Prologue: The Breaking Point
Location: 'Zar Keep grounds, Rezukh'n Tropical Rainforest, State of Hezan, Continent of Shiaalo, Western Hemisphere, Sangheilios' Equator
Date: June 21, 2526
Local Time: 06:45 hours
A Sangheili clad in the filigree armor of the Keep Guard sighed as yet another early-morning storm rolled over his head. "For just one day, just one, I wish that we would get sunlight for more than two consecutive hours," the Ultra said. An underling, and warrior transferred from a neighboring Keep in their Union, chortled at his side.
"Surely, after living in this environment for twenty-seven years, you are used to it? Come now, brother, it could be worse; we could be stationed in Bygrezji, where it never rains…" He idly shook some of the mud from his boots, laughing again as he realized the action. "It is the mud, is it not? You tire of wiping that armor each day?"
"It is a pain, you must admit." He snapped his mandibles, knocking some collected water away, only for it to be replaced. Every day was, in fact, the same as the last; the two would rise at 0500 hours, begin their patrol at 0545 – in the rain – and finish to their station at the entrance of the main Keep tower at 0700. By this time, they were walking along the exterior of the northern wall when their routine was broken.
"Brother, look, up the road. Someone approaches," his companion whispered. The Ultra looked and nodded, confirming the sighting.
"Go warn the kaidon about our guest. I shall keep him at the gates until you return." He was thankful for the break in monotony as his friend ran toward the main tower, mud and water splashing beneath his boots with every stride. The Ultra took a few steps up the road to greet the stranger, a hand ready to unclip the outdated Type-25 rifle on his right thigh. The figure wore a hooded cloak, his hands crossed loosely within his sleeves. "Halt! One step further and you will be trespassing on 'Zar Keep grounds! Turn back immediately, or state your business," he called.
"I am but a messenger, sir. I have no intention of bringing harm to your keep."
The comm unit buzzed quietly in his ear. "Well," he demanded quietly.
"The kaidon says to allow him entrance. If he has come this far, we should, at the very least, allow him refuge from the weather."
"Forgive my outburst, stranger. It is nothing more than standard procedure," he said, beckoning the man to follow him. The hooded figure simply bowed his head once in a nod and followed him in silence. He scowled as they followed his companion's muddy hoofprints through Red Granite-lined hallways; the groundskeeper would not be pleased, for the mud in these parts stuck to the tropical wood like glue. They reached a checkpoint, where the cloak finally came off to reveal an average-build warrior wearing the black and gold armor of an Ascetic. Their blades and rifles were confiscated, as was tradition, and allowed to pass. "So stranger, what brings an Ascetic such as you to our rainy Keep?"
"Business."
"Our neighbors did not send word-"
"I am not from your Union, sir. I was sent by someone with greater authority than my own." The Ultra's companion was at the door waiting for them, and he opened it to reveal the aged kaidon standing before the full-sized window at the back of his office.
"What message do you bring, stranger?"
"Kaidon Raka 'Baezar, I bring a message from the High Council of Masters. They demand that you cease all operations within your Union, or face a harsh punishment. This is the final straw, kaidon; you have denied them far too many times."
Raka growled. "I have denied them, because we are doing nothing wrong. Now, something I do not tolerate is someone threatening me, my keep, or my neighbors." He looked to the Ultra and nodded when the Ascetic shrugged and turned to walk out.
"Your mistake, kaidon. You will know your punishment when it arrives."
The Ultra tilted his head when the Ascetic exited. "Are you certain?"
"You question my authority, Ultra?"
"No, milord."
"I want you to follow him for three miles, it is there that I want you to remove his head and take it back to the Council. I will not give up what we have simply because they feel threatened."
The Ultra bowed his head and began following the cloaked man upon retrieving his swords. He did as requested and followed the Ascetic for exactly three miles before calling at his back, "Stranger! The kaidon has a message for the Council!" He drew his steel single-edge blades when the Ascetic turned to face him.
"Killing a messenger is a serious offense, sir. That, and my blades would simply cut through yours." The Ultra tossed the blade in his left hand, the red metal glinting as the rain suddenly ceased and a single sun broke through the cloud cover. "So be it," he said, reaching for the hilt when the blade stuck in the ground.
The Ultra could tell that the Ascetic had trained in the art of ancient steel blades, for his stance and form was perfect, unlike his own; he had the stance, but what was still learning the proper way to hold the blade. They both reached out and touched the ends of their blades together, bowing their heads as the blades lowered. Distant thunder rumbled as they stared each other down, one waiting for the other to make the first move. The Ascetic let his arrogant impatience get the better of him, and charged the Ultra while the latter raised his blade defensively and waited. They met in a flurry of red slashes and sparks. Curses flowed from the Ascetic's mouth each time the Ultra parried his blows and pushed him back.
The Ultra smirked, for his opponent was losing strength now; he may have been practiced, but had no experience with the blade. The Xek'trei Union's Keep guard, however, held quarterly tournaments to see who would receive promotions, demotions, or be ousted in the event of one's death; the Ultra had participated in these tournaments since he reached the appropriate age, and had been demoted many times before his recent winning streak and promotion to Ultra. He allowed the Ascetic to charge one final time and when the Ascetic swung, the Ultra sidestepped, sliced off his opponent's hands and kicked him to the ground. "You have been crippled, stranger. Do you accept defeat?"
He looked to the bleeding stumps where his hands used to be and sighed, "Yes. What was your message?"
"Stand up." The Ascetic complied and looked to the sky, for he knew what was coming next. He closed his eyes with a smile as the Ultra's blade touched his neck briefly before leaving it. "May the greatest of Warriors greet you at the Gates of Paradise, brother." With that, he felt one final sting before his world became forever silent.
Location: City-State of Tarasun, Council Chambers
Date: July 3, 2526
Local Time: 13:04 hours
High Councilor Ralo 'Grodasee looked up at the sound of commotion outside the meeting hall. He looked to his fellows with a brow raised. "Perhaps our messenger returns with bad news," one of them suggested.
"Did you not hear me, swine? You cannot just barge into the Council Chamber without them allowing you access! One more step and I will be forced to take action!" There was a resounding crash, followed by a cry and a dull thump. Ralo stood as the doors opened to reveal a warrior in blood- and mud-coated filigree armor of a Keep guard.
"I told you, officer, I am here on Council business…but you refused to listen," the newcomer said to a fallen security officer as the Honor Guards before the Council podiums tensed. The smell of blood followed the man, and the source was made apparent when he tossed a leather bag in the middle of the floor.
"What is this?" Ralo demanded shortly.
"The response to your demand, your Excellences," He knelt down and opened the bag, only to pull out a severed head. A face Ralo knew all too well.
"Arrest him!" The man looked around, confused at the order.
"What have I done that warrants arrest? I am but a messenger for my kaidon."
"Just as he was. You are charged with the murder of an Azr'sju operative, guardsman. Take him to a holding cell this instant!"
In the weeks that followed, the Ultra was stripped bare and beaten into submission by people he knew to be criminals hired by the Councilor that had ordered his arrest. On the thirty-fifth day of his imprisonment, his body ached from malnutrition and the bruises he had received. He was surprised when a hatch at the bottom of his door slid open and a cooked cut of meat was offered. "Take it and back away from the door, criminal." He snatched the plate and set about shredding the meat between his jaws as the door opened fully; the dim light was nearly blinding.
Councilor Hefa 'Xardonee looked on the broken man in mild disgust and pity; never before had a criminal been treated with such conviction and hatred. Those charged with murder were usually just executed and the body burned, only for the ashes to be scattered in the wind and given back to Sangheilios; even criminals deserved to be treated as if they still had the honor they threw away in their impulsive act. "I hope it is to your liking…" The man nodded quickly, his pale cobalt eyes glowing in the dim light, "Good, because it will likely be your final meal. Stand, if you are able, and follow me." They walked through the damp and dark hallways until Hefa stopped at a metal door and opened it. "Now, you will bathe and make yourself presentable for the trial."
"If I may make an inquiry," the man said weakly. When the Councilor nodded, "What would the point be, if you are just going to take my life?"
"Because, boy, we do things differently here. Unlike you, we kill the unjust while allowing them to keep some of their dignity."
"Then, why the beatings and starvation?"
"It was not my decision. Enough questions, boy. Bathe."
He watched as the man dipped into the water with a hiss. "Fre'juz! This water is well below freezing!" The Councilor simply crossed his arms and frowned, nodding toward an open box of different soaps. The man took a deep breath and set about cleansing his hide as quickly as he could; he would pause often to shiver before continuing. "Do you watch all of the prisoners as they bathe for the final time?"
"I have seen much worse in my time, boy, believe me. I have a question for you, off the record." The man nodded as he dressed in the robes that were provided, "Did you properly, and traditionally, dispose of the body?"
"Of course I did. And, if it is any consolation, it was not murder. We dueled in the traditional way, and I emerged victorious. I did not really get to defend myself when I arrived…"
Hefa sighed. "I see. I will share this information with the other Councilors and see about getting your charge dropped…however, High Councilor 'Grodasee has the power to override our judgment and have you executed anyway." The hope that appeared in the man's eyes vanished just as quickly as it had appeared, and the pity for him grew. "I know you are being honest and that you were only practicing your right to defend your keep's honor. I am sorry, boy, but this is the way the Council operates. Follow me to the Chambers." As they reached the top of the stairs, the sound of voices could be heard beyond the wooden door. Hefa turned and said, "What is your name, boy?"
"Dran 'Rukzar, your Excellency."
"Wait for your name to be called before entering."
Dran nodded and the Councilor walked through the door, leaving him alone. "Well, this is how I meet my end? Executed by an overzealous High Councilor simply because I bested one of his political messengers in battle…what has our kind become?" He looked at the door when the talking outside ceased and the Councilor that had escorted him called, "Enter the accused, Dran 'Rukzar!" He was stopped by a security officer – the same he had knocked out, in fact – and shackled at the wrists. He was led to the center of the room, ambassadors and dignitaries from all over Sangheilios whispering excitedly as he was chained to the floor.
Ralo stood and spoke, "Dran 'Rukzar, you are charged with the murder of an Azr'sju agent. How do you plea?"
"Not guilty," he mumbled.
"I did not hear you, criminal. Speak loudly enough for everyone to hear."
"I said 'not guilty'," he rasped.
"Even in light of the evidence stacked against you?"
"Yes."
Hefa stood, "High Councilor, if I may speak…" Ralo scowled, but nodded once. "It has come to my attention that the accused bested the agent in a duel; fair combat. In light of this, I agree with his plea of not guilty."
More excited whispering broke out as Hefa retook his seat. "Silence! And you believe this nonsense, Councilor 'Xardonee?"
"The accused sounded sincere enough when he confessed that to me earlier." Dran fought the urge to smirk at the lower-ranking Councilor's snide tone. Ralo soon called for the others to make their decisions before making his own, and eight of the ten Councilors decided that Dran was guilty.
"Majority rules in favor of this Council. Dran 'Rukzar, you are hereby found guilty of murder in the 1st degree. Guard, take him away and bring in the next one."
"Did I murder him, or show him mercy?" Dran suddenly shouted.
"Mercy," Ralo repeated, confused.
"Yes, mercy. Did I show him mercy by killing him, so that he would never have to deal with the corrupt group of individuals that sit on their collective asses and talk politics, as if they know what is happening on our world?"
"Hmm, on second thought…Dran 'Rukzar, your murder charge has been dropped. You are now charged and found guilty of heresy. Take him to the interrogation chambers and have him prepared to receive the Marks."
Hefa stood as Dran was escorted out and the whispers broke out again. "What? This is ridiculous, High Councilor! You go too far!"
"Silence Hefa, lest you join him." Ralo smirked in a way the crowd couldn't see and spoke lowly enough for only the Councilors to hear, "The only reason you defended him is because your wife is from that region."
"I am sorry, brother," the security officer said as he pushed Dran to his knees and chained him to the floor. "I would rather die than have to live with the Mark."
"Shut up. You have a choice," Dran growled. The officer looked back one last time, almost apologetically, before leaving him alone. He simply sat there, mentally preparing himself for the torture that was sure to come. Much to his surprise, High Councilor 'Grodasee, Councilor 'Xardonee, and a young girl entered the room and stood before him.
"Kara, my dear, this is the one who killed your brother. Would you like to witness his punishment?" The girl looked up at Ralo, confused.
"Oh, you are a sick bastard, Councilor. This is not something a child should have to witness, most definitely not a female," Dran spat. The High Councilor slowly walked over, lifted his hand, and brought the back of it down to smack him with enough force to make Dran's head connect with the cold stone floor.
"I agree. Your daughter will not take part in this; it is immoral," Hefa said, already pushing the girl through the threshold.
"So be it," Ralo said to himself. "This means I get to have more…fun." He walked over to a weapon rack and grabbed a whip Dran knew to be Dekutresi. From the handle was twelve inches of woven leather, which then broke apart into nine fifteen-inch sections, or tails. On the end of each tail was a sharpened stone, or in this particular case, the same crystals used in the Type-31 Marksman Rifle. "By the time I am through with you, you are going to beg to join your brothers and sisters in the Hell that will be unleashed upon them."
Dran screamed as the first strike tore into his hide, the pink crystals adding to the pain of his wounds. He screamed until his backside was nothing more than a mess of raw meat and purple blood. When the Councilor was satisfied with his handiwork, he moved to pass Dran to grab a new weapon, but not before the latter bit the former's unprotected forearm. Ralo howled and struck Dran across the left side of the face, only three of the tails finding their mark. Dran let loose a bloodcurdling howl and thrashed against his bindings as blood flowed freely from the new cuts on his face and from his ruptured left eye. Ralo watched with perverse satisfaction at the writhing form, only to huff when his captive went still, unconscious.
Dran groaned loudly as he reawakened, the sound rising into a scream as he felt the burning sensation on his bandaged chest and left hand. In fact, his entire back and the left side of his face were bandaged now. "They really want to keep me alive…" He looked around as best he could, and found that he was chained to the floor in the middle of the Command Deck of a ship. "Ah, you are awake. It is about time," Ralo said flatly. "Hefa, hold his head in place, please. I do not want him to miss the assault."
"I am sorry. Truly, I am," Hefa whispered in Dran's ear, "I could not get him to change his mind."
"If I survive, I assure you that your death will be quick and painless," Dran growled back, Hefa simply nodding in acceptance.
"And now, to begin with a short conversation," Ralo keyed a glyph at his control panel, and a picture of Raka 'Baezar popped up on the screen. "Kaidon 'Baezar, this is the Undeniable Resolve. We have been ordered by the Council to bring Dran 'Rukzar back to your keep, and they would like to inform you that after today, all demands to cease your operations will come to an end, and also apologize for holding your Guardsman for so long."
"This is 'Baezar, to Undeniable Resolve. Send them my thanks and apologies, Shipmaster. You have clearance to enter 'Zar Keep airspace."
"Thank you, Kaidon. Out." Ralo turned to a soldier manning another station, "Get the forward batteries charged and ready…and the glassing beam ready, as well. Just in case."
"Right away, your Excellency."
"And now, to destroy your world, just as you destroyed mine," Ralo said lowly, still looking at the viewscreen as a familiar keep came into view.
"Batteries are already at ninety percent, your Excellency."
"Good," Ralo said, zooming in on an obviously-pregnant woman waving up at the ship. "Tell me, Dran, who this is."
"You fucking bastard! You will burn in the pits of Hell for this!"
Ralo smirked and turned back to the viewscreen, Dran's response being just what he had wanted to hear. "She is quite attractive. You made a good choice…pity. Fire the forward batteries, General."
"No!" The woman was gone in a flash of blue-green fire, and that was all Dran could see for the remainder of the bombardment; that one image was burned into his mind as they moved on to the other twenty-two keeps in the Xek'trei Union. Hefa had released his head halfway through the ordeal, not only seeing that Dran could not turn away as his world burned, but because he was about to explode with grief himself; he was very close to some of those people, as well.
Only when the evil deed was finished did Dran sink to the floor and weep. "Yes, cry like a foolish child. Mourn your lost loved ones," Ralo mocked. "General, I apologize for having to waste your ship's energy on such filth. I will find some way to repay you."
"No worries, your Excellency. Purge the weak and hopeless, I say."
"My sentiments exactly, General. Have this vermin taken to High Charity and placed in a cell with other Heretics like him."
"Yes, your Excellency." The General surveyed the damage as Ralo left, crossing his arms behind his back. "Humph, such a waste of potential. It truly is a shame," he said, more to himself than to Dran. "Oh, stop that weeping. It is pathetic. No wonder you chose the Home Guard over Covenant service; you would not be able to bear the loss of a single brother. Major 'Wexekee, get this heap out of my way." Dran heard a fist thump against armor before he was roughly dragged through several corridors; he was so crippled with grief, he couldn't bring himself to stand. The last thing he remembered was being stuffed in an empty supply crate and being kicked in the gut before his world went dark and silent. He was exhausted from his beating and blood loss, and he soon lost consciousness.