Chapter 9: You First, Asshole
Death came at Marcus like a thunderbolt. Only razor sharp reflexes, honed by decades of front line combat enabled the seasoned veteran to raise his rifle in time to deflect to deadly Locust blade bearing down on him. The weight of the blow forced the human warrior to one knee as his sniper rifle bent and collapsed under the strain of the onslaught. Desperate to put some distance between himself and his sudden assailant, Marcus rolled backwards across the littered marble floor, dropping his now ruined Longshot and ducking into cover behind the solid oak wardrobe.
After taking a moment to catch his breath, he scoped out his situation. The pale, scaly figure was taller than the standard Grunt, and had obviously been trained much more diligently. He didn't appear to have any firearms, but the reach of his blade and apparent speed would make up for his lack of range. His strength was unbelievable, and the Gear knew he wouldn't be able to match him in a contest of pure power. Marcus was strangely reminded of his battle with the Kantus high priest Skorge in the Locust palace, and a thought entered his mind.
“You've been tracking us?”, he called out, digging for information.
The sergeant caught the briefest glimpse of pure hatred in his opponent's eyes as he replied in a voice like blended gravel.
“I have been hunting you.” The menacing swordsman replied, glaring at the wardrobe the Gear was using for cover, almost like he was trying to ignite it with nothing but the malice of his gaze.
“You killed the ponies in the forest?”
“I disposed of weak fools, not worthy of my strength! Their blood flowed for the Queen!”
“Ah, great.” Marcus thought as he pulled a small device from his belt. “A zealot.”
Sergeant Fenix was not allowed another moment's respite by his foe. The dark swordsman shifted his stance and lunged forward with the speed and grace of an old predator, his face twisted in an awful sneer. The assassin's sword pierced the wardrobe, penetrating into the Gear's cover. For the second time in mere moments, Marcus' fighting instincts had saved him. He dove across the floor and swung behind the lavish sofa, drawing his Lancer as he slid. The fiend drew his blade from the wooden armoire, shattering it in the process. A small “beep” was barely audible over the clatter of the furniture's destruction, and Marcus allowed himself the tiniest smirk of satisfaction in having read his opponent's moves so clearly. The proximity trigger set off the grenade he had planted on the wardrobe.
*WUMP*
A shower of fire and shrapnel violently sprayed the chamber, knocking the evil creature across the room, throwing him solidly into the granite wall. Some might have considered the battle over, but once again experience told Marcus that he wasn't out of trouble yet. Pulling the charge lever on his assault rifle, he proceeded to unleash a scalding rain of molten lead at his foe. Even as the first slugs spewed from the COG soldier's rifle however, the heavily muscled Locust was already to his feet, his mighty legs propelling him forward, dashing and dodging like a shadowy blur. In a moment, he was on top of Marcus again, the wicked steel of his blade striking like a viper seeking the blood of its prey. Sergeant Fenix was ready for him this time, his chainsaw bayonet already revved to speed. Metal blade and smoldering teeth clashed in a rain of sparks and smoke. The angry vibrations of the chainsaw rattled against the ancient steel of the Locust's sword. Though metal shavings and sweaty grime clouded his vision, Marcus stared down the imposing figure before him, each giving their fullest effort to break the others defenses. The Locust warrior pressed down, his full weight behind his blade, his lips spread into a disgusting facsimile of a cruel smile. A voice full of hate seethed from his clenched and blood stained teeth.
“Filthy human, you will die by my hand!”
The shaking of the blades came to a head, and for one dreadful instant the COG soldier could feel his position weakening. His muscles strained, his joints ached, and every inch of him burned. Marcus refused to give in, pushing every ounce of his being with the strength and tenacity he had built over a lifetime of war. Still, the Locust did not relent. Marcus could feel dark thoughts enter his mind. It would be so easy to let go, to just give up. Back and back he fell, his attacker as unforgiving as a hurricane of pure murderous intent. The Gear's heart surrendered hope as he was forced to one knee.
With a final push, the Locust let loose a rank howl as the fiend knocked Marcus' Lancer to the ground, dislocating the Gear's shoulder, and tossing the COG warrior across the room. As Marcus lay prostrate on the ground, his head spinning, his arm pounding and aching in agony, he felt his eyes grow heavy. He laid his head against the cool floor, and let himself drift. The Locust assassin stalked his prey, savoring every moment before the kill. Marcus knew it would be over soon. Then he heard something call to him, like a beacon in the darkest hours of midnight.
“Get up...”
The words washed over him like a wave crashing on a rocky shore. That voice...
“Marcus, get up...they still need you...”
The haunting voice of Carlos Santiago rang clear in his ears. Forcing himself over onto his belly, Marcus drug himself on his good arm through the debris of the ruined furniture. The dull footsteps of the predator pursued him, growing ever closer. Sergeant Fenix pushed himself forward, clawing his way an arm's length at a time. Just as he felt his fingers wrap tightly around something familiar, a scaled hand grasped the collar of his armor, and hoisted him up. Marcus was face to face with a visage of merciless death. The tainted maw spewed rancid breath that nearly made the Gear wretch, and the burning heat of a deepest loathing pierced the human from raging ebony eyes. The Locust's lips peeled back in a nightmarish smile, quivering in anticipation, as his rust colored fangs dripped with satisfaction.
“Know that you perish at the hands of Scryed. Your sins have brought the wrath of the Queen upon you. Now...die...”
“You first, asshole.”
Marcus jammed his ruined sniper rifle against Scryed's chest and jerked the trigger. The hammer fell, and the round detonated inside the twisted weapon, force exploding outward like a small pipe bomb. Shrapnel and fire tore across the Locust's torso, and his dark blood spilled and burned. The assassin dropped Marcus as he covered his wounds and screamed in rage.
“AAARGH, WRETCHED GROUNDWALKER!”
The aging Gear wasted no time in pressing his new found advantage. Tossing aside the smoldering remnants of his faithful Longshot and pulling a smoke grenade from his belt, he rushed Scryed with all the speed he could muster. Flicking the claw mechanism, he rammed the small cylinder into the staggering Locust's chest, the grenade's claws locking to the black leather armor. With every remaining ounce of strength he could manage, Marcus kicked Scryed in the chest, out through the glass doors and onto the veranda. Just as the Locust assassin halted his backward momentum, the grenade detonated. The concussive blast knocked the hideous creature over the railing, and Marcus could hear a blood chilling scream fade into the distance.
Marcus clutched tightly at his dislocated arm. Through the shattered glass doors, he could still make out the sounds of battle. Delicately, he bent down and retrieved his Lancer rifle, then made for the door. His job wasn't done yet.
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Somewhere below, Celestia's guards were just completing the work of mopping up the intruders in the garden. As the bulk of the ponies moved on to secure the rest of the palace, a small phalanx remained to protect the area. Cloud Twister, a pegasus in the Royal Air Force had been instructed to patrol the area and report any further enemy activity directly to Captain Shining Armor, despite the young pony's protests and wishes to fight on the front line. He was just making a low aerial pass of the perimeter when he noticed the glass ceiling of one of the garden's many pavilions had been caved in. He alighted on the roof, and peered in.
A large mass lay in a small crater in the marble floor. Dark blood pooled around the figure, and its entire body was covered in lacerations. A long sword lay nearby, shattered and ruined. Gently fluttering down, Cloud approached the body, his curious nature egging him to get a close up view of the face of the enemy. He nudged the body with his hoof gently, and it lay as still as ever. At the back of his mind, Cloud could feel part of himself shouting “retreat!”, but the bold and adventurous nature of his pegasus blood overrode any sense of self-preservation. He prodded again at the figure, attempting to roll the massive being over onto its back, and faster than he could even let loose a yelp, an iron grip was around his throat.
The bloodied Locust's eyes sprang open, and he began heaving blood and glass shards from his lungs. The excruciating pain was good. It meant he was alive. He hadn't yet failed in his mission. Not completely. The element of surprise was gone, but he would redeem himself, and slaughter the humans.
Cloud Twister's small armored hooves beat against Scryed's arm, but the Locust was much too strong, despite his injuries. With a quick squeeze he collapsed the pony's airway, and discarded the body on the floor as though it were trash. With reverence, he took up the hilt of his broken blade, enraged at its ruination. The fire in his icy heart raged and he retreated. This day belonged to the humans, but he would see that they suffered...
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A/N: HEY EVERYONE!!! I'm back! I know, it's been a long year, and I'm TRULY sorry for the wait, but with this submission, I hope to return to a regular schedule of updates. Thanks to everyone for your encouraging words while I was away, and I hope you find the action worth the wait. For you new readers, I hope that the story is as entertaining to read as it is to write. See you again soon!