Hello all! I hope you are enjoying my story, and I apologize for the abnormally long wait in updates. But, anyways, here is chapter 6! Loss.

And now, we return to our feature presentation...

Zek panted heavily, leaning his hands on his knees as he watched R'vek disappear into the distance. "Stinking… Sangheili…" he panted, rolling his head on his neck as he gave up chasing R'vek and jogged back to the downed Phantom. "Why'd… they have… to have a home…. planet…. with higher…. gravity?!" Zek slumped down onto the ground, leaning on a piece of metal plating. Jyn walked over, and sat on his lap, Zek wrapping his arms around her. "Bet you never thought the day would turn out like this," he said, grinning. Jyn laughed, then coughed violently, clutching her abdomen. She pulled her hands away, and they were slick with blood. A large piece of shrapnel was imbedded in her side, its jagged, bloody edge just barely protruding from her flesh. She looked at Zek, her face pale.

"Zek…" she whispered faintly, and collapsed onto the floor, her breathing shallow. Zek's eyes widened in terror, and the spines on his head began to redden in panic. He knelt by Jyn's side, staring hopelessly as she slowly faded away with the blood trickling from her wound.

"Jyn!" he yelled, panicking. "Hang in there!" Zek began tearing through the rubble, searching frantically for medical supplies, but all he could find was a tattered roll of bandages. Zek's heart nearly stopped; there was no way he could save her with only this. Suddenly, he heard something behind him. He turned around, water in his eyes, and saw the female Sangheili R'vek had rescued standing behind him, looking strangely calm.

"I can help you," she said softly, and Zek's eyes widened. The two ran to Jyn's side, and Zek grabbed hold of the shrapnel, but the female pushed him out of the way. "I can do this better," she said calmly. "Also, my name is Q'tari." Q'tari gently grasped the shrapnel, ensuring that her fingers were touching the insides of Jyn's wound, and began to slowly draw the jagged piece of metal out. Jyn grimaced, unconscious, but to Zek's great surprise, the shrapnel came out easily. Once the shrapnel had been removed, Zek ran to his mate's side, wrapping her abdomen in bandages. Once she was bandaged, Q'tari again pushed him out of the way. She pointed her claws at Jyn, and placed her hand on the bandages above the wound, her fingers spread wide with her claws touching the bandage… and pushed the claws into Jyn's flesh. Zek's eyes widened, and he was about to throw Q'tari off of Jyn until he noticed the bulging muscles in her arm. Q'tari was exerting no physical force, and yet her entire arm was tense, and her knuckles were turning white. Q'tari winced, her body shuddering, and suddenly, her eyes snapped open. Q'tari let out a short cry, and fell backwards onto the ground, unconscious. Zek ran to Jyn's side, kneeling over her, and checked her breathing. It was shallow, and fading fast. At this point, time seemed to stop for Zek. Each labored breath from his love seemed to last for hours, and each pound of his own frantic heart was distinct and separate in his head. Finally, Jyn drew breath no more.

Zek's eyes widened, and he shook his head in disbelief, his spines blackening in grief. Tears streamed from his eyes, and he cradled Jyn's head in his arms, kneeling over her body. For the first time in his life, Zek truly wept, and facing incredible loss, his heart broke in two. He sat there for what seemed like an eternity, cradling his mate's head, and something fluttered beneath his fingers. Zek's eyes snapped open, and realized that his fingers were on Jyn's neck. Again, the flesh beneath his fingers fluttered faintly: Jyn had a pulse! Zek's eyes widened, and he lay her down, putting his mouth against hers, performing a medical technique that had been taught by the humans: CPR. Finally, Jyn began to draw long, wheezing breaths, her chest rising and falling rhythmically. Zek's spines went clear, completely neutral. He was dumbfounded. One minute, Jyn was gone, and the next, she was alive again. He turned, and stared at Q'tari's unconscious form. "What are you?" he whispered, and for the first time, he saw the brand on her shoulder. It was a series of letters and numbers three figures long. It read F-78.

R'vek stared in horror, beginning to panic. Mortis held Tira, his left arm crossed around her chest and grabbing her right shoulder, while he pressed the barrel of a spiker against the side of her head. Her arms were forced behind her, and her eyes were wide in fear. R'vek instantly pulled out his rifle, taking aim on Mortis' head. The deformed Jiralhanae laughed, grinning sadistically.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," he said, his spiker making a loud clicking noise as a round was loaded into its firing chamber. "Somebody could get hurt!" Mortis chuckled, and shouted a command in the guttural Jiralhanae tongue to the pilot of his ship. The Jiralhanae ship lowered until its crew bay was level with the edge of the cliff ledge, the metal platform. Tira looked like she was about to say something, but Mortis clamped his hand over her throat, cutting off her breath. R'vek's eyes were wide with fear; Tira was the only thing anchoring him to this world, he could not lose her!

"Mortis, let her go," he said, dropping his rifle to the ground. Mortis grinned.

"Why should I? After all, you took my face from me!" Mortis let out a long and terrible laugh, the voice guttural, heavy, and rasping. R'vek remembered when he had fought Mortis; the Jiralhanae had been serving under his command, and when the Great Schism had occurred, he had tried to kill R'vek. The battle ended when R'vek had caught the Jiralhanae in the blast of a plasma grenade. R'vek's blood ran cold with fear, and he put his hands out in front of him.

"Mortis, please, your quarrel is with me, not her!" he said, desperate. Mortis just squeezed Tira's throat harder for a few seconds, causing her to squirm and gasp for air. Mortis' expression was grim, and the flesh around his empty eye socket pressed toward the center of the hole, giving his scowl a terrifying quality unlike any other.

"If you want her," said Mortis coldly, his face grim, "come and get her." Slowly, R'vek walked towards the dropship, his hands in front of him. He looked into Tira's fearful eyes, trying to appear calm.

"Everything's going to be alright," he said in a quavering voice. "Everything's going to be-" suddenly, a loud bang resounded through the air. R'vek looked down, and saw a smoking hole in his chest about a half inch in diameter. Mortis grinned, smoke rising from the barrel of his spiker. For a moment, Tira tore free of his grip.

"R'VEK!" she screamed in terror, tears dripping down her face as she saw her beloved fall to the dusty ground. Mortis pulled her back in, slapping her across the face with all his strength. Tira flew across the deck of the ship, smacking her head against the steel floor and slipping into unconsciousness. Mortis jumped down from the platform of the dropship, grinning. He walked over to where R'vek lay, and grabbed the Sangheili by the collar of his armor, hoisting him off the ground. R'vek stared into his eyes, breathing heavily.

"You know, R'vek," said Mortis, grinning, "I think I'm going to let you live, for now." The Jiralhanae chuckled, his voice evil. "After all, I want you to know that while you live, I and my packmates will be doing as we will with Tira!" R'vek's eyes widened, and Mortis threw him off the edge of the cliff. As R'vek fell, he saw the Brute ship lifting off into the sky, and then he hit the ground and fell into unconsciousness.

Tira sat huddled in the corner of the Jiralhanae ship, shaking in fear. Her wrists were bound together in front of her with metal handcuffs, and tear streaks ran down her face. Her captor was across the room from her, sitting in a chair, staring at her with his grotesque one eye. He was smiling, and his eye was narrow. "You killed him," Tira said shakily, her voice quavering. "You killed R'vek!" The Jiralhanae laughed, throwing his head back. The long fur on the left side of his head shook with his laughter, and the seared flesh on the right of his face stretched grotesquely across his skull.

"Killed him?" said the hideous Jiralhanae, leaning forward in his chair. The metal pauldron he wore on his shoulder clicked loudly, and the Sangheili mandibles he wore as trophies at his belt swung on their threads. "No, I did not kill him. I have done worse!" The Jiralhanae chuckled deep in his throat, his laugh rumbling in his chest. "I left him alive, but helpless. I have you, Tira Kehrim, and your mate knows that he is powerless to stop me from doing whatever I want to you!" The Jiralhanae jumped up from his chair, running to where Tira sat. He grabbed her by the throat, and slammed her body against the metal wall, pressing his hand into her neck. Tira gasped for air, and the Jiralhanae produced a long, steel spike from his belt. Grinning, he slammed the spike into Tira's shoulder, twisting it as the barbed weapon shredded through her flesh. Tira tried to scream, but all that escaped her mouth was a choked gurgle. Blood ran down her shoulder, and the Jiralhanae dropped her to the floor. Tira coughed, violently, her throat dry and sore.

"You're wrong," she said, fighting the pain in her shoulder. "R'vek will come… and he will kill you!" The Jiralhanae scowled, and kicked Tira across the head. She flipped over, her back slamming against the metal floor, and her mind went spiraling into the black void of sleep.

John-117 crouched in the foreign jungle, a battle rifle in his hands. He was in bad shape as far as guns went; he only had the rifle, and he only had 100 rounds for it. Slowly, he crouched through the underbrush, making his way towards a plume of smoke he had seen rising from the jungle earlier. Twigs snapped beneath his feet, but that was the only sound the jade armored Spartan made.

"Chief, I'm picking up something big directly ahead, and its surrounded by multiple lifeforms," Cortana whispered into John's head.

"Human?" he asked quietly, stopping for a moment.

"No, and not Elites either. They seem similar to the Brutes, but their technology and armor is nothing like anything I've ever seen used," replied Cortana, puzzled. "I wonder what they are?" John grunted, lifting the rifle in his hands.

"Whatever they are, they don't sound friendly," he said gruffly, and continued through the foliage. Suddenly, the trees ended. John dove behind a large rock, and peered out from behind it. His eyes widened beneath his orange visor: he was in a huge clearing in the jungle, the trees cut away in a perfect circle. Brutes patrolled the area, but they wore armor he had never seen before, and carried weapons that looked similar to the old ones he had seen used in the war, but were slightly altered. A dropship he had never seen before lowered from the sky, settling on the dusty ground. It had a pointed nose with four long, sharp ridges extending from the tip down to the back of the craft like the directions on a compass, a perfect cross. The east/west ridges spread out to form wings, and sloped downward slightly, and instead of coming to a tip, there was a long, serrated edge. Two immense cannons were under each wing, and at the nose, there were two guns that looked like they fired spears. The immense craft was at least 2 to 3 times the size of a Phantom, and its body was covered in serrated plating. The entire thing was the color of bloodstained iron. The bay doors below the wing slid open as it touched down on the ground, and a team of four Brutes led by a chieftain hopped out, immediately taking formation, the four soldiers in a square behind the Chief.

The Brute Chieftain was an ugly piece of work; half the fur on his head was seared off, leaving burn scarred flesh under it. His right eye was missing, and a long, wicked scar ran across the gaping socket. It was then that John, noticed the leash he had clasped in his hand. Behind the Chieftain was a female Elite, her hands bound in front of her, a long chain extending from the handcuffs. She wore civilian clothing, a reddish sweater over a shirt that was probably once white, and a pair of woven pants beneath a draping skirt. A steel spike was stabbed through her right shoulder, and John could faintly hear her cries against the Brute holding her leash. The Chieftain turned around, and punched her across the face, knocking her out, and picked her up, slinging her unconscious body over his shoulder. John's body tensed in his armor, and he readied the rifle, preparing to charge.

"John!" whispered Cortana harshly, reprimanding the Spartan. "You can't go charging in there!"

"There's a civilian hostage who has sustained torture!" argued the Spartan, but he knew Cortana was right. These brutes had new technology that he had never seen before, and if they had an Elite as a hostage, it meant that it was effective. John watched in frustration as the group of Brutes walked towards an enormous tower in the center of the clearing, laughing and joking about something, though John shuddered at the thought of what it could be. John sat back in the foliage in frustration, and watched as the freakishly large dropship lifted off into the sky once more, turning and speeding away with remarkable agility. Slowly, the Chief began to walk backwards into the woods, and suddenly he bumped into something. He turned around, his gun raised, and saw a little Grunt standing behind him. The grey skinned alien was standing on one leg, his arms covering his face, and his left leg crossed over his body.

"Wahhh! Don't shoot!" the startled Grunt whispered harshly, shocked at the appearance of the Chief. John looked around, and when he was sure he was secure, he stood up, lowering his weapon.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, and the Grunt settled both of his feet on the ground, twiddling the fingers of his oversized hands nervously.

"I was going that way," he said, pointing towards the jungle behind him, "and then poof! Something bumps into my back! I thought it was one of the Brute thugs from the Tower, but it was really just you." The Grunt ran towards John, and wrapped his arms around the Spartans legs in a hug. The Spartan raised his arms in surprise, and Cortana chuckled lightly. "Boy am I glad to see an Alliance face! Well, er… you get the idea."

"Looks like you made a friend," said Cortana, and John scowled beneath his helmet. John-117 pushed the happy Grunt off of his legs, and knelt down until he was at eye level with the small creature.

"You do know who I am, right?" he asked, and the Grunt nodded happily.

"Yup! Daddy was a Separatist, and he told me all about the Cyborg!" said the grunt in a squeaky voice that was even more energetic than a normal member of his race. "He said you made the bad apes go BOOM!" As the runt said the last word, he spread his fingers and moved his hands in an arc in front of his face. Master Chief shook his head, rubbing his helmet with his palm: out of all the Grunts in the stars, he had to be stuck with the one that seemed to have caffeinated blood.

"Alright, then, what's your name?" asked John. The Grunt stared at him for a moment, seeming dumbfounded that the Master Chief had actually asked for his name.

"Kwakap!" said the Grunt excitedly, clapping his hands excitedly.

"Geeze, how old are you, 12?" muttered the Chief under his breath. To his surprise, Kwakap responded.

"By your years, I'm actually 9," he replied. John rolled his eyes behind his visor: he was stuck with a kid.

"Alright, Kwakap, do you have a communication device?" asked John, regretting it a moment later. Kwakap nodded happily, and pulled out a small device unlike anything John had ever seen from a pocket in his vest.

"What is this?" asked John, staring at the small grey box.

"It's a communicator! I built it myself!" said Kwakap proudly. John looked at him.

"You built this? Does it work?" he asked, somewhat cynically. Kwakap crossed his arms.

"Of course it works! Contrary to popular belief, Unggoy aren't stupid! Since I was little when the war ended, I got to go to school!" Kwakap said angrily, pouting slightly, but John was ignoring him.

"Cortana, see if you can signal the Arbiter. Give him our coordinates, and tell him what we've found," said the Chief calmly.

"Sure thing, Chief," replied Cortana.

"Oh, and Cortana? One more thing: tell him that we're going to need some big guns."

Thel 'Vadam plunged his sword into the Jiralhanae assassin's chest, twisting it in a circle as it pierced the Brute's flesh. The Jiralhanae howled as the blade burned through his flesh, and his body tumbled to the floor, dead. Thel sheathed his sword, walking out from the ring of corpses that surrounded him. He opened the doors of his palace chamber walking slowly down the halls. The bodies of the Guardians lined the hallways, many of them still carrying extended swords. Thel looked around in anguish as he passed the long windows: his world, his home, was destroyed. From where he stood, he could see the burning cities in the distance, and the brown waves of Flood sweeping across the landscape. Thel walked down the halls, continuing to the communications room of his palace. He opened the door, and saw the last of his loyal soldiers, the Guardians, standing there. There were about twenty left, and they all stood at attention, their ornate armor covered in blood. Thel walked down the middle of the long room, coming to the communications panel. He inserted a key into a slot, twisting it, and two small doors opened in the panel, revealing a red button. His face grim, Thel pressed the button, signaling a planet-wide evacuation. The battle for Sanghelios was lost.

Innocence sat aboard the Scepter, tapping his claws together. He smiled as he saw the once beautiful planet below him: it was utterly destroyed. He grinned as he saw ships starting to leave its surface; the Sangheili were trying to escape. Innocence pressed a button on his chair, opening the intercom.

"Open fire on the escaping vessels," he said calmly, turning away from the window. "Let none pass."

So, Sanghelios is lost, and Innocence is attempting to perform genocide. Will he succeed? That's for me to know, and for you to find out.

The winds of time blow on, shifting the sands of reality into ever changing patterns.

- Baeowulf