"
The light around the Monitor pulsed with increasing frequency, as it scoured through the records it had hacked into.
"One
seems to be working, a few corridors away. It seems like there are no
hostile units around it either, other than Engineers. Ah, my masters
created their species a long time ago, back in the golden age. It is
good to see them still around, further existence of the Forerunner's
legacy."
"You think we could take it?" Johnson asked the Monitor.
"I believe we could Sergeant. Why? Do you have a plan in mind?"
Avery smiled knowingly.
"You could say that Light bulb. You could say that."
"Then follow me, I shall lead you to the vehicle."
They moved around a twisting, confusing corridor, occasionally hearing an Elite bark out an order.
"So." Johnson said as they ran along. "Why exactly are the Elites the bad guys again?"
"No time for that now Sergeant, the execution is in less than five hours."
Johnson
gave a grunt of acceptance, and followed without further comment. Soon,
they reached the Scarab. Five Engineers hung in the air. Johnson raised
his battle rifle to shoot them down.
"Wait Sergeant, there is no need to resort to violence."
"But they're gonna raise the alarm!" He protested.
"Just let me talk to them" The Monitor spoke, as he drifted off to their level.
Mendicant
made a series of pulses, and after a few seconds, the Engineers
responded with what seemed to be joy. They moved around the Monitor,
clapping happily with their long tentacles. After a few more pulses,
they seemed to give recognition to a command, and began to descend down
to the Scarab, and vanished down below to the control area.
Johnson hopped aboard.
"What was all that about?" He asked the Monitor, who seemed happier than usual.
"Both
I and the Engineer's ancestors are constructs of my masters, so we got
along fine. I managed to convince them with little effort to help you
man the Scarab. They'll be loyal to you now."
"Well ain't that
nice?" Johnson mused, walking down to the control room. The Engineers
were working away at the console. One made a series of motions, and
suddenly, the Scarab came to life.
"Are you ready Sergeant?" Mendicant queried.
"As ready as I'm ever going to be." Came the reply.
***********
The
Arbiter arrived in the hall, and mingled in with the rest of the crowd.
Up on a pedestal, he could see the new Kaidon, K'zath, sitting eagerly,
awaiting the execution. To the right of him was a High Councillor. The
left seat was still empty, no one had been found to fill in the vacant
seat yet.
Patiently, Thel waited for the Spartan to appear. That would be when he would strike.
***********
John
was led further up the corridor, and eventually, reached a large door.
An Honour Guard marched stiffly over to a console, and with a hit of a
button, the door slid open. With an needed shove from one the Elites,
John was tossed out into a large Colosseum like structure. Up high, he
could see High Councillor, or Kaidon K'zath smiling smugly down at him.
Judgement day had come.
"This one has forgotten whether it's heatsink is over capacity. It wonders whether the criminal scum considers itself fortunate" ~ Blasto, the only Hanar Spectre.