Chapter 1

Counting By the Trigger Pulls

Hovering over his son's shoulder tightly pressed against Rude Awakening's stock, Leon's eyes darted from his form to his target about a quarter mile away. It appeared satisfactory, but Lukos was tense as he squinted through the scope. "Patient or not, every sniper is guarantees at least one death. He kills his target, and if not, then either he'll die, or someone he's supposed to protect by way of his kill will. Relax. Be patient. Mind your variables. Take the best shot. Remember where I told you the heart was?"

"Mhm," Lukos answered, refraining from nodding. Leon's smile shone with pride beyond his son's peripheral. The boy of eleven years slowed his breathing and controlled his exhalations before he gently squeezed the trigger. Down the grove, the doe fell into the brush, motionless.

"Nice shot, kid." Leon pushed himself up from the ground and with a crushing grip unfitting for his stature, pulled his small child up from the hill crest. "Mom's going to be happy with you for bringing a good meal home."

Lukos chuckled proudly, a smirk spread across his face as he slung the sniper rifle over his shoulder, the stock bouncing off of his calves as they approached the reward of their diligence, "It's been a long time."

"You cracking wise-ass jokes with me?"

"Maybe."

Leon loosed a laugh of his own before patting his son's shoulder, "I guess I'll carry the rifle while you drag food home. How's that for a smart remark?"

"Not bad. How hungry are you?"

"You really are a one of a kind, little shit, son. Guess I better carry her back."

His child nodded, "If you want to eat tonight." After a brief pause he concluded, "Or if you don't want Mom eating at you."

"She would be mad, wouldn't she?" Reaching the average sized doe lying still upon the earth, the Chorvos examined Lukos' work. "Looks clean. She didn't suffer." Leaning down on his knee, Leon muttered a few quiet words beneath closed eyes. Removing his hand from the deer's head, he stood and turned to his junior. Lukos pulled the sled to his father who secured it to the bed with the rope tied to it. He watched his father closely amidst the silence, a familiar, solemn thought of regret crossing his mind again before they made their return home.

Hardly minding the conversation between two distant, high-ranking Cabal, Lukos stared beyond the wind's tug on his scope's tarp and thin hazes of dust brushing past its sight. He listened to the faint tap of his gloved finger on the trigger guard. Paced in slow intervals, he breathed in deeply and holding it for a brief moment, he nearly felt the response to discharge a killing shot. Habit. A killer's habit. Instead, his hot breath expelled within the confinement of his helmet as he corrected his eyes, setting his attention on one particular individual in the meet.

This quiet. It was familiar. More nostalgic actually. Yet Lukos had no love for it like he used to. He'd grown too accustomed to working with Fireteam Shachal. Lately, he'd become numb to his opinions on hearing that identifier, but after Tharsos died, he used to despise every official instance he was referred to as Fireteam Shachal. One individual didn't make a team. Lukos swallowed the bitter taste this reflection produced and shoved the thought into the back of his mind. Since halting the Fallen assault, destroying the bulk of their fleet, Lukos' every attempt to fill the void of losing his final brother-in-arms felt like trying to fill a bottomless pit with water. As good as an addict, pulling the trigger on every contract he was issued since working alone again never gave him the slightest sense of peace. Furthermore, it seemed as if every time he returned to the City from adding another kill to his innumerable count, Petros remained in his comatose state. Until he awoke, Lukos planned to wait by confirming kills on things that needed to die.

Nothing felt stranger than to miss the damned thing, but Lukos did well to keep that to himself, even if someone was ever present to share it with. Even though it was his secret, Lukos did long to exchange some annoyed banter with the sarcastic Ghost. Whatever the construct learned at the Jupiter-adjacent relay was still a mystery to everyone. In his condition, perhaps Petros was clueless as well, but he had the best chance of knowing, and Lukos' patience was running thin. It wasn't in his character to say it, but he was tired. Never to the point of stopping him from fully avenging his team, but he wanted to finish it as quickly as possible. The Ghost's condition was the furthest from help in his goal. Petros needed to wake up soon. It was mere intuition, but Lukos could feel something disturbing stir in the air.

Reacquiring his attention, the Legate's furious reaction to his equal's words intensified their meeting's discussion. Furious retaliatory remarks were cast between them, and their guards, confused about how to react grew tense, readying themselves for a fight. As the Legates circled each other, cold words guiding their footsteps and challenging provocations forcing them to question how they would combat humanity, Lukos focused on his nearing shot. He noted the variations required to be accounted for and just before their next footfalls, his once tapping finger squeezed the trigger. As unfailing as Finger of God always was, the round bore menacingly through their dense skulls and sent their massive bodies crashing to the ground before the troop of startled Centurions and Legionnaires. Miles away from their impossible odds at exacting revenge, Lukos casually picked himself up before tracing his steps back to the alcove-wrapped scout ship he concealed less than three minutes away. As he engaged his flight, all he could think about was how things never stayed the same. Where regrets of killing had frequently crossed his mind, he found none today. How long had it been since he did, Lukos didn't know the answer.

Exhaling, Lukos knew he was mentally shot when the racket of the hangar didn't make him cringe. Hopping out of the scout's cockpit and pacing to the exit, he just wanted to go get a drink and call it a day.
"Lukos!" The Hunter delayed in facing the woman's call. Romphaia grinned as she looked him over, leaving none of her thoughts to the imagination. "Just get back to collect an assignment or turn in?"
He laughed, "I guess you're heading out late."
She sighed, "Yeah, scouts reported the Fallen were making an incursion just outside of the Wall. Trying to knock a mountain down with a drop of water."
"I'm surprised they're still at it. You'd think they'd figure out when to accept defeat." Romphaia nodded with amusement. "Will it make you feel better if I sleep well for you?" She leaned against her hip and crossed her arms. Lukos chuckled, "I know what you're thinking."
"You sure about that?"

A corner of his lips curled into a smirk, "It kills you that instead of being pursued, you're on the chase, doesn't it?" The Warlock squinted and stared, playing coy. "I'll see you later, Romphaia. Have fun." Lukos smiled and turned around, leaving the Awoken woman trying to hide her own before she joined her sister and the rest of Nekosheth.
"Oh before I forget!" she called after him. "I heard you're needed at Council Hall. Guess you're not turning in as early as you thought." Snickering playfully, she spun on her heel and walked away, alluring Lukos with her sensual gait. He took more than a moment to receive her message, but then left wondering if he would get any good news from the councilors.

After his brisk walk to the Council Hall, he was met by a troop of guards armored in a dark blue uniform shared among them. One with an unknown form of chevrons greater than his subordinates nodded his head at the entrance, "They've been waiting."

"That so?" an uncaring Lukos said before pushing past those who opened the broad doors. They turned most of the lighting off, and he could barely tell who was present at their arced desk. "Calling so late?"

"Forgive us, Guardian Chorvo. We knew you were already on assignment."

Lukos dismissed Arana Shomah's apology with a curt shake of his head. Arriving before them, he looked the four attendants over. Selana's father was missing from the committee. He seemed to be absent more often than not now.

"Helios Kaiah isn't joining us tonight. Ideally, this will be a short gathering, assuming you allow it to be," Councilor Herpeton said.

"You won't get any complaint from me, unless it's absolutely necessary."

The Hunter was answered with an uncomfortable silence. "Your service has been exemplary, all outbursts and... differences of opinion set aside. Even since your disallowed operation at Jupiter and its unfortunate outcome."

"Get to the point already. I got a short night waiting on me."

"...But," Chanan Manda continued, "We have had deliberations amongst ourselves and the FOTC regarding the status of your 'unit'."

Lukos clenched his jaw, "Fireteam Shachal."

"We want to take care in saying this is not an assault on its commission. The City would like nothing more than to keep the state of Shachal active. However, it, as well as every other fireteam has always been a unit of more than a single member."

"There have only been two Shachal units. Rules change easily."

Chanan lowered his eyes as Naros glanced at him. The latter continued, "We expected such a response from you, so ahead of time, we formed a contingency. A compromise. If you agree to take on just one partner, we won't have any further qualms regarding Shachal's roster." They watched a quiet and reluctant audience.

"You can't stop a dog insisting to piss on a post. I take it I don't have much choice... I admit, I'm surprised you're content to enroll just one Guardian, knowing all of you. If I knew what I was gonna be walking into, I'd expect to hear, 'A fireteam at all times must have a compliment of at least three members'."

"So you won't call it a fireteam then," Councilor Polemos sneered. "Call it a cell. An assassination cell."

"Enter," Naros commanded.

From the adjacent room, a man pushed its door ajar and approached, his every movement riddled with the appearance of a greenhorn. Lukos scoffed and shook his head as the man stopped mere feet from his side and snapped to the Council's attention.

"At ease, soldier," Councilor Polemos told him.

All the while, Lukos stared at the other Hunter in hushed amusement. "Seriously? Who the fuck is that guy?"

"Your new teammate, Sikario Dolos."

Lukos frowned at the councilors, "He looks like he just popped out of his momma. He's just gonna get in my way."

"Don't let his appearance fool you. He's proved himself to be quite talented during his training. A recent graduate or not, he would make a good addition to the team," Naros replied. Lukos growled and made his prompt exit. By now, the members of the High Council were very familiar with his lack of agreeability and didn't attempt to stop him. Regardless of his position, their decision was final.

"I finished your damned mission," he hissed before disappearing from the hall.

Outside, Lukos shoved through the building's guards, and at the bottom of the steps, his unwanted acquaintance grabbed him by his arm. In response, Lukos spun around switched the hold, pressing his knife against Sikario's armpit.

"Don't grab me like that. That clear to you?"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Sikario stuttered. "Sorry. I just wanted to greet you personally."

Releasing his hold on him, Lukos sheathed his weapon, "What for?"

"Listen, I get it. I'm a stranger making himself comfortable in your home. You're angry, and I can't say I blame you." The Awoken graduate stood taller than Lukos, but even then, it seemed very much like Lukos was looking down on him. "I heard about what Fireteam Shachal did to stop the Fallen. I couldn't believe how you and Tharsos Katenos went against those odds. I really don't want to ramble on, but it was truly an inspiration to me. I know it wasn't too long ago, and I was on my way out of training, but I knew I would hold myself to your standard."

"Lucky you," Lukos mocked.

Sikario blinked his storm gray eyes and nodded as Lukos' inferior, "When I was approached with the offer, I couldn't believe it. Honestly, I already anticipated how you would react. You might not know it, but you're not much of a secret anymore." He chuckled, but the act wasn't received. "I just want you to know how much of an honor it's going to be to serve with you. And I won't act against your orders."

Lukos grew quiet. Sikario was especially uneasy as the recipient of a stone cold glare. "Don't follow me anymore tonight. I'll see what you're made of tomorrow, kid."

"You can sense it, can you not?"

The Messenger replied, "Normally I would count it a fortune that our presence seems to have gone unnoticed, Theron." He neared his fellow Exo and placed a keen gaze on her face. "Yet this advancement bodes ill, any and all accomplishments included."

"Do you believe it is possible at this stage for us to recover and mount an offensive?" Theron then asked.

She stepped away and stared hopefully upon the ancient landscape, steel torn and wrenched, mixed amidst the fading earth. "We both know there is but one way to victory and it will not come without pains. I am entrusting you with a great task, brother."

(Author's note: For those of you whom have read Shachal in full, this continuation seemed like an unlikelihood. I know it's been a while, a long time in fact, and I'm sorry for the huge delay, and I won't make any promises I can't keep. I still may not be able to be the most prompt author. I've been pretty busy and occupied with life, but I will do my best all the same. In the end, this is still for your enjoyment, and I hope I've accomplished that with this start.)