Ninth Age of Reclamation, Covenant Holy City "High Charity," Sanctum of the Hierarchs.
A hundred thousand probes darted and scanned with winking electronic eyes across the void of tangled nonspaces enveloping the Covenant inner empire. They gathered data and emerged into the cold vacuum, where they were recovered by the hundreds of assault carriers and cruisers in station-keeping positions around the massive, bulbous planetoid that dominated the heavens.
Not a single rock larger than a centimeter could enter this space without being identified, targeted, and vaporized. Authorization codes were updated hourly, and if any incoming vessel hesitated for a millisecond with the proper response, it, too, met unyielding destruction.
The High Charity drifted beneath this impervious network, illuminated by the glow from scores of warship engines.
But all of this paled in comparison to the massive objects that rotated outside. The remnants of the sacred ring, Halo, a gateway to the afterlife that would have allowed the faithful to transcend to eternal paradise. This once mighty gift from the gods now lay in several massive fragments that still burned, with trillions of microscopic pieces scattered across the system.
Deep within, protected by legions of crack Covenant soldiers, the Council Chambers was an island of calm. The walls, floor, and ceiling of the chamber were ornamented with mirrored shards made from the fused glass of countless worlds conquered by the Covenant Hegemony. They reflected the whispered thoughts of the one who sat in the center of this room—mirrored them back, so they might consider the glory of its domain, and learn from its wisdom... because there was no higher source of intel- lect, will, and truth alive in the galaxy.
At the end of the chamber, hovering a meter off the floor upon its imperial dais, sat the Covenant High Prophet of Truth.
His body was barely discernible, covered as it was with a wide red cloak, and upon its head sat a glowing headpiece with sensor and respiratory apparatus that extended like insect antennae.
Only his snout and dark eyes protruded. . . as did tiny claws from the sleeve of his gold under-robes.
He was flanked by two members of his race, the elderly and wise Prophet of Mercy, and the younger and more brash Prophet of Regret, who was attending via hologram. The massive council chamber was filled with other prophets, who were less ornately robed than he was, sitting on one side of the room in massive bleachers. The other side was packed with silver armored members of the martial society known as the Elites, who wore ornate headdresses that signified their position in the Covenant.
The two founding member species of the Covenant, one to handle the religious affairs, and one to handle military affairs.
His left claw twitched—the signal for the chamber's doors to open.
The doors groaned and split apart, and a crack of light appeared.
A single figure stood in the middle of the entire floor, on a raised platform. He was flanked by two rows of the Imperial Elite honor guards, who wore red and armor with golden fringes that protruded from the helmet and shoulders. A small shudder of shock coursed through them, as they were joined by the Brutes, a simian pack race that served as muscle in the Covenant military, but were seen as barbaric, undisciplined and dimwitted by the Elites, who had never seen such creatures allowed so close to the Holy Ones.
The golden armored Elite warrior, Thel Vadamee, the FLeetmaster of the First fleet of Particular Justice, stood tall, yet humble in the presence of his superiors. He had precided over many victories against the humans, and recently over their greatest victory over the planet they called 'Reach'.
But now, he stood trial for his incompetence in a much more recent battle. The most important of the entire War with the humans.
The battle for the sacred ring.
The debris field outside was a clear reminder of how well he did.
He finally spoke, his voice amplified by the wide open chamber for all to hear.
"There was only one ship." He said.
"One," the Prophet of Truth said, his word also echoed and boomed forth as if a giant had spoken. "Are you sure?"
"Yes," Vadamee responded. "They called it the Pillar of Autumn."
There was a soft chorus of murmuring that emitted from the opposing sides of the room, from the councilors, who spoke about the story that Vadam was giving. Some were even offended that he dared to speak the name of the human ship. The unclean were undeserving of names. Others, like Vadamee, while they despised the humans and wished to continue their mission to cleanse them, were more willing to provide a modicum of respect to those who fought with a warrior's spirit.
The Prophet of Mercy slammed his fist on the arm of his throne. "Why was it not destroyed with the rest of their fleet?" He asked, pointing a boney accusatory finger at the fleet master.
"It fled, as we set fire to their planet." Thel said, remembering hearing reports of a human warship blasting off from a shipyard on the surface, before he ordered a portion of his fleet after it. "But I followed with all the ships in my command."
Regret spoke next.
"When you first saw Halo, were you blinded by its majesty?"
Thel cocked his head in confusion. "Blinded?"
"Paralyzed? Dumbstruck?"
He shook his head. "No."
Regreat pointed an accusatory finger at the Fleetmaster. "Yet the humans were able to evade your ships, land on the Sacred Ring, and desecrate it with their filthy footsteps?"
"Noble Heirarchs...surely you understand that once the parasite attacked..."
A chorus of disapproval began to rumble from the benches, as the Council members began shout.
"TRAITOR! INCOMPETANT!"
They continued to hurl insults and accusations at him.
"HERETIC!"
Prophet Mercy slammed a withered fist onto the armrest of his throne. "There will be order in this Council!"
The High Prophet of Truth raised a hand and the shouting subsided.
"You were right to focus your attention on the Flood, but this Demon, this 'Master Chief'..."
"By the time I learned the Demon's intent," Thel shook his head, deeply ashamed of himself, "there was nothing I could do."
The Council becomes angry again, shouting even louder than before.
On the Imperial dias, over which the three thrones hovered, Regret leaned over to Truth. "Prophet of Truth, this has gone on long enough. " Regret said, his voice barely more than a whisper. The Prophet flicked his claw at the Fleet master. "Make an example of this bungler. The Council demands it."
Truth raised a hand dismissively and Regret's hologram remained silent.
"You are one of our most cherished instruments. Long have you led your fleet with honor and distinction, but your inability to safeguard Halo...was a colossal failure."
Thel lowered his head slightly in shame.
"Nay, it was heresy!" Someone shouted from the benches, and the room erupted once again into angry jeers and accusations.
Thel looked all around the room at all of the councilors who cursed him, neatly divided between his kin and the prophets. He looked back at the hierarchs.
"I will continue my campaign against the humans." Thel said. It sounded as a statement. But deep down it was more of a plea. A wish to return to duty, and make amends for his failure, and to finish the war against the vermin.
"No!" Truth shot back, silencing the crowd. "You will not. Soon the Great Journey shall begin. But when it does, the weight of your heresy will stay your feet, and you shall be left behind."
Then he destured to Tartarus, the chieftain of the brutes and the most devoted of Truth's confidants. The creature was a magnificent specimen of viciousness. The Prophets marveled at its near-unthinking potential for mayhem; the rippling muscle under its dull gray skin could tear apart any opponent—even a mighty Hunter. It was the perfect instrument.
The high chieftan barked an order to his brutes, and two of them flanked Fleetmaster Vadamee. At first they tried to grab him by the arms, but he stood up straighter and pulled his arms away from them, growling at them.
They backed off, and Thel began to turn, beginning his march out of the chamber, as the Council continued to jeer.
The Brute, Tartarus, strode across the great room, following his warriors as they escorted the disgraced commander from the council chamber.
Eventually, they led him out onto a large oval-shaped courtyard that had large pincer-like columns floating on either side of the walkway in the middle. The whole time, the crowds of grunts and jackals that had gathered here heckled the disgraced fleet-master.
The brutes led Thel to the ledge overlooking the city, and the stadiums below, which were packed with all sorts of creatures from across the covenant.
Thel was stood between a pair of curved glowing pillars, that suspended his arms on either side of him. It electrocuted and scorched his armor, as it was still attached to his body, searing his flesh on every bit of his body. But he did his best not to scream, to show weakness before his captors, but it didn't stop him from shaking in pain.
Soon, they stripped of his armor until he was fully bare before the entire city.
Tartarus stood in front of the heretic and smirked.
"You've drawn quite a crowd."
Thel looked up and glared hatefully at the brute. "If they came to hear me beg, they will be disappointed."
A large brand rose from the floor, glowing bright orange on one end.
"Are you sure?" Tartarus asked, as he grabbed the brand and walked to the ledge, turning to the crowd below. He bellowed out so that everyone could hear him. "For failure such as this, there can be no greater heresy. Let him serve as an example to all who would break our covenant!"
The crowd roared their approval at the spectacle above them.
And with that, Tartarus took the glowing brand, and jammed it against Thel's chest as hard as he could. The Elite's skin sizzled and melted under the sheer burning sharp heat.
Soon, he couldn't handle anymore, and he looked up, loosing damnation on the sky.
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