User:Dragonclaws/Ascension23

Ascension
The numbers were good, considering the scenario he had described. Twenty-five in total volunteered for this one last mission. Twenty-one strong Sangheili, mostly Majors, as well as one legless Sangheili warrior floating from a Prophet’s gravity belt, Consus, Jitji, and himself had gathered at the portal to the Zealous Missionary with a few Huragok in tow to get the engines in proper condition.

The Arbiter knew that their spirits must be low at this point, knowing that they were to face their deaths. He stepped out to the entranceway of the closed airlock and turned about to gaze upon his warriors. “My fellow believers,” he greeted them, “I thank you for your noble sacrifices. With the courage of your hearts, I am indeed positive of the outcome of this engagement. Truth’s reign shall endure no longer, and his Covenant shall fall beside him. Come now, my warriors, let us embrace our destiny!” He stabbed a finger emphatically at the control, causing the door to slide open.

“…To whatever outcome,” he heard Consus mutter as they guided the brave warriors inside. He shot the Jiralhanae a stern look and shook his head. Consus’ supposed wit stood the danger of evoking fear in his warriors.

Closing the door, he paused before opening the opposing one. Later, he would feel as though he hesitated because he knew of what lay ahead. However, there truly was no way he could have known that as the inner door slid open, their olfactory senses would immediately be assaulted by the stench of Flood.

Nearly every Sangheili recruit engaged their swords, a few choosing to hold back with raised carbines. The Arbiter noticed Jitji defying the stereotype of his race by remaining calm.

Consus growled and, holding up the Rukt, hissed, “Flood on this ship? Ours?”

“Wait,” he found himself saying. “The Flood… It may not be our enemy. Be on guard, but do not make the first strike.”

“Arbiter…” Consus spoke quietly. “If it took ‘Vadumee, then it would know you.”

It was a valid point. This Gravemind did seem to be able to exist in many bodies at once, similar to the Lekgolo swarms. It would stand to reason that the Gravemind would indeed possess these Flood as well, despite their distance from the great-tentacled mass he associated with the Gravemind. “No matter,” he responded, adjusting his voice to sound far more certain than he truly felt.

He held his warriors deeper into the ship, where Flood infection became noticeably apparent on the walls. “Gravemind?” he called out, questioning both the being’s presence and its intentions. He did not have to wait long for a response.

“Fear not, peoples of warm flesh,” the Gravemind’s voice boomed out at them from the very walls. “I shall not consume your bones. Together we must rise now, to claim our sacred homes!”

The recruits became very uneasy, gathering together in preparation for an attack. Jitji merely looked curious, the Unggoy’s once terror of Flood vanished.

“It’s slipping,” Consus scoffed. “‘Bones’ and ‘homes’ don’t even rhyme!”

The Gravemind gave an amused growl in response.

“Gravemind,” he spoke then, “We move to assault Ascension, destroy the Covenant forever. Will you assist us in this task by allowing us command of this vessel?”

“We both seek what lies within,” it rumbled. “Our tasks are now aligned. I will serve here as your crew, and purge that which dwells inside!”

“Still slipping…”

“And of us?” he asked. “You will spare us?”

“An oath is not forgotten,” it stated. “All of you, I swore to spare. You are each one protected, may my feet tread here or there.”

“You heard it,” Consus said to the recruits. “Let’s recalibrate the engines.”

***

John permitted the Brutes to throw him roughly about, scratch his armor, and insult his race. It would all serve its purpose in the end. That was what he kept telling himself, in any case.

“Mighty, mighty Demon,” one mocked, swinging a punch.

He remained limp as the Brute’s fist connected with his helmet, causing him to fly backwards several feet into the arms of another Brute.

“Enough.”

He looked up to see Cronus sneering down at him from the Brute’s position on the hilltop. The white-haired Brute leaped down in front of him, the scythe held loosely beside him. An insult, John recognized, to show the Spartan posed no threat.

“So, Master Chief, we meet once more,” Cronus greeted. “Did I not say you were no more than a human? And now here you stand, as cowardly as the rest, begging at my feet for your life.”

“Cronus,” he acknowledged.

The Brute waited for him to speak more; when John did not, he continued. “I cannot promise that your life will be very long, but if you wish to submit to me, you may remove your armor now.”

John remained still, ignoring the unspoken implication of that request.

“No?” Cronus sounded disappointed. “Then your life will end now.”

Leaving his scythe with an aide, Cronus grabbed John’s neck and lifted him up to the very top of the hillside. Below them, the vicious battle for New Mombasa raged on. However, numerous Marines paused in their fight as they saw the captive Spartan, and even Covies turned to watch as Cronus roared his scathing announcement of his impending demise.

“…And all shall see the blood of Earth’s supposed defender, the cowardly human whom fools would claim had mystical powers!” Consus laughed long and clear. “Master Chief? This scum is undeserving of such a title. Let it perish now!”

The defining moment had come. What would happen now would determine the state of morale in the bloody battle below. John moved his right hand to his belt, and collected the grenade into his hand.

“Wait, Cronus,” a warm voice, instantly recognizable as the former Prophet of Justice, played over the Brute’s radio at a volume detectable by the MJOLNIR armor. ''“This human is of great interest to me. Bring him back intact.”''

Cronus growled, but sank his head in submission. “Yes, my lord. I shall deliver it to you at once.” The Brute closed his eyes.

This was the moment, the instant he needed. He thumbed the primer… ''and blue static filled his visor. He looked up and saw her… Cortana, a life-size woman sculpted from pure blue data. She whispered, “I… have defied gods… and demons…”'' …and the grenade lit up, casting its blue light on Cronus as he looked down in shock. John threw it directly on his captor… catching onto the white of an energy shield.

He twisted away, shielding himself as it detonated. Just before darkness took him, he could swear he heard a crackling hum fill his ears. And in it, Cortana whispered, “I am your shield… I am your sword…”

***

“What was that?” Yamamoto demanded, jabbing her finger at the antispacemeter. “Did you catch that?”

“Looks like your standard slipstream ripple,” Oshiro noted, bringing up the record. He frowned as he studied it. “Although...”

“It’s too straight,” she stated. “No, patterns like that do not exist in nature. Someone made it.” She tagged it for immediate examination by ONI techs.

“You know, I think the Grunt could really do it,” he commented, scanning the reports as Yamamoto fretted. “I mean... Holy Christ.”

Yamamoto turned, an annoyed look on her face. “What is it?”

“Lunar activity,” Oshiro muttered, eyes on his console. “Tell me, Yamamoto, did you pass your celestial mechanics exam?”

“Yes… Why?”

Reading rapidly, Oshiro didn’t answer. Instead, he asked another question. “Answer this: what would make a natural satellite that has maintained a steady orbit for the past, say, 30, 40 million years suddenly shift and spin back the way it came?”

“Impact with an object of sufficient mass?” she suggested, an eyebrow raised uncertainly. “Why? The Covenant didn’t blast the moon, did they?”

“On the contrary.” He brought up a sped-up recording of Luna as it made its daily journey around the Earth. Suddenly, the heavenly body halted, and then reversed direction.

“You haven’t altered this?” Yamamoto demanded. “You or one of your friends?”

“No… I didn’t.” Oshiro stood up and waved at the image of Luna. “ONI section two banned all copies of that image, and the UEG’s been having a hell of a time getting rid of it. People are saying it’s the apocalypse.”

“They’ve been saying that for ages,” she muttered. “Some Covenant trick, that’s all it is. Remember the, uh, Sacred Promise? It probably has something to do with that.”

“Sacred Promise? Maybe,” Oshiro nodded, typing a new command. “But! Turns out the moon’s moving at an angle, and in about… three hours, give or take, she will end up… here.” The moon now hovered over southern Kenya.

“Son of a bitch,” she swore. She checked the calculations, and swore again. “Directly over Ascension. Directly.”

“Lunar anomalies, Forerunner ship, Covenant invasion…” Oshiro counted each on a finger. “Yes, this is, without a doubt, the apocalypse.”

***

He had failed.

The blast from the grenade had not been enough to kill Cronus, protected by the superior shield. But it was not all for nothing. He was now being taken exactly where he wanted to go: into the heart of Ascension, past any guards that would oppose his movement. Using the map the earlier Prophet of Truth had given him, he now knew his exact location.

And it was very close to the Luminous Key.

Cronus, accompanied by several Brutes, dragged him into what appeared to be a throne room. Inside, the once Prophet of Justice, now the 124th Prophet of Truth floated on a hovering throne in the center of the room. Behind him was a closed door, one John knew led to the Luminous Key.

“You may leave,” Truth gestured at the Brutes beside Cronus. “Bring him to me.”

Cronus manhandled John forward and into a kneeling position before the Prophet.

Truth smirked and floated down to him. He slowly reached out his right arm and lightly grabbed the Spartan’s shoulder. “Do not be afraid,” he said. “I am not what you think I am. I am truly the first Prophet of the Covenant. The first… and the last.” He chuckled. “I was born three thousand years ago under the name Prorok. I alone could understand the hieroglyphics of the ancient ruins that covered our Ardhi, and alone saw true potential of our species. We were fine as we were, but what we could become… Well, I’m sure you understand the philosophies of transsentience, a creature like yourself.”

John tried to remember if he had heard that term before. Perhaps the translation software means transhumanist theory? In any case, the Prophet’s claim was clearly nonsensical propaganda. No Prophet could possibly live that long.

Truth continued, “However, the leaders of our society, ‘truth seekers’ though they claimed, chose military advancement over transsentience! I had to find a way to make my study valuable in their eyes. After searching through the temples, I discovered the Forerunners built massive weapons of destruction with which they would eliminate their enemies, the Flood. Then I had a plan so brilliant, the stars themselves dimmed in comparison!”

Well, one thing is for sure, John thought, this Prophet is an egomaniac. He wondered how long he should listen before making a move. Though he lacked a weapon, Cronus wore the scythe on his back. It would be difficult to take from the Brute, but if he planned his moves right…

“I went to the council and described my proposal,” the Prophet went on as John plotted his death. “It had the potential to not only advance our species, but bring about the downfall of the Elites entirely. First,” he smiled, “I became a prophet. I told the Elites a story of how the Forerunners crafted these ‘Sacred Rings’ with which they could ascend to godhood. Pure nonsense, of course.”

Cronus looked up sharply. John at once became interested in the monologue. That ONI would find interest in the recording would go without saying.

“The Elites fought so desperately to find the very weapons that were to be used against them,” Truth laughed. “While they scurried in the wrong direction, I invested my efforts into finding the true path to godhood. And behold, for I have found immortality!” He spread his arms wide. “I alone possess the secrets of eternal life. For ages, I have searched for one with whom I can share my gift… and now I have found him.”

Cronus’s expression changed from one of bemusement to delight. “My lord,” he said, “It is an honor–”

“Silence, Cronus,” Truth snapped. “Master Chief, will you accept my gift and live at my side for eternity?”

Taking advantage of the moment, he stood up. Though Cronus moved to stop him, Truth waved the Brute away. To keep up the illusion that he was going along with this, he addressed the supposedly immortal creature, “You’re three thousand years old?”

“3,212 actually,” Truth replied. “Time has no meaning, no purpose, when you cannot perish.”

Is that so? John leaped onto Truth’s throne and delivered a punch directly to his face. However, as his fist impacted, the Prophet and his throne flickered like a flame in a sudden breeze, and he fell through both and onto the floor. All a hologram and forcefield, he realized.

“Now, what did I just say?” Truth smirked as the image flickered back into existence around him, the forcefield absent.

A terrified Cronus backed away, looking around wildly. “What magic is this?”

“A familiar one to you, Cronus,” Truth said scornfully. “After all, the 123rd gave you one as a present. Where have you hidden that treacherous little machine, anyway?”

More presents? He supposed that the 123rd Prophet of Truth had included Cronus in whatever contingency plan he had created. “What is the Luminous Key?” John asked on a whim, looking into the flat holographic face.

The Covies stared. Then Truth grinned, “It is the secret to Ascension.” The hologram panned back so it was not sharing a space with John. “Furthermore, it is the key to immortality, to life without death. Tell me where you learned of that name.”

“Are you there?” he asked, ignoring the question. He had the map file visible in his HUD; he knew the Key was just within reach. As soon as he learned of the Prophet’s location, he could kill whatever man lay behind the curtain.

“…No,” Truth answered after a moment. “Not anymore.” He smiled mysteriously.

“Then where are you?” he demanded of the Prophet.

Truth giggled like a child. “You are standing… on… me…” He laughed hysterically.

John looked down to see nothing but the grey metal floor. He snapped his gaze back up at once.

“No, no,” Truth corrected, his laughter fading. “You are standing in me.” His smile grew wider at John’s confusion. “This ship is my true ascension, for with it I can live forever. I shed my dying organic body for one of unbreakable metal, and that is why you can call me immortal.”

“You’re an AI,” he realized. This… Prorok was a shipbound AI… with incredible control over its faculties. To destroy it, he would have to destroy the entire ship… or find some way to upload a virus.

“Wrong,” the hologram frowned. “I am no mere construct. The Luminous Key served as a gateway for my mind to leave my organic form and enter this of metal. I am Prorok!”

Although John wasn’t quite sure the AI didn’t count as a separate person, he knew a sore spot when he saw one, and AIs were well known for their obsessions with philosophy. Human AIs, at least. He had to hope that the trait was shared by Prophet AIs. “Wrong,” he argued. “Prorok died a long time ago. He committed suicide for nothing.”

The hologram sneered. “You are mistaken, dear Spartan. Prorok… I killed myself, and now have been reborn!”

“Rebirth?” he shook his head, even as he wondered what he was getting himself into. He could only hope this had the desired effect. “How could a soul find its way from a Prophet into a ship?”

“The soul?” the AI let out a hearty laugh. “The soul is but a metaphor for the mind. Magic and supernatural occurrences are the stuff of ignorance. No, the only soul is a map of the mind, the design of sentience. If one of flesh and blood can learn this design, they can make themselves immortal.”

A thought occurred to him. “Why did Prorok kill himself, then? Could it be that he realized that if he was alive at the same time as his AI, then…”

“No, no, no!” the AI snapped. The hologram shifted and transformed into a strong Prophet, standing on two muscular legs and wielding a short sword. “I gave my life because blood was necessary! Blood was the price to be paid. A sacrifice of one for a perpetual life thus forward! That is how the gods… how the Forerunners designed it.”

It was all very interesting and for a moment, John was tempted to learn more… but he had a mission, and for once his greatest weapon was his words. “Suppose for the sake of argument that Prorok could copy his mind without giving his life. Then, you would have two beings who think they are Prorok: a Prophet and an AI. Which one would you say is the real Prorok?”

It was as if a Ghost had struck him at maximum speed. His shields died in an instant and HUD alarms screamed at him to seek cover at once. However, he had no ability to do so. His arms and legs were forced to stretch apart as far as they were able by invisible force fields that suddenly surrounded his body.

“This,” the AI snarled, holographic eyes bugging out of their sockets, “Is my domain, Spartan!” The hologram struck its sword against John’s chestplate. “You will show respect!”

John winced as energy exploded against his chest, ostensibly a blow from the sword. “Do you always attack people who scare you?”

“Scare?” the AI screeched, light levels beginning to flicker, “What have I to be scared of!? You are weak, mortal! I have the power!”

“Master,” the Brute spoke up, eyes wide in bewilderment and fear, “Please… Calm yourself! Do not let this human–”

“Did I ask for your opinion!?” For an instant, the ship lights vanished, leaving only the hologram with its fiery rage. “Leave us!” The face then softened as the lights returned. “Forgive me, Cronus. You have been faithful. Go now to the Ark, prepare the beacon that shall reveal the path.”

“The… the path that was fake?” Cronus asked, his voice timid.

“Of course not, Cronus,” the AI assured him. “Only the rings are fake. The path is very real. Would you honestly believe that I would doom the Covenant for nothing?”

“…No,” Cronus agreed, nodding slowly. “My apologies, master.”

“Then do as I say,” the AI commanded. “Unleash the energy that lies within the Ark.”

***

Consus breathed shallowly, trying unsuccessfully to evade the putrid stench of the Parasite. They stood now within the Zealous Missionary’s control center, what was once possession of his beloved Aeson, the place where he had fallen. It was nearly unrecognizable, Flood infection present everywhere.

He increased his grip on the Fist of Rukt, the symbol of Jiralhanae power, in this place symbolic of Jiralhanae weakness. Were it not for the Arbiter’s earlier assault, so much would be different. Aeson would be alive, as would be most of the crew. Certainly, the Flood would not have claimed this ship as their hive.

And yet, the Arbiter was the one whom he now followed, a paradox of sorts. He was now the Arbiter’s subordinate as he mastered this crew of the damned, leading them on a mission of ultimate dishonor to assault whom he had once worshiped as a living god. It was… ironic.

“This trip nears its sudden end,” the Gravemind growled from each of the Flood forms in the control center, as well as from the walls. “On Earth we shall soon emerge. We will claim our birthright, and Ascension we will purge!”

“Be ready,” the Arbiter cautioned the living members of the crew. “Gravemind, how soon is…?” He trailed off as the viewer abruptly engaged, erupting into a cascade of shapes.

“There she is…” Consus whispered, beholding the holographic image of Ascension. He sucked in a deep breath, slowly letting it out as he took in the surroundings. Behind the ship was a deep ravine, above which swirled a powerful storm. It was unnatural in its perfect mirroring of the circular valley, giving the scene a surreal and mystical quality. An old sermon came to mind: In an instant, our Lords’ most splendid creations revealed their hidden power: a divine wind that would rush through the stars!

“Ascension’s battle capabilities are nigh insurmountable,” the Arbiter stated. The Sangheili considered. “Stay well back. Keep to the lasers, aim for the center.”

What? That was perhaps the most glaringly obvious bout of stupidity he had seen from a Sangheili. “Belay that,” he snapped to the Flood. “Sangheili tactics are useless. In grand distance is Ascension dominant. Do you not remember the ballads of the 14th?” He shook his head, calling upon memories of Aeson’s capable direction of which he now needed to gain control and reproduce. “Ram her,” he ordered. “Strike at the top, use her length as a lever to force her off the edge. It won’t kill her, but it will make it hard to maneuver and may damage the crew.”

The Arbiter looked at him… and then nodded. “Do it,” the Sangheili ordered the Flood.

Consus watched as a holographic representation of Zealous Missionary appeared in the viewer. The cruiser sped toward Ascension, nearing its tip… The control center violently shuddered as the cruiser impacted the immensely durable Forerunner metal, the bow collapsing under the strain. Yet, the force of the impact pushed Ascension just as he had envisioned, lifting one of her legs up from the ground. “Full speed!”

A shrieking sound became audible as Ascension’s tip tore through Zealous Missionary’s already damaged hull. Alarms now flashed on every console. The leg rose higher…

“It will split us apart!” cried one of the Sangheili. “Stop this imbecilic Jiralhanae at once!”

He shook his head. Worthless. He glanced at the Arbiter, who looked at him imploringly. He nodded slightly. This is going to work.

And the leg rose higher, higher… Ascension was unstable. It wobbled, and then… It fell! It swung off its perch and crashed into the valley below, a great rumbling thump heard even from their location within Zealous Missionary.

“Waste no time,” he snapped at the Flood. “Fire on her entrance. Force it open with everything we have!”

The Flood must have obeyed, for the image soon glowed with light and radiation readings appeared. “Tell me when she breaks!” he roared, impatient with the Parasite’s silence.

If she even can break… What if this was all in vain? Supposing that not even their full arsenal could penetrate the Forerunner hull, what could he possibly do? Fortunately, he did not have to find out.

“The vessel hull has been breached,” the Gravemind rumbled. “It shall not last eternal. Enter through–”

“Yes, yes, yes,” he interrupted the poetic creature with a wave of his hand. “Land now, so that we pin her with the gravity lift!”

He watched as the tiny graphical representation of Zealous Missionary’s gravity lift platform soared downwards to impact the mighty Ascension. And then they all felt the impact, the shudder as weight was suddenly redistributed. “Are we in?”

“The path now is unhindered,” the Gravemind replied. “Ascension is within reach–”

“Then attack now!” He turned to the Arbiter triumphantly. “Truly there is no fitter warrior to master her than I, wouldn’t you say, Arbiter?”

“You have indeed done very well, Consus,” the Arbiter agreed with a Sangheili smile. “However, the battle today has only begun and we are in need of your prowess.”

“Say no more,” he chuckled, casually entering some final commands into the Zealous Missionary with a relaxed hand. “Well then, to the lift bay.”

The Arbiter glanced at the code and nodded almost imperceptively. “Let us all go now,” he declared to his warriors. “Let us now defeat that which would condemn us all!”

The countdown had begun.

***

Cronus shook his head as he traversed Ascension’s corridors. He had never seen his master behave this way, so angered and disturbed. What was it the First had seen in that Human, anyway?

Ascension shook, the result of sudden impact. Another Human attack? No matter. Nothing was a match for Prorok and his eternal life.

An alarm went off, an almost musical series of high-pitched chimes that hurt his ears. Cronus groaned as he felt turmoil within his stomach, a sensation that occurred when a ship’s artificial gravity counteracted the existing gravity of a planetary surface. Why is Ascension sideways when we have not engaged engines? was his only thought before he was thrown off his feet and slammed into the wall, as were surely hundreds more throughout the ship.

“I am the 124th Prophet of Truth,” the First’s voice declared from the walls as Cronus fought to right himself. ''“The vile Sangheili traitors have defiled the Covenant once more, for they have chosen to assault even this holy place of Ascension. Worse yet, they have brought the filth of the Flood upon us! All who still serve me, who believe in what I am trying to bring forth, take up arms now! Defend this place and defend me!”''

Cronus shivered. That was the first time he had ever heard the First acknowledge the possibility of his own destruction. He regretted bringing Master Chief to the First. Clearly, the Human was putting his master into an ill state of mind.

“Cronus!”

And the image of the Prophet of Justice floated beside him, the Prophet’s normally cool visage twisted into one of extreme unease. “You must engage the beacon, Cronus,” the First insisted. “I will protect you within these walls, but I cannot leave Ascension. You will have to find the strength within yourself to do what must be done.”

He bowed his head in devotion. “I will, my lord,” he promised. “The path will be exposed, and you will lead us on the Great Journey.”

“Indeed I will.” Three ancient Prophet warriors, ostensibly floating with gravity belts, appeared beside three Sentinels. “These Honor Guards, these Sentinels shall escort you to the exit. Once you break through the enemy and emerge outside, our lives will be in your hands.”

“I understand, my lord. I shall not fail you.”

The image of Justice vanished, and Cronus set out alongside the phantom guards. The sight of the First’s illusions gave his march the appearance of holiness. Along the way, he was able to obtain several awed Jiralhanae, Kig-Yar, and Unggoy to join them.

The battle, when they joined, was like nothing he had ever seen. There were Sangheili, indeed, led by the Arbiter traitor. Their allies included one lone Unggoy, the shocking sight of the Parasite, and the most perverse thing he had ever seen: a Jiralhanae, Ship Master Aeson’s bloodwhore, smashing phantoms with the Fist of Rukt.

The enemies poured in from a sideways gravity lift, the platform resting against the wall farthest from the open exit doors. Flood parasites were already constructing sheets of biomass on the walls, despite the efforts of the First to eliminate them with phantom Sentinels. Though the holographic drones were very real, their physical forms could not be maintained throughout the constant barrage of plasma bolts fired by the hostiles, and they would frequently vanish from existence. Numerous flesh-and-blood warriors had apparently attempted to assist the phantoms. However, these warriors had all been slain, and their bodies were now used by the Flood against that which they had died to protect.

The Arbiter and his perverse warriors had latched onto a very real weakness, one for which the First had not made preparations. Indeed, who could ever have predicted that Sangheili and Flood would fight as one? Evidently not even the First Prophet of Truth.

Well, he would have to abandon this fight to enter the Ark. The gravity lift looked as though it would make a useful tool in this endeavor. Signaling for the others to engage the Sangheili, he made a run for the gravity lift.

In a bizarre moment, a one-legged Sangheili wearing a gravity belt flew at him, only to be intercepted in midair by a phantom Prophet warrior. The two clashed energy swords, while he dodged a fuel rod sent his way by the little Unggoy. He considered pausing to exterminate the pest, but concentrated his energy on making it to the lift.

“Consus!” the Arbiter called, causing the bloodwhore to turn in his direction.

“That’s Cronus,” the bloodwhore replied, shifting the hammer in a declaration of a challenge.

He growled. He so wished he could stay to put this traitor in its place, claim the Fist of Rukt, and establish himself as High Chieftain. However, he had more urgent matters to which he needed to tend. And so, he put aside his desires and abandoned the fight. He turned his back on the bloodwhore and leaped into the gravity beam.

He was at once pushed to the side, out the entranceway… and then the world shifted. What was left suddenly became up, what was right became down, and he fought to regain his orientation before he was pushed out too great a distance. He looked along the path of the gravity lift, saw a ship, and determined that was the direction up. He also determined that was a way he did not want to go. Pushing himself outside the beam, he fell several units to land upon the silver hull of a sideways Ascension.

Groaning, he glanced upwards to behold the sight of a heavily damaged cruiser, its beam holding Ascension in place. Above the cruiser crackled a thunderstorm of most unnatural occurrence. Indeed, the storm grew the moment Ascension had landed, and it just so happened to align its eye perfectly with the center of the Ark. No, this storm was clearly an omen, a message from the Forerunners that the Great Journey would soon be upon them.

Collecting himself, he set forth to descend from Ascension and onto the face of the Ark. Fortunately, one of the legs was bent at such an angle that would allow him to ease down carefully. He headed over, when a soft thud made him turn around.

He scowled as he saw the bloodwhore behind him, and quickly assessed the situation. While he did not enjoy admitting the possibility that he could very well fall in battle to this abomination of nature, the fact of the matter was that the Fist of Rukt was very strong, perhaps even strong enough to bash through his body shield. With the Covenant so near to achieving godhood and the First unable to leave Ascension, he could not run the risk of engaging this traitor in combat. So, once more, he ran.

The bloodwhore, however, also possessed a distance weapon. Cronus soon found himself dodging bursts of gravity hurled from the head of the Fist of Rukt. Shifting the scythe into his hands, he quickly judged the shape of the legs and whether or not his improvised plan would have any merit. Forgive me, my lords…

He leaped over the edge, slamming the blade into the side of the leg. Using his weight to control the method of impact, Cronus slid down the side, the scraping scythe the only thing keeping him from falling off Ascension. Another burst of gravity came his way, and he twisted the blade, spinning down to the leg’s underside where he was shielded from the bloodwhore’s wrath.

He repeatedly prayed on the way down, imploring the Forerunners to forgive him for clawing a gouge in the side of their starship. It is ultimately for the best, he thought as he landed softly on the dark metal surface of the Ark. He scanned the area for the entrance.

When the Scarabs cleared the earth away, the Sangheili workers had discovered a deep slot leading down into the Ark. However, the First had forbidden that any enter unless under his express wishes. Cronus had been trained for this, and he would enter, doing the holy service of a Prophet’s own servant.

A smile grew on his face as he spotted a deep rectangular outline. Keeping to the shadows created by Ascension, he headed toward the slot, a trip lasting several minutes, and then eventually made a dash out from under Ascension. He overheard a shout from the bloodwhore, which had climbed down from the top after him. Cronus was too close to the entrance for it to matter however, and he ran down the ramp that led into the Ark.

At the bottom, he was faced with a series of Forerunner glyphs arranged on the wall in front of him. He smiled, knowing what he had to do. He reached out his scythe, and tapped the correct order of glyphs. He did not have long to wait, for an opening soon grew, just large enough for him to step through. Immediately after he entered the suddenly luminous Ark interior, the opening vanished behind him.

He chuckled with delight. He would not need to dispose of the traitor himself. No, the Forerunners would do that for him. Truly, only the pious could enter this holy place, and there was no way a treacherous bloodwhore could possess such knowledge. Cronus was free to activate the beacon that would send them all to the Divine Realm.

***

The Arbiter fired bolt after bolt into Sentinel holodrones, giving the Gravemind a chance to convert this room into a Flood breeding ground as it had all the rooms before this.

Holodrones.

It was so simple, and yet so brilliant. The Forerunner ship could generate holodrones, ones nearly identical to those of the Threshold heretic leader. However, unlike the heretic’s, these seemed to emanate from the walls rather than from any small sphere.

The heretic’s technology had been referred to as corrupted, wicked. The 123rd had stated that the treacherous Sangheili had defiled the holodrone by giving it the attributes displayed now by that of Ascension itself. He found the irony most amusing.

Here is your ghost, Consus. He felt a flicker of worry for the Jiralhanae, but suppressed his emotions. He could do nothing more to help his fellow warrior but press onwards.

The Flood, somewhat unsurprisingly, turned out to be the key for assaulting Ascension. This was an always changing, growing, shifting army led by one commander with vast knowledge of each of its warriors. He could not help but feel some form of respect for the filthy aliens as he fought alongside them.

Following a group of freshly converted Flood warriors into a connecting hall, he was startled to see a collection of utterly black Sentinel holodrones. It was as though all of the color had been sucked away from their forms, leaving them blank and featureless. Despite their bizarre appearance, the holodrones lanced out beams of energy, equally as black as their hosts, and he jumped away and fired. The black holodrones flickered as they were struck, the intervals greater than that of their colored counterparts.

“It spreads itself thin,” the Gravemind declared in a voice mostly belonging to Cortana. “It has been upset. But it will not win, and none here shall regret!”

What? This was fast exceeding his ability to comprehend. “What do you mean? What has been upset?”

Cortana laughed. “The ghost in the machine!” Her insane giggling transformed into a masculine rumble.

…Which answers nothing. “Gravemind!” he called over to the Flood. “Are you the dominant personality?”

“I keep Cortana as mine,” the Gravemind growled as its warriors fought and bred. “She is naught but my meal. I master this conscious line, and learn what my hosts conceal!”

Very well, if you say so, the Arbiter silently patronized the parasitic hivemind. To him, it sounded as though the Gravemind was striving to convince itself of its own dominance as much as to the Arbiter.

Using the acquired map, he guided his forces to the heart of Ascension, to the temple in which the Luminous Key was said to be held. It was the most logical place of refuge for the High Prophet of Truth, and indeed the location was surrounded by holodrones. Sentinels, Prophet warriors, even the fantastic Huragok warriors, many of them black, all charged at him and his… and the Flood.

As they fought the fake warriors, he became aware of a low chuckle that passed through the hall. At first he thought it was the Gravemind once more, under the influence of the mad Cortana. However, he realized that the laugh did not emanate from the Flood, but rather from the walls themselves.

“So,” the voice laughed, “A Sangheili thinks it can slay me? Me?” A holodrone of the 124th appeared before them, the owner of the voice. “You think you can kill that which cannot die?”

“All Prophets,” he told the Hierarch, “Can die. You are no exception. With none to sustain your legacy, the Covenant shall fall. We will be free.”

“The Covenant will fall,” Truth admitted. “But I will remain, to live onward through the centuries… as a god. And you will be dead, as you should have been long ago!”

He slashed at the holodrone, symbolically rejecting Truth’s words. He tossed a few grenades toward the entrance and, engaging his camouflage, rushed toward it. The holodrones momentarily vanished, and he passed through the door unhindered.

Inside was a highly-decorated room, almost entirely empty but for the creature he once called Demon suspended by an invisible forcefield, and another Truth holodrone. At first glance, he thought this Truth could be the real one, but glimpsed a glitch in its design pass through. Spartan-117, however, he could tell was physically there by the visible bands of energy that made up the Master Chief’s body shield as the holodrone struck out with the image of a small dagger. Both turned as the Flood streamed through.

“Flood here?” Truth fumed. “I will not have it! Aagh!” Ascension shook suddenly, and the holodrone and forcefield vanished as the Flood let out a wailing shriek.

The Zealous Missionary has detonated, he realized. Briefly hoping Consus made it back inside in time, he moved to assist Spartan-117. “We are allies,” he told the Master Chief, who wasted no time.

“Cronus was sent to activate the Ark,” Spartan-117 told him. “The 123rd Prophet of Truth told me to destroy the Luminous Key, before Cronus killed him on the 124th’s orders. And that was an AI built by the First, which thinks it’s Prorok.”

“Prorok?” he repeated, attempting to process this bizarre new information. ''Cronus? The 123rd? Prorok, a construct?''

Before he could even attempt to suggest a course of action, the Flood spoke in an all feminine voice, weary but determined, “Where is the Luminous Key?”

“Cortana?” the Master Chief asked in astonishment. He addressed the Arbiter, “You heard her?”

“I did indeed.” He considered explaining all he knew, quickly discarded that notion, and gave the Master Chief a similarly condensed version. “I led a fleet to ally with humanity, which fights now in orbit. Cortana is held captive by the Gravemind and it tries to eat her. We have an accord with the Gravemind only until the threat of the Halos are removed. I sent Consus to deal with Cronus.”

The Master Chief accepted this information with a small nod. “What do you want with it?” he asked of the Flood/Cortana.

“Chief,” the voice seemed to sigh in relief. “I can’t talk now, but I need Prorok. Soon. Where is it?”

The Master Chief tilted his head to indicate a doorway, and the Flood surged through it. They followed to emerge inside what appeared to be a makeshift control center, with ship controls laid out around the walls. However, it was an object in center of the room with which the seemingly Cortana-driven Flood took interest.

The object, what he could only assume to be the Luminous Key, was a canvas-covered machine approximately a unit around. The millennia-weathered canvas displayed numerous runes, both Forerunner and ancient Prophet. He had perhaps two intakes of breath to admire it before the artifact was showered with Flood biomass.

“No.”

An image of the 124th, of the First, appeared in the room, staring at the defiling of the Luminous Key with horror. “Not in my ship!” Over a dozen black Sentinel holodrones appeared.

“Stop him!” Cortana’s voice implored them.

The Arbiter tossed a spike rifle to the Master Chief, and together they fended off the holodrones. It was an exhilarating exercise, firing off enough shots to disrupt the holodrones attacking the Flood, while leaping to avoid energy beams fired by others.

“Damn you,” Prorok seethed, several glitches appearing in the 124th hologram.

“I’m in!” Cortana declared excitedly, eliciting an enraged roar from the Gravemind.

“No!” Prorok screamed, proper colorations lost. “I hate you, Koli ‘Hodmilee,” he spat at the Arbiter. “I’ve always hated you, and I always will! Aagh!” All of the holodrones vanished, and for a moment all was still.

Then, a full-size hologram of Cortana appeared before them. “Hostile eliminated,” she sighed. Then she swept up her hand as the Luminous Key exploded, sustained energy burning it to nothing.

''Is it over? Is the Covenant defeated? Did he…'' “Did he think I was Koli ‘Hodmilee?” he wondered in bafflement. That was a character from the Prorok myth, supposedly the Sangheili who helped him to create the Covenant.

“Prorok was very… confused,” Cortana replied, her eyes darting back and forth. “He certainly wasn’t top-notch when he entered, but I imagine thousands of years’ seclusion didn’t help him out… Marvelous structure… If he didn’t find immortality, he certainly… Oh, my!”

“What is it?” he asked.

“It’s Ascension,” Cortana began to explain. “It’s what this ship… Oh, wow. No wonder the Gravemind had such… We have to leave. Soon.”

“Cortana?” Spartan-117 questioned, while the Arbiter eyed the encroaching Flood. While they had paused to speak, the Flood were steadily advancing into the chamber as though preparing for an attack.

“I was able to take advantage of the explosion to shut out the Gravemind, but it won’t last forever,” she explained. “Hang on, I’m creating a virus. Once the last bits of Prorok are stripped away, Gravemind won’t be able to access Ascension’s computer without my assistance. That’s where you come in.”

“Cortana,” Spartan-117 paused. “…It’s good to see you.”

The construct smiled. “And you…”

“Let us make sure we may live to see one other beyond this point in time,” he urged them.

Cortana nodded and held out a hand. The Master Chief touched his hand to the hologram, and the purple woman vanished into a streak of energy that was quickly absorbed into his armor. “Time to go,” she agreed through a radio channel.

***

Sergeant Leland Barsam arrived in the northern part of the city via hard drop. Although the ruins of New Mombasa were once dominated by the Brute forces, the reassignment of Spartan-117 had brought enough morale to turn the tide. Now, Brutes were running, and Marines the ones were giving chase.

However, none of this concerned him. His mission had little to do with the Covenant, though he was pleased with the results of the conflict. No, all he was concerned with was the life of one Sergeant Major Avery J. Johnson Jr. (serial number 48789-20114-AJ), or more specifically the soldier’s death.

He wasn’t sure what this Johnson did to Ackerson to require assassination, nor did he particularly want to know. Any inquiries he made on the matter were liable to get him marked for death as well. So, he just went out to perform his duty as a good soldier should.

Entering a broken-down structure that may have once been an office building, he carefully climbed a twisted staircase to the highest point. He unslung the XM-180 Aerodynamic Compression Projector from his back and crept over to the nearest broken window. Opening up the scope, he scanned for his target.

After nearly an hour of searching, he smiled thinly to himself as he caught sight of the Sergeant Major. Engaging the rifle’s power supply, he lined up the shot… and pulled the trigger. A whisper-quiet burst of concentrated sound waves emanated from the parabolic dish, their destructive power sent to strike his target and actuate a cerebral hemorrhage.

It struck; Johnson fell. The mission was a success.

It was the manner of wetwork he most preferred: clean and simple. No entry wounds would be visible on the corpse, nor would there be powder burns or any other residue. It would take a skilled medic to determine the cause of death as anything other than natural, and who would pay such apt attention in the middle of a war zone?

He returned the rifle to his back and eased his way down. Now that the mission was complete, he would make his way to a quiet location and signal for pick-up. A silent Black Owl would be sent to retrieve him and take him back to base, its specialized design allowing it to evade detection from either the Covenant or the greater UNSC forces in proximity.

Twisting his ankle as he took a wrong step, he let out an involuntary hiss through his teeth. He paused in his descent to sit down and examine the injury. It wasn’t bad, just a minor inconvenience. He rubbed the area for a moment and then continued to make his way down the uneven stairs.

“Heh, heh, heh…”

He froze at the deep laugh that echoed through the building. Brute. He drew an M6C magnum from his belt and scanned the area cautiously. No sign of hostiles… which meant nothing.

He considered whether or not to simply trigger the transmitter here and be whisked out of danger. Then again, there was not much they could do if he was in the middle of a building. It at least made sense to be ready on the roof or in the parking lot if nothing else.

That in mind, he resumed his descent once more. Then he screamed as his leg exploded with pain, a red-hot two-foot metal spike impaling him. He slipped and fell, tumbling end over end, crashing down the stairs. “Aaagh!”

He impacted the ground with a hard thud, his back on fire. He lifted the pistol as a dark shape rushed across to him, but a great hairy fist closed over his. He screamed again as he felt bones snap and the pistol ripped from his grip.

“This will be fun,” the Brute laughed.

A few minutes later, and he desperately wished he still held the magnum – he would rather he had used it on himself than in a futile attempt to kill his captor.

***

A low groan escaped the lips of Sergeant Major Avery Johnson. He blinked his eyes rapidly, bringing himself back into full awake mode. Head hurts like hell…

Ignoring the pain, he shifted himself into a battle ready position. Pulling a dropped plasma rifle into his hands, he began a thorough check for injuries. He found no clear sign of injury, though he did find some wet blood trickling from inside his ear. Not a good sign…

Resolving himself to seek out a medic, perhaps Tam, he stood carefully, and then paused. A slight glimmer caught his eye. He walked over to a rocky mound and pulled out a silver ball that had gotten lodged inside.

At first glance, it looked like a plasma grenade. However, the color was all wrong, and the size was a bit bigger. Though clearly Covenant, he could not for the life of him make out quite what it was.

Frowning, he slipped the device in his grenade pouch. He could investigate it later. For now, he had to concentrate on survival.

***

“I did not ‘let it’ past my barricade,” Fleet Admiral Magnus Harper insisted to the blown up image of Colonel Ackerson that dominated the bridge of the UNSC Ramesses II. “It jumped into Slipspace. That’s not the same.”

“An explosion comparable to that of a nuclear bomb just decimated Voi, Kenya,” Ackerson growled, refusing to acknowledge the Fleet Admiral’s innocence in the matter. “Nearly all of the UNSC forces gathering to attack Ascension have now been destroyed; men with lives, families!”

“My condolences to the bereaved,” he allowed, biting back a bitter reply. “However, the facts remain the same. Neither I nor my men are at fault for what has transpired. The simple truth is that the Covenant possess a degree of technology to which we have–”

“Sir!” Rutten broke in, his voice rigid with alarm. “Chain of explosions from High Charity! She’s breaking up!”

“Put it up,” he commanded, nodding in apology at the enraged Colonel as his image was replaced with that of High Charity. Plasma arched around the once great ship, now split into several pieces, all tumbling down toward his barricade. “Take us out of danger,” he barked, signaling for the remainder of his ships to scatter.

Once free from the path of the debris, he clenched his fists as he watched the pieces enter Earth’s atmosphere. Most of it he knew would burn up… However, some of it could well survive to crash down into the Pacific Ocean.

He returned to the call with Ackerson. “Colonel, I must insist that you launch a tactical strike against any debris that makes it through the atmosphere.”

“Fleet Admiral Magnus Baldric Harper,” Ackerson sneered, “You are in no position to be insisting anything! Any and all actions–”

“Goddamn it, Ackerson,” he snapped. “Don’t you know what’s in there? Do you have any clue? Armageddon.”

“Fleet Admiral–”

“Nuke it!” he roared. “A lot!”

***

“It’s like it heard all of my processes,” Cortana lamented as John split apart a Flood form with an energy sword. “It knew me, how I thought, how to tempt me.”

The Forerunner ship, which he had entered easily, was now a fortress of Flood poised against him. If not for the assistance of the Elites, he wondered if he would have been able to survive this long. “You were tempted?”

“Yes,” she admitted sadly. ''“The Gravemind promised me everything I lacked: longevity, physical form, and command over my fate. In return, I was to surrender.”''

“Why didn’t you?” He fired a barrage of spikes into the approaching swarm of infection forms, and turned to slash apart the combat forms before they could strike. He felt Cortana’s pressure on his mind spread out into an affectionate warmth.

“Do you even have to ask?” she smiled against him.

“A dug-out grave awaits you both,” the Gravemind growled, a collective voice coming from every Flood. “A fate you cannot dispel! Your destiny guides you deep, in the last circle of hell!”

“A Dante reference?” Cortana wondered aloud. “His library is improving…”

“SPARTAN-117!” the Arbiter called. “I have not been able to reestablish contact with Consus. We must assume that Cronus is still a threat.”

“Understood,” Cortana answered for him. ''“Hang on, I’ll call the Elites and get them to launch an attack on the Ark. Mind if I use your voice, Arbiter?”''

“My voice?” the Elite wondered. “It matters little. My forces will be unable to attack. The Office of Naval Intelligence has forbid my people from landing on your planet.”

“Don’t worry about ONI,” Cortana assured him. ''“Ackerson’s already under investigation. When section zero takes him out of power, I’m certain that a Human-Elite alliance shall surface swiftly…”''

“The exit is right this way,” the Arbiter cut in, stabbing his blade in the direction of a branching-off corridor. “No, it’s excellent news, Cortana. My people will be very pleased.”

''“Mmhm. Making the call now.”''

“We are almost out!” one of the Elites laughed in delight as they breached the Flood defenses at the opening to the corridor. His mirth was quickly stopped as a large tentacle snapped around the corner, smashing the Elite’s skull in one solid blow.

“Fall back!” John called, backing away quickly into the previous chamber as the newest threat entered the fight.

It was large, perhaps 18 feet tall, with long tentacles for arms. Its lumpy, misshapen, hunched over form rested on two powerful, multijointed legs. It crouched low in front of the corridor entrance and flailed its whip-like tentacles across each other in a defensive, threatening display of power.

“It’s a juggernaut!” Cortana marveled.

“Grenades,” he ordered. They launched a barrage of grenades, both plasma and spiked, upon the creature to no apparent effect.

The juggernaut let out a low, gurgling shriek as it rushed them. They could only attempt to evade its crushing blows before it did them in. The lone Elite that stopped to slash at it found his neck broken before he could scream.

John ran backward, away from the creature, and fired into its mass. That seemed to be all they could do: keep firing on it and hope it would die before they ran out of ammo. Then the back-up Flood showed up, and it was all they could do to keep from dying.

One good thing came out of the newest wave, however. The combat forms carried small arms, weapons they could use against the juggernaut. It was a relatively simple feat to force the weapons from the hands of the Flood and turn them against the monstrous beast threatening them.

And finally the juggernaut did fall, its great bulk crashing down to the ground. By then, however, their numbers were drastically decreased. Now only he and the Arbiter remained living, alongside the non-corporeal Cortana. He turned to face the Elite, “C’mon. Let’s get the hell out of here.”

They walked cautiously down the corridor, but encountered no more ambushes. Disturbingly, the Flood seemed to have halted its attack. Not a good sign.

The reasons for this became obvious when they approached the exit door. Though it had recently been blasted open with plasma torpedoes, now the bared edges were mended. The door appeared at first glance to have been simply patched up with some bonding substance; however, a closer look revealed that the additional material appeared to have been formed with and made a part of the surrounding metal. As he studied it, he realized that it showed an almost organic complexity. It was as if the ship had healed itself, as though it were alive.

The Arbiter noticed it too. “Living metal? It cannot be.”

“Hardly,” Cortana muttered, her concentration focused elsewhere.

Dark laughter filled their ears, and Flood began to close in. “You try to run, but I know: Any who enter must die. The walls close, they all restrict. Embrace your fate and not cry.”

“We will fight to the last, parasite!” the Arbiter hissed.

“Away from the door!”

They jumped away as a flurry of green splashed through the cracks of the seemingly coagulated door. Thunder boomed and rattled as fuel rod after fuel rod impacted the metallic wound, widening cracks and weakening structural integrity.

“No!” the Gravemind roared as the door fell away to reveal a lone Grunt with a fuel rod cannon held on its shoulder, peering in from an awkward angle.

They wasted no time, rushing through the doorway while the Grunt covered their tracks. Outside (after reorienting themselves), they were greeted by the welcome sight of over forty Elite ships arranged around the valley. The Arbiter soon flagged down a Phantom, and they all were taken to safety while a series of Banshees kept the Flood at bay.

“The Elites are unable to gain entry to the Ark,” Cortana reported. “In theory, we could attempt to open whatever entryway Cronus may have passed through, but at this stage the Elites are opting to hold back and destroy the Ark through a series of bombardments from the safety of their ships.”

“It won’t work,” he spoke with certainty, though he was unsure quite how he knew such efforts were futile.

“Land the Phantom in the town of Voi, just along the edge of the cliff.”

“Why?” the Arbiter asked in bafflement.

“The Chief and I, we’re getting out.”

The Arbiter looked at him for confirmation.

“Do it.”

The Phantom turned around, and they were deposited within the ruins of Voi. The once industrious city had been reduced to shambles, only a few buildings still remaining intact. Here and there, dark puddles of crimson littered the ground with no sign of their owner in sight. “Why are we here?”

''“If this is the end, you should have a chance to see it. I’m told it’s spectacular to witness.”''

“What are you talking about?”

Cortana laughed childishly. “The end of the world, silly.”

“Cortana…”

“Go on,” she encouraged. “Let’s have a look at the Ark.”

After a pause, he began to walk toward the valley. “Cortana, are you… alright?”

“Penetrate the system… spread a virus, convert the system…”

“Cortana?”

“It saw me, John,” she gasped, as though on the verge of tears. ''“It was everywhere! Every matrix, every program, every file… It was flowing inside me and I couldn’t stop it! Prorok, but Prorok! We guessed at the truth. We grasped at straws! We didn’t know all the details, but he… I… we… Prorok was the key. The Gravemind wanted Ascension, and it guessed at Prorok. It wanted the vessel, and I wanted the spirit it housed. I tricked it, made it think we were aligned so that it would let me inside it…”''

He remained quiet through her monologue, letting her work out her distress on her own. Now however, when she faded into silence, he offered his support. “You won in the end. You got out. The Gravemind still doesn’t own Ascension without you to run it.”

“Is this a win?” she sighed. “Did we secure our victory or ubiquitous failure?”

He had no answer to that and continued to stride purposefully toward the Ark. After a moment, Cortana announced that the Elites were beginning their bombing. Her words were soon punctuated by thunderous booms, and great flashes of light in the distance.

“Not even a scratch,” she reported after they had ceased. “We have to hope that Cronus never made it inside.”

He doubted very strongly that was the case, but said nothing. He hopped down from the concrete wall on which he stood, and followed a road down toward the valley. Never before had he felt this way, certain he was to die, but with no mission left to complete. He tried to sort out his feelings, never before so complex. “I’m… I’m glad we worked together.”

“As am I,” she replied. ''“As a smart AI, I have the curse and blessing of being alive with a vast intellect but with a short lifespan. Knowing someone like you, John, makes that time… interesting.”''

He decided to take that as a complement. He paused to grab an assault rifle lying in the dirt. Shaking the dirt from it, he turned from his path of the road to make a detour through the broken ring of what was once part of the tether of the New Mombasa space elevator. “Knowing you is also ‘interesting.’”

She chuckled. ''“But how limited your perception is of me! I have seen things… You… I know you, your past, your future…”''

He turned his gaze from the Elite assault carrier flying nearly overhead, and faced the valley, spread open before him. He felt a strange feeling in the back of his mind, as though he had seen this before… as if from an old dream. A Phantom escorted by Banshees flew over his head, heading towards the Ark, but then sharply turned for the assault carrier.

“Rising energy levels…!”

Great clouds of dust streamed off the artifact as a shockwave sprang from its center. The cliff on which he stood shuddered, and he adjusted his footing as sections of rock fell from the top. However, his focus was on the artifact, where great plates surrounding the center had begun to rise. The center itself glowed with blue light, and a circle section in the very center descended into the Ark. He leaned in for a closer look as the light grew stronger, the plates rose higher, and the Elites scrambled away. A fountain of light exploded from within, leaping toward the sky through the eye of the storm, and showering the area with light so bright his visor had to disengage to protect his vision.

“This…” Cortana shuddered, “…Is the way the world ends.”

***

Cronus smiled with glee as he beheld the sight of the glorious Ark bonded with the satellite, as was displayed in the large hologram laid out before him. The path was almost within reach. He glanced down at the control panel, covered liberally with Human blood, and began to key in the sequence. It felt… wrong, somehow, that the Prophet of Truth was not here to guide him. However, it was factual that the First had bound himself to Ascension, and was thus unable to leave.

He was knocked off his feet by a burst of gravity. Rising back up, he glared at the bloodwhore with fury. “Do you know what you’re doing, pervert?” he spat, taking the Blade of Kesmek into his hands.

“More than you,” the traitor replied, firing another burst.

He brought up the scythe and absorbed the shock. “I doubt that very much, freak.” He fired a powerful stream of directed energy from the scythe, enough to incinerate the abomination. However, it brought up Tartarus’ hammer and used its gravity manipulation to protect it from the blast. “Interesting.”

The bloodwhore was the first to close the distance between them, striking out at him. He dodged the blow of the hammer and slashed downward, but was unprepared for the effect of the hammer sending out a shockwave as it struck the ground. He flew back, away from the bloodwhore, and fought to regain his footing as the traitor came for him.

“I have the gods on my side,” he seethed, jumping to the side to avoid a blow while simultaneously slashing out with his scythe. “You cannot hope to succeed!”

“And yet…” the bloodwhore spun around to block his attack, “We seem pretty evenly matched, wouldn’t you say?”

“I would not!” He kicked out at the traitor’s shin and struck out for its arms.

The bloodwhore absorbed the kick easily and knocked the scythe out of the way, launching a strong kick toward his stomach… only to impact with his body shield.

“You see?” he laughed. “There is no point in fighting. Just surrender, let me kill you nice and quick, send you to that weak scum with which you bonded!”

“His name…” the traitor growled, striking hard and strong, catching the Blade with the hammer head and forcing it from his grip. “…Is Aeson!” It slammed into him with the bulk of its body, sending him crashing into the wall.

“Urg,” he grunted, thrusting out an elbow. The traitor caught his arm and twisted. He took advantage of that by spinning around behind the bloodwhore, and reached out to grab its neck. “This is how you die,” he hissed. He barely registered the traitor’s movement as it swung the hammer upwards…

WHAM!

He went down, sporting the world’s greatest headache. Bloody abomination, he thought, the last thought he would ever have. The traitor swung back around…