[quote][b]Posted by:[/b] Wolverfrog [quote][b]Posted by:[/b] Serj Is the story over? Or are you still writing it up?[/quote] No, I decided to end it after establishing a big crisis that's going to change everything happening on High Charity. Could there be a better fitting conclusion? Honestly.[/quote] Well excuse me.

I'm getting chills just thinking about the next chapter.

[quote][b]Posted by:[/b] Serj Is the story over? Or are you still writing it up?[/quote] No, I decided to end it after establishing a big crisis that's going to change everything happening on High Charity. Could there be a better fitting conclusion? Honestly.

Is the story over? Or are you still writing it up?

Fantastic!

Haste= 2 months. But take you time. its worth it.

[quote][b]Posted by:[/b] Gamer Whale BTW, did I see a LotR/meme reference there?[/quote] Haha, yeah. I watched the extended editions for the first time a few weeks ago and decided to sneak it in. I think there's also a line from a Stereophonics song in the chapter too. Next part will be some time since it'll hopefully wrap up book two, but I'll try make haste. [Edited on 06.29.2012 4:18 PM PDT]

Epic stuff! BTW, did I see a LotR/meme reference there? ETA on the next part?

Great, as ever! I'm really looking forward to the next part, and am beginning to appreciate the wait: it's well worth it! I also liked Regret's character, slightly different to that portrayed in the "canon" books, but still believable. Keep up the great work! So glad to be seeing such good Sangheili-centred writing.

But what about the ANTENNAE! Wolvers?

The wait is over at last! Incredible stuff. Your characters have been through so much now, it's hard to believe they have anything left to go on.

Amazing, as always! The only thing that could make this story better is taking away the wait! Oh, by the way, female sangheili don't actually have breasts, and the guys dicks are usually kept hidden... Kinda like dogs actually... Other that that, completely acurate. I liked how you described the fight too, very suspenseful...

Incredible work! I must admit, the scene with the Sangheili apparently having the same [sexual] anatomy as us took a little suspension of disbelief, but anything else would have been even weirder I suppose. I also like how Regret isn't a total ass in this fic, that wasn't really ever touched upon in the series.

Yay

Hey you waited until I was on vacation. Very nice place to read. [Url=http://i594.photobucket.com/albums/tt26/POMPANOJOE/feb369ed.jpg]keep up the good work,[/url] Not that it needs said,

So well written! But if Orpheus is dead, no level of eloquence will compensate.

Your stories get better and better.

* Sorran stepped away from the engine controls, his job done. [i]This is madness,[/i] he thought. [i]But I can see no other way to rescue Savara and honour Restraint's last wishes, not with the blockade[/i] He pressed his fingers to his temples and prepared himself for the jolt that was to come. It turned out to be more than a jolt. * A thunderclap of sound destroyed all other noise in the district, and Ahkrin felt sick as he felt the space around him contort and pull. It was a feeling he knew well, but not one he'd ever expected to feel now. A white blinding light flashed across his eyes, and all his senses were overloaded as the void spilled into reality, and a numb pain gripped him in its vice. Suddenly, all sensation returned in a violent lurch. Ahkrin found himself on his knees, blood dripping from his nose and head feeling as though it had been battered about for hours. He checked the time on his augmented display; it [i]had[/i] been hours. He'd been out cold a long time. He looked to his left and saw Jeann'ee sprawled on his back, coughing. "A void jump," Ahkrin wheezed out, struggling to recover the wind that had been knocked out of him. He looked up, and realised what had happened. "No impulse shield. This wasn't planned." [i]Someone must have sabotaged the station's impulse drives. Why?[/i] "Ahkrin," was all he heard from Jeann'ee, who had managed to rise to his feet and was shakily pointing somewhere up in the skies, far behind him. "Look." Ahkrin scrambled to his feet, and followed Jeann'ee finger; his head tilted, and he saw it just as the screams and panicking broke out across the district. Sanghelios was gone. Another planet hung in the sky, one he knew well. One he had not seen in many cycles. "Harvest," he breathed, but that wasn't what Jeann'ee was gaping at. It was the human fleet hanging in the sky before it. "There are dozens of them... why are they here? I thought they abandoned this planet long ago." "We have no fleet," Jeann'ee gasped, and he was right. When High Charity had jumped, it had not brought Zharn's fleet with it. They were defenceless aside from the meagre mounted defences of the station, and unless they jumped again the entire holy city would be wiped out. "We need to move," Ahkrin decided. "Double time." "What good will the dreadnought do us if we die?" Jeann'ee demanded, grabbing Ahkrin's shoulders and looking at him as if he were insane. "We need to find a way off this station, before it takes us with it." "Not before we've spoken to the Oracle. If you want to abandon me now, then do so. I thought you made of sterner stuff," Ahkrin jeered, knowing full well the effect the taunt would have on him. "You've never met anyone sterner," Jeann'ee pouted resolutely, hurrying behind him. "But don't think I'll be saving you when the demons come raining down in their meteors." "Where's your faith?" Ahkrin retorted ironically. "The Oracle will protect us all."

* "No weapons," Kronus dictated, throwing aside the spiker blades affixed to his belt. Orpheus did likewise, and both stripped almost bare save for a covering over their lower area. It was painfully clear that Orpheus was the weaker Jiralhanae in every aspect; Kronus was taller, more muscular and his paws ended in claws almost as long as Pel's entire handspan. [i]I doubt this shall end in our favour,[/i] Pel worried, looking across at Grymar'ee and seeing he'd have no help there; the old fool still lay on the ground, his breathing as shallow as his personality. Pel still had the plasma rifle in his hand, but one of Kronus' Jiralhanae had been tasked with watching over him whilst the two Jiralhanae engaged. And even should the one called Orpheus win, what would that mean for them? Pel did not know who he was, and in his experience men did not risk their lives for the sake of someone they did not have business with. And lately, business usually meant someone wanted him dead. [i]A bloody mess,[/i] he decided, thinking on his whole sorry situation as Kronus and Orpheus both assessed each other and issued the mandatory pre-battle growls and curses. [i]A week ago I was one of the most powerful men in the empire, the surgical knife of the prophets. Now I am a man hunted by beasts.[/i] Pel knew all the men loyal to him were dead, or they would have come by now. Probably torn apart by the Jiralhanae. Or maybe they'd never been loyal after all, and had run at the first sight of protuding canines. It was just him now, and he had to figure out a way to get out of this. He decided to let the duel between the two Jiralhanae would-be-chieftains pan out, and from there he would take an appropriate course of action. Whatever the outcome, he did not intend to be taken captive, and he certainly did not intend to die. No, he'd make it out of this and then he'd leave High Charity forever. But not before paying the hierarchs back for their betrayal. A sudden wave of growls, and adrenaline bled out into the air. It was starting. A rough hand pushed him forward, out of the way but where he could still watch. In his captor's other paw, Grymar'ee was held tightly by the neck. Orpheus and Kronus began the elaborate ritual before duels of such nature. Each bowed low to the ground in their opponent's direction, and they cried a small prayer for each other's souls. Pel had always thought it to be a remarkably respectful gesture for such a savage people. It didn't last long. One of Kronus' pack yelled out a harsh, foreign word, and immediately all acts of respect were done away with. Two hands clasped together in a bow reached out, and they rushed towards each other at a staggering speed. Pel winced when they smashed into each other, head against head and all the bulk of the Jiralhanae thrown against each other - the sound of snapping bones whipped about, but if either combatant felt it neither showed any sign of pain. They drew off, each assessing where the other had been injured the most. Pel saw no indicators, but he lacked the heightened senses of the Jiralhanae; Orpheus evidently had found a weak spot, and suddenly charged again and lashed out with a heavy hand at Kronus' leg. It buckled a little, and the blow sent Kronus on the backpedal, roaring hatefully at Orpheus. Had Pel been dished out such an attack, he would have been far more cautious. Kronus didn't seem to heed the lesson, and soon enough the two were trading blows again; the fight could have been an eponym for the slanderous term 'brute' so many gave their kind. As he watched more closely though, Pel saw differences in their fighting style. Kronus was powerfully built even for a Jiralhanae, and his stature was reflected in the way he fought - there was no thought to his attacks, he simply used his size and strength to batter away at Orpheus, and allowed blows to bounce off his muscled shell. Conversely, Orpheus battled more with a technique Pel could appreciate; the man had obviously been given martial arts training, demonstrated clearly as Orpheus wove between the lumbering strikes and dealt his own small but precise ones, like water seeping through the cracks in rock. He heard a stirring to his right, and saw Grymar'ee beginning to come back from the brink. A matting of blood encrusted his face like a river of frozen amethysts, and one of his eyes was swollen shut. Still, that was little compared to the two Jiralhanae the man had dropped forever but he'd finally been subdued. One of the Jiralhanae noticed Grymar'ee's awakening and loosely wrapped a hand around his neck, ready to tighten at the first sign of trouble. [i]Well... if he's alive, I may as well use him,[/i] Pel decided, seeing Grymar'ee staring at him. He nodded at the duel between the two Jiralhanae, and then signalled for the man to wait until it was over before acting at all. Grymar'ee gave the barest of nods, and flexed one of his hands. They wouldn't have to wait long. The fever of the pack was intensifying, and when Pel looked over he saw Kronus' strength winning out over Orpheus' tenacity. The smaller Jiralhanae was backing away with a limp, barely warding off blows. Both had their fur streaked with a dark vermilion, but Pel suspected most of it was Orpheus'. Then it happened; the broken point. A sickening crunch broke the sound of the mob as Kronus grabbed Orpheus by the ragged fur of his chest, and brought the crown of his head crashing down onto his foe's face; Orpheus dropped almost instantly, and the pack cried out with the sound of victory. Kronus turned to face his brothers, arms raised in victory. They all threw their heads to the heavens and began chanting together, like a pack of wolves at full moon. Pel and Grymar'ee's own Jiralhanae didn't join it, but they seemed distracted. [i]Now's as good a time as any,[/i] Pel thought, about to signal Grymar'ee to act and begin their attempt to escape; one that would most like end in vain. But he was cut off by the sudden whisper of a stir from Orpheus, the faintest shaking of a limb. None of the Jiralhanae noticed it, not even when against all the odds Orpheus began to rise to his feet and slowly stalk his way towards the unsuspecting Kronus. Pel heard a sudden gasp before him, and saw the Jiralhanae watching over him gaping at Orpheus as he shuffled towards the still-crowing Kronus. Before his gaoler could shout a warning to his pack-leader, Pel parsed his hand together and whirled around, jabbing the hulking beast in its thick throat. Whatever cry had been about to release was strangled as the Jiralhanae's larynx collapsed in on itself. Pel didn't give the beast time to go berserk with adrenaline, wrapping his arms around the choking brute's head and sharply twisting. There was a snap, and that was that. He looked over and saw Grymar'ee had done the same, his own Jiralhanae gaoler staring over at Pel with a scream of silent horror. Their scuffle had attracted the attention of the rest of the pack, who stared over at them with shock for a few moments. Their surprise didn't last long though, as they all drew out their weapons and began to march towards them, teeth fully protuding. And then Orpheus reached Kronus. It was over before the larger Jiralhanae even knew what was happening; Orpheus bared his claws and plunged the entire length of his arm through Kronus' back, his hand travelling upwards and exiting through the throat. There Kronus stood frozen in time for a few nightmarish seconds, like a bizarre sculpture. Then Orpheus removed his arm, and his foe dropped instantly. "Never turn your back on an enemy until he is buried and rotting," Orpheus mocked as he raised his hand, the severed spine of Kronus dangling from it and wrapped in bloodied entrails. Kronus' pack stopped their advance towards Pel and Grymar'ee, and instead turned to face their new packmaster. [i]Now they're his,[/i] Pel knew, and didn't feel any better for it. Whatever this Orpheus wanted with them, he doubted it was anything good. "Apprehend them," Orpheus commanded, pointing at himself and Grymar'ee, confirming his suspicions. "No blood." Pel looked over at Grymar'ee and they shared a glance, looking at the exit of the tunnel a hundred metres away. If they could reach it, then they could lose themselves in the labyrinth of broken buildings. But Jiralhanae were much faster than Sangheili. "No," one of the other Jiralhanae spoke, and Pel was momentarily distracted from his own worry. He looked to see a Jiralhanae with midnight-black fur move out from the tightly clustered pack, to confront Orpheus. "You do not rule us." "I won the challenge!" Orpheus growled, eyes like sabres. "Should you wish to challenge me, then you may do so... tomorrow. You know you cannot contest moments after a victory, it is not our way. Until then, I am your leader!" "Our way is dead. It served us well on the homeworld, but we can be so much more now. Tradition means nothing, nor does winning a challenge. You are not our leader, Orpheus," the black Jiralhanae spat, and then looked over at his fellow pack-mates. "Kill them all." The Jiralhanae fanned out to meet all all of them, bringing up their aggressive spikers with fingers on the trigger. They fired. Then the skies erupted, and the world went to hell.

* Zharn's eyes snapped open, and he gasped for air with the ferocity of a drowning man. It seeped into his burning lungs like acid, and his tongue could taste the metallic tang of congealing blood. He coughed most of it out, and his body felt like it was going to shake itself apart as he did so. "Lie back down, you're going to kill yourself," he heard a woman's voice order from behind him. Instinctively his arm reached down to his side and he felt the hilt of his energy mould itself around his hand; he touched the glyph, the sword activated and he raised his arm-- Pain exploded like a million fireworks, sending convulsions down his spine and attacking every muscle and bone in his body. Lights danced across his eyes until they all burnt out, and he was left with black. His eyes opened again, and he looked to his sword arm - his blade was gone. He scrambled around for it furiously, but it wasn't anywhere in sight - which wasn't saying much, seeing as how he could hardly move his head without a spear of agony plunging into him. Zharn took in his bearings. Well, this wasn't the great journey and if it was, it looked pretty mundane. It wasn't Pel's office either - someone had moved him. It almost seemed like he was in a closet of some kind... or a small warehouse; shelves reached all around him, and a pile of boxes rose like a wall to his right; the actual wall to his left, like he'd been tucked away in some corner, out of sight. "Good, you're awake," that same female voice from before spoke, again behind him. Zharn had learnt his lesson earlier, and didn't move to retaliate. If the woman wanted him dead, he wouldn't have woken up for a second time. "Who are you?" he asked, or at least he intended to. What came out in reality was more of a hoarse squeak, and the exertion made him feel ill. He felt a cup press up against his mouth, and fearing poison or some drug, resisted a few futile moments until his jaw sagged with exhaustion and the liquid poured down his gullet. Water. He lapped it up eagerly, and felt a little stronger just from that. "You've been out for hours," the woman ignored, and went off on her own topic. "When I find you, you were close to death. I had to drag you out of Pel's office--" "You must be a strong wench," Zharn interrupted. The voice sounded Sangheilian, but it was unlikely if she carried him, more likely Jiralhanae. "I found an anti-gravity belt," she explained. Ah, probably Sangheili after all. "I found this warehouse, it seemed empty. I healed your burns as best I could, gave you some of my blood to replace what you lost, and then it was left to the gods to bring you back. It seems you have some friends on the journey, Zharn." "I hope so," Zharn answered, wondering if Sorran ever made it to the great journey; he died a heretic in the eyes of the prophets, but who were they to denounce a man as sinful or not? That lay with the Forerunners and they alone. "Again, who are you? Do you know me?" "In a way," the woman replied ambiguously. "We're still in the Janjur Qom district, by the way." "Guards?" Zharn asked of her, suddenly wanting his weapons in case any of them came. "All the ones I've seen have been dead... torn apart. The wounds are consistent with Jiralhanae claw and teeth marks." [i]Jiralhanae? It is unlikely Pel wanted them here.[/i] "Did you see two Sangheili? One dressed in black armour, another very tall and a bit older?" he quizzed, wondering about Pel and Grymar'ee. They'd left him for dead, and he fully intended to repay the favour. "No," his mystery saviour said. "I haven't seen Pel in days, and I haven't seen any older Sangheili. But enough of that. Why are you here?" [i]Why am I here?[/i] the question echoed in his mind, and he did wonder. By all rights he should be hundreds of miles above all this mess, sitting in the throne of the fleetmaster and enforcing the blockade of High Charity. But he was ill suited to remain sat in his chair whilst others acted, a trait which probably made him a poor fleetmaster. "I'm chasing leads," was all he said. He did not know this woman, and for all he knew she worked with Pel or the hierarchs. [i]Where are you, Orpheus?[/i] "What sort of leads?" "That is my business, not yours. I am a fleetmaster of the Covenant, and I demand that you tell me who you are and what it is you want. I swear to you that I mean no harm." "You've have already proved yourself a liar, Zharn Thierr'ee. Why should I believe anything you swear?" she asked harshly, and he could hear anguish in her voice. Again, the feeling that he knew her. "When have I lied to you? I've only just met you!" Zharn insisted, thoroughly perplexed now. His body was aching like a million shards of glass rested on his bones, and every breath brought with it fresh pain. "You told me Sorran was dead!" the woman nearly shouted. "Where is he? I can kill you just as I've saved you, so talk." [i]What?! ... wait.[/i] "Savara?" he asked hesitantly, as a million questions were bottling up in his mind. Footsteps echoed as the woman walked, and stepped into his field of vision. His guess had been right. It had been a long time since he'd last seen her on the [i]Immortal Repentance,[/i] so many months ago, but he recognised her as clear as day despite how different she looked - her clothes were torn and stained with blood, and not just his own. Her face was streaked with mud and grime and the toll of many days without good sleep. But she was unmistakably Savara. "It has been a while, Zharn," Savara acknowledged, her smile holding no mirth in it. Zharn groaned, and with much effort managed to prop himself up on one arm. "It's good to see you safe, I'd been looking for you," Zharn began. "But you seem confused. Sorran is dead, just as I told you all those months ago. How, I do not know. Murdered in his cell, or... maybe he ended it himself. It is not something I like to think on." "You can stop with the pretence, I've seen him. What was it, then? Some deep cover operation? Is that why his death was faked?" [i]She's making no sense,[/i] Zharn observed as he listened to her. She rambled on about seeing Sorran in the garb of an honour guard, talking with another honour guard on High Charity. [i]Sorran has never been an honour guard, he could barely hold a gun without dropping it.[/i] He told her as much. "... do you know nothing?" Savara whispered then, sounding close to tears. Her eyes begged an answer of him that he did not have. He looked up at her sympathetically. "Whatever... whatever lies you have been told, or shown," he wheezed out, still struggling to draw breath. "Whatever lies, they're just [i]lies[/i], girl - Pel wanted to raise your hopes, so he could dash them and weaken your resolve. It's an interrogation technique. Sorran is dead, Savara. I identified his body, and it was him. I'm sorry." There was silence between them for several long seconds, and Zharn strained to hear any other sounds. There were none; the warehouse had been picked well, it seemed very closed off from the world outside, and judging by the dust which caked most of the floor and boxes, it was seldom used. "Maybe they were lies," Savara conceded, and even those words seemed to tear her apart. "But they're all I have, Zharn. I don't know why I was taken or what they wanted from me, and I just need something to keep me sane - right now, that's the hope that Sorran's alive." [i]I know all too well that feeling,[/i] Zharn empathised, and reached for her hand soothingly. She accepted it wordlessly, and suddenly he found himself pulled into an embrace which nearly choked what little life he had left in him. "Sorran may be dead, but I was his brother and you and he were together. That makes you as family to me, you understand, and I would have you tell me what happened," he instructed softly through the barest of breaths. [i]And then I'll tell you that your father's looking for you. Or maybe not - no matter how estranged from her father she might be, I doubt she'd care for my intent to kill him.[/i]

* "We'll comb the area for survivors." "Affirmative, command's given you clearance to operate in this district. You have our thanks, helmsman." With that the two vampires broke off and flew back in the direction of the docking bays some miles south. Soon enough the only engine left floating in the sky was their own, and a sky that belonged to them. All it took was a knife in the back; the flames still spilled from the violent wound they'd torn in the crashed phantom below, and Ahkrin knew already that there was no need to look for survivors. "How many?" Ahkrin asked Jeann'ee, who was smiling at their little success. "Fifteen or so. It had to look convincing on their deep-scans. But look at what their sacrifices have brought us, my friend! Free passage to the dreadnought. We'll put down about half a mile west of it and head the rest of the way on foot." "An infiltration? That was never your speciality, if I recall," Ahkrin remembered; Jeann'ee had always been the planner of their missions and had been very good at it, but rarely had he ventured out into the field himself. Jeann'ee mulled this over and shrugged. "I'll just follow your lead. Oh, and make sure you don't lose me by 'accident' in there. Our dear pilot here has the strictest instructions to kill you if you come back without me." Ahkrin looked at the pilot, who sat in his seat stone-faced. The man was built powerfully, and he even had an energy sword hanging from his waist; its hilt was worn with use. He did not doubt that if Jeann'ee didn't return, the man would follow through on the order. They flew for several more uncomfortable minutes, Jeann'ee's open threat having killed any of the light discussion in the phantom. Eventually they touched down softly on the ground, the phantom's disequilibrium drive silently powering down. The door opened with a hiss not unlike that of a snake, and Ahkrin waited for Jeann'ee to jump out. "You first, friend," Jeann'ee motioned, a sly smile about his lips. "I know how clumsy your trigger finger can be." "You mistake me for yourself," Ahkrin scorned as he conceded to the demand and carefully jumped from the phantom to the ground a few feet below. "I don't help a man climb up only so I can push him down further." "Was that supposed to be an insult?" Jeann'ee mocked as he stepped down behind him, and the door to the phantom swung shut. "Leave the wit to the witty, Ahkrin. It does not become you." Ahkrin ignored that, and instead chose to look around at where they had set down. He'd never been into the district of the keyship, but he had heard tales of its splendour and beauty which could not be properly appreciated from a distance. He saw now the tales were true; all around him rose impossibly ornate cathedrals, churches, chapels - even the housing had an air of devoutness about it. A soft golden slow permeated the air; small particles of the most insubstantial hard light, weighing far less than the air around it and hovering with ephemerality all about them, giving the atmosphere a heavenly glow. He saw cardinals and deacons walk around; all were San 'Shyuum - a religious man of any other species could not hope to be granted a position in the most holiest of areas in this most holy of cities. Ahkrin heard they devoted all their time to studying ancient Forerunner texts, gleaning what they could from such fractured records - that was what the sanctum said, anyway. In reality, Ahkrin doubted they could even read half of what was written, and understood even less. Only the Huragok were fluent in the language of the transcended, and they were not partial to divulging what they knew. "They're looking at us," Ahkrin muttered to Jeann'ee, who had moved to his left now. "And all they see are two uniformed Sangheili who have just stepped out of a Covenant phantom. Move like you have purpose and we shall find no trouble from them - their eyes are so affixed on the heavens, it is no small wonder that they don't crash into walls." "It's not the prophets who concern me, rather the Mglekgolo who stand guard over them," Ahkrin retorted, pointing at the tall figure in the near distance. The hunter stood almost so stoic that he could be dead, but the assault beam affixed to its right limb glowed with life and in its left a shield almost as tall as a Sangheili, and nearly as dangerous too. Jeann'ee scoffed. "They're just worms, my friend. Lekgolo stay out of Sangheili way, and it has been as such ever since Imperial Admiral Grymar'ee brought about their taming when you and I were still sucking on our mothers' teats." "I know that, but they would still snap us in two if a prophet commanded it," Ahkrin grumbled, annoyed that Jeann'ee had thought him so unaware that he did not even know of the taming of the hunters. "Then see that they don't. We should get moving... I hope you can see the dreadnought?" "Obviously," Ahkrin bit back. It would be impossible not to; the inverted prong of the Forerunner ship rose high into the sky above them, casting an evanescent shadow over all the district. Above the houses and buildings of worship, the Huragok flew in thousands, all attending to the dreadnought in some shape or form - some cleansed it so it remained as pristine as it had been thousands of years ago, and others carried the small eels of the singular Prlekgolo, to be gently lowered onto the ship so they could burrow their way inside and carefully search its hull for any ports or circuits which could be interfaced with. "It's awfully big," Jeann'ee observed as they began a casual walk in its direction. "Where exactly are we to go once we're in?" San 'shyuum casually looked in their direction, but when the saw the insignia of the army on their armour they quickly returned to their pensive expressions, mulling over theological mysteries and most of them lies. Ahkrin considered the question. [i]I had not really thought of that,[/i] Ahkrin realised. [i]I just assumed that once we got to the dreadnought, something would happen.[/i] "The bridge," he replied, guessing it would be as good a place as any to go. Jeann'ee let out a titter. "Are you hoping to find Forerunner pilots? Who knows, maybe there are. With all the secrecy and red tape around the dreadnought, I wouldn't be surprised if we found their whole bloody empire sleeping in stasis inside." "That's unlikely," Ahkrin shot down. "You need not worry about my quarry, it does not concern you." "I don't think it concerns you either. It seemed to me Sorran was the one pushing for you to head to the dreadnought. Who's to say whatever you're searching for wants to be sought out by you?" [i]Another good point. We could very well end up just walking around the empty corridors of the dreadnought for hours, with nary a word from the oracle.[/i] "Again, none of your concern. You're here because of extortion, and for no other reason," he stated bluntly. He heard a sigh from Jeann'ee. "Does that mean I don't get to talk to the Oracle?" the man asked, and Ahkrin couldn't stifle his gasp. He heard more laughing. "Come now, do you really think I don't know why you--" Jeann'ee was cut off as Ahkrin grabbed his throat and thrust him against the wall of some monastery, out of sight. He pressed a knife to the man's throat. "Bringing you was a mistake," Ahkrin told Jeann'ee, and was tempted to just drag the knife across and be done with the man; he knew too much and accurately guessed the rest. "I'm tired of you acting like you hold all the cards - I should kill you right here, and then I'll head back and kill your pilot too, before continuing [i]alone[/i] to the dreadnought." "N- now see here, Descol'ee," Jeann'ee spluttered, raising a finger and trying to move away from the knife's cold promise. "We had a deal. I've known you seek the oracle from the beginning, and what you want from him is your business, as you say. I have my own plea for our gods' messenger." "You what?" Ahkrin demanded, curiosity all that stayed his hand. Jeann'ee nodded as much as the knife would allow him. "I'm going to ask him to help my cause. [i]Our[/i] cause. Listen; if the oracle himself lambasted the regime of the hierarchs and the sanctum, the people would trip over themselves in their eagerness to depose them. I intend to free the oracle from the prison the hierarchs have left him in; take him out from the dreadnought and let him be a voice of guidance for our people. He can help us forge democracy, he can tell us of our lords' true plans for us, help forge peace between we and the humans... he can guide us all to the sacred rings, and show us how to follow in Their footsteps." "... madness," Ahkrin concluded, taking back his knife and letting Jeann'ee breathe freely. Even after having his life nearly taken away from him, Jeann'ee did not shy away from a challenge. "As I said before, if the kindling's right it only takes one match to burn a forest, even one so twisted and bitter as the sanctum. The oracle's the kindling; we're told He does not speak, but none are allowed to see Him. What makes you so sure this is madness?" [i]Because the Forerunners are not gods, and the 'sacred rings' will kill us all![/i] Ahkrin wanted to scream at the man, but he couldn't. Instead he just shook his head, and walked on. "You do what you feel is right, Jeann'ee. Just don't get in my way."

He daren't voice the thought though; not while his own life hung on a thin thread of good graces. Instead he walked on, leading Grymar'ee to the hidden underground cells where his daughter was held captive, a few miles away on the other side of the Janjur Qom district. The ugly buildings of the San 'Shyuum span all around them, almost as repulsive as their race. Ancient texts long predating even the schism between the prophets described them as a fair race, but Pel could not see how any could find them attractive, not even the San 'Shyuum themselves. "What did you do before you became the hierarchs' -blam!-, shadow-scum?" Grymar'ee interrogated, breaking the silence. "I waited tables," Pel drawled sarcastically, earning a cold laugh at least from the Imperial Admiral. They passed under a sprawling arch, etched with runes half-faded with age and disrepair. "No, truly. I have never seen your face nor even heard of you, and there are few important people I do not know." "I'm not a very important person," Pel muttered quietly. "I do what must be done, and then sink back into the shadows." "You have a house name?" Grymar'ee persisted, genuinely curious now. Pel rolled his eyes at the old man's ceaseless questions, almost wishing he'd been put down before. "Once," he said noncommittally. "So it's just Pel?" Grymar'ee asked skeptically. "For now," Pel answered curtly, distracted by the flickering of a tall shadow at the end of the arch and the glinting of sunlight from a reflective surface for a fraction of a second. "What do you mean, for--" "Quiet!" Pel hissed, not liking what he saw. "We need to turn back, now." Luckily, Grymar'ee didn't question him like the fool old man he seemed at times. The Imperial Admiral nodded, grabbed Pel roughly and threw him back in the other direction, looking back behind him and levelling a rifle at the exit even as they headed back to the entrance. A futile endeavour. Pel saw an unmarked grave being erected with his body beneath as a huge, hulking shape stepped out from behind the walls of the arch's entrance and stood in the body of the sun; the unmistakable shadow of a Jiralhanae. Then another, and then three more until their bodies almost blocked out the light completely. Pel did not need to turn around to know there were more behind them. "Begone, Jiralhanae!" Grymar'ee called out with all the voice of a true commander. "Bar our way and I will slay you all." [i]I should like to see that,[/i] Pel mused, looking for a way out of the arch they had so foolishly trapped themselves in. He knew why the Jiralhanae were here, and it wasn't to rescue him. They did not answer Grymar'ee, instead advancing towards them and growling like hungry dogs. Their stench hung before them, the rancid smell of rotten meat, unwashed hair, urine and other foul odours. "Give me a weapon," Pel urged Grymar'ee quietly, and despite being in front of the Imperial Admiral he could hear the strong jaw of the man clenching. "Who are they?" Grymar'ee demanded as the Jiralhanae converged on them like a pack of wolves, silently assessing their prey. That they hadn't charged already could only be thanks to Grymar'ee's presence - they were wary. "You know Tartarus?" "I know of him." "These are a pack of his. No doubt sent by the hierarchs to kill me." They stepped into full view now, their fierce faces shrouded by dark masks of black and grey, the only colour on their persons a dirty red atop their heads. Barbaric blades folded out from crude weaponry, whatever colour they had been when first forged painted over by dried blood of many colours. "To kill [i]you[/i]? Are you not the hierarchs' man?" Grymar'ee quizzed, wordlessly acknowledging he believed Pel when he passed into his hands a plasma rifle of deepest blue. "The prophets don't have men, only tools. I killed their last commissar, I knew another would come to try and replace me one day, yet I hoped I'd be long gone by then, and that it wouldn't be Jiralhanae who did the deed." "Let me speak here, be ready for a fight. Though I suspect it will not be much of one." "They are animals. We will put them down." [i]Jiralhanae are not to be so easily dismissed, old man. When they kill you, maybe you'll realise that.[/i] As he walked, it struck him how remarkably calm he was about his death. He'd done many terrible things, and Grymar'ee was right; A'sya [i]would[/i] be disgusted to see the man he'd become. The Jiralhanae stopped metres away, and even though Pel was not by any means a small man they towered over him. Even Grymar'ee, who at more than eight foot stood with the most tall of Sangheili barely matched their height. And they were many times broader than both; one Jiralhanae arm was almost as wide as their torsos. "Pel. I always hoped it would be me who killed you. Throw down your arms and you shall both have a clean death,"the Jiralhanae ordered. Pel knew him, he realised; a devout fanatic by the name of Kronus. Pel exchanged a look with Grymar'ee. "You present such a tempting offer, but that would never do. Sangheili honour and all that; it's terribly droll, I agree, but that's the social convention." Kronus glared at him through the eyes of the devil, before turning back to his pack and roaring a command in their ugly language of hard consonants and seeming aversion to sibilants. There was a reason why Jiralhanae poetry was reviled throughout the empire. Pel knew their language well enough to understand, though. 'Kill them.' They rushed like blind Sharquoi; Kronus tackled Grymar'ee and a mixture of plasma and iron fire broke out, but before Pel could so much as let off a single shot another slammed into him from behind and sent him flying into two of the Jiralhanae, who picked him up as if he were a child and squeezed his neck between two powerful fingers. He kicked at their kneecaps fiercely, but their bones were as steel; they did not so much as acknowledge his attack, and all the while he felt the life being choked from him for the third time that day. To his right, the plasma fire had stopped and he saw Grymar'ee being crushed beneath the heavy boot of Kronus, despite the Jiralhanae the Imperial Admiral had taken with him. It was over. [i]I'm coming, A'sya.[/i] "Leave them!" a thunderous voice suddenly boomed, and the pressure on his neck vanished as he was dropped to the ground. All the Jiralhanae in the pack; around seven or so, though it was hard to tell with his eyes swimming as they were, shuffled forward to look at the wielder of this new voice, who stood at the entrance of the arch with a hammer raised high above his head. [i]A challenge,[/i] Pel thought in daze as he struggled to his feet, propping an arm against the wall. To the right, Grymar'ee did not make a move as he lay sprawled on the ground in a small pool of blood. [i]With luck he is dead.[/i] He looked out at the speaker and saw yet another Jiralhanae, but as he came closer Pel saw he was not of Tartarus' brutes - his fur was trimmed and clean, teeth white and free of waste, and eyes kinder than any Jiralhanae he'd ever seen. Kronus pushed his way through his brutes to confront this new Jiralhanae, and stared up at the raised hammer for what seemed like an hour until he finally spoke. "Who are you? Why do you challenge me?" The new Jiralhanae lowered his hammer and threw it to one side, as was customary. He bared his canines and roared defiantly, and Kronus roared back. "They call me Orpheus. Have you so turned on the old ways that you would refuse this challenge in the sight of gods and men?" [i]If he was smart, he would,[/i] Pel thought. [/i]Kronus outnumbers him by far; they could kill him in the blink of an eye, and then us.[/i] "Never," Kronus spat, throwing away his armour even as Orpheus did the same, and letting his stalactite-sized claws extend to full length. The other Jiralhanae parted around them, forming a loose circle and chanting primeval blood-songs, beating their chests and stamping the ground. "Whoever you are, it does not matter. Soon you will be another dead man at my feet!" [i]Thank the gods Jiralhanae are stupid.[/i]

"You really think there would have been peace? You're a more studious man than I, you must know of the humans' history. War, genocide, conflict. They're no better than any race, and worse because they've developed so much without external intervention. Too violent, but more importantly far too clever. Even if they weren't blaspheming, their destruction would come eventually," Ahkrin advocated for the devil he didn't follow, trying to throw off Jeann'ee suspicions. "That's Sangheili hubris," Jeann'ee dismissed with contempt. "And I do not believe it true. They seem clever [i]because[/i] there was no external intervention. They didn't have the prophets bring them impulse technology or world-seeders to found colonies and so had to create everything for themselves. If the prophets had not come as they did, we would be the same. We were exploring the boundaries of our world before they came, we had a small base on a moon. Soon we would have reached further." "Or fallen in self-destruction, like the Jiralhanae did. Even the humans were warring amongst themselves before we came - nothing brings divided factions together like an external foe though, and that's what we did. If we'd just waited a decade or so before revealing ourselves, they would have been far weaker and the war would be over in a few--" A red light flashed above Jeann'ee's head, and his jaw locked in a way Ahkrin didn't like. Anticipation swept through the cockpit of the phantom. "This has been fun, but we'll have to put the argument on hold for now," Jeann'ee lamented, tightening the straps keeping him in his seat. His eyes suggested Ahkrin do the same. "What's going on? Have we been discovered?" Ahkrin asked worriedly, straining his ears for the sound of a screaming banshee. "In a manner of speaking," Jeann'ee replied. "Don't worry, it's all part of the plan." [i]Boom![/i] Chaos sang like a dreaded choir as the Phantom suddenly jerked to one side, throwing all of them against the limits of their bracers. Ahkrin looked over wildly at Jeann'ee, who seemed calm as he had been before. "What is this?" he asked Jeann'ee, who smiled lazily. "Ours is not the only phantom which left home today; another of ours flies but a mile to the west. What the other pilot doesn't know is that his doesn't hold an IFF." Ahkrin frowned as he considered the ramifications of that. He did not know much of airforce procedures, but this much he did. "Then the Covenant will--" "Move to engage the other phantom, yes," Jeann'ee answered, and as if to herald his prediction the chilling caw of two vampire-class intercepters sounded from outside their own phantom. Ahkrin braced for the weightlessness that would take their phantom as the vampires engaged their tractor beams to prepare for boarding, but it did not come. Instead the vampires flew straight past, to the west. Jeann'ee stood up from his seat and stumbled his way towards the cockpit. He beckoned for Ahkrin to follow suit. Soon they were stood next to the pilot, who was hitting buttons with a professional ease. "We're being hailed by the intercepters," the pilot informed Jeann'ee, who stood with his back to the wall and arms folded. He nodded. "You know what to do." Ahkrin watched from the corner as the pilot opened the channel, and the driver of one of the two vampires flying towards the other, IFF-less phantom in the distance began to speak. "[i]Helmsman, we've determined the phantom ahead lacks a valid IFF. We'd appreciate your assistance in detaining it.[/i]" "Of course," the pilot of their own phantom answered smugly. "Dead or alive?" "[i]Dead. The sanctum wants no strays in the skies on this day.[/i]" Their pilot looked back to Jeann'ee for word on the matter. Ahkrin nudged him and shook his head sharply. They could not kill their own men, surely? Evidently not the case, as Jeann'ee merely nodded again. Their pilot returned his attention to the controls. "By your word. Form up on our flank, we'll engage the enemy on multiple fronts and punch through their shielding. Request you end communications lest they pick up the chatter." "[i]A sound plan. You have our thanks, we should feel much better with a helmsman at our side. Over and out,[/i]" the vampire replied, and with that the channel closed. Jeann'ee let out an arrogant laugh, and clapped his pilot on the shoulder. "You did well, 'helmsman.' Now, move us in to destroy that phantom and we can proceed to the dreadnought." "Wait!" Ahkrin snapped. "We're actually to destroy it? "It'll convince the Covenant we are of they, and allow us to head to our goal unmolested. Don't worry, the people in the other phantom are all volunteers, they know the danger." "Truly?" Ahkrin asked, relieved a little. Jeann'ee let out a bark of laughter. "Gods, no; they have no idea. Do not mourn for them, they're scum." "This isn't right," Ahkrin insisted, even though he saw the logic behind the plan. Jeann'ee looked at him with amusement, and even the pilot let out a little titter. "If you wanted 'right,' you've fallen in with the wrong crowd my friend. You've grown softer than I feared. Tell me, can you still wield a blade, or do you keep it sheathed for fear of cutting yourself?" "Push me any further and you'll find out. Is there no other way?" "Not unless you wish to journey by land, and one does not simply walk through the guarded checkpoints the sanctum set up around the dreadnought." Ahkrin could see the other phantom through a viewing window now, and it saw them. The phantom made no move to flee, not knowing of their intentions. It was not until the two vampires beside them de-cloaked and began to charge their tractor beams that they realised what was happening, and too late tried to run. Ahkrin turned away, wondering if any of this would be worth it. All he had was Sorran's good word and belief that the oracle in the dreadnought would speak. But then again, it [i]was[/i] all he had. He fingered the amethyst in his pocket and let his protest die. "Do it then, gods curse you." * "You mentioned you had a daughter. She is dead?" The words carried a memory still as foul as the day he'd experienced it, and Pel felt a lump batter its way into his near-strangled throat. Had it not been for the gun pressed into his back, he might have sunk to his knees and wept. "Chi Ceti," he replied, the very name of the planet bringing back many more painful memories. "My daughter... A'sya, she was a software engineer." "An unusual trade for a woman," Grymar'ee remarked as they walked. "But then, who am I to speak when my own daughter is a combat medic?" "You know the details of the operation on Chi Ceti?." "Of course I do; I... sanctioned it," Grymar'ee spoke with a tinge of regret, and Pel felt his blood turn to ice. He hadn't known; most of what happened on that planet was inked in black, even to him. "A crucible for the demons, where they trained and received their battle armour. Needless to say, when it was discovered the sanctum wanted it to be glassed from orbit." "... but it wasn't," Pel remembered, wondering where this was going. "They brought in a science lance to discover more about the demons. There was a hope we could replicate the process, make our own super soldiers." "A sound idea on paper. Had it not been for circumstances I could not have foreseen, it would have worked too. I sent in the [i]Unrelenting,[/i] it should have been more enough. Alas, its crew of kig-yar proved inept and the demons were able to both board and destroy the cruiser from within. A lack of faith, the hierarchs said. A lack of sense, I say." "A'sya was aboard that ship. It was you who sent her science lance there? It's your fault she's [i]dead[/i]?" Grymar'ee stopped for a second, roughly spun Pel around and thrust his bare wrist in his face; a intricate brand was seared into it - a sword and shield woven into the ring of a Halo; denotation of a grand commander in the covenant army. "You see this? It means I hold command over any member of the armed forces. That includes any auxiliary lances; scientists, researchers, medics - I lord over them all. I made the choice to send in your daughter's science lance to Chi Ceti in the hope it would one day yield us with our own demons. It went badly, I took full responsibility for the mission's failure, and I bear the scars where I was flayed for that. But I [i]don't[/i] take responsibility for your daughter's death. She knew the risks when she signed on, as did all who died on that ship." "She was not even past twenty cycles," Pel spat back. "That's war," Grymar'ee shot back. "I lost my younger brother when he was of an age lesser than that, but I did not mourn, for he had died with honour and duty. As did your daughter. I'm sure she would be disgusted to see the spineless shadow-scum her father has become." "So says the Imperial Admiral who has shirked his duty and betrayed his Covenant. I know why you care for your daughter's safety so, and it isn't love. You're inept, but through some miracle you managed to get your seed to sprout in some wench's belly. But all that gave you was a daughter, not the son you needed to carry on your bloodline and no matter how much you've -blam!- since, you've never been able to get another pregnant. She's all you'll have, and you need her to give you grandsons who can inherit the mantle of your house lest some distant relation take it after your death." "That's not so!" Grymar'ee spoke a little too loudly, as Pel intended. He hoped one of his guards heard. "I love Savara." "Maybe some, but I imagine if you had sons also you wouldn't be doing all this just for a disobedient daughter who disgraced her noble lineage." "... I would do anything for my family." [i]And I mine,[/i] Pel vowed silently. [i]Which is why one day I shall rip the life from you just as you took it from A'sya.[/i]

* [i]I'm no fool, Ahkrin,[/i] Sorran thought determinedly as he stole through the tunnel; a maintenance shaft which led deep into High Charity, it was exactly how he remembered it. His childhood had been different to that of most Sangheili, growing up outside of a codeine or land captain's hold and instead on High Charity, his father an esteemed deacon in the grand cathedral. After his mother had died, it had just been he and his sister, gods rest her soul. Their father had always been busy with whatever work the sanctum demanded of him, and so they'd been left to bring themselves up for the most part. Sorran's older sister had always looked after him when he was very young, until her arranged marriage had come to pass and she'd had to leave their home. Then it was just he and his father, whenever the man found time to return home. Much of his time had been spent playing with the other children - few of them Sangheili - and away from the sitters his father hired to watch over him. They'd often explored High Charity together, heading into forbidden areas as only children could without being punished. The Yan'me colony on the south side, the council chambers... and the navigation and engines chamber; childhood romps which now proved invaluable. The ground shook beneath Sorran's feet as he walked through the narrow shaft which had seemed so vast as a child; the follicles on his skin threatened to pop, discharge in the air tearing at him. Ahead, he could hear the heart of High Charity throbbing, and heard the clicks and whistles of the Huragok tasked with maintaining maintaining the auxiliary impulse drives of High Charity. To go after the primary drive would be as assured as tying a noose around his neck; it was heavily guarded. But the auxiliary drives... they were lightly manned, and with a bit of work could open a portal to the void just as well. Sorran reached a breaker in the shaft; a grav-lift reached up into the network of hard-light, providing transport to the ground below. He eyed it with anxiety for a moment, wondering if he was insane. Yet perhaps being insane in a society full of conformist slaves was a good thing. Mind made up, he tumbled into the blue light and felt the -blam!- sensation as his mass was reduced; he left the maintenance shaft and emerged into the colossal chamber which housed the auxiliary impulse drive, slowly descending to the ground. A huge column of Forerunner make punctured the centre of the chamber, with everything else built around it; Sorran knew the column to be a small segment of one of the dreadnought's three legs. Acid-green conduits raced from every aspect of the column into a large console which surged with latent power; the unfathomable Forerunner impulse technology coursed within, its secrets escaping all Covenant scientists. Another instance of the Covenant blindly copying what they did not understand. Huragok flew around the large chamber, most of them fixated around the column in the centre. It had been bastardised; the smooth plates which characterised the creations of the Forerunners had been tore away and the inner workings laid bare; when Sorran looked, all he saw was an impossible network of coloured lights and strange liquids which held their shape with no discernible containers; they shifted with every blink, the circuitry never looking the same twice. The Huragok seemed to know what they were doing, their tendrils buried deep within the column as white lights played about the limbs. They paid Sorran no notice as he finally landed, stepping from the gravity lift and feeling all his mass return in a sudden jolt. He took a few seconds to check no bones had fallen out of place, and when assured they weren't drew out his rifle and took in the environment. A few honour guards roamed, a token force of four Sangheili. They paid little attention to what was going on around them, obviously accustomed to their quarter being largely undisturbed. Even so, they could prove to be a problem if alerted to his presence; Sorran was by no means a poor fighter, but he lacked the skill or tenacity of more season warriors like his brothers, and doubted that he would be able to handle an entire group of trained honour guard. But he needed to reach the impulse drive. Savara depended upon it, as did their flight from High Charity. He siphoned a portion of energy from his shielding to the active camouflage systems in his armour, and grunted with satisfaction when he brought his hand before his face and saw nought but the wall behind. It would hold long enough, he hoped. After he was done... well, he imagined the guards would have bigger problems on their hands. Everyone would. * The phantom bludgeoned its way across the vast expanse of the city; beneath lay the sprawling streets of all varieties, not even a mile separating the vast mansions from the stacked slums. It was said that never in all the galaxy would you find a city of two halves more distinct than High Charity. "These skies are heavy," Jeanne said as he stared across through the window to the right of Ahkrin, who looked out the window too. He saw naught but an artificial blue tempered with the soft billowing of white cloud, a waking sun streaming hot reds through the micro-atmosphere. "It is a clear day," Ahkrin replied. "We shall run into no trouble from the weather." "I speak not of [i]weather,[/i] Ahkrin," Jeann'ee sighed. "Look at the city below. It is as black and white. Gold walks on platforms above the mud, and not a single fleck is left in the marsh." "You waste your metaphors on me. Speak plain and save your riddles for a scholar," Ahkrin snapped wearily. After all that had happened, not least between Sorran and he, he was in no mood for figuring out Jeann'ee cryptic words. Jeann'ee smiled, but it was not a smirk of arrogance as he had expected. "For five thousand years now has the Covenant bound so many incompatible races together-" Jeann'ee began. "As any child knows," Ahkrin interrupted, wishing to be spared from the tired old history lesson he had heard so much lately. It was not to be so, as Jeann'ee persevered. "Is it normal that the Sangheili cater to the whims of such a lazy, feeble people as the prophets?" Jeann'ee asked. Ahkrin gave a non-committal shrug, wishing there was someone else in the small cabin of the phantom he could talk with. "Or that the unggoy, so plentiful and tenacious with the capacity for great intellect, are little more than repressed slaves?" "Men have been killed for wondering less, Jeann'ee. It is the order of things. We find a species, we educate them in the way of the journey, they join the Covenant and the prophets get fatter on their stolen wealth. Who are we to argue against such... long-standing tradition?" "It only takes one match to burn a thousand trees, no matter how old," Jeann'ee argued, slipping again into figurations. "You think you are that match?" Ahkrin challenged, and received a shrug in turn. "If the kindling is right, then the smallest flame can make an inferno. Kindling like... whatever it is you seek in the dreadnought, perhaps?" [i]I had forgotten how perceptive he is,[/i] Ahkrin worried, wondering if it had been such a good idea to bring Jeann'ee along after all. If the man discovered the truth about the journey and more, he might abuse the knowledge without a care for the consequences. "Since when did you come an aspiring revolutionary?" Ahkrin demanded. Jeann'ee had always hated the Covenant, but he'd never before spoke of bringing it down. "My position gives me insight into the most despicable aspects of the empire the hierarchs permit but don't allow many to see. You slate me for smuggling and trafficking of slaves, but I'm not the worst of it by far and were it not for me, far more violent and uncaring men would run the underworld of High Charity. The things I do may be evil, but at least I acknowledge it. At least I want to see it put to an end, and that starts with the end of the Covenant and a new system of democracy and--" "The Covenant will never fall. What I seek in the dreadnought will not help you on your foolhardy crusade." "I wish to see the end to an autocratic tyranny which has oppressed our people and so many others for thousands of years. Have you forgotten so quickly what the Covenant did to your family, Ahkrin? And to your foster-father? Surely you would welcome their end." "To have it replaced by anarchy, or worse? Without the Covenant, we wouldn't need the humans to destroy us. We'd do it ourselves." "Who says?" Jeann'ee demanded. "We do not know what first contact is outside of the Covenant. The prophets tell us they keep swords sheathed, but I believe that were it not for them those swords would not be there in the first place. So much diversity and difference being pushed together, is it any wonder that discontent breeds like unggoy in heat? If each species were free to keep to their own worlds and deal with others at their leisure, then I do not think there would be strife." "Then you are naive," Ahkrin critiqued harshly. "There will always be war, whether the combatants live next door to each other or a hundred light years away. War is the only constant throughout eternity, and we will never be rid of it. All we can do is lessen it, which is what the Covenant does." "Then what of the humans? You've fought them, and who started that fighting? The Covenant. You may not know, but at first contact they presented the Jiralhanae with fruits and met them on the plains of Harvest hopeful for a peaceful coexistence."

* It was as though he were looking at an entirely different man, yet one he knew better. Not the traitor he had bested easily in the dim streets not hours ago, but instead the realisation of all the expectations and beliefs that had formed in his mind as he'd read of Grymar'ee's achievements and many victories so long ago at the academy. Would that he saw this side of the Imperial Admiral under better circumstances... circumstances which didn't involve him being in the path of a gun's barrel, for instance. "Need I repeat the question, shadow-scum?" Grymar'ee demanded of the Ossoona who sat on his backside staring up at the Imperial Admiral, eyes as wide as the moons of Sanghelios and mouth so wide that a colony of Yan'me could live within. "You may have hidden behind anonymity, but I know it was you who took my daughter. Give her to me and I might just let you walk with your life." [i]He really does care for Savara,[/i] Zharn realised with surprise; from the way Sorran had talked of the girl's relationship with her father, he'd expected an uncaring machine who loved his job far more than his blood. Here he was seeing the precise opposite. Zharn dared to shift a little to the right, and the gun in Grymar'ee left hand adjusted to accommodate, the Imperial Admiral shooting him a cold arrow of warning from the taut bow his eye resembled. Pel seemed to muster some small degree of dignity, and cleared his throat. "I understand your concerns, Imperial Admiral. I myself was once a father," he said diplomatically. "I know all too painfully what it is to worry for one's daughter, but I assure you, Lady Grymar'ii is quite safe and the Covenant will have her escorted to you by the Lights themselves once this current crisis is over. Now lower your weapon and place fleetmaster Thierr'ee under arrest, in the name of the hierarchs. That's an order." Grymar'ee stared dully at Pel for a few moments, shot an unfathomable look at Zharn and then stared back at the Ossoona again. "An [i]order?[/i]" the Imperial Admiral demanded in the iciest of whispers, painful seeds being carried by his breath. Grymar'ee lunged for Pel and had him lifted from the floor in a moment, one arm all that was needed to heave the Ossoona from his feet; ancient muscle tempered in the forge of a thousand battles bulged beneath the light fabric which sheathed Grymar'ee's limb. "You, a craven shadow-scum who sits behind a desk like some feeble prophet, growing fat from the crumbs swept off the table by the hierarchs; [i]you[/i] dare give [i]me[/i] an order?" "I speak with the authority of the blessed hierarchs Truth, Regret and Mercy," Pel croaked out. "As an officer of the covenant, you are honour and duty bound to obey--" With a nonchalant swipe Pel was thrown to the floor with disgust; Grymar'ee reached up to the rows of commendations emblazoned on his chestplate and scraped them away with the claws of his hand. "I serve the Covenant no more," Grymar'ee stated. "Now, my daughter. Or do I have to start breaking things?" Pel moved quickly, to his credit. The Ossoona leaped onto his feet with all the grace of a trained assassin and drew out from his person a weapon of his own; Pel fired the rifle at Grymar'ee, a shot which would have ended any other man. The Imperial Admiral was made of sterner stuff - the burst penetrated his shields and burrowed into his shoulder, but the burning stopped a few inches in. Grymar'ee looked down at the wound with a look which almost resembled annoyance, before bringing up his own weapon and shooting Pel in the foot. Toes disintegrated, and screams gripped the room. Zharn looked worriedly to the door; surely someone would hear the clamour if it carried on. Grymar'ee was obviously too caught up in his quest for his daughter that he'd lost sight of all else. Making peace with his own toes, Zharn spoke up. "This is madness!" he hissed harshly, drawing stares from both Pel and Grymar'ee. "Wherever your daughter is, Admiral, we can find out later. If we stay here much longer, we're like to be found and killed no matter how many medals you tear from your chest." There was a silence plagued only by the restrained yowls from Pel as he cradled his burnt foot, and finally Grymar'ee looked back at him begrudgingly. "What do you suggest, boy?" "We take Pel from this place. Then we take the information we need, no matter how bloody the words which come. I find my friend, you find your daughter. Then we get to the bottom of this lunacy. Right now, you're clouded by rage and it's making you blind to the danger." "... you're right," Grymar'ee admitted reluctantly. He turned to Pel. "On your feet, filth. We're leaving." "There's no need," Pel smirked, looking as though he'd reached high and found an ace crammed in some unknown hole. "Your daughter is close. Her gaoler has strict instructions to kill her should I not check in within the hour." A gasp escaped from Grymar'ee's otherwise composed self, and Zharn saw frustration in his eyes. The Admiral growled menacingly. "Take me to her, or the next minutes will be hard for you," he threatened. Pel shrugged. "I have been trained to resist torture, Grymar'ee. Everyone talks eventually, true... but your little Savara doesn't have the time it would take for you to rip the truth from me." [i]This isn't good,[/i] Zharn worried as he saw confliction fly around Grymar'ee, and a smug sneer reached around Pel's face. "A bluff!" Zharn called, invoking a frown from Pel, as if he'd just remembered he were there. "There is no standing kill-order." "You presume to know an awful lot for someone who doesn't even understand what is happening on this station," Pel spat back. "This is no bluff, Grymar'ee. She [i]will[/i] die." "How convenient," Zharn scoffed, searching for a way to win Grymar'ee back from Pel's clutches. "This one lies as naturally as we draw breath, Admiral. Let us leave this foul place and tear the truth and more from him at our leisure--" "Enough!" Grymar'ee shouted, his voice flustered. Beads of sweat raced along his brow like so many raindrops, paternal anguish trapped within each of them. "I cannot risk my daughter's life on a suspected bluff, fleetmaster... what do you want, shadow-scum?" "I want your oath that you will let me go after I take you to your daughter," Pel demanded, and in a moment he had it, sworn upon the gods, may they strike him down otherwise. "In return, I will leave you to flee this station with your daughter. Oh, and one more thing." "What?" Grymar'ee asked, beaten. Pel smirked, and looked at Zharn with malice. Zharn backed away from the stare, wondering just how the tables had flipped so quickly and with so few words. "Kill Thierr'ee," Pel dictated simply. Zharn looked to Grymar'ee, and found a fatal apology etched onto his face. "You deserve better than I can give, young one," Grymar'ee spoke softly with cracking voice as he raised the rifle at Zharn. "But this is my daughter. I'm sorry you'll never be able to understand that love." [i]No![/i] Zharn tried to dive for cover, but the Imperial Admiral's hand was too quick. There was a flash, and then a sound, and then it felt as if he had been punched in the chest. Zharn was thrown back to the wall, and when he looked down a hole had been burnt through his armour, and flesh boiled beneath. Darkness ate away at his dimming eyes, voices swimming around him. "That's one down," Pel remarked with satisfaction. "Two more, now... You are relieved, fleetmaster. Come, Grymar'ee. You've earned your daughter back." Zharn faintly heard them leave the room, which might have been a corridor for its sudden vastness. He saw a communications device bolted into the wall, and began a slow crawl even while blood and meat and liquefied bone dripped from his mortal wound. Every inch was a minute or an hour and brought the reaper closer, until his strength left him entirely and he collapsed. Shadows danced around him; demons speaking in otherworldly tongues as they claimed his soul. They could have it. He was done. A voice above, a devil perhaps. Crooning. Mocking. Or maybe not. A soft face through the haze, kindly eyes. An angel? "You'll be fine, stay with me. What are you doing here, Zharn? Hey, listen. [i]Where's Sorran?[/i]" [i]Sorran?[/i] his deluded mind pondered. [i]He's right next to me in the phantom. No, that's not right. Something happened. He's dead. I'm dead.[/i] "You're burning up," the angel muttered, a hand resting on his forehead. "I'll have to operate... I hope for your sake you pass out." He heard the unmistakable sound of a plasma knife being flicked on, and suddenly there was unbearable pain. He screamed silently into the darkness, until it heard his plea and smothered him.

* [i]He's... alive,[/i] Savara thought again, still struggling to quantify what she'd seen when she'd finally solved the arum. The holodrone, but a few seconds in length, had shown her Sorran, speaking with an older Sangheili. It was time-stamped but a few weeks ago. There was always the possibility it was fabricated... but for the life of her she could not understand why Pel would do such a thing, unless he was truly cruel. He did not seem cruel; ruthless and cold, certainly. But not cruel - a man like that could not understand mockery anymore than they could understand humour. No, she believed what she had seen to be true. At first this had filled her with a joy so intense she'd momentarily forgot her dark captivity, until when moving her hand to her face to wipe away the euphoric tears the manacles her wrists had been locked with chafed against the skin, snapping her back to her situation. Now she wondered, and to her horror suspected. Had anything about Sorran even been true? What if he'd been an agent of Pel, sent to infiltrate with the ultimate goal of... what, exactly? Coercing her father? Imperial Admiral Grymar'ee had always been a wild-card amongst the admiralty, perhaps this was the sanctum's attempt to bring him into line. It couldn't be as mundane as that, though. The way Pel had spoken, it had seemed like he worked to preserve a secret so terrible that not even he knew it. And Sorran was embroiled in it all, a seeming traitor to the Covenant. He'd seemed so genuine, so naive, so utterly grounded and free of any of the political and social traps of their empire. Maybe that had all been an act. [i]Or maybe I'm jumping to conclusions.[/i] Whatever was going on, none of it would matter if she wasted away in her cell. Pel had not checked in on her in a long time, and after what had happened with her former captor no other stood watch outside her cell. There was a camera in the very top right corner of the room, but it was old and inefficient. Savara had ascertained a blind spot in its range, and there lay the key to her escape. In his wish to keep her occupied, Pel had put the holodrone with Sorran's footage inside the arum. It sat now in the camera's blind spot, a beautiful ornament with an array of edged crystals decorating its intricate surface. This was an arum intended for display in a cabinet, not one given to children. Savara had spent the last hour grinding it against the cold stone of the wall, and the crystal had crumbled away under her tenacity. Its edge and point had become tapered and sharp, a small dot of purple graced its tip from where Savara had proved its keen on her own finger. The puzzle had given her the solution to her captivity; the arum was a weapon. It would not hold up for long, but it would be enough. She picked up the dagger-sharp shard of crystal, sliding it up her sleave. The rough edge grated against her blistered skin painfully, and she had to bite back a cry. [i]Once you step onto the path, do not stray. Elsewhere lies uncertainty,[/i] a stern lecturing of her father's came calling back to her. "Guard!" she called out. Her foot met the path, yet she struggled to see where it would take her. Her sole guide was the weapon she concealed now. It took a few minutes for a response, which was promising. A portly Sangheili lumbered into the room. His face was splotched, and he seemed fit to burst from his armour. "What?" he demanded roughly, glancing up at the camera nervously. No doubt he had seen what Pel had done to her last gaoler. "I grow cold," she pined. "Have you no blankets?" "We're not supposed to pass you anything but food and water," her fat gaoler told her abruptly. "I'm sorry, my lady." "Surely you can give me something," she sighed, her eyes staring at the gaoler's. "You must understand, stuck down here too." "... it is cold," her gaoler admitted. "I could pass you a sheet, I suppose. I shall be a minute." "You are too kind," she simpered, flashing him her best smile. The gaoler turned to leave the room, and looked back at her as he did so. When he returned, he had in his hands a light sheet which had seen better days; it was wrought with holes and dirt. Her gaoler moved towards her cell, and held a sheet just outside its hard, basic bars of metal. "It is not much, but it should ward away some of the frost," the man told her. Savara reached out for the sheet, letting her hand rest lightly upon the gaoler's arm as she reached to grab it. Her fingers stroked the clammy skin of the gaoler, trailing across it delicately. "But what of you?" she asked him in a near-whisper. The gaoler's eyes widened slightly, flush filling his skin. "Such a brave and noble man, I cannot let you freeze on my behalf." She moved her hand down the gaoler's side, caressing his waist and drawing him closer. She could smell his breath, rancid and strong, and had to fight back a gag. "I- I don't think- Pel would not be best pleased if-" her gaoler stuttered, letting out a little gasp of shock as her hand reached down to his crotch, squeezing gently. "He hasn't been down to check on me in hours," she breathed in his ear, her fingers playing with the catch on the gaoler's lightly armoured leggings. "He has more important things to worry about, and it [i]is[/i] so cold down here." The catch come undone, and her hand reached inside. Her gaoler let out a small moan of pleasure as her fingers played about his manhood. Savara's wide eyes stared with feigned lust into the small, squinty beads of the gaoler. "What say you, my sir?" she asked of him seductively, undoing her own top and baring the peak of her breasts to show. The gaoler's eyes moved south. She grabbed one of his hands softly, and laid it to rest there. "Won't you share my sheets with me?" "If the lady so wishes," the gaoler droned, courtesies mixed with longing as his hands moved across her body through the bars. Savara shuddered with disgust, and the gaoler mistook it for pleasure as he reached down to her loins. She backed away, smiling playfully as she lay sprawled on her thin bed and beckoned for the gaoler to come join her. The door to her cell was quickly opened as the gaoler waddled his way inside, and moved towards the bed, his leggings brought down to his feet and then discarded onto the floor as he pressed down upon her, planting an ugly kiss on her neck. His hands reached down, eager for what lay between her legs. "Oh, my lord," Savara moaned even as the arum slid its way down her sleave and nestled within her hand. Her trousers were pulled down, and she felt welted hands slide their way down her soft skin. He would reach no further. She struck. The sharpened crystal shard of the arum sank into the gaoler's neck assuredly, and hot blood spilled from the gash, staining the sheet he had brought her a dark purple. A small cry erupted from the man, but her hands grabbed his jaw and held it closed. The gaoler quivered violently, and then he died. Savara rolled out from beneath him, and fastened herself up. The gaoler was a pathetic sight, naked and still hard with lust even as the life fled from his eyes and his body collapsed into a pool of his blood. A small trace of pity struck her, but it was just as soon buried as she saw the fresh scratches his groping hands had made across her chest. Still, she could not help but feel a little disgusted with herself. He was not the first man she had ever killed, but even so she had sworn an oath as a physician, and no matter how many souls had fled under your hands, it never became any easier. The door to her cell lay open, and the camera in the corner remained immobile; Pel obviously wasn't watching her. Savara moved towards the gaoler's discarded leggings and delved into the pockets; she found the keycard she had been searching for, and a knife to boot. Savara pressed the glyph on the side of the hilt as her father's arms master had shown her so many years ago, and a sharp blade of plasma sprang into the dark. [i]The things fools do for lust and love,[/i] she thought to herself as she edged her way towards the cell door, running along the path now. A bright light lay at its end.