User:Dragonclaws/Ascension14

Mercy
Kinaya – a state in which Lekgolo colonies can both merge into each other as in the great pool, and can separate to degrees of which they are normally unable. Generally it is only engaged during a lack of Haramia, when the Lekgolojiri has none to serve. However, the Nonu Lekgolo now began the process even while surrounded by Haramki Sangheili, for the promotion of Lekgolomila was ultimately more important.

Akiso felt his identity begin to fade away as his mate’s personality began to merge with his. He, or rather it, for gender did not exist in Kinaya, found it was able to flex its mate’s singulars and likewise felt Etowo move what were once Akiso’s singulars. Soon the last of Akiso’s independence faded away, and the Nonu were as one.

The Nonu let loose a subsonic rumble that flowed throughout the floors and walls of Zealous Missionary: “The Arbiter must survive.”

Barely the span of seven Sangheili heartbeats later, a short response came back: “Agreed.”

Then, the Nonu felt the footfalls of over a dozen Jiralhanae approaching from all directions. They must have obtained the entry codes, they realized. The Nonu needed to act swift to ensure that their voice would be heard by the Ship Master. We must prove ourselves loyal to him.

As the Nonu felt the Jiralhanae begin to interface with the doors, they converted the Etowo colony from warrior form to the more unrestricted tendril form. The Sangheili turned in what the Nonu recognized as confusion when Etowo singulars abandoned their armor to morph into a strong tentacle.

“What is happening?” the Arbiter asked as the Etowo colony wrapped tightly around his body, making him drop his gravity hammer. “Release me!”

“If you are to live further, you must submit to the Jiralhanae,” the Nonu responded as the doors opened and armed Jiralhanae soon surrounded them. “We request that you do so.” The Sangheili became tense, yet those beside the Arbiter were unusually calm for the supposed enemies of Jiralhanae. Brainwashed fools, they thought in contempt. However, the Arbiter began to draw his energy sword, and the Nonu quickly receded the Etowo tentacle before it activated.

The Jiralhanae then attempted to subdue the Haramki, firing their plasma upon him to weaken his shield. But the Arbiter just lunged into the pack and gutted a single Jiralhanae with his sword. When another Jiralhanae (the first’s partner they guessed by the speed of his heart) grabbed onto the Sangheili, he spun around and sliced the legs off.

“Do not fight, Arbiter,” another Sangheili called. “This is for the best.”

The Arbiter did not respond, but instead leaped into the air and threw a plasma grenade into the group of Jiralhanae. One stumbled back as the heat-exuding plasma weapon attached to his body, and the Nonu quickly sent the Etowo behind the Akiso, which crouched defensively behind its shield.

After the hot plasma showered the corridor, the Jiralhanae struggled to recover as the Arbiter struck swift. It seemed the Arbiter’s shields had withstood the might of the grenade, leaving him the only warrior not stunned by the explosion. With this advantage, the Arbiter slew three Jiralhanae before running down another corridor and out of the line of fire.

It appears we have underestimated the Arbiter, they realized. They began to follow with the Etowo tentacle, but were soon halted by the scorched floor. Carefully wrapping the Etowo tightly around the Akiso, they followed after the Jiralhanae chasing the Arbiter.

***

As he ran, the Arbiter pressed his mandibles together in fury. Had he not warned them? Had not he stated his concerns regarding ‘Opskitee’s loyalty? ‘Setfethee knows him better, he mocked. He is a fool.

Just as I was for trusting the Prophets, he realized with a growl. Crimson plasma rapidly splashed against the pink shield covering his back, causing it to deplete most worryingly. As he reached the end of the corridor, he paused to grab a plasma grenade and turned to hurl it at his attackers, and saw four Major Jiralhanae with the Lekgolo, once his, charging behind them.

He threw the grenade onto a center Jiralhanae, and then ducked into the next hallway. Fortunately, there were only a few Kig-Yar inside. They squawked in surprise as the Arbiter swiftly sliced them apart. I need a plan…

He engaged his active camouflage and prepared to run back toward the launch bay so that he could escape in the Banshee, but the door behind him opened as three living Jiralhanae came after him. It seemed the grenade only killed one, but had visibly damaged these three.

Unfortunately, even active camouflage was not powerful enough to conceal the mighty glow of the Sangheili sword. A Jiralhanae with half its face melted soon gave the order to fire, but before the barrage could begin, the Arbiter lunged upon it and improved its beauty by removing the scarred portion. One of the remaining Jiralhanae began to fire its red plasma on him as the other struck him with its rifle, the combined force critically depleting his shields to nothing.

Damn it! He swung his sword and cut through the arms of the one that fired, leaving it weaponless. The other grabbed onto his shoulders to prevent the shield from recharging, but he used his momentum to break out of the Jiralhanae’s hold and stab it through the stomach. However, he soon felt his legs gripped strongly by the Lekgolo tentacle.

It is bizarre, he thought as he looked up into the gravity-enhanced fuel rod cannon of its mate, couched in the doorway. He knew the Lekgolo’s eel-like parts assumed the collective shapes of tentacles when feeding or breeding, but he had never heard of Lekgolo tentacles during combat situations, much less… “Rebelling against an Arbiter,” he spat at the Lekgolo as Jiralhanae reinforcements began to arrive behind him, “The greatest tool of a Sangheili official… Am I not worthy of your subservience?” Together the Lekgolo began to pulse, and he took the opportunity to strain against his captor to no avail.

“We do not take lightly the bond of Haramia,” they said as one, the speech vibrating through his bones. “However, this civil war that shakes the Covenant threatens both Lekgolomila and the Lekgolojiri altogether. With delicacy is how we must act to preserve that which is most important.”

“Enough talk.” The Arbiter turned to look at another Jiralhanae wearing the Sangheili-like blue armor. It aimed at his head a weapon he did not recognize, a black rifle nearly a unit’s length with two curved bayonets attached to the bottom. Overall, it reminded him of the Human shotgun, but for the fact that this rifle could be held in one hand. “Drop your weapon, heretic,” the Jiralhanae growled.

''The Prophets are false. There is no evidence of any afterlife,'' he whispered in his head as he went over his options. He could surrender, and continue his existence for a while. It was probable that the Jiralhanae would seek to torture him, a process that could potentially take several units, even a cycle, to complete. It was a poor existence, but better than none at all.

'''“Here lies the truth of the Humans’ evil. For what else could drive a loyal servant into darkness?”'' ‘Opskitee’s voice echoed in his head. Refusing to question your values, he answered silently. ‘Opskitee was so utterly convinced that he was right that he was able to persuade an entire stalker unit to commit mutiny. ''‘Opskitee surrendered to the Jiralhanae. He could reveal the location of the base, and eliminate our chance of redemption…''

“Drop your weapon now!” the Jiralhanae yelled, thrusting the bayonets close to his face. The Arbiter slowly began to lower the sword to keep from being shot, but was careful to keep his hold on it for as long as he could as he tried to decide. It was truly terrifying to think of not existing at all, to not even suffer the fate of drowning in an endless sea of darkness… However, just as sin existed without gods, so did virtue.

The beginning of an age of truth awaited the Sangheili should he find a way to succeed, an age of reconciliation and forgiveness, where no Human would perish ever again in the name of false gods and prophets. High Councilor ‘Lafatee, Ship Master ‘Setfethee, Commander Keezz, Sergeant Jahnsen… all counted on him for survival. “With delicacy is how we must act to preserve that which is most important.” the Lekgolo had told him.

Lekgolo… The Lekgolo colony wrapped around him was in tentacle form in a combat situation. That reminded him of something… The Taming of the Lekgolo, he realized. Massive tentacles, all joined together, had assaulted the Sangheili warriors soon after they occupied the Quelni city. The Lekgolo had only one mind, he remembered from his teachings, until the Sangheili forced it to split into several individual warrior form colonies.

We fought them until they begged for mercy, pledging to forever serve us. It was an old story, but one to which he had not paid close attention. He did remember, however, his teacher explaining that while the Lekgolo currently lived in millions of small colonies made up of 100 eels each, once every 3.4 cycles the Lekgolo merged in one of seven great pools in High Charity for breeding purposes. Is it possible that these Lekgolo are merged?

He bent at the waist, bowing in mock-respect to the Jiralhanae as he set the sword at its feet. Laughing, it lowered the black rifle as it knelt to retrieve the sword. He swiftly reached out and seized the wrist of the Jiralhanae’s hand holding the rifle, and grabbed the rifle with his other hand, striking the beast’s head with his own and forcing the rifle from its grip.

Stumbling back, it let out a bark of anger and swung its free fist at his face. The Arbiter ducked the blow and slammed the rifle’s bayonets into the tentacle, cutting it from his legs. As he predicted, the Lekgolo warrior form shuddered with pain and lowered its weapons. He released the Jiralhanae and ran for the door, while he grabbed and activated a plasma grenade.

He turned to throw the explosive, when a large metal spike penetrated his leg. He could not help but cry out in pain, but refused to drop the grenade as an Unggoy would. Instead, he threw it into the heart of the collection of Jiralhanae, and then ran out the door into the next hallway.

The door automatically closed and muffled the sound of the explosion. The Arbiter took the moment offered to him to examine his wound. Burning a bright orange, the spike was over the length of half a unit. Knowing he would have to remove it to let his shield recharge, he took a deep breath to calm himself before grasping a hold of the spike.

His hands sizzled and pain streaked through his arms, making even his back ache as he swiftly pulled the spike from his leg, dropping it at once. Bloody Jiralhanae, he mentally growled as his shield began to recharge. He glanced at the painful burns on the palms of his hands, but quickly activated his active camouflage as the door opened behind him.

“It can’t have gone far. Find the heretic beast,” a Jiralhanae Major – not the fancy armored warrior, the Arbiter noted with a smile – growled to his Minors. “Remember, aim carefully, and only use your Spikers. The Ship Master wants it breathing.”

The Arbiter was elated at this news, despite the implied promise of torture. Knowing that his enemies would only attempt to disable him gave him more freedom in combat, and he also now knew the name of his new weapon. Spiker… it is an Unggoy’s word, he thought scornfully, thinking of the Needle Pistol they had renamed the Needler. Unfortunately, many Sangheili students had learned the false name, and it had become practically official.

The Jiralhanae Minors moved forth, and the Arbiter seized his chance to leave undetected, following close behind one headed in the direction he needed. The Minor stepped through the doorway, failing to notice the warped section of light trailing behind it. He aimed the Spiker – Spike Rifle, he corrected himself, for that was surely the correct name – directly at his escort’s head. Even a creature as robust as a Jiralhanae could not survive a spike in its brain.

The traitor Unggoy Jitji came into his mind unbidden. He was surely dead by now, his execution come at last, for the Jiralhanae now moved freely within their corridors. So much for my mercy bringing me great reward. In fact it was because of his mercy in not confronting ‘Opskitee that he now snuck about in active camouflage.

The Jiralhanae paused in its steps and sniffed at the air, growling softly. It began to turn around, but the Arbiter fired. As he had imagined, the beast did not survive the experience. Fortunately, there were no other creatures in this corridor and no further alarm was raised.

He quickly scavenged the body, finding ammunition for his new weapon as well as two grenades to replenish his supply. Activating his active camouflage, he raised one of his crimson rifles to complement his Spike Rifle, and carefully opened the door to find the next corridor utterly empty.

He walked through to find the next hallway as empty as the one before it. I suspect a trap… However, he had little choices. I wonder if I could contact the reinforcements from here? It seemed worth attempting. Activating his radio, he called out, “All dropships approach the aft-port launch bay at once! ‘Opskitee is a traitor and has turned on me! All dropships to the aft-port launch bay!”

No response met his ears. For whatever reason, I am alone, he thought. Such was the way of an Arbiter. I was not always an Arbiter, he noted. I once possessed a name… But it was useless to dwell on the past.

He had a mission. He would do everything it took to complete it by informing the reinforcements of the treachery, and should they fall, he would kill every Jiralhanae he could until his strength drained away entirely. Trap or no, he would continue to make his way toward the launch bay with all the force of a Prophet warrior of legend.

***

Jitji basked in the glory of his kill, Drinol’s great corpse laying before him. I have slain what a Sangheili could not… Truly a sign of favor from the Forerunners. Perhaps even a sign I am blessed? After some thought, he dismissed the silly notion once and for all.

What the Unggoy had called him was not to be taken seriously. Their reasoning was based entirely on the Arbiter never forgiving an Unggoy before, a flawed perspective. The Arbiter was but the will of the High Prophets, those who were connected to the Forerunners. The Hierarchs were the blessed ones, and it was in their blessed state that they had found forgiveness.

Nevertheless, it was the will of the gods that he had lived to slay Drinol. A fine part to play in their elaborate plans, he thought with a grin. While many grand tales were told amongst Unggoy, this was probably to be the first true story featuring an Unggoy hero.

Desiring a chance to tell his story to his children, he made up his mind to retire at the next available opportunity. Surely this was more than enough to convince the Arbiter that his genes were worth passing on to a new generation. First, however, he needed to survive this mission.

His thoughts on obtaining breeding rights were interrupted by the nearby sound he distantly recognized as a discharge from a Lekgolo’s fuel rod cannon. He felt a touch of relief that the Arbiter’s forces still lived, but this faded when he realized that Jiralhanae had attacked them after the area was supposedly secured earlier. Are they on the retreat? he wondered. Should I join them?

No, he decided. “The Unggoy Jitji shall remain here and guard our exit,” the Arbiter had commanded. Were they in fact retreating, he had to make sure the gravity lift was secure. He lifted the fuel rod cannon and, resting it back on his shoulder, slipped back into camouflage.

Boom… Boom… Boom…

Echoes of nearby explosions, the detonations of Jiralhanae rocket grenades, filled the air and made the small hairs on Jitji’s skin stand up. The Sangheili are using their own grenade launchers against them, he told himself. With a quick glance at Drinol’s head, he stepped away from the door to allow his superiors to enter with ease.

His feet splashed in the warm green pool accumulating in the chamber, and he felt a burst of pride once more at his accomplishment. While he could never voice his opinion and expect to live, he was sure that the Forerunners must see him as a true warrior equal to even Sangheili. Why else would they allow him to slay Drinol?

As a young child, he had accompanied his instructor to a Sangheili graduation ceremony in which the academy students swore their loyalty to the Covenant before a Prophet. Just as the young Sangheili had spoken to the Prophet of Honor those cycles past, he now whispered in the complicated Sangheili tongue no Unggoy bothered to attempt, “So full of hate were our eyes, none of us could see…”

He was reminded of the Sangheili who had been so eager to see him executed. The white Special Operations Sangheili had especially looked on him with disgust and hatred at what he had believed was an evil product of the Humans’ malice. “Our wars would yield countless dead, but never victory…”

These words reminded him of the war on the race of Humans. Countless numbers had been destroyed on either side of the conflict, and with the Humans’ destruction of the Sacred Ring it looked as though their Demon was seeking vengeance. Is it worth it? he wondered suddenly, but swiftly quashed the rebellious thought. Here was where a Prophet would speak… “So let us cast arms aside, and like discard our wrath. Thou, in faith, shall keep us safe whilst we find the path.”

That was all he remembered of the Oath of the Covenant. Although it had no value in law, he felt his words resonate in the air as if a beacon of his ascension. He knew of no prayer made by Sangheili who had recently achieved the class of warrior, so he sought to project his emotion into his words to give them the holiness the occasion merited, “My Gods… I am Jitji, a warrior in your service… Forever.”

As if a sign from the gods, the sounds of battle soon stopped. “My Gods…” he whispered, but he held his breath as he heard several footsteps approach. He nearly yelped in fear when two Jiralhanae stepped inside, but thankfully found the will to keep quiet. Every instinct screamed at him to either run away or fire, but he remained as still as any stealth Sangheili would have done.

“Eternally damn these traitors to the Sea of Shadow!” cried one of the Jiralhanae as he took in the sight of Drinol’s massive corpse.

“The Ship Master will not be pleased to learn of the death of the alpha Sharquoi,” the other one muttered. “Perhaps we should wait until the Arbiter is obtained before reporting?”

“If we wait and the Arbiter is not taken alive, we will anger him yet further,” the first countered. “I say it is better to report now and take our chances.”

“Very well,” the second agreed after a pause. “When you tell him, mention the feast we may have from its meat.”

“Me? You tell him your idea yourself!”

As the Jiralhanae argued over who had to tell their superiors, Jitji tried to figure out what to do. He could try to kill these Jiralhanae while they were distracted, but should he not take out both at once he would surely die before he had a chance. He would be unable to complete his mission to guard the lift if he were slain, yet was he to allow these to live?

He made his decision and began to slowly step toward the door. From that angle, he would have better ability to strike both at once. His foot splashed in the pool of blood and he froze. Fortunately, the Jiralhanae were to preoccupied to notice.

He slowly made his way once more, careful to tread around the green puddles, until he stood with Drinol’s head at his back. Thanking the Forerunners for his wonderful experience, he raised the cannon, took aim, and began to squeeze the trigger…

''“All dropships approach the aft-port launch bay at once! ‘Opskitee is a traitor and has turned on me! All dropships to the aft-port launch bay!”'' the Arbiter’s tense voice met his ears, causing him to loosen his grip on the trigger in surprise. A Sangheili has turned on the Arbiter? he thought in horror. How could something like that ever occur? Did he not trust the voice of the High Prophets?

This changed everything. He could not sacrifice himself now with the Arbiter in danger. If the Arbiter had no loyal warriors besides Jitji, then it was his duty to protect him. Had he not waited another heartbeat, he never would have heard the message in time.

My Gods have given me a mission, he realized with excitement. ''They have accepted me! I am a warrior in their eyes!'' He walked down the ramp, avoiding the stream of blood, to leave the lift and find his master.

The room outside contained a collection of destroyed vehicles, the messy corpse of a Lekgolo, and several Jiralhanae and Kig-Yar. Jitji swallowed, realizing the sheer force he would have to take on alone. It was one thing to slay a blinded… Sharquoi, the Jiralhanae had called it… and quite another to mount an attack on an entire ship filled with enemies. The Arbiter is alone too, he told himself. He needs my service.

However, it was clear that the Arbiter was not in this room. He needed to leave to search, but could not open a door without alerting the Jiralhanae of his presence. Despite the urgency of the Arbiter’s situation, he would need to wait for someone to open a door for him. Pressing himself against a wall, he prepared to wait for an opportunity to present itself.

***

Fools, Dak laughed inwardly as he looked around him. I am surrounded by utter fools! It was obvious that an Unggoy under active camouflage had just entered the cargo hold. Green Unggoy tracks had appeared from nowhere, and directly above them the air was bent. However, the idiots around him remained oblivious to it.

He considered slaying it where it stood, but if he did its meat would be accessible by only the next to eat after its preparation and Dak wanted it for himself. He had a deep love for the meat of Unggoy, second only to his love of money, and was determined to have his own personal feast.

“I need to crap,” he crudely remarked as he began to make his way by the Unggoy and toward a door. As he had suspected, the Unggoy followed close behind him. After turning the corner to make sure the corridor was completely empty, he activated the console at the inter-deck junction point.

Gambling, Dak had acquired several codes to take advantage of Covenant security systems. As any use of them would make the Covenant replace the codes and dock his pay considerably, he had waited for the right moment to act. Here, now, with the Covenant civil war waging was the perfect chance to steal himself a delicious dinner and possibly evade detection from the Ministry of Tranquility. Using the codes, he sealed all entrances, locking the Unggoy in with him.

He spun around and fired a shot from his pistol, striking the Unggoy and making its camouflage fade. It was white, carrying a fuel rod cannon, and had green liquid splashed on its legs. Before it had time to do more than yelp, he lunged forward and struck it on the forehead with side of his pistol causing to fall backward.

Before it could recover, he knocked the weapon from its grasp and kicked it away. He pinned the Unggoy down and enjoyed its futile struggles. “I’m gonna eat you, gas-sucker,” he told it with a grin. “I’m gonna rip the flesh from your bones and devour it right here. Maybe if you beg me, I’ll let you die before I start. What do you say, gas-sucker? Want my mercy?”

He was unsure what he expected the Unggoy to say. Whatever it was, it certainly wasn’t “I am a warrior in service of the Forerunners, and I do not beg for mercy!” This it said, and following this bizarre statement, it slammed its arm spikes into his arms causing him to lose his grip.

“Zxalgh!” he cried. “Covenant vermin!” Purple blood leaked from his arms, and pain ran through them. The Unggoy made a dive for its cannon, but he engaged his shield and slammed it into the pest while screaming, “You will be lucky to die!”

“My fellows feasted on the flesh of your fallen,” the Unggoy grunted, its voice muffled through the golden shield. “Their weakness became our strength.”

What is it doing using the Sangheili dialect? “Do you think you’re Sangheili?” he laughed, pressing his weight onto the shield to crush the fool. The ache from his arms fueled his rage. “Let’s test that.” He disengaged the shield and grabbed onto the gas-sucker’s face, pushing its mask up and off its head.

He stood up and laughed as it gasped for breath. “No, you’re a worthless Unggoy just like the rest of your kind.” He sharply kicked its arm when it reached for the mask, and then kicked it again for fun. “I’m gonna smash that mask.”

He walked down the hall to pick up the fallen cannon, thinking about how it would despair to see its own weapon used as his tool. Suddenly, a hot ball of blue flames struck the back of his neck. He had turned his back on it! Even though it was injured, he should have been cautious. Who is the fool? Dak thought bitterly. It is none but–

BAM!

***

Fumbling with hands he could barely feel, Jitji pulled the mask back on his face. Finally able to breathe once more, he lay unmoving while his body recovered. Now the true impossibility of his mission sunk in. How can I face a ship full of Jiralhanae when I can barely kill one Kig-Yar?

When his vision was fully restored and his heartbeat returned to its normal pace, he seriously gave thought to the issue. The strength of Unggoy is in our numbers, he thought. A single Unggoy, whether or not it was ‘blessed,’ could not win against such forces. He would need allies…

He had seen no other Unggoy here, and he strongly doubted that Kig-Yar would join him. He laughed weakly as he imagined trying to convince his attacker to fight with him, but started coughing. He turned his head to regard the scorch marks and miscellaneous pieces that were all that remained of the hostile Kig-Yar.

It had been loyal to its masters, the Jiralhanae rebels, and would certainly not have helped him. However, perhaps there were some Kig-Yar here that were loyal to the Covenant and who would join him. How could I find such Kig-Yar? he wondered.

His thoughts were interrupted by a sudden pounding on the door nearest the corpse. They’re trying to get in! He ran to his fuel rod cannon, picked it up and engaged his active camouflage. He then hurried behind the junction column to use as cover should he decide to fire.

On a sudden impulse, he set the heavy cannon down and ran over to the corpse. He searched for the Kig-Yar’s right arm and was relieved to find it intact. He removed the shield from the arm and fastened it around his own. He tested the shield to find that it was still functional, the golden shield soon fading from view.

Good. It was of little use to him if it did not accept his armor’s active camouflage. He deactivated it and ran back behind the column. He was not a heartbeat late, for the door soon opened, spilling in several Jiralhanae with raised grenade launchers. Jitji raised his own cannon, hoping he wouldn’t have to fight them.

“What happened here?” a Jiralhanae growled, walking toward him; Jitji kept very still.

“This blast was made by plasma grenade,” another exclaimed, examining the scorch marks.

“Another one is onboard,” said the only Jiralhanae among them that wore a helmet. Jitji speculated this meant he was their leader. “It may still be in this room. Keep your eyes alert for movement.”

Jitji held his breath as the Jiralhanae searched the corridor extensively. Fortunately, they seemed to be looking for a Sangheili, which meant that their gazes were a unit above him. Eventually, they decided that he had moved on, and ended their search.

“Another Sangheili is onboard,” the helmeted Jiralhanae reported on his radio. “It has slain a Kig-Yar and is to be considered hostile… Very good,” he added in response to something Jitji could not hear. “…Yes, Excellency, I will.” He then addressed his Jiralhanae, “The Arbiter has been captured, and the Ship Master would prefer to receive no bad news. The Sangheili defectors have been placed in the holding pens, and we will hunt down the last of their unit before it can cause any more damage. Jiralhanae, we move!”

And with that, the great warriors filed out of the corridor. Jitji could finally relax, yet his muscles remained as tense as ever. The Arbiter has been captured… and I must come to his aid! It was now certain that the Forerunners had chosen him for this great task, and he would sooner dive into a pit of Flood than fail it.

“The Sangheili defectors have been placed in the holding pens,” the Jiralhanae had said. That is where I must go, he thought. Where Kig-Yar who have openly disagreed with the rebellion were surely placed. And with what he hoped was the grace of a Sangheili warrior, he set out to reach it.

***

Eito sighed with annoyance as he, along with the rest of his unit, was led to one of the ship’s brigs. It was hardly necessary, for it was he who had suggested that the Jiralhanae relieve the Arbiter of his command. No Sangheili warrior would damage their honor by attempting to launch an attack by deceiving the enemy into believing that they are defecting.

Whoever had slain the Kig-Yar was from the Arbiter’s first unit here, and clearly not acting under Eito’s command. Yet still the alpha Jiralhanae refused to be swayed, and so he now had to wait out the war in some cell. It is better than obeying the command of a lunatic, he supposed, following a Jiralhanae Major into the brig.

“You may leave,” the Major snapped to his two Minors. As they departed, the Major tapped a control to lower the walls of a bank of cells; inside his lay a badly bleeding Human. “Enter.”

“What is this?” Eito asked, glaring at the Human.

“A toy,” the Major said dismissively. “Use it for nourishment if you wish. Enter.”

Eito stepped into the cell, staring down at the creature. It was beasts like this that had polluted the Arbiter’s mind, making him believe things that were obviously impossible to any rational mind. It stared defiantly up at him, even as its arms appeared useless for defense as it seemed the Jiralhanae had shattered the bones within him.

It was of a pale variety, similar to the Human commander that had corrupted the Arbiter. This one, however, appeared to be male as it lacked the milk glands present on the chests of female Humans. Its sickening red blood flowed rapidly from its crushed nose to stain what remained of its garment. “Disgusting,” Eito muttered, sharply kicking it in the head and puncturing its skull.

“Your decision,” the Major said mockingly, tapping another control.

Instead of the cell’s wall engaging, Eito found his legs rooted to the floor as energy restraints surrounded him and removed his shield. Two shackles spread his arms far from his sides, leaving him defenseless as the filthy Jiralhanae approached him with a laugh. “What is the meaning of this?” he growled.

“Prisoners are mine to do with as I please,” it answered, ripping off his chest armor to expose his skin. It drew what Eito recognized as a Human combat knife and lightly traced it across his muscles.

“I am not a simple prisoner!” he cried with outrage. “I made a pact with your master! I delivered to him the Arbiter!”

“I’m sure he is pleased,” it laughed, pressing the blade into his flesh hard enough to draw blood. “I was told nothing about leaving you be, however. I wonder how you taste?” It sliced off a strip of flesh from his chest and tossed it into its disgusting maw; Eito refused to make a sound.

Treacherous animals! Eito raged. He had abandoned an insane captor for another, one which would certainly destroy him without pause. The Arbiter may be bound to madness, but it is not one of malice. He glanced down at the device attached to his hip: a contingency plan, now useless to him.

“Not bad,” it muttered. “I prefer Human, but I certainly wouldn’t deny myself your flesh if I had no choice.” It grabbed the dead Human and tore off chunks of flesh with its teeth, devouring the corpse. Sickening that it would take pleasure from an abomination… Out of sight, he heard the door open. “Leave us,” it called between mouthfuls, and he heard the door close.

“You should have eaten,” the Jiralhanae said as it threw away the bones. “You could have used the energy.” It began removing the rest of his armor.

“It is better to starve than to feast on the flesh of a Human,” he spat. “You have consumed something unholy and wicked, and you will no doubt take on such attributes if you are not cleansed by a Prophet.”

“Humans are no more unholy than you or me,” it laughed, slapping him across the face in mirth. “They are merely obstacles to be overcome if we are to alone take our Great Journey.”

“Is that so?” He laughed as well, but at the notion that a Jiralhanae could be wiser in the was of the gods than the Hierarchs. “You claim to know what the High Prophet of Truth does not?”

The Jiralhanae punched him in his chest wound, causing him to let out a yelp despite his efforts. It bent down to examine his leg wound, “It is true that this incarnation of the High Prophet of Truth has called out for the destruction of the Humans, citing damnation from the gods… But the 115th incarnation stated that all races may take the Journey, but it is only the Covenant that offers the salvation of alliance with the Prophets.”

An earlier incarnation? But it was truly the same person, the same Prophet inhabiting separate bodies. He broke out of his thoughts as his captor seized the last resort weapon from his leg and held it aloft for it to gaze upon. “That is a simple nourishment container,” he explained, hoping the Jiralhanae would not open it.

“For Unggoy,” it added, removing the cap to examine the contents. It wrinkled its nose at the stench that erupted from it, and Eito likewise retracted his mandibles to block the taste. “I care not for the Milk they drink,” it muttered, hastily replacing the cap. It turned its gaze back upon himself. “I heard no reports of Unggoy in your attack.”

The traitor Unggoy must have evaded capture, he realized. It hides like a coward in active camouflage, not even daring to fight. “There was one,” he explained. “The Arbiter spared a treacherous Unggoy so that it could die with honor it did not deserve. It was told to guard the lift, but it has evidently fled in cowardice.”

“One Unggoy,” it repeated, its disbelief apparent. “You hold a large feeding tube for one Unggoy?” It sliced the knife across his left arm, from the start of his shoulder down to his wrist. “Tell the truth!” it roared. “How many Unggoy did you bring?” It flung the tube across the room to impact upon the far wall, inside one of the holding cells.

“I tell you the truth,” he said, utterly confused by this event. Why would the Jiralhanae care so strongly about Unggoy? “The 123rd incarnation of the Prophet of Truth calls upon new information that his earlier incarnation did not have with him,” he said in an attempt to distract his captor.

“Why would the information be new?” it asked, grudgingly returning to their previous conversation. “The Forerunners ascended many eons past. The information they gave the First Prophet was all sorted out by his 57th incarnation when he declared that the Luminous Key could tell no more, that we must search only for clues regarding the location of the Sacred Rings. That the 123rd places such great value upon the elimination of the Humans is merely evidence of the Prophet’s… views.” It paused, aware that what it said bordered on heresy. “Now... Unggoy. How many?”

“The 123rd…” Eito began, only to be interrupted by a sharp kick to his injured leg. Caught by surprise, he was unable to resist groaning from the pain.

“Answer the question!” The Jiralhanae seized his right arm and twisted, snapping the bone. “How! Many!”

“There is but one,” he answered truthfully. “A traitor.”

The Jiralhanae growled in frustration. “And I was so looking forward to our time together… But if you will not share secrets, you must be given a proper interrogator…” It stepped back out of the cell, placing a hand on his ear piece, “This is Quirinus,” he began, “I…” Its message was never finished, for from the air several units away sprang a glowing fuel rod. It struck the Jiralhanae, causing it to vanish in a green cloud.

The Unggoy! he realized. It was here, waiting under its cloak. Soon the air shimmered, and then the traitor was revealed. It looked sick, as though it had never before seen death, and had a strange green liquid staining its legs. His eyes widened as he realized it was wearing a Kig-Yar’s arm shield. What has it been doing?

“‘Opskitee?” it squeaked at him.

“Yes,” he told the creature. “Release me.”

The Unggoy did not move. Slowly, it aimed its weapon at him. “The Arbiter says you are a traitor,” it grunted in the formal tongue used by his kind, but never by Unggoy.

“The Arbiter…” is mad, he wanted to say. However, what service had he done by surrendering to the Jiralhanae? Nothing but granting torture to my warriors, and to the Arbiter. Truly it was worse than serving under the command of the Arbiter, a mere puppet of the Humans. The Arbiter had kept his sense of honor, but the hedonistic Jiralhanae had none to lose.

“I was wrong,” he admitted, to the Unggoy and the gods. “I believed the Jiralhanae could protect us from the Humans’ deceit, but they are worse than any Sangheili could be. You may release me, Unggoy, for I will do no more harm.”

“How me… How do I know you are telling truth?” it asked, fumbling with the grammar.

Never had he thought he would have to convince an Unggoy of his loyalty, but he now had to do so. At the mercy of an Unggoy! “I give you my word as a servant of the Prophets,” he promised.

The Unggoy slowly set down its cannon. But instead of releasing him from his shackles, it approached the far cell. “What is this for?” it asked him as it picked up the discarded feeding tube.

“Drop that,” he snapped. “Leave it be!” He watched in horror as it removed the cap and poured a thin brown liquid from the tube onto the floor of the cell. “Do not drink it!”

“This is not Milk!” it exclaimed. It ran back to its weapon and aimed it back at him. “What is it?”

“It is a contingency plan, should the Jiralhanae not accept my surrender with grace,” he said truthfully, and then lied. “It was to poison the Jiralhanae, who will consume most anything. You can see the remains of a Human corpse that was eaten by my captor there.” He swung his head to indicate the bloody corpse beside him.

The Unggoy nodded its head in acceptance and finally moved to the control panel to release him and his brothers. As soon as he was freed, Eito fell on his knees unable to stand. The Unggoy watched him with calculating eyes. “Can you fight?” it asked him.

“I…” he trailed off as he struggled to stand. “Do not believe I am capable,” he finished with a sigh.

“Excellency?” A familiar Sangheili stepped into view. “Worry not, Excellency. I will lead us to battle. That is, if you so desire…”

“Indeed,” he allowed. “Yes, lead my troops to battle. Rescue the Arbiter and then beg for mercy. I… will remain here to gather my strength.”

“Yes, Excellency,” the Sangheili said obediently. “Should I… close you in?”

“No,” he said at once. “Leave me an exit. But should the Jiralhanae come, I will try to deceive them… So, the poison…” he stared across the room at the spilled liquid, the promise of death.

“Of course, Excellency,” the Sangheili said as he realized what had happened. He tapped a control, and a wall appeared to seal the far cell. “Yes, it would not do to have the Jiralhanae realize your plot.”

“Indeed,” he agreed. It would not do to have the Flood run rampant in the ship. “Now go.”

***

Consus smiled up at his bloodmate, at the ship’s controls. For over 14 cycles, Aeson had fought his way through the Covenant ranks, and now it appeared that he may soon achieve the greatest rank possible. Assuming, of course, that they could persuade the Arbiter to comply.

The Sangheili bastard had fought like a mad dobgat, but they had finally been able to capture him with the Fist of Rukt. The weapon of the Alpha Chieftain was now Aeson’s, and when he presented it to Cronus… He grinned in excitement at the thought. Chieftain Aeson, I like it!

However, despite the efforts of the best torturers they had onboard: two Kig-Yar named Jep and Goph, they remained unable to convince the Arbiter to obey. He wondered if they should try talking to him again, to persuade him with logic rather than pain. The Sangheili did seem to enjoy arguing more them condemning, that was evident when the Lekgolo made their case.

He shook his head as he remembered. Now that was one bizarre event… The Lekgolo had merged together into one swarm, which moved about like a massive serpent, and had declared the Prophets greedy fools who were planning to break the Covenant and walk alone. They claimed that if Aeson was careful, he could, in essence, take over the Covenant and enslave the Prophets. “They are only as powerful as are their servants,” it had said. “Steal them away, and there is nothing but lies.”

Poor fools… he shook his head in pity. He had studied the Writ of Union with rapt attention, more than most Jiralhanae, and was able to quote, word for word, the verse describing the inherent immortality of the Prophet of Truth:

The Prophet took the steel chalice and drained the blood from his head, “He who drinks of this wine shall live on in my stead.” And Prorok poured his mortal essence upon the Luminous Key, “Every Prophet who seeks the truth will find immortality!”

It was as simple as that. Consus sighed a small prayer for the Lekgolo creature, clearly mentally ill. It had been moved to a holding cell until they could find a healer who understood Lekgolo, and it would likely remain there until they returned to High Charity.

Well, if the Lekgolo cannot be here… “Aeson?” he called, stepping up the ramp. “Bloodmate, I believe we may get more response from the Arbiter if we approach him with reason. What do you think?”

“While the thought of listening to it scream excites me, I do see your point,” his bloodmate agreed with a scowl. “It has not let out any noise but insults since the Kig-Yar began. I suppose after it was tortured by the High Council, this all seems rather silly to it…”

Not wishing his bloodmate’s bad mood to continue, Consus bowed his head respectfully and leaped down to the Arbiter. Swatting away the Kig-Yar, he removed the pain sticks and nodded to acknowledge the Arbiter. “Tell me,” he said, hoping his voice sounded friendly, “Why are you opposed to making the transmission?”

Out of breath, the Arbiter eyed him for a moment, before finally asking, “How can you transmit through the static?”

“The static?” he blinked. Why wouldn’t he be able to transmit? “What static are you referring to?”

“Ah, High Charity has been broadcasting a communications barrier for the past unit or so,” Officer Theodotus cut in, before hastily adding, “Ah, Excellency.”

“Well?” he asked. Now that Theodotus had spoken, he needed to supply all information required. “How can we transmit?”

“It, the barrier, it’s like, it functions similar to a series of waves,” the officer nervously explained. “At times its presence is strong, but it will retract for small periods of time, allowing us to communicate.”

“There, you see,” he told the Arbiter in a carefully calm voice. “It’s all perfectly reasonable.”

“Also,” Theodotus cut in again, “The waves are steadily getting weaker over time. Eventually, they will not be there at all.”

“Thank you, Officer,” he said annoyed. What does he want? Fame? To have spoken indirectly to the Arbiter before his impending death? “That will be all.”

The Arbiter bowed his head in thought. “What is it?” Consus asked. “What are you thinking?” The Arbiter refused to answer. “Well, think about how many of your kind are being slaughtered by mine while you lay here refusing to act. With one transmission, you could end this useless fight, end the suffering of many. Why do you refuse to act?”

“Why do you refuse to question your belief in the Prophets?” the Arbiter retorted.

“Back to that silly thing are you?” he laughed. “You truly believe the Prophets are false?” At the Arbiter’s nod, he laughed again at the ridiculous of it all. “Alright, I’ll make you a deal. If you can convince me of your beliefs, I’ll do my best to convince my bloodmate to let you go, but if your arguments fail, you make the broadcast. Agreed?”

“Agreed,” the Arbiter said after a pause. “The Holy Oracle of the first Halo we encountered said that the Halos were weapons of last resort used by the Forerunners to kill every creature capable of supporting the Parasite, including themselves.”

“Tell me everything this Oracle said, and of the circumstances it spoke,” Consus commanded. After listening to the Arbiter’s story, he thought it over and suggested, “Perhaps these heretics altered the Oracle, defiled it to spout their drivel. How do you know it was pure?”

“How do you know it was not?” the Arbiter countered. “What would possess a Sangheili to alter a Holy Oracle in the shadow of the broken Halo? Could he even accomplish such a thing? To what end?”

“To walk the path alone,” he said at once. “By destroying the Covenant from within. …Without proper examination, I could not tell if the Oracle could have been altered by him.”

“I shall not give you the Oracle,” the Arbiter said. “It was not only the heretics who repeated its words. The Parasite leader, deep beneath the Library, spoke the same message though it had never spoken with the Oracle or the heretics.”

“The Parasite… leader?” he queried, his voice vibrating with disgust. “Those things have a leader? …What did it say?”

The Arbiter explained his strange experience. “…And then, speaking the words, ‘Fate had us meet as foes, but this ring will make us brothers,’ it transported me outside the Halo’s control room.”

Consus was suddenly aware of his bloodmate’s presence behind him. So engrossed was he in the Arbiter’s story that he did not hear his approach. “The Parasite was also present on the first Halo,” he pointed out. “A force of evil as great as that could have been what influenced the heretics in the first place, and convinced them to alter the Holy Oracle with their superior knowledge of Forerunner technology.” He smiled at his logic.

“Why did the Parasite spare myself and the Demon if not to disarm a grand weapon?” the Arbiter asked. “When has it ever spared anyone?”

“It has not,” Aeson answered from behind him, laying a hand on his shoulder. “This Parasite you encountered sounds quite unique. Tell me everything about it.”

“Aeson?” he asked. “I was making progress…”

“The transmission can wait,” he replied. “I want to know about this leader of the Flood.”

“Ship Master!” Commander Nerva exclaimed suddenly. “The Sangheili have escaped! There have been deaths.”

“Bloody traitors,” Aeson growled. “You can never trust traitors,” he told Consus as an aside, before yelling, “Find them and slay them!”

“Yes, Excellency,” Nerva replied, returning to his radio.

“Now,” he said, turning to face the Arbiter, “Tell me of the Flood leader.”

“What assurance have I that you will not kill me once have I make your transmission?” he asked instead.

“I give you my word,” Aeson smiled, surely thinking of his upcoming promotion.

“The word of a Jiralhanae?” the Arbiter laughed. “It’s worthless.”

Aeson’s smile vanished, in its place a scowl. “Tell me of the Flood!” he growled.

“Aeson? Brother…” Consus tried to calm him down.

“I will tell you of everything you wish to know,” the Sangheili promised, “But only after I make the transmission.”

“You will make the transmission?” Aeson said with pleasure. “Very good to hear.”

“Only if I fail to convince your bloodmate of my beliefs,” the Arbiter stated. “These are my demands.”

Aeson opened his mouth to speak, but then closed it. He opened it again, and stopped. “Very well,” he said finally. “Talk some sense into it,” he muttered to Consus.

“Yes, Aeson,” he responded, trying to remember their conversation. “What were we saying?”

“The Flood leader spared myself and the Demon,” the Arbiter said. “Why would it do so if not to send us to stop the activation of a massive weapon?”

“It is hard to read the minds of creatures so alien to ourselves,” he began. “But it is clear that the Forerunners wished for them to remain imprisoned…” he paused to allow the Arbiter to challenge that claim – he did not, and Consus went on, “All evidence suggests that they are enemies of the Forerunners… and would certainly be against their Great Journey. So this claim that the Prophets are false can be shown to simply be the product of enemies of the Forerunners.” He smiled. There, it has been proved false.

“The Writ of Union is wrought with errors,” the Sangheili went on. “It claims that High Prophets cannot be slain, and yet see what has become of the Prophet of Regret. It claims that the gods see all and hear all, yet Prorok must call out to them. It claims that all of his race are to be deemed Prophets, yet only he can establish contact with the gods.”

He continued smiling. I have him on the run. “You are taking these quotes out of context, which would certainly cause error. Allow me to explain: The High Prophets are immortal because their minds survive. Prorok crafted the Luminous Key to carry…”

“Excellencies,” Nerva interrupted. “Forgive me, but the rebels seem to be very near to the control room. It would be wise to prepare for battle.”

“How did you let them get so close?” Aeson demanded. “Never mind. This should be short.” He hefted the Fist of Rukt.

“The Key contains the essences of every Prophet of Truth,” Consus continued, only to be stopped by one of Aeson’s looks. He picked up a grenade launcher that had been left resting against the wall, and hurried back up the ramp.

A tense period of waiting followed. Consus gritted his teeth and kept his fingers on the trigger, ready to squeeze at the first sign of movement. And then a door opened, and he fired along with several others. Aeson, however, continued waiting.

Each grenade exploded, yet no corpses fell. The door remained open, yet no one was visible. He fired again to no effect. Hastily reloading, he strained his eyes for movement.

Then, the flares of plasma grenades soared through the air from the entrance. As everyone near the opening ran, he fired three grenades in the direction of the grenade throwers. The doors closed before the last exploded, shielding the rebels.

“They will be back,” Aeson stated. “Consus, be ready to blind them.”

Understanding, Consus grabbed the long white grenade attached to his belt. A concave stick with dome-shaped caps at each end, this grenade had been given to his bloodmate as a gift from Chieftain Cronus, and Consus had been itching for a chance to try it out.

Two beeps behind him signaled that the rebels were coming in on the other side. He hurled the grenade in their direction, and then shut his eyes tightly as a blinding flash erupted. He opened his eyes in time to see a large glowing green ball speeding toward him. He ducked into a roll and fell off the ramp into the grooves running alongside it, the sounds of battle ever present around him.

Maybe I’ll just wait here for a bit, he thought. It wasn’t as though he needed the honor, for being the bloodmate of a Ship Master promised a healthy career. I will soon be the bloodmate of a Chieftain, he thought with delight. And my brothers thought I was foolish to make this choice!

Hearing the discharge of the gravity hammer, he couldn’t help but sneak a look of his fierce warrior. Creeping along the small ramp, he raised his head above the wall to see his bloodmate fighting for his life amongst several Sangheili. They knew better than to attack from long range, and were swiping at Aeson with the bayonets of grenade launchers.

Consus raised his grenade launcher, but thought better of it. With a weapon like this, I cannot control who I hit. He looked back at Aeson. Though he swung the hammer with all the fury of a Chieftain, the Sangheili danced around him to strike at his back.

Before his eyes, his brother, his bloodmate, was slain by three Sangheili. As he fell, the Sangheili moved away to engage other Jiralhanae, and Consus seized the chance to rush to the side of his bloodmate. “Aeson?” he whispered. No response.

“May your soul live on,” he breathed. Then he clutched the Ship Master’s corpse and wept.

***

As soon as the shackles restraining him vanished, the Arbiter leaped for a discarded weapon: a crimson rifle. Wielding the rifle, he sprayed red plasma across the nearest Jiralhanae as it fought a Sangheili hand to hand. He released the trigger before it could overheat, and smashed it into the Jiralhanae’s skull, dropping it where it stood.

The Sangheili gave him a nod of acknowledgement, and then was blown into the wall by a gravity disturbance, crumpling into a heap. The alpha Jiralhanae, clad in its ornate armor as red as a Human’s blood, held the Fist of Rukt in its hands. The Arbiter, aware of how exposed he was, leaped behind a storage crate before it could fire.

A Jiralhanae, the one that had supplied the information regarding the communications barrier, followed him around the crate. Roaring, it charged him. The Arbiter jumped over it and onto the crate, caught the sight of three Sangheili engaging the alpha, and then leaped down to the Sangheili’s corpse.

An eye on the Jiralhanae after him, he reached for the hilt attached to the hip of the dead warrior. He activated the energy sword and lunged into the beast, slicing it in two. Truly this is the weapon for a Sangheili, he thought with satisfaction as the bluish blood splattered his naked body.

The sound of grenade blasts alerted him to a fight between the three remaining Sangheili stalkers and the two remaining Jiralhanae. Using their grenade launchers to great advantage, the Sangheili were dominating the battle. The Arbiter turned to gaze upon the alpha’s corpse with delight, only to see the alpha’s bloodmate weeping beside it.

The Arbiter deactivated the sword and dropped it, grabbing a carbine from the storage crate. Its death its own fault, he supposed as he took aim. It is suicidal to develop such an emotional bond. A Sangheili would pity his fallen, but never take it to the lengths that a hedonistic Jiralhanae would.

However, this Jiralhanae had impressed him with his pious devotion to religion. While it was horribly deluded, its logical viewpoints had been refreshing after hearing so many empty denials from its brothers. It had expressed an almost Sangheili-level of intellect as it argued, and the Arbiter felt a bit of reluctance to pull the trigger.

A startling revelation came to him then, If death is truly the end with no afterlives, then perhaps hedonism is less foolish than I originally believed? He thought back to the delight of the Jiralhanae at his torture, and shook his head. No. Whether or not I may be punished or rewarded, be it from a Prophet or a god, some things are just dishonorable.

…Such as killing a defenseless creature, he finished with a sigh. He lowered the carbine to see the last fighting Jiralhanae be slain by the Sangheili. “Halt,” he commanded as they turned toward the bloodmate. “Seal the entrances.” He stepped over to it.

“Arbiter,” it acknowledged as he approached. “Even though you may kill me, my soul will ascend with the Covenant when the path is clear. You, however, will remain here, unable to ascend past the realm between worlds.”

“Consus, is it?” he asked, ignoring the nonsensical condemnation. “I offer to you mercy. Surrender and you shall live on in this life, kept in far greater condition than any of your bloodmate’s prisoners I am certain.”

The Jiralhanae shook its head. “When I swore my oath, I made a covenant greater than any you could understand.” It grabbed a grenade launcher from the ground and stood up to press the weapon’s bayonet to its stomach, declaring, “I do not wish to live in a world without Aeson!” It then let itself fall.

The Arbiter slammed his hands on the Jiralhanae’s shoulders, pushing him up before the blade could be driven inside. “Do not be a fool,” he hissed. But how could he convince someone who believed in another life?

“Kill me or release me,” Consus spat. “You claim honor above my own. Let me have my dignity!” He struggled to be freed.

The Arbiter released his grip, and then punched him sharply in the head. The Jiralhanae fell to the floor motionless, and the Arbiter placed his hand on his neck. Good, still alive. “Restrain him,” he ordered, moving to a Sangheili corpse.

Stripping the clothing from the body, he donned the thin black layer used to support armor. He then moved to the crate in which the parts of his pink suit had been placed, and carefully rebuilt his garment.

“Arbiter, on the behalf of Commander ‘Opskitee,” began one of the Sangheili, “I wish to apologize for the actions…”

“Stop,” he interrupted. “You did not merely betray myself, but you have betrayed High Councilor ‘Lafatee. When you plead for your lives, you may speak to him.”

“Yes, Excellency,” the Sangheili stammered nervously.

“Ship Master Aeson!” cried a familiar voice. “I demand an audience!”

He turned with surprise to see, floating a unit above the ship’s controls, a life-size holographic image of a Hierarch. Despite everything he had learned, instinct took hold and he bowed low. Realizing that he could obtain military secrets by deceiving the Hierarch, he called out, “High Prophet of Mercy, the Jiralhanae you seek is no more, for I have slain him.”

“Who is it that speaks?” the High Prophet demanded. “Is it a true servant of the Covenant?”

“I am the Arbiter,” he replied. However, after spending such time denouncing the Covenant, he found the lie far too distasteful to speak. He raised himself and glared at the High Prophet. “I do not serve the Covenant, for the Great Journey is not but a lie invented to lead us to our own destruction!”

“Arbiter!” cried the Sangheili with alarm, but he stood his ground.

“Is that what you truly believe, heretic?” the High Prophet sneered. “You may as well spare the Humans their destruction! Ally yourself with them!”

“Indeed, I intend to do so,” he replied, knowing that what he said promised death to them all and loving the power he felt. “What have you to say?”

“I say…” and at once, the old Prophet’s voice changed, becoming youthful and feminine, “Well done.” Before his eyes, the Prophet’s appearance morphed from the aged Hierarch to a young female Human, glowing a bright shade of violet.