A Gold Flower

by CplMax43

A flower cannot blossom without sunshine. And where flowers boom, so can hope.

5. The Devil of Harvest

Chapter 5: The Devil of Harvest

2531

Harvest

Epsilon Indi System

All the defences needed strengthening, and the warriors of the Exalted Scales Kai'd worked hand-in-hand with the countless files of Unggoy menials to make the holy site as impregnable as possible. Jega remained in the shadows as the Minister of Penance and Field Master Wamik watched the labours of the soldiers below, no doubt heartened by the sense of shared purpose and camaraderie they saw.

"My compliments, Field Master, your warriors do you proud," observed the San'Shyuum, following his gaze.

"Thank you, Minister, they are the finest amongst my Warhost."

"Yes, it is a pity that war brings out both the best and worst in such enlightened souls," sighed Penance.

"What do you mean?"

"You have seen your share of blood, Field Master Wamik. You know full well the costs that come with the Great Journey," Penance gestured down below. "But look around you: the bond of brotherhood that has formed here is something that only soldiers facing death can truly know. Every warrior here understands that they may be dead soon, and yet they are in fine spirits. They have seen the sunrise, but none know whether they will live to see it set. To know that and make peace with it is a rare gift."

"I would not deign that many of my soldiers would appreciate the sentiment." The Field Master shook his head.

Jega inwardly snorted as he tuned his energy dagger. Their preachings had remained nothing more than windblown meadows to the Special Operations Operative, empty and hollow words to act as a pretence for their own selfish aspirations.

"Probably not on a conscious level, no," continued the Minister, "But on a level they may not even be aware of, they do. They fear death, but only by facing it can they truly find their courage."

Jega found that belief even more absurd. Fear? It was a weakness long removed from their childling years. Every scion of Sanghelios, whether male or female, was charged with the protection of their own kin. It was expected that every youngling should be able to defend themselves adequately in the event their keep is attacked.

He would never succumb to such a weakness. Never.

"You are a remarkable individual, Minister," Re'gish Wamik strained a smile before glancing at the snowdrift skies. "And such a remarkable member of the ministry should not endure such dreary weather. Do retire to your Shadow whilst we await the Arbiter."

The Special Operations Operative allowed himself another scoff before collecting his bearings as the Field Master came to his side.

"This is one filthy night to behold, 'Rdomnai."

"Indeed, my lord." Jega inclined his head. "Yet, I find myself longing for Nwari's gales."

The older Sangheilli smiled, "The ache for home lives in all of us, Jega. It is where one starts from."

Both Sangheilli stood in silence. They watched as the Minister of Penance was escorted away by two of the Field Master's warriors.

Falling snow drifted gently from the sky, each flake fluttering in slow, delicate motions. It seemed to hang in the air for a moment before silently landing on the ground, blanketing everything in a soft, white coat. This form of climate was unfamiliar to Jega, whilst he lived on Sanghelios at least.

Frozen water that falls from the sky in the form of small, soft ice crystals. He was sure there was some poetism in that.

"My lord," Jega continued. "That San'Shyuum… by what purpose does he come below?"

"There has not been a more monumental discovery since the initial revelation of this planet," The Field Master replied, voice even and calm. "The Minister wishes to gaze upon this holy site himself."

The irony was not lost on the Special Operative.

"More's the pity, my lord. He would not see much of a congregation here." Jega shook his head, earning a mirthful grunt from his superior.

"No, he would not." Field Master 'Wamik exhaled, then laughed, wiping a blotch of frost from his combat harness.

Jega allowed his thoughts to calm as the silence returned, his readied proposal simmering within his mind.

Red Eyes in the Dark

"If I may, Field Master, I would dare request a formation of Bloodstars. Surely a greater force would be more flexible under these circumstances?"

"It would," said Wamik. "Which is why I am not giving it to you. I am taking temptation away. I know of you, Jega. You are an adept warrior, but you err too far on the side of heroics."

The Field Master breathed a frosted sigh, part way between amusement and exasperation.

"You will, however, be accompanied by my Exalted Scales. Special Operatives of my chapter. I will give you a hundred. This is the Hierarch's will."

"The Prophet of Regret?" asked Jega.

"Yes," said Wamik. "Further, you will take these warriors and retrieve every last artefact from this sacred ground in the greatest of haste."

"My lord, I-"

"Enough." The Field Master's voice had now taken a cold, hard edge. "I know of your plight, Jega. Vengeance sears many of our hearts. Your lance leader, Khor, was my honoured brother. Before the integration of Doisac, it was he who aided me from the embrace of a War Chief's hammer."

Re'gish Wamik drew a long breath. "Even so, we as Sangheili must never forget our path: Duty is paramount, whether distasteful or joyous."

The Operative remained silent, shamed at his own unruliness. Never once had he seen the temperate Field Master driven to such irateness. The past cycles had not treated the old warrior with benevolence.

"I stand chastised, lord." Jega bowed low, unsure that any amount of words would do him justice.

The Field Master turned to look at Jega, his voice quiet and genial again, "Banish that Monster from your mind. Let us not stint in our efforts. We have oaths to fulfil here. No true son of Sanghelios would shirk this duty."

"Well said, my lord." A familiar voice caught the attention of both warriors.

"Jeddak, I trust the fortifications are complete?" The Field Master turned to the Evocati Delegatus.

"Only the inner sanctum remains." The veteran officer paused. "The Arbiter is due for his arrival in ten centals. I suggest we form an honour guard, just as I doubt his appreciation."

A moment passed as the warhost commander took in the words, and sighed deeply as he turned away and back to Jega.

"Very well then, make the necessary arrangements. We will speak more of this later."

---

Hulls pinked as they cooled. Then, all the hatches and ramps opened onto an interior soaked in violet lumen glow. Ripa Moramee emerged first from his personal Kez'katu-pattern Warrior Transport, twilight changing his armour from an amethyst hue to the specular silver of shame. A handful of the Evocatus followed, flanked by more of the lesser warriors, debarking in ranks of two, split as they came out, and filed out to ring the main landing pad.

Jega had heard tales of the Savage Warlord, one whose ambition outweighed his own sanity. He was a warrior who rose in renown due to his success in several ordained campaigns, most notably the Sixteenth Unggoy Disobedience when he led a strike force to quell the dissenting Unggoy in a matter of days and reducing the Kig-Yar pirate prince Krith's conclave to nothing but a memory. For most warriors, such honours would suffice a lifetime of saga and song.

Yet Moramee's treachery proved more potent than honour.

To betray one's kaidon was a sin of the most heinous standards. And in some way, failing in the process was worse than damning. Death would be a much kinder alternative for such disgrace. In spite of all, he still donned the armour of shame and held dominion over the legion of the Fleet of Glorious Interdiction.

The Arbiter scowled as he gazed around before addressing the gathered group as one.

"I come bearing the Hierarch's degree, you are to set the charges and destroy the relic. Any questions?"

Several of the others exchanged stunned glances. In the corner, Jega's helmet hid his astonishment. Jedd'ak Zule was the first one to actually speak.

"That is the first thing you tell us? That is your greeting?"

"Yes." Moramee did not blink, scowl still evident. "Did you expect a speech?"

The Evocati Delegatus snarled. "I expect you to elucidate such a blasphemous statement!"

Ripa Moramee tilted his head as he approached the assembled group of Sangheili. Jega watched on as the Arbiter stared down Zule, both warriors exuding ample amounts of mirth.

There were unseeming rumours that the brutish Arbiter had a certain way of smiling. Amusement brightened his yellow eyes first before tugging at the corners of his mandibles in soft twitches. It was the expression of a corpse with hooks pulling at its cheeks or a soul that had no comprehension of humour in the same way as those around him – thus, he had to feign it to the best of his limited ability.

"That Monster you cowards were murmuring about was last sighted heading this way with a host of humans in tow." Elation was practically dripping from the Arbiter's maw as he made the statement.

The proclamation hung in the air. None of the warriors present wished to add to it.

"Nonetheless, it is in the Hierarchs' best interest to destroy the relic than to let it succumb to human defilement." Ripa Moramee admitted. "I could only lament that I am unable to face that apparent fiend myself."

A handful of the gathered officers grumbled at the declaration, their tattered harnesses telling Jega of survivors hastily organised and promoted from the numerous files and kai'd shattered by the Monster.

That thing can not be underestimated.

"I must protest, Arbiter." Field Master Wamik finally stood in the open, burying his rage under a calm, commanding voice. "If the Monster is truly drawing near, we should salvage as many artefacts as we could, demolishing such a sacred-"

"You dare defy the Prophets' will, Field Master? Do not forget yourself." Ripa Moramee growled.

"If we intend to incinerate this holy site and extend our duration of stay. The lives of our warriors would be better s-"

"I care not for your little life! Do as you are told… or I shall find another more obedient commander." The Arbiter interjected the Field Master once again in an outburst of rage.

The Arbiter stormed away into his transport without another word, leaving the group of Sangheili simmering in the cold.

"I was merely thinking," 'Nbekee, who was silent for the whole time, remarked, "He is a testament to his own refusal to obey anything or anyone. The traitorous worm was too stubborn to die even in the Weeping Shadows of Sorrow."

Several of the others chuckled. Even Zule offered a crooked sneer. The Field Master, however, shared none of the humour.

Jega pushed the melancholy thought aside with no real difficulty. He was not a doleful soul, just as he was not an optimistic one.

"Heed me well," Re'gish Wamik dictated with the same mild, unpleasant tone that he kept with the Arbiter, silencing the ongoing murmuring. "We are lacking ample support to hold this ground, not that it matters anymore. This move will cripple us all in a bid to soothe the Savage's bruised ego."

Jega found no room for rebuff as he surveyed the hastily gathered council. Something did not sit well with the Special Operative for the past few centals. The Minister of Penance had remained uncharacteristically reserved as the Arbiter made his outrageous declaration. Jega would have expected an individual of his standing to demonstrate a fit of pique most clamorous. That San'Shyuum knew about this yet made a showing to the Field Master regardless.

The Sangheili and San'Shyuum have made common cause more than once, but he would not trust a single one of them. The sons of Sanghelios have always fought with honour and truth, whilst the scions of Janjur Qom have chosen to do so with deception and words.

Jega would endeavour to watch that minister closely.

The Evocatus Delegatus growled through his helm's metal plates. "My lord, I suggest we evacuate immediately. My warriors would gather any relics possible on the way."

"But duty demands we fight," said Nbekee. The Evocatus warranted several nods of agreement. "Death is nothing compared to vindication."

The arrogant warrior raised his fist, "I invoke Shrwssha'wash! My lord, I will personally deliver your that Monster's head as tribute."

Jega grinned at that.

'Such pretty words. I wonder if they'll echo into eternity as wisdom or foolishness. Whichever Fate decides, you will not have me at your side.'

The stern glare from the warhost commander quietened the boisterous Evocati, yet he remained adamant.

"We will bicker no longer." His words echoed finality, halting further discussions. "Rdomnai, Nbekee, Crolunee."

"The three of you will oversee the destruction of this… location. Do so with haste." Speaking the order out loud made it no easier for the old commander. "My dictum stands."

As the Field Master made his way to his Hesduros-pattern Banshee with Je'ddak Zule in tow, both the Evocati Delegatus and Special Operative shared a mutual look of understanding. The words exchanged within the far reaches of the human countryside still remained.

Any further altercations with the Monster would spell doom for the fleet.

---

The Custodian Tribune was free among the enemy. With two great sweeps of his halberd, Ra cut through a crowd of terrified aliens who blocked his way. Another saurian alien leapt out into the air above him, but he manoeuvred from its shots of plasma.

Some of the soldiers dubbed the particular species as 'Elites' for the purpose of convenience, whilst the more appropriate term would be Sangheili. A humanoid reptilian body structure; quadruple-hinged mandibles; binary circulatory system. Ra could at least confidently infer the latter portion, with the dozens he had already taken apart.

Despite the perceived bulk of his Auric Warplate, Ra Endymion had moved with a terrible speed. As the reptilian xenos landed in front of the Custodian, Ra lowered his shoulder and drove it into the alien's waist. There was a crunch of bone as he crumpled it in two, and then, with a casual swing of the Guardian Spear, he bisected his daring adversary in half.

Ra had studied the ways of this xenos species for the last few engagements. It was almost effortless to goad these Sangheili into single combat, allowing the Custodian Tribune to slay multiple of their officers with ease. He was a whirlwind of death as he drove the aliens back before him. He would not, he could not, be slowed.

Ra feared nothing but failure, and as he battled into the midst of the raging snowstorm, the desperate Xenos infantry ran onto his blade in an effort to slow him down.

"We are closing in on the destination," Ra turned to his Spartan escorts.

They were the only ones that had a chance of keeping with his pace, and even so the Custodian had to slow down severely in order for them to not lose him in the ensuing snow. The main company had held their position exactly a kilometre down the ridge as the augmented personnel cleared for ambushes and traps.

Ra gracefully picked his way across the snow, lithe as an elk. The wind seemed to aid him. Way below him, the rest of the battle company were knee-deep in driving snow, the blizzard whipping ice needles into their eyes, desperately trudging onward while grumbling that they could not possibly continue.

As the Custodian and his escorts rejoined the main column, mortal soldiers who happened to catch sight of the auric protector buckled and stepped back, each whisper of awe and murmur of uncertainty made clear to Ra's unmatched senses, but he paid them no heed.

Heavily armoured vehicles push through the thick snow with slow, determined power. Their wide treads churn the icy ground, leaving deep, jagged tracks in their wake. Yet, progress had been slow.

"This structure that we are seeking… Does it hold ample strategic value?" Ra spoke to his escorts in a low voice.

"HIGHCOM believes this might be the key to this whole war," Zero-Four-Seven replied, taking position next to the Custodian.

"By what evidence?"

The Spartan paused for a mere moment as he racked his weapon, "They have not disclosed much on this matter. Only that the capture of this particular structure may warrant the Covenant forces on the mainland to divert their attention."

"It lacks tactical logic to base this venture off fragile foundations." The Custodian Tribune gave his disapproval.

Each vehicle of the company struggled forward, ploughing through drifts and breaking apart the dense snow banks with sheer force, their hulking forms slowed by the unforgiving winter conditions.

"No matter, we will push on regardless. Stewing on such complacencies will not improve our chances." Ra held up a hand before either of the soldiers were able to respond.

The Custodian Tribune watched keenly as an M850 Main Battle Tank huffed its way past him. The soldiers fondly referred to it as a 'Grizzly.' Its engines were muffled slightly by the thick blanket of snow, but the sound of the steel treads crunching and grinding through the frozen terrain echoed across the cold landscape.

This snow will be the death of this offensive.

"Sergeant Forge, a moment of your time," Ra called out upon catching sight of the follically challenged sergeant.

"Sir?" The man hid his weariness well as he dismounted from the war machine, stuffing his freezing hands deep into his fatigues.

"Have your men hold this position a while longer and wait for the signal."

The sergeant at arms exhaled deeply, "Sounds good, sir. What about you? Err, if I dare to ask."

"The three of us will go ahead and clear the way. Moving all this armour across this natural blockade will delay us and inevitably doom this mission," Ra reasoned as he gestured northwards. "Furthermore, based on your intelligence, we are pressed even more for time if the Covenant were to go through with their intentions."

"Right, right. This chill ain't doing us any kindness either." The sergeant at arms nodded, massaging at his hands gently, "We'll wait patiently here. Don't worry about us."

Men started to move. Orders were yelled, and vehicles continued to push through the thickets of snow.

"Tribune Endymion, we are ready." Zero-Four-Seven nodded as the two Spartans took their places.

"In a moment," Ra told his escorts. "I reckoned on two or three more good strikes. We will circle the perimeter and eliminate any stragglers. Otherwise, we commit too early."

"There is something at play here, something of value." The Custodian faced his Spartan escorts as they trailed away once again from the main column.

It was simple. He could tell from the way that the enemy was dying. This was why they had been slowed down so much. The forward intelligence had failed to locate this variable. It made the success of the mission even more precarious. If the zeal of these aliens was truly to be accredited, the resistance they had faced in the past hours had fought with a stubbornness that was impressive to any.

Yet none of it mattered. The Custodian was a smudge of moving gold, fogged in a billowing cloud of blood and hail. The bodies of the aliens, none of them intact, littered the snow around him. He was leaving a trail of them.

His armoured escorts caught up shortly after as the trio silenced patrol after patrol. The blizzard provided an ample cover for their advance, the heavy snowfall even shrouding the glistening shimmer of his warplate.

"Has the UNSC come across similar structures such as the one we are approaching?" Ra questioned his escorts as he wrenched his spear free from one the stocky aliens.

"Not that I know of, Tribune. This discovery is alien to us, as are you." Zero Four Seven remarked with a tinge of courtesy.

The Custodian offered a look of amusement unbeknown to his Spartan escorts, "Nonetheless, if the Xenos desire the eruption of the structure rather than its capture, it is worth a look."

The trio made speed through the frosted landscapes, their enhanced frames pushing them over uneven ground that would have caused a mortal group to founder. In less than an hour they were approaching the outer bounds of their destination. They approached from the east, where the ground leapt up in steep cliffs, ascending several hundred metres before the ground levelled again. They scaled the frozen slopes until they saw the distant structure ahead once more.

Ra peered out through the forward viewing block, scanning the grand structure for signs of the Xenos.

It was absurd—a trapezoid-shaped entrance, easily forty metres at the peak, embedded onto the surface of this world as a monument to Xenos' vanity. Cast from some achingly reflective, polished metal, it was edged with glinting light sources and glyphs that ran in interconnecting patterns up the long flight of steps to the summit.

"That is the centre of their resistance – all intercepted communications emanate from that entrance," said Ra, pointing.

The Spartans followed. The tower looked to be to the south of the port's heart, purely religious in design. Although it was of sufficient height to serve as minor traffic control or a comms hub, it lacked the arrays to perform either role.

"A good site to bunker down. We're close," said One One Seven.

There came a chime from the auspex in his helm.

"Look, movement. Three kilometres out, closing," Ra increased his vox volume as the snow storm raged fiercer. "Four dozen armour signatures."

However, both of his escorts looked at him in askance.

"I don't believe we can sense that far, Tribune", Zero Four Seven pointed out, no doubt straining his own systems in the direction the Custodian is pointing at.

"I understand, which is why the both of you should remain here. Signal for the main force in four minutes if I do not return."

Both soldiers eyed him warily. Zero Four Seven expectedly tried to speak up, keeping his voice low. "Tribune, is this necessary? We're here. We could–"

"You could, but I recommend you not. It is no fault of yours, but I will be maintaining a regular pace, a rate at which neither of you can keep with." Ra silenced the soldier with a wave of his hand. "I will only be going for a short while, be ready."

"Are you sure, Tribune?" Zero Four Seven asked, exchanging looks with his squadmate, "We do still have our orders."

"I will be sure to let the good commander know that it was done under my own volition," Ra assured his escorts once again.

Whilst their hesitation still remained, the two soldiers acknowledged the Custodian's will before moving away.

Ra breathed hard. He focuses his mind to a pinpoint.

Nothing He did was without purpose. A seed may flower many centuries from its planting. Ra has seen it himself since the days of the Unification Wars.

But the Custodian Tribune was not Him, not even a micro fraction. Ra needed intel. He needed to be able to make a plan. His own plans were in pieces. He had neither the strength nor the assets to accomplish his purpose. All that he desired coming here was lost to him.

Where is he even? What is next for him?

The Tribune of the Hykanatoi rose to his feet and watched the glinting specks of the alien structure flick and shimmer. He no longer felt the spirit of his King of Ages. Whether the Master of Mankind was alive or gone, Ra would be advancing still, ever onwards.

Where all he thought he had left was death, Ra found he had hope, and hope would cost him more than death ever could.

---

Jega followed the warring storm, guided by the light of his blade. He moves through the numberless, endless seas of ice crystals, crossing from one facet of the mountain to another, slowly closing on his destination.

The light of his Domotos-pattern energy sword indicated to him that the fight had almost run its course. On the snow-clad flank of some towering mountain peak, Jega foundan entire lance decimated to the last. None of their weapons had managed a single discharge. Within a forward outpost blanketed in unforgiving ice, he found mounds of butchered Unggoy levies, slaughtered as they fled. In the frozen depths of a winter forest, he glimpsed a whole column of promised reinforcements, decimated and frozen.

Jega eyed so many aspects struck down and dying. So many ends. So many deaths.

The shimmers along the edge of his blade were somehow growing dimmer as the Special Operations Operative raced back to the holy site.

They are running out of time.

It had taken Jega forty centals of sprinting to reach the inner chambers from the principal deployment bay. He had been worried the battle would be over by the time he arrived; at several thoroughfares, he had barreled through files of Unggoy too slow to notice him.

Rarely before had he been so relieved to see the whitewashed armour of the Evocatus standing guard within the main room of the complex.

They had yet to be engaged. There was still time.

Once he finished composing himself, the Special Operative took in the tactical display, ordered a status of the detonator transferred to his left eye-lens, and took stock of just what was happening.

It was not primed.

"What is the meaning of this!? Why are the preparations delayed?" Jega turned and snarled to one of the Evocati.

The white-clad warrior held his ground as he squared his shoulder, "I am not beholden to you, Operative."

"But he is to me." Another voice at the far end of the light bridge stopped the Special Operative from drawing his blade.

Jega turned his eyes to the duo of Evocatus approaching, both bearing veteran markings.

'Nbekee', The remembrance slowly creeping up to the Special Operative, he was the one the Field Master had put in charge to oversee the detonation.

"Why the delay? The Field Master ordered the destruction of this site a unit ago." Jega questioned the officer, honing his own temper.

"There were a number of setbacks, unfortunately." Nbekee's tone did not convey the urgency of the situation.

"The humans are closing in as we speak. We have lost over a dozen patrols within the last unit." Jega's voice now rose to nothing short of a shout. "Time is not a luxury we can afford!"

Yet, Ustaf 'Nbekee scoffed at the Special Operative's words.

"And who is to say we need more time?"

"You can not mean-" A terrible realisation assailed the Special Operative.

"Let me be clear, brother. I am not losing again to these pious, deluded, rag-wearing worms twice in the same weekly cycle." Nbekee growled. "I have gathered a hundred blades under my command, and the Field Master saw fit to bless me with a hundred more! Let us return the favour."

"This is suicide." Jega hissed

The Evocati's false smile played out across his cold jaws. "I take it I would not count

on your support for the confrontation, Rdomnai?"

"Not a chance."

"I hoped you would say that, brother. It saves me ordering you to flee. Take yourself and vanish into the black. We will meet you back east after claiming our glory."

Was it fear, weakness of spirit, madness, even? Jega could not place the Evocati's intention into thought. Having seen what he had seen, the Special Operative could not believe that any sane individual would abandon good sense to face that Monster.

"That thing has slaughtered more with ease. What makes you think you can accomplish more with so few?" asked Jega, "You have seen it yourself in the human countryside."

"A spineless bunch they were," Nbekee sneered, "The finest of the warhost now stands with me. Two hundred swords, Special Operative, even their Demons would be hard pressed with even a quarter of this number."

"That thing is no Demon!" Jega shouted.

"Enough," Nbekee bit back, his own ire now rising. "Flee then, like your kind always do! You can bear the word of our victory to the Field Master."

This madness shall be the end of us…

"Crolunee, speak sense into this grandstander," Jega turned to another Evocatus behind Nbekee, keeping the desperation from his voice, "We did not spend five annual cycles on the accursed world, just to throw it away in this suicidal madness!"

"Your objections are noted, but at this late stage, they are meaningless." The other Evocati shook his head, "I suggest you bring your grievances to the Field Master."

"This is madness," Jega finally relented

"It was always madness, Special Operative," said Nbekee, the words edged with a cold chuckle. "It is our salvation borne from the Great Journey."

Jega straightened up and walked away towards the light bridge. There were no more words for him to say. His efforts were spent; this manoeuvre would cost the Covenant dearly.

As the Special Operative made his way out, he paused to examine the sharp architecture of the relic site: silver-grey metal that resists deterioration, plasma bolts and fire, as made evident by Forerunner structures standing in pristine condition after so many countless ages. It was a testament to the divinity in which the San'Shyuum praised.

And yet, their magnanimous lords were long gone. Pursuing an apotheosis that so few could comprehend.

Getting to his feet, Jega looked over his shoulder, but at first saw nothing but faint shimmers. After a couple of moments a door some distance away shimmered, and unfastened. The parting colours became a fold of cloth, revealing a San'Shyuum draped in bright red robes.

"Ah, Special Operations. What a welcoming sight in such trying times!" The Minister nodded, "I do not see your lance, however. I presume they maintain their ever-vigilance on the human advance?"

"My lance is cycles dead, Minister. Only I am left." Jega did not see the need to shroud his words, unlike the San'Shyuum.

"I sense the conflict within you and would urge reconsideration. You are in need of counsel, and I am in need of your services." The Minister of Penance inclined his lengthy neck. "Therefore, let us speak of what drives a devoted son of Sanghelios to such dourness."

"It is not worth your concern, lord."

"Nonsense," Penance shrugged off Jega's hesitation, "What good is faith without clarity?"

He had heard the confrontation.

"Then, I implore you, Minister. To correct those blindsided fools of their placement of faith." Jega turned to face the San'Shyuum fully. "Their intentions will jeopardise us all."

There was a pause as Penance swallowed before looking away. "The hour is late, and the situation is beyond perilous. Perhaps our chances now may not be as certain as they were five solar cycles ago."

He waited for a reaction. Jega stared at him, grim-faced, realising the implication of the Minister's statement.

"Moramee's involvement already ensured this escapade." Penance at last concluded.

A shudder ran the length of Jega's spine. If the Minister was to be believed, it was an accusation on an unprecedented scale.

"Why not bring this discovery to the Hierarch?" Jega asked, managing to keep his voice calm. "Were he to discover your disloyalty, dismissal will be the least of your concerns."

"A risk worth taking." The Minister leaned forward in his chair and added in a conspiratorial whisper, "For both of us."

"You can not mean… " Jega was scarcely believing this divulgence.

"Regret has already been made aware of that Monster in the east of this planet." Penance reaffirms Jega's inner thoughts, "In his… haste, he has sent that savage to contain this problem."

"Yet… to chain the Savage Warlord might be a task too much, even for the Hierarchs. Ripa Moramee yearns to wipe away his shame. In doing so, he has set his eyes on that Monster."

The reasoning made sense to the Special Operative. Yet, he could not place the logic of the Arbiter ordering the destruction of the holy site. That would instead work against his intentions.

"What do you intend to do, Minister?"

"I shall finish my sermons and return to the Prophet of Regret. He must be made aware of the Savage's intentions." Penance sighed, "You should let your Field Master know as well. He is an honourable and decent soul. Perhaps together, we can mitigate this insanity."

Mitigate… not stop.

Without another word, Penance gathered his crimson robes tight around his hunched shoulders and disappeared into the chambers of the complex, never looking back even once.

---

Ra moved before the frosted wastes, forcing his muscles through the motions of the Fifty Forms, seeking the absolute focus that came through the alignment of body and mind. He shut out his surroundings, paying no heed to the billowing currents or the pouring snow, banishing the sound of his snarling armour joints and the thudding of his boots on the frost-laden earth.

Beyond the canyon, the mysterious Xenos structure finally came into full view. Sleek, metallic surfaces that shimmered with an otherworldly glow, featuring angular, geometric designs that were both minimalistic and impossibly complex at the same time. Ra made sure to document the foreign materials from a distance as he caught sight of the mob of aliens standing guard at the entrance.

The Custodian surged forward, procuring the bundle of requisition explosives from his belt pouch. He had tied them neatly into a bundle of a dozen each. The chain explosion would provide a solid distraction for him to close the distance without having to waste microseconds cutting down the aliens one by one.

Two hundred metres to the centre of the cluster. Wind speed, ninety terran kilometres per solar hour.

Gauging the appropriate last-minute detail, the Custodian flung the bundle of explosives at a terrifying speed, sailing straight through the wintry gales, landing perfectly in the alien group.

Two dozen grenades scattered down, and chained explosions erupted across the entrance, sending flakes of snow thundering down cohesively. By then, Ra was already in the midst of the stunned xenos, putting down the scant few who survived the initial blast.

Five seconds… Dio would have baulked at that timing.

Banishing the momentary thought, Ra glared at the alien bulkhead before him. The blockade in place did not resemble the foreign alloy that encompassed the entire structure, rather, it was the weaker composite belonging to the Covenant aliens.

Ra reached the barricade. He paused while his battle plate's auto-senses swept for life signs on the other side, then cleaved the entrance down with a blow of his spear. The opening allowed the Custodian to reach his hands through, and he tore the edges of the crack open and pushed himself inside.

Five more of those Sangheili xenos stood inside, blades drawn, complemented by over a dozen of those short, round-headed aliens

Ra Endymion charged.

This was the first time he had seen one of these purple variants in the flesh. The Custodian Tribune sensed that he was facing the more elite of the foe. Their strikes were more precise and calculated compared to the white-clad ones who fought more provocatively. Regardless, Ra found them wanting all the same.

The guardian spear fired scarcely now as Ra assessed every single shot that was taken, shooting when it was only necessary. They punched through both the armour plating and energy shielding of the aliens, ripping their wearers into pieces.

Two of the purple-clad Sangheili fell before he even reached them. Another one was cut down by his long spear, though a final one tried to fire a plasma blast at him from point-blank range, but Ra twisted out of the path of the shot and rammed the guardian spear through its chest, dislodging its twin hearts.

The last of the saurians stepped forward as its perceived underlings fled in terror. It was armed with a curved blade and plasma rifle. Ra sidestepped the plasma shot as he charged.

He drove the reptiloid alien into the wall with such force he felt the whole inner complex shake. Upon removing his fist, the Custodian let the gored remnants of the xenos slide to the floor.

Ra strode to the sealed blast doors. They were marked with a vast symbol resembling a heavily stylised tree. He pressed an armoured hand on it, sensing for more signatures. The Custodian refused to believe that the Xenos willingly left this place for desolation, whereas hours ago, numerous forces were seen going in and out of the complex.

The abrupt silence was shocking.

It puzzled Ra for a second until he realised it felt just like silence because he was so accustomed to the distant, constant drone of war.

Within the depths of the Impossible City, day after day, year after year, the far-away rumble of warfare was so unremitting I became inured to it and inhabited it without regard. But here-

In a shiver, the background drone was gone, and only silence remained, a fossil imprint of missing sound.

The silence, the utter stillness, was tranquilising. Ra felt numb. For a moment, the Tribune had to remember—actively, consciously force himself to remember—where he was and what he came to do.

Calastar must endure.

The Ten Thousand have come to undertake the solemn business of war against-

Ra Endymion took a step forward. Dark shadows advanced around him, some with spears aimed, others with swords drawn. Ra moved quickly and silently. With each step taken in perfect coordination, Guardian Spear raised.

What was I expecting? Anything. Everything. But-

The doors opened automatically.

There was no attack, no ambush, and no host of aliens waiting to repel his presence.

If this was a trap, as the Custodian Tribune was so sure it would be, then it was either an odd one or a poor one.

The inside consisted of a large main room with a deep chasm cutting through it, connected by two light bridges going across the chasm. The room was largely symmetrical, with minor differences on each side.

Ra turned slowly, surveying the sloped corridor connecting the central chamber to the entrance. The end of the main room opposite the entrance housed a circular chasm with a round platform on it, accessible by a single bridge.

The Tribune continued looking around the vast foreign room, noting inconsistencies between what should be there and what was. Still, no alarm sounded, and no one had come to confront him.

Everything seemed slow, like a dream, like a heavy dream. The silence glided into him, oppressive, like the shadow of the void, the deep, cosmic mono-note of the celestial deeps.

Can-

Why can I not focus?

Ra saw that on the platform, there was a spherical activation console of some sort and a projector of unknown design. It beckoned to him.

My mouth is dry. I-

Ra should have noticed all of this. All of it. He was primed and alert, ready - perhaps readier than he has ever been - for the trials ahead. He should have noticed these discrepancies the second he arrived. But his mind was like sludge, like jelly-

I should have seen-

The Custodian stumbled towards the platform, towards the circular hologram suspended near the dias.

Alone in the inner reaches of an alien facility, Ra pushed on. After this long, the truth still eluded him. Abandoning his earlier care, Ra reached for the orb-like hologram. He would know. He must.

Blood welled from his eye slits and trickled down his faceplate like tears despite its impossibility. It oozed and ran from the mouth of his sculpted visor.

What is this? What is happening-

The slow silence ended.

Suddenly, there is nothing but screaming. Suddenly, the world was a blur of lightning-fast movement.

A billow of smoke rose from the tip of his gauntlet like a fire-cloud above an annihilated city, haemorrhaging thunder as it roared. Debris and machine rose into the air in glistening ropes. Inferno heat rolled from its resurrecting carcass. Black smoke and blood congealed into muscle and sinew as its presence billowed higher.

The shade pulled reality towards itself, binding smoke and rows of jagged teeth into a new form. It ensconced itself in the spherical console with much delight.

Escape. Consume. Devour.

A bright flash enveloped the vast space. With a wrenching lurch, the stars spun. Light bent and folded. The infinite blackness at once welcomed and rejected him, embracing his presence but defying his senses as he sought to process the speed at which the information was forced upon him. Millions of systems, both familiar and unfamiliar, seared beneath the fat blue heat of swollen suns, some left cold on the outermost edges of the stellar ballet, travelling almost in exile among the frozen rocks that tumbled through deep and lifeless space.

So many of these globular jewels were not jewels at all, as unsuited as they were to cradle human life.

Ra was far from those worlds now. He twisted bodilessly in the black, facing another cloud-wreathed sphere, this one a Pangaean orb of earthen continents and only modest seas. Cityscapes showed grey bruising across the landmasses, becoming pinprick-lit beacons as night fell swiftly across the hemisphere.

Mere heartbeats later, dawn returned to the visible hemisphere, extinguishing the cityscapes' multitude of lights, and restoring them to the grey blotches of any civilisation viewed from orbit. Millions of people must have called the world home. Billions.

It was the centre of it all. The Sol System, Terra, Earth.

Whatever purpose this illumination served was, so far, beyond Ra's guesswork. Nonetheless, he had to document all of this in his systems.

'End of Empires!' it screamed and canted. 'End of Empires!'

The daemon's shrieking ripped the Custodian from his stupor as it attempted to struggle its way free. In an agonising instant, the mental barriers that withheld for centuries were put to the test once more as Ra fought the empire-ending daemon for control.

He drove his warspear deep into the ground, sending tremors rippling throughout the whole facility whilst trying to tear his hand free from the console.

With his way unbarred, Ra proceeded with more care this time. Haste or disregard would leave him no better than a dribbling husk, his desperation only fuelling the dark creature.

The holographic map within the room flickered violently as the daemon wrapped its endless teeth around the foreign technology, lusting for just another taste.

Ra pulled harder. He peeled away the surface thoughts that floated in his conscious mind and prised apart the lies of memory induced by the entity. Blood ran from the Custodian's lips as they gave voice to a near-constant stream.

'Never! Never!' the rows of teeth shrieked once more.

'There…' Ra's mortal body mouthed the word as his mind found the weakness he had been searching for.

A burning halo of fire had wrapped around his soul like a serpent. Ra tried to pull back to reinforce his mental warding. He needed the End of Empires to overextend, to come back into his body.

Drach'nyen had come to the realisation as it raged against the deception.

'One more taste!'

The formless thing within him slammed minuscule teeth against the wall of its golden prison. Its grip on reality was weakening, and its body was damaged and disincorporating around him.

Incorporeal claws punched through the Custodian's side. Blood seeped from Ra's golden armour. He snarled, wrangling the defiant creature further back into his body.

The Tribune witnessed agony manifesting as a great, red, pumping sac that filled his vision. He saw loss as the air that his lungs refused to draw. He saw anguish on the edge of a great blade moulded of sorcerous bone. He saw grief as claws that close and knife him whole. He saw a burning world, reduced to clear slag.

Ra's head snapped around. A figure stalked towards him, followed by hundreds more. His armour was painted snow white, not matted by smoke and gore. Energy sparks cascaded from the edge of its blade.

The blood on the Custodian's eyes could not be blinked away.

His sight exploded. He saw the visions of his Lord, and they seared his eyes. Pain peppers him like flying glass. He readied himself for the Archenemy once more. They would perish here.

The Webway must hold.

The Tribune of the Hykanatoi drew his twin Meridian Sabres.

---

Nights in High Charity's main dome were normally quite subdued. The guttural clamour of the Unggoy's mass evening prayers sometimes filtered up from the lower districts, but otherwise, the upper towers were quiet. The San'Shyuum, who called the floating towers home, preferred to spend the hours between sundown and sunup resting or in quiet contemplation.

But not tonight, Penance thought. He was no longer on High Charity but instead affixed on a human world countless light cycles away from home.

The Minister's chair hung motionlessly within the ancient space of the Divine Ones as he attended to his convent. Whilst the Ministry of Penance had a reputation for their brutal methodology regarding the spiritual realm, the San'Shyuum Minister saw no need to shun weary souls from attending his sermons, may it be startled Unggoy levies or troubled Sangheili blade masters.

Penance once again recalled that the Prophet of Regret's work brought him into regular contact with Sangheili. It seemed the warrior species' maddening preoccupation with personal arms and honour had rubbed off on the naturally hotheaded Hierarch.

The Savage could never be trusted, and his audacious failure on Malurok was a testament to that. 'Moramee was considered a radical choice as Arbiter, and the appointment displeased many within the Covenant, with 'Moramee's methods and strategies coming under scrutiny.

The complex's illumination disc shone with a feeble glow, simulating moonlight, which did nothing to warm the air. Penance gathered his crimson robes tight around his hunched shoulders and stared at the commotion in the main room.

A moment of silence formed, echoing through the room like the shadow of a struck gong. Penance glided across the light bridge into the heart of the holy site, exasperated that his sermons were being disturbed.

"My lord! How kind of you to join us!"

The shout came from an Evocati. Penance bristled at the intonations in his clipped accent even as he smiled at the officer.

"Master 'Nbekee," Penance nodded, "I did not know that you held your own convents."

The Sangheili laughed, "I could never! I would have preferred a more peaceful station."

While the implication was not lost on the San'Shyuum minister, Penance wisely chose to ignore further pleasantries.

Penance looks around at the over two hundred warriors in position. "I take it you have set the charges," he said calmly.

"And preservation?" Nbekee huffed. "What of that then?"

"What of it?"

"Capture," he says. "Excise. Preserve. Those were our orders."

"If you are proven wrong, then you will answer to Gods themselves," Penance says. The Evocati's intent was clear to him from the get-go.

'Nbekee held his gaze. "I am right," he says, and the arrogant fool meant it in an altogether different way.

"My lords."

Penance turned to see another Evocati standing there. However, his armour was plastered with masonry dust.

"The fortifications have been established," The warrior said. "But there is something you need to see. Both of you."

Penance nods. He follows the two Sangheili to the most central point of the room.

"What is it, Crolunee?" 'Nbekee questioned his fellow as soon as they were out of auditory range.

The Evocati underling held his tongue before pulling out a miniaturised holotank, playing a live visual recording from the entrance of the holy site.

Two entire lances worth of line troops were butchered in its entirety with zero traces of human involvement. The barricade set in place earlier was also cleaved into miserable pieces and cast aside.

"Human filth… They came sooner than expected." 'Nbekee grunted.

"Not human, my friend," 'Crolunee shook his head, "It's that thing."

A sheen of sweat formed on the forehead and palms of the Minister, despite the air's chill. His breathing became shallow as he recounted what Regret divulged about the golden monster.

The madness of reality had finally come back to the San'Shyuum minister as he wrapped his head around the Evocati's plan. Where could he run to? That creature of death will find them sooner or later.

The Evocati officer felt differently, however, if the wretched grin on his face was any indication.

"It came alone?" 'Nbekee sounded almost giddy.

"Seems so."

"Good! Good!" The Evocati officer roared in delight, "Rally the kai'd to the main room and prepare infiltration harnesses! I shall personally welcome that beast!"

Penance's mind races, thoughts becoming scattered and frantic, and Nbekee's gloating has been relegated into the background. The winds seemed to blow louder even though they were inside, and shadows seemed to stretch longer, twisting into ominous shapes.

"My dear Minister! I shall extend you an invitation to bear witness to this spectacle!" 'Nbekee has declared, but Penance paid him little heed. "It may happen too fast, and I would not want you to miss it."

---

Penance took a deep breath and offered a silent prayer for the Gods' forgiveness. He hid, though it was a poor form of hiding. As the reports of enemy counterattacks came in, 'Nbekee ordered a handful of lances forwards to meet the threat and assess it. None would return.

As the centals ticked away, a grim smile played over Nbekee's lips, and Penance realised that he was enjoying himself. These blood-soaked corridors were like a game board to him, and he had found a challenge worthy of his talents. The fact that his life and all of their lives were at stake was immaterial to him. He paused for a moment and looked around.

"Engage camouflage." The Evocati hissed, and two hundred warriors followed suit, reducing their presence to a mere shimmer.

The Minister hid on the other end of the vast room, his only cover being a high pillar and his anti-gravity chair. The Evocati had suggested the San'Shyuum to steer clear of the main dias, in case of the melee spiralling out of control.

The Minister of Penance saw no reason to refute. His hands constantly reach for his Zo'klada-pattern plasma pistol and come back empty.

Soon, Penance began to hear other noises – noises like voices, like echoes of remembered hymns, like splashes in the limitless murk. Once, he thought he heard gunfire and almost ran from his hiding place, but it faded before he weighed the options.

My mind… it feels so numb…

And then, he saw something, as soon as the trap was sprung and the Evocati opened the doors openly.

Another boom, now closer, the noise unmistakable…

It is really here now.

...

His every nerve shivered with–

There!

And another crash. The holy site rippled with quakes, like a thundering roar across the room's surface. They teased at the very limits of Penance's mind as he pulled his robes tighter.

...

Smash!

Again.

The noises were somewhere to his right. The sounds were too heavy for the heavy-booted Jiralhanae and too light for the lumbering forms of the Mgalekgolo. His dread crystallised and shattered.

Again, that crash, closer this time; Penance could see the tremors as they spread, hear them as they roared hatefully against the column's cold metal.

It was near.

That nearness honed his fears down to a single, hard target – there! He had to have a look at the Monster.

And then, at last, Penance saw the faintest glimmering of the light.

The Minister stopped, his mouth full of revulsion, the sight before illuminating something grotesque: a snarling visage, crimson liquid spilling from every orifice. The Monster was even more terrible up close, engraved in ridged and baroque armour. Its eye-lenses glowed a dull red, like magma, and he carried a two-handed spear, which pulsated with lightning. The stench of death hung over it like a dark cloud.

Penance stood there, transfixed. He could see the flowing rivers of the creature's blood sizzling and twirling into haphazard patterns, and his mind struggled to find a prayer – for the warriors on the other side, for himself – but his words were lost.

Then, a deep growl of fiendish laughter made him turn.

He heard a shrieking wail, like a choir of monumental energies, whip around the Monster as a phantom, skeletal hands clawing at it, and a thousand voices tearing from its darkening essence. Ghostly whirlwinds seized the colossus and drove it to the ground, twisting it like a limp rag in their grip.

The Monster's form shook with a force that rattled the holy site before throwing back its head and giving one last howl of horrified understanding before titanic energies rushed from its body with the violence of a newborn star, enveloping the whole sanctum.

Around Penance, it was black. Absolutely, completely black. There was blood in his mouth. He was blinded, deafened by the roar of the damned, and wounded. How badly wounded, he didn't know. Upon breathing in, Penance choked it back out a second later. The air was foul and too thick to pull into his throat.

By now, 'Nbekee and his two kai'd had completely decloaked, thrown back by the unworldly force as they rose wearily, dumbfounded by the hellish spectacle.

The Monster started to run in rage, outrage, disbelief and horror. It was screaming now, the dark things parading around it, oily black tendrils bearing rows of crooked teeth, continuing to amass and expand. Its eyes were bleeding as much fire as they did red.

It crashed into the boisterous Evocati first with incomprehensible speed, unmaking Nbekee in an instant with a squall of gore, its spear, already wet with Sangheili blood, as thirsty as the dreadful apparition behind it. It started to feed. Blow followed blow. It split skulls. It severed bones. It sliced meat. It carved open armour.

It tears out souls.

Like Penance, the Sangheili registered disbelief. Like him, they started to scream.

With the fragile clarity of rising panic, Penance thought that to breathe in again would kill him. The air tasted toxic. Then the heat hit: hot enough to strike like a physical blow – he was slippery with stinging sweat as he dared to look up once more.

They were all dead… two hundred seasoned warriors… all dead.

Penance needed his senses back. In the dark, he fumbled for his gravity chair, slamming his fingers against panels of orange-on-blue holographic switches. Data flared into existence, tracking helplessly over the blackness. The San'Shyuum pulled in his first clean breath, forcing it to be deep, trying to control his racing heart by what was let into his lungs.

He must run. He had to let Regret know they had uncovered more than just a Monster.

They have stirred the Devil.

The Minister would have scorned the defilement of the holy grounds if not for his increasingly dire predicament. Nothing mattered to him at the moment. Nothing but to get as far away as possible. The terrible trembling of his elongated fingers did nothing to help as Penance desperately tapped away at his chair.

His stomach knotted in horrified disgust as the overpowering reek of fresh blood filled his senses.

The two hundred warriors who once stood proudly against that fiend, pieces of them writhed on the ground, splashing great gouts of blood around them as though fighting some subterranean attacker. Fleshless, bony teeth reached up through the dark earth, clawing and grasping at their bodies and gnawing at the remnants.

It has been barely a cental… and they're all dead… Oh, Gods…

Penance's mind reeled at the prospect as he keyed into his gravity chair. He needed to get a message to Regret quickly.

No, impossible! Everything was fine! He just had this chair examined by the most proficient Huragok in the fleet!

"By all the Gods…" Penance whispered as he saw what lay before him.

The Devil found him.

Penance tried to flee, to withdraw his plasma pistol.

But it was too late. The Devil had found a new prey, a new vessel to enact its bloody will, and it would not be denied its prize.

The Minister of Penance screamed as a sparkling blade the length of a fully extended Kig-Yar hoisted him and his entrails from the ground.

---

Status reports began scrolling down John-117's HUD as the Mjolnir's onboard computer scrambled to document the numerous avalanches that had brought the northern polar regions of Harvest into further disarray. The avalanche was not deep enough to block comm waves, however, as the Spartan IIs immediately sent for the detachment to advance.

John activated his headlamp and saw little but blue and black ahead of him. He

was hanging in tightly compressed ice and snow like a beetle in amber as he and his brother wadded through hundreds of metres of ice and snow.

Barely two minutes had passed when the two Spartans practically felt the entire earth shake.

What starts as a few loose flakes quickly grows into a roaring, unstoppable force, gathering mass and momentum as it barrelled down the slope. Both John and Keiichi shared a mutual look before springing into action. Nothing more needed to be implied, considering Tribune Endymion had likely already reached the complex, crossing over three kilometres of treacherous and uneven terrain in a matter of minutes.

The massive earthquake-like reverberations did little to settle their woes. When the Spartans finally broke through to the surface in about ten minutes. They found only a scant few corpses of dead Elites and Grunts splayed out at the alien structure.

John and Keiichi held their position at the entrance as both soldiers checked the motion tracker on their HUDs. It showed nothing but the deceased aliens unlucky enough to confront Tribune Endymion with such pitiful numbers.

"These lot likely got caught out in the open, didn't even have a chance to fire a shot," Keiichi voiced over SQUADCOM, "Could almost feel sorry for them."

"Almost." John shrugged. The Covenant would have no sympathy from him.

While the weight of his sister's near demise still hung heavily on his conscience, John-117 knew better than to let personal emotions interfere with his mission. The mission must always come first. Always.

"How far do you think he went? My sensors are showing me blanks." Keiichi's question snapped the green-clad Spartan from his musing. "For all we know, this complex could run miles deep beneath the ice."

"We should try to locate him either way," The Chief remarked, "Backup is only six clicks out."

"Affirmative."

The two Spartans reached the same consensus as they proceeded deeper into the alien complex: to follow the trail of the dead. So far, they have only found poorly equipped Unggoy, with the exception of the five or so Elites at the entrance. This did not sit well with the Spartans, as the findings so far did not match the heavy resistance reported from earlier intelligence.

"I don't like the look of this, John." Keiichi spoke through his comms, "There is no one. And I am detecting no one."

Ahead, the severed corridor ends in a doorway, its frame clearly smashed open. They step through it and find themselves in a narrow tunnel. It is spacious enough for them to move along it, the unusually shiny walls sheer on either hand. The Chief looked up to see that the walls soared high above him. It was not a tunnel. It was a tight ravine, a fissured seam split between towering cliffs. They advanced.

"Movement beyond this door." John voiced over SQUADCOM, pumping his fist twice.

"Copy."

"Spread out. Eyes peeled." Keiichi motioned with a slight jerk of his head as the Spartan IIs took up the breaching position.

Both Spartans move in swiftly but silently, each member perfectly synchronised with the other. MA5Bs are held at the ready, aimed low but poised to snap into position in an instant.

Where they had expected to find the Tribune somewhere in this carven-like archway of the complex, there was now a gargantuan gateway of hard light that led into a circular, alien dias. The whole area was massive, fully a kilometre wide and twice that in length.

It would have been an incredible discovery if not for the gruesome macabre that stained the vast area.

Screaming, mad and insane like the wails of the damned in torment, echoed from within and pierced John's skull with lancing, glass shards of pain but went away just as quickly.

The Spartans ran through the vast chasm, weapons at the ready. John felt his boots sink into the soft and loamy ground, alien gore oozing from every space imaginable.

Broken bones and splotches of viscera marred the polished surfaces, and through his visor, John saw that the ground was not waterlogged at all but flooded with fresh-spilled blood and fluids.

His mind reeled at the prospect. How many must have been butchered of their life's blood to irrigate such a vast space so thoroughly? How many arteries had been emptied to slake the vile thirst of this dark, dark presence?

John was shaken from his disgust by the nearby wails of an Elite sliced in half and submerged deep in its own entrails and weeping tears of agony.

Perhaps the alien would have looked formidable once if it was not missing half its torso. But its weeping struck something deep inside the Spartan. There was no more fight left in its eyes, the same gaze that many men and women might have seen before their demise.

It was just a cracked shell that was left.

The alien bled out shortly after, leaving the Spartan II staring down at a maimed and broken corpse. His Mjolnir on-board computer was still tabulating the number of dead in the vast room, and it had already gone well over two hundred.

"John…" Keiichi's voice was just as grim as he gestured to the centre of the bloodied sanctum.

He should have known… How else could this have happened?

The Tribune had somehow relegated himself into the shadows, evading their detection completely. Notwithstanding the fact that he was standing in the very middle of the entire room. His gold armour seemed to glow like dying embers in the dreadful gloom that nearly enveloped the whole space.

Drenched in blood, standing alone with the enemy dead heaped around him, there was no mistaking it. With each step, the Tribune's plate and gear, cloak and weapon, sizzled away at the excess gore.

"Tribune Endymion?" Keiichi called out carefully as he approached, but John stopped him.

His own fingers were unconsciously trailing to the safety of his MA5B.

A sense of utter unease filled the Spartan II as he watched the final tally of dead recorded and the monstrous sound of baking blood echoing from the monolithic sides of this gory arena.

The Tribune remained kneeling, and John found odd comfort in the gesture. Perhaps he could feel the strain of exhaustion, which made him vulnerable. Perhaps he, too, had a limit.

As quickly as that sentiment had come to light, it dissipated in an instant as the golden giant rose to his feet, his stature unmoving.

"Sir?" John voiced through his helmet's speakers.

"Should we call for a medevac?" Keiichi asked discreetly through SQUADCOM, "He could be wounded."

"Hold that thought," John whispered quietly to his teammate, even in the confines of a secured channel.

Time seems to stretch, with each passing second feeling like an eternity. The stillness grows more oppressive as if the silence itself is waiting for the bloodied giant, holding its breath for his allowance.

John held his ground. The aura of extreme violence still made the air electric, and the Tribune's twin blades had not yet been powered down.

"So you have come at a fortunate time." Tribune Endymion finally spoke, his voice deep and measured, startling the two Spartans.

The giant sheathed his swords with practised ease before drawing his arm back, wrenching his long spear from the ground. There was not a single drop of blood present on the elongated weapon.

"Tribune Endymion, what happened here?" Keiichi offered no further greeting as he stepped forward.

The golden colossus regarded the two Spartans with a piercing gaze, locking his halberd onto his back. Mists of steaming innards made it almost impossible to distinguish the towering warrior, casting his outline in grim darkness.

"An ambush was set within this very room," The Tribune remarked as if it was the most mundane thing in the world, "I saw to their repulsion."

"We can see that." Keiichi acknowledged, looking around. Both he and John were already dreading the follow-up. They had gone completely silent for the whole duration, ignoring all calls from reinforcements on the surface.

Over a dozen boots thudded into the vast cavern as a squadron of marines came charging in.

"Is everything alright in there? We brought some Grizzlies down…" The Sergeant's words died in his mouth as he came in view of the visage.

"Oh."

"We are finished here. You and your men may take over." Tribune Endymion elaborated no further, already making his exit.

The marines quickly scrambled to part way for the giant as the Spartans followed closely. One of the soldiers emptied his stomach through his face mask, but no rebuke was raised against the man. The rest of the trek back to the surface was made in silence, and neither party saw the need for further commentary.

It was a complicated feeling. The UNSC has taken zero casualties for finally capturing this alien monument in record time. Surely, it has to be a joyous occasion for the victories against the Covenant were too few to count.

Yet neither the Spartans nor the mortal soldiers present within the site could bring themselves into a merry mood.

As the three augmented beings resurfaced, the snow continued to fall outside, covering the landscape in a delicate, pristine layer of white, erasing footprints and smoothing over rough surfaces—a drastic contrast to the bloody massacre that almost seemed like a memory of yesterday.

The sight softened the cold bite of winter air, and the world felt serene and untouched, as if wrapped in a moment of perfect stillness. A part of John wished that he could remove his helmet to take it all in and breathe deeply.

But alas, there were not many things he could ask for in this world.

---

Ra heard the voice as a sibilant whisper in his ear, the breath of the speaker hot on his neck. He twisted his neck, but there was nothing to be seen, no unseen speaker or mysterious presence.

'Slave of Gold… You can not bind me.' The voice mocked.

The looming presence that surrounded him and spoke to him seemed to claw at his eyes with insubstantial fingers, and the Custodian felt his mind wrenched into the realm of memory, seeing once again the battle against the Neverborn and the Lord of Man coming to the rescue of the besieged Ten Thousand.

His entire body ached with pain and loss, but Ra pushed himself to remain upright. The two Spartan soldiers stood near him, their stoic glances on their visors staring in question at the Custodian Tribune. Ra was content to let them misunderstand his predicament as exhaustion as he wrestled the empire-ending daemon back to the mortal fold.

"You will suffer me… As did your godling king." The daemon promised.

Ra gripped his fist and looked at the blood there.

'And so will you,' he said, his internal voice hoarse. 'Nothingness shall await you.'

The Custodian rose to his feet and stood tall beneath the storm-wracked clouds of this unfamiliar world. The blizzard flakes slowly washed away the gore and restored his warplate to pristine condition.

Ra took a last look around, mainly at the armoured duo who had shadowed him for the past few days. They suspect nothing, and for their own good, they could not see it.

All around him, he could hear the sounds of the future, of warfare and death. The thought that he shared the guilt of the destruction of the Emperor's dream was the greatest shame and sorrow he had ever known. The Webway Project now lies in utter ruin.

'An accord… Jailer of mine.' The dark entity sneered. 'Offer me another taste of their souls, and I shall warrant my silence.'

The Tribune of the Hykanatoi raised the barriers in his mind as a response.

'Oblivion,' Ra whispered as he closed his eyes. 'It is all you deserve.'

Rage. Relish. Resentment. Ra grimaced and felt the elation of a creature older than time as it poured into the void in his soul.

No sooner had its touch clashed with his flesh for its own than it knew it had made the worst mistake of its existence, for the golden elixir of the Emperor's own blood ran in his veins, expelling the intrusion though never curing the old malice.

Drach'nyen recoiled psychically, retracting its rows of endless teeth. This form of silence, the Custodian Tribune could accept.

"Sir? Are you wounded?" Zero-Four-Seven voiced his query.

These soldiers hide their emotions well, nigh invisible to the normal man. Yet, Ra could sense their unease bright as day.

"No, I am fine. Thank you." The Custodian reassured his escorts more so than he did himself.

By now, the Custodian had already studied the star chart. The data was available to him, for his systems already made plentiful recordings despite his bout of delirium. His cogitator processed the blurry scraps of his feed, freezing and highlighting partial captures of systems, planets, and sectors and comparing them to his own files. Matches were framed, enhanced, and flashed onto Ra's retina with appended identity markers.

Colour upon colour upon colour, many worlds blending their offerings together, landmass by varied landmass. And yet the blue-green of unriven Terran antiquity was rarest of all. Such an innocent shade defied inevitability: everywhere mankind set foot, it tore from the earth and sucked from the seas. It harvested and wrought. It claimed. It conquered. It destroyed.

Never again.

Ra Endymion cast his die. His Lordship's dream may lay in ruin, but humanity would endure—as it had for countless millennia. The Custodian Tribune shall journey to this Terra that he sees, so many light years away. He will hold on to the cruelty of hope.

The wicked. The diabolical. The wretched. They would come for him and this branch of estranged humanity. Let them.

With newfound resolution, Ra turned to his armoured escorts once more.

"Take me back to your commander in black. I will have choice words with him."

---

'The holy site is lost. The humans have defiled it.'

Those were the Field Master's last missive to the Fleet of Glorious Interdiction. After he had signed away those two short sentences, his world had changed, and he had changed with it. He was no longer who he had been. He wore the same face and carried the same name, but he was a different individual.

He was a soul who still heard the screams.

It did not used to be that way. His had always been a world of screams. Screeching Kig-Yar pirates, wailing Unggoy, even seething Jiralhanae dissenters. Dead or dying at his will, at his order, by his hand. Ruptured into submission by the application of fire, plasma and sword. Deaths, endless and innumerable deaths, soaked his soul through and through in blood and pain.

Re'gish never remembered the screams of those who died before the War of Annihilation. He was righteous in their making. They did not trouble him. Those deaths were just.

But the screams of his warriors – those he could not forget, and they troubled him deeply.

Units after their return, after Special Operative 'Rdomnai had reported back with the damning message that a small group of Evocatus had defied his will. Instead of setting up the holy site for incineration, they chose to confront the Gilded Monster.

Wasting no time, he had hastily sent a scouting lance back north to see the deed to fruition. Re'gish Wamik needed to keep faith, no matter what the voices lingering at the back of his would claim.

Time would pass, and the warhost commander would receive no confirmation. It was as good an answer as any when the Eyes returned much later.

The Field Master now sat alone in his command hut, his desk cleared of all parchment and datapads. All that remained now was a single lit candle and a half-cup of clear liquor.

The fireplace in the centre of his hut had dwindled to embers when a chime at the front flap disturbed the silence. Je'ddak appeared, armour drenched in moisture and mouth affixed with a scowl.

"It is over," His friend grunted, shaking off droplets of water from his harness before setting his helm by the fading fire. "The Hierarch, alongside the Arbiter, has left the planet."

Re'gish sighed as he closed his eyes. He would live to see another sunrise, yet it may be the least desirable outcome.

"How bad is it, old friend? Truly?"

The Evocati Delegatus exhaled. He reached for the cup of clearless liquid on the Field Master's desk, draining it completely.

"Swill brewed from stale Irukan is the best we have left." His aide coughed, failing to meet his gaze.

"Je'ddak…" The Field Master half-sighed, half-growled.

"The Hierarchs have deemed this planet lost. The whole Fleet will withdraw within the first weekly cycle." Je'ddak informed his commander as he refilled the cup.

Five annual cycles… gone… by a single stroke.

"Madness. Madness and stupidity have cost us this campaign." The Field Master snarled, refusing the drink from his Delegatus. "I should have heeded your counsel on that 'Nbekee scion."

"You could not have predicted the Devil… none of us could have known what slaughter it was capable of." His friend, in turn, refuted his apology.

"Devil…" Re'gish had found the title bitter, more so than 'Demons' "Did you coin this moniker, old friend?"

The Evocatus Delegatus grimaced, "Nay, my lord. A squabble of Unggoy was muttering this word when I found them in a puddle of their own making."

'How fitting.' The Field Master thought to himself.

"You should have some rest, sire," Je'ddak remarked as he stoked the hut's fire, "Your indulgence in Dream-shapers will end you sooner than the Hierarch's mandate."

The Field Master eventually relented and sent his loyal aide on his way. Sleep would not find him easily anymore, but he would try nonetheless.

---

Just as the Field Master had closed his eyes, frantic shaking from his Delegatus woke him from a restless sleep.

"Sire, you are needed outside." His friend's voice had echoed his gesture.

'What is it? Are we under attack?" The Field Master reached for his blade, shaking away his exhaustion.

"No, but you should see this regardless."

With a small escort of warriors, the Field Master moved out at first light with Je'ddak leading the way. The downpour from last night seems never-ending, with thick sheets of water blurring the landscape and turning the land into shallow rivers. The air feels heavy with moisture, and the rain strikes with force, creating a chorus of splashes and ripples as a formation of Banshees sped through the drenched terrain.

They made their way to the furthest socket base. A spent-looking Obedientiary motioned the party through the gate, waving a light torch at them impatiently. Je'ddak Zule led the way into the centre of the base proper, with the Field Master trailing at his heels. A great square opened up before them. Even at this hour, it was crowded and noisy and ablaze with light. Makeshift lanterns swung from metal chains above as various species made way for the warhost commander.

As the crowd cleared, Re'gish took notice of a Sangheili in dirty armour sprawled out in the very middle. The Field Master barely made out the Evocati harness, but the rest of the panoply was nearly impossible to discern. Caked in layers of grime and filth, a grotesque mixture of dirt and mud. The once pure Gheocin-pattern combat harness is now obscured beneath thick, dark smears, with streaks of purple and brown crusted over, some fresh and still sticky, others dried into cracked, hardened flakes.

The warrior was curled up pitifully, his arms and legs drawn up toward the chest and his head bowed forward. A hoarse rasp drew the Field Master's attention, and incoherent rambling spewed from the dishevelled warrior.

'A dark bell tolls in the abyss…'

'There is naught but evil here. It drifts to us. Watching. Waiting. Ravenous.'

'From the depths of the void to the blood-soaked reaches, diabolic horrors stalk the endless night to feast upon our unworthy souls.'

'Abandon all hope. Do not trust in faith. Sacrifices burn on pyres of madness, and rotting corpses stir in unquiet graves.'

'And so the last bell tolls…'

The Field Master and the rest of the nearby warriors recoiled back in horror as the filthy Sangheili raised his head to face them briefly.

He has gouged his own eyes out.

Shortly after, he collapsed back into the mud, muttering silent curses and prayers.

"Gods below, he's raving." One of the Minors remarked.

Je'ddak Zule stepped forward and whispered to his liege lord, "I recognise this one. It is one of 'Nbekee's fellow, Crolunee, I believe. We saw him at the holy site."

"He has survived the encounter, it seems." Re'gish breathed out.

"And now he endures a fate worse than death, sire."

The Field Master nodded before passing a hand over his face, "Take his helmet and give him release. We shall glean what we can."

Je'ddak grunted in agreement before igniting his blade.

The return back to the main encampment was made in silence. None of the warriors present had dared to even exhale, clearly perturbed by the disquieting display.

Now, the Field Master sat with his loyal aide in his command hut, reviewing the recording taken from a tormented soul. He had not seen a massacre this terrible since the Integration of Doisac, when he personally led his kai'd into pacifying the Children of Oth Sonin, driving the Jiralhanae clan almost to extinction.

The Devil had lived up to its namesake, butchering and maiming without restraint. It humbled the Field Master to think that there was an entity who made paupers of the 'Demons' the humans fielded in the past cycles.

With unfathomable momentum, that Monster had managed to cut down two hundred seasoned blades in barely the span of a cental. Each slash, each stroke of its lightning-forged blades, seemed to rip the very lifeforce from any hapless enough to cross its path.

"Sorcery. Dark Sorcery." Je'ddak had commented. The venom in his tone was obvious.

"It has to be. I find no other reasoning sane."

Re'gish found no grounds to refute that claim. He could only offer a hollow chuckle.

"Do you remember, old friend? During our first monthly cycle on this world. You spoke of the humans as spineless cowards, only capable of fighting within the safety of their vehicles." His thoughts turned sour even as the Evocati Delegatus bristled.

"You now have your wish."

A moment passed as the two seasoned warriors sat in silence, popping open another flask of Irukan liquor. Their silence was only broken by the opening of the tent flap, revealing the near-constant roar of the rainstorm, which persisted until early morning.

"My lords," A female Sangheili stepped into the hut, a brown cloak wrapped over her form. "Chieftain Avitus requests an audience."

"Very well, Sanj'ik. Send him in." Re'gish nodded at the Weapons Master before sending her away.

Shortly after, the unmistakable thudding of Jiralhanae boots filled the command hut as the stocky form of Avitus forced himself in.

"Great ones above, Re'gish! The atmosphere within this hut could put the outside weather to shame." The old Chieftain boomed as he entered.

"Good to see you again, Avitus." The Field Master rose to his feet.

"Aye, old friend," The burly Chieftain laughed as he clasped gauntlets, a rare gesture between Sangheili and Jiralhanae. "Greetings to you as well, Je'ddak! I see the frost has yet to leave your mandibles!"

"Neither has the stench from your maw, Thrallslayer." The Delegatus bit back, earning another bout of laughter from the Chieftain.

The two warriors shared a storied history, their friendship tracing to before the War of Annihilation. Back then, Avitus was a young and untested captain, gaining his first taste of battle in quelling heretic worlds and facing down Kig-Yar pirates. The Field Master had staunchly supported his endeavours whilst most other Sangheili officers would sneer at the Covenant's nascent race.

"For what sort of winds are tumultuous enough to bring you here, Chieftain?" Je'ddak jabbed as the red-armoured Jiralhanae reached for the flask, "I had assumed your pack would have departed with the rest of the fleet?"

The Jiralhanae downed the flask, "Aye, you'll be rid of me soon. That's partly the reason for my visit as well. We are to depart for Etran Harborage, and you, my friend, will see to the evacuation of remaining forces."

It was a disgraceful command for a warrior of his station. The Field Master exchanged knowing looks with his Delegatus.

"What more does the Hierarch need of me?"

Avitus mulled over his friend's question before finishing off the flask, "His holiness also wishes you to gather more knowledge on this… Devil."

The Field Master scoffed. "Then his holiness will find himself sorely disappointed."

"So I've heard." Thrallslayer growled in agreement, "A good handful of my captains were clamouring over this Monster, claiming vengeance for their maimed packmates."

"And now?"

The Chieftain nodded once again, the motion stiff but sure.

"Their voices are one with the winds."

Even the proud and boisterous Avitus had no rebuttal for their gilded terror. It should have spoken measures of a foe that even the Jiralhanae are cautious to contend with.

The Field Master grew sombre as he recalled the spiralling events, unknown to the Covenant merely a weekly cycle past. They finally had the humans on the backfoot after five whole annums of bloodshed. It was shown that not even their masked Demons are infallible; with the combined efforts of an Evocati force, putting one down was now plausible after countless trials and tribulations.

Going for another after such a glorious triumph just seemed so enticing…

Had he not sanctioned the kill order on that crimson Demon, did the Devil then not come for retribution? The thought would haunt the Field Master for the rest of his days.

He would find himself praying more often in the coming days. He prayed to the Divine Ones for counsel and offered tribute to the God-Star Urs for absolution. He prayed for his family, and his keep back on Sanghelios, that the war would soon come to an end without much prolongation.

Yet, he feared that even the Gods would think his request exorbitant.

---

"He killed two hundred elites… in how long did you say?" Cole leaned forward and braced his arms on the table, knuckles gradually turning white.

"It was actually two hundred and thirty."

The Admiral fixed a vexing glare at the ONI spook before relenting.

"While I wouldn't jump to conclusions… our Spartans guesstimates between the time they reached Tribune Endymion, he could have very well repelled the ambush in a minute's span." Orez summarised, his expression no less gaunt. "Maybe less."

"Christ…"

Silence lingered for a few more moments as the Admiral picked up his datapad. For all intents and purposes, this news should have been invigorating. For the very first time since the war's beginning, the UNSC has dealt a crippling blow to the Covenant by capturing one of their key points, forcing an almost global-wide withdrawal from the aliens whilst taking not a single casualty.

The only issue would be that none of it was the UNSC's direct efforts.

Only a day ago, Cole had already received a fully detailed report on the Tribune's actions at Gladsheim, that the golden giant himself could already account for more than half of the Covenant's losses. Furthermore, there was even a mention of him dismantling a Wraith in the blink of an eye and overpowering Hunters with sheer force.

ONI and the UNSC at large were playing a dangerous game with their guest from god knows where.

"Right… that aside, have we learned anything on that alien installation?" Cole pinched the bridge of his nose before swiping to a new page on his datapad.

"Not much, if I'm being honest," The ONI commander stared forlornly at his empty coffee cup, "Based on the report from Professor Anders, there was nothing but a star map present in the relic site?"

"A star map?" Cole inquired.

"Yes, Admiral. And all it did was point to another star system—the Arcadia colony, to be precise." Orez nodded, "Captain Cutter wishes to pursue the Covenant there; he has good reason to believe the Covenant is after something… again."

"Then I could only offer James my best wishes. Despite the main Covenant fleet fragmenting at Harvest, I still need Battlegroup Phi at full strength." Cole sighed, "The Spirit of Fire will have to stand alone."

"Unfortunately so, Admiral."

"Suppose that would have to do," Cole sank back into his seat, his tone growing firm, "I'll let James know that he has the green light."

Another bout of silence ensued, only to be broken by the spook's throat clearing. "Regarding our friend in gold… I've exchanged a few words with him."

"And?" Cole raised an eyebrow.

"He has agreed to negotiate terms of mutual… collaboration." Orez nodded. "Actually, he was the one who brought it up."

Cole released a breath that he was unaware of holding.

"What is his price, then?"

The ONI officer seemed to share his thoughts for a moment, "Nothing, as of now."

"Be careful now, Orez," Cole warned as he crossed his fingers, "Everything has a price, especially if he is as human as he claims to be."

"Aye, he is not one of us. Nothing compels him to give us his full cooperation." The spook agreed. "But that may be a boon all by itself."

Cole viewed those words with concern, all the while maintaining a face of stone. Orez may prove himself tempered for a spook, but some things never change.

"So, what now?" Cole asked without censure.

"I will take this opportunity to extract the Tribune and the rest of our Spartans elsewhere. While the Covenant is still distracted, we will slip through the blockade." Orez returned with as much honesty as someone of his station could muster, "Vice Admiral Stanforth will be made aware of this development."

The Admiral swallowed his complaint. The withdrawal of Spartan support would no doubt heavily diminish efficiency on the ground. He could argue and appeal, but he would only be wasting his effort. He could only pray that his good friend Michael would practise more caution than the rest of his colleagues in black.

"And FLEETCOM?" Cole still wished to ask despite already gauging the answer.

The ONI commander smiled cordially, "They will receive a detailed report… in due time of course."

"So it shall be then," Both men stood from their seats, "That will be all, Commander. You may go."

Orez seemed to hesitate for a slight moment as he adjusted his cap, stooping at the doors. "The UEG is in your debt, Admiral. You have bloodied the Covenant's nose here, and I will make sure FLEETCOM hears of this."

Cole could not dignify the spook with a reply before he made his exit. He instead thought fondly of his family back on Earth, even if the remembrance of his children still weighed heavily upon his soul. He had not written to them in years, ever since the beginning of the Harvest Campaign.

But did it truly matter? Inna likely would have just burned all his letters.

The weary Admiral shrugged off the copious thoughts of gloom as he steadied himself. If he made it out of this campaign alive, perhaps he would write to his brother instead. Perhaps it would be time to take some leave and go back home for a short while.

Yes… he'd like that.

---

And so we wrap up the first arc, actually had this chapter ready for a while but ran into some hiccups. We will also be crossposting this story over to AO3 in due time so I can share more of the lovely art I have commissioned for the story, and it would be easier to connect with readers (hopefully). Gonna go on a mini hiatus for the moment since I have exams, but we will resume in a month's time.

Massive thanks to the legendary Starhammer and DaemonSlayer for beta reading the chapter as always. This story would be nowhere as polished without their help.

Reviews:

Variogamer11: Hope I didn't burnt the food this time round lol.

Dragon lord Syed 101: Interesting suggestion, could very be an idea in the future.

Arzach02: Thanks for the lovely comment! Yeah, Spartan interaction could be tricky to write due to their upbringing and mindsets, but I hope I did it some justice. And for the empire-ending daemon part, I hope you got an answer (for now)

E: You bring an interesting point sir. Let's just say we're in no rush and I wish to endeavour to tell a fulfilling story for quite some time to come. Would be honoured to have many more on this journey. A long story might not be for everyone though but this is a project a long time in the making.

Sci-Fi Guy 22: I appreciate your insights and reviews, have quite alot of fun reading through them. I would love to answer your queries but I'm afraid some might be spoiler heavy. The Punic Class Supercarrier is quite the rare ship and I'm pretty sure only a handful exists as of now. But they would make the biggest difference if the UNSC decides to field them, and Ra would likely see it as well. If you really want more specific answers feel free to shoot me a DM, if not I hope I could live up to your patronage nonetheless :)

Soviet Spy: A thousand thanks my guy, hope I can live up to expectations!

CheesusChrist15: I don't think I quite understand your query? Could you maybe shoot me a DM to clarify your doubts?

End note: And to everyone else, thank you so much for the lovely reviews and remarks! The story will resume shortly.