[i]"An assignment already? You only just arrived here,[/i]" she pouts the morning after, as they lie entwined in each others arms. He grimaces reluctantly as he pulls away from her slender arms, looks down at the order beeping on the communicator bound to his skin. "[i]War does not care for the wants of those who fight it,[/i]" he replies sadly, rolling out of bed and standing up. Her eyes follow him with admiration as he moves to pick up his clothes and armour, strewn across the floor wrapped in her own. "[i]I'm sure it can wait a few more minutes,[/i]" she retorts coyly, an impish grin crossing her face. He turns, a sly smile gracing his too-young-for-war face as he moves back towards her. He reaches down, shadowing her with his large torso, gently pulling the covers away from her body-- With a start, the memory ended and Savara found herself snapped out of the dream, back in the cold, unforgiving morgue. A biting wind had swept in, a snatch of the atmosphere from the planet High Charity mined. Sorran's grave stared up at her, the flowers she had laid by it fluttering in the breeze. And finally, Savara was hit by the realisation that he was gone forever. Tears sprang into her eyes, falling like tiny diamonds down her ashen face, striking the harsh purple of the ground as they fell yet further. She felt two frail hands grab her shoulders with all the tightness those old hands could muster, and she turned her weeping head slightly to find Convalescence smiling at her sadly. He didn't say anything; he didn't need to. With a final, great sob, Savara lapsed into his embrace and cried into his shoulder. "[i]Don't worry, it's just a standard siege. I'll be back to you before you know it, my sweet. I love you,"[/i] he says with passion, before pulling away to join Zharn and Ahkrin in their shuttle. She stands and watches him leave, too stunned by his proclamation of love to return it. Now she would never have the chance. * * * "Well, well," newly appointed Fleetmaster Xatan'ee grinned, pacing up and down the line of chained humans in the ship's prison. "How the tables have turned." He pressed a holographic button fixated around his wrist, and the opaque shield obscuring the viewing window that was the entire outer wall of the narrow corridor turned transparent. Xatan'ee had the window installed personally; he loved his prisoners to see the harshness of the vacuum he would toss them out of. This time though, he had something for more chilling to show them. Eridanus II was burning. The planet which had once been a core colony of humanity was being subjected to the ultimate punishment of the holy Covenant. Hundreds of ships swarmed over the stratosphere, firing down glassing beams and turning the surface into molten glass. Their capital cities, their megastructures, their museums, houses, history; all of it, burnt to ash. Xatan'ee turned back to face the five hundred or so prisoners he had spared for his enjoyment. Tears were in many of their eyes; primal rage was etched into all of them. A little girl clutched her mother's leg tightly, burying her sobbing face into trousers still stained with the blood of her father, who Xatan'ee had executed minutes before on a whim. "You bastard!" a young man shouted, his fury making him forget the chains which bound him. Xatan'ee laughed as the man strained pathetically against the plasma bonds which held him firmly in place, clapping his hands with glee. "I like your attitude, boy. I think I'll kill you last; we'll see how gutsy you are standing amidst of the corpses of all your fellows," the fleetmaster decided, nodding. The young man suddenly stopped struggling, and fell back. "For god's sake, there are children here. Surely you won't kill them?" a dark man with a haunted look in his eyes asked softly, hand tightly grasping the shoulder of his young boy, shielding his gaze from Xatan'ee. "It is not I who will kill you, heretics. It is the will of the Forerunners, blessed be they; I am merely the instrument through which they play. Perhaps, through my holy cleansing, your souls may be deemed fit to travel the Journey," the fleetmaster replied with reverence. "Fleetmaster, we do not kill children," Zharn finally spoke up, after having watched the scene before him uncomfortably for so long. "It is not the Sangheili way." Xatan'ee glanced over his shoulder at Zharn, and when he spoke it was in a completely normal tone, absent of any insanity that marred it when he spoke to the captive humans. The juxtaposition was chilling. "They aren't children, Zharn," Xatan'ee laughed uncertainly, seemingly puzzled by the other Sangheili's words. "Merely smaller versions of the daemons they will soon become. You must know this." Zharn merely nodded slowly, disturbed. He knew now why the Covenant had appointed Xatan'ee as fleetmaster; he was utterly ruthless, and a complete psycopath. The perfect man to commit genocide without so much as blinking. "You can kill us all, split-lip, but it'll be a mercy compared to what the UNSC will do to you!" a female marine screeched defiantly, tears burning fierce trails down her bruised face. Xatan'ee murderous gaze turned to her, and he walked over to where she stood chained, towering over her. "The UNSC? Your UNSC has left you all to die," he breathed loudly into her quivering ear, before suddenly drawing out his sword, hilt stained to the core with crimson, and drove it into the marine's stomach forcefully. And he didn't stop there. Still leaving the sword lodged firmly in her, he drew out a smaller knife and hacked down with it into her head. The plasma blade entered through the back and emerged through her now-dead eyes, burning her once-pretty face away into boiling flesh. Xatan'ee then dug his claws into her limp neck, and with a bloodthirsty rar began to tear at the frail skin, puncturing her trachea as if it were the wing of a butterfly and tearing her neck open, the blood splashing all over the floor. The little girl screamed as she was drenched in the fluids of the dead woman, blood and sinew flying over the floor. Zharn watched with disbelief, sick to the gut. The rest of the human prisoners could only stare helpless in horror as Xatan'ee continued to defile to corpse of the one who had spoken out against him. He looked beseechingly to the guards, but they had simply turned away from the barbacity pointedly. They'd obviously encountered this aspect of Xatan'ee many times before. Finally, the man of about ninety who had been chained next to the dead marine couldn't take it any more, and tried in vain to push to much taller and stronger Xatan'ee away. The Sangheili fleetmaster laughed at the pitiful attempt, and, dropping the corpse, turned with a malicious grin on the old man. "Why do you fight? Surely you know you can never defeat us," Xatan'ee mocked, towering over the small, cowering man. Zharn stepped forward against his better judgement, hearts pounding nervously. The blood-crazed fleetmaster took his sword from what remained of the woman's body, and brought it up, the plasma crackling dangerously as it ionised the blood trapped within. With a feral cry, Xatan'ee thrust the blade forward-- "Enough!" Zharn shouted, intercepting Xatan'ee's arm as it came crashing down and staying his blade. A deadly silence suddenly fell on the room, and even the humans were too shocked to be relieved. Xatan'ee's guards finally turned around, and converged on Zharn, but the fleetmaster held them at bay with his free hand. He stared incredously down at Zharn. There was silence for what seemed hours, pervaded only been the fountain of blood still leaking from the dead marine, what remained of her face staring blankly up at the ceiling. Finally, the fleetmaster broke the quiet. "You dare to interfere in my holy crusade?" he demanded with rage, looking for all the world as if he was about to do to Zharn what he did to that poor marine woman. Zharn stared up at him defiantly, terrified inside but determined not to show it. He drew in a breath, and chose his words carefully. "Holy crusade? You're a disgrace to our people, Xatan'!" he bellowed, intentionally leaving the honourific 'ee' off the end of his name. "Where is your honour? Your respect for blood and death? You are no Sangheili." Xatan'ee finally wrestled his arm away from Zharn's grip, and backed away a little. He chewed his jaw angrily, eyes bulging with anger. "You have authority on the ground, Zharn. But this is [i]my ship[/i], [i]my fleet,[/i] and you will obey [i]my command![/i] Do you comprehend me?" "No," Zharn replied defiantly, his hand on his own sword now. Xatan'ee stood quiet then, framed by the destruction of the planet below. "... so, it has come to this. We have only just met, Zharn, and already you are invoking the right of challenge?" Xatan'ee demanded, unable to believe he was being defied. "There is no need to for anymore violence, Xatan'ee," Zharn replied placatingly, shaking his dead. "All I am saying is that I believe you are unfit to be fleetmaster, and I cannot stand by and let you tarnish the honour of all Sangheili through your insane actions. But I have no wish to challenge you." The words echoed through the long corridor, reverberating off every beating heart in the room. Xatan'ee shook his head, smile long gone now. "You already have. We will meet in the dueling arena at dawn, and fight in a duel to the death. The victor claims the other's honour, and any command he may possess. Do you agree to these terms?" [i]Gods help me,[/i] Zharn prayed. "If there is no other way for us to resolve this. then I will duel you, Xatan'ee. And if there's one thing you realise before you draw your blade tomorrow, make it this -- I will win... and I [i]will[/i] kill you." [Edited on 05.25.2011 4:24 PM PDT]