{"sf1_id":616846,"sf2_id":"GnDMgzK1","title":"A Tale of Two Enemies - Ch 01 - Enemy of my Enemy","author":"Veronica Foxx","words":4518,"posted_at":"2013-11-22T04:41:00.000Z","tags":["Character Development","Commission","Female","Halo","Human","Jackal","Male","No-Yiff","Story Series","kig-yar","spartan"],"url":"https://fse.anthro.fr/stories/616846-a-tale-of-two-enemies-ch-01-enemy-of-my-enemy","original_url":"https://sofurry.com/s/GnDMgzK1","image_url":"https://cdn.sofurryfiles.com/submissions/thumbnails/5a/78/5a78277b-dd73-488f-bf2e-1195672bea4c","description":"#1 of A Tale of Two Enemies\n\nI don't often do stories. I tend to leave that to my brother. Sometimes, though, I come across something that just leaps out at me and refuses to be ignored. This was one of those things. This was created for ?Wounded Knee(https://wounded-knee.sofurry.com/). He had an idea I hadn't seen before, one that caught my interest and sparked my imagination. Here it is, approved by the originator for posting. I may illustrate it eventually, but I'll have to spend some time studying the design of those involved before I do.","content":"Name: Tyler-162\n\nHair color and texture: Black and curly\n\nEye color: Bluish-green\n\nChapter One - Enemy of my Enemy  \n\"Trees...\" the human mumbled, gazing upward with pain-filled eyes. \"Huge trees... Big,   \nbeautiful flowers... It reminds me of home... If I'm going to die, I'm glad it's in a place   \nthat looks like home...\"\n\nA soft sigh sounded from the prisoner he had been assigned to escort, accompanied by a   \nbird-like trilling. \"Your home must be much like my own,\" came the multiphonic voice,   \nlayered by clicks and chirps, \"but you are not going to die. Your kind never does.\"\n\nThe human glanced at the silvery metal that gripped his forearm, winced as the needles   \nbit deep into his flesh and blood began to flow along the tubes connecting it to the   \ntransfusion device. He surveyed the mangled wreckage that splayed across their crash   \nsite, the charred and shredded bodies of the indigenous predators that had come looking   \nfor easy prey. They had not found it. He turned his gaze upward again, half-remembered   \nimages playing across his mind's eye. Home...\n\n\"There were trees like these,\" he mumbled again, \"but bigger. Flowers, every shape and   \ncolor and size imaginable, flowers as big as a Pelican, but those were the dangerous ones.   \nIt smelled... so pretty, it always did. I remember falling to sleep to one scent and waking   \nup to another. You could always tell when one of the dangerous critters was comin',   \n'cause then all the smells stopped, the flowers closed up.\"\n\n\"It sounds beautiful,\" the captive commented, panting slightly at the pain of having its   \nblood forcibly extracted. \"I hope this works... The bleeding has stopped, but you've lost   \ntoo much already. I just hope no more predators come by before this device is finished.\"\n\n\"Well, at least it looks like home...\"\n\nHis words trailed off into a sigh as the painkillers took hold, dragging him off to the land   \nof dreams, of nightmares. He was back on Fibrula, the start of it all. The first time any   \nof the Covenant had surrendered.\n\nThe humans were winning the battle, but losing the war. It was a small colony, scattered   \nsettlements sporadically cropping up around the rich veins of ore and minerals that   \npocked the crust. It was a valuable world, supplying much needed materials for the   \nUNSC, materials needed for weapons and ships, to fight the evil spawn that threatened to   \nwipe out humanity. That was, of course, why the Covenant had attacked it; take out a   \nmajor link in the supply chain, and humanity would suffer a severe blow. Unfortunately,   \nthe Prophets had drastically underestimated the forces needed to quell and exterminate   \nthe small population. The colonists were miners, many of them former asteroid jockeys,   \nfiercely independent and fiercely protective of their claims. When the enemy began to   \nrain down from the heavens, powerful lasers that could bore deep into the earth were   \nturned skyward, sonic drills that could shatter rock were turned on soft flesh, and the   \nindomitable instinct to protect hearth and home rose up to smack those alien bastards   \nright where it counted.\n\nTyler-162 had been with a small battle group nearby when the distress call went out,   \ndeployed to help combat the ground forces with the Marines. The space battle was fierce   \nbut swift, the enemy leaping away via slipspace. The ground battle was long and tedious.   \nTyler-162 ended up trying to scrape the last of the enemy out of a dug-in position with   \nfrustrating results. The area they occupied had never been intended as a fortification, but   \nit worked well as one. Monoliths six feet wide and ten tall of the various valuable   \nmaterials to be mined at the site had been set up in an artistic ring, layered and   \ninterleaved, with the town's main generator buried at its center. They had built the   \nmonument as a matter of pride, glorying in their success and wealth, but now it served to   \nprotect the enemy from ground fire with its sturdy blocks and air assault because of the   \nthreat of detonating the generator. The enemy was surrounded, was getting picked off   \none by one, but they were still inflicting casualties of their own. Jackal snipers and   \nGrunts with plasma cannons made advancing difficult, and a camo'd elite was ready to   \nmeet any who came too near their position. They seemed well prepared to make it their   \nlast stand and ensure the humans paid dearly. Then everything seemed to go to hell.\n\nThere came weapons fire from within the monument, then the detonation of plasma   \ngrenades. It lit a daisy chain that danced around the ring, blowing the monoliths outward   \nand in, laying low the human triumph. When the dust settled, there was only one thing   \nmoving in the area, a Jackal, obviously wounded and weak, disoriented from the   \nconcussion wave, but without weapons and with hands raised in surrender. They   \napproached with caution, wary of some sort of trap, but what was a lone Jackal really   \ngoing to do against them? He was first on the scene, of course. He was a SPARTAN.   \nThe Jackal was one of the plated kind rather than the spiky or feathery ones, rare to see   \non the battlefield. It was oozing purple blood from its earholes, eyes, nose, mouth,   \nseveral plasma burns visible on its hide and a gash across its side from shrapnel. As he   \ndrew near, it slumped to its knees, clutching at its wounded ribs, and he was doubly   \namazed. It spoke: plainly intelligible English.\n\n\"I surrender, Demon,\" it told him, watching his shadow as he stalked closer, not even   \nflinching when the barrel of his assault rifle pressed against its elongated skull. \"I do not   \nwish to fight any longer. Do with me what you will.\"\n\nIts breath wheezed, that seeping purple drooling from its spread jaws, surrounded by the   \ndead and the destruction it had wreaked upon them. He had seen countless others just   \nlike it fight to their dying breath, missing limbs, gaping holes blown in their bodies, yet   \nstill they struggled to slay, to maim, to take one more human with them before they died.   \nHe had watched them mercilessly murder civilians, women, children, surrendering   \nsoldiers, without conscience or compassion, no mercy, soulless killing machines. Yet   \nhere was one, kneeling at his feet, weapons cast aside, laying its fate in his hands, tired of   \nthe endless struggle, the constant battle and bloodshed. Training and instinct fought   \nagainst logic and emotion, the rifle trembling in his grip, clattering as the clip rattled in its   \nholder. The Jackal let out a long sigh, part relief, part resignation, and closed its eyes,   \naccepting the fated death it knew was coming. His grip steadied, his finger squeezing the   \ntrigger to the hairline that would send a rampage of projectiles raging down its barrel to   \nsplit the flesh and bone of his enemy, then eased, slowly, hesitantly, reluctantly. He   \nraised his aim to the sky as the colonists crowded in to sight on their quarry, and called   \nthe stand down.\n\nThose sparkling, gem-faceted, gold-streaked eyes opened and gazed up at him with a   \nmixture of emotion he somehow ready clearly: confusion, depression, desperation, and   \nhope.\n\n\"Perhaps,\" it growled, with reptilian resonance, \"there is some way to end this after all.\"\n\nThen it collapsed.\n\n\"Get me a medpack,\" the SPARTAN mumbled, though his voice sounded clearly via the   \nvocal enhancement of his armor.\n\n\"What?\" the town's mayor nearly shrieked. \"Are ye a daft boyo? Tis one o' tha enemy!   \nLet's gut it 'n hang it from tha flagpole, oI say!\"\n\nHe turned; his fist clutched the man's shirt amidst the raucous cheers of the colonists,   \nlifted him bodily from the ground to their gasping dismay, pulled him upward to hover   \nwith his gaze even to the glossed visor that concealed the super-soldier's face as they fell   \nto silence. \"Get. Me. A. Medpack. NOW!\"\n\nHe thrust the civilian away from him, aware yet unaware that the surrounding crowd   \ncushioned him, saved him from a fall, allowed him to pat himself off and straighten his   \nvest with all due dignity before stalking off. Tyler-162 knelt, cradling the enemy in his   \narmored arms, gentle, infinitely gentle. Things could break so easily when he touched   \nthem now... His MJOLNIR armor registered pulse and respiration, the heartbeat fast and   \nfluttery, though he could not guess if that was normal or not. Body temp was much   \nhigher than a human's as well. Carefully, he gathered the Jackal to his chest and stood,   \ncarrying it as he slowly walked in the direction the mayor had taken. While not as   \nthoroughly stocked to deal with battlefield injuries as the standard military-issue Health   \nKit, the civilian-made Medpacks contained Medigel, a substance similar to the Biofoam   \nused in its military-grade counterpart. It was, so far as he knew, a mixture of biological   \nand technological agents designed to speed the healing process in any species, though it   \ncertainly hadn't been designed with Covenant physiology in mind. He tried to recall the   \nterse briefing they had received about it when the substance was allowed to go   \ncommercial but could only bring to mind its many benefits. He gave a mental shrug,   \ncareful to keep the jackal unjostled; it would work or it wouldn't.\n\n\"Kayle,\" he spoke to the AI currently inhabiting his armor, enhancing his already   \nconsiderable prowess to god-like levels of speed, acuity, agility, and strength. \"Patch me   \nthrough to the Captain. I need to let her know what we have.\"\n\n\"Are you sure, Tyler?\" the feminine voice inquired, seemingly hesitant. \"I don't think   \nCaptain Reminger will be pleased to have one of... those... on board her ship.\"\n\n\"Yes, I'm sure. So far as I know, not a one of them has ever given up before. Even if   \nI'm wrong, this is still a high-value capture. It might know nothing, or it might know   \neverything. Any information we can get from it will help, and we need all the help we   \ncan get.\" He paused a moment, and he knew she was thinking the same thing as he was   \nat that moment. \"There aren't enough of us, Kayle. We're too few and too thinly spread.   \nOne of us is worth half an army, but we're not immortal. We're not invincible, as much   \nas we want them to think we are. They call us Demons, we scare them so bad, but we're   \njust men and women like anyone else. We can be killed, and they have been killing us.   \nWe need an edge, Kayle, any edge. The Captain will understand.\"\n\n\"You're right, Tyler,\" the electronic being conceded. \"I'll patch you through.\"\n\nA moment later, the captain's visage appeared in a pop-up on his visor screen. She was   \nover fourty, but still looked damn good, slight creases crinkling the corners of eyes and   \nlips that were more often solemn than laughing but belying the joy she took in life. Her   \nhair was a commingling of grey and a dark brown that reminded him of the bark on the   \ntrees back home, and her eyes were the blue of a cloudless summer sky. Her voice,   \nusually gentle with power and command, now came sharp with tension, and he could tell   \nshe was worried that the enemy fleet had fled so swiftly and with so little fight.\n\n\"Tyler-162, report,\" she ordered.\n\n\"I caught a Jackal,\" he told her, deciding brevity was best. \"It surrendered after killing   \nthe rest of its squad. What do you want me to do with it, Captain?\"\n\nA woman who barked out orders in the middle of combat with the rapidity of an assault   \nrifle's bullets, who made decisions about the lives and deaths of dozens of soldiers and   \nsailors in the blink of an eye, who fought the enemy with a passion only rivaled by the   \ncare she felt for those under her command, was struck speechless. She stared at him with   \ngaping jaw for several long seconds during which he remained painfully silent. As it   \nstretched out toward becoming minutes, she gathered herself, giving her head a vigorous   \nshake.\n\n\"What?\" she demanded in a whisper, her expressive face conveying confusion,   \nincredulity, and disbelief. \"Show me.\"\n\nHe switched to visor cam and tilted his head downward, played his gaze over his   \nunconscious captive in full scan mode, giving the Captain a holographic display to   \nreview, Kayle filling in the missing pieces from memory. He took a moment to consider   \nthe prisoner as he did so. Its head lolled, pointed tongue hanging from between parted   \njaws, swaying gently with each step he took. Its chest rose and fell with regular, if swift,   \nbreaths, which he took to be a good sign. Its hands were cradled against its chest, arms   \nhuddled close to its sides, legs dangling over his other arm to sway like its' reptilian head.   \nIt looked to be still alive, at least.\n\n\"I'll be damned. I'm dispatching a pick-up. We have your coordinates. They'll be there   \nin fifteen minutes. And, Tyler-162, make sure to keep that thing alive.\"\n\n\"Yes, ma'am,\" he answered, and returned his gaze to the fore as the Captain cut the   \nconnection.\n\nHe was nearly at the small medical complex that serviced the city. The mayor, a few   \ndozen yards ahead of the SPARTAN, stormed angrily inside, and Tyler became suddenly   \ncertain that there was going to be an \"unfortunate incident,\" as such encounters were   \noften called. He pushed open the door with his shoulder, back to the room within, half-  \nturned to protect the Jackal, and saw the mayor standing with drawn pistol, just waiting   \nfor a clear shot.\n\n\"I wouldn't do that, if I were you,\" Tyler advised the man, whose fair skin had turned   \nsplotchy red with rage.\n\nThe man let out a wordless battlecry, charging toward the SPARTAN and unloading his   \nclip. The bullets bounced harmlessly from armor, kinetic energy absorbed by the   \nflickering shield that hovered above its surface. Tyler-162 shifted the unconscious   \ncaptive to settle in the crook of his left arm as his right pulled free. He experienced only   \na moment of hesitation before drawing his own pistol. However, instead of firing, he   \nswitched his grip to the barrel and, after two steps toward the mayor, delivered the man a   \nsharp blow that slumped him against the wall. Tyler observed him a moment, detecting   \nlife signs still vital, then sought out the damn Medpack he had come for.\n\nThe Medigel spray was inside, as he had hoped, and he read the directions before   \napplying it, spraying it onto the Jackal's burns and gently rubbing the substance into the   \ngash along its side. It made soft gurgling noises and odd chirps as it lay there on the   \nexamination table, squirming slightly. Maybe the Medigel hurt, but the stuff was   \nworking. The plasma burns were visibly vanishing, and the cut sealed itself closed. The   \nSPARTAN pried open his prisoner's mouth and gave a few spritzes inside, as well as   \nover the eyes, nose, and earholes then anywhere else blood seemed to be leaking from,   \njust to make sure everything would be in working order. It wouldn't do much for any   \ninternal injuries the creature had received, but the external seemed to be enough. The   \nJackal let out a harsh, rasping cough and groaned then began to squirm against the table.   \nAfter almost a minute of this spasmodic twitching and writhing, it fell still once more   \nwith a soft sigh laced with bird-like whistles.\n\nThose brightly hued and faceted eyes slowly blinked open, gazing with disoriented   \nconfusion at the room around it, seemingly struggling to focus. He watched with interest   \nas they settled on him, the captive squinting first, then pulling its lids wide, the pupils   \nswelling to encompass most of the iris and shrinking down to pinpricks. At last, they   \nsettled for a finger-tip-sized dot and seemed to be more or less in working order, for the   \nJackal let out a soft grunt.\n\n\"I'm still alive,\" it observed. Its upper lip lifted slightly in a snarl. \"Are you going to   \ntorture me?\"\n\nTyler was taken aback by the question and took a moment to answer. \"That isn't up to   \nme. The captain will decide what to do with you once we have you onboard.\"\n\n\"Ah, so, yes.\"\n\n\"How do you speak our language?\"\n\nIt let out a clicking, raspy sound that seemed to reverberate in its throat. \"Why does it   \nsurprise you? Wars are won and lost on the ability to gather intelligence about your   \nenemy. If you cannot understand their words, then you are at a supreme disadvantage.\"   \nThen it lifted its lip again for a moment. \"Shouldn't you wait until the torture starts to   \nask me questions?\"\n\nTyler-162 realized suddenly that the little lift of a lip wasn't a snarl but a wry grin. The   \nmonster had a sense of humor?\n\n\"Oh, did you want me to? I prefer to handle business before pleasure.\"\n\nIt blinked at him, drawing its head back with wide eyes, then blinked again and let out   \nthat raspy clicking noise once more. It was laughing.\n\n\"The Demon makes jokes? Prophets guide me, but I never expected that.\"\n\n\"This is Pelican Bravo-Six to Tyler-162,\" interrupted his commlink. \"Touchdown in   \nfive, do you copy?\"\n\n\"I read you,\" he responded, then to the Jackal, \"Can you walk on your own or should I   \ncarry you?\" It began to sit up, then let out a groan and clutched at its head. \"That   \nanswers that.\"\n\nThere the dream warped, and he was aboard the _Pride's Downfall_, watching through the   \nobservation window while the Jackal sat nervously fidgeting inside the interrogation   \nchamber. It had been wholly cooperative and compliant, silently obeying their orders.   \nNow it sat shackled to the metal chair, waiting for someone to come in and fill the only   \nother adornment of the plain, plated room: a second chair set three feet in front of its own   \nand facing. It kept glancing at the observation window, which was mirrored on its side.   \nIt was impossible that the creature could see him, but Tyler was certain that it could.   \nWhen it looked away, he moved two paces to the right in an attempt to test his theory, but   \nthe door to the interrogation room slid open at that moment.\n\nA young woman entered, mid twenties, black hair tied back in a ponytail, her uniform so   \ncrisp he could almost hear the crackle. The Jackal eyed her, turning its head from one   \nside to the other to let both its big eyes get their fill, then looked at her head on. She sat,   \nprim and proper, back straight, chin up, eyes forward, and Tyler wondered what it was   \nthey did to Intelligence officers that they all acted like that. The two stared at each other   \nfor nearly a minute before the lieutenant made a horrendous gabble of sound that must   \nhave hurt her throat. The Jackal looked back at the mirror, adjusted its gaze to fall on   \nTyler once more, then jerked its head toward the woman with a look that plainly said   \n\"Can you believe this?\"\n\n\"Your accent is painful,\" it told her. \"Why don't we use your language instead?\"\n\nThe lieutenant blinked, eyes widening slightly, but otherwise displayed no outward   \nreaction and regained her composure quickly. \"Very well then. Why did you   \nsurrender?\"\n\nThe response was instant. \"I'm a masochist. Getting shot wasn't going to hurt enough,   \nand I have it on good authority that you humans have some very nice torture devices.\"\n\nTyler let out a burst of laughter before he realized it, finding himself grinning. Gutsy   \ncritter, that Jackal, and a sharp wit, too. The lieutenant seemed to be at a stunned loss for   \nwords, and when she spoke again her words came out in a surprised stutter.\n\n\"I... what do- You... We- uh...\" She stopped, flustered, and took several deep breaths,   \nbut still couldn't keep the incredulity from her voice. \"You _want_ to be tortured?\"\n\n\"No,\" the Jackal admitted. \"However, if I were you and you were me, I wouldn't believe   \na thing you said until I had done my poking and prodding and cutting off of bits and   \npeeling of skin. I would just like to get the fun part over with so we can both move on   \nwith our lives. That is, if I still have a life after the fun part.\"\n\n\"I... I mean... Wh-why do you think I wouldn't believe you? You surrendered willingly,   \napparently after killing the rest of your own squad. You're the first member of the   \nCovenant ever to surrender. Why? Why would you do that?\"\n\nThe creature gave let out a long sigh and hung its head, the slender, flexible neck   \nallowing it to droop so that the tip of its muzzle rested nearly between its own knees.   \n\"Because we were sent there to die, and I saw no reason to give the Prophets the   \nsatisfaction of obeying their whim.\" Its eyes blazed with hatred and fury as it lifted its   \nhead once more. \"I was found to be infected, poisoned, tainted. I am a heretic.\" It put   \nstrange emphasis on the last syllable, almost a clicking noise. \"It was absolution to die in   \nthe feeble attempt to take your world. I seek no absolution from false Prophets and dead   \ngods.\"\n\nThe woman stared at the monster, and Tyler could tell that the low-key growling it could   \nnot seem to stop was scaring her, but she held firm. After a long moment, she nearly   \nwhispered, \"I believe you.\"\n\nThe Jackal ruffled its plates, something that startled both humans, the hard scales lifting   \nand resettling themselves against its flesh, and the growl ceased. \"Well, that is a start. I   \nlearned this phrase from your kind: the enemy of my enemy is my friend. Do you know   \nit? The Covenant are my enemy. Shall I be your friend?\"\n\nThe word echoed within the confines of his mind as he was whipped across the span of   \nmemory to the more recent past, leaping into a dazzling hell of light and fire. The small   \nfrigate that had been assigned to escort himself and the prisoner back to Earth command   \nhad a coincidingly small slipspace drive. That being the case, and having come from the   \nfar edges of human-controlled space, they were forced to hop between refueling points:   \noutposts, colonies, listening stations, anywhere that could keep them topped up. A third   \nof the way back to Terra, and everything went sour even though they were in supposedly   \n\"safe\" sectors.\n\n\"Spinning down,\" came the call over the intercom. \"Prepare for realspace intrusion.\"\n\nA slight tremor rumbled the decks, and then the alarms were blaring, and orders were   \nbeing thrown left and right as the view screen was filled with a fantastic light show of   \ndancing colors that would have been beautiful if it had not been so deadly.\n\nThe captain had taken hold of him and said very calmly, \"Get the prisoner to an escape   \npod, and hit the planet. There's a unmanned communications outpost down there. I   \nknow; I used to be assigned to it. You have to get back to UNSC Command, and they   \nneed to know what's happening here as well. You'll have to call for a pickup.\"\n\nTyler-162 absorbed the information and could only feel pride in his species. The fight   \nwas hopeless. The space station was clearly doomed, and a single frigate wasn't going to   \nmake much of a difference in the fight. Against two carriers and three cruisers, it was a   \nvery one-sided battle, yet the captain was not about to abandon people to certain doom if   \nthere was even the slightest chance he could save them. It was obvious, as well, that they   \nhad been spotted. The small lights of fighters were already homing in on their position.   \nThe _Sally Forth_ was going to die, but it was going to die fighting. Tyler offered the   \ncaptain a salute before leaving the bridge. Few things can match the speed of a   \nSPARTAN at full run. He reached the brig in under two minutes, deactivated the   \ncontainment field, and dragged the Jackal along as he explained what was happening.\n\nThat was where he got a little hazy. As they neared the escape pods, the ship bucked   \nbeneath him, rocked hard by whatever had hit it. He remembered the explosion, part of   \nthe corridor erupting into flying debris and molten shards. He remembered the foot of   \ntwisted, jagged support pylon that had driven itself into his lower abdomen, the searing   \nagony that faded swiftly toward the black void of death. He remembered those enormous   \ngolden eyes, and then they were on the planet, and the predators had come for them. He   \nremembered the horrific hours of changing clips, expending shells, of blood splashing   \nacross his visor, or bodies piling up in wave after wave. The pack had been enormous,   \nbut it had eventually given up. Dozens, maybe over a hundred, of the small, compact   \ncarnivores had rushed the two of them, had thrown their lives away in an attempt to feed   \nsome few of them. When their bullets and plasma charges had run out, they had resorted   \nto brute strength and cutting claws. Then had fallen, the cold, calm silence of victory,   \nand they were left to tend their wounds.\n\nAnd he was afraid. He was afraid of what his blood would do the Jackal. He had been   \nborn on a world dissimilar to Earth in many ways. It was a world of jungle, hotter and   \nmore humid, rife with greenhouse gasses, a factory for plague and disease to ferment.   \nHis parents had undergone genegineering to triple the power of their immune system, to   \nmultiply the defensive capabilities of their T-cells by enormous numbers. They, and he,   \nwere immune to disease of all kinds, but the transfusion device did not care. It took in   \none kind of blood and transformed it into another, then fed this transmogrified fluid back   \ninto the original host. It would cycle the Jackal's blood into him, but it would also cycle   \nhis blood into the Jackal, and he was very afraid that it would kill his prisoner, his   \ncompanion, his friend.\n\nHe sucked in deep breaths, blinking in the bright light of midday, one gauntleted hand   \nstretched upward toward the canopy, the other gripping at the ground hard enough to   \nshatter stone. The Jackal lay nearby, still hooked into the device, still sharing its blood   \nwith him, and he ripped free the connectors, severed the continuing cycle of   \nreplenishment. It was enough. He was awake. But he knew it was not truly enough, and   \nthe creature would as well when it awoke from the torpid torments that ravaged its   \nslumber. It writhed and cried out, but never awoke. It screamed and arched but never   \nrose to consciousness. In time, it would recover, but he was, for now, its guardian as it   \nhad been his. For now, he would await its awakening, and covet every second of life that   \nhad been granted him by its sacrifice. He owed his life to the enemy of his enemy, and   \nhe was its friend.\n\n  \n  \n\n"}