Hey Folks, Grubkiller here.
Here is the latest chapter of this story. Sorry, it's been a minute since the last chapter. Busy.
By the by, I keep getting private messages about making artwork for this story. Assuming you are real persons, I wish to say in no uncertain terms, No, I'm not interested in any art collaborations. If you wish to make art based off of this story, I could care less.
Anyway, that's all
Enjoy.
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There she was, in the passenger bay of a Covenant Phantom, surrounded by a pack of brutes, who all had the worst smell imaginable. Their growls and barks made it difficult to concentrate on the memories she sifted through to give her some comfort. The taste of Ice Cream. The breathtaking view of Earth from her home on the domed Luna city of Mare Insularum. Unfortunately, where she was now, the didn't have a view of the stars like she did aboard UNSC warships or from Armstrong Alley back on Luna.
Her thoughts were interrupted when the ship rocked. The Brute with the white and gray mohawk and the massive hammer barked orders in the direction the cockpit, presumably telling his younger pack mates to fly straighter.
Keyes, Miranda, Lieutenant Commander, Service Number 15972-19891-MK.
She swore that was all she would give the Covenant. Nothing else. The survival of the Human race depended on that.
She was one of the few humans, the very few, who were unfortunate enough to find themselves in the clutches of the Covenant Empire. But why? The Covenant almost never took prisoners. It wasn't until barely recently they started taking prisoners. They didn't last very long of course, disposed of as they were when they gave up any useful information.
But that was what was nagging at her. They weren't asking her anything.
There was no interrogation, not that it would work as she had already used her Command Neural Interface to conceal the location of the remaining Human worlds and Military installations. Why did they think she, and Johnson, were important enough to keep alive?
She thought back to the mission profiles that Cortana gave her during the mission to kill Regret.
Quickly running through the details in her head, she tried to look for a specific detail she missed.
That was when she looked over at the floating silver orb with a blue light that the Brutes were keeping restrained with some kind of energy lasso. It matched the description of the one that was encountered on Alpha Halo.
When the Chief recovered the Activation Index from the first Halo, the Ring's monitor was looking for someone to activate the ring. Of all the species on the ring, he only ever sought out humans, which he kept referring to as 'reclaimers'.
Reclaimers. What were humans the reclaimers of? Why could only humans activate the rings?
Then it hit her.
They were going to use her to activate the ring.
On her father's grave, she swore that she would not allow herself to be used to destroy all life in the Galaxy.
Soon, the turbulence that rocked the ship stopped, and Covenant ship came to a halt.
The Brute leader growled and grabbed her by her wrist bindings and forced her to her feet, and forced her to walk with him, or be dragged by him. They walked over to the gravity lift and lowered out of the crew bay.
As she and her captor floated to the ground, she felt the moist air caress her cheeks. The smell of seawater hit her nostrils. She looked up and saw a massive Temple jutting up into the sky.
When their feet touched the ground, The Brute took a few massive strides before he stopped. He looked back at the beeches and rocky cliffs that surrounded the Temple's little island.
The sounds of battle could be heard in the distance. A pair of very active Scarabs stood as vanguards for the Temple.
He growled before dragging her again through a pair of massive doors with multiple glyphs carved into them. When they walked through, and then the doors slammed shut behind them.
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As R'tas 'Vadumee slammed the hatch of the Wraith mortar tank over himself, several other vehicles appeared around the bend. There was a second Wraith, and several Spectres.
The Arbiter and the Elites that accompanied him mounted the vehicles, with the Arbiter himself standing behind a plasma cannon on the back of the vehicle. There was a driver seated at the front and an occupied passenger seat on either side.
The Arbiter held on tightly as the Spectre used its booster to speed further into the canyon away from the Control Room.
"So how do you plan to break those doors?" The Arbiter asked into his comm unit.
"You will see," Rtas transmitted in reply. "For now, stay vigilant. There are Jiralhanae all over this valley."
The Arbiter growled in frustration and traversed the plasma cannon as he searched for Jiralhanae while the rest of the Convoy distanced themselves from the Control Tower.
The truth was, he didn't know what would happen when Tartarus activated Halo. The Gravemind and the Demon both seemed to believe it was a mistake, but they could easily be lying.
The oracles had yet to give him a clear answer, but doubted he could reach one quickly enough to receive that answer.
All he knew was that throughout the history of his people, the way they viewed the Forerunners had changed several times. One of his elders, Lak 'Vadamee, once taught him that the Elites used to revere Forerunner artifacts. But when the Prophets came along, they tried to discect and study their artifacts, which led to war. Then, when their Covenant formed, the Prophets got what they wanted, and the way his people worshipped the Forerunners changed. Now that the Covenant was falling apart, who was to say what the future of their faith would be?
Of course, if he revealed his private thoughts, he would be branded a heretic. That was the last thing he needed while fighting the Brutes, and seeking answers.
'Is it Heresy to acknowledge that the Prophets' decisions had led to the loss of many countless souls? Is it heresy that I can't shake the worry that it give me?'
They kept driving further and further from the Control Room.
"You better know what you're doing, old friend." The Arbiter said under his breath.
Suddenly, they found themselves in the midst of a chaotic battle. In the trees that lined the Canyon walls, Brutes began to fire upon the Sangheili convoy. The Arbiter and the other Sangheili gunners retuned fire, spraying super-heated plasma rounds into the tree-line. Trunks were splintered, leaves burst into flames, and Brutes were speared by plasma and their fire ceased.
Infantry on both sides ended up in brutal hand to hand combat.
Then, Jiralhanae-driven Ghosts rounded the massive boulders in the middle of the canyon to ambush them.
Sangheili-operated Ghosts zoomed forward to meet them. Spinning around each other, they fired their plasma frenetically or slammed into each other with their afterburners at full power.
The Specter the Arbiter rode on thrusted each way to avoid burning wrecks and the heavy mortars slamming plasma into the sand from Wraiths on both sides of the battle. As each round arced high, it carried with it a hoarse and haunting howl, before slamming down into the ground, superheating the sand into glass shards and vaporizing the puddles of water that covered the ground.
The Arbiter aimed at the Jiralhanae on their Ghosts, taking out one at a time while they were distracted by his allies. The superior angle offered by his elevated position upon the rear of the Spectre made the Ghosts' armor practically useless. He saw the Wraith that 'Vadumee was piloting ramming into a Ghost, and squashing its pilot beneath it, before using his mortar cannon to duel with another Wraith, which exploded in a ball of blue flame.
The Specter pressed on through the chaos as vehicles crashed and exploded around them.
The rain even bucketed harder to match the surrounding madness, drenching him and his brothers from head to hoof.
After a while, the remains of the Convoy moved on, and eventually came upon a massive wide-open area that opened to reveal a cliff that stood over more ocean on the left and a Forerunner structure that was built into the rocky walls to the right. The Brutes were retreating into the structure's interior.
The silhouette of several Covenant battlecruisers was submerged behind the clouds. Their shadow covered the sea. Plasma collected on their hulls before unleashing beams of concentrated energy into the hulls of opposing ships. One of the opposing sides had a Carrier at its center.
"There it is Arbiter," came 'Vadumee's voice over the comm.
The Arbiter tore himself away from the battle in the sky and looked at what R'tas was pointing out.
Right beside the Forerunner structures was something that the Arbiter hadn't been expecting: a fully operational Scarab standing tall against a Forerunner platform with a U-shaped slot. The platform protruded from the cliff face and did not have any visible means for the Arbiter to reach from the ground.
"That Scarab's main gun will break the Control Room's doors. At the far end of the beech, there is a passage into the cliffs that will take you up to the Scarab. You will need all the help you can get against the other Scarab's guarding the Temple."
"Excellent. But what about you?" The Arbiter asked.
"The Brute's control that Carrier in the skies above us. I'll remain out here and make sure no reinforcements can get in behind you. Then, once you have control of the Scarab, I'll take half of our forces and take that Carrier back."
The Spectre dropped the Arbiter and his allies off beside a doorway into the cliff. He looked over at R'tas, who was directing Sangheili-aligned reinforcements. They shared a look and they both nodded in respect.
That's when a squad of Spec-ops Elites walked up to the Arbiter. He shocked when he saw two fully sized, spiked Mgalekgolo staring him down from behind their squashed helmets.
"Arbiter?!" the lead Sangheili exclaimed. "I thought you were dead."
"Yes, I thought so too, but fate had other plans. I see we have Lekgolo on our side."
"The Lekgolo have declared their support for our kin and have come to our aid. They will fight by our side."
The Mgalekgolo grunted coarsely in agreement.
Their kind were a mystery to him. He had seen them tear enemies in half with their "hands" while in the midst of a mindless blood rage, and afterward pause to recite war poetry. How could any truly understand the Lekgolo? Inside their thick armor swarmed orange worms—a colony gestalt as alien as anything Voro had ever encountered. More pragmatically, they were nearly indestructible. Lekgolo armor, rated for warship hulls, could withstand multiple plasma bolts before even warming.
And now they were the Arbiter's to command.
He nodded.
"Then let's move. We must capture this Scarab before the Brutes can use it against us."
He ordered the 'Hunters' to blast the door down.
Their powerful fuel rod cannons glowed green and discharged, vaporizing the locked doors. When the smoke and debris cleared away, they rushed inside. Several Brutes and Jackals lay dead on the floor, and several supply crates had been reduced to atoms.
They had tried to barricade the doors to keep the Elites out.
As they moved inside, they saw several dead Elites on the floor as well, and a pair of dead Hunters. They must have been betrayed by the Jiralhanae the same as everyone else. The Mgalekgolo fanned the spikes on their backs in anger. Their brothers must have tried to protect the Elites but paid the price alongside the Elites.
With his new allies, the Arbiter's journey onwards was both easier than he'd predicted and more difficult.
The Mgalekgolo's assault cannons decimated the Kig-Yar, shields and all, and blasted holes through the Jiralhanae that defended the facility. Shade turret emplacements and swarms of drones didn't stand much better of a chance.
The problem for the Sangheili was that the entire complex was now on alert. This meant they could not simply slip through like earlier and cut down every Brute patrol without raising any alarms.
The rooms they fought through were much like the ones the Arbiter had traversed earlier when he was teleported to this location. They even included more glass platforms over a dark underground lake.
From there the Arbiter felt his way through a maze of passageways and rooms, many of which had been defended. Now, as he and is forces walked the length of another corridor, he wondered what lay beyond the hatch ahead. The answer was unexpected. The door opened to admit warm moist air and the Arbiter was rewarded with a sudden flurry of plasma bolts.
He took cover, along with the other Elites, and allowed the Hunters to push forward, erasing files of Jackals and blasting more Brutes and their fortifications to smoldering bits.
The Arbiter stepped out of cover.
It appeared that he had stepped out onto the deck of a footbridge. A barrier blocked some of the view, but the silver-clad Elite could see traction beams that served in place of suspension cables, and the gray cliff face beyond. Far off in the distance were two massive Scarabs, patrolling the area infant of the Forerunner Control Room.
His worries that Tartarus would activate Halo before he could reach him were growing worse all the while.
So they fought harder and harder to get across this bridge. No quarter was given, and none asked.
Eventually, the Brutes fled the span and the Elites had gained control over it. That was the good news.
The bad news was that the Brutes had sent a Phantom drop-ship, which hosed the bridge with plasma fire, and forced the Elites and Hunter pair to duck or lose their heads. Encouraged by the air support, the Brute-aligned Drones flew down, eager to kill the treacherous Elites.
They were forced to pay a price, however, as the Arbiter and a few other carbine-yielding Elites on the bridge picked off five of the alien flyers before the dropship moved in to exact its revenge. The Arbiter and his fellow Elites were forced to dive deep as the enemy aircraft marched a double line of plasma bolts across the bridge, killing two of the Elites and wounding a third.
Things soon started to get ugly on the body-strewn span when the two Hunters started to exchange fire with the Phantom.
Plasma and fuel rod rounds crisscrossed. Several rounds landed on the hull of the drops, and plasma rounds started to cut through the Hunter armor. One of them went down in a splatter of orange gore, and the other gave a roar of anger, redoubling its efforts bring down the Phantom, blasting one of its belly cannons.
It was at that moment when a swarm of Banshees flew down from over the cliffs above. The Arbiter was worried that they were Brute-controlled, but them they opened fire on the Dropship.
It tried to escape, but after several blasts from the pursuing banshees, the already damaged ship's engines gave out, and the smoking ship spun out of control, and then slammed into the rocky cliffs nearby.
The Elites gave a roar of approval.
But then, the Arbiter noticed something about the Scarabs. One of them was looking directly at the bridge.
And marching towards it, and powering up it main weapon.
"The Scarabs have spotted us. Get off the bridge!" The Arbiter yelled.
It was all chaos as the Elites scrambled to avoid being fired upon.
The Arbiter rushed towards the other side, just as a powerful plasma beam materialized in the corner of his eye. He dove through the hatch, just as the plasma beam blasted over the bridge like a tidal wave of fire.
Several Elites screamed.
Blue-white light filled the Arbiter's vision, and electrical discharges jolted his flesh and buzzed through his muscles and ligaments. Through blurry vision, but from the safety of the doorway, he saw many of his brothers flash vaporize.
The ends of the bridge heated to a glowing orange and softened, but the center section was gone, along with much of his strike force. Most had either died or had fallen back.
Only the Arbiter and one other Elite made it through.
It was the leader of the Spec Ops squad who greeted him earlier with a pair of Hunters, who were now both gone.
He was armed with a pair of Needers, but he knelt down to make sure the Arbiter was alright.
"We are all that made it across," he said.
The Arbiter shook his head and got back up from his hands and knees, and back on his feet. He had lost his Carbine, so he grabbed his dual plasma rifles.
"Then we must press forward." The Arbiter said.
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Hold cells, Bastion of the Brutes.
High Councilor Raas 'Yajadai struggled to find focus as he slowly regained consciousness. Each arm was locked in an immobilizing grip by a Jiralhanae warrior on his left and right side. As they marched forward, 'Yajadai's feet dragged behind him across an ornate floor.
Amidst the chaos and confusion, 'Yajadai tried to take in the situational enormity of it all. For decades he had fought and bled for the Covenant, serving across countless battlefields and ultimately within the High Council itself, all in effort to be exactly where he was right now. How many other generations had come before him? Each one desperate to be surrounded by unblemished alloy illuminated by ancient sconces amidst the low hum of arcane technology reverberating within the halls of the sacred ring.
And now, at the threshold of all he and his kind had fought for, he found himself wracked with doubt and apprehension. Nothing seemed to make sense—no element occupying its proper place.
"Take him to the upper level."
'Yajadai's thoughts were interrupted by the Thrallslayer's bellowed command. The councilor heard a thick door slide shut behind them as the Brutes began to drag him up a ramp located in the center of a modest antechamber. Once they reached the top of the ramp, they took a path to the left into a larger octagonal room with several smaller chambers built into the surrounding walls. 'Yajadai felt a pang of anger at the notion that these chambers could once have been used for any number of untold purposes befitting the ring's divine architects, but had now been repurposed into holding cells for those who must have opposed the Jiralhanae's insipid scheme.
The Thrallslayer pointed a thick, furred finger towards a holding cell in the far corner of the upper level. "There."
The Brute warriors pulled 'Yajadai to the cell entrance and abruptly pushed him inside before activating a portable energy barrier placed at the cell's entrance. As they stepped away, the Thrallslayer took their place, smugly leering into the holding chamber before finally speaking.
"Do you not think it a sign from your gods?"
"A sign?" 'Yajadai echoed the words in confusion.
"That the High Prophet most closely concerned with the station of your kind would be the first to fall? Surely the weak must be culled before theGreat Journey can commence." The Thrallslayer grinned and grunted through battle-borne tusks. "Regret is who failed you. And now it's what fills you."
"You dare mock a Hierarch's demise?" 'Yajadai glared directly at the towering beast. "This is what a Brute finds worthy of transcendence?"
"Transcendence," the Thrallslayer almost spat the word before continuing in a low growl. "If there is even such a thing."
'Yajadai clacked his mandibles twice. "Perhaps there isn't. But at least we live with honor. With purpose."
"And what purpose has this ring brought you?"
"I do not speak of the ring." 'Yajadai's voice grew quieter but bolder. "I speak of my brothers. Bonds that transcend both duty and destiny."
"What do you know of brotherhood?" the Thrallslayer replied. "It is not your kind the hierarchs feed to the front lines, to batter the redoubts and resolve of an empire's enemies. You do not watch your brothers bleed without benefit across countless forgotten worlds. And when their bones are turned to glass alongside the corpses of our prey, you do not watch others reap the renown of a victory unearned. No, Councilor—our time has finally come. And we will not relinquish it for the sake of what you call honor."
The air hung silent for several moments.
"Avitus," 'Yajadai spoke the Jiralhanae's true name with a subdued but intentional tone of respect. "I have seen you serve. I know what it is to bleed for your brothers—and to bear the stain of their blood on your own hands. But know this: The Great Journey does not include you in the way that you think it does. The Prophets can discard you just as they have discarded my kind. They are steering the ship on this journey. We are simply manning the oars."
As the grizzled captain pondered a response, their exchange was interrupted by the screech of a Kig-Yar entering the chamber from the lower level.
"Mighty Thrallslayer!" The Jackal squawked. "The Elites have amassed a force and have broken into the facility. They are overrunning our positions."
The Thrallslayer paused for a moment before responding. "Send reinforcements to the main entrance, and fortify the bridge. Power up the Scarab and bring all of the Human prisoners to the landing pad. The Chieftain will want to review them, alive and unspoiled... for now."
As he turned back towards 'Yajadai, the Sangheili councilor spoke.
"Think upon my words, Avitus. If not for yourself, then for those who follow you."
The Thrallslayer snarled. "It is you who will be doing the thinking. In
the back of your chamber, you shall find a plasma rifle, and with it comes a choice: acknowledge your shame and demonstrate penitence for your actions by searing your own stain from this ring you hold so sacred... Or wait for my return, and I will gut you slowly myself under the gaze of your fellow councilors and co-conspirators. The path is yours to choose."
Despite the Jiralhanae's threats, a strange sense of peace gently draped over 'Yajadai's shoulders. A feeling of clarity, as if something he hadn't known was obscuring his vision had suddenly cleared.
He remembered the end of the Age of Doubt, how his fellow Sangheili and San'Shyuum councilors alike were filled with zealous fervor as they roared with rapturous joy at the Ninth Age of Reclamation's coming, each of them trying to shout the loudest.
That time had come again. A new Age had surreptitiously arrived, ushered in not with cheer and unity of purpose, but with the sharpened silence of blades in the dark.
"My path is already set, Avitus." 'Yajadai spoke. "It is you who has yet to choose."
After a while, the Two Elites, without encountering any resistance, continued to make their way through the facility.
"Wait here," The Arbiter instructed his companion. "I will scout the next room while cloaked. I do not wish to be detected before seizing the Scarab."
The other Elite nodded, and the Arbiter engaged his active camouflage.
He crept up a ramp onto a walkway to gain an overview of another, much larger room with an octagonal shape and several smaller chambers built into the surrounding walls.
He could not say exactly what the Forerunners had used the room for, but it looked to him exactly like a prison block, though not as bleak. It had the typical Forerunner trims with warm, golden lighting that swept across the floor. There were two levels, including the one on which the Arbiter stood that wrapped around the edge of the room. The walls were illuminated by bright, semi-transparent shield doors that secured the many cells built into them.
Within the cells were Sangheili and another Mgalekgolo pair trapped by the Jiralhanae and Kig-Yar that patrolled the chamber.
Upon closer inspection, He realized that two of the Sangheili behind the shield doors wore the ornate headdresses of the High Council.
Thel was careful not to make any loud hoofsteps in his enemies' lines of sight as he scouted. He returned to the corridor just as his camouflage deactivated.
"More of our brothers are alive, including two councilors," The Arbiter informed the trio. "They have been imprisoned in the next room."
"Then we must free our brothers!" The Spec Ops Elite exclaimed.
"The chamber is well guarded," The Arbiter explained. "If I use my active camouflage, I can unlock the cells in the next room and our brothers will be freed. If you can keep them distracted long enough our brothers will join the fight, and we can extinguish the Brutes."
"Then what are we waiting for? Death to the Jiralhanae!"
They separated upon reaching the ramp, and the Arbiter reactivated his camouflage. The Jiralhanae roared in
response to the Spec Ops Elite who hosed his enemies with needles. One Brute fell to a series of explosive needles fired from the walkway, and was forced to take cover when the Brutes returned fire.
Meanwhile, the Arbiter snuck around the edges under cover. The sounds of the firefight echoed around the room, resonating within the tiny holes that made up his ears. War cries, gasps of pain and plenty of plasma fire drowned out the gaseous whooshes of the
Arbiter's energy blades as he slashed at the Forerunner devices producing the shield doors of the holding cells.
The imprisoned Councillor stepped forwards as the shield blinked out.
"Here," The Arbiter said as he tossed the Councillor the hilt of another sword. "Free the others."
The Councillor nodded as the Arbiter spun and joined the fray, now decloaked by his active movement. The Arbiter drew both blue plasma rifles and fired them both at the horde running around the lower level.
At first, there were far more Jiralhanae than Sangheili and Mgalekgolo, and even more joined the fight from the next corridor,
but soon there were Mgalekgolo and Sangheili Councillors leaping from the walls as they were released from their holding cells.
Adrenaline pumped hard through the Sangheili's veins as they finished off the last of the Jiralhanae. They had formed a strong gathering, but would it be enough to push through to the Control Room and stop Tartarus? The Arbiter drew the attention of the others.
"On the other side of this chamber is a functioning Scarab," he announced. "I need to take it."
At first, the other Covenant prisoners hesitated, but eventually one spoke up. It was the Councilor, Raas 'Yajadai.
"Then we shall guide you, Arbiter." He said, as he ignited his blade.
The others nodded assertively. The corridor between the detention block and the exterior platform was cramped as the crowd of Elites marched through.
But as the Elites made their way towards the Scarab's docking clamps, the Arbiter was able to pick up part of a conversation through his comm unit from a familiar voice.
"Mine will do. Kill the others."
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November 3rd, 2552, UNSC Military Calendar.
Sgt. Major Avery Junior Johnson was being held prisoner by the Covenant, and was riding in one of their Phantom drop ships.
He was being held by four Jackals, who he tried with all his might to fight back against them. He tried to swing his arms into the nearest Jackal, hoping to smash his bound wrists into its bird-like face, only to be electrocuted by them.
"Alien motherf-AAAHHH!" He screamed as he was shocked again.
It was some sort of neural shock treatment that had been administered to make him talk earlier, and his nerve endings continued to buzz as the aliens prodded his back, yelled incomprehensible gibberish into his ears, and laughed at his discomfort.
He slipped in and out of consciousness, and eventually woke up to find that one of the Brutes on board the Phantom was carrying him by his wrists toward the gravity lift.
Johnson kept kicking the Brute as he was dragged, but the thing barely flinched.
"I can do this all day you ugly bastards."
But then he was tossed and thrown across the floor.
He tasted his own blood.
"Sarge?!" Asked a voice.
"Holy shit!" Said another.
"Nice of you to drop in."
Johnson looked up, struggled to focus his eyes, and faced the source of the voices. When his vision fully returned, he could see that he was surrounded by several Marines and Helljumpers.
Real honest-to-God Marines from the In Amber Clad, and not the shambling horror show freaks that they were turned into at the Library. Unfortunately, they were in the same predicament as he was: bound at the wrists and surrounded by Covenant troops.
"God damn!" Johnson exclaimed. "Stacker? Banks? Dubbo?"
They smiled.
They all had different cuts and bruises from their ordeal, and some had lost their helmets and body armor in their captivity, but they were alive and well, for the most part.
One of the Brutes came by and smacked Johnson and one of the Marines, barking at them, to force them to shut up. Johnson locked eyes with the Brutes and spat blood at the big Alien's foot. It froze in confusion, and then it roared with rage. It was about to finish Johnson off when the Brute Captain came over and yanked the younger brute away, barking at it incoherently.
Clearly it wanted them alive and unharmed. And Johnson had an idea why.
When the Brutes lumbered away, Johnson, Stacker, and Banks scooted closer together without anyone noticing.
"How'd you guys escape the Flood?" He asked, whispering as softly as possible.
Stacker and Banks' men were in the Setinel Wall on the outskirts of the Quarantine Zone when the flood outbreak began. While the In Amber Clad moved to the Library, Stacker's men had to be left behind.
Banks shook his head. "Long story." He whispered back. "Buy me a beer, and we'll tell you all about it."
"How's the ship? Where's the Commander" Stacker asked.
Johnson shook his head. "Ship's gone. The Flood got it, and crashed into that big Covie jelly-fish moon-looking thing up above." Johnson said, nodding up at High Charity, which was orbiting on the opposite side of Halo from where they were.
They could see blue flashes of light surrounding it. A space battle of some kind, just like the one going on in the clouds nearby.
"And they've got the Commander. Last time I saw her, they put her on another Phantom with some big ugly Brute with a mohawk. They had the Index with them."
"Damn!" Stacker exclaimed. "This ain't good."
They looked around at the Brutes, who were loitering around, or snarling at one another.
One Brute that was looking down over the edge was suddenly speared through the head by a particle beam from a Covenant sniper rifle. He collapsed in a heap. The Brutes began to howl. Some went over to the edge and started firing down on the area below.
"Who's out there giving the Covenant a hard time?" Banks asked.
Johnson shook his head. "I think its the Covenant."
The two Marine sergeants just stared at Johnson.
He shrugged. "Some kinda Covie civil war's going on. Split-lips vs. Apes. Don't ask me how that crap started."
As they spoke, one of the Brutes, a captain, pointed at several of the Brutes, and they went back inside the facility with most of the Jackals on the platform.
"Well, before we get caught in the middle of it, any plans to get out of here?" One of the other Marines asked.
"Let me think." Johnson said.
At that moment, the Brute Captain from earlier was on his comm unit, deep in conversation. He ended it, nodded in acknowledgement, looking over his shoulder at the Marines. Johnson knew what that meant.
"The Humans are no longer necessary. Kill them," the Captain growled.
Marching over to Johnson, one of the younger Brutes towered over him, raising his Brute shot's bayonet to cut him down.
"A day's ration says I do this in one cut."
One of the other Brutes chuckled.
"Two cuts at least," said the Jiralhanae, walking over to take part in the sport of gutting humans.
The pair tilted Johnson's head back, exposing his vulnerable neck as the younger Jiralhanae stepped forwards, preparing to slice it open. Until now, Johnson had remained proud and confident, for his men.
And he would remain so, even if there was the slightest despair growing in the creases of his face as he twisted his shoulders, failing any form of escape.
The young Brute brought his weapon's blade back preparing to swing, convinced of his ability to lop the human's head off with one clean, sharp swipe, but the swing never came.
Instead, there was a loud scream. Everyone on the platform turned to look, and they saw two bright prongs of energy poked out from a Brute's chest that was standing with its back to the door.
A familiar silver-clad Elite materialized behind it. The Brute fell to the floor as an army of Hunters and Elites stormed the platform.
The Brutes fought back, and soon the platform was littered with the bodies of fallen Covenant soldiers from both sides.
Both sides completely ignored Johnson and his men.
Johnson backed away from his captors and looked around for something to use. He found a pile of rocks nearby from a recent landslide and found one the size of his head, and picked it up, hefting it for good measure. Several Jackals were nearby, their backs to the Marines.
Johnson looked at his men.
"Follow my lead."
He rushed up and lifted the rock high above his head, and smashed it down as hard as he could onto the head of the nearest Jackal. The bird dropped like a rock, and Johnson quickly grabbed the dead alien's fallen plasma pistol.
Two Jackals saw what he had done, and turned to face him, but the Marines rushed out of no where and tackled the two Jackals, beating and kicking them with fist and boot, and choking them with their wrist restraints until they were all dead.
Johnson, Stacker, and Banks grabbed the fallen plasma pistols, and the rest of the Marines started picking up Needers, Brute Plasma rifles and Carbines from the battle, which was still raging hard.
The whole squad turned their guns on a Brute that noticed them, and tried to charge at them. The Brute was filled with plasma, needles, and radioactive rounds, and it dropped like a furry sack of potatoes.
Taking cover behind a stack of crates, the Marines dealt with their restraints and watched as the two sides continued to maim each other.
"What now, Sarge?" Chips Dubbo asked.
"Now, we catch a ride out of this hell-hole," Johnson said, gesturing to the parked Scarab. "GO! GO! GO!"
Johnson and two of the Marines tore off in the direction of the Scarab, while Stacker, Banks, and the rest of the survivors stayed back to provide support, ready to pick off any alien straggler that got too close to them or the Scarab. But it wasn't necessary, as both sides seemed more interested in killing each other.
The three Marines climbed the Scarab's leg joints, and eventually made it up onto the deck, just as a swarm of Drones flew by and tried to swarm the Elites on the platform.
One insect pair flew under the Scarab's roof toppled over PFC. Dubbo, clawed limbs flailing, and slammed him to the ground.
"Bugger off!" He yelled at one insect. Johnson and the other Marine, Butkis, yanked one bug off of the Aussie PFC and blasted it to yellow gore. The other creature raked its claws, managing to cut Dubbo's arm. Even though it was a shallow wound, it made him angrier than he already was. He managed to kick the bug off and swung his Plasma rifle around and hit the insect with an extended burst.
It was at that point that the rest of the Marines were able to climb aboard and take positions around the Scarab.
Johnson, Stacker, and Banks went below.
"Alright, we're in. Now what?" Banks asked.
"Now, we're heading for that Temple, and we're gonna stop that Ape from firing the Ring." Johnson said.
"And, how do you expect to drive this thing?"
"I'll figure it out." Johnson said, as he started playing around with translucent buttons and panels. The Scarab lurched hard, and the Marines scrambled to grab ahold of something.
"Oi, take it easy down there!" PFC. Dubbo shouted from above.
When Johnson was finally able to straighten out the Scarab's stance, a screen popped up, showing everything in front of the Scarab, likely with external cameras. It showed the battle on the platform.
It was over, and it looked like the Elites had taken the field.
"Nice, now let's fry these Split-chin bastards and see how they like it," Another Marine said, watching the feed.
"Wait," Johnson said. "I have an idea."
The Arbiter walked up to a wounded brute, and fired a coup d'grace into the alien's face, silencing it forever.
The platform was littered with the dismembered bodies from both sides. Blue and purple blood spilled out from the corpses, from bodies dissected by energy blades as well as by the Jiralhanae's own curved bayonets used against them.
The impact of the Mgalekgolo's furious assault beams could not be understated either, as everything they targeted was reduced to glass and ash.
There was no time to celebrate, however.
As the last Jiralhanae dropped to the tessellated polygons of the Forerunner platform, the entire platform and everyone on it suddenly glowed a deep green. The colossal eye of the Scarab glared at them all. Its body rose high as its four legs straightened. It was at that moment the Arbiter realized the humans were nowhere to be seen.
"Listen," boomed an incredibly loud voice, shaking right through the Arbiter's armor. The voice undoubtedly spoke in the humans' own English. The green eye appeared to be staring directly at Thel as the voice continued. "You don't like me, and I sure-as-hell don't like you," it said. "But if we don't do something, mister mohawk is gonna activate this ring, and we're all going to die."
The other Elites and the two Hunters, pointing their weapons at the Scarab, didn't know how to take this news.
That's when the Arbiter stepped up, placing his hand on one of the Elite's Carbines, forcing him to lower it, much to the dismay of the other Elites.
He twisted his mandibles uncomfortably to reply in the human's tongue.
"Tartarus has locked himself inside the Control Room," he spoke to the towering quadruped.
"Well," replied the human. "I just happen to have a key. Now come on. Climb aboard and give us some cover. He's gonna know we're coming."
Just as the giant machine slowly maneuvered itself back to the platform, The Arbiter took a step towards it, when one of the Elite Councilors grabbed his shoulder.
"Arbiter, what are you thinking?" He asked. "Are you really about to trust a Human?"
"No. But are we really going to cling to the old hatreds after everything that has happened today?" The Arbiter asked. "Now climb aboard."
Several Elites started piling onto the Scarab, alongside several of the Human's UNSC warriors, and the armored behemoth started lumbering down the canyon that led back to the Control Room. It was a strange gathering of "allies" on this mission. The UNSC Marines with their olive colored fatigues and metal plates stood in contrast to the Elites, a meter taller than any of them and sporting ornate armor of silver, blue, or gold.
The two groups stood on opposing sides of the Scarab, mostly keeping to themselves. The Elites were more spread out, protecting the upper deck and the roof of the Scarab. The Marines either stayed below deck with Johnson or they protected the ramp that led down to the lower decks.
"Humans fighting alongside Elites?!" One Elite exclaimed to another. "What's next? Grunt Hierarchs?!"
One Elite shrugged. "After all I've seen today, I would not be surprised."
But the Humans, most of whom had lost their homes to the Covenant over the years, were less than happy about fighting alongside Elites. But they kept their actions in check, if not their mouths.
The Scarab continued to lurch back and forth, its loud steps and servo whines echoed through the canyon. For the longest time, nothing happened. It was just a peaceful ride being shared by two hated foes turned desperate acquaintances.
It was at that point when the lead Human, Sergeant Johnson called out over the comm from his post.
"Look sharp people! The Brutes are mobilizing everything they've got!"
"Indeed," The Arbiter said back. "But it won't save them. Prepare for battle!"
The Marines and Elites took up positions on the upper decks, as Covenant banshees, wraiths, and shade turrets came into view. A hail of plasma was launched at the Scarab, but it shrugged it off like a dog shaking off fleas.
The Scarab's own shade turrets came to life and unleashed a storm of its own on the Covenant banshees. Half of the Banshees exploded or tumbled out of the air and crashed into the canyon walls. The rest scattered.
Shade turrets on the canyon walls peppered the lumbering beast, but had little effect.
Elite sharpshooters picked off gunners, while Marines armed with Fuel Rod Guns blasted chunks out of the walls and the turrets that sat atop them. Bodies and debris tumbled to the valley floor.
A half dozen wraiths tried to hold their ground, but the Scarab stopped.
It's face glowed green and unleashed a beam of energy onto the row of tanks, wiping them away like a giant eraser of pure plasma.
All that remained of the Tanks after that were smoldering, burning wreckages, which the Scarab unceremoniously stepped over as it continued its journey.
High above, a trio of Phantoms entered the valley from above, escorted by several Banshees.
"Enemy Air assault!" One of the Marines called out.
"I got it," Johnson said over the comm, as he engaged the Scarab's air defenses.
The Brute-controlled craft made use of their plasma cannons to strafe the Scarab's upper decks. Several of the Elites, and two of the Marines, were caught out in the open and cut to shreds, even as Fuel rod and plasma rounds lashed up to meet the incoming transports.
Two of the Transports shed debris and began to catch fire.
Ironically, the compartments that held the troops preserved most of their lives so they could die when the aircraft hit the wall or floor of the canyon.
But one transport made it safely through the Scarab's field of fire before Johnson could finish it off.
Then, hovering like an obscene insect, the remaining curved drop-ship spilled troops out its side slots and from its gravity lift, scattering them like evil seeds across the top of the Scarab.
The Arbiter engaged his energy sword and charged into battle with the rest of his brothers.
"Kill those hairy bastards, before they take our ride!" Sergeant Stacker called out.
There was a steady crack! crack! crack! as the Marines used their Covenant Carbines to open fire on the enemy boarders.
Brutes were slashed by Elites.
Jackals, Drones, and Grunts fell to the deck or tumbled over the side and fell to the ground below.
Soon, the Scarab was secured.
But now they were coming up on the end of the valley.
"Big step up ahead!" Johnson called out. "Hang on!"
They all braced themselves as the Scarab climbed down off of a steep cliff that led to the beaches below, which was still being guarded by two Scarabs.
Johnson immediately got to work, maneuvering their Scarab toward the closest enemy Scarab.
The enemy behemoth, with its aim-weapon not yet aligned, fired its secondary armaments at Johnson's.
His own main-weapon warmed up and belched superheated flame, which arced towards the enemy Scarab and hit it right in his flank, splashing Plasma over its reinforced hull, boiling the silver metal away like hot water dissolving salt.
It must have pierced through and hit something important, because a powerful explosion ripped through the Scarab and erased its aft section, causing the front section to collapse into the shallow water just beyond the beech.
Johnson turned to face the other Scarab, just in time to come face to glowing face with the other one.
A beam of superheated plasma hit Johnson's Scarab square in the face.
Warning lights flashes all around him. He had no idea what any of them meant, but he assumed he was losing shields and hull integrity.
He definitely lost power to the gun, or it was overheated, because he couldn't return fire. Smoke was filling up the cabin, and a few small fires broke out inside, which the Marines down below with him fought to put out by patting them repeatedly until they died down.
"Ah, to hell with this..." Johnson said, as he directed his Scarab and drove it as hard as he could, charging at the last remaining enemy Scarab. "Geronimo!"
"What did he say?" One of the Elites asked, in response to the Human Sergeant's outburst over the radio.
Then the Scarab lurched violently and charged forward.
"What the hell are you doing Sarge?!" One of the Marines called out.
"By the rings!" An Elite exclaimed.
Then the Arbiter looked and saw what the Human was attempting to pull off. The enemy Scarab was getting closer and closer, and its face was starting to charge up again, but it was already too late.
"Brace for impact," the Arbiter called out.
Then the Scarab collided with its Brute-controlled counterpart, forcing its face to look away and cause the beam to fire into a cliff wall far behind its intended target. Both enemy vehicles were interlocked, firing their secondary weapons at each other at point-blank range.
Elites, Marines, and Brutes dove for cover from this storm of plasma.
"Is the Human mad?!" One of the Elites called out over the storm of fire.
Soon the enemy Scarab's guns fell silent, and several of its crew lay dead across the deck.
Johnson came up on deck carrying a needler.
"Do I gotta do everything around here?" Johnson asked over the comm. "Someone get over there and finish it off!"
The Arbiter looked, and saw that they were close enough for anyone to just walk across to the other Scarab and back. He grabbed his Plasma Rifles and some extra Grenades and jumped over. He blasted his way through any surviving Brutes and Jackals, until he found the Scarab's entry source. He primed a set of plasma grenades and tossed them into the core, before he bolted.
An explosion ripped through the deck below him, just as he made it back to the Human-Elite Scarab.
The Brute Scarab just collapsed into the water below with a powerful splash.
Soon, several Sangheili Phantoms and Banshees entered the area.
"All Aerial units," The Arbiter informed over the comm. "Remain clear of the Temple."
The damaged Scarab moved back to the beech and turned towards the Temple.
"Knock-knock. Anyone home?!" Johnson exclaimed before the Scarab's eye ignited.
The Scarab's beam gushed horizontally across the sky right into the doorway of the Control Tower. The Arbiter watched from the upper deck as the sliding doors overheated and collapsed. The walls behind them turned black as the energy continued to demolish its way deep through the entrance before the Scarab eventually withdrew its fire.
As two Sangheili-controlled Covenant phantoms moved toward the smoldering entrance, a Banshee touched down on top of the Scarab, near the Arbiter. He climbed out and greeted him.
"Take my Banshee, Arbiter. The rest of us will stay here and make sure this Scarab doesn't fall into enemy hands.
The Arbiter nodded, and then looked down at the Elites and Humans, who were gathering their weapons, making repairs, or caring for the wounded.
The humans especially caught the Arbiter's attention. He had to admit, they fought with a tenacity and spirit that was demonstrated by them still being hear, having fought his kind for nearly thirty of their years. Even now, with their ship gone, no Demon to help them, and most of their crew dead, they still didn't waver.
That had to count for something.
"Arbiter?" The Elite asked.
He looked back and saw the Elite pilot was looking at him.
"Very well," the Arbiter said, moving on with the task at hand.
He hopped inside the Banshee and took off towards the wrecked entrance, where several Sangheili commandoes were waiting for him.
Before the Banshee even touched down, he'd already slipped from it and was running inside.
"Warriors, prepare yourselves!" The Arbiter said.
He and his brethren activated their camouflage in the burnt foyer and entered a Forerunner hall. Paying no attention to its design, they were focused only on the doorways at the end. One of them unsealed, opening to a line of Jiralhanae guards that flowed into the room, where a pair of Shade turrets had been set up.
"We'll handle this, Arbiter. Move on ahead, and stop Tartarus any way you can. The Journey doesn't belong to the Brutes alone."
Before the Arbiter could protest, the rest of the Elites de-cloaked and attacked.
"Do not let them enter the Chamber," growled the Brute Captain. "The Chieftain must complete his holy work."
As both sides clashed, the guards completely missed the cloaked Arbiter who slipped behind them through the now closing doors, keeping them occupied and away from their target.
The next hallway was immense. It reminded him of a hangar, except instead of opening to the sky, it led him deeper into the Control Center.
It was dark and decorated with tiny, dimmed lights down the middle, and yet, it maintained a beauty that he could not describe. His body shook in anticipation as he ran down the hallway over a segmented floor that alternated between metal and glass until he reached an opening into the Control Room itself.
The Control Room was more magnificent than he could have expected.
It reminded him of the Library, albeit more inviting. The only floorthat could be stood upon was a circular platform in the center of the chamber and the two walkways that bridged across from the room's entrances. As with most Forerunner architecture, there was no railing.
A considerable amount of empty space filled the area between the center platform and the chamber walls, which curved into the ceiling and downwards into a pit below. Far above, Arbiter spotted a hole in the ceiling. From the looks of it, the hole funneled directly into the open sky.
The figures who stood at the opposite end of the bridge, before the edge of the circular platform, were far too engrossed in their task to notice the Arbiter despite his wilting camouflage.
The control panel before them was large and complex, covered in holographic glyphs with sections that scrolled and blinked.
The figures were those of Tartarus, several Jiralhanae "honor" guards, the female human he recognized from the Library, and the levitating blue orb that made the Arbiter's hearts jolt.
It was the Oracle from the first Halo ring, 343 Guilty Spark.
"Come, human," Tartarus said in English with his thick Jiralhanae accent. "It is easy."
The Chieftain of the Jiralhanae held the Sacred Icon in his right hand and gripped the human with his other. Clearly, he was getting frustrated.
The Arbiter crept carefully forwards to better hear what was being said. His camouflage had now completely died.
The human stood proudly and stubbornly. She kept her head facing away from the white Jiralhanae who stood far taller and broader than any other figure in the room. The Fist of Rukt remained strapped over his back.
"Take the Icon in your hand," Tartarus rumbled, before he growled and shook the human viciously. "And do as you are told!"
With his last syllable, Tartarus tried slamming the Icon into the panel himself, unable to penetrate it. An invisible barrier appeared to deny the Jiralhanae access. His guards stood frozen, far too fearful to provoke their infuriated Chieftain.
"Please, use caution," said the Oracle in a distressed tone. "This Reclaimer is delicate."
"One more word, Oracle, and I will rip your eye from its socket!" Tartarus threatened. "Which is nothing compared with what I'll do to you," he said turning to the human.
The Arbiter was halfway along the walkway now. He could feel the situation growing dire, as he'd expected. Not knowing what else to do, he spoke up.
"Tartarus, stop," he said firmly.
Every figure in the room spun in surprise. The Chieftain emitted a spluttered snort, visibly shocked by the Arbiter's appearance. The guards raised their weapons.
"Impossible!" Tartarus exclaimed.
"Put down the Icon," Thel continued.
"Put it down and disobey the hierarchs?"
Thel hesitated. He knew how he sounded.
"There are things about Halo that even the hierarchs do not understand," he stated.
Tartarus let go of the human and stepped forwards, straightening his back and broadening his shoulders to display dominance and his Brutes did the same.
"Take care, Arbiter. What you say is heresy!"
"Is it?" Arbiter whispered more to himself than to Tartarus. "Oracle," he addressed the glowing orb in one Brute's grasp. "What is Halo's purpose?"
The Oracle responded immediately.
"Collectively, the seven-"
"Not another word!" Tartarus snarled, grabbing the Oracle tightly with both his hands.
"Please," came a new voice from behind the Arbiter. "Don't shake the lightbulb!"
It was the human named Johnson. He stepped onto the bridge, with several Sangheili warriors, with a beam rifle pointing directly at Tartarus' head. The Brutes began to become restless as they saw their enemies filing into the room.
"If you want to keep your brain inside your head, I'd tell those boys to chill!" Johnson threatened.
Tartarus loosened his grip on the Oracle and barked at his guards to lower their weapons.
Even the Elites were impressed by the Human's commanding tone.
"Go ahead," Johnson said to the Arbiter. "Do your thing."
Once again, The Arbiter looked over to the Oracle who now stared back from between Tartarus' hands.
"The Sacred Rings, what are they?" He asked.
"Weapons of last resort," replied the Oracle. "built by the Forerunner to eliminate potential Flood hosts, thereby rendering the Parasite harmless."
"And those who made the rings," The Arbiter questioned. "What happened to the Forerunner?"
"After exhausting every other strategic option, my creators activated the rings," Guilty Spark continued informatively. "They, and all additional sentient life within three radii of the galactic center, died."
That's it then, Thel thought. After all these years, everything he ever believed in, everything he ever fought for was false. Every accomplishment he achieved in the name of the Covenant was for naught. His entire campaign against the humans was pointless. He'd killed his own brethren for his faith, and it was all a lie. It was the Sangheili's role to find Forerunner artifacts. That had always been the case, but it was the San'Shyuum's role to interpret them. What had they been doing all this time? They'd neglected their duty.
Everything the Prophets ever claimed to do for the benefit of the Covenant was untrue.
Thel considered the San'Shyuum he had met over the years. He thought about his interactions with the three High Prophets over his extensive campaign and especially in his recent days as the Arbiter. He had been their tool, nothing more than a blind fool serving corrupt leaders, and every time there had ever been a flicker of doubt, he'd buried it like the imbecile he was.
The Arbiter... Thel Vadam... was distraught, both his hearts shattered. Everything he was and ever had been meant nothing. The room fell silent as Guilty Spark looked upon the solemn faces of the Brutes and Elites in the room.
Awkwardly, the Oracle continued.
"Would you... like to see the relevant data?"
Thel Vadam looked past the Oracle at the Chieftain. Tartarus gaped at the Oracle, his face frozen in horror. Thel could not swallow his pain, but he maintained composure and spoke again.
"Tartarus," he murmured somberly. "The Prophets have betrayed us."
The Chieftain seemed to come to his senses as his typical hardened expression returned to his face. Before anyone could react, Tartarus launched the Oracle's spherical frame across the room, hitting Johnson in the face and knocking him onto his back.
The other Elites on the platform squared off beside Thel Vadamee and prepared their weapons.
Tartarus forced the Sacred Icon into the female human's hands and slammed it into the control panel.
"No, Arbiter!" Tartarus roared. "The Great Journey has begun, and the Jiralhanae, not the Sangheili, shall be the Prophets' escort!"
With a nudge of his elbow, Tartarus knocked the female to the floor before reaching over his shoulder for his oversized war-hammer. The entire chamber rumbled fiercely, forcing its occupants to balance on the walkway out of fear of falling off.
The Jiralhanae guards stood firmly awaiting their orders as the female human commando-crawled to the side of the bridge. A fight was about to ensue, and more Brute reinforcements were arriving from other adjacent platforms.
It was difficult enough for Thel and his comrades to maintain their footing on the shaking bridge, let alone engage in combat.
Forerunner architecture shifted around the chamber. Segments of the bridge slid away as blocky contraptions unfolded in the center of the circular platform, guiding a blindingly blazing light, which beamed from the ground and into the sky above. Somewhere nearby, Halo's phase pulse generators were charging up the ring. If the Oracle was correct, this beam would very soon kill every living being in the galaxy, Sangheili, Jiralhanae, humans and the rest.
The Great Journey was truly about to make everyone equal. Just not in the way it was foretold. Unless Thel and his allies could reverse the activation before it released its final pulse, everyone would die.
Tartarus aimed a pulse of energy at the Elites, and sent several of them to the floor.
"Attack! The Prophet's will be done!" Tartarus bellowed and the other Brutes charged.
The other Elites got to their feet and met the Brutes halfway, and the slaughter began. Brutes tackled Elites over the side and energy swords were buried deep into the pelts and muscles of their targets. Plasma was sent in all direction.
After swinging his blade through another Brute, Thel reached down his side. In full haste, he activated his plasma grenade and pelted it into Tartarus' guards who were still standing nearby.
The blast killed two of the guards but only served as a brief distraction for the rest. Thel searched the control panel with his eyes,
but the Sacred Icon was nowhere to be seen. It had disappeared, consumed by the holo panel itself. Expectedly, Thel's shields went alight with Jiralhanae fire, but the few guards who were not entangled with the Elites were the least of his worries.
As the Arbiter evaded, Tartarus jumped backwards onto the circular platform with his hammer clenched close. Thel found it odd that Tartarus would avoid the opportunity to kill the Arbiter himself, but he was not in a position to question the Chieftain's decision.
Thel ducked, darted and danced around the walkway, firing at the Jiralhanae who were likely to kill him if he didn't find cover. He
heard the female human in conversation with the Oracle as he fought.
"Charging sequence initiated. Primary generators coming online."
"Well, shut them down!" commanded the human.
"Apologies," Guilty Spark replied. "Protocol does not allow me to interfere with any aspect of this sequence."
"Then how do I stop it?"
"Well, it will take some time to go over the proper procedures."
Before Thel could listen to any more of the exchange, his shields popped, leaving him completely vulnerable to the guards. He rolled right in desperation. His armor protected him from most shots, but he could feel the heat of red plasma burning his skin through the metal plating. He rolled again. This time, a ball of plasma singed the underside of his thigh as it scraped past.
He roared as dark blood spilled onto the floor while he fired back. The lives of the entire galaxy were on the line, and he was going to die hopelessly outnumbered, unable to do anything about it. Two Jiralhanae dropped their weapons, preparing themselves to charge forwards to beat the bleeding Arbiter to death.
TSSEEW! TSSEEW!
Both of them dropped dead as two purple streaks of light flashed past the Arbiter's head. The human sergeant had fired from the Control Room entrance on the other side of the gore-soaked bridge upon which Thel stood. His beam rifle was temporarily overheating before a third shot could be fired.
"Come on, Arbiter!" Johnson yelled. "Kick that guy's ass!"
Just then, several surviving Elites charged across the body-strewn bridge and fell upon the surviving Jiralhanae on the bridge.
Thel Vadam seized the opportunity to unleash his energy sword. Ignoring the severe stinging of his thigh, he pushed his legs straight and lunged at the nearest Jiralhanae. The Jiralhanae's eyes widened as it stumbled backwards, unable to escape the fiery blades. The other Jiralhanae was cut down by the other Elites and Johnson.
"Quit stalling!" yelled the female at the Oracle.
"Under more controlled circumstances," Guilty Spark began in reply. "I would suggest the Reclaimer simply remove the Activation Index."
"That's it? Johnson! I'm on it!" She said.
"Hang tight, Ma'am! Not until that Brute is dead."
That was when Thel saw it. The tiny T-shaped shadow of the Sacred Icon was suspended within the bright beam at the center of the room. The Jiralhanae were now taking cover behind the unfolded contraptions that guided the beam, but the Icon was at a reachable height, even for the humans.
Thel's shields recharged as he watched Tartarus step in front of the Icon, clenching the Fist of Rukt with a grin. A white glow shone over the Chieftain's body as energy shields of his own creation rose to life.
"What's the matter, Arbiter?" Tartarus mocked, raising his voice over the deafening charge of the Control Room's beam. "Afraid of my little hammer?"
The Arbiter was beginning to feel faint. He didn't know how much blood he'd lost, but if he was going to die today, he needed to die for a cause. Defending the galaxy seemed reasonable enough. He sprinted forwards with his blade at the ready, sweeping left and right to avoid bouncing Jiralhanae grenades. He leapt onto the platform, expecting a barrage of fire from the Jiralhanae at his sides, but none came.
Instead, the Jiralhanae guards fired at new targets.
The sounds of various Sangheili war cries grew closer from both walkways.
"Kill the traitors!"
"For our brothers!"
"For the Covenant!"
The purple beam of Johnson's rifle continued to flash at the Jiralhanae as the Sangheili ran across the bridges. Whether they knew the human was an ally or not, their targets for the time being were the Jiralhanae and no one else.
Seizing the Jiralhanae's distraction as an opportunity, Thel stabbed two guards nearest to him before turning back to face the approaching Chieftain.
Tartarus strode forwards slowly but confidently. His ever-present grin never faltered, but his brows twitched with submerged rage.
Thel held his sword at the ready, examining the Chieftain's shields. Their distinct white glow and apparent density was not the same as the Sangheili's. They would take several hits from Thel's energy sword if they could be extinguished at all, and with the reach of Tartarus' arm's length combined with the hammer, Thel wasn't sure if he could even get close enough to strike.
The Arbiter stepped backwards slowly around the platform, searching for a weakness as Tartarus matched his movements in pursuit. As a gleam of purple flashed behind the Chieftain's shoulders, he sniggered at Thel's obvious caution.
"Are you fighting or dancing?!"
Thel could hear the cries of battling Sangheili and Jiralhanae across the platform and bridges. It seemed more Jiralhanae had joined the fray along with the Sangheili, and both sides were suffering severe casualties. Thel heard several unidentifiable voices cry out as they plummeted below, apparently having fallen off one of the bridges. He couldn't tell if they were Sangheili, Jiralhanae or both.
"Just like the rest of your race," Tartarus taunted. "Cowardly and weak."
Thel reached out carefully but quickly, slicing at Tartarus' abdomen but missing entirely. He was not close enough to land a hit, not even to damage the Jiralhanae's shields. The Chieftain returned a sideways swing with his heavy, modified Fist of Rukt.
"A lucky hit. But you will not land another." Tartarus declared.
Thel jumped backwards, narrowly escaping its head. Tartarus raised the hammer high over himself, exposing his body momentarily, but Thel did not risk another swipe. He jumped back again as the Fist of Rukt slammed against the tiled Forerunner platform. Even after jumping back, Thel was knocked off his feet by a forceful shockwave emitted by the hammer as it hit the floor. Thel spun onto his hands and pushed himself back up as he narrowly escaped yet another swing of Tartarus' hammer.
The duel between the Arbiter and the Chieftain of the Jiralhanae continued in this fashion longer than Thel was comfortable with. He was awfully conscious of the energy beam running up the center of the room, constantly getting louder and brighter. Soon, it would be charged enough to fire Halo, and everyone would perish, whether in this room or the rest of the galaxy.
Another purple strike flashed past as Thel failed his next swipe at the Chieftain. Tartarus, clearly growing frustrated, increased the rate of his swings. Swing after swing, slam after slam, and shockwave after shockwave, the duel continued. The end of the galaxy was at hand.
"I'll gnaw your bones while I walk the Path!" Tartarus declared as he raised his hammer for another strike.
TSSEEW!
Tartarus was struck by Johnson's beam rifle.
TSSEEW!
Followed by another shot. The white shields popped, leaving Tartarus' hairy body exposed, and dark blue blood gushed with the second shot to the shoulder, causing the Brute to stagger. Thel grasped the hilt of his sword, thrust forwards as hard as he could and jammed the energy blades through Tartarus' gut. Tartarus released his hammer and dropped to his knees. Thel withdrew the sword from the Chieftain's abdomen.
The Brute lay on his back, spluttering dark blue blood from his jaw and coating his fur with it.
The Arbiter stood over him, and the Brute Chieftain tried to say something, but could only splutter more blood.
Thel just looked down at the Brute. What did he feel? Pity? Remorse? Indifference? He couldn't tell. He just leveled his plasma rifle at his head and pulled the trigger, and the Brute stopped moving.
Miranda Keyes watched as the final Brute fell, and the Elites secured the platform. She had never thought that she would be relieved to see Elites winning any battle, much less alongside Humans.
But she couldn't worry about that now.
"You're all clear Ma'am," Johnson called out.
The platform she was on kept spinning around the chamber, and she had to keep herself braced at all times to keep herself from falling into the depths below. But she couldn't worry about heights right now. Halo was about to fire, as the Monitor was apt to point out.
"Firing sequence initiated," announced the Oracle. "May I say, Reclaimers, it has been a pleasure to serve you both. Goodbye."
"Not today," Miranda said under her breath as she made a running jump and landed on a platform below her.
She skidded to a halt, using her hands and boots to keep herself from rolling or sliding over the edge. She was just about to get back up when she had to duck underneath another platform that raced towards her. She hugged the deck below her as the platform flew past her, skimming her posterior.
When the threat had past, she jumped back up to her feet and jumped over the side, crashing onto the central platform and rolling across the deck. The pillar of energy surrounding the Index was getting brighter and brighter. She could barely see the T-shaped object anymore.
She was out of time.
Ignoring the aches and pains she felt all over her body, she ran as hard and as fast as she could towards the beam of light in the center of the chamber. She plunged her hand into the beam, ignoring the energy that crackled across her arm and swiped at the Index.
She felt her fingers close around something and managed to pull it out.
The Index was in her hands. For a moment, she thought she had succeeded. But then, the ground began to shake beneath her boots and she looked up.
This was it.
Clutching the Index to her chest, she looked up as a burst of energy was sent up into the opening in the chamber and up into the sky.
Sorry Dad. I wasn't fast enough.
She braced herself, resigned to the fact that she would be reunited with her father very shortly.
But after a while, nothing happened.
Looking around the room, she saw that everyone else had fallen silent, anticipating what could come next. They were all still there, just as she was. Did it work? Did they stop Halo?
That's when she heard a knew sound. She turned back to the position in which the Icon had been suspended. A pulsing hologram of revolving Forerunner glyphs hovered in place of the beam.
She looked her shoulder and saw and sent a wary glance towards the Arbiter and his Elites, and felt herself gripping the Index tighter. At the same time, Johnson, clung tightly to the floating Oracle, dangling above the platform. Guilty Spark dropped him off beside her
The Silver-clad Elite they encountered at the Library stepped stepped over to the humans.
"What's that?" Keyes asked, gesturing to the hologram.
"A beacon," Guilty Spark replied.
"What's it doing?" she continued.
"Communicating," answered the Oracle. "At superluminal speeds with a frequency of-"
"Communicating with what?" She interjected.
The Oracle paused.
"The other installations," he answered.
"Show me." Miranda said.
343 Guilty Spark zapped the beacon, which then proceeded to morph into a new display. The original glyphs were replaced with the holographic images of seven rotating rings. Six were blue, and one was red, likely representing the Ring that Chief and Cortana destroyed.
They all looked closer. Although the entire display was blue, they were able to distinguish the lands and oceans on the inner-facing surfaces of each ring and the machinery on the outer sides.
"Failsafe protocol," the Oracle informed them. "In the event of unexpected shutdown, the entire system will move to standby status. All remaining platforms are now ready for remote activation."
"Remote activation?" the female repeated. "From here?"
"Don't be ridiculous," the Oracle scoffed.
"Listen, Tinkerbell," Johnson threatened. "Don't make me-"
"Then where?" asked Miranda, cutting Johnson off. "Where would someone go to activate the other rings?"
"Why, the Ark of course," Guilty Spark chirped cheerfully.
This time, the Arbiter stepped in.
"And where, Oracle, Is that?"
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Hey folks, finally got this chapter finished.
But unlike the real Halo 2, this is not the end. This story will end in the way Bungie intended originally.
Anyway, that's all I've got for today. Go away now.