Chapter 1 – Vexillifer

(7th Cycle, 19 Units - Covenant Battle Calendar), 9th Age of Reclamation

Covenant Holy City High Charity

Sanctum of the Hierarchs

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The Sangheili were fools.

Their zealousness for their 'honor' was almost as fervent as their zealousness for the honor of the Gods, sometimes coming hubristically close. They could even become so blinded by that desire that they could sacrifice the latter in order to gain the former. That was their greatest weakness, something that nearly any circumstance could see exploited. They constantly sought after their own glory, and in this the Covenant's glorious crusade there was always plenty to go around. Hunting human worlds, destroying their ships, decapitating their warriors and decimating their homes; they could have all that. So long as they were too drunk on the blood of the humans to acquire the ultimate praise, the one that would echo throughout the eternal annals of the feats of the faithful, they could keep their place in the war. Yes, they could keep it...for now. That ultimate praise, however, would belong to the Jirilhanae alone and Tartarus had every intention of seeing that it was so.

As a Chieftain, Tartarus remained constantly vigilant, sniffing out any threat to his pack that might present itself in present or future. Even when calm, most that saw him knew not to approach. That was always made apparent whenever he smelt the literal fear of most of those that beheld him, whether it was in prolonged contact or a passing glance. He supposed it was also due to his 'I am patient, but if you test me, I will tear off two of your limbs and save the rest for tomorrow' demeanor that caused this affect. Physical intimidation by both inactive stature and active ferocity were things required for any Jirilhanae to successfully lead his pack. It was one of the first things his uncle Maccabeus had taught him as well. One of his greatest tools for ensuring such success was his possession of his uncle's famed ceremonial hammer, a weapon that had served Jirilhanae chieftains of his bloodline throughout the generations.

The Fist of Rukt was a powerful display of his authority. The long-handled warhammer, with its stone head covered by four gravity emitters, was able to deal greater damage than any standard gravity hammer. With one blow it was capable of killing Ghosts, maiming Wraiths and, in the hands of the right Jirilhanae, crushing a full-grown, egotistically overzealous Sangheili, much like an insect underfoot.

The Fist was part of the last lesson his uncle had taught him about his responsibilities as a chieftain, that it was his duty to begin a new era for his pack. Not that the older Jirilhanae had actually said this to him. Instead, he demonstrated as much by his failure to win their final duel. The outcome showed that his uncle's ideals of the older days were just that, something that belonged in the past. Tartarus had savored that lesson before going on to smash his uncle's skull in and sending him plummeting into the fiery depths of the ship. Their ship.

His time on Rapid Conversion was a period of immense growth in more ways than he cared to admit, mostly for all the trouble it had caused for every crew member that survived that fateful voyage. Encountering the humans on their first world, what his uncle and he himself then mistakenly believed to be their only world, was a learning experience for every party involved. They learned how the other spoke, what they ate, what drove them on, and how to make them bleed. Most importantly of all, they learned what the other was willing to sacrifice for victory; the humans their planet, Tartarus his uncle.

All of that had led him many cycles later to this exact moment.

Here now, he still carried the weight of his past well into the present. It was not the weight of a guilty conscience however since slaying one's kin to achieve greater glory was a common way of life for Jirilhanae as a whole. For that he was glad. He hated the idea of it being some meaningless spiritual burden wrought by the babblings of some worthless Sangheili minor, or the preaching of feeble ascetic priests that taught them doctrine in their war colleges. No, it was simply the burden of the nearly 160 kilograms of ancestral honor strapped to his back as he headed into the main hall of the Sanctum of the Hierarchs.

Unlike most times, on this occasion he was asked to come without his usual pair of guards. On the other hand, the usual band of Sangheili Honor Guards stood in their everyday positions to either side of the central walkway. They were more than enough to kill him, but he was more than enough to take a handful of them out with him. Not that such action was necessary. The prophets were willing to let him come. In fact, he was here at their behest for what they called an important meeting, and at least one of them was in favor of him bringing his hammer. That one voice in favor was more than sufficient to silence any who were opposed. By extension, it was also more than enough to douse the fires of suspicion burning behind the eyes of the guards that watched him as he passed.

He grinned back at them, exposing more of the quartet of sharp canines that arced out from his lower jaw. A small victory knowing that he could not be touched for a violation that would cost any other breathing organism their life. Untouchable even to Sangheili – he relished the thought.

He eventually came to the high-vaulted outer door at the other end. It slid open with a serpentine sigh and he walked into the brief intermediary before the final set of doors. The Honor Guards standing to either side of the corridor seemed to stiffen at his presence. Then they slackened, as if identifying what he was made them realize that he wasn't anyone worth standing at attention for. A frown crossed his lips.

He stopped just short of the threshold, turned and looked the guard on his right straight in the eyes, eyes that narrowed with repulsion.

Tartarus' scowl deepened. "Why have you stopped?" He half-asked, half-growled. "Go on, continue at attention."

He heard the Honor Guard behind him growl back. The one he was looking at tightened his grip on his energy stove and raised his head so that he could look down his nose at Tartarus. "We only do so in the face of those that are our superiors." He looked left then right. "I do not see any here. Do you?"

"Ah." Tartarus nodded in understanding. "You do not see any. What a shame." He turned and headed for the doors. "Then it is true; you're as blind as I thought you were."

The sensors detected his presence and the last set of doors opened. He stepped inside and entered into the prophet's inner sanctum.

It was somehow roomier than he last remembered, possibly because it was far less occupied than on his previous visit. The first thing to catch his eye was always the view. The large, semicircular window that comprised the far wall exposed the full magnitude of the orange gas giant that High Charity was gravitating around. The numerous silhouettes of the defense fleet passed between them and the bright giant as the fleet kept up their patrols of the system.

The inner sanctum's purple laminate architecture, its vaulted ceiling and seemingly rippling but smooth floor would be a thing to marvel at for any less than worthy soul. Tartarus was less interested in any of the spectacle. He'd been here too many times to be awed by the same sight. That, and the fact he wasn't alone kept him on his guard.

Standing before the dais-like holotank at the center of the room, encircled by three ornamental, claw-like pillars, was not a prophet but a Sangheili. A Sangheili dressed in the golden armor and helm of a Supreme Commander. The purple cape draping from his back testified to the truth of that rank.

A snarl tugged at the corner of Tartarus' mouth. He didn't see the prophets, only the Sangheili.

To make matters worse, the noise of the door closing behind him caused the commander to turn, though not fully, to face him. The change in the officer's expression suggested he was just as surprised and just as perturbed; eyes narrowing, mandibles clenching and hands moving closer to his belt, maybe an unconscious reflex to reach for a weapon that wasn't there. Tartarus didn't have that problem although he didn't reach for his, no matter how tempted he was to do so.

The situation was abnormal and the two warriors recognized that. Whenever the Hierarchs summoned a meeting with anyone in their inner chambers, it was the norm for them to do so strictly along the lines of client species. They didn't call in Kig-Yar to discuss Sangheili battle plans or Unggoy to talk about territorial disputes between Jirilhanae. There were some lines that were simply never crossed, not even by what was arguably the most liberal triumvirate he had ever known. So, what exactly was going on here?

It was clear they both desired answers to that question. However, neither of them moved to ask anything. They merely remained at a standoffish distance.

Tartarus assumed there must have been some kind of mistake.

As if to chastise him for his near heretical thought, that the Gods' anointed could make mistakes, the doors to his far left slid open.

Three occupied anti-gravity chairs floated into the room, the one in the middle positioned slightly ahead of the others. The youngest of the triumvirate, the Prophet of Regret, was atop the chair on the right. A few years shy of a century being considered young in the world of priests and politics, Regret was on the verge of wrinkling and graying beneath the weight of his golden headpiece. Despite his heightening age, he still possessed that expression Tartarus could never distinguish between righteous indignation and youthful brashness.

Sitting in the left chair was the Prophet of Mercy. He was the eldest of the three and the most white-haired, perhaps not the wisest but the most willing to extol his religious virtues to any that asked or didn't ask. What caught Tartarus' interest was that the old philologist, the one most attuned to the conditions of the divine, seemed unusually excited. More so than usual. Such a reaction normally only came about under rare, miraculous circumstances. Very rare and very miraculous.

Then there was Truth.

Riding ahead of his compatriots, the red-robed Hierarch was the first to notice the other two in the room. By the measure of his unchangingly placid reaction, he could care less for the confusion of the situation for Jirilhanae and Sangheili alike.

Their presence alone brought the two to their knees. Tartarus and the Supreme Commander bowed their heads in reverence for the incoming triumvirate.

Truth's gentle voice was the first to fill the void within the chamber. "Warriors of the faith and brothers of the elect, stand to your feet and join us, for there is much to discuss."

Tartarus glanced at the commander who looked equally confused. Still, they arose and assembled around the central holotank with the prophets.

"For the sake of unity." Truth said, holding up a gracious hand towards Tartarus. "Commander, this is Tartarus, a chieftain among the Jirilhanae." He then pointed to the commander. "Tartarus, this is Supreme Commander Rho Barutamee, commander of the Fleet of Valiant Prudence. It would be wise of the both of you to remember the other's name and not only their station. Starting from now, you will be working together until our purposes for your cooperation are accomplished."

To say it was a struggle for Tartarus to contain his shock was an understatement. He could tell that the Supreme Commander, this Rho Barutamee was less than pleased himself. Again, the two spared each other uncertain glances. The hesitation between them was almost palpable. Regret spoke up, incidentally breaking the tension of the moment.

"You are a Jirilhanae." He said to Tartarus and turned to Barutamee. "And you are a Sangheili. Before now, those distinctions were set in stone as to what your allotted tasks were to be. Under normal circumstances there would be no need for cooperation between two of your species beyond the simple commander-subordinate dynamic."

Tartarus felt wary of where the conversation was going. He had a pretty good idea of where his kind usually fell in that leader-subordinate dynamic.

"However, this is no normal circumstance. Far from it. Thus, you are expected to do something unusual for either of you in accomplishing this mission."

Tartarus' interest was piqued despite that he preferred to be on the weightier end of that dynamic. Either way, he was contented so long as his unit was kept from operating under the command of a Sangheili that would probably care less for their lives than that of his kindred. He'd seen the effects of a similar situation with the suddenly high attrition rate of Jirilhanae Special Forces known as the Blood Stars after they were placed under firmer Sangheili command. The mass demoralization of those Stalkers was not unknown to him or something he wanted repeated in his own ranks. And even of the few that usually survived those devastating suicide missions they were increasingly sent on, he was concerned about at least one of those survivors. One that kept surviving seemingly when he was sent on tasks meant to kill him. One that went on to start the fierce guerilla war that the Ministry of Preservation was presently struggling to get a handle on within the Covenant's vast empire. That was one thing that he begrudgingly admitted they shared in common with the humans: both sides had their pesky saboteurs that had to be dealt with sooner or later.

He was keeping an eye on the disruptive actions of that particular Jirilhanae for now. The last thing he needed was an upset in his plans for his species by said species themselves. Hearing some of what was to happen, he was assured at the very least that that upset wouldn't come from an external factor. Not yet.

"This occasion is far from our normal state of affairs." Mercy said in that old but fervent way he had of conducting himself. "Far...far from it. In fact, an occasion like this has not presented itself to us since the very beginning of this new age. It is easily on par with the magnificence of that event as well."

Tartarus sensed an icy chill creeping up the fur of his back. Yes, the philologist was known to say many grand things in his ardor for the divine, but that was not one of them. Comparing the beginning of the present age to this moment? That was unheard of, and enticing in more ways than one. Tartarus couldn't help baring some of his teeth in anticipation. Yet Barutamee appeared to grow ever more tense, standing more erect at the realization that they were being given an unspeakably tremendous opportunity.

"Indeed." Truth said and hovered closer to the central holotank. "This will in all likelihood be such a momentous hour that it will eclipse anything that either of you has done before." He reached up with a robed hand and touched a spiraling 'Activate' symbol. The holotank hummed to life quickly like a servant eager to please its master's will. The indicator lights flickered on at the base followed by the main light-source on the top of the device.

A holographic image leapt up into the air, lying confined midway between the device's base and its larger secondary component on the ceiling.

The projection was of a planet. A human planet. Tartarus understood that much right away.

As the sphere began its gradual eastward rotation, he noticed there were very few oceans. The bulk of the surface was a collage of vegetation-green and earthy brown landmasses that never appeared to break from each other. Instead, they were all meshed together to form one giant supercontinent that dominated what he estimated to be more than 80% of the surface. The rest of it was what he presumed to be the planet's oceans. Since they were all landlocked, they looked closer to seas or large lakes. Their distinctively circular and oval-shapes overlapped in many instances to present the visual specter of what could have been an ancient meteor shower.

"This is another human world." Truth declared, confirming Tartarus' suspicions. "One recently discovered by scouting missions of the Ministry of Resolution. It was almost accidental when a CCS arrived in a neighboring system and picked up a strong contact on its luminary. Very strong. Exceptionally so, as are its implications."

A single symbol appeared.

Tartarus winced the moment he recognized it and had to immediately restrain the urge to lie prostrate before it.

Several concentric circles of varying magnitudes interlocked within each other to form a maze. At its center was what his mortal mind could only conceive as a two-pronged fork. It was rotated 90 degrees laterally with a line of equal length matching up on its downturned side.

"This is an oracle."

Truth's pronouncement made Tartarus inwardly shudder.

Suddenly a number of other glyphs flashed into being. Hundreds, then thousands, then far more. Tartarus was growing flush with excitement believing that they might have found a full reliquary as well. Then his excitement subsided.

He looked closer at these other glyphs. It soon dawned on him that he recognized them too. He remembered growing just as excited with his uncle when they found a similar treasure trove on the screens of Rapid Conversion's bridge, only to find out that those glyphs weren't relics at all. Over the years he'd seen enough and killed more than enough of these glyphs by his own hands to know that they were worth no more attention than that of a glassing beam.

The humans were all over. They conglomerated in densely populated urban areas around the supercontinent or were even strewn out in smaller pockets across the surface, mainly near the major bodies of water. Seeing it filled him with an instinctual rage. He was angry at the unpleasant irony that the infidels had found the holy oracle first.

Or had they?

While the human glyphs were a silvery-blue, the symbol of the oracle was an ambient crimson, separating it from the rest. What separated it further was its location. It was far removed from any human populations with the closest existing at least thousands of kilometers away. The holy one resided in the most unpopulated area of the planet in a region of green vegetation within the northeastern hemisphere. Basically, it was in the middle of the middle of nowhere. That fact was relieving yet odd. The humans usually loved to defile as much of a settled world with their presence as they possibly could. Why then did they leave what was essentially a third of this planet's surface completely uninhabited?

Was this a new world for them? Did they not have the resources to expand further, or was there something else?

"As you can imagine, the rules of engagement for this future battle are not the standard rules any longer." Truth said. "Not by any means. Here, caution must be taken and applied with all delicateness and reverence for the sake of preserving what may very well preserve us in times to come." He looked to Tartarus and Barutamee. "This war is reaching its end. I'm certain you who fight on our fronts understand this already. The humans are almost spent. We can see it for ourselves every time they have less and less ships to protect more and more of their most important worlds. They can sparsely hold their own lines any longer. Since our incursion draws to a close, it has become pertinent for us to also focus on the Covenant's highest purpose before this all began."

"Finding the path." Mercy declared, raising his hands prayerfully towards the oracle. "The path made by the few that leads to salvation for the many. We must succeed so that all who walk faithfully with us may find the way to the Great Journey."

"And beyond that, transcendence." Truth declared. "You know of what I speak." He said to Tartarus and looked over to Barutamee. "And you know of what is required."

The commander bowed his head in a petitioning respect mirroring that of Mercy. "The Oracle's direction and blessing."

"Indeed. We will need its aid if we are to find the seven gates and unlock their divine winds. Only then can we begin our ascent into the midst of our Gods."

The gates.

Seven in all.

Holy.

Glorious.

Godly.

Tartarus gloried in the notion of what it meant if this was the way that led to the completion of the Covenant's purpose. If it was then a Jirilhanae would be at the head of it, at the tip of the spear. He, an instrument of the Gods and their prophets, would find the way to majesty and splendor and honor eternal.

"Barutamee, you will be the one leading the assault on this world."

Tartarus' growing smile died instantly. A new sensation arose in him. Fire. Anger. Fiery fury fueled by an immeasurable sense of disappointment and betrayal. Nevertheless, he held his peace before the pronouncements of the holy ones.

"Your Fleet of Valiant Prudence will serve as the instrument of this planet's capture and the demise of its inhabitants."

"You will move swiftly to cut down any humans in your path." Regret vehemently insisted. "There are few ships as you can see." He pointed to the projection and up to two dozen human ships appeared hanging over various areas of the planet's exosphere, likely on patrol. They were the boxy, rectangular and cumbersome frigates that the humans so loved to use against the Covenant's sleeker and more powerful equivalents. "This defense fleet is meager compared to what wrath you will bring to bear for their arrogance of getting between us and an oracle. Ensure you do not let even one escape."

"That is not to suggest this will be an easy feat." Truth said. He reached up and opened his hand. In doing so, the image of the planet was zoomed in to show a specific area on the surface.

To Tartarus, the object of their focus had the apparel of a rectangular tower of some sort. It took him a few more seconds to understand that the towering structure was anything other than an immobile one. The entire thing looked like a gigantic missile silo with said 'tower' housed inside. The location was surrounded by a collection of smaller structures that gave off the impression of a construction site somewhere in a forested area. He had heard of these devastating human weapons before but he had never seen them for himself. Their infamous orbital defense platforms were weapon systems that could punch holes through supercarriers, shields and all, with just one shot. Though powerful, they were mostly a recent phenomenon in the war. The first instances of their discovery were made when the Covenant started their push into what the humans called their 'Inner colonies'. If they had used them earlier, or had made more in anticipation of the Covenant from the very beginning, this war would have lasted much longer and proved far costlier. Thankfully the creatures were too stupid to have that kind of foresight. For that he was grateful. He was also grateful that this defense platform was still anchored on the ground. Only its rail-like top section, the octagonal brace that collared its midsection and the two pincers on either side that acted as space-docks were visible. Everything else was hidden in that subterranean silo, hinting that such a formidable weapon was yet to be deployed. Because all the functional ones were usually in space, he figured that this one was inactive either for construction or maintenance purposes. A relief to be sure but a significant potential danger all the same.

"These weapon platforms will be your greatest obstacle and should be treated as your primary targets."

"Platforms?" Tartarus accidentally thought aloud. With his mouth already open, he decided he might as well go further. "You're saying there are more, Hierarch?"

"Yes."

"A handful." Regret said dismissively.

"Ten to be precise." Truth added more definitively. "They are all docked on the surface undergoing some manner of service." His voice took on a more urgent tenor. "That is why we must act swiftly, before they complete whatever it is they are doing with these platforms and send them up to use for their defense. I'm certain it can go without saying what kind of havoc they can wreak even against a fleet like Valiant Prudence."

Barutamee's clenched jaws tightened even more. He nodded. "I understand."

"Good. We will leave the matter of their destruction to your personal counsel. However, there is another task. One we will not be leaving to you, commander."

Barutamee's sharpened gaze flashed to Tartarus. The Jirilhanae ignored him completely as he folded his arms across his chest which swelled with self-justification. Of course, the prophets, in their wisdom, would not leave him here robbed of glory. His proud smile returned, widening once he knew the supreme commander was watching.

"What will you have me do, my prophets?" Tartarus asked.

Mercy, having finished his silent prayer, turned to lock his milky pupils on him. "You, Tartarus, will be our direct hand in this matter. On this glorious occasion, you have been given the honor of being the one who will protect the oracle and guide it back here to us. You and your Bearers."

The feelings of joy, pride and greater self-justification were overwhelming. These feelings in and of themselves were rewarding to Tartarus. His smile widened so much that his teeth were close to fully bared. Realizing his flash of ambition was exposed, he quickly recomposed himself into placidity, as if the greatest news imaginable had not been spoken into his ears. He bowed his head. "I am honored, my prophets. Truly." His grin returned when he spotted Barutamee staring at him out the corner of his vision.

"You will ensure its utmost protection even if it should cost you your life." Truth said, hammering the moment's importance into a greater perspective. "Our salvation is contingent on your operation." He turned back to Barutamee. "But you, commander, your zealots will be the ones to collect it."

There was that feeling again. It wasn't satisfaction or joy or justification but hollow betrayal. Tartarus blinked. "What?"

Regret turned his chair away to Barutamee, as if to cement the fact that they'd turned their back on him. "Your Devoted Sentries will be sufficient in acquiring the oracle. They must be swift and unrelenting in their task. You must not fail. We must not fail."

Tartarus swore he saw a hint of a smile in those parting mandibles as the commander replied. "Do not worry, my prophet. As you say, my sentries are more than a match for any foe the humans can breed or conjure."

Truth put a thoughtful finger to his chin. "It is not necessarily the humans that are the only possible threat here. In this situation anything is possible and every contingency must be accounted for. You would do well to keep that in mind."

Tartarus wasn't the only one to catch on to the ancient warning that Truth was conveying, one the Gods themselves had left behind for their faithful followers in eras past. Any sign of having been avenged by the decision evaporated from Barutamee's face. He nodded, albeit more hesitantly. "I will do so, holy one."

"I am certain you will. I am confident in both of your abilities to accomplish this great task. The Fleet of Valiant Prudence shall depart from High Charity in three days. In the meantime, make what preparations you must. And also, commander, you will be providing another ship for this mission. It will be assigned to the Bearers of Preeminent Sanctitude to aid in their escorting of the Devoted Sentries as additional security. We wish to take as little risk as possible, hence why your zealots will have immediate access to reinforcements if they become needed."

Tartarus caught Barutamee's eye again. He discerned from the irritation hidden behind the Sangheili's officious façade that he had every intention of keeping his Bearers from being needed.

"I will make the necessary provision, holy one."

"Then it is concluded." Truth declared. "Begin what measures you must to prepare. Go, for you leave with our blessing."

Barutamee bowed his head. "I will not fail you, holy ones." He turned away sharply and headed for one of the doors.

Tartarus also bowed and moved to do the same but Truth stopped him with the power of his voice alone. "Do not leave, Tartarus. There is still something we must discuss with you."

He stopped and turned back to the holotank. He saw Barutamee reach one of the doors which slid open for him. The commander stopped at the threshold, flanked by an Honor Guard to either side, and peered back over his shoulder at Tartarus. His cold and suspicious glare shifted between him and the prophets. After a moment, he turned away and carried on, prompting the doors to seal shut behind him.

The instant the locking mechanisms finished their mechanical hiss, Truth reached a hand to one of a cluster of command glyphs hovering over the rim of the holotank. He touched a 'Next Sequence' spiral.

The image of the human planet zoomed out to its fullest view then disappeared completely. In its place arose a series of new images; humanoid figures that gradually resolved into sets of power armor. Familiar power armor.

The innately angular yet bulky nature of the various types of blue, turquoise and golden armor standing on the display were obviously for Jirilhanae. Their sharp, primal aesthetics indicated as much.

"You recognize them?" Truth asked.

Tartarus nodded. "It's been some time." He started catching on. "Is this being given to us?"

"Yes. Before now, few Jirilhanae really received these specialized armor sets." Truth's gaze wandered out to the viewing window and the sight of the gas giants and ships cruising beyond. "However, times are changing. The season is dawning for the Jirilhanae to receive their due. Consider this a sign of the times. From hereon, your Bearers will possess this experimental equipment. You will be the first in a larger push to provide your kind with everything they will need to win this war."

Tartarus huffed proudly as he examined each armor type that differed according to their associated ranks. "I am highly grateful, Hierarch. With these, we will be a force none will wish to face."

"A contender perhaps even to the Sangheili?" Regret asked, arching a brow at Truth.

The red-robed prophet didn't bother hiding it. There was no need to anymore. The time for private machinations in the night was over. Now was the dawning of an opportunity. "We will provide them to you shortly at the armory in the Third Cloister. Be certain to brief your warriors on its functioning."

"Understood."

"And one more thing."

Truth turned away from the display to face him. "Do not think for a moment that I am slighting you."

Confusion washed over Tartarus. "Slighting?"

"I know your mind is troubled. You wished to be the one to secure the oracle. You still wish for this. In spite of your desire, I cannot grant it given the magnitude of this particular situation. At least...not directly."

Confusion gave way to hopelessness and then hopefulness as the San'Shyuum finished. "You-...what do you mean?"

Truth let out a long sigh. "There is much room for error where the Sangheili are involved. Namely when it comes to their honor. For all the focus it gives them, it can blind them to obstacles or challenges that might present themselves without warning. The Jirilhanae by comparison are humbler because they haven't grown used to the same conditions the Sangheili have thrived under since the Writ of Union. That is why I need you to act as reinforcements. My prediction is that they will need you." Truth grasped the forward handles of his throne to lean forward and emphasize his point. "You will be our assurance. Our hands in secret. Should any circumstance arise on this mission that makes the Sangheili incapable of securing the oracle, you yourself and your warriors are to do what is necessary."

Tartarus humbly bowed his head in order to hide the growing satisfaction and malice welling up within. "I am prepared to do your will, my prophets. Send me off and I will send damnation on those who would oppose you."

"Go." Truth said. "And see to it that you accomplish this task, for your sake and ours."

Tartarus rose. He took one last look at the prophets, at the armor then walked briskly for the doors.

He was content with such an order, to do what was necessary. It was nebulous in its definition and purposefully so. He inwardly promised the prophets and himself that they could rest assured knowing that, should such a circumstance arise, he would indeed do what was necessary, and that without hesitation.

:********:

Tartarus ignored the wind rushing through his fur as the propulsion platform carried him and his two escorts. Around him, the plenteous skyscrapers, edifices and monuments of High Charity's lower districts loomed large and imposing. Scores of similar craft zoomed in every direction at different altitudes. Some ferried handfuls of Sangheili warriors to the armories in the higher regions. Others were laden with hundreds of Unggoy auxiliaries, many of them headed down to their abodes in the lowest levels of the ancient city after a long day of construction work. Even the smell in the air was busy with the wafting aromas of delicacies from many worlds. There was one whose meaty savor enabled him to block out all others, to ignore the wider world while he set his sights on it source.

A few kilometers ahead lay a single skyscraper gaining in size as they drew near. It was located several more kilometers shy of the far tower to the east and the all-encircling wall of the planetoid's inner hull. The pale light of the artificial afternoon bathed it and many other structures in a bright reflection like morning dew on grass.

The structure holding his attention did so not only with its oblong ornateness, something not unique to its architecture, but also by the smell. It was his favorite kind of meat, cooked to a crisp finish and a tenderness accentuated by earthy spices that made his mouth water. Of course, he held in his growing anticipation behind his usual stoicism. He couldn't help a small smirk though.

The feast had already begun.

The smell of it alone took him back to an earlier time many cycles ago when the prophets had summoned him to their inner sanctum. Back then, he'd bowed before them and listened as they, or more specifically the Prophet of Truth, laid out commands that set him on this current path.

Truth declared that the Jirilhanae had been relegated to the sidelines of the war for long enough, that they would be needed for its conclusion if they were to win it faster than they would with only the Sangheili. He then told Tartarus what he desired of him; that he should form a special operations detachment operating as the direct hand of the Hierarchs. They would be the ones to carry out the San'Shyuum's will amongst the Jirilhanae, The Bearers of Preeminent Sanctitude.

The Bearers would work under Tartarus' leadership, and he himself would work directly under the Hierarchs. It was an offer he couldn't possibly refuse. It lined up too perfectly with his own ambitions. At the end of it all, he humbly raised his head and accepted his new assignment.

Ever since that time he had collected, screened and inducted well over dozens of individual Jirilhanae packs under his command. They were vicious, willing to follow his lead no matter the order. They mostly came from the Rh'tol Skein, one of the two meta clans that comprised his species. The Rh'tol were his people. Their greater disposition towards discipline and cohesion as well as their cultural familiarity made them his preferred recruiting material. A number of their chieftains became his sub-commanders, their pack becoming his subordinates. Together they were transformed into a fist ready to break the back of any opponent one bellowing blow at a time.

Now he was on his way to visit one such pack and to see a certain chieftain under his command. He would break the news to him first since he and his kin were among the most effective of his warriors. Their reaction would be of the greatest interest to himself because of it.

The feast had already begun and he was about to make it better.

His transport eventually reached a circular landing platform near the center of the building. The structure's highest pinnacle overshadowed them as the vehicle slid into a docking slot. The railing in front of him lowered and he stepped down onto the open space with his escorts.

On the other side was a tall door guarded on its left and right by pairs of Jirilhanae warriors. They stood at attention as he passed. Their discipline was thankfully unaffected by the tempting smell wafting from the doors which slid open before him, yielding to an internal archway. He strode along the long, blood-red carpet on the floor that led to another set of doors. On the way he peered out the windows to his left. It was a decent view of the cityscape, a perpetually bustling hive of activity.

At the end, another pair of kindred warriors quickly pushed the doors open for him.

Tartarus left his escorts at the door and walked inside.

The feast hall was just as riotous as he expected. Unlike the smooth metal of the outside corridor, this room was furnished almost completely with stone walls, a stone floor and ceiling. There were rows of stained-glass windows depicting different eras of Jirilhanae history. The lack of elegance of the ancients as they hunted beasts or built cities, and subsequently burnt them down, was a perfect encapsulation of the spirit of their descendants who presently feasted in the room. Around two dozen Jirilhanae sat at long stone tables that formed two columns to his left and right. Their hands grasped at bones while their fangs tore greedily into the flesh of browned meat. In front of them were several plates each occupied with the greatest delicacy of their species. Large bipedal legs, a hunched body and several long spikes running the length of their spines made them much to be desired. Thorn Beasts were loved for their meat just as much on their homeworld of Doisac as they were anywhere where there were Jirilhanae.

The warriors spotted him as he walked past. They would quickly rise to their feet, dropping the meat from their teeth in order to turn and stand at attention.

At the other side of the room was a raised section with an intermediary staircase. And there on the rear wall was a single red banner baring three golden claw marks beneath the fiery eyes of a Jirilhanae. Directly beneath the banner was a table at which sat a brown-furred Chieftain eating a hefty handful of Thorn beast. Tartarus admired that his subordinate still kept his armor on despite that he was among his own. Simultaneously, it worried him, because it meant that said subordinate understood the realities of his situation.

Nearing the top of the stairs, the chieftain's red pupils shot hungrily from his meat to the newcomer. Tartarus saw the fire in his gaze die down once he figured out whose presence he was now beholden to. The younger Jirilhanae dropped his charge and swiftly stood at attention.

"Welcome, commander." He said emphatically. "It seems you were able to make it to our feast after all."

Tartarus briefly examined him then glanced around the room. "It seems so." He resettled his attention on his subordinate. "I see you started without me."

"W-, we...grew impatient, commander. Please forgive us."

Tartarus sensed his earnestness. He waived a dismissive hand. "It is no matter, Archoneus. No matter at all. In fact, I'm glad you began. That will make this much more enjoyable."

"This?" Archoneus asked.

Tartarus laughed under his breath as he turned to address everyone. "Brothers, warriors, eat your fill and make your bellies glad. You deserve it. In fact, you have been seen as deserving of much-much more."

The pack across the room gave him their full, unwavering attention.

"It is settled in the high counsels of the prophets themselves. We are to aid in another engagement with the humans, one that will lead to the recovery of the legacy of those we worship. Prepare yourselves when you finish, because this will not be any simple relic we are to acquire, but an oracle of our Gods. We will be at the very vanguard of its protection in bringing it from the human world back to High Charity."

He felt all eyes affix to his every gesture, honed in like the predators they were to the prey of his every word.

"With the oracle in our possession, we will receive divine guidance. Perhaps its full counsel will lead us to the sum of our faith, the door to eternal glory." He pulled the Fist of Rukt off his back and raised it high. "Our glory!"

The gathering erupted into excited howls and bellowing cheers of agreement. Tartarus reveled in the occasion.

"Prepare well and make yourselves fit for the service of your makers. We leave in three days. I will brief you on the greater details along with the rest of the unit later today. Until then, eat and be glad, for soon you will feast on more glory than you have ever known."

The pack delivered another round of boisterous approval as he set his weapon into its place and turned back to Archoneus.

The younger Jirilhanae still stood at attention while his pack returned to their feast. Tartarus noticed he was staring at someone. He peered back over his shoulder to follow his gaze. There was a black-furred Jirilhanae at the very end of the left column of tables. He was staring intently at Archoneus and Archoneus at him, until the one who was of the least rank caught sight of Tartarus' hardening scrutiny. The sight quickly made him back down and turn away, ending the silent challenge between the two pack-mates.

Tartarus could smell the pungent animosity wafting from Archoneus. He came around the table and leaned in until he was close to the chieftain's ear. "Keep an eye on Karagim for this mission. More than ever, this is the chance for us to prove our worth. The last thing we need is a loose cannon wreaking ruin under our noses."

Archoneus nodded. "I will watch him closely."

"Good." Tartarus moved for the steps.

"Will you not eat with us?"

"I am hungrier for glory than meat. Save my fill for later."

"Yes, commander...but I am curious."

Tartarus stopped at the top of the steps. He partly turned back. "Of what?"

Archoneus scratched a finger at the gash of the old battle scar that ran across his right eye. "We are to rescue this oracle from the hands of the humans. I understand why this must be done. That doesn't mean I understand it fully."

"What is there left to understand?" Tartarus growled, growing more impatient from the increasingly tempting smell of the thorn beast. "We are to recover the oracle and potentially reach the beginnings of our ascension. This is the chance that we've always hoped for. There is nothing else left to understand."

Archoneus appeared to only partially accept the explanation. "And what of...the other oracle?"

Tartarus now turned to him fully. "What of it?"

"It has been some time since it last spoke. Even then, the Hierarchs told us that its sole command was to destroy the humans for their heresy. It even started the holy ship in its desire to kill the humans itself, only to be barely convinced in time by the San'Shyuum that they would carry out the will of the Gods in its stead. Then it never spoke again. But what will this next one say?"

Tartarus glared at him for a moment then reached down to his subordinate's plate and pulled loose a slab of meat which quickly found its way between his teeth. He chewed apathetically though he thoroughly enjoyed the well-seasoned and roasted taste. "I do not know." He said through mouthfuls of thorn beast as he walked down the stairs, bound for the doors. "Why don't you ask it for yourself when we meet it."

Vexillifer – Bearers