| abstract
| - A gust of frigid wind tore through the camp, upending makeshift tents and kicking up a flurry of snow that had even the hardiest warriors shivering against the biting cold. As the bright snow settled down again into its icy stillness, the warriors went about their business, quickly fixing the wind’s disturbance as they continued to struggle against the cold. Snow was rare on volcanic Sanghelios, but amidst the dormant peaks of the Nisa mountains it was the norm, a reality the Sons of the Preserving Blade had been forced to face for weeks as they eked out the days of their continued survival. Cold-blooded Sangheili weren’t meant for such cold temperatures, and the Sons had padded their dark, battered armor with as much insulation as they could scavenge from amidst the snowy wasteland of the Nisa. Heating units were unthinkable—they barely had enough powered weapons to go around, let alone such luxuries—so they made do with whatever the could find: cloth, animal pelts, and even leaves plucked from the trees that dotted the mountainsides. It was degrading and made each day a frigid hell, but they all knew things could be worse. They could have ended up like their brothers. They had made camp in a small valley boxed in by dense forests and beyond them the towering peaks of the mountains themselves. Only twenty-odd warriors patrolled and shivered amidst the battered crates and tents, while a paltry few stood watch within the forests around the valley. A few fires had been lit amidst the tents, and the Sons eagerly crowded around the precious heat, jostling for the chance to warm themselves before the flames. A few desperate warriors even turned to the glowing tips of their plasma rifles and repeaters, desperate for what little heat the battered weapons could offer. And Shinsu ‘Refum looked upon it all and didn’t feel cold at all. The furious flames of hate that danced within him were too hot for that. This, he thought with calm, deliberate rage. This is what they have reduced us to. Less than a full cycle ago, he and his comrades had stood on the fields of battle below the mountains, bellowing cries of victory over the corpses human-loving traitors who had stolen Sanghelios’s future and replaced it with miserable, humiliating dependence on the creatures they had once fought with such passion and resolve. It was the cowardice of the so-called “loyalists”, their unremitting need for security, that had placed everything their ancestors had fought and died for, in jeopardy. The Sangheili’s very way of life was being threatened, and only a fraction of their warriors had chosen to take up arms against those who had put it in jeopardy. Shinsu gritted his mandibles at the very thought of the pale-hearted traitors who now directed his people towards their disgrace and abasement before their enemies. There could be no forgiveness or compromise for them now, not after all the bloodshed and destruction they’d wrought upon Sanghelios. The Fallen, the separatist movement that had inspired the Sons of the Silent Blade’s militia movement, understood that all too well. Their methods might be questionable, if not downright dishonorable, but it was the traitors’ iron grip on the Sangheili people that had forced them down such paths. Shinsu had seen that iron grip in action, had realized it as he stood over the corpse of his beloved master, Shoma ‘Yeshen. Yeshen had died on Shinsu’s own blade, butchered by government orders to kill Shinsu for his dissidence. The Sons might stick to the time-honored traditions of warrior-on-warrior combat, but Shinsu could see clearly why the Fallen movement’s radical actions were necessary. But the Sons hadn’t brought this frigid, decimated exile on themselves and neither had the Fallen. Shinsu closed his eyes as the hatred twisted and writhed within his stomach, its scorching venom burning through the icy barriers he had built around his hearts long before ascending into this snowy hell. He could still see it all as vividly as if it were yesterday. Shinsu opened his eyes, forcing himself to back away from the memories. He had a responsibility, no, a duty to survive and make sure as many of the other Sons did as well. Gin and the others hadn’t died so that they could live on to wallow in sorrow. To do anything less than endure and fight on would disgrace their memories. Gin maybe gone, but Zura and Hij... I didn’t see them die. Together, they’d been the Four Preserving Blades, the core of the Sons’ and the founders of the entire militia. They’d all survived countless battles together and Shinsu refused to write them off now. Hij, as dedicated as any of them and the picture of Sangheili warrior discipline, would never be killed by humans. His pride wouldn’t allow it. And Zura... Zura had trained under Master ‘Yeshen alongside Shinsu back in the days before the Schism. He had been with Shinsu when they had first started going out to the villages around the Yeshen keep, arming and educating the downtrodden serfs in preparation for the struggles to come. He was Shinsu’s closest friend, a comrade who had fought by his side since the very beginning. No, Shinsu would not accept that he was dead. He simply couldn’t. Overcome with frustration, Shinsu aimed a kick at a clump of snow. Beside him, one of the Sons flinched and shifted his body to protect the equipment he was tinkering with. “Careful, ‘Refum,” the young warrior said, brushing snow off the device’s casing. “Do you want this fixed or not?” Shinsu scowled, but spread his hands in a casual apology. “Carry on, Mylu.” Mylu nodded and got back to his work. The youngest of those who’d survived the human firestorm, he was typical of the kinds of Sangheili who found their way into the Sons: a fierce warrior, dedicated in spite of, or perhaps because of, his youth, and one of the serfs that Shinsu and his friends had helped uplift. Shinsu had been there when they’d killed the loyalist kaidon who’d been ready to have Mylu executed for tampering with military equipment, and the newly freed serf had begged to be allowed to join them. Since then, he’d proved both faithful and clever, more capable of dealing with their often troublesome technology than even many military techs. Another warrior--one of the scouts from the woods--approached them, his long-ranged beam rifle slung over his shoulders. “No sightings yet,” he reported. “I was after those Phantoms Yoru thought he saw last night, but all’s clear now.” “Clear for now,” Shinsu told him. “But for how long?” The scout clicked his mandibles. “Don’t worry, we’ll keep a good watch.” Shinsu nodded grimly as the scout headed back towards one of the fires. They had no aircraft of vehicles of their own; their last Spectre had broken down and been stripped for parts on their way up here. Until the loyalists gave up the sweeps they’d been flying through the mountains, they could only stay in this valley and lick their wounds. To move and expose themselves now would be tantamount to suicide. Mylu let out a huff of triumph. “Got it,” he announced, shifting so that Shinsu could see his handiwork. The long-ranged transmitter they’d salvaged from the Spectre was glowing for the first time since it had broken down that morning. “I even reworked the encryption data within the system,” Mylu said proudly. “Even if some loyalists do pick up its signal, they won’t be able to trace it anywhere near here.” “Good work,” Shinsu told him, extending his hand for the device. “And you’re sure it won’t crash mid-transmission?” “If it does, you may as well find yourself a new technician.” Mylu practically radiated confidence, as he always did. Even their losses and the frigid weather hadn’t been enough to dampen his spirits. “It’ll work.” He hefted the transmitter, which was roughly the size of a fuel rod cannon. “You want me to get back to monitoring loyalist channels?” Shinsu pulled the transmitters out of the younger warrior’s hands. “Not now. Get some rest and be ready for anything.” “I’m always ready for anything.” Mylu got to his feet, brushing snow off his armor. “We’re the Sons of the Preserving Blade, remember?” “Yes,” Shinsu muttered, thinking again about the corpses of warriors torn apart by human aircraft. “So we are.” “What are you going to do with that?” Mylu asked as he turned to go. Shinsu slung the transmitter over his back and pointed up the steep slope that shot up behind the valley encampment. “I have a call to make,” he told Mylu. “One I’ve been putting off for a while. Yoru has charge of the camp until I get back.”
*
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* Sangheili did not appreciate the cold. With well over half of Sanghelios cloaked in warm, volcanic temperatures, the most experience any warrior had with their planet's frigid northern regions was whatever excursions their keeps might have sent them on during their childhood training. The natural aversion to cold bordered on a species-wide taboo; even in all the years of infighting since the Great Schism had ended and the Fallen insurrection began, neither side had been willing to take the fighting up north. So of course it was the perfect place for a battered militia to hide. Autel 'Vadam locked his fingers together, keeping his arms pressed tightly against his armor for warmth. The warriors sitting or standing around him in the Phantom's troop bay did the same, their mandibles pressed together in discomfort. Even for a squadron of lethal Special Operations warriors--trained and conditioned to withstand the harshest of environments--this was a less than ideal place to conduct an operation. But for the most part, they kept their displeasure to themselves. For the most part. "This is ridiculous." Autel inclined his head to observe his best friend, Fira 'Demal, who sat beside him on the Phantom's rough metal floor. Fira caught his glance and gestured irritably out at the snowy mountain peaks that could be seen flashing past through the troop bay's open doors. "Even if those idiots did run all the way out here, they don't need us to come chasing after them," Fira continued. He kept his voice low, but the warriors around them still turned to listen. Some turned away with shakes of their heads, but others quietly nodded their agreement. Fira wrapped his fingers together and shivered. "We should leave those traitors out here to rot. Let them freeze out here while our skills are put to better use." "Not so loud," Autel cautioned, unable to help feeling embarrassed for both himself and his friend. Normally a warrior from the regular forces wouldn't have been assigned to a special operations like this, but Fira was recovering from injuries he'd sustained defending dozens of helpless newborns from a plasma grenade. He'd been restless to get back into the fray, so Autel had arranged for him to be attached to his unit for this assignment. He'd figured a simple hunt for whatever was left of the Sons of the Preserving Blade militia would give Fira the outlet he needed, but back then he hadn't realized exactly where they'd be searching. Any other warrior would have been wishing himself back in the infirmary at this point, but Autel knew Fira too well for that. No matter how much griping he did, Fira would have braved a thousand blizzards rather than stay cooped up in some warm keep. He just wished his friend wouldn't be so vocal about his displeasure. Fira clicked his mandibles. "Everyone's thinking it," he muttered. "I'm just saying it." Behind them, someone laughed. Both warriors turned to see Field Master Vinur 'Rolam, the commander of the detachment, spreading his mandibles in an amused grin. 'Rolam wore the ornate armor of a Sangheili field master, but it was painted in the same dark colors as the armor of his subordinates. Autel came to attention and Fira scrambled up to do the same, though Autel saw him wince as his recovering skin cried out in protest. "My apologies," Fira said automatically. "My comments were out of line." But 'Rolam just clicked his mandibles. He was a relatively new officer, or at least he'd only been Autel's commander for a short time, but he had a reputation as a fierce warrior that preceded him. "I value honesty in my subordinates," 'Rolam said, waving both warriors out of attention stance. He had a deep voice, one that had been honed by countless years of bellowing orders on the battlefield. "I saw too many good warriors die in the last war because they couldn't speak out against bad orders. But in this case, you're mistaken. Leaving this enemy to rot, as you put it, would be the worst thing we could possible do." "And why is that, sir?" Fira pressed. "Because these Sons of the Preserving Blade built their entire movement out of little more than disgruntled students and peasants that they trained themselves," 'Rolam told them. "And they used those warriors to wreak havoc on our troops for years. You may not have faced them in battle before, but I've seen the carnage they left behind them." He shook his head. "Whole columns wiped out by little more than students with blades and plasma rifles. If we leave them alone now, they'll return and do it all again. Especially with the Black Knight at their head." "You believe that rumor, sir?" Fira demanded, and Autel had to fight back the urge to kick him. But once again, 'Rolam seemed to enjoy the chance to explain the situation. Autel got the feeling that the field master had done a lot of thinking about this assignment himself and was glad to justify it to his subordinates. "I do," 'Rolam replied. "That warrior's killed more of our forces than anyone fighting for the regular Fallen and we don't even know his real name. I've seen footage of some of his... exploits. He's in a league of his own as far as blade-work is concerned; I've never seen anyone wield an energy sword so well. If we can find him out here now that his troops have been weakened, we can end their movement for good." One of the surrounding warriors laughed. "Good thing we have the White Knight on our side then," he said, and Autel shook his head at the foolish nickname he'd been given due to his unnaturally pale skin. 'Rolam laughed again; it didn't take much to amuse him. "Much as I'd like to capture the Black Knight alive, it would be interesting to see the two of you go at it." "We're preparing for another pass," the Phantom's pilot, 'Pyron, announced over the intercom. "Scanning for life signs now."
*
*
* Shinsu planted the communicator in the snow, his armored feet digging themselves deep into the mountain's icy covering. Gritting his mandibles against the cold, he tapped a series of codes into the device's holographic control panel. Status symbols flashed across the display as the device struggled to get a connection. If he was to be perfectly honest with himself, Shinsu knew that he really shouldn't be making this call at all. It made more sense to lay low and forget about the war raging on the rest of Sanghelios, and yet... There were some things that he couldn't stand waiting to know any longer. His head felt as if it were splitting open, both from the constant bite of the cold and his own apprehension about what he might find at the other end of the channel he'd just opened. For several moments, there was no response; the broadcast remained silent as Shinsu stared intently at the monitor. He felt oblivious to the cold now. Everything he was worried about: his comrades, living and dead, the war left for him to wage, all of it fell away and left a single, brutal fear. Would his call be answered? And if it were, would it be answered by the person he wanted--that he needed--to answer? After another brutal cycle of calculations, the communicator flashed and presented a holographic screen for Shinsu's viewing. Pixels flashed and spun as he clenched his fists and waited for them to come together. As they did, they formed the hazy outline of a slender Sangheili head, one that most certainly belonged to a female. Shinsu let out a breath of relief. "Cena," he said quickly. "Is that you?" Cena, the sister of his comrade Zura and the person Shinsu had promised to wed, looked up at him with a mixture of relief and worry. It had been ages since they'd seen each other, and the pressures of the recent, horrible developments made it seem like years as far as Shinsu was concerned. Just being able to see her face on the holo-screen kindled a fire inside him that drove away the trepidations of the cold and left him feeling as warm as if he were in a field down where Sanghelios was warm and hospitable. "Shinsu," Cena gasped. "You're alive! I can't--" She stopped for a moment, ever self-concious, and corrected herself. "The gods have smiled on you," she said with that false formality that Shinsu had always found endearing. "The whole keep has been waiting to hear from you since the news from Zandan..." She shook her head. "I thought you were dead," she said softly. "Don't worry," Shinsu assured her. "I rallied some survivors and moved to a safe location." "Good," Cena said. "Don't even think about telling me where it is; you can't be using the best encryption out wherever you are." Shinsu and his compatriots had brought Cena in to help them organize their militia even before the fighting had broken out. While some had balked at the use of a female for a military endeavor, Shinsu had never worried about Cena's role in their planning. After all, they'd been breaking dozens of ancient Sangheili customs just to arm and train peasant farmers; what harm would letting one female in on warrior's work do? They had broken those customs in order to preserve the Sangheili as a proud, independent race and Shinsu had never regretted any of those allowances, especially not Cena. They had been close before the Sons had been formed, but afterwords they'd made it closer. Much closer. Cena had risked everything--her clan, her keep, her very life--to aid her brother and his friends. The intelligence she'd helped gather from Fallen and government sources alike had given the Sons valuable chances to strike important targets. But now that the Sons were scattered, she would be doing her best to make it seem as if the Kotar keep had never swayed in its loyalty to the government. "I only have a handful of warriors left with me," Shinsu told her. "Tell me, has the news from Zandan swayed support for our cause at all?" Cena blinked, looked down, then back at Shinsu. She saw his concern and spread her mandibles in an apologetic smile. "Forgive me. It's hard to think about it now, especially not..." Fear coursed through Shinsu once again. "Have you heard from Zura yet? I searched everywhere for him after the massacre, but found nothing." "I haven't heard from him since before the battle there," she told him quietly. "But the others' deaths weren't for nothing. Word of the bloodbath has spread, especially amongst the farmers. Many more are questioning the wisdom of the government's alliance with the humans, and there have been reports of government warriors defecting to join the Fallen because of it." Shinsu leaned back and closed his eyes. "That's ggod." He'd half expected that this latest human outrage would go unnoticed by the Sangheili still willingly chained to the government's leash, but for once they had proved him wrong. "Shinsu?" Cena's voice snapped him back to the present. She looked up at him expectantly. "I know you can't tell me where you are, but what do you intend to do now?" Shinsu smiled at her, and for once it was genuine rather than forced. "Don't worry. Soon they'll give up searching for us and we'll be back in the fight. Gin may be dead, but Hij and Zura are still out there. I know it." "Shinsu..." "The peasant support will be all we need to rebuild the Sons. We got in too deep back in Zandan, but we won't make that mistake again. We won't let them lure us out into set battles, we'll just return to the old ambush strategies. We'll coordinate with the Fallen, see where they need us..." "Shinsu," Cena cut in. "Oh dear. You haven't heard, have you?" Shinsu frowned, his mind still racing with the possibilities the Sons' future held. "What? What is it? What haven't I heard?" "Shinsu..." Cena murmured, and he had to strain to hear her voice over the wind. "Hij is dead." For a moment, Shinsu couldn't fully comprehend what she'd just said. "You've heard about Hij?" he demanded. "Quick, tell me where he..." He stopped as the full meaning of what she'd just said sank in. "No," he whispered, passing a hand over his face. Any warmth he'd felt at Cena's appearence was gone now, and the cold was pressing in on him worse than ever. "No. Not Hij." Not the strong, skilled warrior who'd stood head and shoulders above the rest of them. Even with everyone calling Shinsu "Black Knight", none had ever doubted that it was Hij who kept the Sons focused and goal-driven. Hij had kept their strategies from devolving into mindless bloodletting, had always been the one to push them to action. And now, to hear of him like this... "How?" Shinsu asked, his mind reeling. "When?" "Three days ago," Cena told him softly. "Shinsu, I'm so sorry. He contacted me five days ago, trying to see if I'd heard from any of you. I tried to have him shelter his men in Kotar, but he wouldn't hear any of it. He told me to tell you that he was continuing the fight, and then... and then..." She looked away as if personally ashamed of her inability to reign Hij in. "Please." Shinsu could hardly believe it, but he was actually begging for the rest of the information. "How?" "He and the warriors with him tried to raid a vehicle depot. They were trying to steal Banshees, Phantoms, anything that could fly. But they were... betrayed." Shinsu let out a low breath. "Who?" he asked, struggling to keep his voice level. "Who could have done that?" Cena shook her head. "I don't know. But the government warriors knew they were coming. From what I heard, Hij and his warriors put up a valiant fight, but in the end they couldn't escape. They're all dead, Shinsu." Shinsu lowered his head and closed his eyes. Another founding member, gone. Another Preserving Blade, gone. Another friend, gone. "Shinsu," Cena murmured again. "They took his corpse and put it on display outside the nearest village. An example for others like him." He had already shut himself down; this latest indignity could not push him any further than he already was. "Shinsu, my love, I'm so sorry..." "Don't," he said, barely able to force the words past his mandibles. The image of Hij, brave, noble Hij, mangled ands strung up like some common bandit was too much to bear, so he pushed the thought away into some deep corner of his mind. He would reflect on it later and draw strength from the pain and hate it kindled inside him. "He will be avenged," he promised after several long moments. The snow was gathering on his armor, but he hardly noticed it. "There will be a reckoning, and we will make them suffer a thousand times over for what they've done to us." Cena looked up at him sadly and said nothing. "Their keeps will burn," Shinsu continued. All the rage and frustration he'd been keeping in check for the good of his comrades was boiling over now; news of Hij had been all it took to loosen his firm grip on all that had happened. "Their clans will be blotted out, their bloodlines scattered and disgraced. The Vadams and all who suck at their teat will..." He lowered, his head, unable to continue. The wind howled like an angry demon.
*
*
* Field Master 'Rolam's hand shot up to the earpiece embedded in his helmet. After a few moments of hurried conversation with whomever was on the other end of the link, he spun to face the warriors assembled within the Phantom. "Good news from our intelligence division," he announced. "Our contact has pinpointed their location in this area." Autel's head shot up. "Field Master?" "Attention, all warriors," 'Rolam ordered, broadcasting his orders to every Phantom in the squadron. "Prepare for immediate landing. Pilots, coordinates have been forwarded to your helmets. Stand by to engage the enemy." "Sir," Autel put in. "If we have their location, why not attack from the Phantoms?" "We don't know what kind of defenses they have," said 'Rolam. "And I want to keep the element of surprise until we reach their camp. If our intelligence is accurate, we outnumber them three to one, and I intend on giving them the chance to surrender honorably." A murmur of dissent rippled through the warriors, but they all kept their complaints to themselves. All but one. "Forgive me, field master," Fira said, shouldering his needle rifle. "But you plan on offering them mercy? After all the destruction they've caused? All the warriors they've killed?" 'Rolam looked straight ahead. "These are young warriors, young warriors who have demonstrated exceptional skill on the battlefield. There has been enough killing in this accursed war already; if we can prevent even a small amount of bloodshed we may be taking a step towards ending the fighting." Fira grunted and looked away, but Autel couldn't help but reflect on what his commander was saying. The Fallen's leadership had committed despicable acts in their self-appointed quest to "save" the Sangheili people. Autel himself had seen their warriors butcher dissidents in cold blood and watched countless friends and comrades die fighting against their insane, pointless rebellion. He had convinced himself that those who threw their lot in with the Fallen were no longer his brother Sangheili. And yet something about 'Rolam's words rang true. Autel couldn't quite place why he understood that, but even if there could be no compromise with the Fallen radicals, bloodshed and retribution might not be the proper path towards peace. "We are approaching the landing point now," 'Pyron announced over the intercom. "All warriors, stand to and prepare to move out!" 'Rolam bellowed.
*
*
* He heard them. Even above the wind, he heard them coming. "Shinsu?" Cena asked nervously. "What is it?" "No..." he whispered. "Oh no..." "Shinsu, what's wrong?" "They must have tracked this signal," he snarled. "Cena, sign off, now! Get to cover and bunker down with the rest of your keep! They might be coming for you as well!" "Shinsu, wait!" There was the faintest hint of a plea in her voice, and that stopped Shinsu in his tracks. "You will come back to me, just like you promised?" she asked. Shinsu hesitated. The sounds of the hovercraft were drawing nearer. "Yes," he said finally. "When this is over, I'll come for you." Cena looked away without responding. Shinsu could make out the approaching sounds now: Phantoms, several of them. He terminated the link and dashed away down the hill. Behind him, the communicator remained buried in the mountainside, already partially covered by the falling snow.
*
*
* The Phantoms dropped down low above the trees, and Autel joined Fira, 'Rolam and the others as they leapt towards the snowy ground below. "Engage active camouflage!" 'Rolam ordered. "And stay on the lookout for scouts; we don't know what their defenses are. But no one fires until I give the order!" Thirty-odd special operations warriors shimmered and faded into the forest, their active camouflage rendering them practically invisible to the naked eye. United under a single, deadly purpose, they advanced.
*
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* "Yoru!" Shinsu barked into his helmet communicator as he sprinted down the slope. "Yoru, come in!" No answer was forthcoming, and Shinsu gritted his mandibles helplessly. The government dropships must be jamming communications. "If you can hear me, evacuate the camp now!" Still nothing. Shinsu pushed himself even faster, knowing that each stride might mean the destruction or salvation of what few comrades he had left. He pushed his way through a thicket of trees, ignoring the branches that slapped against his armor's shields and stumbled over a final snow bank to fall flat on his face. Without even bothering to get up, he crawled the last few feet to the edge of the valley. "Brothers!" he howled against the wind at the camp assembled below him. "Fall back!" But it was already too late.
*
*
* The enemy camp was spread out below them as the special operations deactivated their active camouflage. Just as 'Rolam had instructed, they synchronized the deactivation so that they all appeared at once, scattered above the valley in a half-moon crescent, their weapons at the ready. If this had been a regular mission, they'd have opened fire on the rebels from this position without even bothering to show themselves, but 'Rolam had been adamant about giving these particular warriors a chance to surrender peacefully. The Sons of the Preserving Blade Autel saw below him were a ragged group of warriors, all garbed in battered suits of combat armor that had clearly been scavenged from countless battlefields. The few tents they had between them had been made from bark and animal hides, and there were only a handful of modern wilderness conveniences to be seen. These rebels, students or no, were clearly quite experienced at surviving against the odds. Our intelligence wasn't entirely accurate, Autel noted, scanning the assembled rebels with his plasma rifle. There were roughly twenty enemy warriors present, double the number they'd been expecting. All were armed, and some had managed to bring their weapons to bear while others hesitated, caught off guard by the strike force's sudden appearance. Across the valley, one dark-armored warrior knelt at the top of the other slope. There was a plasma repeater slung across his back and twin energy pistols strapped to his legs, but this warrior had the deactivated hilt of an energy sword in hand and looked tensed, already prepared to leap into combat. Autel swung his rifle to point at the lone warrior. Could this be the Black Knight, the one who'd led this ragtag band to such astounding victories against the government?
*
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* The fear Shinsu had felt on the way down was gone. It had disappeared as it always did when he came face to face with his foe, no matter how large or powerful that foe might be. And right now, that foe was powerful indeed. His mind was already whirling as he observed the strike force that had come to finish the job their human allies had started. Government vermin, a distant part of him, one that was still recovering from the loss of Hij and the others, thought. The greater part of him, the part that had shot and stabbed and killed its way across the hills and forests of Sanghelios, was analyzing every detail of this impossible situation, trying to find some way that he and his brothers could come out alive. They were outnumbered by crack government warriors who undoubtedly had dropships waiting to provide air support. Those warriors held the high ground above the camp and were already prepared for combat, while the Blades were only partially ready to withstand an assault. They had no vehicles or aircraft of their own and only limited cover within the camp. It was an impossible situation. The best any Sangheili warrior could hope for now was an honorable death in battle, a glorious last stand that would be noble enough to emblazon itself in the hearts and minds of their enemies. But Shinsu was not ready to die. He couldn't die, not here, not now. For the first time since he had taken on the responsibilities of leading the Sons as a member of the Four Preserving Blades, Shinsu found himself at a complete loss. There was no way out of this, not for someone with the obligations he bore. One of the enemy warriors stepped forward. This one wore the ornate armor of a field master, but it was painted in the dark colors shared by the rest of his special operations detachment. "Sons of the Preserving Blade," he announced in the booming voice of an experienced field commander. "You stand accused of high treason. Surrender now and we will ensure you are treated fairly, but fight us and you will pay in blood for your crimes!" It was as if a door had been opened in what had seemed like a solid wall. Yes, Shinsu could surrender himself and his warriors to these government lackeys. It wouldn't take him long to escape imprisonment, and in the meantime he'd have saved them all from a miserable, meaningless death. It was the best course of action. And yet... As he looked down at his assembled warriors--his brothers--he saw that not one of them looked afraid or defeated. Instead, he could see defiance in their stances, the way they had prepared their weapons the instant the enemy had appeared. These were not warriors who would submit to captivity, no matter what their weak-kneed leader decided. Shinsu looked at them and realized he would not, no, could not humiliate either them or himself by accepting such a disgraceful offer. In one fluid motion, he activated his energy sword and slid down the slope to land on his feet behind the assembled Sons. "Blades!" he roared. "Open fire! Shoot the loudmouth first!" And the valley erupted in a storm of plasma fire.
*
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* Autel knelt and sprayed down into the valley with his plasma rifle. Plasma bolts and needle rounds were tearing through the air in both directions, glancing off of shields and striking the ground where they melted large holes in the snow. The mountains had been silent as the task force had approached, but now they rang with the sound of plasma fire and the roars of warriors. With their superior numbers and equipment, Autel had assumed his fellow special operations warriors would end the battle quickly. But the Sons of the Preserving Blade had not earned their fearsome reputation lightly. The warrior who'd given the order to attack--the same warrior who Autel had singled out earlier--was now directing his troops into firing positions while motioning others forward in front of them. These warriors' purpose became clear the moment they began throwing down portable energy shields and even a few of the domed "bubble shields" that had become so popular in the wake of the Great Schism. Within moments, the Sons had erected a powerful defense from the task force's fire at the cost of only two warriors. Autel rose and ceased fire as the rest of the force followed suit. Behind their defenses, the Sons were, to a warrior, drawing their energy swords. Several craned their necks and beckoned up at the task force It was a challenge no Sangheili could pass by, even if it meant sacrificing their tactical advantage. "Warriors!" 'Rolam bellowed. "Draw swords! Show them the might and righteousness of our cause!" "About time," Fira hissed beside Autel. "I am with you brother. Your back is my front." "We are as one," Autel murmured, completing the battle mantra as he reached for his blade. "Now, we finish this."
*
*
* The moment the government warriors drew their blades and leapt down the slope was the moment Shinsu believed victory was within his grasp. The special operations warriors slipped past the energy barriers and through the bubble shields--just as Shinsu had planned when he'd ordered his warriors to preserve all such equipment. The enemy had taken the bait and sacrificed their advantage up at the top of the valley, allowing their pride to turn the battle into a contest of swords. The Sons of the Preserving Blade had not earned their title lightly. Half of them had been students of various prestigious blademasters before the fighting had broken out, and the other half were peasants who had drilled tirelessly under their noble-born brethren ever since they'd been recruited into the militia's ranks. The first of the government warriors to reach them were cut down in moments, but the others came in more cautiously, taking care to watch each other's flanks as they sprang into battle. As the first such warrior darted towards Shinsu, he felt his mind detach from his body as the memory of countless other life and death battles flooded into his muscles. He took a breath and let go of everything except two thoughts. He sidestepped a whirling strike from the oncoming enemy and slashed a gaping wound in the warrior's chest faster than even his eyes could see. The dark-armored warrior collapsed, his blood staining the snow a dark purple. All around Shinsu, the valley had collapsed into a whirlwind of hissing blades and bellowing warriors. He steadied himself and let the fight take hold.
*
*
* The first two Sons Autel faced when he reached the bottom of the valley were obviously students, their styles showy and easy to read. Just as they spun in to attack him, he reached in and cut them both down in an instant. Beside him, Fira barked a battle cry as he locked himself in combat with a third Son, this one far more skilled with his blade. There could no longer be any order to this battle, not in a melee like this. Autel could only trust to his luck, his skills, and to Fira's blade to keep him alive. He leapt forward and struck down another rebel, but was startled when someone seized him from behind. Craning his neck, he realized that one of the first rebels he'd attacked was not quite dead; one of the young warrior's arms hung limp but the other was wrapped firmly around Autel's neck in an effort to throttle him. Autel bent forward and threw the dying warrior to the ground, but a flailing grasp from the student caught onto his helmet and tore it from his head. Just as Autel reached for it, he heard Fira cry out in alarm. Moments later, a plasma grenade detonated close by, tearing through his shields and knocking him face-first into the snow. When he looked up, it was to the image of a tall, thin Son in dark armor standing over him. The Black Knight.
*
*
* Shinsu had made a point of getting to know his enemies extremely well, particularly the ones he planned on killing personally. Particularly those belonging to the Vadam keep. So when the helmetless albino clad in the armor of a special operations officer collapsed before him, it was like a gift from the heavens. Autel Vadam. Shinsu's mandibles spread wide as he raised his blade. A recognized war hero. A sworn enemy of the Fallen and their cause. A leading member within the Vadam clan and, if the rumors were at all true, possibly even Thel's own son. To kill him would be a glorious blow in the memory of Refum. But as the Vadam scrambled to reach for his own energy sword, Shinsu found that he could not bring his blade down. Though this one might have been a part of the clan Shinsu had sworn destroy and a loyal servant of the government that had brought so much destruction to the Sangheili people, he was also a courageous warrior proven in battle many times over. And to strike down such warrior in such a fashion... it went against everything Shinsu believed in and fought for. It went against the core values that made the Sangheili great. If it had been Thel 'Vadam himself, Shinsu would not have hesitated. But this was not Thel 'Vadam, just another warrior that fate had condemned to die by Shinsu's blade. Shinsu realized that as the battle raged around them, he and the Vadam seemed lost in a separate world of their own. In that moment, the eyes of the Refum and those of the Vadum locked and found only hate for each other reflected there. Refum will bring the great Vadams low for their crimes, even if it has to strike at them from the ground below. But today... "Oh, get up," he spat angrily, gesturing at the Vadam's blade, which lay a short distance from its master. "Give yourself the chance to die like a warrior." In an instant the Vadam had leapt up and seized the blade from the ground. The moment he activated it Shinsu lunged forwards, his own blade ready to carve the Refum line's vengeance into his enemy's chest. In that moment, another body collided with him and sent him tumbling into the snow. Shinsu rolled onto his back and leapt up in time to parry a furious series of attacks from this new warrior. His mind raced, unable to comprehend how quickly his chance for revenge had been stolen from him. "Fira!" he heard the Vadam cry. "Get back!" The new warrior, Fira, didn't reply and Shinsu blocked yet another blow, prepared to cut this meddler down in the next instant. But then, another distraction: a fuel rod bold detonated nearby, blasting apart a pair of tents and knocking both warriors off balance. "Commander!" Shinsu heard Mylu cry. The diminutive Blade hefted the fuel rod cannon and prepared to fire another round. "Take cover!" Abandoning his fight with the new warrior, Shinsu leapt aside as another fuel rod tore through the air and vaporized a pair of government warriors in a single green flash. As he searched for the Vadam once again, Shinsu saw that the battle was winding down. Bodies were strewn everywhere, Son and government warrior alike. But each dead Son was yet another perished brother, another patriot dead at the hands of the Vadams and their allies. This needed to end now. "Mylu!" he bellowed. "Cover--" His order was cut short as the government commander, the one who'd so deliberately insulted the Sons by calling for their surrender, darted forward and slashed across Mylu's chest. The young warrior fell in two pieces to the snow. And that was it. Shinsu lost track of who and where he was as he lunged forward, desperate to get to this latest butcher of his friends, his hopes, his dreams. He was conscious of enemies blocking his path, but he simply cleaved through them with his flashing blade. Just as he was about to reach the enemy leader, another blast flung him sideways, tearing his energy sword from his hands and leaving him defenseless. Another enemy closed on him, energy sword raised, but Shinsu swept the warrior's legs out from under him and leapt on top of the struggling enemy, wrapping his fingers around his throat and squeezing. The warrior kicked and fought to get out from under him, but Shinsu only tightened his grip and kept squeezing until there was no life left in his opponent. Unable to find a weapon as more warriors charged towards him, he seized a stone up from the ground and dashed forwards, striking the first enemy so hard that he tore through the warrior's shields and sent his neck twisting back at an impossible angle. The stone then smashed through another set of shields and lodged itself in a second warrior's skull. Unable to pull it free, Shinsu abandoned even that and let out a howl of unrelenting fury as his opponent fell at his feet. The haze cleared from Shinsu's eyes and he finally saw what he hadn't let himself see before. He was the only one left fighting, the only Son still standing. The rest lay in heaps around the blood-stained valley, their corpses mingling with those of the special operations warriors that had killed them. Only a handful of enemy warriors were still alive, but Shinsu couldn't even begin to care about that. The only warrior he could focus on right now was the one right in front of him. The enemy commander.
*
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* Fira started forward. "Commander 'Rolam!" Autel was leaning over, utterly exhausted by the carnage around him. Was this the fate of the Sangheili? To butcher themselves in mindless warfare until absolutely nothing was left? The commander didn't acknowledge Fira, and the rest of the team seemed to understand. This was a battle the commander would undertake alone.
*
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* The enemy commander cast a glance over Shinsu, who lowered his head and continued to stare at the bodies of his friends. Then he looked up and inclined his head at his enemy. "Alright," he said through strained mandibles. "Let's go." The commander darted forwards with all the skill of a honed blademaster, but Shinsu had already dropped down and seized a handful of snow from the ground. A quick throw sent the clump of icy powder up into the warrior's eyes, providing all the distraction Shinsu needed to step in and strike a vital nerve in the commander's forearm. It was a move Master Yeshen had taught him, a key way to disarm an opponent. The blade dropped from the commander's spasming grip, and Shinsu caught it before it hit the ground. The commander tried to recover, but Shinsu brought his helmeted head in and struck his enemy across the face. The commander stumbled back, and Shinsu slid behind him and brought the deactivated hilt of the captured energy sword up behind his head. And he activated the energy sword.
*
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* Autel could only look on in horror as the Black Knight slashed the top of 'Rolam's head clean off. A spurt of purple blood cascaded up into the air as the corpse--another comrade, another brave warrior--slid to rest in the snow. Looking around, he could see only Fira and six other warriors still standing. The rest lay in the snow alongside the Sons they'd been sent to destroy. So much death... he thought numbly. What can we do against such reckless hate? Fira and the other warriors leapt forward with snarls, but Autel raised a hand. "Prisoner," he said, finding it hard to speak. "Take him prisoner. We will need whatever information he has to end this war once and for all."
*
*
* Shinsu's body felt heavy. Casting another glance around him, he could see Master Yeshen, Gin, Hij, even his father, mother, and brother amongst the dead. All dead... He fell to his knees. He could feel the approach of the enemy, but he no longer cared. Everything was gone. Everything had been taken away. "You killed them." His words slashed through the frosty air in an endless condemnation. "You killed them all." He closed his eyes. "We're all dead."
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![[RDF Data]](/fct/images/sw-rdf-blue.png)