- Sergeant Murph
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- Noble Legendary Member
An immediate roar of anger burst from the crowd of unarmed troops. They charged at the assassin together, wave after wave of them, blinded by raw grief and anger and vengeance. It was one against one hundred.
Or so it would seem.
Another cloaked assassin dashed down the ramp, nearly identical to the first. Then another. Suddenly, there were seven assassins grouped together in a semicircle with the original at the head. Still, the crowd mindlessly raged toward them.
"Cateran," muttered the leader. One of the assassins nodded obediently and took a step forward. His hands were sheathed by silver and red glowing gauntlets. With hardly an effort, he took a step forward and thrust out both of his fists, unleashing a wave of gravitational energy at the crowd. The troops soared back into one another, screaming as they fell. What were these things?
They walked forward as one unstoppable force, each with drawn Energy Swords at their sides. The few insolent troops that dared block their path were quickly cut down.
It was clear that these seven warriors were no simple assassins. They had been brought into this world to take others out of it. Their very presence conducted shuddering fear all around them.
They were called the Septemai, dark warriors of the Forerunners, evil assailants that knew only how to hunt and kill. For years they'd served in secret, answering when they were called to action. Many had fallen by their hand, and many more would in the future.
As the Septemai walked down the center of the great hangar to the door on the opposite side, the member on the end suddenly lashed out with her free arm and dragged a crewman down by his collar.
This assassin was female, and perhaps the most deceiving of the pack. Her name was Valadra, a stern faced woman with ice in her heart and fire in her stern, petrifying gaze.
"You'll cooperate, or you'll die," Valadra whispered in the crewman's ear. As if entranced by the assassin's firm yet softly lingering voice, the crewman nodded.
"I will cooperate."
Valadra smiled wickedly. "As I knew you would. Lead us to the Admiral, and discard any security measures that might make our way...unnecessarily violent."
The crewman nodded obediently and took them through the ship's long narrow hallways, the hostage in front with the seven light-footed warriors following closely behind. Their presence was not questioned by the other soldiers and officers aboard the ship; the crewman was simply an 'escort' for the Lord's agents.
They finally reached a wide metal door with Precursor glyphs marked across it. The crewman stopped before it, unwilling to travel any farther.
"We have arrived at the bridge, my lady."
Valadra nodded. "You will not be of service to us anymore, then." The crewman sighed in relief, nodded, and turned away, but before he could tear down the hallway, Valadra's sword skewered him through the back. He cried weakly and crumpled to the ground. The assassin yanked her Energy Sword out of his flesh, hardly batting an eyelash at the innocent life she had taken.
Now the Septemai's leader stepped forward, his eyes glinting faintly behind his silver mask. He had been tagged by many names in all of his years in the service of killing, but the most common was Tyrus. Vague and mysterious he seemed, but his strength, power, and will to destroy was unsurpassed by any of his followers. In fact, it was Tyrus himself who had banded together these six deadly killers who now were stronger than the most elite of soldiers.
Tyrus murmured bitterly. "The doors are locked. He knows we are here."
Cateran, the assassin sporting the gravity-pulse generating gauntlets, drew up beside him. "There is always a way through a door," he snickered. Ushering the rest of the Septemai back, he activated the gauntlets and put his knuckles to the door. A moment later, a great shock wave burst from his hands, and the door soared off of its hinges, screeching eerily across the metal floor. They were in.
A figure with white Forerunner battle armor and a great red cape swinging behind him stood several feet away. The Admiral. He knew they were there, but he kept his gaze focused in the opposite direction: into the stars.
Tyrus took a hesitant step forward, but before he could prepare an attack guards burst out from every direction, stunning Energy Staves in hand.
"I thought you'd come for me," the Admiral said bitterly. "I knew I'd eventually be your prey. It seems I have turned the tables on you, though."
The guards closed in around them with their long staves thrust outward. Tyrus didn't even stiffen.
"You are a fool, Admiral," he said in his gentle yet menacing tone. "The Septemai shall break you."
Before the Admiral could respond, Tyrus leapt gracefully into the air, landing softly on the tip of a stave and propelled himself over the guards and before the Admiral.
"You shouldn't have come here," the Admiral laughed. "It will be the end of you and your precious warriors."
With that, he curved a vicious punch toward Tyrus, and the battle began.
The assassin blocked the first punch, then responded with a sharp elbow to the Admiral's ribs. He screamed and reared backwards, but Tyrus was on him like a tiger, arcing two fists at his enemy's face. Both connected with a harsh crack and the Admiral went down in pain.
The guards gasped, forgetting the other six assassins and scrambled to help their Admiral. Valadra was on them with much haste, though, and flipped two over her back, then grabbed hold of a stave and stabbed another.
Although it was six on twelve, the Septemai took control of the battle, executing strength and agility that the guards simply could not counter. Before long, the group was easily dispatched, and the Admiral was fending for himself.
Tyrus was a dominate singular force. Each time the Admiral painfully rose to his feet, Tyrus would swarm on him, banging him into the ground, throwing him at the wall, or just simply deliver brutal punches to his face. The Admiral was more or less broken.
"This fight is over," Tyrus said at last. "It is time to fulfill the Lord's request."
"The...the Lord sent you...to kill me?" the Admiral stammered.
"That is correct," replied Tyrus. "And the Septemai always complete their mission."
Valadra tossed him a bloody stave. He caught it and hung the tip over the Admiral's chest. To Tyrus' surprise, the Forerunner chuckled brokenly.
"But he won't always come of it alive." Without warning, the Admiral ripped a small detonator from his belt, armed it, and flicked it behind him.
Tyrus burst forward, skewered the Admiral through the chest, then jumped for the detonator. If that hits the controls, this whole ship will go down! he thought.
He felt as if he was floating in midair-- all around him there was darkness. He was alone with the detonator, just a snatch away. He saw his fingers uncurl and stretch out for the explosive. It skimmed the tips of his fingers, cold metal against pure white skin.
He dropped it.
And it detonated with the left side of his face just above it.
Tyrus' scream was so bloodcurdling, so deathly, that even the Septemai shuttered in fear. Tyrus was swallowed by a cloud of smoke, and yet he still screamed in agony.
"We've got to get out of here!" Cateran insisted. "The controls are jammed; the ship is going down!"
"We cannot leave Tyrus to die!" Valadra retorted, shuffling through the smoke. There was Tyrus, sprawled on the ground, facedown. A pool of blood lay around him.
Valadra scooped him up in her arms and handed him to Cateran. "Now move!"
The six of them sprinted down the corridors, flitting past any security that tried to stop them. Cateran peered down at Tyrus every now and then, but their leader buried his face in his arms and let his gruesome screams echo. Cateran felt sick. This was never supposed to happen; the Septemai didn't make mistakes. They were supposed to come out of this mission unscathed, but instead they were all wounded and their leader was dying.
Vassa, their technology expert, turned to the group. "This way; I saw some escape pods on our way here!"
They followed Vassa down the hall and through a narrow doorway. The walls in this red room were lined with escape pods, but it seemed that none would fit seven beings inside.
"We'll have to go in separate escape pods," Vassa explained. "There are only one-man pods remaining."
The group of assassins shifted uneasily. They'd come to be a family over the experiences they'd had, and now the only way that they would live on was to separate.
Cateran gazed solemnly down at Tyrus, who was still crying out in pain. "What will happen to him?"
Vassa's gaze was aimed downward. They had loved Tyrus as their father and mentor. How could they leave him like this?
"We will have to hope he survives," Vassa said slowly. He heard Valadra whimper from behind him. "I am so sorry."
Cateran nodded quietly and opened the first escape pod. He laid a bloody Tyrus down inside the disc-shaped pod and closed the door, muffling the screams. The Septemai felt their hearts sink as Vassa hesitantly punched something in on the panel and sent the leader of the Septemai into space, without another word.
The six assassins remaining looked upon each other, sadness filling their eyes. Their legacy had expired. Never again would the elite assassin force be called to action. Once they parted, they would have to lead new lives-- if they even survived.
They climbed into their respective escape pods and were launched into the darkest parts of space. Seven warriors. Seven escape pods. Seven directions. It was unlikely that they would ever meet again.
So passed the Septemai.