Fifty-three kilometres east of Horizon, a ragged trench of fire and smoking metal tore deep into the desert floor. The sand had been branded a scorched black. At the end of this trench lay the Pride of Sanghelios; a once-proud and regal warship of the Covenant Fleet, now resembling a grotesquely burnt bleached whale. It had sunk down into the sand, like a smouldering meteor. The ship's surface was cracked and pitted; the purple hull plating all but sheered away from the violent, tumbling impact. For hundreds of meters around, a minefield of burning debris sizzled in the morning sun. Inside, things were a stark contrast.
There was darkness; total and absolute.
Above him, lights flickered. He felt distant heat, and could dimly hear the soft crackling of flames. Slowly, the world began to swirl its way back into focus. Something groaned.
Vtan realised it was him. His fingers groped about for a handhold. He felt the edge of a seat, his grip biting deep into the cushioning. The Shipmaster hauled himself back up into the command throne groggily. Warning icons on his helmet's display fizzled as his combat harness' shield system slowly hummed back to life. As his vision cleared, he realised the only sources of light were the amber glow of licking flames in the far reaches of the chamber.
"Status report!" Vtan croaked.
Nobody answered. Like all Covenant vessels, the ship's bridge was comfortably nestled in the centre of the ship. As such, it was the most structurally secure location, impervious to all but the most critical of injuries. That so many of the bridge crew had been tossed about like rag dolls did not bode well.
Unlike Vtan, the bridge crew did not have the luxury of a command throne, and so found themselves piled in an ungainly heap at the far end of the chamber. Thankfully, all were still breathing. Their combat harnesses had saved their lives.
The first to recover was the helmsman, Zuka 'Ornon. He moaned, coughed, and rolled over onto his back, nursing a hand over his chest protectively. His normally polished crimson armour had been scalded black in several places. Vtan staggered over toward him, extending a helpful hand.
"It seems as though we made it here in one piece, Helmsman," Vtan observed wryly, "No thanks to your piloting."
Zuka chuckled darkly as he grabbed the Shipmaster's wrist, hauling himself to his feet.
"My apologies, Shipmaster." Zuka retorted, "Next time I shall try and land without the ship's engines exploding."
"I look forward to it." Vtan replied, clapping him on the shoulder. "See to the others, we must act quickly."
Zuka saluted, and moved off to help the other Sangheili. Vtan craned his neck around and spoke a single name over his shoulder.
"Rukth."
The smoky air rippled behind him, tracing a vague outline. A faint shimmering blur hummed into focus, revealing a heavily scarred Sangheili, his head bowed in reverence. Rukth 'Kilkar's left eye had burst in the impact. Purple ichor dripped down onto his mandible plating. If it bothered him, he gave no sign. The two Sangheili - Vtan, a pearlescent white; Rukth, an ebony shadow - folded their fists across their breast-plates in mutual respect.
"Well met, Shipmaster." Rukth's voice was a lethal whisper. Fitting, given his status as a Special Operations Sangheili.
"You are injured." Vtan noted.
"The wound is inconsequential, Shipmaster." Rukth shook his head, "It shall not impede me."
"Nothing ever does. Our status?"
"Grim. We have lost most of our power, though rudimentary life support remains. Regrettably, all hatches and grav-lifts have ceased functioning. Were it not for our energy swords, and the strength of the Mgalekgolo, we could have found ourselves entombed within our own vessel."
Rukth paused to swipe some blood away from the forward sloping mandibles of his helmet, before continuing.
"The air in the lower decks is thick with the taste of radiation - I dare not risk my remaining men in further investigation, but we must assume that most of the Huragok and Unngoy onboard have fallen prey to its taint."
Vtan listened to the news somberly. Like all Sangheili, he viewed the other species as lesser beings, but as Shipmaster he took no pleasure in hearing their fate. His crew deserved better. Sensing this, the darker Elite's mandibles tightened in discomfort.
"I… am sorry to say, Shipmaster, but your ship shall not travel the stars again."
"I expected as much." Vtan's voice was resigned, though any bitterness he might have felt did not show, "The Pride of Sanghelios may have come to an end, but that does not mean I shall allow its crew to share the same fate. We will avenge its name, and those that have given their lives in its service."
Rukth nodded in approval.
"It is good that you do not lose clarity, Shipmaster. I have sent my men to scour a path through the vessel. Already, your personal Mgalekgolo have cleaved their way toward the starboard passages."
"You managed to convince them to abandon the bridge?" Vtan could not hide his surprise. The Shipmaster's two bodyguards were enigmatic, and all but incomprehensible at the best of times, but their sense of duty was unquestionable, almost to a fault.
Rukth twitch-grinned, gesturing toward a gaping hole where the bridge's main entrance used to be. The melted seams of metal still glowed white-hot from where a twinned pair of Assault Cannons had liquefied the blast-door.
"Only after they had been assured of your safety." Rukth explained, before adding, "Who am I to disagree with an entire colony of worms, much less two."
Vtan twitched his mandibles in a grateful smile, and then stepped over to the edge of the command dais. Below, a battered assembly of shell-shocked Sangheli had assembled. Despite widespread injury, their eyes were watchful and strong, full of determination. The sight filled him with pride. Raising his voice, he addressed them in words befitting the rank of Shipmaster. His voice was coolly-modulated, deep and solemn.
"Brothers, we have been dealt a great blow this day. Our Covenant has been sundered, our High Council betrayed." He made a sweeping gesture indicating the battered bridge around them. "Even now, our proud vessel lies in ruins. We are the victims of a terrible deceit. Of treachery most foul."
Vtan 'Arume's voice rose in volume. A master orator, every word was crafted, each syllable carefully selected for the most import. The glowing eyes of his faceplate seemed to burn with passion, as though fuelled by a great fire within. For cycles afterward, his words would be remembered as one of the defining moments of the Crassus campaign.
"Consider, my Brothers, the name of our vessel. The Pride of Sanghelios. It is the name of our home, the name of our people. That ship is broken now, all but shattered in the wake of a terrible injustice. Its weapons shall remain silent. Its title shall reap victories no longer. But do I despair in this, Brothers? Do I bow down, and accept the fate thrust upon us? Never!"
Vtan's hands balled into fists.
"Because the title of our ship is just that - a title; nothing more! It is defined not by the words that compose it, but rather by reason they were chosen! Integrity, honour, discipline- each of these traits set us apart from the gutless dogs who would seek to crush us underfoot. Do I lament my vessel's passing? Yes, and I shall repay them thrice-fold for what they have done!"
Vtan's eyes met with each of the Sangheili in turn.
"But I do not despair. For I know that each of those same qualities are exhibited by the Sangheili I see before me. It is your integrity, discipline and honour that are instrumental to our success, nay; our very survival as a species. For many cycles, you have served with me aboard this vessel. We have fought many battles together, you and I, won many victories. You have never failed me. Now, more so than ever before, I would ask that you follow me into battle as courageously as you have done in the past. And so I ask you: are you with me, Brothers? Will you take up arms by my side, and follow me to victory once more?"
"Until our dying breath, Shipmaster!" one of the Sangheili shouted. There was a booming chorus of assent. Many thumped their fists against their chest-plates in vehement approval. The Shipmaster nodded slowly, satisfied.
"I could ask for no finer answer. Your orders are as follows. Rally the crew, head for the exits. The Jiralhanae shall be upon us shortly, and I do not intend for us to be easy prey."
He paused, then flexed the grip moulded to his right hand. There was a snap-hiss as a sleek double-edged energy sword flared into being, casting everything around it in a faint blue glow. He held it aloft, and bellowed.
"Should the mongrels even dare to try and sink their teeth into us; the only thing they shall discover is that the price paid was not worth the tasting!"
All around him, the Sangheili howled their defiance against overwhelming odds.
