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Halo: Brutal Origins - Extract
Posted By: Felix Kemp<e7_prodigy@hotmail.co.uk>
Date: 20 July 2007, 4:06 pm
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Chapter 3
Erebus raised his cumbersome rifle, sighted several Elites, and felled them efficiently. Their lifeless bodies collapsed, riddled with simmering spikes. He shouldered the rifle and unsheathed his machete, swiping at the tall grass as he ploughed toward the besieged temple. Smoke billowed from its roof, as departing Minors were slaughtered by merciless Elites outside.
Roaring, he sheathed his machete and withdrew his rifle, firing wildly. His theatrics spooked the Elites nearby the temple, although they regained composure and retaliated. Their unusual and frightening weaponry hurled luminous flames at him, although he avoided their somewhat lethargic trajectory. An Elite ahead screamed as he was disembowelled by Erebus' rifle; his colourful innards slopping onto the floor. Erebus staggered, as his shoulder burned beneath fire, until he killed those Elites responsible.
Halting, he inhaled and exhaled slowly, calming himself despite the choking smoke leaking from the temple ahead. He heard his brother's and sister's desperation within, and felt revitalised, fuelled by cause and resolve.
He entered through the broken doorway, tossing aside rubble and debris, while avoiding fallen masonry. The beautiful paintings that had adorned the walls were burning, which Erebus thought may perhaps imply the demise of his people. Excluding such insignificant musing, he continued onward through smoky corridors, noticing bodies burned beyond recognition, although almost certainly Brutes. Cries became audible, and he listened.
'Santri? Olef?' he called through the smoke and approaching fire. His inquest was not returned.
An Elite suddenly appeared, wearing curious attire that seemed to protect it from the pervasive smoke. He roared as the Elite delivered mercurial punches, dazing Erebus who had been unaware of his adversary's presence. His rifle dropped and disappeared beneath the hovering smoke and obscuring clutter. Enduring further pain, he swung wildly and hopefully, disrupting the Elite's attack. Erebus charged forward, overwhelming the unwanted visitor, performing a chokehold. The Elite wriggled and writhed, but he was thoroughly overpowered. His protests became weaker, until, finally, he became limp and still. Flinging the Elite aside, Erebus sighted the Holy Place's ornate entrance ahead.
He emerged in the Holy Place, where the Holy Object was kept and resided upon its wide pedestal. However, the Holy Object, this artefact of forgotten deities that commanded devotion and offered salvation, had disappeared. Erebus' furrows upon his bestial features deepened as he frowned futilely. The light spilling onto the empty pedestal seemed mocking. Furthermore, Santri and Olef's mangled bodies lay nearby. His strength flickered weakly, as he had lost hope and love simultaneously.
Gazing upward, at the bulbous monstrosities which lurked ominously among clouds, he noticed Elites ascending upward, propelled by plumes of their luminous fire. He knew they had stolen the Holy Object. Erebus knelt at the empty pedestal, and uttered barely audible prayers despite the absence of religious reassurance.
'Erebus?' said someone at the entrance. Swivelling, he stared at Tartarus, the young priest.
'Tartarus? You are alive? How is that possible?' asked Erebus, approaching the whitening Brute, whose appearance belied his youth.
Tartarus shuffled, apparently embarrassed. His physique was impressive, although Erebus noticed his vulnerability.
'I hid… in the pantry…' he began, sighed, and continued, 'they killed everyone… with their fire. There was nothing I could have done!'
'Nothing? You could have died bravely!' yelled Erebus, outraged by the priest's cowardice. 'You could have defended your brothers and sisters and the Holy Object! But now they are all gone!'
Silence gathered, punctuated by the crackling of fire and the whispers of smoke. He glared at Tartarus, whose blinking gaze considered the floor. Tartarus' robes were torn and dirty, mirroring the encompassing devastation. Exhaling slowly, Erebus began removing rubble and debris, labouring despite exhaustion. Santri and Olef's bodies had bled considerably, as they were encircled by veritable pools of blood. The inexorable anguish felt unbearable.
'Erebus?' said Tartarus shakily.
'What?'
'Were they gods, Erebus? Do you think they were gods?'
'Gods?' spat Erebus incredulously. He glared at the seemingly insane Brute furiously. 'How could they have been Gods, you fool? How could they have been gods if I have killed several?'
'No, you misunderstand me,' stammered Tartarus, distancing himself from the glaring Erebus, 'the ones who took the Holy Object! Not the Elites!'
'The Elites did not take the Holy Object?' asked Erebus, suddenly intrigued and perhaps frightened.
'No.'
'Then who did?'
Tartarus looked confused, seemingly reminiscing.
'They hovered through the corridors, awash in light so bright I could barely see them,' he said, 'the Elites seem to worship them, or at least consider them their leaders. They referred to them as 'Prophets'. I saw them as they left… the Holy Object seemed suspended in midair ahead of these… Prophets. How could they have done this, unless they possess godly power, Erebus?'
Erebus disliked the noticeable implications of admiration that Tartarus exuded. These Prophets were merely glorified thieves. Unquestionably powerful, although, nonetheless, utter thieves. His purposed seemed incredibly simple; reacquire the Holy Object, and destroy these heathen murderers. Tartarus required enlightening.
'They are not gods, Tartarus, nor are they anything to fear,' assured Erebus, pitying Tartarus' albinism. 'We will all clean our temple, prepare proper burials for our dead, and then we will gather those needed for appropriate actions. We will get the Holy Object back, I assure you of that.
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