Gambler
Banned
- Joined
- Apr 23, 2009
- Messages
- 2,855
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I don't know, Gabriel responded. A chorus of blaster fire answered. More men picked up arms and joined in the fight, streaming over rooftops and alleyways, a medley of black armbands. The "heretics" played their final hand, ambushing the prophet and his men at the headquarters. They outnumbered the prophet, their numbers growing every second.
It seemed that the heretics would overwhelm the prophet within minutes. Their numbers swelled and the prophet's men fell. Top notch armor was no match for repeated blaster fire. But the heretics lacked the training the prophet's men had. Discipline fell into place, and the remaining men fell into ranks. There were only half a dozen left, but they were enough to defend the prophet.
The prophet's men poured from the city hall, creating a protective wedge between the heretics and the prophet. Andraste and Gabriel were stuck in between the two groups. Weaponless, they could only watch as the city became a battlefield.
An explosion tore through the air. The blast ripped a hole in the prophet's ranks, an opening the heretics wasted no time taking. Pistols were dropped, vibroblades pulled out in their stead. A savage shout emerged from a faceless mass as the two collided. Screams followed shortly after. The hesitant were the first to fall. The weak followed thereafter.
Gabriel watched in fascination. Formless mobs clashed, one outnumbering the other. Individuals held no sway over the situation. Their power was simply part of a collective machine. The actions of a single man, woman, or child were negligible.
The prophet's ranks swelled around him, pushing him out of the battle. He lost sight of Andraste. For a moment he looked for her, but the distraction cost him. An elbow caught him in the chin, knocking him back a step. He stretched his jaw, ducking between the next set of elbows running his way.
An abandoned armory lay at his feet. Pistols, swords, rifles, most weapons he could name. Some were stained with blood from recent injuries. The rest were in various states of use. He snatched up the closest blade. After testing its weight, he began his hunt.
The prophet knelt near the doors of the city hall, his eyes closed in concentration. What remained of his original entourage flanked him, gazes set wide for any breach in the lines. There were only three of them. Gabriel weighed the odds, earning a glare as the men turned their attention onto him. His choice was made for him.
He slid into the first man, blade coming down on the man's blaster arm. His next slash left the man on the ground in a pool of his own blood. Gabriel whirled out of the way of a bundle of blaster shots, barely coming away unscathed. He was singed by a couple glancing shots as he closed, grimacing from the pain.
He didn't waste time lining up a clean stroke. He drove his blade into the man's chest. The answering gurgle satisfied him beyond measure. He wrenched the blade out, turning to face the final man. The last bodyguard was ready for him.
The bodyguard opened with a slash for his legs. Gabriel jerked himself away, bringing his sword down to split the man's skull. The bodyguard parried, lashing out at his midsection. Gabriel battered the strike out of the way. He winced as the bodyguard scored a hit on his arm, drawing a thin line across his bicep.
Anger and pain gave him the power to end the fight. He raised his hand, tossing the bodyguard to the ground with the Force. His blade slid into the man's stomach. He twisted it, pushing it in as deep as he could. Before he could extricate it, he slammed into the wall of the city hall. He grunted, his breath knocked out of him.
"Perhaps not your wisest move," the prophet said, rising from his meditation. "Taking advantage of us in a moment of weakness... how, apropos." The prophet wore his condescending smile. He looked down at Gabriel, as if he sat on a throne and Gabriel was a willful subject.
"Apropos," he continued, "only if successful. But you underestimate us. We are not so defenseless."
"Perhaps," Gabriel admitted, pushing himself off the wall.
"Taking advantage of strife puts you on the correct path. It is good to see our teachings heeded. A shame that we will have to kill you."
"Just try," he sneered.
The prophet smiled. "We'll do more than that." Gabriel fell forward, toppling into the corpse of his latest victim. He groaned, the sound of steel easing out of its sheath heavy in the air. It took him a moment to realize that the prophet was advancing toward him, blade drawn. He forced his blade out of the corpse and rolled to meet the prophet's first strike.
Sparks flew as their blades clashed. Gabriel gritted his teeth, pushing the prophet's blade aside so that he could rise. He swept his legs out, toppling the prophet, giving him time to strike at the man's throat. He found himself flying backwards again, stopping centimeters in front of the wall.
He countered with a push of his own, throwing the corpse of the prophet's bodyguard back at him. The prophet knocked it out of way in time to see Gabriel coming back at him, far more warily this time around. Their blades connected again. Gabriel broke away first, slashing at the prophet's midsection. As the man lowered his blade to parry, Gabriel raised his hand, returning his trick.
He followed the push, blade diving in for a finishing blow. But the prophet struck him aside, kicking him in the stomach before his blade could get close. Breath wheezing out of him, Gabriel launched into another attack. His desperate blow was met by the prophet's sword. He was barely able to move his blade around to counter the man's next blow.
A flurry of blows ensued. The prophet picked up speed, slamming down against Gabriel's blade with more force than he exhibited before. Gabriel fell back under the onslaught, almost overwhelmed by the man. His ankle turned, slipped against another corpse, and he toppled. The prophet loomed over him, his blade taunting.
The man paused. "The artifact," he whispered, just loud enough for Gabriel to make out. "We can feel it." His hesitation was the last thing he felt. Gabriel's hand shot out, grabbing the prophet's throat with the Force.
"It's the last thing you'll feel," he said. He added pressure to the hold, eyes locked on the prophet's. "Do you have any dreams?"
"Salvation," the prophet answered.
"More's the pity."
Sometime later, Andraste and Gabriel picked the artifact off of a fallen heretic and returned to their ship. There was blood on their hands that night. Every story needs a beginning, and this was their first chapter.
It seemed that the heretics would overwhelm the prophet within minutes. Their numbers swelled and the prophet's men fell. Top notch armor was no match for repeated blaster fire. But the heretics lacked the training the prophet's men had. Discipline fell into place, and the remaining men fell into ranks. There were only half a dozen left, but they were enough to defend the prophet.
The prophet's men poured from the city hall, creating a protective wedge between the heretics and the prophet. Andraste and Gabriel were stuck in between the two groups. Weaponless, they could only watch as the city became a battlefield.
An explosion tore through the air. The blast ripped a hole in the prophet's ranks, an opening the heretics wasted no time taking. Pistols were dropped, vibroblades pulled out in their stead. A savage shout emerged from a faceless mass as the two collided. Screams followed shortly after. The hesitant were the first to fall. The weak followed thereafter.
Gabriel watched in fascination. Formless mobs clashed, one outnumbering the other. Individuals held no sway over the situation. Their power was simply part of a collective machine. The actions of a single man, woman, or child were negligible.
The prophet's ranks swelled around him, pushing him out of the battle. He lost sight of Andraste. For a moment he looked for her, but the distraction cost him. An elbow caught him in the chin, knocking him back a step. He stretched his jaw, ducking between the next set of elbows running his way.
An abandoned armory lay at his feet. Pistols, swords, rifles, most weapons he could name. Some were stained with blood from recent injuries. The rest were in various states of use. He snatched up the closest blade. After testing its weight, he began his hunt.
The prophet knelt near the doors of the city hall, his eyes closed in concentration. What remained of his original entourage flanked him, gazes set wide for any breach in the lines. There were only three of them. Gabriel weighed the odds, earning a glare as the men turned their attention onto him. His choice was made for him.
He slid into the first man, blade coming down on the man's blaster arm. His next slash left the man on the ground in a pool of his own blood. Gabriel whirled out of the way of a bundle of blaster shots, barely coming away unscathed. He was singed by a couple glancing shots as he closed, grimacing from the pain.
He didn't waste time lining up a clean stroke. He drove his blade into the man's chest. The answering gurgle satisfied him beyond measure. He wrenched the blade out, turning to face the final man. The last bodyguard was ready for him.
The bodyguard opened with a slash for his legs. Gabriel jerked himself away, bringing his sword down to split the man's skull. The bodyguard parried, lashing out at his midsection. Gabriel battered the strike out of the way. He winced as the bodyguard scored a hit on his arm, drawing a thin line across his bicep.
Anger and pain gave him the power to end the fight. He raised his hand, tossing the bodyguard to the ground with the Force. His blade slid into the man's stomach. He twisted it, pushing it in as deep as he could. Before he could extricate it, he slammed into the wall of the city hall. He grunted, his breath knocked out of him.
"Perhaps not your wisest move," the prophet said, rising from his meditation. "Taking advantage of us in a moment of weakness... how, apropos." The prophet wore his condescending smile. He looked down at Gabriel, as if he sat on a throne and Gabriel was a willful subject.
"Apropos," he continued, "only if successful. But you underestimate us. We are not so defenseless."
"Perhaps," Gabriel admitted, pushing himself off the wall.
"Taking advantage of strife puts you on the correct path. It is good to see our teachings heeded. A shame that we will have to kill you."
"Just try," he sneered.
The prophet smiled. "We'll do more than that." Gabriel fell forward, toppling into the corpse of his latest victim. He groaned, the sound of steel easing out of its sheath heavy in the air. It took him a moment to realize that the prophet was advancing toward him, blade drawn. He forced his blade out of the corpse and rolled to meet the prophet's first strike.
Sparks flew as their blades clashed. Gabriel gritted his teeth, pushing the prophet's blade aside so that he could rise. He swept his legs out, toppling the prophet, giving him time to strike at the man's throat. He found himself flying backwards again, stopping centimeters in front of the wall.
He countered with a push of his own, throwing the corpse of the prophet's bodyguard back at him. The prophet knocked it out of way in time to see Gabriel coming back at him, far more warily this time around. Their blades connected again. Gabriel broke away first, slashing at the prophet's midsection. As the man lowered his blade to parry, Gabriel raised his hand, returning his trick.
He followed the push, blade diving in for a finishing blow. But the prophet struck him aside, kicking him in the stomach before his blade could get close. Breath wheezing out of him, Gabriel launched into another attack. His desperate blow was met by the prophet's sword. He was barely able to move his blade around to counter the man's next blow.
A flurry of blows ensued. The prophet picked up speed, slamming down against Gabriel's blade with more force than he exhibited before. Gabriel fell back under the onslaught, almost overwhelmed by the man. His ankle turned, slipped against another corpse, and he toppled. The prophet loomed over him, his blade taunting.
The man paused. "The artifact," he whispered, just loud enough for Gabriel to make out. "We can feel it." His hesitation was the last thing he felt. Gabriel's hand shot out, grabbing the prophet's throat with the Force.
"It's the last thing you'll feel," he said. He added pressure to the hold, eyes locked on the prophet's. "Do you have any dreams?"
"Salvation," the prophet answered.
"More's the pity."
Sometime later, Andraste and Gabriel picked the artifact off of a fallen heretic and returned to their ship. There was blood on their hands that night. Every story needs a beginning, and this was their first chapter.