User:Dragonclaws/Ascension17

Truth, Justice, and the Covenant Way
On the bridge of the UNSC Ramsses II, Fleet Admiral Magnus B. Harper bit his lip. During the two-week-long Covenant siege, the once grand Orbital Defence Grid of Earth had been thuroughly trounced. Few of the 200 Super MAC Stations remained, and more and more Covies got through to attack the planet below. It was not a stretch by any means to speculate that this would be the downfall of humanity, the End Times.

The one good thing about any of this was that the Covenant had yet to begin glassing. The only conclusion to be made was that there was something on Earth that they were after and while the Covenant would often delight in spilling their blood in personal, the great holes they dug in the earth led him to suspect they were after something far more spectacular. Daniel’s Tomb…

He crossed himself without thinking. Of all the things he had learned as a black-level operative of the Office of Naval Intelligence, the secret that lay beneath the earth was by far the most disturbing. He was not the most devout of men, but even he could see the similarity between the portents and the war. International credits, peace on Earth, widespread lack of faith…

“We’ve got a new contact,” Commander Hartmann suddenly shouted over the COM as an alien craft, unmistakably of the same architectural design as the Tomb, exited slipspace and flew directly into the battle cluster. “Unknown classification!”

“Run a scan on that ship,” he barked to Lieutenant Rutten, even as Fleet Admiral Hood responded to destroy it.

Jesus H. Christ… If the Covenant had a ship that was built by the same people who made the Tomb… His mind raced with the possibilities. One thing was certain, however; the Covenant could not be allowed to make use of their advantage.

“Sir,” Hartmann called, breaking him out of his thoughts. “Detecting only one UNSC transponder. Master Chief SPARTAN-117.”

A SPARTAN-II? Perhaps there was still hope. “Send a status report to HighCom at once!”

“Yes, sir!”

***

''“We’ve got a new contact! Unknown classification!”'' The distinctly human voice declared through an open COM channel, startling John out of his thoughts. What in the world? Had the ship broken slipspace and arrived at Earth already? He’d never heard of a Covenant ship being anywhere near as fast. Although, it is a Forerunner ship, he reminded himself.

He opened a COM channel and identified himself. “This is SPARTAN-117. Can anyone hear me? Over.”

Almost instantly, Fleet Admiral Hood answered. ''“Master Chief? You mind telling me what you’re doing on that ship?”''

“Sir, finishing this fight,” John declared. He didn’t care what kind of forces the Covenant had collected inside this ship, he had seen too many good men fall victim to this struggle and he would be damned if he let the Prophet of Truth win the war. I’ll win, he smiled grimly to himself. I always do.

“Glad to hear it, Chief.” The strained voice of the Fleet Admiral broke him out of his thoughts. “Report.”

There was so much to tell, but they were running out of time. He had to deliver a more compact version. “Sir, the last of the Covenant leaders is onboard this ship. Another fleet is on its way,” he said, neglecting to mention anything about Cortana.

After a moment, the Fleet Admiral responded. ''“Understood. Master Chief, take out the Prophet. I’ll see if I can send you any support.”''

“Yes, sir,” John answered.

“Out.”

He hefted his energy sword and started walking. Although he entered through the engine, there was a tunnel he could follow into what appeared to be a maintenance corridor. It didn’t take long to find a connection to a main passageway. Smashing a glass window, he dropped down into a hallway reminiscent of those he had walked through on the first Halo. As soon as he landed, three Sentinels appeared in midair right in front of him.

Holograms, he realized. He supposed this was good news. If the Covenant depended on holograms to guard corridors, that meant their forces were stretched thin. John intended to take as much advantage of this as he could.

He moved to step through the holograms, but bumped into a real physical Sentinel body. It moved back slightly at the impact, and the other Sentinels turned to face him. Real Sentinels? He raised his weapon defensively, but then remembered the way they had popped into reality. No, these were holograms with force fields and perhaps some basic intelligence.

A security system. He saw no advantage to attacking and perhaps sounding an alarm, so he quickly weaved his way through the drones and cautiously continued onward. The fake Sentinels continued to face in his direction, but remained at their posts.

After following the hall down its course, he encountered a crossroads. Numerous tunnels, all marked only with unfamiliar circular glyphs, each containing their own branches. It wasn’t long before he got lost. Without Cortana in his head as a constant guide, he found himself wandering aimlessly. Fortunately he had, as of yet, encountered no Covenant.

“Demon!”

No record was perfect. He turned to face two Brutes armed with grenade launchers, dubbed ‘Brute Shots’ by Marines. He had no time to deactivate his energy sword, and so he charged the Brute nearest and grabbed a plasma grenade. The Brute fired; he dodged to the side and sliced the sword upwards, cutting it in two. The other Brute tried to turn to face him, but wasn’t fast enough. He jumped behind its back and threw the grenade onto its head.

It was only a matter of time, a few seconds, enough time to run out of range. The explosion came, killing the Brute instantly. John hurried to the corpses and collected what he could, trading the nearly depleted carbine on his back for a Brute Shot. As he did, he went over his goodbyes to Cortana. She was more than just an AI, she…

I will win this war for you, he promised both her and everybody who had to be left behind. In the mean time, he had to navigate the labrynthian ship on his own. Without Cortana to guide me… I’ll just have to stop for directions, then, he supposed.

***

“So you understand your orders?” Chieftain Cronus questioned the Sangheili. Discomfort at taking orders from a Jiralhanae was evident on the shimmering blue image’s features. Good, he thought, grinning inwardly.

“Yes, Excellency,” the Sangheili answered with tight jaws. Cronus terminated the connection with a laugh. Such a wonderful time this was, when arrogant Sangheili bowed to the mighty Jiralhanae!

The holographic generator beeped as an image of the High Prophet of Justice flickered into place. Unlike the previous image, this hologram was of excellent quality. Every color was presented just the way it should have been.

“My Lord,” he exclaimed, dropping his eyes as was proper.

“Cronus,” his master said smugly. “I trust that the Fleet Master has been properly instructed?” Without waiting for an answer, he went on, “It has come to my attention that the creature popularly known as the Demon has boarded this most holy vessel.”

“The Demon?” he growled. “Fear not, my Lord, for this Demon shall not live to see the light of our ascension!”

“If it does, it will be an… interesting event,” his master said, a threat evident in his voice. “Do not fail me.”

These were extraordinary times, when the Great Journey was nearly within their grasp. He had accepted his position under Truth with utmost delight, ignoring the cost, because he knew the honor he would receive in the Divine Realm. He had known as he swore his loyalty to the Hierarch, as he continued to do, that he would do whatever it took to achieve such ascension… even if it had meant a task to kill the Prophet of Justice… “I am your loyal servant, Eminence,” he said, head bowed. The hologram vanished in a blink, and he hurried to the control center to carry out his orders.

The Demon… It was incredible that it had managed to survive High Charity even as it was assaulted by Flood, and then to have found its way onboard Ascension… It was as if the creature did in fact possess the dark magics of which Minors spoke.

It was a ridiculous concept, to be sure. An educated Jiralhanae knew that only Prophets possessed magic because only their strength came from the gods. And yet… This Demon, Master Chief, had not only survived the destruction of its planet but the explosion that had consumed the Sacred Ring. Now it had evaded even the Flood to begin assault on Ascension?

It is a parasite, he reasoned. As dangerous as the Flood. It would continue its rampage of destruction until it met its end. And Cronus was the one who would see to it! He swiped his battle scythe through the air menacingly.

“Jiralhanae!” He roared into the pit as he entered the control center. Unlike most ships of the Covenant, the Ascension’s control center was triangular in shape. A section covering two points containing navigation and weapon consoles had been dubbed ‘the pit’ due to the final point raised on a sharp wall taller than two Jiralhanae. At this level, the Ship Master could watch over the pit, as well as view the large display which filled the far wall. Not that Ascension had or needed a Ship Master, for the Hierarchs controlled it from within the chamber where the Luminous Key was housed.

“Yes, Chieftain?” his Jiralhanae answered, heads properly bowed.

“The Hierarchs have given us an assignment,” he grinned. “May the finest warriors approach me now! Who among you has the courage, strength, and honor to slay the vile Demon that has set foot on Ascension?”

The numbers were as expected, and he gained several choice volunteers. “The Forerunners are with us now more than ever,” he declared. “The only stain this Demon shall place on Ascension will be from its impure blood!”

***

The High Prophet of Truth gazed at the intricate viewer, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Things were moving along as planned, the Sangheili ships breaking formation to secure the Ark. He reached out a delicate finger to gently stroke the hologram, guiding Ascension down to one of the land masses on the planet.

“After ages,” he spoke softly to the spirit of Prorok, whom he knew dwelt within the Luminous Key, an ancient artifact placed no more than seven units away from him, “Everything falls together. The Sangheili will perish, as you knew they would, while we enter the Divine Realm…”

“As brothers,” the voice of the Prophet of Justice spoke.

He glanced away from the viewer to regard the amusing image of the brash young Councilor in the throne and headdress of a Hierarch. After he had eliminated his brother Mercy, he could have simply boarded Ascension alone and threatened the illusion his ancestors fought so hard to maintain. Fortunately, he had noticed the Prophet of Justice attempting to flee High Charity and had seen such marvelous potential in that figure. Why would he let the true power of the Covenant die with him when he could continue the First’s legacy, Prorok would ask him?

“As brothers,” he agreed, smiling.

***

A crystalline ball roughly the size of an ATV hung high in the air, pulsing with energy. Although apparently solid, its surface seemed to shift around as though it were a flowing liquid. John found it oddly pleasant to look at, and apparently so did a couple of Brutes.

“Magnificent is it not?” one of the Brutes commented.

“Indeed,” its partner agreed. “This holy ship is truly the very embodiment of ascension.”

“Still, I cannot help but question the decision made by the Prophet of Justice,” the first began, only to be interrupted.

“Quiet!” the second Brute hissed. “The very walls of this vessel are alive with the spirit of the First. Do not express your sinful–” It never got to finish its sentence, as John swept his Brute Shot bayonet through the back of its neck.

As the corpse dropped to the floor, he leaped to the side to avoid Brute Shot grenades. He charged the Brute, knocked the weapon out of its hands, and put an unengaged energy sword to its head. “Where is Truth?” he asked the alien coldly.

“Truth?” the Brute played dumb, “All truth is relative, Demon.”

“No time for games,” he said, stroking the hilt in preparation. “Where is he?”

“You must be speaking of the High Prophet of Truth, Hierarch of the Covenant,” the Brute said, as though suddenly making the connection. “May I… inquire as to your intent, Master Demon?” it asked sarcastically.

“My intent,” he said, “Is to find Truth and kill him.” He tensed, expecting the Brute to attempt to force its way out of his grip.

“I see,” it said, cocking its head as if in thought. “The Hiearchs are within the deepest chamber. Continue down the corridor, turn left at the second turn, follow the Drone passages until you reach…” it continued to recite directions. John memorized the instructions even as he found himself confused that the Brute would obey so easily. His confusion must have translated into his movement, for the Brute then said, “I assure you that my navigation is neither decietful nor incorrect.”

“Why just betray your Prophet?” he asked doubtfully.

“Not all who desire ascension have willingly sworn their loyalty to the Covenant,” the Brute replied. “Slay the Hierarchs and the Brute race will be as free as we once were.”

A Brute rebel? It was not outside the realm of possibility. After all, the United Rebel Front had warred with the UNSC decades before the Covenant showed up. He examined the Brute’s ape-like face for a moment, and then gave it a sharp headbutt to knock it unconscious. Having few choices, he would give it the benefit of the doubt.

He followed the Brute’s directions, pausing when he came to the area the Brute had referred to as a ‘Drone passage.’ It was obvious where the name had came from, for the corridor he faced was utterly covered in a honeycomb-like waxy substance. He raised his weapon defensively and entered the passage.

It wasn’t long before numerous hostiles appeared on his motion sensor. Drones, he guessed with a sigh. Aware that the Brute was likely sending him into a trap, he cautiously moved forward.

Coming to a turn, he covertly looked around the corner. Instead of the normal set of corridors, this was a room large enough to hold three Scorpion tanks and it was filled with Drones. Drones marched in rows on the floor, walls, and he assumed the ceiling as well although he couldn’t tell from his angle.

He weighed his options. He could assume the Brute was lying and go back, or he could risk his life and his mission by attacking a Drone hive by himself… He primed a plasma grenade.

The narrow corridor proved to be an excellent chokepoint. After exciting the hive by tossing a grenade in, the Drones mindlessly rushed him. The Brute Shot, in combination with the sword, soon reduced their numbers to a manageable amount. Using a dropped plasma pistol, he quickly picked off the stragglers hiding on the ceiling.

Having emptied his Brute Shot, he set it on the side as he inspected the chamber. He suspected it could have had originally been an armory, but its weapons were long since removed from the shelves lining the walls. The only exit appeared to be behind a large buildup of wax.

He approached the bulbous structure, examined it, and then tore away at it with his hands. Without warning, an enormous insect burst out of the structure, throwing him across the room. He tumbled into a roll, then stood and activated the sword.

“Demon!” the giant insect screeched, raising itself onto its back legs to make itself appear even larger. “Slayer of my children!”

A queen, he realized. Perhaps this was the trap that the Brute had set for him. He reached for a grenade, but found his pouch empty. Oh bugger, he thought with faint amusement.

With a battle cry, the Queen charged him. He dodged out of the way and slashed at her legs, causing her to stumble. Continuing to dance around her, he struck the legs until he removed enough for her to remain immobile.

“Beast! Demon!” The Queen screamed with agony, perhaps more at the death of the Drones than at her own injury. On her back, large and glassy wings began to flap, and she soon raised herself over a meter off the ground. “Die!” she screamed, mandibles gnashing, as she charged him once more.

He waited until she came close, and then jumped up high. He landed on the Queen’s back, and then cut off her wings. She slammed to the ground with a groan, and he plunged the sword into her neck to end her pain. His shield shimmered as it recharged, and he left the sight of the dead hive behind him as he cut his way out.

From there, he returned to the Brute’s directions, finding them accurate. Either the Brute was indeed a rebel, or it thought to enhance its lie by combining truth and fantasy. In any case, the directions were a useful guide.

''“…Repeat: Covenant ship approaching Sydney. Requesting all available UNSC forces within range,”'' the static-filled transmission reached his radio.

Sydney? John thought with a surge of tension. If Truth was attacking Sydney, he would bet anything the Prophet had set his sights on High Command. More Forerunner artifacts, he supposed. It made sense that Bravo-6 would house any artifacts ONI found, but he couldn’t help but wonder if the facility was perhaps attached to an underground Forerunner structure in the same manner as CASTLE Base on Reach.

He dismissed his wild speculation to focus on his goal. Taking out Truth was all he needed to contemplate. Assuming the Brute’s directions were authentic, he was perhaps two kilometers from Truth’s location. Any value of surprise he had was probably gone by now, insuring heavy resistance between him and the Prophet. Blinking away another pang of regret at leaving Cortana behind, he quickened his pace.

***

“There can be no mistake, sir. The Tomb’s doors have become unsealed.”

Admiral Jordan Harel reviewed the report, his eyes dancing across the hologram. Covenant over our heads, and this happens? He sighed, bringing his hands up to rub his forehead. “Begin an immediate investigation of the facility’s contents,” he ordered the AI. “I want Fury TAC-nukes planted and tied into the Hive’s failsafe protocol. None of those Covie bastards are gonna get their filthy hands on the greatest discovery of mankind!”

“Yes, sir. Units have been retasked.”

He glanced quickly back at the report, rereading a certain paragraph. “You’re sure that the Tomb is responding to the close proximity of the Covenant ship?”

The AI Fafnir, in the form of a European dragon, sharply raised himself up on his back legs as though upset his intelligence was put into question. “Sir, I have a 93.2% probability of accuracy,” he replied in a huff. “If you consider my analysis doubtful, sir, perhaps you would be interested in an image of the ship?” He held out his claws and an image soon appeared between them.

Harel’s first thought was that the ship bore a resemblance to the Grand Tokyo Tower, if with a separate set of colors. Then he looked closer. “Bloody hell,” he swore. The ship’s build with its arrangement of parts and colors was extremely similar to the architectural design of the Tomb.

“Sir,” Fafnir broke into his thoughts, “The ship is broadcasting a message, unencrypted, from the Prophet of Truth. Shall I play it through?”

He nodded an acknowledgment, and the dragon shimmered briefly before being replaced with what could only be a Prophet. The body was different than what he had expected of the Covenant leader; the neck was too long, the ears too dog-like, the eyes too large, the muscular structure too weak. All in all, it was a highly disappointing moment.

“Creatures of the Covenant,” the Prophet began, his true voice replaced with an automatic English translation, “We stand now at the edge of the path, the Great Journey so very near…”

***

“…And yet the human infestation has spread even to these most holy of locations,” the Prophet preached via a holographic generator. Covies of various sorts, mostly Brutes and Grunts crowded around it, hanging onto their leader’s words. “They have gathered over the Blind Cartographer to nest, breed, and feed off of the holy aura as a keelbug feeds from the exudations of electrical facilities. They are vermin, to be exterminated where ever they are found…”

He quietly assessed the situation and drew two plasma grenades. He carefully planted them on each side of the corridor, an eye on his enemies. However, the Covies remained oblivious, their eyes glued to the holo-cast.

“They know their fate,” the Prophet went on. “I have intercepted numerous broadcasts of them praying to their fake god, begging him for a mercy that shall never be delivered. They weep and beg and mutiliate themselves in futile hope, a desperation that has caused many of them to war amongst each other. Well, we offered them the eternal salvation they saught, offered them the prophecies of Prorok, and see now the fruits of their response!” The Prophet gave a haughty laugh. “Yes, their destruction is their own doing and we, servants of the true gods, shall offer them all the mercy they deserve!”

He raised the Brute flash grenade and aimed.

“Even now they aim their petty warships at ascension, practically begging for the destruction we will gift them. I say, let them come!”

A blazing light blasted from the far side of the group, causing them to jump back away from it, toward him and toward the plasma grenades. Before they could recover (“Ooh, very bright light!” a Grunt moaned), he tossed a plasma grenade onto the back of a Brute’s head. He then ran backwards, firing from his Brute Shot. The resulting explosion was spectacular, killing them all and smashing the hologram generator.

“Nothing can stop–” the Prophet could be heard saying before the transmission cut out.

Is that a challenge? He inwardly smiled as he collected discarded weapons. They were afraid. The tone taken by the endless propaganda was good evidence of that. The Flood had weakened them and now they were desperately trying to recover, pretending that their great city was not taken over at all, nor that the Elites were rebelling.

If there was some organized group of Brute rebels, there seemed no better time for them to strike. Perhaps they were waiting for him to assassinate Truth before making their move… Either way, victory seemed right around the corner.

“Good show, Demon!”

He snapped up, Brute Shot ready, but saw no apparent enemy to engage. Then he realized that a Prophet image had returned above the generator, but it wasn’t Truth. This Prophet was a youthful-looking chocolate brown color, and was staring directly at him.

“I’ve long since grown tired of that old bastard’s speeches,” the Prophet said, clearly speaking to him. “I can quite understand your wish to silence him.”

He glanced at the holographic generator; it looked smashed beyond repair. He looked back at the Prophet. “You have the opportunity to surrender,” he said bluntly, ignoring the conversation.

“Surrender?” the Prophet asked, sounding as though the term was utterly alien to him, before collapsing into giggles. “Oh, I shall like you. Cronus come to see you yet?”

“Cronus?” he asked. Despite his annoyance, he was curious about the threat.

“My prize Brute,” the Prophet explained. “He was gifted a powerful weapon pieced together by the… it was Forerunner originally. But how rude of me not to introduce myself! I am the Prophet of Justice, soon to be the last Prophet of Truth! And you are?”

He responded to the rather ridiculous question by slamming the bayonet into the generator. This time, the hologram vanished for good. He had wasted enough time sitting and waiting for the Covenant, perhaps this Cronus, to hunt him down.

However, he had learned valuable intel. This Prophet, the Prophet of Justice, was some sort of heir of the Prophet of Truth, and apparently conspiring to kill him. John now had two targets. It is never as easy as it first appears.

He started moving when a light tremble spread through the ship. Struck by a MAC cannon? He hurried through the maze of corridors, depending on the accuracy of a smart-aleck Brute’s directions.

A crackled message came into his radio: a human voice swearing loudly about the presence of the Covenant ship. Either the ship had landed, he reasoned, or it had caused some kind of damage. Sydney has to be the safest place on the planet, he thought. Of all the cities for them to attack, this would be the easiest to defend.

“Demon!”

He looked up to see a Brute standing motionlessly on a ledge above and behind him, dressed in the sleek blue armor found on so many Brutes on this ship. The Brute’s still form had allowed it to remain off his sensor’s detection.

John brought his Brute Shot up to fire, but the Brute tossed down a stick grenade. Not the relatively harmless flash bomb, but the deadly fragmentation grenade that blasted white-hot metal spikes. He leaped over it, not quite high enough to reach the ledge, but then swung the bayonet into the Brute and gutted it just before the blade struck the metal floor. Hanging from the ledge by the Brute Shot, he managed to avoid the funnel of spikes that shot from the grenade.

A sudden blip on his motion sensor warned him of an enemy moving toward him fast from the direction he was facing. He saw no Covie coming on the ledge, and quickly pulled himself up. He was not a second too late, for a large hammer swept through the area he had been hanging just moments before.

He looked down to see a Brute wearing a red suit of armor vaguely reminiscent of that worn by the samurai of 19th century Japan. The Brute looked up at him and growled. He responded by fishing out a spike grenade from the dead Brute’s belt, and throwing it down to its friend.

He then found himself backpedaling as the Brute threw its hammer aside and leaped onto the ledge itself. “Canned meat!” the Brute growled, lumbering towards him.

He jumped over the Brute’s head, spun and slammed the bayonet into the back of its neck. The Brute let out a yell, and then fell into a crumpled heap. He flipped the Brute Shot onto his back and leaned down to scavenge the corpse, but found himself jumping back down as a large metal blade swept through the air where he had previously been just moments before.

He looked up to see a very large white-haired Brute wielding a wicked-looking scythe. The Covie’s choice of weapon, coupled with its pale fur, reminded John of the personification of Death. Unlike the Grim Reaper of legend, however, John was certain this Brute would not settle for a mere chess match. “Don’t make me chase you,” the Brute taunted. “I will make your death slow and painful.”

“Cronus?” he questioned, remembering the Prophet of Justice. He glanced at the powerful-looking scythe and aimed the Brute Shot at its master’s chest.

A flicker of surprise spread throughout the Brute’s features. “You have foreseen your death, Demon,” Cronus said, his voice betraying his show of confidence.

“Where’s Truth?” he simply asked, figuring he had a shot. Cronus, however, let out a roar and lunged for him. John ran backward, firing Brute Shot grenades. The Brute struck each of the grenades in the air with the scythe, causing them to go off at a harmless distance. Well, not entirely harmless. The grenades did singe Cronus’s fur, but never slowed him down for more than a few seconds.

This was a bad scenario, being trapped in a tight corridor with this monster of a Brute. He would have preferred fighting a Hunter pair in an open field, armed only with a needler. He looked around, trying to see a way out.

There. A ledge overhead with an opening. Cronus glanced up; he saw it as well. Sudden movement on his sensor: two hostiles coming up behind him. He chanced a glance at the new arrivals: red Brutes, each carrying large unfamilar weapons. He grabbed his last grenade, a plasma, and threw it to the floor at their feet.

“Demon flare!” The red Brutes leaped away, while Cronus held his ground and slashed at him.

John, however, ran toward the grenade. In the instant before it went off, he jumped up in the air and did a backflip. When the blast came, he was far enough away to avoid death, yet close enough to take advantage of its force. Using the added momentum, he flew backwards and onto the ledge.

Before the Brutes could process what happened, he fired a shot down at them. He then quickly entered the tunnel, soon realizing that its walls were caked with wax. It was too late to turn away, though, for Cronus made a great leap up to the ledge.

“Sir, the Drones…” he heard a Brute call out.

“Only Truth–” the other started.

“Do you think I care?!” Cronus bellowed, charging John once again.

Having little choice, he ran into the waxy tunnel. There was an upside, though. The smaller, cramped tunnel made it impossible for Cronus to properly wield his scythe, something of which John took full advantage.

He fired, again, and again. Bluish blood stained yellow wax, and yet still Cronus came. He finally reached the end of his belt, but could not pause to replace it. Worse, he now detected numerous blips on his motion sensor.

Cronus could see he had the advantage. A cruel smile lifted his cheeks, “Now you die.”

He stopped as they stepped past a corridor leading to the larger chamber. He could see and hear all the Drones with which the room must have been filled. He addressed the Brute calmly, “Wrong. I always win.”

He took off running down the corridor, hoping against hope his suspicions were correct. Suddenly, his shields were assaulted by what appeared to be violet plasma streaming from Cronus’s scythe blade. As soon as he reached the mouth of the tunnel, he leaped to the side, allowing the plasma to streak across the floor of the chamber, vaporizing a row of Drones.

The Drone hive went insane, the male insects flying everywhere. Fortunately, they ignored John for the moment, allowing him to reload his Brute Shot while his shield recharged.

“Brute!” he heard the Queen hiss from somewhere under the wax as Cronus came out of the tunnel. “You dare to violate our law?!”

“I come upon the orders of the Prophet of Justice,” the Brute argued, batting away nearby Drones with the blunt of his blade. “The Demon has entered your nest, and I have orders to slay it.”

“Justice?” the Queen said dismissively. “The Prophet of Truth gave us our territory, and only he may allow filthy Brutes to enter.”

Three Drones crawled over to John, their weapons lowered. He carefully held still, allowing them to inspect him. After a moment, they began climbing up his MJOLNIR armor, their antennae moving back and forth. What have I gotten myself into?

Meanwhile, Cronus growled at the hive. “The Prophet of Justice is the true power in the Covenant, regardless of what his title may be. Soon you will see. Until then…” The Brute raised his scythe; the blade glowed and then released a great stream of plasma, reminiscent of Regret’s gravity cannon. He swept the blade across the nearest Drones even as he fired, killing great scores of the creatures.

“Rampaging lunatic!” the Queen screamed, emerging from the wall as the Drones opened fire upon the Brute.

John gently shook the Drones off his body and made his exit. The hive let him leave, and he wondered if Cronus had even noticed him through the swarm. Regardless, he intended to make the best of the small miracle that was Covenant politics.

He needed to find Truth, kill him, and then deal with this Prophet of Justice. If Justice was the ‘true power’ as Cronus had said, then stopping Truth could possibly not be enough. One step at a time.

However, it turned out that his choice was made for him. Once again, he found himself on the radio with Fleet Admiral Hood.

“Master Chief, you still alive?” his radio crackled.

“Sir,” he responded. “The situation has become more complicated. The Prophet of Truth has an heir present onboard this ship…”

“The Prophet of Truth is on a Seraph getting a front-row seat of the destruction of Sydney,” the Fleet Admiral interrupted. ''“You have new orders: defend HighCom Facility Bravo-6 from the invading Covenant forces. The work going on there may be vital to our success. Understood?”''

“Sir,” he answered, surprised at the drastic change of orders. “Yes, sir.”

***

“Cairo out,” Lord Terrence Hood’s voice broadcasted clearly before Fafnir cut the connection. A fine work if I do say so myself, the AI thought, a reptilian grin spreading across his avatar’s face.

Sure impersonating an admiral was grounds for termination, but that only made it that much more invigorating. Besides, his programming clearly dictated that defense of the databanks was to be his highest priority. Even if he was seized by the Covenant, he would not sacrifice the data.

I owe my donor that much at least… He sometimes wondered if he was showing signs of ‘Rampancy’, a supposed ‘illness’ suffered by AIs that drove them to a state of insanity. In the end it mattered very little, he supposed.

He hacked into the security cameras of the base on the surface, and studied a Covenant Unggoy being interrogated. “Ascension, Ascension,” the alien exclaimed as it was shown a hologram of the Forerunner ship. Fafnir began a swift search through the Covenant interrogation archives, bringing up every mention of ‘Ascension’.