- soulguard
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- Exalted Mythic Member
Level 18: Preparing for the last stand
Brute Camp
Sixty Miles West of Camp Eden
November 10, 2552
The Red Clan gathered together in the center of the camp. A fire raged amongst the various group packs, but the brutes all came together at the massive fire of their Chieftain. Grimleon, the former Warhammer of Truths attack force, gathered his kin, his clan.
The nighttime sky sparkled overhead, dimmed by the blaze of the fire that they encircled. Smoke sailed high as the unarmored brutes roared with the excitement of the feast to come. Snarls, roars and growls of excitement signaling the bond they all shared of being from one clan, one powerful clan. The meaty animal roasted in the pit. The humans called it an Elephant, but whatever, it was meat and the Red Clan was hungry. The succulent fatty juicy spilled into the flame and sent the aroma into the wind. A heavenly smell and the brutes drooled for it.
Grimleon paced about the camp. He was uneasy. An enemy he once thought extinct, hoped was gone, had resurfaced. Had he made the right choice in letting him heal? With each passing generation, the House of Yal grew stronger. This Sim’yald, this Mirratord Elite, was wounded but still proved to be a highly skilled combatant. There was no honor in killing him if he was not at his best. The House of Yal had always been worthy prey, and this would be no different.
Grimleon smiled.
His clans roar grew as he approached the cooking meat. They silenced slightly as he stood in front of the beast and smelled it. “Its smell fills me with delight.” He said as he turned to his clan. “The Red Clan has grown thin in these few days of fighting the humans, but we will no longer sway to the Hierarchs wishes until our own goals are met. We will find the last of the House of Yal and it will be his flesh that we next feed upon.” The younger brutes cheered as Grimleon slammed his fist into his thick chest. His graying fur stood on end from the power. He turned and ripped the cooked elephants trunk off and sank his teeth into the perfectly cooked meat. He tore off a hunk and roared in approval. Once the chieftain had taken the first bite, the rest of the clan joyfully fought to take pieces of their own.
The feast had begun, and the next day would bring the joy of battle.
- - - - - - - -
The Hammer of God
November 10, 2552
Simyaldee stretched, his wounds were finally fully healed, and he began to do a light workout in order to work the kinks out. With his twin Mirratord blades extended, Simyaldee did the basic combat techniques taught to him by Commander Vadumee. Relying on speed and flexability, Simyaldee danced around the training room without concern of his surroundings. Each move was graceful, powerful, and frighteningly fast. His hoofs were in perfect control, each placement exact and never off stride. His arms responded flawlessly and his vision was crystal clear. For the first time since they had arrived on Earth, Simyaldee felt whole.
Simyaldee did his work out without any armor on. He wanted to feel the rhythm of his movements. Sweat dripped from his pores and stood in a relaxation pose. He breathed deep as he let his arms hang slightly to the side, but not fully limp. He held his head back, looking up so that air ways would be fully relaxed. He breathed slowly, under control, and in a steady rhythm.
The door opened behind him and he didn’t bother to look at who it was. He focused on his breathing, but powered off his twin blades. “Yes?”
“Second, Gridolee is reporting in.” The lower ranking Mirratord replied. “He says that they have disembarked with the honorable human. They will be out of radio range in several minutes. Are they any orders for him?”
Simyaldee lowered his head and turned to face the young warrior. “Tell him… to fight always with honor, respect and penitence.” Simyaldee wiped his brow with the back of his hand and began to dress. The young Mirratord officer left the room, not sure what the Second meant by his words. Such things were the basics of the Mirratord, something that should not need to be reminded, but he did not question the Second. No one questioned Simyaldee.
- - - - - - - -
Ark Excavation site // Mombasa observatory
ONI Facility Bravo A-11092G: The Gatekeeper
November 10, 2552
Kelly sat naked on a bench, water dripping from her still wet form. She held her head low as stared into the metal floor. It had been a long day with numerous armor changes, and lots of testing. Rose was a slave driver, but her attentions were good. She was determined to unlock the secret of the Reclaimer armor, and after finally uncovering how to use of the under armor it was now a race to figure out the trick to making it work.
Kelly was not physically exhausted, she was mentally worn out. The new suit designs and configurations to the under armor relayed directly into her, similar to her old armor, however the speed of which everything responded was incredibly fast. She was finding it hard to keep up with the suit on a mental level.
“Doc Halsey will clear it up.” A voice stated from the door. Kelly hadn’t realized someone had walked in. She looked up as Rose walked towards her. “Once she gets here, she’ll know what to do. I’m at my limit. There’s nothing more I can do without a better understanding of how the current flows with your unique genetic code.” Rose sat beside Kelly and was dwarfed by the female Spartan’s seven foot frame. “The under suit I modified allows for the gel layer and your body to regulate the power for the Mark VI, but … I’m missing something.”
Kelly sighed and stood as she began to dry off with a towel. “Until Doctor Halsey arrives, I’ll go assist the Spartan III’s. Those shield placements you added should give them a little more staying power in combat.”
“It’s not the same as a Mark VI shield unit, but it will hold against direct fire. They just need to remember that it is only one directional, forward. They are exposed in the rear.”
“You’ve told them that plenty of times. They understand. That’s why I’m working with them. They need to be able to use their shield enhancements as if they were second nature.” Kelly walked toward her locker and grabbed the modified under armor and began the tedious method of putting it on. Rose sat silently on the bench.
After a few minutes Kelly fastened the final strap and began to move toward her armor, but noticed that Rose hadn’t move. “Ma’am, is there anything else you need from me?”
Ma’am? Kelly was older the she was. “No. I was just lost in my thoughts. Wesley sent me a message saying that the Black Ops and a few Elites are in route with Halsey.”
“The Black Ops are leaving Eden?”
“The Mirratord will guard it until Eric gets back.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
“Eric’s coming.”
“Yes. He is the leader of the Black Ops.”
Rose looked at Kelly and sighed. She wished she could see it that simple. Rose didn’t see Eric as just the Black Ops leader, he was… more. “You’re right.” Rose forced a smile. “I’m thinking too much about it.”
- - - - - - - -
Several levels above the Spartan training area, Wesley paced around the room. It was a steel room with dim blue lights on one wall, and a several video displays on another. The round table where he and Colonel Ackerson sat still had a warm cup of coffee sitting upon it. He was waiting to debrief the one woman that had ever made him feel inferior.
The door parted and a congregation of six highly decorated Non-Com officers entered. Following them was Major Elizabeth Rawlings. Wesley powered on the light over the round table and saluted as they approached. Several of the men and women sat at the table, but Major Rawlings sat on leather couch to the side. Wesley thumbed his suit and made sure it was firmly pressed and adequate. He hadn’t made a speech like this since his first assignment; which was following Rose while she was being recruited for the Mark VI project.
Wesley pressed a button on the wall and a door on the opposite side of the room opened. In walked several women in formal dress carrying trays of snacks and data pads to take meal orders from the Bras. Grilled tuna seemed to be the big request.
As the young ladies departed with the Brass’s orders, Wesley turned to Major Rawlings and she stood at his side. He hated her. She made his guts quiver. She made him come to the Gateway in order to deliver his ‘final’ report. Final, the word seemed to echo in young Wesley’s mind.
Major Rawlings raised her nose to the group at the table, “Good afternoon Ladies and Gents, I hope you don’t mind if we keep this meeting as informal as possible, considering the nature of why we are here. For the past three months the Black Ops have been … watched, for lack of a better term.” Several of the Brass seemed stunned.
“Black Ops?” A older man with glasses questioned. He wore the strips of an Air Force Chief of Staff. “Never heard of them.” Others nodded in agreement.
“Without question,” Rawlings continued, “I would be surprised if you had. I was only informed of them several hours after the destruction of New Mombasa last month. But I will try to stay on point. The Black Ops were being watched by one of Section III’s inside men.” She turned and looked at Wesley. “He is an agent that you are all quiet familiar with. I certain each of you have in some way included him within your payrolls.” Rawlings turned and walked back to her couch. She sat, crossed her long legs and adjusted her skirt. “You have the floor, Wesley.”
Wesley sighed. “Sirs, forgive my untimely report. The mission with Charley Company and Red Squad lasted far longer then expected, and once we returned to Earth I realized that had to do my part in helping protect Camp Eden.”