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Delta Halo's Control Center, 9th and Final Age of Reclamation.
Stepping off the Phantom's gravity lift with the others, Sangheili Major G'torik 'Klemmee gazed up in awe at the Chamber of Consecration - Halo's immense control center.
Fittingly, it was more like a temple in its shape, at least on the exterior, than some module used for controlling a mechanism. Ornate walls of silver-gray alloy converged on an intricately configured dome from which sprang a tower . . . the focal point of the energies that would activate the Halo, beginning the purification that would open the doorway to the Great Journey itself.
He had already been awestruck several times on this visit to the Sacred Ring. First, arriving on the cruiser, G'- torik had seen the Halo itself, or a portion of it, from space it seemed impossible to witness the entire Sacred Ring with the naked eye. Its im- mense size held aloft in orbit around a blue gas giant, a perfect circle-and within its band, the surface of a world. Surely no ordinary mortal could have created such a thing. He had never been, inwardly, a particularly pious Sangheili, but just looking at the Halo in the viewport gave G'torik a shudder of religious wonder.
As they'd gotten closer, he could make out the clouds in filaments and broader strokes of white, over the land within the ring; the marbling clouds parted in places to reveal water, structures, hills and valleys-the handiwork of the gods. Astounding.
Then he had been summoned to the purpose that had brought him here, as guardian for High Councilor Torg ' Gransamee. It was not normal for an Elite of his stature to be called to protect a High Councilor- traditionally a ceremonial role reserved for the Honor Guards. But the Jiral- hanae had now become Honor Guards, and these Elites chose not to employ them.
Things were anything but normal, for the original Sangheili Honor Guard was no more since his alarming conversation with Zo, ominous clouds had gathered. Citing the death of Regret and the colossal failure that took place at the first Sacred Ring as evidence, the High Prophets of Truth and Mercy publicly handed the role of Honor Guard to the Jiralhanae, a unilateral move without the approval of the Council. In response, some Sangheili within the High Council threatened to resign, while others saw fit to come here to the Ring and prepare the Chamber of Consecration for the Sa- cred Icon. Still, there was a danger that the High Prophet of Truth might make the final move that Zo had foreseen, with civil war to erupt at any moment.
And there was the Flood.
G'torik had watched on remote view-screen as the Flood had been encountered in the quarantine zone, the vast, frigid territory between the Ring's massive containment walls and the Sacred Icon's central housing - a location on this Halo the Covenant had designated as the Repository of Fate. The Icon was the key to activating Halo. Without it, the Ring could not achieve the purpose for which it was designed. Only hours ago, the Hierarchs had sent an army to retrieve it, and a small Spec Ops team led by the Arbiter were sent in to retrieve it.
The Icon was secured by Tartarus and his Brutes, but what happened to the Arbiter and the rest of the Covenant forces sent in?
Did they perish in the sweeping depredation of the Flood?
G'torik knew that once the Sacred Icon was put into play, activating the Halo at the control room, all that was impure would be burned away - which would surely include the parasite - and faithful Covenant believers would be transported to the realm of the divine, and all of the divisions within the Covenant would be moot, for all would transcend to paradise.
For a moment, G'torik wondered what that meant - faithful Covenant believers.
Now, striding just behind Torg 'Gransamee, who in armored finery and towering headpiece led a column of Sangheili High Councilors and a handful of other Elites who had once served as Honor Guards, up to the Chamber of Consecration. G'torik felt a flush of shame as he thought of his own doubts-and, yes, they still troubled him. Was this impossible creation, the Halo, not proof of the reality of the Great Journey? So the Prophets insisted.
They trooped along a bridge arching over a large body of water near a series of canyons-the control center stood on a single giant parapet, with large doors opening to a narrow corridor, an antechamber, and eventually the central chamber of the control room, where more bridgelike structures converged on the control board itself. There, the Sacred Icon would be applied, activating the Halo, and the Great ourney would finally commence.
Torg ' Gransamee looked around in puzzlement. "Where are the rest of the Council, and the Icon?"
After a few moments of expressions of confusion, at last they heard the clomping of boots.
"Look. There are the Jiralhanae," said Torg, pointing at the large force number of Brutes marching over yet another peripheral bridge,
G'torik didn't like this at all. The Brutes seemed overarmed for the occasion.
"So many of them. Why? And where are the San'Shyuum Councilors .. ." His voice trailed off as he saw that some of the Jiralhanae were heavily armed with bulky ballistic weapons of their own kind, ones he'd only rarely seen before.
The new ones that rumor had it were secretly ordered by the High Prophet of Truth?
The Brutes were being led by a close associate of Tartarus, a captain called Melchus, the chieftain's thick-chested, brown-furred second-in-command, carrying a Brute Shot like several of his pack mates.
And there were no San'Shyuum to be seen at all. There was no High Prophet of Mercy. No High Prophet of Truth.
"This must be treachery," G'torik said under his breath.
"Nonsense," Torg sputtered. "They would not conceive of such a thing in this holy place. The Prophets must be-"
But then Melchus roared-and charged the Elite Councilors. The other Jiralhanae who accompanied him took this as a sign and flew forward in concert, converging on the outnumbered Sangheili.
The battle quickly came to a fever pitch. The two groups exchanged shots in the open before violently colliding at the center of the bridge, the Jiralhanae burning, blistering, and blasting with their brute weapons - killing before the Councilors could reach them with their energy swords.
Other Elites managed only light damage with plasma rifles and needlers, while the Brutes double-bladed carbines fired spikes that breached the Sangheili's energy shielding and tore into exposed flesh. The Brutes had the element of surprise, forcing the Elites backward against the control mechanism near the sheer drop to the control room floor far below. The Sangheili had come here on a spiritual mission and were unprepared for this turn of events - with no cover and no place to turn.
Melchus reached two brave Elites who rushed to meet him, their crystalline-pink needler rounds glancing off the Brute's thick shoulder plates. Melchus aimed his Brute Shot at one guard, turning him to exploding flesh and bones; the other was knocked off his feet by the impact of the weapon on the walkway, the grenade blasts launching him off the bridge.
Another Elite came at Melchus with an energy sword, swinging it viciously. The Jiralhanae captain sidestepped the blade with surprising speed for his bulk, and slashing his own bladed weapon into the attacker's midsection, before grabbing the mortally wounded Elite by the throat and throwing the broken body into the abyss below.
"Get behind me, Uncle!" G'torik shouted. He sprinted toward Melchus, hoping that if he could take down the Brute captain, then the Jiralhanae, leaderless, might be confused enough to give the Sangheili Councilors a path through, and perhaps a sorely needed advantage. If he could get close enough, jam his rifle into the Brute captain's mouth, he might do it Melchus was howling with glee and bloodlust, dispatching another Sangheili guard who'd fallen, wounded, under a barrage of spikes. The guard was splashed into nothingness by the Jiralhanae as the air resounded with shouts of pain and fury and the sizzling, cracking sounds of the weapons, the echoing thunder of brute shots and spike grenades.
Maddened with fury, G'torik heard himself shout, "Melchus! Face me and die, traitor!"
He was almost upon the Jiralhanae captain. He poised the plasma rifle as Melchus started to turn toward him But almost as if swiping at some tiny flying pest, Melchus swung the hammer to swat the plasma rifle, and it shattered like a thing of thin glass in G'torik's hands. The smashed rifle exploded in an expanding bubble of blue plasma, which knocked G'torik backward so that he skidded over the smooth surface of the bridge, fetching up against the rail.
Stunned, G'torik fumbled around for another weapon. His hand closed on the dropped hilt of the energy sword; he then saw another, still in a dead Elite's hand. He got dizzily to his feet and snatched up that one, too, activating both swords, a plasma blade in each grip. Their translucent blue-white blades crackled into being, charged with electrons flowing through magnetically shaped streams of superheated plasma that narrowed into two razor-sharp cutting edges G'torik looked around and saw that nearly all the High Councilors were dead, many of them shattered, crushed unrecognizably.
Some of the wounded Elites were still being shot up by the snarling Jiralhanae. Others were summarily tossed off the balcony into the drop-off below. The Sangheili had fought valiantly and only about half the Brutes remained. But the trend of the fight was obvious.
Why didn't we bring more protection? And where is my uncle?
"Torg 'Gransamee!" G'torik shouted. "Torg!"
Then smoke from burning flesh wafted away and he saw it. Melchus standing over his unarmed uncle. The brute captain was crushing Torg 'Gransamee's throat under his enormous, hooflike two-toed boot. And Melchus was laughing as G'torik's uncle gurgled and died.
"Traitor!" G'torik shrieked, rushing at Melchus. "Monster!"
Frustrated to the point of madness, G'torik rushed in, both his blades flashing, only to be blasted by several Jiralhanae grenade launchers.
The force of the blasts felt like getting getting punched by several invisible Hunters. G'torik felt himself spinning through the air. The interior of the control room whirled and blurred and he kept flying.
He realized he'd been knocked off the bridge and darkness soon closed in. The last thing he heard was Melchus and his Brutes laughing.
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He wasn't here, he wasn't there, he wasn't anywhere insofar as the Arbiter could tell from within the strange never-never land of Halo's teleportation net. He couldn't see or hear anything, save a sense of dizzying velocity.
The Arbiter felt his body stitched back together, one molecule at a time. He saw snatches of what looked like a rocky live, surrounded by a thick forest, and overlooking a large Temple in the middle of a large body of water as bands of golden light strobed up and disappeared over his head.
Then his hooves dropped firmly onto the cool, damp soil. He found himself on an escarpment looking across at what he suspected was Halo's primary control tower. Unlike the snowy ziggurat at the end of its chasm on the first Halo, which he witnessed from video recordings by his ground forces, this Control Centre stood off the coast from beaches far below, staring solemnly at the mainland.
Shaped like a sphere, the building was braced by triangular supports and extensions typical of Forerunner architecture. Its peak pierced the gray clouds above, through which the sun's rays beamed, blessing the elegant structure with its warmth.
Even though it was overcast and raining, it was a much better change of scenery from the freezing snow of the Quarantine Zone, which he suspected was a deliberate move by the Installation's caretakers to keep life from growing in the region and keeping the Flood from feasting on any of it. But it was only speculation.
With a twist of his long, eel-like neck, the Arbiter turned his head to examine his more immediate surroundings.
A blue plasma rifle lay at his feet, surrounded by dry patches of purple blood.
Sangheili blood.
He picked it up to find it was still warm. Whoever had wielded the weapon must have dropped it only moments before Thel's arrival, before falling off the cliff below... or before being thrown off.
He listened carefully to his surroundings and the potential dangers that might be nearby. Raindrops splattered over fallen leaves. The calls of native fauna sang from the underbrush, echoing across the imposing pine trees that surrounded the Arbiter but were not close enough together to shelter him from the rain.
Over the past several hours, his world was changing rapidly. Arguably more so than it had when he was demoted and shamed.
Moments ago, The Arbiter had been held within the clutches of a Flood intelligence. He'd heard of such creatures from ancient history and did not trust the tentacled beast, but the Gravemind had not been alone.
Along with himself and the Demon, the monster had captured an oracle of the Forerunner. He knew there was every possibility this oracle had been corrupted, but it sounded as if it truly believed its words. It had spoken from its own free will.
The Arbiter thought back to the other oracle, the one he'd found on Basis, among the ruins of the first Halo. It too had spoken in ways that contradicted the conviction of the Great Journey, even speaking to Heretics. At the time, the Arbiter believed himself to be misinterpreting that oracle's words. Why then, he thought, did Tartarus show such disrespect to it?
When Thel had visited the hierarchs in their Sanctum before his quest to locate the Icon, the oracle had been suspended, unable to move or talk inside its stasis. Why was that necessary? Surely Truth and Mercy, the highest of the Covenant had nothing to hide, or did they?
He knew these thoughts were treasonous, but the Arbiter had just been betrayed by warriors sent by the Prophets themselves.
A bloody fate awaits you and the rest of your incompetent race.
Those were Tartarus' words to him during their last encounter.
Suddenly, he heard it. The sounds of plasma fire and grenade shots firing somewhere on the other side of the trees nearby. He readied his plasma rifle and shook his thick neck powerfully to flick off the irritating water drops that had been running down his face.
He marched down a beaten track to his left and did not make it far before he saw the glistening blue of a Sangheili Minor crawling tremulously wet ground with thick drops of indigo soaking into the soil below him.
The Arbiter scanned the pine trees and ran over to the injured warrior.
The mortally wounded Sangheili looked up at the Arbiter as he squatted down to meet him, placing his hands on his shoulders to prop him up.
"The Brutes...have betrayed us." He started weakly. "The Councillors..."
The Sangheili moved his mandibles in an attempt to continue talking, but no sound was emitted. He then exhaled his last breath and slumped over.
Shaking his head, the Arbiter grabbed the warrior from beneath his torso and lifted him, pushing his back against a tree and slumping the dead warrior against its trunk. He had nothing to say. He was enraged by the Jiralhanae betrayal but at least some of his fellow Sangheili were able to show some dignity by dying on their feet.
The Arbiter held his arm over his chest in a respectful salute.
He then picked up the Elite's energy sword, and his grenades, and continued down the path.
He was rounding a corner when he heard voices. Their unintelligent, slow, dense inflection implied they were Jiralhanae.
"Let's just throw them over the edge," one of them said.
"Where's the fun in that?" asked another.
The Arbiter activated his camouflage before creeping out. He was careful to stand only on the parts of the ground kept firm by foliage in order to keep his hoof prints concealed. The two Jiralhanae were looking upon a scattering of Sangheili bodies, all donned in blue armor.
He knew this could not have been a fair fight. Sangheili were far more skilled on the battlefield. The only way these Jiralhanae could have killed this many was through deceit, trickery, and sheer numbers.
He readied the hilt of his energy sword and crept slowly towards the two Jiralhanae.
The second he was within range, the Arbiter ignited the blade, its tips crackling with vengeance, and lunged towards the closest Brute, and thrust his twin blades straight through the Brute's armor and out through his chest.
In one fluid motion, he spun around and swung his blade straight through the neck of the second one, decapitating him in one clean stroke.
lunging into the second Jiralhanae who was firing wildly into the air.
He stood over the two bodies of the Jiralhanae, among at least a dozen of his kin. This was just the beginning. Whatever was going on, whatever the brutes were up to, no matter the Prophet's motives, or the Paraste's scheming, his brethren would not be shown such dishonor from these lowly creatures.
He reengaged his active camouflage, and sunk into the bushes, just as he heard the sluggish command of a Jiralhanae captain.
"Go see what's taking them so long!" He growled.
He stuck to the shadows, as a trio of heavily armed brutes rounded the bend and saw the bodies of their fallen pack mates. They began to bark and growl in anger and confusion.
The Arbiter primed a plasma grenade and tossed it into the group, sticking to one of the shocked Brutes, and they all began to panic. But before they could remove the grenade from their struggling brother, it detonated, nearly completely vaporizing two of the brutes, and leaving the last one injured on he ground.
It writhed and flailed in agony, before it saw the Arbiter fade into view. The Brute grabbed his odd spike weapon and tried to aim it at the Arbiter, who stepped on his wrist to keep him from raising the weapon. The Arbiter, his expression dripping with cold indifference, aimed his plasma rifle at the Brute's head and pulled the trigger.
The Brute stopped moving.
But before the Arbiter could reengage his camp and retreat into the bushes again, the rest of the pack spotted him from the top of a gray cliff. A hexagonal Forerunner entrance loomed within the cliff face behind them. Its top half stretched high.
Two Jiralhanae Captains pointed their bladed grenade launchers at him. The rest held their red plasma rifles. Some wore faces of anger or hatred, while others had cruel smirks upon their jaws.
They unleashed all of their fire onto the Arbiter, and tossed or fired grenades towards his position. Soil was scorched with plasma, spikes were embedded into rocks, and trees were splintered by grenade detonations.
Even as he took cover behind a large boulder, his shields flared purple as they were impacted by shards of wood or Brute projectiles. He returned fire with his plasma rifle, dropping one of the brutes, but the rest continued their bombardment.
He could step back around the corner he'd come from, but the drove of Jiralhanae would follow and make short work of him. He could charge towards the Forerunner entrance and try to slip through but he was not confident his shields could withstand the bombardment.
Before any of them could begin their pursuit, one Jiralhanae Captain was suddenly skewered by a pair of energy tips, and the rest were put under by plasma fire from unseen foes.
With his foes distracted, the Arbiter charged toward, with two plasma rifles in hands, and he began his gruesome work.
The shouts and gurgles from the Jiralhanae were drowned by the war cries of the Elites. Before long, silence ensued. The entire Jiralhanae camp had been decimated.
Jiralhanae lay where they fell, their armor breeched and their scorched fur emitting black smoke.
The Arbiter stepped up the path on the right to get up to the cliffside door, where he was met by a trio of cloaked Elites, who revealed themselves to Spec Ops Elites.
"My brothers," The Arbiter greeted.
"Arbiter?!" One of them exclaimed. "We thought you had fallen in battle."
The Arbiter shook his head. "Yes. Tartarus and his Brutes made sure of that." He looked out over the ravine below, which ran purple with Sangheili blood. "It appears I am not the only one."
His brothers looked out over the area at their kinsfolk. "By the Prophets! What have these Brutes done?" Asked the leader, who lowered his head.
The Arbiter placed a sympathetic and reassuring hand on the Black-clad Elite's shoulder.
"The Brutes have betrayed us," he said.
Then the Elite clenched his fist and shook with anger.
"They have shed our Brothers' blood..." he said as he ignited his blade, "...and for that they must die!"
After making sure the area was clear, they called down reinforcements from any friendly ships in orbit before piling the Sangheili corpses into a neat row to be respectfully during later.
"What shall we do with the Brutes?" asked a Sangheili minor.
"Leave them," replied the Arbiter. "Let these savages be taken by the dirt."
Suddenly, several sleek pods appeared out of no where, slamming down into the rocky ground, and popping open to reveal several Sangheili warriors, including some Zealots.
"So much for a stealthy advance," one of the Elites with the Arbiter joked, referring to the Gold-armored Elites.
Arbiter nodded his head in approval. He had fought with Zealots before. He had been one himself. Their reputation preceded them, usually in the form of dead bodies.
One of the Zealots walked up to the Arbiter.
He put his fist over his chest and bowed his head. The Arbiter returned the gesture.
"Brothers, what news do you bring from orbit?" He asked.
"A mutiny," he replied. "The Jiralhanae have commandeered many of our ships. Many of our brothers were killed for refusing to step down."
The Arbiter's eyes widened in surprise.
"How they will fare, I am not certain" The Zealot said, looking up at the top of the ring, and the High Charity. "But I'm certain of this: the Jiralhanae shall pay for the blood they have spilled."
"And so, it shall be done," the Arbiter agreed. He looked around at the lance of Sangheili warriors. He didn't know how many Jiralhanae were between themselves and the Control Room, but he decided that no amount of Brutes was too many to kill. "We must find the Councillors, if any still remain, and we will burn every Brute camp we can find."
The Elites gave a roar of approval and moved out.
"Make haste!" Exclaimed one particularly anxious Zealot. "There are more brutes to kill!"
The path through the cliff was likely their best route down. The Arbiter stepped towards the doors and watched as they slid open with the sound of heavy, grinding metal.
The Zealots, raring for vengenace, trod alongside the Arbiter while the rest of the group lingered behind.
The hallways and square rooms through the cliff were exactly what he had come to expect from a Halo ring. Common patterns and architecture surrounded them as they traversed uninterrupted. Occasionally, they passed lines of dimly blinking Forerunner lights and pulsing energy brightening the
environment just enough. The halls here were a little cleaner and brassier than most with recurring layouts not unlike those that had led to the first Halo's Control Room.
After traveling for some time, the lance exited through another of the many hexagonal doorways into a dark cavern. Thick moss plastered its stone walls. The cavern stretched far enough that the Arbiter couldn't see where it ended, but he could hear waterfalls splashing somewhere below.
The lance, engaging their active camouflage, stood upon linking platforms of sturdy Forerunner glass built around monolithic columns.
Jiralhanae and Kig-Yar patrolled side by side on a platform below.
Arbiter was not surprised to see them working together. The two species had never been friends exactly, but their detestable nature was one and the same. He used his eyes to follow the path created by the glass platforms that bent to the right, connecting to another hexagonal porthole in the cavern wall.
"We can take them," whispered one of the Zealots. "No tricks, nor skulking. We act now, and we kill them all."
The Arbiter approved.
"Take them." He said.
The bloodthirsty Zealot from earlier laughed. "Long have I waited for this."
He yelled out to his brothers and the lance charged in as one. The platforms vibrated as the stampede of Sangheili swept upon their enemies. The first wave of Kig-Yar and Jiralhanae had no time to react as the lance fell upon them. Their blood stained the glass as the Sangheili moved on to the next platform.
Kig-Yar shields shattered. Jiralhanae grenades flew into the darkness as the Jiralhanae themselves plummeted below.
Led by the Arbiter, the Sangheili lance was an unstoppable force.
"They're not all dead?" One Brute shouted. "Raise the alarm!"
"Scoundrels!" shouted the Zealot as he stepped onto the next platform several paces ahead of the group. "Hunt them like the animals they are!"
Above them, several Jiralhanae stood on a stone ledge that jutted out from the wall. The Arbiter dived back as several Brute shot rounds detonated. The entire platform shook as and several blasts brought down the Zealot's durable shields and battered his armor, and he staggered slightly. At the same time, two blue-armored Elites were blasted to chunks.
But the rest kept moving.
The Arbiter charged forward, raising the plasma rifle in his left hand and the energy sword in his right. Jiralhanae shot at him from both the ledge and the platform to his left, but the Arbiter was too quick. Stray plasma bolts struck his shields, but he zigzagged enough to avoid any major fire.
A Jiralhanae Captain swung its curved blade at Thel, but the Arbiter cut him in half without hesitation as he continued towards the ledge. Other Jiralhanae leapt from the rock onto the platform, causing the glass to shudder. In his evasion, Thel jumped up onto a purple weapon's crate. Maintaining momentum, he jumped again, this time
onto the ledge, trading places with the Jiralhanae who now looked up at him.
The Sangheili and Kig-Yar skirmished across the entire platform, but the Jiralhanae now stood in a group staring directly at the Arbiter. To the Arbiter, a small fraction of a second might feel like several in the heat of battle, but a moment's hesitation could be fatal. He aimed his plasma rifle at a stationary methane tank, a cylindrical refill station for Unggoy, and fired at a hatch in the side.
The Arbiter danced across the ledge as the Jiralhanae stood their ground, firing back at him. First, the hatch dented into the methane tank. Then, it blew. Blue
flames engulfed the Jiralhanae who stood closest to the tank while the others went flying. An enormous crack formed in the Forerunner glass, causing half the platform to tip sideways.
Jiralhanae scrambled in attempt to make it back to solid ground, but they were swallowed by the darkness with the falling glass as the Sangheili finished off the rest of the Kig-Yar.
Thel assessed the situation. They were now alone in the cavern.
A few Elites were dead, and several more had minor injuries.
There were Seven Elites in total following the Arbiter now.
"Forward, brothers!"
As they pressed forward, they moved through another door, and began to fight from room to room, leaving a trail of dead Brutes, Jackals, and Drones in their wake.
One level down from the chaos above, locked into a room with three other Grunts, Dimkee heard the distant moan of an alarm, and thought he knew why. The Elites and Brutes were at each others' throats.
Dimkee knew that the two species hated each other, but for the past six units, he had seen Elites massacred by these Brutes. But it sounded like the Elites were fighting back, and killing just as many brutes.
Many Jackals, Drones, and Hunters were drowning in each others' blood as well after taking sides.
That was the good news.
The bad news was that his people, the Grunts, were caught in the middle. By and large, they refused to commit themselves to a side. Most Unggoy units just continued to follow their commanders, whether Brute or Elite. Of course, that usually meant that his people were killing each other, and now he and his brothers were on the losing side against the Brutes.
Dimkee had little doubt as to his race being the one to suffer the most. The Brutes looked over the his dead brothers, possibly ready to eat them, and the others were deciding on what to do with the surviving Grunts.
But there was nothing Dimkee could do but sit in the corner, listen to the distant sounds of battle, and hope for the best. At this point, "the best" would likely be a quick, painless death.
Arbiter and his file of commando Elites were deep within the corridors of the Forerunner installation, moving from room to room, slaughtering every Brute or Brute ally they could find. There were many dead Elites littering the floor, and there had been no sign of any living Elites who could join their cause. And then there was the Sacred Icon, which he was sent here to find in the first place.
But it was early yet.
He was more concerned about any Brutes that could be waiting for them around the next corner.
For reasons that the Grunt could only guess at, the Brutes were getting more desperate, a factor which added to the fear he felt. Unable to do anything more, Dimkee listened to the muffled sounds of battle, and wondered which side to root for.
He didn't like being a prisoner but was starting to wonder if the Elites were there to rescue them, or were just destroying everything in their way.
How would they treat his own race, who hadn't even declared for either side in this schism?
That's when he heard a door hiss open high above.
"Elite resistance! Warn the others!" Boomed a Jiralhanae's voice over the multi-leveled high ceiling room.
Then he heard a scream, and the next thing he saw was a Brute corpse fall from high up and land with a sickening thud and crunch.
The Covenant troops that were on the first level with Dimkee and his brothers looked up and fired with everything they had.
Grunts and Jackals were blown off their feet, Brutes fired in every direction, and soon started to fall.
More Brute reinforcements arrived when a series of plasma grenades sailed in among them and locked onto some of them.
They panicked and tried to take cover, retreat, or claw at the grenades attached to them, but it was already too late, and the explosions slaughtered every last one of them.
There was no movement after that, for a while at least, until— A blob of light appeared, slid down the opposite wall, crossed the floor, and found its way in front of the cell.
"Are there any Elites left in here?" The low voice of an Elite voice asked.
There were other lights now, and the Grunt saw the air shimmer in front of him, before they started decloaking.
It was the Arbiter! Much to Dimkee's amazement, the Elite had actually come back from the dead, contradicting what the Brutes' had been boasting about for what seemed like forever.
The Grunt pushed his face up against the transparent energy field.
"No, Excellency, just us Unggoy."
"Why are you this cell?" the Arbiter asked.
"Our superiors were killed. The Brutes threw us in here and killed many of us."
"Where do your loyalties lie?"
"With the Covenant, Excellency. But we don't know who controls it anymore."
The Arbiter stared at them in silence for a few more moments, before he asked his final question.
"Very well," The Arbiter said. "Now stand back so we can blow the gate."
All of the Grunts in the cell retreated to the back of the room while one of the Elites attached a charge to the door lock, backed away, and made use of a remote to trigger it. There was a small flash of light, followed by a subdued bang! as the explosive was detonated. The energy field fizzled and faded out of existence as Dimkee and his brothers filed out of the cell.
"Now," The Arbiter said eagerly, "Are there any of our brothers who survived the Brutes' betrayal? We've been through most of this complex, but haven't run into any yet."
"We don't know. Many were killed." The Grunt replied, surprised by his own smoothness. "There might be some still scattered across the valley, fighting the Brutes."
Dimkee expected the Arbiter to challenge the claim, to ask how he knew, but the Elite took him at his word.
"Very well," he replied. "Where is the Brute's base of operations?"
"At the end of the valley," Dimkee answered truthfully, "built into the side of a cliff."
"We will lead the way," the Arbiter said importantly, before he turned to his troops. "Get weapons for the Unggoy."
"My honor," nodded an Elite, and left to go find weapons for the Grunts.
As the Unggoy picked from a pile of fallen Weapons, one Elite walked next to the Arbiter. "You think the Unggoy will really fight hard to help us get out revenge?"
"Do they ever really fight hard?" The Arbiter wondered aloud. "I just need them to cause confusion while we do what needs to be done."
After more twists and turns through the Forerunner hallways, killing many Brutes along the way, the Arbiter's lance found themselves outside, standing on a cliff that overlooked the beaches far below. He hadn't noticed before, but guarding the Control Room was a pair of very active Scarabs.
Thankfully they hadn't spotted them.
"Let's not make ourselves a target for those Scarabs. Proceed through the ravine." He ordered.
The Lance moved as one, with the Arbiter and the Zealots in front, the Grunts in the center, and the rest of the Elites guarding their rear.
As they made their way down the waterlogged path, they ran into a group of Jiralhanae and Kig-Yar that were on patrol up a sloped path between the pine trees, but the Arbiter and his Zealots slaughtered them all with their camo and swords and with extreme prejudice.
The Arbiter could smell the musk of the Jiralhanae's wet fur just as strongly as he smelt the rising fumes caused by his energy sword.
As before, his warriors re-equipped themselves with fallen Kig-Yar plasma pistols and rifles and any grenades they could find.
As raindrops irritatingly hit the Arbiter's face from the overcast clouds, he noticed that one of the Jiralhanae had carried a human shotgun before dying. He'd forgotten the probability of humans being nearby.
On the first Halo, the Demon had fought through his forces to infiltrate the Control Center. He had wondered where the Gravemind had sent him.
The damp path the group now stood upon took them to a small Brute encampment, where two Brute-controlled Shadows were stationed, unloading their passengers, cargo, and vehicles.
A firefight ensued as the Arbiter's forces took cover from the shade turrets atop the two Shadows, and the Brutes tried to charge forward, ready to spill even more Sangheili blood.
Half of the Brutes fell before the fighting turned to bloody hand to hand combat.
A few Elites was tackled and pummeled to death by a pack of berserk Brutes, before they were finally slashed and blasted by everyone that was left in the Arbiter's lance.
But the enemy jackals and their supporting Shadows remained, tucked behind their energy shields and peppering the Arbiter's lance with plasma fire. But just then, several energy beams appeared out of nowhere and speared several jackals and shade gunners with their firepower.
The Arbiter and his troops attacked, and the last of the Jiralhanae forces lay dead in the ravine, which was now clogged up and turning purple from the blood of the fallen.
They left cover and looked up at the top of the escarpment where the energy beams came from. They didn't have to wait long before over a dozen Sangheili de-cloaked and waved to them from the top of the canyon.
"Arbiter," began their leader, who raised his hand, all of his finger spread out.
"I'm very glad we are not the only Sangheili left alive in this valley." Arbiter called back, returning the gesture.
"You would be forgiven for thinking that. The Brutes certainly tried their best, but some of us remain. The path you tread snakes around to the Control Room, but it is long, tedious and crawling with traitors. If you fight well, you may push through. There appears to be many Unggoy groups laying low amongst the trees, but I cannot speak for their loyalties. We spotted them only at a distance."
"If we can gather the survivors in this valley, we can pose a significant threat to the Brutes. Remain up there and provide cover from above. We will commandeer these vehicles and continue along this path." The Arbiter said.
The Elite Major nodded, and his brothers reengaged their active camouflage, becoming one with their environment.
The Arbiter nodded to his forces and gestured to the abandoned Type-32 Rapid Attack Vehicles - or Ghosts as the Humans called them - that were still packed up in the Shadows. He and three of his Elites hopped into the small hover craft, and gunned the engines, zooming down the ravine, while the rest of the Lance proceeded on foot.
The Elites piloted their Ghosts through the canyon, rounded the bend, and ran down several unsuspecting Brutes, who thought they were their own pack mates at first. By the time the rest of the Jiralhanae forces knew what was happening, many of them were already being gunned down by the fixed plasma cannons on the purple recon craft.
Several Jiralhanae-aligned troops tried to put up a defense, mounting shade turrets and their own Ghosts or activating their energy shields, only to be picked off by unseen snipers high up on the canyon walls.
Jackal counter-snipers tried to track down their enemies, but by the time they spotted the ripples of air that denoted active camouflage, their bird-like heads were pierced by particle beams.
The Arbiter pressed down on the trigger of his plasma cannons and killed several more Brutes, along with the other Ghost riders. The rest of the Lance changed forward with their energy blades drawn, cutting down the survivors of the Arbiter's onslaught.
Just as the Arbiter was informed, they liberated several more Grunts along the way, and they linked up with several Elite squads who were pinned down by Brutes.
The further they charged down the valley, the larger their ranks swelled, adding vehicles, bodies, and heavy weapons to their growing assault force. What started off as a few scattered, desperate survivors had now morphed into a fighting force whose mandibles dripped with vengeance.
There were more Brutes to kill.
Soon, the Arbiter's strike force made their way to the end of the valley, where the waterfall flowed into two large circular basins. Then, looking down, the Arbiter saw a waterlogged ground, punctuated by groups of boulders, and the occasional stand of trees.
The hills that rose out of the basins were connected to large metal structures that were built into the canyon walls, overlooking the area.
And it was crawling with Brutes.
Soon, all of the Brutes' firepower was directed toward their corner of the valley from all directions.
Several Elites and Grunts fell, but the rest returned fire, gunning down several Brutes and jackals. They were soon pinned down by Shades and Ghosts, but still putting up a good fight nonetheless.
Undaunted, the Arbiter engaged his active camo and jumped down, and was followed by two cloaked Elites, and they charged up the hill.
The Arbiter knew that the heavy weapons offered the greatest danger to his warriors. He sprinted through the knee-deep water, charged up the hill, and plunged his blade deep into the unprotected back of the Jiralhanae gunner. He could feel the heat radiating off the weapon's barrel as he jerked the Brute's corpse out of the seat and took his place behind the controls, while the two Elites that were with him tried to keep his flank covered, killing any Brute or Brute ally that was in their immediate range.
There were plenty of targets, a rather busy Ghost primary among them, so the Arbiter decided to tackle that first. A couple of bursts were sufficient to get the pilot's attention and bring him into range. Both the Arbiter and the Brute opened fire at the same moment, their reciprocal fire drawing straight lines back and forth, but the Shade won out. The attack vehicle shuddered, skittered sideways, and blew up.
But there was no opportunity to celebrate as a pair of Wraith mortar tanks turned its attention to that corner of the valley, lobbed comet like energy bombs high into the air, and started to walk them toward the rest of the his strike force.
The Arbiter sent a stream of energy bolts toward the tank, but the range was too great, and the fire couldn't penetrate the monster's armor. But he was able to distract one long enough for the Sangheili squads at the mouth of the valley and their heavy weapons Grunts to unleash a volley of Fuel Rod blasts into its side. The tank exploded, its chassis belching blue flames as it burned.
That left one tank, still firing on his allies.
Just as he was convinced that he would have to find some other way to deal with the last tank, the Arbiter was forced to bail out, as another threat emerged.
Rockets.
Human rockets?
He didn't have time to look as he dove out of his seat, and his shade disappeared in a ball of fire, the splash of fire and shrapnel causing his shields to flare.
One of his Elite allies was vaporized. The other had been impaled through the abdomen by a splinter of wood several units long from the blast. The Arbiter cloaked and tried to make his way towards the Brutes, who he discovered were indeed armed with Human Rocket launchers.
It was fitting.
Barbarians armed with barbarian weapons.
He moved silently and managed to slaughter the team of Brutes. But the Wraith Tank was still active, and raining fire down on his brothers. He was nearly out of Grenades, and there were still too many Brutes to go down there and board the Tank.
He looked down at the Human weapon that lay next to the dead Brute. Covenant forces never liked to stoop so low as to use Human weapons. Most warriors of his caliber would rather resort to their bare hands than use human weapons. They were inferior to the Covenant weapons that were gifts from the Forerunners. Also, due to the different physiognomy between the Humans and the Covenant species, using human weapons was usually impractical.
But desperate times called for desperate measures.
So he slung the launcher across his back, checked the load on the weapon, and moved into the trees. A party of Brutes and their grunts made a run at the Elites on the opposite edge of the basin where the waterfall flowed from, and were pushed back even as the Arbiter spotted a likely looking boulder to fire from. He moved up, killed the Jackal sniper that lurked behind the cover, then brought the launcher up to his shoulder.
The Wraith winked blue light as he peered through the sight, increased the magnification, and saw the tank's power source on the rear. Then, careful to hold the tube steady, he fired.
The Arbiter was rewarded with a sharp explosion. A thousand pieces of metal flew up into the air as the tank turned lazy circles, and drifted downward. Blue-white plasma boiled up out of the wreckage. What remained of the tank slammed into a boulder, and the battle was soon over.
The Arbiter's forces continued to secure the encampment, clearing out the remains of the Brute resistance and setting up a landing zone. They even secured the armory, which was packed with Covenant weapons and captured human weapons from their most recent engagement.
The Elites ignored the Human weapons, seeing the Brute acquisitions to be nothing more than a vulgar taste.
Soon, Phantoms and drop pods were deployed from Sangheili-aligned warships in low orbit above the ring.
The word that they brought down from orbit wasn't good. Brute and Elite forces were tearing each other apart, in orbit, across the Ring, and even in the streets and towers across High Charity.
Even with all of this news, there was no clear explanation for what was going on. Most believed it was a Brute uprising that the Elites had to put down. Some believed that a coup was underway. Others believed it was the Elites who were in the process of seceding from the Covenant in the wake of the Changing of the Guard. Some believed it was merely a culling of the weak before the worthy could embark on the Great Journey.
Whatever the answer, the Sangheili weren't going to allow themselves to be dishonored by such lowly creatures.
With the encampment finally secure, and two Jiralhanae counter attacks defeated, the Arbiter and a team consisting of six spec-ops Elites left the area, moving through a tunnel system that they discovered earlier.
Eventually they came through the other side and found themselves on the flood of an adjacent valley, and were soon in plane sight of the massive Temple.
The Chamber of Consecration, where the Great Journey would begin, and the worthy would be able to walk the path to paradise.
The Arbiter's squad was so enraptured by the sight that they nearly forgot to check their surroundings, just in time to hear an unsettling sound. It was that of a Wraith's engines rounding closer somewhere over his left shoulder.
They froze, and before they could allow their active camo to kick in, the Arbiter and his team spun around to find themselves face to face with the glistening shell of another Wraith hovering immediately in front of him. Before he could react, the hatch at the top slid open and a white-clad Sangheili with maimed mandibles looked down at him in astonishment.
Several other Covenant vehicles hovered closely behind. All of them were operated by Special Ops Sangheili.
"By the rings, Arbiter!" Rtas 'Vadumee exclaimed.
"R'tas!" The Arbiter exclaimed.
"The Councillors, are they-"
"Murdered," the Arbiter answered. "By the Brutes."
Rtas slammed his fist violently onto the hard shell of the Wraith.
"Vile, disloyal beasts," he spat. "The Prophets were fools to trust them!"
Suddenly, a pair of Phantom zoomed overhead, ignoring them completely. The end of the canyon opened out to the waves. One Phantom flew straight over the water and stopped above the doorway into the Control Center, while the other peeled off and headed north.
They watched from afar as several figures dropped onto the platform that jutted out from the Temple. The larger figure was unmistakably the Chieftain of the Brutes with what the Arbiter suspected was the Oracle suspended in an energy case being held by another Brute.
The second figure was much smaller and most likely human.
The thick Forerunner doors sealed shut behind them. There was no way Tartarus would leave the entrance unlocked for the Sangheili to follow.
"That," Rtas began, looking up at the Control Tower. "Was where the Councillors were meant to watch the consecration of the Icon, the start of the Great Journey."
A deep voice stirred in the Arbiter's memory.
There is still time to stop the key from turning.
The Arbiter did not know how long it would take to start the Halo or even if he should try to prevent the firing to begin with. If there was any truth to what the Parasite or the Demon said, then he needed to hurry, at least to stop and think of their next course of actions. Either way but if he did not confront Tartarus then he was not worthy of any Great Journey.
"I must get inside," He told the Spec Ops Commander.
Rtas gestured at the vehicles around him.
"Then mount up, Arbiter. I know a way to break those doors."
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