Vael ‘Virisusai - Aboard the Assimilator
Vael had not been a part of previous interactions with the crew of the Egg Carrier, and any briefing he received had only contained relevant, practical information about them. He knew that at least one of them would be difficult to work with, but beyond that, the small creature’s apologies did not have much personal meaning to him. But, some of her words did have more of an impact…like a dagger stabbing through one of his hearts. To see a planet devastated and dying, and to have the power in one’s own hands to give life…or to take it. It was not unfamiliar.
CCS-class Battlecruiser in orbit above a Human Colony, Human-Covenant War
The bridge of the Covenant Battlecruiser was a flurry of gunfire, plasma blasts, and grenades. The entry point for the UNSC’s soldiers had not been as close to the bridge as they could manage, but they had to pay in blood for every hall they fought through on the way there. Marines and ODSTs lay dead alongside the Grunts, Jackals, and Elites they had killed on route to the bridge, but their sacrifices had brought them to the brink of victory. Though, they were cutting it close. The Battlecruiser was in position over its target, aimed at a city that was serving as one of the few remaining evacuation centers. It needed only to fire its glassing beam.
With a squad of four Spartan-III supersoldiers as the Humans’ spearhead, the bridge was down to its final defender. The Spartans were outfitted with MJOLNIR Mark IV armor, and most of them were already showing their battle damage. The final Elite they had to face was none other than the shipmaster himself, based on his gold armor and imposing stature. One of the Spartans put a few hits into his shields with a captured plasma rifle, but he quickly forced each of the Spartans back into cover with a volley of concussion rifle blasts. “Nishum! Contemptable heathens! Your world is already doomed!”
The shipmaster kept back the Spartans with a few more concussion blasts while stepping back towards the control console for the primary energy projector. It was already aimed, he just needed to press the button to fire. It was when he was reaching his hand back that he turned his head enough to see another Human rushing towards him from his left. He was an ODST, thrusting towards his chest an energy sword taken from a fallen Elite. The shipmaster raised up his weapon quickly enough that the sword pierced through his concussion rifle, but was stopped short of his armor. The Elite quickly grabbed the Human’s wrist and broke it almost without effort, forcing him to drop the blade. Just a moment later, he activated his energy dagger and thrust it into the ODST’s chest. However, his scream of pain also hid the distinctive sound of the frag grenade in his other hand being primed. When the shipmaster did notice, it was too late to react.
The grenade’s detonation separated the two beings in both a quick and grisly fashion. The ODST was practically blown apart, though the Elite was very much still in one piece. The shield strength of such a high-ranking Elite was enough that he could survive even such a close-range blast with depleted shields and non-fatal injuries. Or at least, that would have been the case had they been alone. The Spartans were quick to finish the writhing Elite with a hail of bullets and plasma fire.
With the death of the ODST, only a single marine remained out of their boarding party, aside from the Spartans. He stepped forward with a shocked expression, unable to look for too long at what remained of the ODST’s body. “Oh, god…Owens. You didn’t have to…I should’ve…”
As the Spartans were moving forward to complete their objective, one stopped just in front of the marine, his mere presence demanding his full attention. “Owens just saved a hundred thousand souls.” He said in a decidedly neutral tone. He did not come across as particularly compassionate or sympathetic, but it was enough to focus the marine.
Even as the bridge had just been cleared, the squad leader of the Spartans had already swung his battle rifle back around towards the bridge’s entry hallways. “Get that program uploaded. Reinforcements won’t be far behind.”
Another of the Spartans approached the control console, pulling out a data drive that had been adapted to interface with the Covenant computers. However, despite how quickly they had acted, and how vigilant they had been, they soon found that they were not alone. It was uncertain at what point in the battle he had entered the bridge, or if he had been there all along, but before the data drive could be interfaced with the console, the Spartan holding it was struck by three shots from a plasma rifle: one in the upper back, and two to the back of the head. As the Spartan’s lifeless body dropped to the floor, the shots interrupted the active camouflage, revealing the massive form of an Elite clad in the dark violet armor of a
Field Marshal across the room.
“Zealot!” The squad leader shouted, prompting the remains of his team to dash for cover. The Spartans were exceptionally quick to act, so the Zealot fired his shots at the lone marine as he moved into cover himself behind a support column, striking him in the chest and stomach. His armor was effective to an extent, but it was certainly not enough to keep him in the fight.
Once they had their positions, the Spartans took aim, but the Elite did not seem to make any move from behind his cover for several seconds. The room seemed completely still for those long moments, until one of the Spartans’ motion trackers picked up on their opponent’s movement. “Left!” She called through their comms as she opened fire with her plasma rifle at a shimmering that caught her eye. One shot managed to strike his shields, immediately disrupting the active camouflage and forcing him into cover behind a Covenant weapon crate. It was hardly the best cover, and not likely his intended position to take.
With just a few gestures, the squad leader ordered his team forward. The Spartan with the plasma rifle moved left, knocking over another weapon crate to crouch behind for cover, while the squad leader moved to the pillar the Elite had ran from to keep range with his battle rifle. The third Spartan, who was down to just his shotgun, started to move towards the Zealot’s cover.
As soon as he was close enough, the Spartan pushed aside the weapon crate to expose the Elite to both of the other Spartans, as well as himself. At that range, one shot from his shotgun would at least mostly deplete the shielding of the Zealot, who would certainly fall quickly to the combined fire of both of his allies. However, the Elite was quicker to react than expected. While the Spartan was moving the crate, the Zealot had already been moving to hit him with a backhanded strike that knocked him clean off of his feet. The shotgun did fire, but only part of the spread actually contacted the edge of the Elite’s shield. Both of the other Spartans still opened fire, but the squad leader only landed one burst into the Zealot’s shields before he could return fire and land a shot from his plasma rifle onto the Spartan’s shoulder, at the joint. At least part of the superheated plasma burned its way through his undersuit and into his flesh as the squad leader pulled himself back behind the pillar.
However, before he could bring his weapon to bear on the last Spartan, her plasma rifle depleted his shields, and even landed a shot on the upper part of his stomach, though his armor protected him at least to the point that he was not incapacitated. The Spartan was forced to duck down behind the weapon crate once the Zealot opened fire, but there had been enough time for the first Spartan to recover from the Elite’s blow. His weapon had been knocked far out of his reach, but he was still armed. He got up to one knee with a plasma grenade in his hand, and just as the Elite was turning to face him, he threw and stuck it straight to the Zealot’s helmet.
In almost every situation, a plasma grenade stuck to one’s armor was a death sentence. Usually, there was nothing one could do in the few seconds before detonation but come to terms with their own demise. However, with fast reactions, and even faster thinking, there was a way for the Zealot to cheat death. He yanked his helmet off of his head so quickly he almost broke a mandible that got caught between two of the mouth guards. The excess plasma emanating from the grenade burned his hand, but he ignored any and all pain as he threw the helmet away…directly towards the female Spartan. It landed behind the weapon crate she was crouched behind, and at that point, the fuse was short enough that it detonated almost immediately to envelop her entirely in superheated plasma.
As soon as the Zealot had gotten his helmet off, the first Spartan had drawn his knife. Whatever he felt upon seeing his squadmate most likely die to his grenade did not stop him from going for the kill. He lunged for the Elite’s exposed throat with his blade, but he could not have known of the Zealot’s skill as a blademaster. He could get his free hand to his energy sword, turn, and swing as he activated it in a single, deft motion. Even though the Spartan could see and react in time to know the blade was coming, he simply had no options to prevent the sword from bisecting him.
The last that remained were the squad leader and the Zealot. The squad leader had dealt with his wound enough to continue fighting, though not quickly enough to save his squad. The Spartan took aim, but the still-shieldless Elite decided not to take the risk of challenging him in a direct exchange of fire, instead diving behind the weapon crate once more for cover to recharge his shields. The Spartan still fired a burst, but without an angle on the Zealot’s head due to his dive, the three shots struck his body instead, with no way to know what effect they had.
There was only the briefest moment of hesitation from the Spartan as he made his choice. He had no grenades and did not have an angle on the Zealot, nor would he be able to get angle before his opponent’s shields recharged. So, he chose to complete his mission. He made a dash to the ramp leading up to the command platform. His motion tracker caught the Zealot moving too as soon as he hit the ramp, but he stayed focused on his goal. Only one thing mattered out of all of this.
The Spartan rushed up to the fire control console and reached down, grabbing the modified data drive out of the clutches of his dead squadmate. All of the complexities of this sabotage had been taken care of by the AI that designed the program, so all he had to do was, essentially, plug the drive into the console. He reached out towards the console in front of him, data drive in hand, when that very hand was struck by a well-aimed shot out of a short burst of plasma rifle fire. The drive was practically incinerated, and his hand heavily burned along with it.
The Spartan turned his head to see the Zealot towering over him, his sword poised to run him through. Even with all chances of completing his mission now seeming hopeless, the Spartan still did not give up. He brought his rifle around and fired a burst underarmed up at the Elite precisely enough that a shot struck the hilt of the energy sword itself, disabling it. Ultimately, though, it was only a small success. The Zealot still followed through, striking the Spartan square in the center of his head with a full-force blow from his fist. The hit knocked him to the ground with a loud thud, cracked his visor, and sent his rifle sliding far out of reach.
The Zealot tossed the useless hilt aside, reached down, and pulled off the Spartan’s helmet as he stood over him. Any lesser Human would likely have been killed by the sheer force of the blow, but the Spartan still drew breath. The Human tried to push himself up off the floor, but the Zealot grabbed him by the throat and lifted him up in the air. He struggled just to breathe under the crushing force of the Elite’s grip, but could not avoid locking eyes with the Sangheili warrior.
“Your efforts bear the mark of bravery Human, but your heresy shall always be doomed to fail against our righteous strength. Now, you may die the warrior’s death you have earned.” Vael spoke with an even tone, his voice unburdened with anger, even for the deaths of his own allies at the hands of the Humans. The Spartan could not take a breath to even speak up in response, but he still did not roll over and just accept death. He pulled his knife from its sheath, but his last act of defiance was cut short by Vael tightening his grip to its full strength, crushing his neck almost completely.
The combat knife hit the floor as the Spartan’s body went limp. Vael dropped his victim unceremoniously, then approached the fire control console that the Humans had been so desperate to reach. Even had he not observed them from stealth, their intentions would not have been difficult to determine. The battlecruiser’s glassing beam was targeted on one of the last remaining, and largest evacuation centers on the planet. There were other ships glassing other parts of the planet, but if this ship was unable to complete its task, then the Humans below would likely have enough time to escape before another could take its place. The Shipmaster had failed to protect his ship against the Humans’ attempt at sabotage, but he had at least retained some shred of his honor by dying in battle against them.
Vael’s gaze went to the view screen in front of him. Storms of fire marked the devastation that was engulfing the majority of the planet, save for the part of the continent directly underneath them. Just as the Shipmaster had attempted before, Vael’s hand went to the holographic panel and, with a simple touch, the ship’s cleansing flame extinguished any trace of every lifeform in its path.
Vael ‘Virisusai - Aboard the Assimilator
Looking down upon the dying planet, Vael’s hand clenched tightly into a fist. His determined gaze remained fixated on the planet as he finally spoke. “This planet may die, but this time…my hands shall serve to deliver its people to safety.”
