You never get used to waiting, It's worth it, but at the same time it's horrible.

It's already about the same length, so by the time it's finished entirely it should be well over. It just doesn't feel as long because it's a slower, more character-driven story.

This is the first time that I've had to wait for a chapter to come out. I read memoirs, and insurrection after they were finished. I have a feeling that waiting for the next chapter to come out is going to kill me. As of now do you expect this to be longer or shorter than insurrection?

Oh, right. Hmm, not sure. If you could, one of Sorran, Ahkrin and Zharn being loomed over by larger images of the three hierarchs would be great, with Truth preferably being in the middle and the largest. But I don't know what you can do. You can decide, it's your PDF. Cheers for doing it, really appreciate it.

Wolverfrog, did you catch my post before the wall-... chapter was posted?

Savara's father? Whoa.

I regrew my beard while reading this. >.> No, but seriously, wicked stuff. I don't think the second part could've been [i]wrapped up[/i] any better. (lolgetit)

Bravo! Great stuff. ETA on the next part?

dang, I have waited so long I forgot everything! but it still was a great read keep at it!

Savaras dad? What happens next chapter when they all meet up where savara is?

Blue lights snaked across each other, drawing in the fog a faint spider's web of discharge which hung in the murkiness. Zharn swiped at his opponent with his blade, it was casually knocked aside and replied to by a heavy-handed swing at his neck; Zharn dodged desperately, managing to avoid the blow. The executioners' commander back-stepped a few paces, and for the first time Zharn saw a little of the eyes behind his helmet; they creased with age-lines, betraying a weakness. His foe was old, and although old men often knew far more than youth, their bodies weren't always able to keep up with their experience. "What's your motivation for doing this?" Zharn demanded as they stayed in those stances for a short time, each surveying the other. "What enables you to so casually kill innocent civilians?" At first his response was only a lunge of the sword, which took him by surprise. He spun away from it deftly, but not before it cut through the edges of his shielding and grazed his side. "I'm an officer in the Covenant," his foe told him, almost earnestly as if he wanted Zharn to know why. "I've seen the way this war with the humans drains our warriors' morale. Many feel wrong killing them; it is because they have not committed any atrocities to our people." "You think pinning all the deaths here on humanity will strengthen their resolve," Zharn consolidated, letting his blade fall to his side for a moment, wondering if perhaps his opponent could be talked down. "I know it will! Too many of my men have died because they hesitate when the order is given to wipe out soldiers who have surrendered, or unarmed civilians." "You can't just create a reason for them to fight," Zharn protested vehemently. "Not when it does not exist." "Perception [i]is[/i] existence," the leader continued. "I see this every day when my men despair, trying to wash the blood of their hands with guilt in some of their eyes. You would not understand." "Actually, I too am an officer in the Covenant," Zharn surprised his opponent, smiling when the other Sangheili's aged pupils dilated. "A fleetmaster. My men make their own choices determined by their own morality, and I would not have it any other way." "... then it seems we are at an impasse," the leader said. "Bring up your blade once more fleetmaster, and let us settle this like--" [i]Bang![/i] the bullet shouted as it hammered its way towards the man's knee, penetrating his lowered shields and dropping him instantly. In a few bounds, Zharn had crossed the distance between them and pointed the smoking magnum at his now-unshielded head. "The next one goes between your eyes," he warned, cocking the weapon threateningly. The other fleetmaster made a noise which sounded like a cross between pain and indignation. "You... shot me!" he gasped out, reaching down and cradling his shattered knee. "What kind of... Sangheili uses a gun... in a sword duel?" "A smart one," Zharn answered, kicking the disgraced officer squarely in the ribs. "I've walked the path of honour, and it led nowhere. Now, you'll answer my questions. Who ordered this... this [i]massacre[/i]?" "It is not a... arghh... massacre, these are drains upon society who in death have served the Covenant far more than they ever would have in--" Zharn kicked him again, drawing out another yell of pain. "I care not for the rhythm or reason, just give me a name!" he barked, pulling the trigger again. A shot burrowed itself into the ground a centimetre from the Sangheili's head. "Don't kill me, I have a family," he pleaded desperately. Zharn's lip curled with derision. "So did all those you've killed. [i]Name![/i]" "He never gave his full name," the man gasped out. "All I know... is that he's an Ossoona who calls himself Pel. He had vested within him proper authority, told us the order came directly from the hierarchs." "Where is he?" Zharn demanded, kneeling down and pressing his weight onto the man's neck. "Holed up in the Janjur Qom district," he rasped out, struggling for air. His arms flailed at his sides. "I know the location of his operations base... Let me lead you." [i]This 'Pel' is in the ruins of the Prophets' homeworld, then? That certainly supports the collaboration of the hierarchs.[/i] "The Qom district is off limits," Zharn mused. "There are guards all around its entrances. What would stop you from calling out to them as soon as we got close, or trying something else?" "You have... my word," he swore. "Hardly something of worth, judging by how easily I broke you," Zharn spoke back with contempt, shaking his head. "I'm sorry, but I can't risk it. I've killed worse men than you in my time, but I don't think my conscience will be too burdened by this. Give me your name before you die." "... I won't let you sully my house with falsities of what I've done here. Kill me and be done with it." "You sound familiar. What rank do you hold within the Covenant?" "None of import." Suspicious, Zharn reached down and grabbed the man's helmet. His vanquished foe struggled, but was unable to resist as Zharn pried it from his head. It fell to the ground a few inches away with a resigned clank. For a moment Zharn squinted through the fog at the face of the man he'd triumphed over, until finally he recognised who he had downed. [i]Oh, lords above,[/i] he bemoaned. "Imperial Admiral," he greeted unhappily. "How I wish this had been anybody but you." "Be done with it, fleetmaster. Then forget you ever saw me and be on your way," the Imperial Admiral spat out, blood mixing with the saliva. "No," Zharn decided reluctantly, putting away his pistol and grabbing the man's arm. "I've changed my mind, you're coming with me." "Why?" the Imperial Admiral demanded shrewdly, letting out a little whimper of pain as he was brought up onto his damaged leg. "Surely you are not doing this... because I'm your superior?" "I'd just as quickly kill the supreme commander himself if he did what you have done," Zharn retorted quickly. "I'm not sparing you because of your rank. First we'll join up with my friend, and then you'll lead us to this Ossoona." "Then what? You'll take what you find to the media? You know as well as I it's controlled by the hierarchs... Everything is." "Get moving," Zharn spat. "I'd rather you lived, but don't think I won't gut you if you try [i]anything,[/i] Grymar'ee." [Edited on 12.25.2011 1:06 PM PST]

At least Zharn was free of this all, commanding his fleet. Sorran thought it ironic that his friend was probably safer warring against the humans than here, in the one place in the galaxy they should be safe. Then there was Savara. High Charity was a large place, she could be anywhere. Perhaps Ahkrin was right; perhaps it [i]would[/i] be better if he never came back into her life again he'd be taking away everything from her just to be with him, and that was selfish. He also wondered if they should just leave Kym and Gilyi where they were, safe with Master Katoth'ee. Sorran knew the man would guard that with his very life and then some, and he doubted the Covenant would pursue them after Hem's death. [i]That's not the reason I don't want to go back for them. I don't want to tell them Kym her father's dead... that he died betrayed by me, and at the hands of a coward.[/i] Sorran suddenly had a desire to lash out at something. He'd never been good with responsibility or leadership. That's why he'd chosen to bury himself in books; they never demanded his time, could never be hurt by his actions, never depended on relied or looked up to him. He looked over at his small satchel in the corner; all he had to his name, save for the damaged, flame-licked armour resting on the floor and his weapons, which he kept clipped to his belt. Driven by a sudden impulse to hold his things, he went over and opened it, rummaging inside. Small keepsakes of lives which might as well have belonged to other people. His certification from the college of scholarship. He remembered well the day he'd earned it... not even three years ago. It might as well have been thirty. He'd been one of three Sangheili in a crowd of hundreds, most of the rest all San 'Shyuum. His fellow two Sangheili were both the youngest from their houses of aristocracy, sent to the college by their elders to get them out of the way. He'd been the only one from the working class. Where all his other graduation brothers and sisters had had all their houses and kin blanketing the hall where the ceremony had taken place, the only one there for Sorran had been his sister. She'd always been the only one he'd known to ever support his decision to be a scholar. All his other distant family and once-friends had effectively disowned him the moment he'd chosen to take up a book rather than a sword. Then his sister had died a few months after his graduation, and he'd been alone. Settled into the dull monotony of working at High Charity's great library ever day, shunned by his San 'Shyuum colleagues for not being of their kind and spurned by his own species for not being what they called a 'true Sangheili.' Then all those years of study had been made worthless when the war against humanity intensified, and he'd been drafted. At first he'd resented it, but thinking back... he'd hated working at the great library. Perhaps it was true what they said; that every Sangheili yearned to be a warrior, and would feel discord until that was so. Laying aside his certification with a fond memory, he rumbled around in the bag some more. His hand closed around a small silver chain. Frowning for a moment, he pulled it out and held the small pendant attached to it in the light. [i]Of course,[/i] he realised with a smile as he recognised the object. Back on Eridanus II... the old human he'd come across after orbital entry, the one whose life he'd spared. He'd prayed to some god of his upon seeing Sorran, completely taking Sorran aback, who'd believed the humans to be faithless heathens. That had been one of the first things to significantly challenge his perception of their people. Everything had changed that day, when he'd killed the Jiralhanae. He wondered how differently things might have gone if he hadn't been wounded by the old man's son, forcing Ahkrin to take him into a nearby house. He'd have never discovered that child, cowering behind the curtains... never would have been forced to kill the Jiralhanae. Never would have been sentenced to death by Truth, never saved by Restraint. [i]Amazing, how the smallest thing can change one's life forever,[/i] he wondered, staring at the pendant. Moved by sentimentally, he opened the clasp on the chain and managed to fit it around his neck, tucking the pendant into his shirt. Sorran suddenly felt a tapping on his back. He turned around to see the Huragok right in his face, pointing at a small object on the far corner of the room. His transponder. "It doesn't work, we're too far underground," he told Wind. It shook its head firmly. [i]--No, I fix,[/i] it signed proudly. [i]--Someone speak to you.[/i] Sorran rose up from his memories and marched over to the transponder device, looking at its butchered chassis; wiring spooled out from it like an overgrown bush, and he could see sparks dancing about inside. But the light shone on it, showing they had a signal. And he had a message. He pressed the 'play' button, and pointed its projector into an empty space before him. The hologram system folded out from it, showing a familiar face. "Jajab!" he exclaimed with surprise as he saw the Unggoy's bearded face appear. Sorran felt a grin cross his face; he'd thought him dead. "[i]Sorran, I don't know if you or Hem are alive,[/i]" Jajab began on the recording, worry and strain blanketing his tiny voice. "[i]If you are, come find me. I'll be waiting by Lake Charity until two days from the time this message is sent. Please, help.[/i]" With that, the message ended and the hologram crawled back inside the transponder device. Sorran was already gathering together his armour. Easily Caught By Wind made a little urgent noise; he looked up and saw it moving its limbs about again. [i]--You are going to help?[/i] it asked him. Sorran nodded. "He's counting on me. I won't be long; keep this room locked." [i]--What about master-killer?[/i] it persisted. [i]Do not leave me alone with him. Please.[/i] "If I tell Ahkrin, he'll try to stop me from going. I've got to go alone." [i]--He hurt,[/i] the Huragok whimpered, its eyes b-blam!- with tears. Sorran stopped, and put a hand on its neck soothingly. "He didn't know what he was doing then," Sorran told it softly. "I've known Ahkrin a long time, he's my brother. He won't hurt you again, I promise." [i]--It calls,[/i] Wind signed, moisture ebbing away from its eyes suddenly. Sorran frowned, wondering if he'd misinterpreted. "What?" he queried. The Huragok looked at him with a quizzical expression. Sorran frowned, patting it dismissively on the head. "I'll be back soon. Remember what I said." Sorran lowered his helm onto his head, and stalked over to the door. Lake Charity wasn't far from here. He'd find Jajab and be back before anyone knew he was gone. It would be hard to break news of Hem's death, and harder still to explain it. *

They crept along like that in the quiet, hearing only a few screams pouring down from buildings as people terrified of the gunfire called for help. They turned into an alleyway, then a passage, then a gap between two buildings--" There! A sudden blur, moving from one end of a building they were wedged between to another. Orpheus looked at Zharn. "I will give chase. You search for the other," he said, running off in pursuit. Although the Jiralhanae was large, he moved surprisingly quick. Zharn backed away in the other direction, hunting down his own quarry. "Come out, if any trace of the true Sangheili you once were remains!" he taunted, hoping that he would draw out the leader. No doubt [i]he[/i] was the one with the answers. "Who are you?" he heard the leader's voice call back, and heard the strain within that voice. Zharn moved towards it swiftly. "One who will bring about your demise," Zharn answered, and edged slowly towards the source of the voice. "You, a traitor to our people." "Men are traitors only when they fail in their goals," he heard the same voice snarl from behind him. Zharn spun around quicker than he'd ever thought he could, a primal instinct making him bring up the rifle to shield himself. It was sheared in two by the energy sword the leader wielded, falling to the ground in two burning halves; the metal curled in upon itself, fire eating up its barrel. The leader brought up his sword again. Zharn looked down at the assault rifle, flame still devouring its shell-- [i]Bang![/i] the gunpowder within the bullets exploded, creating a small explosion. Smoke and heat circled the air around them, allowing Zharn to put some distance between him and the sword. A blue arc sliced through the smoke inches away from his head, meeting nothing but haze and ash. When the smoke cleared, he saw the leader standing opposite to him, his burning blade in the right hand and grasping something in his left. The leader threw it to Zharn, who instinctively caught it. The sword came alive in his hand as soon as he touched it, glyphs racing up the side of the hilt and blue plasma firing around from the magnetic coils. "You still have some honour, then," Zharn conceded begrudgingly. "I know not who you are or why you are interfering, but you have earned yourself the right to die with a blade in hand at least. Take arms." They circled each other in the large street they both stood in; heavy fog obscured either end, and in the distance Zharn could only dimly hear snatches of what was happening between Orpheus and the other surviving executioner. He brought up his blade before his eyes, and the leader mirrored. He uttered a small prayer, and heard it echoed by the other man. Another second of silence passed. Then they went at it. * "Absolutely out of the question," Sorran spoke matter-of-factly, breaking the icy atmosphere that had fallen as soon as Jeann'ee had issued them his terms. For several minutes now they'd all simply picked away at their starter courses. "There is no negotiable room here," Jeann'ee insisted firmly, still in that level voice of his. Sorran glanced over at Ahkrin and saw only a blank slate, completely unreadable. "If you want to get into the Dreadnought, I come with you." "Why?" Sorran demanded lividly, fingers gripping the underside of the table so tightly he was worried it might cave. "What is there for you there?" "What is there for [i]you[/i] there?" Jeann'ee echoed, a sly smile creeping its way up the side of his face. "Don't think for a second I buy your story that Truth just decided to have Restraint killed on a whim and then impose an entire lowdown on the station just so he can hunt you down. There's far more to this, the Dreadnought is involved somehow, and I'm curious." "You'll just have to stay that way, because we're not bringing you with--" "He's coming," Ahkrin interjected tiredly. Sorran looked at him with betrayed eyes. "Ahkrin?" was all he demanded with apoplexy. He leant towards his friend, speaking in hushed tones. "Were I to meet this... sorry excuse for a man under better circumstances I'd drive my sword into his worthless gut." "I've done that, he's tougher than he looks," Ahkrin muttered distractedly. "Don't ask and don't bring it up, I'm hoping he's put it behind him. Sorran; we need to get into the dreadnought, correct?" Confliction danced through his mind. Reluctantly he nodded. "We must speak with the Oracle." "Then Jeann'ee comes with us," Ahkrin said conclusively, drawing away and clapping his hands with an air of finality. "It's rude to whisper," Jeann'ee called across down the table, a smile still on his face as he tucked into the bread roll before him. "You are sure you can get us into the Dreadnought?" Ahkrin demanded, pointing his butter-knife at the other Sangheili accusatively. "It's one of the most guarded locations on this station." "There's no place on High Charity my shadow doesn't fall across," Jeann'ee assured them, although to Sorran that sounded more like an ominous threat. "You agree to my terms?" "... agreed," Sorran finally conceded, hating himself for doing so. Here he was, partnering with a trafficker in drugs, slaves, assassination, blackmail, children; every single debauch practice under the sun played about Jeann'ee fingertips, and with that one word Sorran was placing himself in that hand too. "Tomorrow morning would be ideal," Ahkrin dictated, all business. "Then we'll need you to arrange transport of this station. Payment--" "Taking me with you to the Dreadnought is payment enough," Jeann'ee interrupted, waving his hand with the disregard of one who cared not for money. "I want you to succeed in whatever you're doing, Ahkrin. I have no love for the Covenant." "Or the people in it," Ahkrin jabbed harshly, before rising from the table. "I grow tired of this parlez. Have the food sent up to our room. Let's go, Sorran. We have much to discuss." [i]Ahkrin's settled back into his role as the leader,[/i] Sorran noted as he too rose from his chair and moved to follow his friend. That assured him in some way, but made him a little uneasy in another the past few months had imbued Sorran with a sense of self-confidence he had no possessed before, and he found himself no longer complacent to follow Ahkrin like a blind sheep. Still, they were in his world now. A world Sorran was soon growing to despise. * It was with heavy hearts that Sorran opened the door to his quarters, stumbling inside. He'd just spent the better part of three hours talking with Ahkrin, catching him up on everything that had happened during his 'death' and vice versa. "You're still in that same spot," he remarked to the Huragok in the corner of the room, who looked up suddenly as if it were a dormant machine turned on. "What's your name again?" The Huragok paused for a moment, before bringing up its tendrils and slowly making elaborate, overly-exaggerated movements with those deft limbs. Sorran recalled his patchy knowledge of Huragok signing. [i]Easily caught by wind[/i] it signed to him. Sorran took a few seconds to remember how the Huragok named themselves; after how they floated in-atmosphere after their 'birth.' "I'm Sorran," he said in case it didn't know its name. "I know we never spoke much at Restraint's, but I promise I'll take good care of you, Wind." The Huragok made an affectionate noise not unlike a cat purring, and its bioluminescence glowed brighter. Then that familiar sharp look returned to its eyes, and it turned away. Sorran shook his head with a wry smile, wondering what the creature's thoughts were like. "To be so innocent," he muttered wistfully, walking to the small lectern he'd been granted and taking a seat at it. A small click of his fingers summoned a flame-orb from a small grove in the wall, and it hovered some inches off the surface of the lectern. Sorran reached into his pocket and pulled out the data crystal Restraint had given him. It was as dull and lifeless as a grey pebble; hadn't reacted since the first time he'd picked it up. Sorran was concerned it had been damaged somehow. "Can you take a look at this?" he asked Easily Caught By Wind, who looked over and made a small noise of annoyance, as if Sorran had just interrupted it in the middle of an important calculation. A small tendril edged towards him, gently probing at the crystal he held out to it. After a few moments it recoiled, shaking its head resolutely and returning back to whatever it was thinking about. Sorran stared after it for a few moments, before looking back down at the lifeless crystal and stowing it away with a sigh. [i]Am I doing the right thing here?[/i] he wondered. Officially, the Oracle had never spoken since the San 'Shyuum first discovered the Dreadnought back when Janjur Qom was still whole, all those thousands of years ago before they'd first discovered the Sangheili. Sorran knew it had spoken to the hierarchs ten years ago, but other than those fleeting words nothing. Did he really think it would break its silence to speak with he, a common Sangheili? He was having trouble quantifying everything that had happened in the past week. Before then, he'd believed he'd have many, many years of training before Hem passed away, and had secretly hoped that the time would be right for Hem to reveal the truth tot he Covenant before then. Now everyone else who knew was dead aside from he and Ahkrin, and Sorran still suspected Ahkrin had his doubts about the whole sordid affair.

* "What took you so long?" the leader of the Sangheili executioners demanded shrewdly as Zharn walked into hearing-range, fingers drumming the barrel of the human assault rifle he held. It was a question which caught Zharn off guard, and he stumbled for a lie to tell; a practice he was not well versed in. "It took some time for the Light of Helios to drop his guard," he finally managed to get out, hoping his pause would be misconstrued as weariness. "He's dead and disposed of." "... well done," the leader congratulated without really seeming to care, before turning back to face the rest of the group. Zharn nervously assumed his place amongst them; a few shot him sideward glances but none seemed to notice that the wearer of the armour had changed. The human rifle Zharn had himself clung to his back, its weight alien and unwelcome. "So... what's the plan?" he asked, immediately drawing the stares of all in the group. He felt his palms run slick with sweat, and struggled to keep his expression as blank as possible. [i]This is where your being here would be useful, Ahkrin,[/i] he thought ruefully, wondering in the back of his mind where his friend had gotten too. "We carry on as we have been," the leader spoke slowly. "Are you okay, warrior?" "There was a moment where the Light threatened to overwhelm me," Zharn forced out, rubbing the back of his head as if he were in pain. "I prevailed but not before he got a good swing in." "Well, clear your mind," the leader spoke harshly. "I'll tell you our objective one more time; pay attention. We're to unload more humans than before after the marks have been dealt with; make it seem as though their numbers are dwindling. These people are poor and in low positions on the station, they shall not be missed." "Our orders say this?" Zharn phrased delicately, hoping his words were ambiguous enough that they would not seem too strange. "Straight from the his mouth," the Sangheili in charge of the operation affirmed, and Zharn could tell from his tone that he was not accustomed to having to explain himself at length. "I almost wonder if we are doing the right thing here," Zharn finally risked, taking the chance that showing a small sliver of morality wouldn't earn him one of those metal bullets in the back. Relief washed over him like a cooling wave when he saw confliction skip across the leader's eyes, and heard men to each side of him shuffle a little. "For the greater good, we must sometimes bury our consciences," the leader finally heaved out. "You all know as well as I that morale for the holy crusade against the humans is low; we need something to galvanise the people. When our Covenant awakens to dozens of dead bodies at human hands, they will be outraged and as determined as ever to cleanse the galaxy of their filth." [i]So that's it,[/i] Zharn realised, and started the laborious task of compiling all he knew into a whole, quantifiable reality to explain all the madness. High Charity placed under lowdown, his fleet called in to enforce that quarantine, the station being near Sangheilios, his being told humans had infiltrated the station; all designed to instil within the populace a sweeping of patriotism. He wagered that somewhere inside the revenant transport was the body of the demon he had killed on Eridanus II, brought not hours ago from his flagship down to High Charity. They'd no doubt finally have that body dumped, surrounded by dead Covenant who'd valiantly given their lives in defence of all on the station. [i]A brilliant plan,[/i] he marvelled, and knew then too why all the people in this little execution group didn't seem to know each other -- every person's identity was being kept a secret, so after this was done they could return to their lives and pretend nothing had happened. The only thing he couldn't figure out was how Ahkrin fit into it all. Although he could on some basic level appreciate the underlying motive of the plan, in the end his morality won out over his dedication to the Covenant. This was wrong. It had to be stopped. "Let's move," the leader motioned, taking point and leading the line of troops into the district. Something about his voice seemed vaguely familiar, like something he had seen over the 'casts, but Zharn could not quite place it. He looked down at his own rifle and flipped the safety off. "Jamming device is active," one of the others called over in hushed tones, stepping away from a pulsating piece of equipment. "They're dark." "Onto the first building complex; swift, efficient breaching and clean kills," the leader commanded, and a group of five immediately rushed towards the first building, which rose several stories into the air, one of them reaching down to the lock panel and beginning to hack into its systems. [i]It's now or never.[/i] With a casual nonchalance, Zharn walked over to the group and unbuckled a small sphere from his belt. He whistled twice, and heard the clicking noise as the plasma grenade primed. "Hey!" he called out to the one hacking the control panel just as he reached them. The Sangheili looked up just in time to see the butt of Zharn's rifle come crashing into his jaw. The hacker fell backwards with a cry, and the others turned to face them with surprise. Zharn's wrist flicked, and the plasma grenade was let loose. It flew in between them, its sudden appearance stunning them for a few seconds. Zharn was already moving backwards, throwing himself into the air in an attempt to garner as much distance between he and the imminent blast as possible-- [i]Boom![/i] In a storm of blues and purples, the grenade let loose its deadly discharge and along with a considerable portion of the building's door, took out the five who had been lined up against it. The explosion sounded throughout the large expanse of streets, stealing the undivided attention of the other seven Sangheili. Zharn had already opened fire, his first unloading of bullets snagging two of the bastards in the face. Their shields not yet activated, they dropped like stones let loose from one's hand. "Take cover!" the leader barked at the remaining five, who immediately scrambled for the nearest wall or anything else that could shield them from the hail of bullets chasing them. Zharn caught one in the foot as he scrambled to get away, sending him sprawling onto the floor a few metres away. As Zharn himself dove to reach cover of his own, he drew out a knife from his belt and hurled it into the back of the crippled Sangheili, pinning him to the ground through a pair of lungs. With no time to check if the blow had been fatal, Zharn dove behind the corner of a building and posted himself up against it. The executioners had returned fire now, the thunder of the bullets battering against the wall Zharn cowered behind. He poked his rifle out the side of the cover and let loose a few blind shots from the assault rifle. They all missed. [i]Curse this inefficient weapon![/i] "Flank him!" he heard the leader squawk in a rare dialect of kig-yar, the man no doubt thinking it would allow him to relay orders to his men without Zharn understanding them. Fortunately, Zharn's father had made sure he understood almost all languages of the Covenant when he had been a boy. Drawing out a knife, he caught one of the Sangheili as they moved to circle him, impaling the carotid artery and invoking a sudden surge of blood. Dumping the corpse, he moved on and evaded their flanking manoeuvre, sweeping behind another building. Lights were turning on in the complexes all around them, but no faces rose to the windows. Usually the constabulary would have been on them within the first few seconds of a shot being fired, but they'd all been told to leave. That would prove to be a very ironic undoing for the execution team. "I see him!" one of the Sangheili called out excitedly from behind him. Zharn pivoted to see the man already preparing to fire his rifle, and sagged. There was no way he could avoid that shot. [i]Bam![/i] the heavy object swung from behind another building, its impact sending the Sangheili soaring down the street. The body flew past Zharn as if it had been hurled from a catapult, eventually coming to rest some several inches deep into a heavy garage door. "I thought you were going to infiltrate their ranks!" Orpheus cried out as he lumbered towards Zharn, his gravity hammer drawn and coated in a sticky residue. "I was never much one for subterfuge," Zharn wheezed back, hearing footsteps to the left of him. A Sangheili emerged into the street with a rifle raised, face falling as he saw the Jiralhanae who had joined their attacker. Orpheus discharged a burst of energy from his weapon, knocking the man of his feet. Without mercy, Zharn stalked over and emptied a few shells into the downed Sangheili's chest. Suddenly, silence fell. "There are two left," Zharn whispered to Orpheus as they moved between the labyrinth of alleyways and buildings, backs pressed up against each other. He could smell the Jiralhanae's drenched fur, and knew he probably didn't smell too great himself. "One's the leader." "What do we do after we've dealt with them?" Orpheus asked, speaking with complete confidence in their ability to dispatch the two remaining executioners. "We'll work that one out later. Let's focus on surviving first."

"You'll get used to it," one of the escorts behind him spoke. "These ones won't be here much longer anyway, so you don't have to worry about hearing them whine much--" The glare Sorran shot him could have killed a less steely man, shutting the guard up immediately and prompting him to edge closer to the Mglekgolo and out of Sorran's reach. "We're going to have [i]dinner[/i] with the man who sanctions this?" Sorran demanded of Ahkrin accusingly, as if his friend were the one locking the children behind steel bars. Ahkrin looked away with shame. "Jeann'ee is the only one on this station who can get us to the dreadnought undetected, and then off High Charity after that. We need to appease him, and I fear my presence no longer carries the respect it once did here. You are sure we need to see the Oracle?" "It told the hierarchs all this for a reason," Sorran affirmed stoically. "I highly doubt it was just to pass the time. We need answers from it." "You think it will just wake up after a decade of dormancy? You said Restraint told you it hasn't shown any sign of activity since that fateful period in which the current hierarchs ascended to power." Sorran remembered all the whisperings he'd heard in his dreams and mind over the past few months, and knew in his hearts that he was being summoned by the Oracle, consciously or unconsciously. There was no one else it could be, it wanted to see him. Or perhaps he just going crazy. "I'm sure," was all he said, just before they passed through the door at the end of the hall and came out into the dining area. It was remarkably civilised considering the degeneration he'd just witnessed. A small hall with a very low ceiling as common throughout the rest of the underground complex; a few paintings decorated the walls, and centred in the middle of the room was a long table with chairs situated around it in a pattern. Orbs of flame hung suspended in the air above, casting an ephemeral glow across the black sheet blanketing the stone of the table. At the head of the table sat Jeann'ee, and no other. It looked as though it would just be the three of them dining tonight. "You're all looking a good deal cleaner," the criminal leader greeted them cheerily. "We washed off a lot of blood," Ahkrin retorted sharply, the implications of his words evoking a smile from Jeann'ee. "I'm sure you did. Food will be brought out soon, prepared by my very best chef. Please, sit." They took a seat at the other end of the table, a gulf separating them from Jeann'ee. Sorran pushed a flame-orb out of his way as it drifted too close to him, easing his way into the seat and glaring down the stone path at Jeann'ee. "We have business to deal with," he spoke curtly, not trusting his tongue to run at any significant length of time. "Yes," Jeann'ee smiled, showing the long canines that lined his jaw; so sharp were they for a Sangheili, almost looking as if they belonged to a Jiralhanae. "I understand that you need a way into the Forerunner Dreadnought. I believe I can help you with that." He paused then, for dramatic effect. His smirk curved even more. "There is however, one condition." There were a few seconds after he said that until they realised they were supposed to play along with this game. "What is it?" Ahkrin demanded with contempt, hands curling to fists underneath the shroud of the table. Jeann'ee chose that moment to study a spoon closely, perhaps checking that there was still a soul behind his eyes. "Nothing too major. Hardly an inconvenience to you at all, really." "Spit it out," Sorran interrupted, moments away from an angered outburst. Jeann'ee spread his hands innocently, coughing with delicacy. "You have to take me to the dreadnought with you," he told them, and suddenly the doors behind him burst open, allowing the noise of the kitchen to spill through into silence that had instantly greeted his words. "Ah, dinner!" * [i]Tick. Tock.[/i] Surreal as it was, what bothered Jajab most about it was the faint clicking noise it made every few seconds, as if to tell him it was still active. A dim right light pulsed beneath the heavy jacket he wore, which draped over the jagged edges of the device like snow across mountain crests. [i]I'm wearing a bomb,[/i] Jajab thought for the millionth time, his brain still unable to fully wrap itself around the concept that strapped to him was an ordnance of explosives primed to blow at the touch of a button. They'd strapped it to him as if he were some expendable Huragok. Whoever 'they' were. He'd recognised Pel, and at first had hoped he'd found safety, a friendly face despite the suspicion he held. But that had soon faded away as he'd realised that Pel was garbed in the night of an Ossoona, and he'd seen all the men who answered to his command. An Ossoona. That meant he was working with the Prophets. Which confirmed that they'd been the ones to kill Restraint. And now they were sending him to find Sorran and deliver him a message. If he didn't comply, then they'd activate the explosives attached to his harness and send him to whatever afterlife there was in pieces. There had been no mention of Hem, which meant he had to be dead. Jajab felt a small pang of loss; he'd never truly considered the old honour guard a friend, but had respected him and relied upon him as a constant in his life. [i]Sorran...[/i] Jajab liked Sorran. He wasn't arrogant like most Sangheili, nor did he treat him differently for being Unggoy in a world where almost all Sangheili (including Hem) dictated to his kind as a result of their strength and perceived superiority, it was surprisingly refreshing. Sorran would notice there was a bomb strapped to him, and keep his distance. Even so, the explosives on Jajab weren't powerful enough to puncture the honour guard shielding he would no doubt be wearing they were just a deterrent to make sure Jajab didn't do anything Pel didn't want to... or a way to deal with him afterwards. But hopefully it wouldn't come to that. Jajab would deliver his message and return to Pel, who would-- [i]What, free you? With what you know? Don't be absurd, you old fool,[/i] he critiqued himself with disgust, cold logic finding a gap in the wall of terror that had been blocking his thoughts for so long. [i]The only way you're getting out of this mess is by leaving your body behind.[/i] It was an oddly reassuring thought, though. To know one's death was inevitable; after so long fleeing from it, Jajab finally realised that death wasn't a terrifying end, it was another question waiting to be answered. He didn't know if there [i]was[/i] a great journey or not, but either way he'd soon find out. Still, there was still that tiniest vain of hope. Perhaps Sorran could do something; perhaps he wasn't alone the young Sangheili was by no means a poor warrior, but Jajab couldn't imagine him besting a skilled Ossoona like Pel and forcing him into retreat by himself. Of course, the problem was actually finding Sorran to begin with. High Charity was a big place, full of places to hide that the Prophets didn't even know existed. It was knowing this that Jajab had sent out a transponder to Sorran; with Restraint's manor destroyed, Jajab had no idea whether it would work any longer, and even then there was no guarantee Sorran could or [i]would[/i] answer. But he could think of nothing else to do. He would wait an hour for the Sangheili to reply, at least. Glumly, Jajab sat down on the ground he walked near Restraint's house; he could smell the smoke coming from the manor in the near-distance, see the charred remains of the manor that had been his home for so many years. All the while the red light on his small chest beat against the still-falling rain, and the tiny clicking noise of the explosive harness filled his ears like the buzzing of an insect. [i]Tick. Tock.[/i] *

"What in gods' name...?" Zharn wondered at the sight before him, not one hundred metres away. He heard a similarly confused growl echo behind him from Orpheus. The two were crouched behind a building, staring with wide eyes at the scene taking place in the distance. What had to be a dozen or so Sangheili, stood over the bodies of lifeless Covenant civilians. All of them were dressed in dark armour, not an insignia or emblem in sight. Even from this distance Zharn could see the cold stones they wore instead of eyes, and through their chests a heart of ice pounded rhythmically. He knew the look of a killer well his closest brother was one, after all and these most certainly fit the bill. Yet that was not what struck him about the group, not by half. Instead he could not help but stare in slack-jawed astonishment at the weapons they held in their hands. Rifles. MA2Bs. [i]Human[/i] weapons. Not spoils of war taken from human bodies, but loaded and primed weapons with the safety off. Zharn could not see a human in sight nor smell a single trace of their stench. But still the dead bodies were there. "What do you think they are--" Orpheus began to ask, and then before he could finish his question the answer was given to him in a most horrific manner. "This one's still alive," one of the Sangheili in the distance spoke clinically, his voice grabbed by the software in Zharn's armour and enhanced, to make it as if he were standing right before him. The cold in his eyes spread down to his tongue. The Sangheili was motioning at a Jiralhanae, bleeding in several places crawling slowly away from the mass of dead bodies more Jiralhanae, Unggoy, Kig-Yar, Sangheili as if he were trying to escape something. In response to the Sangheili's observation, another walked towards the Yan'me with an M6D a human pistol drawn out, and with all the nonchalance of one stamping out a grub put a round in the Jiralhanae's head. [i]Forerunners be damned![/i] Zharn heard Orpheus tense behind him, heard hands wrap tighter around the hammer in his friend's hands; now unsheathed. "Another life on the humans' hands," the executioner laughed, but it was not a laugh of joy; rather, a sadistic bark of satisfaction. "We're done here. Throw down one of their bodies near the carnage and we'll move on." As if the odd play being acted out before them couldn't get any stranger, one of the Sangheili reached into a vehicle behind them and drew out a hulking mass in matte black. An ODST. Dead, with what seemed to be plasma burns punched through its gut. Casually the Sangheili propped the corpse against the building so that it slumped, head tilted downwards. Then one of the rifles was placed in its hand, a few empty shells ejected near it. By the time they were done, it looked like the ODST had killed all the civilians without mercy and had finally taken a burst of plasma for its trouble, dying too. Any who came across this scene afterwards would think so. "Zharn," Orpheus whispered urgently. "I don't think there are any live humans on this station." "I think you might be right there," Zharn agreed, his eyes still a little glazed over from shock at what he'd just seen. "But the hierarchs told us otherwise. They must be behind... [i]this,[/i] but why--" He was cut off as the audio-receptor in his armour picked up another command from the group of Sangheili in the distance. "... we're leaving," he heard, and then saw the speaker point at another one. "You, go to the entrance of the district and kill that Light of Helios; dispose of the body afterwards and meet up with us in the next district." [i]Uh-oh,[/i] Zharn thought, and shared a worried look with Orpheus. Suddenly, inspiration struck him. He pulled the Jiralhanae fully out of sight into the shadow of the building, even as he heard the thrusters of the vehicle start up and carry the team of pretend-humans away. "Their commander called him 'you,'" Zharn hurriedly told his friend with short, bated breath. "That implies he doesn't know him well, or surely he'd have used his name." "We don't know that for sure," Orpheus replied doubtfully, perhaps sensing where Zharn was going to take the matter. "I'm willing to take that risk. When that... executioner comes by, we'll grab him. I'll strip him of his armour and assume his place, join up with those others and find out what's going on here." "It's too dangerous," Orpheus protested, shaking that head of his. They could both hear the footsteps of the Sangheili come closer as headed towards the district entrance to snuff out a Light. "We need to inform the constabulary--" "The constabulary are just pawn of the hierarchs, Orpheus. Like everything in this city. If we go to them they may well turn around and fill us with plasma. No, this is the only way. You'll shadow us at a distance." "I don't like this" "Too late, he's almost here," Zharn urged, pressuring the Jiralhanae. He could hear the executioner muttering under his breath; he sounded resentful at being left behind to clean up the mess. Suddenly, he came out of the light and into reach of the building's shadow. He barely had time to utter a cry before Orpheus grabbed him by the shoulders and dragged him into the dark. The executioner's eyes widened when he saw Zharn bear down upon him, whose hands deftly grabbed his head and twisted, once. [i]Crack![/i] The executioner slumped to the ground, body facing the sky and his head buried into the earth. Zharn stood over his kill with an expression of distaste on his face. "I dislike snapping necks," he explained to Orpheus, a little shudder going through him. "But it would not have done to use a blade; this armour cannot have any Sangheili blood on it." "It's painted with the red of humans," Orpheus noted, pointing at the speckled pattern of scarlet covering parts of the chest-plate and braces. "Must have happened when he moved the ODST's body," Zharn replied. "Come, help me strip the armour." [i]Whatever the source of this madness is, I will find it... and gladly rip its throat out.[/i] * His blade shuddered in its scabbard, the anger reflected in its hilt seeping up to his eyes. Sorran felt his whole body tense, his breath become short. "You weren't lying about the children," he gritted out to Ahkrin as they passed through a corridor where several cells were scattered; there was no logical positioning to them, it was as if they'd just been hastily carved out of High Charity's rock foundations wherever the stone was softest; grafted onto the rest of the corridor was seamless metal, making the crude cells seem like a gun placed next to a club. Within the cells was a horror he could barely quantify, one that almost sent him into a frenzy. Children; mostly Sangheili, clustered together in tight groups behind the cells, wearing tattered clothes, dirt and dust clinging to their faces. One could not have been much younger than Hem's grandchildren. "Sorran," Ahkrin warned him, all the words he wanted to say but couldn't carried along by his stern tone. He pointed with sickened eyes at the guards flanking them on either side, and the Mglekgolo who'd greeted them at the entry taking up the rear. [i]Don't be a hero,[/i] Ahkrin had told him one final time before they'd left the room to go to dinner. Sorran had assured his brother that he would not, but staring at the pale, sickly and hopeless faces of the young now made him seriously consider drawing out his sword and doing his damned best to get the children out. [i]This is a consequence of the Covenant,[/i] he reminded himself. [i]The hierarchs turn a blind eye to the darker corners of their empire because they keep the people afraid, and fear is a tool through which they can rule.[/i] Knowing this steeled him against the horror; when he finally showed the people of the Covenant the truth they would rise up against the totalitarianism, and acts of barbarism like this would be cast down with the prophets who tolerated them. To reach that goal one day, this day he would have to play the pragmatist and keep his blade in check, or they would not find a way to smuggle the truth from the iron confines of High Charity. That knowledge didn't make it any easier now, though. He shielded his eyes, locking his jaw and trying to block out the pitiful moans and sobs of the children. He knew the depraved future that awaited these young and it made him sick to the stomach.

Jeann'ee stared thoughtfully into his drink as he contemplated what they'd told him, and not told him. "So, Truth finally decided to have Restraint killed, eh? The old fool had been challenging the hierarchs and their policies in council lately, my sources tell me. It's his own damn fault he's dead, the doddering high councillor would have been better off keeping quiet--" "Speak one more ill word of Restraint and I'll kill you, guards or no," Sorran threatened in a deadly-quiet voice, hands gripping the side of his chair tightly. Jeann'ee looked at him with surprise, before nodding. "Of course, forgive me. I meant no offence. You have proof that Truth ordered Restraint's death unlawfully, then?" [i]That's the story we agreed upon,[/i] Sorran mused, glancing sideways at Ahkrin, who nodded fluidly. "I was the assassin. Sadly I did not know the truth until I encountered my old friend Sorran in his charge," Ahkrin lied like an artist, his words weaving a flawless dance. "By then it was too late, and Restraint already lay dead in his chair." This seemed to amuse the criminal syndicate leader even more. "I get a death threat for speaking a few ill words of the high councillor, but you and Sorran remain friends even when you were the one to carry out the dirty deed, Descol'ee?" "We share a brotherhood," Sorran explained firmly. "Ahkrin knew not what he did, and I forgive him." "Ah, you are brothers," Jeann'ee realised, clapping his hands together as if to signal a moment of clairvoyance. "We were brothers too, Descol'ee. What happened?" "I saw your true colours," Ahkrin spoke with no little disdain. "Once you started trafficking in slaves--" "The people want what they want, old friend," Jeann'ee interrupted, shrugging as if to shift the weight of his crimes from his shoulders. "Were I not to provide those services, someone far less noble than me might. No one misses a few colony-bound orphans or homeless. I give them purpose." "You give them imprisonment," Ahkrin snapped back, and Sorran saw the return of an argument the two must have waged many years ago. "And it's not just slaves. Narcotics, smuggling, giving weapons to terrorists, dealing in... children--" "I don't need a lecture, Descol'ee," Jeann'ee interjected wearily, examining the tips of his fingers with a sudden interest. "Those things will always be in this sordid world we live in. Don't play the innocent party; once you dealt in those things just as readily as me." "Not children," Ahkrin denied. "Not slaves." "No, just murdering anyone you were paid to kill, eh?" Jeann'ee asked with a sudden intent, his eyes flicking to Sorran playfully. "But your friend doesn't want to hear us bring back rows long dead, old friend. You've asked for sanctuary and I've granted it out of respect for what you once were. Interfere with any of my operations, and I will deliver you to the hierarchs wrapped in a pink bow. I'll leave you both to clean up and make yourself presentable for dinner." Jeann'ee stood up, and marched resolutely out of their given quarters. The doors slid shut firmly, the green changing to red and locking them within. "Are we... under arrest?" Sorran demanded, staring incredulously at the red light playing about the door. Not a single window graced the room, so deep within High Charity's foundations were they. He could feel the humming of the station's dreadnought-powered engines. They were near the tail. "No," Ahkrin assured him, but he didn't sound so confident himself. "Jeann'ee just doesn't want us wandering where we might take offence. You'll see some things here over the next few days or weeks that will instil revulsion into you, Sorran. Remember what I said; now is not the time to be a knight in shining armour." [i]We can't all just turn off our morality like you,[/i] Sorran thought, but didn't voice the comment aloud. Settling for a noncommittal grunt, he began systematically removing the honour guard armour he still wore, wondering if he'd ever feel worthy enough to put it back on. "What next?" he wondered, staring at his reflection in the mirror. Sunken pits for eyes, recent bruises and cuts trailed across his skin. The past few days had been harrowing to say the least. "Restraint left me everything in this crystal." He reached into a fold in his clothing and drew out the storage unit; a galaxy of information flickered within, each shimmering star poised to go supernova. Ahkrin stood up and took it from him, examining the object with interest. "Everything he'd gathered over the years stored within?" Ahkrin asked, his eyes captured by the nexus trapped inside. "This is dangerous, Sorran. It could mean the end of the Covenant. That wouldn't be a good thing." "I know," Sorran agreed, feeling suddenly uneasy with the crystal being out of his hands. "It's not the time yet." "Then when? Do you really think things will be so different a decade from now? Or even a century? This Covenant has existed for thousands of years, Sorran. What makes you think we'll reach a point where the truth of Halo can be shown to the public without everything crashing and burning around us?" "... Restraint believed it, I don't know why--" "Spare me the lies, Sorran. This is something to do with the humans, isn't it? I saw reports in Restraint's manor; the Covenant fully intended to bring them into our society. What made Truth and the others change their minds so violently? What are they afraid of?" Sorran looked across to his friend, Ahkrin's curious eyes burning into him. "Fine. You won't like the answer, though." "No one ever likes the truth, that's why we have lies," Ahkrin spoke back just as quickly, determined in this. Sorran sighed. "As best as we can tell, when the Forerunners activated the sacred rings they died along with all other life in the galaxy. But they preserved some specimens, which is why we're here today. With them gone though, they had to choose a successor." It dawned then upon Ahkrin, and his face grew pale. "Not humanity," he protested. "They're not--" "Restraint believed the humans are the Forerunners who weren't wiped out by Halo. So do the hierarchs. Which is why they started this war. If the Covenant had found out--" "Every single one of us would throw ourselves at the humans' feet," Ahkrin finished, his words sounding as if they were a few seconds ahead of his mind. "The hierarchs would have no power. The Covenant would realise the Great Journey didn't exalt the Forerunners to godhood. Everything would fall to pieces." "They had no choice but to wage war on humanity and call them heretics," Sorran concluded. He'd digested and analysed all this over months, and was throwing it all onto Ahkrin in seconds. "But I'm not so sure they are Forerunners. It doesn't feel right. Still, they have a connection. If the secret to Halo's location is anywhere, it will be somewhere near the humans' grasp." "Do you think they know?" Ahkrin asked, his voice barely a whisper. Sorran shrugged. "I do not think so. Whenever we've found a Forerunner installation on their world it's been concealed, long hidden. Still, through the humans we're close to finding the rings. When we do, we're going to try and activate them." "And wipe out... everything." "We won't let that happen, Ahkrin. If the Covenant reaches that point, it will be time to show them the truth. For better or worse." "So, what... until then, we just let everything carry on as normal? Let the Covenant continue to wipe out humanity, knowing full well they're innocent?" "It's the lives of trillions compared to billions," Sorran quantified, trying to put the lives into statistics and not quite succeeding. "And do you really think that after a decade of war we'll suddenly throw down their weapons and kneel at humanity's feet? Too much blood has been spilled; no doubt the humans would be labelled as Forerunners who weren't worthy of transcendence and deserve to die--" "That could be the truth," Ahkrin grabbed onto the possibility as if it were a floating buoy keeping the guilt from dragging him down to the depths. "I've considered it," Sorran conceded. "It's possible. We don't know enough. We need to find out more." "No, Sorran. This is out of our hands, now. It's not our place to change the world; more than anything now I just want to escape to some forgotten colony far away from the empire's grasp, buy some property, find a family and live a peaceful life." Sorran looked at his friend and saw that he really meant it. Ahkrin hadn't meant to get dragged into all this, he'd started this venture thinking it would clear his house's name and prevent his lineage from fading to black. But then, fate didn't care about what you wanted. "Like it or not, it's in our hands. If you want to leave, then I won't argue. But I won't, I can't yet." "Why not?" Ahkrin demanded firmly, looking for all the world as if he wanted to strike sense into Sorran. Another shuddering as the engines beneath their feet roared. Sorran looked down, his fists balling. "There's only one thing that can help us decide what to do next. The one who set in motion this revelatory beast, nearly ten years ago on this very station." "Who?" Ahkrin asked. "Give me a name and I will bring them here by the morning, and we will get our answers." "Not a [i]who[/i], Ahkrin. Rather, a [i]what.[/i] One who's been here for thousands of years, since before the writ was signed and longer still. The Oracle." *

For the entrance to the base of underground criminal syndicate spanning across all the darkest and most dangerous areas of High Charity and then some, it was a rather unassuming one. A simple, cheap metallic shutter at the end of an alleyway, wedged between two waste disposal units. "I haven't been here in years," Ahkrin breathed with trepidation as he eyed the door. "Back when I was a hired assassin, I worked with these people closely. I'm fairly sure the man in charge now is a friend." [i]Good to hear it,[/i] Sorran thought, feeling a small smattering of relief wash over him. Ahkrin reached out a hand, and knocked firmly on the door three times before shrugging. "Of course, there was the incident with his sister. But I don't think he ever found out about that. Not so sure about that time with his cousin, though in my defence I can barely remember [i]that[/i] affair." Although on any other day tales of his friend's colourful past would have brought out a smile in him, right now all Sorran did was check his sword's location on his person. Before he could so much as voice his uncertainty, a small shutter embedded in the door swung open. It was all very primitive. Two red eyes stared through. "What?" the kig-yar demanded rudely, his pronunciation a little off. Ahkrin reached up to his left wrist, and pulled back a sleeve ever so slightly. A tattoo revealed itself, etched deep into his skin. After a single glance the kig-yar slammed the shutter close and Sorran could hear chains and bolts being hastily undone on the other side. Noting Sorran's expression, Ahkrin explained. "They don't like to draw attention to themselves, hence the old technology. A bit redundant; every constabulary on this station knows this place is here, they're just smart enough to stay away." "What's with the tattoo?" "It's a glyph from an old kig-yar tongue, shows them who I am. There's no direct translation, but it basically means... well, death." "Of course it does," Sorran muttered under his breath, rolling his eyes. Finally the door swung open, and a cold light spilled out into the darkness. He felt Ahkrin's hands pushing him inside, and then the hatch closed behind them. "Out of one fire and into another," Ahkrin chuckled, staring around the room they'd been ushered into. It was dimly lit, with nothing remarkable except a flight of hard-light stairs leading down a passage-way. An ominous bloodstain carpeted the floor. "That was a very old mark, Sangheili," the kig-yar doorman commented, skulking around them distrustfully. "Who are you?" "Ahkrin Descol'ee!" a new voice boomed out, deep and full of memory. Sorran's head snapped to the staircase, where he saw a large Sangheili coming into view flanked by a Mglekgolo. He noticed the creature wore its assault cannon; the beast would never fire such a powerful weapon inside, but as a show of force it was effective. "Jeann'ee," Ahkrin greeted back with little of the gusto of his old acquaintance. "It's been a while. I find myself in the unpleasant position of asking for your help. This is Sorran, he's with me. We need somewhere to hide." Jeann'ee sized them both up, his eyes settling on Sorran and seeming unnerved by what he saw, as if what Sorran knew emanated from his very being like some sort of unwanted aura. "Of course, anything for an old friend," Jeann'ee affirmed, taking each of their hands and sealing the deal. "Well met, Sorran. Any friend of Descol'ee's is a potential thorn in my side to watch." Sorran laughed at what he hoped was a joke. No smile was returned. "Hide from who, may I ask?" Jeann'ee pressed. "The Covenant," Ahkrin replied matter-of-factly, and Sorran nearly did a double take. You didn't just casually drop the fact that the Covenant empire was after you in its capital city. All the answer seemed to do was make Jeann'ee happier, though. "You're running from the same Covenant you left us for, Descol'ee? In High Charity, no less. There must be a good story behind that. But I can see you're tired; we'll sit down and enjoy some drinks my people will manage without me for a few hours. Oh, but first... Descol'ee?" "Yes?" Ahkrin asked automatically, turning to face Jeann'ee-- Looking up just in time to see the larger man's fist hurtling towards his face. Ahkrin was bowled clean over, falling onto his behind with a loud thump. "You never wrote my sister," Jeann'ee explained to Ahkrin gravely, before turning around and heading back down the stairs, motioning for them to follow. Sorran reached down to help Ahkrin up, wondering how many times his friend had been beaten about in the past twenty-four hours. "I probably deserved that," Ahkrin grumbled as he hobbled after Jeann'ee. * "What's the meaning of this?" Zharn demanded angrily. "I am a fleetmaster, and you will treat me as such. How dare you associate me with heretics; I am and have always been a loyal servant of the Covenant." Orpheus was moving closer as Zharn said this. "Stop or be slain, Jiralhanae," the Light of Helios snapped, halting Orpheus in his tracks. Rain crashed all around them. "I have my orders, Thierr'ee. Resist and I will kill you; dead or alive is what I was told." Zharn flexed his hand, taking a deep breath. "There may be a problem there for you," he informed the Light, who smirked arrogantly and brandishing his rifle about. "What might that be?" the Light asked condescendingly, bleeding superiority. Zharn merely looked downward. The Light followed his eyes, and found the source of the fleetmaster's words. A blade, its tip mere centimetres from the Light's hip. "I'll rip out both your hearts and puncture your diaphragm before you can so much as let off one shot," Zharn threatened, bringing the sword closer to the Light of Helios so that it burnt. "Now, tell me--" [i]Crack![/i] a volley of thunder slammed down in the near distance, and for a moment Zharn was distracted. The Light took advantage of this, pushing the fleetmaster away with a snarl before drawing out his own blade. "What say you, Thierr'ee? You think you can best a Light of Helios?" "Probably not," Zharn confessed, letting his shoulders rise and fall. He raised his blade, and pointed behind the other Sangheili. "I'm not alone, though." As if realising his mistake a moment too late, the Light turned around and found the blunt side of a hammer greeting him. He dropped instantly, his face drenched with blood. "Arrogant sods, the lot of them," Zharn concluded with mirth, nodding his thanks at Orpheus. "So determined was he to prove himself a better swordsman than I that he forgot about you." "Still, this disturbs me," Orpheus mused worriedly, picking up the unconscious, heavily armoured Sangheili and throwing him over one shoulder like one might a sack of logs. "You say these guards report directly to the hierarchs? Stands to reason that the orders he spoke of came from them, then." [i]He's right. But why would the hierarchs want me captured, or dead? What heresy did was the guard speaking of? Perhaps this is related to my discovery in that cave on Eridanus II.[/i] He did not voice those thoughts aloud; he'd yet to tell the Jiralhanae of the revelations the demon had shown him on the human planet and their implications. "Tie that guard up and hide him from view," Zharn commanded, realising he was still shaking a little. "We'll head further into this district; you don't assign a Light of Helios to simple guard duty without good reason. Stay on your guard." [i]You'd better not be embroiled in this, Ahkrin.[/i] *

* Zharn had once walked a glassed planet of the humans'. The name of it escaped him now; it didn't really matter, he supposed. Names were for things that had meaning, not barren spheres of glass hanging in the night. He'd gone alone. Reflected upon what had happened. The vitrification had been immense, every step he'd taken had cracked the ground. This planet had been the victim of a low orbital glassing, leaving some skyscrapers and other tall structures only partially submerged in the silver pool, like someone had dropped a metropolis on an ocean. What had stricken him most had been the quiet. Not even the winds survived the glassing, the atmosphere almost burnt completely aware. Tectonic activity had all but ceased, the tip of a volcano in the distance smothered by pearl. It had changed him. He'd come back not satisfied with victory as he'd expected, but depressed. What right did mere men have to destroy an entire world? Through all the memories of that solemn walk, the silence stayed with him the strongest. High Charity reminded him of this now. But there had been no glassing, no cataclysmic event. People just stayed inside, terrified of a quarantine and the rumours of human infiltration, and the demon reputed to be stealing souls from the innocent. Smothered in a blanket of fear. "It feels as though we are the only two survivors on a dead world," Orpheus remarked, epitomising Zharn's thoughts perfectly. He merely nodded, trudging along. There was no cracked glass beneath his feet, but the ground he walked on felt just as fragile, just as temporal. "We've seen no humans yet," he observed, the thought troubling him. "Nor any warriors, or even dead bodies. It disturbs me." "Which district is this? I have never been to High Charity before," Orpheus confessed, seeming a little embarrassed. All true Covenant were supposed to make the pilgrimage at least once. "I... don't know," Zharn also admitted, coughing delicately. "I've never been here either. Ironic that our first pilgrimage should be under circumstances such as these." "Ahkrin is here, is he not?" Orpheus asked, looking around as if their friend would just happen to be walking along the same street as they. "Chasing demons, same as we," Zharn filled in. "Or so the hierarchs say." "You don't trust them?" Zharn asked with surprise. Orpheus shrugged. "I have not yet met a San 'Shyuum who could be trusted. We Jiralhanae try to keep clear of the politics of the Covenant as best we can, aside from Tartarus. Their lapdog." "... I know him," Zharn responded easily, thinking back to how the hulking Jiralhanae chieftain had contributed to Sorran's conviction and execution. His blade itched to meet Tartarus' throat. "Wait. I see someone up ahead." It was a guard, standing before a hastily assembled gate of hard light. Not just any guard, but a Light of Helios. The name was a misnomer. Their true loyalty lay not to Sanghelios, but to the Prophets who ruled the world from the shadows. Zharn motioned for Orpheus to get behind him, and approached reluctantly. "Hail," he greeted. The Light merely stared back impassively, his eyes a mystery beneath the helmet he wore. The other Sangheili stood a few inches taller than Zharn. "Turn around, sir," the Light commanded with the air of someone accustomed to being listened to. "We've had reports of plague in this district, and I'm to let--" "Oh, enough with that," Zharn snapped, drawing himself up to full height and failing to meet the Light in the eyes. He took reassurance in the fact that Orpheus at least stood taller. "I know what is really going on here; is the demon within?" The Light seemed to be taken aback by Zharn's words, and look around suspiciously. He flexed his fingers. "Who are you?" he demanded, a hand not a few centimetres from the weapon at his side. Zharn began to tire of this. "I am Fleetmaster Thierr'ee, and this is my Jiralhanae... bodyguard. We've come to investigate the reports of humans on High Charity; my fleet hangs in orbit on the order of the hierarchs." There was an awkward silence for several moments, broken only by the nervous cough of the Light of Helios. "[i]You're[/i]... Thierr'ee?" the Light asked finally, and something in his voice was no quite right. "Zharn, son of Zyn Thierr'ee and sole heir of my house. Scan me if you wish, but I am going inside." "Sure," the Light finally replied, again something not normal in his inflection. "Go right inside, fleetmaster. It's good to have someone of your station here to deal with the situation." A portion of the hard light lost the solidity of its photons, and the Light gestured for he and Orpheus to head right on inside. Zharn after a few seconds moved past the Sangheili, hearing Orpheus in tow. He had not made it even a few steps when he heard the plasma rifle warm up, its heated tip pressing dangerously into his side. "Don't move," the Light warned, speaking to both of them. "Fleetmaster Thierr'ee, I'm placing you under arrest for collaboration with wanted heretics. So much as cough and you'll be dead before the spittle hits the ground." * Savara had always been good at Arums, solving most within six hours. They'd kept her occupied as a child; she'd been raised separately from the other children in her keep, daughter of an Imperial Admiral. Her mother had died giving birth, and Grymar'ee had always resented his child for that no matter how much he'd denied it. She'd never really known love. Sure, her father showed her the mandatory love of a parent. But whenever he looked at her he just saw the thing which killed his wife. If she'd been male it might have been better. A sphere spun, reaching out for the others. An audible click rang through the cell. Convalescence had filled that void left by her father, taking her under his wing when she joined the Covenant against the Imperial Admiral's wishes and influence; no one else had dared accept her and risk her father's wrath, but the minister had convinced Vadam' to allow her on board. Thel wasn't afraid of anyone, not even her father. It was all just a matter of looking at it like a container to be opened; rather than a key, a puzzle unlocked it. She didn't see it as a problem. Her shoulder still ached and she could see her swollen face reflected in one of the Arum's spheres. Then she'd met Sorran. He wasn't the most handsome, strong or powerful Sangheili she'd ever met or had court her. But he'd been honest about his intentions, pure and innocent like no other she'd encountered before. In the few weeks they'd had, everything changed; she'd fallen in love. But then he committed heresy defending a child as any honourable Sangheili would do, and before she'd even heard word of his arrest he'd been found dead in his cell. And all that time she'd just been going about her life, waiting and smiling as her love had been taken from the world. The pattern was beginning to show itself now, and the solution was almost at hand. She winced as her bloodied fingers crept under the concentric spheres and deftly spun them, each flick of the hand revealing a new piece of art. The glitter of the crystal within shone briefly, and she knew she was getting close. Even now her grief was still strong. Except... Pel had given her hope. She knew it was most likely false, another psychological attack designed to wear her down more and more until she broke and told him what he thought she knew. Even so, she had to latch onto that hope no matter how slight it was. She owed that to Sorran at least. [i]Click![/i] the Arum congratulated as the final sphere swung into place and began to peel itself apart. A small, gleaming orb fell to the ground. She studied it closely. Not a crystal, but a holodrone. Tentatively she reached out a finger, touched its shimmering surface. As if it had been waiting for her, the small device came to life, and she gasped. * [Edited on 12.25.2011 12:01 PM PST]

[i]Well this has all gone just terribly,[/i] Pel thought angrily as he paced up and down the room, glancing every few seconds at the inert holographic display on nearby. The hierarchs certainly took their time. Truth was the only one Pel respected; the other two were just his stooges. He'd seen Truth openly strike Regret in the past, and Mercy was just a dithering old man who happened to know more than he should. Whatever their secret was, Pel didn't know the specifics and he didn't want to know. It involved the great journey, that much he was sure of. But all he needed to be certain of was that the hierarchs held the Covenant together, and were doing a good job wiping out the bastard humans. Oh, how he'd hated playing the role of human sympathiser to first gain the attention of one of Restraint's guards. That whole thing had been elaborately staged, of course. Except for the honour guard who had come to arrest him, that unfortunate soul wasn't supposed to die. It was of no matter. He'd been in. Learned everything. Or so he'd thought. [i]How did the true identity of Sorran slip by me?[/i] The hierarchs would have his head for this, when they found out. It seemed the gods had decided to play a very cruel trick on them all. The assassin the hierarchs chose to assassinate Restraint, one of Sorran's sworn brothers. At least they'd been thrown one bone, in the form of that delicate little flower currently going at the Arum he'd thrown her. He could see her on the monitor next to the holographic display. She reminded him of his daughter. That troubled him. He shouldn't have killed the interrogator, he knew it. But when he'd seen how sorely the man had beaten that girl... well, it was nice to know that he still had some honour at least. Or maybe it was just him clinging to the memory of his own little girl. [i]Not the time.[/i] Sorran and Ahkrin were a dangerous pair. The assassin especially; Pel still heard legends about him floating around High Charity, even so long after he'd left that life. Pel was a good warrior unlike most others holding his rank, but he knew that in a fight he'd be out-matched against Ahkrin. Sorran was no push-over either. But the latter had a weakness; Savara. And Sorran's weakness was Ahkrin's weakness. The bait had been set, all that remained was to wait for them to come into their trap. This could still be recovered. High Charity was still in lock-down, thank the gods. Their fake story about a demon let loose on the city had seemingly fooled whatever fleetmaster the prophets had chosen to blockade High Charity, the rest of the people believing in the quarantine lie. So gullible were the Covenant. Thousands of years' worth indoctrination did that. Even Pel felt its effects at times, so deeply instilled into Covenant consciousness faith was. It was in the middle of this thought that the holographic display leapt to life. Pel swung to face it, dusting a bit of dirt from his armour. He was painfully aware of the bruise on his head from where Hem had struck him. "Ossoona," Truth's treacle-like voice greeted. "Restraint's manor is on fire; I didn't order that, who started it?" [i]Not me.[/i] Pel looked sideways, wondering how best to tell the bad news. "High Councillor Restraint is dead, noble Prophet," Pel reported, deciding to begin with the good news. Whatever satisfied smile was creeping up Truth's scheming face died with his next words. "But one of his honour guards survived." "Incompetent fool," Truth insulted casually, like one might comment on the weather. "I trust our assassin is in pursuit?" Oh, this wasn't going to go down well. "That's the thing, hierarch," Pel coughed anxiously, his fingers fidgeting behind his back. "The honour guard is more than we thought he was. Sorran. The one you sentenced to death some months back. Restraint evidently faked the death in his cell, and" "By the rings," Truth gasped, one of the only times Pel had actually seen the hierarch look genuinely shocked. "Descol'ee... he's--" "One of Sorran's closest friends, yes," Pel winced out. "I was... caught unawares. They escaped. With the data you wanted destroyed. Must have burnt down the manor afterwards." "You'd better have a plan," Truth grit out, and Pel could see the fire in his eyes. "We have someone Sorran wants," he hastily explained. "We'll put out word that we have her, and they'll be drawn here. I will see this done, hierarchs. Leave everything to me." "... I'll have Tartarus search with his Jiralhanae," Truth decided after a few moments. "No!" Pel shouted, perhaps a bit louder than he should have. Truth's eyebrow raised, that mere gesture striking him with fear. "I mean; this is a delicate operation, noble Prophet. Jiralhanae are all well and good when you need a door breaking down, but subterfuge is hardly their strong point." "Judging by the mess you've made, I'd say it's hardly yours either," Truth ground out through ice. Pel flinched. "But I will abide by your wishes for now... I feel like there's something else. Sorran, you say? Tell me, does he have any other... [i]brothers?[/i]" The San 'Shyuum spoke the word like he found it laughable. "Just one," Pel answered, puzzled. "The recently appointed Fleetmaster Thierr'ee--" He stopped as he saw the effect that name had on the hierarch, who suddenly looked out of a window. Through the camera Pel could see the fleet hanging in the sky, brought in by-- "Oh, please no," he begged of the gods, knowing his worst fear to be true. "Truth; the fleetmaster of that blockade. It's not...?" Truth was already reaching for a terminal on a nearby desk, bony fingers deftly pressing runes. "This is the High Prophet of Truth. Fleetmaster Thierr'ee is to be relieved of command and thrown in a cell immediately until further notice." A few seconds of hanging silence. Then, static and white noise. "Communication to the fleet is blocked," Truth realised. "On Regret's orders, the damned fool! And they have strict orders to shoot any ship down. What cruel fate that two of our most important pieces in this game are playing for the other side." "So long as they keep jamming communications, we have nothing to worry about," Pel assured, talking to himself more than anyone. "There's no way for Sorran or Ahkrin to contact Thierr'ee. The plan still stands, we wait for them to come to us." "Yes," Truth muttered absently. "I will endeavour to make contact with Thierr'ee fleet. Keep me updated. If you let them slip through the net, Ossoona, there were be severe consequences. You'll wish you'd died with your daughter at Chi Ceti." The holographic image of the hierarch shut down maliciously, leaving Pel alone in the dark room. He wiped his eyes, and cleared his head of all turmoil. [i]The next few hours are key. Now, to deal with that Unggoy of Restraint's I found... perhaps he can be put to good use.[/i] *

"It's bio-coded," he explained, seeming a little sad as he did, almost like he was sorry to offer her hope and then take it away. But of course he wasn't really. "Still, I'm surprised. I didn't think you capable of killing someone so coldly. Just like father, I see." Savara sank to her knees, all the strength that had momentarily gripped her fading away. Tears sprang into her eyes, and for the first time in years she wished her father was with her. "My father knows I'm on High Charity. He'll come for me--" "He's already on High Charity," Pel answered lazily. "Far too occupied with duties to concern himself with you, his little embarrassment. I don't think he's even so much as uttered your name since stepping onto the grid--" "What do you want? You said I know nothing, why am I still here?" she demanded through sobs, looking up at the impassive face of Pel. "High Councillor Restraint has been assassinated," Pel explained. "Not because of heresy or anything like that he just knew too much." This more than anything before frightened Savara. Not because Restraint was dead or because he knew something important enough that whoever these people were would kill a High Councillor, but because he was telling her this. People didn't tell the living their darkest secrets. "What does that have to do with me? I've never even met Restraint!" "No. But your lover has, and then some." The temperature of the room dropped a few degrees. For a moment Savara stopped worrying about herself. "... Sorran?" she whispered. Pel nodded, that pretentious grin still plastered across his face. Anger filled her with adrenaline. "Sorran's dead, you sick bastard!" "Unless he's died in the past hour, I don't think so," Pel chuckled, rising to his feet. All the pain vanished as bewilderment flew about the room. Suddenly Pel wasn't a torturer or kidnapper or evil; he was hope. "What do you mean?" she demanded, hearts sinking when she saw him leaving the room. "I've visited his grave, he's dead!" "You're a smart girl," was all the answer she received. Pel turned around for a second and threw an object at her knees. "Figure it out." The door closed behind him. Tears returned and so did the pain, nearly sending Savara to unconsciousness. She willed herself to stay awake fearing she'd never open her eyes again if she didn't, and looked at the object Pel had thrown her. An Arum. [i]Figure it out.[/i] * They'd spent ten whole minutes in silence, just walking along in the rain with the Huragok dutifully following them like a loyal pup. Ahkrin finally broke the quiet. "Quite a tale." An understatement if there had ever been one. As soon as they'd left the manor, Sorran had launched into his story. How he'd cheated death, the secret of the Halos, everything that happened since Ahkrin and Zharn had thought him dead. "You don't believe me," Sorran stated. "I believe you're alive," Ahkrin retorted, that thought still strange to him. It had been so long since he'd put grief for Sorran's death behind him, and unlike Zharn he'd fully dealt with it by now. Sorran was dead and he'd accepted that. Except the only person who'd died was the scholar. From the ashes had risen a warrior, and as Ahkrin looked across he saw how his friend has changed; he no longer walked with a slouch, carried himself with a self-confident air as if believing that he could handle anything that threw itself at him. As alien a thought it seemed, Ahkrin believed he could too. But although this Sorran was different to the one he'd known, it was still Sorran. Still his voice, his appearance, still that brilliant academic brain that Ahkrin envied. "Every time I mention the Halo array being a weapon of mass destruction your fists clench as if you want to strangle me, Ahkrin." "They do not," Ahkrin protested, looking down at his hands. Clenched. "... Oh." "Once we're safe I'll show you proof. Zharn too." "... Zharn's a fleetmaster now, Sorran," Ahkrin told him. "A lot of things have changed since--" "I know," Sorran replied smartly. "I've been keeping tabs on the two of you. Well, as best as I could from High Charity." "This is too much, Sorran. You being alive, being an honour guard, saying all these... things. Why you?" "Restraint trusts-- [i]trusted[/i] me. The future of the Covenant is quite literally in my hands." "So you'll be the one to make the tower come toppling down," Ahkrin smiled satirically. "Well, let's say what you think is the truth [i]is[/i] the truth. What then? The Covenant will splinter, civil war would be inevitable. We're all warriors, Sorran. We don't have scientists or engineers or scholars--" Sorran raised a brow at that. Ahkrin threw his hands up in the air. "You know what I speak of! Offer a Sangheili a blade or a book and almost anyone would choose the blade." "We'll prepare for that day and deal with it when it comes," Sorran assured Ahkrin in that confident way that unnerved him; Sorran wasn't confident. He was bumbling, naïve and needed Ahkrin or Zharn to hold his hand. That's why they'd befriended him in the first place the poor kid wouldn't have lasted a week on his own. But now... "To be candid, Sorran, I don't care. Right now we need to get off this station." "Savara too," Sorran interjected, gravity sweeping over him. Ahkrin stopped. "She's here?" he asked. "Well, that complicates things. Does she know you're--" [i]still alive.[/i] Ahkrin still couldn't bring himself to say it, was afraid that if he did then it was curse the blessing and it'd all be taken away. "I'm dead to her," Sorran lamented, suddenly bringing a hand up to his face. It was hard to tell in the downpour, but Ahkrin could swear he was crying. He reached out a hand, and let it fall upon Sorran's shoulder. Personally he'd never quite understood why touch assured some people, but he appreciated its effect. "Sorran... you knew her for less than a month. I know you were all ready to propose marriage to her after that time and she would have accepted, but... it's been a long time. If you show yourself to her now, it wouldn't be fair." "Fair?" Sorran demanded, anger colouring his voice once more. "Do not speak to me of [i]fair,[/i] Ahkrin. What I have seen, what I have heard and done in the past few months; no man should have to bear such burdens. But Restraint chose me, and Hem is dead." And with that, the reminder of Hem's death came crashing down on him once more. For a moment Ahkrin thought Sorran would sink to the ground in despair. Still thinking in terms of the old Sorran. This new one walked onwards, head downcast but still resolute. "I know why you grieve so," Ahkrin spoke softly, throwing sympathy and kindness into his voice. "Not just because he's dead, but because he died with his weapon pointed at you. Died when he might have pulled the trigger. You think he died hating you." "He did," Sorran muttered bitterly, and even through the rain Ahkrin could see the hot tears breaking through the cold-downpour. "He was my mentor, rescued me from execution and treated me like a son. But even after all he did, when it came to a choice between you and he, I picked you." "Do you regret it?" Rain fell, a crack of thunder in the sky. They turned another street corner, finding themselves progressively in the seedier sections of the station. A homeless kig-yar stirred in the corner, too weak to even beg. Sorran reached to his side and dropped a few golden coins by the kig-yar's feet. Ahkrin knew then that his friend hadn't changed so much as he had thought. On the exterior, perhaps. Inside though, he was still that kind, generous soul who personified all the traits Ahkrin wished he could have. What the humans would call being [i]humane.[/i] As if they were the only ones who could show compassion. "I don't regret it," Sorran finally spoke, words heavy. "You're my brothers, and that runs thicker than anything else. I am just thankful I was not the one to pull the trigger in the end... death does not sit well on my conscience." [i]Glad to hear it,[/i] Ahkrin thought with an inward smile, also finding solace in the realisation that he would do the same for his brothers. Perhaps he wasn't so heartless after all. At least, not when he was around Sorran or Zharn. "Still, we'll never know if you would have pulled the trigger. I don't think you would have; you're not like me, Sorran. That's what I like about you. "You didn't tell me what you know about the humans, Sorran," Ahkrin suddenly uttered, back on track. "When I asked you about what I'd found in Restraint's systems before, why the Covenant is so eager to see them extinct. You went quiet and changed the subject. Don't try to deceive me, Sorran I'm still the master of that field." That same paleness took hold of Sorran, confirming Ahkrin's worst suspicions. The war with humanity was a farce, for whatever reason. [i]He knows how many humans I've killed. Hundreds... thousands. He's worried that if he tells me all that's been for wrong reasons, that I'll be disgusted with myself.[/i] He wasn't far from the truth. Despite his curiosity, Ahkrin chose to let the subject lie for now. He clapped his hands dismissively, rubbing away the cold. "We're nearly there. These people aren't exactly... they're not very nice people, Sorran. But they owe me, and they'll honour that. Just let me do the talking and don't do anything rash." "Why would I?" "Because you're a better man than I." *

* "Hem..." Sorran whispered, finally snapped out of his stupor. He swept down to cradle his dead mentor in his arms, staring through tears at those lifeless eyes. For what seemed like the seventh time in just as many days, his armour was stained with blood. "He's dead, Sorran," Ahkrin's voice droned clinically, the only word holding emotion his name. Sorran looked up at the stealth Sangheili, standing in the doorway with his arms folded, framed by the lightning of outside's storm. "We should go." Perhaps it was Hem's death, perhaps it was his anger at Ahkrin for galvanising all this tragedy, even if unwittingly. Perhaps it was simply raw emotion. Whatever the cause, Sorran snapped. Ahkrin was caught completely by surprise as his friend stood up and in one deft motion smashed a fist into his face, catching his arm as he fell back and using it to levy him into the wall. This wasn't the bumbling Sorran he knew. Ahkrin tried to bring an arm around to push Sorran back, but found it in a lock. "[i]Why?[/i]" Sorran bellowed in his ear, and Ahkrin could almost feel the rage in his voice. "What possessed you to do this, Ahkrin!" "I don't understand what has happened here," was all Ahkrin answered with. "How can you be alive?" Their dance started once more as Sorran dragged Ahkrin from the wall and threw him to the floor, hesitating for a moment before kicking him in the ribs. Ahkrin rolled near Hem, whose lifeless gaze accused. "[i]I'm[/i] asking the questions!" Sorran roared, standing over Ahkrin with a knife, who worried for a second that his friend might succumb to his rage and bring it down. "Are you a tool of the Prophets now, who killed your family, Zharn's father and--" He'd been about to say 'me,' Ahkrin knew. Sorran for the first time looked at Ahkrin and saw not the man who had ruined the Covenant's best chance at freedom and peace, but his friend. The knife clattered to the ground, hilt facing the heavens. "You know none of what is happening, do you?" Sorran asked as he stepped back and allowed Ahkrin space to stand up. His knuckles were torn where his skin had met bone. "I was told Restraint was a heretic," Ahkrin spoke lamely, like a child who has acted without knowing all the facts. "Everything I saw supported that claim." "We are heretics," Sorran laughed bitingly, kicking the ground. "The great journey is a lie. I am trying to bring down the Covenant." Even now, Sorran saw Ahkrin's pupils dilate at that and his fists unconsciously clench. The indoctrination of a life-time was hard to resist; all Sangheili children were taught that to blaspheme was to deal all of one's kind a blow of shame. "You can't be serious," Ahkrin croaked out. "Then... Truth was right about you. By all rights I should kill you too." "But you won't." Sorran knew. "Not just because I'm your friend, but because you are who you are. Ahkrin, the curious bastard who can't leave well enough alone." "Whatever questions you and I have, they can wait. Pel knows we're here, knows who we are to each other, and he'll be reporting to the hierarchs any moment now. We must leave." "... true. But where can we go? High Charity is in lock-down." Ahkrin looked sideways, and then at the curious brand he had inscribed on his wrist. Sorran had never gotten around to asking what it meant. "I know some people in the underground who owe me favours, from a past life. It won't be a permanent haven, but will give us a sanctuary from where we can plan our next move." "What about Hem?" "We burn this place to the ground," Ahkrin continued, in his element now. "Fire always leaves some confusion, and we need all the confusion we can get. I know this isn't what you want to hear--" "He has family on Sanghelios, Ahkrin. A daughter and grandchild. He'd have wanted me to look after them." "We'll deal with all that later... for now, put aside any grief and misgivings and focus on our survival." "Fine. But the Huragok comes with us," Sorran spoke forcibly, looking down at the crystal in his left hand that was Restraint's final legacy. "We'll need him." * The interrogator asked his question for what seemed like the millionth time. Through the blinding pain his words seemed distant, like he was shouting at her against wind and rain. But she knew what he was asking, what he'd been asking for hours or days or weeks now. Time didn't hold any meaning in the dark cell they were in; time was based around sunlight. There was no sun here. "I don't-- I don't know why Restraint--" she repeated that same response, slurring through a bloodied and swollen jaw. Being struck the first few times had terrified her, but now it seemed almost as normal as breathing. More blood flew; it didn't matter at this point. Dimly she felt her jaw seized by a powerful grip, claws digging into her battered skin. Eyes rolled back in the head; more pain, screaming. Forcing her to snap back into this terrible reality. "High Councillor Restraint is a heretic who conspires to bring down the entire Covenant!" her interrogator roared. "Whatever lies he has fed you, whatever promises they're all the words of a heretic. Tell me who else knows and this will all be over." "[i]Know what![/i]" she screeched back, struggling against the binds. Wrists seared as they met plasma, ankles burnt. The smell of burning flesh was in the air. Gods, she was so hungry. Knife appeared now, a familiar sight. Not a magnetic coil in sight; just metal stained violet. "If you don't tell me--" [i]Bam![/i] the door sounded. It was hidden behind a stone wall, but she knew it was ancient simply because Covenant doors didn't slam; they had to be in the ruins of the Prophets' old world grated to the station for such archaic technology to be present on High Charity. Ruins that were off limit to all but the hierarchs and their most trusted. Who were these people? Another man strode in. She recognised this one, a chill freezing her spine and snapping her out of the pain-drunken haze. Despite all that had already been done, fear coiled around her. Pel looked down at her, eyes widening a little. Then he looked up at the interrogator, who for the first time in aeons had gone silent. "What in the Prophets' name are you doing?" Pel demanded, his voice colder than the room they were in. Her interrogator shook, and looked down at the knife in his hand as if worried it might soon find its way in his chest. "I thought-- I've been interrogating her for information on Restraint, Osoona. Isn't that what we took her for?" "She knows nothing, you idiot!" Pel bellowed, and the knife clattered to the ground. "We'll put an end to this now. Give me your gun." For a moment her interrogator hesitated, perhaps sensing another meaning behind his words. He stepped back. "Sir" he stuttered, nearly hyperventilating. Pel's face stormed over even more. "Your gun, now!" he demanded once more, hand outstretched. After a few seconds the plasma rifle changed hands, and Pel's hand seemed to sink into it as if his arm weren't complete without a way to kill someone. He looked over at her, brought up the weapon. A volley emptied into the interrogator, painting the wall. Pel didn't even spare a second glance, throwing the rifle to the ground with disgust. A small group of kig-yar scuttled in, removing the body between them. One's tongue hung ravenously from its mouth as it moved out, canines showing pieces of rotten flesh between them. Despite herself, she shuddered. Pel waited until they'd left before pulling up a chair and taking a seat next to her, a smile on his face. For all she knew that could be the smile he greeted a wife and clan-children with back home. For all she knew it could be the smile he wore when throwing hundreds out of an airlock. "I am so terribly sorry for what has been done to you, Lady Grymar'ee," the Ossoona began in a honeyed voice, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder and making a wincing sound as he pulled back the rag covering it, seeing the burn marks underneath. "Had I been here, you would have been treated with more respect." Reaching over to the small terminal embedded in the wall, he touched a few runes. With a emancipating hiss the restraints binding her slid away. Savara immediately threw herself off the table she'd been bound to and made a run for the door, panting as she limped and then crawled her way to freedom. "It's quite locked," Pel informed her in the same way an adult might tell a child a radiator is hot. Savara looked back hatefully, noticing the rifle still on the floor but a few metres away. She quickly clawed her way towards it, wrapping her hands around and and shakily rising to her feet. Pel made no attempt to move. "Heavy, isn't it?" he observed slyly as she struggled to bring the weapon up. It was. "I don't think you'll do it. You're a healer, not a killer. If you pull that trigger, there's no going--" Savara screamed as her finger pulled back on the rifle's release, letting loose a round of plasma... or so she expected. Pel visibly flinched, but nothing happened. After a moment he was himself again, wearing a lazy smile but shock still playing about his eyes.

Merry Christmas, everyone. I don't expect anyone to find time to read this today, but I'll put it out anyway. Forgive any slight errors in grammar or... sense, I haven't proof-read as much as usual (which is in itself petty) because, well, Christmas-dinner is nearly ready. * [b]Chapter 36 -- For whom the bell tolls, for whom hell calls[/b] Emerald flew through the air and time seemed to slow down. Lightning shone through the window, emerald catching its glow within and reflecting a panorama of death back. Smaller shards scattered through the air, snatched by the drops of rain that fell through the window in the ceiling. Gem screamed as it spiralled, a blood-chilling, deadly scream coloured with death's voice. Finally, it met resistance. Stalled for a few moments, pushing hard against the body it had met. At last, it burrowed its way through the flesh and blood, carving through a heart as it clawed its way to the other side. From the hole left in its wake, life bled. Emerald crashed into the wall of the room, and shattered into a million pieces. Sparks discharged into the night, every fatal shred of green fading into ephemerality. Not an emerald, but a burst of plasma. Thrown by the man standing in the door, a satisfied grin all that could be seen through the darkness. "I always did think you a blustering fool," Pel spat with venom at the one he had just shot, brandishing his plasma pistol about maniacally. "Now you die like one. The two of you will follow soon." With that, the Ossoona fled the doorway and vanished into the midnight. Neither Sorran or Ahkrin gave chase, or answered him. Their stunned eyes were focused on the body lying on the floor, whose eyes stared without seeing at the ceiling, limp fingers clutching at the life-stealing wound wrought by the plasma burst. Jaw open, a wordless scream buried in the throat. Immobile. Dead. Hem. * All of Sanghelios loomed before Zharn as he stared out at his homeworld. For the first time he saw the planet; [i]really[/i] saw it. Stripped away the grandeur in his mind, took away the honour, the history, the culture he knew thrived down there. He saw a rock, then. A great orb hanging in the dark of space, shrouded by clouds and littered with ocean and continent. Like Harvest. Like Madrigal. Like Hat Yai... and most recently on his own orders, Eridanus II. If they could be so easily glassed with just a spoken word, an order; turned into a sculpture capturing only the faintest traces of what had once been, then what made Sanghelios so special? Zharn knew that High Charity alone could annihilate half the planet if it reinstalled the dreadnought's weapons. The humans too had their world-wreckers. Zharn had seen the craters on some of their worlds wrought by the testing of their MAC rounds, their nuclear weapons. They were primitive devices, but then even a rock can defeat one armed with a gun in the right circumstances. Which is why they could never be allowed to find Sanghelios with their fleets. Which is why Zharn was driving himself insane worrying about the purported demon and ODSTs loose in the holy city right now. "Any word?" he asked his communications officer, taking care to be sly with his demands. He had been instructed by the hierarchs to not breathe a word of what was truly happening in High Charity to anyone. "No contact from the station, leader. Not a single ship has attempted to break quarantine, either." Zharn pondered upon that for a few moments, before nodding. "Keep watch. I shan't be long," he told his bridge crew, throwing on his ceremonial overcoat and flying out from the command and control centre. He activated his communications pad, opened a private channel. "Orpheus," he hailed. The Jiralhanae took a few moments to respond. "Zharn," Orpheus finally spoke in his impossibly deep voice. "What ails you?" "I am beside myself waiting for the bureaucrats and charlatans down there to update us on the situation. The hierarchs forbid me sending troops down there... I am not a trooper, however, and neither are you." "I don't think Truth would appreciate that little technicality," Orpheus warned him. "You say that as if it should deter me. Will you come down to the holy city with me? I want to see with my own eyes the true state of affairs." "I think you are mad, fleetmaster," Orpheus replied, and for a second Zharn's hearts plummeted with disappointment. "But mad or not, I am sworn to you. And I must concede, I am a little curious myself as to what is happening on High Charity." "Is that your roundabout way of saying 'yes'?" Zharn asked with a wry smile, turning a corridor and rolling his eyes as a cohort of Sangheili who had been busying themselves with other matters leapt to attention. "I'll meet you in the hanger, Zharn," Orpheus answered with an air of resignation, before disconnecting the line. Although he had yet to mention it to his Jiralhanae friend, Zharn had an ulterior motive for wanting to see High Charity. On Eridanus II, the demon had showed him something that had shook his faith to the core. Heretical humans, or at least their familiars, could earn a response from Forerunner technology. Something not even the Holy Prophet of Truth himself could do. This all-too-quickly imposed quarantine by Sanghelios, the tale of the humans who had so easily infiltrated the holy city, Ahkrin's disappearance; perhaps he was being paranoid, but Zharn felt something greater was at work. [i]Always trust your instinct, for it is not tainted by the poison of the heart or mind,[/i] his late sire had once lectured him and the other children in Rolum, back when he had not known the man's true identity. Zharn had rarely found his father wrong on the matter. * It was a stench Jajab knew well. He'd smelt it many times on the battlefield, and many times since then. The cloying aroma of blood, just past the door. Swallowing his fear, he gently edged his way through the heavy wooden doors of the hotel into the cold and dark corridor. Doors loomed over him to the left and right, each holding the possibility of danger. His attention was drawn by the body at the far end of the corridor, however; a kig-yar dressed in formal attire, her thin neck snapped. His tiny heart pumping with terror, Jajab approached the body against his better judgement. The floorboards creaked under his weight, painfully audible in the eerie silence. He strained, but could hear no movement nor voices. He seemed to be alone. The kig-yar's orb-like eyes were wide with surprise, long tongue lolling out from her mouth lamely. A single needle rose from the centre of her forehead, neatly positioned beneath the soft mane which flowed down her back. Had it not been for the pool of neon purple staining her soft facial features, he might have mistaken the needle for another quill in her plumage. Jajab had thought the lack of people in order around the hotel suspicious; the Covenant must have made sure the area was vacated before moving in. No doubt the kig-yar on the floor had refused to leave, and she'd earned death for her trouble. His worst fears were confirmed when he entered through the only open door and saw Convalescence in a similar state, a deadly spire rising from his head as well. Whoever had made these killings had been professionals. "Lords," he whispered, ice blossoming throughout the room as he stared at the clinical chaos. He took one step into the room-- "Don't move," a gruff voice spoke suddenly even as Jajab felt the cold barrel of a weapon press into the back of his neck. He complied.

I better get cracking with the pdf for part 2, then... Wolvers, any particular scene you'd like to be featured on the front. I can't give any guarantees.

Yay Christmas present from wolvers

Most of part 37 is already written.