Chapter 11: Fate As It Were

Late January (Speculative Date) / Aboard Unknown Covenant Capital Ship

The size of the interior chamber was nothing like Mary had ever seen on a Covenant ship. The closest thing she had seen in this capacity were storage bays and ship hangars, but this… this was nearly exclusively form without function. Ornamentation had superseded structure, and grandiosity over necessity. Whatever it was, and whomever it was for, the mess she had stumbled into was far larger than she had ever known it to be, even after all the long, arduous months she had been struggling to survive.

There it was: that sinking feeling of lost hope which she had pushed far, far into the recesses of her mind, again trying to claw its way to the surface. She had lost hope more than once, and yet she couldn't help but come back to the damned thing.

Ater the HAVOK nuke detonation had left her stranded on that damned moon, she wished it had done her in. Her armor had saved her from the bombardment of radiation and she had been lucky to have been in a Covenant bunker when the shockwave sent her flying into the far wall, knocking her out for what she suspected was days. In spite of it all, in spite of what she knew could mean she was now alone, she pushed herself to find some way, some fantastical miracle to make it off the surface alive. Maybe the Boudica remained to spirit her away? Maybe the UNSC would send more ships? But as time went on, it was all too clear that the UNSC no longer remained. Even when her will was at its weakest in those early days, her hope remained strong. Eventually, it paid dividends.

Days after the detonation she found Wei. A miracle. He had been injured, but was still very much alive. Their Spartan instinct was not trained, it was honed: they would find a way or die trying. But panic settled in closer than it ever had before. The devil on her shoulder taunted her: look at him now? How come you've let it come to this?

She wouldn't leave him again. So she stayed on the trail of the Elite cadre which had taken him here, to this place, this Covenant sanctuary... she wouldn't let them take him from her again. Where he went, she would follow.

Yes, indeed she had left him alone for just those few hours. She had been away, wandering the wastes, each patrol turning up even less and less supplies, and even less Covenant survivors to hunt for. Eventually, even the Covenant search and survey teams Dropships tapered off almost completely, and the Spartans' chances to escape dwindled exponentially. They would be left to die on Biller Pavonis 4A like the rest of their comrades, Mary had come to conclude as her scavenging found less and less, and Wei's energy drained more and more. But it was when the unthinkable happened, when the Covenant found their camp and took Wei while she was searching for supplies, she found she was now truly alone. There appeared to be nothing left to fight for.

The question immediately at the front of her mind then was why not end it sooner? She had been downing VitaTabs, Electrolytol, Grunt brain, and recycled piss for weeks — death seemed like the most sensible way out, but she persisted in the face of immeasurable odds because…?

Because, she told herself, she hoped that somewhere, somehow: Wei was still surviving. It just was how she was… how Spartans were… but that was not to say she didn't have her low points.

In the end, she knew she had always an easy way out. She had held her sidearm to her head more than once in the weeks since she had been stranded alone, and even had the experience of biting down on the slide. Even now, far away from that moment she cringed — she could taste the sand and grit from the surface of Biller Pavonis 4A leaving a foul taste in her mouth. She could recall the sulfuric stench of the air, the feeling of tears falling down her dirty face, and the gross reak of her own body. The thought that she would have reached that point chilled her deeply. She had pulled back, though, from the brink each time — somewhere in her heart she knew she still had energy and life to give. Living for someone else, also, helped push her to stay focused. What if, somewhere, Wei still lived? The smallest flicker always seemed like a sun in a deep void, and she was sure to nurse the flame when she could.

Eventually, her patience had paid itself in full: a ticket off that godforsaken rock.

In what she believed was mid November — because she still wasn't quite sure when it was exactly — a single dropship landed close to her camp. It was the closest any had ever been in the months passed, and remarkably so since she seldom saw any as time went on.

Exhausted and malnourished as she was, she sprinted the kilometers that separated them. Upon reaching the site of their landing, she saw they were merely surveying the wreckage of a Spirit Dropship, looking for remnants of their Covenant comrades. She was elated to see that the crew aboard was small: a couple of Elite minors and a few Grunts at most. She couldn't take on the Elites armed only with the few small calibre rounds she had, but she could hitch a ride with them by silently disappearing into the shadows of the ship's hull.

When the moment was right she stowed away, her armor's camouflage doing what it did best. Not hours later she was off the planet and back in orbit to enter the next Circle of Hell: aboard her enemy's ship.

She had tried to perfect the preparation of the caustic flesh of Grunt and Jackal on Biller Pavonis 4A, but, now, she couldn't fall back on that. These troops might be missed. She considered briefly trying to commandeer the ship on her own, but the ship was not only Corvette full of Covenant, but instead of the normal menagerie, nearly half of the crew in the vessel were Elites — ornate and tough looking ones at that. So, she hid.

For quite some time she waited, observed, and meditated. When she grew comfortable with her evasion tactics, she started to memorize the ship's routine and layout — she focused specifically in finding differences in behavior, and breaks in the norm. She had to stand by and watch most days as she was surrounded by hundreds of Covenant crew and troops. That was just reality. Eventually, she became acquainted with what snatched alien delicacies she could eat without turning her insides to fire. She learned to "deal with" the Grunt sludge, as the mostly liquid matter — which she hesitated to call food — kept her hydrated as well.

She was relieved that the security aboard this Covenant vessel was unlike a Human ship; the eyes and ears of the crew were the crew themselves. She knew that the UNSC had long suspected that Covenant were at least somewhat less reliant on AI, and often the mysterious Engineers maybe appeared to provide that role in some capacity, making them an important asset of capture. But this ship appeared to have no Engineers in it's crew. As such, the high lofts of the hanger bay, and the structural pillars with their wide gaps and access causeways were perfect for a stowaway. Without an Engineer to find her, she found it quite easy in time to stay hidden.

She breathed deeply for a moment, knowing that she was now far from any plan she had made back then, in the early days of her evasive stay on the ship.

She was now far past the maw of the beast, and well into it's gnarled, alien belly. The small Corvette she had been aboard all these months time paled in comparison to the lead ship — it's fantastic interior was unlike anything simulations had ever speculated. She thought of her early plans, of how she hoped that, eventually, the Fleet might return to the front lines of the War. Then, she speculated, she might escape and link up with any Human presence, and then make her way back to the UNSC.

But the Elites who held Wei in their custody, were marching about in something foreign beyond foreign to Mary. The interior had water fountains, statues, stone pillars with holographic imagery. Art. No, this interior, this ship bore the signs of something from the heart of Covenant home space must appear like. This was for comfort, not for war. Her heart was in her throat as she considered what the purpose could be. Still, though, it was hard to not think of the signs she was given all this time which pointed to unconventional goings-on.

Occasionally, and infrequently, these high ranked Elite officers would make trips to the Corvette Mary stowed aboard. Always they visited a corridor not far from the dropship hangar, always with one another and forbidding the entrance of any other. Curious with the infrequent arrival of the officers, and this strange decorum, she took her time to try and infiltrate the section of the ship where they congregated. Before this arrival from the Elites, the amount of foot traffic in and around the door had left her no desire to infiltrate. But, as they continually would come and visit the ship, it became clear something important laid beyond the hangar doors.

Eventually, on one such visit, Mary made ready and whisked herself away to the group as they crossed the bay, her photovoltaic panels making her appear but a shadow in a vast sea of shadows. On this occasion, only two of the Elites rode into the hanger. One, she had by now realized, was the leading officer, the "Fleetmaster", who presided over all the ships in the group she was a part of. The other, it seemed, was a lately more frequent addition to the group of three officers. All of them came at different intervals and combinations, maybe, Mary speculated, to throw someone off. Whoever the new Elite addition was, it was devoid of a battle harness, and was instead clad a body-suit, robes, and a Covenant tool kit of sorts — an Elite engineer, she speculated.

Once past the door, it seemed again no other Covenant but the ranking Elites were allowed inside, again keeping Mary's interest. As the portal closed, Mary rolled through, keeping silent by cushioning her fall by staying on all fours. For a moment, it was just three of them in the closed corridor as the Engineer held a Covenant tool to the door, and she began recording the encounter. She studied the Fleetmaster closely for the first time. They were in a set of armor she had not seen before, it's entire head enclosed with a two pronged fork on either side; the harness still a metallic marigold of a high ranking Elite, but emblazoned with a red line across their battle harness. It was all quite different, Mary had noted over the last few weeks, to the dynamic of what the UNSC had seen thus far. The Fleetmaster in particular, was oddly, shorter than most Elites she had seen, but they were still an imposing and ugly being with rippling muscles visible beneath the skin-type body suit they donned.

Finally, the door cycled, blinked and chimed and snapped open. Almost five months to the day the bomb went off, she then caught a glimpse through the door. Her view was fleeting, but what she saw was certain: it was Wei-B258. He was alive.

From that moment on, she focused entirely on the recovery of Wei, and the meetings of his captors. She couldn't reach him as it seemed only the four Elites who visited Wei had the code to enter, and she was no fool — she still couldn't take on an entire Corvette on her own. No Spartan could. Thus, she began to devise a plan where she might try and capture the Fleetmaster, and with Wei she could then take the ship, using the Fleetmaster as a hostage ensuring their arrival on the bridge unmolested. It seemed far fetched and unlikely to work, but she needed Wei — he was the final key to their escape.

It had been weeks since she devised her plan to capture the Fleetmaster when they had arrived again to check on Wei. But, unlike before, he remained in the hangar as his guards dragged Wei from the brig and into the Phantom they had arrived in. The option to bide her time was then over, she wouldn't leave Wei now, after all they had been through. She couldn't.

When the Jackals closest to her post scurried away, she clambered up the interior hull of the hangar, careful to not draw even the slightest attention to herself, and sticking to the natural shadows to assist her subterfuge. As it began to turn to a dome, she climbed across the roof of the hanger. The Covenant were thankfully, mostly in a lull. Most Grunt's were beginning a sleep cycle and the few Jackals in sight moved about lazily on unmotivated patrols. With a sense of safety, they were not on their guard.

Mary reached a point in the ceiling where she could swing and vault herself to the waiting Phantom, lateral enough she wouldn't fall directly to it, and close enough she could manage the leap. She made certain that none of the Covenant were looking, and as the very last Elite turned to board she launched. As she landed the hull let out a muffled thump, the Phantom listed only slightly, exaggerated maybe by her imagination. When it was clear she had drawn no attention, she relaxed. She was nearly there.

Now, there she was, a short time later deep aboard the Capital ship, within some alien inner sanctum. Worse, she had learned since their arrival that Wei had been paralyzed — he could not walk.

She stalked the group, looking for some way to end this nightmare. But the more she looked, the deeper she went. Before long, there would be no more circles to breach, and she would be face to face with the Devil themselves. And much like Dante's description, the deeper she went, the less and less beings seemed to dwell. The dimmed chambers the Elites hurried through echoed with their footsteps, their hushed voices only adding to Mary's worries.

Covenant 9th Age of Reclamation / Aboard Covenant Assault Carrier "Clerical Harmony"/ In transfer through Slipstream Space

As Sulde and his Commander's entered the Grand Study of Scorn's quarters, he knew immediately that something was terribly, terribly wrong. The causeways were completely devoid of life, and his Honor Guard contingent was nowhere to be found. In hushed tones, Sulde grumbled to Ryldra to keep watch. He turned and did the same to Aho. Ulrot silently gribbed the bindings of the human tighter as he dragged him by his arms.

"I do not like this. Scorn is occasionally stricken with melancholia and banishes all non San'Shyuum from his chambers, but… this is different. The Honor Guard should remain no matter the order, and I should know of it."

Aho bowed his head in acknowledgement. "I shall watch our shadows, Fleetmaster."

Sulde would be a fool to not also keep watch within the dimmed chambers. The artificial night cycle was far from approach, and the chambers made now allies with the shadows. Could it be, Sulde shifted his gaze from stone to ancient stone, that the Silent Shadow are here? Preposterous… Unheard of… Not on an Ascetic Ship…

A slight shimmer caught his gaze and Sulde held up his fist. He studied a pylon which held a Forerunner column, masterfully carved in stone. He thought for a moment, he detected the slightest movement just beyond it's base, but now assumed his mind was now playing tricks on him. He breathed deeply, trying his best to slow his hearts from pounding.

As Sulde and his ship commanders entered the meeting chamber, the opened doors fueled his dread. Somehow, he knew the Prophet of Scorn could sense his discomfort through his armor. The matter at hand was no longer a matter of politics and trickery, it was now of life and death.

The Prophet adjusted his seat, appearing to almost be giddy with delight.

In the room were several Jiralhanae Infiltrators, and no Honor Guard in sight. What manner it was that they had cleared the whole of the Prophet's Corvette without him knowing, he could only speculate, but the deed was already done, and his fate was now tied to this moment. Scorn did not wait for he and his Sangheili to honor him with common, formal greetings and he bowed his head to the Fleetmaster, and spoke with confident fervor. They had walked into a trap.

"And this, Fleetmaster," he pointed to the Demon, "must be the vermin you caught among our ranks? Can you believe the size of such an animal?"

The Demon stared at the ground, avoiding looking up. Scorn's brown teeth shone in the light of the room, a sinister expression contorting his face. Sulde felt his stomach turn in knots.

"Truly remarkable, Chieftain" Scorn looked to his side, "that such a thing managed to live so long in such close quarters to a packed ship. I'd say it would be nearly impossible, yet…"

Beside Scorn, towering heads above Sulde and his cadre, was the Jiralhanae Chieftain Kulljul, a name and muzzle Sulde knew well. It seems, afterall, he was not as busy as the Prophet had led on. Kulljul was here to relieve Sulde — his time had run out.

Kulljul had been one of Scorn's closest Jiralhanae allies long before he took residence upon the Harmony. Before Scorn had become cozy with the Sangheili Ascetics, he had been a Jiralhanae proselytizer — and a good one. Kulljul and his clan quickly became Scorn's favorite, and they had been rewarded by serving as his personal guard. The chance to pillage world upon world in search of artifacts for Scorn in the name of the Gods? It was an easy decision for them, and one that had lifted up Kulljul's lust for Forerunner history...or so he would tell Sulde. Though Kulljul had become quite the Archaeologist during the campaign against the Humans, Sulde knew the score. Before Kulljul had been a studier of artifacts and scripture, Kulljul had been a cutthroat leader, and a brutish one at that. More than all else: he was a killer. His mange-ridden paws had no dealings with the gods that he could not do better. Sulde caught Kulljul's piercing gaze as well.

"Prophet Scorn—" Sulde nodded, "Chieftain Kulljul, I would have arranged for a welcome feast had I known you had joined us ahead of schedule—"

Kulljul grunted, ignoring Sulde.

"The human indeed has kept itself well fed. I have seen nipple-crazed Unggoy in worse shape." He nodded at Scorn in agreement. Sulde swayed in silence, his palm hovering over his sword. Ryldra's sword arm shook with anticipation as well — Sulde prayed he would stay his hand until the right moment. The Demon finally looked up, and seemed to snap from his state of indifference. They now also sensed that something was not right.

The room was deathly silent with the exception of the hum of the vessel hurtling through Slipspace. Finally, Scorn laughed. The cackle resounded in the large, empty hall, and his throne bent back slightly when he reeled to breathe in again.

"Fleetmaster, relax! I am prodding you. Well. Done. Many thanks to your warriors in capturing this vermin. How very remarkable, indeed?…" the Prophet's tridactyl palms came together in contemplation. He wrung them together, trying to hide his excitement, but Sulde saw it all. Somehow, he knew.

"I will be honest, I grow tired of these games. Commander 'Fugoree, if you would?"

Sulde's hearts nearly stopped. Aho's voice boomed confidently as he replied to the Prophet. "Holy one, the Fleetmaster desires to have the Demon interact with the Huragok in study—"

"What madness is this, Aho!?" Sulde bellowed in confused anger.

Ryldra stepped between Aho and Sulde as Aho's sword lit.

"The welp sold us, brother!" Ryldra lashed out in a single motion, clashing with Aho's sword preventing Aho from ramming Sulde through. Betrayal.

In an instant, the room erupted in chaos.

Ulrot gasped deeply, and his blood pooled on the purple chamber deck — three Brutes had silently approached, stabbed, and cleaved repeatedly at him until he lay dead. The Demon groaned as the Jiralhanae grasped the Demon, ripping him from Ulrot's mortal clutches. Aho, too, quickly got the best of the aging Ryldra, as the veteran Elite took fire from the Infiltrators. Ryldra screamed in agony as Aho lopped his sword arm off in a clean arc, and was silenced as he was pierced to ensure his demise.

Sulde had only moments to light his sword to ensure a shaky defense. A cloaked figure wisped toward him, given away by a faint purple lantern on their helm. He turned quickly and struck one of Kulljul's troopers across the chest but was stopped from committing a mortal blow as Aho's sword met his. Aho stood contemplatively over the lifeless body Ryldra, and he said nothing. His green eyes burned with fervor, and Sulde knew he was defeated — Aho had never believed Sulde held the answers to his fate, and had sold him to Scorn in his undying fervor. Aho was a fool who would not live to see that which he desperately desired.

Sulde, took a defensive stance as the novice swordbearer lunged for his neck. He ducked, and caught the hilt of Aho's sword, cutting through the hilt and fingers, and grabbing his body—he threw him over his shoulders using their own momentum. Aho hit the deck in a thud, and Sulde brought his sword back to plunge into the bastard's head.

The air around him cracked, his lungs violently purged, and his brain became drunk with confusion, and it was suddenly dark. He was pinned to the ground. He cocked his head enough to see that Kulljul's Gravity Gauntlet had flattened him to the deck, and he was now unable to move from the Chieftain's grip. Scorn cackled again, choking on his own spiteful glee. He brought his robe to his face and wiped the mucus that dripped freely from his lips to his wattle.

"Oh my, 'Auqusai. Very sloppy… very sloppy indeed."

"Scorn! Agh " Sulde struggled to stand, "What— ugh !...treachery—"

"ENOUGH!" Scorn screeched back at Sulde in a stupor of anger and vile hatred.

Kulljul walked forward and pushed Sulde harder to the deck, his knees buckling from the pressure, sending him flat to the ground. The plate of the ship deck began to creak and buckle as Sulde's armor was pushed to its structural limits. His abdomen, however, did not fare as well and several of his ribs popped from the crushing power. He moaned in agony. Finally content with Sulde's capture, Scorn placed his hand upon his throne controls and floated nonchalantly to Kulljul's side. He leaned over from his seat to see the face of Sulde as he painfully fought to breathe in chaotic bursts. Sulde, content, leaned back and waved again to Kulljul. Sulde was thrown into the air, and fell back down in a tremendous crash. He lay still on the deck.

"Retrieve his sword." Scorn nodded to Aho. Aho complied, pained as he was.

As Aho whisked the sword from Sulde's hand, a faint guttural yelp torn open from Sulde's broken body.

"Why?"

Aho looked to Scorn. Scorn nodded with eager confidence.

"You misled the Holy one, brother. You didn't give me a chance to show him the extent of my faith. He has forgiven me, as you said he would not. You hid from him the Demon when it was your duty to report it's capture, for what? The hope that you would crack it? Your hubris was your downfall! It is why he leads us in our Mission, and you follow—"

Sulde grunted. "You don't...know...what you are saying."

Scorn interrupted, "You misled me, 'Auqusai, and thus made your life forfeit. A competent military commander you may be, but..." Scorn paused as Aho kneeled and gave the Prophet Sulde's sword, "a weaver of childish intrigue at best. 'Fugoree?" Scorn addressed Aho.

"Yes, Holy One." Aho remained kneeled before the prophet.

"With Sulde and the other subordinate commander, none else remain from his plot to take control of my ship?"

"Yes," Aho enthusiastically replied, "none else remains, your Holiness."

Sulde coughed up a mess of thick purple blood. He propped himself on one arm and growled intensely at Aho. Aho initially defiant, looked back at Sulde. Sulde's gaze was one of a muted sadness, and Aho was suddenly confused.

"You...insolent...fool."

Before Aho could reflect on Sulde's words, he was silenced.

Kulljul crushed Aho into the floor, then pulled his stunned body across the ground to his hand. Dazed, Aho could only flail as Kulljul crushed his neck in one hand, and pierced him with the bladed end of his spiker rifle with the other. Sulde looked away as Kulljul tore Aho's abdomen open, and his bowels spilled out onto the deck in a bloody heap. The young commander was unable to even whimper, their life gone in the moment. Kulljul tossed the emptied corpse to the ground, and Scorn laughed with delight. Sulde couldn't breathe.

"See?" He called out to Sulde, "That is how one wins favor with me. They follow orders!"

Sulde, stood up gingerly, immensely pained — many of his ribs were broken in several places. Kulljul's pack was already upon him, and he was knocked back down. A crack of static, and the dim room was briefly lit by a flash of plasma, sparking a new wave of chaos.

The beam sliced across the room and hissed intensely as the Prophet's shields flickered. Kulljul roared and pushed the Prophet to cover. Sulde leaned over, and could not see where his savior fired from.

Then an Infiltrator fell dead beside Sulde, his throat slit, and the Demon gone. The rest of the pack began to frantically look about.

"What is the meaning of this?" Kulljul barked, assuming one of his own Brutes had been stupid enough to slit the throat of their pack brother in a blood rage. Then, another throat ripped open and the pack unleashed a wave of spikes where their brother lay sputtering for air.

"They are in camouflage!"

Silence. Then a firing of weapons — a false sighting. Kulljul stood before scorn, who looked on with a serious, but unphased gaze. Sulde propped himself to his knees in the frenzy, and grabbed the Spike rifle from the corpse of the first fallen Brute. He stood quickly, and in one motion made a lancing lunge sinking the twin blades of the rifle into the back of the Brute before him. He could hear the thud of the deck being crushed by Kulljul's gauntlet before he could think to move from it. He was far away enough from the gauntlet that he could escape Kulljul's grasp, and so he hurriedly and painfully moved to the door exiting the chamber. With Kulljul's roar the Brutes haphazardly turned and fired sporadically to hit him, the unknown phantom losing their attention.

Sulde's armor shields were gone — malfunctioning. Spikes lodged into the metal plate, one slicing through his thigh, and another glancing his right arm. The chamber doors remained open, and he dove through the opening, and shoved hard to one side into the nearly invisible silhouette of a Demon, stunning them both.

The human pushed Sulde to the side as a volley of spikes sheared through the door, and sunk into the deck paneling, glowing red hot. He growled and swung at the Demon's silhouette weakly. It ducked and pinned his swinging arm to the deck. It hissed something, but among the incoming fire and the white hot pain of the broken bones in his chest, Sulde couldn't make it out.

He attempted to stand and throw off the Demon, by pushing with his legs with all his power, but he was two weak and injured. The Demon adjusted, and swung around his rear, attempting to put Sulde in a choke hold. He was able to break the hold by threading one of his long, sinewy grey arms through their hold — again he heard the Demon grunt in anger.

He grabbed one of the Demon's arms and the Demon in turn grabbed his other. Now linked, neither of them could move the other. He dropped to a knee, and attempted to build enough momentum to throw the beast over his head, but the Demon firmly planted it's knees into his back, and again his pain coursed about his body, and he became faint. He fell forward, all momentum transferred to his body, and he let go. He caught himself in his fall, but was now defenseless. He was defeated, and awaited the mortal blow. A snap of his arm, and a quick slit of his neck, and he was through.

"Listen," Sulde heard the Demon speak. It was stern, panting as if winded from their battle. It wanted to speak? He paid close attention as the foreign speech flowed slowly for his benefit, and deliberate to ensure he understood.

"I can leave you here to die. I don't care. Wei will blast you right now, and we will find our own way off this ship — but you will remain to die." he felt the Demon's hand on his now bared shoulder as they spoke intensely: "If I am to protect you, however, you will guide me. We will leave with haste. Choose now."

Sulde hesitated. He could hear the howls of the Jiralhanae in the other room as they regrouped, and the firing subsided as they planned to clear the door and find him. He strained to see that, indeed, the Demon Wei held a beam rifle at the ready as he sat propped against a far bulkhead. The Demon's head perked up, hearing the Jiralhanae as well. Sulde read his movement as anxiousness — his comrade was moments from leaving Sulde behind if he did not respond. They needed him to escape with a ship. There was no time to hesitate as his Journey was not yet over. The gods had sent him another option. He growled in guttural response, taking care to ensure the Demons understood

"We first... need key."