NOTE: Name error; Belmaedee is now Balmaedee. This is a name that has given me a great deal of problems going as far back as Stand, Five Feet High.

Section 4: The Warrior, The Lie

"The Sixth Age of Doubt
Fleet of Divine Light
Yanme'e Territory

March 1, 2438 : Sol Relative Time

The echoing halls of the Forerunner structure bewildered all that entered. For several hours the Commander had been sending squads of field commanders and their grunt teams throughout the structure, assuring that none of the other Forerunner instruments were laying in wait. As he examined the massive hologram floating in the central chamber, the main door to the outer area of the structure parted and a lone Honor Guard gracefully walked through.

The Honor Guard stopped just beyond the threshold, and slammed the end of his staff upon the echoing metal floor. All within earshot quickly turned and recognized his presence. The Sangheili warrior scanned the Forerunner room, taking note of everything he could see. His dark red and gold armor was a vast contrast to the armor of the Spec Ops, as they were the only warriors in the central chamber. They all cautiously watched as the Honor Guard curiously looked the room over.

The Spec Ops Sergeant approached Commander Vadumee, and whispered. "It would seem that his Holiness, Regret, is about to enter."

"Of all the Hierarchs, he seems to be the only one that seeks conquest." The Commander replied softly. "Yet there is something… odd about him."

The Honor Guard turned toward the Commander. "Where are your lower squads? The Field Commanders, scouts, minors and the Unggoy's?"

"I sent them to search this structure, and to be sure no more weapons are waiting to attack us."

"Very well. His holiness would like …" The Honor Guard was silenced mid sentence as the massive door to the chamber parted and the High Prophet of Regret began to float into the room. At his side were a dozen Honor Guards, marching in parade at his side. The Honor Guard snapped to attention and jogged toward the approaching Hierarch. "Your holiness, I have not completed my inspection. It is not wise for you to come so soon."

Regret floated to the Guard's side. "I have never been one to wait. And this will be no exception. The instruments of the Gods are at our fingertips and therefore we can not afford… to … wait." His speech slowed as his eyes glanced at the enormous holographic ring in the center of the room. The ceiling stretch far into the sky, and domed the room. The floor was staggered in height, yet descending toward the central control terminal under the hologram. To each side of the room were several doors with Spec Ops grunts on guard.

Regret lifted his arms to the sky. "In our search we have conquered many, united even more, and brought balance to our cause." His words echoed throughout the chamber and everyone looked to him as he spoke. "This… this is the object of all our diligence. This is the goal that will lead us to the Great Journey. Kneel in reverence, all of you, all of you whom are worthy of such a sight, kneel!" He floated to the base of the hologram and turned to face the gathering horde of Elites. With one last inhale he lifted his arms again. "Behold… Halo!"

The Commander stood at Regret's side and his lower mandibles dropped in disbelief. He turned and gasped at the towering hologram before his eyes. The Prophets were right and they had not lied about Halo. The mutterings of the Elites behind him began to grow louder as they all began to bow, but he didn't care to silence them, he was too stunned himself. His doubts, his hesitation toward the Prophets and the Hierarchs had all been silenced. He had never believed in the Great Journey, or the Gods of the Prophets. He had doubted even the Forerunner structures that he had seen with his own eyes, but now, with overwhelming evidence was the one solid piece of evidence that his heart could not dispute. Halo was the gateway to the Great Journey, and he was seeing its image before his eyes.

He knelt to the ground, placed his palms to the cold metal floor, and bowed deeply. The other Elites watched as the Commander, their leader second only to the Supreme Commander of the Fleet of Divine Light, bowed before them. Many had bowed at the Prophet's first words, but many had hesitated. After seeing the Commander submit to the image, they also followed suit.

Regret continued. "Halo, in all of its divine reverence. Soon we will know of its location, and become one step closer to fulfilling our Great Journey! Arise my warriors. It is time for our tasks to be completed." The mass of Elites stood and awaited orders.

Regret turned and spoke softly to the commander. "This chamber is now sacred, Commander. You know what you must do." He turned and floated closer to the central terminal.

The Commander nodded and looked to the Spec Ops sergeant that was slowly rising from his prone position at his side. "Leave a few squads of Unggoy and place Keg-Yar guards at the chamber entrance. From here on, this chamber is sacred and we can not befoul it with our presence. The Honor Guards will remain to protect Regret with Unggoy support. Clear out everyone else."

"Commander, I do not believe I have ever heard you speak so… respectfully. Have you finally accepted the Prophet's wisdom?"

Commander Rtas Vadumee stared toward the Special Operations Sergeant, "You have your orders, Sergeant. Do not let the Hierarchs orders be delayed." He clasped his hands behind his back and began to walk away.

The Sergeant watched for a second but then raised his voice and stretched his mandibles wide. "Warriors, clear this sacred Chambers! It is time for his Holiness to do his divine deed!"

- - - - - - - -

"The Sixth Age of Doubt"
Home sector of "The Fleet of Divine Light"
March 7, 2434 : Sol Relative Time

No longer burdened with the armor of Covenant Sangheili Warriors, Balmaedee, Simyaldee, and M'atralee stepped casually through the local marketplace. Farmers from the outer regions of the country were struggling to make ends meet, all in part to the Hierarch's orders to evacuate the planet. Buyers were in short supply, and civilians were few and far between. The farmers would be the last to leave this world and return to Dorenth, a privilege bestowed upon them by the Hierarchs. No matter the frustration, the farmers sold their crops as best they could. Soldiers still frequented the town, but they only cared for fresh meat and wine.

The world that Simyaldee once called home had become a military outpost, but no one understood why. The Hierarchs, the religious leaders of the Covenant, had ordered all Sangheili outpost worlds to be evacuated of civilian inhabitants. The Elite High Council was in the process of questioning the Prophets as to why this had happened, but there was little that could be done about it. The will of the Hierarchs is the will of the Covenant.

Simyaldee tightened his traditional Sangheili garb across his chest. The loose fitting cloth and vest was a much more relaxing material upon his dark skin, and his range of motion was higher because of it. Yet he could feel a cold piece of metal beneath his clothing; a waist belt and an energy sword. It was the only weapon permitted for this assignment. It was fully customized from untraceable materials, so that if he lost it no one could identify the owner.

A large pack of Grunts scurried freely about the street, sniffing the air at any by passers. Even they found more freedom then the Sangheili civilians. Behind them floated several low ranking Prophets. Balmaedee noticed their approach and nodded to his team.

"I will speak to them, but only if they stop us." He whispered softly as they continued to trek through the marketplace. The four prophets halted in their path, and several grunts encircled them; eyeing Simyaldee's team.

"Halt civilians!" One of the prophets spoke commandingly. He motioned ahead of his group and looked to them curiously. "You should be evacuating. Why are you here?"

Balmaedee lowered his head, "Forgive us, holy one. We are simple farmers seeing to the day's business. We have one last day of supplies to vend before we board tomorrow's flight. We did not mean to break any rules."

"Indeed." The Prophet smirked. "Which distract did you live in? What is your Prefecture?"

Balmaedee spoke quickly, as if instinctively aware of his answer. "The town of Gree' Royale. Our overseer was his Highness the Prophet of Passion."

"Passion's town has been off world for more than three days. I do not recall any farmers requesting a longer stay."

Balmaedee frustratingly thought to himself, "Of all the Prophets on this world, we happen to meet the one that keeps track of all details." He sulked visually in front the lower ranking Prophet, hoping to show that he was in error. "Forgive me, your holiness. I did not fill out the proper request forms. My sons are young, as you can see,…" He gestured toward Simyaldee and M'atralee. "… and we had much work to do. We had to destroy a large portion of our crops just to make a descent haul this cycle. It was an error in my judgment."

"Discipline is what makes this Covenant successful, farmer. You would best remember that." The Prophet spun ihs hovering chair and looked toward an elder grunt. "Assign a team to follow this farmer and his young. Make sure they board the next transport off world."

"Me obey!" The grunt happily saluted. With a hop, he spun to several grunts and began to bark orders. Four grunts quickly scuttled to Balmaedee's side. "We follow, report status."

"I will be expecting a report within the hour." The Prophet stated as he began to float away. The other Prophets followed as well as their Grunt escorts.

Simyaldee turned to the grunt at his side. "Why are you escorting Prophets? Where are their Sangheili guards?"

"Me no answer you. You get to shuttle, or me tell Prophets!" The elder grunt happily shouted. He had been given authority over a family of Elite's; and was excited beyond joy. The other grunts at his side happily cheered at his stern approach toward the Elite. M'atralee was clearly not happy with the arrangement.

"Let us head toward the shuttle… father." M'atralee almost snarled the words. Not in anger, but in frustration of being watched by lowly grunts.

"Agreed." Balmaedee replied as he turned toward an unpopulated area of the market. The group followed, and the grunts were none the wiser about where they were going. Balmaedee entered an alley and pressed deeper until they were well out of view of the main street.

Balmaedee softly stated, "Now."

A pulse of light quickly escaped M'atralee's grip, as his low growl of aggression gave way to his energy sword splitting two grunts in one swing. The elder grunt shook in terror as he watched his younger brothers die instantly before his eyes. Their glowing blue blood flashed across has methane re-breather and he froze. Balmaedee cut down the third grunt with no hesitation; the creatures barely had time to scream.

Simyaldee faced the elder grunt, the pack leader, and slowly pulled his blade from beneath his clothes. The energy sword powered to life, flashing in a controlled flow of white hot plasma and energy. The grunt shook nervously; he was terrified. He lifted his left arm to turn on his communicator, but his shock was so great that he did not feel that his arm had been severed by Simyaldee's blade. He looked down and saw his cut off limb upon the ground. He fell to his back, cowering and pleading in fear; so full of shock that he didn't care that his arm had been cut off.

"No hurt! No hurt! Me follow orders! No Hurt…" A hiss of methane escaped the Grunt's tank as Simyaldee ran the cowering creature through. He pulled the blade free and powered it off. Without concern he gripped the dead body and tossed it into a corner; Balmaedee and M'atralee had already done the same. They then covered the bodies in debris.

"You kill well, young one." M'atralee smirked; raising his left upper mandible. "That will teach these vermin to ever think they are better than a Sangheili.

"No time to gloat." Balmaedee cut in. "It will not be long before these corpses are discovered. I can already smell their decay. This unfortunate incident will force us to act ahead of schedule."

"We should honor their sacrifice." Simyaldee stated. "They died so that we could complete our mission."

M'atralee tilted his head in a confused gesture. "Honor? For Grunts?"

Balmaedee stepped closer. "Honor the fallen that die for the will of the Elite High Council. It is one of our principal teachings. You should know that by heart."

M'atralee replied, "Forgive me, Second."

"They may be beneath us, but they were only doing as they were ordered." Balmaedee turned to the far end of the alley. "But we don't have time. We must go."

The small team darted from the alley, leaving the bloody corpses scarcely concealed in the darkening alley. The twilight hour had arrived.

- - - - - - - -

The Prophet floated closer to the bound Sangheili strapped to the wall of a dark prison. His naked skin was covered in scars, blood, and sweat, while his arms and legs were strapped down. The floor was stained with blood and hunks of flesh from previous prisoners. In the Prophet's hand was a long metal rod, which sparked upon a sharp end. He jabbed the rod into the naked Sangheili's body and the warrior groaned in agony. The smell of his own flesh began to fill his nostrils as muscles tightened across his body. His lungs expelled all of his air, and he struggled to maintain consciousness. The pain subsided as the prophet pulled the rod away.

"They called me." The Prophet began. "They called me here, from the far reaches of Covenant space, just to see you. It pleases me that they did. I have waited so long to get my hands upon a specimen like you. You have no love for the Covenant, but you are filled with such anger and loathing that you will not break from my torment. But I promise you that you will. I will break you. For the past two weeks I have been exploring your body, testing your limits, your endurance to pain, your threshold and your mind. But now it must end. I, the Prophet of Punishment, am not without leniency. Tell me what I want to know, and I will let you die swiftly. A small injection will ease your suffering, and you can pass on to the after life. However, if you deny me my query, I will make you feel pain unlike anything you have ever experienced. Not even the Demons of the underworld could come close to what I can do to you."

He floated away from the bound Sangheili and watched for a moment, judging the Elite's reaction. "Now tell me; are you the Sangheili trainer known as 'Master'?" He raised his rod and jabbed slowly into the Elites chest, puncturing his lung and sending high voltages of electricity into his system. No longer able to resist the pain, the Warrior released a deep cry of agony. The Prophet slowly pulled the rod from his chest, instantly cauterizing the wounds and preventing the warrior from bleeding out. "Answer!"

The warrior replied with a deep release of his pain, "I am the one you seek."

"Good." The Prophet smiled. "The other ten Sangheili that I brought here also said the same thing. But they were lying to me in order to protect the real Master. I am no fool, and this willingness to protect your kin is boring me. But I have found a way to discern the truth from you." He jabbed the rod into the other side of his chest forcing the Elite to scream once again. "What has become of your student, Rtas Vadumee?"

"HE... IS… COMMANDER!" He screamed in response. It was painful, too painful for even his masterful skill to withstand. And yet when the Prophet pulled the rod from his chest the Elite continued to scream, but not in pain. His screams were in frustration that he had given away a secret that he had held deep in his heart for nearly Twenty years.

The Prophet gazed at him in shock, stunned in disbelief that he had finally found the real Master. "Indeed he is. You are the master, or better yet, the Warrior with no name." The prophet placed his sparking rod on a nearby table and began to examine his other tools. "Now, let us begin the true inquisition. He gripped a glowing white syringe and slowly floated closer to the Master.

The Master lowered his head and wept.

- - - - - - - -

The moon hung overhead, casting deep shadows upon the small southern prefecture. They had been traveling for less than thirty minutes and had made their way into the heart of the Prophets central building without notice.

Simyaldee whispered, "Second, we have twenty units before the next guard shift. We should be able to get in and out unnoticed."

"Agreed. M'atralee, move to the rear of the building. Simyaldee to the left. I will go to the right. Use the signal when you find the holding cells." Using their stealth alone, the three warriors vanished into the shadows of the moonlit night. Any form of active camouflage was not advised, as it would only connect them to the Spec Ops if they were caught or killed. This mission was Simyaldee's first, and only the tenth official Mirratord assignment, but none the less it was going to be difficult.

The objective was simple: find the prisoner, free him or terminate. The one prisoner in particular that had to be found was someone that had in depth knowledge of the Mirratord. Though the Mirratord warriors were mentally prepared to hold back information and kill themselves if need be, this prisoner had no such loyalty and could be pressured into giving up names and information. They had to complete this mission at all cost, but several factors remained; they could be too late. The Prophets may have already retrieved the information they needed.

Simyaldee slipped into a vacant hallway and crouched in a shadowy corner. The windows were not glassed, making entry easy, and the window drapery blew in the soft nighttime breeze. Searching the building was going to be the hard part. Sangheili were not permitted inside the Prophet's chambers unless invited. If he, or his teammates, were discovered the alarm would sound, and support would be summoned.

Simyaldee dashed across the hall and into another shadowy depth. He covered twenty yards in a split second. He dropped to a knee and peeped around a corner; three Kig-Yar guards. Their eyes were keen, but not perfect. The Jackals were practically blind in the dark, yet superior in the light. They guarded a door at the far end of the corridor, and stood under an illuminating light. He noticed a small table with a glass pot sitting next to him, and cautiously slipped the glass pot closer to the edge of the table. He then left the glass alone and counted the number of shadows between him and the two guards. Quietly Simyaldee crept down the hallway. One of the Jackals looked directly at him, but saw nothing beyond the light. Pathetic choice for guards, the grunts would have been far more useful. At least their sense of smell would help at night, and then they could make enough noise to get the Prophet's attention.

Simyaldee had to go beyond the door in order to get deeper into the Prophet's massive home. He had to be thorough in his search. Moving the Jackal's would not be easy, yet he had a trick or two up his sleeve. He crept into a corner only five feet away from the Jackals. Even with his massive hoofs he was ghostly silent. He pulled a small pebble from his pocket and with a deathly precise throw he hit the glass pottery at the end of the hall. Cause of its closeness to the edge of the table, if fell and shattered. The Jackal's looked up and ran down the hall to investigate; passing Simyaldee by a few feet.

Simyaldee jolted toward the door and slipped inside, but a lone Jackal was just beyond the door. With one flow of motion he closed the door, pulled up his hand and snapped the Jackal's neck before it could squeak out an outcry. Its body went lifeless and he carried it into a shadowy corner. Buy the time the body was discovered, he and his team would be long gone; hopefully.

Simyaldee's ear began to buzz, "Target found. Get to the basement." Came Balmaedee's voice. Simyaldee was stunned at how fast the Second had reached the prisoner and waited for orders. Simyaldee scanned the new room and saw several passageways. Unfortunately this room was void of any shadow's dark enough to conceal himself. Several Jackals could be heard in the distance, around a corner and most likely in a larger room. He pulled his hood upon his head, and thought quickly. He cautiously crept down an unpopulated path and found another door. It was unguarded, and thusly the wisest path. He opened it, with a soft creek, and peeped inside. It was stairwell. He darted inside.

The stairwell wound downward, going deeper then he thought necessary, but then he heard the familiar hum of Forerunner technology; a Prophet's throne. He glanced around and found that hiding was nearly impossible in the tight stairwell. Was the Prophet coming up or moving at the base? He moved forward and peeked around the curve as he went. The humming faded; a good sign. He neared the base of the stairs and could finally see three Prophets talking on the far side of the room. Again, lights were everywhere, but the shadows wouldn't help against the Prophet's keen eyes. Their visual spectrum was nearly as sharp as the Elites'. He looked around and noticed that the rafters were fully exposed and concealed by the high powered lights beneath them.

Simyaldee sprang upward, gripped the railing and pulled himself into the darkness of the rafters overhead. The metal support beams held the weight of the building, and was blacked out by the lights. Even if the prophets looked up, they would be blinded by the lights below his feet. This location would be perfect. Simyaldee looked around, he didn't see the target, but he did see another door. It was partially open and it appeared to be another stairwell.

The prophets were discussing something as they scanned their terminals, "The planet is nearly evacuated. All Prefectures have reported in. Military patrols are beginning to regroup. Within the next day we will be able to summon the Jiralhanae."

Another Prophet spoke, "Yes, but we must be sure that the planet is not active with any Covenant forces or civilians. The Jiralhanae will not be pleased, and our negotiations will be for naught."

"Relax. The 'Brutes' will get what they want and we shall get what we want; another strong ally within our fold."

Simyaldee mumbled to himself, "Jiralhanae?" A soft hand rested upon his shoulder and quietly whipped around; energy sword at the ready.

"Relax brother, it is I." M'atralee whispered. The loud hum of equipment below easily drowned out his words. "They've been talking about the evacuation. Have you heard of these… Jiralhanae?"

Simyaldee softly exhaled, grateful that it was only his Mirratord brother. "No, I have not. We should report this to the Council. They will be quite pleased to know such things."

"Indeed." M'atralee replied. "This farce was only to clear this world and hand it over to these Jiralhanae things. This was our outpost. We conquered it and seeded it for our kin. Blast these Prophets and their lies. For now, let us focus on the task at hand. We must get beyond that door. Perhaps now we should shed the Prophet's blood?"

"Agreed." Simyaldee crept across the support beams until he was over the Prophets' heads. He placed his hand to his throat and whispered, "Three subject's ready to be neutralized."

A voice vibrated in his ear from Balmaedee, "Go."

Simyaldee and M'atralee leaned forward and fell toward the floor. Simyaldee pulled back his blade and powered it. His first swipe struck the back of the central Prophet's neck, splitting him down to his torso, stopping only when it hit the large floating chair. He then swung his blade to the right, severing the other Prophet's head. M'atralee jammed his blade into the far left Prophet's skull. The creatures never knew what hit them. Despite the blood spray, the Prophets died silently.

M'atralee clipped on his communicator, "Neutralized. Descending to lower level"

Balmaedee replied back. "Lower level, secure. I have the target and we are coming up." Simyaldee and M'atralee raced down the stairs to meet Balmaedee.

"How did he get passed those Prophets?" Simyaldee questioned.

"He is the Second, young one. His skill knows no limit." They pushed on and spotted Balmaedee with a bloodied and aged warrior on his shoulder. His body was marked with wounds that had been opened and closed numerous times, and only a loosely tossed amount of clothing covered him.

Balmaedee looked to his two allies. "He has been tortured for many days. He can not walk. M'atralee, clear our exit path, as there is no need in playing it safe any longer. I'm sure the Prophets will deny that this prison ever existed."

"Yes sir!" M'atralee turned and raced up the stairwell. Simyaldee and Balmaedee followed swiftly behind.

"Simyaldee, support M'atralee and give me cover if needed."

"Sir!" Simyaldee held his position in between M'atralee and Balmaedee. His blade glowed brilliantly and was craving to spill more of the Prophet's blood. They reached the top of the second stair well and raced forward, but oddly most of the Jackal guards had moved on. "M'atralee, hold!" Simyaldee softly stated.

They all knelt in a corner of the hallway. M'atralee turned back to Simyaldee and questioned him. "What is it?"

"Something is not right. I left two guards here in this hallway. The dead Jackal in the stairwell is still there, undiscovered. But the guards are not."

"They could be on patrol." M'atralee commented.

"No. They were stationary guards."

Balmaedee crept closer, cautiously holding the warrior upon his arms. "We must push on. Simyaldee, this was your entry path?"

"Yes."

"You lead, eliminate any threat. M'atralee, provide cover."

"Understood."

The trio sprang into motion once again, this time with Simyaldee in front. He turned a corner and spotted six Jackals. They had probably come to help investigate the chattered glass pottery. No matter, they would die quickly. One of them spotted Simyaldee, and his glowing blade, as he came out of the shadows. Three of the Jackals powered on their shield units and ducked behind them while the others pulled up Plasma Pistols.

The first volley of plasma rang out toward Simyaldee and he hunkered down, almost dragging his chest to the floor. With explosive acceleration, he dodged the volley of plasma and positioned himself in front of the Jackal's shields. He pushed the forward most Jackal back into the pack and began to cut them down one by one. However, one of the Jackal's was able to send off a transmission.

The Jackal squawked, "Intruders!" Simyaldee cursed beneath his tongue and split the creature's face in two. The alarms rang out as M'atralee slew the last Jackal.

Simyaldee pointed to the upper window, and M'atralee leapt through. He reached back and Balmaedee passed the old warrior up to him. Simyaldee and Balmaedee followed. The alarm of the Prophets' home began to grow louder as the city wide alarm followed suit. Speed would be critical now. Even if the Prophets denied that the interrogation room existed, they could still hold them as prisoners for breaking into a Prophets' home. It wouldn't be long before they would be hunted by their own kin. They ran into an alley and climbed upward. They had to get off the streets.

"M'atralee, separate, and get to the evacuation point. Simyaldee will provide cover for me." M'atralee nodded and sprinted off across the rooftop. Balmaedee laid the elder warrior down and pulled the cloth over him.

The aged warrior looked up at him with a smile. "It has been some time… Balmaedee."

Simyaldee instantly recognized the voice and looked closely to the aged warrior. "Master?"

Balmaedee ignored the Master's soft words and Simyaldee's surprise. "Master tell me everything."

"Yes… there was only one Prophet. He … called himself… Punishment. Forgive me… I could not keep my knowledge to myself. He left before you arrived… you must find him."

"We will, master." Simyaldee added. "We will get you out of here." A hiss of static and energy came from Balmaedee's hands, and Simyaldee looked to him curiously. "Second… what are you…"

"Master, how much does he know?" Balmaedee questioned.

"He knows of the Mirratord, and the Commander… that they are … connected. He has pride, and will deliver the information directly… to the Hierarchs. Find him… please. Find him and forgive me." The master gripped Simyaldee's hand as he looked up to Balmaedee. Simyaldee watched as the Master shed a lone tear.

"The Gods of our Ancestors will forever embrace you, Master." Balmaedee softly whispered.

The master then looked to Simyaldee and smiled, "Then my duty is done." Balmaedee's blade pierced the Master's chest and he coughed as his heart was forced to stop. Life slowly left him.

"Why?" Simyaldee questioned frantically.

"Because, young one. A Prophet escaped, one that knows what the Master has to say. If this Prophet of Punishment manages to escape, he can use the Master's knowledge against the Mirratord, and bring down the Council. In death the Master can share no words. His body must be found as proof that he is dead. But we must still find the Prophet and stop him from contacting the Hierarchs." Balmadee placed his hand to his throat. "M'atralee, change in plans. We have a Prophet to slay."

- - - - - - - -

Mercy read the message upon his screen in the Sanctum of the Hierarchs. He was joyful at the news. "Truth, it would seem that much has happened."

Truth floated away from the window overlooking the armada. "Explain."

"A transmission from our evacuation leaders, upon the Sangheili outpost: The evacuation is nearly complete, and they have captured the Spec Ops Commander's Master. Punishment is headed to his ship in order to present the information himself."

"You summoned Punishment from his outpost to deal with this matter?" Truth questioned.

"Yes, none of the other interrogators were making much ground."

Truth sighed, but turned his gaze away. "It would seem that summoning Punishment was a good decision on this matter. I am quite eager to hear what he has to say." Truth rested his head upon his right hand and turned back to the view of his armada. "But be mindful, Mercy, of whom you assign such tasks. The stability of the Covenant is frailer than it at first seems."

Mercy turned back to his terminal. "I do understand, Truth. But this is still our Covenant, until we see fit to change it." Truth ignored Regret's soft rebuke. "Now that this matter has been dealt with, I only ponder what is delaying Regret's battle against the Yanme'e."

To be continued…