Thousands of miles above the planet's atmosphere, all was still. The stars shone softly, as they had done for centuries. Crassus, just a sphere of glittering gold brindled with murky brown, seemed so tranquil.
Suddenly, the peaceful darkness above the planet ripped itself apart in a vibrant crackle of blue incandescent energy. There was a flash, then a pulsing flare. Racing through this gaping rift ploughed the sloping prow of a Covenant Cruiser, the Pride of Sanghelios. Its hull was battered and scored with deep, simmering burns. The ship was alight in several places.
It was not alone. Closely following it was a second, much larger vessel; though not as sleek as the first craft, what it lacked in speed, it more than made up in sheer bulk. The Covenant Assault Carrier Implacable Duty glided hungrily after the Sanghelios, powering forward with murderous intent. Almost instantaneously its forward batteries began to fire, lancing out toward the rear of the Sanghelios. The smaller cruiser's shields flared, flickered, and then died altogether. There was a disquieting rumbling sound, and the Sanghelios' weapon systems fell abruptly silent.
"Shields down, Shipmaster!" announced one of the Sangheili manning a side display, fingers dancing across the controls, "Weapon systems are offline!"
The situation was beyond grim. The lighting on the bridge pulsed erratically, and for a moment it looked as though the cruiser might lose power completely.
Shipmaster Vtan 'Arume had earned command of this vessel twelve long cycles ago, in trial by single-combat. It had been his greatest hour, to be remembered in his family's battle poems for generations to come. Another explosion rocked the bridge. Now that time was at an end.
Vtan dug his talons deep into the rests of his command throne in silent rage, but his voice remained steady, resolute. He had little choice. To show nothing less than total concentration, even in the face of this dire situation, would doom them all.
"Engine status?" he enquired smoothly.
"Holding, Shipmaster. We have restored shields, by-" A warble of static flooded the Battle-Net for a moment, "-but for how long, I cannot estimate."
Vtan cast an eye about the bridge. It was beginning to flood with smoke. Several of the Sangheili manning their stations had already fallen prey to malfunctioning consoles as the ship's systems overloaded.
They had barely made it to Slipspace, such was the immediate-fury of the Jiralhanae betrayal. Now, here in this unknown system, the Sanghelios - the sum of his life's work - was finished. Here, they would be defeated; without incident, without vengeance. Where his career had begun with glorious triumph, here, it would end with naught but a whimper, a tiny historical footnote in some inglorious tome. Vtan's eyelids narrowed to slits.
Unless…
"Divert full power from our engines, and reroute everything to the rear shields on my mark!" barked the Shipmaster, "I will not see us run down without a fight!"
"But Shipmaster... our weapon systems have failed: we barely survived the transition from Slipspace!" protested the helmsman. "We have no other means with which to combat the enemy!"
"Silence!" Vtan bellowed, hammering his clenched fist against the seat rest, "We still have our honour and our own two hands! In the name of our forefathers, I shall visit pain upon those who would betray us, even if it requires me climbing aboard their vessel and un-seaming their entrails in person! Now do as I say, helmsman, and do not hesitate!"
There was a pause. Seldom did Vtan lose his temper. Calmer now, the Shipmaster took this time to key the Battle Net, issuing one final instruction. Behind his sloping ivory faceplate, Vtan's mandibles twitched in the Sangheili approximation of a smile.
"Brothers, brace for impact."
