Halo: Avenger's Quest/Part Four

Chapter Thirty-Two: The Demon Jiralhanae
Kenpachus came on like an avalanche, overwhelming and utterly unstoppable. Each blow Fira blocked rang with a lifetime spent in utter dedication to the sword, each grunt and roar the echoes of battle after battle, an unending stream of battles just like this one, a stream that this monster had waded into with the same savage lust for blood that he brought to this fight.

Fira no longer searched for the opening to bring the fight to a swift, bloody close. His legs and arms cried out for respite as he dodged and wove and blocked, unable to rest between his foe's unceasing attacks. Whenever he saw even the slightest gap, he sprang in, scoring hit after bloody hit on Kenpachus's iron-hard forearms. The Jiralhanae's armor was wet with red blood from the gaping wound in his gut and countless marks on his arms, but none of these wounds had slowed him down in the slightest. If anything, he now struck with an even more intense ferocity, his dark eyes glowing with sheer, unmitigated enjoyment.

This creature lived for battle. He thrived on the pain, the weariness, the killing. Every blow Fira landed only heightened the intensity of his experience. The greater the pain, the better he harnessed it, drawing it within himself before releasing it into another blow a dozen times stronger than the last.

"Yes!" he roared as Fira staggered back, readying himself for another assault. "Yes, yes, yes! This is exactly what I wanted from you!"

"Why?" Fira panted. "Why do you hunt me?"

Kenpachus smiled through bloodied teeth. "Any warrior who can fight David Kahn on equal terms is worth testing my blade on! I've been after you since I saw you fight him back on that dustball of a battlefield!"

Fira blinked. David Kahn?

It must be that human, the one who had proved so tenacious and deadly back on Gamma-13. Somehow Kenpachus had observed that fight and set his twisted, empty heart on having it out with Fira just like this.

It was pointless. It was absurd. It was disgusting.

"So this is why you fight?" he demanded. "Merely for enjoyment? For the thrill of pain and death?"

Kenpachus merely laughed and raised his blade. "You ask a Jiralhanae why he fights? Don't be ridiculous!"

He laid on again, driving Fira even further back. Fira leapt over a swing of the metal blade, his body howling in protest, landing unsteadily on the other side. He barely brought his blade up in time to block Kenpachus's riposte; the energy sword flashed and sparked and then he was tumbling backwards against the catwalk. He turned his fall into a roll and came up on his feet to face his opponent again.

"How typical," he spat. "I shouldn't have expected anything more from your kind."

Kenpachus brought his sword up, but did not attack. His eyes were fixed on Fira, like a feral hunter on its prey. "But of course! I am Jiralhanae! The fight, the struggle, the thrill of victory and defeat, they are all as much a part of me as my own flesh and blood!"

Fira braced himself, locking his body into place. Anything less and he would collapse from exhaustion and the sheer weight of Kenpachus's impacts. "You vermin have always been a blight on this galaxy. I have known this since I was but a fledgeling warrior. From that day to this, you savages have done nothing but wreak death and destruction upon my people."

The glow of battle faded from Kenpachus's scarred face, replaced by a curious expression that Fira could not read. His body relaxed, unwinding. He lowered his blade slightly and cocked his head.

"Far be it for one such as me me," he said, his voice still tinged with excitement but also painted with something far more ponderous and brooding. "To debate my kind's shortcomings with one as informed and educated as you. But you talk of savagery as if it rested only within my people. I am only a savage, stupid Jiralhanae, but I was taught that you Sangheili led us in the war against the humans, directed us as we butchered billions of them, not in noble combat, but from ships high above planet surfaces."

He began to pace restlessly, carrying himself back and forth on the catwalk. "My people were but warring savages until your Covenant lifted us up and gave us all a new cause to fight for. Whose devotion surpassed ours in the quest for the Great Journey? We fought more fiercely for your war than we had for any of our own, yet when that lie no longer suited you and your power was threatened, you proclaimed its falsehood for all to hear. You razed our worlds, starved our colonies, beat us back until we had nothing left but fighting to give us direction and purpose."

He shook his head. "You call us savages, but when my father did not wish to see his only cub sent to fight before I was full grown, it was not our fellow Jiralhanae who tortured him and strung up his corpse for our whole village to see. The local Sangheili governor took care of that."

Fira was stunned. He had not expected such a long, subdued speech from a creature like Kenpachus. And yet here they were, and now he could see another light in the warrior's eyes. It was the same purpose, the same fire he had seen in the eyes of himself and his fellow warriors as they marched into battle, united by their duty and shared creed.

"I had nothing left," Kenpachus murmured. "So I gave myself something worth living for. Something worth fighting for. The name 'Kenpachus' means nothing to you; your kind suppressed our old gods centuries ago. But to the ancients, the name Kenpachus was the name of our greatest god, our most bloodthirsty demon."

The light of battle was returning to the beast's eyes, and Fira readied for the renewed attack.

"Kenpachus bathes in the blood of the countless he has slain with his own hands," the warrior continued, drawing his sword up for battle once again. "He craves the fires of battle, and I took on his name, offered him my body. He lives in me. I am Kenpachus. I rip, I kill, I fight. I am warrior, I am hunter, I am death incarnate!"

And he charged, becoming an enormous mass of bloody muscle and armor.

Fira staggered backward. His body was still desperately staving off Kenpachus's blade, but his mind had been knocked from its fleshy shell by the sheer weight of the Jiralhanae's attack. It moved past the fight of the present and saw the fight of a few moments later. And those future moments made his mind certain that this was the end.

He saw his blade swing in for another stab, but it came in as slow as if he were in the depths of one of the great lakes back on Sanghelios. He heard his foe's howl of triumph. That blood-stained metal blade came up and passed under his guard. He saw--but did not feel--the sword rip through shield and armor and flesh. A cloud of purple descended over his eyes.

A strong hand wrapped around his arm, ripping him off the ground and raising him up high. Blood flowed down his legs and dripped off his feet. He tried to struggle, to cut at the hand with his sword, but there was no time. The hand released him and he fell, only to be intercepted by the edge of an armored knee.

The pain came rushing back now, a thought-murdering cascade of agony that left him limp, unable to even writhe or cry out.

The barriers he had built up, the walls of duty and honor he had so proudly maintained, the things that had kept him a true warrior of Sanghelios throughout all the years of pain and hardship, collapsed. He could no longer think of dying well, of bringing honor to his clan, of not disgracing himself through cowardice. He wanted to scream, to beg for mercy, to die... anything to escape this torment.

Something hard and distant seized him, and suddenly he was flying, soaring through empty space. He arced downwards and plummeted into an empty pit of blissful nothingness.

The darkness closed around him.



Ro'nin frowned down into the dim room below the catwalk. He hadn't seen where that arrogant bastard had landed.

Over in the middle of the catwalk, Kenpachus leaned heavily on his sword. His wounds were catching up to him now; for all his incredible resilience and otherwordly strength, he would need treatment soon.

"A good fight," he panted. "I haven't felt this alive for a long time."

"Keep it up and you won't be feeling alive at all," Ro'nin told him. "Now go finish him off. Do whatever you want with the body, just save his head for identification."

"Very well." Kenpachus straightened. Ro'nin had no idea how his partner could be so casual after taking a gut full of plasma, but he trusted that Kenpachus knew his limits. "You fulfilled your promise to me. I'll make sure you get the bounty. All of it."

Ro'nin clicked his mandibles. Since they pooled credits for just about everything, Kenpachus's burst of generosity didn't mean all that much. Nevertheless, it was decent of his partner to at least try to repay him for all the stress this job had put him under.

He turned and headed for the door that had delivered Fira into their hands. Time to finish up this job with a little payback.

"Where are you going?" Kenpachus asked.

"Mordred," Ro'nin replied. "That worm might be on Mallunus's payroll now, but he needs to learn to stop crossing me. I'm going to round up some warriors and occupy that shuttle of his. He'll part with some cash in order to get it back."

"And if he doesn't?"

"Then I know some people who will part with cash to get their hands on him."

Ro'nin strode through the door, not waiting for Kenpachus's reply. When it came to killing prideful fools like Fira 'Demal, he would defer to the Jiralhanae's bloody tastes every time. Turning a profit, now that was his area of expertise.

Chapter Thirty-Three: The Deep Breath
They advanced.

Umbra strode confidently beside Shinsu as the moved down the Chieftain's Pride's hallway. Ensconced within a loose phalanx of warriors, the moved with a steady sense of purpose. Most of the crew still loyal to Mallunus were tied down in hangar bays, armories, and weapons batteries, under siege from their former comrades. Shinsu's plan for Famul had been laid months ago, long before the Cleaning Fire slipped in-system. For all Mallunus's pride and ambition, a few promises from Shinus had been all it took to turn his own chieftains against him.

A pair of Jiralhanae staggered into view and were immediately dropped by a burst of precise plasma shots. Umbra nodded approvingly, hefting his beam rifle. Dominating wretched pirates was just a training exercise for the real battles ahead. He could not wait to see Shinsu's followers face off against fellow Sangheili.

He smiled grimly as they strode past the corpses. Worms.

Yes, that was what his uncle had called him. Worm, sly, disgraceful, unworthy of any name. You will live and die with less honor than even the meanest Unggoy. Those were the last words his uncle had ever said to him.

How wrong you were, uncle, Umbra thought triumphantly. ''I will aid in the rebirth of our entire race. What good is your honor next to that distinction?''

"Commander," called one of the warriors defending their rear. "Pula approaches."

Shinsu nodded but did not look back. Umbra turned in time to see the young warrior dart up the way they had come. She slipped past the rear guard and stepped in front of him without so much as a nod in passing. He rankled at the female's lack of propriety, but knew better than to lecture her in front of her master.

"Forgive me," she said, falling into step beside Shinsu. "I came as quickly as I could."

Shinsu inclined his head. "And what took you?" he asked in his usual, unreadably mild tone.

"I... encountered someone," she admitted. "Another Sangheili. One of the slaves from the ship I came aboard on."

"And why did this one delay you?"

"I freed him, tried to bring him to you, but he ran off when I told him where Mallunus would be. I think he is trying to kill the chieftain himself."

"I don't see how this concerns either of us, Pula."

She ducked her head. "Normally, I would never have bothered with him. But this one bore resemblance to you, and his name..."

Shinsu inclined his head, expressionless behind his special operations helmet. "What of it?"

"He gave his name as Tuka 'Refum, master."

Shinsu didn't break stride or even slow down, but his head angled downwards and he turned away from Pula. Umbra frowned, confused by the exchange.

"Refum?" he asked. "But you are the last of the Refums, commander. None of your clan survived the Schism."

"I am aware of my family history, Umbra," Shinsu said curtly. He turned back to Pula. "Tuka 'Refum, you say?"

"Yes, master."

Shinsu faced the front again, but his pace quickened and the rest of the formation had to speed up to maintain their positions. "Perhaps this slave is of interest to me after all. If he survives this, make sure he is brought to me, Pula."



The guards were huge. Tuka hung helplessly between the burly Jiralhanae, his arms pinned on either side. The shock of the energy burst was wearing off, and he could feel life returning to his muscles, but it didn’t matter. Even if he did shake free of his captors, there would still be three armoured Jiralhanae between him and escape. And Simon. He walked casually beside the lead Jiralhanae, his helmet tucked under one arm while the other fiddled with a small communicator. If Tuka did escape, he swore to himself that he would take down his treacherous friend before the guards killed him. At least then he would be honouring Fira for his warnings and Master ‘Visag by eliminating such a stain on the Visag keep’s history. But even with all his rage, all the savage fury pent up inside him, Tuka wasn’t sure he could do it. After everything, when he looked at Simon he still saw the strange, bemused alien fumbling through sword drills and getting him into trouble by stealing fruit. It was ridiculous. His chance at vengeance had been stolen from him, and here he was, unsure if he could bring the thief to justice. Perhaps he had never been worthy to avenge his family at all. He closed his eyes and steeled himself for whatever was ahead. He might be a failure, but at least he could do his family and his master the honor of dying well. Simon was talking, but not to the guard. “Not good enough,” he was saying into the communicator. “I want my fee now. I got you your assassin and I’ve got better things to do then watch you torture him.” A pause. Mallunus was probably on the other end, but Tuka couldn’t summon the energy to care anymore. Simon brought the device closer to his mouth. “Look, you’re in the middle of an uprising, pal. Just get the money to my accounts and I’ll help your crew take down the rebels—for a standard fee.” Another pause. They passed through a small antechamber piled high with dead Jiralhanae and Kig-Yar. The fighting here must have been intense, Tuka thought distantly. He would never have made it through by himself. “Now we’re talking,” Simon said. “One second, let me verify it. Diana, how we doing?” A pause. Tuka could only see the back of Simon’s head, but the jerk of his head told him that the AI hadn’t given him a satisfactory response. Nevertheless, he nodded and said, perfectly calm, “Sounds good. I’m signing off now. Nice doing business with you.” He lowered the communicator and slipped it into a pouch on his armour. “I hate dealing with clients,” he said to no one in particular. The lead guard grunted his agreement. Then Simon seized one of his energy swords and slashed the guard’s abdomen open. The two holding Tuka yelped in surprise as their captain toppled. They released Tuka and went for their Spikers, but it was already too late. Simon stepped over the dead leader and stabbed one in the chest. His prosthetic hand brought a pistol up and emptied half a clip into the last one’s face. Tuka blinked, his ears ringing, as they collapsed. Splashes of Jiralhanae blood were wet on his shoulders Simon holstered the pistol and deactivated the energy sword. “Diana, seal the doors.” Portals behind and in front slid shut, hissing softly as they were locked electronically. Simon knelt down and slung the pack off his back, clicking straps open and uncovering it. “What,” Tuka managed. “What are you doing?” “What’s it look like?” Simon demanded. He kicked one of the dead guards’ arms out of his way and pulled a thick, tightly wrapped bundle out of the pack. “Now stop gawking and get ready to move.” Tuka didn’t budge. “But you were with them… why did you…?” Simon made an impatient noise in the back of his throat. “Tuka, you have got to be the thickest person I have ever met. Why the hell do you think I didn’t let you in on that part of the plan?” Everything seemed strange, almost comical now. Standing in the blood of the dead guards, Tuka looked incredulously down at Simon. “The plan?” “You’d never have made it to the control room from the slave ship, even if all hell wasn’t breaking loose up here. Mallunus would know if I brought you on with the shuttle, so you couldn’t come with us. This way, you’re close to the control room and we didn’t have to fight our way through dozens of angry Brutes to get there.” “So… it was an act?” Tuka felt dizzy, though whether it was relief or sheer confusion he couldn’t tell. “No shit,” Simon snapped. “You’re a terrible actor, Tuka. I couldn’t hide our fight from Mallunus, not without him getting suspicious, so I needed to trick you as well. Sorry if I hurt your feelings or something.” “Hurt my feelings? I could have killed you back there!” Simon just shrugged. “I think I established before we even arrived that you can’t beat me outside a sparring ring. You’d better up your game, because Mallunus is less than two doors away.” Tuka remained where he was, still incredulous as Simon thrust the bundle at him. He took it wordlessly, realizing that it was the light armour he’d worn back when he and Simon had first stumbled into each other. The skin-tight weave would give him some mild shielding, but everything else would be up to sheer skill.

Simon passed him his energy sword. Tuka hefted the familiar handle; it felt warm and familiar, a lifeline to grasp amidst all this confusion.

"So, this is it," he murmured. It finally dawned on him that he had been preparing for this day his whole life, ever since Mallunus had butchered his family. Every day of training, every time he had exhausted himself with endless sword drills, everything that had happened in the last week, they had all brought him to this point.

"Yeah, crazy isn't it?" Simon straightened, slipping the satchel back over his shoulder and unslinging his assault rifle. "Now get going. We're running on borrowed time as it is."

"Right." Tuka knelt to slip on the combat suit. He was unbelievably glad that Simon's betrayal had all been a bluff; he had been right to stand up for his friend with Fira. "Will you back me up with your rifle or with your own blades?"

Simon sighed. "Neither."

"What?" Tuka asked. "What do you mean?"

"Look, Tuka, I need to get back to the ship. Diana's been giving me updates and things are going to shit at warp speed."

"But I can't take him alone..."

Simon shouldered his assault rifle. "Tuka, it's time for you to get a grip. This is your fight, not mine. Cassandra's pinned down at the shuttle and I need to get over there and help her out."

Tuka didn't know what to say. He was faltering on a precipice between conviction and utter panic. "What about Fira?"

His friend's voice lowered. "Tuka, don't."

"What? What's wrong?"

Simon just shook his head. Tuka couldn't read the expression behind his helmet, but there was something strange in Simon's voice. It wasn't like before when Simon had pretended to betray him. This was different.

"Tuka, Fira's probably dead."

No. That wasn't possible. Fira 'Demal couldn't be dead. Simon was lying, some trick to get him to focus...

Simon must have read the disbelief in his eyes. "Diana can't see the body on any of the cams, so once Cassandra's safe I'll go look for him. But it doesn't look good."

"But... he had no reason to come here," Tuka whispered. "He left his post because I interested him."

"And if you don't pull it together, he'll look pretty damn stupid, won't he?" Simon insisted urgently. "Go on. Kill Mallunus or his keep's gonna think he was just some chump who got himself killed on another idiot's stupid revenge quest."

Tuka's grip tightened on his energy sword. "Fira was not a fool, and my quest is not foolish."

"That's the spirit." Simon turned to go as the door behind them slid open. He turned back at the last moment, remembering something.

"Right," he said. "One last thing."

He tossed Tuka a small transceiver. "Diana's still in the system, so you'll still have some backup in there."

Tuka nodded. "Thank you," he murmured. "For everything."

"Don't thank me," Simon muttered, slipping back into the shadows. "This is just a job, remember?"

"I'll see you again, won't I?" Tuka called out desperately.

"No shit," came the reply. "Someone has to get your ass off this ship, right?"

Chapter Thirty-Four: Bloody Handed Mallunus
"Are you ready?" Diana was remarkably civil for once. Tuka did not know much about how constructs worked, but perhaps spreading herself out over so many systems had tempered her attitude.

"As ready as I will ever be." Tuka gripped his blade handle and took a deep breath. ''I am calm. I am at peace. I am a Sangheili warrior, just like Master 'Visag. Like Fira. Like my father. There is no outcome but victory.''

"You've got ten Brutes in there plus this Mallunus guy," Diana reported. "He's big. Real big."

"I have only my blade," Tuka noted. "How will you help me?"

"I've got the lights," she told him. "How well can you see in the dark?"

Tuka steadied his breathing. "Sangheili eyes adapt to the dark faster than those of the Jiralhanae. If I am quick, I can take the rest down before I face Mallunus."

"I'm guessing you'll want the lights on for that?"

"Yes."

"Why doesn't that surprise me?" Diana sounded mildly amused. "Sure you don't want me to just vent the bridge and call it a day?"

"Yes." Tuka closed his eyes. "I have waited too long for this to be finished by any hand but mine."

"Well, it's your funeral," Diana remarked. "I'm unsealing the doors in five."

Tuka braced himself, keeping his energy sword deactivated. He would need to observe the room fast, mark down Jiralhanae locations before Diana darkened the room. It wasn't the most honorable path, but he was one Sangheili with a single blade and weak armor against eleven armed pirates. He would need to kill the ten quickly before turning on Mallunus.

And then the doors were open and he had darted into the room.

He took it all in at once: the Jiralhanae at their posts, struggling to monitor the situation on the ship. An enormous chieftain in ornate armor stood at their center, his lips parted in a snarl as he barked some command. All eyes in the room swiveled to face the intruder.

And then everything--the overhead lights, the screens, even the glowing door panels--went dark.

Tuka lunged forward, his mind's eye recreating the scene he'd had not a moment before. He strained out the surprised shouts from the angry bridge crew as his feet pounded down the path he'd planned for himself in that one instant. A dark shape surged up in front of him; Tuka closed his eyes and activated his energy sword, slashing forwards and feeling his plasma hack through something thick.

A howl split the air and he leapt away, deactivating his energy sword before opening his eyes. His eyes were already adjusting, and he saw two more dim figures converging on the writhing shadow of the Jiralhanae he'd just cut down. There was no time to close his eyes this time; he leapt forward and activated his sword. The light burnt away what accustomization his eyes had made to the darkness but it didn't matter. He had already mapped out the deaths of both pirates just as he would plan out any other sword drill back in the Visag keep. His blade bit into the first warrior's sternum, then came up to slash the second's head clean off his shoulders.

Tuka darted away again, silencing his blade once more, but this time his foot got caught in the feet of his first victim and he tripped. Blind and confused, he felt his blade slip from his fingers and skid away.

Heavy footsteps pounded towards him. He felt one foot land mere inches from his head, but then a control panel hissed and sparked as it overloaded, showering the warrior with scorching hot electricity. Diana was still looking out for him.

In the light and shadows cast by the ruined panel, Tuka saw his blade lying a few feet away. He scrambled towards it on all fours as an enormous voice bellowed: "Emergency lights, you idiots! Use your generators!"

Several dim blue rods winked on, and Tuka realized with horror that he hadn't counted on the Jiralhanae having their own personal light sources.

"I'm going to blow every console in the room," Diana hissed in his ear. "Take out as many as you can before..."

Her voice trailed off, and Tuka cursed his lack of a communicator. What was wrong?"

The construct's voice came rushing back a moment later. "Scratch that. Grab your sword and get to cover; things are about to get crazy in there!"

Tuka seized his blade and searched the darkness for somewhere to hide. Before he could move again, a door at the far end of the room shuddered and collapsed inwards before the force of a tremendous explosion.

Everything happened very quickly after that. Dark figures bounded into the room, and in the dim light from the hallway behind them Tuka could see that they were armored Sangheili warriors. Unhindered by the darkness, they opened fire with tight, controlled bursts of plasma fire, dropping the remaining Jiralhanae without mercy. Only the huge figure of Mallunus remained standing amidst the corpses of his bridge crew.

"I'm putting the lights back on," Diana advised him. "These guys definitely aren't Mallunus's friends, so try to talk your way out of this."

The room flooded with dim overhead lights, and Tuka saw his saviors more clearly. They wore the armor he had seen elite special operations warriors wear in holograms during his military studies, but they were colored dark, almost black, rather than the light grey or maroon colors sported by standard special operations. They fanned out in a semi-circle, plasma rifles and repeaters trained on Mallunus, as three more figures stepped through the door. The shortest, slightest figure Tuka recognized immediately as his female savior from the slave ship. The other two figures wore the same armor as their compatriots; the shorter of the two carried a long-ranged beam rifle while the central figure bore no visible weapons save for the energy sword on his hip. A short, tattered war cloak hung from his left shoulder, an ancient Sangheili symbol for a clan leader.

Tuka scrambled to his feet. For some reason, he felt a need to be dignified in this new arrival's presence. There was an aura of casual power about him, the kind Tuka had always thought he might associate with his father, had he known him better, or with some great figure like Arbiter Thel 'Vadam. He stared intently at the warrior who tilted his head and eyed him from behind his helmet.

"Interesting," he said in a low, relaxed voice. He sounded almost amused. "Is this the slave you told me about, Pula?"

"Yes, master," the female warrior, Pula, replied instantly. "He is the one who claims to be Tuka 'Refum."

Tuka blinked. Claims? But the exchange was cut short.

"What is the meaning of this, ambassador?" Mallunus demanded. "Was this the Fallen's plan all along? To come to my world, under the banner of truce, and incite revolt amongst my own pack?"

Tuka stiffened, suddenly on guard. These warriors were with the Fallen?

The lead warrior simply chuckled. "Not exactly. As of an hour ago, neither I nor my subordinates are affiliated with the Fallen. But you are correct in one thing: this revolt has been my plan since I came here. I've been preparing it for months, and thanks to your arrogance and stupidity it has played out perfectly."

Mallunus tugged the gravity hammer from his back. "Bastard," he snarled. "You will suffer for this!"

The warrior didn't so much as flinch. "Hardly. You aren't even worth the time it would take me to kill you."

He raised a hand, and Tuka realized he needed to step in.

"Wait," he yelped, aware that he was drawing the attention of a dozen armed, apparently ex-Fallen, warriors. "Don't kill him!"

A ripple of surprise coursed through the warriors, but the leader stayed where he was. "What is this chieftain's life to you, slave?"

"Nothing," Tuka replied, clenching his fingers around the hilt of his energy sword. "He is worth less than nothing to me. All I want is the chance to kill him myself."

"And why would that be?"

"I am Tuka 'Refum," Tuka insisted, glaring hatefully at Mallunus. "This animal slaughtered my entire clan during the sack of High Charity during the Schism. Only I survived, and I have dedicated my life to killing him."

The room was silent for several moments. There was no movement from the leader save for a slight dip in his helmet. He seemed to be pondering something, but Tuka couldn't fathom what it could be. When the leader raised his head again, he addressed Mallunus.

"Well, chieftain," he said in that same unconcerned tone. "Is this true."

"I killed many of your kind on High Charity," Mallunus growled. "What, were you expecting me to keep count?"

It was the most disappointing thing Tuka had ever heard. Over all the years of waiting, of honing his skills and anticipating his revenge, he had always assumed that Mallunus had, for his own unfathomable reasons, targeted the Refum clan specifically. To hear that it had all meant nothing to this monster, that it had all been little more than a part of a senseless mass murder...

The blade hummed to life in his hands. "You die here, murderer!" he snarled. "I won't wait another minute to avenge my clan!"

The chieftain snorted contemptuously. "You insignificant whelp. I have more pressing business to attend to."

But the leader raised a hand. "Blades, stand down," he ordered. "Let the slave have his duel."

"I am not a slave!" Tuka bellowed. He could feel the blood coursing through his veins, the blood of his father, his mother, his uncle, his ancestors. "My name is Tuka 'Refum, and this beast's head is mine!"

He rushed Mallunus, sweeping his sword in front of him as he came on. The Jiralhanae loomed over him, an enormous mound of armor and flesh. The gravity hammer came down, but Tuka was no longer there when it struck the floor. He had dodged away and was coming in with a precise slash at the leg tendons that Mallunus just barely avoided.

The years of drills and training were alive in him now, directing his blade towards every opening, turning his body away from each swing of the chieftain's hammer. He was caught up in a savage dance, twisting and leaping and turning around Mallunus, aiming for the kill with each slash of his blade. His body had joined with the sword, becoming one instrument as Master Visag had always taught.

He could hear Mallunus snarling and swearing, but from a distance, as if he were separated from the Chieftain by an ocean. He was lost in his own battle trance, seeing his own moves impact before he had even completed the previous strike, noting where Mallunus would swing his hammer before the Jiralhanae's muscles could even begin to tense. This was battle as he had never experienced it and it felt... wonderful.

His blade struck home, drawing blood from Mallunus's abdomen. Another strike, and blood coursed down the Chieftain's arm. Yet a third, and he had slashed a tendon, sending Mallunus down on one knee.

Victory coursed through his veins. It was as if he had fought this battle a dozen times before, memorizing every move, every strike, every swing of the blade. Mallunus brought the hammer up for a desperate strike, but Tuka clove it in two with onefell swoop. The weapon fell in halves at his feet.

With a snarl, Mallunus tensed, drawing himself up for an unarmed charge. Tuka pulled his blade away and leapt back just as his foe staggered to his feet and thundered towards him.

His arm shot out, extending the blade before him like a spear. Mallunus's bulk collided with him, sending them both skidding across the room in a tangle of hair and blood and broken armor.

There was no breath left in Tuka. He saw his mother, his uncle, all the rest of his clan, flashing before his eyes as he pulled himself out from under the chieftain and raised his sword to do battle once more.

But there was no attack forthcoming.

Mallunus, chieftain of the Jiralhanae pirate fleets and ruler of Famul, lay dead at his feet.

It was over.

Chapter Thirty-Five: The End of a Shuttle
Fira awoke to a world of pain.

His first thoughts were a chorus of silent, incomprehensible moans as his body communicated its discomfort to his brain. He didn't move; even the slightest twitch sent volts of agony rocketing through his muscles. He lay where he was for several minutes, unable to even twist his head and take stock of his surroundings.

The next things to shoot through his head were a dozen worries about Tuka and a strange, stoic curiosity about how the youth was doing. He remembered that Simon had never been clear about the plan for once they'd gotten on the ship...

Simon... The name sent even more sparks through Tuka's thoughts. ''Human. Vermin. Liar. Mercenary.''

Mercenary... That was also important, though he wasn't quite sure why. He tried to raise his arm and the pain blasted away his thoughts again. When his sense returned, he remembered how he'd gotten here, on this cold, dark floor.

''Kenpachus. I was fighting Kenpachus.''

He remembered the enormous Jiralhanae, the intensity of their fight. There had been that hit he had taken across the chest... yes, he was covered in his own blood. He had been thrown off that catwalk...

Careful not to move his neck, he flicked his eyes from left to right. There were crates on either side of him; from where he lay, he couldn't see anything else.

Damn... He was lucky to be alive, let alone conscious. After all he'd just been through, he should have bled to death in blissful ignorance on the deck before him.

That other mercenary, Ro'nin, had wanted the bounty on his head. Fira's head hurt as he pondered this. Kenpachus might have ended the fight, but that other vermin wouldn't leave without proof of the kill. That meant he had to force himself up, and fast.

He forced the pain aside and pushed himself up onto his knees. The plates on his left arm were loose, folding up and getting in his way. He knocked them off, wincing as they exposed patches of his forearm that had been scraped raw by Kenpachus's vicious grip.

This was pathetic. He would never tolerate such weakness from a half-trained recruit, let alone himself. A wave of disgust blasted away the pain and he staggered to his feet, gritting his mandibles furiously. A dull gasp of pain slipped from his throat.

In an instant, the crates in front of him were torn aside and there, dripping with blood and still smiling was Kenpachus. The Jiralhanae had his sword in one hand; the other was busy stopping up the whole in his abdomen.

"Well," the Jiralhanae panted. "Ro'nin was wrong about you. Still able to stand... I will remember this fight, my friend."

"We are not friends," Fira grated. "And you will not live to remember me, savage."

Kenpachus's grin only broadened. "Ready to kill me without a weapon? I like your spirit."

"I am not unarmed." Fira's hand dropped down to a thick lump on his leg armor. With just the right amount of pressure it slid open, and he raised its contents up in an attack stance.

It was a curved metal blade, a knife he had fashioned in his youth by the banks of the river that ran by his keep. His first kill had been made with it, a wild predator that he had stalked and slain by himself. He had not forgotten it even after all this time; its blade was still razor sharp.

Kenpachus's eyes widened with anticipation. "And here I thought your kind only coddled yourselves with fancy toys. It's been too long since I pitted my sword against a real blade."

Fira steadied himself. There was no pain in his limbs, he reminded himself. His bloodline coursed through his veins, giving him the strength to fight on. He would not dishonor it by falling to this barbarian.

With a roar, Kenpachus swung his blade, as fast as he'd ever been even with his myriad of wounds. Fira ducked under the blow and charged in, slashing with his knife. His foe leapt back, and their blades met with the dull clang of clashing metal. The knife rang in Fira's hands, but it did not so much as crack under Kenpachus's strength.

They came at each other again, slashing and weaving, blocking and dodging. Neither allowed their injuries to slow their movements. They were locked together, a whirlwind of attacks and counterattacks that tore across the chamber's floor, scattering boxes and crates in their wake.

Fira's mind was gone, all thoughts replaced by a simple awareness of the battle before him. His body did not matter; it was only the tool he used to direct his attacks toward his foe.

And then they staggered apart, the weight of their injuries finally beginning to take their toll. It was all Fira could do to keep a hold of his blade. Across from him, Kenpachus paced like a wounded animal, his blade scraping against the floor.

Their eyes met, each fighter daring the other to admit defeat. Neither gave in, but they found something in each other's gaze. No matter what the outcome, this next exchange would be their last.

Kenpachus raised his blade up to his waist; Fira aimed his knife at the Jiralhanae's throat.

They braced themselves, locking their legs to charge.

And then the air around Fira filled with scorching metal spikes.

Two more Jiralhanae darted towards him from the other side of the room, firing their spiker rifles wildly as they tried to aim around Kenpachus. With a snarl of disgust, the massive Jiralhanae whirled to face them.

The guards never knew their peril. Kenpachus cut them both down with a single blow, turning back around to face Fira's attack.

But it wasn't coming.

The door at the far end of the chamber slid open as the battered Sangheili limped through, his knife held limply at his side. Kenpachus's eyes narrowed, and he knew his foe's intent instantly. This wasn't cowardice; the Sangheili was headed in the direction of the bridge. He was off to help the young runt.

The Jiralhanae lowered his blade, smiling at the Sangheili's retreating back. Things were better this way anyhow. Right now he needed to find somewhere to treat his own wounds before they got the better of him.

"We'll meet again, Fira 'Demal," he called after his foe. "Be certain of it."

Ro'nin would be livid, Kenpachus realized as the doors slid shut. But then again, he was always like that.



Ro'nin scowled at the remaining Kig-Yar under his command. He'd managed to scrape up a dozen of the spindly pirates on his way down to this shuttle bay; there wasn't much a Kig-Yar wouldn't do for the promise of any fraction of potential loot.

Unfortunately, his attack force had looked much more impressive than it had actually turned out.

Seven Kig-Yar corpses were scattered across the hangar floor, victims of their first attempt to board Mordred's shuttle. Ro'nin had been so eager to snatch that little vermin's ship out from under him that he had forgotten about the other human. A wave of scattered bullets had dropped over half the Kig-Yar and sent the rest scrambling for cover.

Their leader, a blue-finned female, glared up at him. "You said this would be an easy job!" she hissed. "You said no one was left on that ship!"

Ro'nin resisted the urge to shoot her out of sheer irritation. If he killed her, he probably wouldn't be able to rally her followers for a second run on the shuttle.

"So I was wrong," he admitted, peering over a crate at the shuttle. Its ramp was down, but he couldn't see any further inside it. "Besides, if you give up now you'll have lost half your crew for nothing."

"Damn you," the female spat, tightening her grip on the needle rifle she was holding. But she held her ground and so did her remaining crew.

This shuttle was getting to be a major annoyance as far as Ro'nin was concerned. This was twice in the same week he'd had to con a bunch of idiots into helping him attack it, and once again those same idiots weren't of any help in the slightest. He had hoped to have control of the shuttle by the time Mordred got back, but now it was looking like he'd have to ambush him before moving in on the prize.

Where is Kenpachus when I need him? It had been a mistake to send him after that Demal bastard's head. With all the time he'd wasted getting these useless Kig-Yar to follow him, he might as well have just retrieved the bounty's head himself and gone up against Mordred with some real muscle.

Listen to me, Ro'nin thought disgustedly. 'Go up against Mordred?' That runt is hardly worth all this trouble.

This whole trip was turning into a colossal waste of time. If the 800,000 credits Fira 'Demal's head would net him wasn't waiting for Ro'nin at the end of this ride, he would have bailed hours ago. Getting caught up in Mallunus's little civil war had not been the plan when he'd gotten himself hired onto the Chieftain's Pride. He might as well ride away from it in style--or whatever poise could be gained from piloting Mordred's rusty scrap-pile.

"Listen," he growled to the Kig-Yar female. "I'll put down some cover fire and keep that human busy. Take your crew and flank that ramp."

She fixed him with another withering glare. "You think I'm stupid, Sangheili? We go out and get shot while you hang back? Not a chance."

He could shoot her, he could argue with her, or he could just get on with it and do the dirty work himself.

"Fine," he snapped. "You provide cover fire while I flank the ramp. Happy?"

She shrugged. "Works for me."

"I'll bet it does." Ro'nin readied the plasma rifle he'd taken from Fira. Time to end this nonsense.

"Open fire," he snarled at the Kig-Yar. "Do it now!"

There was a moment's unorganized hesitation, then they rose up and let loose with their assortment of second-rate weapons. Needles and plasma bolts filled the air as Ro'nin sprinted away from cover. He felt a smattering of bullets strike his shields, but they were abruptly cut off. The cover fire was working.

He dashed across the hangar floor and reached the side of the ramp. No gunfire roared out to greet him; the human female Fira and his young companion had been traveling with must have been pushed back by the Kig-Yar's attack.

He could always toss in a grenade, but that wasn't guaranteed to work and would alert the female he was coming. He'd have to be more subtle this time.

With a sigh, he reached down and thumbed on his armor's active camouflage settings. He'd integrated the system into armor that wasn't built for it, which meant it cost a hell of a lot to operate in the field. At least he had a payoff coming.

He slipped carefully onto the ramp, ready to dive back the moment the female caught wind of his presence. Still no firing. He hoped the Kig-Yar didn't get antsy and hit him as he advanced.

A few more steps and he was inside the shuttle. Ducking his head to avoid the low ceiling, he moved forward and nearly tripped over where the armored female was crouched, slipping a new clip into her rifle.

Ro'nin snapped the plasma repeater up, but his surprise had somehow alerted the female to his presence. She leapt up and simply ran straight into him, throwing them both off balance. The repeater slipped from Ro'nin's grasp as he fumbled with the small human, shoving her back with a sharp kick.

He saw the flash of a sidearm in her hand and he lashed out unarmed, grabbing her arm and slamming her against the bulkhead. She thrashed, kicking at his chest as his active camouflage faded. Snarling, he rammed his fist into her gut. He couldn't see her expression behind her helmet, but the blow must have knocked all the wind out of her lungs; she doubled over, the pistol slipping from her fingers. Unfortunately, her armor sent a sharp pain through Ro'nin's knuckles.

He grabbed her by the throat and hurled her down the ramp. She hit it with a dull thud, rolling down to lie limply at the ramp's base. Her rifle slid after her, but she didn't seem in any condition to move for it.

Ro'nin retrieved the plasma repeater. He was furious that some diminutive human could have caused him so much trouble and then have the audacity to be so weak when he finally caught her. Normally he wasn't one for close combat, but just this once he'd make an exception.

Activating his energy gauntlet, he stalked down the ramp towards his fallen prey.



Simon readied his assault rifle.

"Give me something, Diana," he demanded, glaring at the door between him and the shuttle bay. "What's happening in there?"

She took a moment to respond, and Simon wondered if she hadn't been completely truthful about not encountering any security measures. "Come on, this isn't the time!"

"Just calm down, dumbass," she snapped back. "We've got five Jackals in there, not to mention our mutual friend Ro'nin."

"Great. What about Cassandra?"

"She's in trouble," Diana admitted. "Doc did her best, but Ro'nin's moving in. I'd get moving if I were you."

"Yeah." Simon raised the assault rifle. "Got a feed on those Jackals?"

"Right in front of the door. Standby..."

A small screen opened in his HUD. Five Jackals, armed to the teeth, were crouched behind a makeshift barricade just below the ramp leading down from his location. They were all staring straight ahead, presumably towards the shuttle. Ro'nin was nowhere to be seen.

"Son of a bitch," he snarled. "I'm going in."

"Off you go then," Diana replied. "Try not to miss."

The door slid open and he stepped into the hangar. The Jackals didn't even notice his arrival, their gaze still fixed on the shuttle. He darted down the ramp, stopping halfway to spray the Jackals with assault rifle fire. He emptied half a clip into the startled pirates, sending their twitching corpses slumping in a grisly pile.

"Nice shooting, tex," Diana commented. "If I didn't know better I'd say you'd hit them from behind at close range while they were all bunched up."

Simon didn't even wait for her to finish her quip. He was already moving, darting over the barricade and dashing towards the shuttle. He'd seen enough humans torn apart by ravenous Jackals that the deaths of the pirates he left behind him didn't send even a twinge of guilt up his spine.

He was halfway to the shuttle when he saw something that made his blood run cold. A small, huddled figure was lying at the base of the ship's ramp. Clad in her cannibalized SPI armor, Cassandra wasn't moving as a Sangheili in battered grey armor marched purposefully down the ramp after her.

"Shit!" he spat, raising his assault rifle.

I'm not gonna lose her too!



Ro'nin brought his arm up over the dazed female. The cold, rational logic that governed most of his actions wanted to settle for a straight shooting, but it wasn't often he had the chance to finish off an opponent at close range like this. An outcast he might be, but part of him was still Sangheili and that part still yearned to make the occasional kill with a blade. At times like this, he couldn't help but indulge himself, if only just a little.

A human weapon clattered over on the other side of the hangar, but in the heat of the moment he decided it must be an overzealous Kig-Yar taking potshots at the shuttle.

The female was moving now, reaching feebly for her sidearm. Ro'nin's gauntlet blade flickered as he angled it towards her neck and brought it down.

And then a hail of bullets smacked into his shields and bowled him over.

Snarling, Ro'nin rolled off to the side. Scrambling behind the shuttle's ramp, he readied his repeater and stole a glance out in time to see Mordred, prosthetic arm and all, dive behind a small fuel crate.

"You always show up at the wrong time, Mordred," Ro'nin spat. Frustration welled up inside him, at himself for not being quick about the female and at Mordred for having the nerve to exist. "That's one thing consistent about you, at least."

The human's response was another burst of gunfire. Ro'nin whipped back around for a shot of his own just as Mordred darted away from the crate and vanished between a refueling station's consoles.

"I'm really getting tired of you trying to steal my ship," Mordred's voice was amplified through his helmet. "It's starting to really piss me off."

Ro'nin sent a stream of plasma splashing against the side of the refueling station. "Then stop interfering with my livelihood then," he retorted. "You're always sticking those metal fingers of yours where they don't belong."

"That's rich coming from the guy who came all the way out here to take out one of my crew."

"If you'd just handed that damn fool over when you had the chance we could have settled this peacefully," Ro'nin pointed out, spraying the station again. The metal was already beginning to melt under his barrage. "Since when did you grow a conscience?"

Bullets smacked against the ramp and Ro'nin ducked back. When he peered out again, he saw two figures dart out from behind the refueling station, each heading in opposite directions. He sighed and sent another burst at the station.

"You think your old hologram trick will work on me?" he demanded coldly. "You need new material, Mordred."

"Ah, go to hell."

They traded fire, the plasma and bullets mingling together in a staccato stream of lethal projectiles. Ro'nin gritted his teeth in frustration. He had been so busy waiting for all of Mordred's old tricks that he hadn't expected to find himself in a gun battle. This was wasting charge in his repeater; he might as well have been firing into the air.

He would need to change tactics, and fast. His active camouflage was ready to activate, but he still needed an opening. Shaking his head, he readied a grenade.

It was only then that he realized he'd completely forgotten about the female.

Something armored and human-shaped appeared from the other side of the ramp. Ro'nin spun and put a burst through its chest only to see the bolts passed through unimpeded--a hologram!

And then something struck him hard on the back of the head and he fell, senseless, to the deck.



Simon ejected his assault rifle's spent magazine and reloaded as he clambered out from behind the smoking station and dashed over to the shuttle. Cassandra was standing, panting, over an unconscious Ro'nin. Her own rifle was hanging limp in her hands, which was unsurprising given how hard she'd hit the Sangheili with it.

"I got the rest of the Jackals," he said. It sucked as a greeting, but it was all he could come up with right now. "Nice job on this asshole."

"The holograms," she said unsteadily. "They really come in handy, don't they?"

"Oh, don't you dare let him take credit for those," Diana protested over the radio. "He needs me to generate the images. All he does is toss the holo balls out there."

Simon glanced at Ro'nin's limp form. He really should just shoot him now, he realized. But then again, that would probably piss off Kenpachus, the last person he needed after him right now. I've got enough enemies as it is.

He was still shaken at how close Ro'nin had come to taking out Cassandra. He hoped that wasn't showing in his voice or body language; the less Cassandra thought he cared, the better. She wasn't cut out for this sort of life.

His vitals must have been spiking, because Diana's voice chimed in over his internal comm system. "You could always go back to wherever she's settled down," she noted, unusually sympathetic. "Face it, this mercenary stuff isn't getting you anywhere."

"Yeah," Simon muttered. After all that had happened, he should feel elated, but all he could really feel right now was dejection. Diana had a point. He was seventeen years old, damn it. He and Cassandra should have been worrying about jobs and grades right now, not standing in some alien ship helping another alien avenge his family. Usually, thinking about that pissed him off, but right now it just depressed him. "Never really thought of myself as a family guy, though."

"How's Tuka?" Cassandra asked. "Have you heard from Fira?"

"Tuka's fine, for now," Diana reported. "He just put a sword in Mallunus's gut. Big guy went down faster than I thought he would."

"Great." It was a win. Tuka had gotten his revenge, and he couldn't have done it without Simon. This should all feel great, but instead it was just another development. I need to snap out of this.

It had really come from nowhere, this wave of depression, and it made him angry. "And what about Fira?" he demanded. "Any updates?"

"Bit of an upset," Diana noted, as if commenting on a sporting event. "He's still alive. Managed to get away from Kenpachus and everything. He's moving towards the bridge now."

"Why the bridge?" Simon demanded. "Get them both back here so we can get out while we still can!"

"Well, about that..."

Diana was cut short by a snarl from the ground near Cassandra's feet. Ro'nin lurched to his feet, bowling the Spartan to one side and raising a grenade. In the next instant, Simon had his rifle trained on the Sangheili.

"Give it up, asshole," he warned. "Just back off and call it quits."

"Oh, I will," Ro'nin promised. "But there's one last thing to do before then."

Cassandra was on her feet again, rifle in hand. They had Ro'nin completely outflanked.

And then he spun and hurled the grenade up into the shuttle.

There was a moment of stunned silence as both Spartans registered exactly what their opponent had just done. Meanwhile, the grenade tumbled up and bounced several times, landing next to a small vent. Unfortunately, years without maintenance had left the shuttle's superstructure a mess of rusted metal and exposed cables. And even more unfortunately, all it took to get a critical reaction out of the ship's overworked, outdated slipspace drive was the explosion of a small grenade.

The shuttle exploded like an artillery shell.

Chapter Thirty-Six: Brothers
Tuka stared down at Mallunus's corpse. The energy sword that had killed the chieftain still hummed radiantly in his hands. He couldn't bring himself to turn it off, not after what had just happened. It would have jolted him back into the moment and right now he just wanted to be alone in his head.

''Mother, uncle, he's gone. I finally killed him. You are free now. I am free now.''

He kept his gaze transfixed on the dead Jiralhanae. He wanted that image burned into his mind forever, pasted over the scene of his mother's broken corpse.

It's finally over.

Yes, there was freedom rising in his breast, but there was also a strange blend of emotions, a mixture of triumph and regret. He had come through so much, had put everything on the line for this chance, and now it was over. He was free, but what was he to do now? He had spent his whole life striving for this, and now it was over.

There was triumph within him, but it left a hollow, empty space in his chest.

Tuka slowly became aware of a slow, deliberate tapping sound over on the other side of the bridge. He raised his head, forcing his eyes away from Mallunus, and saw that the leader of the Fallen warriors, the one with a war cloak slung over his shoulder, was steadily rapping his fingers against his breastplate--a traditional show of casual respect. A few of the other warriors, following his lead, were doing the same.

"Well," the helmeted leader said in that alluringly calm voice. "An entertaining display. You fight well for one so young."

Tuka hesitated as he faced the Fallen. He didn't raise his blade but he didn't turn it off either. "It is all I have dreamt of since he butchered my family."

The leader inclined his head. "An admirable pursuit," he noted. "I congratulate you on your success."

"Master," the female began, but the leader cut her off with a raised finger.

Tuka looked at the leader cautiously. A feeling of apprehension was dawning in him, chasing out the confusion and leaving him wary of anything this warrior might say or do. And yet he still wanted to know exactly what was going on behind that narrowed, faceless helmet.

"So a young Sangheili travels to a place like Famul and gets himself sold as a slave after devoting his life to the study of the blade," the leader mused, almost as if he were the only person in the room. "All to avenge himself on the Jiralhanae who killed his family. It would make a wonderful children's legend."

The helmet shifted downwards. From where Tuka stood, it was almost as if it were narrowing, growing keener before his eyes.

"And that Sangheili's name," the leader continued, his voice softening considerable. "Is Tuka 'Refum."

Tuka couldn't take it any more. "What do you want with me?" he demanded fiercely. His blade came up to point at the assembled warriors. "I am no friend to the Fallen, nor will I ever be. Say what you have to say, but don't talk about me as if I'm not here!"

The leader raised a cautioning palm. "You have nothing to worry about. As I told the late Chieftain Mallunus, my subordinates and I are no longer affiliated with the Fallen. As for my interest, well, you are too modest. Anyone in my position would be interested in you after all you seem to have done. But there is something else..."

He reached up and removed his helmet, revealing a mature, angular face with eyes that seemed to bore into Tuka, effortlessly slipping past his defenses and reading everything about him. With lightly colored grey skin he was handsome in a sharp, aggressive way, and yet everything about the way he carried himself exuded calm self-confidence. His short mandibles were curved in a smile.

Tuka stared. He knew these features. He had never seen this warrior before in his life, and yet he was strikingly familiar because Tuka looked at features just like his every time he looked in a mirror.

"Is there any reason I shouldn't be interested when I learn that I am not the last survivor of Clan 'Refum after all?"



Fira staggered onwards, leaving a sluggish trail of purple blood in his wake. The pain was slipping away from him again, leaving him with an unimaginable weariness. It would be so easy just to slide down a wall for a moment, close his eyes, take a little rest...

No! he urged himself sharply. ''No stops. No breaks. Tuka needs me.''

He limped forwards, a door obligingly sliding open as he passed through. He felt as if someone was talking to him, a female voice that sent shivers of annoyance up his spine. He ignored it and stumbled forwards. The bridge had to be this way. He was sure of it.

And Tuka needed him.



Tuka blinked.

"What?" his mouth demanded, but his mind wasn't directing it. The only thing he could think of was the reality that someone was standing before him, claiming to belong to his bloodline. The fact that it was this collected Fallen (or ex-Fallen, if that truly was the case) who was saying it only made it all the more insane.

The leader clicked his mandibles. "Whether you believe it or not, it's the truth. My name is Shinsu 'Refum. Your elder brother, as it were."

Shinsu. The name sparked dim memories within Tuka, of a distant figure, one who was always aloof and distant from his own upbringing. Yes, there had been a brother, and his name had been Shinsu. But he had been sent off to Sanghelios before their father's heresy. The report had been that he had killed himself in shame when news of Sesa's rebellion had reached the homeworld.

"My brother is dead," he said unsteadily. "He took his own life when my father rebelled against the Covenant."

The warrior who called himself Shinsu clicked his mandibles again. "A necessary cover. There were zealots who would have killed me in the name of honor. When I was told my whole clan had perished on High Charity, I saw no reason to proclaim my survival from the rooftops."

Tuka stared at him, aghast. All this time, my brother was alive...?

"It's funny," Shinsu commented, indicating Mallunus's body. "I wasn't lying when I told him I had spent months planning to topple him, and yet I never realized he was responsible for the slaughter of our clan. The galaxy truly works in mysterious ways."

Tuka glanced at the warriors around his brother. They were all resting at ease, but the weapons cradled in their arms looked ready to snap up and open fire at a moment's notice.

"Who are these with you?" he asked. "If they are not Fallen, then who are they?"

"They are called the Cleansing Blade," Shinsu said. "I am their leader. You will be hearing much about us not long from now."

Tuka shook his head in disbelief. How could he approach this warrior, a brother from another time? It was impossible.

"If revenge on Mallunus was not your goal in being here," he said slowly. "What is?"

"Simple enough," Shinsu replied. "We are going to kill Thel 'Vadam and obliterate his bloodline along the government he and his toadies have created back on Sanghelios."

Tuka's blade wavered. "What? But you said--"

"That I wasn't with the Fallen? I broke with them because they, for all the power they seem to possess now, are on the way out. My goals have always been different from theirs, even if they were too blind to see it."

"Then why? Why are you doing this?"

Shinsu's eyes narrowed. "In case you've forgotten, Thel 'Vadam killed our father. He was the chief servant of the ones who betrayed us, and yet now he enjoys his exalted position merely for reacting to that betrayal."

"He was deceived, brother," Tuka protested. "We all were!"

Shinsu merely laughed, a low, self-assured chuckle. "Perhaps he was. But I have been fighting him and his deluded government for too long to turn aside now. The Vadams have many more lives to answer for than just our father now."

Tuka shook his head in disbelief. "I don't understand."

"Of course you don't. You are still just a child, Tuka. You've focused all your rage against the obvious cause of your suffering. You haven't seen the chaos Thel is bringing on our people. You're still pure, but you have to decide whether to stand with or against your own clan." Shinsu clicked his mandibles. "You might as well make that choice now."

It was as if he was trapped under a mountain of water. Tuka could barely move; the air was pressing down about him. Too much was happening, and it was all too fast. He looked helplessly at his brother, but Shinsu's eyes were cold and unwavering.

Something in Tuka's head slipped; he could no longer control his legs and they collapsed underneath him. As he fell, he felt his mandibles part to say something, but it was lost amidst the rushing waves within his mind.



Fira's hearing was beginning to return, along with a dull, aching pain that seeped across his entire body. He staggered towards the large doors before him, kicking aside a dead Jiralhanae as he advanced. His childhood knife was at his side, the only weapon that remained to him.

"Yeah, he's through there," Diana was saying overhead. He didn't pay her much heed as he reached out for the automatic doors as he were blind. "You might want to be careful though. The situation in there is a bit..."

The door slid open before she could complete the sentence and Fira froze, taking it all in.

The bridge, a wide, flat chamber, was filled with dead Jiralhanae, chief of which was a hulking corpse in ornate armor. A gravity hammer lay by this largest body, along with what had to be a young Sangheili on his knees.

Fira's hearts leaped and he staggered forward. "Tuka!"

It was only then that he saw the loose ring of dark-armored Sangheili warriors dispersed about the room. One figure in particular, the only one with his helmet off, was striding towards Tuka's hunched form. A short, archaic war cloak hung loosely from one shoulder.

Fira blinked, forcing himself to keep moving as a dozen plasma weapons leapt up to aim at him. But the warriors held their fire; the unhelmeted one, their obvious leader, raised a hand imperiously.

And then Fira realized Tuka was speaking.

The youth's words flooded out like water from a shattered damn. They sounded unsteady and uncontrolled, as if he'd been drugged, and for a moment Fira wondered if there was some nerve agent in the air that was doing this to him. The leader of the strange warriors stopped a few feet away from Tuka; Fira did the same on the opposite side.

"Those who fell will fall further into ruin," Tuka was intoning weakly. "Their cause is over, and only a few will remain to raise their banner anew. But you, brother, you will carry on. The fate of billions rests on your shoulders, dark knight, and they will live and die by your will. You tread the path of blood, and many others will follow you along that road. You think you near the end, but vengeance is just the start of your journey. In the end, your blade will outshine many others and cut a path through the stars towards the ancients. And then you will... you will..."

And Tuka keeled over and retched, sending a stream of bile splashing against the blood-stained floor. He reeled, panting weakly, as both Fira and the other Sangheili looked on in shock.

Fira was the first to recover. He had no idea what he had just seen, but right now, it didn't matter. Tuka had clearly killed Mallunus, and right now all they needed to do was get off this ship. He stepped forward, but the Sangheili commander raised a warning hand.

"Not so fast, Fira 'Demal," he said with a voice that practically demanded it be obeyed. "Of all the people to take possession of my brother, you are my least favorite candidate."

Fira hesitated. His brother?

Tuka moaned weakly at their feet. "What... what just...?"

"The gift of prophecy runs deep in the Refum line," the leader said. He sounded astonished. "I had thought it lost, but then again, I thought you lost as well."

"That's nonsense," Fira growled. The words scraped over his throat; pain had made it hard to talk. "I knew the only seer this generation has ever known, and she was not of Refum."

"Then you know little of my bloodline," the leader said contemptuously. "The one you speak of was not of the Vadam line she was bartered off to, but merely another prize Thel 'Vadam took from my clan."

"You think I care about that?" Fira demanded. "I don't know who you are--"

"But you do." The contempt was still in the leader's voice, but there was amusement in his tone as well. "We have crossed blades before, you and I."

"Fira..." Tuka croaked. "His name is Shinsu 'Refum. He is my..."

"I have never seen you before in my life," Fira protested. "And that name means nothing to me."

"How quickly you forget," the leader, this Shinsu 'Refum, said. "After all, it was you that kept me from killing that Vadam spawn back in Nisa Valley."

Fira blanched as memories, awful memories of bloodstained snow and the corpses of comrades, flashed behind his eyes. Nisa Valley... "The Black Knight!" he spat furiously. "You're the Black Knight of Sanghelios!"

Shinsu's mandibles parted slightly in a cold smile. "At your service."

"Fira," Tuka gasped again, trying to get to his feet. "What are you talking about?"

"This is a rebel leader from the home world," Fira explained. The reality of the situation was dawning on him, and it was not good. "He is the last survivor from a militia group that aided the Fallen. I thought he was rotting away in a prison cell, but clearly I was mistaken."

"I can't imagine rumors of my escape were well circulated," Shinsu said calmly. He hadn't even reached for the energy sword on his hip. "I'm sure it was quite embarrassing for your intelligence division when a half-dead prisoner managed to fight his way out of a secure facility."

"Tuka, we have to leave," Fira gasped. The pain was beginning to overwhelm him again. They wouldn't stand a chance against all these warriors.

"But he's my brother," Tuka protested. "I can't just..."

"Make your choice, Tuka," Shinsu said. "Stand with me, or return to our false government. In the meantime, I have comrades to avenge."

He raised his hand and Fira whipped his blade up. It would do him no good against the plasma blasts that were about to cut him to pieces, but he could still die well.

And then Tuka lunged forwards. His energy sword flashed into existence as he leapt at his brother, aiming low for a non-lethal attack.

Shinsu neatly sidestepped, catching his brother's arm as he staggered past. With a casual twist, he sent Tuka sprawling to the floor.

"An admirable gesture, I suppose," Shinsu noted with a twinge of regret. "But if you are going to attack me, don't insult me by not aiming to kill."

He lifted Tuka up by the arm and, with a swift gesture, activated his wrist gauntlet. Fira cried out in alarm, but Shinsu merely made a small cut in Tuka's forearm. The blood dripped down onto the rebel's gauntlet.

"If you will not join me today, a blood sample will suffice for now," he commented, tossing Tuka back towards Fira. "Go on. He clearly helped you avenge our mother, so I'll forestall my own vengeance for now."

Tuka scrambled to his feet, gazing imploringly at his brother. "But why," he pleaded. "Why must things be this way?"

Shinsu clicked his mandibles and finally reached for his sword. The blade hummed to life, its traditional blue tinged with the hints of a rarer crimson color. He held it before him, examining it as if for the first time.

"Swords are for killing," he murmured. "Warriors are for fighting. And avengers like me, well, how should I put it? Anyway you say it, there are things that exist for one purpose; those like me are like that."

He chuckled softly, as if he and Tuka were the only ones in the room. "After all, now there is only one path I can take. And to be honest, I don't care how many comrades or anyone else fall along the way."

Fira glanced at the other warriors in disbelief, but if anything they seemed to be nodding their approval. How loyal to this warrior were they?

"The one who gave me hope when hope was gone," Shinsu continued, with a rising edge to his voice. "The one who taught me how to use this sword, who gave me the code I lived by. My master, Shoma 'Yeshen, died by my blade when the world ordered him to kill me. Thel 'Vadam's world took my master, along with everything I held dear. It continues to do the same to all who do not see the same path it has set our people on."

He shook his head. His eyes were narrowed, and for an instant there was a glimmer of pure, undiluted fury burning just beneath their icy surface. "In that case, I have no choice but to fight Thel 'Vadam's world. I will completely destroy the world that takes away so much to fulfill its goals."

"You are insane," Fira muttered, but that just illicited another cold laugh from Shinsu.

"My mind is completely ordered," he said. "Believe me, there is no disorder or chaos in it. The path my Cleansing Blade takes is clear before me. Famul is just the beginning."

"Brother," Tuka whispered. "Brother, this world has taken much from us. I've seen all the suffering that has come about because of how this galaxy turned out. But I also have friends in this world, people I care about. Right now, all I see in you is a desperate beast who only knows how to indulge in destruction. If you want to destroy this world, go ahead. But I won't stand by and let you crush the people in it. There has to be a better way!"

But Shinsu merely clicked his mandibles. "Thank you for your opinion," he said calmly. "Now take your friend and go, before I lose patience and decide to kill him after all."

Tuka backed away, silently offering his arm to support Fira. "Farewell then, brother," he murmured sadly.

"This is not the end, Tuka," Shinsu replied, deactivating his sword and returning it to his hip. "We will meet again."

Tuka and Fira backed slowly away, out the bridge door and into the brightly lit corridor. The last they saw of Shinsu, he was putting his helmet on again, his handsome features vanishing behind the featureless mask.

Chapter Thirty-Seven: To Change a Friend
Simon staggered to his feet, desperately slapping at the smoke and flames around him. Everywhere he turned, twisted hunks of burning metal formed a nightmarish ocean on the hangar floor. His armor was protecting him from the worst of the heat, but even so he was still sweating inside his helmet. To make matters worse, the fingers and joints on his prosthetic arm weren't responding properly; he'd never expected that heat would damage their effectiveness.

"Damn it," he coughed. "Damn it!"

He looked around, searching amidst the wreckage of his home for any sign of life. There was none; only the fire and smoke moved in the rubble around him.

"Shit," he whispered. His hands shook as he stared at the burning wreckage. ''No. Please. Not again...''

With a burst of energy, he darted forward and began pulling metal sheets off of the nearest pile. "Cassandra? Cassandra? Where are you? Cassandra!"

His organic hand flashed with pain as white-hot metal seared through the rubber on his palm, but he didn't stop. A burnt and fused assault rifle--a remnant of his untidy armory--flew over his shoulder as he knocked down another heap, running from one piece of wreckage to the other.

His helmet felt tight and constricting, so he pulled it off. The heat scorched his face and the fringes of his hair hissed in the flames, but he kept moving, ripping away at every piece of rubble.

"Cassandra!" His voice was practically a shriek. "Answer me, dammit!"

"I'm here, Simon."

He spun in time to see her scramble over a scorched girder. Her armor sported cuts and burns and the exposed portions of her body--magnified by his liberal use of the suit for spare parts--featured cuts and scratches underneath the body glove, but she was in one piece. She cleared the girder and stopped in front of him, bent over and out of breath.

Every fiber of Simon's being screamed out in relief, and his arms jerked forwards as if to take hold of her. But he stopped himself just in time, lowering his hands and stepping back awkwardly.

"Don't scare me like that," he muttered, suddenly embarrassed by the whole thing. "Sound off if you hear me calling."

"You do the same," she panted, but he barely heard her as he looked back and the next shock set in.

"My ship," he muttered numbly. "My ship."

Cassandra shook her head. "I'm sorry, Simon."

"How will I... I needed that. I won't... my jobs..." he trailed off, at an utter loss for words. "Everything I owned..."

A inventory flashed through his mind as he stood aghast at the wreckage of his livelihood. Weapons, spare armor bits, maintenance kits, his medicine... he'd kept it all on that ship.

And to make matters worse, this wasn't even the first home he'd lost, just one more in an endless line of loss after loss.

With a bitter shake of his head, he sat down heavily amidst the cooling debris. After a moment, Cassandra approached and offered him his discarded helmet, which he took without a word.

"Simon..." she began, but he cut her off with a wave of his hand.

"It was just a ship," he lied. "I'll just have to, I dunno, score big on the next job."

Neither of them said anything for several minutes as they continued to watch the wreckage burn around them. Simon hadn't been the only one with an attachment to that crappy little shuttle. Cassandra had spent a fair amount of time on it was well. They'd been together on it, had gone through so much on it, and now...

"I guess it's too much to hope that there's a Ro'nin barbecue cooking around here somewhere?" he muttered glumly.

Cassandra shook her head. "I saw him get clear. He was heading for one of the exits."

"Figures. And I'll probably wind up working with him again in a couple months."

"That's how things work out here, isn't it?"

"Yep."

Another minute of silence. Finally, Cassandra spoke up. "We need to find Tuka and Fira. Diana can get us too them."

"I guess we do," Simon sighed. "But I'm down to my energy swords and holo-drones. What do you have?"

"I left my medical bag over at the edge of the wreck. It has a pistol and a grenade with it."

Simon cast one last, despondent look over the wrecked shuttle. He felt as if this should be the end of another chapter in his life, but it didn't seem that way at all. If anything, it was just another setback amidst the mess that was his mercenary career. And to think I thought I could turn a profit off of this stupid job.

"Simon," Cassandra urged gently. "We need to go."

"Yeah," he muttered, tugging his helmet back on. "I know."



Tuka was almost glad for Fira's injuries. They gave him something other than his brother to think about.

"Come on," he murmured, doing his best to help his heavier companion down the hallway. "We're almost there."

"What about Mordred?" Fira coughed. "Or Simon or whatever his name is. He ran off when we came in."

"He helped me get to Mallunus," Tuka assured him, deciding it was best to avoid the details of how that help had manifested itself. "He'll be waiting for us at the shuttle."

"Yeah, about that," Diana said in his ear. "We've run into a little snag."

"I have a feeling I won't like your answer, but what do you mean?" Fira grunted.

"Well, the short version is that the shuttle got blown up."

Both Sangheili stopped dead. Tuka's blood ran cold. "What do you mean?" he yelped.

"Simon met up with an old friend of ours," Diana explained. "The reunion wasn't the most pleasant party I've ever seen."

"Is he all right?" Tuka demanded. "What about Cassandra?"

"Oh, the dumbass pulled through." Diana sounded almost bored. "He always does. I've got him and Doc headed towards you right now."

"And how, pray tell, will you get us off this ship?" Fira growled.

"I'm working on it," Diana said coldly. "I'm working on it."



Umbra frowned over at Shinsu. The rest of their warriors were busy preparing to evacuate the bridge, but their commander was simply standing in the center of things. He hadn't said a word since his brother had left, and while silence from him wasn't all that uncommon it was starting to seem unpleasantly odd.

"Commander," he began. "Should I send a team to capture your brother?"

Shinsu took a moment to respond, but when he did his voice carried the same note of effortless authority it always did and Umbra breathed an internal sigh of relief.

"No, let him go. If he won't come to us out of his own free will, there is nothing to be gained by holding him hostage."

"And those things he said? Does he truly have the gift of prophecy?"

Shinsu offered Umbra his hand, which was covered with his brother's blood. "Take the sample. I will have it analyzed later, when we have access to data about other seers."

Umbra nodded and prepared a small syringe from a pouch on his armor. "If we could harness such an ability," he mused, drawing the blood into the container. "The benefits to our cause would be astronomical."

"Perhaps." Yes, that was Shinsu all over again. Always a dozens steps ahead, and never letting on just how much he could predict until he felt the time was right. It was part of what made him such an inspiring leader, particularly when he always turned out to be right about such things.

Another warrior approached. "Commander, we are receiving reports from the Jiralhanae rebels. They have secured most of the ship, and several packs have picked up the trail of what they are told is a member of the Sangheili army. They want to know if you have anything to do with him."

Umbra waited, his body tensing as the collapse of the whole operation flashed before his eyes. But Shinsu didn't so much as hesitate.

"Tell them he is of no concern to me," he told the warrior. "But let them know that there is a younger Sangheili with him. He's to be left alive."

He paused, but only for a moment. "If possible."



The faint roars of Jiralhanae were growing in Tuka's ears as he and Fira rounded another corner. He did his best to quicken his pace without relinquishing his hold on Fira's shoulder.

"It seems," Fira panted. "That they take offense at your treatment of their chieftain."

Tuka gulped. The few hours he had spent in Jiralhanae captivity had been enough to last a lifetime. He had no desire to repeat the experience.

"Heads up," Diana reported. "One doctor and one dumbass moving in."

The door in front of them opened to reveal Simon and Cassandra. Clad in their armor, they both looked the worse for wear. Scorch marks and cuts dotted their armor's exterior, and Simon's array of pouches and holsters were battered and askew. Cassandra had only a pistol and her medical bag, and Simon had one of his energy swords out.

"Simon!" Tuka yelled. "I did it. I killed Mallunus." He decided it was best to leave the part about his brother out for now.

"That's great," Simon said, though he sounded distracted. "Feel any better?"

"I... I'm not sure," Tuka admitted. "I don't know yet."

It was only then that he remembered what had just happened to Simon, and he felt ashamed for not mentioning it first. "Your shuttle... I'm sorry."

"Forget it," Simon muttered. "I can hold a pity party for myself after we get off this ship without dying."

"He's got lots of experience with those," Diana said to no one in particular.

"I don't suppose you have a plan for getting us out of here," Fira growled, leaning against the wall.

"I'm working on it," she snapped back. "For now, everyone just haul ass back to that hangar."

"Wait a minute," Simon protested. "You mean you had us come all the way out here just to turn around now?"

"Just do as I say, dumbass," Diana ordered. "I'm making this up as I go along here."

As one battered, exhausted group they began to jog in the direction Simon and Cassandra had come from. In minutes it was clear that Fira, for all his valiant efforts, was slowing them down. With the Jiralhanae roaring growing louder, Simon bent down and helped Tuka support the limping warrior.

"I can handle myself," Fira growled, attempting to shake the human off.

"Just deal with it, asshole," Simon shot back. "I'm not in a good mood right now, so don't piss me off here."

Fira grumbled but didn't try to dislodge Simon again.

Minutes later, they had reached the hangar. Tuka blanched at the ruins of the shuttle, but true to Simon's wishes he didn't say anything else about it. Stumbling over the corpses of some Kig-Yar, they stopped amidst the smoldering ruins.

"Alright, Diana," Simon snapped. "What now?"

"Just sit tight, dumbass," she replied. "I'm working on it."

"Well, work harder."

"I'll do that. In the meantime, I suggest you four take cover and try not to die."

Simon started to say something, but stopped as doors around the hangar began to fly open. A stream of Jiralhanae, Kig-Yar, and Unggoy poured forth, dozens of them, filling out to surround the ruins of the shuttle.

"Oh shit," Simon muttered.

They froze as even more pirates emerged from the doors. There had to be at least fifty of them total, and there were bound to be more just behind them. The lead Jiralhanae bellowed, waving a panoply of weapons as they closed on the wreckage. Several of them just had knives and other bladed instruments.

Tuka breathed out slowly. If this was the end, he would die in a way that made his family proud. "Perhaps I will be seeing my mother sooner than I thought," he commented aloud.

"Fuck that," Simon snapped back. "I did not come this far just to die like this!"

"Then get ready," Fira snarled. "Pass me one of your blades."

Simon jerked in surprise, but pulled his second energy sword off his chest and tossed it to Fira. The warrior caught it, activating the shortened blade in one hand while waving his curved knife in the other.

"Fira," Cassandra warned as she ducked behind a metal plate. "Don't overdo it."

"I will be fine," Fira growled. "We will draw them into the wreckage and finish them at close range."

"Until they smarten up and start using grenades," Simon warned.

"Well, you're quite good at dodging, aren't you?" Fira asked. "We hold for as long as it takes!"

"You are such an asshole," Simon muttered, but he activated his own blade and stepped beside Tuka.

"It's been a while since we practiced fighting in tandem," Tuka commented. "I don't mean to insult you, but I hope you've gotten better at it."

"You're a laugh a minute, Tuka," Simon muttered. "Reminds me why I hung out with you back at the keep."

And then the first two Jiralhanae leapt into the wreckage. In the next moment, Tuka and Simon had leapt forward together. Their blades flashed, hacking through the pirates' armor and felling them in an instant. The rest of the mob was right behind them.

"Attack!" one of the Jiralhanae bellowed. "Take their heads!"

Time ceased to matter. There was only Tuka, his friends, and the blade in his hands as enemy after enemy flashed before his eyes. He was aware of leaping, kicking and slashing at every new foe that presented itself, ducking and weaving amidst the ruins as spikes and plasma fire filled the air around him. He blocked one pirate's swing and slashed the beast's throat as Simon darted in from behind him to cut down the Jiralhane just behind him. They darted around each other, keeping the other's back covered as they cut and slashed and dodged.

A wave of pure energy was coursing through Tuka's veins, a feeling of sheer power that he hadn't felt even as he fought Mallunus. Back on the bridge, it had just been himself and his foe. Now, there were three others around him, three who had done everything to get him here and were now counting on his skill with a blade to get them out. This was what it meant to wield a blade. To fight alongside comrades, to do whatever it took to get them all out alive.

This was what it meant to be a warrior.

His body moved for him, coordinating his arms and legs as he ducked past another pirate's blazing Spiker and rolled up under the Jiralhanae's belly to slash through his chest on the other side. Two more Jiralhanae were waiting for him, and he cut them down in a flurry of blows.

Two of Simon darted past him, both slashing wildly with their blades. The Jiralhanae they attacked bellowed and fired into them, only to see them flash and dissolve as the real Simon stepped from behind a charred crate to stab them from behind. A trio of Kig-Yar scrambled to take aim at him, but they collapsed amidst a flurry of pistol shots from Cassandra.

Fira moved in then, cutting an Unggoy's throat with his knife while stabbing his way through a squad of Jiralhanae with his borrowed sword. But he was only as fast as his injuries allowed him to be, and he stumbled right into the path of another oncoming pirate.

A plasma grenade soared over the pirate, missing his head by several feet. The Jiralhanae turned as another grenade missed him and then, with a yell of frustration, Simon darted forward and stabbed him in the gut. The pirate went down flailing as the battered young mercenary activated another plasma grenade and flung it wildly into the pirates surging towards the debris battlefield. A fuel rod cannon's hum alerted him, and he spun in time to see a Lekgolo platform in blood-stained armor aim at him and charge its arm cannon.

Fira spun and, with a single slash of his energy blade, cut through the worms forming the armored platform's knees. With a low moan, the Lekgolo crashed to the floor just as Fira cut through the exposed portion of worms that made up its face.

Neither fighter paused to acknowledge the other's help. They just chose to stop hating each other for a moment as they darted on to the next opponent.

"Simon!" Tuka yelled, slashing down a Kig-Yar. Three more surrounded him, brandishing energy cutlasses.

"Huh?" Simon yelled back as he darted for cover amidst a hail of plasma fire.

"Some things just don't work out the way you want them to, do they?" Tuka called, cutting down the pirates one after the other.

"Tell me about it!" Simon yelled back, tossing another badly-aimed grenade over his cover.

"Forget revenge! I can't even change a friend!"

An Unggoy leapt onto the pile Simon was using for cover and he lunged forward to impale it with his sword.

"You've got friends, Tuka?" he panted. "Since when?"

"Now you're trying to make me mad, aren't you?" Tuka demanded. The chaos around him was making him almost giddy.

Fira stumbled past, clearly at his limit. Cassandra followed quickly from behind, covering him with her pistol. For all their advantage within the shuttle debris and their enemy's complete lack of coordination, they were being overwhelmed. The pirates scrambled over the bodies of their dead, steadily driving the four of them back towards the epicenter of the wreckage.

Tuka ran after Fira and Cassandra, slashing his way through any pirate unfortunate enough to get in his way. He was aware of Simon, or several of him, bringing up the rear and drawing the pirates' fire into the illusive holograms.

They arrived at the center, all four of them back to back, as the furious pirates closed in. Tuka took a breath, and decided that to die with comrades like these wouldn't be such a bad thing.

"Simon," he panted. "Don't change. It'll take too much to kill you, and I'd rather not do it."

"Tuka," his friend shot back. "If you ever go off the deep end, I'll be first in line to put you out of it."

"Good to hear."

Half a dozen pirates stepped into view, their weapons raised. Tuka braced himself for a final charge...

And then a massive shape crashed through the energy shield separating the hangar from the vacuum of space. All eyes in the hangar turned up to see a Phantom dropship hovering serenely over the battlefield.

Tuka closed his eyes and readied himself for the end.

And the Phantom opened fire.

Beams of heavy plasma fire rained down onto the assembled pirates, blasting dozens apart and sending the rest scrambling for cover. Tuka blinked in surprise as he watched them all scramble over each other in their efforts to get out of the dropship's range.

"If you wanna live, I suggest you get moving," Diana crowed in their ears. "This train's about to leave the station."

"You heard her," Simon yelled. "Let's get the hell out of here!"

He darted under the Phantom and was quickly sucked into the dropship's belly by its gravity beam. Tuka and Cassandra each took hold of Fira and guided him towards the beam as Simon appeared on one of the Phantom's door guns and sent an added stream of plasma streaking over the scattered pirate ranks.

The gravity beam seized hold of Fira and Cassandra, pulling them into the Phantom, but Tuka hesitated right outside the beam. Something, perhaps an overflow of battle fever, was telling him to head back to the bridge, to confront his brother now instead of waiting for fate to draw them together again. Shinsu's words whispered in his ear, This is not the end, and he believed them.

He lingered for a moment longer before Simon's voice snapped him back to reality. "Tuka, get the fuck up here!"

He jerked and flung himself into the gravity beam. It caught him mid-leap, seizing him like an invisible hand and hauling him into the belly of the Phantom. He collapsed on the dropship's floor as it shuddered, its bay doors slamming shut as Diana pushed the craft to its limits and flung it out into space.

The four of them slumped on the floor, all the energy they had been fighting so wildly with mere moments before completely drained out of them.

"A good fight," Fira murmured as his injuries began to drag him back into unconsciousness. "You did well, Tuka. And you as well, doctor..."

His eyes slid shut and his breathing steadied. Beside him, Simon shook his head. "Yeah, I didn't do shit. What an asshole." But the insult didn't hold even half as much of the usual venom.

"Hey Simon," Cassandra panted, already fumbling in her bag for whatever she would need to tend to Fira. "Since when can you fight like that?"

"I dunno," he replied weakly. "Maybe I'm just better at CQB than I let on."

Tuka shook his head as he tried--and failed--to pull himself upright. "I can't thank you enough. Both of you."

Simon shrugged. "Yeah, well I guess you just owe me now 'cause I'm betting that thanks is all the payment I'm gonna squeeze out of this one." He reached over and snatched his energy sword back from the unconscious Fira.

Tuka blinked, then smiled. Leaning back against the dropship's wall, he decided that now was as good a time as any to get some rest.

He was pretty sure he had earned it, after all this.

Epilogue
"Once again, I cannot thank you enough for the Syndicate's assistance in this matter," Shinsu told Helen Powell with a short bow. "We could not have achieved such overwhelming success in this operation without you."

She responded with one of her elegantly crafted smiles. "It was your planning that made this possible, Commander. Don't sell yourself too short."

"You are too kind," Shinsu said, parting his mandibles in a smile of his own. When he had mapped out this particular conversation, he had assumed such sickening displays of false friendship on both his and Helen's parts would have turned his stomach, but once again he found it all merely a part of his overall plan and nothing more.

The young human's holographic form nodded politely. "We trust the Syndicate will have an ample role in Famul's reorganization?"

"Of course," Shinsu agreed. "You will have access to all pirate and mercenary contracts coming through the planet as well as portions of all transactions made in this system."

"And full operating rights?"

"I never planned to allow you anything less," Shinsu assured her. "The Jiralhanae chieftains have control of the planet and the settlements on it. That will keep them busy squabbling with each other, and in the meantime they owe both of us a debt for cutting away Mallunus's hold on their territory."

Helen nodded. "And the shipyards? The mining stations?"

"The Cleansing Flame has already taken possession of them." His warriors had been quick and efficient following the massacre on the Cleansing Fire. They had seized their targets with minimal amount of bloodshed, and not a single warrior had been lost throughout it all. Shinsu could only hope that future operations would go as smoothly, though he knew full well there were plenty of sacrifices still to be made. "We will cooperate with the chieftains below to ensure that they continue to produce warships for our own use as well as whatever use paying customers such as yourself need them for."

"It's a relief to know that we will be dealing with you rather than Mallunus for future transactions," Helen said pleasantly. "It's always better to trade with a friendly partner rather than a paranoid tyrant."

"So it is."

Helen gave him another smile. "The Syndicate looks forward to dealing with you in the future, Shinsu 'Refum. You've proved yourself to be quite the reliable business partner."

"The anticipation is mine," Shinsu agreed with another bow as he terminated the link.

He took a few steps back and allowed himself to sink back into a small chair in his cramped shipmaster's quarters aboard the Cleansing Fire. He was glad to be off the spacious carrier and back in his own haunts, where everything was secure and familiar. It was good to have time like this, with just himself and the shadows he carried with him.

So he was not the last Refum after all. A few years ago, this revelation would have rocked him to his core. Now it was just another factor to a game that already had countless pieces in play. At the end of the day it really didn't matter if his brother fell in line with his goals or not. Tuka would follow his own path--Shinsu found himself strangely proud of this--and if it forced them to cross blades, so be it.

Shinsu leaned back. No, his brother was of little importance in the long run. For now, he had plenty more to be worried about. He might have let Fira 'Demal go in a gesture of goodwill for Tuka, but now his enemy would have some grasp of his plans. ''They know I am targeting the Vadams now. This could be a problem.''

The intelligence division would be embarrassed, for sure, and after all he had suffered as their captive Shinsu couldn't help but derive a small amount of satisfaction from that. The government would know the Black Knight was alive and free now, and if his reputation remained intact they wouldn't take this lying down. He would need to be prepared for that.

The Fallen wouldn't take his betrayal lightly either, though Shinsu was less worried about them. Those shortsighted fools were too tied up in their own little war to bother stamping him out now. There would certainly be a bounty for Shinsu 'Refum on the market now, but there weren't many mercenaries fool enough to come after him, not with the resources he commanded now.

His communicator chimed. It might be Pula, already restless without any mission to hold her attention, or Umbra with some new details about their next step. Right now, Shinsu was content to let them wait.

Famul was but the first move in a very long game, and he was ready to play it out to the end.

He smiled, remembering his words to Tuka. This is only the beginning.

And so it was.



"I've made the calls." Simon was resting his back against the Phantom's sealed bay door. "Once we're in the clear, some smugglers will be picking this crate up. They'll be taking the ship as payment for dropping us off where we need to go."

"And where's that?" Cassandra asked. She was busy making sure that Fira's wounds remained external rather than internal.

"Well, from what I hear you need to get back to Cordial Harmony. I bet your clinic's going nuts without you to hold down the fort."

She shook her head. "They can manage without me, as long as the Fallen have stopped harassing them. What about you?"

"There's a shithole out on the frontier called New Delhi. It's as good a place as any to get some work after this fiasco."

"Oh." Cassandra looked back down at her patient. "I guess there's no point in getting you to come back with me."

This was it, the question Simon had been dreading. He folded his arms--they still ached from the melee back on the Chieftain's Pride--and closed his eyes. "Yeah, there really isn't."

She was quiet for several minutes punctuated only by the drone of the Phantom and Tuka's quiet breathing as he slept over in the corner. For once, Diana was quiet, though Simon would have almost appreciated a little intervention right now.

When Cassandra spoke again, she sounded perfectly calm, aside from an almost undetectable quaver in her voice. But Simon knew her too well to miss it.

"What's stopping you?"

"I've tried settling down," he said carefully, leaning back and closing his eyes. "Never works out for me. There's plenty of people who wouldn't mind seeing me dead, and I don't think hanging out in an underground med clinic is the best way to keep them off my back."

"Why do they want you dead?"

Simon opened his eyes and did his best to look incredulous. "Because I screw people over for a living. It's how I get by."

How I've always gotten by, he added silently. ''And every time I get close to people, they wind up dead. I'm not letting that happen to you, or Tuka, or anyone else ever again.''

Cassandra returned to Fira and didn't broach the subject again. Simon closed his eyes once more and shut out the nagging feelings of doubt that always ate away at him whenever things like this happened. He might be out of a shuttle, but that was just one less expense for maintenance and fuel, right?

"We'll bounce back," he muttered. "That's one thing were good at, anyway."

"You got that right, dumbass," Diana replied through the com bud in his ear. "I hear New Delhi is nice this time of year. Lots of freelance work to be had, if the 'net isn't feeding me a bunch of crap. Just don't forget the ammo this time."

"Yeah." He'd need to splurge on a new crop of weapons once they got their feet back on the ground. Everything would have to be built back up from scratch. "Ammo would be good."



"So this is goodbye?" Tuka asked.

Simon paused, already halfway through the Phantom's open side door. From the looks of things, they were docked in a small human-made transport ship.

"Yeah," he replied. "This is where I get off. Cassandra headed out about an hour ago, but she said to tell you good-bye. Something about you knowing where to find her."

"Yes." Tuka wished he could have been awake for Cassandra's departure. If he hadn't met her, he'd never have run into Simon and his whole quest would have been for nothing. But she was right: he knew exactly where she'd be. "And what about you?"

"I won't be as easy to track down," Simon admitted. "And I'd like to jet before Fira wakes up and starts getting tempted to arrest me."

"He wouldn't do that," Tuka protested. "Not after all we've done."

Simon just laughed. "I didn't make it this long out here by taking chances like that."

Tuka sighed, realizing just how pointless it would be to convince his friend otherwise. "Well, this is the end, isn't it?"

"Hell no," Simon shot back. "You still owe me a shitload of favors for this, remember? You get an extension on that payment for old time's sake, but we're definitely meeting up again."

He stepped out of the Phantom. "They already made a few short jumps while you were out of it. We're inside Sangheili space now, and we installed some beacons on the Phantom. A patrol should pick you up in a couple hours."

Tuka nodded. "Until next time then."

"Count on it." The door slid shut and blocked Simon from sight.



The streets of the underground district on Cordial Harmony were as filthy and crime-infested as they'd ever been. Cassandra was grateful for the added protection of her stripped-down SPI armor as she made her way down the dusty road towards the clinic.

She'd at least squeezed a handful of safehouse locations and middlemen transactors out of Simon before she'd left, though he'd insisted that he hardly ever used them. Still, if she ever needed a job taken out from the Mordred team, she could just make the right calls with the local contracting brokers.

Simon's refusal to come back hadn't surprised her; he'd always been stubborn like that. For now, she could just rest assured that he at least had some sort of grasp on how his life was going. There were worse paths than mercenary work he could have taken. But it couldn't go on forever. One day she would have no choice but to save him, and that day he'd have to let go of whatever was holding him back and accept her help.

Until then, she had patients to tend to.



"Well, well," Diana noted as Simon sank down onto the charred, torn surface of his new couch. "Your own private corner of hell."

"Tell me about it," he replied. The apartment was a dumb already, and he hadn't even settled in yet. It was the price he paid for a discreet location and a low rent. "This place smells like ass."

"Starting to wish you'd taken Doc up on her offer?"

Simon's lip curled. "Let's not talk about that, okay?"

"Fine. She's your girlfriend."

"She's not... oh, what the hell." He glanced around at the apartment's peeling walls. "Well, it's better than the street."

"Good philosophy to live by." Diana was operating from a small cluster of computers in the corner of the room. Her stint inside the Chieftain's Pride's operating systems seemed to have given her room to stretch herself out, and she was markedly more pleasant than usual. "No matter how bad things get, they could always get worse."

Simon lifted a pair of credits between his prosthetic thumb and forefinger. Right now, scraps like these were all he had to go on; he'd need to make the most of them in the weeks ahead. But as for now...

"I'm going out," he announced, swinging himself off the couch. "Time to see if getting drunk out of my mind is all it's cracked up to be."

He'd move on and on, as he'd always done. As long as he survived, life went on.



"It seems you've had an interesting week, Fira."

Fira looked balefully up at his best friend through a mask of bandages. "That's one way to put it," he said, refusing to admit that it hurt to talk. "Lots of good fights out there in the darker parts of the galaxy."

Autel 'Vadam, clad in a simple dark robe that clashed with his pale skin, leaned against the barracks' simply carved wall. "I admit, I was worried when the news came that you had left your post on Cordial Harmony. You could at least have communicated with me."

"Not where I was going, I couldn't," Fira laughed. "Believe me, I've seen the true face of this galaxy's underbelly and it isn't a pleasant sight."

"So I gather," Autel told him drily. "Of course, finding you and some youth floating around in a Phantom was a bit of a surprise. We've had strange adventures in the past, but for you this one lengthens the race."

"Not 'some youth,'" Fira corrected, pulling himself up straighter. He couldn't be seen slouching around with all these injuries, not an officer like him. "Tuka's a warrior now."

"And the last survivor of Refum as well," Autel mused. "If he's even half the warrior we knew his father as, he'll go far in the ranks without a doubt."

"Not the last," Fira said gravely. "If you've read my report, the other...?"

"Yes." Autel closed his eyes. "This isn't good. And he is the Black Knight. We saw what he was capable of back when we destroyed his militia. And you're sure he'll target my family?"

"He struck me as a bit deranged," Fira admitted. "But if there was one goal of his that I'm certain of, it was his desire to exterminate the Vadam line."

"As if my family hasn't dealt with enough already," Autel said softly. "Will he target Cyla? My children?"

"Worry about your father, for now," Fira advised. "There seemed enough honor left in him that he would focus on his father's killer and other military goals."

Autel nodded. "I was sent out here to investigate what the Fallen were doing negotiating with the pirates on Famul, and instead you discover an entirely new threat. Will the bloodshed ever cease?"

"Not in our lifetime." Fira never harbored any false hopes that he would live to see a lasting peace settle on the galaxy. He wasn't even sure he could live in such a world. "We must do all we can to see that our children may have that good fortune."

"I will be looking for this Shinsu 'Refum now," Autel said. "I will need to face him before he can bring harm on either my bloodline or our government."

"And there's still the Fallen out there as well." Fira laughed in spite of himself. "But we also have the Black Knight's brother at our side as well now. Give him time and he'll be a superb warrior. He took down Mallunus by himself, you know. And..."

He trailed off. He would wait to to tell Autel about the flash of prophecy he had seen in Tuka for later. Autel's mother had been the only seer he had ever known, and Shinsu had claimed her as a Refum. How could he begin to explain that to his friend, who had cradled his mother in his arms as she died? No, it was best to wait until he could find the right words.

"I will watch his career with great interest," Autel assured him. "And you as well, since you've already requested he be assigned to your command. But what of the others who helped you? They were humans, I hear?"

"Mercenaries," Fira said quickly. "Skilled mercenaries we picked up on our travels."

He gave his friend a look; they would discuss this matter later, in a more private setting. He didn't give a damn where that damnable Simon ended up, but he owed his life to Cassandra and didn't want to risk getting her dragged into the spotlight. He had to wonder how the humans could live with themselves, taking their own and creating creatures like Simon. It was just another reason to be proud of his own race. At least they didn't have to rely on drugged-up children in battle.

Thankfully, Autel understood his look and didn't push the subject. "So," he said with a smile. "Tell me again about this Jiralhanae swordsman who did all this to you."



It was quiet on the observation deck, and Tuka was glad of it. He realized that he'd need months, perhaps even years, to decide whether his quest had been worth it all. The years he'd spent thirsting after revenge didn't seem quite as fruitful as he had remembered them. The things he had taken away from the Visag keep hadn't been the skills he'd used to kill Mallunus, but the friends and the will that had kept him alive this past week.

In the end, he had killed Mallunus, but he'd failed the most important test and walked away from his brother without doing more to reason with him. Simon was still out there, taking jobs that would probably get him killed, and here he was getting ready to don the armor of a true warrior and surrender the freedom that could have allowed him to help his friend more.

Fira understands, though, he reminded himself. ''He was there. I'll be fighting for him now, and he'll know how to direct me.''

So some good had come out of all this after all, and he needed to focus on that more than ever. He had a future now, and that meant his clan had a future as well. And with Shinsu out amongst the stars waging a war of hate and revenge, he would need to strive to ensure that the Refum name was remembered well in the annals and battle poems.

He was still mulling over everything that had passed between him and Shinsu. There was one part of the conversation that bothered him, a spot where he had clearly blacked out just before Fira had arrived. He had thrown up, he remembered that much but nothing else. And why had Shinsu wanted a sample of his blood? The cut on his wrist burned even as he thought of it.

Swords are for killing, Shinsu's voice whispered in his mind. ''Warriors are for fighting. And avengers like me, well how should I put it? Anyway you say it, there are things that exist for one purpose; those like me are like that. After all, now there is only one path I can take. And to be honest, I don't care how many comrades or anyone else fall along the way.''

"I'm like you in that way, I suppose," Tuka murmured. "There's only one path for me as well."

But he wasn't an avenger. Not anymore. He had crossed that bridge and had become something new instead. What that was, he wasn't sure of himself. Perhaps he never would be. But that was a good thing. He would choose where this path of his took him. And if that path brought him against his brother, so be it.

But for now, he could just close his eyes and sleep without fear of nightmares.