- last post: 01.01.0001 12:00 AM PDT
"Let 'em go, you Elites!" Even though there was obvious fear in his voice, he reloaded his gun, which was an impressively quick sequence of ejecting his clip, attaching it to a device at his knee that would replace the used up ammunition, and then locking it back into his RIPPER-24. In a measure of barely three seconds, his gun was loaded, and he fired 3 quick shots at the blue Elite to his left, which caused its shielding to flare up, but a the third round broke the shield and had enough force remaining to smash the aliens helmet and embed itself between his eyes.
As it fell to its knees, its partner quickly raised a medium sized, egg shaped gun resembling the Needler, but it only had 9 crystals protruding from its back. It fired with a sound reminiscent of electricity crackling and the thunk of a crossbow, and instead of slowly honing in on its target, it impaled Shirley's chest as fast as any bullet, and a second later, it detonated, causing a flower of flesh to bloom suddenly on his chest and release its bloody, red and black pollen.
Now, there were two Elites, and two Marines, if you counted the gasping Irving who fought for freedom from the long, deadly black fingers that crushed his windpipe.
Thomas trained his firearm on the blue Elite, as he did like wise, but his superior held up his hand, ordering to hold his fire. The "Commander" as Thomas assumed his role would be, watched him with interested. It seemed to be struggling to remember something, and a moment later, it spoke in English, though it was understandably not very good at it.
"Human... you referred to us... 'Elites'... meaning?"
It vocal systems were not made to produce the sounds that humans do so easily, so even though it had enough understanding of human language, its pronunciations were often very off, and so it took Thomas a few seconds to decipher his question.
"Elites... it is our word for you. We do not know your real titles, so we use our own"
It tilted its head, obviously trying to understand Thomas' sentence. It was then that Thomas noticed it... the intelligence in its eyes. It was remarkable seeing it for the first time. It was the same realization that dawns on you when you watch a seemingly simple animal go about its business, and then it suddenly locks eyes with you and you see the intelligence behind them.
It spoke again. "We... not... "Elites"... our titles... are given... Gods did... "Elite" insults that gift... why you... mock... Gods? Why you fight?"
Thomas considered a while, but he understood his speech quicker now that he had heard some of his unusual pronunciations.
"I fight because my species is facing danger. It is a natural urge in all creatures to survive. Is it not?"
The Elite performed what must have been a raising of his eyebrow. It seemed surprised but pleasantly impressed.
"Words... true... but the will... the Gods... and... human... eradication... one, and the same..."
The will of the Gods and Humankinds eradication are one and the same.
It continued to speak.
"Your words have... intrigued... but as well speaking... as you... you must... cease"
It gripped Irving's neck so tightly his neck bone splintered and he was dead before he could draw breath to scream. The Elite tossed him away as if he weighed no more then a small child, and tossed a grenade ablaze with blue fire.
It made contact with Thomas' Rifle, pulsing menacingly. He quickly reared back his gun and threw it towards his enemies. However, it detonated between them in a powerful release of white energy that shook every bone in Thomas' body, before the shock wave hit him, and his mind was sent into disarray as he went airborne. He was weightless for a few seconds, and then the hard, unpaved road slammed into him, or him into it rather.
It knocked the breath out of him, and he could feel the hot, dry air of Africa attack the flesh exposed by several areas where the skin had been obliterated. It tasted as though he had been chewing on a piece of copper, but it was actually blood in his mouth.
He was in a state of neither consciousness nor unconsciousness, so when he used his shaking arms to push up a little after some of his strength had returned, it took a moment or two for him to really see what was there.
As he rose to his feet, he noticed a charred crater in the road, where some uncontrolled plasma fire had found something to hold on to. There was a purple splattering, almost mist like, with chunks of flesh, spread out a good distance from the crater, but he then noticed the gold Elite was getting to his feet as well. Several parts of his armour had been stripped from him, including his helmet, and his head and exposed skin was bleeding.
It saw him, and, religious fanaticism endowed in every movement, he took out two small devices, which then crackled to life and projected a diamond shaped shield, and the feared Covenant energy sword. Both devices seemed damaged by the plasma from the grenade however, so while the sword only flickered momentarily, the shield blinked out, and the device shorted out in a small shower of blue sparks.
Thomas' quickly found the remains of a Rifle that, if held right, made a very crude set of combat knuckles. It would have to do.
The alien strode toward him, its biased hatred of Thomas' and his kind, and his 'God given quest' giving him the strength to shut out the pain his body was assaulted with.
He quickly closed the gap, and swung his sword, which only barely missed a dodging Thomas, but this manuevor was elegantly and flawlessly linked to a second that required Thomas to jump backwards to avoid. Still, it came close enough for the skin between his eyes to prickle from the energy.
Thomas kicked out at the flat of the blade, but he was sent recoiling back with an uncomfortable tingling in his body. He felt his shoulder hit a crumbling wall behind him, and he quickly used this wall to push himself back into a proper stance. Then, the sword flickered again, obviously from the blow Thomas had dealt with his boot. For a few seconds it lingered dangerously close to dying out, but eventually flared back to life, and took a horizontal slash at Thomas' neck.
Once again, he tried to evade, and while he saved his head from being taken from his body, the sword cut its way across his flesh, starting from one shoulder and ending at the other. It was not an overly painful sensation as he imagined it would be. It was a numbing, twitching annoyance that only stung a little. Still, even though the wound was mostly seared closed, blood still managed to well in large amounts, and his chest was soon sticky with it.
The sword had continued its path and contacted with the stone wall. An explosion of dust and stone chips rang out, and the sword flickered and died for good.
Using this chance, Thomas' reared back his fist, still holding the makeshift combat knuckle, and brought it directly at the Elites face. It connected with satisfying force, and the aliens head snapped back and it began to stumble back.
Instead of another jab, which was only to gain an opening like this one, he chose a more powerful hook, which was met with the sickening grinding of a jaw being bent in ways it was not meant to.
The Elite staggered sideways and fell on his side. Thomas leapt onto him and attempted to hold him down, but slowly the Elite rose to his knee, and threw his body out in a cry of battle induce rage and adrenaline, sending Thomas into the air and hitting the ground at enough velocity to bring him airborne once again, hitting the ground a second time and rolling to a stop.
He shakily got to his feet, but the sound of thundering hooves coming his way and a brief, motion blurred image was all he was able to get before the aliens vastly superior strength sent him airborne for the fourth time. The world rushed away from him, then stopped its movement when he hit a stone wall. It was frail, because when he slipped to the ground, glass from higher windows came down like razor sharp frozen rain, giving him numerous infuriating cuts.
He gasped in pain, on hands and knees like an abused dog. He saw the gold clad hoof in front of him, and he looked to see that it was flexing its long, slender, yet powerful fingers; it spoke to him with no sense of pity, hatred, or even mock. It addressed him as if he were nothing with enough significance that deserves such emotions from a being such as he.
He spoke in his own language. It was like a damning farewell.
*-blam!- that...* He thought