Chapter 3: Purest Gold

2531

Harvest

Epsilon Indi System

"Keiichi, fifteen degrees north, third merlon along the broken battlements. A squad of marines pinned under heavy fire, forty metres north-north-east. To your right – in the ruins, Elite officer, Major-class, armed with an energised blade."

A constant flow of warnings and awareness streamed into John-117's ears.

The thud of automatic weapons fire sounded above his head as he crouched behind the wall. The brick was baked white and chipped with bullet holes. Though it was approaching evening, the sun has always set late on the world of Harvest. The street was swathed in shadow, though. The tight confines of its ruined buildings, the tattered tarps and half-demolished awnings created a sort of urban canopy overhead that promoted claustrophobia and paranoia.

"Finished," said Keiichi as he holstered his DMR.

The Chief, squatting next to him, tuning his helmet's sensors.

Through a gap in the shattered wall, John-117 could see all the way to the end of the street. The marines were pinned in a narrow defile, too much open ground between them and approaching Covenant troops to make a retreat a viable option.

Still, they didn't need to.

Grainy thermal imaging showed John what he needed to see – six aliens, three Elite Minors with plasma rifles, another carrying a carbine and a team of Unggoy Heavies armed with fuel rod cannons. The aliens were wily enough to hold the cannon in reserve. The plasma fire was desultory, intended to draw the entrenched marines out.

The marine squad was split, half and half, across the street. While he took refuge behind the wall, the others hunkered down behind a broken down Cobra. The heavy battle tank was thick enough to take automatic fire. The marines were in no immediate danger yet.

"I have eyes on," the green-clad Spartan said into his communications. He related coordinates to the other side of the street where a blind target marker waited.

"Light them up, John, if you please. On my mark."

The marker aimed the laser sight of his DMR according to his fellow Spartan's direction. A single shot flashed into the street darkness. Keiichi followed it through his own vision and saw one of the Elites look down to the hole in his chest.

A few seconds later and the dense thump of Kodiak artillery filled the air. The view through the Spartans' visors were swarmed with white as the explosions from the artillery barrage overwhelmed its thermal imaging.

Keiichi ducked down and turned his back as a dust plume billowed down the street towards them. When the roar of explosives had died down and the dust settled, he looked back again. The end of the street was a ruin. A smoking, fire-wreathed crater remained where the aliens had been a few seconds earlier.

"Way is clear. Advance." Keiichi got to his feet and led the way.

Several figures emerged from the smog, their forms disorientated and dazzled.

"Spartans, thank Christ." The marine sergeant at the forefront breathed. His eyes were red-ringed and stinging, and he coughed.

The other marines were clambering out of their positions as well, the battered troopers forming up in loose groups with weapons at the ready. At least half of them were nursing crippled limbs, and several had plasma burns. Most of them had blood-encrusted bayonets attached to the ends of their rifles, and many openly held grenades.

Keiichi immediately raised his hand in greeting as he and John approached.

"Are you all alright?"

"We'll live," The sergeant grunted as he gazed back at the carnage. "That was a bloody close one eh? You two came just in the nick of time."

"Quite so." Keiichi replied with a nod.

As his Spartan brother conversed with the marine NCO, John-117 proceeded to scan the nearby surroundings for lingering aliens. Movement drew his gaze to the east, though his helmet's focusing lens wouldn't align and his scanning reticule kept slipping its locks. Something was there in the distance, throwing his systems off course.

John continued to cycle through vision filters, overlaying display upon display, negating those that showed no new data. During this round of perplexed and increasingly irritated staring that took, by human perceptions, almost no time at all, he deployed his DMR and fired. Within the exact second, Keiichi reacted simultaneously, turning his weapon backwards to support his Spartan brother. The marines responded much later, with bewildered looks plastered on their tired faces as they scrambled to raise their weapons.

"Jackal. Sniper-Class. Office building to the west." The Chief sounded off.

"Scan the area. There is likely more posted." Keiichi pointed two fingers at his visor and made a flat fan motion across.

Alerts blared across the Chief's HUD within the last vision filter he selected while a confused blend of thermoptical intensifiers with echolocation results rendered as precise binary data instead of a visual impression.

"Keiichi, something's not right. Inspect armour." John-117 urgently turned towards his squadmate, making a circle in the air with two fingers to turn around.

Keiichi-047 slung his DMR around as he himself ran a series of diagnostics on his Mark IV, eliciting a few curious looks from the nearby marines.

Confusion reigned in the Chief's mind as he ran his own series of checks again and again. The disruptions came without warning as soon as he spotted the hidden Jackal, a minor discrepancy in his HUD display allowed him to pin-point the sniper's location within the smoking ruins.

Keiichi shook his head even as the connection stopped hissing and became clear.

"This is Sierra-047, checking in. It seems we are being jammed," he says.

There is a pause and another hiss of connection.

"Possible Covenant countermeasures?" The Chief's voice over the communications sounded back.

"Hmph, not impossible. Although it seems to be fluctuating constantly, not wiping out communications completely, more so hindering it to an extent," Keiichi offered his thoughts over the Comms. "Regardless, we must keep moving, can't afford to keep our dear sister waiting."

"Agreed." John-117 nodded ever so slightly as Keiichi motioned back to the marines.

With each passing moment, his worry for his friend grew more palpable, weighing heavy on his heart like a stone sinking into the depths. John-117 replayed his last engagement over and over in his mind, searching for missteps, for signs that regarded for everything he could have done wrong. He had swore after Sam that he would never let any of his Spartan brothers and sisters down ever again.

His thoughts raced with a thousand possibilities, each more dire than the last. What if they could not locate the target? What if they were too late and his sister could not receive the help she needed? The mere thought of one of his Spartan siblings in distress sent a chill down his spine, a shiver of unease that he had not felt in a very long while.

"John? You still in there?" Keiichi's voice over the comms snapped him out of his musing.

"Yes… I'm good," The green clad Spartan steadied himself. "Let's keep moving."

Keiichi-047 shook his head briefly before gently bumping his shoulder into Chief's. "She's gonna be fine John. The Daisy we know is stronger than that."

John-117 could only nod, his mouth drawing thin underneath his visored helm. For all that he was grateful for, finding this 'mysterious being' was their number one priority and from what footage he and Keiichi was made privy to. The golden entity in which they were seeking was capable of a level of death-dealing without peer. Extreme caution was warranted in this scenario. The UNSC did not need another two more Spartans added to the casualty count.

The Master Chief turned to Keiichi once more, this time offering a more resolute nod.

"Then let's not keep our sister waiting."

The rain was falling harder now, stinging the surface of his visor and drumming against the ground. Rivers of black water were running down the hill when Keiichi called back.

"Just one more click to the Evac Point. You're almost home free now, marines."

This evoked a few laughs from the ragtag squad of soldiers that were shadowing the two Spartans for the past five kilometres. Although the collective pace has slowed to a degree more than he and Keiichi would have preferred, they kept watch over the tired soldiers nonetheless.

The winding road stretched out before the group like a ribbon of asphalt, glistening with rainwater under the grey, overcast sky. Each curve and bend seemed to disappear into the misty horizon, shrouded in a veil of falling rain.

"Comm check." Keiichi sent a ping once again over their private channel.

"The interference seems to be getting worse." The Chief responded between bouts of static noise.

"I do not like this," His Spartan brother voiced his thoughts before shulking his DMR down from its locks. "Better double time it, and this rainstorm doesn't seem like its going away either."

The sky above was shrouded in dark, brooding clouds, pregnant with the weight of water waiting to be unleashed upon the world below. Lightning crackled and danced across the horizon, illuminating the landscape in brief, dazzling flashes of light before disappearing once more into the shadows.

John nodded in agreement as Keiichi motioned the marines to press on. These circumstances were becoming more undesirable… with communications now proving to be unstable and the weather conditions deteriorating by the hour. It would be no surprise to find the Evac Point in utter disarray, making their task of securing contact with the being even more complicated.

"We have to keep moving. At least until we clear of Dry Creek Road, we could gather intel once we reach the rally point."

Keiichi-047 beheld devastation and disarray. Heavy rain blew even stronger on relentless winds, drenching the living and the dead alike. The Evac Point was a mess of blast-cratering, yet it was as nothing to the broken carcasses of the buildings around the plaza, and the rainstorms still raging in them. Pre-dawn skies hung leadenly overhead.

"There is almost nothing left of Gladsheim." said John.

"The same goes for this planet," replied Keiichi as he and his brother walked. "And regarding Gladsheim, the majority of the town's residents did not evacuate because no one believed the Covenant would attack."

"Due to their reclusivity." The Chief shook his head ever so slightly.

"Exactly, and we cannot afford such complacency. Not now more than ever." Keiichi said as a trio of medical corpsmen wheeled a wounded soldier past.

"Come, the hours grow short. We'll question the commanding officer here, and decide our next course of action. We cannot linger too long."

They approached the entrance leading into the main area of the Evac Point. Hollow-eyed marine sentries stood to attention and offered tired salutes, though a few just stared, frozen by awe. The two Spartans swiftly passed them and made their way into the area. Here the duo found many more, some preparing makeshift defences, others engaged in bringing shrouded corpses out on stretchers.

They went into a large tent being used as a makeshift morgue. A few Covenant corpses were piled by one detail to be carried out by another. Marines lay in neat lines, each bagged in a dark green shroud. Keiichi spotted a marine officer sporting major stripes standing amongst a group of corpsmen.

For the past five years Keiichi had seen countless soldiers endure the horrors of war. He considered himself to be quite proficient in judging human emotions. And in that particular officer he saw weariness beyond measure.

"Major," said the Spartan II.

The major did not respond at once, but seemed fixed on the rows of bodies on the floor. Keiichi frowned. He understood loss, sympathised even, but now was not the moment for an officer of the UNSC forces on Harvest to waver.

"Major, we require your assistance." repeated Keiichi-047, and this time he hardened his tone. It was enough to jolt the weary officer. The major looked at him and offered a salute.

"Spartans eh? Have you come to relieve us? If so, I don't see any Resup."

"Afraid not, we're here on separate matters, unfortunately. However, my teammate and I will provide support to the best of our abilities."

"Suppose that'll have to do then," The major sighed before adjusting his posture. "Major Reine, Fourth Battalion, Two Hundred and Twenty Eighth Marines."

"Sir," The two Spartans saluted in proper response before Keiichi continued, "We only need a moment of your precious time."

If the man was apprehensive before, it was nothing compared to his expression now upon hearing his statement. Major Reine fidgeted with the cuffs of his uniform, fingers tracing the fabric with nervous energy as he struggled to contain the rising tide of unease.

"And what might that pertain to?"

"Only a few questions, Major." Keiichi answered ever so diplomatically.

"Very well… while I can't seem to fathom what might escape the ears and eyes of those spooks above. Do ask away."

"Thank you, sir. This should only take a while."

"Comms have been shot for the past few hours, we can hardly get a single transmission out. I would say the bloody Covies have us zeroed here even though they haven't found us just yet. "

The command tent they were in had been cleared of all personnel but a few technicians who were still tampering with various comms gear.

"We have been encountering similar issues on our way here," Keiichi continued, "It seems to be the worst at this current location."

Major Reine moved forward to the chart desk. He willed his knees not to betray him as he brought out a paper map.

"This position is most undesirable, I tell you. We had four full battalions two weeks ago and now… barely two hundred men gathered at this evacuation point. And less than half are capable of combat duties." The tired officer detailed as he traced a finger over.

The major took up a pencil from the map table to update one of the locations lost. It was getting difficult even for Keiichi's enhanced senses to read them for all the overlapping annotations. Despite updated copies being made, the work was constantly outpaced by the changing face of the theatre as UNSC forces were forced back to their dwindling positions in Gladsheim.

"This will be our last checkpoint. We're doomed if the Covies manage to catch us here, too many wounded and no armour to back us," The Major sighed. "And this rain… this bloody rain. When will it ever stop?"

"Not anytime soon sir, forecasts indicate that this weather shall persist for the whole of next week." Keiichi dropped the news.

"How will we get back? Any chances of getting some Albatrosses in?" He asked at last.

"No. Not now at least," John added on. "Command has temporarily declared this area a 'No-Go Zone', too risky to send down transports without the risk of them getting picked off."

"Shit." The major intoned beneath grinding teeth.

"Although regrettable, we do wish a few questions before moving on." Keiichi fixed a neutral look.

"Ask away then."

"Have you or any of your men encountered any anomalies on your way here?" Keiichi made sure his systems took note of every detail

"Anomalies? As in the scrambled communications? That we have plenty." The Major, who was still confused, gave his best answer.

Keiichi shook his head "Not exactly. Physical anomalies more of."

"You would have to be more specific, Spartan."

"Have you seen any large figures that are non-Covenant about."

Major Reine looked at him as if he's gone truly mad.

"I'm sorry but… what is this even about? Large figures? You're not giving me much to work with."

"Neither do we, major."

"Look, all the classified mumbo-jumbo aside. With something as strange as you described… surely some of my men would have seen it. We've been stuck at this position for three goddamned days after all. You could question some of them if you like, but I cannot guarantee results," Major Reine sighed again before turning away. "If there is nothing else, I would ask you to leave us, my wounded would not see to themselves."

'We do not have time to question over two hundred troops.' Keiichi voiced over TEAMCOM.

'Could just gather them all and make a collective announcement.' John threw in his two cents.

'No, those above won't like that. The lesser knowing, the better,' Keiichi swiftly rejected the notion. 'We still have noth-'

He stopped. There was a commotion coming from outside. In an instant, the two Spartans immediately shot up and readied their weapons as something shifted within them.

"What the hell is that?" Major Reine shouted over to Keiichi. "Are we under attack?"

He strained his audio receptors.

"UNSC vehicles, Warthogs… and a Scorpion I believe." Keiichi and John pushed his way through the command centre to have a clearer look.

"It is not the sound of battle," concluded Keiichi. "Come on, John."

They went into the open space. The Evac Point had become increasingly crammed, with troops getting on their feet, just as curious to see the new arrivals. Tired soldiers stood from their resting places, suddenly alert.

Keiichi squinted. He could see movement on the road, mostly the outlines of a handful of LRVs and vague figures of men. There was a line of black among the crowds, and golden light from the middle, but his visuals seemed to blur everytime he attempted to focus.

The Spartan II refocused his visual detectors towards the middle of the road. He caught the marines first, their features equally as ragged as those in the camp. A M808 Main Battle Tank was at their head, many of the armour platings scorched and blackened by plasma. Keiichi moved his view back along the small contingent of soldiers. A dazzling luminance flared, hiding what was there, and he winced.

When his eyes adjusted and he saw the source, he almost let go of his DMR.

"So much for subtlety."

Keiichi huffed as the two Spartans gathered at the entrance of the Evac Point, the rain pouring even harder now, puddles formed in the dips and hollows, reflecting the leaden sky above like fractured mirrors.

John allowed himself a smile to allay the absurdity of the situation but quickly braced himself soon after.

John and Keiichi met the demi-company of soldiers at the east gate. Sandbagged positions manned by marines flanked the way in, but they stood in front of their heavy weapons, duty forgotten, mouths open in disbelief.

"What becomes of the plan?" John voiced his concern to his brother over TEAMCOM.

Just before disembarking on their task, the two Spartans had taken the liberty to formulate a proposition in which detailed the procedures of 'First Contact' with this being. As much as John disliked the idea of ONI spooks meddling in tactical affairs, he understood the precautions taken.

They did not want a repeat of the disastrous first contact that is the Harvest Skirmish that practically saw humanity bled dry for the past five years. The UNSC simply could not afford another war with another hostile alien species.

Initial plans were to rapidly escort the towering being into a black-marked Pelican, minimising as much contact with UNSC forces present planetside. In spite of that, it has gone completely out of the window as the massive golden figure revealed itself fully to every personnel present at the Evac Point.

The being grew bigger and bigger as it approached the entrance. It was massively armoured in a powered plate of red and gold, and a conical helm capped with a crest as bright as blood. It stopped, surveying the gathered group as the marines joined it, flanking him on each side.

At a closer inspection, John picked out the finer details of the being's armour, each facet and detail is a testament to the skill and artistry of its creator, a masterpiece of craftsmanship that tells a story all by itself. Not mentioning the tremendous spear clasped firmly within its gauntlet, easily twice the length of a fully grown adult.

"Sergeant Major, have your men positioned sparsely at the ramparts. And have the battle tank secured at that choke point. We will need it."

A strange yet recognizable accent washes over the being's words, like a melody with unfamiliar notes that somehow still strike a chord of familiarity. John wouldn't have claimed to be the most proficient in languages but he found it odd that he could not seem to place the accent at all despite understanding the English spoken.

Ignoring the current party present, the golden figure directed the marines which were following him before to various positions alongside the entrance as the Scorpion roared past.

"Which one of you here stands as the authority." Its demeanour shifted, addressing its words more as a statement rather than a question.

Major Reine pushed past the crowds of weary troops, however when he finally reached the front. The major just stood there, his mouth slightly agape, as if the words they were searching for had suddenly vanished into thin air.

John watched as the officer's brows furrowed in frustration, and his lips moved soundlessly, forming silent syllables that hung in the air like echoes of a forgotten language.

"Th-That would be me… uh… sir?" He finally managed to splutter.

The being took a step forward while everyone else except the Spartan IIs unconsciously took one back.

"You may call me, Ra. Or address me as Tribune, if formality is your preference," He declared openly, "Now then, I believe the two of you are here for me."

"That is correct." Keiichi nodded as John let him take over the speaking portion. "I am Warrant Officer Sierra-Zero-Four-Seven, and this is my teammate, Master Chief Petty Officer Sierra-One-One-Seven." Keiichi introduced while gesturing to himself and John.

The now-named Ra nodded as if he already knew the given information before briefly back south.

"I understand. And how goes your comrade in red? I did intend to return for her, but your people were ahead. Efficient." Tribune Ra remarked, having to physically look down at the duo.

"Partially the reason we are here, Tribune." John could hear the strain in Keiichi's voice.

"Good, then we shall see to it after this engagement." The towering warrior's words interrupted John out of his musing.

"Engagement? What do you mean?" Keiichi immediately pressed for answers.

"A host of aliens hounded us on our journey here, despite our best efforts. They were only eluded momentarily." The Tribune stately plainly.

"And their strength?" Keiichi questioned, tone more urgent now.

"A sizable battalion, likely to be more," Ra noted briefly as he turned to the still baffled major. "Major. What is the fighting number at your disposal?"

"Uh… about a h-hundred or so?"

"That would have to do, I have sixty-three, including the crew in the battle tank," The Tribune said while motioning to the cadre of troops that had stuck with him. "Have your men space themselves out sparsely. Any available heavy weapons hold them back."

Despite the chaos, the marines still maintained discipline as they scrambled to positions, a testament to their training and readiness for combat. Tested and honed in the fires of Harvest's ruination. Each of them knew their role and executed it with a single-minded determination, their focus fixed on the task at hand.

One and a half company of battered and exhausted marines against an overwhelming force of Covenant infantry of unknown numbers, likely supported by armour and aerial elements. John banished those dark thoughts as he checked his ammo count. The UNSC has faced worse odds. We have to prevail here, the alternative was unacceptable.

This was for Daisy, for his Blue Team, for all his brothers and sisters.

The clouds of mist began to part. John-117 now saw the enemy, unveiled. A myriad of shapes in the thinning smoke ahead of them; alien shapes and xenos lines. A host of Covenant infantry, spread wide, advancing on foot at a steady pace. The Spartan II could hear the disgruntled snarls of alien throats and hums of grav-propulsion drives spawned from approaching Wraiths.

The enemy mass gave no sign that it had begun to charge. It just continued its steady, turgid advance. It had time and weight on its side. Even obscured by the drifting cloudiness, it was clear that the Covenant had fielded a vast number of troops against the thin UNSC defence line, five times or more than their numbers.

The Tribune had walked forward from the entrenched position, despite the dumbstruck looks from the marines huddled behind cover. The lack of reaction did not seem like brute stupidity, or even the preening confidence of a superior force. To the trained eyes of both Spartan IIs, it felt like a simple lack of response.

The Covenant forces initially did not react, in the same way as a deer caught in headlights does not react. They simply continued, at their own insidious pace, with more numbers appearing by the second, multiplying, spreading.

Two pairs of hulking and lumbering Hunters loomed over the landscape, towering behemoths of armour and writhing worms. Their massive frame cast a long, dark shadow that stretched across the dampened ground, swallowing everything in its path. Each step it took shook the earth, creating deep, thunderous reverberations that echoed through the surrounding wilderness.

"Space out! Space out!" John heard a few of the marine NCOs shouting behind him.

It didn't make any sense tactically to the Spartan II as he made a study of the enemy. His armour systems processed the blurry scraps of his feed, freezing and highlighting partial captures of species, weapons, armour details, and comparing them to available combat files. Matches are framed, enhanced, and flashed onto his retina with appended markers.

The enemy possessed much superior firepower compared to the depleted UNSC force before them. For all their zeal, any sane Covenant commander could have deduced that a sustained bombardment would already be more than enough to wipe them clean.

And yet, enemy movements indicated files and lances forming into sparse attack groups, with the Hunters and Wraiths consisting of the foremost vanguard. John shared a mutual look with his Spartan brother, both their gazes gradually tracing towards the golden being.

'They want him as well.'

"These Covenant aliens willingly put themselves to disadvantage. Good. We shall make full use of it," Tribune Ra voiced out to the two Spartan commandos. "Remain here with the rest of the soldiers, make sure they do not bunch."

"And you?" As much as John felt redundant for asking, his instincts screamed that an ominous feeling gnawed at the edges of his consciousness, a deep, unsettling sensation that something was terribly amiss.

The Tribune turned to look at the Spartan IIs, his countenance impassive behind a golden veil. And when he spoke again, his voice ushered neutrality and command.

"I will sally out and meet the xenos. You may fire upon me, and do not concern yourselves with the consequences."

Both Spartan IIs offered incredulous looks to the giant before them whilst Ra simply turned away.

"That is a decision most impractical, Tribune! As capable as you may be, charging-" Keiichi voiced his protest in an instance before getting interjected.

"I understand your concerns, Zero-Forty-Seven. However, entrenching ourselves into a singular position will condemn us all to bleed to a slow death," The Tribune assured, his tone stalwart.

"I will meet them regardless and provide a suitable distraction. You men shall make full use of that and whittle their momentum down."

There was no room for ambiguity in his demeanour. Ra's posture remained relaxed yet firm, told a story of a person who had weighed their options carefully and arrived at a conclusion with full awareness of the consequences.

Keiichi breathed a sigh mixed with acceptance and defeat. "Very well then Tribune, we shall do our utmost to cover you, from here."

"Thank you," Ra glanced across the two supersoldiers, then at the marines not far back. "The day will be upon us soon. Make ready."

John checked his DMR again as both him and Keiichi positioned themselves at the first line of makeshift defences.

"Inspect Armour." Keiichi flashed a green light onto his HUD.

The distortions seemed to have miraculously cleared themselves now despite the numerous checks. Inside his helmet, a light flashed green again as Keiichi acknowledged his own systems. John ran through his own checklist— weapons loaded and safe, suit integrity good, rebreather operable, attachments secure, ammunition stocked.

The two Spartans exchanged glances before eyeing the ridgelines again. The aliens have finally formed up and readied for a general advance.

This was it. They would have to hold this emplacement or d-

Sounds of screaming plasma filled the air with an eerie, otherworldly resonance as the Hunters and Wraiths combined their armaments. It was a high-pitched, keening wail that seemed to pierce through the fabric of reality itself. The noise was a chaotic symphony of energy, a blend of sharp, sizzling hisses and rapid, staccato crackles that danced on the edge of hearing.

"Stay down! Stay down!" Keiichi yelled through open comms. "Cease and hold!"

The Covenant bombardment hit them hard but John could hear NCOs yelling at men who were still blasting from the gun-steps. It wasn't silence. The thunder of the enemy barrage remained. But it was the stillness, the eerie.

The stillness of death.

John clicked the safety off his DMR, and heaved his way back to the front.

Behind and alongside the Wraiths, waves of alien infantry surged forward, their movements synchronised with the advancing armour. Elites spearheaded the charge as scores of jackals and grunts followed behind, their bestial expressions set in grim determination, countless eyes fixed on the horizon. They moved in disciplined formations, chanting their religious verses in an unyielding march. Assaulting fire was still coming in. Smoke was washing north across the defence lines.

"Everyone!" Keiichi bellowed "Return Fire!"

The torrential gunfire of three hastily organised marine platoons ripped at the foremost Covenant file, catching numbers of line infantry too eager on the advance. As the rain continued to fall, it painted a scene of fervent horror, a stark contrast of nature's gentle touch intertwined with the brutality of conflict. The sound of the rain, a soft, steady drumming, was now drowned out by the deafening mixture of ballistic and plasma fire, creating a dissonant symphony that echoed through the desolate landscape.

John tracked the shots of Keiichi's weapon as though they were tracers and hammered his DMR at the source. Both Spartans simultaneously eliminated an entire Elite lance creeping up on the flank.

Freezing and soaked, the assailed UNSC forces picked the aliens off as they lumbered through the water to get at them. Each kill-shot cut short another war cry. John himself was getting irritated at hearing the same phrases over and over again. He shot at faces and mouths to shut them up.

"John! Do you see him? I seemed to have lost sight of the big guy!" Keiichi shouted in TEAMCOM over the preceding battle, his voice barely audible.

John felt a sharp sting as a bolt of plasma grazed his shoulder plate, leaving a small scorch mark. Melted flesh coated his armour as a marine beside him was caught in the throat, a horrifying gurgle sufficing as his last words before collapsing.

Despite the chaos and noise of the onslaught, John's focus was unwavering as his sensors scanned through the battlefield, driven by a singular goal. Every face he passed was scrutinised.

Some of the aliens stood tall, namely the Sangheili who had the potential to tower over most Spartans, save for Kurt. But it was the serpent union of Mgalekgolo who stood as pillars, stretching over eight feet even in their crouched form. It took two or three shots from the M41 to even just stagger them.

Then out of the gloom a true giant emerged.

He came through the colonnade at a run, as though drawn to the gunfire and death. His running leap took him through an archway and was six or seven metres clear before hitting the first file. He was still running, somehow unencumbered by the flood that was slowing down the others behind as sheets of spray were kicked up.

John-117 saw a flash. The glint of light catching sonic thing moving in from the south-east, something exceptionally fast.

The Tribune's rate of stride began to increase. Fast strides, then a jogging measure, then a bounding run, heavy plated figures spattering wet mud and quaking the ground as they began to charge. Shields up, blades lifting, heads down, weapons aimed.

Twenty metres from the advancing wave of roaring Covenant troops, the lone figure of Ra began to fire. The turret mounted on his spear boomed and sparked, their muzzle flashes dull red in the twilight of smoke.

Front-ranks of Unggoy and Elite Minors crumpled and fell, spinning aside, toppled, blown open, punctured. Fractured energy shields burst from explosive impacts. Alien meat and liquid discharge showered. The guns of the second file began to answer, blinking and roaring from the plodding ranks. The Hunters themselves had stirred from its brumation. Charging aliens on either side of the Tribune dropped, killed outright, or smacked off their feet as explosive bolts detonated against their now broken bodies.

With another ten metres clearance, the incoming mass of Covies would overwhelm the UNSC defences down entirely. But it did not have ten metres. The lone figure of Ra was speeding, and he was already on them. The impact was a rippling clatter of metal on metal, of power fields and alien metal clashing, that ran along the battle line like the hammer blows from a thousand working anvils. It was so loud and fierce it could be heard by the Spartan IIs and the marines back in the trenches.

John's pale eyes narrowed, his concentration absolute, taking in the ballet of violence unfolding before him. The blurry footage shown to him before did not do him any measure of justice. This titan of a being reaved through swathes of Covenant infantry — spinning and twisting at speeds incomprehensible even to the augmented senses of the Spartan IIs — cutting them down, butchering them the way John himself would have done in training sims dialled to the minimum.

How easy, all of a sudden now, to see how this giant could have left the carnage behind upon the bridge in which John initially found his wayward sister.

What even is he?

All the while the UNSC forces never stopped firing as a pair of M12 Warthogs moved in to close the gaps. Their chainguns ravaged disorientated Covenant line troops as they turned back to face the greater threat.

Ra was a golden blur. A smear of light. His glaive cut towards the shoulder of a Hunter, severing the cannon arm off completely. The Mgalekgolo's shield fared little better as it was cut in half by the flashing power fields of the Tribune's warspear.

The lumbering worm collective slid back, leaning to touch the ground to keep balance, its legs digging deep with both its limbs gone. The Tribune saw the opening, barged past another Hunter and ran at the dismembered behemoth, spear held high before cleaving it in two.

Witnessing the demise of its fellow bond brother, the Hunter behind the Tribune flew into a bloody frenzy, bringing down its heavy shield with grim intentions of crushing the rapid warrior.

As the monstrous alien struck, the golden giant answered.

Ra hit first, his longer stride lending him a modicum of additional speed, slamming aside the metal shield of the berserking Hunter, and drove his spear deep into the Hunter's abdomen, burning armour and worm flesh alike.

The Tribune wrenched his weapon free, bringing out a torrent of putrid blood. He was already moving on to the next foe before the first had hit the floor. He grabbed a broken piece of the Hunter's shield and hurled it with such force that it caved in the faceplate of an oncoming Elite, taking its head straight off. With spear in both hands, he lopped the plasma rifle of another Jackal in half, causing the volatile ammunition inside to explode and taking the alien's hands, then he turned on his heel, his blade a blur in the air, and sliced the heavy spear right through a trio of Elites who dared to approach.

All this carnage happened in a matter of seconds.

"Fucking Hell! Look at him go!"

"Holy Mary, mother of Joseph! He's pushing them back!"

Several of the marines cheered in rapture as the Tribune slew a warpath through the incoming horde. The entrenched UNSC forces began redoubling their effort as more of the attackers were pulled back and blended down by the Tribune.

"John, I'm running low!" Keiichi shouted from not far off, his brother ducked down just in time to avoid a stream of plasma.

Checking his own ammo count, the Chief realised that his own reserves were almost spent as well.

A plasma burst hit one of the barricades at the front, reducing a positioned Warthog and the marines nearby to a molten slag. Through it, all John could see were the bright flashes of plasma and needler shots sparkling all over the front of the barricades, and the front ranks of the ragged aliens advancing upon them. The UNSC force remaining included no more than a hundred marines, three more LRVs and the lone Scorpion tank whose crew still fired on valiantly. It would not be enough. The advancing Covenant force still numbered in the hundreds.

Hails of bullets tore through the air with a menacing hiss, each one a deadly missile seeking its target. They struck files of aliens with violent impact, felling them like cut grass. Still they came on.

"Keep Firing!" A faceless shout echoed somewhere beside him.

John did not bother to look as he relieved a fallen marine of his MA37. More of the enemy dropped, those hit by concentrated fire falling like children playing at battle, those hit by the Vulcan Chain guns were rended to pieces utterly.

The enemy let out a moaning, wordless roar, utterly mindless, utterly hopeless.

John knew then that they would not break them here. He moved into a trot as his rifle clicked empty.

"First, Second platoon! Fall back! Fall back!" Major Reine was screaming his lungs off somewhere far behind.

The Covies themselves were running, screaming, mad with loss and pain and all the things brought down by the thundering defiance of the human defenders.

"Keiichi!" John shouted. He drew his combat knife and M6C.

They were close enough now for the green-clad Spartan II to see the madness in every face.

The Covenant have reached the first line. The world disintegrated into screams and blood, where each moment existed as a thing discrete, distinct from every other moment. John saw the battle now in Spartan Time. His knife rose and killed, his gun fired.

An Elite Major was first through, charging the Spartan with reckless abandon, plasma rifle vomiting streaks of blue. John dodged aside as it fired, a bolt glancing off his chest before raising his Magnum and blasting away at its energy shields. The Elite staggered but still flung itself at the Spartan, energy blade drawn. Sprawling deep to dodge the initial swing, John returned with trained precision, driving his knife repeatedly into the joint between the back of its neck and its armour.

It made a noise of pain deep in its chest, plucked at him, and flung him aside. John rolled over expertly as the saurian fell dead. His M6C fired again and again, dropping three more Grunts and Jackals clambering over the sandbags.

He could no longer see the Tribune amidst the field of chaos as primary positions were overrun. As the exterior of Evac Point began to fall, and victory had become a distant promise, John's heart rate had barely lifted as he ended another Elite Minor with a direct shot to its jaw.

He had not succumbed to hope. He had maintained his composure.

Keiichi had done the same, directing the last of the marines into secondary positions. His Spartan brother had torn the M46 Vulcan off another ruined Warthog, laying down a barrage of cover fire, obliterating scores of Covies.

One of the Wraiths hovered past the breach, smashing aside fortifications. The remaining soldiers threw grenades at the alien armour, but it floated through their explosions as if they were gentle rains, the plasma mortar mounted on its top began charging to fire again.

"Keiichi! On your six!" John practically roared over TEAMCOM as the orb or superheated plasma sailed towards his fellow brother.

There is no time.

John's heart hammered as he broke into a sprint, each beat loud and insistent, as if trying to break free. Pulse racing, pounding in his ears like a relentless drum, drowning out all other sounds.

No, not again. Don't let it be, please.

His muscles burned as he pushed both armour and physique.

There was simply no time.

As the last moments came, and the defenders were reduced to desperate knots of resistance, something changed.

Lightning leapt over the heads of the alien horde, jumping from particles suspended in the air, throwing them down in showers of orange sparks. John's teeth ached. His eyes hurt. The lightning gathered into bright clumps in a dozen places, two dozen, then three, growing into loose balls of light that coalesced into solid orbs, and from them stellar violence erupted, laying out the combatants in neat patterns upon the floor, and allowing John to see the singular golden giant standing amid the crowds of fallen.

Out of the carnage, Tribune Ra had forced himself between Keiichi and the plasma burst. Timing a sidekick so absolute that it sent the Spartan II flying for a good twenty five metres into the backlines, crashing into a few of the makeshift tents.

In the midst of this auditory onslaught, there were bursts of explosive pops and hissing arcs, like the discharge of a thousand lightning bolts condensed into a single, relentless stream.

The Tribune himself seemed to ripple and distort around the plasma, amplifying the intensity of the sound and creating a sense of overwhelming power and raw, untamed energy.

However it was not the case at a closer examination. A canopy of gentle gold shrouded his entire figure, dissipating the plasma blast gradually into nothingness.

"Men of Harvest! Stand firm!" He boomed clearly over the ensuing carnage.

The Tribune swept low, like a hunting eagle, banked magnificently between the streams of plasma fire trying to track him, and ploughed into the snout of the nearest Wraith. He drove his spear straight through the top of its command compartment, blowing out flames and fragments of cockpit glass. Tribune Ra tightened his grip. The spear, harpooned deep into the base of the engine's skull, glowed briefly, and pulsed energy into the Elite in which it impaled. Sub-detonations went off in its assemblies, its hips, and out through the back of its drive compartment.

The final eighty or so marines that were left perhaps spurred on by the otherworldly display, surged on in great vigour, forcing files of aliens back. John however backtracked as he dashed through the wreckage-strewn ground, toward the still form of Keiichi, his friend.

"Keiichi…" John inwardly breathed a sigh of relief while pulling his Spartan brother back onto his feet.

Keiichi stumbled to his feet while choking out a cough. "I didn't even see what happened… "

"He sent you flying."

"Did he now? Well, is our VIP a-"

Chunks of flesh and limbs tumbled through the air and smashed down upon the ruined landscape. A chunk of Sangheili torso hit the ground mere feet from the two Spartans, staining the soaked ground in a splash of gore.

"Well there's your answer." John remarked dryly.

The two Spartans had made their way up to the thin line of the Evac Point's central fortification. From the distance, John could see most of the Covenant assault had already been derailed, their numbers thinned drastically and morale stunted.

Not all of them unfortunately.

A small pocket of Elites and the two remaining Hunters still advanced, stubbornly refusing to give ground, picking away at marines who lingered too close. The M808B Main Battle Tank which still lived, now completely scorched black and despite the myriad of visible scars and internal destruction-duelled with both of the Hunters.

The Scorpion and its crew held firm, absorbing the first impact of the Assault Cannon before returning the favour with a beautifully timed shot directly into the sternum of the foremost Hunter, slicing the beast almost in half whilst killing a few nearby Elite Minors.

Inhuman screams wailed throughout the drenched plains of Gladsheim as the final Hunter wept for its lost bond brother. A Fuel Rod Gun fired blind, point-blank, sending the scarred Scorpion and its crew to a fiery grave.

Their sacrifice bought just enough time for Tribune Ra to sweep the stragglers and double back to end the desponded monstrosity.

A streak of lightning, a flying spear of devastating force, bursts through the Hunter's shield arm, making its assault cannon misfire. The alien fell sideways, legs locked, and hit the ground so hard it slapped up waves of mud and soil that even the earth shook.

Tribune Ra was upon the downed beast at a pace at which even inconceivable to the Spartan IIs, his twin blades drawn from their sheaths in a display of flashing extravagance.

Electric waves crashed far in all directions. Sparks fizzled blue and powerful as the dual blades ravished alien flesh and metal, reducing the once hulking monster to countless broken pieces.

Turning his gaze from his Spartan brother, John passed a critical eye over their VIP, who now stood facing his latest kill.

"I doubt he even needs us," Keiichi exhaled, hand now resting on a salvaged Covenant Carbine. "I mean, just look at him."

John found little room to argue as the Tribune had already sped on, helping the remaining soldiers mop up what was left of the Covenant assault force. For the first time in his whole career, John could not arrive at a fair assessment at the 'individual' before him. The Tribune's herculean strength coupled with his blinding speed raised many concerns regarding the quality of his species.

Could there even be a living thing underneath all that armour? Or could it be purely artificial intelligence given free reign of a machine body?

The only comfort that he could take would be that this 'Tribune Ra' was on their side, if the sea of carnage he had left behind was any indication.

"Perhaps not, but we still have our mission." John acknowledged his friend.

By the time the two Spartans had reached the entrance, Covenant files had already begun to fracture. Even some of the Elites were running in a full route, cohesion lost as flashing blades minced those who held on. Whole lances were mown down where they stood, bodies twisting and lifting, and disintegrating in clouds of churned earth and stitching impacts. A few, unscathed, tried to fire back.

It did little to delay their ends.

The Covenant, the aliens who screamed for humanity's death warrant half a decade ago… stopped. They froze. The Grunts yelped and yapped. They pawed backwards, heads low, whimpering, then turned and fled, every one of them that was still alive, or what might be termed alive.

They raced away in, as it seemed to Keiichi, sudden and abject terror. They ran back the way they had come, in their pitiful dozens, leaving their massacred dead behind.

The Tribune had stopped swinging. He came to rest, a golden blur becoming a gilded giant. He lowered his twin blades and stood, watching the enemy retreat.

An entire battalions' worth of Covies, supported by armoured elements… was sheared down to a mere handful of levies. Most of which could be attributed to the visage of death still standing strong not far off. From his angle, even with his enhanced eyesight, Keiichi could have very well confirmed that the demeanour of this 'Ra' has not changed one bit.

Unlike most of the surviving soldiers who either embraced their fellow brethrens in jubilation for this miraculous victory, or slumped down onto nearby sandbags, exhaustion finally taking hold. The Tribune remained collected, gazing towards the horizon, as if considering to pursue the routing aliens. Keiichi could only hope that this time, he could convince their VIP out of it.

A handful of the marines stumbled after him, caked mostly in grime and blood. The giant turned.

"You saved us… '' Keiichi could hear one of them murmur.

"What are you, sir? Are you a Spartan? Has HIGHCOM sent you as our salvation?" Another marine spoke in a low whisper, the rain barely concealing her amazement.

"You soldiers have conducted yourselves well, it is all to your credit." replied the Tribune. His voice was like a lead weight wrapped in silk. "Do go and have your deserved rest, and we shall see what can be done to get you all away from this humidity."

It is almost as if the universe itself had chosen to oblige his wish.

The heavy downpour gradually began to ease, the relentless drumming of raindrops slowing to a softer, gentler pattern. The dark, brooding clouds that had dominated the sky started to thin and disperse, revealing patches of lighter grey and, eventually, glimpses of blue.

A ray of sunlight pierced through the canopy of clouds, a single golden beam cutting through the grey expanse of sky, casting the Tribune in an incandescent hue.

"How curious," The Tribune mused as Keiichi and John approached. "I was once told that rain reminds us that we cannot stop what can't be stopped. The world will turn, the seasons change, the rain falls, and life goes on."

Out of the corner of his vision, Keiichi's HUD detected the signature of an Elite Ultra, barely clinging onto life, an arm torn off at the stump and white armour caked in mud. The alien weakly levelled its needler pistol.

"Look out!" John shouted at the Tribune, aiming his M6C at the downed alien but the pistol clicked empty.

Pink shards of alien glass rained down onto the Tribune with a sharp, chaotic clatter. However, no sound was produced as the crystals bounced off

The golden ripples flexed and twitched under the assault, the taut energy field vibrating with each hit. The pieces of needles were brushed away gently, while the smaller fragments scattered and danced across the surface, creating a cascading effect of tiny, tinkling echoes. Some shards slid down the angled canopy, almost akin to fallen leaves during autumn season.

"And yet… even the most torrential of downpours will not wash away the scars etched into this world." Without looking, the Tribune brought his boot down hard, squashing the struggling xeno into a puddle of purple paste.

The two Spartans gave no reply, having no words to offer.

Among the survivors, there is a sombre, reflective quiet. Soldiers move with a slow, deliberate pace, their movements heavy with exhaustion and the weight of what they've endured. Conversations, if they happen at all, are spoken in hushed tones.

John watched as the dead were laid out once again. Out of the hundred and seventy soldiers who were picked out to stand against the Covenant tide, only seventy-eight remained.

Without any doubt, this defence would have been considered a staggering victory once word gets back to HIGHCOM. That a small force of marines prevailed and pushed back against a greater foe. Commendations and medals will be handed out generously to the soldiers of the Two hundred and Twenty Eighth, and tales of heroism shall be spun to elevate the war effort. That was how it simply worked.

But the dead themselves would not hear any of it.

Retreating back into the command tent, intermittent bursts of static crackled sharply, cutting through the air with a gritty, erratic noise.

"Local Command, Local Command. This is Two Bravo, do you hear us?" A pair of mud-streaked engineers worked in tandem getting the communications back up.

"Anyone answering?" A voice came from outside the tent flap.

John turned from the quiet, ceaseless activity of the small room. Keiichi stood in the doorway, Covenant Carbine still slung over his shoulder.

"We're waiting," John said.

"Ninety-nine per cent of a soldier's life, John," snarked his friend.

That brought a smile to John's face, glad to find some measure of distraction.

"The Major is dead." Keiichi's next words brought him back to earth

"How?"

"Plasma Mortar. There was not much left of him to find." Keiichi informed his friend.

Voices, slightly distorted by the transmission, came through in bursts, accompanied by the squelch of radio feedback, their tonal quality flattened by the technology.

"W…We h-hear y-you, Bravo-T-wo. G…Glad to know t-that y… you endure. A general retreat has been issued, we're gonna have a squadron of D96-TCEs at your location in twenty minutes. Your battalion strength?" The operator on the other end enquired through clearing static.

"Eighty… Local Command."

"Copy that… Stand f-fast on current location, Evac's in… bound."

Every soul in the command tent breathed a sigh of relief, too exhausted to express any sort of real excitement.

When the tent flaps flew open again, every soldier present turned, reaching for sidearms as a titan of figure loomed in. But no more foes were there, for it was the Tribune himself who came through them, a harrowed band of marines still trailing at his back.

"It is done. This particular force has been shattered and will no longer consolidate," he said simply, voice echoing composure.

Without another word, the Tribune produced a bundle of bloodied Sangheili helmets from his waist and tossed them on the table. Despite their gore-caked disposition, John picked out that most of the helmets taken belonged to Major-Class Elites, with an extra Ultra-Class thrown in the mixture.

"I have made further sure of this and surveyed a five kilometre radius around this encampment."

Looks of disbelief spread amongst the officers and soldiers, as quiet murmurs of resumed conversation, though softer and more controlled, followed the Tribune as he made his way inside, having to bend low in order not to rip the flap open. The marines closest to him anxiously shifted away to make room, their gazes tinged with a mix of reverence and anticipation, knowing that every word spoken in this presence carried weight.

"Smart move, killing the officers would ensure the lesser species scatter completely, breaking that assault group further apart. Not that there are many of them left." Keiichi mused in TEAMCOM.

John could only nod as he took measure of the figure before them once again. So far, he had proven himself to be unbelievably efficient in the field of battle even by Spartan standards and capable of acute tactical decisions which likely saved many lives today.

But this does not mean that he should let his guard down around this being. In fact, this further proves that the UNSC should tread carefully when dealing with their soon-to-be high risk guest.

John made a mental note to include all this in his report as a pinged emerged on his HUD.

"Comms are clear on our end. This is our cue, John." Keiichi signalled to his Spartan brother.

"After you, friend." John tried to keep his tone even as Keiichi huffed.

Under the dimly lit canopy of the command tent, the Tribune stood taller than everyone presently gathered as he briefed what remained of the Two Hundred and Twenty Eighth's command staff of enemy movements. John raised an eyebrow upon noticing the Tribune's conical helmet had unknowingly gashed the ceiling cloth, allowing traces of moisture to trickle down inwards.

"Perhaps we should have requisitioned a larger bird… " John tilted to his friend.

Keiichi, noticing the same thing, could only shake his head, "Already called it, our VIP would have to squeeze unfortunately."

'Way to make a first impression.'

"Ah, Spartans. A most interesting epithet, still fitting nonetheless." Gone was the cold disposition as the Tribune turned their way, his voice now harboured a lighter tone.

John would have been taken aback by the sudden change in demeanour, were it not for the weight carried by the Tribune's words. Keiichi likely caught on as well, his movement became more stiff.

Up until now, both Spartans had assumed their VIP in question belonged to a separate alien species despite his humanoid shape, and the odd accent he bore was the result of a translation matrix.

The Spartan's eyes grew wide under his helm as he considered the implications. Either the Tribune had already spent a fair share of time in human spaces or… he is human himself.

A ghost of a whisper found its way into John's spine.

"Zero Four Seven, I assume you fare better? Apologies for the armour, it was quite the distinct circumstance." Tribune Ra noted briefly, eyeing the dent in Keiichi's Mark IV..

"I… am fine, Tribune. Pardon me for the lack of conduct, I meant to have thanked you earlier for the save." Keiichi replied with an appreciative nod.

Tribune Ra spared the two Spartans a fleeting glance, his cerise eye lenses glinting ever so slightly, "No matter, that was within my power to do so and so I did. Do not be too harsh on yourself."

Although none of those words were directed to John, it covertly cut him deep all the same.

"Anyhow, I believe it is time for you to spirit me away? I doubt your superiors would entertain the idea of us going with the main evacuation party?"

"They would not… Tribune. I express our regrets, but this should be over soon." Keiichi maintained a professional tone but John could hear the traces of resignation creeping up.

"Would it? I suppose we shall find out soon. Thank you Spartans, the two of you have been the most gracious of escorts."

Both Spartans nodded as one before motioning to turn away, tension slowly slipping away.

"Also, Spartans," Tribune Ra suddenly called out, "Next time when utilising private communications, may I suggest keeping bodily gestures to minimality. A subtle head tilt would be more than enough, whilst undetectable by baseline humans. It may not be enough for individuals like us."

John-117 and Keiichi-047 remained still even as the Tribune walked away, now clearly alarmed. Perhaps it was best for neither of them to get comfortable around the golden giant.

Preston Cole tugged at his uniform nervously as the outline of a single ONI-marked Pelican settled down in the hangar bay.

The hangar bay of the Everest, usually alive with the thunder of Pelicans and Longswords taking off and the clamour of hundreds of navy personnel, now lay eerily quiet. It was a cavernous expanse designed to accommodate a variety of spacecraft and maintenance activities. The high ceiling arched overhead, adorned with a complex network of structural beams, conduits, and lighting fixtures that casted a bright illumination across the entire area.

Commander Orez had made a deliberate effort to clear out the majority of the hangar bay despite Cole's chagrin. The Fleet Admiral barely hid his vexation on the notion of hindering ongoing activities, arguing that even grounds for 'First Contact' should not allow for UNSC operations to come to a halt.

Of course, his objections went unanswered.

The spooks took no chances and had reserved the corner most landing bay and enclosed it to be shrouded from view from the already diminished hangar. If there is one thing Cole had to accredit ONI for; is that they do not leave loose ends.

Orez stood next to him, eyes just as gaunt as he scanned the data pad meticulously in his hands. Behind them were half a platoon of ONI security officers, handpicked by the spook commander for their reticence and anonymity.

Cole had complex feelings of the men and women armoured in ONI black as while ONI manages their operations, they are actually placed under the jurisdiction of Naval Special Warfare, many of which are recruited from the UNSC Army and Marine Corps.

'What kind of impression are we even trying to make to our new visitor from god knows where?'

A moment of tense silence followed as the Pelican hatch opened with a mechanical commotion, revealing Spartan-117 and Spartan-047 first. They emerged slowly, Mjolnir scorched and scarred in every angle. In a normal scenario, Cole would already be witnessing some of the eggheads throwing a fit with regards to seeing such expensive equipment in such a sorry state.

And yet, the rational side of him tried to reject the notion that the colossal figure behind the Spartans was actually there, to insist that his eyes must be mistaken. But it was there, larger than life and as golden as the sun. Cole blinked in bewilderment, unable to accept what he saw.

The giant made its way down the ramp with deliberate grace, its form both awe-inspiring and unnerving. The being was tall and immense, dwarfing even the Spartans, its gold armour seemed to glow even more lustrously underneath the pale hangar lights.

Cole shot another glance at Orez who seemed just as strung as the being drew near, growing bigger and bigger until it was only a mere metre from the UNSC delegation. It towered over nine feet tall as the Admiral had to crane his neck to even get a look at the giant's supposed face.

For the longest time, no one said anything as silence stretched itself long and heavy over the hangar.

"This is a fine vessel sire, I assume you are its captain?" The being suddenly spoke.

Another moment passed as Cole took in the giant's words and drew a breath deeply.

"That would be correct. I am Admiral Preston Cole of the United Nations Space Command and the current captain of the UNSC Everest, the humble ship which you stand upon now."

A lifetime of his training in Luna OCS was put into use and Cole recited every word with staunch professionalism and courtesy.

"And the UNSC would like to extend our gratitude with regards to the timely aid you have provided us in the passing days."

'Am I even doing this right?'

The giant regarded the UNSC delegation curiously before emitting a weird resonance from its conical helmet, startling a handful of the security officers.

Cole swore on his life that the giant chuckled, if not for the most fleeting moment.

"Hail and well met, Admiral. I thank you for your gracious hospitality and the most valiant of escorts." The figure of gold nodded, gesturing to both of the Spartans.

"They alongside the men and women of the Two Hundred and Twenty Eighth have conducted themselves most admirably in the defence of Gladshiem. And should be accredited accordingly."

"So they shall, sir." Orez who has now finally found his voice took a step forward. "I am Commander Orez, Office of Naval Intelligence. I trust your journey here was pleasant?"

"Not quite, Commander. Although it does not stand as a design flaw, these Pelican gunships of yours were not built to accommodate the bulk for one such as me."

"Ah, I am sorry to hear that. Sir…?"

"Tribune Ra Endymion. Put it behind you, Commander, I believe we have more important matters to attend to."

Orez did his best to meet the Tribune's eyes, his mouth opening before closing shortly after. "That we do, Tribune. This way please."

"He has been surprisingly cooperative."

Orez remarked blandly, the black circles around his eyes more evident now as the two men stared through the glass pane.

"Really." Cole doubted his voice could sound more flat.

After an hour of meticulous planning, Commander Orez and the scant few ONI personnel who were allowed in this 'divulgence' had agreed to house their VIP in an unmarked room on the sixteenth level of the Everest. The choosing itself became incredibly awkward since the receiving room was the only room in the whole ship with an area and ceiling spacious enough to accommodate their enormous guest.

And no one was able to locate a single piece of furniture that could hold the Tribune…

"How much do we know of Gladsheim?" Cole whispered to the ONI Commander

The spook sighed, massaging his brows, "Reports are still coming in, the details remain hazy. But I doubt you would be surprised that a complete massacre can at least be confirmed."

A ghost of a smile appeared on Orez's face, only causing the Admiral further irritation.

"Regardless, we should not delay any further," The ONI spook breathed before directing Cole to the door, "After you, Admiral."

Standing over nine feet tall, the Tribune was haloed in a golden radiance, every detail of his armour was rendered in exquisite precision. He stood facing away from the two men, but his posture indicated that he was relaxed.

If he even is a 'he'.

"Both of you men seem to bear looks that harbour many questions." The Tribune offered.

"That would be quite the understatement." Orez confessed. "Either way, you are not obliged to answer any questions that you're not comfortable with. However, some transparency would be appreciated."

Tribune Endymion had remained at ease, armoured fingers tapping casually on his massive glaive, "Very well, it would be uncharacteristic for an intelligence officer to be reserved in nature. Ask away."

"Thank you." The spook dipped his head, "Let's start with something simple first, you call yourself 'Tribune'. Is it part of your name or some sort of rank? Because where we're from, the word symbolises more of authority."

"If you must know, Commander. It is a rank, a title which I hold. But titles do breed other titles, and I doubt it holds any merit here."

"I see… well speaking of 'here'." Orez seemed to have considered his next words very carefully, "I apologise if this question comes off as rude but… what exactly are you?"

Ruby-red eye lenses met hazel dark eyes as a period of silence stretched out. Panic began to overtake Cole's mind, wondering if the ONI Commander had truly offended their guest. To the spook's credit, he never broke eye contact, even as a slither of perspiration formed on his brow.

"What am I?" The Admiral could hear the resignation in the giant's voice, carrying a tinge of amusement. "I believe it would be better to show you."

Before either men could raise their queries, Tribune Endymion rested his weapon upon his massive pauldron, reached up with both hands, unsealed his conical helm, and lifted it. Cole's mouth ran dry as he took in the full view.

There was a human face underneath.

The Tribune's face was human-looking enough, though perfect, Cole did not know how he arrived at the conclusion. He showed a face like something carved from marble stone: Narrow, eyes hard as gems, their irises shot through with fine gold streaks. Cables ran into interface ports in his left temple across the side of his head.

His skin was of a light dark, with bone white markings curled from the right side of his face, contrasting the glistening gold of his war plate. The Tribune seemed to be of a tricenarian age , but his eyes said he was far, far older than he looked.

Orez was similarly speechless as he stared.

"You're… human." Cole managed to say.

"I would like to think so, Admiral." The Tribune replied neutrally before locking his helmet back on. "Given the fact that you thought otherwise is expected, albeit a little forlorn."

"I'm sorry, it's just we weren't…" Still stunned from the showcase, Cole failed to find the right words.

Tribune Endymion held up an armoured hand.

"Put it past you, Admiral. I take no offence. However, I do wish for a question of my own."

Cole sighed, grateful for the reprieve, "By all means, Tribune."

"What is the UNSC at its core?"

The question came as no surprise but the Admiral still felt odd explaining it in detail. Every boy and girl since elementary school was taught about the UEG and the UNSC at large to cultivate informed, responsible, and engaged citizens.

"The UNSC is the military, exploratory, and scientific agency of the Unified Earth Government and now acts as the emergency governing body of humanity during the ongoing war against the Covenant aliens." Cole chose his words carefully.

While the UEG still holds influence in parliament, the UNSC has recently established themselves to be the main voice and hand of humanity's future. It was a topic mired in controversy, especially with the recent deposement of the CAA. Many still baulked at the notion of the UNSC securing the figurative throne for themselves and whispers of a tyrannical military junta was an occurrence too often in the Outer Colonies.

'And these same dissenters would be the same ones crying out for salvation for the UNSC Navy when outlines of alien vessels reduce their worlds to glass.' A dark thought lingered in the Admiral's mind.

"Unified Earth Government? The planet Earth? The third planet from the Sun in the Sol system? The planet situated between Venus and Mars?"

"Yes, It is-" Cole fought to keep his composure as the realisation hit him head on, his heart freezing ten times over.

At the corner of the room, Orez had turned the colour of chalk as he seemed to also have arrived at the same conclusion as the Admiral.

"Y-You know of Earth and the Sol system? How's that possible?" Cole managed to muster himself as much as possible.

"I would like to think so, Admiral. I was born and raised on Earth after all."

"But you haven't heard of the UNSC or the UEG? Forgive me, but I find it very hard to believe every man and woman even from the farthest reaches of the Outer Colonies would have at least some idea of humanity's central government since the 22nd Century." The ONI Commander dipped his head. "Moreso that you claimed to be from Earth."

Tribune Endymion said nothing for a moment, simply absorbing their words, the golden hue of his armour dulled ever so slightly.

"Tell me, Commander. When was the planet of Mars colonised?" The Tribune spoke without a hitch.

Despite his bafflement at the question, Orez replied candidly, "The year 2080 I believe."

"Is that so?" Tribune Endymion now began to press the spook with an surging pace, "From my knowledge, Mars was only colonised in the early 22nd Century. So what does that prove?"

"I…" The conflict within the spook's voice is obvious now. "We could prepare some First Contact packages for your viewing. If that helps."

"Perhaps so. However as far as I know, you could be fabricating information to me. And for all you know, I could be doing the same." The Tribune rested his armoured palm on the stainless steel table before him.

Silence lingered a while before he continued, voice taking on a firmer edge, "Or, it could be very well possible that none of us are untruthful."

Cole rubbed his temples, trying to massage away the persistent, dull ache that had settled in his head. Who knew reality-breaking revelations would be this exhausting?

"Without evidence and hard facts, we can prove nothing. And whilst I enjoy pondering the secrets of the cosmos, we have more pressing issues." Tribune Endymion's grip tightened on his spear.

"The vile xenos above and below must be repelled. I do hope that, we can agree on."

Both UNSC Admiral and ONI Commander nodded simultaneously.

"That we do, Tribune," Orez seemed to have finally relented as he removed his cap, running a hand through dishevelled hair. "In truth, your presence and your words would bring about even more questions now."

The ONI spook laughed, but it was bereft of any humour, "I would also admit that we would sleep better if some of your words proved false, but we are still grateful for your help in the last few days no matter what."

Tribune Endymion hummed thoughtfully behind his helmet, "As would I, Commander."

"Just out of curiosity, Tribune Endymion." The human intelligence officer mused beside Ra. "You have operated alongside some of our… soldiers, namely Sierra-117 and 047. What do you make of them?"

The Custodian Tribune could sense the hesitancy in the man's heartbeat, but decided to humour him regardless.

"Careful now, Commander. Your superiors may not enjoy such exchanges this early on."

The man named Orez only smiled and adjusted his cap, "An innocent assessment couldn't possibly hurt, Tribune."

The soldiers in question were the aptly named 'Spartans' which he fought alongside earlier. Ra had thought them overqualified enough to fulfil menial combat duties but severely lacking on the frontlines with such pitiful numbers. They would be better employed in secular strike teams or amassed in a company or battalion strength.

"They are adequate enough." Ra concluded simply.

"High praise I suppose, coming from you."

Ra took in every single detail of the starship as they descended further into the lower decks, his auspex indicating the air growing more recycled and still. The floor was made of reinforced composite plating, with a slightly textured surface that provided a firm grip for the crew's boots. Faintly visible beneath the surface were embedded conduits and power lines, hinting at the intricate web of technology that kept the vessel operational.

The Custodian was able to manage a quick scan at the entirety of the 'UNSC Everest' before docking and judging by the ship's specifications, he had dearly hoped it was not the pinnacle of this humanity's starship engineering. Either that, or the Covenant aliens had equally unimpressive vessels.

Every revelation in the past hour had been the most concerning to the Tribune. His transhuman mind traced back to the Ocularis Malifica, in which his Lord showed him years back in the Webway. A warp storm. The warp storm, where the alternate reality of the warp had shattered its way into truespace and curdled dozens of star systems in its hostile miasma. There was where two universes met, and both suffered with the union.

A definite possibility and Ra was not one to discredit a sound theory. Regardless, he will save his judgement when more evident proof was obtained for his grand 'misplacing'.

"We're almost there." Orez's voice brought Ra back to reality. "The room is secured and she is the only patient in this wing."

"It is a great deal of trust you have put in me, Commander," Ra spoke as his mind wondered, "I am obliged to believe that those above would disagree."

"Probably. But none of them are here right now, and as the highest ranking officer present… This matter takes the utmost priority." The human commander voiced his conviction. "Call it a demonstration of trust as well."

Orez reached for a biometric scanner beside an unmarked door, opening it with a smooth, pneumatic hiss, revealing the specialised environments beyond.

"This way please."

Just as Orez has claimed, the medical wing lay silent. The soft, white light from overhead panels bathed the entire space in a sterile glow, reflecting off the pristine, polished surfaces. Rows of empty examination tables lined one side of the room, each one neatly made white sheets that looked untouched.

Nearby stood a team of supposed medical personnel clad in cleanroom suits with an array of diagnostic machines, monitors, and scanners in standby mode, their screens dark and inactive.

Ra noticed the motley crew of medical personnel shift nervously as he and the human commander approached, their postures more stiff and their heart rates elevated.

He knew the Legiones Astartes had an expression for this phenomenon - transhuman dread, they called it. If anything, the Ten Thousand possessed the greater power in that regard, amplified by their stature and the esoteric imagery of glistening auramite.

The Custodian raised his hand in greeting, "Your assistance is appreciated, but unnecessary. I shall work alone."

Several of the medical staff startled at his vox-augmented voice, letting out gasps or stumbling backwards.

"Very well, Tribune." Orez coughed awkwardly before muttering a muted apology. "We will be monitoring from outside."

Ra waved him off indifferently as he stepped through another set of doors, passing through a standard decontamination chamber, his battleplate registering a mixture of foreign and familiar chemicals.

Inside the room laid the subject of his visit, the augmented girl he had tended two days before. The Custodian had noticed no names were given regarding these 'Spartans', only numbers and coded words. The girl before was dubbed '023' by Commander Orez.

The confidentiality mattered little to Ra in general as from analytics archived with his armour systems after initial scans, were incredibly mediocre, at most a passing interest. That does not mean however, the data gleaned was purposeless.

Genecraft itself has always been a lucrative topic within humanity's history. Nowhere was this more so than on Terra itself, the seat and capital of that ancient empire, and storehouse of its secrets.

Ra blink-triggered his injector, a fine syringe that built into the tips of his right gauntlet. The needle itself was so fine that it was capable of piercing through the gaps of his battle plate to manually administer doses of stimulants in any event of internal systems failure.

'Elevated tissue density in comparison to baseline humans. Evidence of bone grafts present throughout the entirety of skeletal structure.'

Ra pressed down, the needle piercing the outer layer of tissue easily. After an exact depth of penetration read-out on the Custodian's helm display, he removed and deactivated the bit, placing the readied amount of cleansing agent in the injector tube in the perfectly circular hole in 023's chest.

There was a slight hissing sound. Ra twisted his finger with precision unmatched and activated the injector's barrel, flushing the condensed contents into the cavity.

His risky gambit paid off as shortly after, his diagnosticator showed all foreign substances were purged completely from the girl's body without any traces of residue left behind. She should wake in due time.

His helmet display had linked with the thumbnail-sized pict responder fixed to the top of his instruments. With it, he was able to see the data collected as the needle was extracted. Before him was a clear picture of 023's bone age - the anthropological analysis indicated that this girl was no older than twenty solar years. Further biometric scans had showed him that the surgical scars on her body were already passing the five-year mark.

Something foul welled up in the Custodian's mouth as he wrapped up his procedure.

Jega opened his eyes and let the visions fade from his mind as the sensations of the physical world returned to him. Blood and salty tears stung his eyes and he looked over to the sound of voices calling his name.

Horrified faces of his fellow warriors stared at him in fear, but that was nothing new. Babble spewed from their mouths, but he could make nothing of it, the sense of the words lost in the screaming white noise filling his skull.

What sight could be so terrible? What could evoke such horror?

He looked down as he realised he stood before another, living, breathing figure. A giant in blackened gold war plate, the jewels embedded as artifice spattered with gleaming ruby droplets.

A mantle of red velvet trimmed with golden weave spread out beneath him like a bloodstain.

Red and hateful eyes, judging and damning.

"Special Operative 'Rdomnai?" The voice of Je'ddak Zule brought him back.

"Company Master," The Special Operation Sangheili bowed, "Forgive me, I was deep in thought."

The Company Master nodded sagely, "Contemplation is good, it tempers a warrior's hearts. In excess however, makes us no better than San' Shyuum clerics who abuse hookah."

"I stand advised, sire." Jega inclined his head once again.

"Good. Now let us go meet a warrior, with little room for temperance."

The local battlenet, what little of it still made any sense, spoke of a bleak picture. Casualties were more than high; the forces still present within the confines of the human city were being devastated. Squads of human soldiers thought long broken were somehow regrouping and fighting with an efficiency that had no place on the account of their decimation weeks ago.

Several officers were shouting of enemy soldiers linking up with their brethren with vicious frequency, forming overwhelming numbers as they stormed through the blockade, forcing many into an ever-heightening state of disorder and retreat. Every counter-attack was met with a tide of unbridled ferocity, as the humans only pushed harder, eventually breaking free to the countryside.

And in the centre of the madness, was the Monster itself.

Jega 'Rdomnai now shadowed the Company Master as he and a group of hastily formed warriors surveyed the aftermath. They had taken the Company Master's personal Spectre towards the sight of devastation where the Monster was last sighted.

Jega witnessed a myriad of warriors from many different lances and kai'd who lay scattered across the carnage-daubed earth.

One of the Sangheili Minors was kneeling in a pool of blood and severed limbs, his blue armour no longer distinguishable, his head rolling from side to side, eyes fixed as though in wonder on the empty air. Another stood, eyes closed, swaying in place like a reed in a wind.

The rest did not move, and if they lived, the world was not something that they saw any more.

A flicker of rage passed Company Master Zule's weathered features as he dismounted, yellow eyes tracing to a commotion not far off. An Evocati caked in wet mud was holding an Obedientiary by the neck, while loosening a string of curses at the wounded officer. By the judge of his armour markings, Jega vividly remembered the warrior's name: Ustaf 'Nbekee. He was the one gloating that he felled a Demon weeks ago with a single needler shot.

Jega was no student of history but he vividly recalled that the House of 'Nbekee has always been a clan shrouded in connivance even back on Sanghelios. They are a young and recent house, founded only within the last three hundred solar cycles. Their deeds are nascent and untested compared to the likes of House 'Vadam who could trace their lineage to the First Age of Exploration and have their roots planted deep in Sangheili society.

House 'Nbekee has always favoured the Covenant religion and have stood as one of the San' Shyuum's staunchest of supporters within the Council of Deed and Doctrine. Famed sharpshooters without peer, the scions of House 'Nbekee despite their temper, have found their place within higher offices and Special Operations lances.

And yet for warriors such as Company Master Je'ddak Zule who still held true to the Old Ways, it would indeed sour relations regarding matters of mutual collaboration.

The enraged Evocati threw the still bleeding Obedientiary at the Company Master's feet, specks of spittle flying out of his mandibles as he cursed his family name and lineage.

Je'ddak Zule was less than pleased as he helped the Obedientiary barely to his feet.

"A bad tradesman shall always blame his tools," The Company Master snarled before turning to the officer, "Go, you have offered enough blood today. Rest."

The Company Master turned to 'Nbekee and smiled, but it was a cold, pitiless gesture.

"You are a disgrace to your keep." Zule spat, hand resting on the hilt of his blade.

"We had them!" 'Nbekee protested, clearly refusing to back down.

Jega's eyes narrowed, but he held his tongue. An argument here, now, with the Company Master, would serve no good purpose.

"And am I to be held responsible for this defeat? I know that whilst I yet stood, none of the warriors fled." The Evocati now stepped forward.

The swing was almost point-blank as the punch to his jaw sent 'Nbekee reeling backwards, energy shields flashing.

It made the Evocati grunt and stagger but otherwise left him unscathed. He tore off his helm, uncaring of the crowd around them. Underneath, he wore a mask of pure rage.

"You had nothing," The Company Master simply stated. "The only reason hardly any of your warriors routed was because they were all butchered like livestock."

Lightning practically sparked between the two officers as nearby warriors and levies watched on nervously.

"You have two units of time to gather what is left of your kai'd." Company Master Zule ordered, picking up the Evocati's thrown helm.

"Am I to be judged then?" 'Nbekee practically growled, hand still tracing dangerously close to his own blade.

"No, I shall not subject our dear Field Master to your foolishness. He has enough on his hearts already." Je'ddak shot the Evocati with a withering glare. "I need not remind you of our failure at the human starport."

The Company Master threw the soiled helmet on the ground, urging 'Nbekee to pick it up. In any other circumstance, this gesture would have caused grievous offence in Sangheili culture, likely yearning one party to call for satisfaction. But the baleful look etched into the Company Master's eyes showed he had no room left for blatant incompetence.

"You were told to not engage and only observe from afar." Je'ddak Zule now spoke in a low whisper as he marched closer, "You should thank the Gods that we are still in need of officers. Because I would have brained you for less."

'Nbekee gritted his mandibles but chose wisely not to say another word.

"You will take no more than a hundred warriors and advance north." The Company Master voiced his verdict before turning to Jega, "Special Operations Operative 'Rdomnai here will shadow you for the duration and advise you. I will encourage you to heed his counsel for he is the only one to survive the Monster."

A pang of shame washed over the Special Operative as he remembered how he fled and left his lance to die.

'Nbekee remained belligerent but bowed nonetheless.

"I will keep it simple for you, Evocati. Observe. Do. Not. Engage." Je'ddak finalised the order. "Disobey our Field Master again. I shall unite your soul with the damnable Nesh 'Radoon myself."

The waning light of the golden sun caught in the pupils of her eyes, trapped there for the longest time. Daisy marvelled at the beauty, letting the sight seep into her every fibre as though she could make the sensation last for eternity.

She stood like that for a long time it seemed, on the dunes overlooking the beaches below. The sand, still holding the day's warmth, felt comforting underfoot, its grains fine and soft.. Small tide pools, left behind by the receding waves, mirrored the kaleidoscope of colours above, their surfaces rippling gently with each passing breeze. It reminded her so much of her family home back on Sargasso.

Where was she? Was this the transition into the afterlife and beyond?

As the sun dipped lower, the colours intensified briefly before fading, giving way to a lone figure who idled by the shores.

It was a small child wrapped in a white shawl, attending to their miniature sand castles. Daisy's curiosity got the better of her as she made her way down the down, perhaps relieved that she was not alone in this perceived nirvana.

At a closer look, it seemed to be a small boy and by the looks of it he could not be older than three.

"Umm, hi there." Daisy found her voice and reached out.

The boy gingerly stopped what he was doing, lowering his shovel and pail before turning to look at her.

Intricate tattoos curled on the small boy's face, curling from his temples to follow the curves of his cheekbones. His skin was smooth and dark, like falling dusk. Sad eyes stared back at the Spartan II but the boy gave her a smile.

"Hello," the boy said in a tongue that wouldn't be spoken in this world but Daisy somehow understood regardless.

Daisy went down on one knee before placing herself on the sand beside the boy. She has never really interacted with small children in her life and hoped this was enough to appear less intimidating to the child.

"Are your parents around somewhere?" Daisy tried to speak as gently as possible.

"I don't really see Mama a lot, she says she always has important work to do," The boy pouted before thinking again, "I don't know my Papa."

Daisy listened and felt her anger flare. What kind of mother leaves their child to their lonesome knowing that they are the only parental figure in the equation?

"I'm sorry to hear that, I didn't really know my parents either. But at least I still had my brothers and sisters."

A distant look clouded her eyes as Daisy thought back on her fellow Spartan siblings. She would likely never see any of them again and there was only ruin ahead for them to endure for as long as the war drags out.

"What about you? Got any siblings of your own?" Daisy asked.

"Soon." The boy simply replied without blinking.

His response threw the Spartan II a curveball as she was momentarily stunned by his reply.

Daisy looked at the boy in askance. "I'm sorry?"

The small child now stood up fully, but he was still barely able to maintain eye contact with the seated Spartan II.

"Whenever my mother was away, I used to sit and gaze out the only window in my room. Towards the direction of Terra's last ocean, because that is where she conducted her work." The boy now spoke eloquently, way beyond the capability of someone of his age.

"I thought… If I were to reach the sea one day, I could be by her side more often."

Daisy felt her pulse quickening now as the boy sat back down, eyes glistening with dejection.

"Did you?" She asked, but a part of her could somehow guess the answer.

"No," A resigned look plastered itself on the boy's painted face. "It was a homecoming long desired, but never expected to come to fruition."

That last sentence struck her too close to home. And despite the bizarre nature of this conversation, Daisy still wanted to reach out to comfort the tiny child.

"But there is still time for you." A sagely look has taken hold of his countenance before once again reflecting a slither of childlike innocence.

"What do you mean?" Daisy felt her heart hammering now, her whole body now wreathed in the gentle light of dusk.

The boy gave no more replies as he returned to his sandcastles, flashing the brightest smile Daisy had ever known before whiteness took her again.

Well, this is awkward, wanted to get this out sooner but school and games kinda bent me over royally. So, something longer this time and the next chapter would hopefully be out way way sooner. New epic cover art by 3D_Vicens. Go check out his awesome art on twitter or reddit or shoot me a DM for more art of this story. Until next time :)

Thanks again to the legendary Starhammer5 for beta reading, this story would not have been possible without him.

XxxxX-XxxxX-XxxxX-XxxxX

(Reviews)

AngelOfHope7654:

I like your speculations, but I shall keep my silence for now :) I see you're a big fan of Hawk boi, beloved by all. But I'm not too sure if I'll do a story with him soon since my hands are kinda full, I hope this would be satisfying nonetheless.

negronomicon:

Thanks for your patronage once again!

Vegou:

Good catch! The scene was heavily inspired, quite liked the depictions of the allure of the chaos forces there.

THOMASPENZHORN11:

The Covies may likely be in a world of hurt. But yeah, I appreciate your patronage, hope I could live up to expectations.

E: Thank you for the kind words m8. I hope I could live up to expectations.

SirKnightofSteam:

Ra support :)

SirParacelsus:

That is sadly true my friend, I hope more could arise in due time.

Dragon lord Syed 101:

While it's just him about, one of the Ten Thousand could cast a long shadow...

giblo126:

Thanks for keeping an open mind friend, hope I don't disappoint.

Cringyusername SBSVQQ: Yes Sir.

Bountyodst:

Perhaps it might be, we'll have to make do with Ra for now lol.

Edit: Formatting for the earlier parts got fucked up again, thanks Vegou for noticing!