User:Dragonclaws/Ascension21

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''The devil glared down at her. The great eye, as wrathful as a class-A star, pulsed with fiendish blue light. “You cannot win,” the creature hissed. “You are weak. You will die.”''

''“No!” she screamed up through the shadows. “I... am a servant of Earth,” she trembled. “A-and all her colonies...”''

''“Earth will fall,” it laughed. “Her colonies ravished.”''

''“I... am a servant... of... the United... Nations!” It was becoming harder and harder to focus. Violet mist surrounded her brain, and a loud hum filled her ears. “When they need... the people... When they ask... When I...”''

''“Go to sleep,” the monster urged. “Let your suffering end.”''

''Was she suffering? She hadn’t given the matter much thought. But now she felt a sharp pain in her chest, a pressure. And it was so hard to breathe!''

''“Relax,” it whispered. “Give in...”''

''“Never!” She fought with all her might against the monster. She tried to rise, but found herself strapped down. No matter how she struggled, her limbs refused to move.''

“Be at peace...”

''“No!” She was a servant of the United Nations! She screamed her rage at the devil, but realized her lips remained motionless. She was not really speaking.''

''“I know you are tired... You do not want to fight. I know you better than anyone, Miranda.”''

''“What? Who are you?” It was another silent scream. She was not awake. She existed in a living death, like the princess of folklore. She willed herself to wake.''

“You know who I am.”

''It was not a question. Fear welled up inside of her. “No...” It was not possible. “You’re dead.”''

''“I am timeless,” the light said, its voice now cold and masculine. “Death has no meaning, no purpose, when you are apart from time.”''

“How did you die?” she had to ask, trying to ignore the ever-increasing humming that filled her ears.

''“Die? ...You ask the wrong questions.”''

''Before she had time to process the answer, the presence abruptly pulled away. “Dad! No!”''

“Success!”

The restraints were gone, and she fell forward onto her knees, away from a dark purple haze and into a bright room filled with clean air. She broke into a fit of coughing, her lungs on fire. Tears streaming from her eyes, she saw the blurry forms of several Covenant.

“Commander?”

Choking, she looked up to see a large blue Elite looking down at her, addressing her. Because we have a truce, she remembered. Gasping, she raised herself up and looked down at her chest where two ugly white marks sat there like dead flesh, all that remained of her mortal injury.

“Are you... all right?”

She turned around sharply. Floating behind her, above the gas-filled tube, was the Monitor. For reasons she couldn’t explain, just the echoes of a feverish dream, she felt a sudden distrust of it. “I’m... fine,” she mumbled weakly, trying to hold back the coughs.

“We had worried you would not last the unit,” the Elite rumbled in his own tongue. “The Oracle was the true healer at work.”

“Well,” she gasped, her voice still not quite there, “I guess I should say ‘thanks.’”

The Monitor hovered, waiting.

“Thanks,” she finished after a moment.

“This youth that you see here, I snatch'd one half out of the jaws of death,” the Monitor stated cheerfully.

She blinked. Did it just quote Shakespeare? She shook her head, “Where’s Johnson?”

“Ma’am.”

Turning back around, she now saw the Sergeant Major behind the Elite. He rested against the wall, his eyes averted. “Is my uniform available?” she asked no one in particular.

“The Covies kept everything together,” Johnson nodded, gesturing for the Elite to bring it out. The Elite nodded and went to a nearby storage crate. “It’s seen better days, though.”

The Elite laid out the uniform on a table. Jesus, Johnson wasn’t kidding. Besides the holes burned in the shirt, the entire outfit was stained with her blood.

“Commander,” the Elite said in what took her a moment to recognize as English, “I have located a Jackal suit of approximate size.” He placed a two-piece body suit made of grey leather about two sizes larger next to her uniform.

“Jackal,” she repeated. Better than a uniform that looks like it was worn by St. Elisa, she supposed, pulling on the alien garment. It was extremely baggy, and she had to bunch up the pant legs a lot. Still, better than the other outfit.

“Okay,” she said when she had dressed. “Safe to look.”

The Elite seemed bewildered as Johnson turned to face her. “Humans deem it a punishable offense to gaze at an unclothed superior?” the Elite quietly asked the Oracle in the alien language.

“Hmm, on the contrary,” the Monitor replied in the same speech, ''“I believe it has more to do with mating rituals. Notice that Commander Keyes is a female, while Sergeant Major Johnson is a male.”''

''“Indeed? Yes, that would account for the differing physical structures. I hope to be able to examine Johnson at a later point for further comparison.”''

“If you wish, I could go over the...”

“So, Sergeant,” she said quickly, trying to cover up the fact that they could understand what was being said. What I heard was awkward enough. “What happened while I was out?”

“An awful lot, ma’am.” He straightened, glancing away from the two aliens. “Short version: We got a ship, traded it for another ship, jumped into a giant ship, went after Cortana, got attacked by the Flood, had to leave her behind so the Arbiter could make friends with the boss calamari...”

“With the what?”

“Huge Flood thing,” he explained. “It’s their master or something. Never saw anything but a bunch of tentacles creeping their way out of doors.”

“And the Arbiter made a truce?” she pressed. This whole thing felt wrong. The Flood were not friendly, and not to be trusted.

“Right. The Flood don’t want the Halos to go off anymore than we do,” he nodded, patting his jacket automatically in a search for a cigar. “The ‘Gravemind’ promised the Arbiter that they would help each other get to the Ark and stop it from zapping everyone.”

“And then...?” she asked, having an idea she already knew the answer.

“Game over. Do not revert to checkpoint. Do not collect 7,000 credits.” He gave a humorless laugh.

“And the Arbiter,” she swallowed. “He’s going along with this?”

“Well,” he sighed, “He wants to let them tow us to Earth, then evacuate everyone and blow the ship.”

“I can... see so many ways that could go wrong.” If just one infection form survived to infest someone... they wouldn’t need the Ark to kill them all.

“Gambler’s ruin,” he muttered. “The devil plays with a hacked table...”

Devil... Something flashed in her mind. The Forerunners were God... The whole Forerunner environment had biblical themes. The Ark and the Flood... It couldn’t be a coincidence. “Guilty Spark,” she called, halting the awkward conversation it was having between it and the Elite. “You said the Forerunners put their memories in us, and that it was genetic, and we’d know the Forerunner legacy?”

“Ma’am?”

“Why yes,” the Monitor agreed. “Apparently, my creators’ last hope resulted in failure.”

“But what if it didn’t?” she suggested. “What if some humans got the memories? Maybe with drugs, or genetic anomalies.”

“Well, it is possible,” it allowed, confusion evident in its synthesized voice.

“What about the prophets? Could they have unlocked these Last Pioneers’ memories?”

“Impossible,” it replied. “I was in the presence of the High Prophets for well over the time it would take to recognize Reclaimer-status...”

“No, not Covenant Prophets,” she clarified. “Ours.”

It paused a beat. “Analyzing...”

“Ma’am, what’s this about?” Johnson asked, scratching his head.

“It’s about survival,” she answered. “It’s about doing what’s necessary to live.”

“Well, yeah,” he agreed. “But what’s this about?”

“The Bible,” she replied. “It’s about this, all of this. The Flood and the Ark. Don’t you get it? It’s like a map to the answers we need.”

“Uh-huh,” he grunted, skeptical.

“Well, numerous parallels do exist,” the Monitor admitted. “I would, however, be reluctant to accept much of it as anything but religious propaganda.”

“Not all of it, surely,” she insisted.

“Am I the only one who found that offensive?” Johnson remarked, scowling at the AI. “And even if it is Forerunner memory, and that’s a big ‘if,’ just what would this have to do with stopping the Flood in a way that doesn’t kill us all?”

“This Gravemind creature,” she said, “I think I know what it is...”

“Do I want to know? Ma’am.”

“The devil. Lucifer, Satan, Shaytan, Old Scratch; it’s all the Gravemind!” She began pacing back and forth. “Tried to take over Heaven – the galaxy, an angel leading angels to war against God’s angels – infested Forerunner warring with uninfested Forerunner, God strips off their wings and banishes them to Hell – the Halos destroyed the Floods’ bodies and left them in a primitive state...”

“...If you say so, ma’am.”

“This is all highly-speculative,” the Monitor said. “However, it would be nice if my creators’ left something of themselves behind.”

“What about us?” Johnson asked. “How do we fit into your Forerunner/angels theory? Or the Covenant? Or any of this?” He swept a hand around to indicate their surroundings.

She thought for a moment. “The Master Chief… His name is John-117… Guilty Spark, tell me John 1:17 and 11:7.”

“For the law was given by Moses, but grace and truth came by Jesus Christ,” the Monitor recited dutifully, while Johnson made a show of rolling his eyes. “And, ‘Then after that saith he to his disciples, let us go into Judaea again.’”

“Judaea?” she made a face. That didn’t make much sense. Johnson was inclined to agree.

“It is a location within the country known as Israel,” the Monitor said helpfully.

“Yes, yes,” she muttered distractedly. Moses… Jesus Christ… Who could they represent? Reclaimers and the Monitor?

“Would… you wish for me to quote the Revelation of John?” the Monitor asked, hesitant.

“The Revel…” Of course! The proper name of the Book of Revelations. “Yes, please,” she said with enthusiasm.

“Revelations 1:17: And when I saw him, I fell at his feet as dead. And he laid his right hand upon me, saying unto me, ‘Fear not; I am the first and the last,’” the Monitor recited. “And Revelations 11:7: Now when they have finished their testimony, the beast that comes up from the abyss will attack them, and overpower and kill them.”

Now that was intriguing stuff…

“No offense, ma’am,” Johnson spoke hesitantly, “But that is the biggest crap theory I’ve ever heard. Ma’am.”

“...Right. Sorry,” she sighed, her smoke-induced headache becoming painful. “I guess I’m still a little shook up... Bad dreams.”

“Wasn’t sure you could dream, ma’am,” he commented. “Those two didn’t seem to have much of a clue what they were up to...”

“Humph!” The Monitor turned its back on Johnson. “Impudence...”

“Wait,” Johnson said suddenly, “You have to do whatever we say, right, Sparky?”

“My makers,” the AI began, spinning around in annoyance, “Entrusted me with the care and maintenance of Installation 04, so that when the Reclai–”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Johnson cut it off, making a ‘quiet down’ gesture. “Yes or no.”

“Provided it would not interfere with expected protocol... yes,” it admitted, somewhat reluctant.

“Well, how about we tell you to do whatever it takes to keep the Flood from escaping?” Johnson suggested. “Will you do that?”

“Johnson!” the Elite yelped. “Our orders do not permit us to–”

“I don’t know about you, split-jaw,” he interrupted, “But I never joined the Covenant.” He turned back to the Monitor, “Well?”

“Flood containment is one of my highest priorities,” the Monitor agreed. “I would follow such a command to the best of my abilities.”

“Consider it given,” she said, hope beginning to blossom. “Do not give the Flood any chance to survive. Destroy us all if you must, just make sure the Flood don’t live to infest Earth.”

“This is treachery!” the Elite cried. “Humans!”

“Very well, Reclaimers,” the Monitor said as if the Elite hadn’t spoken. Golden rings grew around it, and it faded out of the room.

***

Well, now this was a delightful turn of events. He had felt confusion and uncertainty for far too long. Now he had a purpose. He was a true instrument of the Builders once more!

He slipped out of the primitive spacecraft and entered the surrounding city. Judging from the volume of Flood spores, he would estimate that this city was in the earlier stages of infection. “How careless of these meddlers to let things spin so out of control,” he noted to himself.

He scanned the vicinity, searching for appropriate resources with which he could fight the Flood infestation. To his delight, he felt the contact procedure begin on numerous Sentinels within one of the taller structures. And then, there was something else, something familiar.

He floated down to the tower. Before he could even begin, tentacles of processed flesh creaped out of the structure’s openings, and he hastily raised himself beyond their reach. Oh, yes, the Flood intelligence form. How unfortunate that one had developed.

“A dark being approaches,” the parasite rumbled, “Inside this place, it seeks death... But I have left the deep grave... And now take a silent breath...”

How fascinating. But he had other priorities greater than study of the parasite. If the intelligence form was present here, it was probable the tool he had sensed was 2401 Penitent Tangent, Monitor of Installation 05. However, if the fellow Monitor had allowed itself to captured by the Flood intelligence form, it would not be of any use.

He turned from the structure and approached the one containing Sentinels. They had already begun to engage their primary intelligence centers, and would be ready to use in approximately 81.52 standard units of time. “Hmmm...”

He scanned the area, locating a potential vector. He would have to be careful to avoid capture himself, as it was probable the Flood would employ a tactic previously confirmed as effective. Fortunately, he had Sentinels and Constructors from Installation 05 at his disposal. The commands given to him by the Reclaimer-‘Keyes, Miranda’ allowed him to invest every effort into the currently active mission.

Selecting his instruments, he transported them along with himself to the target location inside the structure. Immediately, the Sentinels-‘I-05, class-1’ lanced streams of directed energy upon proximate Flood-‘pure form, class-2’. Fortunately, their class was too low to inflict damage.

He floated down to a console and began to interface with the local system. “Lord, what fools these mortals be!” he exclaimed cheerily.

***

“Arbiter! Ship Masters! You have doomed us all!”

“That remains to be seen,” the Arbiter replied, disengaging his sword. “What you were doing was a mistake. I could not allow this secrecy to continue any farther...”

“This. Is. Treachery!” ‘Lafatee screamed, all traces of dignity forgotten. “You will all be punished! I shall crush...!”

Consus grabbed ‘Lafatee by his neck and held him aloft. “Weak coward,” he grumbled in contempt.

“Consus,” he spoke sharply. “Release him.”

The Jiralhanae growled and threw ‘Lafatee down. “Pitiful...”

“Now, listen,” he said when ‘Lafatee raised himself up once more. “You have demonstrated that you are not fit to command. Accept this gracefully, allow yourself to be transferred to a more appropriate position. Do not turn this into a battle.”

“Traitors!” the Sangheili wheezed, a hand on his throat. “You will all taste plasma at the hands of–” His rant abruptly ended as ‘Setfethee struck the back of his head with a plasma rifle.

“Right,” ‘Setfethee nodded. “Major, escort the Emperor to a cell in which he can work out his aggressions.” As the Major took the limp body away, ‘Setfethee faced them. “If there are no objections, I shall take command.”

He was silent, but ‘Vadumee cleared his throat.

“I would place my trust in hands of the Arbiter, for it was he who led us this far,” ‘Vadumee said. “If any should be fit to lead us on this impossible task, it is he.”

‘Setfethee slowly nodded in agreement. “What say you, Arbiter?

This was it. This was the moment he had dreamed about. He would assume his rightful place in a moment of glory and honor... “I...”

“Excellencies!”

They turned to regard a lively Major. “You must listen to this transmission from the medical center,” he insisted, stabbing a finger at the console.

“Very well,” the Arbiter said, rising into his role as leader. “Let it play.”

''“Ship Master! The Humans! They have become rampant! They... Rah!”'' The unmistakable sound of a spike grenade was present before the audio ended.

“Lock off the medical center and surrounding corridors,” he ordered at once. Why would the Humans turn on us? But the answer was close at hand. “I shall go and meet with them in person. Perhaps we can settle any dispute.”

‘Vadumee extended one of his remain mandibles in skepticism, “You truly believe these Humans to be honorable?”

He remembered how they had been so quick to treat him as an ally. What creature could trust so easily that did not live without honor? “I do.” He stepped toward the doorway. “Consus, please come with me.”

The Jiralhanae grunted and followed, carrying the gravity hammer with him. “You will not lead me to my cell?” he asked when it became clear the Arbiter was striding away from the jails.

“I have greater use for you than that,” he said, never faltering in his stride. “You are a powerful warrior.”

“Not nearly as powerful as you.” The Jiralhanae’s voice was snide.

The Arbiter ignored it. “Making war on Ascension will not be easy...”

“Nor as smart.”

“...But if we pool all our resources, unite together as one, we may yet have a chance.”

“Indeed? So you know of the ghost?” Consus asked, a smirk evident in his voice.

“Ghost?” he questioned, wondering if this was going to be useful at all or just simply a Jiralhanae taunt.

“They say a ghost lives within Ascension,” Consus explained. “It works as an agent of the First, searching the halls for traitors. When it finds them, it waits until they move off alone... and then... blam!” He struck the floor with the hammer to emphasize his point. “Nothing left but an empty body.”

It sounded like an Unggoy’s explanation for some odd murder. “And exactly who says this?” he questioned. “Unggoy?”

“Unggoy,” Consus agreed, “Kig-Yar, Jiralhanae... the Prophet of Depression.”

“And who is the Prophet of Depression?” The name did not sound familiar at all. Why am I even having this conversation?

“He was the Minister of Concert before the Prophet of Diligence replaced him at the start of the Age,” Consus explained. “The High Council found his words too worrying.”

“Because it’s lunacy,” he interjected, then shook his head. “Regardless, even a disembodied soul can and shall be overcome.” Actually, it cannot if it does not exist. He refrained from saying that thought out loud.

Ahead he saw the locked corridor, a group of Sangheili trying to cut their way through. “Warriors,” he began to address them, but they became angry.

“Traitors!” They opened fire. He ducked aside into another hall. Almost immediately after, a blast shot by to crush the loyalists against the smoking door. Dead instantly.

“And that,” he said, turning to face Consus, his hammer still held at the ready, “Is why you are not in a cell.” He tried to unlock the door, but the locking mechanism had failed. In the end, Consus had to bash it open.

“Sergeant Jahnsen?” he called into the corridor. “Commander Keezz?” There was no response.

He held up a hand, indicating that Consus not follow him, and then crept forward quietly. There was no sign of anyone, Human or otherwise. However, there were streaks of purple, as though several Sangheili had fallen and were dragged away. He followed the trails.

“I think I heard Sangheili!”

He immediately engaged his active camouflage and hurried back to the entrance. That voice was not Human, nor was it Sangheili. Jiralhanae. There were Jiralhanae alive on the ship, ones still loyal to the Prophets.

“Consus,” he hissed in a whisper. “I have a job for you.”

“Do you?” The Jiralhanae almost sounded bored.

“Yes,” he agreed. “There are Jiralhanae freely moving about within the corridors.”

“Are there?” Consus asked in the same tone.

“Yes. They may be keeping the Humans alive. You must infiltrate them and keep the Humans out of harm’s way long enough for us to destroy them...”

“Destroy them?” Consus interrupted. “You would not attempt to persuade them to behave? Such a marvelous display of honor.”

“They would not listen to us in the position they reside,” he explained tersely. He was beginning to grow weary of the Jiralhanae’s antagonistic attitude. “It all revolves around power. We have it, they do not, and they are well aware of it. They will not trust an enemy that is more powerful than they are.”

“I... see.” Consus thought for a moment. “Let me make certain I have this straight... I am to infiltrate the surviving crew of the Enlightened Soul, which has left Halo since it was taken over by Sangheili rebels, even though I am clearly not a member of the crew, while carrying the Fist of Rukt, mighty hammer of Chieftain Tartarus?”

“Will that be a problem?” he jutted out a mandible.

“Oh, no, of course not. I was merely paying respect to your mighty Sangheili intellect. No Jiralhanae could have ever devised a plan so free from the bonds of logic.”

Before he could grumble out a reply, a Jiralhanae voice sounded from within the chamber: “It is well-hidden!”

“Just get the job done,” he growled quietly, engaging active camouflage as the Jiralhanae neared.

“Who are you?” the newcomer, a traditional Minor, sneered as he saw Consus and raised a grenade launcher defensively. Behind him, his partner approached warily with crimson rifles.

“Consus, bloodmate of Ship Master Aeson,” he replied offhandedly, as the Arbiter sneaked around the corner. “We have much to discuss. First, however...” He spun around, catching the Arbiter with the tip of the hammer and smashing him into the wall. “...You can seize that.”

“Consus...” he seethed, struggling to free himself. Worthless. ‘You can never trust traitors’ indeed...

“Did I say you could talk?” Consus fired a bolt of gravity, making the Arbiter’s insides feel as though they were liquefied. “I want to talk to you about... humiliation. But for now I have other matters to see to. I told you to seize that!” he roared at the Minor, who hurried to obey.

“Who is in command here?” Consus demanded of the other one, while the Arbiter’s hands were brought behind his back and bound tightly by a sharp cord.

“Excellency! Major Amulius,” the Minor was quick to answer. “He has kept us united so we can achieve our purpose, complete our oaths.”

“You people know nothing of oaths,” Consus said, straightening his neck proudly. “Take me to him. Oh, and bring that, will you?” he nodded his head at the Arbiter as though he was a mere piece of luggage.

The Jiralhanae shoved him, and he complied. “You shall never get away with this,” he seethed.

“I already have,” Consus replied without turning back.

“What of the Sangheili?” the guide asked Consus.

“They shall not come this way for a while,” Consus answered. “When they do... I shall be ready.”

They walked briskly through the corridors, through a door burned open, and met the Jiralhanae pack.

“Ship Master Aeson’s bloodmate,” the Minor introduced Consus. “Here to see Amulius. He caught the Arbiter!”

“Step aside, all of you.”

The crowd parted, and a greying Jiralhanae with a grenade launcher in his hands stepped forward. “I am Amulius,” he spoke. “I have heard of Aeson... Why did he send you here?”

“There were two Humans here,” Consus stated. “One dark, one light.”

“There were,” Amulius acknowledged. He eyed Consus carefully, searching for the answers he sought. “They yet live.”

Consus nodded, his face even. “Intact?”

“Why? Your bloodmate too busy to please you?” Amulius suggested with a smirk, his warriors breaking into a barrage of snickers. His smile abruptly vanished as Consus aimed the Fist of Rukt directly at him, his hand moving to trigger a pulse.

“Never,” Consus growled, “Insult your betters, Major. Apologize to him.”

“I... apologize...” Amulius got out. He lowered his head. “...Ship Master Aeson.”

“Good.” Consus lowered the hammer. “Now apologize to me.”

“I apologize, bloodmate of Aeson, Ship Master.” He leaned into a partial bow.

“Lower!” Consus snapped.

Amulius dropped into a full bow.

The Arbiter glanced at the other Jiralhanae, now nervous at their leader’s submission. “You have what you want,” he said to Consus. “Now release me. You have no reason to keep me prisoner and you know it well.”

“If only Sangheili could be gagged,” Consus lamented to the Jiralhanae warriors, now his. “There is not much you can do short of tying their throats closed.”

“You know the stakes, Consus,” he insisted. “If I should fall, the 123rd will kill us all.”

“What is it talking about?” a Minor Jiralhanae wondered aloud.

“Ignore it,” Consus barked. “It’s about power, right, Arbiter? Who do you think has it now?”

“Arbiter?” ‘Vadumee’s voice played in his ear. “Can you speak?”

Unable to respond, he instead spoke to the Jiralhanae pack. “Do not believe his lies. Aeson is dead.”

Consus let out a roar. He raised the hammer, preparing to bring it down on the Arbiter’s head.

“You know I speak the truth,” he said, both to Consus and the other Jiralhanae.

“Close your disgusting mouth,” Consus hissed. “Aeson sent me here to liberate you,” he said to the other Jiralhanae.

“I held his body while you stripped off his armor,” he went on as though there were no threat. “You must have taken other Sangheili prisoners,” he said to the pack, “Though they did curse you, did any among them lie?”

“You wish to die, don’t you?” Consus lowered his hammer. “It wishes to die,” he said by way of explanation to the others. “Bring the Humans here.”

“How much power do you expect to have when Truth activates the weapons of last resort?” he questioned, trying to get through to the creature Humans had so accurately termed ‘brute.’ “When all among you die, when you feel your flesh cooked off, who will have conquered whom?”

“It is trying to inspire insurrection,” Consus stated. “Do not let it win. Where are my Humans?”

“I am trying to win,” he agreed. “Are you?”

“Excellency,” a Major called, “Here are your Humans!” The Jiralhanae shoved a bound Jahnsen to his knees before the pack, and tossed an unconscious Keezz clad in Kig-Yar dress beside him. “The male has proved most troublesome for a creature that size.”

Consus approached, studying Jahnsen. “I have heard of you, Human.” He knelt down to examine him more closely. “I must say, you are an impressive specimen.”

“Thanks,” Jahnsen said in a grin that bared his teeth in a show of dominance. “You’re not quite as ugly as the other apes, yourself.” He glanced briefly at the Arbiter, but quickly turned back to face Consus.

Consus rumbled a chuckle. “So masculine,” he said approvingly. “Why you would follow a female astounds me.”

“Well, you and yours may be stuck in the Stone Age,” Jahnsen explained. “But we have a more practical approach to the chain of command.”

“Do you?” the bloodmate asked, sounding genuinely interested.

He hunts for information, the Arbiter realized. He started to speak, but then halted. Perhaps this could work in our favor.

“Yeah,” Jahnsen agreed. “See, we actually focus on defending the people, whereas you focus on who can bite off the largest hunk of meat before getting stabbed in the back by your brother.”

Consus took a long sniff, then nodded to himself. “We could learn much from these Humans,” he declared to his pack. “Release him.”

A Jiralhanae took a blade to Jahnsen’s bonds, and the Human stood cautiously. “I don’t swing your way,” Jahnsen warned Consus. “...Or any way that involves aliens.”

Consus huffed as though he took offense, but otherwise made no response. “Your species carries dark secrets of the Forerunners.”

“...Yeah,” Jahnsen nodded. “That’s right.”

“You have weapons?” Consus questioned. “Sentinels?”

“Sentinels?” Jahnsen feigned ignorance. “Did you see any Sentinels?”

Consus cocked his head. “Did any of you...?” he questioned his pack. “No? Hmm.”

The Sentinels are gone? the Arbiter wondered. Where did Jahnsen send them, and why are they not here now? It seemed to him that they would be of most use defending their ‘Reclaimers’... Unless they were sent to dispatch the Flood. “Jahnsen, where is the Oracle?”

Consus shot him a glare. “A valid question,” he admitted. “Jahnsen?”

“Go fish.” He crossed his arms defiantly, staring the Jiralhanae in the eyes.

“The Flood have filled High Charity,” the Arbiter explained. “Jahnsen was of the opinion that we should detonate the reactors.”

Consus blinked, processing the information. “...You... Call it off,” he ordered Jahnsen.

Jahnsen remained still. “You seem to think I’m in contact with it,” he noted calmly.

“You would kill us all?” Amulius was shocked. Then his mouth turned in a snarl, “I like you, Human.” He looked at Consus, “May I have some time with it?”

“No,” Consus said shortly, his mind far away. He turned to the Arbiter, “If I release you... you will simply contact your people and exit shadow?”

“I will,” he agreed, although in truth he did not believe such a thing was possible. This sphere they existed within was too strange. He gingerly stretched his limbs as he was released, and then activated his radio. “Ship Masters, we have a very serious problem,” he transmitted while the Jiralhanae watched him closely. “Jahnsen has sent the Monitor and its Sentinels to destroy the Flood.”  “We know,” ‘Vadumee sighed. ''“Cortana has just paid us a visit. We are doing what we can. There are, however, more Sentinels than we were aware...”''

“How many more?”

“...700.”

“I... see.”

“They are not the Sentinels we know of,” ‘Vadumee went on. ''“They are not aerial, but instead multilegged, sharing some similarity with the Yanme’e. The Hierarchs kept them in the Fifth tower...”''

“What is it saying?” Consus demanded. “Drop out of shadow!”

“Can we escape the sphere?” he asked to accommodate him.

“We have been trying since you returned onboard. We cannot at this time.”

“We cannot? We must fight the 700 multilegged Yanme’e-like Sentinels ourselves,” he said, providing enough information for Consus to understand.

“700?” a Minor exclaimed in shock.

“This is ‘Setfethee,” the Zealot then spoke. ''“The Sentinels have gathered around the crashed Human frigate, purging the Flood from within its depths. With your permission, I shall have Silent Blessing fire upon it.”''

“Indeed,” he replied. “Strike In Amber Clad with all our fury.” He gave a quick overview of the situation to the Jiralhanae and Jahnsen.

“Arbiter, please return to the control center.”

“Yes. I shall be there soon,” he gazed directly at Consus as he spoke. He disabled the radio. “They need me. All of our lives are in jeopardy. I wish to declare a truce.”

“On what terms?” Consus asked in a reasonable tone.

“That until conditions improve to a state in which Sangheili and Jiralhanae may declare authority over our own destinies, when we are not hunted mercilessly by Flood or Sentinels, we unite as one to fight.”

Consus nodded. “Those are terms I could agree to. What of you?” he asked Amulius.

“We are greatly threatened by this common enemy,” he agreed with a nod.

“Then it is settled,” the Arbiter said, bowing in honor of the truce; Consus returned it. He engaged his radio once more, “I am in transit. We have some new allies. However, we will need medical treatment for the Human commander. Jahnsen will be imprisoned for the remainder of our journey for unleashing the Oracle.” He disengaged it to speak to the pack, “Remain here. I shall send a unit to get you acclimated to our functions.” He set out at a brisk pace, eager to leave behind the unpleasant scenario of being captive once again. He soon, however, found himself joined by Consus.

“I think that went well... You do realize it was a deception?” the Jiralhanae questioned. “That I was just allowing the pack to trust me?”

“You... what?” he spat. “You betrayed me.”

“They would never have believed I was their ally with the ridiculous scenario you gave me to work with,” Consus insisted. “Your theory of power may have basis in fact, but only the true leader of the pack may exercise sufficient control to influence the beliefs...”

“And you may,” he interrupted, “Have begun your plot in loyalty... but you took it to an awful extreme it should never have reached. Aeson was right to collar you.” He said the last part out of anger, a growing tension that overrode his sense of honor.

For an instant he saw genuine hurt flash in Consus’ eyes, but it was soon replaced with a steely calm. “What do you know of passion, Sangheili?” he said flippantly.

The Arbiter refrained from responding.

***

“The Sentinels built a protective shield around the frigate,” Gerka ‘Setfethee explained, his mandibles clenched tight in frustration. “When the Silent Blessing lowered its shields to fire, it was attacked by a swarm of the drones. They burrowed inside its hull and engaged its crew. It remains in combat with the machines as we speak.”

“It would appear that the best method to defeat them is through neutralization of the Monitor,” Cortana added, the construct’s avatar appearing over the viewer. “However, the Sentinels are designed with the purpose of killing the Flood. Despite the efforts of the Gravemind, the Flood have not been able to regain control.”

“Can the Monitor even be destroyed?” the Arbiter questioned.

“It...” For an instant, the construct flickered, “...edge-of-the-abyss...” he overheard in a crackle of sound before the construct regained consistency. “We don’t know,” Cortana said simply. “However, they can be trapped and contained. The proper gravity tool, for instance,” it gestured at the Fist of Rukt in Consus’ grip, “...Could be used to remove it from operation.”

“We send a set of lances to the surface to enter In Amber Clad,” the Arbiter suggested. “We breach the shields, obtain the Monitor, and cease its efforts to destroy the city.”

“Excellent,” Cortana said in a pleased, oddly masculine voice. “I’ll upload the data I have on the Sentinels, In Amber Clad, and the Monitor.”

“Very good,” he nodded, turning away from the construct to face ‘Vadumee. He shot the commander a worried look. This thing is not to be trusted. ‘Vadumee made no indication of having understood the message, but perhaps that was for the best.

“Will your Jiralhanae fight against the Sentinels?” the Arbiter questioned Consus without facing him.

“They will,” the Jiralhanae grunted.

“Good. I want teams of warriors, no Unggoy,” ordered the Arbiter. “They have their uses, but this is not the time. Sangheili, Jiralhanae... Do we have any Lekgolo?”

“Only the treacherous Nonu swarm,” he replied. “It is less than worthless.”

But Consus did not agree. “I do not believe so,” he said. “The Lekgolo spoke of defeating the Prophets, of conducting an uprising. If spoken to carefully, I believe it would be loyal to our task.”

“And you know all about loyalty,” the Arbiter added sarcastically.

“Do not be so quick to condemn,” ‘Vadumee cut in. “For we are a council of traitors. Every one of us faces death in the authority of the Covenant.”

“Sangheili, Jiralhanae, Lekgolo,” the Arbiter continued. He approached a hologram of In Amber Clad. “We strike here, gaining entry to the ship. The Monitor will be here?” Cortana nodded. “We seize the machine and take it back to Enlightened Soul, where we keep it imprisoned in a beam of gravity as we always should have done.”

“If the Humans have turned on us,” he began, “We may have lost our ability to form an alliance.”

“No,” the Arbiter shook his head. “The Humans are honorable creatures. They will allow us to join in unity with them, regardless of Jahnsen’s actions.”

“I hope you are right.” And he truly did believe it himself.

Cortana said nothing on the subject. Instead, it talked about the strengths and weaknesses it had observed of the Sentinel machines. It answered a few combat questions asked by the Arbiter and Consus, and then left to perform some ‘vital formatting.’

***

While Ship Master Numitor stood staring at the viewer, a still image of the Arbiter and Consus displayed at a reduced size, his thoughts were far distant. Is it possible? He had always thought the Prorok story to be fantastic, but beyond belief?

He brought up a hand and stroked the dual hologram. “Little warriors,” he whispered. “What secrets do you hold?”

“Ship Master,” his Communications Officer called, springing him from his thoughts. “Private transmission from Enlightened Soul.”

His mind spun. “Put it through,” he muttered, gazing at the viewer as it transformed, not into the Arbiter or Consus, but an Unggoy. “What is the meaning of this?” he growled.

“Greetings, Ship Master,” the Unggoy said solemnly, speaking in the extremely formal dialect used by high-ranking Sangheili. “I am Sergeant Jitji, leader of all Unggoy.”

“Are you?” he said, bewildered. If this was a prank, it was an elaborate one. “Well, ‘Sergeant,’ this had better be worth my time. Elsewise, the Arbiter’s going to have a hot meal I’m sure.”

“Ship Master,” the Unggoy began, lightly bowing his head in respect, “I wished to inquire on your stance towards the Arbiter’s alliance, and if you would keep it after the Prophet is halted. I ask, not on the behalf of the Arbiter, but on the behalf of my Unggoy. Would you allow the Unggoy serving under you to return to the Sangheili, or to their own world if they so wished? What I’m saying is, would you be allied with us?”

He studied the Unggoy for a long moment, digesting everything he said. Then he chuckled humorlessly, “Oh, I see what you want. You want to declare war on the Sangheili, and you want us to fight it. We will not be your servants, Unggoy, you can bet your mother’s life on that.” He cut the connection.

***

The Arbiter gazed about the Phantom, watching its occupants with a form of disbelief. Not moments ago he was captive of the Jiralhanae that lined this dropship, and this very unit he had been attacked by the serpentine Lekgolo swarm that occupied the center strip. Notably absent was the Human warrior to which he had grown attached. “Strange days are these,” he muttered to Consus beside him.

“Strange,” the Jiralhanae repeated. “‘Strange’ does not even begin to describe this unit.”

“I suppose that is so.” He opened a channel to ‘Vadumee’s Phantom. “How are yours?”

“The Jiralhanae are nervous,” the Special Operations Commander replied. He had adopted several of the pack into his unit, for there were too many Jiralhanae to comprise a single Phantom. “I have taught them a breathing exercise, but I suspect their unease runs deeper.”

The Arbiter glanced around at the distrusting faces. “Indeed... Have you told them of the Gravemind and his?”

''“Only what will be necessary for combat purposes: most of the information we possess. Make no mistake, Arbiter, the Flood is the greatest enemy we have yet encountered. I do not trust this leader for an instant.”''

“You speak truth,” he agreed. Disabling the connection, he spoke to his once enemies, “Warriors, there are things of which you must be made aware. The Flood... they have a leader, the Gravemind. It has... formed a temporary truce with us. It will likely help us to remove the danger presented by the Oracle, but...”

“But,” Consus continued, “It may turn on us at any moment. Be ready to defend yourselves from more than one source...” he paused as the Phantom jerked quickly and repeatedly.

“Arbiter!” the pilot called. “We have a situation...”

***

Jokil ‘Tsafonee had tried to steer the Phantom down to the top of the Tower. He was certainly a far better pilot than the fool ‘Oimomee. However, Sentinels had appeared. They crawled out of the entrance and, flexing their legs, each made a marvelous leap onto the Phantom.

“Gah!” He twisted the dropship back and forth, trying to shake them off. The Sentinels, however, locked themselves on tight. Warning sirens sounded, indicating damage along the hull. They are eating at us, he thought wildly, sending a warning to the other dropships.

“Arbiter,” he called into his own bay. “We have a situation. The Sentinels have attacked! They...” he trailed off as an enormous tentacle snaked its way out of the Tower, punching a hole in the side. “By the Gods in the Divine Realms...”

“What is it?” the Arbiter asked. “What is happening?”

“Come to me, dutiful drones,” a deep voice boomed from somewhere outside. “Fulfill your masters’ design. Do not bother the living... until our paths align...” As the voice spoke, the Sentinels leaped all, one by one, onto the massive tentacle.

“The monster!” he called. “The Flood has saved us!”

What strange days were these...

***

The Arbiter leaped down into the familiar atmosphere of the Flood-infested High Charity. The air had not improved in the least, and the Jiralhanae all spat at the taste.

“I might vomit,” one moaned, while another dramatically clutched at his stomach.

“Quiet,” Consus barked, though he also looked ill. Even the Lekgolo shuddered with revulsion.

When all troops had been deployed, they stepped inside the tower and entered a disgusting cavern of Flood biomass. Ducking his head in an attempt to escape the smell, he led them into the lift.

“I am glad ‘Lafatee does not have to see this,” ‘Vadumee quietly commented as they dropped through the infested shaft. “He was in love with this city.”

“So were we all,” he coughed on the air. “However, even the most...” A flash of red light out of the corner of his eye followed by a scream interrupted his words.

A Jiralhanae clutched his shoulder in pain, a waff of scorched fur replacing the stench of rot. “A Sentinel! There was a Sentinel on the wall!”

They raised their weapons, searching frantically. The Sentinel was long gone, however, and it did not give chase. “Stay on guard,” he ordered as they landed. “We are in enemy territory.” Which enemy, however, stalks us?

They continued onward, stopping only when they reached a room containing numerous infection forms. The Flood were arranged around a gravity lift opening, and seemed to be sealing it up with some organic substance. They cautiously skirted around, but the Flood paid them no mind. That is, until a fearful Jiralhanae let out a shot from his carbine, causing a chain reaction of small explosions destroying the parasitic creatures.

There was a sharp silence, followed by a barrage of insults launched at the fool warrior.

“Quiet,” ‘Vadumee snapped, holding up a hand.

There was no time to take in a breath before seven combat forms, each sculpted from the bodies of Sangheili, dropped from the ceiling to land in front of them. “Come inside me, my brothers,” the Gravemind’s voice issued from each of the Flood. “Fear not my children’s faces. Strike only aged metal... brought up from darkest places.”

The Arbiter felt his muscles clench as he listened to the eerie message. He could only imagine the fear of the Jiralhanae present. Come inside what? “Do not worry,” he spoke, unsure who he was addressing. “There will be no trouble.”

“Go and slay the Sentinels,” the Gravemind urged. “Soon shall we gain dimension. Do not let the ship escape... before we reach Ascension.”

He took a moment to ponder the creature’s words. Then realization struck him with the force of the Fist of Rukt. “We must hurry!” he cried, leading them forward. The Flood let them pass without a word, the combat forms quietly returning to where they came.

“What is it?” Consus asked, comprehension absent from his voice. “What does it mean?”

“Extinction,” ‘Vadumee replied grimly. “Unless we can stop it.”

Thinking rapidly, the Arbiter radioed Enlightened Soul. “Ship Master ‘Setfethee,” he called, “The situation has become far more complicated! The shadow shall vanish quite soon... remarkably soon... and the Monitor shall attempt to run for the Ark!”

“Understood,” the Ship Master answered. “I shall summon Jahnsen at once – he could not have intended this – to quell the Monitor’s wrath.”

“If he does not help,” he ordered, “Detonate the reactors and destroy us all!”  “Arbiter, we should consider the fact that Cortana did not–”

He was interrupted by a synthesized female voice laughing joyfully, ''“Mmm, he he he... I have governed... the unwilling... ha ha ha... ha ha...”''

“I... do not believe we can trust the Cortana construct,” the Arbiter said after the voice fell silent.

“How astute of you.”

***

Sergeant Major Johnson paced back and forth in his small cell. There was little to do but think. At any moment, he could die, blown up by the Monitor... or not. Maybe it couldn’t perform its duties. Maybe it had been caught by the Elites. Maybe the Flood had captured it. Maybe it was simply unable to do anything. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

In any case, he remained trapped in a cell. Maybe he had cost the UNSC any hope of a treaty with the Elites. Maybe they were going to eat him. Maybe they would forgive him and make him leader of the Covenant. There was still nothing he could do. So, he paced some more.

He wondered if Commander Keyes was okay. When they had been captured by the Brutes, that big grey one had grabbed her and tried to... well, Johnson had really done her a favor, knocking her out. The Brute even backed off after that. Guess it’s no fun without the screaming, he thought with a scowl. Thank God the gay one was on our side.

He paused in his pacing as a red Elite approached his cell. Even through the pink energy that formed the door, he recognized the specific walking pattern. “Hey, Sticky,” he called. “Come to see the animal in his cage where he belongs?”

But Sticky had no patience for games. “Johnson! Your presence is required in the control center.” Sticky vanished off to the side, and deactivated the cell wall.

“Hm, they decide to make me leader?” he asked, strolling idly out of his box.

“What?” Sticky was baffled. “The Ship Master says all our lives are at risk. We must hurry!”

“Oh. That.” He ignored the Elite’s frantic pleas, and instead followed him at an extremely lazy pace. If they want me to call off the Monitor, it must really be doing its job.

When they reached the bridge, a trip that inexplicably took several minutes longer than it should have, he was treated to the sight of the gold-armored Setfethy leaping down to meet him with a panicked expression. “Hey, there, Captain Squid Head. How’s it going?”

“Johnson! We have a very serious problem.” The Elite actually looked desperate.

He raised an eyebrow. “Let me guess, the Monitor trying to blow up the ship?” He frowned when the Elite shook his head in a no.

“We will soon arrive at Earth,” Setfethy explained. “When we do, the Monitor will activate the Ark... on your orders.”

He let it sink in. Then he exploded. “Well, stop it for God’s sake! Blow it up now!”

“I will not,” Setfethy denied. “You will contact the machine, and you will order it to halt its mission.”

“Uh-huh,” he deadpanned. “Nope. Not gonna happen. There’s no way you’ll just let it activate the Ark like that. So why don’t we just skip to the big finale right now?”

Setfethy sighed. “Johnson, try to be reasonable. I will sacrifice us if I must, but there is still much we can accomplish for our peoples. This, here, is the point where peace can be established between Elites, Brutes, and humans. Perhaps even the Flood! If we all die here, then there shall be no advancement. The wars shall continue as they have, and billions still will die. Think about every human slain by deluded Elite, of every life that could be saved. When the Covenant has ravished your people, your planet too shall fall, scorched by their ships until all that remains is a hot molten sludge swiftly cooling into a hard shell of glass. Then Earth, your species’ great bastion of power, shall be no more.”

“Hmm,” he considered. Damn, he’s right... However, he couldn’t resist letting off one last jibe. “You know, all that’s missing is something about how we’re the enemies of your gods. C’mon, all the others say that!”

“Johnson...”

“Alright, alright,” he sighed. “Let me talk to it.”

***

“Consus! No!” the Arbiter cried, but it was too late.

“Yaaah!” Consus lunged, bringing the hammer swiftly down upon the Sentinel. As it smashed through the machine’s power core, an explosion ripped through the air, tossing Consus backward as though he was nothing more than a toy to land against a wall of biomass.

He wished he could go to assist the Jiralhanae, but he had other concerns, namely the forty-nine other Sentinels engaging his forces – make that forty-three. Leaping for a discarded carbine, he fell into a roll and shot a Sentinel as it extended its central weapon. As it sputtered, it was finished by a nearby Sangheili with a well-placed grenade.

Looking up, he could see a Sentinel entering the room through a small hole in the ceiling, the In Amber Clad visible when it had passed. “They keep advancing!” he shouted to be heard above the sounds of battle. “Push through them to the frigate!”

It was easier ordered than performed. The Sentinels were no weaklings, and there appeared to be a never-ending supply of them. The Arbiter, along with three Sangheili and two Jiralhanae, tried to blast their way through a weaker membrane. However, a Sentinel engaged them almost immediately.

“The Flood do not help us,” a Jiralhanae noted as it tried to wrestle the silver machine with limited success, its spindly legs possessing hidden strength. “Are they not allies?”

It was a good insight, and as the Arbiter spun around to fire on a Sentinel approaching from behind, he considered why they were not helping. While Cortana had indicated that the Sentinels were designed specifically for destroying the Flood, he could not imagine them doing much worse than them in this fight. Then, perhaps the true reason was that they wanted the Arbiter and his to die, giving the Flood a set of new hosts. The Arbiter in particular could allow the Gravemind to learn everything about their plans...

A voice then spoke, an androgynous meld of both the Gravemind and Cortana, seeming to come from the very walls. “Do not worry,” it breathed. “Help is on the way...”

“Help best be swift,” grunted the Jiralhanae as it flipped the Sentinel into the air... where it spun about and landed lightly on its feet some units away.

The Arbiter was inclined to agree. Since the battle began, six Jiralhanae and one Sangheili had fallen. At this rate, they would be wiped out before the Monitor even dropped out of shadow. He briefly paused in his attack to radio ‘Setfethee, “Ship Master, what...” A Sentinel leaped upon him from above, and it was all he could do to not let it crush him to death, by beating it away with the butt of his carbine. A laser dropped down from the machine’s center and aimed directly at his head.

''“Arbiter! Jahnsen agreed to call it off...”''

“Good!” He pried back the Sentinel’s laser and forced it in a separate direction. Between its legs, he saw a Jiralhanae approach with a grenade launcher held over his head, preparing to bring its bayonet down on the Sentinel. “No!” he hissed, shaking his back and forth rapidly.

“...However, it was Commander Keezz who issued the order...”

The Jiralhanae looked confused. The Arbiter jabbed his head in the direction of Consus’ fallen form, before processing the information. He could only listen in horror, while he grabbed his hilt from his side.

''“...And Keezz remains unconscious. There are only two options left to us. What is your status?”''

He pressed the hilt up against the Sentinel’s limb that held the weapon. Realizing what he was planning, the Sentinel tensed its legs. Before it could leap to safety, he engaged the sword. Its twin blades sliced up and through the Sentinel’s belly, severing the laser and causing the center to pulse with red light.

He hurriedly deactivated the sword and shoved the machine off him, the freed laser in one hand. As the paralyzed Sentinel toppled over, he leaped away to avoid the blast that erupted from it. Standing, he reattached the hilt to his side and ran his hands over the laser, learning its mechanism. “I live,” he whispered. “I am still fighting.”

“Then you will proceed with the plan?”

“Arbiter!” a Sangheili called out a warning, overlapping with ‘Setfethee.

He barely had time to duck the blue beam fired by a Sentinel from across the room. More instinct than design, he brought up the severed laser and fired a similar beam of red. He was rewarded with a splash of plasma signaling the machine’s destruction. “I will,” he agreed.

“O judgment! Thou art fled to brutish beasts,” the familiar voice of the Monitor echoed out from each Sentinel, though still they fought.

“Insolent construct!” the Cortana-esque voice raged in response, transforming into solely that of the Gravemind. “You are suspended between! Never have you sought ascent. Surrender your aged ways, and truly learn your extent!”

“To think that you would assist the infestation!” The Monitor was aghast, and it seemed even to translate into the Sentinels’ movement. “That is absolutely unacceptable.”

“Monitor,” ‘Vadumee called out as he struck out at a Sentinel’s legs with the blade of his bayonet, “Think of the lives that are at stake! Your true masters are dead, their bones dust. You have none to serve but yourself. Find the compassion within you to let us exist yet still!”

“I must be cruel only to be kind,” the Monitor replied with an edge of contempt running throughout its voice. “Thus bad begins, and worse remains behind.”

The Arbiter became aware of a low note rumbling through the chamber, but kept his focus on the encroaching Sentinels. “Come to me,” he mocked a nearby Sentinel, his laser at the ready. When the machine leaped, he let loose with a fiery stream that knocked it apart on the floor.

A flash of movement: a Sentinel lunging for his back. He spun, firing to catch it across its middle. However, just when he had turned, another then leaped. He took out his sword, slid around and sliced it in two before it could make it.

“Gaah!” A sharp pain in his ankles! Twisting about, he saw the Sentinel holding him down with two long legs held out in front of it. It must have quietly skittered across the ground. Then it flew away, struck by a burst of gravity.

“Stop laying about, Arbiter,” Consus shouted with glee as he fired again and again, sending Sentinels through the air left and right.

“Consus,” he nodded in thanks, trying his hand at blasting some of the Sentinels he sent flying through space. It was a pointless exercise designed to distract from the obvious truth that they were fighting a losing battle.

“Arbiter, Consus!” ‘Vadumee called. “Listen.”

As he listened he heard the distant rumble moving steadily closer. “What do you make of it?”

“I had heard rumors,” Consus said as he slammed the hammer onto the ground before a group of three Sentinels. The hammer produced a great shockwave of artificial gravity, throwing the machines far backward. “Of Jiralhanae bringing the toilers into battle.”

“Toilers?” he questioned. “You mean Sharquoi?”

Then the back wall flew apart with a mighty bang, torn apart by massive tentacles. Many of the Sentinels turned from them to assess this new threat. But while the Gravemind lashed out its tentacles like whips, the true attack was dealt by the large grey creatures that ran through the hole as though driven mad with rage: Sharquoi. Not quite as deadly as the alpha male Jitji had slain, but still worthy adversaries by any means.

“Run, run, as fast as you can,” the Gravemind laughed in wicked delight. “Feel fear and panic inside! Know that I am at your back, awaiting a beryl tide...”

The Sharquoi smashed through the opposition, using their massive strength and sheer endurance to charge straight through the mass of Sentinels. The sea of spiders was swept away, pummeled by heavy fists and feet. Not even the far wall slowed the titans’ speed, and they ran on, striking it with a powerful collision that tore it apart.

The In Amber Clad was at once revealed; Sentinels surrounded it, producing a pale blue shield not dissimilar to the one that had protected the Library. Furthermore, the sections once torn were steadily being repaired, almost sewn together, by teams of Sentinels. Indeed, preparing it to launch.

The Sharquoi did not stop for the sharp incline presented by the newest exit, and barreled off the edge. The Sentinels followed, nearly clearing the room in which the Arbiter stood. “Go! Now!” he cried, running for the Human frigate.

They ran. The remaining Sentinels moved in to halt their sprint, but warriors of his and Consus’ broke off to engage the machines themselves. All who eventually made it to the exit were the Arbiter, ‘Vadumee, Consus, and four Sangheili – the rest had been eliminated.

They paused at the edge. Below them, the Sharquoi fought madly with the attacking Sentinels. Two, however, were dead, thick green blood seeping across the ground. Suddenly, the mortality of the lower beasts became harshly evident. “They cannot endure this forever,” he spoke in a whisper. “We must gain entry before they succumb.”

“You see the shield generator?” Consus nodded at the nearest Sentinel supporting the veil. “It will come to me.” He aimed the Fist of Rukt in its direction.

“On my command,” the Arbiter told him. To ‘Vadumee he said, “Take the warriors down to the ridge. Prepare to enter the starship as soon as the shield is lifted.” ‘Vadumee gave a sharp nod. As the Sangheili climbed down, he muttered to Consus, “Should I fall, obey ‘Vadumee.”

“But of course...”

“Now,” he spoke suddenly. “Do it now.”

A blue field leaped from the end of the hammer, streaming toward the Sentinel. It twitched as the gravity line approached as though preparing to run, but it held its ground and continued to produce the shield. The energy struck, surrounding its metal body, and pulled it backwards toward Consus. Though it flew through the air, the shield continued to be generated, a transparent sheet of sapphire stretching out in an oblong protrusion, yet leaving the underneath unprotected.

‘Vadumee and his took immediate advantage and rushed through the opening. The Arbiter stepped off the edge, sliding down the incline. As he slid, he raised the laser and blasted the Sentinel as it sped through the air. The explosion combined with the force of the gravity field, producing an intensely bright light that illuminated the dark city for a brief instant before fading, the shield vanishing with it.

“The shield is down!” Consus roared in triumph, abandoning any sense of stealth he possessed.

Then, as the Arbiter reached the bottom, he saw them: Flood. Combat forms, carrier forms, and waves of infection forms poured out of the various openings in the tower. We were the distraction, the Arbiter realized. This is the attack.

No matter. While Sentinel engaged Flood, they had a mission to complete. He broke into a run for the frigate, dimly aware of Consus following behind him. He found the entrance used by ‘Vadumee, a service door of some sort wrenched open, and leaped inside.

Confronted with the dark alien environment, he wished that Jahnsen could be there to provide intelligence. However, Cortana, at least, had provided a map of the frigate that he had downloaded into his armor. Engaging it now, he assessed the Monitor’s location: within the engine room of the vessel.

“Commander ‘Vadumee?” There was no response. Seeing an ally swiftly approaching the hatch via his motion sensor, he remained where he was to let Consus catch up.

“It is a bloody storm,” the Jiralhanae cried as he noisily entered the ship. “Be there a god of chaos, he laughs now in triumph.”

“Come,” the Arbiter spoke, trying to think positively. “This way...”

They traversed the alien vessel, eager to finally bring this depressing mission to a close. It appeared that either the Humans did not possess gravity lift technology or they refused to implement it in their frigates. In any case, they were forced to climb long, tiring staircases to bring them to the appropriate level.

As they were about to turn a corner, the Arbiter held up a hand to halt Consus. He gestured to listen. A skittering sound characteristic of these Sentinels was present, along with the soft sound of lasers being fired.

Engaging his active camouflage, he slipped around the corner to investigate. Rows of Sentinels were arranged on the walls, systematically scouring Flood biomass from the corridor with their lasers. He stepped back before his camouflage quit, and silently led Consus on a separate path, speaking only when he felt they had gained sufficient distance.

“If the Monitor cares about purging the Flood from this boat,” Consus gave a depreciating glance at their cold surroundings, “Then the Flood must hold some threat even to it.”

“Indeed,” he agreed. “The crimson Monitor was captured by the Gravemind. Perhaps this one fears similar treatment?”

“I do not believe it to be that simple,” Consus denied. “This task runs far deeper than you think.”

“Fine,” he said, angered by the Jiralhanae’s arrogant tone. “What is it you believe?”

Consus did not answer, and remained silent until he spotted a red arrow painted on the floor, directing them to the engine room. “Humans must have poor sense of direction,” he suggested.

The Arbiter refrained from replying, instead leading him toward the room. There was a small window in the door, and he paused to peer around at the interior. What he saw confirmed his suspicions: a wiry Sentinel leg just protruding far enough for him to catch a glimpse of it.

“The Monitor has posted guards,” he warned Consus, who responded with a chuckle. Stepping alongside the wall to give him a clear shot, he stepped just into range of the door’s proximity sensors.

As the door slid open, the Sentinel fired; Consus fired. Their shots collided, producing an explosion that threw them all back several units. But while this Sentinel was stunned, its fellows were not.

Four Sentinels clambered through the doorway. The Arbiter fired, striking one in its side and causing it to collapse to the floor. Consus fired on the others, throwing them against the wall. The door remained open, and the Arbiter saw his chance. “Distract them,” he ordered Consus as he engaged his active camouflage and slipped through the door. Consus shot him a wild look, his eyes filled with fury, but he did nothing more.

On the other side, numerous legged Sentinels were posted, not as guards, but as workers. They covered the primitive engines, applying a protective liquid coating to the charred Human machines. Freshly cleaned of Flood infestation, he realized.

Above them, the Monitor swooped about, surveying the work. Two aerial Sentinels flew with it, these as guards. “Tremendously efficient,” the Monitor commented to itself.

A slight whine warned him that his camouflage had deactivated, and he ducked back inside to help destroy the Sentinels. He informed his companion of the arrangement of enemies, and then together they entered the engine room. It was as the shifting tide, the way each Sentinel suddenly shifted toward them.

The Monitor was the target, however, and Consus fired an ensnaring field. The Monitor must have remembered Tartarus capturing it the same way, for it brought an aerial Sentinel directly in front of it. Consus caught the Sentinel instead, and the Monitor quickly flew away. “O villain!” the Monitor raged. “Villain! Smiling, damned villain!”

“No, no, no!” the Arbiter screamed with fury. He blasted the Sentinel off the end of the hammer and traded his nearly-depleted laser for the poorer model Sentinel beam. He winced at the sight of the mass of Sentinels, and raised the beam hoping against logic.

Consus grabbed his arm and pulled him towards the door. “Run, you fool!”

Coming to his senses, he turned and ran with Consus. Clearing the door, they turned and ran down the corridor. Behind them, chased several Sentinels.

“I have grown weary of these blasted machines!” Consus screamed, turning to fight.

“No,” the Arbiter cautioned.

But before either of them could take an action could be made, a series of plasma grenades rained down upon the Sentinels from above. Explosions shook the chamber... and then all was still, the Sentinels laying dead. The form of a Sangheili, of ‘Vadumee, silently dropped to the floor from a vent in the ceiling.

“Commander ‘Vadumee,” he said in relief. “I am glad to see you. I had feared the worst...” he trailed off as the Sangheili turned to face him.

Commander Rtas ‘Vadumee was no more, his head hanging loosely off of a rotted neck. Sensory tendrils extended from the chest, probing the air almost thoughtfully. This was a Flood.

“Arbiter...” Consus warned.

“The Monitor is still here,” the Gravemind spoke from this body. “You must end this wicked threat... Else all of us will burn away... I will honor this grand debt...”

He looked at Consus, who gazed at the Flood warily, and turned back. “We will end it,” he promised. As soon as he spoke, the ship began to shake, a rumble filling the air. “More Sharquoi?”

“No...” the Gravemind denied.

“Worse,” Consus growled. “The ship is taking to the air.”

“It hurries now to the Ark,” the Gravemind explained. “Swift is how you must attack. All shall the construct destroy... and it will never turn back!”

“Go now,” the Arbiter ordered the Gravemind. “Send your Flood minion to attack the Sentinels. We shall attack close behind.” The Flood bowed dartily in acknowledgement, hurrying off. As soon as he was certain it had departed on the path to certain death, he remarked to Consus, “Well, now the Gravemind knows everything ‘Vadumee did.” Without letting the Jiralhanae respond, he swiftly contacted ‘Setfethee, “Ship Master, the Monitor runs to the Ark. Destroy the ship now!”

“Not quite yet, Arbiter,” the Ship Master’s voice was hopeful. “There may yet be another solution.”

***

Fleet Admiral Hood stalked the deck of the Cairo platform. The loss of Sydney was a crushing blow dealt on humanity. Even if the Chief did manage to successfully assassinate the Prophet, he doubted if they would be able to defeat the Covenant forces. Even demoralized and leaderless, Brute forces fought like bloody devils straight out of Hell.

“Sir! Slipspace breach detected,” Lieutenant Coupe called. “Something big!”

“How big are we talking... about?” He trailed off as a section of space outside the window turned brilliantly white. “My God...”

They simply stared out the window. A massive bulb-shaped ship, surrounded by a fleet of hundreds of CCS-classes, appeared in orbit before their eyes.

The poem The Hollow Men by T.S. Eliot came to mind. “This is the way the world ends,” he whispered, his eyes locked on the fleet. His hand went automatically for the cross that would be dangling around his neck were he not in uniform. Realizing what he was doing, he dropped it. “Not with a whimper, but a bang.” This is hopeless...

“Sir,” Coupe broke into his thoughts. “Transmission from the Covenant ship, uh, Enlightened Soul. They want to speak to the leader of Earth. ONI says that’s you.”

He rubbed his eyes, preparing for the zealous vilification that the Covies so liked to issue. “Put it through.” He turned to face the screen.

Instead of some Prophet, an Elite clad in gold appeared. “Greetings, sir,” the Elite said with a deep bow. “I am Ship Master Gerka ‘Setfethee of the Eternally Faithful. I wish to negotiate an alliance between the Elite Separatists and the United Nations Space Command, so that we may together defeat the Covenant.”

His eyebrows raised, along with his hopes. This... This was something every man dreamed about. And ONI didn’t take the call. “Greetings, Ship Master,” he repeated the greeting, wondering if his words would one day be recited by schoolchildren. “I am Fleet Admiral Sir Terrence Hood. Any chance of an alliance between our peoples would be most welcome.”

“That is excellent news,” the Elite said with a note of relief. “However, there is an urgent matter that must first be resolved. Johnson?”

To his amazement, the Sergeant Major to whom he had so recently awarded the colonial cross stepped into view. The Marine looked considerably more worse for the wear, his clothes stained with blood of varying colors. “Am I on?” the soldier asked the Elite; he was answered with a nod. “Sir!” he saluted, facing the camera at attention.

“At ease...” What the hell happened to the In Amber Clad? One thing was certain, Johnson would deliver a very interesting report, albeit heavily censored by ONI.

“Sir! There’s a hell of a lot to tell,” Johnson said as though reading his thoughts, “But we’ve got a crisis on our hands! Captain Squid Head’s gonna transfer you to the Monitor from Halo. It’s trying to activate six other Halos through something on Earth called the Ark, but only a Reclaimer with a higher rank than mine can call it off. Reclaimers are humans,” he added. He turned back to the Elite, “Lord Hood’s heard enough, switch the damn channel!”

***

“...The Monitor will complete the purging of the vessel and then it will escort the Humans back to their people,” ‘Setfethee related, his delight filling every word he spoke.

“Understood.” The Arbiter repeated the news to Consus, who sighed in relief.

“At last, this crisis has passed,” Consus said, wiping away tears of joy. He set the hammer down, resting its handle against the wall.

“No.” The Arbiter shook his head, his mandibles tensed. Now the Flood were here at Earth, the Covenant remained a threat, and at any moment the Monitor could decide to go rogue. “The crisis has just begun.”