HALO: In the Face of Betrayal 
by Kuja



Introduction: A Heretic's Oath 

"Even the foulest demon may seduce the unwary when it comes clad in the armor of 
gods." - Sangheili philosopher 

Jara 'Tazaanvu felt extremely anxious. He steepled his hands, the tips of his 
fingers and thumbs touching. Briefly, he closed his amber eyes and focused his 
strength inwards. When his eyes reopened, the uncertainty had vanished. He looked 
over the large group of Sangheili and Unggoy that watched him in rapt attention and 
felt a small flare of hope. Perhaps with luck and skill, they would not die here. 

Enough. It was time. 

He stepped forward, although he knew he already had their undivided attention. "I 
know you are all on edge," he said smoothly, somehow managing to keep his voice 
from shaking. "So I am going to keep this short. The rumors that had been spreading 
around are true. Our friends on the mining station are dead." 

A hushed murmuring ran through the crowd. One of the tall Sangheili stepped forward 
and raised an arm. "Then we have no fuel?" 

Jara blinked once. "It would go without saying, Maqu, that if our friends were 
unable to return, then we would not have the fuel they went to retrieve." There was 
another round of murmurings, more excited this time. Jara maintained his calm 
exterior while silently cursing Kade's foolish mistake. 

Kade 'Ilsenevu, the leader of the group known as Shining Light, had accompanied the 
expedition down to the Forerunner mining station on the gas giant. The expedition 
should not have been necessary, but Kade's arrogance had led to him running their 
lone transport nearly dry before stopping to look for a new source of fuel. Then, 
he had made the monumental mistake of transmitting a sermon from the poorly-
defended mining station while in the very shadow of High Charity. It had been a 
taunt, a barb set in the skin of the Covenant leaders, showing them that a heretic 
could operate under their very nose without them knowing. The Covenant response had 
been nothing short of brutal. Their Special Operations had annihilated the 
expedition and killed Kade within hours of his transmission. 

"Is it true that an Arbiter killed Kade?" another Sangheili shouted. 

Jara briefly considered lying, then decided against it. "That is true as well," he 
said. The whisperings grew louder, more anxious, almost frenzied. One Sangheili in 
particular alarmed Jara. Unlike the others, he did not become more animated in fear 
and anxiety. He slumped forward, as though already defeated. 

"An Arbiter," he said mournfully. "We are already dead." 

"No!" Jara shouted forcefully. The whispers died, leaving a silence that seemed 
charged with electricity. "We are not defeated! We can survive and we will!" 

"But an Arbiter!" 

"They are death incarnate!" 

"He will kill us all!" 

"He will not!" Jara shouted again as he felt his anger begin to build. 

"He killed Kade!" 

Jara waved the shouted comment away. "For all his knowledge, Kade was not 
infallible. We all knew our ship was running low on fuel, but he chose to keep 
going, running us right to the last drop before even considering finding another 
source. And even when we managed to sneak into the same system as the very leaders 
of the Covenant and find a viable source, Kade made the foolish mistake of baiting 
the Council while in a position that was effectively undefendable. Kade was 
intelligent, and he was charismatic...but he was not without fault. Realize that." 

Jara paused a moment to let his words sink in. "Now, we are not going to die, for 
two reasons. First, we have been silent ever since we landed. Unlike Kade, we have 
given the Covenant no reason to hunt us down. Second, our hiding place could not be 
better. The Covenant will not come here unless they are given a very good reason, 
which we are most certainly not going to give them." 

He paused again and looked over the group, searching for one very certain pair of 
eyes. He found them and locked his own to that crimson gaze. "The Covenant will not 
stay here forever," he said firmly. "Sooner or later, they will leave. Until then, 
we can keep our heads down and our mouths shut, and we will be left alone." 

The crimson eyes blinked, and the comment Jara knew had been coming finally 
manifested. "But what then?" said a voice that flowed like oil. "We do not have the 
fuel to make a jump even to the edge of the system." 

"I know that," Jara said. "When the Covenant has gone and left us to our own 
devices, we will spread out and search this ring. It is shattered, yes, but the 
Forerunners must have given it some type of power source, and for that, it would 
have needed fuel. Besides which, we may be able to salvage some from one of the 
ships that was destroyed in the battle here." He held up his hands to preempt any 
comments. "I know it is a long shot, but we have faced long odds before, and we 
likely will again, but we all knew that this would be the case when we joined the 
Shining Light." 

Nobody spoke, and Jara knew they were rallying. "We are heretics," he said. "We are 
the despised. We are the hated. From the time we were born, we were told that 
heretics only deserved death. You Sangheili, all of your names end in the vu 
honorific to let everyone know that you are worthless. You Unggoy, many of you have 
names that only we have given you because your birth names were taken from you when 
you chose to follow this path." 

He spread his hands. "We are the hated, but understand this. We are also the 
feared. We are what pass through the minds of the so-called Prophets in their 
moments of doubt and fear. We are their nightmares. We are hunted down and 
destroyed not because we are nothing, but because we are everything. It was with 
words that the Prophets created their bastard Covenant, and it is with words that 
it can be torn apart again. I will not dwell on reasons, because you know them as 
well as I. Just know that you may walk with your head held as high as any Sangheili 
Arbiter or Unggoy patriarch, and remember that though we walk the hard road, there 
is a light waiting for us at the end." 

The group was still for a few moments. Then, they began to file out in ones and 
twos. Some spoke quietly as they left. In many ways, it reminded Jara of the way 
they had entered, with one crucial difference; their posture had changed from one 
of despair and defeat to one of confidence. Jara kept his expression carefully 
blank, as the last thing he wanted now was for someone to misinterpret a smile or 
frown and set off another wildfire rumor. 

Within a few minutes, the room was empty of all but Jara and the Sangheili with 
burning crimson eyes. "That was a wonderful speech," he said. 

Jara sighed and felt his rigid stance dissolve. Suddenly, he felt a million years 
old. "If it was, I can't see it," he replied. "I only said what needed to be 
said." 

"Exactly," the other replied. "Jara, they needed hope. You gave it to them. With 
Kade gone, they needed a leader who could stand up and take his place. You've given 
them that. With you, they have something to believe in. Something to fight for. 
Something to live for." 

Jara shrugged. "I wish that I could be as enthusiastic as they are, Ilor. I can't 
help but feel that we are like a flickering candle in the midst of a storm. One 
breath of wind too many, and..." Jara brought his digits together, then quickly 
spread them to suggest the final burst of flame. 

Ilor raised one hand to waist level and slowly let it glide from left to right, a 
gesture that suggested tranquility. "You are tired, my friend. Tired and put-upon. 
When you wake up tomorrow, your spirits will be higher." There was a long silence, 
and Ilor cocked his head to one side. "You are troubled." 

"I'm not Kade," Jara said shortly. "I don't know if I can keep this group from 
falling apart without him." 

Ilor set his jaws into a smile. "No, you are not Kade. You're better than him." 
That caught Jara's attention and he swung his head up as Ilor continued. "Kade kept 
this group together by sheer force of personality. He dealt with conflict by 
stamping both parties down. He believed that any problem would sort itself out as 
soon as he looked at it." Ilor pressed his palms together and looked directly into 
Jara's eyes. "You're different from him. You look to ease the troubles of those 
under you. You lead by emotion, not strength, and the proof of it is what happened 
in this room just moments ago." Ilor's head tilted the other way. "As long as you 
watch over them, the others will believe that they are more than just a flame in a 
storm. Perhaps they will liken themselves to the devouring inferno that scours the 
surface of a world." 

Jara smiled slightly. "And what about me, my friend? Am I the cannon that launches 
the fire? But what if the cannon malfunctions?" 

Ilor stepped closer. "I know you better than that, Jara 'Tazaanvu," he said with a 
chuckle. "You're like a leech. When hope surrounds you, you are hopeful. When 
despair closes its noose, you despair. But you do not give in. You fight despair 
with memories of hope, and that is what makes you a worthy leader." 

Silence fell. Jara reached out and gently touched Ilor's lower right jaw. "And what 
about you, my friend?" he asked. "What about your hope? What about your own fire?" 

Ilor's hand closed around Jara's and pressed it to his neck. "You've already 
rekindled it, my friend." 

There were no more words.



Chapter 1: Excellence in Adversity 

"When brothers clash, the entire clan suffers." - Lekgolo proverb 

Alve closed his eyes to shut out the irritating lights. He held his body rigidly, 
waiting for the tension in his limbs to reach the breaking point. 

One deep breath. 

Another. 

There it was. 

Eyes still closed, Alve took a sliding step forward, then snapped the rest of his 
body to follow, bringing one knee up and delivering an open-handed blow to his 
nonexistent opponent. He froze for a moment, then contorted, turning in his spot 
and throwing an elbow-knuckle blow to the area behind him. A moment later, he 
leaned his upper body forward and blew his breath out, falling and turning the move 
into a forward roll that ended with him on one knee and delivering another open-
hand strike. 

As he continued his movements, the world seemed to drop away from around him. Alve 
forgot about the annoying lights, forgot about the feel of the pad beneath his 
feet, forgot about all the little bothersome details of life, and focused instead 
upon the burning in his muscles, the cold rush of air through his lungs, and the 
furious pumping of his heart. 

The ancient movements felt good, crisp, relaxing as he replicated them one by one, 
paying homage to his teachers with each perfectly executed blow, block, roll, and 
turn. Sloth was a demon on his shoulder, urging him to stop and relax, but he 
ignored it, refusing to finish until he had seen the series through to the end. 

He spun, weaving a pair of imaginary knives through the air as he stretched his 
arms out until they strained. Finally, his spin ended with him crouched on the 
floor, his hands resting to either side of him. Slowly, he stepped back and began 
to gather himself up, unfolding his body into a standing position. His hands came 
in towards his sides and he held them palms down; what his instructors had referred 
to as the 'go easy' position. Finally, he became still, standing a full eight feet 
and four inches high; a giant by human standards. 

Alve was a bit short for a Sangheili, but he made up for it with dedication. 

He exhaled one final time and relaxed, opening his emerald eyes to the world. The 
irritating white lights of the training room resumed burning at his retinas, and he 
submitted to the urge to narrow his eyes again. That was when a hollow clapping 
sound caught his attention, and he turned to find a very unwelcome figure watching 
him from the room's entrance. 

"You make a pretty dancer," the Jiralhanae chieftain said. 

Alve resisted the impulse to make some snappish retort and kept his reply tranquil. 
"Sangheili warriors have learned these exercises for generations," he said as he 
began his cool-down routine. "I don't think a few training sessions would be wasted 
on you, either." The huge figure snorted in amusement. A moment later, he stepped 
into the light and Alve immediately wished he hadn't. 

The hugely muscled Erebus was nearly twice Alve's size. His fur was the color of 
blue steel, his eyes a dark red, and his teeth a dull yellow. He stank like the 
carrion he ate and his only clothes were the greaves on his legs, the boots on his 
feet, and the small communicator latched onto his left wrist. Intellectually, Alve 
knew that Erebus was a dangerous figure. He was a lesser chieftain, and dozens of 
Jiralhanae reported to him directly, while his superior, Tartarus, seemed to be 
getting closer and closer to the Prophets as time went on. Emotionally, that didn't 
stop him from wishing he could rip the arrogant creature's head off. 

"My people don't need to learn little dances to know how to fight," he said in his 
deep bass voice, and Alve felt his temper begin to rise. "We do it all on our 
own." 

"Yes," Alve said sarcastically. "You make wonderful savages." 

Erebus stepped forward, his eyes flaring angrily, and Alve knew he should've kept 
his mouth shut. He knew he could take the chieftain, but the Prophets looked down 
on people who picked fights with other members of the military. As Erebus 
shouldered his way into the room, Alve took a step back, careful to keep his weight 
balanced. When the huge figure finally reached the training mat, he stopped and 
deliberately cracked his knuckles. In the deadly silence, it sounded like tree 
branches being snapped. 

"I will give you one opportunity," Erebus said darkly. "Either take back that 
remark or I will pound you into the mat." 

"Captain Alve 'Essonee against one Jiralhanae? I'm surprised he hasn't knocked you 
on your back already," a new voice said. Both Alve and Erebus turned in surprise 
two see a new pair of figures. Alve felt his heart leap as he recognized both of 
them; both from his own team. Ensu 'Pulomee, his sniper, stood with one hand on his 
hip and his other tapping his lower jaw. Meras 'Mequalee, his scout and the squad's 
only female, leaned against the frame of the entrance, her slender arms 
deliberately crossed against her chest, her bright hazel eyes fixed on him. She 
noticed his look and tilted her head in an expression of amusement. 

"Maybe one of us should soften him up before Erebus steps in," she commented. 
"After all, we know him pretty well." 

Erebus snorted in contempt. "I don't need your help, Sangheili bitch." 

Meras' eyes widened in anger and she pushed her slender frame away from the door, 
bringing herself to her full eight-foot-nine height. Meras was typical of Sangheili 
females; tall and slender with a delicate frame - but every member of Alve's squad 
had learned, some the hard way, to never cross her when she looked like that. 

She started into the room but Ensu set a hand on her upper arm in warning. "Let 
them get into it," he said calmly. "I've got ten on the captain. Care to put some 
down?" 

She subsided again, though the fire in her eyes didn't fade completely. "Not on 
winners, that's a sure thing. Time limit. I say the big guy's down and not getting 
up in thirty seconds." 

"Twenty." 

"Done." 

Erebus narrowed his eyes and Alve held his breath. The Jiralhanae looked at the 
pair in the door, back to Alve, then towards the pair again. He snorted and 
straightened. "You Sangheili cling together like a pack of vermin," he said 
contemptuously. He turned back towards Alve. "I'll let you off...this time," he 
said darkly. Then he turned and stomped out of the room, passing between Ensu and 
Meras as they separated to let him through. 

Once Erebus was gone, Ensu turned back to Alve. "You shouldn't have picked a fight 
with him," he said, his tone wavering between you-should-know-better and no-
offense-intended. 

Alve straightened. "I didn't mean to," he said as he breathed the tension away. "It 
just came out." 

"I think we should've given him a good thrashing," Meras said. Her eyes narrowed. 
"The Jiralhanae are getting too greedy. They're the youngest members of the 
Covenant, but they swagger around like they invented the concept. I'm getting sick 
of their arrogance." 

"There is little that would be gained by beating up one of their chieftains," Ensu 
said meditatively. "They would react as to an insult to be avenged, rather than a 
lesson to be learned." 

"Maybe," Meras said, her voice saying she wasn't convinced. "But I'm not forgetting 
what he called me." Her eyes flashed. "It's going to be paid back in full." 

Alve tilted his head. "You never were much of a peaceful arth'tak, were you 
Meras?" 

"My father always insisted that my temper would disgrace our family," she said with 
a short laugh. 

"We know," both of the others said, and the last vestige of confrontation left the 
room as they laughed. As it trailed off, Alve touched Ensu on the arm. "How is 
Vene?" he asked. 

Ensu grew serious. "Better," he said. "He claims he's back to full health, but he 
still hitches when he attempts to breathe deeply." There was a pause. "It was a 
close thing," Ensu said quietly. "For a while, I didn't think he would make it." 

Meras snorted. "You're entirely too pessimistic," she said. "Vene took that blast 
like an insect bite." 

"And nearly lost a lung because of it," Ensu reminded her. 

In the silence that followed, there was a short chittering at the room's entrance. 
The three soldiers turned to see a lone male Kig-Yar dressed in the uniform worn by 
retainers of the Prophets. He cocked his head. "Captain Alve 'Essonee?" he asked. 

'Essonee nodded and stepped forward. "That's me," he said. 

"The great and noble Prophet of Truth requires your presence, alone, in the Chamber 
of Inquiry precisely one hour from now," the birdlike creature said. 

Alve nodded. "Thank you. Tell the Prophet I will not disappoint him." 

The Kig-Yar bowed and left. Alve turned back to find his subordinates staring at 
him. "Alright, what did you do?" Meras asked. 

Alve blinked. "Nothing." 

"The Prophets don't call you up for an inquiry for nothing," Ensu said. 

"Perhaps he has a mission for us," Alve said. He saw his comrades' reaction to that 
comment and stifled a chuckle. Ensu and Meras reared in unison and turned to look 
at each other in excitement. "Well," he added after a moment, "we won't learn 
anything by standing here. I've got to go get cleaned up and get my armor on if 
I've got to appear before the Prophet of Truth. I'll see you when it's over." 

"If you survive," Meras said. 

Alve snorted as he walked out. "And you say Ensu's pessimistic," he said over his 
shoulder.



Chapter 2: Crusade 

"There's no difference between reckless pilots and reckless politicians except the 
number of bodies to count when the odds catch up." - Yanme'e pilots' joke 

Alve felt jittery, but forced himself to keep his stride even. He was a Sangheili 
captain, and to show fear, especially of a superior, was inconceivable. 
Nevertheless, this was the Prophet of Truth, not simply his own commander. The 
comparison was virtually nonexistent. 

He banished the feeling of insecurity and squared his shoulders as he approached 
the door to the Chamber of Inquiry, attempting to make a display of himself as he 
walked. Not all Sangheili could wear the coveted white armor, after all. Any 
captain worth his rank would do the same. 

Even so, he knew he paled in comparison to the pair of Sangheili he approached 
right now. Standing on either side of the door, the personal guard of the Prophet 
of Truth wore beautiful gold and orange ceremonial armor, looking like gods 
themselves. Each of them held a long staff weapon topped with a short plasma blade, 
a blade that could eviscerate him in an instant if he made a wrong move. 

He came to a stop before the two guards and came to attention. Seconds ticked by as 
he held the position. Although he couldn't see their eyes or hear their hushed 
whispers, he knew that each of them was checking him for hidden weapons and 
confirming his identity. If the slightest anomaly was found, they would be 
perfectly within their rights to slice him in half if they chose. When one finally 
stepped forward, Alve barely managed to keep from jumping. 

"Captain Alve 'Essonee?" the guard asked, though both knew who he was. 

'Essonee nodded. "I have received the summons of the noble and mighty Prophet of 
Truth," he said. "I have come as he asked." 

The other guard stepped forward. "You may not go before the Prophet while armed," 
he said. "Surrender your weapons." Alve took his plasma rifle in one hand and his 
deactivated plasma sword in the other and handed each to one guard. 

He had worn no plasma grenades; that might well have been taken as a display of 
insolence. 

The two guards stepped back to their position. The door opened quietly, though Alve 
had neither seen nor heard any trigger command. "You may enter," the first guard 
said. 

Alve bowed quickly. "My thanks," he said as he stepped past them and into the 
chamber itself. The Chamber of Inquiry was an enormous room that could seat 
hundreds around a large holographic projector. It was often used as a briefing room 
for the highest military leaders of the Covenant. Right now only a single light was 
on, wreathing the projector in a halo of white and illuminating a single figure. 

"Ah, right on time," the Prophet of Truth said as he looked up from his floating 
chair. The Prophet looked like a spindly, helpless creature, but the power he 
wielded in the Covenant was second to none. More realistically, Alve knew he had a 
cannon built into his hoverthrone that could incinerate him if he made any attempt 
on the Prophet's life. 

As Alve bowed, he noticed a third figure in the room. Bigger than Erebus and even 
shaggier, Tartarus was the highest of Jiralhanae chieftains and had become one of 
the Prophets' most favored servants as of late. In one hand he held a huge weapon 
called a gravity hammer. A part of Alve's mind rankled at having to bow to a 
Prophet in the presence of such a barbarian. 

"Rise, captain," Truth said, shaking him from his thoughts. "You must be wondering 
why I have summoned you here." 

Alve nodded. "I cannot deny that I have wondered, noble Prophet," he said. 

Truth interlaced his fingers and looked Alve directly in the eyes. "I have a task 
for you," he said. 

Alve snapped to attention. "I will do as ordered, noble Prophet," he said. 

Truth waved the comment away. "Calm yourself," he said. "There is something I would 
like you to see." He gestured at the projector, which promptly lit up with a still 
scene of a Sangheili special operations soldier standing before a wall of some tan 
material, facing off to the left. "You know of the Arbiter?" the Prophet said. 

Alve hitched. "The position itself, or the newest holder of it?" he asked without 
thinking. 

Truth smiled. "Quite so," he said enigmatically. He gestured at the still image. "I 
recently dispatched him on his first mission, one that involved cleaning out a nest 
of heretics that had occupied a mining installation of the Forerunners. In this he 
was extremely successful, though his victory necessitated the destruction of the 
station. During the fighting, he failed to notice something that struck me as very 
unusual. I want to see if anything in this recording strikes you as odd." Silently, 
Truth reached out and tapped a button. The projection came to life, the Sangheili 
soldier moving left and the camera following him. Alve realized that the recording 
must have come directly from the Arbiter's own helmet. 

Truth, Alve, and Tartarus watched as the recorded image moved through hallways, 
open areas, elevators, conveyor belts as the Arbiter used his sword to slaughter 
his way through the heretics. Alve found himself quietly impressed. His own sword 
work was above par, but the handling the Arbiter showed was nothing short of 
masterful. As the recording continued, Alve tried to keep an eye open for what the 
Prophet wanted him to see, but nothing he saw struck him as unusual. 

Finally, the Arbiter dealt with the leader of the heretic group himself, charging 
recklessly through a storm of plasma fire to dispatch him with a single cut of the 
sword. As the image turned back to face the rest of the loyal troops as they 
entered the hangar, the Prophet suddenly reached forward and tapped a control that 
made it freeze. "There," he said. "Do you see it?" 

Alve narrowed his eyes. He had a funny feeling that there was something wrong with 
the scene, but couldn't quite pin it down. What was it? He ran through a quick 
checklist. Troops, bodies, cargo, weapons, the ship- 

He suddenly pointed. "That ship," he said. 

The Prophet steepled his hands. "Yes?" he said, his tone implying expectation. 

Alve brushed aside his qualms and continued. "That type of ship is a short-range 
transport. It's not built for inter-system use." 

The corners of the Prophet's mouth slowly turned up in a smile. "Precisely, 
captain. In fact, a complete catalog of our sensor data turns up no trace at all of 
any multisystem-class ship in use besides our own fleet here, though we have found 
evidence of the shuttle's path to the mining station. What does that tell you?" 

Alve hesitated, then spoke. "If the only ship on the mining station was a shuttle, 
their true transport must be hidden somewhere." 

Truth nodded. "Again, well done. Now, the final conclusion, please." 

A pause. "We may not have gotten all of the heretics," he finally said. 

Truth clapped his hands once. "Perfect!" he said. "Very good indeed, captain." 

"And I suppose you summoned me because you want my Special Operations to deal with 
their nest?" Alve asked. 

"Even better, captain." 

Alve cocked his head. "And if you have summoned me specifically, you must have 
already found their location." 

Truth nodded solemnly. "And this is why you have attained your rank, Alve 
'Essonee." In the shadows behind the Prophet, Tartarus looked away and huffed 
quietly. Either unaware of or unconcerned with the Jiralhanae's actions, Truth 
tapped another control. The image of the hangar dissolved and was replaced by a 
shot of the destroyed ring hanging in space. Before Alve could take in the full 
scene, a rectangle drew itself over one end of the largest ring fragment and the 
scene zoomed in. Again the rectangle formed and the scene zoomed right up to the 
surface of the ring. In the twisted wreckage at the edge of the fragment, Alve saw 
something that definitely did not belong there. 

Without being prompted, he raised a hand to the projection and touched the image of 
the ship nestled there. "An inter-system transport," he said softly. 

Truth nodded. "Exactly. We have found our heretics. Now it is time to crush them."



Chapter 3: Left Hand, Right Hand 

"Maybe you can't drink poison, but your rival certainly can." - Kig-Yar matriarch 

Tartarus kept his face carefully blank as the Sangheili captain all but jumped up 
and down in excitement. He suppressed a snort of contempt, fully aware of what the 
consequences would be for drawing the Prophet's ire at the wrong moment. 

"How are we to mount our attack, noble Prophet?" the captain was saying. "Will we 
have support from the fleet?" 

You wish, Tartarus thought with a measure of satisfaction. He kept the smirk from 
his face as Truth shook his head. 

"No, Captain 'Essonee," the Prophet said. "This fleet, along with High Charity 
itself, will soon be leaving this system for a...certain location, and we cannot 
wait for the extermination of a group of heretics. However, you will not be without 
aid. Do you recall the name Hallowed Avenger?" 

"That was the ship of...the ship that led the fleet here," the Sangheili said, 
careful to avoid using the former name of the Arbiter. 

"Precisely," Truth replied. "It is currently under the leadership of Ship Master 
Uje 'Letousee, who has been dropping not-so-subtle hints to both myself and my 
brother Prophet of Mercy that he is determined to redeem himself for the failure 
that he has become associated with. When the fleet leaves, Hallowed Avenger, with 
you and your team aboard, will make for the heretics and hunt down each and every 
last one of them. When your task is complete, you and the Hallowed Avenger will 
rejoin the fleet. Ship Master 'Letousee will know where to go." 

Tartarus tuned them out as they discussed the particulars of the operation. He 
already knew most of what they would discuss, having helped the Prophet with the 
details earlier in the day. The fact that the Prophet had chosen a team of 
Sangheili and Unggoy over his own Jiralhanae still smarted, and he was sorely 
tempted to take his hammer to the head of that fawning little weasel. 

He quickly discontinued that train of thought before his hand could tighten on the 
shaft of his hammer. Taking care to move only his eyes, he looked up into the 
shadowed recesses of the chamber. Tartarus' night vision was not especially good, 
but he could still make out the dim forms of the Sangheili guardians stationed 
around the perimeter of the room. Unlike the two outside, these all carried 
Covenant beam rifles, notorious for their deadly accuracy. Within his range of 
vision, Tartarus could discern three of them aiming at 'Essonee, ready to take him 
out if he so much as twitched wrong. Somewhere behind him, he knew that there were 
other rifles being kept trained on him. 

High Guards trusted nobody. 

Someday, it will be my Jiralhanae up there, he thought with satisfaction. That 
thought brought him back to the present situation. He had recommended a squad of 
his own warriors, but the Prophet had overruled him, saying that the Jiralhanae did 
not yet have the experience to deal with such an insidious enemy. Tartarus had 
ground his teeth in frustration all the way to the Chamber of Inquiry. 

He went back to watching the Sangheili captain as he sycophantically agreed with 
everything the Prophet said. Tartarus imagined placing one of his own chieftains in 
the alien's place, how he would point out flaws in the plan and make corrections as 
he saw fit. That thought led to him remembering that this particular captain had, 
in fact, had brushes with one of his chieftains by the name of Erebus. 

That led to yet another thought, and another... 

Before Tartarus knew it, the Sangheili had saluted and left, leaving him alone with 
the Prophet and half a dozen guards aiming rifles at him. "I am confidant he will 
succeed," Truth was saying. 

"Yes, of course," Tartarus said quickly. 

Truth arched an eyebrow. "You do not approve?" 

Tartarus silently cursed himself for forgetting how perceptive Truth was. At times, 
it seemed like the Prophet could see right through him. "I remain unconvinced that 
he is a better choice than my own men," he said. 

"I am aware of this, Tartarus, but my decision still stands," Truth said. "Captain 
'Essonee and his Special Operations team will deal with the heretics, leaving us 
free to deal with greater matters." 

"Of course, noble Prophet," he said with a nod. 

Truth waved a hand dismissively and turned away from him. "Leave me for now, 
Tartarus. I wish to contemplate the coming events alone. I will summon you when I 
have need of you again." 

Tartarus bowed respectively and left the room, taking care to ensure that his 
stride did not appear hurried. As soon as the door closed behind him, however, he 
broke into a jog and went to summon a transport to take him to the Jiralhanae 
quarter of the High Charity. 

The Yanme'e pilot of the small ship kept his peace as they flew, giving Tartarus 
time to admire the massive central chamber of the spacegoing city. They had nothing 
like this back home. The city stretched for hundreds of square kilometers, all 
encased within a single giant metal shell that protected it from the vacuum of 
space. 

The Yanme'e skillfully landed the transport, setting down without even a noticeable 
bump. Tartarus nodded his appreciation as he stepped off and the insect chirped a 
goodbye as he walked away. The sights and scents of his own people washed over him 
and he felt his mood beginning to improve. He made his way to one of the largest 
buildings and stepped inside without even acknowledging the guards standing to 
either side of the doorway. He walked the halls until coming to a certain room 
filled with Jiralhanae on their off time. Some played games. Some huddled together 
and talked. 

Tartarus thumped the end of his hammer on the floor to get their attention and 
barked, "Erebus!" 

The steel-furred chieftain stood up at the other end of the room. "Here, 
Tartarus," he said as he made his way towards the greater chieftain. "Is there 
something I can do for you?" 

Tartarus looked him in the eye. "Alve 'Essonee," he said without preamble. 

Erebus' lip curled into a sneer. "What about him?" 

"You do not get along with him, do you?" 

Erebus shook his shaggy head, sending a wave through his fur. "No. In fact, I 
nearly had a fight with him earlier today." 

Tartarus grinned savagely. "What if I could set things up for you to knock him out 
of the picture permanently, and in front of the Prophets no less?" 

A slow smile spread across Erebus' face. "You've got my full and complete 
attention, Tartarus."



Chapter 4: Beginning the End 

"Life disrupts plans and plans disrupt life, so remember to live your plans instead 
of planning your life." - Sangheili saying 

The lights of the control room were mostly turned off to conserve power. The fact 
that this created an intensely romantic atmosphere was a completely unintentional 
side effect. Even so, it was a side effect that Kalis 'Setauvu greatly appreciated. 
She leaned over the computer bank, eyes sliding closed in pleasure as she felt 
Rota's hot breath on her skin. He reached up and gently caressed her neck just the 
way she liked it and she shuddered, her hands clutching at the console for support. 
Her jaws unconsciously spread wide as she tilted her head back and moaned. Her 
chest heaved as she gulped at the air. 

Rota's arm wrapped itself around her midsection and he stepped forward to press 
against her. His body felt warm, almost hot to the touch, and it seemed to her that 
a fire had wrapped itself around and inside her, igniting the vast reserves of 
passions that she always kept hidden during daily life. 

Rota nuzzled her upper left jaw from behind and she opened an eye to look at him. 
His piercing blue gaze looked back in a way that made her shudder a second time. 
Rota's intense blue eyes - a rare trait among Sangheili - had been what had 
attracted Kalis to him in the beginning. They'd both been much younger then; young, 
foolhardy, and not yet disgraced. When they'd first met he'd called her 
deo'galv'ena - 'beloved and beautiful,' a term that she had found both amusing and 
endearing. 

He had been a young member of the military; she the daughter of a minor merchant 
whose father had forbidden her to seek a mate until she was older. The illicit 
affair that had followed that first meeting had drawn them closer together than 
most couples on their homeworld and had served as the foundation for their joining 
the Shining Light. 

Memories both painful and blissful melted away as Rota began to undo the clasps on 
the flight suit she wore. His hand slipped inside and she gasped as he ran it 
across her bare flesh. Her hands simultaneously wanted to curl up and stiffen out, 
and she impulsively reached over her shoulder to clutch at the back of his head. He 
leaned down until his head drew even with her own. With his crystal blue eye 
looking directly into hers, he reached up with his free hand and touched her lower 
jaw. 

Gently, he turned her head towards his and kissed her in Sangheili fashion. His 
muzzle and the tips of his jaws pressed against hers and she felt jolted as if by 
electricity as the glands nestled there responded to the contact. Her eyes again 
closed of their own accord and she turned in his arms to face him. Reaching up, she 
took hold of his armor and gently tugged at it, her meaning obvious. Her ears 
barely caught the chuckle he made deep in his throat as he reached back and undid 
the clamps that held the armor to his body. It came away and she cast it to the 
floor, quickly returning her hands to the sensitive flesh that had been beneath it. 
She felt him shiver as he began to pull her flight suit down over her shoulders and 
she let a husky laugh escape her. 

He had just coaxed her arms out of the sleeves when they were interrupted. So deep 
in each other were they that it took several seconds for the soft beeping of the 
sensors to register. Once it had done so, they froze, unwilling to look away from 
each other both because of their own burning desires and the ever-present dread 
that the sensors were warning them of incoming enemies. The moment passed however, 
and they quickly disentangled themselves and dashed to the pertinent station, 
leaving their clothing in disarray. 

Rota's hands flew over the console, coaxing the information out of it. "Grid Six, 
one hundred forty thousand ketras," he said. 

"That's the Covenant fleet," Kalis said aloud, even though they both knew it. They 
exchanged a worried glance before Rota swallowed his fear and called up a visual. 
The staggeringly huge fleet jumped into existence before their eyes. It was exactly 
the same as it had been for some time, with one difference: the fleet was now 
peppered with bright points of white light. Kalis' jaws spread in astonishment. 
"They're leaving!" she exclaimed. 

Indeed, the massive cruisers, carriers, and destroyers of the Covenant fleet were 
entering subspace, the points of light marking their departure. "They're really 
going," Rota whispered. As the words left his lips, the impossible bulk of High 
Charity itself jumped out of the system in a blast of light. "We did it!" Rota 
exclaimed, pounding his fists on the console in elation. Kalis whooped and Rota 
turned to crush her in his arms, lifting her off the deck and swinging her in a 
circle. 

A moment passed and their exuberance faded. They turned back to face the screen as 
the last of the Covenant ships exited into subspace. "That's all of them - no, 
wait," Rota said as his hands again tapped the controls. "One cruiser-class ship 
left. It's changing orientation, moving to..." Rota slowly trailed off as the 
visual showed them every stomach-turning moment of the massive cruiser turning in 
their direction and lighting its engines. 

"Check their course," Kalis said, unwilling to believe her eyes. Rota did not 
respond. "Check their course!" she snapped, and he leapt to the task, quickly 
plotting an invisible line along the cruiser's current heading. His voice trembled 
a bit as he announced his findings. 

"They'll intercept the ring in four hours." 

Kalis squeezed her eyes closed for a moment. In mere moments, she had gone from 
overjoyed to horrified. Then she took a breath and felt herself solidify. She 
plucked a communicator from the console and thumbed it on. "Ilor, are you there?" 

"I'm here, Kalis," he said in his perpetually calm and flowing voice. "What's the 
problem?" 

"I've got a short in one of the bridge stations up here," she lied easily. "I'd 
like you to come take a look at it." 

He didn't track her meaning. "So? You can take care of it, can't you?" 

She brought the comlink closer to her mouth and spoke more slowly. "I'd really 
appreciate it if you came up and helped me, Ilor." 

He caught the inflection in her voice this time. "I'll be up there soon," he said 
quickly, and the line clicked off. 

By the time Ilor got to the bridge, both Rota and Kalis were fully clothed and 
monitoring the screens closely. "What's the situation?" he said even before the 
door had closed behind him. 

"Our cover's blown," Rota said, his voice now steady. "Covenant cruiser identified 
as the Hallowed Avenger closing in on out position. They'll be here in less than 
four hours." 

Ilor studied the sensor data for a moment, then picked up the communicator and 
punched in a number. "Jara, get up here. Now."



Chapter 5: Plotting the Course 

"Live for the day and work for the pay, since you'll die anyway, just listen to 
what they say, and keep out of the way." - Unggoy marching chant 

The briefing room was hot and cloying, the result of being built for about a dozen 
Sangheili and being occupied by six of that race, plus ten Unggoy and a pair of 
giant Lekgolo. Five of the Sangheili sat in the seat provided, while the Unggoy 
camped out in the aisles or the foreground. The Lekgolo, far too big to even make 
it down the aisle, stood at the back of the room, a silent yet highly comforting 
presence. 

"Currently, we are two hours from interception," Alve was saying. "When we reach 
optimal distance, we'll take a Phantom down to the surface of the ring and deal 
with the heretics." He gestured to the image behind him. "As you know, when the 
ring was destroyed, much of it ceased functioning. However, this particular 
facility retained enough energy - possibly from an imbedded generator - to maintain 
a livable atmosphere for roughly a four-ketra radius, just enough for the heretics 
to get to and from their ship. When the Hallowed Avenger reaches optimal 
interception range, our Phantom will take off and bring us to the edge of the 
livable area spinwards of the facility, which is near the edge of the ring 
fragment." 

The Sangheili captain paused in his narrative and looked his troops over. "This 
portion of the ring fragment still has gravity, but at the edge of the powered 
area, it could fluctuate. I want you all to be careful, understood?" Heads bobbed 
up and down. 

One of the black-armored Unggoy leaned forward and rapped a claw on the floor to 
attract attention. "I've got a question," he rapped out in a scratchy voice, 
magnified by his breath mask. "Why doesn't the cruiser just open fire at range and 
vaporize them? Why send in a team and risk lives?" The Unggoy sat back again as 
several of his brothers-in-arms nodded. 

Alve fixed the Unggoy with a cold gaze. "Gedda, are you saying you're afraid to 
risk your life for the Covenant?" he said harshly. 

Gedda narrowed his eyes. "Never," he rasped. "But I question the soundness of a 
decision that risks lives when we've got all this-" he waved an arm to indicate the 
cruiser the traveled within, "-at our disposal." 

"This order comes directly from the Hierarchs, Gedda. Are you going to disobey 
them?" 

The Unggoy slammed a hand down on the floor. "Damnation, 'Essonee, you know what 
I'm playing at!" he snarled. Shocked silence followed the Unggoy's comment. Very 
few Unggoy would dare to speak to any Sangheili, let alone their commanding 
officer, in such a fashion. But Alve only smiled crookedly. 

"There are two reasons, Gedda. First, if the heretics burrow deep enough, they 
might survive such a bombardment, and that is unacceptable. Second, fighting upon 
the surface of one of the blessed Forerunners' creations is bad enough, but 
permissible. Blasting one of them to liquid is not to happen, under any 
circumstances. Is that understood, half-captain?" Gedda nodded, and Alve continued. 
"When we hit the ground, we'll move out in standard formation." He glanced at one 
of the seated Sangheili. "Vene, if you have any reservations, any at all, I want 
you to let me know." 

Vene 'Zagranee, a muscular Sangheili with copper-colored eyes, nodded. "I'm feeling 
much better, sir," he said. "I'll be in perfect shape for the mission." 

Alve narrowed his eyes like a predator closing in on its prey. "Will you?" he said 
flatly. "Take a deep breath." 

Vene grimaced, but inhaled deeply. As his lungs filled themselves his face 
contorted in pain, but he managed to keep his composure as he held his breath and 
let it out a few seconds later. "As I said, sir," he said a moment later, his voice 
strained. Behind him, Ensu leaned forward and patted him on the arm. 

"Alright then, you can go, but at your own risk," Alve said firmly. "Bovue, 
Kodul?" The two Lekgolo straightened. "Are you both ready?" Bovue Lassa Ghefa 
glanced at his bond brother and they nodded simultaneously. "Alright then, we're 
the only squad deploying on this mission, so it's more or less open season on 
equipment. Take whatever you want, and don't spare the ammunition. Got it?" Again, 
heads bobbed all around. Once again, Gedda leaned forward and rapped a claw on the 
floor. 

"If we're all going in, then who's going to pilot the Phantom?" he asked. 

Alve gestured to the person who had been observing the entire dialogue. The small 
figure leaned against the wall of the briefing room in flagrant disregard for 
decorum. "I'm sure you all remember Swift, the pilot from our last mission." 

Swift, a Yanme'e, raised a hand and trailed a claw down one of his antennae in a 
rakish fashion, an action that prompted a short chuckle amongst the squad. Swift 
wasn't the real name of the pilot, but his real name was almost unpronounceable by 
both Sangheili and Unggoy standards, so they had tagged him with the nickname to 
serve instead. 

"I'll give you all a smooth ride down," he promised. 

"That will be a first," one of the Sangheili commented. Before Swift could place 
the voice, a wave of laughter rippled through the room. 

Swift huffed in mock anger. "Fine. Just for that, I'm dropping you a few meters 
outside the safe zone. Maybe choking your way there will make you appreciate my 
flying." More laughter. 

Alve raised a hand and the chuckling vanished. "That's enough," he said sternly. 
"We're departing in less than two hours and I don't want to be traveling with a 
pack of immature juveniles." Alve looked over the group, his group, taking the time 
to look each and every one of them in the eyes. "You are all members of the 
Covenant Special Operations," he said. "Collectively, you are the best soldiers in 
existence. Rumors about the human's Demon notwithstanding, I would feel confident 
pitting this team against any military until in the galaxy." 

Alve slammed a hand down on the edge of the projector. "I expect these heretics to 
fall before us like blades of grass!" he snarled. "On a mission as grave as this, 
slip-ups will not be tolerated! We are the best, and more importantly, this mission 
was given to us by the Hierarchs directly! They will accept nothing less than 
perfection, and neither will I! If you all really think you deserve to be counted 
among the best, then you will deliver the best!" He paused. 

"Dismissed!"



Chapter 6: Secret Problems 

"I wouldn't particularly mind having to be quiet now and then if it didn't involve 
being so damned quiet." - Jiralhanae chieftain 

"Hey! Stop fooling around and get down here!" In the confined hanger, Denhuse's 
voice carried easily. Within moments, a dozen Jiralhanae had assembled in the only 
clear space the room offered: the deck next to their dropship. Despite the fact 
that the dropship was only half the size of a Phantom, it barely fit in a hanger 
that was meant to hold the Ship Master's personal Seraph fighter. Uje 'Letousee had 
been reluctant to hand the hanger over at first, but a few words from Tartarus had 
solved that problem. Now, the only difficulties were those of space and amenities. 

Both of those problems were in evidence as the squad set down to listen to their 
briefing. Some of them had knocked over weapons or food crates and sat on them 
while the rest simply flopped down on the deck. "All right, listen up," Denhuse 
said bluntly. "I know you're all wound up because we're all stuck in here." 

"No kidding," someone grunted. 

"Shut up and listen!" Nobody moved, and Denhuse jerked his head at the dropship 
behind him. "We're leaving in an hour and a half, so just keep yourselves under 
control until then." 

"So what are we doing here?" Nocturnus asked. Of the squad, he was the only one 
Denhuse considered anything like a friend, which was why he didn't pound the 
smaller Jiralhanae for his insubordination. 

Denhuse gestured to the steel-blue figure beside him. "By now you've all met 
Erebus. He's the one who snagged us this job. Now, we've got two objectives on this 
trip." Someone cursed and Denhuse grinned. "Relax, it won't be like last time. 
First, we're going to wipe out the nest of heretics on the ring fragment. We'll 
fight just like Jiralhanae; hit them hard, fast, and show no mercy." There were a 
few nods of approval. "Now, here's the complication. We're not the only squad going 
in. There's a Special Operations team assigned to this job." 

The reactions were as varied as they were immediate. Nocturnus' eyebrows widened in 
surprise. Jhankis growled in anger. Shlartuis sat up and began paying real 
attention to the briefing for the first time since the beginning. Nocturnus was the 
first to vocalize a coherent reply. "If the SpecOps are going in, why were we 
assigned?" he said. "And why aren't we working in concert?" 

Before Denhuse could reply, Erebus stepped forward and took charge of the briefing. 
"We weren't assigned," he said quickly. "You're stuck in this cramped little hanger 
because of myself and Tartarus." 

Ten Jiralhanae shouted exclamations. Only Nocturnus remained calm. "I certainly 
hope you're going to tell us more than that," he said. 

Erebus smiled in a very unpleasant fashion "How do you like being a second class 
under the Sangheili?" 

The other squad members looked to Nocturnus as he growled. "Not at all." 

"We Jiralhanae are the strongest, smartest, and deadliest members of the Covenant. 
Why do we not stand at the side of the Prophets?" 

"The Sangheili!" 

"They will not let us!" 

"Precisely," Erebus said. "We are going to wipe out these heretics ourselves and 
show the SpecOps who should truly be at the top of the food chain." 

Only Nocturnus did not join in the round of self-satisfied smiles that followed. "I 
have the feeling I know what our second objective is," he said darkly. 

Erebus favored him with another nasty smile. "When we set down, the SpecOps are 
going to get in the way, you can be sure of that. When that happens, we deal with 
them." 

None of the squad members seemed to have a problem with that. 

Denhuse decided he'd let Erebus control the briefing for long enough. "I want 
everyone ready by the time the hour's up. You know your gear, so no excuses. 
They're not going to be watching for us, but we'll fly slow anyway. Got that, 
Harvarus?" The Jiralhanae in question was a huge specimen who looked as though he'd 
never cram himself into a pilot's seat. Even do, Denhuse knew he was the match for 
virtually any pilot in the Covenant. "When we disembark, we do it weapons ready. 
Harvarus stays with the ship." 

"Why?" he asked, voice petulant. 

"Because you're the only one who knows how to fly it, idiot!" Denhuse snarled. 
Harvarus winced as if struck, then nodded. "Any more questions?" Silence. "Then 
we're finished. Dismissed." The squad really had nowhere to spread to, so they 
simply hung around and began murmuring to each other. Shlartuis retrieved a packet 
of playing disks and began dealing them out to those interested. Denhuse turned to 
Erebus and noted the scowl on his face. 

"You're entirely too casual with them," he said. 

Denhuse shrugged. "I know them. They won't perform as well if we clamp down on 
them." 

"You had better be right," Erebus growled. 

Denhuse snorted. "The fact that you have some kind of personal crusade here doesn't 
mean much to me, Erebus," he said. "So long as you let me run my squad the way I 
know how, we'll get you the results you need." 

Erebus' eyes narrowed. "Is that so?" he asked quietly. Suddenly, his hands shot to 
his bandoleer and pulled a double bar. As the weapon came free, it unfolded into a 
long polearm. Before Denhuse knew it, a plasma blade was hovering at his throat. A 
moment of shocked silence passed, then there was the sound of dozens of plasma 
rifles being snapped from holsters and aimed at the chieftain. Denhuse looked at 
him calmly. 

"Your move." 

A smirk tugged at Erebus' mouth. Then, without speaking, he slowly pulled the blade 
away from Denhuse's throat and deactivating it as that he could fold it back into 
his bandoleer. "Make sure they deliver, captain," he said calmly. "Otherwise I 
won't be hesitating next time." 

Denhuse was silent as he contemplated this unexpected development.



Chapter 7: Last Rites 

"History's most pious figures have always been approaching death's door in some 
tangible fashion. I'm certain there's a connection there." - Statement commonly 
ascribed to the Prophet of Regret 

"You had better speak to them," Ilor said. 

"Not now," Jara replied without looking away from the screen. 

"Yes, now!" Ilor barked. To his surprise and satisfaction, the shout actually got 
Jara to turn away from the console he'd been starting at for over an hour. He took 
a deep breath. "Jara, that cruiser's going to be here in less than an hour. People 
are going crazy out there. Maqu is talking surrender. I caught Kalis and Rota 
readying the ship for a suicide strike. And you sitting here without seeing anyone 
is not helping!" Ilor paused for breath and saw that he had not swayed his friend 
in the least. 

"You're wrong," Jara said calmly. "I am helping more than you could possibly know. 
And if my efforts are to come to fruition, I must be left alone for just a little 
while longer." He saw Ilor digging in for a fight and placed his hand on his 
friend's arm. "I promise I will not disappoint you, my friend. Just keep them calm 
for a little while longer and you will see." Jara turned back to the screen, 
effectively ending the discussion. A moment later, Ilor huffed in irritation and 
stormed out. Jara didn't notice. 

Ilor made his way through the complex barely seeing the worried, even panicked 
expressions on his comrades' face. Only when someone grabbed him by the shoulder 
did he snap out of his angry haze and take note. Rota's unusual blue eyes stared 
him in the face, and with a tilt of his head, the young Sangheili beckoned him to 
follow. Ilor did, trailing behind the young warrior as they went deeper into the 
structure. 

They went three levels down, coming to an area with only intermittent lighting and 
little sound in the air other than their footsteps. It was here that they found 
Kalis crouched beside an open panel, her nimble hands working on a serpent's nest 
of wiring. She briefly glanced up at them, then looked back to her work. "I found 
it," she said simply. 

"Found what?" Ilor asked. 

Kalis gestured at two of the wires, then at the pipe next to them. "This is a 
pipeline from reservoirs somewhere in the ring to the generator that's powering our 
little hideout." She reached down and tapped the wires. "These conduct the 
electricity produced by the generator to the lights, the consoles, everything. If I 
were to splice, say, these two, and cut a little hole in the pipe here, rub them 
together and add a little heat, we could set off a chain reaction that would blow 
the lights, take out the generator, detonate the fuel..." 

"And shatter the ring," Ilor finished for her. She nodded. He looked from her to 
Rota and back again. "You two," he said. "Why are you so eager to die? Half an hour 
ago you were ready to slam our transport into that cruiser. Now I find you doing 
this." His eyes narrowed. "I agree that it makes a good last resort, but only if we 
can't fight them off ourselves." 

Rota snorted. "You want to take on a cruiser contingent, Ilor? There's plenty who'd 
call that suicide." 

"You're ducking the point," Ilor said harshly. 

"When we said we'd be willing to give our lives for the Shining Light, we meant 
it," Kalis said softly. 

"You're entirely too zealous," Ilor said. "That's what got Kade killed." That 
remark seemed to cool their fire. "Kalis, I want you to run through everything in 
this plan of yours. Get it ready up until just before shoving the wires into the 
fuel line. In fact, I want to you to cut the pipe open as soon as I leave. Just 
make sure it's not too wide. If we luck out and buy enough time to escape, I don't 
want to hook the ship's siphon up to an empty reservoir. And Kalis-" he leaned down 
and motioned for Rota to do the same. "Nobody knows about this. Not even Jara. 
We're going to be sitting on a bomb, and I don't want anyone lighting it too early. 
Understand?" Both of them nodded. 

"Hey, hey, anyone down here?" came a high-pitched voice. The three conspirators 
leapt up and turned as an Unggoy appeared at the far end of the corridor. "Oh, 
there you are," he said as he waddled towards them. "You three gotta come back up. 
Sir 'Tazaanvu is calling a meeting in the big hall and everyone's supposed to be 
there." 

Ilor frowned. "What for?" 

"Don't know," the Unggoy said with a shrug. "He said it was something really 
important." He started back up the path. "Better come on or you'll end up late." 

"We'll follow you in a few moments," Ilor said. Once the Unggoy had vanished again, 
he turned back to the others. "Come on. Finish your preparations once this 
meeting's over." 

As Ilor started up the corridor, Rota pulled Kalis to her feet and was surprised 
when she staggered into his arms. "Are you alright?" he asked as he helped steady 
her. She grunted and shook her head. Worried, her reached up and touched her neck. 
When it felt colder than normal, he grew even more concerned. "Kalis, are you 
felling well?" he asked. 

"No," she said, but then she shook her head again. "Well, you might say I've come 
down with a little something." She coughed meaningfully. "A certain infliction that 
every female thinks about from time to time." 

He felt ice touch his heart. "You can't mean-" 

She nodded. 

Rota felt sick. 

She tugged his arm. "Come on. Let's see what Jara wants to say. Maybe it won't come 
to that." Despite her words, both of them knew it would. 

They were the last to arrive in what the Unggoy members of the group had termed the 
'big hall'. It was certainly big, nearly a full eighty meters from end to end, with 
one of the endless drop-offs that the Forerunners seemed to like so much 
surrounding it and leaving only a few bridges to connect the main platform to the 
halls around it. Jara stood on a packing crate at one end of the hall so that the 
whole group could see him. Once Rota and Kalis joined the ground, he nodded to 
himself and began. 

"My friends!" he shouted, sounding for a moment like Kade in his enthusiasm. "I 
know that you are all aware of our discovery. Indeed, the Covenant cruiser Hallowed 
Avenger is currently on its way to destroy us." Murmurings began, but Jara cut them 
off. "Or so they think." 

Ilor perked his head up at this comment. 

Jara's arms left his sides and he held them out at forty-five-degree angles towards 
the crowd. "My friends, we have so often compared ourselves to crusaders. Yet what 
is a crusader in a war but a soldier who fights for a righteous cause? But even so, 
they are forever remembered for their valiance." Jara's voice began to drop. "We 
are crusaders, my friends, but even crusaders are not invincible. Even crusaders 
need to call upon a higher power from time to time, and so I have. When the battle 
is joined, we, the crusaders, will be fighting for our very lives upon holy ground. 
And we shall not do it alone." Jara began to raise his arms. Although he could not 
personally what happened next, the looks of astonishment and awe on the faces of 
his comrades was enough. 

As if directed by his very thoughts, they began to rise from the endless pit behind 
him. Shining constructs of flawless silver metal, with a lone eye of bright blue at 
their fore and a powerful cannon slung at their bellies, they lifted into the air 
like angels supporting their lord. 

"We are crusaders!" he shouted. "We are the truly righteous! And our faith is 
rewarded! Angels of the Forerunners, the mighty Sentinels came at my call and they 
shall fight alongside us! And with their noble help, we shall not be defeated!" 

The crowd roared. Even Ilor found himself shouting in joy. The Sentinels had come 
to aid the Shining Light. Surely, this was proof that their cause was just. 
Suddenly, Ilor felt very optimistic about their chances for survival.



Chapter 8: Freefall 

"You can put as much forethought and money into a design as you can, but you can't 
change one thing: it'll only be as good as the pilot at the controls." - Hunagok 
aerospace engineer 

Swift eased himself into the pilot's seat with a quiet exhalation. The chair was 
small, designed for a Yanme'e and set for his own comfort. For a moment, he did 
nothing more than close his eyes and lean into the cushioning. Behind him, he could 
hear the soldiers bantering as they found their places, the sharp yaps of the 
Unggoy contrasting with a deep, reverberating growls of the Lekgolo. Swift actually 
felt the transport shift, its antigravity engines compensating as one of the huge 
soldiers stepped aboard. His eyes still closed, he reached up past his shoulders 
and pulled his restraining harness into place, then tightened them until his 
exoskeleton was pressed into the cushioning. 

A moment later, an alien hand dropped onto his shoulder and he looked up into the 
face of Alve 'Essonee. "We're all ready," he said. 

Swift nodded. "Then let's get going." Alve returned the nod, then vanished back 
into the ship. As soon as he did, Swift became all business. He lit his engines one 
by one, shunting the power into the necessary systems with one hand while he tested 
the controls with the other. "How's it looking?" 

"Full response," came the reply from outside. "Engines?" 

"All in the green," Swift said. "Antigravs at full capacity. How's the tractor?" 

"We've got you. Optimum launch window is forty seconds." 

"Better clear the deck." Even as he said the words, Swift saw the hanger alarms 
begin blaring and anyone in the vicinity began to make themselves scarce. Swift 
threw the switch that retracted the boarding ramp. "Guns, check in," he snapped. 
One by one, his gunners - all Yanme'e - reported full operational capacity. Swift 
nodded to himself and tapped the intership communicator. "Thirty seconds," he said, 
his voice echoing throughout the transport. "Make sure you're all braced 
properly." He tapped the switch again. "Powering up," he announced. He gently 
pushed the throttle forward, hearing his engines' whining grow louder and louder. 
The entire ship began to vibrate around him. "Full thrust reached," he announced. 

"Optimal launch window in fifteen seconds," the deck officer replied. Swift 
narrowed his eyes and glared out at the stars before him. In just a moment, he 
would be out among them. "Release in ten," the deck officer announced. 

"I that do not presume to know the stars and yet I swim amongst them," Swift said 
softly. 

"Five, four, three-" 

"I hate this part!" one of the soldiers yelled. 

"Release now!" 

Swift was thrown back in his seat as the gravity tractors holding the Phantom in 
place were cut and the dropship erupted from the hangar at top speed. Swift jerked 
back on one of his attitude controls and sent the ship into a spin that made the 
stars whirl in the forward view. He heard one of his gunners crow over the speakers 
and he flexed his antennae in amusement. A moment later, he ended the transport's 
crazy whirl and straightened out as the ring fragment came into view. The cruiser 
certainly had gotten them close. He pointed the Phantom's nose towards it, watching 
it grow larger as they approached at maximum speed. If the heretics were paying any 
attention at all, they would be detecting his energy signature even now, and he 
remained wary of any possible attack. 

"ETA is two minutes!" he yelled over his shoulder. 

"Ranak, are you alright?" one of the Unggoy squawked. 

"I'm fine!" another Unggoy replied. "Just need to turn up the fan a little!" 

"I've got that." A moment later, Swift heard Ranak squeak something -presumably 
thanks - in his own language. 

"Special Forces!" Alve's voice suddenly barked. "When we joined the Covenant, we 
took an oath!" 

"ACCORDING TO OUR STATION, ALL WITHOUT EXCEPTION!" the entire squad thundered back. 

"On the blood of our fathers; on the blood of our sons! We swore to uphold the 
Covenant!" 

"EVEN TO OUR DYING BREATH!" 

Swift found himself quietly reciting the passage along with the Sangheili captain 
as he spoke the next part, "Those who would break this oath are heretics, worthy of 
neither pity nor mercy!" 

"WE SHALL GRIND THEM INTO DUST!" 

"And continue our march to glorious salvation!" 

The Phantom banked sharply it swept over the dead plains of the inner ring. Swift's 
HUD lit up with the coordinates for the landing zone and he throttled back, again 
tapping the communicator. "Get ready to get lost," he said calmly. He dropped his 
altitude, burning his momentum as the antigravs caught the surface of the ring and 
braced against it. When the craft was a bare two meters, Swift activated the 
Phantom's gravity beam and opened the belly hatch. "Go, and good luck!" he shouted. 

Meras 'Mequalee was the first out of the ship, the female scout touching town with 
the grace of a dancer, her carbine sweeping the dead landscape around her. Next was 
the sniper Ensa, his powerful rifle ready to drill a hole in any attackers. The 
rest of the Sangheili followed them, then the two Lekgolo, and finally the massed 
Unggoy. With their departure, the only soldier left aboard was Captain Alve 
'Essonee himself. "What are you waiting for?" Swift yelled. "Go!" 

"I've got a bad feeling," the Sangheili captain said. "Swift, be careful." A moment 
later, he was gone. Swift closed the hatch behind him and pulled on the controls, 
tugging the nose of the Phantom back and clicking up his throttle to ascend away 
from the ring and towards his designated wait zone. As he did so, he couldn't help 
wondering about the captain's words. Alve 'Essonee was the one running towards the 
nest of heretics, wasn't he? Why then, had he told Swift to be careful?

Chapter 9: Rising Stakes 

"Plans only last until the plasma starts flying." - unknown 

The place stank. 

That was the only thing Meras 'Mequalee could think of as the squad made their way 
across the landscape. The rotting vegetation stank worse than some hazardous gases 
she could name. Brown, dead grass crunched underfoot as they moved beneath the 
stars. The thin atmosphere clinging to the ring fragment was enough to breath, but 
not thick enough to blot out the stars above. 

As the squad made their way through a shallow valley that lay between them and 
their installation, Meras and Ensu were their eyes and ears. The scout and the 
sniper were the lightest and quickest Sangheili on the team, as well as the best 
shots. So when Ensu crested the wall of the valley and through himself to his 
belly, the rest of the squad knew better than to waste time asking stupid questions 
and they all joined him on the dirt. Meras got a full dose of the scent and 
scowled. This op was off to a really bad start. Ahead of her, the facility jutted 
up three stories from the ground. 

"I have movement," Ensu reported, sighting down his rifle's barrel. "One, maybe 
two." 

Meras rested her carbine on the ground in front of her. Twisting the dial, she 
brought it to maximum zoom. The facility entrance in front of her grew in size 
until it felt like she was standing right in front of it. "Definitely two," she 
said. "Unggoy." 

"Can you get a clear shot?" Alve asked. 

"Yes," they said simultaneously. 

"Take them out." 

"I've got the left," Ensu said without waiting. The two of them fired almost 
simultaneously. Ensu's particle beam drilled a hole through his target's skull and 
exited out the back. Meras' shot was equally professional, taking her target in the 
neck and downing him with nothing more than a gurgle. 

"Target secured," Ensu reported. 

"Target secured," Meras echoed a moment later. 

"Well done," Alve said. "Let's move. Everyone, go to active camouflage." Meras 
touched the control on her chest and watched her arms fade from view. Behind her, 
the rest of the squad did the same. Only Bovue Lassa Gevue and Kodul Lassa Honau, 
the two Lekgolo, did not carry active camo. In order to cover the energy signatures 
of their massive fuel rod cannons, the two giants would have had to lug around a 
portable generator each. And so it was that two Lekgolo galloped out of the valley 
seemingly alone. Only occasional ripples in the air and a few dancing lights gave 
away the fact that they were not alone. 

The two bond brothers galloped straight towards the facility entrance, only their 
heads turning back and forth to watch the area around them. When the two arrived at 
the door, Bovue reached out with one giant hand and tapped the keypad with 
surprising delicacy. A moment passed and he tapped it again. A mechanical voice 
emanated from his chest piece after nothing happened. "It is locked." 

Alve's voice originated from nowhere. "Smash it." 

"Yes sir." Bovue took a few steps back, braced himself, and threw himself forward, 
slamming the edge of his shield into the metal. The door didn't even show a dent. 
"Too strong," Bovue said a moment later. 

"Malu," Alve said. "You're up." 

Malu 'Kattobee switched his cloak off and crept forward. The demolitions expert ran 
a hand over the door and touched the cracks between it and the frame. "I can take 
it," he whispered a moment later. 

"Everyone back off," Alve ordered. The squad waited tensely as Malu pulled stringed 
explosives from his pack and stuck them to the frame all around the door. 

"Get down," he warned when he was finished. At the touch of a button, the 
explosives detonated and the door fell forward onto the ground. 

"Well done," Alve said for the second time that night. "Gedda." 

"Sir." 

"Pick a pair of guards and leave them here." 

"Yes sir. Fuppu, Gorda, wait here and stay cloaked." The two Unggoy named chirped 
assent and the squad carefully filed into the facility one by one, with the two 
huge Lekgolo coming last. Fuppu and Gorda stepped inside the doorway and pulled 
their pistols. Fuppu stood facing out and watched the plains while Gorda knelt and 
scanned the tunnels inside, noting which way the squad went. 

Several minutes passed in tense silence and Gorda shifted uncomfortably. "I hate 
guard duty," he muttered. Fuppu didn't reply. Another minute passed. "How long do 
you think we'll be stuck here?" Gorda asked. Again Fuppu didn't reply, and this 
time Gorda turned to see what was keeping him quiet. 

Fuppu was gazing out at the plains, his pistol clutched in both hands. "I see 
something moving," he said softly. 

Gorda joined him, leaving their backs open. "Where?" 

Fuppu gestured with his pistol. Even as he did so, Gorda saw a massive yet quick-
moving figure dart from one cover to another. He frowned. "Better decloak." The two 
Unggoy touched their camouflage controls and faded into visibility, though they 
were paradoxically harder to see now because their solid hands could shield the 
glow of their pistols. The two of them watched the figures dart back and forth, 
slowly growing closer to the facility. "Jiralhanae!" Gorda finally exclaimed. "What 
are they doing here?" 

"Backup?" Fuppu said doubtfully. "I don't like this." 

"Neither do I," Gorda agreed. "What do you think?" 

"Let's wait until they get closer." Gorda nodded and the two of them slunk back 
into the shadows. The Jiralhanae dashed across the last open space to the door, 
hunched over to minimize their profiles. As the squad neared the door, the two 
Unggoy leapt out, brandishing their pistols. "Identify yourselves!" Fuppu barked. 

The first of the Jiralhanae was a massive figure with steel-blue fur that leapt 
back and yelped in surprise. The second in line, an equally huge brown-furred 
captain, lowered the giant barrel of his grenade launcher and quickly said, "Don't 
shoot. We're Covenant." 

"Prove it," Gorda snapped. 

The steel-furred chieftain growled in anger. "Get out of our way, you little 
maggots." With that, he leaned forward and decked Fuppu, knocking him to the 
ground. Gorda aimed, but before he could pull the trigger the Jiralhanae grabbed 
his arm and threw him into the wall. His head cracked against the steel and Gorda 
knew no more.



Chapter 10: The Push Begins 

"Unexpected situations kill more soldiers than screw-ups, friendly fire, and bad 
intelligence combined." - Unknown 

The team moved through the darkened corridors like wraiths, deactivating their 
camouflage to better conceal their weapons. Only a well-trained ear could have 
picked out the sounds of their feet slapping against the floor, even in the case of 
the two heavy Lekgolo. The team proceeded quickly but cautiously, keeping their 
flanks secure and triple-checking the seemingly empty hallways as they moved. 

To Alve 'Essonee, it was starting to smell like a trap. When he muttered as much to 
Gedda, the Unggoy agreed. "Too easy," he replied softly. "It's almost like those 
two sentries were left out there to die.to make us think they wanted this section 
protected when it was really just a trap." 

Gedda's analysis proved more or less accurate when the team ran into a pair of 
steel doors that had been welded shut. Meras touched the centerline gently. "Not 
recently," she said. "They sealed this up days ago, probably as soon as they got 
here." 

There was a flicker of light in the air and a brief sizzle of electricity, and the 
entire team leapt away from the door, weapons aiming but none firing. Interrupted 
by bursts of static and shaky display, the image of a Sangheili formed in the air 
just before the door, glowing white. The SpecOps soldiers faced the holograph down, 
none speaking. 

"Well," the image said evenly. "I suppose this is where I should say something 
witty, like 'ah, so the Covenant has arrived,' or 'welcome to my home,' but this 
isn't a situation to take lightly, is it?" 

"Identify yourself," Alve said. 

The image turned to regard him. "My name is Jara 'Tzaanvu," he said. "I am the 
leader of the group you have come to hunt." 

"Then you know why we're here," Alve said calmly. 

"I know why you're here," Jara said. "But do you know why you're here?" 

"We're here to hunt you down," Alve said sharply. 

"But have you ever stopped to think why?" 

"I don't have time for mind games," Alve snarled. He drew his plasma rifle and 
fired, taking out the camera displaying the image of the heretic leader. With that, 
he reholstered the rifle and pulled his sword, bringing the blade to life with a 
snap of the wrist. With surgical precision, he guided the weapon down the welding 
mark between the two door slabs, cutting them open. "Bovue, Kodul," he said as he 
snapped the sword off and stepped away. The two Lekgolo needed no further prompting 
and immediately muscled their way to the front of the group to haul the doors back 
open. There was the screech of metal on metal, but the two mighty soldiers had 
little trouble forcing the doors far enough apart to admit first one, then the 
other. 

Now, the group moved into a well-lit area, and Alve knew this was enemy territory. 
"Active camouflage back on," he ordered, and again the majority of the team 
dissolved away into specters. Two minutes later, they encountered their first 
heretic nest. 

It was a three-way barricade set up at a junction of the hallways. Past the small 
encampment, the hallway continued deeper into the installation. A motley group of 
Sangheili and Unggoy manned the station. 

Maybe it was sheer luck, or maybe he saw the blurs in the light and knew what they 
meant, but one of the Unggoy suddenly shouted, "Look out! They're here!" and opened 
fire with his pistol. 

"Duck and cover!" Alve shouted as more plasma began to fly down the hallway. Within 
moments, the team had spread out and flanked the barricade, but this was just what 
they had planned for, and concentrated volleys of plasma fire met any attempt to 
step out into the corridor. "We're wasting time!" Alve snapped. "Fuel rods!" 

Bovue was pinned down, but his bond brother Kodul and an Unggoy named Parna rose to 
the order. A green glow built at the muzzle of their weapons and they fired almost 
simultaneously, their shots arcing through the air to land inside the barricade and 
erupt with power, pitching heretics over their makeshift defenses in a shower of 
green energy. "Mop them up!" Alve ordered, and the survivors of the assault were 
quickly gunned down. Silence fell as the elite soldiers waited to see if any backup 
was coming to the heretics' aid. When four minutes had passed and nothing had 
materialized, Kodul and Parna, the two already out in the open, began to cautiously 
move towards the still-smoking junction. 

Without warning, a silvery machine dropped from an open portion of the ceiling 
above the former barricade and opened fire with an energy beam. Kodul caught the 
first shot on his shield and deflected it, but the second struck Parna as he took 
aim with his fuel rod cannon. The heat of the beam detonated the cannon's explosive 
payload and about one-fourth of the Unggoy vanished in the explosion. Even the huge 
Kodul was thrown to the deck by the force of the blast. Before the machine could 
take a third shot, Ensu and Meras took it down with sniped shots from left and 
right. The first few glanced off its armor, but one of Ensu's energy beams 
penetrated and the machine fell to the floor. 

"Kodul, report!" Alve barked. 

"I am uninjured, captain," the mechanical voice said. "But I believe Parna is 
dead." 

"Any more hostiles?" 

"I do not see any." 

"Move in!" The rest of the team quickly swarmed the barricades, sweeping for any 
more ambushes, but found none. Kodul gathered himself and Bovue joined his brother 
to quietly say a prayer for a dead Unggoy who, as Bovue put it "stood with all the 
courage and strength that we expect of ourselves. We cannot give any less." 
Meanwhile, Alve, Ensu, and Gedda poured over the machine's wreckage. "No doubt 
about it," Alve said. "It's a Sentinel." 

"But why?" Ensu said. "Aren't Sentinels the angels of the Forerunners? Why would 
they aid heretics?" 

Gedda snickered in an unkind fashion. "Two things to remember," he said. "First, 
Sentinels are machines just like any other. You can take care of them, paint them 
up, call them fancy names, but all they'll ever know are the parameters of their 
mission. Second, they were put here to protect the ring, and we're violating it 
same as the heretics." 

"That's quite enough, half-captain," Alve said coldly, and Gedda stopped. Alve 
fingered the Sentinel's wreckage for a moment longer, then stood and squared his 
shoulders. "Let's keep moving."



Chapter 11: Crossfire 

"It's difficult to tell who's a friend and who's a foe when you're in the middle of 
a firefight. It's a bit less difficult once you realize they're aiming at you." - 
Sangheili captain 

"Fuel rod cannons," Qunghares announced. "The SpecOps were definitely here." 

"How do you figure that?" Shlartuis said. "The group down on the planet had a full 
platoon's worth of them." 

Qunghares turned to look at him. "So you're saying they blew themselves up?" he 
said skeptically. 

Shlartuis lowered his gaze. "SpecOps," he agreed in a quiet tone. 

"Definitely SpecOps," Nocturnus confirmed as he rejoined the group. Onto the floor 
in front of him he tossed the charred remains of an Unggoy wearing black armor. 
"And they took a casualty." 

Denhuse nodded. "Move out." The Jiralhanae poured through the open door, moving as 
quietly as they could. Denhuse tightened his grip on the grenade launcher he 
carried, being careful not to stab Nocturnus in the back as he squeezed through the 
opening. The squad took an immediate right turn and quietly loped through a narrow 
side corridor rather than take the open routes that were more likely to be 
monitored. Behind him, Erebus' boots thudded dully on the steel floor. He thought 
of the chieftain holding the polearm at his throat and clenched his teeth. Maybe if 
Erebus were to run into a little 'accident' while they were down here, Tartarus 
would decide to congratulate him instead. That thought made him grin and he made a 
mental note to plant a grenade on Erebus as soon as they were engaged. 

At the head of the group, Qunghares suddenly halted. The rest of the squad followed 
suit and he whispered. "Fire." 

Even as he spoke the word, Denhuse heard it as well: the unmistakable crack of 
plasma rifles. "Double time it," he snapped, and the squad leapt into motion, 
charging down the hallways. Shlartuis and Qunghares turned a corner and Denhuse 
heard them open up with their own rifles. The squad entered a fairly large room, at 
least thirty feet across, and immediately poured left or right to allow their 
comrades to move in as well. As they dodged, they took cover behind metal barriers 
that ringed the inner twenty feet of the room. Unlike the makeshift fort in the 
hallway, these looked to be part of the structure, Forerunner-built. In the center 
of the room, another such fortification housed a batch of heretics, some of whom 
lay draped over their barricades, dead. As Denhuse entered, he saw fire coming from 
the opposite end of the room, seemingly from nowhere. The SpecOps! he thought. 

The battle was brief, but violent. Covenant Unggoy equipped with Needle guns arced 
their deadly projectiles to zip over the barricades and pierce the enemies there 
before detonating, blowing apart both armor and flesh and driving razor-sharp 
fragments deep into bodily systems. A volley of plasma grenades followed shortly 
and a series of explosions turned the nest into a snarl of loose mechanical parts 
and shredded bodies. The four Sentinels were more difficult to deal with. Unable to 
target the cloaked SpecOps, they had been firing randomly until the Jiralhanae 
showed up. Presented with a more visible enemy, they opened fire and sprayed the 
Jiralhanae positions with blazing hot energy beams until one by one, they were 
brought down by concentrated plasma fire. Jhankis suffered a burn on one arm, but 
the squad was otherwise uninjured. 

A tense silence descended as the firing stopped. Denhuse poked his head out, but 
could see nothing besides smoke, bodies, and scored metal. Without warning, a bolt 
of green plasma slammed into the barrier he was hiding behind and he ducked back, 
heart pounding. "Hold fire!" a commanding voice yelled. "Covenant SpecOps, identify 
yourselves!" it said a moment later. Denhuse stood and slowly stepped out into the 
open. Still, he could see nothing. 

"We're Jiralhanae from the Hallowed Avenger," he said. 

"Prove it," the voice said. 

Erebus stepped out behind him. "How's this?" he said. "Or do you think I am a 
heretic, Alve 'Essonee?" 

"Well, well, well." There was a moment's paused and in what Denhuse had taken to be 
an empty room, a lone Sangheili in white armor slowly faded into view, his plasma 
rifle trained on Denhuse's midsection. "What are you doing here? This is my 
mission." 

"I have my orders." 

The Sangheili narrowed his eyes. "And why wasn't I notified?" 

Erebus shrugged. "I have no idea. Perhaps some Kig-Yar clerk hit the wrong key and 
sent the message out to the rim of the galaxy. You know how it can be." 

The Sangheili did not respond, and for a moment Denhuse was sure he was going to 
lose his intestines. But then 'Essonee relaxed and the captain exhaled slowly. The 
SpecOps captain reholstered his rifle. "Well, I suppose it is possible," he said 
slowly. He started to move towards the two Jiralhanae but suddenly froze again. 
"But why wouldn't the Prophet have told me?" 

He's not taking the bait, Denhuse thought frantically. 

"Tartarus convinced the Hierarchs to send us in as backup after your meeting had 
already concluded," Erebus said smoothly. "Where is the rest of your squad?" 

"Around," Alve said evasively, but he appeared to relax and then walked over to the 
pair. Behind his back, Denhuse flashed a series of hand signals. "How were you 
inserted?" 

"By dropship," Denhuse said. 

Alve winced dramatically. "That must have been a tight fit," he said, voice 
sympathetic. 

"It was," Denhuse replied, trying to sound casual. "We tried to requisition a 
Phantom, but the Ship Master felt they were too good for a squad of Jiralhanae." 

"Curious behavior for someone already on the edge of being dismissed from his 
rank," Alve said, his voice as smooth as oil. 

Definitely not taking the bait. 

A moment later, Denhuse heard the voice ring out from Alve's helmet. "Look out 
captain, you're being flanked!" Without hesitation, Alve threw himself into a back 
roll as the Jiralhanae Denhuse had ordered into position opened fire in the hopes 
that they would take the Sangheili down before he ran too far. A few shots bounced 
off his shield, but as he rolled Alve 'Essonee seemed to vanished into the haze. 
Denhuse tried to spot the ripples that gave away active camouflage, but before he 
could a volley of fire erupted from the other side of the room and Erebus yanked 
him back behind the partition. 

"That ruins our surprise," Erebus snarled. 

"It was going to happen sooner or later," Denhuse snarled back. 

"I think the SpecOps are pulling out!" Nocturnus yelled. Indeed, the volume of fire 
was decreasing rapidly and soon, had ceased altogether. 

"What do you think?" Denhuse said. 

"If I know 'Essonee, they'll try and clean out the heretics, then deal with us 
later," Erebus said. 

Denhuse flipped on his communicator. "Everyone, triple-time to the structure 
center. If you see anything that isn't a Jiralhanae, take it out! Move!"



Chapter 12: Between a Heretic and a Traitor 

"Good warriors are remembered for their heroic lives. Great warriors are remembered 
for their heroic deaths." - Sangheili saying 

"Listen up, SpecOps," Alve said into his transmitter. "We have new priorities. If 
we cross paths with the Jiralhanae again, do not waste time asking questions. Take 
them out as fast as possible. We are proceeding with our original mission of 
eliminating the heretics, but I want this new threat dealt with if it shows its 
head again, which I think it will." He paused in his speech as the squad hustled 
down the corridor, eyes and rifles wary of any threats. "Do your jobs, SpecOps," he 
finally continued. "Make me proud." 

As the transmission ended, Hola turned to Vene and chuckled. "So gun them down and 
blow them up? I rather like this mission." 

Vene 'Zagranee snorted. The big Sangheili carried a plasma rifle in each hand, 
though his grip on the left was loose so that he could quickly holster it and get 
at his grenades or active camouflage. His chest still hurt when he breathed, but 
thus far it hadn't gotten in his way. He scowled at the thought of going back to 
the surgeons. "Maybe we can find a few newborns for you to burn while we're at 
it," he said acidly. 

"Now stop it Vene, you know that's my territory," Malu said in a tone far too 
jovial for Vene's tastes. The demolitions expert was the only member of the team 
carrying a grenade launcher. Only the fuel rod cannons carried by Bovue and Kodul 
exceeded the launcher's sheer explosive force, but Malu also carried various types 
of explosives packed into special compartments in his armor. 

"No," Hola corrected. "I burn, you detonate. So he is right." 

"Cut the chatter in the ranks," Gedda snapped from somewhere behind them. Vene was 
tempted to give the little bastard a good kick, but knew that Alve would put him 
back in the infirmary if he dared to do such a thing. As the trio fell silent, Vene 
though he faintly heard Meras chuckling. He clicked his jaws together to select a 
new communications channel. 

"Something funny?" he growled softly. 

"Not at all," Meras said, voice trembling with laughter. A click followed as she 
cut the channel. 

Suddenly, Vene couldn't wait to find a heretic. Just one. 

He was so distracted that when Hola suddenly halted, Vene nearly crashed into him. 
His attention focused again, Vene looked ahead to find Alve and Ensu standing at a 
thick metal door. The sniper held his rifle loosely in one hand as he rapidly 
tapped away at a control panel with the other. Meanwhile, Alve turned and used hand 
motions to direct the group. Immediately, they split to move into the alcoves on 
either side of the door. Vene found himself tightly packed between Hola and Malu, 
with the butt of the latter's grenade launcher wedged painfully against his chest. 
The rest of the squad moved into the corridor that crossed their current one just 
before the doorway. 

One heretic. One weak little unarmed heretic in a dead-end corridor. That wasn't 
too much to ask for, was it? 

Ensu continued tapping at the panel. Meanwhile, Malu found something that seemed to 
interest him and began to poke at it, unintentionally pressing his grenade launcher 
even further into Vene's chest. Vene was starting to think he would go crazy from 
the pressure and the beeping of the panel when the door finally shuddered and began 
to slide open. Ensu and Alve looked through the door as it began to slide open, 
then let their jaws stretch out in astonishment. A moment later, Ensu howled and 
dove to the left. Alve went right with a few shouted words unbecoming of a captain. 

A moment later, a veritable hurricane of plasma came flying through. Vene was 
blinded by the dazzling array of fast-moving shots and nearly deafened by the 
scream of the guns firing them. Vaguely, he was aware of Alve shouting order, but 
couldn't make out what they were. 

He found out a moment later as eye-searing blasts of plasma the size of his torso 
shot through the door and exploded. Screams followed and Vene silently hoped the 
Lekgolo hadn't gotten all of them. His trigger fingers were about ready to take on 
a life of their own. 

That was when Malu suddenly stiffened and shouted into his transmitter. Vene heard 
the words as clear as if he were standing in a silent room: "Captain, they've 
rigged the hall to blow! We've got to get away from here!" 

Alve's response was immediate. "SpecOps, scatter! That's an order!" Vene did the 
first thing he could think of and flung himself through the door. He was vaguely 
aware of Alve beside him, but then his speed overcame the captain's and he was in 
front. His eyes caught motion and he felt a fierce delight as he finally squeezed 
the firing studs of his plasma rifles. An Unggoy went down under his fire, followed 
by a traitorous Sangheili. Behind him, he was only marginally aware of the entire 
world shuddering as the heretics set off the explosives. He wondered who had 
survived. 

Across the room, huge forms began to pour in from a pair of doorways and the 
nearest heretics were shredded by plasma fire before they even knew what was 
happening. "Jiralhanae!" Alve's voice said. "Take them out!" Even as Vene 
registered the words, the nearest of the huge figures turned towards him and began 
to raise its rifle. 

No retreat. No surrender. 

Vene charged across the room, hand clamped down on his rifles and firing a 
continuous volley of energy. The bolts struck his opponent, but the Jiralhanae's 
tough hide kept him alive and he returned fire, his own shots scattering on Vene's 
shield. Others drew a bead on him and soon he could barely see through the storm of 
crackling energy. The Sangheili warrior ignored the screaming of his alarm systems 
and continued to charge towards his opponent, his rifles growing hot in his hands. 
Just as his shield failed, the rifles finally grew too hot to hold and he dropped 
them. But a little thing like lack of guns wasn't about to stop Vene 'Zagranee. 
Without slowing, he dove and rolled, hands darting to a belt he knew as well as his 
own body. Plasma scored his flesh and needles pierced his muscles, but he felt no 
pain, his only thought being to grasp the items he'd just found. 

His roll brought him to the feet of the Jiralhanae he'd targeted. A brief flash 
brought disappointment as he realized it was just a soldier, not the captain or 
that chieftain. But Vene didn't slow. As he came to one knee he thrust his arms 
forward before the Jiralhanae could get away and the plasma grenades he held in 
each hand came in contact with the traitor's furry hide. The pressure of the 
collision activated the grenades and they immediately began to leak sticky plasma 
that ignited, defying any attempts to pull them off. They were firmly anchored to 
the enemy soldier. They also anchored Vene's hands to their surfaces. Vene looked 
up and grinned when he saw the traitor's frightened look. "Time to die," he 
sneered. 

Only when he looked back down at his hands did he finally realize that he wasn't 
going to leave the room alive. 

The timers ran out and the grenades exploded.



Chapter 13: Run 

"Shoot straight, fly true, run fast, hit hard." - Sangheili general 

The two Covenant forces hit the Shining Light with the brute force of a 
sledgehammer blow, and though they occasionally exchanged fire, the heretic group 
was easily getting the worst of it. The explosives meant to wipe out the SpecOps 
had failed miserably, and the Jiralhanae had been lucky enough to bypass the traps 
entirely. 

Rota fired wildly at the black forms that crouched at the other end of the hall, 
hitting nothing but at least making them cover. A moment later, the smaller figure 
stuck his arm out and a trio of translucent purple needles zipped towards him, 
homing in on his body heat. He ducked back behind the wall and they bounced off, 
shattering on contact with the tough metal. He checked his rifle. "I'm running 
out," he said. 

On the other side of the passage, Kalis leaned out long enough to fire a shot from 
her plasma pistol before resuming her cover. "So am I," she replied. 

"Grenade!" someone yelled from behind them, and a moment later a flaming blue ball 
went sailing down the corridor, sending the two Covenant diving for cover. As it 
exploded, Rota felt someone tug his arm. "Come on," Ilor said. His red eyes were 
full of fire as he led the two lovers away from the enemies. At the end of the 
hall, they found Jara waiting for them. "I'm sorry Rota," Ilor said as they cowered 
in the dark alcove. "I told him." 

"I don't think we have a choice any longer," Jara said. "Even with the Sentinels, 
we don't have what it takes to fight off two Covenant squads." 

Rota felt electricity run through him. "We're going to detonate the ring?" 

"As I said," Jara replied calmly. "We no longer have a choice." 

Ilor drew what appeared to be a metal rod from his belt. "Let's go," he said. The 
four of them set off down the adjoining hall before the Covenant troops could 
follow them and ran as quickly as their legs could carry them. Kalis led the way 
down the first and second corridors, and then Rota took over as they reached a new 
junction and led them down a long ramp that ended three stories deeper in the ring. 
Ahead of them was the longest corridor yet, and more then wide enough for them to 
run two by two. They sprinted hard, and Rota felt his breath rattling in his chest. 
Without warning, a door ahead of them began to cycle open. Rota didn't hesitate to 
draw and fire before even seeing who was behind it, and return fire answered back a 
moment later, one of the shots striking Rota's personal shield. They bolted past 
the door, both Rota and Jara sending a volley of plasma into the frame, not even 
seeing who they were firing at. As they passed the door, Jara nudged Rota. 

"You two keep going. Set it off. We'll try to draw them off." 

"Good luck, sir." 

"Good luck, Rota." 

Rota and Kalis ducked into the next adjoining corridor while Ilor and Jara 
continued on. Behind him, he heard the exchange of fire continue. He and Kalis 
continued to run hard, passing through alternating halls of light and dark, not 
knowing who else was dead or alive. Rota mentally ran through a list of prayers, 
jumbling context and position in his haste. Hail the light, hail the riders of 
savior...oh hell, that was certainly wrong. 

Kalis turned a sharp corner and Rota nearly ran into the wall, but he pushed off of 
it and spun into the next hall. The move saved his life as an energy beam slammed 
into the metal next to his head. "Go!" he shouted, and Kalis ran without a look 
back. Her lighter frame took her far ahead of him in a few seconds and he realized 
what he had to go. I love you, Kalis, he thought as he watched her disappear up the 
next turn. 

He stopped, turned, and waited. Within moments, he caught the movement of his 
pursuers and fired a few shots, at least one of them striking home. An Unggoy 
squealed in pain and he smiled grimly. "Come and get me, cowards!" he shouted, then 
spun and dashed off, deliberately taking the way opposite of that which Kalis had 
gone. At the next intersection, he again stopped and fired at the first movement, 
hitting a Sangheili this time. As he squeezed the trigger, his rifle buzzed a 
warning: the charge was nearly exhausted. He drained it with a few more shots, then 
dropped the rifle and bolted, weaponless. 

He ran aimlessly, picking turns at random, occasionally stopping to ensure that he 
was still being tailed. Once, he hesitated too long and saw the bright flash of a 
needle flying at him before bolting up the hall and away from his pursuers. He ran 
as if devils chased him. 

No...you're the devil. They're the angels. 

He snorted in bitter amusement and barreled towards the door at the end of the 
hall. It barely managed to cycle open before he sprinted through it into a large 
room that looked like a warehouse with a ramp in the center that led to a catwalk 
that circled the room. Without hesitating, he dashed up the ramp and onto the 
catwalk to find- 

-nothing. 

The room was empty. Empty of anything helpful. Empty of any other exits. 

He had trapped himself. 

He turned, his hands balling into fists as he faced the door. Without a weapon, his 
lifespan in a combat situation could be measured in seconds, but he could still 
show them that he was unbroken. He could still show them that he was willing to die 
for what he believed in! Willing to die for Kalis! 

The door cycled open and Rota was handed a surprise. His pursuer was a lone Unggoy 
in the black SpecOps armor. His claws were bare. The Unggoy looked left and right, 
then up the ramp to where Rota was frozen in shock. His face contorted in what Rota 
suspected was a grin. "So, here you are," the Unggoy said in his scratchy voice as 
he started up the ramp. "You look surprised to see me." 

"I...I didn't-" 

"Expect one little grunt to keep up with you, did you?" He chuckled. "I am half-
captain Gedda, little one. I can outrun Sangheili with twice your endurance." Gedda 
reached the top of the ramp and stopped, watching Rota cautiously. 

Rota smiled. "You might be fast, but you're not that smart." 

Gedda crossed his arms and cocked his head. "And how did you figure that out?" 

"I've been leading you astray, squat one. Any moment now, we're both going to be 
blown to bits." 

"Ah, you're referring to that female who was with you. Then it's a good thing Ensu 
and Meras decided to chase her while I went after you." 

Rota froze. Those were Sangheili names. "No," he whispered. 

Gedda uncrossed his arms and snarled. "You thought you fooled us, you worthless 
piece of excrement?!" he shouted. "We are Special Operations! We eat heretics like 
you for breakfast!" 

"Then I'll give you something to chew on," he said in equal parts rage and panic. 
Without thinking, he lunged at the Unggoy. Gedda spun on his heel and moved out the 
line of the attack, at the same time grapping Rota's arm and yanking. Overbalanced, 
Rota went sprawling down the ramp. When he came to his feet, he spun around again, 
only to find himself looking down the barrel of a needler that seemed to fill the 
entire universe. 

"I would say this was for the Covenant," Gedda said. "But that wouldn't be 
precisely true. This is for Yalad. He's the one you caught with that lucky shot." 

"Then pull the trigger," Rota said defiantly. Gedda did, sending an avalanche of 
razor-sharp projectiles into Rota's face and chest. His shield took the first few, 
but the sheer number of them overloaded it and they stuck deep into his flesh. He 
howled in pain and fell backwards. 

Oh, Kalis. I've failed you. I'm so sorry. 

Gedda clicked his secondary trigger and the needles detonated, killing Rota 
instantly. 

"So long on talk, so short on skill," Gedda muttered as he reloaded. "I'd rather 
fight humans."



Chapter 14: Honor Between Hunters and Hunted 

"I would rather go up against a Wraith tank barehanded than fight an angry Lekgolo. 
Wraiths don't hold grudges." -Sangheili officer 

Bovue and Kodul were a moving wall of steel and muscle. Separated from the rest of 
the squad by the explosives' detonation, they thundered down the first open 
corridor to flank both the heretics and the treacherous Jiralhanae. As they ran, a 
Sentinel came around the next corner, doubtless attracted by the sound of their 
two-man stampede. Before it even had a chance to fire, Bovue raised an arm and 
smashed it, his speed such that his arm crushed the Sentinel between his shield and 
the next wall. The two continued on. 

At the next corner, they wheeled left and came upon a lone Sangheili fleeing the 
battle. Bovue crushed his skull with one swipe and they continued without missing a 
step. Next they knew they were erupting into a large domed room utterly filled with 
Unggoy and Sangheili. Bovue charged in without hesitation, his shield bash killing 
one of the smaller figures and sending another into the wall with a sickening 
crack. Ever the calmer of the pair, Kodul skidded to a halt and unleashed his fuel 
rod cannon, killing a dozen enemies with one blast. Panicking, the heretics turned 
their weapons on the two killing machines. Plasma shots and the occasional guided 
needle bounced off their heavy armor, searching in vain for a weak point. 

The sole moment of true danger came when Bovue saw a bright blue ball of fire 
arcing through the air towards him. Stepping forward and incidentally crushing an 
unlucky Unggoy's skull in the process, he swung his shield as hard as he could, 
deflecting the grenade and sending it flying back towards the heretics with the 
speed of a rocket. Before they could dive out of the way, it detonated. Kodul 
complicated things further by launching another shot. The group - by now it was 
more like a mob - began to flee in panic, but concentrated plasma fire from the 
other end of the room ensured that they only ran to their deaths. As the smoke from 
the detonations began to clear, Bovue saw the figures of a Jiralhanae pair. 

Knowing his brother was covering him, Bovue plunged into the panicked throng, 
knowing he was exposing his vulnerable back to a shot from behind but also crushing 
bones and snapping necks with his great strength as he tore through the heretics to 
get to the traitors. They saw him coming and opened fire, aiming for the gaps in 
his armor. They weren't accurate enough, as Bovue proved when he suddenly reared 
and brought his shield arm down on one's head. The force of the blow drove the 
normally strong and stable creature to the ground and crushed his skull. At this 
terrifying sight, the heretics finally gave up any semblance of fighting and fled 
in terror, many even dropping their weapons as they ran. The other Jiralhanae - a 
small specimen for his race, with fur darker than the norm - stayed long enough to 
fire a few more shots before darting away as Bovue turned towards him. With a 
bellow like some demon raised, Bovue pounded after the enemy soldier, comforted by 
the sound of his bond brother dashing towards him from behind. 

The Jiralhanae was a fast one, maybe a tad faster than the two Lekgolo. He was 
smart as well, quickly making turns before either of the two could line up a shot 
with their cannons. Had he not been a traitor, Bovue might have been impressed with 
his skill. As things were, however, he only swore to himself and put every ounce of 
effort into keeping up. 

The tables turned when they reached the dead end. At first, the Lekgolo didn't 
realize it, but then they turned the corner and skidded to a halt. Less than thirty 
feet away, their quarry stood facing a steel wall as though the installation itself 
had betrayed him. Then, he turned and raised his rifle. A moment later, he seemed 
to hesitate and sheathed it. Bovue looked on in surprise as the traitor spread his 
feet and stood in a rock solid fighting stance. 

"If you want Nocturnus," he said defiantly, "come and get him." 

Bovue could not resist rising to the challenge. He charged forward, bringing both 
arms up to smash the traitor's head in, but the one called Nocturnus braced himself 
and reached out, his hands clenching Bovue's arms and stopping them in their 
tracks. There they stood, two mountains of muscle, neither willing to give an inch. 
Though Bovue was the stronger of the pair, Nocturnus was better braced and only had 
to hold himself steady while the Lekgolo had to press harder and harder. For a long 
moment, they seemed to stand perfectly still, though each was pouring all his 
strength into the confrontation. 

Nocturnus thought he heard a sound. It seemed to be coming from far away, a 
repetitive thrumming like a damaged machine. As it grew louder, he realized that it 
was coming from his opponent. The damned thing was laughing at him! At once enraged 
and embarrassed, Nocturnus bared his teeth and snarled. That sound of defiance 
evaporated, however, when he felt something cold slithering around his fingers. 
When he looked up, he was what appeared to be orange tendrils curling around his 
finger joints and wrist. In panic, he looked back at Bovue, whose head seemed to be 
snaking out of his armor and towards his opponent. 

Of course. Lekgolo physiology wasn't like his own, and he had been stupid to forget 
it. Unlike Jiralhanae, who were a single living creature, Lekgolo were each a 
colony of wormlike creatures unto themselves. A colony of immensely strong wormlike 
creatures. 

"That's cheating," he blurted. 

The Lekgolo burbled something and a device on his chest spoke with him: "Cry then, 
traitor." 

The worms pulled taught and Nocturnus screamed as his fingers were snapped like 
rotten twigs, his wrist like a dry branch. His defense crumbled immediately and 
Bovue bore him to the ground, crushing Nocturnus with his weight and smothering him 
against his armor. In panic, he did the only thing that came to mind: he reached 
for his rifle and drew it, pressing it deeply into the mass of cordlike worms. Just 
before he pulled the trigger, he again heard Bovue's voice. 

"You lived without honor, traitor. The least you could do is die with some." 

Something stopped Nocturnus then. Maybe it was that he knew the Lekgolo was right. 

A moment later, his decision proved meaningless as something slammed into Bovue and 
exploded, smashing him against Nocturnus, who felt bones break at the sudden 
pressure even as the world seemed to erupt in heat and light. Spots exploded before 
the Jiralhanae's eyes and for one terrible moment, he thought he would truly 
suffocate. Then, Bovue's body went limp over him and he gasped for air, despite the 
stabbing pain he felt with each breath. 

As hearing returned, he heard the furious scream of a Lekgolo, doubtless the other 
member of the bond pair. A moment later, explosions seemed to fill the air and the 
Lekgolo screamed again, this time in pain. Another blast silenced it, and then he 
felt the dead body being pulled off of him and he looked up into his commander's 
face. Denhuse held his grenade launcher in one arm as he pulled Bovue's body away 
with the other, looking down at Nocturnus as he did so. "Are you alright?" he 
asked. 

Nocturnus tried to manage a glare, but his vision was fading. "You shot him in the 
back," he accused. 

Denhuse looked startled. "He was trying to kill you." 

"Was he wrong?" Nocturnus asked softly. 

"What are you-" 

"Leave me, Denhuse," Nocturnus said. He could barely see anything any longer. 

"You're delirious." 

"No. I am a son of the Covenant, left to die a traitor's death." 

"I can still save you-" 

"You cheapen them by intervening and you cheapen me by encouraging me to live 
without honor." He chuckled thickly, feeling blood coat his lips. "I never thought 
I'd say something like this, but I'm almost glad he killed me. Now I won't have to 
worry about the inquiry following this debacle." 

"As your commanding officer-" 

"You're a traitor who shot a good solider in the back," Nocturnus said with as much 
venom as he could manage. "I hope you find them waiting for you in hell, and I hope 
that bastard Erebus joins you. Me, I'll be on their side." 

Blackness. If Denhuse replied, or if he simply walked away, Nocturnus never knew.



Chapter 15: Swordsmen 

"You'll never find a weapon more elegant, more deadly, and more treacherous than 
the plasma sword. Use it well and you will prosper. Use it poorly and you will 
die." - Sangheili instructor 

"'Essonee to 'Pulomee, come in." Silence. "Ensu, Meras, Gedda, is anyone reading 
me?" Silence. Alve sighed in resignation and switched off his communicator. The 
corridor ahead of him was set at a slight angle downwards and the lights were out 
in the next section. Alve didn't want to go in there without backup, but now, cut 
off from his entire squad, it looked like he might not have a choice. He glanced 
back over his shoulder at the larger passageway behind him. He'd chased the pair of 
heretics a long way. At a thought, he blinked and a small red mark showed up on his 
HUD, denoting the point where the squad had entered the facility. Well, at least 
now I won't get lost, he thought with grim cheer. With that, he twisted his 
camouflage control and crept into the darkness, unlit sword in hand. 

The corridor made a left turn and Alve found himself at the top of a steep ramp. 
Silently, he descended like some kind of invisible stalker. The passage dropped 
deeper and deeper into the ring and he found himself wondering whether the heretics 
had purposely chosen this route or if they had simply fled down it at random. He 
decided that he would find out soon enough and stopped thinking about it. The 
passage kept making left turns and before long, Alve had to keep on hand brushing 
the wall to keep from being disoriented. 

Finally, the endless ramps gave way to a long and narrow corridor that ended after 
about forty feet with a window along one wall. Crouched, Alve kept next to the wall 
until getting to the nearest corner of the window. Cautiously, he turned to face 
the wall on one knee and rose high enough to peek over the bottom edge. The sight 
that greeted him was of another room, though he thought "abyss with a catwalk" 
would have been a better description. At each end of the long pathway (no rails, of 
course, the Forerunners must have been allergic to them) was a doorway. 
Instinctively, Alve knew that the corridor he was in now connected to that one 
after one more turn. And waiting for him... 

It was a Sangheili with a lit plasma sword in his left hand. 

Even from where he crouched, Alve felt the heat from those burning crimson eyes, 
even though the Sangheili wasn't even aware of his presence. Seized by impulse, he 
suddenly switched off his camouflage and stood. The other Sangheili noticed him 
immediately, but neither panicked nor charged to meet him. Instead, he simply 
raised his free arm and beckoned to the captain. Come down, my friend, Alve's 
imagination supplied. I have been waiting for you. 

Alve switched off the voice and calmly turned away from the window, striding down 
the corridor to - surprise - the ramp leading down and to the left. He followed the 
path, his mind already rehearsing for the coming fight. As he stepped through the 
doorway, he tapped the control and with a serpent's hiss the plasma blade snapped 
into existence. 

They stood thirty feet apart, emerald and crimson eyes meeting and neither giving 
an inch. The heretic pointed his blade at Alve and straightened his arm in a 
duelist's salute. "Ilor 'Ssadaevu," he said simply, the syllables rolling off his 
jaws like oil. 

Alve returned the salute. "Alve 'Essonee," he replied. 

Without further delay, they launched themselves at each other, Alve moving just a 
fraction slower than Ilor. Forty feet separated them, but they closed the distance 
in an eyeblink. Ilor brought his blade down in a vertical slash, but Alve went to 
one knee and brought his own in to block it. They each retreated a step and then 
Ilor came in, jabbing experimentally. Alve gave ground and delicately parried each 
thrust, then tried a riposte. Ilor spun away from it, a gutsy move on the narrow 
catwalk. Alve followed him up and swung hard, but Ilor gathered himself in time to 
dive forward and roll past Alve's flank, his sword nicking the captain's shield as 
he did so. Alve's HUD warned him of a sudden thirty-percent shield loss. He spun 
and tried to catch Ilor as he rose, but the heretic was no fool and ensured that he 
moved out of Alve's attack range before coming to his feet and turning. 

Alve had considerably upped his estimate of the heretic's skill level. Ilor was no 
slouch; he was at least in Alve's class if not higher. However, he seemed to be 
hiding a flaw in his aggressive stance. As he moved in to challenge the Covenant 
captain a second time, Alve once again delicately gave ground as he watched Ilor's 
movements. In a flash, it occurred to him that Ilor was rusty and unsure of his 
skill. He wanted to dispatch the captain quickly, before Alve could discern his 
lack of confidence. A good gamble, but it had failed. 

Alve parried once more, then lunged quickly. Ilor was slow in getting away and the 
point of Alve's blade pierced his shield, going to far as to score the armor 
beneath but failing to get to the heretic's flesh. They both hesitated and Alve 
looked Ilor in the eyes. "Special Operations," he said evenly. 

"A lifetime ago," Ilor replied, confirming Alve's suspicions. Alve slid forward and 
began to fill the air with thrusts and slashes while Ilor worked hard to turn them 
back at his opponent. This time, there was no back-and-forth byplay. Both 
combatants remained relatively in place as they filled the air with deadly blurs of 
light. 

The crucial moment came when Ilor lunged and punched towards Alve's chest. The 
captain spun to avoid the blow even though he knew he would fail. Sure enough, the 
sword sparked as it touched his shields and Alve's HUD screamed a warning of 
complete failure. Ilor's sword continued forward, scoring Alve's armor heavily 
enough to disable the captain's camouflage system. But before the sword could 
pierce through to Alve's flesh, the captain's spin moved him safely out of the line 
of attack. Both knew what would happen next, and both knew in was unavoidable. 
Alve's spin brought him around into a powerful swing that cleaved right through 
Ilor's shield and struck his head from his shoulders. 

The dead body's momentum bounced it off Alve's shoulder and he instinctively took a 
step back and shoved it away. Both it and the decapitated head fell into the abyss 
below, the sword sputtering out as Ilor's dead hand lost its grip on the handle. 
Alve watched it fall, a part of his attention diverted to watching his shields 
struggle to raise themselves. Both his motion sensor and his active camouflage had 
been disabled by Ilor's final thrust. 

So it was that when a huge figure stepped into the doorway at the beginning of the 
catwalk and opened fire, Alve was caught totally off guard. A projectile bounced 
off the catwalk steel, slammed into him and promptly detonated in a burst of light. 
Alve's shields dropped back to zero and he desperately spun to meet this new 
attack. 

Erebus stepped out onto the catwalk, a wicked smile on his face. Somehow, the 
barrel of his grenade launcher looked even uglier. "End of the line, 'Essonee," he 
said shortly. Alve tried to dodge the next shot, but Erebus had anticipated him. 
The grenade arced through the air in a strangely graceful parabola that seemed to 
last a thousand years before coming down towards him. 

He actually felt the impact on his helmet before it exploded. 

By that point, there was no checking his progress. Alve's momentum brought him down 
onto the steel edge of the catwalk and over the side. Had he had the presence of 
mind, he might have been able to grasp the edge in time. But his head was screaming 
in pain and shock and his ears were ringing loudly, so the thought never even 
occurred to him as he plunged into the abyss below.



Chapter 16: Cutting the Fuse 

"You have three obligations as a soldier. Protect the Covenant. Protect your 
fellows. Protect yourself. Keep them in order." - Sangheili instructor 

In the confines of the narrow corridor, Meras had to struggle to avoid entangling 
her legs with Ensu's as he ran beside her. The heretic they pursued - Meras was 
almost positive it was a female - seemed to be running with purpose in mind, and 
that frightened Meras. It meant that she hadn't given up hope. 

The implications behind that were nasty indeed. 

They came around a corner just in time to catch a brief flash of movement at the 
left side of the next crossing. "There she is," Meras said. "Put it in gear, 
sniper." 

Ensu snorted, but his annoyance failed to reach his reply. "As ordered," he said 
crisply. A moment later, he lowered his head and bulled down the corridor, even 
outpacing her for a moment. Meras though, was naturally light on her feet, like 
virtually all the females of her race, and a moment later they were side by side 
once again. Meras could hear Ensu's labored breathing. 

"Didn't you fail the run test?" she asked conversationally. 

"I hope you die," he said acidly. She snickered as they turned the corner. This 
time, the heretic female was waiting for them. From the other end of the corridor, 
she let loose a shot from a fully charged plasma pistol. Before either of the 
soldiers could dodge, it struck Ensu and dropped his shields down to nil. Had she 
chosen to follow it up, the heretic would likely have killed the sniper. But being 
untrained, she chose to run instead, and Meras' snapshot zipped past her shoulder 
to ping off the wall. Ensu gathered hit wits and a moment later, they were off 
again. "Did you see that?" he asked. "She was wearing a damned flight suit!" 

"I saw," Meras confirmed with a shake of her head. Even for soldiers with energy 
shields and camouflage, a battlefield like this one was one of the most dangerous 
places in existence. To wander into it protected by nothing more than some 
fabric...it was either insane or suicidal, maybe both. 

Meras liked this situation even less knowing that. 

The chase continued down the next three corridors. The heretic didn't try another 
ambush, but Ensu did manage to get a shot off from his beam rifle, missing but 
sending her into a panicked sprint. It was after another three turns that she got 
the drop on them. 

They barreled around a corner fully expecting to see her at the end. Meras caught 
movement out of the corner of her eye and was filling her lungs to shout warning as 
the heretic stepped out from behind a tangle of pipes and fired a fully charged 
shot. 

This was point-blank range. There would be no dodging. 

The glob of plasma blew through Ensu's shields and struck him at the small of his 
back. He howled in pain as he was picked up off his feet and thrown forward to the 
floor, skin burning. Meras whirled and fired off a shot, but the female dropped 
down some kind of service hatch and the shell zipped over her head. 

Keeping her eyes on the hatch, Meras quickly made her way to Ensu's side and laid a 
hand on him near his injury. His flesh still smoked and his damaged armor sparked. 
The skin around the injury was charred and the inside was an angry red. Meras could 
see blackened bone. By chance or skill, the female's shot just reached his spine, 
and it wasn't looking well. His breath came fast and shallow, and she heard a groan 
in every inhalation. "Hold up, sniper," she said firmly. "Can you move?" 

"Can't feel my legs. Everything above that feels like it's on fire," Ensu said 
breathlessly. 

"Can you move?" she repeated, speaking more slowly. 

"No, not yet," he looked up at her. "Go on, stop her. I have my rifle. I will be 
waiting for you." 

"Don't die, Ensu," she said thickly. A moment later she was up and heading for the 
hatch. Rather than taking the ladder, she leaped down to the floor below, ejecting 
her clip in the process and slamming a new one home. "It's just you and me now, 
bitch," she snarled to herself. "Pay time." 

The corridor she'd dropped into was a long one, long enough that she could still 
see the heretic running towards the end of it. With deliberate slowness, Meras 
raised her carbine's sight to her eyes and carefully aimed at the fleeing female. 
Just as the heretic reached the door at the end of the hallway, Meras squeezed off 
a single shot that streaked down the corridor in a flash and punched into the 
heretic's back. The shot was a little high and to the left, but it served its 
purpose as it knocked her target to the floor. Unfortunately, as Meras lost sight 
of the other female as she rolled through the doorway and out of sight. Meras 
cursed, realizing that there was a ramp just past the door. She took off, sprinting 
down the hallway at top speed. Her legs screamed at her to stop, but she ignored 
them and spread her jaws, sucking in air. As she did so, she noticed a tang in the 
air. Fuel. 

The crazy bitch is going to blow us up! she realized. 

Unconsciously imitating Ensu, she put her head down and willed her legs to be a 
little stronger, reach a little farther, and carry her just a little faster as she 
loped down the hallway so fast it made her eyes tear up. The door began to open and 
she hurtled through it so quickly that her shoulders clipped the edges. 
Immediately, the heavy reek of fuel hit her like a sledgehammer and she nearly 
vomited. It was the sight of the blood trail that got her moving again. At the 
bottom of the landing it went left, then took an immediate right, moving from the 
floor to the wall as it did so. There, Meras found her heretic, leaning against the 
wall as she staggered towards an open panel in the floor. 

An impulsive rage griped the Covenant soldier and she stalked forward. The heretic 
heard her coming and turned back, weakly raising the plasma pistol she carried. 
Meras batted it out of her hand with the barrel of her carbine and the weakened 
female fell to the floor, groaning in pain as her injured shoulder struck the 
ground. Meras stuck her foot out and flipped her impromptu prisoner over, then rose 
to her full height and aimed down at her chest. "You think that you're smart, don't 
you, bitch?" she snarled. "Trying to blow the ring and send us all on the Great 
Journey together." 

The female wheezed, but somehow managed to look Meras in the eye. "My name is Kalis 
'Setauvu, bitch," she snarled back. "And I'd do anything to ensure my child isn't 
raised in a world full of your kind." 

"Child?" Meras said, momentarily startled. A moment later, she had applied a filter 
to her HUD. Her eyes widened. 

Kalis took advantage of her distracted and used her good arm to strike Meras on the 
back of her knee. In her astonishment, Meras had untensed her muscles and so she 
ended up off balance. In panic, she pulled the trigger and a slug ricocheted off 
the floor next to Kalis' head. Moving with determination, Kalis reached up, grabbed 
the carbine's barrel, and pulled herself to her feet. Meras yanked on the carbine 
as Kalis came up and overbalanced the other female, who managed to change her 
momentum enough to body check the soldier. Already off balance, Meras was slammed 
into the war. She pulled the trigger again, but missed Kalis by inches. A moment 
later, the heretic head butted Meras, her skull crashing into her jaws. Meras felt 
pain explode, yet strangely, clarity seemed to come with it. She pulled her leg up 
and caught Kalis in the midsection, then fired all her muscles and knocked the 
other female back. Kalis lost her footing and fell, striking her head against the 
opposite wall as she did. Meras took aim, unwilling to make any more mistakes. 

"I'm sorry about your child," she said gravely. 

"Go to hell," Kalis said succinctly, meeting Meras' gaze and unwilling to yield. 

Unable to look away, Meras squeezed her eyes shut and pulled the trigger. Again. 
Again. Again. And again. Until she had run through her entire clip. Even then, she 
kept pulling the trigger, dry-firing the gun over and over until she finally 
realized that she had no ammunition left. She turned away before opening her eyes, 
refusing to look to the other female's corpse. She forced herself to concentrate on 
Ensu. He was still injured, maybe dying. He needed her help. Abruptly, she realized 
that the nausea from the fumes had returned. 

"I hate this mission," she said under her breath as she started back. "I really, 
really do."



Chapter 17: Breath and Plunge 

"When I see a soldier stick his head up in a live-fire situation, I put him right 
at the battlefront. Either he's extraordinarily brave and will lead his fellows to 
victory, or he's extraordinarily stupid and maybe he'll distract the enemy for a 
crucial moment." - Jiralhanae chieftain 

The Jiralhanae padded down the hallway at a snail's pace. Separated from his 
fellows, he cradled his plasma rifle with extreme delicacy, as though afraid it 
would shatter if he gripped it too tightly. His eyes flicked back and forth, though 
as far as he could see, the corridor was empty of any but himself. Ahead of him, 
the corridor met a larger room. He sniffed the air. The scent of Sangheili and 
Unggoy was strong here, but the heretics had been here for an unknown amount of 
time, so this told him little. 

He drummed nervously on the barrel of his rifle. 

As he approached the end of the corridor, he slowed his pace even further, 
straining to listen for any warning of threat. 

His ears failed him. 

As he reached the threshold, a figure spun around from around the corner with 
astonishing speed. Before the soldier could react, the barrel of a weapon had been 
jammed into his mouth. 

The lithe Sangheili glared at him with piercing green eyes. "Eat this," he snarled. 
With that, Hola pulled the trigger of his grenade launcher and blew the traitor's 
head off. Even before the body had toppled over, he was turning back into the room 
ahead. He'd stalked the Jiralhanae far from the center of the action, but 
fortunately for him, he'd always had a good sense of direction. He worked as he 
ran, yanking a spent clip from the launcher and dropping a foursome of fresh shells 
into it. 

The normally easygoing Hola 'Lattavoh had been transformed into a veritable 
whirlwind as the situation around him fell apart. Normally, he was the butt of the 
squad's humor, especially from Vene. Well, Vene was dead now, Alve and Ensu were 
out of contact, and Gedda was nowhere to be found. As such, Hola had effectively 
taken the reins of the fragmenting squad. 

Now, his rapidly-pumping legs brought him back to the fruits of his labor. Five 
Unggoy in black armor hid behind a series of obtrusions, occasionally popping up to 
deliver fire against the band of heretics at the other end of the giant room they 
occupied. Between them, a depression in the floor held at least a dozen bodies, all 
heretics. Hola came skidding to a stop and ducked behind a large metal barrier 
alongside an Unggoy holding a glowing plasma pistol. He glanced at Hola briefly. 
"Nice to have you back, Credit Boy," he grunted. 

Credit Boy. That had been Hola's nickname ever since he'd joined the squad. 
Descended from a merchant family instead of a military background, Vene had quickly 
tagged him with the nickname and it had stuck with him ever since. 

"What's the situation?" he snapped. 

Ranak, Gedda's second, paused to snap a shot over the barrier and was rewarded with 
a smattering of return fire. "Same as when you left," he replied. "I think this is 
the last group of heretics. Did you manage to take care of your friend?" 

"I did," Hola replied without emotion as his mind raced. A moment later, he clicked 
his communicator on. "Now, here is our plan. Everyone is going to release one last 
barrage of fire, then go to active camouflage and rush them. Take them on at point-
blank range and stay cloaked. Maybe if we're lucky they'll shoot each other in the 
crossfire. Ready?" They checked in, one by one. "Barrage on three. One, two, 
three!" Perfectly timed, they all rose and squeezed off a shot or two, Hola was 
pleased with the sight of heretic heads ducking beneath barriers. "Now," he 
ordered. The SpecOps huddled a moment as their forms became seemingly incorporeal. 
"Now," he repeated, and six ethereal forms went over the top, charging silently 
towards their enemies. 

The heretics must have thought they were seeing smoke swirl. 

Hola made it to the opposite barricade, planted one off on the top of it, and fired 
his grenade launcher directly into the mass of living bodies on the other side. The 
result was satisfying: a lot of burning meat and panicked screams that only got 
worse as the Unggoy joined him in opening fire right in their opponents' faces. 
Wild return fire answered them, but Hola didn't think any of his troops went down. 
He clicked the trigger again as he came over the barrier. The grenade bounced once 
and struck one of the heretics, the explosion cutting him in half. Hola dropped 
back down to the floor and swung the grenade launcher, the bayonet on the end 
eviscerating a Sangheili. 

For the next few moments, Hola lost himself in the frenzy. Unsure of how to pick 
out the blurs of the SpecOps, the panicked fire of the heretics did exactly what 
Hola wanted and struck comrade far more often than enemy. Only a few glancing shots 
caught Hola's shields, which never dropped before half. He fired, fired, fired, and 
reloaded, losing reality in the repetition. 

Only when a thunderous howl split the air was Hola shaken back to himself. A sudden 
barrage of plasma fire slammed into the heretics and Hola saw the unmistakable 
forms of the Jiralhanae. "Shift fire," he ordered grimly. 

The tactic worked. The Jiralhanae, unable to see the cloaked SpecOps, assumed that 
the heretics were the only ones firing and responded accordingly. Hola's men 
ignored the heretics less than a meter away from them and concentrated on the 
Jiralhanae, helping to fell two of the seven massive figures. Unfortunately, plasma 
fire happened to catch one of the cloaked Unggoy. He fell with a scream and his 
cloak dropped as he hit the ground. The Jiralhanae captain bellowed and his men 
started firing more wildly. Hola felt a bolt strike him and dove for cover as the 
shield scatter attracted a concentrated volley of fire. 

He was about to order a retreat when a half-dozen plasma grenades came sailing over 
the barricades. By the time he'd opened his mouth to shout and half-turned to run, 
they detonated. Hola felt a massive, invisible hand take hold of him and throw him 
more than twenty feet into the wall. Having been drained absorbing the energy of 
the grenades, his shields did nothing to protect him from the impact and he felt 
multiple bones break. A moment later, his cloak failed and he dropped to the 
ground, rolling onto his back against the corner of the room. He tasted blood, and 
a lot of it. He could barely breathe, his eyes clouding with pain every time he 
inhaled. 

But with pain came clarity. He released his grenade launcher - the barrel was 
broken anyway - and slipped one shaking hand into his armor. Ignoring the sound of 
gunfire and the sharp pain in his chest that seemed to get worse with every breath, 
he struggled to open a small compartment near his shoulder. His fingers found a 
clasp and pulled it, undoing one of the armor catches. As it popped loose, Hola 
took in a deep breath, ignoring the stabbing pain it caused. Pain was good. Pain 
meant focus. Pain was what let him slip his hand into a nonstandard armor 
compartment and retrieve a small bundle he'd always kept there for a last stand. 

He leaned his head against the wall and gasped for breath. The fighting had ended 
with the death of the last Unggoy - it looked like Ranak to him, though he couldn't 
be certain - and now the Jiralhanae were making their way towards him, attracted by 
his gasps. Mother, father, brothers and sisters, he thought, I am about to make you 
all very proud of me. 

The Jiralhanae leaned over him, five massive figures with really ugly grins. "Looks 
like this one made it," one commented. 

"Let's finish him." 

"Waste of food." 

"You always think with your stomach." 

"That's enough," the biggest one said as he stepped forward and leveled his grenade 
launcher. "Time for the Great Journey, Sangheili." 

"Happily," Hola gasped, "I will not be going alone." With that, he relaxed his 
fist. The explosive contraption he had held tightly activated with a high-pitched 
whine as it built up. In just another few seconds, everything within fifteen meters 
of Hola would be little more than a memory. Fortunately, the warm-up took long 
enough to allow him to see the expressions of panicked fright on the faces of the 
Jiralhanae. He also had time for one more deep breath. 

"Baaaaaaaaaaaaaang!" he hissed victoriously.



Chapter 18: Dogs of War 

Kill or be killed. 

Erebus charged down the ever-winding pathway, heart pounding in his chest. One 
thought repeated itself in his mind, over and over. Alve is dead! Alve is dead! 
That damned Sangheili is finally dead! So near to delirium with excitement he was, 
he had virtually forgotten that the heretic leader had also fled down this way. 
Right now, all that he cared about was getting to the bottom and finding the fallen 
body of Alve 'Essonee so that he could gloat. No doubt he had fallen beside the 
heretic he'd killed with his plasma sword. Erebus could taste the delicious irony 
in that thought and he savored it like the finest wine. The grenade launcher slung 
around his shoulder felt as light as air, and he didn't even realize that he was 
breathing heavily as he continued to pound down the walkway, not even attempting to 
mask his steps. 

Finally, he reached the bottom. The communicator fizzled lightly and he absently 
switched it off, not wishing to be distracted. It was dark down here, but Erebus' 
night vision was good enough to see the room around him. It was not extremely 
large, its walls corresponding to the yawning abyss above. When Erebus glanced up 
briefly, he realized that he could distantly make out the shape of the bridge where 
he had seen 'Essonee and the heretic do battle. The bridge where he had killed the 
Sangheili. He looked around the room, noting that the walls from floor to a height 
of almost ten feet were largely hidden behind a variety of machines and piping. But 
it was what was in the center of the room that really drew his attention. 

A lone Sangheili body, clad in white armor, lay unmoving in a pool of blood. 

Erebus couldn't resist a chuckle as he stepped into the room. "You were quite the 
soldier, 'Essonee," he said aloud, smugness clouding his tone. "But not quite good 
enough were you?" Naturally, there was no answer, and he continued to advance. 

As he came closer, Erebus realized that something was wrong. Although the body's 
torso armor was the white of the SpecOps, that of the lower body was a rusty 
reddish-brown. Then he realized that the color of the body did was not Alve's skin 
tone. Anxiety creeping over him, he then realized that the body's helmet seemed to 
be unnaturally askew. 

Tentatively, he reached out and pulled the body over. The head stayed where it was, 
lying on the ground and seemingly collapsed into itself with one dead crimson eye 
looking up at the ceiling. It wasn't 'Essonee. It was the heretic. "You bastard," 
Erebus breathed. That was when he felt something strike the grenade launcher. When 
he looked, he saw a piece of metal deeply lodged in the barrel. In panic, he tried 
to pull it out but only succeeded in slicing his own fingers on its sharpened 
sides. 

"No escape, Erebus," a familiar voice said from the darkness. Erebus ignored the 
panic welling inside him and quickly unclasped the launcher's harness, letting it 
drop to the floor. A moment later he'd pulled his polearm and snapped it to the 
ready position, but did not yet ignite it. 

"Where are you?" he snapped. 

With that, Alve 'Essonee stepped out from the shadows. His torso was bare and 
streaked with Sangheili blood, though whether it was his or the heretic's Erebus 
couldn't tell. In each hand he held a slender metal bar. On his head was what 
looked like some kind of primitive helmet, heavily streaked with blood. Erebus 
wondered briefly what it could be, then glanced down at the softened head of the 
heretic and made the connection in horror. Alve stepped forward and he hopped back 
a step, igniting his blade as he did so. "You're insane," he said. 

"In ancient times," Alve replied smoothly, "my people would take the bones of their 
kills and fashion armor for themselves. In addition to the protection they 
provided, great champions could be recognized by the bones they wore. So it was 
that the strongest became the most likely to survive, and the weak were culled." 
His flashing emerald eyes met Erebus'. "You see, Erebus, your Jiralhanae are not 
the only ones in the Covenant who understand savagery." His left had squeezed the 
bar in his palm and a plasma sword ignited. A moment later, another sprang to life 
in his right hand. "Your ribcage will make a fine set of armor Erebus." 

"S-stay away from me," Erebus said, unable to keep the fear out of his voice. He'd 
never been afraid of Alve, but this, this feral Sangheili warrior before him that 
wore the skull of one of his own was more frightening than anything he'd seen 
before. Alve dropped into a half-crouch and stooped forward, the swords moving 
forward to guard his flanks. Erebus knew that one swipe from those swords and he 
would lose a leg, and shortly after that, his life. 

"It ends now, Erebus," Alve hissed. "You came here seeking your glory and my death. 
I will take from you the first and give to you the latter in return. Now, it 
ends!" Alve sprang forward, moving like an attack hound. The swords flashed back 
and forth, and Erebus quickly gave ground, swiping to desperately turn the attacks 
aside before they could cut into him. Alve drove him back and back until he felt 
metal brush his fur. Alve stepped in and swung and Erebus dove aside, letting the 
plasma blade cleave through a metal pipe instead. The second sward clipped his heel 
and Erebus felt pain explode as a slice of his foot fell away. 

The battle belonged to Alve. He thrust, swiped, drilled, and stabbed at Erebus 
without respite, keeping him completely defensive and unable to attack. Erebus was 
forced to favor his good leg as the blood coming from his injured heel spilled onto 
the floor and threatened to make him slip. Alve stayed in his half-crouch, forcing 
the much larger Erebus to awkwardly defend his midsection from the feral creature. 
Erebus tried to put distance between him and his opponent so that he could use the 
long polearm to its full effect, but Alve was ever there, always right in his face, 
never allowing him to back away. 

Jara 'Tazaanvu found himself watching the battle with equal parts amazement and 
fear. He'd stayed crouched in the far corner, watching as the Sangheili captain had 
dropped from above, his plasma sword thrust into the wall and slowing his fall just 
enough to let him roll upon landing, seemingly without injury. But Jara had seen 
the truth. The Sangheili captain had at least two broken ribs and a broken ankle, 
maybe more, and as he stood he'd suddenly spasmed and clutched at his midsection 
and leg with a groan of pain. Jara had aimed and pulled the trigger of his rifle 
only to have it vibrate silently and refuse to spit its deadly fire. Bereft of a 
weapon, he'd watched in horror as the captain had torn Ilor's skull out of his head 
and set the trap for the Jiralhanae. Now they battled with the Sangheili at a clear 
advantage. Though he must have been in extreme pain from his broken bones, the 
Sangheili was fighting as one immortal. 

Jara suddenly realized that while the two of them were distracted with each other, 
he could escape. Putting the idea into action, he began crawling for the door, 
keeping low and behind the machinery of the room. Then he stumbled over something. 
Something cold. Something that wore clothes. He looked down and swallowed the bile 
rising in his throat as he realized that it was a human corpse, one of their 
warriors. It must have lain here since the destruction of the ring, unnoticed by 
any. Then he realized that the dead human still had a gun in one had. Carefully, he 
unfolded the stiff fingers and wrapped his own around the unfamiliar weapon. Maybe 
he wouldn't have to run after all. 

Erebus howled as Alve's swipe cut him across the knees, but still managed to turn 
the next blow aside. That was when Alve flung himself forward and threw his arms 
out to the side. He dove between Erebus' legs and the swords sliced right through 
his shins. Erebus fell onto his stomach with another scream of pain. Alve stood, 
spun and kicked away the chieftain's polearm as Erebus rolled to try and defend 
himself. Then he stood poised over his fallen enemy, the tips of his blades 
pointing right at Erebus' chest. 

"No, no, no," Erebus whimpered. 

Alve considered his response. "No," he finally replied, then thrust both swords 
forward to pierce Erebus' chest on either side of his breastbone. The Jiralhanae 
screamed, choked, thrashed, and finally lay flat against the deck, dead. 

"Well done," said a voice. Alve spun on his good leg to see there familiar face of 
the heretic leader standing in the room's doorway, a small black gun trained on 
him. "But victory still eludes your grasp." With that, he pulled the trigger. 

Click. The gun refused to fire. 

Alve chuckled darkly and advanced, glowing blades ready to claim one more life.



Chapter 19: Extraction 

"Everyone remembers the general who masterminded the plan, or the warrior who led 
the charge. Nobody remembers the dropship pilot who flew in under fire to make it 
all happen." - Yanme'e pilot 

"He's not coming." 

"He will be here." 

"It's been too long." 

"He will be here." 

"He must be dead." 

"He will be here." 

"Damnation, Gedda, can't you see the truth?" Meras spat. "Alve is not coming back! 
We've been waiting an hour! The operation time limit is almost up! We have to get 
back outside!" 

"He will be here," Gedda said resolutely. Meras bit off an obscene reply and turned 
to check on Ensu. The sniper was lying on his stomach and his breathing was 
shallow, but he appeared stable. He couldn't walk without help, though, and Meras 
was starting to fear that even now they'd be unable to get to the extraction point 
before Swift was ordered to leave them. Then they would all die in the cleansing 
fire of the Hallowed Avenger. Ship Master Uje had been clear with them: orders or 
not, if they failed to come back he would assume the worst and barrage the ring 
fragment into liquid. "Gedda, we have to leave now," she said as calmly as he 
could. 

"He will be here," was the imperturbable reply. She snarled and turned on the 
smaller figure when she heard Ensu speak softly. 

"Gedda is right, Meras," he whispered. "Alve would not let us down." 

"Don't you start on this!" she said, feeling hope slip away. "You are as bad as he 
is! I need to get you back!" She snapped off any further words before she said 
something she would regret. 

"Alve has never let us down," Ensu said. "He will not start now." 

Minutes passed in tense silence as Meras drummed her fingers on her legs. Finally, 
Gedda cleared his throat. "I told you," he said. Meras turned to see Alve slowly 
coming up the hall, dragging his left leg. His armor was battered and blackened, he 
carried his dented helmet in one arm, and he was streaked with blood, but he was 
clearly not dead. 

"I am sorry I am late," he said as he reached them. His voice fell flatly on her 
ears. 

"It is good to see you again," Gedda said. 

Alve looked around. "The others?" he asked, voice still devoid of emotion. 

Meras gestured helplessly. "We're all that's left," she said. "Everyone else is 
gone." 

Alve nodded. "Then let's go. We can mourn later." 

It was slow going. Meras had hoped Alve could help her support Ensu, but his broken 
ankle prevented that. Gedda had to help Alve walk as Meras hauled Ensu up onto her 
back and carried him. They staggered back the way they had come, passing through 
the doors Alve and the Lekgolo had forced open and back into the darkened area. 
Meras found herself hoping that at least one of the two huge bond brothers would 
step out and offer to take Ensu for her. She narrowed her eyes angrily and 
dismissed that useless wish. Bovue and Kodul were both dead, she'd seen the bodies 
herself, and it was a waste of energy to even think about such a thing now. 

"How long...until the time limit?" Alve asked between steps. 

"Six minutes and forty," Ensu replied softly. 

"Save your strength," Meras said to him. 

What a contrast the four of them made to the eighteen-member team, full of pride 
and fire, that had come storming through these corridors such a short time ago. 
Reduced to less than a third of their original number, with half of the survivors 
unable to move on their own, Meras wondered if they could ever rebuild the squad. 
Maybe they wouldn't even get the chance. Maybe they would just be split up to 
reinforce other SpecOps teams. 

None of it would matter if they didn't make it out in time. 

"Fuppu, Gorda, come back," Gedda suddenly hissed into his communicator. They all 
listened expectantly for a reply, but there was none. "Rearguard, report," Gedda 
snapped after a full minute. Again there was no reply. Gedda sighed. "They're 
dead." 

Another minute and they had finally reached the entrance with two minutes remaining 
on the clock. There they found the bodies of the two Unggoy Gedda had left behind. 
He looked at them and slowly shook his head. "All for nothing," he growled under 
his breath. 

"SpecOps to Drop, come in," Alve said, looking out at the empty desolation of the 
ring fragment. 

No reply. 

"Drop, this is SpecOps, come in." 

No reply. 

Alve met Meras' eyes and saw the fear dawning there. "Drop! Swift, where the hell 
are you?" 

That was when something came out from behind the installation and swept over them, 
blasting air and nearly knocking Alve to the ground. It was a Covenant dropship, 
not their Phantom. "Get back inside!" Alve shouted as the dropship's turret gun 
opened fire on them. The violet bolts of plasma traced a path towards the group as 
they dashed for the safety of the Forerunner installation. His broken ankle giving 
out under him, Alve fell and would have fallen prey to the gun had Gedda not spun 
and hauled him into the hallway by the arms. A moment later, the plasma fire 
splashed into doorway and the frame around it, leaving blackened metal behind. 

"What's going on?" Meras shouted over the storm of fire. 

"It's the Jiralhanae!" Gedda shouted back. "It must be their ship!" 

Meras checked her timer. One minute and ten left on the drop clock. She felt her 
heart tighten. They were going to die. 

Her last hope was dead. 

"Drop to SpecOps, hang on, here I come!" 

Hope exploded again as Swift's voice registered on the airwaves. What happened next 
was simply unbelievable. The Phantom surged over the nearest ridge, moving at top 
speed. Its guns opened fire on the dropship, tearing open its starboard side, but 
the turret ball began to swing around to return fire. Before it could get a clear 
shot, though, Swift did something completely unexpected. The Phantom slammed into 
the dropship's rear starboard quarter, instantly snapping the ship in half and 
throwing it to the ground with enough force that the SpecOps felt the impact even 
from where they were. As the Phantom banked and slowly came around to pick them up, 
they saw that Swift's ship had not escaped the collision unscathed. It wobbled 
unsteadily, and the bow looked like a giant had closed his fist around it. 
Nevertheless, to the battered SpecOps survivors, it looked like home, and they ran 
as fast as they could towards it. 

Less than a minute remained on the mission clock. 

The door of the Phantom opened just in time for Meras to sprint inside with Ensu on 
her back. Precious moments ticked by as Gedda half-led, half-dragged Alve into the 
ship. 

The clock hit zero. 

A half-kilometer away, a massive bolt of plasma struck the ring fragment, erupting 
into a beautiful and destructive spray of light that sent shudders throughout the 
structure. As more of the devastating blasts struck, the Phantom's door closed and 
the shuttle spun on its axis, igniting its engines and rocketing away from the rain 
of fire towards safety. 

The cruiser's gunners slowly walked their fire across the ring fragment, leaving 
nothing but liquefied metal in their wake. Several of the bolts struck the 
heretics' transport, blowing it apart in a fountain of sparks. 

By the time Hallowed Avenger was finished, nothing was left of the structure but 
rapidly solidifying metal and bad memories.



Chapter 20: Homewards 

"Depart from your brother, depart from yourself." - Lekgolo proverb 

Alve knew something had to be wrong because of the way the stars swung back and 
forth outside the Phantom's viewports. From the way they would rise, fall, and rise 
again, he knew the ship had to be reeling drunkenly as it flew towards home, 
tilting in one direction and then overcorrecting as it tried to remain level. That 
was a bad sign. Swift never flew so poorly. 

Ensu lay face down on the deck, armor stripped off as Meras opened a medical kit 
and cracked open the disinfectant. "Scream if you have to," she said to the prone 
figure. He nodded and she poured the liquid over his back injury. Ensu didn't 
exactly scream, but he did make a sound akin to "aaaaarrrrnnnnn!" and balled his 
hands into fists, squeezing his eyes shut to ride out the wave of pain. 

"Take care of him, I'm going to go check on Swift," Alve said. 

Meras nodded absently. "Will do." 

Alve turned and limped his way towards the cockpit, a blast of pain erupting in his 
left leg every time he put his weight on it. Better, better get that looked at, he 
thought to himself as he reached the open hatch and leaned in. "Swift?" 

For a moment, silence answered him. Then, "That you...Alve?" a weak voice asked. 

Alve leaned forward and felt his stomach drop. "Oh, Swift..." The floor of the 
cockpit had been jammed upwards in the Phantom's collision with the dropship, 
crushing Swift's legs between the metal and the chair. The Yanme'e was bleeding 
heavily, and sat awkwardly in his seat. Alve realized that the only thing keeping 
the pilot there were his restraining straps. 

"Guess you were right, Captain," Swift whispered as he fought to keep the ship on 
course. 

"What? What about?" 

"Your bad feeling. When you told me to be careful. You were right." Swift fell 
silent and shook his head. "Why haven't they hailed us? They should've hailed us by 
now." 

"Your receiver is switched off, Swift," Alve said. 

"Oh," the pilot replied calmly. He looked over his instrument panel. Then he 
blinked and shook his head. "Which button is it?" he asked. Alve reached out and 
gently flipped the switch." 

"-repeat, please inform status." 

Swift reached out and flipped the 'send' switch, inadvertently sending the Phantom 
into a spin as he took his hand off the controls. Alve reached over and grabbed the 
now-vacant side, helping steady the ship. "Phantom One here," Swift said slowly. 
"Coming in. We have injured. Give me a landing please." 

"Phantom One, you are to land in hanger two. Understood?" 

"Understood," Swift replied. He let go of the switch and leaned back into the 
chair. "I'm dying," he suddenly said. 

"We're almost there," Alve replied calmly. 

"Alve." 

"Yes?" 

"Take the controls, I can't..." he trailed off and shook his head. "Are we almost 
there?" he asked. 

Alve felt a lump forming in his throat. "Almost there. We'll be home in another 
minute." 

"Alve?" 

"What?" 

"I need you to take the controls," Swift said again. "I'm...losing focus. Can't 
land like this. Need you to steer for me." 

"I will," Alve replied, awkwardly wedging himself in past the chair and reaching 
out to take the controls. The slippery blood on the metal made it slightly easier 
to ease in. 

"Tell me when to brake," Swift said, voice even quieter now. "Sorry I can't get out 
of the way." 

"It will be alright soon," Alve assured him. He did his best to aim the ship 
towards the right hanger, but he was no pilot and his uncomfortable position made 
things worse. The Phantom's nose jerked back and forth as he tried to keep it on 
course. 

"Phantom One, do you require assistance?" 

"Answer them," Swift said. 

Alve tapped the switch. "Yes, please assist in any way possible," he said. 

The line was silent for a few seconds, doubtless because they hadn't been expecting 
Alve's voice. Then the reply came. "Hang on, Phantom. You're about to get picked 
up." 

A moment later, the ship jerked and began fighting Alve's guidance. "A tractor," he 
said. 

"Cut thrust," Swift said. "I can't reach it." Alve pulled the lever and sound of 
the engines died away. The Phantom continued on, however, gracefully gliding past 
the threshold of the hanger and into the safety of the Hallowed Avenger. Alve saw 
dozens of personnel crowding the deck and as the tractor roughly set the Phantom 
down, they all began swarming towards it. 

"We're here, Swift," Alve said, gently grasping his shoulder. 

Swift stayed silent for a long moment. "Alve?" 

"Yes?" 

"Do you know the Prayer of Ascension?" 

"I do." 

Swift reached up and took Alve's hand. "Say it with me, please." 

Alve didn't argue. 

"The Prophecies will guide us To that shining place Where there is no end The Great 
Journey will take us there So long as we walk it The path is not easy and nor is it 
short But we will believe and we will arrive Because it is our destiny The Great 
Journey awaits none For we are upon it every moment Even to our dying breath And we 
will not stray Even to our dying breath." 

Alve felt Swift's grip loosen as they spoke, but another hand suddenly came down 
and pressed it back firmly. It was Meras, and she joined them in the prayer, her 
voice trembling. As the spoke the final words, Alve felt the last of Swift's 
strength leave him. 

Silence descended on the cockpit as Swift's head slowly fell forward. Alve found 
himself unable to speak. Even after everything that had happened, Swift's passing 
struck him like a hammer and he bowed his head. But before he could lose his 
composure completely, Meras tapped him on the shoulder. "You need medical 
attention, Alve. Right now." 

Alve 'Essonee took a deep breath, slowly backed out of the cockpit, and stood, 
ignoring the pain in his leg. "Right," he said with more than a hint of force. "I 
do."



Epilogue: Consequences 

"I think all soldiers need to be a little crazy...if you do not start out that way, 
it will happen to you later on, and that never bodes well for you or your 
friends." - Alve 'Essonee 

"So, are you receiving visitors?" 

Ensu looked up from the slate he'd been reading to see Meras standing in the 
doorframe. Without hesitation, he set it down and waved her in. "Come in. I could 
use someone to talk to," he said. 

She closed the door behind her and sat down on the side of the bed. "How are you?" 

"Feeling has returned and I can move again," he replied, pulling up his right leg 
to demonstrate. "But I am still supposed to stay off my feet as much as possible. I 
have another exam tomorrow." 

There was a moment of silence between the two. "I'm very glad you made it, Ensu," 
Meras said. 

Ensu nodded. "So am I. I was afraid for awhile, but I made it." He turned an 
indulgent grin on her. "And you made it out without a scratch on you." 

"Not true," Meras said, her voice grave. "The Evaluators are debating whether or 
not they'll let me ever see action again, period." 

"You were blindsided," he said reassuringly. She shrugged. "What about Alve and 
Gedda?" 

"Gedda's secure. He's going to be temporarily transferred to an Unggoy team until 
they can put him back in the SpecOps. Alve...is in a more difficult situation. His 
helmet camera caught some of what he did to Erebus. Last I knew he was confined to 
quarters, might be brought up on charges, might be declared certifiably insane. He 
is arguing that he only did it as a scare tactic. I don't think anyone believes 
him, not even himself." 

"Do you?" he asked. 

She thought about it. "No," she finally said reluctantly. "I think Alve...I think 
something really went wrong when he took that fall. For heaven's sake, he tore a 
person's skull out of their head!" she shivered. "I think, I really think, that 
Alve lost control down there. I listened to the recording and it sounded like he 
was enjoying himself." She shivered again. "I don't know, I just don't know." 

Ensu reached out and took her hand. "He'll be fine," he said calmly. "If it had 
been me down there, I think I would have been enjoying myself as well. It was 
Erebus, after all." Meras laughed and nodded agreement. "Alve is very tough," he 
continued. "Don't worry for him. I think he will be back with us soon." 

"Before or after you re-learn to walk?" Meras asked. 

Ensu shook his head. "The problem with you, Meras, is that you think you have a 
sense of humor and no one can convince you otherwise." 

She chuckled. "And the problem with you, Ensu, is that you think you can tell who 
has a sense of humor and who doesn't." 

He tightened his grip on her hand and pulled himself to a sitting position, putting 
his other arm around her shoulders. "You know, it's generally not a good idea to 
mock a sniper." 

She placed a hand on his chest. "It's generally not a good idea to mock a female, 
either." She suddenly grabbed his lower left jaw and pulled on it playfully. "We 
don't have as many vulnerable points." He raised his hands in surrender and she let 
go, sliding her hands around his neck and leaning forward to let her jaws interlock 
with his, eyes closing as she did so. He wrapped his arms around her and leaned 
back again, pulling her down to the bed with him. She pulled her legs up onto the 
bed and straddled him, gently rubbing his neck before they finally pulled apart. 

"Forgive me?" he asked. 

"Forgiven," she confirmed, and leaned back into him. He reached downwards to push 
the sheets away and they both kicked them down and out of their way. Her hands went 
to his collar and pulled, breaking open the clasp and forcing the shirt's zipper 
down to his midsection. His own hands opened her uniform jacket and slipped inside, 
gliding over her taut frame and making her shiver. Her mouth left his and she 
gently nuzzled the base of his neck as he finally slid her jacket off, leaving her 
bare from the waist up. 

She was just reaching for his buckle when the door chime rang. 

Acting on impulse, Ensu practically threw her over his left shoulder, grabbed his 
bed sheet and used it to cover her, then wrenched himself to a sitting position and 
grabbed the slate he'd been reading. "Come in," he said casually. 

The door slid open and Alve 'Essonee stepped into the room. He was once again clad 
in the white armor, helmet cradled in his right arm. His posture was ramrod 
straight and his eyes cold. "Ensu, good to see you recovering," he said, his 
cadence fast and toneless. 

"Thank you, sir." 

Alve's gaze briefly went to the floor, then came back up to him. "Is Meras still 
here?" he asked. 

Behind him, Ensu felt Meras sit up, gathering the sheet at he shoulders. "Here, 
sir," he said calmly. 

"Good, now I don't have to go looking for you," Alve said. 

"Begging your pardon sir, but aren't you confined to quarters?" 

"This has to do with that," Alve replied. "There's been an incident. About thirty 
minutes ago, we picked up a distress signal from High Charity." 

"What?" the two troopers chorused. 

"Exactly. The Hallowed Avenger is currently changing course. Ship Master 'Letousee 
is ordering all combat personnel to prepare for action immediately upon exiting 
subspace. That includes all three of us." 

"It's that serious?" Meras asked. 

"This is a distress call from the leadership of the Covenant, trooper," Alve 
replied. "Nothing is more serious. There's a briefing exactly one hour from now in 
room seven. Both of you are to be there. Is it clear?" 

"Yes sir," they chorused. 

"And Ensu, your armor hasn't been repaired yet, so I expect to see you in full 
dress uniform. Understood?" 

"I won't disappoint," he said quickly. 

"I expect nothing less," Alve replied. "That's all. I'll see you in an hour." With 
that, he turned and left, closing the door behind him. 

Meras and Ensu turned to look at each other. "Does he seem different to you?" she 
asked. 

"He's not ready for this," Ensu said gravely. No matter what he thinks, he's not. 
This is bad." 

Meras pulled her legs into a crossed position and prepared to rise. "We'd better 
get ready for that-" 

Ensu dropped the slate and spun, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her into 
his lap before she could do more than squeal in surprise. "Not yet. I believe we 
were in the middle of something, weren't we?" 

"But-" 

He leaned down and pressed his jaws to hers, quelling her uncertainty. When he was 
finally done, he pulled back and whispered, "This is the last moment of time we'll 
get for awhile. Let's make the most of it." 

"All right," she replied. 

------------------------------ 

"Forerunners and Prophets, you're a walking miracle, 'Essonee," Gedda said. 

"You didn't like your new unit?" Alve asked calmly. 

"Of course not! What a bunch of cowards! It's shaming to think that some of my race 
act like that!" 

"I was afraid I would have to beg to get you back." 

"Not likely." Gedda shook his head. "Special Operations is what I'm all about." 

Alve stopped and held out a fist. "Good to have you with me again, Gedda." 

"Until the End Times, Alve," Gedda said as he rapped his own fist against his 
commander's. "Until the End Times." 

They continued down the hall. 



END