Section 8: Fall of one, Rise of another

"The Age of Reclamation"
Covenant High Council Meeting hall
High Charity
Covenant Armada Base of Operations
Location: Unknown
March 21, 2434 :: Sol Relative Time

Spec Ops Commander Vadumee walked the glowing halls of the Truth and Reconciliation with his team of Spec Ops. Generally, Vadumee would never travel without at least one member of the Mirratord at his aid, yet this particular enquiry would not need their power. This was a subtle mission; ask questions, make the Spec Ops Division leader nervous, and then leave without delay. That was all that was needed for this mission; talk. Yet Vadumee was feelings something new in his heart. Again and again, the image of Halo appeared in his mind, its majesty and brilliance danced through his imagination as if he had just seen it.

There was more to the Prophets than Vadumee had once thought. A month ago, he was sure that they were false, liars, gathering small trinkets from around the galaxy, yet with every conquest he saw something new that forced him to rethink his allegiance. Was he wrong about them? Were the council's suspicions all for nothing? Was the Mirratord really necessary as a spying unit? He wanted to tell the elders what he had seen, yet he had to be sure that this wasn't a false. Vadumee was beginning to believe in the Prophet's quest, yet he was torn on how to handle it.

"Commander!" The Spec Ops division leader nodded deeply to his superior. "Thank you for coming. I must admit, this situation has me puzzled."

"Indeed." Vadumee stepped onto the lower level of the landing deck and examined the Phantom's external lines. It was a masterpiece of Covenant engineering, yet had no form of weapons to defend itself from attack; thus making it useless in combat situations. Vadumee pondered its effectiveness if it were armed with plasma cannons, or high yield lasers. It could be turned into a more reliable troop transport than the standard drop ships.

"I hope that the crime scene has not been … altered?" Vadumee questioned as he motioned toward the Phantom's loading ramp.

"No sir." The Division leader responded. "I returned the ship here myself, after it crashed on the Infinite Succor. After my own inspection, I made sure that the scene was untouched, as per your orders."

"Good. We shall examine it thoroughly. I want a complete analysis of everything that happened on board."

Vadumee's helmet com burst to life and he paused halfway up the ramp. "Commander, the council is reporting that the Armada is preparing to make a slip space jump to the Outpost World."

Vadumee paused. "Are you certain?"

"Yes sir all ships on active duty are being ordered to prep slip space drives, and transfer Nav controls to High Charity."

Vadumee looked to the Division leader and even he seemed stunned. "Very well. I am currently on a mission for the Hierarchs, notify the Supreme Commanders of the fleets that I am not coming on this journey, and that I will join the Armada once I have completed this task."

"Understood Commander." The com signal faded and Vadumee glared at the division leader.

"Why is the Armada going to the Outpost World?" The Division leader questioned.

"That is not my concern at the moment, Division leader. The Hierarchs are not pleased about the death of their official and my duty is to focus on that. Let us continue." The Commander and the Spec Ops Division leader climbed into the ramp of the Phantom as the Spec Ops guarded the ramps entrance. Vadumee went about his duty of putting a puzzle together that he already knew the answer to.

- - - - - - - -

"The Age of Reclamation"
Outpost world
Former home sector of "The Fleet of Divine Light"
March 22, 2434 :: Sol Relative Time

The night sky was glowing golden yellow as the battle in the distant city grew into ground warfare. The Brutes and the Elites were in an all out war, and support troops were being called for both fronts. But several miles away from the escalating war stood several Elites that had proven themselves victorious over their new found enemy.

M'atralee slumped to his knees, gasping for breath as his arm trembled from his wounds. "It is broken. This will slow me down. Blasted Jiralhanae! Foul cur!"

Simyaldee stood at his side, sweat dripping from his pours as he held his broken rib. "If not for these shields, we may not have prevailed over their numbers."

Vasmeola appeared from the tree line with two of her brothers following closely behind. "Simyaldee, you are wounded." She quickly examined the area where Simyaldee was holding his side.

"It is not important. It will not hinder me. See to M'atralee's arm."

Vasmeola nodded and quickly forged a sling for M'atralee. Simyaldee walked closer to Balmaedee as he listened in on the battle net.

"The Jiralhanae have taken nearly two thirds of the city and downed three ships… this is preposterous!" Balmaedee roared. "This battle should not be happening."

"Are they skilled in space combat?" Simyaldee questioned.

"No. We destroyed three of their ships as well, but the last of their warriors have taken refuge in the city with their last ship. They are forming a defensive and waiting for reinforcements to arrive. Yet we have not been given any orders to attack or to retreat. Only one transmission has arrived, a statement from Regret, it said that the Armada is in route."

"The Armada?" Simyaldee seemed puzzled. "Why are the Hierarchs coming here? And why didn't they give our warriors any orders; to retreat or fight?"

"Spirt of Holy Flame this is the recon team, do you copy?" Balmaedee didn't like the static that followed. "Do you copy?" He began to pace. "Damn it! These Jiralhanae are beginning to make my blood boil. Our ship must have been the one which was just sunk."

Simyaldee looked to the skies. "They may have taken down our transport as well. We can not wait here."

"Agreed." Balmaedee turned to his small team of warriors and civilians. "M'atralee, stick close to the Royal Family, Simyaldee and I will take point on all actions. First, let us claim that Jiralhanae drop ship and head to the city. The last of our cruisers is located there." The group began to gather weapons from the fallen Brute corpses, but Balmaedee stopped Simyaldee. "Have you decided?"

Simyaldee paused as he gathered his thoughts. "I will do what I must, to see that they are safe." He looked to Vasmeola and her family as they assisted their father from the tree line.

"And that is what it means to be a Mirratord brother. To protect those who cannot protect themselves. We are the barrier between the prophets and our kin. We may act harshly and brutally, but we do it for the benefit of our race. Come, let us make sure the drop ship is clear."

Simyaldee tapped his helmet communicator as he and Balmaedee sprinted toward the ship. "M'atralee, pull them up slowly. Wait for my signal."

"Understood."

Simyaldee dashed ahead of Balmaedee, and halted at the left side of the side ramp. He glared into the drop ship's hull. "Clear." Suddenly, Balmaedee dashed into the hull, sweeping his plasma rifle from side to side in a scanning pattern. He moved aft and waited for Simyaldee to join him. They both took position at the cockpit door. Balmaedee powered on his active camouflage and sprinted into the room.

"All is clear." Balmaedee reported.

Simyaldee lowered his weapon and called M'atralee. "Move in. But stay low, keep your eyes open." Simyaldee moved back to the ramp as the young civilians raced toward them. M'atralee stayed behind to guard the rear and their wounded father. Simyaldee scanned the area, checking the tree lines just to be sure. The first to arrive was the youngest, he showed great potential for his age and displayed no fear; Simyaldee was proud to see the young one blossom before his eyes. Vasmeola then helped her siblings board the ship and returned to help M'atralee and her father.

Simyaldee and M'atralee's helmet speakers came to life. "Three drop ships on approach. They are not responding to the Spirit of Holy Flame's call signal." Balmaedee sharply stated. Time was up, they had to leave.

M'atralee slipped his arm under the ageing male's and began to double time it toward the ramp, Vasmeola assisted in the speed up. Simyaldee climbed down the ramp and looked to the horizon; three U shaped drop ships were on approach and moving fast.

"Engines are hot. Are we clear?"

"Stand by!" Simyaldee replied. He reached out as plasma fire began to sweep over the area. The Jiralhanae were firing blindly in the night, but their distance was too great to get a precise shot. Vasmeola gripped Simyaldee's hand and he pulled her inside, followed closely by her father and M'atralee. "Clear!" The ship jolted forward as the door began to close. Plasma fire engulfed the ship's tail section, but did little damage; at least nothing foreseeable.

"Can we outrun them?" M'atralee stated as he raced to the turret controls. He angled the plasma turret stationed at the base of the main fuselage and began to fire at their pursuers.

"Depending on how heavy they are. If they have a full compliment of troops, we can out run them." Balmaedee replied from the ship controls.

The valley vanished beneath them as they soared over the forest. Ahead of them, just over the horizon, was a glowing inferno of what was once the largest city on the planet, and home to the Sangheili Watchmen Academy. Two ships hovered over the city, the brilliance of their gravity lifts glowed softly in the midst of the blazing city.

The drop ship tilted and banked as one of the Brute drop ships began to gain on them. The other two ships trailed behind, unable to match their speed. M'atralee cursed in his Sangheili tongue as the drop ship appeared to be streaking toward them faster and faster.

"That ship must be unloaded! We cannot out run it!"

Simyaldee powered on the rear view monitor. "Then shoot it down!"

"I am attempting to do so! I can not get a clear shot on the pilot's cockpit."

Sure enough, Simyaldee watched as pound after pound of plasma rained onto the pursuing drop ship, yet it maintained a steady course. "It must be a scout ship. Only the pilot and co-pilot are aboard." Smoke poured from the compartments where soldier would have been.

Balmaedee cut in. "Aim for the forward stabilizer." But his controls were quickly becoming unstable. "We've been hit! Steering controls are erratic."

M'atralee focused on the forward hull of the drop ship, glaring at the middle and forward section of the pulsing blue lights that made up the ship's stabilizer. He depressed the trigger and watched as plasma washed over the chasing ships inner hull. The blue lights of the stabilizer faded, and the ship banked sharply, as the weight of the forward compartment began to cause problems with its handling.

"I got you now!" M'atralee fired, sending plasma smashing into the pilot's cockpit and main drive control. The ship sparked and red flames ignited in the rear compartment. Satisfied, M'atralee exhaled, but they were not out of the woods yet. Their drop ship had suffered steering control damage and Balmaedee was having trouble maintaining a straight course.

"We'll have to land at the edge of the city and go in by foot!" Balmaedee groaned.

"With five civilians and an injured old male?" M'atralee questioned.

"We will be fine!" Vasmeola replied. "As you now know, we are more than mere farmers."

"Great." M'atralee sighed. "Let us take on the Jiralhanae army all by ourselves then. Silly female, you know nothing of combat!"

"M'atralee, hold your tongue!" Balmaedee replied as he rotated the ship and prepared to land. "They can fire a weapon so that will be good enough. Brace for impact!"

The drop ship skipped on the landing and then spun and drove the left side ramp into the soil. The right side ramp parted and everyone stood from being jostled about. They then peered into the city in the distance.

With the exception of Balmaedee, none of them had seen war and the death it brought. Buildings smoldered with flames as plasma mortar lobbed across the sky. Dead bodies of Brutes and Elites lay scattered about. Shouts of pain came from everywhere. It was very overwhelming. Vasmeola was quickly sinking into despair, from what she could tell, the cruiser overhead was on the far side of the city. They would have to cut through the city to get there.

Simyaldee let it all into his mind, but he felt nothing. His thoughts raced back to his training with the master, how he was forced to endure such harsh training and watching his kin suffer at his side. He was ready for this. This time he would not be facing Prophets or his own allies and kin. No, he would be facing a true enemy.

Balmaedee stepped off the ship, his rifle raised and steady. "M'atralee, form up the civilians, keep them close to each other and no one speak. Simyaldee, maintain visual with them at all times, but keep your distance. I shall take point."

"Leave me." Came a groggy reply. "I shall only slow you down."

"Father, we did not bring you this far to leave you." Vasmeola roared. She began to help him up but he pushed her away.

"I am still the elder of this family! Now go!" He coughed as he gripped a Brute long barrel weapon in his hand. He looked to Balmaedee, "He is strong, and will protect you. My time is over. It is best that it end here. Do not dishonor what little honor we have left, my daughter."

Vasmeola stood and backed away from her father. The look in his eyes told her everything she needed to know; he was aware of what she had done. "Very well father." She understood that he was dieing, yet he was an old warrior that did not want to flee from battle the way he fled so many years ago. He wanted to die with honor. She turned and walked away, pushing her young brothers away. Her brothers watched as their father nodded toward them, and they silently replied with the same nod. Each of them turned and followed their elder sister away. None showed any emotion, not even the youngest.

"Is this alright?" Simyaldee questioned. Vasmeola gave no response. She lifted her rifle and stood at M'atralee's side; though her eyes were heavy.

Balmaedee looked to his Mirratord team, ignoring the olderly elite that sat inside the crashed drop ship. Balmaedee understood the dieing request of an elder. With a quick nod to his team, he raced ahead. Simyaldee turned on his heel and followed.

M'atralee turned to the family and motioned forward. "Stay close to me and move as I do. When I stop, you stop. When I run, you run, unless I tell you otherwise." M'atralee looked ahead, deeper into the city near a burning Seraph fighter. He spotted Simyaldee waving him forward, so he stood and ran toward him. The young family followed.

Tired and slowly bleeding to death, the aged warrior sat upon the edge of the drop ship's ramp and gazed at the back of his young family. He watched until they were finally out of sight. He clinched the brute weapon in his hand and began to walk into the wilderness behind him as the two pursuing ship finally caught up. They hovered over the old warrior as he glared at them strongly. The two ships descended.

"I betrayed my oath…even though I was tortured. I was weak. Let this be my act of atonement for my failure, old friend. We are two warriors, one in the same. I called you Master, yet you called me Friend."

Three Brutes, with blades glaring, charged at the old elite. He managed to fire one shot at his approaching enemy, but they killed him quickly and gloated over his prone body.

- - - - - - - -

"The Age of Reclamation"
Outpost world
Former home sector of "The Fleet of Divine Light"
Jiralhanae Western encampment
March 22, 2434 :: Sol Relative Time

His fist slammed into the chest of the elite that dared to cross his path, and its blue-purple blood spilled across his white fur. "They are not as tough as I would have hopped. Even with their armor on, they crumble so easily upon my fists." He licked the blood from his fur and chuckled in delight. His name was Dimonthulon, and he was Chieftain of the Brutes. He stood several inches taller than the others and his silver-white fur was a sign of power. As Chieftain he was protected by numerous Brutes, the best trained in their army, yet Dimonthulon out powered them all.

"Chieftain, these pathetic creatures have destroyed the weapons system aboard our ship. It seems that a boarding team snuck aboard and they are causing great damage."

Dimonthulon let loose an angry roar and slammed the back of his hand upon the sniveling Brute that had reported the incident. "Get to the ship! We must hold this terrain until the rest of my fleet arrives! I will not loose to these pests!" He then turned to the rest of his encamped soldiers and hefted the true sign of his leadership power; the mighty Fist of Rukt. He peered over the battlefield as a squad of his Brutes retreated to the ship to aid in its defense, leaving him with only several dozen troops to command.

Dimonthulon lifted his nose, and smelled an unfamiliar scent. His ears then heard the rumble of what he thought could only be foot soldiers. From around the corner of a blazing building appeared at least one hundred tiny bipedal creatures followed by several rows of glowing, interlocking, shield units. They were being held by another race he did not recognize, short slender creatures with bird features. It would appear that the Covenant had amassed several races to their cause, and not just the Sangheili.

"Chieftain, what are they?" Questioned one of the soldiers. The group of entrenched warriors peered closely over their barricaded fort, questioningly staring at the phalanx army pushing closer toward them.

"The race in the rear is the Sangheili, yet the little ones… I am not sure. The Prophets did not speak of them." Dimonthulon knew that his unit was outnumbered, and with half of his force moving back to the ship, a retreat was needed, but his pride would not let him turn his back to such a weak opponent. His options were limited, they were boxed in and the Elites had the advantage of number and firepower, yet he knew his Brutes had the advantage of tenacity and power. He could lead his assault, but without knowing more about his enemy it would be a dangerous tactic. He looked over his foot soldiers, mere pawns in this game of chess. "Rise my Jiralhanae warriors! Show them our worth! Charge!"

From behind their make shift fort, the entrenched Brutes leapt from cover and roared as they pressed toward the charging Elite forces. The Grunts that led the Elite charge fired their plasma cannons and needlers without breaking stride. Cannon fodder, that's what the Grunts would eventually be called, but their numbers alone would at least slow down the Brute's initial charge. Plasma explosions cascaded around the region as Brutes snarled and tore into the first wave of attackers. Grunts leapt onto the back of Brutes, yet were thrown off with little difficulty. In some cases, ten or twelve Grunts would drag down a separated Brute and tear him apart in a feverish frenzy. But the Grunts numbers were quickly dwindling, and without mass of large numbers to aid them, the cowering nature of the Grunts began to shine. They retreated, loosing their will to fight.

They turned and began to run away, but could not escape the Brutes faster pace. The Elites shouted for the Grunts to hold their ground and regroup, but soon the last of the Grunts were crushed. The Jackal's raised their shields as the Brutes turned and began to flow towards them. Yet Dimonthulon and his main unit of guards held their formation; watching the Elites as they ordered the Jackals into a defensive stand. The mighty Chieftain gripped the monstrously large hammer in his hand as it glowed magically. He was anxious to attack, to feast upon the carnage of battle and crush this enemy to prove that Jiralhanae race was far superior to anything that the Covenant could muster, but he had to wait and observe. He had to find a weakness in the Elites method and see what the smaller creatures were capable of.

He watched and waited.

- - - - - - - -

Balmaedee hunkered down in the corner of the alley. Without looking back he lifted his palm to Simyaldee, telling him to halt. Simyaldee looked back to see if M'atralee and the others were still behind him and gratefully they were. He held up his hand to tell them to hold. He then looked back to Balmaedee as the Second slapped his open palm to the ground. Simyaldee knew what that meant, he was to come up to his position and hold for orders; Balmaedee was about to go and scout the area. Simyaldee turned to M'atralee and waved him forward. Behind him were Vasmeola and her younger kin.

Simyaldee stopped them as they approached and spoke directly to M'atralee. "Balmaedee is scouting ahead. Hold here for orders." Simyaldee hunkered low and crept forward. He tapped Balmaedee on the shoulder as he approached and let his eyes follow Balmaedee's glare.

In the distance was another battlefield, Grunts were being slaughtered as the Brutes overwhelmed their thinning numbers. The Brutes then turned their attention to a standard line defense of Jackals and Elites. Simyaldee looked the area over and could quickly capture the scene: the Brutes were holding their formation in order to protect their ship's gravity lift and the Elite units were trying to break through. He continued to scan the area and saw that there was no way around the battlefield without backtracking. Not a good idea, as it would increase their chances of being found by hostile forces.

"Options?" Simyaldee softly questioned.

"We have to go through this defense in order to get to the ship. However, look closer to the enemy units." Balmaedee pointed toward the rear of the advancing Brute forces. Simyaldee saw what looked to be a larger Brute than the rest. He held a massive hammer and his fur was brilliantly white.

"What is it that? A Jiralhanae field master of some kind?" Simyaldee questioned as his gaze was transfixed on the massive beast.

"He is well protected and studying the battle before him. He is perhaps something more important than a mere field master. Stay here, out of sight. I will see what I can find out."

Balmaedee vanished from view, his enhanced active camouflage powered by the new shield emitter, made him nearly invisible. He stalked into the street and looked the area over. He pressed closer into the Brute's line, and stopped merely a few feet from their fortified position. He had to find a path for them all to pass through, and a path that could be defended from heavy weapons fire, in case the Brutes spotted them. He gripped his energy sword hilt and palmed it tightly as he stepped over rubble. He looked over his shoulder and could see Simyaldee looking toward the Brute's formation, ready to spring to action at a moments notice; even if it meant facing overwhelming odds.

Balmaedee stopped behind a large piece of building debris and looked up the street and to the alley across from him. He had found a blind spot. From all angles the boulder sized debris presented itself as excellent cover, and it was easily defendable from all sides. The alley exit was a mere sixty yards away, easily crossable for any trained warrior, but the young civilians would be a problem. He leapt to the back side of the boulder and glared at Simyaldee, he uncloaked and revealed himself. He wanted to use the com channel, but with the Brute's ship nearby they ran the risk of having their transmission intercepted. He slapped the side of the debris twice, signaling that this was their target location and it was secure. Simyaldee nodded in response and turned to M'atralee.

The group came up to Simyaldee and he told them the plan. M'atralee would escort the first group, the slowest, and Simyaldee would follow with the faster of the group, and those who could fire their weapons if needed. This was risky, as there was a possibility of being divided, but it was the only way. No choice, it had to be done.

M'atralee crept forward and looked down the street. The Brutes were still focused on the battle and not watching their rear flank; with the ship behind them they had no reason to be alarmed. M'atralee gripped the youngest by the hand and dashed across the street followed by two of the other young. Their strides were long, but they were still slow. Simyaldee watched the Brutes closely, willing them mentally not to turn around. After what felt like an eternity, they cleared the gap and were resting behind the debris.

Vasmeola exhaled heavily, a sigh of relief from watching her younger brothers successfully cross the street. She rested her hand upon Simyaldee's shoulder. "If we are seen… will the Warrior forces at the opposite end come to our aid?"

"No, they are cut off from us. They may use our discovery to their advantage, but they will not come to help. We will be considered worthy sacrifices in this battle. Prepare yourself." Simyaldee watched closely, waiting for a moment to spring forth. Every second seemed to last forever but the Brutes never turned around. It was now or never. "Go!"

Vasmeola dashed into the street, her plasma rifle held tightly, followed by the last of her brothers. Simyaldee followed closely behind but he ran at only a half sprint; they were slow yet still faster than the others. He watched the backs of the Brutes as he crossed the road, still willing them mentally not to turn around. He then stopped at the side of the debris while Vasmeola and the others breathed heavily. M'atralee and Simyaldee were hardly winded, yet the civilians were completely exhausted from the short sprint. At another time it would be amusing to see them panting so heavily.

Simyaldee walked closer to Balmaedee, but suddenly they both turned, as footsteps echoed from behind. Coming from the ship was a lone Brute. He would easily spot them in a moment's time.

"Get across to the alley. I will deal with him." Balmaedee cloaked and jumped out of cover. "Go now!"

"Someday, all of our forces should carry active camouflage, and not just the Spec Ops." The idea was sound, but there was no time to ponder it. Simyaldee waved for M'atralee to lead, and they all raced across the street in unison. Simyaldee grabbed the youngest and shouldered him as he ran behind Vasmeola.

The Brute looked up and to his surprise he saw several Elites racing across his path. Shock filled him and he gripped his weapon. He opened his mouth to yell out their presence, but his voice cut out before he could do anything. His arms became heavy, deathly heavy, and pain filled his chest. He glared down at the glowing spikes of energy that protruded from his chest and an invisible force gripped his mouth shut. He motioned to grab at his mouth, to pull away the invisible object, yet its power was unreal. He then found the pain beginning to grow as he was lifted slowly into the air. He could no longer feel the ground beneath his feet and his neck was getting tight, like a vice was twisting his head in an awkward angle.

Simyaldee released the young one as they all entered the alley. He turned to see what had happened to the Brute that was coming toward them, but as he turned he saw something shocking. The Brute seemed to be floating backwards a few feet off the ground with an Energy sword protruding out of its chest. Simyaldee had snuck up from behind, impaled the beast, and lifted it off the ground with one arm. He glared closer and could see that the creature's neck was being twisted backwards, but muffled so that it couldn't scream. The sheer power to lift such a monstrously large foe was mind-boggling, but to do it with one hand and snap its neck with the other was well beyond that.

The Brute's body suddenly slammed to the ground, lifeless, and Balmaedee silently appeared at Simyaldee's side. Simyaldee jerked away, bewildered at Balmaedee's stealth. "Let us move on." He stated as he again resumed the lead.

Simyaldee watched as the Second walked toward the front of the group, and began to realize that he was called the Second for a reason. He was strong, far stronger than Simyaldee thought possible. They were only separated by ten years of age, yet the gap between experiences seemed colossal. The group gathered themselves and continued on toward the Elite ship.

- - - - - - - -

Dimonthulon glinted at the massacre before his eyes. His Brutes were out matched, out smarted and slaughtered. "The smaller creatures in front of the Sangheili, they must be well trained to hold their ranks even under such heavy fire. We did not break their defense!" He snarled as he gripped the Fist of Rukt tighter, eager to spring forth and slam the mighty hammer into their lines. But now was not the time to be aggressive. The Elites were tactful, smart and patient. They ordered their underlings with masterful skill and were keenly skilled at studying their opponents. The Elites were everything that the Prophets said they were. He was wrong about them and the Covenant, and his leadership was soon to be changed if his reinforcements didn't arrive soon. He thought on his next action. He had to regroup his forces for one last stand, a stand near the ship's gravity lift.

"Contact the ship, tell them to lower all defense weapons to the base of the gravity lift and set up a perimeter." He snarled to his kin. Several of them turned and ran down the street. "The rest of you, retreat to the ship. We will make our last stand there." All of his units retreated but he snarled and huffed at the slowly advancing wall of Jackal shield emitters. He waited until his units were cleared and then stepped toward the Jackal's.

"You have made your point, Sangheilis. But the Jiralhanae shall not falter so easily." He lowered his hammer to mid height and pushed it forward. A sudden glow of blue energy engulfed the Hammer of Rukt and rolled toward the unsuspecting line of Jackals and Elites. They were all thrown off their feet, pushed backwards, and momentarily stunned. They quickly gathered themselves, but Dimonthulon had already fled.

He cleared the fort but watched as two of his guards stood over the remains of another. "What is it? I ordered you to fall back…" His eyes then noted the wounds on the corpse. His chest had been pierced and his neck snapped. It was his Second in command, the Brute he had ordered to secure the ship; dead. What did this mean? "No time. Fall back to the ship. We must deal with one thing at a time."

- - - - - - - -

"The Age of Reclamation"
Jiralhanae ship hovering over evacuated Sangheili Capital City
Outpost World
March 22, 2434 :: Sol Relative Time

The towering image of a Prophet glowed in the center of the room. It gazed downward toward the ageing Brute before him, a Brute that had climbed the ladder of ranks in a very short period of time and was well respected amongst his kin. His age granted him seniority, yet he was forced to remain nothing more than a mere Captain.

The Hologram spoke,"We shall arrive in two days. Is everything prepared?"

With a snarling bass came the reply, "Yes your Holiness. All is prepared. The Chieftain is moving into position as we speak; believing that our weapons have been taken off line."

"Good. Can your subordinates be trusted?"

"Power governs all, your Holiness. They will follow my lead."

"This was a wise decision. Dimonthulon, I fear, was not ready to follow the path of the Great Journey, nor the will of Gods. Yet you… you have the light of the Gods shining upon you even as we speak. When this is over, you and the Jiralhanae shall be welcomed into our Covenant, and embraced within our Holiness. And when the day of the Great Journey comes, you and the Jiralhanae will stand at the center of the Covenant and assist us down the path."

The graying Brute knelt before the Hologram, his head held low. "Your words are as pure as the Future of our race, Holiness. It is time for us to end the warmongering of Dimonthulon, and enter our new age with the Covenant."

The image of Truth faded as the old Brute stood. He looked over his crew and snarled deeply. "Those of you who have followed me knew this day would come. Dimonthulon stole the title of Chieftain away from my family, and today I mean to claim it back. He proved himself a worthy warrior upon the battlefield, yet he does not see the future of our race. Wars are not won by power alone. We must have allies, brothers in arm. Was it not I that showed you the power of the Covenant and their Sangheile Forces? Dimonthulon blindly attacked an enemy he did not understand. He will lead us to ruin, as we can not fight the Covenant alone. Brothers, today the rightful heir to the Chieftain line shall be returned!" Growls of approval followed as the aged Brute smiled at his kin. "What is Dimonthulon's position?"

"He is forming a defensive line beneath the Gravity lift. The Sangheili forces have pushed him back to our point."

The new Brute Chieftain chuckled. "As I told him, taking over this city was a waste of time. This was once their world and the Sangheili know the terrain well." The Brute began to salivate with anticipation as he watched the camera swing into position; looking down upon Dimonthulon and his guards. He could taste the victory upon his lips. "It is time. Evacuate all of our kin from the ground. I go to claim the new destiny of the Jiralhanae race." With three senior officers at his side, the Brute made his way to the gravity lift and descended to the ground.

One of Dimonthulon guards overheard the order to evacuate and snarled as the ageing Brute stepped from the lift. "Mighty Dimonthulon! An order was given to retreat!"

Dimonthulon roared angrily, "I gave no such word! Who spoke in my place?"

"It was I!" The aged Brute slammed his right fist upon his bare chest repeatedly, with a thunderous bass echoing from the swirling air inside his chest.

Dimonthulon chuckled. "You wish to challenge me, old warrior? Do you wish to reinstate your family into the position of Chieftain once again? If your family was able to lead us, then I would not have been able to claim it from them so easily!"

"Face me, Dimonthulon! I, Tartarus, senior of the Chieftain family, will reclaim my family honor before my death!" Tartarus tossed his ammo belts and blades to the ground, and with a roaring thunder he began to smack his chest repeatedly in a display of power.

"Who would follow you? You are old, weak, beyond your years. You will die of age before you even have the chance to sit upon the throne. In your sixty years of service you have never proven yourself worthy. You should have left the military long ago and settled with your mate." He chuckled in a mocking manner.

"But my family honor will be restored. And when my son comes of age, he shall claim my name and lead the Jiralhanae down the path that the Gods laid before us!"

Dimonthulon gazed upon the street, looking to see where the Sangheili forces were. There was no sign of them, and by right he could not reject a challenge to his position as Chieftain. "I need three witnesses. The rest of you, keep watch for the Sangheili." He turned to Tartarus, "I will make you suffer, and then spill the blood of your family in retribution of this act! The name, Tartarus will be forever erased from the history of the Jiralhanae!" Dimonthulon dropped the Fist of Rukt, his ammo belt and armor. He stretched his arms wide, flexing his muscles, and released a blood curling lion's roar from the depth of his lungs. The two massive beasts charged and collided in combat. Fists slammed upon each other as blood and fur were tossed into the wind.

The aged Tartarus could not keep up with Dimonthulon's youth, yet he was a smart opponent. Dimonthulon relied on his power too greatly, charging blindly at Tartarus, but with a calculating eye and patience Tartarus waited for his moment. He withstood repeated blows, and bites from Dimonthulon's monstrous teeth, and finally the moment came.

Dimonthulon leapt forward, once again, raising his arms and fists to pound upon Tartarus's head. Tartarus stepped to the side and slapped the back of his fist against Dimonthulon; sending youthful Chieftain stumbling forward. Tartarus pounced upon his exposed back and gripped him in a headlock. The battle that had seemed to be going so easily for Dimonthulon took a tragic turn for the worst. Bruised, beaten, and blooded, no one could have predicted that Tartarus would win the battle, yet it ended with a sudden snap of muscle and bone. With the back of Dimonthulon's head resting upon his shoulder, Tartarus roared in approval. Dimonthulon's body went limp as the last of his air slowly slipped from his lips. The body dropped to the ground and Tartarus slammed his fists to his chest as he tossed his head back in victory. He then tore Dimonthulon's head from his body as a trophy of his victory.

Battered and wounded, Tartarus claimed the prize of his victory; the Fist of Rukt. He held it high over his head and roared in acceptance, while cradling Dimonthulon's head in his free hand. The Brute witnesses cheered in his honor, though half distracted due to the battle happening around them.

Tartarus looked the group over, "Everyone board the ship. Get us into orbit. The Covenant has proven their worth and we have proven ours. We shall side with them and their Gods."

"Sangheili forces are advancing!" A Brute on watch shouted

"The battle is over. But we will not surrender to them." Tartarus exclaimed as he hobbled back to the gravity lift. "Sound the full retreat! This battle… belongs to them."

- - - - - - - -

The path ahead was clear, and Balmaedee jogged into the command camp of Covenant forces, however he made sure that Simyaldee and the others stayed behind. He approached a red armored Field master and nodded sharply. "Status."

The Field Master quickly addressed him. "Sir, these creatures are in full retreat back to their ship. I was about to notify our Commander to prepare for air combat."

"Retreating? What is the status of our reinforcements?"

He turned to a nearby command terminal, "They are still in slip space. They should arrive tomorrow. Do you believe that they sensed that our superior numbers would be arriving?"

"No… yet it is odd that they would abandon their quest so quickly."

"Sir?" The Field master questioned, curious about Balmaedee's statement.

"Nothing. I have a group of civilians with me, a political family. They must be extracted immediately. I need secrecy on their removal, however our ship was sunk. I am assuming command of any Spec Ops units you have available in this camp."

"I would never hinder the operations of the Spec Ops, Sir. I have ten in my regiment and it would appear that ground combat has ended for now, you may use them at your leave."

"I will return them to you once we are aboard ship." Balmaedee turned to walk away, and waved toward the shadows for Simyaldee to approach. "I will gather our escorts to travel with us to our ship. Tell the others to conceal themselves as best they can. We must keep our honored guests a secret."

Simyaldee sprinted back to the group and advised them to cover themselves. They found an empty building and grabbed what they could find. They gathered fragments of cloths and torn banners, and covered themselves from head to toe. Soon Balmaedee appeared with ten black armored Spec Ops and he advised them on their duty. They were escorts only, and needed to provide protection until they arrived at the ship's gravity lift. Simyaldee thought it was rather awkward that on the easiest part of their journey, they finally had acquired more support.

They group quickly departed; Balmaedee leading with Simyaldee in the rear. The Spec Ops flanked the group from each side, cautiously watching the shadows for any movement. Aside from the random Jackal patrols, the path was clear and went without incident.

During the short trip, Balmaedee took the time to speak with the Ship Master via his headset. "I understand your concern, Sir. But this is why we were sent here."

The tension in the Ship Master's voice was irate. "This is a battleship, major. I do not care if you are with the Spec Ops; this ship is in the midst of combat. We can not play host to a political family which was 'accidentally' left behind. How would I explain the change in the crew manifest if we make it back to port? I do not wish to have a Prophet breathing down my neck at something as small as a rescue operation."

"I have the council's authority to do whatever is necessary to accomplish this mission! As ship master of the last ship able to protect this family, that duty falls in your hands! I simply need quarters for them to rest in until the Armada arrives tomorrow."

The com echoed, "And if we are sunk before then? That… ship, is about to power up its systems. It is making a run for it. I have no intention of letting them get away! You are safer on the planet."

"And you know full well, that if they wanted to bombard us from orbit, they could. We will take our chances aboard ship!"

"Major, you are pressing your…stand by." There was rustling in the background, but the Ship Master did not cut the transmission, instead it began to sound as though he was speaking to someone else. "Yes your holiness. The battle is going well, we are victorious… no. They are retreating. I am preparing to pursue… what do you mean? Your holiness, this is not… Yes. I understand." The ship master's voice became tense, and he returned to Balmaedee's channel. "Get up here, major. Something is not right."

Upon arriving inside the main cargo hold at the top of the Gravity lift, Simyaldee quickly tossed his Brute weapon for something more functional; a plasma rifle and a fresh Energy Sword. The port side door to the cargo hold parted, and in walked the ship master and his escorts. And he was not happy to see Simyaldee rummaging through his supplies.

"Drop that sword, young one. You have not earned the right to wield it." The ship master stated as he approached. He stopped merely inches away from Simyaldee; attempting to intimidate the young warrior. Simyaldee didn't back down, and returned his gaze into the Ship Master's eyes.

Balmaedee watched the encounter and smirked, "It would be wise for you to back down, Commander. Though his armor does not show it, he is under my command for this mission."

The ship master spun quickly and eyeballed Balmaedee. "This young one is a member of the Special Operations? By his look, I would say he is no more then ten days out of the Academy; a mere Watchman."

Although he was upset about being called a Watchman, Simyaldee was more curious about Balmaedee's statement. If memory served him correctly, he was Minor team leader for squad Omega 419; that was if he wasn't executed for abandoning his duty.

"Yes. He is. And by rank he has earned the right to carry that blade." Balmaedee stated as the Ship Master backed away from Simyaldee. "Now, if you will have someone escort our honored guests to their quarters…"

"Yes, yes." The ship master annoyingly waved several of his command officers forward and they assisted Vasmeola and her kin out of the cargo hold. "Who are they?"

"I can not say. It is for their protection." Balmaedee sternly stated.

The Ship Master watched as the small family, concealed in torn and tattered coverings, vanished into the hallways of his ship. "I must speak with you, Major, as something quite odd has happened. I just received word from his Holiness Regret. The Prophets of Truth and Mercy are coming with the Armada."

Balmaedee stepped closer. "Are you certain?"

"Yes. I was telling his Holiness Regret that I would be pursuing the enemy ship, but I was told not to. That Truth and Mercy were coming to establish peaceful communication with them. This enemy is called the Jiralhanae and they will be welcomed into the Covenant! They blindly attacked my recon group destroying two ships before we could fully raise shields, and then destroyed your ship moments later. Sangheili blood has been needlessly shed because of these beasts! How can we simply accept this? The council must stand up to this action!"

"The council will be made aware, but this isn't the first time a brothers' blood has been shed. The same can be said when we accepted the Unggoy, the Kig-Yar, Lekgolo and the Yanmee'. It would seem that every enemy we encounter is to eventually be our ally."

"For the glory of our Covenant, I suppose." The Ship Master did not seem pleased with the statement he had just made. It was what they were all taught in their academy days; that the glory of the Covenant came before all. Yet there was something distasteful about the Jiralhanae, a bad seed that none of the Elites could understand; a natural rivalry between two powerful races. The death of those who died on the Outpost World would never be forgotten.

Simyaldee and Balmaedee made their way to the crew quarters and joined Vasmeola and her brothers. The battle was over for now, but there was still much explaining to do. M'atralee had received extensive aid and wore a healing brace upon his arm; he would be ready for combat in a matter of days. Simyaldee sat in a corner of the room while Balmaedee stood in the center, looking at Vasmeola.

She returned the glare. "Why did you bring us back? We abandoned the Covenant just as it abandoned us."

"Princess, you may speak without fear." Balmaedee looked to M'atralee. M'atralee pulled his pad from his pocket and instantly jammed all transmissions in the room. "You have nothing to fear. The House of Vas is one of our most honored… "

"The House of Vas is no more!" She returned.

Balmaedee looked to Simyaldee. "How much did you tell her?"

Simyaldee stood, and shook his head in confusion. "Nothing, I would not speak of anything to her beyond my knowledge."

Curiously Balmaedee smirked. "Ah, then now I understand her frustration. Simyaldee did not tell you who he is, and in effect who we are. You would then understand why you can trust us."

Vasmeola squinted curiously. "He is a warrior, for the Covenant. Me and my family are now considered Heretics by covenant law…"

Balmaedee cut off Vasmeola's statement and knelt slowly before her, M'atralee as well. "Princess, do you know of the Unwritten Law created by the council?"

Stunned that someone beyond the council knew of it, Vasmeola glared at him. "Yes… my father… he suggested it the council nearly twenty rotations ago … the secret law to protect us from those who would mean us harm." She motioned for them to stand, but they refused. M'atralee urged Simyaldee to kneel as well. He did, although he did not understand why.

Balmaedee added, "The Unwritten Law, its formal name is?

Vasmeola replied, "The Mirratord Law." Simyaldee snapped suddenly to attention. Vasmeola looked at him wondering why he seemed so alarmed. To her knowledge, the Mirratord Law was never revealed to anyone beyond the Elite High Council. The only reason she was aware of it was because of her father. "But you should not know of this Law… it is meant only for the High Council."

"The meaning of the Unwritten Mirratord Law is; to do evil to the Sangheili way of life and Sangheili traditions is to die by Sangheili hands." Balmaedee stood. "My lady, we are the products of your father's Unwritten Law. We are the right hand of the Sangheili High Council. We are the Mirratord."

To be continued.