Wow it ends there. That is really stupid. I hope the next chapter comes out soon.

I definitely have an unhealthy obsession with the characters in this story. I thought Zharn was going to die and nearly had a stroke. Now I'm worried about him, WHY!

[quote][b]Posted by:[/b] Wolverfrog I'm... speechless. Really, that's amazing. I can't believe you've taken the time to do that! You actually managed to make the first chapter sound good despite me writing it terribly. :P It was pretty surreal listening to that, and absolutely awesome. Thanks so much.[/quote]What Wolverfrog said and [b]HOLY -blam!-AKEMUSHROOMS![/b]

I'm... speechless. Really, that's amazing. I can't believe you've taken the time to do that! You actually managed to make the first chapter sound good despite me writing it terribly. :P It was pretty surreal listening to that, and absolutely awesome. Thanks so much.

[quote][b]Posted by:[/b] Wolverfrog [quote][b]Posted by:[/b] Mr Evil 37 [i]Eleven[/i] posts? Bloody hell, Connor.[/quote] You ever going to actually read it, Elliott? [/quote] Doubtful. [quote][b]Posted by:[/b] Dream053 I present an ode to your work, Wolverfrog: [url=http://www.box.net/shared/4lgxoty69xvxmaqx1rvt][b]An Audiobook Version of Part 1[/b][/url].[/quote] Wow. I commend you, sir. That was really well done.

I present an ode to your work, Wolverfrog: [url=http://www.box.net/shared/4lgxoty69xvxmaqx1rvt][b]An Audiobook Version of Part 1[/b][/url].

[quote][b]Posted by:[/b] Mr Evil 37 [i]Eleven[/i] posts? Bloody hell, Connor.[/quote] You ever going to actually read it, Elliott?

[i]Eleven[/i] posts? Bloody hell, Connor.

This is a great time to get back in to this story! Everyone in there I remember.

I see now why it took so long to post. You said long but I didn't think it would be that long, and what's going to happened when Hem and Sorran find who killed restraint, also if Zharn doesn't make it I don't know what I'll do, and where's Savara in all this? Tell her to help Zharn, It's all too much!

Omega 019 reporting in sir. Spartan has been confirmed as 'MIA'. Why did this chapter have to be so damn sad? It brought an involuntary tear to this battle-hardened spartan's eye.

Fantastic... absolutely fantastic. The attack on the family was a twist I never saw coming, and the Spartan, certainly an interesting moment. [Edited on 08.22.2011 6:56 PM PDT]

High Councillor Restraint, former hierarch of the 'mighty and everlasting Covenant empire' was a pitiful sight, to Ahkrin's surprise. He'd been expecting a scheming madman, perhaps sitting in a throne plated with gold whilst minions reported the latest on his little weapon of heresy. Such fiction-inspired fantasies soon gave way to reality, however. Restraint was huddled in mounds of blankets, even in a room as cold as the one he was sat in. His face looked gaunt, his complexion sickly as he frequently wheezed, hacked and coughed. He seemed to almost recess into his gravity chair, as if he wanted to disappear. Ahkrin was startled by this, and hesitated for a moment. "I know you are there." Ahkrin stopped, hearts nearly following suit. He thought for a second that perhaps another was being referenced, but upon looking around the room realised that no other could be the focus of the High Councillor's words. He deactivated his active camouflage resignedly, at the same time silently igniting his blade and placing it inches from Restraint's neck. "And do you know why I am here?" Ahkrin demanded in a voice as sharp as his blade. "To kill me, of course," Restraint stated matter-of-factly. "It will be a mercy, to be honest. I would rather die by your blade than let this... cancer take me. What did you do to my guards?" "They may be wounded, but none are dead," Ahkrin replied, and saw a small smile break across the High Councillor's weak face. "But your Unggoy Jajab; he soon will be." "Leave him out of this, he knows nothing--" "More lies," Ahkrin interrupted sharply, eyes narrowing. "I have seen proof of your heresy and your spreading it to others, high councillor. Irrefutable proof." "Will you allow me to explain in full that which the hierarchs have not told you?" Restraint asked, his voice making it clear he didn't expect Ahkrin to listen. He was right. "I do not need to hear any of your slanderous heresies, High Councillor. Why not save yourself the trouble and die with dignity?" "It is a more noble end than you will meet, assassin. Once my honour guards discover who has done this." "They're already dead, Restraint." "I doubt that, knowing them," Restraint dismissed without the slightest hint of worry about him, before breaking into a fit of coughing. Ahkrin checked his suit seals in case this 'cancer' was contagious. "Incidentally, I alerted Jajab the moment I noticed you lurking in the room. Which was some time ago. He'll be long gone by now." [i]Dammit![/i] Ahkrin swore, knowing he would now have to spend likely another day hunting the blasted Unggoy down. Perhaps he could find some clue as to where he went in this manor. "Either way, he will eventually die. Any final words, High Councillor?" Restraint seemed to think for a few moments, with a sluggish sleepiness that Ahkrin found staggering in the face of death. At least he decided upon them. "I forgive you," was all he said. "You know not what you do." "How touching," Ahkrin ground out with some confusion, before placing his blade against the tip of Restraint's feeble neck. It began to sear the flesh, and he could see Restraint trying not to cry out. "In light of what you once were High Councillor, I, Ahkrin of the house Descol'ee, pray the Forerunners deem it fit to forgive you too." He may have imagined it, but he thought he saw Restraint's eyes round then with surprise, before the flicker of a smile touched his face tinged with... was that [i]sympathy?[/i] Whatever it was, Ahkrin would not know. In a deft, quick motion, he brought the blade across the High Councillor's neck. No blood gushed out, the wound sealed by the heat of the sword. There was only a silent release of breath as the life went out from those wide eyes, and a gentle thud as Restraint's thin head fell backwards against the back of his chair. An honourable death. A better one than Ahkrin had expected. [i]It's done,[/i] Ahkrin thought conclusively, letting his blade fall to his side. He'd expected to feel some kind of... satisfaction at the High Councillor's death, at knowing he'd put a grievous heresy to rest. Yet as he looked at the still body of Restraint, fragile as glass from whatever disease had plagued him and defenceless, he only felt... hollow. Sighing louder than he had thought he would, he closed the High Councillor's eyes respectfully and stared one last time at that sardonic smile, frozen by death. It troubled him. Many things about this whole situation did. Not least the fact that one loose end remained; Jajab, the Unggoy. He had many questions for the hierarchs, and suspected he would receive few answers.. Sheathing his blade, Ahkrin left the High Councillor where he had died. To Ahkrin, the room seemed colder than it had been when he first entered. [i]Worthy of neither pity... nor mercy.[/i]

Sorran awoke to weeping. 'Awoke' was putting it graciously. It was more like he stuttered back to life, like an engine left out in the cold all winter. Every aspect of him ached, and for those first few moments when he regained consciousness there was no thought other than that of the sheer pain. Then with sickening clarity, the events before his lapse into darkness came flooding back to him. Ignoring the agony, his eyes snapped open and he looked around the room frantically. The smell of blood was strong, the corpses many. All the attackers were dead. Each one mutilated grotesquely, as if someone had pounded them repeatedly after death. They were all piled up unceremoniously in the corner of the room; he noticed he was still in the children's nursery. In the centre of the room, he saw a figure crouched, weeping inconsolably over the lifeless bodies of several people. "Hem?" Sorran managed to croak out faintly. He saw the Sangheili turn around slowly, face looking at Sorran's with utter despondency and an underlying tone of accusation. Nestled within his hands were his wife and grandson; dead. "You let this happen," Hem quivered out, sounding like he was on the verge of tears. Sorran scrambled to his feet, leaving his hearts several hundred metres below the floor. The corpses of Kemyn and Ilia seemed to stare up at him; blood caked their innocent faces, their eyes open and seeming to stare into Sorran with the same burning gaze Hem wore. "What--" Sorran asked helplessly, unable to process everything he was seeing. Tears welled up in his eyes as he saw Hem, clutching his dead family tightly. For the first time the Sangheili truly looked his age; a frail, broken old man. "The Covenant have made their move," Hem spoke bitterly. "Truth, Mercy and Regret have finally decided to do away with us and what we know." "Kym and Gilyi--" Sorran spoke, unable to bring himself to finish his sentence. "Downstairs," Hem croaked out, not seeming any happier for it. "They are fine." Sorran felt relief, but it was not nearly enough to combat the horror he was feeling right now as he continued to stare at the two bodies of Hem's family, especially at the lifeless little husk of Kemyn; a young child, cut down before life had even begun. "Ilia followed me here," Hem managed to get out, tears obscuring his words. "I told her to wait in the bedroom, but she followed. And when I opened the door-- " He broke off then, breaking into a fresh bout of crying. His shoulders sagged even further as he moaned. Sorran noticed for the first time that the hands he held Kemyn and Ilia tight with were stained deep with folksy; he had obviously been the one to warp the attacker's bodies piled in the corner so. "I'm so sorry," was all Sorran could manage, guilt mixing in with the devastation and creating a whole new emotion of self-loathing. "You were here!" Hem suddenly shouted, voice turning into a hoarse scream. Sorran staggered back, alarmed. Through the broken window, he could see the rain crash down outside and wind smash through the trees. "I tried," Sorran whispered in reply. "Gods, Hem, I tried." "I know," Hem finally answered with a choked sob. "I know..." "Hem--" Sorran started, moving to place a hand on the Sangheili's shoulder. It was batted away sharply by a hand which soon returned to caressing the dead bodies in his lap. "Leave me," Hem told Sorran in a fragile voice. "I need to say goodbye... alone. Go see Kym and Gilyi... oh gods, she saw it, Sorran. She saw her brother and grandmother die!" With that thought, a fresh wave of tears cascaded throughout the room, each wail another icicle formed within Sorran's hearts. Shakily, he clutched his still-bleeding side and staggered out of the room, which felt more like a morgue now. He staggered down the stairs, leaving the cries of Hem behind him to mix with the sound of rain and thunder. The lights were all out, but he could faintly see blood fall from his side. [i]Drip. Drip. Drip.[/i] He would need to dress the wound soon. Immediately after thinking that he felt selfish for any thought that wasn't centred around the tragedy here. As he reached the foot of the stairs, he heard more sobbing. Steeling himself for the worst, he limped into the small room adjacent to the staircase and saw Kym and Gilyi, both huddled together on a small sofa. Both wore the same hollow expressions in their eyes, their faces haunted by the shades of what they had seen. Whereas Hem's grief was loud and unrestraint, this was quiet and remorseful, as if the full impact of what had happened had no sank in yet. "... Sorran," Kym seemed to whimper as she finally noticed him come into few. He also saw the sad little face of Gilyi meet his, and his heart went out to both of them. "I'm so sorry," he repeated. [i]This is my fault... and as horrible as it to think it, Hem's fault for not warning his family of the dangers in his wish to keep them happy.[/i] * * * The house burned behind them. A blazing monument to the loss within those obliterating embers, lighting up the night sky like a giant beacon. "It's the only way to buy us some time," Sorran consoled Hem, as the old Sangheili stared with horror at his home set aflame, with the bodies of Ilia and Kemyn still inside. "With luck, the Covenant will believe we were all killed and died in the fire." "They deserved burial," Hem uttered with that same hollow look he'd had in his eyes since his grandson and wife were killed. After an hour of mourning, Sorran had finally much to pry the truth from Hem's grief-locked mind. As Sorran had fallen unconscious, Hem had burst in with Ilia behind him, and she had caught a round in the neck. Death had been instantaneous. With that, the honour guard had gone into a rage of blind fury. Obviously the assassins hadn't been expecting one so old to put up such a fight. They hadn't been prepared for the merciless killing Hem had exacted. He'd arrived in time to save his granddaughter and Sorran. But had lost so much doing so. Finally Sorran had been able to convince Hem to save his grief for later; if the Covenant had decided to kill them all upon Sangheilios of all places, then no doubt they were planning on doing the exact same thing to Restraint. "We can at least save him," Sorran had urged, and with those words Hem had at last snapped back into reality. Now they were covering their tracks, throwing the dogs that hunted them off the scent for as long as possible. "I keep a seraph in storage for emergencies... such as these," Hem informed Sorran, motioning for him to follow. Ashes and burning sparks fell gently through the air, dying on their personal shielding. Sorran's side still ached slightly from the plasma fire that had struck it, but he ignored the pain as best as he could. "What about Kym and Gilyi?" I asked, looking back at Hem's daughter and his only surviving grandchild. "It's we the Covenant want," Hem told Sorran darkly. "My family are just [i]collateral.[/i] If we leave them with Katoth'ee, he will watch over them and ask few questions. The Covenant will focus their attention upon we... and we will most definitely give them something to focus on." "You can't just leave your family, Hem. Not now," Sorran protested firmly. Kym looked so melancholy, illuminated in the wake of the burning inferno behind her. She held Gilyi so tightly in her arms, as if she were afraid that she too would be lost if she didn't. "I have to, Sorran," Hem told him. "For now, at least. The Sangheilian constabulary will be here soon; they've already seen the fire. We've got to go now if we've any hope of reaching Katoth'ee's and then High Charity in time. The barrier around Restraint's manor should hold for some time... unlike the pitiful one I had around my own." "The Covenant will come for the rest of your family eventually," Sorran argued. "Sangheilios retains some rights as an independent sovereign nation but the Covenant will still be hunting for them, regardless of the stigma." "By that time, there most likely will not [i]be[/i] a Covenant," Hem swore, anger clouding his face. Sorran stopped in his tracks then, realising the ramifications of what Hem had just said. "You mean--" "That's right, Sorran. The time has come for all to know the truth. We will find Restraint, and then let all know of how the self-proclaimed 'prophets' are hurrying us to our death." "There will be anarchy--" Sorran tried to argue, but was cut off by Hem. "Then let there be anarchy. I care not if the Covenant crumbles any longer; it can burn for all I care. Are we in agreement, Sorran?" Sorran looked once more at the raging fireball behind them, contained by the manor's shielding system. He thought of the small little body of Kemyn within and the delicate corpse of Ilia, both of them no doubt being reduced to ashes by the flames. He looked then at Kym, and saw only devastation where those beautiful eyes had once been. This was all down to the Covenant. He turned to Hem, and nodded without any reluctance. "Yes." * * *

"Perhaps I'm not stoic," the demon confessed, sizing up the Jiralhanae before him. "But as you can see by the numerous Elite corpses strewn across the floor, I am a killer." Suddenly the demon drew out a pistol, firing several shots at Orpheus in quick-succession. The speed with which the Spartan moved took Orpheus by surprise a little, giving the Spartan the time needed to cross the distance between he and the Jiralhanae. The Spartans hands too seized the heft of the gravity hammer, wrestling with Orpheus for control. But although the demon may have been as strong as Zharn, and in a display of hand-to-hand combat could no doubt outclass most of the Covenant put together, in a show of brute strength Orpheus came out on top. His pupils dilated and veins threatened to pop out of his arms as adrenaline flooded his system, sending him into a Jiralhanae state of berserk. The Spartan was pushed further and further down to the floor as Orpheus bore down upon him, canines protuding from his mouth. Finally, the demon's legs slipped from beneath him and he fell to the floor, heft of the gravity hammer pressed tightly upon his neck. The demon was brought down from god of death to mere mortal as his eyes widened, wheezing as the hammer's shaft was crushed down upon his neck, which threatened to collapse under the weight. Desperately, the demon tried to kick the Jiralhanae off him. Even through his almost-euphoric state induced by extreme blood loss, Zharn could hear several bones of Orpheus break; none of the pain was felt by the Jiralhanae, though. Eventually though, even a tree must fall when its support has been completely torn. And so it was with Orpheus, as the Jiralhanae's shattered legs sent his body flying onto the floor. The demon managed to pry himself from the crushing weight of Orpheus, eyes wide and breathing heavily as he recovered from the nearly strangulation. He put distance between himself and the threat, drawing out his weapon to deliver the killing blow. In doing so, he missed the true threat. The demon felt the cold hilt of the energy sword press against his back, and tried to spring away. Yet as fast as the Spartan was, he couldn't escape the rush of plasma fired out by the magnetic accelerators embedded within the sword's hilt. The blade drove straight through the middle of the demon's chest, poking out like some ill-placed third limb. With a startled cry, the demon turned its head to look at the one who had done this. Steely, cold grey eyes met the dimming eyes of Zharn, whose entire body shook as he struggled to hold the weight of the Spartan. "[i]You[/i]--" was all the demon managed to gasp out hatefully, before his words died in his throat along with him. Life faded from those grey eyes, until they resembled little but ashen pebbles deep-set in harrowed sockets. Exhausting the last of his energy, Zharn threw the demon's corpse to one side and lay back, facing the ceiling of the Forerunners as he wheezed heavily, droplets of blood flying out alongside breath. [i]Why didn't you light up for me?[/i] he thought deliriously, drunk through blood-loss. "Zharn!" he heard Orpheus' familiar rumble echo through the cavern, and looked to one side faintly to see the Jiralhanae crawling towards him, visibly wincing with every tiny movement. The serotonin had returned, and had brought with it pain. "Or-orphe" Zharn tried to reply, but found himself to weak to do so. He saw the Jiralhanae slide into his fading vision, looking down at him with worry personified. "Gods, you're a stubborn bastard," Orpheus uttered with a strange mixture between a sob and laugh. "Hold on, Zharn. I got here first via orbital insertion but Phantoms are on their way. What were you thinking?" "My honour," Zharn slurred. "To hell with your honour, Zharn! I know you feel bad after what Ahkrin did, but this is no solution. Just rest, we can speak when you are well." "If," Zharn corrected, coughing up more blood. He felt a dull throb in his arm as Orpheus injecting something, probably a shot of pure adrenaline to keep him fighting until help arrived. [i]So many 'if's...[/i] * * *

Smooth grey walls as frictionless as the vacuum, indented markings and glyphs similar to the ones Zharn had tattooed upon his body. "We've been finding several of these in infrastructures on multiple planets," the Spartan informed Zharn in a gruff voice, walking towards one, completely confident in his ability to subdue Zharn should the need to arise. "A few months ago the UNSC [i]Spirit of Fire[/i] reported finding a place with architecture like this on Harvest. Last known records place them at Arcadia as you laid siege to it, and then they disappeared. What did they find?" "I am no philologist, demon," Zharn finally interrupted. "Just kill me and be done with it." "Section 0 have linked the... beings who built all of this to your kind," he spoke, almost to himself. Zharn didn't know what 'section zero' was but it didn't sound good. "Even now I can see on your shoulder glyphs similar to those on the walls. You call them 'the Forerunners', correct? The ones who built this cave?" [i]He obviously knows already,[/i] Zharn realised, and knew that talking could keep him alive, even if only for a little while. "Yes," he answered. "And you worship the Forerunners?" the demon asked intently, seemingly genuinely interested by this on a theological level. Zharn was surprised, he had thought the demons to be machinations designed purely for war. "We do," he admitted. "But why?" the Spartan wondered. "What is the greater purpose of your religion? How does it tie in to you wanting to wipe huma-- [i]us[/i] out?" "It does not," Zharn growled angrily, noting at the same time how the Spartan had almost spoken as if he were not human. "You are nothing in the eyes of the Forerunners; an eyesore to be eradicated so that the path to the journey can be seen with clairvoyance. When we ascend, you will be left behind--" "I've heard enough religious ramblings from your kind to last me until judgment day," the demon cut him off wearily. There was a pause for a few moments, and Zharn wondered if this was the time for his death, when finally a command cut through the silence. "Touch the wall." "What?" Zharn demanded slowly, confused by the request. The demon drew out his assault rifle, motioning with it first at Zharn and then the Forerunners architecture surrounded by stone that had formed over the tens of thousands of years around it. "Do it." Wondering if there was some trap in place, Zharn tentatively stretched a hand up to meet the Forerunner architecture as ordered and placed his hand on its surface. Nothing happened, of course. He kept his hand there for a few seconds, before looking back with a puzzled look at the demon, who was staring at the wall intently. "As I thought," he finally spoke, before grabbing Zharn by the back of his neck and pulling him away from the wall roughly, almost sending him careening back into the ground. Zharn watched the demon as he then approached the wall with an almost reverential air about him, slowly taking his gauntlet off and revealing a scarred hand with the texture of leather. "If we are nothing in the eyes of the Forerunners as you say," the Spartan began to say to Zharn with an inquisitive tone lacing his deep voice. "Then explain this." With that, the Spartan's naked hand touched the Forerunner wall in the exact same place Zharn had moments before. Except this time, something happened. Zharn felt his hearts pulsate wildly as blue lights surged out from the wall, their point of origin the place the Spartan's hands had touched. Like waxing vines, the lights wove their way across the cavern, brushing beneath Zharn's feet as they criss-crossed their way across the floor, walls and ceiling. "There's your clairvoyance," the Spartan had to speak up over the euphoric humming of the cave. Zharn only stared in awe at what was happening around him; in all the thousands of years of Covenant exploring Forerunner installations, nothing like this had ever happened. At the most they'd been able to draw out a faint flicker of life, with the assistance of Huragok. "I don't understand," Zharn uttered, fear for his life forgotten amidst the wonder of it all. "Neither do I," the Spartan confessed, before removing his hand. As quickly as they had arrived, the blue lights retreated back into their mysterious source, leaving the cave dark once more save for the faint red glow of the human flare. "But you've helped confirm a suspicion of Ackerson; that we can interact with this... Forerunner technology, and you cannot. Who'd have thought the man would be right for once?" "This was a trick!" Zharn protested, pressing his hand against the wall in an attempt to emulate the demon's evoking of his lords' marvels. Again, nothing happened. "Believe what you want," the demon replied indifferently, before drawing his rifle out. Suddenly the crushing reality of the situation Zharn was in returned, and the corpses of the Sangheili already dead returned to his vision. "Either way, I think you know now that your Covenant has not been entirely truthful with you. Interesting." "Let me walk, demon, and my fleet will not be forced to rain down fire upon this cavern," Zharn beseeched the demon desperately. The Spartan laughed. "ONI tested a SMAC round on a cavern such as this," he informed Zharn. "Some of the finer details such as glass and electronics were damaged, by the actual structure itself remained intact. I doubt even a glassing would destroy this place." Facing death, Zharn had only one option left. He charged the Spartan with a roar, his only weapon surprise. The demon had not expected his quarry to make one last bid for life, and managed to only fire a few rounds of his assault rifle before Zharn lunged for it. A bullet struck him in the shoulder and thigh, but he continued regardless, fuelled by a feral will to live. The assault rifle was sent flying through the air, towards the mouth of the cave. Both Zharn and the demon looked at each other, before each of them ran for the rifle. Zharn had always been considered fast amongst his people, but even he could not hope to match the demon, whose speeds nearly matched those of a Warthog. At the mouth of the cave, a blistering snow behind highlighting the sharp, dark curves of his specialised armour, the demon scooped up the rifle and in the same fluid movement levied it at Zharn, stopping him in his tracks. "Not bad," the demon praised, a little out of breath from the sudden exertion. "But you're no Spartan, split-jaw. Do you know why we're called that, Elite?" "No," Zharn retorted sharply, not really caring at this point. His last desperate grasp for life had been torn away, and now he was at the end. "We're called Spartans because like those at Thermoplya over three thousand years ago, we're all that stands between the innumerable hoards and our defeat. And although every Spartan in that ancient battle may have given their lives to hold off those hordes, as I suspect we too will eventually, they bought enough time for victory to be snatched back from the jaws of defeat. As will we." "You love the sound of your voice, do you not? I care not for it myself," Zharn taunted defiantly, standing tall in the face of the great beyond. The Spartan laughed sharply. "Whether you like it or not, it's the last thing you'll ever hear. I swore I'd kill you after you threw me from those cliffs on Eridanus II. And when intelligence uploaded images of the Covenant fleet's leader, I knew it was you straight away. I lured you out here to your death, Elite. But before you die, tell me one thing." "Yes?" "What is your name?" "Thierr'ee. Zharn Thierr'ee," the defeated fleetmaster spoke proudly, seeing the sun set in the distance and paint the horizon with blood. "Die well, Zharn Thierr'ee," the Spartan spoke almost respectfully, before squeezing the trigger of the assault rifle. The rounds smashed into Zharn's chest, each one tearing a little of the life from him and casting it aside. He felt none of it. All he saw was blood spilling out from him like an ocean, gently carrying him to new shores. "To the Great Journey," he murmured out with the last of his strength, gazing up at the demon. A golden visor stared down at him like the fiery blazes of hell itself. With deliberation, the Spartan shouldered his rifle with purple hands and let his guard down. A mistake, as it turned out. Just as Zharn's eyes were about to close for the last time, something made them snap right back open. The gravity hammer's blade swung into the unsuspecting demon's helmet, nearly cleaving it clean in two. Like an inactive robot which has just been switched on, the Spartan leapt to life and ripped the caved-in helmet off being hitting the floor and rolling away several metres. Steely grey eyes burnt into the Jiralhanae who had just arrived, holding the heft of the hammer in his two hands as he faced the demon resolutely. "Orpheus," Zharn managed to croak out amidst the warm blood gargling in his throat. The Jiralhanae glanced down at him for a split-second with darting, bloodshot eyes, before returning to meet the Spartan's. "Leave now with your life," Orpheus told the demon menacingly. "Before you have not even that." "It speaks," the Spartan mocked with false-surprise. "You must have trained your pet well, Elite... no answer? Well, to be fair you are a little pre-occupied with dying--" "I heard demons were stoic killers," Orpheus interrupted. "I suppose you're the exception."

Before Sorran could so much as gasp, the camouflaged Sangheili jumper crashed through the glass pane in the room and slammed into Sorran's chest feet-first, sending him sprawling back on the floor. The attacker drew out a rifle, looking around and spotting Gilyi close by. He pulled the trigger. Suddenly the volley of shots were veered off-course as a tiny object crashed into the jumper, staggering it back slightly. Sorran's hearts pounded as he realised that tiny object had been Kemyn, trying to protect his sister. "No!" he screamed, bolting up to his feet and moving to drive his blade into the jumper. Too late. The attacking Sangheili, wrestling with the child at his feet had finally wedged his rifle free, aimed it down at Kemyn. The rifle rattled. Plasma discharged. Kemyn was thrown against the wall, violet streaks streaming from his small form. Seconds later, the Sangheili of seven years collapsed. Dead. Gilyi was screaming, and rushed over to her brother. Before the jumper could so much as move onto the next target, Sorran had driven the tip of his sword into the attacking Sangheili's face. The mess was considerable. All this had taken place within less than ten seconds. Tossing the corpse aside, Sorran rushed towards the body of Kemyn, knowing he could do nothing. His mind was clouded by grief and shock, and so he didn't think to check for any other jumpers. A mistake. Sorran heard the thrusters behind him and tried to dive towards Gilyi to protect her, but before he could even move a muscle he felt a huge pounding in his back, as if he had just been stricken hard by a hammer. "Kill everyone in the house, then torch it," he heard a voice order without the slightest hint of emotion; it may as well have been an associated intelligence speaking. Sorran tried to move but found himself pinned to the ground by whatever wound had been inflicted upon him. "The girl too?" "Yes," that same robotic voice replied without hesitating for so much as a tenth of a second. Dimly somewhere in the back of his consciousness Sorran could hear Gilyi screaming. He managed to move an arm, reaching around his back to where a rifle was clipped to his armour. His hand shook like a building caught in a quake as he did so, eventually collapsing from lack of strength. As he looked down at it, he saw it had come away wet with the purple of blood Regardless, he strained once more for his rifle, wishing for all the world he could suppress the serotonin in his system with adrenaline and ignore the pain like the Jiralhanae. As if granted a miracle, his fingers finally wrapped around the hilt of the weapon. He picked it up, finding it suddenly weighed a tonne, and with effort managed to point the barrel at the attacker moving to take Gilyi's life. [i]Pain![/i] exploded through him as heavy force was suddenly pounded onto his arm, in the form of the one of the boots of the attackers. He saw black, and suspected he would have faded into unconsciousness there and then had the situation not been so dire. "This one's alive," the faceless assailant remarked to the emotionless voice, almost sounding impressed. "I'll fix that." Sorran was spun on his back, and stared up at the attacker. He wore a blank, dark helmet which obscured his face. A few seconds later, he lost consciousness. The last thing he heard before falling into the murky pit were the muffled sounds of gunfire, screaming and cries of pain. * * * "Come out of your hole, demon! We have unfinished business, you and I," Zharn shouted through the mouth of the cave, standing exposed. No reply. Not even gunfire. [i]Odd,[/i] Zharn thought to himself, signalling to the special operations Sangheili all posted at the craggy sides of the entrance to move up on his flank. With the resignation of a dead man, Zharn began to push into the cave. A hundred metres of so in, the response finally came. From the shadows, a hand shot out. Gauntleted in forest green, it punched through Zharn's shielding as if it weren't there, wrapping around his belt and using it as leverage to throw him across the stretch of the cave. He smashed into a wall heavily, expecting to be impaled by stalagmites. It didn't happen. Instead he merely crashed into the unnaturally-smooth wall of the cave, before falling with pain to the ground. Through half-blurred vision, he looked up and saw the demon make short work of the special operations Sangheili. A flurry of failed blows, knife-strikes and weapon fire came from his lance, each evaded, blocked or turned back upon the Sangheili by the merciless killing machine. He saw within those deft movements familiarity, and knew for sure now this was the demon who he had thought dead upon Eridanus II; who had nearly killed he, Ahkrin and Sorran. Who had killed countless Covenant soldiers. And he realised that fighting it was futile. The Spartans were called demons for a reason. One Sangheili fell, his own sword spun back upon him and lodged within his upper abdomen. A malfunctioning shielding system was preventing the auto-heal function of the combat harness he wore from working properly, frying the small nanobots before they could seal bleeding tissue, administer painkiller and possibly save his life. Zharn slowly rose to his feet, legs uncertain beneath him as if they were not his. Another of the three remaining spec ops Sangheili met the abyss as the demon grabbed its neck whilst leaping over the eight-foot tall Sangheili with impossible finesse, almost taking the head with him. When he landed on the other side, the Sangheili's neck was bent at an almost mirrored-angle, as if some cosmic jester had placed his head upon the wrong way around. At that, one of the two still alive finally broke rank and attempted to flee. He didn't even make it ten metres towards the exit of the cave before the demon brought out an M6D, aimed it at the fleeing Sangheili and pulled the trigger, the round puncturing through the weakened shields and tearing through the most tender part of the Sangheili's neck with surgical precision. Only the commander of the special operations team remained. With arms like jelly, Zharn fished around by his side for a rifle. His hands met only his pistol, but it would have to do. He drew it out, and fired a few emerald-green bursts at the Spartan. They crashed into the demon's armour, eating away at the toughened plates a little with a snake-like hiss. The demon's head snapped around to face Zharn, and even through the reflective visor Zharn could feel its rage. Seemingly driven by this anger, it balled its gloved claw into a fist and threw it at the spec ops commander. Bone buckled beneath the blow in a strike that even a Mglekgolo would have struggled to match. The spec ops commander seemed to fold in two, coughing up blood. He turned to look at Zharn, a resolute look on his face even in death. Then the spark behind his eyes died, and the Spartan's attention turned fully upon Zharn. "We meet again," it finally spoke, looking around at the four corpses around him. Zharn shrank back against the wall, looking at the exit of the cave. Seeing the body of the one who had tried to flee soon ended that train of thought. "Fleetmaster now? You've certainly risen from the major domo who damn near killed me. But I recognise your face all the same." "If you kill me, my ships will bury both our corpses in this stone," he informed the demon, who shook his head curtly. "I don't think so," the demon replied, walking up to Zharn slowly. Although the Spartan was a few inches shorter than Zharn, it made no difference at all to how he was feeling. Through the holes in the green armour Zharn had created through bursts of the plasma pistol (now hanging limply at his side along with his spirit), the fleetmaster could see ghostly-paled skin layered upon dense weaves of muscle tightly. "Why?" was all Zharn could breath out. In response, all the demon did was bring out a small stick from a satchel on his person. A flame was struck in the darkness, gently applied to the small wick upon the red stick. It blazed with a sudden ferocity, casting a red glow upon the walls of the cave. The demon raised a finger, and pointed it behind Zharn at the wall. The fleetmaster turned around, not quite knowing what to expect.

"We're playing Arbiter and heretic. I'm redeeming my honour by hunting down the blasphemer," Kemyn gushed out; Sorran was surprised the young boy knew such words, Hem's house did not seem all that devoted to religion as some were. He supposed in a state like San they would be taught at an early age. For Sorran himself, almost all his first words had held religious connotations, brought up by a deacon master as he was. "Well, stop. I told you two to go to bed." "We did but we heard scary noises outside!" Kemyn told his mother, and Gilyi nodded in agreement. Kym rolled her eyes. "I told you before, that's just High Charity discharging any excess energy," she affirmed. "Remember?" Their faces still looked uncertain. Kym threw up her arms in despair, before turning to Sorran. "Would you mind going with them? I know they'll feel safe if a great, mighty warrior like you goes," she beseeched Sorran, putting emphasis on the 'great, mighty warrior' for the children's benefit. Their eyes lit up as they stared at Sorran, instantly gazing at the blade hanging from his side. "Is that your sword?" Gilyi asked him with eyes as round as the moons. Sorran rose from his seat, uncoupling the blade from its anchor and lightly touching the rune on its underside. With a crack, plasma sprang out of the hilt and slit the air it coursed through. Kemyn and Gilyi's eyes grew even rounder if possible, and stared up at the blade with awe. [i]Hem would go crazy if he'd known I'd activated my sword for the sake of children's entertainment,[/i] Sorran thought, remembering the older honour guard's rule: 'if you ignite you blade, you had better well use it. To do anything else does it disrespect.' Well, the sword would just have to live with that. Sorran deactivated the sword, clipping it back to his side. He found the two children suddenly at his side, pulling his arms along with them as they moved out of the room. He looked back at Kym, who was grinning. "Thank you," she enthused at him, and Sorran found himself returning the grin. Suddenly he realised what he was doing, and chided himself harshly. [i]She's married, you idiot,[/i] he told himself forcefully. [i]Not to mention Hem's daughter! And what of Savara? She still grieves for you. Would you toss that love aside for the sake of an impossible... crush?[/i] He told himself was just admiring of her beauty, and that was as far as it went. As far as it would ever go. No, as far as it [i]could[/i] ever go. Kym left his sight as the children pulled him out of the room, and immediately started bombarding him with questions as they led him towards the stairs. Sorran smiled, and patiently began to answer them. [i]I could have had this some day,[/i] Sorran thought to himself sadly, realising finally what it was he truly found so captivating about Kym; the fact that she had such a loving and happy family. [i]Maybe I still could; Hem has a family, after all... one he hardly sees. He must have missed so many moments. I could never do that. No, I am Restraint's honour guard, and I serve a greater purpose. Happiness is not the fate the Forerunners have planned for me.[/i] * * * [i]"Fleetmaster, this is highly unorthodox!"[/i] some upper-ranked Sangheili whined to him over the communications channel. "It is not forbidden. My sub-commander is more than capable of performing," Zharn retorted sharply, knowing that his second was most likely more versed in strategic combat than him. Protocol forbid him from voicing those sentiments with candour, however. "Consider this a test for him." [i]"Whilst you die at the hands of a demon?"[/i] "No; whilst it dies at my own hands." [i]"Fleetmaster, your shipmasters are protesting this move of yours vehemently. They seem unusually concerned about your well-being."[/i] "As well they should be. Tell them this is of no concern of theirs; I am throwing myself into this fire. My insurance does not apply." [i]"I don't understand, fleetmaster."[/i] "They will," Zharn answered with a sly smile, before hearing an indicator that meant they were approaching ground. "Contact me if there is an emergency. Otherwise, do not disturb me until I signal you for pick-up." "... very well, fleetmaster Thierr'ee. May the rings light your path," the other Sangheili blessed, before the connection died. The Spirit dropship Zharn had appropriated slowed to a halt as it reached the surface of the planet. The hatch swung open, and with a single deft leap Zharn threw himself out. He landed on the floor with grace, feeling the warmth of the ground; it had obviously been stricken by plasma not too long ago. Not too far away, he could see the battle. Or rather, what remained of it. Although the Spartan's commandeering of the Scarab had bought the humans time to evacuate a few more transport ships (which had managed to claw their way into the void before the Covenant fleet could intercept them,) eventually the humans had buckled under the Covenant's relentless onslaught and had fallen within the confines of their facility to make one final stand, greatly reduced in number. That was, save for the demon. Orbital surveillance had shown it fleeing into a cave embedded within the mountainside, a few miles north from Zharn's current position. Zharn did not know what they were planning, but regardless the demon would meet its death at his hand today. He owed it that much, remembering how the Spartan had almost killed Sorran back on Eridanus II. A lifetime ago, it seemed. Back when the world had been so much simpler, painted in black and white. Behind him he heard the muffled pounding of several others, as the lance of four special operations Sangheili he had chosen to accompany him on this task too alighted the phantom and placed their feet upon the ground. Their leader moved to meet Zharn's shoulder, peering out at the battle. "Their defence will not last long," he observed. "Eventually they will most likely destroy themselves, per the Cole Protocol." "Whether the facility is destroyed by us or by their suicidal ways, the job shall be done," Zharn concluded, before turning back to the Spirit, now hovering. He signalled the pilot. Five Ghosts dropped from its underside, anti-gravity systems activating just before they would slam into the hard ground below. "We should make haste," the spec-ops commander suggested to Zharn respectfully. Obviously these operatives were far less mouthy than Ahkrin had been. [i]... After this is over I should contact Ahkrin, if only to make sure he hasn't done anything stupid,[/i] Zharn resolved, feeling the gentle embers of forgiveness blossom within him. "You are certain you wish to accompany me?" Zharn asked of them all. "I would not command you to go up against a demon; that is a suicide order." "You are fleetmaster," they answered as one, without a complete lack of hesitation. The commander nodded, explaining further. "We are your warriors, Fleetmaster Thierr'ee. We follow you not out of duty, but honour." "My thanks," Zharn replied gratefully, still a little awed by statements like that. Not too long ago he probably would have been ignored by these operatives; now they swore their fealty to him. "Then we must hurry lest the demon escape with whatever is so important in those caves that the humans would send their greatest asset to secure it." * * * Once the children were within their beds, Sorran began a methodical check of the room to put there minds at ease. "See? No monsters," Sorran told them with a reassuring smile after he'd completed his search of the room. Their expressions softened a little. "Uncle Katoth'ee told me the humans drop down in their steel boxes and kill every Sangheili they find," Gilyi spouted out, explaining to Sorran the children's fear. "Do they?" "... they'll never find Sanghelios," Sorran promised them, unable to commit to actually telling them concretely that the humans never did such a thing. "I think blademaster Katoth'ee was just trying to scare you." "When I'm older will I be sent to fight them like father?" Kemyn asked inquisitively, round eyes staring up at Sorran with what he suspected was resignation to doing so. Sorran knelt down beside Kemyn's bed, and placed a hand on the young Sangheili's shoulder. "I'm sure the war will be over within but a few years," Sorran promised. And although he knew he shouldn't have said so, under the child's heart-breaking stare he added: "You will see your father soon." "Have you fought the humans?" Gilyi asked him, fascinated. Sorran smiled softly at all the questions, shaking his head in a mute lie. "We honour guards do not get sent to war," Sorran told them softly. "We're much too lazy for that; just look at your grandfather." That evoked a few laughs from them, and Sorran could tell he had dispersed their fears. He rose up and moved to switch the light off, intending to head back downstairs and spend some more time getting to know Kym and more of Hem's private life, which prior to today he had known very little of. He stopped in his tracks as he heard a noise coming from outside, though, spinning around sharply. The children had bolted upright, fear etched into their faces. "That's what we heard before!" Kemyn murmured with a note of terror in his voice. Drawing out his blade and igniting it with intention, Sorran walked slowly towards the window. He saw nothing as he stared outside, and frowned. [i]Whurrrrrrrrrr[/i], came the noise again, louder this time. It almost sounded like-- Thrusters.

* * * "That must have been embarrassing earlier," Sorran noted with a wry smile to Hem, who instantly glanced at his wife and daughter before his pupil that 'please-say-nothing-of-what-happened' look. Ever the respectful one, Sorran acknowledged the look. That didn't mean he would adhere to it though. "Just how hard did your behind smash into the floor?" Hem groaned, his ears flushing with shame. His wife, she too an elderly Sangheili by the name of Ilia, raised a brow. "Did you try to best Katoth'ee again, Hem?" she demanded with the tone of one who had seen it happen many times before. "It was close," he protested, and Sorran laughed a little. "If you call being disarmed and thrown on the floor within the first two minutes close," he mocked gently, sending Hem into another bout of groaning. Ilia and their only child, a daughter and mother herself named Kym, laughed at his shame. "You know, Sorran, when in one's house it's rude to embarrass the host," Hem tried to salvage some face. Sorran looked at Ilia, who shook her head and smiled. "Ignore him, he's always like this whenever he visits. Ever since I first met him and long before that he has been trying to defeat Katoth'ee, and still he has not succeeded," Ilia informed Sorran, before looking at Hem sympathetically and placing a hand on his arm. "Maybe when he's on his death bed, dear." "Probably not even then," his daughter teased. Sorran was enjoying himself in Hem's house. His own family had never been like this; what with the death of his mother at birth and the strict, zealous nature of his very conservative father, he'd never really known such a happy household. Hem and Ilia had been bonded for nearly eighty years, which awed Sorran. What surprised him even further was that in the near-decade Hem had known of the Great Journey's truth, he had never once revealed it to any of his family; as with Katoth'ee, he told Sorran he did not want to burden them with a matter they could do nothing about. Apparently they had first had a son a few years into their marriage, but he had been a sickly child and had died long before reaching adulthood. Almost fifty years later, they'd moved past the grieve and decided to have another child; from that Kym had been born. She was only 32 years old by Sangheilian orbital time, and, Sorran had to admit he found her very attractive despite being only 25 himself. Kym had borne two children already, which was rare amongst the Sangheili; theirs was not a race which bore offspring often. One of the young was a boy of seven named Kemyn, a few years away from being taken into the academy for the mandatory combat training all male Sangheili received. The other was a girl of six, Gilyi, already showing the signs of her mother's beauty. Both were somewhere else in the large house Hem's family owned, engaged in some sort of play. The Huragok who maintained the household was watching over them. Kym's husband was apparently a major in the Covenant army, drafted in roughly the same time Sorran had been all those months ago. She hadn't heard much from him since enlisting, she hold told Sorran sadly earlier. "So, how are things with the High Councillor, father?" Kym suddenly asked Hem, breaking Sorran's internal reflections. Hem forced a smile, and Sorran knew he was thinking about Restraint's cancer. "Well enough," he spoke abruptly. "I worry about him when I am not by his side, though." "You're [i]always[/i] worrying about him," Ilia spoke with exasperation. "Sometimes I think that you would rather be bonded with him than myself." "Don't be absurd," Hem answered with affection, staring deep into her eyes with love. "My heart is yours, Ilia. Besides, he cannot cook at all." "Oh, father," Kym sighed with a roll of her eyes as Hem broke away, laughing. "I think you should retire soon, by the way. You're old--" "Very old," Sorran added, earning himself a cold look from Hem. "[i]Very[/i] old," Kym amended with a small smile. "Too old to be an honour guard. You should be here, with mother and us. The children do not see their grandfather often enough." "Well, that is why Sorran is here," Hem conceded, taking Sorran off-guard a little. "I am getting too old for this, you are right. In a few years, Sorran will be [i]nearly[/i] as good as me -- never quite as good of course, but close enough." "I'll try take that as a compliment," Sorran answered. "Maybe then, I can come here and live out the rest of my days under the Sangheilian sun with all of you. There has to be a changing of the guard eventually; Sorran will be that change." "Well, thank you Sorran," Ilia told him gratefully. "You seem like a fine young man, and Hem has told us so many wonderful things about you." Sorran looked at Hem with surprise then, and colour returned to his cheeks. "I probably exaggerated a [i]little,[/i]" he covered up, earning him a cuff about the ear from his wife. "There's more food if you want it Sorran, help yourself," Kym told him with a bright smile. "I'm full to the brim, thank you all the same. It was delicious," he praised Ilia, who glowed a little under his compliments. Night had fully fallen upon San now, and in the distance Sorran could see the bright lights of the city break through the clouds. Hem's house was located but a few miles out; the land was still bountiful amazingly, and some crops and livestock were kept on his property. "Well, if you'll excuse us," Hem suddenly spoke up, taking Ilia's hand and pulling away from the table. Sorran blinked. "Where are you headed?" he asked as they both moved to exit the room. A smile stretched across Hem's face. "I'll tell you when you're older, boy," was all he answered before leaving the room, dropping a very disturbing wink. "Father!" Kym moaned after him, embarrassment clear in her face. Sorran finally realised what the other honour guard had been implying, and he too adopted a sheepish expression. "So," he said quickly to break the awkwardness. "Your husband is in the Covenant army, you mentioned earlier?" At the mention of his name, Kym practically lit up like a Huragok taking apart a machine. "Yes," she practically gushed. "He's a major; he told me he commands a lance. I am not quite sure what a lance is, though." "It's a small group of warriors, usually comprised of four Unggoy plus another Sangheili," Sorran informed her swiftly, taking a drink of the sweet-tasting alcohol in his glass, which apparently Ilia had fermented herself from the colourful berries which grew outside. Alcohol that was fermented rather than distilled was rare amongst the Covenant, and Sorran found the taste very different to anything he had tasted before; not unpleasant, though. "Oh," Kym blinked, looking a little abashed. "I probably should have known that. I don't like knowing too much about the war, though. It panics me, to think of all the things that could happen to him out there." "It is dangerous," Sorran agreed, before berating himself for not saying something more reassuring. "But the humans grow weaker by the day. So long as your husband his careful, he should not come to any harm." "I know, it's just--" Suddenly Kym was interrupted by the screaming of young children as both Kemyn and Gilyi ran into the dining room, both of them holding sticks in their hands and doing their best of bludgeon the other as siblings did. Both of them wore lightly-powered personal energy shielding, standard amongst wealthier Sangheili children to protect them from harm, so the risk of any actual damage was slight. Even so, Kym moved over to them both and took the sticks from them, given them a reprimanding look. Sorran watched with interest. "What have I told you of duelling within the house?" their mother asked harshly. Both of them instantly adopted what Sorran assumed were their cute-faces, looking up at Kym with wide, innocent eyes. "But it's dark outside!" Kemyn protested in a whiny voice. "Unggoy," Gilyi insulted, before side-stepping a little shove Kemyn tried to give her. Sorran smiled warmly at the sibling-rivalry; he'd always been an only child himself, but had always wondered what it would be like to have a blood brother or sister. "Stop it, both of you. What are you doing, anyway?" Kym asked them, noting the tin pan Kemyn wore over his head.

"At least you wouldn't be standing out in the night rain were that to happen," Ahkrin joked. The two Sangheili tried to smile, but were obviously too weary to do so properly and so it ended up looking more like a begrudging grimace. "So everything's fixed then?" the second guard broke the silence, obviously giving Ahkrin his cue to leave. He nodded. "If you have any more problems, just contact the agency. Now if you'll excuse me, I have a bed to fall into," Ahkrin finished, turning around and preparing to walk away. "Lucky bastard--" the first guard began to call after him, before suddenly stopping and letting out a little gasp. Ahkrin froze, tensing. He looked back at the guard, seeing him staring down at Ahkrin's right side. Ahkrin followed the gaze of the man, realising what it was he was staring at. Protruding from the cloak he wore as the barrel of the whisper-carbine, looking incredibly dangerous. [i]Blast,[/i] Ahkrin cursed, turning around fully. The guards both had their weapons out, aiming them at him with shaking hands. "W-why do you have that?" one of them demanded nervously, voice rising a few levels in the middle of his sentence. Realising the ruse was over, Ahkrin tossed aside his cloak and revealed to them his full assassin's attire. Their jaws seemed to sink into the ground. "You saw nothing," Ahkrin told them in a deadly-quiet voice. "I am on official business of our most holy Covenant, no concern of yours. You will go about your duties as if you never saw me, and will not breathe a word of their to any lest you wish to meet the sharp edge of the blade you are both now so intently staring at it. Am I understood?" They didn't speak, only managing a terrified little nod between them. Ahkrin returned it, before picking up the cloak and throwing it over him once more. This time when he walked away, not a word was spoken. He suspected the two would not make so much as a sound for the rest of the night. * * * Wraith mortars sailed across the sky, cutting through the night like deadly falling stars. Their fire was retaliated by the heavy pounding of scorpion tanks and human defensive artillery. Banshees and vampires cut through the air, dancing with hornets, falcons and shortswords. Covenant crashed into UNSC. Zharn had seen it all before, and it almost always ended with Covenant victory. This time however, rather than be in the battle himself commanding a lance or two, he was thousands of kilometres above the war relaying orders to the entire army. The holographic projection before him did a very good job of conveying the scene; a fully three-dimensional representation of the battle below, in real time. As he barked orders to ground commanders, who would then relay his orders to their own troops, it felt like he was playing a game. Except the consequences were real. Every holographic figure who fell represented a real warrior. Their target was a human complex; intelligence had discovered that the humans had many facilities upon Baron VII focused on reverse-engineering Covenant technology. He had been ordered by higher command to ensure the destruction of all these research labs; by conventional means if possible, or by calling in a glassing in extreme measures. Zharn wondered if he could do that. To destroy an entire planet... surely that was a crime against the universe itself? A wonder that had formed over billions of years. And in hours he was expected to reduce it to glass if all went awry. He had his orders, though. For now he would do his best to merely destroy the facilities and perhaps force the humans into a retreat, saving the Covenant the exponential costs in energy and manpower that came with a glassing and also saving himself the horror of having to order such an act. "Pelicans attempting to flank Scarab sigma," chatter sounded across the tactical communications channel, which linked him to the entire army below. Zharn turned to his battery operator. "Fire quaternary guns at those Pelicans on the surface; burn them out of the sky," he commanded forcefully, and within moments his order was carried out. The ship vibrated as the plasma battery on its underside warmed up, until finally he saw out the observation window several torpedoes of brightest blue fall from the ship to the planet below. With precision that could only have been bettered by an associated intelligence, the plasma tore through the pelicans and set them ablaze. The threat to Scarab sigma eliminated, Zharn turned his attention back towards the greater battle. Even one completely unfamiliar with warfare would be able to see the humans were being pushed back by the greater numbers and firepower of the Covenant. He wished he could be down there, feeling the rush of adrenaline as his sword swiped across the battlefield. Up here, he felt... nothing, aside from a terror in his stomach stemming from the worry he would not do his job correctly. All eyes were upon him, he knew, waiting to see what the new fleetmaster would perform like. Suddenly, he noticed an anomaly in the tide of battle. Whereas a wave was cascading across the humans practically everywhere, nearly pushing inside the facility itself, there was a narrow strip slicing its way through the tsunami of purple and leading a mass of green into the breach. "Magnify!" Zharn shouted sharply, indicating on the hologram the area he wanted zoomed in. As if he were falling towards it, that specific area of the battlefield enlarged. Marines were charging into an entire century of Sangheili, roaring with morale they should not have possessed. Leading the charge was... what Zharn could only describe as a blur. It raced forward, cutting down Covenant in its unwavering path. The blur reached the foot of Scarab omega, before darting up its leg as if it were flying. Small guns fire echoed from within the mighty behemoth; piloted by Sangheili rather than the lekgolo fast becoming standard. Then, the firing stopped. Marines surged to meet the scarab but were not being attacked by it. Sickeningly, the scarab then began to sink down to the ground and the human soldiers boarded it swiftly, running up the ramps and firing out at the Covenant rushing towards it. A wraith spun to meet the scarab; its pilot contacted Zharn. "Fleetmaster, should I--?" the Sangheili within began to question. "Fire!" Zharn interrupted shrilly. The wraith raised its cannon, primed to fire-- Only to be swept away in a sudden stream of poison green, bursting from the toxic mouth of the scarab -- now obviously under human control. It spun to face the rest of the Covenant army, before its gun port charged up. "All units, focus on Scarab omega!" Zharn commanded, realising what was about to happen. "Battery officer, fire secondary weaponry at that vehicle now!" Too little too late. The commandeered scarab unleashed its payload upon a third of the attacking Covenant forces, instantly decimating hundreds of warriors and brushing aside wraiths, ghosts, banshees and revenants as if they were shades of light. After the deed was done, Zharn saw the blur which had wrought all this dive out boldly, followed by a mass of fleeing marines. They cleared the scarab moments before his ship's secondary fire bellowed into it, lighting it up in a blaze of emerald fire. But the damage had been done; many of the Covenant forces had been killed or injured by the human-controlled scarab, and now the humans were back in the came. The tidal wave of purple was pushed back slowly by an equally powerful gust of green, until eventually the two were even with each other, both refusing to give ground. No longer under constant fire, several evacuation ships left the planet's surface and tore into slipspace before Zharn's fleet could knock them back down. [i]How did this happen?[/i] Zharn wondered. "Rewind footage, focus in on... whatever that blur was." The last few painful seconds replayed themselves on the holographic representation, before being slowed down to a snail's pace. The blur was captured as it ran along the floor, bullets firing from it with cold, machine-like precision. "Enhance!" Slowly, the quality of the image sharpened until eventually Zharn could discern the origin of the killer-blur. [i]A demon,[/i] he realised with dread as he saw the familiar armour and flashing golden visor. He peered closer, and further dread swept over him as he recognised the numbering on its armour. [i]Not just any demon... it's the one from Eridanus II.[/i] Suddenly, he knew what it was he had to do. Pulling away from the command pedestal he viewed the battle from, he turned to his second. "Take command," he told the Sangheili, voice heavy. The sub-commander blinked with surprise, eyes rounding. "Why?" he asked. Zharn merely checked his armour was working and that his weapons were all where they should be on his person. When he spoke, he addressed the entire bridge. "I have a demon to slay." * * *

* * * They sat once more in the war room, tension higher than it had ever been. Zharn felt like throttling each and every one of the pretentious, obnoxious shipmasters before him. "Well, that went well," one of them began, and he was met with murmuring agreement from his fellows. Zharn gripped the edge of the table even tighter, turning his fingers as pale as the sunlight being thrown in the room by the system's distant star. "It was... fortuitous you were able to support my ship so swiftly," he began. "Arriving just before my shields collapsed. Why, a conspiratorial mind might even suggest such an occurrence had been planned." As one fourteen pairs of eyes shifted guilty, all but confirming their guilt. "Surely you are not accusing [i]us[/i] of any foul play?" the [i]Deluge of Diffidence[/i] shipmaster asked Zharn with narrowed eyes. Zharn merely laid out his hands wide, shrugging. "I am merely stating the facts as they could be perceived. Take it as you will," he told them sharply, forcing himself to refrain from bursting out with expletives. "Do you know what would be a truly strange thing, though?" They all looked amongst it each. "What?" the shipmaster of the [i]Parade of Asperity[/i] demanded shrewdly. Zharn shrugged, looking around as if he were trying to think of some tale. "Imagine if someone suspected their life was being threatened by a group of distasteful people," he told them. "Hypothetically, that person in danger might take the liberty of setting it up so that his assets would be sold should he die in any circumstances that seemed suspicious." Their eyes narrowed. Zharn felt a small smile tug at his jaw. He continued speaking. "Such a person might have it so finances gained through such a move would be used to take contracts out on the lives of every member belonging to the group of distasteful people." As one, the fourteen faces of the shipmasters fell so their once-beaming grins had been mirrored into horrified grimaces. "You haven't--" one of them began in a strangled voice, a shade or two lighter than he had been moments before. Zharn frowned at them theatrically. "[i]I[/i] haven't done anything. Why would I need to, with such a wonderful and loyal group of subordinates beneath me? I am merely speaking in hypotheticals, of course. If I were threatened in such a way of course, then the plan I outlined before would of course be the only plan of action I could take. Wouldn't you do the same?" "Fleetmaster, we didn't mean--" one of them protested with despair, cut off by Zharn's hand. "Of course you would. It'd be petty, but it would be nice to know that should anything happen to you those responsible would eventually pay, wouldn't it?" "Perhaps we have given you the wrong message, Thierr'ee--" another shipmaster stuttered out, his voice an octave higher than usual. Zharn shook his head. "I would love [i]nothing[/i] more than to discuss hypotheticals all day with you, noble shipmasters, but I must go and co-ordinate the ground assault upon Baron VII now. Perhaps you could remember my tale the next time you think of something clever to do." And with that, Zharn left his seat, smiled widely at their stunned, ashen faces before neatly spinning and walking out the room with a confident stride. [i]That felt good.[/i] * * * [i]He may be a heretic, but Restraint certainly knows how to live,[/i] Ahkrin admired once more as he stared through an optical magnifier at the High Councillor's minor, perched as he was atop the spire of light. He'd set up a sniper rifle next to him in case an opportune moment presented itself, but so far he had been up on top of the spire for hours and had seen but one glimpse of Restraint, a quick flash behind a very heavily shielded small window. The Unggoy servant who was also in on the heresy, Jajab, had been spotted by Ahkrin many times shuffling around the grounds. But although too a target, he was not worth the shot that would alert the guard to an assassin's presence. No, he could be dealt with once the life had left Restraint's body. The patrols of the honour guard were rather thorough, he admired. They certainly took their job seriously, not merely standing around stoically like most of the guard did. Rain was smoothly diverted away from them as if magnetically repulsed, informing Ahkrin that they were all equipped with personal shielding systems. Shrouding the manor too was a blanketing energy shield, allowing the rain to pass through but repulsing any objects swept into it by the wind; dead leaves and blossom from the trees of High Charity were incinerated as they brushed into its shimmering surface. No doubt they would do something similar to Ahkrin should he try to pass through it he doubted he'd be incinerated, but certainly would emerge on the other side considerably more toasty than he was now. [i]This Ossoona's device had better work when I need it,[/i] he thought, staring down at the small, button-like object clipped to his belt. He did not trust Pel, or any of the hierarchs. They seemed far too eager to put Restraint in the ground, and Ahkrin suspected personal motives as well as a wish to put heresy to rest. He knew Restraint had been challenging the hierarchs in matters of state recently, which no doubt offended them. But Restraint was most certainly a heretic. Ahkrin had analysed the recordings and files after the hierarchs had left him alone with them, and had found no signs of tampering or forgery, and if anyone could detect such interferences, it would be him. [i]No doubt he will try to spin me a fanciful yarn before I kill him,[/i] Ahkrin thought to himself, once more moving the optical magnifier over Restraint's manor. [i]I have fallen for such tricks before, and nearly paid with my life. This time, any words that come out of his mouth will soon be cut short.[/i] Perhaps when Ahkrin had status once more, he would retire from all this. He had been fighting all of his life, and had grown tired of the blade which even now seemed wet with the blood that would soon coat it. His family's lands restored, he could build property upon them once more. Between his years as an assassin and stealth Sangheili in the Covenant, he had amassed a considerable pile of money which sat in account. He'd never thought to use much of it, as with his house in disgrace he was forbidden from buying land and other such commodities Sangheili usually purchased. Yet that would soon change. He could have a home, a mate... perhaps even children, one day. [i]Oh gods, I've gone soft. If Zharn could see me now,[/i] Ahkrin thought, chuckling to himself wryly before that humour died in his throat. [i]He would not want to see me, he made that much clear the last time we spoke.[/i] Maybe when this was all done, Ahkrin could reconcile with his brother. Having status and honour worth mentioning for the first time in his life would doubtless mean something to the other Sangheili... Ahkrin might genuinely finally receive the respect he'd always suspected Zharn feigned. It would be nice to tell people his name without them looking down their nose at him. If all worked well he could even one day have subordinates of his own-- [i]There![/i] Ahkrin's forever-alert subconscious shouted at him as his eyes picked out a weakness in the patrol route of the honour guards. A blind spot left unseen for six seconds. With speed, luck and active camouflage, he could perhaps bound across it and reach the interior of the High Councillor's residence. Recording the blind spot for reference when he would reach the foot of the manor, Ahkrin drew back from the edge of the spire and packed his tools away, before standing up and beginning the long descent back down. When he reached the bottom, he opened up a channel to Ossoona Pel, who was to be his contact for the mission. "I've found a way in, you can deactivate the spire," he told the other Sangheili sharply, stepping off the hard-light onto solid ground once more. He approached the gate where the two guards stood slowly, throwing his heavy coat back on. "[i]Excellent,[/i]" the Ossoona praised him, like a father would to a child who had scored highly in an exam at an academy. [i]"We will continue to monitor your situation, Ahkrin. Forerunners guide you."[/i] The channel shut down just as Ahkrin reached the gate. A few seconds later, so did the spire. The light spluttered once, then twice, and finally sunk back into the projector embedded into the ground. Darkness returned as the soft blue permeating the air retreated with the now-gone spire, leaving the area shrouded in black once more. "You took a while," one of the guards at the gate noticed as Ahkrin passed through. "Any trouble up there?" "I don't want to bore you with tech," Ahkrin answered wearily. "If only the hierocracy would give me a Huragok to work with." "They're in short supply, what with the war and all," the other guard sympathised. "I doubt it will be too long before we're replaced with Jiralhanae and shipped out to battle ourselves."

It was raining on High Charity right now, again at Ahkrin's request. As such, it would not seem strange to be wearing such a garment. "Evening," he drawled in the accent of a working-class Sangheili, born of a lower house. The guards at the gate seemed to slowly wake up to attention, obviously not expecting anyone. One reached down to his side as if searching for his weapon, and managed to get the wrong side. Obviously these guards were not competent ones. Hence why they were assigned to such a lowly post. "Access to the spire is restricted to the public aside from during festivals, sir," one of them apologised, clearly having the force the 'sir' out to the lowly being before him. Ahkrin reached into the folds of his coat, and drew out a small device the size of a button. He pressed it with his thumb softly, and the holographic ID he'd forged appeared, cutting through the night with its golden sheen. "I'm from the ministry," he told them in the same drawl as he passed the ID over for them to check. "I hear your spire's not working right." "That's right, and he's got a tower of hard-light behind him not operating properly too," the Sangheili he hadn't addressed joked badly, earning him a sharp jab in the side from his fellow. Ahkrin laughed heartily at the crudeness. "Very clever, sir," he falsely praised in that same idiosyncratic dialect. "Is everything in order regarding my credentials?" Finally the guard passed the ID back, nodding. "Be careful up there," he was told. "For all we know it could deactivate at any time." "I'll keep mostly to the real zones," Ahkrin assured them, referring to the small sections of the spire comprised out of metal rather than hard-light. "Shouldn't take no more than a few hours, sirs." "Head on up then," he was invited as the gate slid open with a hydraulic hiss. Ahkrin thanked them curtly, drawing his coat tighter around him and slowly beginning his long ascent up the spiralling spire of light. * * * "Not bad," Blademaster Katoth'ee finally conceded to Sorran as they ended their spar, each with a blade at the other's neck. Sorran would be a little more proud of that had Katoth'ee not decided to handicap himself by tying his right arm behind his back and obscuring one eye with a blindfold. "Swords mean little when put up against rifles," Sorran gasped, wiping sweat from his brow. They both stood in Katoth'ee's courtyard, watched over the by great Helios. The master warrior's gaze darkened at that little heresy. "Is that so?" he demanded, a small smile playing upon his lips as he untied his arm and tore the cloth from his head; although even older than Hem, Katoth'ee still possessed about him a ferocious aura that must have been utterly terrifying in his prime. He then turned to Hem, who was watching them with amusement from a small distance. "Show your pupil that is not so." Hem stood up with a wry grin across his face, before drawing out a plasma rifle and firing a volley of shots at his former tutor. Sorran yelped in surprise, staggering back to avoid to super-heated bursts as they surged towards the unarmored Katoth'ee. They never reached their target. Moving like a blur, Katoth'ee twirled his blade in an intricate circular motion until it almost looked like a solid circle. The plasma rounds smashed into the circle, pushed it back a little and was finally absorbed by the similar composition of the blade. Finally the Sangheili blademaster lowered his sword, energy discharging into the baked earth. Hem laughed, putting his rifle back in its nest. Katoth'ee merely stared at Sorran, challenge playing about his eyes, as the sword retreated into the hilt. "That's not a certified combat manoeuvre," Sorran grumbled lamely as his eyes averted the ancient Sangheili's striking-green gaze. "You're not in the Covenant army, boy," Katoth'ee chastised, throwing a small rock at his head. Sorran winced at the small blow. "When the High Councillor is touring the colonies and a rebel faction decides to try and kill him because they disagree with the policies he advocates, they won't be fighting according to protocol." Sorran smiled, but all the while wished that his job was as simple as protecting Restraint as he delivered speeches throughout the Covenant. Katoth'ee did not know the truth about the Great Journey. Not because he couldn't be trusted, that was certain. It was clear Hem trusted no one else in the world more than his former master. Rather, the reason the once-General had not been let in on their terrible secret was because Hem did not want to burden the few years Katoth'ee had left with a revelation that would crush the very religious man. So they had to be careful about what they said around him. Around the complex several of Katoth'ee permanent pupils could be seen walking through the pillars, watching the two honour guards who were visiting with curiosity. The Sangheili's home and academy was only a few hundred miles away from San, which was still visible in the distance. On the main-strip, you could traverse the distance in just under twenty minutes. "Hem, who is this boy you bring before me? Is Restraint also recruiting Unggoy fresh off the teat into his personal guard too?" Katoth'ee joked, and although Sorran felt a little offended by the Sangheili's words he could understand where he was coming from. To an outsider, seeing such an ill-trained honour guard must be an odd sight. "I was a friend of his father," Hem lied deftly, not hesitating for a second. "Just before he passed away last season, I promised him I would look after his only son and give him a good life. Sorran is trying sometimes, but he has a sharp mind which Restraint finds more useful than his skills with a blade." "I imagine," Katoth'ee laughed, patting Sorran on the back to show he was just kidding. "But there is a warrior within this one, most certainly. A few months and I can bring hit out, I guarantee." "We will see," Hem mused thoughtfully. "In these capricious worlds we live in, it is hard to commit to anything." "Take opportunities as they come," Katoth'ee lectured them both, slipping back into the familiar role of teacher. "For when you are old and facing your final few years like myself, you should be able to look back at your life and see one well lived." "Do you?" Sorran asked, wondering if the question was too personal. Katoth'ee thought for a moment, before nodding. "Yes... although it has not been completely without sorrow. But you must take the good with the bad, and treat fortune as a gift, not a right. I have been Lord General of the Covenant once upon a time, which is more than most can say." "Do you miss it?" Sorran continued his onslaught of questions. "Being in the Covenant, I mean." "I do," Katoth'ee confessed. "There is a certain camaraderie and sense of adventure that can only be found in the army, one I am sorry you will miss due to being in the guard, Sorran. Yet I am also glad for you, as you are free from the shackles of this terrible, senseless war with the humans. We have them on the run, yes, but we are also losing far too many of our own." "They are indeed a formidable foe," Hem agreed, walking over to them. "Were it not for their heresy, I would advocate their welcoming into our Covenant with open arms." "Bah, we have too many species as it is," Katoth'ee grumbled. "I remember when the Jiralhanae joined; now that was a tragic day. The species I had commanded be grounded to their homeworld for their barbarity suddenly uplifted by order of the hierocracy and inducted into our collective. We should just leave the humans be; the galaxy is more than large enough for us all." "Enough talk," Hem suddenly interrupted, drawing out his energy blade with an air of challenge. He looked at Katoth'ee, brow raised. "What say you, old man? Think you can still match your former pupil's hand?" "Hem, my old friend," Katoth'ee told his once-student with sympathy, unsheathing his sword once more. "Even when I am buried beneath the ground we now stand on, you willnot best me in swordplay. But if you insist on embarrassing yourself before your student, then I shall oblige." [i]Oh, this should be hilarious,[/i] Sorran thought to himself happily, finding a rock nearby and reclining on it in preparation for the show. * * *

[b]Part 34[/b] - The tower came crashing down With grace the impulse drives slowed to a halt, deftly weaving a path out of the void like fine scissors cutting open a patch of cloth. As the ship emerged through the hole, the rift behind them sewed itself back together as if nothing had been there. Before the rest of the fleet had even followed suit, the battle began. "Report," Zharn barked to his bridge crew as the [i]March of Righteousness[/i] shuddered dangerously. All around the room instruments were flashing lights and spitting out noise, holograms flickering to display the status of the ship and its surroundings. "Multiple Halcyon-class ships targeting our position, fleetmaster!" a pilot told him, the hue of fear colouring his voice. Zharn frowned as he grabbed a railing to steady his position. "We were supposed to exit the void outside their kill-zone," he swore. "Where is the rest of the fleet?" "Navigation places them several thousand kilometres behind us, leader," the same pilot reported with confusion. ".. outside the kill-zone." Zharn's eyes widened as he looked at the rest of the UNSC fleet soaring to meet them, only a few thousands kilometres outside targeting range; the [i]Righteousness'[/i] shields would not hold for too long against that. He felt a sickening drop in his stomach. "Treachery," he breathed out angrily, assessing the situation before them. After scouring through the banks of the data they'd secured from Eridanus II carefully, Zharn had found a lead to a collective of human trade ships. It was there they'd ambushed a small transport-frigate, taking its captain on board. The man had held his tongue for some time, but in the end everyone talks. And so he did, revealing the location of this planet; Baron VII. Seemingly it wasn't a terribly important colony as shown by only a dozen or so ships protecting the planet, but with luck it would lead to greater colonies the humans held or, Forerunners willing, their home world. But of course, they'd first have to survive this battle. Which wasn't looking likely. "Fleetmaster?" an Unggoy asked him uncertainly, waiting for his orders. Zharn looked out the lone viewing window at the very front of the ship, at the twelve or so ships converging upon their position like iron filings drawn to a magnet. "Open me a channel to our fellow ships," Zharn commanded, hearts pounding with fear; not for himself, but the crew and fleet that he was supposed to watch over. The Unggoy nodded, and a few moments later such a channel arose. "[i]Fleetmaster, there has been a terrible mistake,[/i]" he heard the oily voice belong to the shipmaster of the [i]Deluge of Diffidence[/i] break across the channel. The same Sangheili he had thrown the knife at the day before. Zharn regretted missing. "Do not waste your breath on your lies, shipmaster," he swore angrily down the line, nearly being bowled off his feet as he unconsciously took his hands off the rail to clench them into fists. "I understand you and the other shipmasters take issue with my command, but you would really condemn this entire ship to death purely to be rid of me?" "[i]Of course not, leader,[/i]" the [i]Parade of Asperity[/i]'s shipmaster uttered with pretend-shock. "[i]This was a horrible accident; I suggest you replace your navigation Huragoks. We are heading towards you posthaste, just keep your shields up to maximum and you will be safe enough.[/i] "When this is over--" Zharn threatened angrily, or at least tried to before being cut off by another arrogant shipmaster. "[i]Leader, if we keep this channel open any longer the humans may hack into it. We will be with you in a few short minutes,[/i]" he was told abruptly, before the channel was suddenly shut. For a few seconds Zharn stood there, stunned by their insolence towards a superior. Obviously the former fleetmaster before Xatan'ee had not ran a tight ship. [i]So they mean merely to scare me, not kill me... for now,[/i] Zharn thought as he saw in the holographic representation of the naval battle the other ships in the fleet move to come alongside his own vessel. [i]I cannot legally replace them without hard evidence. Something else must be done.[/i] Perhaps he was thinking about this in the wrong way. Maybe he did not need to replace them. They obviously did not respect him; a lowly ultra who had managed to claw his way to fleetmaster through an antiquated tradition. But if he earned their respect, even if it was through fear... perhaps he could make this fleet into something truly great. Nothing to do now though but play their little games. "Fleetmaster?" the Unggoy in command of logistics asked, that same uncertain note tinting his voice. He saw it reflected in the faces of all his crew; they did not trust him at all. Zharn sighed, knowing what he said next would not change those sentiments any more. "Divert all power sans life support and engines to shielding," he ordered reluctantly. "We must wait for the rest of the fleet to join us before we can wage battle on the enemy." He heard a few exasperated sighs around the room then, and almost felt like echoing them himself. There was a noticeable increase in the humming of the shielding as more power was pushed into it until eventually the [i]March of Righteousness[/i] was engulfed in an almost-opaque violet cocoon, repelling the ordnance the human ships catapulted at his flagship; the shield wouldn't last forever, but would hold long enough for the rest of the fleet to enter the field of battle. Of course, by then his ship would then be nearly drained of power, leaving the other shipmasters to take their vessels and eliminate the enemy without their fleetmaster at the head of battle as was standard. What the serpents had planned all along, no doubt. It would not look good for Zharn in the report. [i]Bastards![/i] * * * He walked along the dark streets of High Charity, clothes as rags and a hood drawn over his head. All he limped past gave him a wide berth, not dignifying him with a glance. Why would they? To even look at such a wretched beggar would tarnish their social standings. Exactly why Ahkrin had chosen to don such a costume. Not even the guards between districts looked at him as he moved through the holy city. As such, they didn't notice the various weapons strapped beneath the rags, even when many of them were poking out ever so slightly. Hiding in plain sight. Beneath those rags, Ahkrin wore the instruments of death. A tight fitting light armour to protect him from any fire, bolstered by a compact person energy shield. Affixed to his belt were a dozen or so knives, perfect for silently taking any targets out. On his back, a whisper-carbine, as silent and fatal as the Sangheili who carried it. In his left eye he had placed an optical display, which even now displayed a motion tracker in the bottom left corner; an oval which was currently almost completely filled with small dots representing people moving past aside from a tiny little strip around Ahkrin where people were avoiding him. Lesser assassins would need artificial assistance to see in the almost pitch black he would be operating in, but Ahkrin had long since trained himself to see nearly as well in night as he did during day. He was all prepared to kill the High Councillor of Restraint. Thinking that seemed... wrong. Restraint had been a popular hierarch during his term before the 9th Age of Reclamation, if not a little unconcerned with responsibility. Yet even that had apparently changed since being deposed, Ahkrin had heard. Now the High Councillor carried himself as if the weight of the worlds were pressing upon his shoulders. It made sense, the Sangheili supposed; a man committing such heresies would not walk around with a light conscience. To head directly for Restraint's manor and think he could bludgeon his way in would be suicide, though. The guard had been almost doubled recently, although according to prelimiary intelligence Ahkrin had gathered a few were protecting some Sangheili female on the station... probably just the daughter of a friend or acquaintance. Before leaving, Ahkrin had gone over technical schematics of the entire council district. Normally such documents were off-limits to even the highest of personnel in the military, but Ahkrin was getting assistance from the very top. Procuring the blue-prints and the weapons he wore had been easy. The foundations of the district were solid metal, unfortunately. In some places upon High Charity, you could find sections underground where all that held the surface up was rock which remained from the San 'Shyuum's shattered homeworld; easily tunnelled through. But in this case, an underground assault would be impossible. He had, however, found a spire merely a kilometre from Restraint's manor. Comprised almost entirely out of Forerunner hard-light, it wasn't usually active aside from during festivals of religion and culture. However, at Ahkrin's request the hierarchs had rendered it so the spire was active, citing technical issues to the public. Ahkrin did not expect he would be able to take the High Councillor out from up there via a sniper; even with the barrier down he was likely too careful to let something like that happen and probably had active personal shielding to protect from such high velocity projectiles. But at the very least he would be able to observe the manor from up high, note down blind spots and plan an attack. It was the gate leading to this spire he reached now; it reached up into the air like a giant blue stalagmite, emanating a soft blue glow. Before moving to greet the guards at the gate, he cast off his beggars'-rags and instead threw a heavy coat over himself, obscuring his weapons from their sight.

If only this was a book, I lost my spot a LONG time ago. If you were to turn this into a book, I would buy it.

Oh boy. Cant wait.

[quote][b]Posted by:[/b] AssaultCommand I'll help you proof-read it if you want. Even if you don't want it, I'd help you. Actually, I just want to read it early. [i]Yeah, I know...[/i][/quote] I've been asking him to let me "proof-read" for a long time now.