Grasslands

by PseudoFiction

00 - INTRODUCTION

Warriors and priestesses first!
Space... a seemingly boundless expanse of vacuum, the majority of which only home to sporadic particles of gasses, dust and electromagnetic radiation. No living creature could live in it, yet space was home to countless different sentient species and civilisations. Home to infinite galaxies, stars and planets – it couldn’t not be.

It was in space the planet of Equus hung, surrounded by a void of pitch black. No stars, no dust, no asteroids... just a curtain of inky darkness beyond the two satellites.

As the planet pivoted, to an onlooker it would have seemed the sun was rising just over the world’s event-horizon. In actuality, with the sun orbiting the planet instead of the other way around, the sun was literally rising over the horizon. The ions in the toxic upper atmosphere of the habitable planet glinted cool aqua mixed with fiery oranges and reds as the mighty charge of Princess Celestia rose in steady orbit, giving the impression the planet was bleeding out into space. The rays of light coasted over the exosphere to catch on the craggy pale face of the lunar body. The light reflected to catch on the dark side of the planet, glinting and igniting billions of dust particles trapped in the thermo and mesosphere, spreading what appeared to be a starry sky over the largest of the land-masses.

Beyond the orbiting sun and moon however, there was nothing to be had. A low density of plasma of hydrogen, helium particles, neutrinos... in all, nothing particularly exciting.

Until an anomaly opened up.

A jagged arc of lightening tore through the black veil of infinity cast over Equus, only a stone-throw distance of a few billion kilometers away from the sun’s orbit. Smaller cracks formed along the edges of the bolt as space was literally tweaked open by hundreds of tiny invisible fingers, each working to grip and bend back the very canvas of space and time, spilling brilliant white light into the space around the crack.

It came shooting out of the tear in space before the wound healed nearly instantaneously behind it and the object jolted to a sudden halt far beyond Equus’ immediate gravitational pull. It was a craft, sleek and bulbous towards the bow with thousands of multi-colored running lights winking along the mid-section. Drifting lazily in space with cool plasma venting from the aft propulsion systems, the profile might have reminded an observer of a fishing-hook.

It presented a three-quarter view to Equus’ celestial body, the blazing sun’s light glinting against the rounded nose of the Salvation.

She drifted calmly for a moment before all hell broke loose.

The Covenant cruiser’s engines flickered and flared as pulses of energy rippled through the failing shields. The running lights flashed and died in sections. Soon things escalated as several airlocks over-pressurised and popped open, sending puffs of freezing vapour out into the void.

Then there was an explosion.

A section of hull tore open, the jagged edges bending backwards as a blaze of bright orange flame vented into space, extinguishing almost immediately. Molten slag formed a glittering halo over the cruiser as several more explosions ripped open the hull sending debris scattering out into the vacuum.

Far from the explosions, deep within the crew deck of the Salvation, a young junior priestess of the Covenant threw herself from her quarters. The doors had swished aside automatically, spilling the harsh corridor lighting into her room, and letting the heavy odour of incense escape in her wake.

“Emergency!” the gruff shipmaster bellowed so clearly, it was almost as if he were standing right beside her. “All hands, report to assigned escape units and abandon ship immediately!”

Morning prayer would have to wait.

With barely enough time to grab her things, Neyla ‘Irairesi looked herself over. The young priestess had her ocean blue-green plume tied back into a neat braid, lacked any of the makeup that normally paled her ashy-grey skin and was clad in her normal daytime clothes. In her line of work presentation was essential, and normally no mortal eyes would behold her in her current state. Though considering the situation, the simple black tunic hugging her slim body would have to suffice.

The tunic was by no means modest, sleeveless and ending just below her hips, but in the life and death situation she hardly cared for any modestly. The Gods would forgive her as long as she lived beyond today to spread the word of the Covenant.

Out in the hall, the Sangheili girl hopped clumsily on one hoof. The thick odour of incense followed her out as the priestess fumbled at the buckles on her right boot, simultaneously trying to shrug the strap of her bag higher on her shoulder. Finally clamping the boot-buckles down she planted her hooves steadily on the deck before she fell over. Working the strap of her bag over her torso she pushed the few belongings she was able to retrieve in time comfortably to her hip.

Neyla turned as a gaggle of short creatures waddled past her in a panic. The orange suited Unggoy ran comically while waving their disproportionately long arms above their heads, their high pitched screams audible through their masks. The priestess followed, overtaking the group of four swiftly as she ran in the direction of the escape pods.

“Calm yourselves!” the priestess bellowed in passing. “We shall not descend into panic merely because death lurks over our shoulders! Remain calm and proceed towards-...”

... the escape pods, is how she wanted to finish. However, the Unggoy exploded.

Or rather, the conduit running along the wall did. Capacitors overloaded as violent surges coursed through the entire ship causing the gentle purple lighting to flash and flicker. The resulting blast of vibrant blue energy and jagged arcs of static electricity threw the group of squat aliens to one side, splashing the fluorescent Unggoy blood across the opposite corridor wall.

The outer shockwave caught Neyla in the chest, causing a ripple to waver through her garb. She was lifted clean off her hooves as she held up her arms to protect herself from any debris. Regardless she was tossed backwards like a toy flung by an un-amused child, and slammed into the opposite wall.

With a moan she dropped to the deck, miraculously unharmed. A few bits of small debris had peppered her bare arms and legs, leaving small nicks in her leathery skin, but nothing that would leave any noticeable marks in the long term. She had been lucky.

Forcing herself up, she brushed back a few strands of hair that had escaped the braid. Stumbling away from the twisted bodies of the Unggoy, their limbs still twitching and breached suits venting puffs of cold gas. Shaking off her daze, Neyla paid the bodies no mind. There would be plenty of those before the day was over. She would pray for them later. First she had to ensure she lived long enough to do so.

She broke into a fresh run.

Whipping around a corner, the Sangheili stumbled mid-stride as another explosion rocked the ship. Neyla caught herself against the outer wall before clambering back up hand-over-hand to a balanced stance. Wall-plates buckled and bulkheads groaned with the stress as the Salvation warped out of shape. Explosions rippled within and tore chunks out of the hull without mercy or any regard for Covenant property.

Taking a step down the final stretch of corridor, a particularly gut-wrenching blast knocked her onto hands and knees. With a cringe she looked up. Whatever that was, it sounded expensive!

“The gravity-centrifuge just took a direct hit. It is spinning to zero.” Came a timely report over the intercom. Clearly someone on the bridge had forgotten to mute cross-chatter. Then again, they clearly had more pressing matters to deal with, like keep the cruiser flying long enough for the crew to abandon ship.

That will be several thousand credits the finance minister will never see again, Neyla mused as she quickly climbed to her hooves. She would only have a few more moments of stable gravity left and had to make the most of it.

Lowering her head into a sprint, the priestess’ soles pounded the deck noisily for the final two dozen metres to her assigned escape unit. As she passed several sealed bulkheads, the distinct thump of the sleek escape vessels launching off the hull of the Salvation could be heard.

Neyla’s assigned escape pod was no different from the others. A tube like pod with walls that were lined with crash seats outfitted with gravity restraint systems. A single escape pod housed easily a dozen Sangheili plus several Unggoy and Kig-Yar.

She assigned to share an escape pod with a Sangheili tactical squad, Gallant Team.

Led by Major Garreit ‘Vadamee, Gallant was one of few all-Sangheili tactical teams. Normally a Covenant military team would employ Sangheili in the command structure, with Unggoy in the front to draw fire and Kig-Yar for lank guard or as actual flankers. Gallant was one of a few teams bar the Sangheili Rangers where each role was filled by a Sangheili warrior, swordsmen in command, with sharpshooters on the flanks and automatic weapons for drawing enemy fire.

Major Garreit was the kind of character that commanded immediate respect. An excellent tactician, having graduated with honours from the prestigious Vadam War-College his build suited his reputation. Noting Kojo’s team-mates, leader included, Neyla became painfully aware how small she was compared to a typical warrior. Standing about a head shorter and lacking the extensive musculature of her species’ male counterpart, Neyla was significantly slimmer.

And there was no argument about Neyla gaining in speed and agility where she lost musculature. All of the bigger warriors were just as agile as she was, maybe even more thanks to their extensive combat training.

Towering over Neyla in the doorway leading into the escape pod was Major Garreit, hunched over one of his warriors – a technical specialist no doubt – knelt by the door-console. The technician was jabbing mercilessly at the holo-controls, but every attempt at accessing the commands he required was met by an irritable beep.

Eventually the technician gave up and pounded his fist against the holographic panel, causing it to flicker crimson. “The doors are malfunctioning. They will not seal, and without a proper seal the release mechanism will not let go. There is nothing I can do.”

Their escape unit had one distinct difference from the others then. It didn’t work!

Major Garreit let out a deep sigh before turning his head to address Neyla. He noticed she was barely out of breath despite her scramble to the escape pod. She had even been quick enough to pack a quick overnight bag. On top of that, her expression gave nothing away of her fear she may die. Her grit amused him, a quality not too common among Sangheili females who were more often than not unfamiliar with the cold gaze of looming death.

Despite his amusement, he did not smile. His quad-mandibles clicked together before the major lifted his head with a defeatist sense of purpose. “Then we shall meet our fate.” He stated as more explosions rocked the deck. They would not whimper or cower, but meet their death with heads held high.

They would die with honour. And they would have the honour of a priestess of the Covenant escorting them to the afterlife.

On the other hand though, aforementioned priestess had no intention of dying. Quitting like that was not her way. She was raised – no, she was trained to persevere. The Covenant faith was all about perseverance through the obstacles in the way of their Great Journey. Death was one such obstacle Neyla became determined to overcome. Her expression remained stalwart as she gritted her quad-jaws together deep in thought.

Even as the major announced they were to succumb to their fate, and the warriors of Gallant bowing their heads for their final prayers before passage into paradise; Neyla was planning. Her mind’s gears were working in overtime as she came up with a solution to their predicament as quickly as possible.

The situation seemed helpless, however there was a way. There was always a way.

And the way through she came up with was crude, but it was something at least. There might be a manual override to launch the unit... but it would take some improvisation.

“Negative.” Neyla announced, earning a strange frown from the major. “You and your warriors shall die in battle, major. Not like this. Force these doors shut and weld them so. Make sure it is air-tight. A plasma pistol should suffice for the task.” The priestess pointed out as she unslung her bag and handed it to the major.

Garreit took it by the strap and gingerly held it back for one of his subordinates to stow in the equipment racks. “While you do what?” the larger Sangheili demanded to know as some of his underlings rose curiously to their hooves.

Neyla ignored Garreit and proceeded to ask: “Where can I find an eeh-vee-ay suit?”

“I will ask again, priestess. What are you-...”

“No time! Major, a suit!” Neyla pressed more urgently this time. She was standing to her full height, still not quite eye to eye with the major, but close.

The warrior slowly flexed his jaws, then raised a hand to point down the hallway. “An airlock, at the end of the corridor. Priestess, whatever you have planned, I would be more comfortable if you took one of my warriors with you. Aldro. Keep her safe.” He added over his shoulder.

The technician who had failed to operate the escape pod’s launch controls rose to his hooves, giving a typical salute. With a fist over his chest and his head bowed, the minor domo acknowledged his orders.

“It shall be done, major.”

Neyla wasn’t about to argue. There was hardly any time for that, nor was there any time to get her warrior escort up to speed. He would simply have to follow. So with a simple beckoning wave, the priestess led the minor in the direction the major had pointed.

They ran without signs of slowing even though every violent shake of the deck that threatened to throw them head over heels. In their wake several bulkheads hissed and slid shut, compartmentalising the ship to prevent total decompression. Twisting sideways, the duo managed to slip through one of the airlocks closing ahead of them, out-running the automatic compartmentalisation procedure.

A cold vapour materialised from Neyla’s agape mandibles as the temperature suddenly dropped. Several tiny breaches in the hull started playing havoc with life-support as the systems desperately continued cycling air through damaged sections of the Salvation. The two Sangheili were breathing hard as their oxygen supply thinned significantly as the air wailed and hissed out through the micro-fractures.

An explosion caused Neyla’s ears to pop. A haze of thick smoke filled her already limited air-supply, causing her to choke and gag. Globules of molten slag, a haze of glittering shards of shattered crystal circuits and fibre-optics glistened all around Neyla in something of an artificial aura. Gripping her throat; to make it worse she lost balance. Squeezing her eyes shut, she expected the ground to hit her full force... any second now...

Nothing happened. Blinking away tears, Neyla found herself tumbling head over heels through the air. Arching her back, she angled her gaze to see Aldro was struggling in a similar fashion to find something to grab hold of. He was spinning out of control, flexing his limbs as he tried to regain control in zero gravity.

That was it for the artificial gravity.

There was a gaping hole in one of the service-junctions somewhere ‘above’ Neyla. It spat sparks and fire that flowed like the mist emanating from a block of dry ice, clinging to the corridor’s walls. In the zero gravity, the fire seemed to flow like liquid, tongues of orange and vibrant blue swirling and cascading across the sleek corridor. Curling into a ball, Neyla couldn’t tell with the thick smoke entering her nostrils, but wondered if she’d singed her plume.

She managed to reach out and grab the smooth edge of a support strut on the opposite end of the corridor. Swinging around, she wedged her hooves between the strut and the corridor’s outer walls. At the same time she reached out and grabbed hold of the warrior’s wrist, pulling him in against the wall so he could right himself before helplessly drifting into the liquid flames now rippling through the air. They would only have a few more moments of reprieve before the fire filled the corridor completely.

Looking a little embarrassed that he had to be rescued by the priestess, Neyla ignored him before twisting around and kicking off. Aldro followed suit and the duo soared the final dozen metres to the airlock Major Garreit had indicated before.

Grabbing the edge of the bulkhead, Neyla swung around and crashed against the inner wall of the airlock. Aldro followed, but flew straight and true, crashing into a set of lockers. The combined weight of the muscle-bound warrior and his ceramic armour caused the locker doors to buckle and break, scattering the contents.

The priestess wasted no time in keying the airlock controls and sealed the doors.

The atmosphere and local gravity stabilised, sending both Sangheili crashing to the ground while gasping for air. Landing on top of them was the random junk that had drifted from the lockers and cubby-holes Aldro had accidentally broken open on impact.

“Gods!” the warrior chocked as he managed to sit up, dropping a helmet by his side. “I surely thought we would perish!”

Jumping to her hooves, Neyla staggered to one of the nearest EVA-suits hanging in the racks along the airlock wall. “Not yet.” She said as she pulled it down.

“These suits only offer an hour of life-support.” Aldro said pointedly as she followed her lead. “We will have to hope rescue comes quickly.”

“One problem at a time.” Neyla replied. They would cross that bridge when they came to it.

Opening the front down to the mid-section, she stepped into the padded bulky pale blue suit and shrugged it up over her shoulders. Not an easy task with the way the whole ship was rocking with each blast tearing the Salvation’s hull new port-holes.

Grey coloured impact plating settled into place over slim body as she worked her hands through the sleeves. Wiggling her fingers into the attached gloves, she straightened out the knuckle plates and flexed the pauldrons into place before closing the front over. Already Neyla’s pixie-physique bulked out to the build of a Jiralhanae with a taste for pies thanks to the insulated EVA-suit. As she donned the suit she reached over and pulled a plasma pistol from a nearby rack, slotting it against a magnetic holster on her thigh.

Crouching before her, Aldro helped secure the seals along the front of the suit. “Let me help you, priestess.”

“Negative. I can do this.” Neyla assured as she worked from the top while Aldro worked from the bottom. “See to your own suit.”

“I will just be a moment.” He nodded. “Just have to-...”

The final seal on Neyla’s suit clicked home. Sealed tight around her slender neck, all that was exposed was her head. And at the very same moment, the airlock’s outer doors buckled.

Neyla had no idea how it had happened, but something exploded along the outer doors. The slabs of twisted alloy were instantly sucked out into the void, along with the air being fed into the cramped chamber. With it went Aldro.

The priestess remembered seeing his wide-eyed expression a moment before he was sent spiralling out into the endless vacuum. Neyla could do little to stop herself from following. She slipped around the jagged edge of what used to be the bulkhead, followed by flash-frozen condensation sucked out in glittering clouds.

The sound of rushing air continued as the vents continued to desperately feed air into breached section of the Salvation, carelessly overloading life-support. For every ounce pumped in, two were sucked out into space.

Eventually a four fingered hand reached over the edge of the bulkhead and clamped down on the first and best handhold it could find.

With a heave, Neyla dragged her torso around the sharp remains of the bulkhead, careful not to catch her suit on any jagged edges. She gasped desperately, blistering cold air beating her in the face as she entered gale winds flowing out of the airlock. She still didn’t have a helmet to complete her suit.

As the Sangheili spotted it, one of the helmets was torn from a nearby cubicle. The unit was standard EVA headgear, a dome shaped visor with adjustable seals around the neck, compatible with standard suits and EVA-armour.

Neyla reached out to grab the helmet as it tumbled past her, but she missed. At the same time, her remaining hand slipped from the anchor and she was dragged screaming out into space after it. Blowing all the air out of her lungs with a cry of defiance, Neyla quickly kicked her legs, flailing out with both hands at the tumbling helmet.

Two grasps missed, before she swung her left hand around again. The third lunge met its mark and she caught the helmet by the chin-section. Curling into a foetal position, the priestess wasted no time slipping the helmet over her head, tumbling head over heels as she did so. The back of the gear pressed uncomfortably against her braided plume, but the seals locked around her neck none the less before a distinct hiss caused her ear-drums to give a light pop.

In the space of a gasping breath for fresh air, she completed the transition between no atmosphere and becoming dependent on the oxygen tank mounted to the suit’s shoulder-blade. The heads up display flashed to life displaying a small suit-integrity-diagram and remaining breathing time. All lights flashed green across the board as she straightened out and puffed the suit’s built in jets.

Puffs of vapour exploded from the nacelles on her calves and clavicles, cancelling her tumble and letting her drift calmly a few dozen meters off the Salvation’s hull. Despite the explosions lighting up the darkness around her – gas, fire and debris venting out into the space everywhere – all Neyla could hear was the hollow noise of her own breathing, savouring each relieving lung-full of air.

Several twisted chunks of viciously barbed hull-plating torn free in the blasts scythed past the priestess as she strafed out of the way. Ignited plasma leaked out of the engineering decks below forming a mesmerising cloud of glistening death. Her suit wasn’t exactly well armoured. It would barely protect her from sharp debris. And if she drifted into that plasma it would be game over.

Tucking her arms to her sides, she straightened out her back and looked ‘up’ a little. The EVA-thrusters puffed in response and propelled her forward. Neyla was sent skimming over the Salvation’s hull, back towards where Gallant were waiting in the escape pod. The unit was impossible to mistake among the many bare bulkheads peppered along the cruiser’s warped hull. It was the only appendage, a sleek tube standing like a stubborn lone tree in levelled woodland.

As she approached, she heard a voice on the open cross-comm.

“Aldro! Report!” came Major Garreit’s distinct voice.”

“This is Neyla.” The priestess replied sincerely. “Aldro did not make it.”

“Gods be damned!”

Her mandibles went slack as she gaped, shocked to hear such blasphemy announced openly in her presence. “Major!” she cried.

The major quickly composed himself after that little outburst. “My apologies, priestess. He was a good warrior.”

“And we shall lose no more. I am nearing the escape pod now, major. Has the door been sealed?”

“It is a crude weld, milady, but it will hold.” Garreit confirmed.

“Outstanding. Secure yourselves. We shall be leaving shortly.”

Reaching out, Neyla caught herself along the side of the escape pod. She held on to a railing circling the mid-section of the pod while her free hand reached down and unencumbered the plasma pistol locked to her thigh.

Holding the escape pod in place were four quart placed locks. They contained small plasma charges that detonated to release the pod into space quickly in the case of an emergency. However, the connection between the charges and the pod’s controls were clearly severed. Neyla would have to detonate them manually.

Aiming carefully, she squeezed the plasma pistol’s trigger. The weapon vibrated as bolts of crackling energy slashed from the muzzle and impacted the first of the charges. With a thunk that vibrated through the hull of the sleek craft, the plasma ignited and severed the first of the anchors.

Shimming around, Neyla repeated the process. A few bolts later, the last of the anchors let go with a distinct thunk!

“Major, the pod is free.” Neyla announced as she let go of the plasma pistol and locked both hands on the railing. “Launch now!”

The Sangheili warrior didn’t even reply. The boosters flared with white-hot energy and the escape pod jetted out into space. Not safe within the fields of the inertia-dampening fields, Neyla took the burst of the sudden acceleration. The sudden jerk of motion nearly ripped her arms off, but she hung on tightly as she was dragged along with the craft, spinning clear of the exploding Salvation.

The Salvation was not the only ship of the Radiant Blades fleet to drop out of slip-space.

Several more ships jolted into existence in the surrounding space – a dozen of them to be exact. And among the other cruisers was a distinct hulk of sleek purple alloy. Built in the same shape, but in much more immense dimensions, the super-carrier Sanctum held position in the midst of the cruisers being lit up. Little over forty Covenant cruisers wrapped into one, the super-carrier didn’t seem to suffer the same damage as the other ships. Some of the vessels exploded outright. Others were merely flung off course as propulsion systems malfunctioned. Two cruisers in particular exploded in a joint ball of plasma as one lost control and coasted into the other’s flank.

And yet the mighty Sanctum held her ground, unmoved and unhindered. Several plasma guns went up in flames, and the engines clearly stalled, but other than that there didn’t seem to be any detrimental damage.

“Priestess! Are you there?” Garreit called, dragging Neyla out of her daze.

“I am here, major.” The priestess sighed.

“We are clear of the immediate danger. What is your status, milady?”

Neyla wasn’t listening. As she caught up on the sharp acceleration and the gees levelled out, she calmly held on to the railing with one hand and straightened out. Her heavily tinted visor glinted against the nearest sun a she gazed at the planet below. She was focused on the steady rhythm of her breaths blowing against the face-plate, cherishing these fleeting moments of calm.

“I am a leaf on the wind.” She whispered softly.

“Priestess?” Garreit inquired worriedly. “Are you there!?”

The priestess let out a breath before raising her voice to a more audible level. “I am intact, major. But we will require rescue rather soon.” Neyla informed. “Have you managed to contact the Sanctum?”

“Affirmative. Their damage is minimal and they are sending resc-...” the major was mid-report when another voice cut across him.

“By the Gods. Major, look!” one of Gallant’s younger warriors cried.

Neyla turned her head, in a way following their gazes. Her eyes were drawn back to the Salvation as she lit up for the final light-show.

Explosions plumed up around the mid-section, slag and dust spitting out into space and forming a halo around the vessel. Molten segments of hull stretched and warped, snapping as the alloys instantly cooled and turned brittle. In seconds the vessel was shorn clean in two, like a twig broken over a giant’s knee.

But it didn’t end there. The two sections of the devastated ship barely drifted clear of each other before the rupture was filled with white light. Static electricity of immense proportions slashed through the darkness, engulfing sections of the Salvation’s remaining hull. Tears and holes were tweaked into the space surrounding the cruiser, the tears into slip-space healing nearly immediately as the fabrics of reality were wounded.

“Radiation spike.” Garreit whispered before raising his voice urgently. “Slipspace detonation! Brace for impa-...”

He didn’t get to finish as the Salvation’s remnants were consumed in a ball of blinding white light.

Neyla blinked hard a few times, trying to wipe out the multi-coloured spots filling her vision. But when they did vanish, she wished they’d obscure her vision again. When looking up she expected to see nothing but space. What she saw was debris. It rained all around them, scything through space and filling what once was a void of nothing. For every action there was equal and opposite reaction. The slip-space detonation occurred within the heart of the Salvation, scattering her remnants outwards like the ripples of water when a stone was cast in a pond.

Something smashed into the nose of the escape pod, cratering the hull and sending the craft spinning off course. The sudden change in trajectory caused the sleek shell of the pod to smack against Neyla’s body and throw her free.

With a cry she twisted round and desperately lunged for something – anything – go grab hold of. Her fingertips brushed the railing, but she was already out of range, flailing her limbs helplessly as she was carried off into space. The escape pod with Gallant on board spiralled off in one direction, puffs of dust and gas spitting into space as she was struck by several more chunks of debris and molten slag.

Neyla was dragged off in another direction.

She straightened out; about to activate the EVA-suit’s thrusters when something hit her. Rounded and dull, it slammed into her mid-section, driving the wind out of her lungs and causing the Sangheili to double over in pain. Another rogue piece of the Salvation struck the back of her leg, snapping her around into another disorienting tumble. Beyond her visor everything was a blur, pieces of cruiser raining like a deadly meteor shower all around, glistening droplets of slag blotting and hardening on her visor.

Swallowing down the urge to throw up in her helmet, Neyla focused on her HUD. The suit-diagnostics flashed red over key sections of the diagram. Thrusters – offline. Life-support – critical.

Without thrusters or any other means of manoeuvring, Neyla could to little more than cross her arms over her visor and brace for inevitable impact.

...

Or perhaps she would simply dri-... CRUNCH!

Grasslands

Under New Management.
The sharp sound of steel meeting dirt filled the cool morning air. The sun was rising slowly over the far off mountains, a sharp glint of light flaring from the city of Canterlot. Cold dew clung to the Everfree foliage. The opening songs of the early-birds chimed over the digging noises in the background.

Twilight Sparkle gazed inquisitively down at the dirt between her forehooves as she was surrounded by chill banks of frozen mist. A cool breeze washed over her lavender coat, playing at the ends of her purple mane and tail and causing a cold shiver to knife down her spine.

She ignored it, mesmerised by the glint in the dirt. It reminded her of a chunk of steel, like a coin dropped in a busy market street or a shard of glassed earth – victim to a recent lightning strike.

Had she found another piece? It was worth investigating.

Balancing on three legs, she gingerly reached out before the unicorn gently stamped at the surrounding dirt. She carefully worked her hoof over the shiny surface of the object, brushing away layers of dirt – working slowly, moving away mere grains at a time.

Eventually she pressed down on one side. A shard of steel suddenly erupted from the dirt, like a foal had pounced on one end of a see-saw. It was only a few inches long, millimetres thick and straight-edged all around. Silvery-grey in colour, it had withstood the test of time and remained perfectly smooth and polished. Etched into the surface were a set of intricate swirls, dashes and dots – some kind of alien scripture beyond Twilight’s immediate comprehension. She would have to check her references and notes, but on first glance it was definitely a significant find. Though had she found the object a month ago, she would have mistaken the alien calligraphy for some kind of other-worldly art, or map.

The unicorn’s horn glowed with soft purple light. The same light gathered around her find and delicately lifted it into the air so she could inspect it more closely. With the plate of alien alloy firmly grasped in her telekinetic grip, Twilight Sparkle turned and cantered back through the mist engulfing the Everfree Forest.

Normally she would have opted more caution and alertness while wandering through the forest. But today she was not alone.

As the first of the sun’s warming rays struck Equestria, the air began to slowly rise in temperature. The banks of cold mist rose, thinning out as they did and revealing more of the forest clearing around Twilight as she walked. She barely lifted her head to greet a passing stallion. The buff-looking earth pony had a pickaxe tucked into one of his saddle-bags, and a bright orange hard-hat perched on his head.

“Mornin’, Miss Sparkle.” The pony greeted gruffly in passing.

“Mmm-hmmm.” Still scrutinising her find, Twilight moved on absent mindedly.

The sound of digging became more prominent as she moved further into the clearing. She left the carpets of grass and moss and felt her hooves strike recently disturbed dirt and muck. And soon she was walking over boards of mud-caked wood with a distinct clip-clop. More of the mist rose as Twilight paused and peeked up from the slab of metal to get her bearings.

On her flanks were deep grooves cut into the earth. Unicorns, pegasi and earth ponies with digging implements were cutting into the ground. Picking away at chunks of rock, shovelling aside piles of muck, filling buckets of muddy water and chucking them out of the excavation area. Wooden plinths held up the walls of the excavation area and formed makeshift bridges along and over the gaping holes mined into the face of Equestria.

Other than the general workers mindlessly hacking at the earth, there were also some more careful figures. Unicorns in particular levitating tiny trowels and various brushes were very slowly excavating what they had found. Structures of tempered stone and steel just below the surface of Everfree.

Structures not of pony design.

Identifying the path to the camp, Twilight moved on. Leaving the excavation site in her wake she made her entrance to the camp. Though it was no pony camp.

The tents were a bland purple-ish colour with hardened shells. There were erected antennae and rather large domes with double doors and hissing gas tanks pumping freezing cold methane gas inside. There were stacks of tall, sleek looking crates and humming electronic devices feeding thick cables into communications arrays.

Near the centre of the camp was a dais sporting a bright blue glowing core. Floating on the emanated pillar of light was a platform, hanging steady a dozen metres in the air.

The ring-shaped platform bobbed very slightly as the on-board weight shifted. A single figure leaned over the railing and looked down at Twilight as she passed.

With unblinking eyes, the Kig-Yar sniper watched the unicorn pass. Saurian in nature, the Kig-Yar were a small, agile bipedal species that reminded Twilight of dragons. They had reasonably frail and weak looking frames compared to the dragons Twilight had seen, but made up for it with sharp claws, keen senses and nimble bodies. Twilight had seen Kig-Yar jump higher than most ponies could, and she was very sure even her friend Applejack would have a run for her money in a race with one of the aliens.

As she moved through the camp, Twilight Sparkle started to notice some more of the alien races that made up the theocratic hegemony known as the Covenant.

More Kig-Yar with rounded energy shields mounted on their forearms patrolled the camp perimeter with keen eyes. With them were some significantly lazier creatures known as the Unggoy. Small aliens about the height of a pony, they were bipedal with short little legs and large forearms ending in three digits. The aliens were clad entirely in a hardened body-suit with a large pyramid-shaped tank on their backs used to simulate their unique home’s atmosphere.

The few Unggoy on patrol seemed to slouch as they waddled tiredly in the wake of their Kig-Yar superiors, dragging their long arms along the ground. Others seemed to be charged with lugging crates in pairs. A few Twilight spied had snuck away for some extra moments of sleep behind the tents.

Though the Kig-Yar were ordering Unggoy around, the saurian aliens were far from the top of the chain-of-command. The uppermost links in the Covenant – that Twilight was aware of – were reserved for the creatures known as the Sangheili.

One such creature Twilight walked up to.

He was standing at the far edge of the camp, back straight with hands clamped behind his back. He was gazing out over the edge of a ridge, overlooking the lower Equestria countryside sprawled out for miles before him.

About eight feet of leathery hide, muscle and merciless zealotry, the Sangheili were certainly frightening looking. She knew they were honourable creatures with a culture steeped in duty and nobility – not to mention the blood of their enemies. They had come to Equestria in peace and accepted Celestia’s laurel-branch of friendship. But they were still fierce and intimidating. Twilight was a believer of the phrase ‘don’t judge a book by the cover.’ But just by looking at them, anypony would know the Sangheili were a species bred for conflict.

Probably the most noticeable feature – certainly not the most striking, but definitely noticeable – were the hooves. Not four legged creatures like ponies, though hooved, the Sangheili were bipedal, but at the same time snake-like. Powerful digitigrade legs and bands of powerful muscle visible on their bare arms indicated the aliens were agile and strong. Their arms ended in hands with four digits each. Two opposable thumbs on each hand added a sense of dexterity and strength to their grip that even telekinesis could not provide.

The Sangheili had very tall figures, and broad barrel chests. Long reptilian necks leading into a fierce looking head. They were clearly a carnivorous species, judging by the rows of sharp hooked teeth within the frightful looking quad-split mandibles.

Their large forms were often clad in armour leaving only the leathery skin on their arms and neck visible. Everything else was covered in dark coloured under-armour with plates of ceramic material laid over the top.

The field commander Twilight approached in particular was clad in a set of brilliant gold armour embedded with little jewel-like lights. Rarity would likely swoon at the sight of the masterful craftwork.

As Twilight Sparkle approached, the field commander looked away from the countryside and swivelled his gaze to meet hers. Slowly, the unicorn held up what she had found for the Sangheili to see properly. Gingerly the alien reached out and gently plucked it from Twilight’s grip.

Surveying the alien symbols like a pilgrim laying eyes upon a holy land, the field commander’s face changed. Twilight wasn’t sure if Sangheili ever smiled. If they did, she had no idea what the expression would look like, not with those four-way jaws. The field commander’s expression shifted as the muscles in his reptilian face relaxed. Twilight could only assume he was smiling.

The field commander nodded approvingly to the unicorn – confirming her assumptions – before resuming his gaze over the countryside.

The sun rose further, casting a long and gloomy shadow over the postcard town of Ponyville below. In the summer’s morning sun the streets remained dim and cold as Celestia’s sun was blocked by the immense super-carrier Sanctum holding position in Equestria’s clean blue sky.

Comments

[N00813]

I saw the cover, and I thought it was just another Covie-invades-gets-beaten-by-one-human Halo fic.

I was pleasantly surprised. This is actually quite original.

I do think you may need a proof-reader, though. I spotted a few areas where you needed extra commas:

The doors had swished aside automatically spilling the harsh corridor lighting into her room, and letting the heavy odour of incense escape in her wake.

should be:

The doors had swished aside automatically, spilling the harsh corridor lighting into her room, and letting the heavy odour of incense escape in her wake.

There was also a phrase: 'black veil of infinity' that I thought needed work.

All in all, a very good start.

One more thing; I think 'Covenant' should not be italicized.

[PseudoFiction]

1943094
for constructive criticism. I'm gonna look into that. Thanks. You get a thumbs-up.