PSA's:

Congratulations, you have entered The Human-Covenant War!

PS: Y'all who frequently chat with me on Discord are doing gods work by pointing out flaws, keeping me motivated, and doing Beta writer work check. I am giving y'all shoutouts because, you deserve it.

If y'all who are frequent with Discord and want my tag, here it is: TrueForgiveness#0508

And I will say this: If y'all want to do D&D or play the new Baldur's Gate 3 with an OG Larian lover and D&D fanatic, hit me up on Discord!

Now let the games... begin!

Halo: Modern Evolutions

Chapter XIII: Harvest I

Griffin Phoenix

Orion Laboratory Deck

August 9th, 2525

A low, soft hum emitted from the fluorescent tubes overhead, filling the sleek, white corridor of the Orion's laboratory deck. Large screens on the walls flashed periodic data streams, charts, and biological diagrams. The room was filled with a mélange of machinery and state-of-the-art equipment. Rows upon rows of tables held varying scientific instruments, some of which were so new that many in the universe had yet to hear of them.

As Griffin entered, two Super Tactical Droids, with their polished metal frames and bright optical sensors, detached themselves from their charging ports and began to follow him. Their movements were fluid, silently gliding on the floor with an air of authority and efficiency. Each droid bore the Atlas logo on its chest, signifying their allegiance.

Approaching the genetics wing, Griffin slowed, his eyes darting around to take in the complexities of the department. He then turned to face the droids, his gaze serious.

"Based on the recent events, it's evident that ONI is quite interested in my genetic makeup," Griffin started, his tone measured. "They're hunting for my supercells, and I need to know why."

The Super Tactical Droid to his right, identified by the label 'ST-09' on its chest, responded in a smooth, synthesized voice, "Understood, Director Griffin. It is of utmost importance that we understand the potential of your genetic structure. This will not only give you a strategic advantage but will also aid Atlas in preparing for potential confrontations."

Griffin nodded, yet his mind lingered on the subject of his title. There were shifting roles and regulations on the droids vocabulary, something that kept him on edge. If this could change, what else would?

"Good. Let's get started then. I want a full analysis. Anything that stands out, any anomaly or enhancement, I need to be informed immediately."

The second droid, 'ST-12,' added, "We'll ensure that the findings remain confidential, Director. Only you and the upper echelons of Atlas will be privy to the results."

"ST-09, ST-12," Griffin began, his voice echoing slightly in the sprawling genetics wing. Around him, the air was filled with the hum of machinery and the occasional murmur of scientists engaged in their work.

"I would like to propose an additional task. Once the analysis is complete, I want you to start experimenting with my supercells. I'd like you to initiate a new project, separate from the genetic analysis."

ST-12 turned to face him, the soft glow of its optic sensor flickering in acknowledgement. "Affirmative, Director. We will proceed with experimentation upon completion of the genetic analysis. What is the intended purpose of this project?"

Griffin paused, formulating his response. "The goal is not simply understanding or potential enhancements for our personnel. I want us to explore the possibility of creating synthetic life-forms using these cells. If we can replicate or even enhance the potential held within my cells, we could create an entirely new resource for Atlas."

"Understood, Director Griffin," ST-09 responded promptly, "We will proceed with the experiment considering your intentions. The potential applications of your supercells could indeed be game-changing."

Griffin nodded, his gaze steady on the droids. "I want regular updates on the progress. And keep this project confidential. We don't need ONI or anyone else poking their noses in our business."

The droids saluted, their movements synchronized in a swift, precise motion. "Your instructions will be adhered to diligently, Director. This project will be kept under strict security protocols."

Griffin sat down on one of the sleek, metallic chairs. The soft hum of machines echoed in the room, complemented by the white ambient lighting that gave everything a pristine appearance. ST-09 approached him with a specialized syringe in hand, designed for safe and painless extraction.

"Director Griffin," the droid began, "We will require a blood sample to continue with the experimentation. Please extend your arm."

Griffin nodded, rolling up his sleeve, revealing his strong forearm. "Go ahead."

The procedure was swift, with barely a sensation as the droid carefully extracted the needed sample. Just as ST-09 was placing the vial containing Griffin's blood in a containment unit, the door to the lab slid open. Another Super Tactical Droid, with a noticeably distinct color scheme, entered. But it was the presence it commanded, more than its appearance, which distinguished it. This droid housed the consciousness of Nova, the advanced AI.

Griffin immediately straightened in his seat. "Nova. Wasn't expecting to see you in person—well, in a manner of speaking."

Nova's mechanical gaze focused on Griffin. "Director, I deemed it necessary to report directly to you. Our teams have retrieved significant amounts of Covenant tech, per the directive of our last ONI-assigned mission."

Griffin's eyebrows rose in surprise. "That was quick."

Nova continued, "Our acquisition teams work with efficiency. Moreover, the tech's analysis has led to some swift developments, developments that you will find of interest."

"Such as?"

"We've managed to reverse-engineer certain components, which could potentially advance our own technology leaps and bounds," Nova articulated, its voice echoing a restrained excitement. "The potential applications in shipbuilding, weapons, and shielding are considerable."

Griffin leaned forward, interest evident in his eyes. "And ONI's response to our little... expedition?"

Nova paused, calculating the best way to convey the information. "They've taken note. But as of now, they're preoccupied with larger concerns—like the growing alien threat. They expect us to share the fruits of our labor, of course."

Griffin smirked, "Naturally. Keep me updated, Nova. Every development, every milestone."

Nova's optic sensor flickered in acknowledgment. "Of course, Director."

Nova gestured toward the crate dragged in by the Battle Droids. With a swift move, one of the droids unlatched the crate, revealing its contents. There was an immediate glint of metal as the Super Tactical Droid carefully took out a hilt, sleek and designed to perfection. Its form, devoid of a blade, seemed oddly incomplete.

The Director's eyes narrowed curiously. "What's this?"

Nova's optics glowed slightly brighter, indicating its excitement. "This, Director, is an energy blade. Our tech teams have been working diligently to reverse-engineer the Covenant's energy sword technology. While it's not a full replication, initial tests show its lethality and efficiency in combat."

Griffin reached out, taking the hilt in his hand, feeling its weight. "And the blade?"

"On activation," Nova responded, "It'll be a focused energy projection. We've integrated safety mechanisms to ensure it retracts on command or if dropped."

Setting the blade aside, Griffin's attention turned to the pack nestled beside the blade in the crate. "And this looks familiar," he mused, already knowing the answer.

"That," began Nova, lifting the jetpack with ease, "is the tactical jetpack you requested for the crew. Our teams have outdone themselves with this design. It's nimble, allows for sustained flight, and offers short, rapid bursts of lift. It can give our soldiers the aerial advantage they need in the heat of battle."

Griffin inspected the jetpack closely, noting the top-loaded slot. "And this?"

"A bonus feature," Nova quipped. "A rocket-firing missile. The slot on top is its loading mechanism. It's designed for quick situational responses and can pack quite a punch."

Griffin's lips curled into a satisfied smile. "Impressive. This could change the dynamics of ground combat."

Nova nodded, "Exactly our intention. Leveling the playing field, and in some cases, tilting it in our favor."

The energy blade felt curiously balanced in Griffin's hand, its hilt cold to the touch. Swiftly, he hooked it onto his belt, its presence immediately reassuring. He picked up the jetpack and attached it seamlessly to his back. The device clicked into place with a satisfying sound, and its thrusters gently hummed as they interfaced with his armor's systems, lights blinking to show it was operational.

Nova's mechanical voice conveyed a hint of admiration, "A commendable fit, Director."

Shifting slightly to test the jetpack's weight distribution, Griffin nodded. "It feels right. Start rolling these out to the crew, Nova. I want everyone trained and ready for action. Ensure they're also proficient with the Sentinel Armor. We're diving into unknown waters, and I won't have us unprepared."

"Understood, Director. Distribution and training protocols are already being initialized."

With his new gear secured, Griffin headed straight for the bridge. On entering, the soft luminescence of the ship's systems greeted him. Approaching the primary console, he activated the holographic map. An intricate portrayal of Harvest was projected, its northern polar regions conspicuously highlighted.

Raven, engrossed in some transmission logs, looked up, a puzzled expression etching her features. "Why are we focusing on an empty sector of Harvest's polar cap? There's nothing there."

Griffin zoomed into the holographic map, pinpointing old geological surveys. "A century ago, during Harvest's initial colonization, these surveys recorded anomalies deep beneath the icy crust. They were overlooked, chalked up as glitches or irrelevant data. But now, with these aliens showing an unsettling interest in relics... I believe it's time we re-examine those readings."

Raven stepped closer, scrutinizing the data points. "Anomalies? Are we talking about potential artifacts or something else?"

Griffin highlighted a specific cluster of readings. "There were subterranean signatures that didn't align with the surrounding geological patterns. It's a long shot, but given our alien adversaries' modus operandi, it's a shot worth taking."

Taking a moment to process, Raven finally said, "So, you're suggesting there could be something beneath the ice that these aliens might be after?"

Griffin met her gaze, determination evident. "I can't be certain, but it's a lead. And right now, any advantage, any knowledge we can secure before they do, is invaluable."

As the intricate web of data on the holographic map continued to shift and realign, Griffin's fingers danced over the console. His face, a portrait of concentration, flickered in the luminescence of the map. The deep blue regions of the polar cap moved, reshuffled, and zoomed, the coordinates and readings constantly updating. A tension hung in the air, felt by everyone on the bridge.

And then, with a triumphant grin, Griffin's fingers paused. "There it is!"

On the map, a point blinked, highlighting an area with a cluster of unique geological signatures distinctly different from the surrounding patterns. The location showed a vast underground cavern, its dimensions and contours suggesting it wasn't a natural formation.

Griffin's fingers froze over the holographic display, the bright marker indicating the location of the mysterious subterranean chamber. As the murmurs of curiosity and excitement filled the room, Raven leaned in, her gaze fixed on the highlighted point.

"Could this be related to these aliens? Some kind of technology or base?" she asked, her voice reflecting the same excitement that had surged through the crew.

Griffin slowly looked up from the map, meeting Raven's gaze. "They're not related to the aliens," he said calmly.

Raven blinked, taken aback. "How can you be so sure?"

Griffin hesitated for a moment before responding. "When the time is right, I'll explain everything. Just trust me on this."

A puzzled expression formed on Raven's face as she processed his words. "You seem to know a lot more than you're letting on. First, the knowledge about the aliens, now this? And you're just a cadet. What's going on, Griffin?"

Griffin's face remained impassive, his gaze steady. "There's a lot you don't know about me, Raven. But I assure you, everything I do is for the safety of our crew and the mission."

Raven studied him for a long moment, her eyes searching his. The weight of Griffin's knowledge, the secrets he carried, it was all there in his eyes. But what puzzled her more was the depth of maturity, wisdom, and assurance she saw in him, especially for someone of his... stature.

She finally broke the silence, "We're in this. But remember, trust is a two-way street."

Griffin nodded, appreciating her words. "I know. And I promise, when the time comes, you'll understand everything."

Catherine Halsey

Unknown Location

August 9th, 2525

As the daily tasks shifted, the focus was drawn to a quiet, somewhat dimly lit room filled with high-tech consoles and displays, each showing real-time data feeds. Dr. Halsey sat in the center of this technological symphony, her eyes darting across various screens, meticulously tracking the ongoing missions of her Spartan-II's.

The performance graphs and reports showed one thing clear as day - the Spartans were achieving incredible mission success rates. This was no surprise to Halsey, given their training, augmentations, and unyielding discipline. But there was another factor, a relatively new variable in the equation - the Atlas droids.

Halsey observed the smooth interaction between the Spartans and the company's effect on their performance, marveling at how seamlessly the mechanical entities integrated into their teams and strategies. Wherever the Spartans deployed, Atlas droids followed, enhancing their operational capabilities with their technology and adaptability.

Data streamed across Halsey's console, each victory of the Spartans accompanied by an increase in Atlas resource allocation. Ships, vehicles, weapons, even the occasional droid support squad – all funded and supplied by Atlas. Their influence was subtle, but Halsey couldn't deny the profound impact it was having on the Spartans' efficiency and effectiveness.

Halsey's fingers flew across her console, pulling up detailed reconnaissance and intel reports. A massive concentration of Atlas fleet activity caught her eye, and a small smile tugged at the corner of her lips. "Griffin," she whispered to herself, recognizing his unique tactics.

Skimming through the report, she could see the scale of Griffin's mobilization. A fleet that vast was unmistakably his ambition. But as Halsey delved deeper into the data, a cold realization hit her. The intelligence on Griffin's fleet movements came from sources that were not just detectable, but traceable. Griffin seemed to have made an oversight.

Her heart raced as she opened another data file. The alien threat, the Covenant, possessed sophisticated listening devices, and it was likely they would have detected Griffin's move towards Harvest. If they chose to act on this information, Griffin and his fleet could be walking straight into a trap.

Halsey quickly pulled out a datapad, flicking through a few chapters of "Halo: Silent Storm." Her concerns were validated further as she read. It wasn't just a theory; Griffin's fleet had most likely been picked up by Covenant listeners. She bit her lip, concern etched into her features.

"Of all the times to be overconfident," Halsey murmured. She needed to get a warning out, to Griffin or someone in Atlas. Even with their advanced technology and strategies, facing a prepared Covenant fleet was a daunting task. She began to draft a message, hoping that it would reach Griffin in time.

Sitting back in her chair, Halsey pondered for a moment, her fingers hovering over the console's keys. A direct message would jeopardize her position and expose her involvement. She needed to tread carefully.

Navigating her system, she accessed the current locations and mission statuses of the Spartan-IIs. Blue Team was the closest, with John-117 leading the group. They had just returned from a successful mission, and Halsey felt a rush of pride as she skimmed through the mission report. If anyone could get to Griffin's fleet in time, it was them.

She quickly initiated a secure communication line. "Blue Team, this is Dr. Halsey," she started, her voice urgent. "I need you to prep for immediate deployment."

John's voice came through, steady as always, "We read you Dr. Halsey. What's the situation?"

Halsey's voice conveyed urgency, "The Atlas fleet is heading to Harvest. There's reason to believe they might be walking into a trap set by those unidentified aliens. I will arrange a Prowler to pick you and your team up."

A brief pause followed on the other end, as John processed the gravity of the situation. "Understood. We'll prep for potential intervention. Do we have any intel on the hostile force?"

"It's uncertain, John," Halsey replied, "But it's best to assume it's formidable. Atlas's fleet is no small matter, and these aliens, whatever they are from your recovery of the alien vessel, they wouldn't pass up such an opportunity."

John nodded, even though she couldn't see him. "We'll be ready. Anything else?"

"Just be careful," she replied, her voice betraying a hint of concern. "And keep an eye out for Griffin. There's more to him than meets the eye."

The communication line went silent. Halsey let out a deep breath, leaning against her console. She had done what she could. Now, it was up to the Spartans.

Griffin Phoenix

The Orion, Bridge

August 15th, 2525

A wave of disquiet rolled over Griffin as the Orion fleet came out of slipspace around Harvest. The serene, beautiful orb that was Harvest floated below them, marred by the scorched continents - partially glassed, data revealed. The telltale signs of the alien's relentless onslaught were already apparent.

Griffin's eyes moved over the tactical display, absorbing the sobering information. Battle Group 4 was here, as expected. The destroyer Heracles and the frigates Arabia and Vostok - their proud, hopeful names seemed like cruel irony now. They were maintaining their course, sailing fearlessly towards the gargantuan, unidentified alien vessel that was in orbit around the planet.

In his gut, Griffin knew what was about to happen. His fingers hovered over the control console as his eyes stayed glued to the data before him. He could see the Battle Group's attempts to initiate communications with the alien ship. He could also see their weapons primed and ready, a futile show of force against a foe they couldn't possibly comprehend.

The next few moments unfolded in an agonizingly slow ballet of destruction. The alien vessel opened fire with its pulse laser turrets. The Battle Group responded, releasing a salvo of Archer missiles. But it was like throwing pebbles at a mountain. The Arabia and Vostok were obliterated in a matter of seconds. The Heracles, heavily damaged, started to make a desperate run for it, leaving a trail of fire and debris in its wake.

A cold fury simmered in Griffin's chest as he watched the carnage unfold. The aliens, whatever they were, had announced their presence to humanity with violence and destruction. It was a declaration of war, plain and simple. The Battle Group 4 was merely the first casualty in a war that was just beginning.

Suddenly, a message from the alien ship broke through the static, its tone cold and mechanical: "Your destruction is the will of the gods, and we are their instrument." The voice sent a shiver down Griffin's spine. These aliens weren't just conquerors. They saw themselves as divine executioners, their acts of destruction a twisted form of divine will.

Griffin's heart raced as the chilling message echoed throughout the bridge of the Orion. As the voice resonated through the ship, a deep-seated recognition struck him. Even if he had heard it a thousand times before, it still was surreal hearing it in person.

"Truth," he whispered to himself. The Hierarch named Truth. That voice had been etched into his memory from countless hours spent in front of his gaming console as a kid and later as a man. It was a voice that, at the time, had been just a part of a story, a character in a game. But here, now, it was terrifyingly real.

He looked around at his crew. Some seemed confused, others scared, but none of them made the same connection he had. He felt a profound sense of isolation in that moment, a burden of knowledge that none of them shared. The line between fiction and reality blurred for Griffin, a twist of fate that felt cruelly ironic. He was now playing a very real game, and the stakes were higher than ever.

The deck echoed with Griffin's words, resonating through the cavernous expanse of the Orion's bridge. "Deploy ground forces to the northern polar region on Harvest. Immediate landing protocols, now."

Acknowledgments bounced back, a series of crisp affirmatives from a chorus of voices, while hands danced across control panels, keys clicking under the rapid-fire dictation of commands. This was a symphony of war, each operator a musician in tune with the song of conflict.

"Scramble all droid fighters," he commanded, his voice maintaining a veneer of calm control. "I want attack patterns plotted on that alien vessel immediately."

The response was instantaneous, a Super Tactical Droid, its voice metallic and devoid of emotion, replied, "Affirmative, Griffin. Fighter squadrons 1-90 mobilizing."

A low thrum of energy permeated the ship as the fighter bay came alive, a nest of hornets being stirred into furious action. Like a swarm of angry, mechanical insects, numerous spacecraft burst into the icy void, cutting through space towards the alien ship.

"And arm the MAC cannons," Griffin continued, his eyes cold as they remained fixed on the holographic image of the unknown vessel. "Our aim is to disable, but, if necessary, destruction is authorized."

"Understood, Griffin," The same Super Tactical Droid responded, the unmistakable whir of its processing unit echoing throughout the bridge as it initiated the arming sequence of the ship's formidable Magnetic Accelerator Cannons.

As Griffin issued his orders, the large holographic screen on the bridge started to flicker with the sprawling spectacle of a massive fleet deployment. An intricate dance of military precision and strategic placement unfolded before his eyes.

He watched as the forty-two Halcyon Cruicers, giant monoliths in the cold expanse of space, broke formation. They began to offload their cargoes of Atlas Sentinel Troopers, encased in Pelican dropships, their sleek, metallic bodies glinting in the starlight as they began their descent towards the planet's surface. Joining them were hundreds of Atlas droid dropships, each carrying squads of troops and specialized equipment, all geared towards claiming and fortifying their foothold on the planet's surface.

Alongside the troop deployments, he could also see the deployment of the Orion's cluster of prefabricated Firebases, being dispatched towards the northern polar region of Harvest. These were vital assets, key to establishing a strong, defensible presence on the planet. The firebases were variants of old colony starter units, built from sturdy polycrete, capable of creating vast, labyrinthine underground complexes.

The firebase pods were deployed via D20 Heron transport craft, launching from the hangars of the Halcyon Cruisers and descending rapidly towards the planet. Once established, these firebases would provide valuable support and resources to the ground troops, from producing unarmed Warthogs to a selection of specialized units.

Underneath each firebase was a large underground garage, which could store resources and vehicle parts dropped from orbiting warships. These would rise from their subterranean caverns, pre-built and fully constructed, ready to bolster their forces or respond to an enemy attack at a moment's notice.

The silence aboard the Orion was palpable as fifteen Paris Class Heavy Frigates adjusted their trajectories, angling towards the looming alien vessel in orbit above Harvest. The alien craft was enormous, its design wholly unfamiliar to any human engineer, and even on the holographic display, it emanated an aura of menace.

A low hum, barely audible but felt as a vibration through the floor, signaled the charge of the Magnetic Accelerator Cannons (MAC). The bridge crew watched with bated breath, some crossing their fingers, others muttering quiet curses or just focusing on their instruments. They had one shot at this. If the MAC rounds didn't breach the enemy ship's shields, the entire fleet could be at risk.

Griffin, standing steadfast, watched as the MAC guns' energy levels hit their peak. "Fire," he whispered, almost to himself.

As if on cue, the Paris Class Frigates let loose their salvos. Bright white streaks shot across the blackness of space, trailing plumes of blue-white energy as the MAC rounds rocketed towards the alien vessel.

The seconds that followed felt like an eternity.

The initial MAC rounds slammed into the alien ship's shields, causing them to shimmer and ripple like water struck by a pebble. Subsequent rounds hit with calculated precision, each one striking at a slightly different point, to spread the damage and prevent the shields from recharging in any one area.

To Griffin's surprise and relief, the barrage began to overwhelm the alien vessel's defenses. The shield's luminosity dimmed with every hit until, finally, a MAC round made contact with the ship's hull. A massive explosion rippled across the alien ship, scattering debris and light in every direction.

Cheers erupted from the bridge crew. The alien vessel, though not destroyed, was significantly damaged and, for the moment, incapacitated.

"We did it," a Super Tactical Droid remarked, its voice devoid of emotion but carrying a hint of satisfaction.

Griffin nodded, but his face remained stern. "Prepare for any countermeasures," he ordered. They had struck the first blow, but the battle was far from over.

The alien vessel began to rotate its gargantuan frame, turning its bulkhead slowly but surely towards the Atlas fleet. As everyone on the bridge of the Orion watched, the ship vanished without a trace. The viewing screen was suddenly filled with the darkness of space, the behemoth having disappeared as if it had never been there.

A Super Tactical Droid immediately scanned the surroundings, processing the data at an incredible speed. "No detectable movements or trace," it reported, its tone analytical.

Griffin's expression tightened. "Brace for point defense combat! All hands, prepare for close-quarters engagement with the alien vessel!" he bellowed.

A captain's voice crackled over the comm, laced with confusion. "Sir, why would we prepare for short-range ship combat? It's gone."

Griffin's face was filled with urgency. "It's not gone. It's making an intra-system jump to get right on top of us. Prepare NOW!" he yelled out.

Even as Griffin's warning reverberated through the fleet, a bright flash illuminated space as the alien ship re-emerged from slipspace. Its massive form appeared directly above one of the Paris Class frigates, dwarfing the human ship. There was no time for evasive maneuvers.

Automated point defense cannons from the nearby ships sprang to life, sending volleys of rounds towards the alien craft, but it was too late for the frigates caught in the proximity of the jump. A concentrated burst of plasma from the alien vessel impacted one frigate, turning it into a fiery ball of metal and gas. Within moments, three more frigates suffered the same fate, their hulls unable to withstand the onslaught of the plasma cannons and torpedoes. The alien vessel had just showcased its terrifying might, dealing a major blow to the fleet's numbers in mere seconds.

The tension on the bridge was palpable, but Griffin was already in motion, fingers moving deftly over the console. In a swift move, he manually overrode the control systems for fifty Atlas droid fighters, bypassing the default protocols.

"Droid fighters, engage engines. Target alien vessel's propulsion systems and their point defense cannons," Griffin commanded with authority. Like a swarm of angry wasps, the fifty droid fighters surged forward, their thrusters leaving streaks of blue in the cold blackness of space.

The fighters moved in intricate patterns, avoiding incoming fire while launching precise volleys of their own. High-energy projectiles burst forth, targeting the vast engines that powered the alien ship. Simultaneously, precision bombs descended on the vessel's point defense cannons, aiming to cripple its ability to fend off external threats.

Griffin's voice once again thundered through the comms, "All available Frigates, turn broadsides to the enemy ship! Fire Archer missiles at the designated targets: the reactor, hangar bay, and main cannons. Do not let that ship have a moment's respite!"

As one, the Paris Class frigates started to adjust their orientations, bringing their missile launchers to bear. Bright plumes of exhaust indicated the launch of Archer missiles, their trajectories aimed with deadly precision at the vital systems of the Covenant ship. Streams of missiles, looking like luminous arrows, arced towards their designated targets.

As the Atlas fleet bore down on the colossal Covenant ship, its hangar bay sprung to life. The large metallic doors of the hangar slid open, revealing a swarm of alien fighters. The distinctive whine of their engines pierced the void as Banshee and Seraph fighter craft spilled from the gaping maw of the alien vessel, their sleek, predatory forms glinting ominously in the harsh light of Harvest's sun.

With a balletic grace that belied their deadly purpose, the Banshees, shaped like manta rays, took to the fore, weaving through the tumultuous battlefield with speed and agility. Behind them, the larger and more heavily armed Seraph fighters, their triangular silhouettes glinting ominously, took up positions, ready to lend their firepower to the unfolding melee.

The Covenant vessel, a looming juggernaut of alien design, showed visible signs of damage. Parts of its once pristine, polished hull now smoldered, plumes of gas and debris escaping into the void. Griffin's plan had worked; the vessel was crippled, if only momentarily.

"Nova, initiate cyber-attack on their AI systems, now!" Griffin commanded, his voice echoing through the Orion's bridge.

"Understood, initiating cyber warfare protocols," the AI, Nova, responded. Almost instantly, streams of data began to flood the displays as Nova's algorithms worked tirelessly to infiltrate the alien's technological defenses.

Outside, the battle raged on. Reinforcements in the form of Atlas droid fighters swarmed the Covenant air defenses. The alien Banshees, swift and agile, darted between the metallic tide of droids but were quickly becoming overwhelmed. The Seraphs, though more heavily armed, were also struggling to cope with the sheer number of enemies. Atlas frigates, agile in their own right, added their weight to the onslaught, releasing volleys of missiles and laser fire upon the beleaguered alien fighters.

Back on the bridge, a Super Tactical Droid approached Griffin, its mechanical voice cutting through the ambient noise. "The Covenant ship's defenses are down by 68%, sir. Their AI systems are resisting, but Nova's infiltration is progressing."

Griffin watched intently, fingers drumming on the console. Every second counted. If they could breach the Covenant's AI and gather intelligence or, even better, take control of their systems, the tide of this battle would turn in humanity's favor decisively.

"Nova, I want every scrap of data you can find. Decrypt, extract, whatever you have to do," Griffin commanded, his gaze fixed on the readouts.

"Understood, attempting to retrieve and decode all accessible information," Nova responded, its synthetic voice sounding out amid the ambient sounds of the battle outside.

Turning to a group of Super Tactical Droids standing nearby, Griffin pointed to the holographic screen where Nova was running its algorithms. "Interface with Nova, add your processing power to the cyber attack. We need to break their AI systems, and fast."

The droids instantly moved into position, several blue beams emitting from their chassis and connecting with Nova's main console. Their normally independent processors synced up with Nova's, multiplying the processing power of the attack exponentially.

The screen in front of Griffin started to flicker and buzz with an increase in activity as the enhanced cyber attack took effect. Streams of alien script began to appear and disappear as Nova and the droids sifted through the Covenant's data.

Griffin watched as alien symbols rapidly decrypted and translated into English, but the extracted data was still too fragmented to make any sense yet. But every piece of information they could rip from the Covenant's grip was a step towards understanding their enemy better. And in this war, knowledge was as powerful a weapon as any.

"Begin the offensive now," Griffin said, pointing towards another Super Tactical Droid, its red optical sensor pulsing brightly in response. "Start shutting down systems on that ship. Life support, propulsion, defenses – take them down one by one. And I need you to find a Jiralhanae named Tartarus for me. He's the key to what they're doing here."

The droid's fingers danced over the holographic console, sending commands and decoding feedback in real-time. "Confirmed. Offensive cyber-attack initialized. Beginning system shutdown."

Griffin's helmet buzzed as incoming data streamed into his HUD. Lines of text, schematics of the Covenant ship, and vital system statuses began to overlay his vision. The constant stream of information was overwhelming, but his training allowed him to focus on the essentials.

"Tartarus located," the droid announced as a blip appeared on Griffin's HUD. The Jiralhanae's location was now pinpointed deep within the Covenant vessel.

Without a word, Griffin turned away from the war map, his steps brisk as he headed for the door. "Transfer all controls and data to my helmet's interface. Keep the connection secure."

The droid acknowledged with a brief nod. "Transferring now. Connection secure."

Reaching the ship's bay doors, Griffin quickly hailed the nearby officers. "Get me three frigates ready to board that Covenant ship. We're taking it by force. I want squads of Sentinel Troopers, and Atlas droids ready to breach in ten. And tell them to watch out for Tartarus. I want him alive."

As Griffin strode purposefully towards the hangar bay, his mind was whirring with plans and contingencies, calculating each move that was to follow. He was so deep in thought that he almost didn't notice Raven falling into step beside him.

"Griffin, what just happened?" She was breathless, her eyes wide with concern. "It's like you knew... you knew every move that ship was going to make. You orchestrated that whole operation. How? Why?"

He paused, glancing at her briefly. "Are your people ready to board that ship?"

Raven nodded, still waiting for her questions to be answered. "Yes, they're preparing now. But I still don't understand. What's going on, Griffin?"

Griffin paused mid-stride, his gaze meeting Raven's inquisitive eyes. "That alien ship," he began slowly, his voice heavy with unspoken weight, "it belongs to an alliance known as The Covenant."

Confusion crossed Raven's features. "The Covenant?"

He nodded, casting his gaze towards their destination. "They're not here by chance. They're on Harvest for a very specific reason."

Her brow furrowed as she asked, "And what would that reason be?"

"They seek the remnants of a long-gone civilization, the Forerunners. I believe they think some of those relics are hidden here on Harvest."

"But why..." Raven began, but Griffin cut her off.

"I know why," he said softly. His eyes met hers again, resolute. "And I promise you, Raven, I'll give you all the answers. But not here, not now. Once we're on Harvest, like I promised. Then you'll understand everything."

Evan Shatter appeared at the end of the corridor, his tall frame and signature swagger making him easily recognizable. He'd been observing from a distance and had overheard the conversation between Griffin and Raven.

Griffin caught Evan's eye, and before he could speak, Evan beat him to it. "I've got to hand it to you, Griffin," he began with a chuckle, "you've got the biggest balls in this fleet. Going head-to-head with an alien ship? That's something straight out of a holodrama."

Griffin gave him a wry smile. "Thanks, Shatter. We're not out of this yet, though."

Evan's smirk widened. "You know, if you were some sort of god, I wouldn't even think twice. I'd tell some bastard to bow down and worship the damn deity," he said with a hint of mischief in his eyes.

Griffin laughed, the tension in the air breaking just a bit. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves, Shatter. We've got a ship to board."

Evan's smirk was replaced with a look of mock seriousness. "Always a 'but' with you, isn't there?"

Griffin raised an eyebrow and replied, "Oh, always. But for that compliment, if I survive getting my ass grilled by the Vice Admirals and dodge a few assassination attempts by ONI," he paused for dramatic effect, "I'll make sure you have an armada of battle droids at your command by the end of the year."

Evan chuckled, "I'll hold you to that, Griffin."

Griffin smiled, "You better."

As Griffin and Evan continued their banter, the sound of heavy footsteps approached. Turning around, they found themselves facing the towering figure of Jack Sterling, his robust physique and scarred face a testament to countless battles he had survived.

He crossed his arms, casting a smirk in their direction. "So, I couldn't help but overhear," Jack began, his voice deep and gravelly, "Sounds like there's rewards being handed out. What's in it for me if I join this little adventure?"

Griffin, keeping pace with the lighthearted moment, raised a thoughtful finger to his chin, pretending to contemplate. "Well, Sterling," he finally said, "For someone of your... expertise and stature, how about future access to the finest military arsenals we have to offer? And to sweeten the pot, bioengineering options are on the table."

Jack Sterling strutted forward, a smirk evident on his face. "Alright, Griffin," he began, tossing a playful look at Evan, "I've heard some wild offers in my time, but listen here: If your fancy bioengineering can turn me into a big fucking space dragon, and let me rock a town with a hundred dragon bitches, then I'm in."

Evan almost doubled over in laughter. "Of all the things, Sterling? A fucking space dragon?"

Griffin chuckled, amused by the request. "Well, I can't guarantee the hundred bitches, but a space dragon? If it means getting you on board, well, we'll see what we can do."

Jack gave a mock salute. "Then lead the way sugar momma."

A Commando Droid, its movements sharp and precise, approached the group. The metallic gleam of its body caught the dim overhead lights, casting it in a rather intimidating silhouette.

Griffin immediately recognized the droid's enhanced programming, a signature of Nova's cybernetic touch. "What have you got for us?" Griffin inquired, eyeing the large package the droid held.

The Commando Droid's voice, synthesized and cool, responded, "A gift for your teams, Director Griffin, as per Nova's instructions."

Evan Shatter raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Gift? What's the occasion?"

Before anyone could respond, the Commando Droid efficiently handed out the energy blades, with Evan receiving four – no doubt a nod to his reputation for dual-wielding in combat. Jack Sterling took his blade, examining the hilt with a mixture of fascination and admiration. The weight and the balance felt perfect in his hands.

Raven, catching her blade smoothly, regarded it with a clinical eye. "Impressive tech," she commented, the blade emitting a soft hum as she activated it momentarily, a brilliant glow lighting up her face.

Griffin nodded, "Thank you, Commando."

Orenski

Harvest, Northern Polar Region

August 15th, 2525

The icy winds of Harvest's northern polar region tugged at Orenski's hair and cloak as she stood on an elevated platform, overseeing the sprawling military operations beneath her. She could see the vast, white expanse of the tundra, occasionally broken by rugged mountains and deep glacial valleys.

Below, massive structures – prefabricated and engineered for rapid deployment – were being anchored onto the frozen ground. Firebases, forts, strongholds, and towering orbital MAC platforms emerged from the snow-covered plains as if they were part of the very landscape.

Swarming around these installations were the Atlas Sentinel troopers. These elite soldiers moved with a grace and fluidity that belied their bulky armor. Jetpacks affixed to their backs allowed them to jump over natural barriers, quickly scale icy walls, and position themselves on the ramparts of newly established bases.

Beside Orenski, the younger faces of Saegillius Squad watched, wide-eyed and filled with a mix of excitement and trepidation. There was Sarah, with her ever-alert eyes; Niko, perpetually eager; Michael, who always seemed deep in thought; Becky, the outspoken one; Rodriguez and Wilhelm, the inseparable duo; and Ramirez, Zinc, Rika, and McCraw, each with their own stories and strengths.

"Never seen anything like it," muttered Rodriguez, his gaze fixed on a squad of Atlas Sentinels who were darting through the air, their jetpacks leaving trails of mist behind them.

Wilhelm responded with a hint of awe in his voice, "It's like watching a dance, isn't it?"

Becky, however, was less impressed. "Fancy moves won't mean squat when the real fighting starts," she remarked.

Rika elbowed Becky gently, "Give it a break. Admit it, it's incredible."

Orenski's gaze shifted to the horizon, where a distinct line of mechanical figures began emerging from the shadows of the bases. As they drew closer, the distinct shape of battle droids became unmistakable, moving in coordinated squads across the snowy tundra.

Sarah squinted, trying to gauge the number. "There must be thousands of them," she whispered.

The sight was indeed staggering. A vast mechanized force was spreading out, each unit assigned specific tasks. Many moved purposefully towards designated mining zones, their instruments and machinery gleaming in the pale light. They began excavating, drilling into the frozen ground with an efficiency that only a machine could achieve. The ground trembled slightly under the combined weight and activity.

Meanwhile, the firebases began to buzz with heightened activity. Large mechanical arms extended, reaching down into underground storage areas and pulling up vast quantities of raw materials. The bases were not just static defensive structures; they were factories in their own right. The production lines inside were a blur of motion, rapidly assembling, modifying, and dispatching equipment. Cargo vehicles and rapid transport systems shuttled the supplies to designated areas.

Niko pointed towards a particularly large canyon ridge not too far from their vantage point. "Look over there! That ridge seems to be their main focus."

Sure enough, the plateau near the ridge was swarming with droid activity. Conveyor belts transported mined materials, droids welded and constructed at an astonishing pace, and several large structures began to take form.

Michael, ever the thinker, speculated, "There must be something significant about that ridge. Strategic vantage point, perhaps?"

McCraw, who had been silently observing, suddenly piped up, "Or something beneath it. Those mining droids seem particularly interested in what's below."

Becky raised an eyebrow, "A hidden resource? Or something... alien?"

Rodriguez chimed in, "Only one way to find out."

Griffin Phoenix

Frigate Grafton

August 15th, 2525

In the belly of the frigate, the hushed murmurs of Raven's troops bounced off the metal walls as they prepared for the looming operation. Griffin, Evan, Jack, and Raven sat amidst the soldiers, each lost in their thoughts.

Griffin, in particular, was engaged in an unusual task - painting his armor. The canister hissed gently as he sprayed a reddish coating across the dark surface of his suit. He was modifying the design too, making it sleeker, more refined.

Evan watched him with an amused smile, the reflective visor of his helmet hiding his eyes. Jack had an air of curiosity around him but kept his mouth shut, his attention straying to the many soldiers on the frigate.

Raven, however, broke the silence, her voice barely above a whisper. "You alright there, Griffin?" she asked, her gaze focused on his work.

Griffin paused, his fingers stilled mid-air. He didn't turn, but his voice echoed softly in the compartment, "Just giving the armor a touch-up. It might be a good idea to add a bit of personal touch before we engage the Covenant."

He resumed his work, the fine spray of paint misting over his armor, each stroke an extension of his determination. The reddish hue seemed to glow under the frigate's lights, hinting at the new changes that awaited them.

As Griffin continued to modify his armor, its transformation became increasingly evident to all those in the bay. The once-standard Sentinel armor was being reshaped, augmented, and adorned. Packs were attached to the back, each with a purpose that only Griffin knew. Draping across the reinforced shoulders, dark robes flowed down, cascading in layered folds to the floor. They swayed gently as he moved, adding an ethereal quality to his imposing form.

The chestplate was molded with intricate patterns, resembling ancient designs that spoke of strength and mystique. These patterns extended to his vambraces and leg plates, all interconnected with the same aesthetic flow. The helmet's design became more pronounced, with a slanted visor that gave off a cold, calculating look.

As the rest of the group watched, Griffin extended his arm. A switch was flicked, and an energy blade ignited with a sharp hiss. The room was momentarily bathed in a deep red glow from the blade. The color was intense, almost bleeding in its vibrancy, making it stand out against the shadowy demeanor of his armor.

The transformation of Griffin's armor, with its mix of technology and ancient design, gave him an aura of a warrior from an age long past, yet one who held the power of the future. His very presence was a juxtaposition of the old and the new, casting an aura that was both ominous and deeply intimidating.

Raven's eyes darted from Griffin's menacing new look to Evan, where her gaze locked onto a sight that seemed nearly impossible. Evan's arms were mechanically dividing, segmenting into several smaller appendages that moved with an eerie precision. These new mechanical extensions gripped his energy blades tightly, adjusting and shifting them into perfect position.

Evan paused for a moment, absorbing the rush of data being fed into his mind by the armament. A chortle escaped his lips, echoing in the hollow space of the frigate's bay. "Well, isn't this something?" he mused, clearly amused by his newfound capabilities.

Griffin, watching Raven's wide-eyed expression, remarked dryly, "See? That's the sort of change in appearance you should really concern yourself with."

Raven snapped her attention back to Griffin, trying to process everything unfolding before her. "Why did you bring me into all this, Griffin?" Her voice wavered slightly, a mix of intrigue and trepidation.

Leaning in, his armored face inches from hers, Griffin's voice softened, though the weight of his words remained heavy. "Your choices, your path, brought you here, Raven. I'm just here to ensure that you see the truth. And once you do," he paused, his gaze piercing, "I'll make sure you have the power to achieve whatever dreams you hold."

Griffin's helmet lit up with a soft blue hue, signaling an incoming transmission. A holographic display emanated from his wrist, revealing a detailed tactical map of the Covenant ship. Several points on the ship glowed green, indicating the successful boarding locations by the Paris Class Heavy Frigates.

A voice crackled through the comm link. "Sir, Boarding Action Alpha reports success. We've penetrated the enemy ship's hull at three points. Battle Droids and Commando Droids have been offloaded and are engaging enemy forces. Preliminary reports suggest heavy alien casualties."

Griffin's fingers danced across the holographic display, zooming in on one of the boarding points. The green dots representing their droid forces moved steadily, while the red dots - the aliens - seemed to dwindle rapidly.

"Any intel on enemy tech?" Griffin inquired, already processing strategies for the next phase.

"Yes, sir," the voice responded. "Our droids have secured what appears to be a tech storage area in the enemy vessel. We're in the process of cataloging and extracting data from various alien devices. This could provide significant intel on their capabilities."

Griffin nodded, his resolve deepening. "Continue the operation. Prioritize gathering intel and securing control points. I want that ship under our control ASAP."

Raven, witnessing the communication, remarked, "You really have thought of everything, haven't you?"

Griffin glanced her way, the weight of their mission apparent in his eyes. "When you're facing an enemy like the Covenant, you can't afford to think any other way."

"Status on Tartarus?" Griffin demanded, already anticipating the response.

A brief moment of static was followed by the voice of a Tactical Droid, "Sir, Tartarus is centralized in the heart of the ship. Recon indicates he's fortified his position. It appears they're making a last stand around him."

Griffin's grip tightened on his red energy blade's hilt. He had prior knowledge of Tartarus, the imposing Jiralhanae war chieftain, and his presence complicated the boarding mission. Tartarus wasn't just another enemy; he was a symbol, a figurehead of brute strength and dominance, a beacon rallying the Covenant forces.

Evan Shatter glanced at Griffin, sensing the palpable tension. "Going after an old foe, are we?"

Griffin didn't answer immediately. He took a breath, reigning in his emotions. "Tartarus isn't just any Jiralhanae. We get him, we cause a blow to The Covenant, no other way."

Raven looked from Griffin to Evan, concern evident. "You've faced him before?"

Griffin shook his head, "Not personally, but I know what he represents. And I know what taking him down will mean for the morale of the enemy."

Jack Sterling piped up, "So, we're hunting big game today. Nice."

Griffin's voice lowered, every word infused with controlled rage. "Jack, you have to understand something. Tartarus is responsible for turning Harvest to glass, for untold deaths and devastation. He's not just another brute to take down."

Jack swallowed, the weight of the revelation evident in his eyes. "So, he's a big shot, then?"

Griffin nodded. "He's the Covenant's hand, its executor. Taking him out isn't just tactical; it's symbolic. We're sending a message straight to his masters, showing them the cost of their aggression."

Raven added with determination, "And that cost is high. They'll know we won't stand idle as they threaten our very existence."

Tartarus

Rapid Conversion

9th Age of Reclamation

The vast chamber reverberated with the sound of relentless artillery, the cold, mechanical clanging of battle droids, and the guttural roars of the Jiralhanae. The central platform was illuminated by a bluish glow, surrounded by darkness and punctuated by the occasional brilliant flash of plasma fire. In the heart of this chaos stood Tartarus, a towering behemoth easily distinguished by his silver hair and fur, his distinctive "mohawk" mane rustling with each twist of his neck.

His eyes, a dark crimson, constantly darted around, assessing the situation. His breathing was steady, but the air around him was charged with an unmistakable intensity, the combined fervor of anger and resolve. Every movement was a dance of practiced combat, his massive frame wielding the Fist of Rukt with an ease that belied its weight and size. With every swing, droids and machinery shattered upon impact.

Tartarus's shield shimmered around him, deflecting a hailstorm of incoming fire. Only the most concentrated efforts seemed to make a dent, and even then, it was for mere moments before the protective barrier pulsed back to life.

His pack brothers fought with similar ferocity, a collective embodiment of the Jiralhanae spirit. Yet even they occasionally glanced towards Tartarus, drawing inspiration from their leader's unwavering strength.

For all his might, however, the weight of the situation was not lost on Tartarus. His foes were numerous, their tactics coordinated. The relentless assault of the mechanical swarm was a challenge even for him. A maddening realization began to creep into his mind: that for once, sheer might and loyalty to the Covenant might not be enough. But admitting such a thing was not in his nature.

His thoughts drifted to the San'Shyuum, especially the Prophet of Truth, whose teachings he held dear. The notion that his very belief in the Great Journey kept him from using his hammer against fellow Covenant races gnawed at him now. Here he was, surrounded, and yet he felt an odd kinship with his attackers. It wasn't respect, exactly, but a grudging acknowledgment of their tenacity.

Another barrage of fire caused his shield to flicker, drawing him out of his introspection. Tartarus roared, summoning his pack brothers to his side. There was no retreat for them, only the path forward. They would hold this ground, even if it meant their end. For in that commitment, in that unwavering resolve, Tartarus found his purpose, a beacon in the darkness of the encroaching onslaught.

With every powerful swing of the Fist of Rukt, Tartarus obliterated a swath of droids, the ground quaking beneath the force. Yet amidst the chaos, a nagging question clawed at his mind. These metal creatures, with their calculated precision, seemed to have an answer to every tactic his ship employed. They fought without fear, without exhaustion, executing each move with chilling efficiency.

A droid managed to slip past his guard, only to be promptly crushed by a backswing from his gravity hammer. The aftermath sent a group of them flying, circuits sparking and their metal forms contorted. Still, they pressed on, seemingly undeterred.

He pivoted to his right, catching a glimpse of three Jiralhanae brothers being overwhelmed. One was pinned down, mercilessly shot repeatedly, another was ambushed from behind, its energy blade piercing through thick hide and armor, and the last, in a desperate bid to fight back, was overrun and dismembered.

"How?!" Tartarus roared, his voice echoing across the vast chamber. "How did they know? How did they strike with such precision?!"

A stray thought, something he couldn't quite shake, entered his mind: Was there a traitor? Did someone leak the ship's defenses? It was almost inconceivable, but the precision with which these droids operated suggested insider knowledge. Either that or their intelligence was far beyond what he had ever encountered.

As he continued to battle, Tartarus's mind raced. Every explosion, every droid that met its end by his hammer, every fallen Jiralhanae, became a tapestry of information. He needed to understand, to deduce the mystery behind their attacker's strategy.

He was a warrior, first and foremost, but the implications of this assault gnawed at him. The Covenant had faced threats before, but none so systematically precise. It wasn't just a matter of winning this skirmish; it was about understanding a new kind of enemy, one that seemed to anticipate their every move.

A realization dawned on him, piercing through the fog of battle: they weren't just fighting to survive, they were fighting an enemy that understood them perhaps better than they understood themselves. And in that, lay the true danger.

The relentless waves of droids advanced, their glowing eyes reflecting nothing but cold purpose. As more of his pack fell around him, Tartarus's fury grew, but so did a sinking feeling deep within. He had always been a beacon of strength, leading the charge against any adversary. To show doubt would weaken his pack's morale, especially in these dire moments.

Gripping the Fist of Rukt tighter, he crushed another pair of droids under its immense weight. The once pristine chamber was now a scrapyard, strewn with the remains of both Jiralhanae and droid alike.

His second-in-command, Borus, rushed to his side, slashing through a trio of Commando Droids with a growl. "Chieftain," he panted, "we cannot hold this position much longer. These abominations... they do not tire, they do not relent!"

Tartarus glared at the onslaught, his mane bristling with frustration. "We are Jiralhanae! We do not cower before these lifeless husks!"

Borus nodded, respect evident in his eyes. "Of course, Chieftain, but it might be wise to regroup, find a more defensible position."

The heavy, echoing steps of the droids reverberated through the ship's corridors. Borus's words seemed to hang in the air as the brutes hastily attempted to regroup, but Tartarus's voice cut through the chaos with the authority only a chieftain possessed.

"No!" he roared. "There are no more 'defensible positions'! These things have taken the ship. Every corner, every chamber. We are Jiralhanae. We stand, and we fight! Kill as many as you can. Once a path is clear, we find an escape pod. We live to fight another day."

His pack responded to the rallying cry, a chorus of roars and growls. They knew the odds, yet there was a fire in their eyes, a renewed determination.

Borus, realizing the gravity of their situation, nodded solemnly. "Then we fight until the end, Chieftain."

Tartarus glanced at him, then at the remaining members of their pack, a mix of veterans and younger brutes who had never seen such overwhelming odds. "For every one of us they take down, we take a hundred of theirs! Remember our code, our honor. Let them see the might of the Jiralhanae!"

As another wave of droids advanced, Tartarus swung his Fist of Rukt with devastating force, smashing through the front line of droids. His pack followed suit, forming a phalanx of brute force. Energy blades clashed with the cold metal of the droids, filling the corridor with sparks and the cacophony of battle.

In the midst of the melee, Tartarus caught sight of a group of Commando Droids trying to flank them. Without hesitation, he charged forward, his gravity hammer glowing with lethal intent. With a swing, he sent several of the droids flying into the walls, their metallic frames crumpling upon impact.

The battle raged on, but with each passing second, it became evident that the tide was turning. Despite their bravery, the Jiralhanae were outnumbered, and the droids, without fatigue or fear, were closing in.

Tartarus, covered in oil and grime, roared defiantly, signaling for his pack to fall back towards the escape pods. He would ensure they reached their destination, even if he had to take down every last droid himself.

A sudden, eerie silence settled over the chamber. The once relentless advance of the droids ceased abruptly, as if someone had pulled an invisible leash. The mechanical beings paused in their tracks, their glowing eyes fixed ahead but not advancing.

From one of the shadowy entrances of the chamber, a figure emerged. Tall and imposing, he was clad in dark robes that flowed around him, their edges catching the dim light in a way that made them seem to shimmer. The armor beneath was a sleek design, tinted in shades of deep red, and it covered him from head to toe. But it was his helmet that was most striking — a dark, visored helm that concealed his face entirely, its design both simple and menacing.

Tartarus tensed, his eyes narrowing as he tried to make out details of this new threat. Who was this human who commanded such control over the droids, and what did he want?

As if sensing his questions, the human spoke, and to Tartarus's shock, the voice that emitted from the suit was in the Jiralhanae language, its pronunciation flawless.

"Chieftain Tartarus," the figure began, his voice echoing slightly inside the chamber, "the Prophets' pet. I know of your hunt, and I know of the relic that both you and Ord Casto, The Minister of Fortitude; or soon to be The Hierarch of Truth seek."

Tartarus growled, his grip tightening on his Fist of Rukt. "Who are you to address me in such a manner?"

The figure seemed unfazed, taking a few more steps forward, his every move watched intently by the surrounding droids. "Your titles and posturing mean nothing here. You are but a pawn in the Prophets' grand design, a loyal hound chasing after a bone. But I know the true power of what you seek."

The silence was palpable, the tension thick. Tartarus's remaining pack members exchanged glances, unease evident in their postures.

Tartarus's grip on his gravity hammer tightened, his deep-set eyes studying the mysterious human. The unease among his pack was palpable, each brute shifting nervously as they awaited their chieftain's response. The human's knowledge was unsettling, a stark contrast to the perceived ignorance that the Covenant held of humanity.

"How do you know of these things?" Tartarus rumbled, his voice laced with a mixture of suspicion and anger. "How do you speak of us and the intricacies of our covenant with such familiarity?"

The dark figure tilted his head slightly, as if amused. "The universe holds many secrets, Chieftain. Some are whispered in the darkest corners, some are seen but never understood, and some... some are revealed to them."

The figure paused for a moment, allowing the weight of his words to sink in. "I am here to send the Hierarch a message," he finally stated with unwavering certainty. The very atmosphere seemed to thicken with tension. "Your life can end by my hand, or it can serve as a testament to the power of my words. Either way, Chieftain, it makes no difference to me."

He took a step closer, his voice dropping to a chilling whisper, yet echoing in the vastness of the chamber. "I want Ord Casto to know that a Reclaimer knows of the mistake he made, one that centers on the very word of Reclamation."

Tartarus's grip on his gravity hammer tightened further, his muscles tensing. The mention of 'Reclamation' stirred an uneasy feeling deep within him. It was a term of utmost importance to the Prophets and their Covenant. How could this human know about it? He knew they were unknown to the secrets to The Forerunners, why him above all others?

Facing the human's bold confrontation, Tartarus felt both cornered and pinned. The human's knowledge was both unsettling and compelling. How could one human know so much? And what did it mean for the Great Journey?

The cold statement hung in the air, thick with tension. "Only you, however, will bring the message to the Hierarch," the dark figure declared, motioning subtly with his hand. In an instant, before Tartarus could even register the movement, the droids aimed their weapons and fired. High-caliber rounds pierced through the air with lethal precision, targeting the heads of each member of Tartarus's pack. The suddenness and efficiency of the onslaught was chilling.

The echo of gunfire resonated in the vast chamber, followed by the deafening thud of heavy Jiralhanae bodies hitting the floor. The scent of blood and metal fused, suffusing the atmosphere with a morbid aroma.

Tartarus's eyes widened, his breathing became labored, and his grip on the Fist of Rukt tightened to the point where his knuckles went white. The sheer brutality of the action stirred a primal rage within him. Every fiber of his being screamed for vengeance, to unleash his anger and charge at the figure before him. Yet, amidst the fury, a flicker of hesitation held him back. This human had displayed a level of strategic cunning and knowledge that made Tartarus wary.

The figure, noticing the Jiralhanae's restrained wrath, spoke once more, his voice dripping with cold determination. "Your pack is no more, Chieftain. And if you charge, neither will you. Consider your next move wisely."

In the fleeting moment of contemplation, the vastness of the chamber and the weight of silence pressed on Tartarus. He glanced around, gauging the odds that, despite the onslaught of bullets moments before, he might still possess a sliver of advantage. The sheer intensity and density of his shielding would require overwhelming firepower to penetrate.

His eyes gleamed with malevolence as he settled his gaze back on the mysterious figure. "You may have taken my pack," he snarled, "but the Hierarchs will relish in watching me rip you apart. I'll feast on your flesh and relish every bite."

With a roar that echoed through the chamber, Tartarus lunged forward, the Fist of Rukt crackling with energy, eager to crush his opponent. Yet, as he moved, the cloaked figure made a minute gesture, a tilt of his head. Before Tartarus could register the motion, his world turned into a blur of painful sensations. Beam Rifle rounds, quicker than he could see, slammed into him with alarming accuracy, each one methodically stripping away his formidable shields.

Then, another figure stepped from the shadows, aligning himself beside the cloaked one. The newcomer aimed a compact pistol directly at Tartarus. The Brute barely had time to register the weapon before two deafening shots rang out. These weren't standard rounds; they exploded upon impact like micro-shotgun blasts, precisely targeting his kneecaps. Tartarus felt his legs buckle and give way beneath him. An agonizing pain radiated from his shattered knees, sending the mighty Jiralhanae chieftain crashing to the ground, immobilized and vulnerable.

Lying on the cold metallic ground, Tartarus grunted as he tried to shift his colossal weight, the agony in his knees flaring with each movement. His thoughts raced, trying to piece together how the events had transpired so quickly. The shield that had withstood direct fire from the most powerful of Covenant weaponry, that had been his bulwark in countless battles, had been taken down in mere moments.

For the first time in what felt like eons, Tartarus was genuinely perplexed, even terrified. How did this human possess the knowledge to dismantle his defenses so swiftly? And that aim, the precision, it was almost... inhuman.

His bloodshot eyes locked onto the cloaked figure, taking in every detail of the silhouette. Tartarus had faced countless foes, had seen bravery and audacity from all races, but this was different. There was a coldness, a calculated efficiency to this being. The Brute's mind wrestled with the implications, trying to find reason and logic. Could this figure be some form of enhanced or augmented human? No, this was beyond any human capability he had ever encountered.

As the realization dawned on him, a chilling thought crept into his mind. This wasn't merely a human or even a super-soldier. He was facing an entity, an anomaly.

Tartarus, even in his pain, finds his analytical mind racing. His enhanced shields, a personal gift from the Hierarchs themselves, were known only to withstand several direct hits from even the mightiest of weaponry. Yet this human, this seemingly unimposing figure in dark robes, had found a way to dismantle them with such ease and precision.

His gaze, filled with rage and confusion, settled on the human. "What are you?" he growled, the sound echoing through the chamber.

Griffin stepped closer, his cloak rustling softly against the floor, the ambient light casting a shadow over his face. The silence in the chamber became almost palpable, only broken by the soft whirring of the droids standing by.

"I am more than you can fathom, Tartarus," Griffin began, his voice steady and cold. "More than your so-called 'gods' and their empty promises."

Tartarus tried to push himself up with his good arm, but the pain in his knees was too much. Still, his defiant eyes remained locked onto Griffin's.

"Your gods? They are long gone. Dead for eons. And your precious Great Journey? A fantasy, a lie spun to manipulate and control."

A mixture of anger and disbelief flashed in Tartarus's eyes. "Blasphemy!" he spat. "You dare to challenge the word of the Hierarchs? The promise of transcendence for our kind?"

Griffin's reply was icy. "I challenge lies, Tartarus. The ones you have blindly followed. And here you are now... brought low by the 'Heretics' your San'Shyuum overlords."

Tartarus, in a desperate burst of anger and defiance, mustered the strength to swing his mighty Fist of Rukt towards Griffin. The sheer force behind the gravity hammer had laid waste to countless foes before, but this time it met a vastly different fate.

Before the Jiralhanae chieftain could even fully process the movement, a searing red line streaked across his field of vision. An intense pain followed, and a heavy thud echoed in the chamber as both his arm and the remnants of his gravity hammer crashed to the ground.

Gritting his teeth against the pain, Tartarus tried to regain his composure and looked up to see Griffin standing mere inches away. The mysterious human's energy blade, glowing a vivid crimson, hummed menacingly in the silence. The air around them became supercharged, thick with tension.

Griffin's face, concealed in the shadows of his hood, betrayed no emotion. "Your faith," he whispered, "is your downfall, Tartarus."

The brute chieftain, despite his immense pain, managed a guttural laugh, blood frothing at the corners of his mouth. "You think you've won... demon? The Covenant... our faith... it's bigger than you, bigger than me. We... are endless."

Griffin stared down at the fallen leader, his blade still humming, "Perhaps, but I am no demon; you will find out soon enough. But today, you exist because I allow it, and you will end when I demand it."

"Fix him up," Griffin ordered, his gaze never leaving Tartarus. The mechanical voice that responded belonged to a medical droid, one that had been waiting at the edges of the chamber, it's red optic sensors glowed eerily in the dim light.

"Affirmative," the droid responded, promptly moving towards the incapacitated Jiralhanae.

"You won't get away with this," Tartarus growled, his eyes blazing with defiance even as the droid began applying a rapid coagulant to his severed limb, the alien tech within the medical droid working efficiently to stabilize the chieftain.

"I think we just did," Griffin retorted, sheathing his energy blade. "And to make sure the message is well received, we're sending you home in an escape pod with a special delivery for your Hierarchs."

As the medical droid continued its work, Tartarus's vision began to blur, the corners of his sight dimming to darkness. He tried to muster the strength to speak, to hurl another threat or challenge at the humans, but his body betrayed him. The pain from his severed limb, combined with the trauma from the high-caliber rounds and the suddenness of the entire confrontation, was overwhelming.

Tartarus's once fierce and defiant eyes began to glaze over, and he could feel a chilling cold seeping into his body. He managed one final guttural growl, a feeble attempt to convey his undying hatred for the Reclaimer in front of him.

And then darkness consumed him, his enormous frame slumping as every ounce of energy was sapped from his body.

Griffin, smirking at Tartarus's fall, turned to his droids. He motioned to one of them, which promptly produced a small holographic projector. "Make sure they understand the gravity of their situation." The droid affixed the projector to the interior of the escape pod, the message set to automatically play once Tartarus was discovered. A fitting surprise, Griffin mused, for the so-called 'prophets' of the Covenant.

Griffin Phoenix

Frigate Grafton, En Route to The Orion

August 15th, 2525

The steady hum of the frigate's engines filled the air as the transport shuttle departed from the alien ship, heading towards The Orion. Inside the shuttle, the atmosphere was thick with tension, the metallic scent of battle still clinging to their armor.

Raven sat across from Griffin, her eyes searching his, trying to decipher what had just transpired aboard the Covenant ship. Her fingers played with the hilt of her newly acquired energy blade, her thoughts consumed by the confrontation she had witnessed.

"Why did you send that brute back?" Raven finally broke the silence, her voice tinged with a mix of curiosity and caution. "And what did you say to him? Before... you know."

Griffin turned his gaze to her, his eyes deep and calculating. "I let him live because he's more valuable to us alive than dead. Dead, he becomes a martyr, a symbol for the Covenant to rally behind. Alive, he's a message. A message of our capabilities, our intent, and our resilience."

Raven looked skeptical. "You think that beast will just relay your message? He hates us."

Griffin chuckled, a low, soft sound. "He will, even if not by choice. My message will be well hidden so that he will not be able to destroy it. And we have bugged the escape pod in the event they do not completely destroy the escape pod."

Raven shook her head, a mix of respect and apprehension. "It's a dangerous game you're playing."

"In a manner of speaking, yes," Griffin replied. "The Covenant are not united, not truly. They're a patchwork of different species, different beliefs, all held together by the promises and lies of the Hierarchs. Showing them that we can strike at their very heart, challenge their mightiest warriors, and let them live to tell the tale? It sows discord, confusion."

Still focused on Raven, Griffin let a moment of silence pass between them before speaking again. "I haven't forgotten my promise, Raven. I've arranged for a flight of Pelicans to take you and your people to the northern polar region of Harvest."

Her eyes lit up at the mention of Harvest, the potential of a new start visible in her gaze. But there was a hint of concern too. "And what about you?"

He offered a brief, reassuring smile. "I'll be returning to the flagship to oversee the completion of the deployment. The situation requires my attention for now."

"And then?"

"And then," he echoed, his gaze steady, "I'll join you and the rest on the surface. On Harvest, there is a lot there that will challenge your perspectives. Please do not be consumed by them when you see it."

The brisk chill of the hangar bay nipped at Raven, Evan, and Jack as they made their way towards the line of waiting Pelicans. The low hum of the engines and the rhythmic clanking of their footsteps against the metal floor filled the air.

Meanwhile, Griffin, his figure looming large against the chaos of the hangar, had turned his attention back to the digital front of the conflict. "Nova," he called into his helmet's comms system, "status report on the Covenant AI."

The AI's voice crackled through the speakers, clear and concise. "The Covenant AI has been successfully captured, Griffin. Data extraction from the ship's systems is complete. Decryption is underway, and we're making significant progress. We anticipate having a full view of Covenant systems shortly."

Griffin watched the Pelicans disappear into the distance before turning back towards the command hub of the Orion. He called up to Nova, "Anything else to report? Specifically within our ship?"

"Yes, indeed," Nova's voice hummed in response, carrying a subtle undercurrent of excitement. "The project you initiated involving your genetic profile has yielded some intriguing results. It seems we've uncovered something quite...alien. It's unexpected, but it appears to have significant potential benefits."

Griffin's interest piqued at this. "Alien? Elaborate, Nova."

"The genetic information you provided has revealed an anomalous genetic pattern. The results, while initially perplexing, indicate a form of... let's say 'latent potential'. This potential seems to be triggered by certain environmental stimuli, but the specifics are still unclear. The intriguing part is that this anomaly appears to be distinctly non-human in origin."

Griffin blinked in disbelief at the data sprawled out before him in the holographic display. The images, charts, and sequences all pointed to a creature that he knew shouldn't even exist in this universe: the Rachni. The intricate details, the bioluminescent patterns, those multifaceted eyes, and the unmistakable insectoid characteristics. But it wasn't a historical or scientific memory that brought recognition; it was a memory of leisure.

Griffin's expression tightened, the weight of the situation settling upon him. "Nova, ensure all personnel are deployed to Harvest as planned. I want every man and woman on the ground, preparing defenses. As for this... creature," he glanced at the holographic image of the Rachni, "I'll communicate with it directly. We need to know its purpose, its intentions, and if there's any strategic advantage we can gain from it."

Nova responded promptly, "Understood, sir. Deployment is underway. I'll make sure the specimen's containment area is prepared for your arrival."

"Good. Let's not waste any time. If this really is the Rachni from that game, there's no telling what it's capable of or what it knows." Griffin's tone was filled with a mix of determination and curiosity, as he braced himself to confront the unexpected reality that lay ahead.

Griffin Phoenix

Orion Laboratory Deck

August 15th, 2525

As Griffin descended into the depths of The Orion, the humming corridors subtly transformed. Clinical white hues gave way to warmer, earthy tones that mirrored the unending expanse of Harvest below. The sterile silence was replaced by the soft hum of distant machinery and the occasional distant echo of voices. The ship was no longer a simple vessel of war, but a beacon of exploration and knowledge-seeking.

Entering the laboratory, Griffin's gaze was immediately drawn to a large containment unit in the center. Bathed in a soft blue light was an alien creature, a colossal insectoid entity whose mere presence filled the room with an aura of ancient wisdom and profound power. It was the Rachni Queen, her form a haunting blend of elegance and predatory ferocity. Griffin felt a pang of recognition, a deep connection that transcended his reality.

The Queen's gaze locked onto Griffin, her large, multifaceted eyes shimmering with an unseen intelligence. Almost immediately, Griffin felt an unusual sensation, a whisper of a presence tugging at the edges of his consciousness. The Queen was attempting to communicate telepathically, her thoughts flowing into his mind like a gentle river.

Griffin closed his eyes, focusing his thoughts as he reached out towards the Queen. He remembered the serene choir and ambient mixes from the game he used to play, the melody of "The Silent Cartographer" from the Halo 3 soundtrack that had never been released. He played it in his mind, letting the soothing rhythm fill his consciousness as he extended it towards the Rachni Queen.

The music from the memory floated through the telepathic connection, its soothing notes and harmonious melodies wrapping around the Queen's consciousness like a warm blanket. Griffin found himself falling into the rhythm, the song becoming an extension of his own thoughts as he reached deeper into the Queen's mind.

He let his thoughts form words, reaching out to the Queen with a gentle assurance. "Everything is okay now, young one," he projected, letting his comforting thoughts wash over the Rachni Queen.

The Queen paused, her massive form stilling as the soothing melody filled the space between them. Slowly, Griffin felt her respond, her thoughts intermingling with his in a harmonious dance. The fear, the uncertainty, they began to recede, replaced by a sense of trust and understanding.

As the song reached its zenith, Griffin opened his eyes, meeting the gaze of the Rachni Queen. An unspoken agreement hung between them, a bridge connecting their vastly different species.

As the song faded away, a wave of thoughts and emotions from the Rachni Queen surged forth, questions forming amidst a sea of confusion. Her telepathic voice, a gentle hum, resonated through Griffin's mind. "Who am I? Why am I here? What is my purpose in this vast expanse?"

Griffin felt the weight of her questions, the depth of her curiosity and existential angst, which were all too human. He took a moment, formulating his response with care. "You are a Rachni Queen," he began, "A being of grace and power, born from memories and possibilities that dwelled within me. You're here because you are a testament to the uncharted mysteries of life, an embodiment of the potentialities that lie dormant within every soul."

The Queen absorbed his words, letting them simmer in her consciousness. But her next question was tinged with a longing, a desire to understand more. "Why do I exist?"

Griffin exhaled, searching for the right words. "You exist as a melody of life, an understanding of the living universe. Your song, your essence, resonates with the rhythms of creation and destruction, of birth and death. You are a bridge between realms, a living testament to the interconnectedness of all things. Through you, we can begin to understand the cosmic dance that is life."

The Queen, her thoughts echoing with a gentle curiosity, inquired, "What is your name?"

Griffin paused for a moment, the weight of his past and the significance of his true identity bearing down on him. He replied, "My real name... it's Christian Rodriguez. Though many know me as Griffin Phoenix."

There was a palpable, brief silence as the Queen seemed to consider this. "Why the duality? Why live under a different name?"

Christian sighed, the weight of memories and decisions made in his past heavy on his shoulders. "There was a time when my true identity would have placed me in grave danger, and by extension, those close to me. The galaxy can be a perilous place. Assuming a new identity was a way to protect not just myself, but also the ideals I held dear and the future I envisioned. As Griffin Phoenix, I could act without the constraints that my true identity brought with it."

The Queen's response was soft, a gentle thrumming of understanding. "You bore the weight of two souls to ensure the survival and well-being of others. It's a selfless act."

Christian nodded, though he knew she couldn't see the gesture. "It was necessary. For you, for the others, and for a future where life thrives without fear."

"What will happen now?" The Queen's telepathic voice resonated with genuine concern and curiosity, her consciousness probing the boundaries of Griffin's mind, seeking clarity on their current predicament.

Griffin took a deep breath, sensing the vast depth of The Queen's consciousness and the potential they held together. "We are currently orbiting a world known as Harvest. It was ravaged by a malevolent alliance called The Covenant. They have wrought destruction across many systems and seek our annihilation. But this planet... this planet holds potential, memories of a time before the devastation."

The Queen's presence pulsed with a mixture of sorrow and intrigue. "This Covenant, they spread darkness and despair. But you... you hold hope. Tell me, what is it you wish of me?"

Griffin looked directly at the ethereal manifestation of the Queen, his gaze unwavering. "I wish for your help. Together, I believe we can heal this world, restore its beauty, and give life to it once again. But more than that, I hope we can form an alliance to ensure such devastation does not happen to other worlds."

The Queen's presence seemed to shimmer, a ripple of contemplation and determination flowing through her. "Your intentions resonate with purity. I sense no deceit. We will assist you, Christian Rodriguez. Let our song of healing and rebirth commence."

The serene moment between Griffin and The Queen was shattered as alarms blared throughout the ship, the ambient lighting shifting to a warning red hue. Both Griffin and The Queen reeled, trying to find equilibrium amidst the jarring noise and atmosphere.

The Queen's telepathic voice, now filled with anxiety, pierced Griffin's mind. "What is happening?"

Before Griffin could answer, Nova's voice boomed over the intercom, cutting through the chaos, "Multiple slipspace ruptures detected. Immediate evacuation protocol for all human personnel has been initiated. The fleet is on standby for counter offensive measures."

Griffin's heart raced as he processed the information. "Nova, give me a visual." A holographic projection materialized before them, showing the Harvest system. Pinpoints of light emerged one after another, signifying the hostile Covenant ships exiting slipspace.

"Too many," The Queen murmured, her concern palpable. Griffin shared her sentiment. The odds looked grim.

"We knew this day would come," Griffin said, a steely determination seeping into his voice. "Nova, how many of our personnel are still planetside?"

"Around seventy percent, sir. Evacuations are underway, but the Covenant's sudden arrival is hampering operations. We need more time."

Griffin clenched his fists. Every second counted. He turned to The Queen, his gaze imploring. "We have to buy them time. Can you assist us?"

The Rachni Queen pulsed with resolve. "We will stand with you, Christian Rodriguez. Let our song protect and shield those in need."

Griffin nodded, "Nova, send out a distress signal to any nearby allies and coordinate defense formations. We're holding the line."

The urgency of the situation weighed heavily on Griffin as Nova's reports came through. The shimmering holograph before him displayed the data points of non-evacuated personnel. Three names stood out prominently: Raven, Jack Sterling, and Evan Shatters.

"Why haven't they evacuated?" Griffin asked, a hint of frustration evident in his voice.

Nova's voice was calm and informative, as always. "Sir, Raven, Jack, and Evan, along with almost two hundred personnel, have elected to remain planetside. The alien structure that was previously detected has been fully unearthed."

Griffin's mind raced. The importance of the structure couldn't be overstated. But the imminent danger posed by the approaching Covenant fleet was overwhelming. "Have they given any specific reasons for staying?"

"From the reports received, it seems the unearthed structure is emitting a form of energy signature previously undocumented. They believe its activation might offer some form of advantage or defense against the Covenant. They're requesting more time," Nova relayed.

Griffin ran a hand through his hair, grappling with the complexity of the situation. The Queen sensed his turmoil and projected her soothing presence into his thoughts, "This place holds a promise, a potential unknown to us. Perhaps they see hope in its walls."

He took a deep breath, anchoring himself in the moment. "Nova, prioritize extraction for the others. For those who've chosen to stay, provide them with as much defensive support as possible. If they believe the structure offers a chance, we have to back them up."

"Understood, sir," Nova replied efficiently.

Griffin's eyes focused intently on Nova's projection, "What did we manage to retrieve from the Covenant ship?"

Nova's list began immediately, each item rendered in holographic detail. "We have the bodies of various Covenant species – Elites, Grunts, Jackals, and Brutes. We've also acquired a vast array of their weaponry, from the basic plasma pistols to the more advanced energy swords. Furthermore, we've retrieved a good number of their personal equipment, as well as shield generators which can be effectively repurposed for base protection."

Griffin nodded, processing the information. "Keep two of every item for our archives and research. Everything else is to be dispatched for the defense of the northern polar region. Their discovery could be our key, and we need to ensure they're adequately protected. Also, ensure that all data, discoveries, and research findings are stored securely in the evacuation ships. ONI will want a full report."

"Understood," Nova confirmed. "Preparations are underway."

Griffin then turned his attention to the Rachni Queen, whose many eyes observed him with a mix of curiosity and understanding. "Queen," he began gently, "the people down there are risking everything. They believe in the potential of what they've discovered, and they're facing a force that threatens to consume them all. Will you help us? Help them?"

The Queen's resonance, a haunting and beautiful melody, filled the room, expressing her contemplation. After a moment, her thoughts reached out to Griffin, "Your people show great bravery, much like the song you shared with me. We Rachni understand the importance of harmonizing together against common threats. We will help."

Chapter Complete!

This now starts us off on the beginning battles of The Human-Covenant War! Now, to directly reference several things that have been a focus on this chapter, it is this:

1) Yes, Griffin has taken the equivalent appearance of Darth Revan! He only is using a red energy blade as a composite for a lightsaber (we still are still using Halo weapons after all.) and yes, he broke Tartarus's Hammer.

2) The Rachni are coming back, and this time we are getting more character development!

3) Yes, Griffin threw a huge middle finger at Tartarus and The Brutes, who wouldn't? If some of y'all think this was abuse, torture, or just plain wrong, check this:

Nizat, when he learned of The Silent Shadow's First Blade took a human prisoner and had Brutes Interrogate him, Nizat was worried for the Prisoner's safety and believed they would not get any information out of him from the sheer brutality (haha, funny joke time) that The Brutes gave to every Prisoner they came across.

4) Is Evan Shatter this story's equivalent of Adam Smasher and General Grievous combines? Aren't they both psychotic? Yes, yes he is.

5) Precursor blood plot? Yes, results and all.

6) Did Griffin use any Cyberpunk gear? Yes, he did, I may not have written it like how others have portrayed it, but Griffin did use the armored version of a Sandevistan in this chapter.

Now, things are going to get pretty WILD here, and I hope you brought some pizza, I'm famished!

-True