| abstract | - The word spread. It passed from the mandibles of frantic messengers to the communications operators of isolated detachments. Local commanders distributed it to their troops, who then promptly made sure that the locals that they relied on for secrecy and support heard it as well. The appalling news spread and carried throughout the ranks of the Fallen across Sanghelios, and wherever it went it left shock and fury in its wake. The dishonored vermin that controlled traitor government had abandoned honor entirely and done exactly what the Fallen had feared they would do since the moment the Great Schism had ended. They had abandoned the pride and virtues of the Sangheili entirely and chosen instead to debase themselves before the very aliens that the Fallen had devoted themselves to protecting Sanghelios from. Now, as if the very nightmares of the Fallen warriors had become a reality, human warships orbited their beloved homeworld while the alien warriors defiled its surface with their primitive footsteps. But the crimes of the dishonored did not end there. As if bringing ordinary humans to threaten the homeworld was not enough, the traitors had enlisted the aid of the unnatural fiends that had brought death to thousands of brave warriors on the battlefields of the great war before the Schism. Demons had been brought to Sanghelios. This was a crime beyond imagining, a betrayal that could not be expressed with words alone. No, it could only be answered with punishment. And the Sons of the Preserving Blade were eager to mete it out. Nearly fifty of the Fallen-aligned irregulars had lain in wait for a full column of government warriors, several files strong. And at a signal from their leaders, they leapt from hiding and brought their righteous fury down upon the miserable traitors who dared think of themselves as Sangheili. Now the surrounding foothills were filled with the whine of plasma fire and the hum of energy swords. The traitors had been caught completely by surprise and the Sons were taking full advantage of their disarray. Plasma cannon emplacements mounted at the top of hills and in the midst of tree branches rained blue fire down on exposed government troops while other Sons picked off more with small arms fire. Those traitors that did manage to strike up a passable defense were focused on and cut to pieces by the coordinated maneuvers of the militia warriors. The Sons were not traditional Fallen warriors and as such did not wear the color pattern of the Fallen regulars. Instead, these were younger Sangheili who had been drawn from the keeps and villages where they had been raised and trained by the tales brought by Fallen warriors of the government's treachery and the imminent threat the humans posed to the Sangheili independence, identity, and very way of life. Coming from all walks of life, these students and farmers turned warriors had been united under the banner of defending Sanghelios from alien invasion and ensuring that it was ruled by those who truly had the best interests of the Sangheili people at heart. The Sons, alight with their own passionate brand of idealism, could not condone some of the actions taken by the most extreme Fallen and thus chose not to submit completely to the separatists' authority. Instead, they acted of their own accord, each one of them clad in patchwork uniforms of robes and armor. Though shabby in appearance, they more than made up for that deficiency through zeal for their cause and a practiced efficiency in combat that was evident in their rapid movements around the encircled government warriors. But the traitors were overcoming their shock now, and several Major Domos had stepped in to calm their Minor subordinates and coordinating an effective defense against the ambushing Sons. Assembling into a solid formation, they met the Sons' attack with withering fire of their own that brought down several of the militia warriors and sent many more retreating back into the hills. The government warriors, relieved of the constant plasma bombardment, began to slowly advance towards a more defensible position in the nearby woods. And then a furious roar split the air. The warriors whirled to see a thin young warrior clad in dark armor sprinting towards them with his energy sword drawn. A ways behind him ran another sword-wielder and several more Sons brandishing plasma rifles. The government warriors tried to shift their fire onto these new targets, but by the time they brought their weapons to bear it was too late. The young warrior crashed into their formation, whirling and slashing with his energy sword in a savage, beautiful dance of death. He cut down three minors before the rest could even attempt to stop him, and he tore straight into the heart of the formation, bearing down on the Major who seemed to have assumed command of the surviving warriors. One Minor sprang between the two of them, bringing his energy gauntlets up to defend against the youth's furious assault, but the dark-armored warrior slashed upwards through his shields and armor and sent the Minor's corpse tumbling to the ground in a spurt of purple blood. The Major drew his own sword in a flash of blue energy and the two locked blades for a single moment of pure fury. Then the Major struck again and the young warrior parried, then slashed under his opponent's defenses and cut him down. By this time the other Sons had reached the battle and were overwhelming the shattered formation, but the youth ignored his comrades and pressed on, slashing his way through the remaining warriors and sending the rest fleeing in disarray before his solitary onslaught. The Sons behind him shot several down with their plasma rifles as they tried to flee. One of the retreating warriors threw down his weapons and raised his palms at the young warrior in a sign of surrender. The youth cut him down quickly, mercifully ending his life before others witnessed his disgrace. The sounds of fighting ended abruptly, leaving only smoke and the smell of plasma and blood in the air. The Sons of the Preserving Blade stood victorious amongst the corpses of the traitors; none of the government warriors had been left alive. The youth crouched down in the bloody grass while his comrades canvassed the area for weapons and armor they could salvage from the battle. While they would take what useful equipment they could, they would leave the corpses of friend and foe alike where they lay so that the government troops who would almost certainly arrive at the scene would see the cost of their treachery. The second sword-wielder approached the dark armored youth. Like his comrade and the vast majority of the Sons, he was young, barely considered an adult by Sangheili standards, but the rigors of constant fighting had honed their skills until they were a frighteningly lethal fighting force. Reaching the crouching youth, the militia warrior tugged off his helmet and gazed wearily at the carnage around them. "We lost five of ours this time," he said quietly. His comrade did not seem to register the news of the losses as he continued to crouch amidst the corpses of their enemies. "When will it end, Shinsu? When will they realize their error?" "When the scum who lead them have been punished for what they've done to our people," the first youth, Shinsu, said in a hard, bitter voice. "When we've killed them and burned their keeps to the ground. That's when this will all end." The second warrior, a youth named Zura, laid a hand on Shinsu's shoulder. "The fighting's getting to you," he said quietly. "Let's pull back for today." Shinsu shrugged off the hand and stood. His head rose a little higher than Zura's as he surveyed the rest of their militia as they regrouped amidst the bodies of the dead. "We keep pressing on," he said firmly. "These filth brought humans and Demons to this planet. We're not going to answer that with just one ambush." There was a murmur of assent from the surrounding militia. Zura sighed. "Very well. But once the others report in, we need to pull back. Remember what Ro'nin said--" "That honorless sell-sword can talk all he wants," growled Shinsu, stalking away. Zura strode after him. "If he doesn't want us in this area then we'll find someone who does. I'm not letting up just because that mercenary's paymaster worries that will bring too many of the enemy down on his head." "The enemy has reason to want vengeance too," Zura reminded his friend. "You have to have heard the news about the infants." "I heard," replied Shinsu, his gait slowing. "I don't approve, but what they did to answer it... unforgivable." "Plenty of powerful families were affected," Zura said. "Even the Vadam keep wasn't spared..." He stopped himself, but it was too late. Hearing the hated name, Shinsu snapped his head around to face him. "The Vadams suffered from the abductions?" "Yes, and--" "Good." Shinsu 'Refum, son of Sesa 'Refum and last survivor of the Refum clan, strode away again and the rest of the Sons, Zura included, fell into step behind him. There was work to be done. Vengeance to be carried out. And while the warriors fought under Shinsu and Zura, two of the Sons' Four Preserving Swords, were leading them, than nothing could stand in their way.
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