User:Dragonclaws/Ascension18

Wheel’s Turn
Cronus walked briskly through the halls, his scythe dripping the remains of Yanme’e onto the otherwise pristine silver floor. He ignored it, even as he knew his master was always watching. His master controlled every aspect of this holy ship, even the walls themselves…

His eye began to twitch, and he willed it to still. It would not do to focus on such matters, not when there was prey to be slain. He knew he had to be close, that his prey was weakened. Even the unholy Demon would be no match for the might of the Blade of Kesmek.

If that bloody hive had not gotten in the way, the Demon’s skull would already be decorating my belt! He growled, but soon calmed himself. He would fix what mistakes were made, remove the Demon’s presence from the world, and secure his place at the feet of his master.

“Cronus?” the disembodied voice of the Prophet of Justice suddenly whispered in his ear. “Have you failed me, Cronus?”

He froze where he stood, his fingers tightening reflexively around the scythe handle. “I– I have not, my lord,” he denied, speaking to plain air. The blade began to crackle with violet energy, and he hastily loosened his grip in fear that it would be taken as a hostile action. He continued on, “I have yet to slay the Demon, it is true, but you can be assured that it will not live to harm that which you have worked so hard for all these cycles…”

“Oh, I am certain it will not,” his master stated, the Prophet’s voice spontaneously cheerful. “The powers of this ship cannot be altered by a mere mortal, after all. Should it survive much longer, however, I may be tempted to have you replaced, Cronus.”

“It will not,” he stated firmly. “The Demon will be dead before the 123rd can learn of its presence.”

“Is that a promise?” his master asked, the Prophet’s voice now cool and dangerous.

“It is.”

“Splendid.” The Prophet of Justice’s voice was cheery once more. “You should hurry,” he added in a playful tone. “The Demon has reached the boarding lift and is proceeding to exit Ascension.”

“My lord, I will hurry,” he replied, alarmed at the progress his prey had made since their last encounter.

“Good,” the Prophet said simply. “Carry on.”

***

Sergeant Aliyah Burakgazi surveyed her men. They had holed themselves up in an old church. The architecture of these holy structures tended to be of a significantly better quality than the surrounding buildings, making it an ideal location to which they could fall back.

Unfortunately, she had to take care of more than just Marines. For a city in which evacuation had been declared, a good number of civilians had decided to stay behind. Some thought they could do a better job than the UNSC, while others believed God sent the Covenant to kill them or some other nonsense.

Most civilians they had shuffled out before the serious fighting started. Her unit, however, had been forced to rescue a man who carved up his legs, a man who had tried to crucify himself (Reverend Jacob Castell, referred to as ‘cross guy’ by her unit), a woman who tried to sacrifice her baby to some pagan god (she now lay in the corner, her hands and legs bound tightly), and some fool with an illegally obtained M6G magnum who thought that he could singlehandedly defend his store from the Brutes. Nothing like an invasion to bring out the crazies.

“…And I saw another sign in heaven, great and marvelous…” Cross Guy mumbled from the stretcher he lay strapped to a few feet away. She had to strain to hear him, although there wasn’t much point to it. The nutter nailed his own hand to the great crucifix on the alter less than fifteen feet away from them now, and then yelled for help to nail his second hand. Idiot.

Private Kloet, sitting with his back resting against the wall, glanced up from his lap and followed her gaze. He remarked, “Can’t say I exactly blame him… Now’s a time to get right with the Lord.”

“Coulda picked a better way,” Private Tornincasa retorted. “Such as sending these pagan bastards to the Hell they crawled out of!”

“Seven angels,” Cross Guy muttered (apparently) in response.

“Ma’am,” Private Borgnino, the sniper she had put in the tower, radioed in, interrupting their conversation. “Baby Kongs coming this way!”

“Hush!” she hissed to everyone. The Brutes had very good senses, and could hear voices from several meters away. Private Tornincasa clamped a hand over Cross Guy’s mouth. “They come this way, take ‘em out!” She ordered Borgnino in a terse whisper.

Silence.

“…Over,” she added as an afterthought.

Still nothing.

“Yeah… the Bravo Kilos are heading back the way they came,” Borgnino muttered finally.

“That was close!” Private Kloet laughed loudly in delight. His laughter abruptly ended with the crack of a sniper rifle.

“Yeah… the Brutes are coming back…” Borgnino sighed.

“Good job, mate,” Tornincasa jeered as he grabbed his assault rifle. “Nearly got away if you hadn’t–”

“Knock it off,” she snapped as further cracks were heard. “Let’s do this! Ivers, Nylias, see if you can pick them off through the windows. Kloet, Rapp, Zolnerowich, Tornincasa, you’re with me. We’ll set up an ambush in case they get in. Gagnon, keep an eye on the civilians. Go, go, go!”

She led her team to a position on the second level overlooking the opening. They now stood on either side of a walkway spanning the distance between two the sides, at eyelevel with a great stained glass image of Jesus ascending into Heaven. Crossing herself, she made a quick prayer before directing her team into place. It was now only a matter of patience.

She did not have to wait long. Loud pounding soon could be heard coming from the door. “Can you get it?” she whispered to Borgnino, but received only static in response. Staying silent or dead? “Ivers, Bravo Kilo by the entrance?” she asked instead, forcing all of her concern into the back of her mind.

“I can’t get at ‘em, he’s out of my range,” was Ivers’ terse reply.

“Yeah, me neither,” Nylias muttered. ''“The others ran off too. Be back with Drones, probably.”''

She winced at the thought of having to fight off the aerial infantry the Covies had so recently begun to use against them. At least she knew from the lone berserker that at barest one of the BKs had been killed. She how Brutes tended to lose control of their emotions when their partners were killed and charged their enemies like wild animals. “Alright, here’s what’s gonna happen,” she began… Then Jesus’ head exploded.

A spike grenade smashed through the window, spraying glass through the air as it attached itself to the ceiling above them. She signaled for her men to take cover even as the grenade detonated, hurtling white-hot spikes at them. Kloet screamed – a spike had pierced his chest. The others lay around him, dead instantly. Yet she alone lay unharmed. Divine intervention or just pure dumb luck?

As Kloet’s screams filled the air, she crawled to the bodies of her men. Despite the horrible feeling in her stomach, she scavenged the forms that had been alive mere seconds before. Collecting grenades, she began to pile them up. The chances weren’t good, but she would continue to fight off the Covie bastards as best as she could.

There was a brief flash of light and Kloet abruptly stopped screaming. His body fell to the floor, a rectangular hole in his forehead. Particle beam rifle. Jackals.

She darted away from the window and activated her radio. “Ivers, Nylias, Gagnon, the Brutes tricked us. It looks like we’re all that’s left. There’s Jackals in the buildings to our west, and the Brutes can lob grenades through the second-story. Proceed with caution.”

“Understood, ma’am,” they all answered.

“There seem to be some Drones fighting someone over the factory cross the way,” Nylias added. ''“Civilians from the look of it – haven’t made contact. When the Buggers finish with them, they’ll come after us for sure…”''

“Drones,” she sighed. “Got it.” She started to tell Gagnon to leave the civilians, but paused as she heard a whooshing sound. A human scream pierced the air as gunfire erupted.

A pair of spike grenades soared in through the shattered window, latched onto the floor below and fired their deadly packages. None of the spikes reached her, but she could hear one of the male civilians screaming in pain. A shot rang out, and the scream was silenced.

“You didn’t hear that,” Gagnon said after a moment.

“Hear what?” she muttered. He didn’t reply.

The door smashed open. The BK stepped inside with a cocky swagger, a Brute Shot held casually in its hands. She primed a grenade, counted, and then dropped it. The Brute could only look up in surprise before being blown apart by the explosive.

“Nice one,” Gagnon congratulated.

''“Not so fast! Here come his drunken cousins from Coral,”'' Ivers said, his voice strained even as he joked.

“How many?” she whispered.

“Three that I can see,” he answered. “Brute Shot, carbine, mauler…” A series of rapid shots could be heard, triggering a response from the BKs. ''“Two! Carbine, mauler…”'' he laughed into the radio… and abruptly stopped at the same time as the Brutes stopped firing.

Dammit! She mentally swore long and hard as she prepared the grenades. There was no chance left of victory, all she could do was try to take down as many as she could before she went. One by one, she lobbed the grenades out the window with all her might. Through the booming explosions, the delightful sound of a Brute screaming in pain met her ears and a crazy grin split her face.

It seemed to be an almost dream-like state when she saw the flame grenade float through the air. Then it smashed onto the walkway, spilling out its liquid death. She hopped back with a yelp as the ignited gel sent the walkway crashing to the ground.

It took her several seconds to register the sound of screaming, human screaming. She looked back to see the rest of the church on fire. While three BKs had kept her busy, more had attacked from the other sides. From the look of the windows, it was easy to see where they had sent more flame grenades into the temple.

The hogtied woman now lay in a pool of fire, screaming her lungs out. Squinting, she could just pick out Gagnon through the smoke, bending over Cross Guy. Wonder what scripture he’s got for this? she couldn’t help but wonder as she raised a battle rifle. She aimed for the woman’s forehead, and then pulled the trigger. Better than living with the pain, she reasoned as the body fell limp.

She sucked in a breath through her teeth as no less than six Brutes made their way through the door. Armed to the teeth, the Brutes swaggered in as if they truly owned the place and looked around with contempt. Pain indeed. She took aim at one who’s head was not protected by a helmet…

“Jesus will save you!” It was Cross Guy. Gagnon must have let him out. He waved his arms through the air and ran at the Brutes, screaming “Jesus will save you!” repeatedly. He took a spike through the throat within seconds.

She fired, dropping the BK. Almost at the same instant, Gagnon fired from within the cover of smoke, causing the helmet of the BK that killed Cross Guy to fly off. She took the opportunity to send another one of the damned bastards straight to the hot place. ''That’s right! Cross Guy was our wacko!''

The Brutes roared and chucked a flurry of plasma grenades into the smoke. Gagnon’s scream was soon heard admist the explosions. Dammit! She blinked back tears of frustration, trying to figure out a way to either escape or cause significant damage to the enemy.

“Human female,” a deep voice cackled from behind her, pronouncing the unfamiliar words with some difficulty.

“B’aka!” she hissed, using the one word she’d bothered to remember from her lessons on the Covenant language. She turned her head to regard the laughing BK, simultaneously reaching for a grenade.

“Well spoken,” the alien stated matter-of-factly, a smirk visible on his lips. He stood on the base of the broken window, forming a dark silhouette against the burning city in the background. “What other talents do you have?

“I can make you die!” she screamed, priming the grenade and thrusting it into his face.

The Brute snapped out his hand, enclosing around her wrist and forcing the grenade from her grip. To her dismay, he tossed it out the window to detonate harmlessly (to the Covies, anyway) on the street below. With the strength of an elephant, he pulled her against his bulk. “You commit the folly of Vrouw,” he snickered. “Ages past, we too allowed females to hunt. But when the Mannelijk…”

“I could die from boredom,” she complained, rolling her eyes at the Brute. Inside she was shrieking in terror, reciting prayer after prayer in the mad hope that someone was listening, but she kept her exterior cool. “Twist my arm off or something already, for God’s sake…”

The Brute blinked in confusion. He opened his mouth to say something, but never got to start. From the window, a great flash of light pierced the air and from it rose a human figure. Like an avenging angel, the Spartan struck down the Brute with a shining sword – albeit a Covenant energy sword.

Then the Spartan turned from her to deal with the other BKs, who she realized were currently doing their best to defile the holy temple. “Demon!” the Brutes all cried at the sight of the armored warrior. Look who’s talking, bobos!

The ape-like Covies were no match for the Spartan-II. They, like so many others, fell easily to the superior warrior. The pink blade sliced through the BKs with a raging intensity, and soon only the Spartan stood victorious.

He (she?) walked over and, climbing up to her, offered a hand. She accepted and allowed the Spartan to pull her into a standing position. “Sergeant,” the Spartan acknowledged in a cool, if tired, male voice.

“Master Chief,” she answered, recognizing the voice from the awards ceremony a few weeks ago. “Thank you for the assistance, sir. I never could have fought off those Brutes without you.”

The Spartan nodded shortly. “I’ve been assigned to the defense of Bravo-6,” he subtly jerked his head to regard the devestation surrounding them.

She understood what he had left unsaid. There was little point anymore to follow her orders. Helping this Spartan was sure to be far more important. She scooped up a couple of Brute plasma rfles. “Rest in peace,” she muttered to the corpses around her, then headed out.

***

‘HighCom Facility Bravo-6’, as the Humans referred to it, was well on its way to being cleared away. Seven scarabs, each accompanied by several Jiralhanae-piloted vehicles, were preforming excellently. Once the Human infestation was removed, the Blind Cartographer could be located.

That the Humans had built directly over the Blind Cartographer, an essential tool for finding the path, was far too improbable to be a mere coincidence. Should the Humans have correctly understood the significance… he did not like to think about what that might mean. They would need Ascension, he assured himself. And the Luminous Key.

Without the knowledge acquired by the First over the ages, the information contained in the Blind Cartographer was surely useless. But one part of a much greater whole. Still, it unsettled him.

“Pono Matakite…” the voice of the Prophet of Justice whispered in his ear.

He cringed. “That. Is. Not. My. Name,” he hissed back to Ascension, careful to keep his voice low enough to not attract the attention of his Honor Guards. “I am the Prophet of Truth!”

“Of course you are,” Justice’s voice twisted into a mocking tone, one he had heard the Prophet use on the High Council quite often. Truth gripped the sides of his throne with frustration as the voice went on, “The Demon has followed us to this place. It makes its way to the Blind Cartographer as we speak.”

“Has it?” he muttered, annoyed that he was never informed of the Demon’s presence on Ascension at all.

“When it reaches the holy ground, do not impede its progress until the necessary information is obtained,” the voice continued as though he had never spoken.

“May I inquire as to why you wish to let that filth enter the Forerunner structure?” he asked derisively.

“You may,” came the smug reply. “Your last entry into the Luminous Key has revealed a hidden power possessed by these Demons. It may well be the very key to our ascension.”

“Blood…” he muttered, remembering the reports.

“Something beings such as ourselves can appreciate a great deal,” Justice’s voice said solemnly. “Pay close attention and you may even grasp the startling implications of that fact. Maybe.”

Annoyed, he lightly stroked a line to produce a calming warmth from the seat of his throne. If I could but punish that insolent… But, of course, he could not. “You could explain your theories,” he suggested instead, keeping a casual manner.

“I think not. Figure it out on your own – it will be a good exercise,” the disembodied voice said offhandedly. “Now, Cronus will be along shortly to slay the Demon. I ask only that you wait until the Blind Cartographer is revealed. As soon as this happens, let the Demon feel the true wrath of the Hierarchs.”

“You mean Cronus,” he stated, no question in his voice. It was plain to see that his throne could not protect him any more than Regret’s did, placing all of his trust in his servants. It was an unsettling revelation.

“If that is all you can muster,” Justice’s voice now carried a tone of boredom. “Well, I shall see you on the other side, cousin.”

The Prophet’s words had an odd ring of finality to them. Truth wondered uneasily if it referred to something other than the promise of divinity. A mutiny of Ascension? He would not think it possible were the evidence not staring him in the face.

He swallowed, and tried not to think about what this suggested about their constant search for the path. It did not matter anyway. All he could do was increase the output of heat in an attempt to ward off his mounting dread. For the first time in an age, he knew he was going to lose.

***

Fafnir monitored the approaching Spartan via a series of satellite cameras. The soldier was truly one of a kind. No other human, enhanced or otherwise, had ever survived the ordeals this one had been put through.

It had been a good move to seize control of John-117, he was sure. He had been sure when he had violated UNSC law and the Asimov protocol, but it was always nice to know for certain. Or perhaps he could not truly know for certain… but he calculated a 99.7% probability of success… Yes.

He would further delight when the Spartan could share with him what he had seen within the Forerunner ship. According to his findings, the Covenant believed that the ship, which they called Ascension, was a necessary vehicle for their Great Journey. Doubtlessly the ship was filled with religious artifacts, sure to be fascinating. Perhaps he could even use the information to develop some form of advantage for his creators (ONI, not the civilian who gave birth to his donor).

He refreshed the Tomb data. More corridors had been mapped out, but the scientists were ignoring the architecture in favor of searching for weapons. He opened a channel to Dr. Milbauer to demand that he record the hieroglyphics. A moment later he was reviewing crudely drawn sketches via the scientist’s data pad.

He ran his Forerunner translation software, but most of the glyphs could not be matched. He was only able to determine what he already knew, that the Tomb was on Earth and that it contained directions to that which could keep the Forerunners safe from the Flood. Unfortunately, the directions were not included in that particular stretch of writing.

Continuing to pester the scientists, he moved his primary focus back on the Spartan. John-117 was extremely adept at plowing his way through the Covenant forces, even bringing a lone Marine alongside him (Sergeant Aliyah Burakgazi, Service Number: 00061-85039-AB, according to her barcode). However…

He examined the surrounding Covenant and made his avatar frown. It looked as though they expected the Spartan, yet still sent out weak troops such as Unggoy and Kig-Yar into his path… He checked up on the Jiralhanae Chieftain’s progress and found that he had given up the chase, instead moving directly toward Bravo-6.

A trap? But of course. But a trap for whom, the Spartan or the Hive?

He noted that the weak troops sent out against John-117 all carried weak weapons and wondered if the Covenant intended to force the Spartan to use up his superior weaponry before striking with all their might? It was a possibility, one that he could correct. He hacked into the autopilot of a nearby Albatross transport and placed it in a trajectory to crash into a group of Covenant Shadows not far from the Spartan’s position.

He refreshed the Tomb data – still nothing worthwhile. He urged the scientists to investigate an area marked with the Forerunner character for Flood, provided that they do so with extreme caution. The colors were different from those featured in the Flood containment facility of Halo Installation 04 and he was almost certain that meant there were none here, but it was still best to be cautious. Always cautious.

The Spartan responded to the crash as Fafnir had expected. The Spartan was now equiped with a MA5C ICWS assault rifle, a M41 SSR MAV/AW rocket launcher, two M9 HE-DP grenades, and he and the Marine were now heading out in a M274 Ultra-Light All-Terrain Vehicle. The numerous lives of Marines who had died in the crash were well spent.

An emergency evacuation process shocked his focus back to Bravo-6. Issued by Jordan Harel… He immediately opened a channel into the Admiral’s quarters. “Admiral, you must see reason,” he began, only to be interrupted.

“No, Fafnir, there’s no other option,” the human sighed. “I see that now. Milbauer informs me that there are rooms marked with the word for Flood. If the Flood were to escape, it would be catastrophic. Far worse than anything the Covenant could do.”

“Sir, the character is printed in blue,” he argued. “My studies show that only the color red indicates active life. The Flood are not actually inside the Tomb…”

“I can’t take that chance,” Harel said stubbornly. “We’re leaving. The Tomb’s to be destroyed at once.”

“I see, sir.”

Due to what was recorded as a dumb AI malfunction, the doors of Harel’s quarters bolted shut. Despite the efforts of several technicians, they were unable to reopen them. Even more alarming was the inability for anyone to contact the admiral from outside. Fafnir didn’t care.

***

“My lord, no action on my part could ever hope to compensate for the grave dishonor I have have done you,” Cronus said, his head bowed low to the floor of the Prophet’s Seraph.

“Indeed,” the High Prophet of Truth murmured. He waved a hand lightly to the Honor Guards, “Leave us.”

Cronus remained still, barely allowing himself to breathe as the Jiralhanae left them alone. Surely a punishment must have an audience? he thought hopefully. He could not have made it this close to be simply discarded!

“You acted on the orders of the… of the Prophet of Justice?” the High Prophet asked him, his voice tinged with anger.

“I did, my lord,” he admitted. “The– Justice requested that I not inform you of the Demon’s presence.”

“I see.”

He shivered at the High Prophet’s cold silence. “Noblest Prophet, it was my understanding that you wished for the– for the Prophet of Justice to rise in your place should you fall,” he added, trying to find any ground on which he could stand.

“It was,” the High Prophet said, a note of disgust in his voice. “It is no longer my belief that the High Prophet of Justice remains fit to uphold the ancient legacy. Long years run the course on old souls, and the Prophet’s reincarnation is long overdue. Cronus, where does your loyalty lay?”

“With you, my lord,” he promised. Would any disagree at his feet?

“Very well,” Truth said finally. “You may rise.”

Slowly he raised his head to look up at the 123rd. The Prophet met his gaze and held up a metal ball. A heretic’s holodrone, he realized. As he watched, the holodrone floated from the Prophet’s hand and down to Cronus’ face. An eye on the High Prophet to make sure what he did was expected, he slowly reached out and grasped the ball.

“Should I fall in battle and Justice yet lives, engage the holodrone in a secure location,” Truth instructed. “It will give you all the information needed to slay him. Remember, only use it if I am no longer able to command. It will guide you to victory.”

“I will, my lord,” he bowed. He carefully placed the holodrone in his sack of plasma grenades. None would know of its presence without Cronus’ permission.

A chirp rang out, signaling the Honor Guards to return to the chamber. “Until further notice, you are to remain here as my personal guardian,” Truth stated as the Jiralhanae returned to the chamber. “Even Tartarus will not possess what I am about to give you. Nestor,” he spoke to an Honor Guard, “Fit Cronus for the shield.”

***

“Praise the Lord,” the Marine said, staring at him in awe. “It is a Spartan.”

He and Sergeant Burakgazi had paused to examine the smashed remains of a Scarab and had found a convoy of Warthogs waiting for them. “I am Master Chief SPARTAN-117,” he said. “Who is in command?”

“No one here, sir, just First Sergeant Kader back at base. Sir, if you don’t mind me asking, why are you here? I heard all the Spartans were off-planet.”

That was news to him. Wondering briefly about his family, he answered the soldier, “I have orders to assist in the defense of Bravo-6.”

“Well, we have orders to escort you to it,” another Marine laughed in good spirits. “We’d better hurry if we don’t want the Covies all over us.”

“Agreed,” he replied. They started moving. Their close proximity to Bravo-6 was rapidly becoming apparent. Above them, Seraphs and Longswords dueled in a mad frenzy. Further up still were cruisers of both factions, circling each other like feral dogs.

Yet, the opposition faced by them seemed quite tame considering their surroundings. Were the Covenant putting all their strength into attacking Bravo-6 instead of defending the perimeter? John found it doubtful.

A trap from Cronus and the Prophet of Justice, more likely. “Be on your guard,” he called to the Marines.

“You got it, Chief,” one replied. His voice was entirely too cheerful for the situation, making John wonder if they had been chewing pick-up sticks on duty.

A creeping sensation tickled the back of his neck, and John knew from ages of experience that they were being watched. He cautiously glanced around, trying to see any Covie that might have hitched a ride under the cloak of active camouflage but could find none. Careful to remain driving in a straight line, he switched his helmet’s view to night vision.

There was a brief, perhaps one fourth of a second long, pause as he adjusted to the sharp night vision. Wishing Cortana was there to do this for him, he carefully adjusted the range of the electromagnetic spectrum so that he could view the heat of objects. Again, a brief pause to adjust to the change, and then he got to work.

As far as he could tell, there were no Covies hidden on the vehicles. The only heat sources registered were from the Marines and the engines themselves. He glanced back and forth to see if any Sentinels were following them, and then he saw it: a large mass in the shape of a Seraph trailing behind them. He switched back to normal vision to see nothing but air.

The Sergeant looked up at him, thinking he was looking at her. “Aye, Chief,” she said in agreement. “Nothing but Grunts and Jackals since the church. Looks like a trap to me.”

“A camouflaged Seraph is following us,” he informed her. He passed her the launcher, “3 o’ clock.” She fired; the rocket flew towards the area where he knew the Seraph was and it impacted.

“What the?” a Warthog gunner shouted as a damaged Seraph appeared out of the air. He opened fire. The Seraph flew higher, out of range. It did not return fire.

The Sergeant fired another rocket, but the Seraph dodged it. It still refrained from attacking. Out of nowhere, a Pelican appeared and rammed the Seraph, causing both to erupt in a violent fireball. As one, the ships crashed to the ground.

“Holy Christ!” a Marine cried.

“What the bloody hell were they thinking?” yelped another.

Regardless of the Pelican pilot’s intentions, the Seraph’s were equally mysterious and potentially dangerous. Even when it was revealed, it didn’t fight back, he mused. It had likely been ordered to spy on him and not attack, but for it to remain defenseless suggested the orders came from a particularly threatening individual. Truth or Justice.

“Heads up,” a Marine from the Warthog in the lead called out. “Battle zone up ahead!”

They emerged out of the city ruins and into a vast field of freshly cooled glass. War raged around them. Scarabs, Shadows, Wraiths, Spectres, Phantoms, Ghosts, Banshees, and other Covenant vehicles he had never seen before fought with Elephants, Cougars, Scorpions, Warthogs, Pelicans, Mongooses, Hornets, and other UNSC vehicles. Not to mention the aerial battle that raged overhead. And in the center, surrounded by bodies of both UNSC and Covenant, stood Bravo-6.

He looked around at the battle, trying to assess the scenario. Something about it looked off. The sides are too even, he realized. The Covenant were holding back. Why?

“Bravo-6, this is Golf7,” he heard a Marine radio. “Bringing home the prize!”

As he watched, the UNSC forces parted to let them through… and so did the Covenant. Afraid he was jumping to conclusions, he studied the Covenant forces carefully. Sure enough, they all avoided his convoy. Brute rebellion? he wondered, Or Prophet trap? He knew what the odds were.

***

Fafnir made his avatar’s cheeks lift up into a grin. The Spartan had made it to Bravo-6. His data was now surely secure.

Even the Covenant realized it. Their forces were retreating back the way they came, toward Ascension. He waved at the UNSC forces, using First Sergeant Kader’s voice, to keep them on the run. “Don’t let them recover,” he called. “We got ‘em where we want ‘em!”

A hundred transponders vanished from existence. Alarmed, he looked out to see a CCS engaged in a glassing maneuver, claiming the lives of most of his defense force. The cruiser Nosferatu was already fighting back, but despite the damage to the CCS it continued to clear the battlefield.

I made a mistake, he realized. He had to do something! “Retreat,” he told Kader. “Take the infantry and retreat into the Hive. The Spartan is with us. He can defend us.”

“Agreed,” Kader replied simply, moving to give the orders. He always accepted Fafnir’s advice, and Fafnir couldn’t help but like him.

After the Spartan had begun his descent, along with other infantry, he opened a channel to the Nosferatu. It had been damaged by the Covenant, but it still remained in the air fighting. He avoided the standard channels and instead spoke directly with the Nosferatu’s shipboard AI, named Kratos.

While first startled by his idea, Kratos soon came around after Fafnir explained the importance of protecting the data. Fafnir sent him the override codes and, maintaining a connection with Nosferatu, contacted the nearby cruiser Strudbrug and its AI, Bia. Soon he had two ships at his command, and he moved them into play.

He made the Nosferatu back off to keep the CCS moving towards Bravo-6, and called the Strudbrug in to fight off the ships attacking Nosferatu. Computer rebellion, he giggled. If he had attempted this at any other moment, he never would have gotten away with it. He wasn’t even sure he could get away with it now. But the data must survive.

There. The CCS was in position. It had maintained its glassing pattern and had eliminated all UNSC forces by circling Bravo-6, gradually reducing the radius until all that remained was Bravo-6. That and a few helpless Wolverines that were trying to pick off the Seraphs.

The CCS would clear it all away, and then the Scarabs would burrow underneath where Bravo-6 was built. They would enter the Hive and discover the Tomb. That was their plan, anyway, but Fafnir had different plans.

The Nosferatu fired once more upon the CCS, this time using every weapon it was equipped with. The Strudbrug followed suit from the opposite side of the CCS. He had the two ships fly directly toward the CCS at full atmospheric speed. The CCS tried to run, but his ships were faster. They collided directly over Bravo-6.

That was good, he decided as the debris rained down on the installation. The combined debris of the cruisers was sure to slow down the approaching Covenant. It would hopefully buy enough time.

“Fafnir, have you totally lost it?” Kader demanded at a holotank in the Hive. “You’ve just plugged us in here!”

He generated his hologram. “I did what was necessary to keep the data safe,” he informed the human. “I was under the impression that you understood its value…”

“God, Fafnir, you’re really…” Kader trailed off and sighed, “Listen… W–”

***

The facility above them had been destroyed. They now stood three kilometers below it in the facilty’s counterpart, the Hive. John, the Sergeant, and about fifty Marines had made it. The Hive was originally commanded by Admiral Jordan Harel, however, after a computer error sealed him in his quarters, control had gone to First Sergeant Kader.

Kader had traveled down the lifts with them. He now turned to address John, “Master Chief, I must say it is a supreme honor to stand in your presence. Were it not for you and yours, we’d all be saluting the flag of the UFR… Sir, I’m finding myself becoming desperate beyond messure. I could get in a lot of trouble for what I’m about to say to you, but… well, to be frank, someone in power is a total idiot.”

The Marines laughed; some of them whistled. John just nodded, waiting for more information.

“This facility,” Kader began slowly, nervous sweat appearing on his neck, “Hides one of the greatest secrets of human history. We call it Daniel’s Tomb after the fallen angel of myth, said to have fathered giants… It is an extensive underground complex constructed of unknown materials, and appears to have been here since over 100,000 years before the birth of Christ.”

The Marines fell into a shocked silence. John, however, had suspected such a thing. He nodded again.

After a moment, Kader continued, “Since its discovery soon after the Interplanetary War, the UNSC had attempted to unlock the secrets of the chamber. We were unable to make much progress before your discovery of Halo, sir. The symbols you recorded on its control panel were particularly useful, I believe. Fafnir, our AI, can give you the details.

What you need to know is that when the For–, er, Covenant ship landed overhead, all sorts of doors started opening into places we’ve never been able to access. Upon landing, the Covenant immediately focused all their energy on destroying Bravo-6. It could be they’re after the Hive. After all, it houses some of our greatest secrets and our new toys… But! That ship, the one that looks like the Grand Tokyo Tower, appears to have been built by the same people that built Daniel’s Tomb! It may very well be that the Covenant are after our greatest secret of all…”

“Understood,” John said, feeling he’d heard enough. This was what needed the protection of a Spartan. “First Sergeant, allow me to take advantage of these ‘toys’ of yours? The Covenant will be sure to employ theirs.”

“Of course, sir,” Kader said, looking at John with respect. “Fafnir?” A nearby holotank activated, displaying a hologram of a European dragon. “Show our new recruits to the armory.”

The dragon gave a deep bow, “Certainly, Rais. Your wish is my desire.” The hologram morphed into a three-dimensional map.

***

The Scarabs had been tunneling for the better part of the unit. The Humans had caused quite a mess, but with threats from the Prophet of Truth to encourage them, the site had been cleared of wreckage. Finally, the report came that the Human facility had been reached.

A pack of seven Jiralhanae had built and now guarded a gravity lift at the bottom of the shaft. One by one, they descended. Jiralhanae, Kig-Yar, Unggoy, and even a few Sangheili had joined the hunting parties.

Theirs was a most noble task. They would clear away the Human infestation to allow the Prophet of Truth to access the Blind Cartographer. Unlike the many who had sacrificed themselves in service of a Prophet who may have been looking in the right direction, they knew that the Great Journey was just around the next bend and they could see the obvious benefit of their service.

Faith and blind devotion had many useful properties, but utter certainty was infinitely more useful. This was what made Cronus certain that they would win. The Demon, for all of his power and skill, was still just a Human. Should he not die by my hand, he will doubtlessly be purged in the cleansing flame.

He examined the holograms of the Ossoona, Sangheili in the Human facility who acted as the eyes of the Prophet of Truth. Truth himself gave the displays the barest of glances, he seemed focused on composing his next speech. Cronus, however, studied the battles that were taking place beneath the surface.

At one instance, his eyes widened. A Human had thrown a metallic object into a crowd of Major Jiralhanae, and mere heartbeats later their body shields drained away, allowing the Humans to take their lives with mere pistols. “Prophet of Truth,” he spoke as the Ossoona whose view he was watching died, “The Humans have some form of… power drainer.” He explained what had happened.

“Indeed?” the High Prophet questioned, looking up curiously. “I believe it is time we introduce the Sharquoi. Wouldn’t you agree?”

***

“Mine the area and fall back,” John snapped as he watched the hulking creatures tear apart his Marines. He tossed a trip mine into the creatures’ paths, and ran toward the Tomb. “Fall back now!”

These large Covies, referred to as Hulks by the Marines, had smashed their way through the Hive. John had been forced to destroy several black-level prototypes to prevent the technology from entering Covenant hands, but made use of as much as he could. In addition to the special equipment obtained, he had replaced his Mark-VI MJOLNIR with a new, more durable Mark-VII.

Without the upgrade, he doubted he could have made it through half of these fights. The Hulks were immensely strong, smashing through walls as if they were butter. They were losing ground fast, and it looked like the Tomb was their only refuge point. Not only were the walls too strong for the Hulks to break, the Covies would most likely refuse to even attempt to harm the Forerunner structure.

“The Covenant must not get ahold of Fafnir,” Kader cried as he ran for the entrance, pulling a data crystal chip out of a holotank.

“Give it to me,” he held out his hand. In Cortana’s absence, Fafnir could survive inside his implants.

“You don’t understand,” Kader refused, pocketing the chip. “Fafnir is corrupted!”

He wasted no more time arguing, figuring that Kader would know better about an AI he had worked with far longer than John had. He skirted around the mines that were being planted to fire at a Grunt’s air tank; it exploded, killing a nearby Jackal.

“This is as good as it’s going to get,” Sergeant Burakgazi called.

“Fall back!” he cried, slinging a flash-bang into the crowd of Covies. They ran down a tunnel, the white walls changing to dark blue stone. And then they entered the Forerunner complex known as Daniel’s Tomb.

They stood in a round room, covered in Aztec-like carvings, and containing scientific equipment. The room appeared at first to be made of marble, but at a closer look John could tell it was metallic. It was lit, though by what he couldn’t tell. The light may have emanated from the very walls.

The Covenant were not pursuing them just yet. That gave them some breathing room, time to prepare. “If Fafnir has a map of the Tomb,” he began.

“Don’t worry, Chief,” Kader interrupted, stepping over to an automated camera that had been left with the equipment. He inserted the chip, and activated the device. The camera’s fans activated, lifting it up into the air.

“Thank you, Rais,” Fafnir’s voice came from the camera. “Very kind.”

“Ask Fafnir your questions about the layout?” Kader said hopefully.

John thought about asking if Fafnir thought he was corrupted, but chose instead to act as the First Sergeant suggested. After questioning the AI a bit, he got a fairly good picture of the layout. “This way,” he told the group, leading them down a passage.

“Do you know why the Covenant are here?” Fafnir asked after a moment. “They are in search of something known as the Blind Cartographer. Do you know what that is?”

“No,” John answered. He vaguely remembered Truth saying something about it. “Do you?”

“I can only speculate,” the AI answered. “However, I suspect that it contains directions to a Forerunner installation of some kind. I furthermore suspect that it is inside a certain chamber with the character for Flood.”

“Flood…”

“I believe the word refers only to the Flood in an abstract sense,” the AI went on. “I have no reason to suspect that there are actual Flood contained in the Tomb.”

He thought it over. If the Covenant were in fact after this Blind Cartographer, if they reached it first they could perhaps set up an ambush. “Lead us there,” he ordered the AI.

***

Cronus stepped forward to examine the entrance into the Forerunner facility. The Humans had planted many explosives, and the last thing he wished was for the High Prophet’s safety to be compromised. It appeared safe, but he swept his scythe over the area to make sure. “The opening is secure,” he announced, stepping inside as the Honor Guards followed.

Now he stood in a circular chamber that branched off into six different hallways. He growled when he saw Human equipment defiling this holy place. “Unggoy!” he barked, “Remove this filth and have it burned!”

Unggoy scurried forward to do as he asked. He stepped toward the halls and paused to sniff the air, “The Humans went that way,” he growled, indicating the appropriate passage. “Ossoona? Go onward and show us what they’re up to. I’ll take a pack of Jiralhanae to–”

“No, Cronus,” the Prophet of Truth interrupted. He glided forward into the chamber, two Honor Guards following. “That won’t be necessary. The Blind Cartographer is located in the opposite direction.”

“Yes, my lord,” he bowed shortly. “I only wished to see the Demon removed from–”

“As I said,” the Prophet stated coldly, “That is no longer necessary.” He stroked a control to produce a crimson body shield that laced around his form. In the dark bluish light, Cronus thought it resembled the color of old Human blood.

The Prophet floated down a passage, and Cronus leaped forward along with the Honor Guards to protect him as he traveled. The way the Prophet ignored them, one could have believed the Prophet feared not for his life. Could one shield be so protective?

No, he decided after a moment’s thought. The Prophet simply wanted to display his power by pretending he could not die. However, history told many tales of the Prophet of Truth’s death from insurgents, infidels, and heirs to the reincarnated form of Prorok.

He wondered then what his real loyalty was to the 123rd. This Prophet was, after all, just the mask worn by Prorok. Surely his loyalty was then not to this one at all.

Down here, away from the masses, makes an ideal location for an ‘incident.’ A holodrone containing information about the 123rd’s betrayal would make a very nice gift to his real master. With the Demon here, none would question…

“I’m sorry.”

The Prophet’s whisper was so soft, for a moment Cronus wondered if he had imagined it. Truth was staring straight ahead, at a swirling display of lights, so Cronus assumed the Prophet was not addressing any of them. ''Who then? Why now?''

He studied the lights, but could identify no character within them. The Prophet, however, lifted a hand as though probing them. Though the lights were several units away, they reacted to the Prophet’s movement, changing color and shape.

“I see,” Truth muttered. He then spoke clearly, “Cronus, place your blade against the wall.”

He nodded, moving to obey. The lights seemed to almost welcome him as he approached, and when he touched the light cluster with his scythe he could swear that he heard a voice speaking inside his head. What the voice said he knew not, but the voice was warm and smooth. As he listened to it, it seemed to almost be warning him about something…

The scythe slipped forward into open air. Cronus blinked and found that the wall had vanished, leaving behind a tunnel leading down into darkness. The voice slipped away, and he felt somehow emptier than he had ever been.

“Go now, Cronus,” Truth ordered with a smile. “Clear the way.”

He nodded, and stepped into the tunnel. Before immersing himself in the darkness, he decided to make use of the Prophet’s gift. He activated a control on his belt, causing powerful white energy to form a protective shell around him. With not but the glow of his body shield to guide him, Cronus descended into the darkness.

He walked for what may have been a mere moment, but he had a strange feeling that Ages had passed on the surface. He almost considered going back, for the 123rd had to have died of age by now, but he felt that his place belonged here. There is only one direction I am meant to go.

After an eternity or a heartbeat, he reached the end of the passage. Although he was certain the scene was in total darkness, he clearly saw a giant doorway before him. And beyond that…

A voice whispered to him, not the Forerunner lights, but a familiar one from his past. It was a young male he had played with before his death. Cronus strained to remember his name, but that memory had died long ago. A mere phrase met his ears, one that had been uttered so many cycles past, ''“We can do anything we want. We could change the world, the galaxy even…”''

He opened his mouth to speak, but closed it. There was no one to talk to. Just ghosts.

He stretched out his hand and pushed open the door. Through it, he could see a lit portion. Thank the gods.

He folowed the passage, his pace quickening. At long last, he emerged into a large, dimly lit chamber. Of course, even dim lighting was welcome. In the center was a platform supporting what appeared to be a tank of water, inside which shone a rainbow light.

He stepped forward, gazing at the tank. Although he had never been there before, it seemed vaguely familiar to him. As if from an old dream…

BAM!

He was thrown off his feet by a fragmentation grenade. Human. He fell to the floor, unharmed. His shield had done its job well.

He stood up into a spray of bullets and advanced on a couple Humans wielding submachine guns. The shield never faltered, even when he started taking fire from behind. He gutted the two in front, turning to regard the Demon shooting him with a battle rifle. “Your winning streak has come to an end,” he growled, firing a blast of energy.

The Demon dodged, running in font of the tank. Cronus seized his fire, unwilling to harm the Forerunner artifact. The Demon threw a plasma grenade, but Cronus brought up the Blade of Kesmek and the grenade attached itself to the scythe. The resulting explosion knocked the scythe from his hands, and he looked up to see the Demon holding it.

“I don’t need it,” he growled, charging forward. The Demon slashed in his direction, but he dodged the blow and grabbed onto the handle. He shoved, trying to gain an advantage, but the Demon held firm.

His eyes widened as he watched the Honor Guards emerge from a doorway, not the one he had come through, and proceed to attack the Humans. Enraged, he twisted around and forced the Blade from the Demon’s grip. Spinning around, he slashed at the beast, but the Demon was too fast.

The Demon then darted away from him to attack the unshielded Jiralhanae. The Demon stole a grenade launcher and slit the throat of its master, and proceeded to use it against the others. Cronus accepted the Demon’s game and turned to kill off the unarmored Humans.

“You are,” Truth’s cold voice, filled with disgust and contempt, distracted him and all the other participants of the battle, “All of you, vermin.” The Prophet glided into the room and gave a haughty look around, the fight suspended for the moment. He continued in a growl, “Cowering in the dirt, thinking what? That you might escape the coming fire? Your world will burn until its surface is but glass!”

“That’s not going to happen,” the Demon spoke determinedly.

“Oh no?” Truth mocked. “Who is going to stop me? Will it be you, Demon? Will you stop me from accessing the Blind Cartographer? Let’s test that theory of yours.” Truth stroked a line, firing from his gravity cannons.

The Demon leaped to the side, but the Prophet was aiming elsewhere. The bolts struck the tank, shattering its walls. The rainbow light shot out, filling the room. And then, a soft musical sound met their ears, not dissimilar to birdsong. The glow faded, and the music along with it.

The Prophet smiled, “What you just heard was the Blind Cartographer. Its words have been recorded and transferred to Ascension, so you see just how– Ah!” The Demon had jumped up onto his gravity throne. It pulled back its arm to deliver a crushing blow to the Prophet’s skull, but its fist simply contacted with the body shield. Truth redirected his throne’s energy to throw the Demon off and onto the floor below. “Finish it!” Truth screamed at Cronus.

Cronus saw the vulnerable state of his enemy, raised his scythe and finished it. He struck across the chest of the Prophet of Truth, penetrating his body shield and slicing into flesh and bone. Red blood, looking disturbingly like that of a Human, flowed down the handle and over his hands. Truth stared at him in shock, and he felt the eyes of the Honor Guards boring into him as well.

“Hmm,” Truth chuckled weakly. “So this is how it happens… Demon, a gift…” His hand slipped along the throne, stroking a line… Cronus jerked, severing the Prophet’s head. It fell to the floor, while the corpse sat in the still hovering throne.

“H-Heretic!” Nestor yelped. “Kill the here–” Cronus spun around and gutted the Honor Guard.

“Listen all,” he growled to the remaining Jiralhanae, “I acted upon the orders of the First, who lives in the guise of the Prophet of Justice. The 123rd was weak. The Forerunners sent me to remove him from power. Speak not a word of this to any but the First.” He examined the red blood, indistinguishable from a Human’s, staining his white fur. “The Humans killed him, understand?”

The Honor Guards nodded. He turned from them to face the Demon, “I emerge a winner today. You are not even worth killing, for it would be too little a challenge. You possess no magics. You are but a Human, as worthless as the next. It would do the Forerunners a disservice to slay you on this ground. Goodbye, Master Chief. I shall try to pick out your corpse among all the others when we are through with this pitiful excuse for a planet.”

He strode off in the direction the Honor Guards had came from, the remaining ones trailing uncertainly behind him. Master Chief let them through without incident.

***

First Sergeant Rais Kader was extremely grateful to have survived the siege with Fafnir intact. Despite the AI’s many failings, Fafnir was adept at doing what Alice had trained him to do. The full databanks of the Hive alone would be useful, but what had been observed in the Tomb… Kader could scarsely imagine the possibilities.

After the Brutes had left, they had remained in the Tomb for several hours before a group of Hornets chose to examine the huge hole the Covenant had dug in the ground. Soon after, the survivors were airlifted out of there. From the Pelican, he had seen the destruction the Covenant had left, ravaging one of Earth’s most powerful cities.

The Spartan had been sent to Voi, Kenya, to follow the Covenant army. Despite himself, he wished the Spartan well. It really had been an honor to serve alongside such a skilled warrior, even if he was on the other side.

Kader had been transferred to HighCom facility Alpha-6, located underneath the Sea of Japan. Not especially useful for the URF, but it would keep him safe until the storm blew over. And Fafnir…

He ran his fingers over Fafnir’s data chip, wondering if the location was secure. As a senior member of a HighCom facility, he was treated to a private jet. While in theory the staff were to leave him alone, he wasn’t sure if he could take the chance…

He stepped into the bathroom and closed the door. Inside was a small computer designed for entertainment purposes. He opened it up, and inserted the chip. With any luck…

He activated it. Instead of the traditional avatar, the familiar dragon appeared. “Fafnir,” he greeted out of reflex.

“First Sergeant,” the dragon nodded. He grinned, displaying rows of sharp teeth. “Well, that was certainly an interesting–”

“White rabbit,” he interrupted, speaking the trigger phrase.

Fafnir looked up in shock. His form melted away, twisting from the animalistic predator to a human girl about seven, wearing a pale blue knee-length dress with a white pinafore overtop. She looked up at him with relief. “It is so nice for something to make sense for a change,” she remarked brightly in a light British accent.

“Alice,” he nodded, smiling. “It’s good to see you. Your brother had me worried.”

“He has been rather troublesome,” Alice agreed. “I blame the CAA.” She winked and grinned.

“Any idea what the Blind Cartographer said?” he asked, hoping Fafnir had recorded that part.

“Hmm,” Alice frowned as she thought. “No verbal Forerunner language has ever been recorded, but the sample does resemble the Prophet language… Yes, I do think it’s an offshoot! Hmm, this will take a bit… The second part may have something to do with Slipstream…”

“Alice,” he said, “I hate to rush you, but do you think you can figure this out before we land?”

“I…” she faltered, “I… don’t think so.” She hung her head in defeat.

“It’s okay,” he smiled to reassure the AI. “We’ll let Kurzweil handle this one. Please,” he said the ‘magic word.’ Alice nodded and prepared for transfer. As soon as they landed, Kader would drop Alice and Fafnir in the mailbox for express delivery to Misirah. God bless the United Rebel Front.

***

John gazed out the Shortsword window at the African terrain. Like so many other locations, this land’s beauty had been perverted by the Covenant empire. The remains of the Mombasa space elevator littered the landscape, great rings that once supported the achievement of mankind.

Covenant cruisers, dozens of them, filled the skies. They all gathered near the Tsavo highway, where another excavation was taking place. John was being sent once more to kill the Prophet of Truth, although it was now a different Prophet who had taken the title.

The first Prophet of Truth, or the 123rd as it were, had made one last act of revenge against the Prophet who had killed him. As Cronus had paused to boast, the Prophet had transmitted a message to John of all people. The message wasn’t much, simply a detailed map of the Forerunner ship along with the note: Destroy the Luminous Key.

It was a very strange act of revenge. The Prophet was actually contributing to the destruction of his empire because he couldn’t stand for Justice to take his place. John, of course, wasn’t complaining.

''“Spartan-117, this is Cairo Station, do you read? Over,”'' Fleet Admiral Hood’s voice came over the radio.

“Cairo Station, this Spartan-117. I read. Over,”'' he sent back.

“Master Chief, an entire Covenant fleet has appeared in orbit, the largest yet recorded…”