[quote][b]Posted by:[/b] The Seraphim [quote][b]Posted by:[/b] Wolverfrog [i]True Sangheili[/i] has been a lot less spontaneously written than Insurrection; I've had a cohesive plot planned out since about the tenth part. Thanks again for reading everyone. [/quote] I hope that doesn't mean it will be short :O[/quote] It's about two hundred pages already, and should be a good length once finished.

You should really put all this on DeviantART or some other web site, It's good though :D

[quote][b]Posted by:[/b] Wolverfrog [i]True Sangheili[/i] has been a lot less spontaneously written than Insurrection; I've had a cohesive plot planned out since about the tenth part. Thanks again for reading everyone. [/quote] I hope that doesn't mean it will be short :O I love long stories! Although you probably should write as long as best for you.

[quote][b]Posted by:[/b] pinksphinx13 you should maybe get a someone to proof read it first, there were some parts that might have been described alittle better[/quote] That was me, but he stopped sending me chapters before posting them. And anyway... [quote][b]Posted by:[/b] Wolverfrog With luck that shouldn't happen with this. [i]True Sangheili[/i] has been a lot less spontaneously written than Insurrection; I've had a cohesive plot planned out since about the tenth part. [/quote] It definitely shows, this story has a much better flow than Insurrection.

Wicked stuff. Your descriptive techniques are really awesome.

[quote][b]Posted by:[/b] Gamer Whale The press seemed kinda weird though.[/quote] I always remember that one Grunt manning a camera recording Truth's speech in [i]Gravemind[/i] in Halo 2. So I'm guessing the Covenant must have some sort of news broadcasting system. Next chapter will be up as soon as possible. I haven't been working much lately (unfortunately, as I do need the money but shiftwork is very capricious) so I've had more time to write. And the only reason Insurrection spiralled out of control so much is because I once originally had an ending written which was very short, but I hated it. So I completely reworked my plan and ended up writing another hundred-odd pages. With luck that shouldn't happen with this. [i]True Sangheili[/i] has been a lot less spontaneously written than Insurrection; I've had a cohesive plot planned out since about the tenth part. Thanks again for reading everyone.

Oh no, hopefully he'll let Akrin back.. Your amazing with twists by the way. I was in utter shock when we were to think Zharn wasn't killed by mere chance of over confidence, when really it was just Akrin doing his assassin thing. Great job, ETA on the next part?

Good thread

Great stuff once again. Kinda suprising (or not if you think about it) end at the duel. I excepted Xatan'ee to do some minor mistake, which would let Zharn quickly stab him or something. Also, I see what you did with cameras. =P The press seemed kinda weird though.

[quote][b]Posted by:[/b] me123456789 "she rose to her feet and shakily stumbled away, hand resting nervously upon her stomach" Wait, how long has it been since she was with Sorran? Is she pregnant? [/quote]Exactly what I thought. And how long do sangheili pregnancies take, anyway? Although it could also be because she was so upset at the sight of the dead bounty hunters. [Edited on 07.21.2011 12:40 PM PDT]

"she rose to her feet and shakily stumbled away, hand resting nervously upon her stomach" Wait, how long has it been since she was with Sorran? Is she pregnant?

[quote][b]Posted by:[/b] Wolverfrog If I stick to my plan, book two of [i]True Sangheili[/i] should be finished by chapter 36. Then the third and final book will conclude the tale, bringing everything to a satisfying end. [/quote] I remember you saying Insurrection would be finished by about part 36 as well... But there aren't huge cliffhangers after every part here, so I can live with this. An excellent story so far (minus some of the early parts), but depressing.

I'm worried about Akrin now, he's all alone.

He might have had it mentioned at one point, but it was awful so I changed it. There are a few inconsistencies in this, I'm well aware. If this were an unpublished novel they'd be fixed in proof-reading; being a fan-fiction updated as it's being written means there will always be a few contradictions. Later material over-rides earlier material. After it's all finished I'll be going through and editing it so it all makes sense and flows smoothly. We'll get more Sorran in the next few parts. I'm excited to write what's going to happen.

Awesome part! But your still being incredibly mean to Zharn and Akrin. And I thought Zharn had a different last name? [Edited on 07.21.2011 7:52 AM PDT]

* * * "Fleetmaster Thierr'ee, what will you do now Xatan'ee is dead?" the reporter asked, practically thrusting the camera into his blooded face. Zharn reeled back, retreating into the safety of the guards who had practically attached themselves to him as soon as he left the duelling arena. He struggled to find his voice. "Right now, sleep," he laughed uncertainly. The reporter joined in, so obviously fake. Running a hand across his face and noticing it came away sticky with blood that may not have entirely been his, Zharn straightened up. "I will endeavour to be the fleetmaster Xatan'ee should have been. This is war, yes. But it is not slaughter. I will return the humans Xatan'ee kept caged like animals to their fellows, and if one day in the future I meet them honourably on the field of battle then I will be more than happy to end their lives. Yet I will not do so whilst they are chained and defenceless." "So you will be continuing the fleet's campaign against the humans?" another reporter demanded. "I will do whatever the holy Covenant and her three... blessed hierarchs ask of me," Zharn affirmed. "As will any in my command. Now if you'll forgive me, I must rest." Breaking free of the guards surrounding him in a box, Zharn pushed his way past the fervent crowd who had followed him all the way to his quarters and crashed through the door, slamming it shut behind him and activating the energy shield on the outside. Quiet settled around him in the dark of his room, and sorely Zharn sunk to the ground, reflecting upon what had happened. "Congratulations," the voice of Ahkrin interrupted his thoughts suddenly. Zharn looked up, and saw the stealth Sangheili leaning against the wall broodingly. Orpheus wasn't around, no doubt making arrangements for Zharn's transfer to proper quarters befitting his position. "You got here quick," Zharn observed, coughing and wincing as one of his cracked ribs had pressure piled upon it as a result. Ahkrin raised a brow. "Not as quickly as your turned that duel around, fleetmaster," he smiled, walking towards Zharn and placing a hand upon his shoulder. Zharn chuckled joylessly. "You can drop the act, Ahkrin," he spoke with acid, looking up at his friend coldly. Ahkrin blinked with surprise, looking sideways guiltily. "Act?" was all he managed to say. Zharn shook his head, nursing his broken left arm as he did so. "Tell me, my friend. How exactly did you manage to drug the late-fleetmaster?" he spat out. Ahkrin stepped back a little. "I don't know what--" "Oh, enough!" Zharn shouted, standing up and taking a step towards Ahkrin angrily. "I know what you did, Ahkrin. To any other it might have looked like arrogance and shock, but I was right next to him when it happened. Xatan'ee wasn't stunned by having missed me with his blade. He was drugged." Ahkrin looked for a moment as if he were going to continue lying, before finally resigning himself to the fact that he had been discovered. "The drug I chose was very resistant to temperature. I mixed it in with the plasma in your blade. When you first cut Xatan'ee, it seeped into his bloodstream," the stealth Sangheili admitted with shame, before looking up. "You would have died otherwise, Zharn!" The new fleetmaster looked away, his eyes moist. Ahkrin had just confirmed what he had suspected since a few seconds after the duel formally concluded. "What happened will be discovered," Zharn began, almost glad of the fact. Ahkrin shook his head. "No. Xatan'ee's body will be burnt, with no autopsy performed upon it. All evidence of what happened will die in the flames. He had to die, my friend. I know this isn't ideal--" "It's the worst possible outcome!" Zharn suddenly roared, picking up a chair and smashing it against the wall angrily. "There was no honour to be had in this! I would have rather died than win like this!" "You don't mean that," Ahkrin rebutted, but he didn't sound so sure. Zharn looked at him with disgust for a few seconds, before moving towards the door. "I'm going to tell them all what really happened," was all Zharn said as he placed a hand on the door. Ahkrin smashed his own fist into it, stopping Zharn from leaving. "If you do that, then we will both be hung, drawn and quartered. And your family's name shall be dragged through the mud as surely as mine was. Would our father want that?" "He wouldn't want this!" Zharn bellowed back, pushing Ahkrin away angrily. But he knew his friend was right. To confess what had happened now would serve no purpose. "You may not have been as good with a blade as Xatan'ee," Ahkrin professed. "But you will outstrip him as fleetmaster by far." "Get out!" Zharn roared angrily, ripping open the door and pointing at the exit. "And do not return." "Zharn--" Ahkrin tried to speak, but Zharn had none of it. "Leave," was all he spoke, cold and uncaring. "You are brother of mine no longer. My father should never have taken your worthless hide in. You are as without integrity as your true father's brother was; more so, in fact. At least what he did was done out of ignorant idiocy." Ahkrin gasped at Zharn's words, and a few tears welled up in his eyes. He drew breath as if to speak, but then all he did was exhale heavily, hang his head and walk out slowly. Zharn slammed the door shut after him, feeling an urge to slam it again and again over and over. What honour he had had meant nothing now. Reaching into the folds of his armour, he drew out the medallion with the insignia of his house inscribed upon it. Given to him by his father prior to his execution. It symbolised his family's honour, going back generations. And ending with Zharn. Roughly, the fleetmaster tore it from his aching neck and held it up in the light. He did not deserve to wear it. Shutting his eyes tight, Zharn cast it down to the ground and stamped on it. It crushed beneath his boot, tiny fragments spilling across the ground. The last legacy of his father. Unable to stand up any longer, Zharn walked over to his bed and collapsed onto it. What should have been a night of celebration was now a night of sorrow, loss and shame. For the first time in years, Zharn began to openly sob. Honour had been everything to him; it defined who he was, made him proud to be both Sangheili and Thierr'ee. And now he had none.

* * * [i]I'm dead,[/i] Zharn thought with panic as Xatan'ee continued his merciless onslaught, each graceful yet at the same time heavy blow threatening to knock the blade he held out of his hand. He was fairly certain several of his fingers were already broken. Adrenaline flowed through his system like blood, but did little to help. Attack. Parry. Blow. Evasion. Attack once more. The fight coursed on like a whirlwind, swept along by the feral cheering of the assembled crowd. Whereas Zharn was intimidated by this all and focused all his attention-- Parry again, this one almost allowing Xatan'ee to break through. -- on keeping himself alive, his foe seemed to treat this all like some great dance, revelling in the madness and chaos the duel brought with it. This was no civilised duel in a glade at sunrise. It was a fight between starved animals, each desperate to be the one to come out on the other side. "Your technique is rusty!" Xatan'ee roared over the noise as he struck once more. Quick-step-left-parry. Zharn's thoughts were slurring into one, and he didn't dare reply to the taunt, solely focusing on the fight. His armour seemed purple as the blue and red light of their blades fused into one and shone their deadly light upon them both, until it was unclear which sword was his and which was Xatan'ee's. Finally a break, as Zharn raised his leg and kicked Xatan'ee in the stomach, pushing him away. A little dirty, but this was not a game. It was life and death. For a few seconds then the two traded feints, each one a little reluctant to enter the fray once more. The circled each other, appraising possible weak spots. Zharn could see none. Finally, Xatan'ee brought up his sword once more and lunged forward. Just in time, Zharn brought up his own to block. The fleetmaster was using but one hand, and Zharn found himself using both just to hold back the expert swordsman. "Tired?" Xatan'ee grinned maliciously as he pushed further, leaning over Zharn as his back arched back. Zharn said nothing, deciding to take a gamble. He raised his leg, and lashed out. It connected with Xatan'ee's knee-cap, which buckled slightly. The fleetmaster fell back with shock. Zharn took the opportunity to go on the offensive, slashing out with his sword at every possible angle. Block. Parry. Each blow of his was still met by Xatan'ee's, who had now recovered from the shock of having his knee struck. "You're pathetic," Xatan'ee leered, looking down at his sword as they both stepped away from each other. "This isn't even my sword hand, and you still cannot even come close to besting me." Zharn's eyes widened as the fleetmaster switched his blade from right to left, spinning it in even more precise and intricate arcs. Inconceivable that he could have fought so well even with his weaker arm. And now he was using the strong one. Even so, Zharn did his best to beat the onslaught that came. Parry-step-step-feint-blow-evade. But it wasn't enough. Xatan'ee was too good. He managed to get a few blows in, drawing blood on his thigh at one point. Then the tipping point came. Grabbing Zharn's right arm in a grip that was as crushing as a vice, Xatan'ee yanked it violently to the left. The pain as it popped out of the socket was unimaginable, and Zharn screamed. He managed to tear his arm away from Xatan'ee's grip, but the damage had been done. Attack-evade-parry-parryparryparryparr-- Suddenly, Zharn found his sword knocked out of his grasp by the other Sangheili, sent sailing through the air. It finally embedded itself in the floor of the duelling arena some metres away. Dread smashed its way through all other senses, and he desperately flailed in an attempt to recover his blade. He came short a few mere centimetres, caught by Xatan'ee. The fleetmaster grabbed him by his left leg, and summoning a tremendous amount of strength pulled him back mid-air, smashing him into the ground. Zharn spun just in time to avoid the crashing down of that red sword. Xatan'ee's hand shot out and grabbed his neck, pinning him steadfast to the ground. The clamour of the audience had reached a peak now as they bayed for blood any blood, they cared not so long as someone's life-force spilled out today. As desperately as he struggled, Zharn could not move so much as an inch under Xatan'ee's crushing grasp. He could see his sword stuck into the ground just next to him, but as he reached out with his hand he could not get a hold upon the hilt. The rough claws of his foe then grabbed him by the jaw tightly, compacting his mandibles together with agonising force. Xatan'ee was just a few centimetres from his eyes, his sword raised behind him. "I will see to it you have a proper funeral. No expense shall be spared. You deserve that much at least," Xatan'ee promised, and Zharn could almost hear sadness in his voice. But all he thought of was death. The red blade sparked as it prepared to come down like a guillotine upon Zharn's head, and with a barbaric cry Xatan'ee moved to do just that. He missed. For a few seconds there was nothing but silence in the entire arena as everyone tried to comprehend just how the fleetmaster had missed his target at such close range. Not just a short distance too, but by nearly a metre. Xatan'ee looked into Zharn's eyes, blinking with confusion as if he were stunned. Zharn took advantage of that confusion, breaking the grip the fleetmaster held him in. He pushed Xatan'ee away, knocking him to the ground where he sat still in shock as he looked at the sword hanging limply in his hand, gazing up at Zharn with an open mouth as his mind struggled to grasp what was happening. Too late. Reaching down for his sword quickly whilst he still could, Zharn stepped forward and lunged down at Xatan'ee. A feeble parry, then another, and one more desperate one. The fleetmaster rose to his feet, and charged forward. Zharn side-stepped, catching Xatan'ee as he charged past. Zharn spun his foe around, and yanked him towards his blade. Xatan'ee stumbled towards him, looking with terror at the plasma rushing to meet him. He tried to spin away, but there was no chance. Merely a few seconds ago, Xatan'ee had been poised to end Zharn's life. Now, the former was sinking slowly down the latter's cobalt sword. Zharn caught him gently, setting him down on the ground where he quivered, blinking rapidly. "What--" was all Xatan'ee spluttered out amidst blood and other fluids. Then, with one final gush of fuchsia, all the menace and hatred left his narrow eyes along with the spark of life. The fleetmaster died on the floor, blood still pouring out of his ajar mouth. For a few seconds, the crowd simply rushed in silence, stunned by what had happened. Then, capricious in the way only a blood-lusting mob could be, they began to cheer. Not for Xatan'ee anymore; he was dead. Now they cheered Zharn, who slowly stood away from Xatan'ee's messy corpse and looked around at the masses. They were all stood out of their seats, clapping, stamping their feet and bellowing praise. "Fleetmaster!" he could make out amid the screams. "Fleetmaster Zharn Thierr'ee!" His eyes swept across them all, then at Ahkrin and Orpheus. Both were stood outside the ring, grinning and cheering like all the rest. Zharn's eyes then finally settled upon the body of Xatan'ee, still pinned to the ground by the sapphire sword lodged in his stomach. Sadness and remorse entered his hearts for a moment; both were soon swept away by the memories of what the bastard had done. Recovering from the shock, Zharn thrust his hands in the air triumphantly, a grin now etched across his own weary, beaten face. Zharn had reached his father's dream. He was now fleetmaster. * * * On the other side of the galaxy, in their small temporary quarters within the city of San, Sorran was laughing was exaltation as he watched all that had happened over the 'casts. Zharn was alive. Against all the odds he had triumphed against a superior foe. "That was certainly quite a twist," Hem uttered, laughing. "To miss such a crucial blow... Xatan'ee was far too confident in his own abilities, I think. That arrogance made him blind, and now he lies beneath a blade." "I care not how it happened," Sorran gushed, sinking back into his chair with relief. "I am simply glad my friend is alive." "Not just alive, but fleetmaster too," Hem added. "That may prove useful some day, when the time to reveal what you know arrives." And just as quickly as Sorran's joy had arrived, it faded. "None of what he did matters really, did it?" he reflected sadly. "Zharn is still as ignorant of the truth as Xatan'ee had been. They all are. Would that I could be with him now in his hour of victory, and tell him everything." "I'm sorry," Hem said softly. "I did not mean to depress you." "You did not," Sorran answered. "My friend is alive, and that is all I care about right now. Will you join me for a few drinks before we visit the temple, Hem? Even if I cannot celebrate with Zharn, I would still like to acknowledge his triumphs." Hem laughed heartily, nodding. "Of course, Sorran. I think a few drinks are just what we need right now." * * *

* * * Someone was following her. Savara glanced over her shoulder. She could not see anyone, but her intuition told her otherwise. In her peripheral vision, and flash of grey. She spun around. Nothing. But there had been something. Weaving her way in and out of the crowd, she attempted to lose her follower. Turned around again. There. She saw him only for a split second, but he was there. The same hooded kig-yar she had seen at the docking station. And now he was following her. Terrified, Savara felt her heartbeats quicken and reached down with her hands towards her belt. The small plasma knife Sorran had given to her was still hooked there. It offered a little reassurance, but not much. Holding her medical books close to her chest, she doubled her pace towards the infirmary. An alleyway to the left. Perhaps she could lose her tracker in there. She ducked in quickly, pushing through a group of people. If she could just find one of the constabulary, she'd be safe. Abandoning all pretences of normality, she began to run, her footsteps echoing throughout the dark, empty alleyway. Savara turned the corner, and found herself face to face with the hooded kig-yar. He reached out a hand towards her. In a flurry of instinct and remembrance of what training her father had, against protocol for a female Sangheili, given her she managed to draw the knife out, activate it and plunge it into the kig-yar's left hand. He screeched as blood was drawn, and stumbled back a little. She took the opportunity to run back the way she came, breath heavy now. One of the constabulary was at the exit of the alleyway. Relieved beyond belief, Savara ran towards him desperately. The Sangheili looked down at her as she approached. "Thank the gods," Savara praised as she moved next to him. "Sir, a kig-yar just attacked me back there." Immediately, the constabulary drew out a plasma rifle and aimed it at where she pointed. Her attacker came stumbling out, clutching his side in agony. "Is that him?" the Sangheili asked her. She nodded with terror. As did the kig-yar, but without the terror. Suddenly, she found her arm held in a vice like grip by the Sangheili constabulary. She moved to scream in surprise but her mouth too was then covered. Her plasma knife simply bounced off the shields of the constabulary when she moved to stab him, and it fell to the ground. "Lady Grymar'ii," the kig-yar hissed as it drew closer. "Quite the fighter." "What do you want?" Savara whispered with fear when the Sangheili loosened his grip around her mouth slightly. The kig-yar threw back his hood, and stared at her with those big, bulbous red eyes. "Not to hurt you, if that it what you think. I am known as Kazakk, son of Lanik. The Sangheili holding you is my partner. We were sent by your father, my lady. To bring you home. " "He can't do that!" Savara protested, struggling once more. The taller and stronger fake constabulary restrained her easily. "Not legally," Kazakk admitted, shrugging. "That is why we were sent. You know your father cannot have any more children in his position." "Because he is now impotent, you mean," Savara spat out spitefully. Kazakk looked for a moment as if he would strike her for such an insult, but decided against it. He smiled calmly. "Either way, you are his sole child. You should be bearing young of a respectable mate now and continuing your regal lineage, not gallivanting across the dangerous galaxy where harm could befall you. We are taking you back to your family's estate upon Terin." "You can't!" Savara screeched one last time. Kazakk's eyes flashed a darker red, and he suddenly raised a hand. [i]Slap![/i] the sound rang out like a sharp crack as his clawed hand struck her across the cheek, drawing a few drops of fuchsia blood. She cried out in pain, screwing her eyes shut. Kazakk glared at her. "Being away from home has corrupted you, child. You must learn your place. I am sure your father will beat this rebellious side from you," he spat out. Savara glared at him. "How dare you touch me--" she began, flinching when Kazakk raised his hand again. It never touched her. Encapsulating the kig-yar's hand was a much larger, stronger one. That of a Sangheili, armoured by the golden and crimson of honour guard armour. Stepping into the dim light, the honour guard spun the kig-yar around and grabbed Kazakk's neck. The honour guard didn't even need to use both hands to snap it. The kig-yar bounty hunter's corpse fell to the ground. All of this took place in seconds. The Sangheili bounty hunter restraining Savara didn't even stand a chance to properly retaliate as the honour guard drew out a plasma sword from his belt, deflecting the plasma shot fired at him with ease. With his right arm, the honour guard tore Savara from the bounty hunter's grasp, even as his left sunk the blade into the stomach of her would-be-captor. Savara had simply cowered to the side, turning her eyes away from the gore. When she opened them again, she found the faceless mask of an honour guard staring down upon her, hand resting comfortingly on her shoulder. "Are you well, Savara Grymar'ii?" he asked in a gravelly voice. Right now though, it sounded to her like a chorus of cherubic angels. She nodded meekly, wiping a few tears from her eyes. "Why did you save me?" she asked in a quiet voice, wondering too how the honour guard found her in such a secluded and dark alleyway. The honour guard looked away. "All I can say is that someone is watching over you. Go, you will be safe now." She hesitated then, and looked back at the still corpse of Kazakk and then his Sangheili accomplice. Both sights chilled her; she saw cadavers often in her profession, but never had she seen one brought about by herself, even if it had been indirect. When she turned back to thank the honour guard, he was gone. All that remained was a cold wind sweeping through the alley, brushing the blood of the bodies along the ground in complex patterns like some sick form of art. After what must have been five minutes of her simply crouching down in the corner and trying to process what had happened, she rose to her feet and shakily stumbled away, hand resting nervously upon her stomach. She knew she would not have the strength to tell Convalescence of what had happened. * * * "Well done," Restraint lauded his guard as he returned to him, looking unpleasantly down at the blood staining his hands. Passersby in the district noticed but did not dare say a word. The honour guard was not one within his inner circle; the minister trusted him but knew he was a religious zealot, and to even suggest the Journey was a lie would be dangerous indeed. The honour guard sighed as he cleaned his hands in a nearby fountain. "I don't understand. She is just one of trillions in the Covenant. I am not saying that I am not glad I helped her, but I do not understand why you sent me to watch her. What is she to you?" "Not a lot," Restraint confessed. "But she means the world to one which everything depends upon, and so she must live." "... I don't understand, minister," the honour guard protested. Restraint smiled kindly. "It matters not, my son. One does not need to understand the meaning behind one's will to follow it." "Her father is a very powerful Imperial Admiral," the honour guard argued, watching the blood wash away and eventually be ionised by the cleansing agents in the water. "I may have scared the bounty hunters away for now but they'll be back." "Which is why I want you to take a quarter of my guard and watch her at all times. Keep her safe, child." "If you are so sure, minister," the honour guard began hesitantly. Restraint nodded. "I am." "Incidentally, Restraint," the honour guard added, checking around for any possible threats as the minister sat in the artificial sunlight. "That Sangheili who was staying with you. Pel, was it? He's gone." "I know," Restraint affirmed, smiling. "Without even so much as a word goodbye. I do not begrudge him, though. We must all forge our own paths in life." "With all respect minister, I am glad he's left. I am a good believer myself as are we all, but Pel is a whole other matter entirely. I walked in on him flagellating the other day." "Awful," Restraint agreed sadly. "Why people believe that will quicken their journey is beyond me." "I've never seen the allure in it myself, minister. Well, so long as you know he's gone then I have no issue with it. I will go relay your orders to some of the other guard, and we will watch over this Savara closely." "Thank you. One day the reason will become clear."

* * * "You saved my life," the Sangheili lying on the bed croaked out gratefully, staring up at her with wide, thankful eyes. Savara smiled gently. "The minister did most of the saving," she explained, taking his hand and noting that warmth had returned to it once more. "Constabulary are waiting outside, they want to speak to you about the poisoning. Should I tell them to leave for now?" "No," her patient decided, sitting up and coughing slightly as he did. His eyes were still sunken pits, his skin ashen from the toll the poison had taken up him. "I'm good. But I doubt I can tell them much." "Is there any reason why anyone would want to kill you?" Savara asked. The patient shook his head, shrugging. "I just help unload cargo in the docks," he replied weakly. "My biggest enemy is a malfunctioning grav-loader." Savara smiled, patting his hand and adjusting his pillows. She nodded. "Well, I'm going to go for now. I'll be back to check on you later," she reassured, gathering up her charts and bag and making her way for the door. As she left the room, two burly Sangheili wearing heavy thornbeast-skin coats moved past her and entered. The San 'Shyuum physician who was officially the poisoned Sangheili's healer saw her, and moved her gravity chair towards where she stood. "You didn't need to stay with him," she told Savara, her voice laden with the wheezing, almost sickly note many of her kind had. "My teacher taught me to stay with anyone you heal until the end, good or ill," Savara explained, taking a seat. She hadn't slept in many hours; straight after visiting Sorran's grave she had received the news that her patient had awoken, and had hurried to the infirmary quickly. "Convalescence, was it?" the San 'Shyuum recalled. "The name sounds familiar." "He was once personal physician to the three former hierarchs," Savara input. "Obligation, Tolerance and Restraint." "Of course, I remember. You are fortunate to have such a skilled tutor," she told Savara, who smiled sadly. "He lost a lot of standing when both Obligation and Tolerance died of illness some years back. People blamed him." "When things go wrong the masses always find a scapegoat," the San 'Shyuum commented sadly. "I am High Physician Conservator, incidentally." "Savara Grymar'ii," she replied, bowing respectfully. Conservator blinked with surprise. "Then your father is--" "Imperial Admiral Grymar'ee of the second fleet, yes," Savara replied, repeating the same words she spoke almost every time she told someone her house name. The High Physician smiled. "You must be proud." "My father kills people. My job is to save people. Do you really think I am proud?" Savara answered sarcastically, rolling her eyes. "I am sorry, I was rude." "No," Conservator protested. "You spoke the truth -- never be apologetic for that. I must go do the rounds, my child. Will I see you again?" "I'll be checking up on my patient later, so probably," Savara nodded. "Then farewell for now. Give Convalescence my greetings." * * * It was a large duelling arena by a ship's standards. Not just some small box, it was about the length and width of a large lounge. Unlike a lounge, it was devoid of any furniture. Instead, one-way energy shields lined the entirety of the arena; once two stepped in, they would only permit exit once one was dead. Xatan'ee obviously enjoyed a crowd, too. Thousands of Covenant; Sangheili, Mgalekgolo, Unggoy, Kig-Yar -- any and all had come to watch the upstart ultra get trampled by the hardened animal. Their screams slightly intimidated Zharn as he walked out towards the arena, chaperoned by Ahkrin and Orpheus. He could see Xatan'ee on the opposite side, arms raised as if he were already triumphant as he too walked towards the arena. Cameras from all the newscasts hovered around. One dared to get too close to Zharn's face, and suddenly found its lens halfway up Orpheus' arm. The Jiralhanae ripped the broken camera off and let it topple to the floor. Finally, they both reached the rim of the arena. Zharn looked up at it with trepidation, feeling faint. He turned back to Ahkrin. "If I should fail today--" "Worry not, I will kill Xatan'ee myself no matter the consequences," Ahkrin promised. Zharn blinked for a few moments. "Not what I was going to say, but a good suggestion regardless. I want you to bury me where my family's manor once stood upon Sangheilios." "Of course," Ahkrin swore. "Anything else?" Zharn thought long and hard for a few moments, before thinking of something he was ashamed to have overlooked for so long. "Sorran is still buried amongst all those true heretics and criminals. Do whatever it takes to have his body moved, and try to have him buried upon his place of birth." "Even if I have to raid the graveyard with a shovel, I shall do as you say, Zharn. But you can command it be done yourself once you're fleetmaster," Ahkrin smiled optimistically. Zharn grimaced, looking across at Xatan'ee. The Sangheili was slightly smaller than him in height, but right now Zharn felt as small as an Unggoy. He wore tournament-armour that was not unscathed like Zharn's; it bore the scratches and scars of hundreds of battles. Behind his visor glowed two almost red eyes, and they locked with Zharn's own. It took all his courage to maintain the glare, until Xatan'ee was finally distracted by an orderly. "Whatever happens, my friend," Orpheus assured, placing a heavy mitt on his right shoulder. "You are Sangheili. And win or lose, today your honour shall soar." Ahkrin glanced sideways, putting a hand on Zharn's left shoulder and nodding. "Look at Xatan'ee, Zharn. All those sycophants fussing about him merely because it is their duty. He has no friends, no brothers. You do. He is not fighting for a reason. You are. Stay true to that reason, and you will not go wrong." Zharn had to fight to keep his eyes dry then, and was about to reply when suddenly the crowd erupted in a new wave of screeching. Zharn suddenly felt two heavy hands of duelling moderators grab him and throw him up into the duelling arena without so much as a word. He passed through the shields as if they were not even then, but when he pressed a hand against them again he found them quite solid. He was in the duelling arena. And would remain inside until either he or Xatan'ee was dead. On the other side, Xatan'ee stepped up gracefully, doing one final pose for the crowd. Then the showboating was over, and he turned back to face Zharn. "If you surrender now, I might spare your worthless life and you will escape only with a demotion," Xatan'ee leered, as the two Sangheili circled each other. Hearing his voice, Zharn remembered the horrors he had seen the fleetmaster commit and found from somewhere a new strength. He laughed mockingly. "Perhaps honour no longer means anything to you, [i]bloodless[/i]," Zharn scathed, using one of the worst insults in Sangheili culture. "But to surrender now would be a fate worse than death. I am not sure you would understand." Xatan'ee tensed then, and Zharn could almost hear him growling like the dog he was. "You had your chance, Zharn Thierr'ee. When you are on the floor, I will not spare you life no matter how much you beg." "If that is what you think will happen today, then you will be disappointed," Zharn swore vehemently. Xatan'ee moved to retort when suddenly the large tournament bell rang out clear, like a summoner to the afterlife. Xatan'ee drew out his blade; it glowed scarlet, and crackled dangerously as it extended. The fleetmaster raised it, and pointed its tip at Zharn menacingly. A flash of blue, as he drew out his own sword and mimicked Xatan'ee actions. Another ring of the bell. Blue and red rushed to meet each other.

If I stick to my plan, book two of [i]True Sangheili[/i] should be finished by chapter 36. Then the third and final book will conclude the tale, bringing everything to a satisfying end. [b]Part 32 -- Loss concealed within victory[/b] San, one of the oldest cities of the Sangheili homeworld. Ancient mythology spoke of a time when Forerunners had walked amongst the Sangheili, in the newly forged flames of the then small settlement. If they had, they wouldn't recognise it now. Immensely tall buildings covered the land for dozens of miles around, most reaching up into low orbit where they connected with docking stations for ships. A domed energy shield, powered by geothermal activity beneath the surface, blanketed the city and protected it from the dangerous beings such as the few living Sharquoi outside. Where rivers had once run, now grav-strips ferrying transport vessels and commuters did. Trees as old as the land itself had long since been cut down and replaced with artificial constructs. Lights blared throughout the city, noise perpetuated every orifice imaginable. Only one relic of old remained, a miniscule, beaten dwarf amidst giants, in the centre of the city and surrounded by walls of skyscrapers. One of the first temples to be built by the Sangheili honouring the Forerunners. It had long since been forbidden to the general public, after a terrorist attack by dissenting heretics some cycles back had nearly destroyed the holy ground. An intense barrier shrouded the stone building, and guards were posted around its radius. "Are you certain we are allowed access?" Sorran asked, barely able to contain his excitement as he walked along the streets of San and clumsily waded his way through the almost solid block of tourists. Hem on the other hand moved with the crowd, not against them, and seemed at ease in this city which terrified Sorran. High Charity was by no means quiet, but it was spacious and few ordinary civilians lived there; if one stayed out of the religious districts, it could often be quite tranquil. The antithesis of the bustling San. "The philologist who maintains the first temple is an old friend of my house's," Hem explained. They were talking over a synapse-to-synapse connection -- a necessity in San. "My father took me once when I was a young boy, but I never dreamed I would ever see it again as an adult after it was zoned off," Sorran gushed, the scholar within unable to contain excitement at being able to examine such an ancient structure. "Had you not been conscripted, you could have one day become a philologist yourself," Hem told Sorran. "That was once my hope," Sorran sighed regretfully, before noticing how much he and Hem stood out in the crowd of black formal wear and personal harnesses, dressed in honour guard attire. "It could still happen, once this is all over," Hem input optimistically. That was a lie and both of them knew it. Sorran smiled wistfully. "Part of me wishes I had never been drafted into the army; that I could have been left to ascend through the ranks of scholarship and have lived a peaceful life. But then, I would have never met Zharn or Ahkrin... or Savara. And although ignorance is bliss, it is still ignorance. If I could choose between knowing what I know and going back to how things had been before, I would choose the first--" "Hold a second, Sorran. Restraint is calling me," Hem interrupted, moving to one side of the street out of the way of the dense block of people. Sorran pushed his way towards him, thankfully finding that his status as honour guard tended to make people give him a wider berth. Maybe it was the sharp stave he carried. "What is it?" Sorran asked with concern, looking at Restraint as he tapped a finger to his ear and received the minister's goal. As the conversation went on, his face turned grimmer. Sorran put a hand on Hem's shoulder, frowning. "What's--" Hem suddenly pulled his finger away from his head, and stared Sorran in the eyes with a deadpan look. "Your friend, Zharn," was all he said. Sorran stepped back a few steps, eyes widening. "What of him?" he demanded. Hem looked up at a holovert for a few moments, before finally bringing his eyes back down. "He has challenged a fleetmaster named Xatan'ee to a duel, according to Restraint." "That's Zharn for you," Sorran finally replied, smiling a little. Hem shook his head. "Except this Xatan'ee isn't some aristocratic fool who can barely hold a blade. He's never lost a duel." "Oh," Sorran came to a sickening realisation, his stomach dropping. "Where are they?" "Still above Eridanus II's orbit. The duel is being shown on the 'castnet just under two hours from now with only a few minutes lagtime. Do you want to watch?" Hem asked. Sorran nodded. "Let's go." * * * Sunrise. That hated, infernal sunrise. "You said there would not be any cameras," Zharn breathed with strain in his voice. The stealth Sangheili shrugged as he finished up strapping on his friends armour, fastening the sturdy leather bindings of tournament-gear; it lacked energy shielding and any optical-nerve enhancements, akin to the armour Sangheili of old would wear in such duels. "I did not request them, I assure you," he replied. "Xatan'ee was once popular in the tournaments. I suppose many want to see him fight once more." "And see me lose," Zharn retorted glumly, staring at himself in the mirror and seeing only his bloodied corpse staring back. He could hear the bloodthirsty cheers of the legions of Covenant amassed outside, gathered in the coliseum-like duelling arena. And he was fairly certain the majority were not cheering him. "If you think like that then you may as well throw yourself upon your sword here and now," Orpheus rumbled, watching as always from a distance. "Just remember your reasons for issuing this challenge." "For what?" Zharn laughed skeptically. "Humans? I do not even know why their slaughter offended me so." "Because you're not a man who can stand by and watch whilst innocents suffer," Orpheus answered without doubt. "You have killed many innocents in your time, I am sure -- that is war -- but you would not torture them as Xatan'ee does. What are the two most important things in your culture?" Zharn looked down at the purple veins laying beneath his muscular arm, and then took out from around his neck a medallion emblazoned with his house's insignia, given to him by his father. "Blood and honour," he finally replied, wincing as Ahkrin pulled a strap a little too tight. "Precisely," Orpheus nodded. "Xatan'ee respects neither of these. He is like a feral kig-yar, and that would not be so terrible did he not hold power. If left unchecked, he will carve a path of slaughter until he bores his way to the doors of the Journey, and I do not think they would open in the face of such cruelty." "I know," Zharn replied. "Were such a Sangheili to become an Imperial Admiral or worse, Supreme Commander, we would never know peace." "You're all set," Ahkrin finally spoke, his voice carrying with it pride. "You look like a true warrior, my brother." "As we say amongst my people, remember the face of thy father. For he shall lend you his strength when you need it most, and encourage you when you feel most despondent," Orpheus quoted, nodding. "Are you ready?" Zharn took one last look in the mirror. The pearlescent armour he wore clung to his body like a second skin, each curve matching the arches in his body perfectly. It was designed to resist plasma burning, but that would not halt piercing, and his flesh certainly had not be designed to resist plasma burning it would take many millions more years of Sangheili duelling with such weapons for evolution to adapt to that. He locked his jaw, stood up from the chair he had been sat down in, and drew down his visor. The simple act of being encased within tournament-armour flooded adrenaline through his system, and he balled his fists tightly. "As ready as I shall ever be. May the Forerunners smile upon me this day," he exhaled out with all the weight of a man resigned to death, before turning away from the mirror and his friends and walking towards the door, which would lead to the duelling arena. He would leave it either victorious, or in a body bag.

Have you put this on FanFiction.net?

very nice work, easy to read too. you should maybe get a someone to proof read it first, there were some parts that might have been described alittle better. i really like this plot line though.

This is amazing! Why isn't it a book? Thread Saved.

Just finished the chapter, it's the longest yet I think. Hopefully you'll find it good. I'll do the formatting, proof-reading and then post it tomorrow. Right now I need sleep.

He says the next chapter is already 25,000 characters long and there's still more to write, I'm excited!

This is one of the best FF I've ever read.