The Elite was larger than anything Sargent Philmore "Thresher" Davidson had seen before. The monster stood at least eight and a half feet tall, maybe more, and it had the mass to match it's height; the EIites forearms were roughly the length of any humans entire leg. The creature seemed more akin to a brute than an Elite. Besides the two energy blades held in the Elites hands was a line of smaller, but still dangerous Sangheli warriors. Each one held a mean looking pike with a freshly sharpened blade that glinted in the afternoon sun. The Sarge's men had camped under an overhanging rock for the night, and were completely surrounded by the ring of deadly aliens. The monstrous Elite in the center stepped forward. Davidson could hear the impact under each step. Despite its physique, the alien was also unique in terms of its armor. It looked ceremonial, royal, even. The armor was colored chrome silver with gold highlights on some of the many indented lines along the head, neck, chest and arms. The armor seemed to mimic reptilian scales, and folded in on each other in perfect unison as the Elite moved towards the group of hapless marines.
Then, to Davidson's appall, the beast began to speak.
"Your road ends here. Your meaningless journeys cut short. Your futures extinguished. Do you know where you stand, vermin? This planet is rich with our lords gifts, and you desecrate them with your very existence!"
Davidson said nothing and the Elite continued.
"Despite your hopeless situation, it is dishonorable to kill you before you are given a chance to retaliate." Davidson's men took this as a hint and began to load their rifles.
"NOT. ONE. MORE. MOVE." The Elites growl echoed through the rocky canyon. It's voice softened to a calm, almost happy tone. Anticipation blazed in its yellow eyes.
"You all have a chance to escape your predicament, and it is quite simple. It deactivated one of his blades and threw it to a random marine. The soldier huffed under the weight of the metal hilt and gauntlet (as big as his forearm) hitting his stomach, knocking the wind out of him.
The Elite's stare was fixated on the man who caught his blade and pointed with the other of it's deadly weapons. "You. Me. To the death. If I win, you all die, if you win, you go free."
Davidson's fear turned to utter horror as he realized who the Elite had chosen. It was Private Maxwell. Maxwell was shy and often lagged behind the rest of the group. In marches he was always at the rear. In obstacle courses he was out of breath at the end. He was a gifted Warthog driver and a fair marksman, but Davidson could think of no one worse to take on the massive beast.
Maxwell looked at the Sargent with a pale face and pure terror and desperation in his eyes. Before he could do anything, two other Elites uncloaked themselves behind him and threw him into the middle of the ring. The private still had the massive hilt in his hands.
The Elite began slowly walking towards Maxwell. Davidson noted how quiet it was despite its titanic size. As the Elite advanced, Maxwell began to wildly shake the hilt, pressing his fingers up and down it multiple times. Davidson's blood froze.
The private had no idea how to turn the blade on.
Maxwell gave up, and dropped the hilt. He pulled his M6G magnum from its holster and turned to face his fate.
But fate had other ideas. By the time Maxwell had turned and even brought his pistol up, the Elite had snaked around him with an odd feline grace, and plunged its blade straight into his back. Maxwell gasped for air as he was lifted into the air by the Elite, still impaled on the blade. His body convulsed, and the life finally drained from his face.
Maxwell stood no chance.
The Elite deactivated it's blade and Maxwell's limp form hit the rocky floor. The rest of Davidson's squad had been watching the scene with abject horror.
"Weak and Undisciplined, like the rest of them" the Elite scoffed. It kicked Maxwell aside and moved to pick up it's second hilt. The rage began to build in Davidson, an he was just about to order his squad to fire when the Elite leaned into it's counterpart and said "Execute them all." In unison, the rest of the Elites dropped their pikes and drew their claw shaped plasma rifles. They aimed at the marines, and the last thing Davidson saw before fading away way the massive Elite walking away as his men fell around him.
Then, to Davidson's appall, the beast began to speak.
"Your road ends here. Your meaningless journeys cut short. Your futures extinguished. Do you know where you stand, vermin? This planet is rich with our lords gifts, and you desecrate them with your very existence!"
Davidson said nothing and the Elite continued.
"Despite your hopeless situation, it is dishonorable to kill you before you are given a chance to retaliate." Davidson's men took this as a hint and began to load their rifles.
"NOT. ONE. MORE. MOVE." The Elites growl echoed through the rocky canyon. It's voice softened to a calm, almost happy tone. Anticipation blazed in its yellow eyes.
"You all have a chance to escape your predicament, and it is quite simple. It deactivated one of his blades and threw it to a random marine. The soldier huffed under the weight of the metal hilt and gauntlet (as big as his forearm) hitting his stomach, knocking the wind out of him.
The Elite's stare was fixated on the man who caught his blade and pointed with the other of it's deadly weapons. "You. Me. To the death. If I win, you all die, if you win, you go free."
Davidson's fear turned to utter horror as he realized who the Elite had chosen. It was Private Maxwell. Maxwell was shy and often lagged behind the rest of the group. In marches he was always at the rear. In obstacle courses he was out of breath at the end. He was a gifted Warthog driver and a fair marksman, but Davidson could think of no one worse to take on the massive beast.
Maxwell looked at the Sargent with a pale face and pure terror and desperation in his eyes. Before he could do anything, two other Elites uncloaked themselves behind him and threw him into the middle of the ring. The private still had the massive hilt in his hands.
The Elite began slowly walking towards Maxwell. Davidson noted how quiet it was despite its titanic size. As the Elite advanced, Maxwell began to wildly shake the hilt, pressing his fingers up and down it multiple times. Davidson's blood froze.
The private had no idea how to turn the blade on.
Maxwell gave up, and dropped the hilt. He pulled his M6G magnum from its holster and turned to face his fate.
But fate had other ideas. By the time Maxwell had turned and even brought his pistol up, the Elite had snaked around him with an odd feline grace, and plunged its blade straight into his back. Maxwell gasped for air as he was lifted into the air by the Elite, still impaled on the blade. His body convulsed, and the life finally drained from his face.
Maxwell stood no chance.
The Elite deactivated it's blade and Maxwell's limp form hit the rocky floor. The rest of Davidson's squad had been watching the scene with abject horror.
"Weak and Undisciplined, like the rest of them" the Elite scoffed. It kicked Maxwell aside and moved to pick up it's second hilt. The rage began to build in Davidson, an he was just about to order his squad to fire when the Elite leaned into it's counterpart and said "Execute them all." In unison, the rest of the Elites dropped their pikes and drew their claw shaped plasma rifles. They aimed at the marines, and the last thing Davidson saw before fading away way the massive Elite walking away as his men fell around him.