The final part of this Halo franchise. The final part of my prior works. I urge you to read those first, before this. Read and review please.

---

It was the last Tuesday before the end of the world when Lord Hood received an encrypted message. It was ONI coding. Lord Hood had no trouble deciphering them with the "skeleton key" (which was a code to decipher all UNSC encryptions) his computer was equipped with. Oh, if this computer had fallen into alien hands during the war…but it hadn't. And the war was over. For the time being at least.

Lord Hood, with passive interest, examined the message. He didn't bare mind to the source (it originated from a human ship, one of ONI's many). He simply examined it, watching the words, mind slowly baring recognition. Then he quickly read the words on the screen again. And again.

Lord Hood felt a slightly tingle in his chest, and took several deep breathes to calm down. The war, the stress, reconstruction, it had taken a toll on his body. His heart…he had to mind his heart for the time being. Nothing big, the doctors said, but just something he had to be wary of. So, swallowing, he typed at the computer, and opened a channel with his top generals.

Chapter 1

The stitches were holding well. Idly, Lazarus flexed the muscles up and down what was left of his left arm.

Six months ago, he had overseen the pillage of a human medical freighter. He and his pack (which by now numbered in the hundreds he was proud to say) took the ship with ease, and rounded the humans up. They cowered in a single room, a storage room, and begged for mercy, as they always did. As if this time, the raid would go differently. This time it did. Lazarus offered his mercy and granted them all life.

The choice to grant them life was unpopular, and it would continue to be unpopular for all this time. Several Jiralhanae threatened to kill him, take the rank of chieftain for themselves, then kill off his precious humans. But when questioned, he explained they were more useful alive.

It wasn't difficult to persuade the humans to tend to his stump. After a raid went sour not a week ago, and Lazarus found himself in a hand to hand fight with two Sangheili minors, his wound opened up again. The humans sutured far better than a Jiralhanae ever could, and he was confident that the stitches would hold now. The humans were like Unggoy really, falling into place when confronted with a show of force. Now they mostly did grunt work: cleaning, preparing meals, tending to wounded. They seemed to understand that while they worked, they were useful, because they certainly worked hard. And though they knew, routinely, they would be slaughtered for a meal or games, they still worked in the hopes of lasting a few more days. Lazarus felt disgust for them, and was at times disappointed that they didn't revolt more.

He stretched his arm, and then traced a finger over the stump and stitches. Despite their cowardly nature, they did good work. While they tended to his arm, he had Cascus at his blindside, staring at the human, waiting for them to finish. They had actually offered to "grow" him a hand, but he had declined. He was rather proud of the wound, and his pack was proud of it. It had become a symbol.

"Chieftain, incoming transmission."

Lazarus looked up. So odd to be called that. Despite his elaborate armor, he still thought of himself as just a captain. The sacred hammer Cascus had offered took a place of reverence at the center of the ship. He instead carried one of the smaller, one-handed hammers, though most thought it was a matter of preference and preference alone.

Cascus still had contacts with the Kig-Yar. Those that did not care about the Sangheili's vendetta and only thought of the goods and favors that the large, furry behemoth could offer. From them, Lazarus had commissioned several, for lack of a better word, shields. Of the same material as Jiralhanae blades, they were strong and solid enough to stop human bullets and Sangheili plasma, but what was really fascinating was the engineering that allowed it to fold to a manageable size when not in use. When idle, the shield was only about the size of a blade, and rested up the forearm. When in use, the flaps circled out from that long sliver, and spread out, locking into place. Lazarus had to smile at it, every time he blocked a Sangheili's plasma and drew close, only to swing the shield into their skull and crush it.

"From one of our ships?" Lazarus asked. There fleet had a strength of thirty now, a dozen Jiralhanae ships that has survived the war, and the rest captured and pirated over the year he had been at large. The crews were a mixture of Jiralhanae, Unggoy and Kig-Yar loyalists, and captured humans.

"No chieftain."

The front screen flickered to a basic map of the sector. A planet, designated I-33 by the Covenant, and "Hammer" by the humans (due to its high gravity compared to Earth) was highlighted. Lazarus paused, looking at the screen. That was a routine stop for the packs. The warm climate and comfortable weight reminded them all of Doisac, and though Lazarus knew full well the dangers visiting such a planet, it was something he could not bear to leave alone.

If the Sangheili finally had put the clues together, then this was a trap. The packs had taken to using hit and run tactics, hopping through sectors so erratically the Sangheili could never fight them. It would be logical for the Sangheili to attempt to corner them all on one planet, and crush them under heel.

"Send an order. All ships are to flee. Return in two hours, ready for a fight..." he paused. "If we are not here, then we are dead, and it has been an honor to fight by their side."

"Yes chieftain," said the radio operator.

"I need four warriors in the hangar. I will lead the investigation."

"Yes chieftain."

Lazarus sighed, flexing the muscled in his arm. Phantom pain. That's what it was called. He rose from his seat and headed for the hangar, looking over his hammer, shield, and plasma rifle. The hangar was filled with both Covenant and human drop ships. Jiralhanae were never picky creatures, nor could the pack afford to be. One thing they did insist on though was painting the ships a fiery, crimson red to contrast the green or purple their enemies used. Lazarus entered the hangar, and selected one of the Covenant dropships that had yet to be painted. There was a chance, however slim, that if the Sangheili attacked in force, this dropship could slip in with the others. A slim chance, but Lazarus had learned to take whatever advantage he could scrounge.

Kritius, Spurius, and Tiberius each were in the hangar by the time he arrived. They would accompany him. It would seem a Kig-Yar would be as well.

"I asked for warriors," Lazarus said, eyeing Tays.

Tays puffed her cigarette a bit, not bothering to lift her head and make eye contact. Instead, she was eye level with his belly. "Well, I'm bored. And I would like some fresh air away from Jiralhanae musk. Honestly, I'm rather afraid. I don't believe any females survived the glassing."

At about 5'4", with olive skin, purple hair worn short and spiky, and amber eyes, Tays looked like any other Kig-Yar. It had taken months for Lazarus to really recognize her to the point he was confident he could pick her out of a crowd. He doubted any Sangheili could do the same. Yes, there was a bounty on her head, but she could sneak back to Eayn without too much of a problem and live her life with the decent fortune she had accumulated over the years. So why did she stay, Lazarus often asked himself.

Lazarus shook his head. He needed to be ready for a fight. Him with his plasma rifle and shield and hammer. Kritius carried a human assault rifle with a bayonet cobbled on, Spurius a Brute Shot and Spiker, and Tiberius two Spikers and a rocket launcher across his back. These were men he could trust and rely on.

He took a deep breath, looking at the warriors, his warriors. His personal guard. He smiled to them. "The Sangheili think they are setting a trap for us," he said. "They are fools. They have given us a gift. When we return to this ship, we will have more weapons, perhaps a new dropship, and of course, meat for our bellies." With deep laughter, the Jiralhanae piled into the dropship that would take them down to the planet, and into the fight.