Hey folks, Grubkiller here.
I've always wanted to make a novelization of Halo 2, and ever since I looked at the storyboards of Halo 2's original ending and all of its cut content, I have now wanted to write it even more.
This will be something like Halo CE's novelization, with the extra side-plots that run alongside the Chief and Arby's gameplay,
Hope you enjoy.
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So full of hate were our eyes
That none of us could see Our war would yield countless dead
But never victory. So let us cast arms aside
And like discard our wrath. Thou, in faith, will keep us safe
Whilst we find The Path.
-Opening line to the Covenant Writ of Union.
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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.
Thel 'Vadamee stood in a great open hall within the holy city contemplating his fate. The hall had been built using rounded walls of silvers, purples, indigos and magentas. These were the typical colors of Covenant nano-laminate, a form of plating far more durable than anything humans could have constructed. The ceiling stretched high, and on either side of the long hall were identical stands for seating. This was the High Council Chamber.
One stand was filled with fellow Sangheili with wide chests, narrow abdomens, toned arms and bent-back legs. Their thick eel-like necks curved forwards into their long skulls and sharklike faces.
The Sangheili were warriors, but unlike Thel, these ones had not seen battle for quite some time. Most Sangheili of the Covenant wore combat harnesses at all times while serving. The armor of these politicians was a sacramental white with pointed, oversized headdresses. Thel's gold-colored harness was more traditionally suited for battle.
The opposite stand seated San'Shyuum, high-ranking Covenant priests, priestesses and ministers. Due to old age and regular use of their floating hover chairs, the San'Shyuum sat hunched with their long necks protruding forwards and their wattles dangling from their chins. Their large bulbous skulls and bulging eyes reminded Thel of goi'oi fish back home on Sanghelios.
Thel' Vadamee, the tall, dark-skinned Sangheili stood on a platform near the front of the room. He chose to ignore the stands.
He was aware of the High Council's great influence. Supposedly, it was their voice that dictated the decisions of the Covenant, but far more important were the San'Shyuum that sat ahead of him. These three hierarchs were the Prophets of Regret, Mercy and Truth.
The Prophet of Regret was the youngest of the three, though now also considerably old. While each of the three High Prophets were worshipped by their subordinates, Regret had gone to considerable lengths to earn his respect from the Sangheili. He often ventured out to field locations to watch the Sangheili in practice, and despite not belonging to either a warrior or worker species, Regret was believed to carry his own pistol hidden beneath his gown. Unlike the other two High Prophets, both Regret and his hover throne were tinted blue and semi-transparent. He was not present in the flesh. Instead, his form was presented via a three-dimensional display, a hologram.
The Prophet of Mercy was by far the eldest of the three. Believed to be half blind, he had pale skin and long, tattered, white eyelashes over his milky eyes. He had always been the most ceremonial of the hierarchs.
The Prophet of Truth, the central figure, was the most imposing. His voice, while calm and collected, conveyed power and demanded obedience. Rumours often circulated about a power struggle between the High Prophets, particularly a rivalry between the Prophets of Truth and Regret. Upon observing the three in front of Thel now, it was evident who the true leader was.
The three Prophets sat even more hunched over than their kinsfolk in the stands. Heavy, golden ornaments weighed upon their shoulders, stretching over them like antlers. Tall, narrow headpieces sat like crowns upon their heads. While the San'Shyuum had initially seemed twisted and alien to Thel as a young Sangheili, he now recognised their charm and grace as they floated about their circular platform at the front the chamber.
It was the Ninth Age of Reclamation. Thel 'Vadamee was the Supreme Commander of the greatest Covenant fleet in history, Particular Justice. He had been assigned the responsibility of locating and eliminating all human life in the galaxy. The human scum had intentionally destroyed ancient relics left behind by the gods for the Covenant in their effort to find the Path. This act may very well have delayed the Great Journey itself. Thel had glassed human world after human world, until one day when he was destroying one of the humans' most noteworthy planets, one of their battlecruisers jumped away and fled the system.
It was not uncommon for human vessels to attempt jumps through slipstream space in attempt to escape the destruction of one of their planets, but ever since Thel had become Supreme Commander, he exerted all efforts into ensuring no humans escaped the plasma he rained upon them. The destruction of humanity was the will of the gods, and Thel 'Vadamee was their instrument.
"There was only one ship," Thel told the Prophets, his deep voice echoed around the hall.
"One? Are you sure?" asked the Prophet of Truth.
"Yes," Thel answered. "They called it the Pillar of Autumn."
Thel supressed the contempt in his voice. He'd long since accepted that these dishonorable worms, the humans, had the audacity to name their ships, but this particular battlecruiser had proven to be his bane.
"Why was it not destroyed with the rest of their fleet?" croaked old Mercy.
"It fled as we set fire to their planet," Thel explained. "But I followed with all the ships in my command."
He was about to continue when Regret cut him off.
"When you first saw Halo, were you blinded by its majesty?"
Thel pondered the question. He'd never been one for word games. He had done his share of interpreting the elders on Sanghelios while growing up, dancing around tabooed topics in the past, but now he was a commander. He discussed battle strategies and gave direct instructions.
"Blinded?" Thel asked.
"Paralysed? Dumbstruck?" Regret elaborated.
"No."
"And yet, the humans were able to evade your ships, land on the Sacred Ring and desecrate it with their filthy footsteps!" Regret exclaimed, his hologram shaking with rage.
Thel was worried. He needed to consider his response carefully.
He'd known the risk before entering the Council Chamber, not that he'd had a choice, but the Prophets had always seen reason before.
They had understood him, sided with him when necessary. Now, things were different.
If Thel 'Vadamee failed this trial, he would be executed. He had no doubt about that. He would be stripped of his honour. His family would be slaughtered, and his keep on Sanghelios would be wiped clean of all Sangheili, ending his bloodline.
Thel thought back to the events that had unfolded weeks ago. His fleet had followed the Pillar of Autumn through the temporary hole it left in slipspace and arrived at Halo, the Sacred Ring and gateway to the path of the gods. Halo had been a magnificent sight to behold. Its outward face was smooth and metallic with endless grooves and lights that flashed from distant machinery. The inner surface was not at all dissimilar to the likes of Sanghelios or many other planets Thel had visited in his life.
However Halo appeared, Thel was not one to become blinded by beauty.
Thel had had one goal in mind: to destroy the Pillar of Autumn and all its human crew before they could cause any harm to Halo.
Due to the pressures of the Minister of Stewardship, a San'Shyuum assigned to Particular Justice to provide religious counsel, Thel had kept his ships' fire at a minimum so as to not accidentally damage the Sacred Ring. Because of this, the humans evaded Thel's attacks and landed on the ancient ringworld.
The High Prophets had already heard the details of these events by many accounts. Would they see it as Thel's fault that the humans broke through? Would it matter? That was not the information they were looking for.
"Noble Hierarchs," Thel addressed. "Surely you understand that once the Parasite attacked-"
His speech was cut off by an enormous uproar from the Councillors.
"There will be order in this council!" shouted the Prophet of
Mercy, slamming his frail hand onto his curved armrest.
Thel continued to recall the events that transpired on the Sacred Ring. He knew well why he was unable to eliminate the humans once they'd landed on Halo. The ring had held a secret, one he did not understand. He'd long known about the Parasite, about the Flood, as did all the Covenant, but they were supposed to be extinct. Did the Forerunner perhaps leave some of them behind on Halo as a test for the Covenant, to prove that the Covenant were strong enough to become gods?
The Flood had laid buried beneath the ring's surface, dormant since the time of the Forerunner's ascendance. When the Covenant and the humans arrived on the Sacred Ring, the Parasite unleashed themselves upon their visitors. Thel could still hear the screams of his warriors as they were twisted and tortured. They haunted his dreams.
The Prophet of Truth spoke softly.
"You were right to focus your attention on the Flood, but this Demon, this Master Chief..."
"By the time I learnt of the Demon's intent, there was nothing I could do."
Thel was filled with genuine sadness, not for his failures, but for the terrible loss of the ring. He recalled the first time he had encountered a demon, the ones the humans called Spartans. Usually, humans were much smaller and weaker than Sangheili. This one, while still shorter than Thel, had been much taller than others. More astonishingly, it had been equal in strength with Thel himself. He remembered staring at his own reflection within the gold faceplate of this new enemy. He saw no human face. The entire creature had been covered in thick metal armor. Even its joints were hidden.
Thel had wrestled as hard as he could to break the human, but the two remained locked together, frozen, exercising all their strength but unable to harm one another. To hold one's own against Thel 'Vadamee was an impressive feat by Sangheili standards, but a human...
Over the years, Thel had faced very few obstacles. The demons were his greatest. He vowed to crush every last one of them. There were never many of these Spartans to begin with, and the one seen later on Halo was believed to be the last of its kind. Thel dispatched countless warriors to eliminate it, but once the Flood were revealed, he almost forgot about the Demon who was then insignificant by comparison. The Flood did not allow time for the Covenant on Halo to concern themselves with the humans. This very thought is what had proven Thel a fool.
The Demon destroyed Halo.
Returning his thoughts to the present, Thel scanned the room.
Many of the San'Shyuum in the stands had risen to their feet in anger. The Sangheili Councillors murmured incomprehensible dialogue between one another.
The Prophet of Regret's floating hologram whispered to Truth's physical form beside him.
"Noble Prophet of Truth, this has gone on long enough. Make an example of this bungler. The Council demands it."
Truth raised his hands above his head. The Council fell silent in response as the Prophet gazed down at the Sangheili commander.
"You are one of our most treasured instruments," Truth spoke. "Long have you led your fleet with honour and distinction, but your inability to safeguard Halo was a colossal failure!"
"Nay!" yelled one of the younger San'Shyuum from his stand. "It was heresy!"
The interrupting San'Shyuum was quickly joined by the other neighboring prophets in a chorus of jeers and angry shouts at Thel's expense. The disgraced Supreme Commander gathered his strength and wits.
"I will continue my campaign against the humans." Thel exclaimed mightily. It sounded like 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."
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.
"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."
Within High Charity's mushroom dome was the holy city itself. Cylindrical towers coated in the many hues of nano-laminate rose over other less conventional buildings under an artificial sunlight that shone from the centre of the dome's vast ceiling.
One structure stood out from the rest, the Forerunner Dreadnought. The grey, straight and angular architecture of the Dreadnought contrasted against the cool colours and curved geometry of the Covenant. Its three diagonal legs met halfway up its body while its narrower, monolithic upper half towered high above the wide skyline. The ancient Forerunner relic stood proudly. It was over one hundred thousand years old but powerful enough that it distributed energy to the entire city, even charging High Charity's engines.
Supreme Commander Thel 'Vadamee strode beside the three lumbering Jiralhanae that led him from the High Council Chamber.
Jiralhanae were generally taller than Sangheili and much broader as well, but they were slow and cumbersome. The thick hair that covered their entire bodies had a filthy musk to it. The only parts of them not covered in hair were their faces, which sat beneath domed craniums, as well as their bare palms and wide two-toed feet. The large nostrils of their squashed noses sat atop stiff, protruding jaws, while four large canines jutted from between their parted lips. Their small, angular eyes were buried below heavy brow ridges, and their skin was thick and coarse.
Thel followed closely behind Tartarus, the Chieftain of the Jiralhanae.
Tartarus was taller and older than the guards who walked beside Thel. His long, white, unkempt hair stuck out in every direction except for the mohawk that grew straight on top of his head. He wore minimal protection, but Thel could not ignore the rectangular golden plate that sat upon the Chieftain's shoulder, the remnant of a full suit of armour that had been lost years ago.
Tartarus dragged his long war-hammer along the ground behind him. The Fist of Rukt was a traditional hammer that had been wielded by every Chieftain of the Jiralhanae for generations. Tartarus had challenged his uncle for the title just as his uncle challenged the previous Chieftain, and with that title came the hammer. Evidently, Tartarus had modified the weapon since claiming ownership of it. While it had previously looked primitive and unimpressive, aside from its hefty size, it now appeared a hybrid between primal initiative and modern technology.
Thel and the Jiralhanae walked down a wide walkway at the edge of the dome that ended with a view over the city. Except for the ever-looming Dreadnought at the city centre, the buildings looked miniscule, all seeming to blend into one another when viewed from this height. There was a line of ornate, rotating columns on each side of the walkway with the spaces between filled by Covenant members of the worst kind. Thel ignored them as he lumbered onwards at the pace of the Jiralhanae.
The crowd was mostly filled with lowly Unggoy. As Supreme Commander, Thel 'Vadamee had not interacted directly with many Unggoy, but he had fought alongside them during his earlier years on the frontline and on rarer more-involved missions as Commander. He found them to be curious creatures. They acted uneducated and uninterested but not entirely unintelligent. While many were sickeningly cowardly on the battlefield, Thel had come across the occasional outlier he deemed worthy of respect. Their greatest strength, however, was in their breeding. They had a high population, and that was what the Sangheili valued most from their shortest of associates. The Unggoy's high numbers were used to overwhelm the Covenant's enemies. Looking into this particular crowd, Thel saw no Unggoy worthy of value.
Small groups of Kig-Yar, the ones humans called Jackals, were also dispersed between the columns. To this day, Thel had never encountered a Kig-Yar he liked. Before the Covenant had drawn them into their ranks, the Kig-Yar had been pirates and scavengers.
Like all races the Covenant encountered, the Kig-Yar had initially seemed primitive compared with their developed alien collective.
However, the pirates managed to band together to form a creditable resistance before eventually being forced to surrender. Thel knew the Kig-Yar resented the Sangheili. Of all the races within the Covenant, this was the least surprising group to be jeering at Thel from the sidelines.
Most of what the crowd yelled was incomprehensible, but occasional clearer phrases fell upon Thel's hearing-orifices.
"He-re-tic! He-re-tic!" chanted a gaggle of Unggoy.
"You will die, infidel!" shrieked a Kig-Yar.
"The gods have no tolerance for negligence, halfwit!"
The last voice sounded suspiciously like a Sangheili. Individuals such as this one tarnished the Sangheili reputation and deserved no place within the Covenant's ranks. No true Sangheili would dishonour themselves by spectating such an event.
Thel stopped upon a circular plate at the end. Looking over the edge of the walkway, he saw several curved stadium-esque stands facing him. The crowds in the stands were far greater than those on the walkway. Thel spied several Jiralhanae, a swarm of insectoid Yanme'e and even a few tank-like Mgalekgolo pairs in their spiked suits of armour. They roared in unison as the Supreme Commander came into view.
Two small, blue energy rings appeared in mid-air above either side of the circular plate. The Jiralhanae guards yanked roughly at
Thel's arms and fastened his wrists into the rings. His hands were pulled wide above his head, leaving his elbows hanging awkwardly.
As a Sangheili, his large hands stretched into two long fingers with almost-as-long thumbs on either side of both palms. Thel tested the strength of the rings by attempting to yank his hands out from them. He was unsuccessful.
Tartarus stepped forwards in front of the restrained Sangheili.
"You've drawn quite a crowd," huffed the great white brute in his low, booming Jiralhanae speech.
"If they've come to hear me beg," Thel began. "They will be disappointed."
"Are you sure?" Tartarus snorted.
The energy rings turned red. For a fraction of a second, Thel's wrists felt cold before his senses corrected and he realized they were actually hot and burning into his placoid skin. The fiery energy grew from the rings and spread down his arms. The pain that came with the energy was torturous. His toned muscles spasmed. His body shook violently as the energy crept towards his chest. His two hearts tightened as if squeezed by cold, iron hands while his skin turned to fire. Thel groaned involuntarily. He would not scream for the benefit of the verminous spectators, but the pain only grew stronger.
When will it end? Thel wondered desperately. He knew barely a moment had passed, but already, his peripheral vision was subsiding.
Every inch of his body was in excruciating agony.
Whatever he was before, whatever his accomplishments, none of that mattered now as he could do nothing to dull the most intense pain he'd ever felt in his life. His flesh was literally cooking, until eventually, after what felt like a lifetime, it stopped.
Smoke and steam rose off Thel's limp body. He was badly burnt.
The red energy had deactivated, but he still winced and twitched in extreme discomfort. He lifted his head as Tartarus addressed the stands below.
"For failure such as this, there can be no greater heresy. Let him be an example for all who would break our Covenant!"
The Chieftain of the Jiralhanae then turned to the guards on either side of Thel and barked an order. "Strip him of his armor."
Thel's gold combat harness had been charred dark brown from the burning of the energy rings, and its shield emitters no longer glowed, but Thel's armour was all he had left. His other belongings had been ransacked shortly before his trial. Thel held no shame in letting others see his unclothed body, but leaving him naked before the holy city meant the Covenant no longer saw him as a warrior.
He had no choice but to hang still with his wrists remaining locked in the energy rings as the Jiralhanae tore Thel's armor apart piece by piece.
Thel's armour was tossed aside. Only his helmet remained.
Tartarus himself stepped over and lifted it off the Sangheili's head and tossed it aside, letting it clatter against the floor.
Without the fins and nose of the helmet, the last of Thel's selachian points were dissolved, as was his pride.
The Chieftain then reached for something Thel had not yet noticed due to the commotion. It must have been delivered during his scorching or as his combat harness was removed. It was a long, menacing branding iron as large as the Fist of Rukt. The metal at its wide, trunk-like end was heated with an orange glow. Embossed upon it was a symbol, a circular hieroglyph consisting of quick, curved, sharp strokes.
It was the Mark of Shame, a symbol of heresy, exile and execution.
It meant that Thel 'Vadamee would be killed today in a painful and humiliating manner. He was no longer the Supreme Commander. He was no longer a warrior, and he was no longer a servant of the Covenant.
No longer worthy of following the path taken by the Forerunners
Thel's failure finally sank in.
Tartarus raised the branding iron towards Thel's naked torso.
Before it even touched the Sangheili, the heat from the iron stung his already tender flesh. The brute then thrust it as hard as he could into the Sangheili's chest. Thel felt his welted skin give way to the Mark of Shame before his sternum became aflame. Hot steam hissed from between the iron and his flesh as they were pressed together.
The pain pierced straight through the Sangheili. He roared louder than he had ever roared in his life. His vision turned white then red and then faded to black.
The head and neck of Elite once none as Thel 'Vadamee flopped forwards as he fell unconscious.
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