Chapter 18 – Pomiferum faciens
(7th Cycle, 84 Units – Covenant Battle Calendar)
Aquilla System, Actium
High Mediolanum, Republic of Pavia
:********:
Despite his years of discipline, R'tas found it nearly impossible to focus on the actual subject of his dawn meditation. He was meant to be considering the potentiality of the mission's success, the one he was sent here to carry out. Then an injunction would come against that focus, dividing it into three mental routes that proved difficult to follow. That was because they were all his mission.
At the outset of the battle, Supreme Commander Vadumee had dispatched his unit to this city for three distinct purposes.
The first was to spy on the actions of the 2nd Fleet of Theophanic Revelation. From the very start, R'tas had detected a feeling of mistrust between Thel and Niccoramee just by the way he spoke of his fellow commander during the briefing aboard the Particular Justice. That mistrust had to be well warranted if it aroused the displeasure of one such as his fleet commander. So far it was warranted. The failure of Niccoramee to send any naval support whatsoever to defend the eastern cities, aside from a few Seraph squadrons, was an outright dereliction of duty. That wasn't to even mention the great dishonor of not defending the place where a Holy One resided, even at the consistent pleading of Field Marshall Duracomee. If it wasn't detestable to leave a prophet in such a position as to be endangered by humans then he didn't know what was.
At most he could speak for the Field Marshall's honor. Duracomee was putting his best efforts into organizing the final defense of the city's remaining tier. Truly, how could he hope to hold against three human destroyers supporting heavy contingents of enemy armor, the most R'tas had personally ever seen. Even the armored elements he'd encountered on their worlds of Estuary and Miridem weren't so sizable as the one about to lay siege to their positions. Hopefully they held long enough for reinforcements to arrive from the west, because certainly no help would come from the east. It was almost saddening that the proud Field Marshall had to go behind his own commanding officer's back to contact Thel for aide. What other course was there to take except to be overrun? Thankfully Thel had agreed to send help once the situation in the west was resolved.
R'tas' next mission was of course to assist in the elimination of the humans' leadership. That was going fairly well, at least until...
He felt himself again beginning to struggle against the memory of his failure. As if it were happening again, he could see viscerally the target on the other end of his beam rifle toppling back as the weapon itself came apart in his hands. He remembered ducking under the second shot of a Demon with a sniper, throwing himself off the building and running with Zuka. Running to escape. Withdraw was the word he preferred. However, his honor would not allow him to do so without inflicting its tormenting ire on his already conflicted conscience.
Did he really withdraw?
His excuse was that they would contend with the Demons when they were more capable of killing them. That said, he found that he had to use that excuse to satisfy himself more than Zuka's heated blood.
Facing the answer meant contending with something he was not used to facing, at least not with humans.
Although he loathed to admit it, he feared them, the Demons.
He could freshly recall what they had done to Zotamee's contingents on Miridem, how they so easily defeated foes that it would take far more of the customarily weaker humans to stop. On that roof, he saw himself dying without the glory he sought, the glory of fighting and if necessary, dying for the holiness of the Gods against those that would so defile their gifts without a thought for reverence or repentance. And it was that refusal to do anything that would dishonor him before the Gods that led him to sin against them.
He knew that Demon with the sniper would have killed him long before he ever got close enough to deal the damage he wished in close quarters. So, he had fled like a coward.
The thought wouldn't leave him alone that he could have still held his ground, fought and died with honor. But would it really be honorable to simply die without ever having so much as a chance to see said enemy before he perished? Was that really honorable, or simply unfortunate? He didn't know which. It was that conflict between what he knew to be tactically smart and what he knew to be right that had raged within him for the last two days. It acted out in the background of each and every thought, spreading and influencing them like a flame until all he could think of was how he had fled.
That suffering held a close relation to his final mission and purpose, to kill the Demons. Known by their own as 'Spartans', the creatures had been the primary focus of his commanding officer and himself in coming here.
Thel initially wanted the Shadows to counter the augmented humans here after seeing their actions on Miridem. Later, at recognizing the failure of Niccoramee to effectively crush the holdouts in the northern continent, his First Blade Officer had the foresight to request that the old command center Duracomee had used earlier in the battle be instead implored for a trap. Undoubtedly the Demons would seek after targets of interest and such was their plan to play to their taste for blood. They came to an agreement with Duracomee to move the Minister of Iconography from the command center and into a secretive location in the 3rd Tier. Then they had the facility hooked to squadrons of Seraphs to be sea-lifted over to a hydrothermal vent field. From there they would make it so that the prophet's broadcasts would seemingly originate from the center to lure in their anticipated guests. Rather than plant an anti-matter charge near the core as R'tas himself had so unironically suggested, his commander decided on what he referred to as a more 'absolute' approach. They would blow select portions of the aquatic structures to corner and kill the Demons with explosive decompressions, or draw them close enough to the core for its eventual destruction to finish the job.
The operation had taken place yesterday. It was now the dawn of a new day and he had yet to hear of how it had unfolded.
Something, however, made him suspect that the plan hadn't succeeded. The delay in any information about it from his First Blade Officer was a factor. Then again, he felt his lack of faith in the plan tied to three further factors. One was his belief that his commander made a mistake in not simply using an anti-matter charge to kill the Demons on their arrival. Another was his suspicion that the Demons could not be killed so easily, that they were somehow closer than most others to being 'immortal' as a few in the Covenant believed. The final factor was that he hoped they were still alive. The shame he had endured during the first day of their invasion was too much of a burden to carry any further. He wanted the aliens to pay for their actions in causing him to dishonor himself. He desired to confront them, knowing that killing one or more up close would do well to sate his thirst for a more honorable fight.
Footsteps made him open his eyes.
The first thing he saw was the startled face of an Unggoy. It wore a customary gas tank but was dressed in an orange tunic wrapped around most of its torso. The moment it saw him it froze in place. The creature must have come over to investigate after seeing him sitting in place for so long with his helmet lying in his lap.
R'tas blinked.
It was enough to cause the deacon to yelp. It ran in the opposite direction down one of the aisles of bookshelves lining this floor of what was believed to be a human library of antiquities. There it joined the dozens of other Unggoy deacons and Huragok moving around the aisles of shelves. The shelves themselves were occupied with individual, rectangular collections of white parchment on which the humans' various languages were written. Deacons waddled through the lower scroll collections to investigate the pages of archaic parchment. So too were the Huragok floating above them that searched those on the upper shelves, scanning the contents of the pages. They were the Minister of Iconography's Research and Inquisition Group. They were here upon the prophet's request to Duracomee that they be allowed to investigate repositories of information...under R'tas' protection.
He wasn't exactly enthused when his commanding officer informed Zuka and himself the evening prior that they were being assigned to protect this group. There were more 'engaging' matters they could be invested in such as joining the rest of their team conducting reconnaissance across the city. Nevertheless, orders were orders.
Apparently, the minister was after any and all data in this city which could potentially lead them to the single greatest discovery of the war: the location of the human homeworld. Whereas others sought to capture their ships or raid their bases for such information, the minister was of the belief that the truth could be more easily gleamed in their civilian population centers such as this one. His search was purportedly part of a joint effort between the Ministry of Resolution under the direction of the Hierarchs and the Ministry of Relic Safety, the latter of which he just so happened to be the head minister of. Their goal was to use the rare opportunities where the Covenant spared human population centers for reliquary interdiction assignments, such as the massive one being undertaken on Actium, to search for viable information on more human worlds.
R'tas was still skeptical as to why the humans would risk having a centralized location for data collection such as this one which made it the perfect target. Furthermore, he was suspicious of the prophet himself. Truthfully, the San'Shyuum were a mystic and highly esteemed species. However, they were also known for harboring their own machinations. In their part of the Covenant, faith was always just downstream from politics rather than vice versa as it should be. There could be any number of secret agreements and understandings at work in the background of this situation. Moreover, he was uncertain if the minister had a personal agenda here. He seemed to have a genuine interest in humanity, as if he wanted to know something more about them than what was already settled in fact: that they were a disgraceful race worthy of as many orbital bombardments as it required to remove said disgrace. R'tas got the opposite impression whenever he encountered the Huragok and Unggoy searching through the rectangular scrolls on subject-matter he felt had no connection to their stated objective, such as on human culture. Perhaps there was a chance they would find what they were after in those subjects. Still, he had his doubts about exactly what their true intentions were.
That alone irritated him, which was why it was a good thing that the deacon had chosen to flee from him when he opened his eyes. He might have skewered the poor creature on his energy sword right then and there. He didn't take kindly to the possibility that they were wasting his time here investigating matters of little if any relevance or beneficence to the war.
With his meditative state soundly broken, not that he was all that focused to begin with, he slid his helmet back on and rose to his feet. He momentarily forgot the weight on his back and remembered that it was his beam rifle, a replacement for his original.
His plasma rifle was also still in place on his thigh bracer. At least no one had tried their hand at toying with him by taking away his weapons, not that he would have let them since he would have heard anyone coming.
On the matter of hearing, he could hear the full, wrathful tirade of a Sangheili whose voice he knew well. He turned to the railings of the circular balcony he was on to look down at the ground floor 10 stories below.
Zuka was there near the front doors berating a group of four very petrified Deacons standing next to a broken glass painting. It looked like they had accidentally dropped it while having the grave misfortune of doing so on his partner's watch. He was towering over and glowering at them through his red visor, roaring orders while occasionally growling. He repeatedly pointed to the painting and then to the doors.
The four Unggoy shakily began extracting the shards of glass and placing them onto the main painting. Once they were finished, they grabbed the four corners of the aged image and left for the area outside in a much more cautious manner.
Zuka's hands remained balled into fists at his side until they were well out of sight.
It was obvious to R'tas that he wasn't the only one mildly irritated at their current posting. 'Mildly' was likely too mild a description. It was more like inwardly outraged, so much so that they were required to hold that rage in check. He had sought to handle his frustrations through meditation, for all the good it had done him. Zuka, on the other hand, seemed to have the right idea. He had just unleashed everything on those Unggoy without necessarily killing any, an enormous show of restraint for a Sangheili his junior. Meanwhile, his superior was just about to decapitate a deacon for the crime of interrupting a meditation that, from the start, was only making him angrier.
"Zuka." R'tas called down. He didn't have to shout. The library was little more than a series of 10 levels all designed around an octagonal interior space leading down to a marbled, ground floor. The architecture amplified his voice into an echo loud enough to be heard over the commotion of the Deacons and Huragok working on every other level.
Zuka heard and looked up to where he was standing. He spoke in a markedly more reserved tone than the one he had used on the Unggoy mere seconds ago. "Ah, yes, brother, you've asked for me?"
"Any sign of Nerulee yet?"
"You mean our anointed and glorious First Blade Officer who, in all his wisdom, sent us here to find the most diligent way to hang ourselves?"
R'tas grimaced at the sarcastic note in his voice likely overflowing from their conversation a whole unit ago. "...Yes."
"Well, no. He isn't. And I would suspect he would tell us over our communication link if he did and I would be able to see his dropship from here. Why do you think I'm down here in the first place?"
"I would wager it was to find some way to distract yourself while getting a good view of the landing area outside."
"Or to find a good rope."
"If you're so enthusiastic then what about your energy garotte?"
"No thanks." Zuka shook his head, sighing. "I have to hold that in place. With a good rope I can let gravity and weight do the work for me."
"Do not discharge yourself until we have completed our mission here, brother. Then you have my blessing to do what seems best to you."
"Do I really need your blessing?"
"Yes. To simply remove yourself at a time when your Covenant needs your strength will give you nothing but a dishonorable demise."
"There's that manipulation again." Zuka laughed under his breath then huffed as he saw that his partner had not entertained his humor. "My apologies, I meant 'interpretation'."
"One cannot interpret damnation. They can only feel it."
"Not so. It depends on what you define as 'damnation'."
"And now who's the one manipulating scripture?"
"Sorry, my apologies once again. I've been around you too long."
"Indeed, you have." R'tas shifted his attention back to his own floor of the 10th level. Beyond the shelves, the passing deacons and flotillas of huragok. he saw the windows that formatted the walls.
Outside, the city was still in the blueish haze of early dawn. There were a few Phantom dropships humming about the skies. Past that he could see the western firmament and, silhouetted against the clouds, two human destroyers. The disgusting craft dominated the air. Those, he knew, would be their greatest problem if one or even both came to hover over them during the battle to come.
Then he saw a Phantom fly across the foliage of tall buildings from the west of the library. It crested over the structure opposite theirs and swooped down, the gentle whine of its engines growing closer.
A voice spoke over their comms. "Vadumee, Zamamee, you have a new assignment. Come out to the pad. I'll pick you up from there."
R'tas recognized it as belonging to the leader of his unit, First Blade Officer Utana Nerulee. It was a relief to hear, meaning by extension that their job here was finished. "We are on our way, leader. Zuka, let's go."
"Might I remind you that you're the one whose all the way up there." Zuka chortled.
R'tas grabbed the balcony railing in front of him and vaulted over it. He kept his legs straight and arms raised as he fell a full ten stories before his descent was slowed by the upwards propulsion of a portable gravity lift lying on the ground floor. It propelled him back a small distance into the air so that he landed softly next to Zuka. He proceeded to calmly walk out the doors without giving his partner a second thought.
With a sarcastic chortle, he followed.
The two came onto the outside balcony which lay at the junction between the library of antiquities itself and the other structure below that, from its various exhibitions, proved to be a museum of sorts.
At the other end of the balcony was a landing pad with several consecutive staircases leading to the top. The Phantom was slowly descending onto the surface. After touching down, its drop bay opened to offload a squad of four Sangheili minors. The team briefly stopped to stand in awe of him and Zuka. Then an orange-armored Major came down and barked orders for them to move forward. They sprinted past the two Sangheili, giving them a respectable distance. As the Major passed by, he gave a nod to the two special operators before leading his team inside the library.
"Our replacements?" Zuka asked.
"Not our concern."
From the depths of the cargo bay, R'tas made out the darkened armor and red visor of a fellow Silent Shadow. It was Nerulee. With a hand he ushered them onward. They carried on up the stairs and into the bay, grasping the overhead handles to stay in place. Then the Phantom took to the air. However, instead of closing the bay, it opened the other side as well so that the morning air was allowed in freely. It also permitted the faint morning light that peeled away the darkness from around Nerulee, making him appear more silver than dark. He looked preoccupied with the city as they passed over it, too preoccupied to even address them once they'd come aboard.
R'tas traced his attention down to the streets below. Hundreds of Unggoy, Kig-Yar and Sangheili were setting up plasma cannon emplacements at the ends of street-corners, shades atop buildings and various vehicles in alleyways for rapid ambush deployments. It was preparation for the final defense of the city against the humans, as per the order of Duracomee. Not a centimeter of the 3rd Tier was being left undefended, not a street without some contingent hidden in a sewer or avenue, ready to pounce at their superior's order.
The question silently resting before the Silent Shadows now was the nature of their own superior's orders, of which R'tas was the first to ask. "What is required of us?"
"Your purpose is of the upmost importance so take heed." Nerulee finally turned to them both, causing them to reflexively stand at attention. "You will both act as secret escorts of the Minister of Iconography and protect him as an overwatch team while he prepares for his final prayer later today. You will oversee his safety, watch for and eliminate any suspicious activity should any be found."
It was straight forward, or at least the first part was. Something about the last of his instructions didn't sit well with R'tas and it was ultimately Zuka that gave that unease a voice.
"Does it matter where we find that suspicion? Or will we be showing prejudice?"
"Your sole concern should be the protection of the minister." Nerulee pointed down to the throngs below. "The forces here are tense among each other, namely the lesser species after what occurred during the first day of the invasion. Should any suspicious activity arise that could endanger the life of the minister, you are to target it."
It was an open-ended requirement, and R'tas didn't find it easing at all. Still, to confirm that it was what he thought it might be he decided to press the matter. "What if we should find the activities of a Sangheili to be suspicious? Certainly, our kind are more loyal than any to the Covenant. That said, is it not feasible to keep an eye out for 'any' and 'all' activity that catches our eyes?"
"Your fellow Sangheili are less likely to betray our cause, that is true. Nevertheless, it is necessary that should any threat appear in any form, you are to address it. The minister's life is of the greatest priority. Is that understood?"
R'tas didn't understand, mostly because he didn't want to. The idea that any of his kin would ever be so vile in their lack of conviction as to bring direct harm to a prophet was almost unthinkable. The premise by itself was a heretical sin of the unforgivable caliber. Yet somehow it was about to be the model standard of their next mission, and it prompted him to ask another question. "What about his contingent of Honor Guards? Will they not be enough on their own?"
"While they are attached to him, they can only provide immediate, short-range protection. You will provide the long-range element as his vanguard."
Yet another answer, yet again not the one he was looking for. He felt that something wasn't being said on the part of Nerulee for whatever reason he wished to keep hidden. R'tas thought he knew exactly what that reason was and went straight for its jugular. "And how did the events of yesterday's mission transpire?"
Although it wasn't overt, there was a perceptible change in Nerulee's stance, a simple straightening of the feet with the rest of his body and a tightening of his grasp on the overhead handle.
"It was a success. The Demons are sure to have perished in the depths. I assured as much since I made it so that my face was the last they ever saw and my words the last they would ever hear. Their presence will not be a source of trouble in this matter."
With that last sentence Nerulee had counter-moved, striking the silent secondary question that R'tas had stealthily laid beneath the first. If the Demons were not a concern, at least according to Nerulee, then surely there was nothing serious to worry about. That was the impression that he wanted to purvey at most. While he had spoken those words with sufficient firmness to sway any other subordinate, R'tas was not so easily convinced. His earlier encounter kept him keenly aware of just how capable the Demons were. Judging by their high capacity to kill, the chances were equally high that they were capable of surviving much.
"And you're certain they perished?" Zuka asked, sounding even less convinced. "Were there any bodies recovered to confirm that it was so?"
"For one who professes faith in the Gods you certainly show none in the face of those who carry out their will." Nerulee said.
"That is only when I can confirm they are carrying out that will."
Nerulee stared at him. "Does truth not abide?"
"I am not one of those psychopathic and overly idealistic monks of Ontom." Zuka shot back, aware of what the officer was insultingly insinuating. "But where is your evidence that you have executed their will and accomplished what we were after, commander?"
"You have the evidence of my word and it is sound-enough doctrine by itself for you to believe. Are there any further questions, Third Blade Officer Zamamee?"
Zuka glanced over at R'tas who quietly shook his head. With a sigh, Zuka turned away from his commander in a show of submission. "I...have faith that your word is true, First Blade Officer Nerulee."
He had said that last part with a subtle hint of ingeniousness, not sufficient for one such as Nerulee to pick up on as he turned away towards the cockpit. "Good. We will arrive at our destination shortly. You will be provided with thruster packs for the task appointed to you."
"We will do as is required of our station." R'tas said.
Nerulee turned to Zuka. The Sangheili looked away towards the streets. He finally breathed out the end of the benediction. "...All without exception..."
"Indeed."
In the silence that followed, Zuka opened a private comm-channel to R'tas. "What did I tell you? He already fancies himself a God, calling his own words 'doctrine'."
"Indeed, he does." He replied sarcastically. "May we all become so godly as we walk the path. Let us hope his word holds firm...for both our sakes."
:********:
The Minister of Iconography had many names and titles for his various positions. Of course, there was his ministerial position as head of the Ministry of Relic Safety. Then there was his secondary title 'Prophet of Sanctity' which was more often reserved for his religious duties like the one he was soon to perform today. But Duracomee was one of the few to know of his real name; Avuum Rezzic. Knowing a prophet's real name came with profound revelations that few Sangheili were privy to. For one, it made them seem much more...mortal than they would otherwise appear under the esteem of their plenteous titles, and it was that evident mortality that now worried him to no end.
For the last several minutes of time their conversation had gone nowhere. No matter what he tried, the San'Shyuum simply wasn't accepting any of his logic. So, to convince him he attempted a different tactic.
"Certainly, my prophet, the Gods will favor you in your undertaking no matter where you go. Even if you should travel to a location out of the city, more secure than this, the Gods will hear your prayer. Once again, I must recommend that you complete your duties in the safety of the interior. My Supreme Commander would be more than able to ensure your protection there, which is something I cannot ensure despite all my best efforts to make such provision. This place will soon become a battlefield, and we do not know what our fate will be. However, those that came before us have received your petitions even in this imperfect city, so surely they will hear you wherever you go."
The Minister's graying and wrinkled face looked unamused, regardless of the occasional static that flickered across his digital frame projected over the holo-pedestal. Almost in defiance of the limiting weight of his headpiece, he leaned forward and held out a hand in a reasoning gesture. "You do not understand, do you Duracomee. I can see where the faults of your own intentions lie because I was blessed with such discernment for this task." He sighed and leaned back in his hovering throne. "By your own reasoning, I must remain present in this city. It is my presence that enables the Gods to ignore the filth of this place and thereby accept my petitions. Should I leave they would be beholden to its full detestable nature and my work of sanctification would be left unfinished, if not completely undone. My righteousness must stand in for that nature so as not to offend the sensitivities of the divine."
Duracomee inwardly scolded himself for thinking he could win a philosophical argument with a San'Shyuum. His kind were often better suited for frontline combat rather than scriptural debates to begin with. That was how the Covenant was initially structured, the San'Shyuum leading them along the path through discernment of the divine scriptures and relics while the Sangheili acted as their trusted protectors. Still, that very same setup was being thrown on its head. Now here was a San'Shyuum arguing for why he should stay on the frontlines while a Sangheili was trying to keep him out of harm's way. He sought to rectify that error before it became something much worse. Then again, he didn't know how.
He searched for the right words. "My Prophet, surely you can understand that there is a risk to your life here, a grave one. There is every chance the humans may drive into our ranks with the fury of their ships that are visible even from here." For emphasis, he pointed out the glass window of the top floor of the skyscraper he was using towards the western skies. At the end of his pointing finger were the two destroyers, both of which were his greatest worries.
But the sight of them did not perturb the intended observer. Instead, Rezzic looked vaguely amused between the ships and Duracomee. "My-my, Field Marshall, what prompts your lack of faith in divine providence, to doubt that those who are above all will see to it that their work is not undermined before them?"
It was a loaded question. Duracomee knew if he answered it wrong the prophet could have him effectively removed from his duty with a single word. He bowed respectfully before him, something he found himself doing a lot more often than he desired. "I do believe that the Gods will grant us the victory we seek. My worry, however, is that my Supreme Commander will not provide us the required resources to make such a victory less costly to attain on the part of my contingents."
Out of the upper corner of his periphery he saw Rezzic's expression harden from vague amusement to subdued disapproval. "Rise, Field Marshall."
Duracomee did so, slowly. Rezzic took a moment to quietly consider something.
"Your Supreme Commander Niccoramee does not understand many things of our situation here...many things." His gaze flitted up to lock with Duracomee's. "However, we do not require his assistance to receive godly favor. I promise you there will be a time and place to address Niccoramee's actions...there will be a reckoning."
There was a trace of anger in his tone. It made Duracomee inwardly shiver and wonder whether his superior would actually face retribution for abandoning his duties as he had thus far. "I see."
"Do you? See to it then that you do not doubt. Faith is what will please our Gods in this hour, and it will be what guarantees us the victory if we do not waver. I will pray fervently for our triumph during the ceremony. I charge you with this, Field Marshall." He raised a robed hand to point at him, his hardened expression giving way to a genuine earnestness. "You protect this city while I protect your faith. I will do all in my power to ensure my part if you do all that is in yours to ensure your part. Is that understood?"
Duracomee gave a graceful bow of his head. "I will have faith, my prophet."
"Good. I shall depart for now. See to your duties diligently as I see to my own."
"...I will."
The prophet's image flickered off.
Duracomee stood there for a long while, his mind caught on the darkening lights of the holo-pedestal.
Faith. The word itself and the glyph attached to it journeyed through his mind: a simple circle with an arc running through its center with two dots at either end of the arc and a final dot at the very center of the bisection. It was an understandable glyph and easy to write, but not so easy to learn, and even less so to practice.
Could he really have faith? He asked himself that question when he looked out the window and saw only the enemy destroyers with not a single battlecruiser to contest them. There was likely no help to come soon either. Their only real hope was that Supreme Commander Vadumee gained a swift victory in the west and came to the east to offer reinforcements. Aside from that, they would truly require divine intervention to win here, or perhaps the will of the prophets made manifest.
That reminded him of his next meeting. He tapped a sequence of symbols floating around the rim of his holo-pedestal. Shortly thereafter, the hale was accepted and the image of a Silent Shadow appeared.
"First Blade Nerulee, are your Shadows now in place?"
Nerulee gave a short bow. "My lookouts are in position. They await any need to engage should one arise."
Duracomee nodded, feeling that at least one more thing was going the way he intended. "Good. See to it that the rest of your Shadows are also in place before the meeting begins. Regardless of the success of your operation against the Demons, there are many other threats to concern ourselves with."
"None of which should be a match for my unit." Nerulee asserted. "They are more than capable of seeing through any devious schemes no matter their source and will address it with precise prejudice."
"Good. Remain prepared. If this matter goes the way we need it to then this will be the beginning of our counteroffensive against the humans. I pray that the Gods' strength be with you." Duracomee nodded off to him. After Nerulee gave his salutations his image winked off.
Duracomee watched the holo-pedestal's low hum begin to quiet along with its lights that slowly dimmed. Yet he couldn't shake the feeling that in some way his own remaining time would be just like those lights, fading.
Rezzic's words echoed in his mind, an assurance that there would be a reckoning. There likely would be. Yet depending on his own actions today he could soon find himself on the receiving end of it.
He thought back to a time when Niccoramee was not so caught up in himself and his own endeavors, when he was much more committed to the cause and needs of the Covenant no matter the front. He had been a proud commander of his fleet, and Duracomee a proud commander of his legions on the ground. Now, however, he had drifted from that conviction. That pride was blinding him to what needed to be done here, and if he wasn't careful, it would consume them all. Duracomee just wished he knew what he had found to be of such great importance in the east that it prompted his betrayal of that which he had once defended.
Then Niccoramee's guarantee flashed through his mind, one where he promised that swift justice would be carried out against his Field Marshall should he fail to protect the prophet. Funnily enough, in a dementedly sarcastic sense, Niccoramee was doing everything in his power to ensure that became less of an impossibility and more of a potential reality.
How would it come? Justice by the hands of the Gods, by that of the humans, or his own? All three had been laid out to him as possible punishments and only one sounded honorable. No matter which way he looked at it the future of his own soul was on the line along with that of every soul under his command. The consequences of his success or failure here would not only be long-lasting but eternal, unceasing, unending.
He decided it was best not to allow his thoughts to go down such dark routes before the beginning of a task, especially one with such magnitude as was before him. However, even as he left the room to attend to the final preparations that needed to be made, his mind remained locked on that one word: reckoning. The only question that really remained thereafter was whether it would be in his favor.
Pomiferum faciens - Yielding