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The Killing Fields Of Phobos

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((Hi there. Here's another short story. I'd been thinking about the Prime Time contest revealed last night, and it got a few gears turning. Whipped this out over about the last forty minutes or so, and I'm hoping to put it in as part of the Lore contest whenever details of that pop up. Just have to find screen shots, haha. Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy this tale, in the spirit of all those old warrior legends about a righteous few standing defiant against impossible odds))


The report came in the night. An invasion on Phobos. The Corpus had launched a surprise raid and all but driven the Grineer from the desert world. They were establishing camps now, taking ownership of the Grineer drilling platforms and the flow of resources they provided. The balance was shifting in Corpus favor. If they maintained their grip on Phobos, it would mean the end of the war that made the two forces manageable. The balance was shifting. It had to be kept.


Only four Tenno answered the call. Four Orokin warriors against a planet of Corpus. They made war upon the last piece of untouched land. Here, they said, the Corpus would never walk. Here, they said, we draw a line in the sand.


The battle went on for days. And then weeks. And the weeks flowed into a long, bloody month, and the sand turned red from the spilling of it.


The Trinity lost her life first. Choked of energy by the Corpus, she burned out her own life force to pass on one final blessing to her allies, giving her life that theirs might last even a moment more. They say that where she fell, the ground is just a little bit brighter.


The Rhino perished next. When the Corpus had finally tired of the conflict, they dropped a neutron bomb upon the battlefield. The Rhino carried it upon his back, shrugging off shot after shot as he charged the enemy lines. He only stopped when the bomb went off, consuming him and the entire Corpus front line in a blast like a dying star.


The Nekros died in the very next breath. He had followed Rhino like a deathly shadow. He invoked the spirits of the dead just as his body was obliterated by plasma. The Corpus forces watched in terror as their fallen brethren rose against them. Brother battled brother. Father fought son. Nekros’s will lasted long after his body had vanished beneath the sands, urging the undead horde to fight for four more days. When the last revenant had finally fallen, half the Corpus forces lay in mounds on the ground.


The Excalibur died last. Riddled with holes, his body stiff with rigormortis, he died a standing death. He was a terrible visage; the ground around him hidden under a carpet of corpses, his sword still ready in his hands, a gargoyle warding off the invaders. It was another day before anyone gathered the courage to see if he was actually dead. Even then the sight of him was so fearsome they did not dare to touch him.


The four Tenno passed, but not in vain. The time they gave their lives for allowed the Grineer to establish a foothold upon Phobos, and finally drive the Corpus out. The 14th planet went to the Grineer, and the balance of power in the system was maintained.


The Tenno still speak of the battle, a brave fable. They say that if you can find that desolate patch of Phobos, where there is too much blood in the ground for anything to grow, you might see the Excalibur still standing as a grim testament. Even now he keeps watch, they say. Over the graves of his comrades. Over a hallowed stretch of land. Over the killing field of Phobos.

Edited by TheThreadWeaver
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