Chapter 5
Viery Territory – Covenant-Occupied Dark Zone
12 Hours After the Meeting with Noble Team, Nightfall
The journey into the Viery Territory dark zone had been slow and deliberate. Prophet and his ODST squad moved in silence behind Noble Three and Noble Six, navigating the rugged landscape with precision. The landscape was harsh, dominated by towering mountain ridges that loomed like silent sentinels over the ruined settlements and industrial stations below. Jagged cliffs and narrow paths forced them into careful formations, every shift calculated to avoid unnecessary noise.
The area had once been a vital part of Reach's infrastructure—a network of mining outposts, processing plants, and small civilian settlements carved into the mountainside. Now, it was a ghostly husk of its former self. Collapsed smokestacks jutted from the earth like broken spires, their skeletal remains surrounded by rusted machinery and abandoned cargo haulers. The settlements, built into the rock itself, had been hollowed out by war—windows shattered, walls scorched, UNSC fortifications left in ruins.
They had moved carefully through the desolation, avoiding patrols where they could. Ghosts hovered along the valley roads, their engines low and predatory, while Elites patrolled in small squads, scanning the landscape for any sign of resistance. Prophet and his team used the landscape to their advantage, weaving through the rocky outcroppings and slipping between the remnants of old supply depots, taking out stragglers only when absolutely necessary.
As they pressed deeper into Covenant-controlled territory, the squad moved like shadows, silent and efficient. Every step was measured, every kill precise. Prophet led the way with Noble Six, navigating the jagged landscape and ruined infrastructure of Viery with the ease of practiced hunters. The deeper they went, the heavier the Covenant presence became—small patrols of Grunts and Jackals moving between outposts, Elites stationed at makeshift command points, Ghosts prowling the pathways.
They took them out methodically, one by one.
Prophet observed as Raven perched atop a half-crumpled industrial walkway, her sniper rifle barely making a sound as a Jackal's skull jerked backward, its body crumpling before it could call out. Hale and Mendez worked in tandem, knifing two distracted Grunts by an inactive plasma turret, catching their bodies before they could hit the ground. Six slit an Elite's throat in the cover of darkness, its shield briefly flickering before dying out, its body slumping against the rusted shell of an abandoned Warthog.
The squad avoided direct firefights, sticking to silent eliminations wherever possible. A Covenant watchtower overlooking an old refinery was neutralized within seconds—Jun putting a round through the head of the Zealot overseeing it, while Prophet and Six cleared the guards below with suppressed bursts and combat knives. They knew that the longer they persisted undetected, the closer they could get to their objective before the Covenant realized they were inside their territory.
But the silence didn't last.
As they advanced deeper into the dark zone, a new sound tore through the night — a guttural roar, raw and inhuman, followed by the unmistakable sound of plasma fire. Prophet halted the squad with a raised fist, his head snapping toward the noise.
Something was happening ahead.
Moving quickly but carefully, the team crept forward through the ruins, staying low, their weapons primed. They reached the edge of an open industrial lot, partially crumpled, littered with abandoned vehicles and debris.
And there, in the center of it all, Covenant forces were being slaughtered.
Two massive humanoid creatures, easily three meters tall, with elongated limbs, pale mottled skin, and grotesque, tusk-like protrusions jutting from their lower jaws, tore through a squad of Elites and Jackals. Their bodies were hunched yet powerful, their shiftings unnatural—faster than something their size should be able to move.
One of the creatures lunged forward, its massive clawed hand wrapping around the throat of a bellowing Elite. The Sangheili tried to pry itself free, but the thing was too strong. With a sickening crunch, the Elite's armor buckled inward, and the creature ripped its head clean off, spinal column still attached.
The second monstrosity moved with terrifying speed, charging through a pack of panicked Jackals, its long fingers tearing through their flesh like wet paper. The avian creatures screeched, shields flashing desperately before being cleaved apart, their limbs ripped from their bodies, blood spraying across the ground.
A Grunt, stumbling backward, fired wildly with its plasma pistol. The shot hit the beast's shoulder, but it barely reacted. Instead, it grabbed the stubby alien by the head and squeezed—its tiny skull bursting in a wet pop, methane hissing from its ruptured mask.
The Covenant were losing. Badly.
Prophet's grip on his DMR tightened as he exchanged a glance with Six and Jun.
"What the hell are those things?" Mendez whispered, voice barely audible over the carnage.
"No idea," Prophet muttered. "But they're not friendly."
As if on cue, one of the creatures jerked its grotesque head toward them. Its black, beady eyes locked onto their stance, nostrils flaring. Its maw opened, revealing rows of jagged, uneven teeth, and it let out a roar that shook the ground.
The second creature turned, sniffing the air, its elongated fingers twitching. The Covenant were already dead or dying—and now, they had new prey.
"Open fire," Prophet ordered.
Gunfire erupted.
Raven's sniper rifle cracked, punching a round through one of the creature's shoulders. It jerked from the impact, thick, dark blood spraying from the wound—but it didn't fall.
Jun and Six moved in tandem, fanning out, their rifles firing controlled bursts, aiming for joints, for the head, for anything that would slow them down.
The beasts didn't flinch.
One of them let out a guttural snarl and lunged.
Prophet broke into a sprint, meeting the creature head-on, his DMR spitting rounds into its center mass. Its pale, almost translucent skin rippled as the bullets tore through it, dark ichor leaking from the wounds.
Still, it didn't stop.
At the last second, Prophet dropped his rifle, drawing his combat knife, and swung—his augmented strength driving the blade into the beast's gut.
The creature bellowed, staggering forward, but Prophet didn't let up. He punched forward with all his force, the impact denting flesh and cracking something beneath. It reeled, its long limbs clawing at him, but he wrenched the knife deeper, yanking upward.
Black gore spilled from its mouth as it screeched in pain, its massive claws swinging wildly.
Behind him, Mendez and Hale unloaded rounds into the creature's back, their gunfire stitching across its flesh, but it refused to fall.
The second beast lunged for Six, its massive hand swiping at the Spartan. Six ducked, rolling under the swing before slamming the barrel of their MA37 against its ribcage and emptying an entire mag into its side.
Jun lined up a shot and fired—the round punched through the thing's eye socket, sending it lurching backward, shrieking.
Prophet barely dodged a swipe from his opponent, using his momentum to drive his knife up into its exposed neck, sawing through muscle and cartilage.
It choked, limbs spasming—before Prophet wrenched the blade free and kicked it back.
It crumpled, gurgling, its lifeblood spilling onto the dirt.
Six finished theirs with a final burst to the skull. The creature shuddered once before slumping, its grotesque form finally still.
Silence.
The squad persisted on edge, weapons up, scanning for more.
Nothing.
Prophet exhaled sharply, wiping black blood off his visor.
Jun knelt beside one of the corpses, inspecting the grotesque remains. "Kat, pick any of that up?"
Kat's voice came through the comms, steady but laced with intrigue. "Affirmative, Recon Bravo. It's an indigenous creature called Gúta."
Jun exhaled, giving the massive carcass one last look before straightening. "There's a trail up ahead through the rocks. Let's take it."
The squad moved cautiously through the winding rocky trail, the distant echoes of battle and scattered debris painting a grim picture of the conflict that had already ravaged this area. The jagged cliffs and sparse vegetation gave way to signs of human infrastructure—metal piping protruding from the ground, rusted supply crates, and concrete barriers marking the outskirts of an old facility.
As they crested a ridge, Jun raised a fist, signaling the squad to halt. He knelt, bringing his sniper scope up to scan the area ahead. Beyond the outcrop, nestled in the valley below, was a partially intact pump station—an old water processing facility, its industrial structure reinforced with makeshift barricades. But the scene in front of them was anything but abandoned.
Gunfire flashed through the dim light, bright flashes of tracer rounds sparking off metal and rock. Prophet shifted forward, getting a better view—a small band of human fighters, clad in scavenged armor and old UNSC fatigues, were pinned down behind rusted equipment, desperately holding their stance against a Covenant assault.
Elites and Jackals advanced on them, plasma bolts lighting up the station's surroundings. A civilian with an old MA5B let out a defiant burst, dropping a Grunt before ducking back down. Another fighter with a DMR took careful shots, but their numbers were thin.
Jun keyed his comm. "Noble Two, we're at some sort of pump station. Got eyes on civilians— I'm taking more local militia. They've engaged hostiles."
A brief pause, then Kat's voice came through. "Move to assist. They may have intel we need."
Jun didn't hesitate. He stood, rifle snapping into stance. "You heard her. Everyone, keep those civilians alive."
As Jun gave the order, the squad moved as one, rifles snapping up as they opened fire on the advancing Covenant forces. Prophet squeezed the trigger, his DMR cracking as a round punched through the skull of a Jackal lining up a shot on one of the militia fighters. Raven's sniper followed immediately after, dropping an Elite mid-stride with a clean shot through its throat.
The militia fighters ducked down behind their makeshift barricades, startled by the sudden intervention—but quick to realize they had backup.
Then, their comms crackled to life.
"Give us a hand! The bastards just keep on coming!"
Prophet caught sight of the one who spoke—a rugged-looking soldier, his face smeared with dirt, shouting into a battered radio while keeping his rifle trained on the enemy. Behind him, another fighter reloaded a shotgun with shaky hands, eyes flicking toward the new arrivals with both hope and desperation.
"We're already on it," Prophet responded, dropping behind cover and sending another burst downrange.
Jun took stance higher up, his sniper rifle barking as he neutralized a Covenant marksman perched on an old catwalk.
The battle raged on.
The local militia fought like seasoned soldiers, well-equipped and organized. Their weapons weren't scavenged leftovers or makeshift gear—they carried MA5Bs, BR55 battle rifles, and M392 DMRs, all standard-issue UNSC firearms. Their armor was a mix of old and new UNSC gear—some wearing Marine combat armor, others in ODST-pattern chest plates stripped of insignia.
They held their ground with discipline, laying down precise, overlapping fire as the Covenant pressed in. A squad of militia riflemen moved as a unit, coordinating their shots to punch through an Elite's shields before finishing it with well-placed bursts. A grenadier loaded an M319 and launched an explosive straight into a group of Jackals huddled behind their shields, the blast tearing through them with brutal efficiency.
Prophet moved through the chaos with precision, snapping off controlled bursts from his DMR, dropping a charging Grunt before switching to a nearby Elite. The towering warrior growled, its shields flaring as it dove behind cover, barking orders in its guttural tongue.
Nearby, Noble Six stormed forward, switching to their sidearm as they weaved through cover, landing precise headshots on a squad of Grunts before closing in on a Jackal, dropping it with a brutal strike to the skull.
The ODSTs were just as relentless.
Mendez lobbed a grenade into a tight cluster of Covenant troops, the explosion sending their bodies flying across the dirt. Torres and Hale pushed up, working in tandem to take down a heavily armored Brute wielding a Spiker, their combined fire tearing through its thick hide before it crumpled in a heap.
But even the best-equipped soldiers take losses.
One of the militia, a rifleman laying down suppressing fire, was clipped in the shoulder by a plasma bolt. He staggered, his armor holding against the impact, but another bolt struck his helmet. He crumpled instantly, his body hitting the ground with a dull thud.
Another marine in full combat gear lunged forward with a shotgun, catching a Brute in the side with a blast—but the towering beast barely slowed. With a snarling roar, it swung its gravity hammer, the sheer force crushing the Marine's chest plate, sending his body flying like a ragdoll.
Despite their losses, the combined firepower of Spartans, ODSTs, and militia turned the tide.
Jun fired another shot, his round punching through an Elite's skull mid-command. Prophet finished another, closing the distance with a quick knife to the throat, watching as dark blood spilled from the gurgling creature before it crumpled.
The remaining Covenant broke.
The surviving Elites shouted something in their language before retreating, signaling the few remaining Jackals and Grunts to follow. In moments, the Covenant forces scattered, leaving behind the smoking wreckage of their fallen.
Silence fell over the battlefield.
The militia moved efficiently, securing their wounded, gathering weapons, and reinforcing defensive stances. Prophet observed as one of them dragged a fallen comrade's body toward the center of the pump station, placing a hand over their chest in a quiet moment of mourning.
They regrouped in the station's central courtyard, where a stack of UNSC weapons crates sat untouched. Some of the militia fighters were already cracking them open, reloading their rifles and checking their ammo counts with methodical precision.
One of them, a grizzled older fighter in reinforced Marine armor, his BR55 slung over his shoulder, approached the group.
"A little more action than we're used to," he said, watching the Spartans closely. "You Spartans are good in a fight."
He surveyed toward the ODSTs, giving them an approving nod. "And you guys too."
Mendez scoffed, reloading his rifle. "Damn right."
Jun, still standing slightly apart, lowered his sniper rifle and advanced forward. His voice was even, but firm.
"What are you doing here? Whole area's supposed to be evacuated."
The militia leader exhaled, glancing at the bodies of his fallen comrades before turning his gaze back to Jun. "Didn't like leaving it to someone else to protect our home…" He gestured toward the surrounding crates and weapons stockpiles, a wry smirk tugging at the corner of his scarred face. "So we came back for this."
Behind him, several of the militia fighters were cracking open crates and metal containers, pulling out weapons and gear that had no business being in civilian hands. Prophet's eyes flicked over the arsenal—missile launchers, crates of M247H heavy machine guns, modified MA5 rifles with illegal attachments, even a few cases of high-explosive anti-materiel rounds.
One of the fighters pried open a reinforced container, revealing a full stockpile of M41 SPNKR launchers, stacked neatly in rows. Another lifted the lid of a metal box lined with detonation packs and ordinance that had clearly never been signed off by the UNSC.
The militia leader followed Prophet's gaze and shrugged. "We have them stashed all over the territory."
Jun took a step closer, crossing his arms as he looked around at the stockpile. "You know all of this stuff is stolen."
The militia leader grinned, picking up a loaded BR55 and checking the chamber. "What, you gonna arrest me?"
Jun didn't hesitate.
"No. I'm gonna steal it back."
The conversation didn't linger on the stolen weapons.
Prophet, Jun, and Six pressed the militia for information, trying to get a sense of the Covenant's shiftings in the area. The fighters didn't have much—no direct intel on the larger invasion force, no idea what the Covenant was truly after—but they did know the land better than anyone.
One of them, a wiry man with a tactical headset, knelt beside a dirt-covered map spread over an ammo crate. He traced a path with his gloved finger, pointing toward a dry riverbed that cut through the valley.
"You take this, you'll stay out of sight. Leads to an old hydroelectric dam about six clicks east."
Prophet leaned in, analyzing the route. It was a smart play. The dam was one of many scattered throughout the mountains, once part of Reach's pre-war infrastructure. Now, it served a different purpose.
The militia leader nodded, confirming what Prophet was already thinking. "We use it to smuggle… all sorts of things. Gets you under the Covenant's nose without them even knowing."
Jun exhaled, shaking his head slightly. "Can't say I'm surprised."
The man shrugged. "We're not the ones you gotta worry about, Spartan."
Still, no one pushed the subject. Right now, it didn't matter what they had been running through the dam. What mattered was getting deeper into the dark zone without being seen.
The teams split soon after. The militia assembled what they could, tending to their wounded, preparing to relocate. Jun gave them one last look, his tone carrying a quiet warning.
"You need to get out of this place."
The militia leader nodded, slinging his rifle over his shoulder. "Yeah. We know."
No more words were needed. Prophet signaled his squad, and without another glance back, they disappeared into the night—toward the dam, and deeper into the unknown.
Prophet moved with steady purpose, his boots crunching softly against loose rubble as he and his team followed Noble Three and Noble. The sky overhead was thick with clouds, blotting out the stars.
Prophet held his weapon steady, visor flickering from interference as it struggled with the environmental disruptions. as it struggled to process battlefield telemetry. He didn't like it.
His team moved in formation behind him, disciplined and alert. Raven was on his right, sniper rifle secured to her back, eyes always moving, checking angles and high ground. Mendez, Torres, Smith, and Hale fanned out just enough to keep spacing without breaking cohesion, their visors alternating between night vision and thermal, trying to get anything useful through the haze.
Up ahead, Noble Six and Jun moved carefully, methodical in their approach. Six carried their rifle low, scanning the path ahead with the efficiency of someone who had done this a hundred times before. Jun moved with a practiced ease that belied the weight of his armor, adjusting his rifle's angle with every few steps.
Then, they saw it.
The landscape ahead sloped downward into a ruined industrial sector, the skeletal remains of buildings barely standing after previous engagements. But in the center of it all stood something unmistakably alien.
A Covenant pylon, pulsing with an eerie, rhythmic glow. The structure was massive, taller than any surrounding ruins, its base embedded deep into the earth, as if it had been planted there. Energy coursed along its surface, arcing between conduits that extended outward like metallic vines.
And it wasn't unguarded.
Ghosts patrolled the perimeter, their engines humming low as they drifted through the wreckage, plasma turrets mounted on broken rooftops scanning the area. Elites stood at key stances, overseeing the defenses, while squads of Jackals and Grunts moved between energy barriers and supply caches.
Jun crouched, his sniper rifle shifting into stance as he took in the sight. His voice came through the comms, calm but alert. "Kat, are you seeing this? Covenant structure. Big pylon. Heavily fortified."
A brief pause, then Kat's voice crackled through the channel.
"That's the source of my dark zone."
A low hum cut through the air.
Prophet stiffened. Not wind. Not background noise.
It was faint—almost imperceptible.
But he recognized it.
He keyed his comms, voice low. "Active camo."
A shimmer of shifting flashed across his visor.
"Cover!" Prophet shouted just as the first plasma bolts streaked toward them.
The ridge lit up with weapons fire.
Prophet dropped behind a piece of broken concrete as an Elite materialized from the dark, its energy sword flaring to life. It moved fast, closing the distance toward Jun, but Six fired first, a short, controlled burst that dropped its shields.
One second later, Jun put a sniper round through its skull.
The body hit the ground hard, but more were coming.
Elites decloaked in staggered stances, their ambush failing but still dangerous. Raven's rifle cracked as she put a round through the head of another before it could react. Mendez and Torres lit up a third, punching through shields before a final burst put it down.
Then the whole field erupted.
Plasma bolts seared through the air, lighting up the dark like bursts of blue lightning. The fight had turned into a full engagement. Noble Six and Jun were already restanceing, firing controlled bursts to drop advancing targets. Prophet didn't hesitate—he pushed forward, sprinting into the chaos as his DMR shouted with precise, disciplined shots.
An Elite broke cover, its shields flashing as Prophet jerked three rounds into its chest. The creature staggered, growling, before diving behind a chunk of broken concrete. Another stormed forward, its plasma rifle spitting bright green bolts toward him. Prophet slid low, dodging the incoming fire, rolling into a crouch as he brought his rifle up.
Two rounds to the gut. One to the head.
The Elite's shields overloaded, crackling as it stumbled backward. Before it could recover, Prophet was already moving. He let the DMR fall to his chest, hand snapping to the combat knife on his shoulder plate.
The blade was in his grip before the Elite could react.
He closed the distance in three quick strides, launching himself forward. The Elite growled, swinging its massive arm at him, but Prophet ducked the blow, twisting around to its side.
The instant he felt the creature's shields give, he drove the knife into the soft flesh beneath its jaw.
The Elite let out a wet, choking growl, its mandibles flaring wide as Prophet wrenched the blade up into its mouth.
A spray of dark purple blood splattered against his visor, warm and viscous under the dim light.
The Elite spasmed, its body buckling. Prophet didn't stop. He braced a boot against its chest and tore the knife free, carving through the softer tissue inside its throat. The creature gurgled once before collapsing to the ground, twitching as its lifeblood poured onto the dirt.
Prophet barely had time to react before another Elite lunged from his left, its plasma rifle raised.
Before it could fire, Jun's sniper cracked.
The Elite's head jerked violently to the side, a clean hole punched through its temple.
"Keep moving!" Jun called over comms, already shifting his sights to the next target.
Prophet wiped the blood from his visor with the back of his glove, then snatched his DMR back into stance.
Plasma fire tore through the ruins ahead, signaling that the Covenant had fully registered their intrusion. Ghosts veered around debris, engines whining as they circled in predatory loops, their plasma cannons lighting up the dark. Jackals moved in formation, shields up, returning fire in well-aimed bursts. A Shade turret perched on a broken overpass started firing, forcing Prophet and his team into cover as searing plasma bolts rained down.
Prophet barely had a chance to react before a plasma grenade sailed overhead, sticking to a crumbling section of wall behind over his head, sticking to a broken piece of cover just behind them.
"Move!"
The squad scattered just as the grenade detonated, sending shards of stone and metal into the air.
The explosion tore through the air, sending chunks of rubble flying. Prophet ducked low, shielding his visor from the dust and debris. He barely had time to process before a sharp cry cut through the chaos.
"Smith's hit!"
Prophet's head jerked toward the source—Smith was airborne, the force of the grenade blast launching him backward. His body wrenched mid-air before he crashed hard against the remains of a broken concrete pillar, armor scraping loudly against the jagged surface. He crumpled to the ground with a heavy thud, motionless for a split second before groaning and attempting to push himself up.
He was alive. Hurt, but alive.
"Mendez, get to him!" Prophet shouted, his DMR snapping up as shifting flashed in his periphery.
An Elite Major, plasma rifle raised, lunged forward through the dust cloud, closing the gap fast. Prophet didn't hesitate—three rounds center mass, each one hammering into the Elite's chest plate. Its shields flared violently, trying to hold, before the last shot shattered them completely.
A final pull of the trigger.
The Elite's skull jerked back, its body folding in on itself like a puppet with its strings cut. It crumpled onto the charred ground, a thick pool of violet blood spreading beneath its twitching form.
Prophet turned, barely a breath between kills before something else lunged at him—a Jackal, too fast, too close.
It screeched, plasma pistol glowing hot as it tried to aim—but Prophet moved first.
His left hand shot out, gripping the avian bastard by its throat and slamming it back against a rusted-out metal support beam. The Jackal thrashed, claws scrabbling at his armor, but Prophet didn't give it the chance to resist.
With a brutal, controlled motion, he wrenched his grip and pulled.
A sickening crack tore through the air as the Jackal's vertebrae jerked. The creature's head lolled unnaturally to the side, its beak hanging open in a grotesque, frozen snarl as its body sagged against Prophet's arm.
He let the corpse drop unceremoniously, his bloodied glove flexing once before he switched his grip back to his DMR.
The battlefield was still alive with the chaotic exchange of plasma and ballistic fire, the air thick with heat, dust, and the acrid scent of scorched flesh.
Raven's rifle cracked from above, another round punching through an Elite's helmet, dropping it before it could rally its troops. Prophet moved forward, keeping low, snapping off two quick bursts into a Jackal trying to restance behind a crumpled support beam. Its shield flashed, buckled, then crumpled entirely as the final shot found the exposed gap in its throat.
Smith, still recovering from the grenade blast, was pushed into cover by Mendez, who worked quickly to patch up his armor's breaches. "You're lucky it just knocked the wind outta you," Mendez muttered. "Could've been a lot worse."
"Yeah, yeah," Smith grunted, flexing his arm to test his mobility before shouldering his rifle. "I'm still in this."
Ahead, Noble Six and Jun moved methodically, working through the remaining enemies with ruthless precision. Jun's sniper fired off another round—a Grunt's methane tank exploded, sending it and two others tumbling violently into the rubble.
A Ghost made another desperate pass, its cannons lighting up the area, forcing Prophet and his squad into temporary cover. Torres reacted first, pulling a grenade from his belt and launching it. The explosive lodged between the Ghost's front plating, detonating on impact. The vehicle flipped end-over-end, its pilot screaming before being crushed beneath the weight of the wreckage.
The fight dragged on for another five minutes—relentless, brutal, every second a struggle to gain ground. Prophet moved with his team, covering angles, clearing targets, keeping the pressure on. One by one, the enemy forces fell.
Then, it was over.
The last Elite, its shields shattered, its body riddled with holes, gurgled something in its native tongue before Six ended it with a single precise burst to the skull.
The battlefield fell into eerie stillness.
Prophet took a slow breath, scanning the area. His visor still flashed with residual interference, but the Covenant in this zone were dead.
Jun keyed his comm, his voice steady. "Kat, we've cleared the area. Moving to rig the pylon."
"Copy that, Jun," Kat responded. "Make sure you set the charges deep—we don't want anything left standing when you're done."
"Understood."
Prophet turned to his team. "Mendez, Torres—check for supplies. Raven, find a high point and keep eyes out in case more show up. Smith, stay put and let that armor seal properly."
They moved quickly, their training kicking in. Meanwhile, Six was already approaching the pylon, scanning its structure for weak points.
Prophet followed, tapping his comm. "Hale, get over here. We need this thing ready to blow."
Hale jogged over, a satchel of C-12 explosives strapped to his back. He knelt down near the base of the pylon, pulling out the charges, his hands moving fast but precise as he prepped the detonators. The alien metal pulsed beneath them, still alive with whatever energy the Covenant had coursing through its structure.
"This thing's got a power source buried deep," Hale muttered, placing the first charge at a critical junction. "If we don't plant these right, it might just cripple it instead of bringing it down."
"Then make sure it counts," Prophet said, scanning the area while Hale worked.
Six helped set additional explosives along the support struts, ensuring the blast radius would collapse the pylon inward. Jun stood nearby, keeping his rifle trained outward, watching for shifting.
"Charges set," Hale finally confirmed, standing up and brushing dust from his gloves. "Timed for two minutes. Should be plenty of time to clear out."
Prophet gave a nod. "Let's move."
With the squad in formation, they fell back, slipping into the surrounding ruins as the detonators counted down. The eerie glow of the pylon flashed, the energy arcing along its conduits as if sensing its own demise.
Then, the explosives went off.
A chain reaction ripped through the structure, sending shockwaves through the ground. The pylon crumpled inward, metal screeching, alien energy crackling violently before it imploded into itself. The once-dominant structure was reduced to rubble, the interference it generated vanishing in an instant.
"Kat," Prophet called over the comm, watching the last remnants of the pylon settle into dust. "Pylon is down. The dark zone should be clearing up."
"I see it," Kat responded. "Whatever was blocking our scans is gone—picking up more enemy shiftings now."
"Good," Prophet said, adjusting his rifle. "We're moving deeper. Keep us updated."
30 Minutes Later – Deeper into the Dark Zone
The squad moved in near silence, navigating the uneven landscape of Viery's ruined outskirts. With the interference gone, their HUDs were finally functional, but that only made what they were seeing worse—multiple heat signatures, distant energy readings, shifting deeper into Covenant territory.
They crested a rocky incline, keeping low as they neared the edge. Prophet and Six took point, crawling forward until they reached a vantage point overlooking a vast stretch of land.
Below them, hidden away in a valley carved between the ruins, was a massive Covenant invasion force.
It stretched for miles and miles.
A full staging ground, concealed beneath the natural landscape and now fully revealed with the dark zone cleared.
Dropships landed in staggered intervals, offloading wave after wave of troops. Hundreds of Grunts, Jackals, and Elites moved in organized columns. Hunters patrolled alongside Wraiths, their massive armored frames illuminated by the glow of nearby gravity lifts.
At the heart of it all stood two massive Covenant Spires, each pulsing with energy shields that flared in rhythmic pulses. The structures were monolithic, alien towers stretching toward the night sky, their bases surrounded by intricate power conduits feeding into the ground.
Around them, multiple Scarabs loomed like titanic war machines, their legs shifting as engineers and Elites performed final checks. Three, maybe four in total, all operational, all primed for deployment. Their hulking forms cast massive shadows over the encampment, their plasma cannons occasionally pulsing as they conducted targeting calibrations.
Above it all, Covenant frigates hovered ominously in the sky, their sleek, angular hulls drifting just low enough to establish dominance over the battlefield. Their undersides glowed faintly with residual energy from previous plasma bombardments, casting an eerie purple hue over the encampment below. Every so often, dropships detached from their docking bays, descending like birds of prey to reinforce the already overwhelming ground forces.
It wasn't just a reinforcement wave.
It was a planetary invasion in full effect.
Prophet exhaled slowly, scanning the full scope of what lay below. "Hell," he muttered.
Jun, watching through his sniper scope, spoke next, his voice low. "You seeing this, Kat?"
A brief pause, then Kat's voice came through, tense but focused. "Confirmed. Receiving Noble Three and Noble Six live visual of a Covenant strike force."
Jun exhaled, adjusting his aim slightly. "That's no strike force. It's an invading army." His tone carried no doubt, just cold assessment.
He continued, "If we're gonna smother this thing, we need to go in hard and fast."
Kat's response came without hesitation. "Agreed. All recon teams disengage and fall back. Sun will be up in a few hours... and it's going to be a very busy day."