I've been going overtime lately, so many parts in so few days. Well, I suppose there isn't much else to do when I'm ill. Anyway, I personally like this part; although it is light on action. Enjoy. [b]Part Eleven - To show mercy[/b] The pod hit the ground, and Sorran felt pain. Inescapable pain. His shields did indeed break, and he felt like every bone in his body had too. The Sangheili minor opened his blurry eyes, and saw the pod begin to unseal. With a burst, it smashed open, and Sorran as suddenly staring into the face of a human. He wasn't a soldier; not even one of their militia. The human was old, Sorran reasoned, white hair riddled his head, wrinkles were deep set around his eyes. The man shrieked at the sight of Sorran and tried to run away. The elderly human's legs collapsed, and he fell to the ground with a cry. The man then resorted to dragging himself along the floor, weeping, crying out for his son to save him. There was no one else around. This human was alone. There would be no rescue for him. Sorran unfolded his arms, and hopped out of the pod. Ahkrin's own was no where in sight. No doubt they would meet up later. But for now, it was just Sorran, and the old human in the small area. The Elite looked around, and realised he seemed to be in a secluded area of garden. Evidently, the elderly man had thought it wise to cower in a place it was unlikely the Covenant would search. Life, evidently, was determined to prove him wrong. Looking down at the human, Sorran raised his rifle, and felt his arm tremble as he did so. Could he really kill; nay, [i]murder[/i] this helpless human in could blood? Sorran knew what the brutal, efficient Ahkrin would do. Zharn would probably give the man a weapon, hoist him to his feet, and then kill him; thus feeling better about himself. But Sorran wasn't Ahkrin, or Zharn. He was himself. The man had backed into a stone corner, shrunk against the wall on his behind, a look of terror on his face. The human grappled for something within his clothes, and Sorran prepared himself to strike, thinking it to be a gun. The Sangheili was halted as he beheld what the old man now held in his hand, affixed to his neck by a silver chain. Sorran rotated his head to one side inquisitively in the manner of the Elites. The human held what seemed to be a small silver cross in his hand, and had his eyes shut, murmuring words, clasping the cross tightly. Did Sorran's eyes deceive him, or was the human [i]praying?[/i] This was a revelation to him. The Prophets had lectured that the humans were athiest infidels who cared not for any reverence to Godly beings. But here was a human, evidently praying. To the Forerunners? Unlikely, more of a chance the human had his own God. Still; they were all one and the same were they not? No matter how you went about it, or in what manner, the Forerunners were your God, so lectured the Prophets. Was this human under the protection of some divine force? Sorran had never been a truly religious being, but to murder an elderly, religious person, even if that person was human, seemed to be wrong. "Just kill me now; please, get it over with. Don't make it painful." the old man whispered up at Sorran, who was momentarily surprised, snapped out of his reverie. The man had a different way of speaking to the other humans Sorran had heard. The Sangheili shook his head; how could he be thinking of pity at a time like this? Even now he could hear the smoke pour in from the houses in the lower district of the city. Sorran reached down, and grabbed the elderly human with one hand, lifting him high into the air. Tears were streaming down the man's cheeks. Sorran drew out his metallic blade, holding it with his left hand. The Adam's apple of the human was bobbing up and down nervously, with layers of wrinkled flesh covering it. No; Sorran could not do this. It was wrong. They were fighting a war, not committing genocide. Weren't they? Some would disagree. They were effectively hunting humanity to extinction. And for what reason? In all their time of warring with the humans, the Covenant had come across but a few Forerunner artefacts, all of them untainted by the humans. And yet the High Prophet of Truth claimed otherwise; that the humans were defiling the relics. That didn't seem to be the case. Was there another, darker motive behind this war? Sorran, lost in thought, dropped the human to the ground, not looking down. [i]I shall ponder upon this later,[/i] the Elite decided, turning to face the old man. "You will not die today; not by my hand. Run human, hide. And do not let my fellows come across you; they shall not be as merciful as I." Sorran told the human, who's eyes grew wide with gratitude. The elderly man tried to move off the ground, and cried out in pain as he did. Sorran looked down incredulously. "Is there a problem?" the Sangheili whispered, frowning. The old man began to weep once again, no doubt thinking Sorran would consider it easier to merely kill him than bother himself further. He did consider it easier. But he wouldn't do it. Instead, he bent down, and spoke in a soothing voice. "Come now, I have given my word I shall not harm you. What is the problem?" If one of the council had seen this, Sorran would be in chains. No Covenant soldier was supposed to do this; it was unprecedented, forbidden. Still, he couldn't help it. He was no killer; he was a scholar. His goal was to preserve and understand, not destroy. "My back...I can't move." the human gasped, face screwed up in pain. Sorran sighed, and hefted the man up again, intending to find him a hiding place himself. Before he could though, a voice cried out from behind him. A human voice. "Get your filthy claws off my father you bastard!" the voice cried, that of a male's. Before Sorran could turn around, he felt a bulk smash into him, and dropped the old man in shock, flown forwards by the son's weight. Sorran was thrown against the wall, and grimaced in pain. He then felt his body explode as a sharp object entered the base of his spine. He felt his back warm as blood leaked out, and managed to throw the human off in his pain drunk state. Sorran reached around his to his back, and grasped the hilt of a human knife, yanking it out. His shields had not yet recovered from the drop; the recharging mechanism was in all probability damaged, He saw the son of the old man rise off the ground, and Sorran noted he was a marine. The Sangheili would have to be all the more careful then, his shields were down, and this human evidently knew his business. "Miguel, stop!" the elderly human still lying on the ground cried out weakly, but his son didn't heed his father's warning. Instead, the one named Miguel drew out a pistol, and aimed it at Sorran. Before he could fire, the Elite managed to toss the knife at the attacking human. Miguel's eyes grew wide, and he looked down in horror at the hilt buried deep in his lone heart. His mouth opened twice in a wordless scream, before his eyes glazed over and he collapsed in a river of dark red blood. "No! You fool Miguel!" the still living elderly man cried out, a rush of adrenalin propelling him off his feet towards his dead son. The old human knelt down in the pool of crimson liquid, cradling Miguel's limp head in his arms, hugging the marine dearly. "Mi hijo, mi querido, mi querido hijo..." Sorran realised it as 'Spanish' for 'my son, my dear, dear son.' Evidently, the old man and his son were of a Spanish descent. The Sangheili squirmed, guilty. Guilty! He knew he shouldn't feel that way, but he did. Sorran averted his gaze towards the floor. [Edited on 10.05.2009 3:10 PM PDT]