User:Dragonclaws/Ascension16

Descent
Jitji sighed and opened his eyes, refusing to keep pretending. Sleep had been stolen from him, just like the remainder of his life. Be it the mark of wrathful Gods or merely a symptom of the illness he did not know, but he was certain that peaceful slumber would not come to him.

His eyes flitted over the wall across from him, half-expecting the phantom Unggoy to appear once more. However, the image was absent from the lavender wall. He shivered as he remembered its utterly black form, a stark contrast from his own shadow in the well-lit medical center. A denizen of the Shadow World, he thought with terror. Lamal, punished for dying a dishonorable death, was banished to the Shadow Realm and has now come to haunt my last days!

He shook his head and bit his tongue lightly to break away from his panic. Do not become hysterical, Jitji, he ordered himself. Let’s think this through logically. No one could escape the pull of the Sea of Shadow – this the Prophets had declared long ago. Whatever or whomever this was… it was not a spirit from the Shadow World.

No, it is surely the sign I requested, he decided. The only thing that made sense was to decipher its meaning. It was black, invoking the image of a lost soul trapped within the Shadow Realm, with the shape of an Unggoy… like him. Does this mean I am destined for the Black Sea? He could bear the tension no longer. He opened his mouth and cried out loud, “Death omen!”

Beside him, ‘Ruukulee had been tending to the treacherous ‘Opskitee as he lay in his restraints. Both Sangheili looked at him sharply as he yelped. “Damned Unggoy!” ‘Ruukulee snapped at him. “Never use such language in a medical center! Have some respect for the wounded.”

“Me sorry, Excellency,” he appologized, hanging his head. Stupid Unggoy, he raged at himself. Keep yourself under control. He balled up his hand into a fist and struck his leg, grunting as the impact excited bruised flesh. Painful though it was, the action helped him rise above the fear and anger that had dominated him.

“None of that,” the healer growled. “If I want you beaten, I’ll do it myself.”

“Sorry, Excellency,” he repeated. His gaze turned back to the space where the phantom had appeared. A death omen, he thought silently. He had offended the Gods by questioning their existence, and they were now punishing him with eternal suffering in the darkest well.

I have only a unit left in this Realm, he thought with a sudden determination. I must make it count! He had received a sign from the Gods, death omen or not, and this needed to be documented. For all he knew, he was the only Unggoy in all of history to be awarded such a blessing. I have to tell someone!

But who could he speak to who would listen? The Arbiter was a heretic, as likely was the High Councilor as well. ‘Opskitee was imprisoned as a traitor… The healer? he wondered. Could ‘Ruukulee be able to understand such important material?

He looked at the healer as he repaired ‘Opskitee’s arm. He opened his mouth to speak, but quickly shut it. No, the healer would not listen to him any more than ‘Derolee did before being crushed by Drinol. As an Unggoy, he could earn no respect from Sangheili and it was better not to try.

Only an Unggoy could ever trust an Unggoy, he thought. He remembered Gedeg, how he had once feared him based on a rumor only to later become convinced that he was in fact ‘blessed.’ But no, he realized the flaw in his thinking, He believed the Unggoy rumor, and was only convinced otherwise when I said the Arbiter had spared me. Even among Unggoy, it took a Sangheili’s word over an Unggoy’s.

As he mused this over, the doors opened and Jahnsen entered carrying a long Human weapon he recognized as a ‘shotgun.’ Jitji jumped up with alarm at this sight, but the Human set his weapon on a nearby table as he bent to inspect the occupent of a sealed medical chamber: a purple cylinder large enough to hold a Sangheili, filled with healing mist. “How is she?” the Human asked in English.

“Her condition has improved after we placed her into the medical chamber,” ‘Ruukulee answered, walking over to him. “However, our knowledge of human anatomy is incomplete. She will likely die.”

“God damn it,” Jahnsen cried, slamming his fist into the table.

Jitji was surprised by the phrase referring to a single god, but remembered what he had been told of their strange religion. ''“They have no belief in gods?” he had questioned his brothers and sisters. The seven unit-long sermon had been interrupted when the Prophet of Honor chose to end his fast that night. They had taken advantage of the pause to trade stories about alien races, when Kipik had brought up the Humans.

“None,” Kipik answered, using a rare pronoun that emphasized absolute astonishment. “None at all!”

“Well, they do have fake god,” Romromi put in. “But none ever saw him, and he left no artifacts, and he only speak with Human prophets now dead. Humans believe only from fake prophet text!”

“I hear,” Tuput added, “That Human god gives stupid rules about what food they eat!”

They laughed joyfully, until Kipik shushed them for fear of the Sangheili taking notice.

“Human god stupid, but we know better,” Jitji said. “Quick, before Honor returns, let’s get drink at nipple!”''

Jitji smiled at the memory. That was when times were good, when they had simply cleaned the temple and gossiped over Milk. He wondered what had become of his family, and his smile faded as he imagined them dead, their skulls penetrated by Human bullets.

He turned to glare at Jahnsen, but instead felt a burst of sympathy. Just as he dreaded his own family’s death, Jahnsen gazed upon his wounded comrade with concern for her failing life. The Humans… are not enemies, he decided. Not unless we force them to be.

''Their religion may be absurd, but… the Prophet of Truth could very well be a traitor. It would not do for I to declare their society sinful when our own drips with deceit.'' He could no longer support the Covenant under the confidence that he was following the Gods. And maybe that means that the Arbiter is right…

The door opened once more, and Jitji quickly stood at attention as he saw who it was.

***

Emperor Kagu ‘Lafatee had been cast from his own control center, declared incapable of commanding his vessel. What was worse, he feared ‘Setfethee had been correct to do so. He had not commanded a military unit for nearly fifty cycles, practically an age since he was last required to make tactical decisions.

As a High Councilor, he could make laws that would affect the many trillions of the Covenant. It was a position people would murder for – and he was sure some had – and yet it had made him weak. The Jiralhanae did not care about his status when they imprisoned him and threatened to do… things to him.

He was being forced back into a world that would judge him only on his military prowess, with little more than a glance at his helmet. He had to show his superiority once more, to prevent ‘Setfethee from completely taking over. If he could not command a ship, he would need to prove himself in another way.

And so, after hearing the Ship Master order the Human to the medical center, he decided he would also make an appearance. He would assert his dominance before this Jahnsen, making it certain it was he who carried the power to take lives away. He knew the Arbiter had become found of the Human, and so he decided to begin his display with Jahnsen before moving on to the Arbiter and finally ‘Setfethee.

He stepped inside the medical center and inwardly smiled as all former members of the Covenant straightened respectfully. Jahnsen, who had his attention focused on the injured Keezz within a medical chamber, barely glanced up as he approached. “Jahnsen,” he said to attract his attention. “I have been informed that the traitor who organized an attack on both the Arbiter and your commander is inside this room.” He turned his gaze onto ‘Opskitee, and let Jahnsen’s eyes follow.

The treacherous Sangheili began to laugh as he approached, “Honestly, High Councilor, you give me far too great merit for my actions. I merely informed your warriors of the truth you kept from them, it was their decision to halt the flow of corruption.”

“Enough talk,” Jahnsen said suddenly. “You fry this bastard, ‘Laflitee!”

‘Opskitee grinned at the Human’s mispronunciation of his name. “Yes, ‘Laflitee, kill the traitor! I speak, of course, of the Unggoy two units to my left. This damnable creature slew several of its own people simply to cure its own hunger, and nearly killed a Sangheili! I, however, acted only with the noble purpose of reuniting the Covenant. I accept that my thinking was flawed when I attempted to trust the Jiralhanae – surely their blood is as damned as the Quelni’s was… but know that your greatest enemy is not I.”

“Excellency,” the Unggoy of which he spoke began to speak, “Me…”

“Quiet, Jitji,” he snapped, keeping his eyes on ‘Opskitee. “Reuniting the Covenant… would mean death to us all. The Prophets… are our enemies. If the Unggoy had not been captured, perhaps it would have killed half our forces…” Jitji whimpered. “But should you have succeeded, your entire race could have been dead within the unit. No, I see the real enemy before me.”

“You know, as I was escorted out of the holding pens,” ‘Opskitee began in a harsh, mocking tone, “I saw an empty cell with its wall up. No prisoner inside, and yet its energy barrier was functioning, a waste of power when you should be focusing on keeping the Jiralhanae contained. You should go now and fix the problem. After all, if you send the Unggoy it may kill everyone it encounters…” He broke off as he found his throat suddenly being squeezed tightly.

“Enough words,” he said, echoing Jahnsen’s earlier comment. He seized the Sangheili’s head and forced it back, feeling the neck bone sharply snap. “Have the body prepared for consumption,” he ordered the healer as he stepped away from the corpse.

“Consumption?” Jahnsen asked with disgust. “You’re gonna eat that?”

“The traitor failed to serve us in life, but his body can serve us in death,” he explained. “The barest form of redemption offered by the damned.”

“Huh, no thanks,” Jahnsen replied, holding out his hands as if to ward away the notion. “I prefer to not have met my dinner.”

“Very well,” he acknowledged, wondering briefly how Humans kept from starving on the battlefield if they did not feed on their fallen. “I must leave now to…” He trailed off as the ship shuddered with an impact. So it has come to hostilities after all… he thought grimly, wondering if they should have charged the lasers.

“All personnel, prepare for immediate transfer onto docked ship,” ‘Setfethee’s voice boomed through the internal radio and into their ears.

Transfer? ‘Setfethee has directly attached the Zealous Missionary to ‘Vadumee’s ship? It was a bizarre event, one that seemed without cause until he remembered ‘Vadumee’s paranoia. The few airlocks would allow him to carefully examine everything that entered his ship to a degree impossible with standard dropships. “You heard my Ship Master, healer,” he said after a moment. “Prepare the wounded for transfer.”

He stepped outside the small room and began walking, unsure where he was going. Eventually, he found himself inside the holding pen in which ‘Opskitee had been kept. The mangled body of a Jiralhanae lay on the floor, torn apart by fuel rod, and as the traitor had indicated one cell was activated for no apparent reason.

He sighed and leaned against the wall. Not the best performance, I’m afraid. He had gone over to the traitor, let him rant, and then killed him. He had made no expert speech befitting a High Councilor to assert his superiority, and in fact allowed his judgment regarding Jitji to be called into question.

He wondered if he should have had the Unggoy slain, if nothing more than as a political move. All is not lost, he decided. ''I now have Gedeg’s superior Unggoy because of the Arbiter’s act of mercy. When we reach Ascension, our chances of defeating the High Prophet of Truth will be that much stronger.'' …If such a thing was even possible.

He swallowed as he thought about what making war on Ascension would entail. None had ever managed to so much as scratch it since it was uncovered on Ardhi so many ages past. They would have to board it and assault its crew from within, facing legions of warriors, to say nothing about the ancient magic only Prophets understood!

He shook his head. I shall worry about that when I must and no sooner. For now he had to make sure ‘Setfethee would not take over. Although unsure why he was bothering at all, he walked over and tapped the control to disable the cell barrier.

As soon as the wall vanished, an awful smell met his nostrils and he fanned a hand over his face. “Gods, these Jiralhanae are rank,” he spat, walking away from the corpse with disgust.

“Emperor ‘Lafatee, please join us on the bridge,” ‘Setfethee’s voice spoke in his ears, devoid of any apology.

Fuming, he sent a response, “Very well, Ship Master, if you deem it necessary.” I have proven myself to the Human, and the Arbiter shall be next. He strode toward the control center, unaware of the small creature making its way through the Jiralhanae corpse.

***

For security purposes, the Enlightened Soul had insisted that they use but one door between their ships. Major Hinha ‘Samoree was first to set foot on the Enlightened Soul. The five Minors behind him carried what the Arbiter believed the crewmembers of the allied ship would care most about: weapons. Specifically, the spike weapons carried by the higher ranking Jiralhanae of the Zealous Missionary.

While no larger than the standard rifle, azure or crimson, these unfamiliar carbines proved far too heavy to be wielded by any Unggoy and had to be brought by his own Sangheili. Not that any of them minded the honor this would give them. Indeed, while he much preferred to earn respect through slaying Humans, he felt a burst of pride that his warriors would carry the enemy weapons.

After the airlocks opened, they walked along the curved pathway that would adjust for their differences in gravity generation. They encountered that always disturbing moment when up became down and down became up, but passed it without pause. Finally, they entered the allied ship, and displayed their gifts proudly… only to stare.

The Sangheili who had arrived to greet them, a Major, had lost a leg. All below the first knee of his right leg had been torn off. This would be shocking in its self, were it not for the fact that this Major was suspended above the ground through use of a Prophet’s gravity belt. Behind him was the familiar sight of violent carnage, Jiralhanae bodies strewn about everywhere.

“Welcome aboard,” the Sangheili greeted them. “I am Neap ‘Lemosee. Apologies for the mess. I am afraid all of our Unggoy were slain in battle.”

“No trouble at all,” he smiled nervously, unsure how to react. “Allow us to provide you with the latest weapons created by the Jiralhanae, Major.” His Minors hesitantly held out the rifles for Major ‘Lemosee to examine.

“Yes, yes,” ‘Lemosee muttered, an intense look in his eyes. “Justice, yes? …Have them deposited in the control center, it is as much our armory as we have yet created.”

He nodded to his Minors, and they hurried to obey. “Why not simply use the facilities onboard for their intended purpose?” he asked ‘Lemosee as he tried not to stare at the belt.

“Many of these facilities are… out of reach,” ‘Lemosee explained. “When we attacked the vessel, we were not so great in number that we could slay all of the Jiralhanae onboard. Commander ‘Vadumee had us attack the control center directly, and then sealed off all corridors in which Jiralhanae walked.”

He nodded in understanding. “Indeed. I believe the Arbiter took back the Zealous Missionary through similar means. However, he has had us systematically kill each Jiralhanae he trapped…” Despite his efforts, his gaze returned to the gravity belt. These were worn only by the Prophets, and he saw no reason that this ‘Lemosee should have the honor to wear one.

“Ah, yes, the gravity belt,” ‘Lemosee said, looking down at it himself. “As you can see, I am unable to preform my duties in my current condition. After the Prophet’s death, I saw no reason not to take advantage of his very useful belt. Now I am able to preform… at least some of my duties.”

“The Jiralhanae slew a Prophet?” he asked, barely managing to keep his temper in check.

“No,” ‘Lemosee shook his head. “It was I who laid the blow upon the ironically named Prophet of Loyalty. Despite their pledge to include us on the Great Journey, the Prophet claimed that the Jiralhanae were to be their new servants and that Sangheili should accept their fate. We did not. We slew the Prophet and his servants!”

He stared at the Major, trying not to let the shock he felt slip into his expression. ''This warrior is a traitor! We are boarding a ship held by traitors.'' His story of the Prophet’s betrayal was all lies of course, a trick to turn them all into heretics. He then remembered the Special Operations Officer’s words of the Arbiter being corrupted by the Humans he brought with him. Does the Arbiter partake in this treachery? He had to learn. “If what you speak is true, then you have indeed preformed us a grand service. You should inform the Arbiter at once so he may… take the appropriate procedures.”

“The Arbiter and Commander ‘Vadumee have discussed tactics,” ‘Lemosee informed him. “I believe they intend to attack Ascension – it launched less than a unit past.”

By the Prophets… It seemed that the horrible story was true. The Arbiter has been enchanted! “We should proceed with the transfer,” he said, swallowing. He faced such grand opponents, but he had to try something. Slay the Humans, and save the Arbiter from sin, he told himself. Save the Arbiter and all who follow their oaths.

***

“Hm. Well, thanks… I guess,” Avery Johnson said, unsure how to respond. He had spent the past twenty-seven years doing his damnedest to help eradicate the Covenant menace from the galaxy, and now here he was receiving a commendation from the bastard that killed Reach.

It seemed that the Hulk creature he had wounded was finished off by the Grunt traitor, and they were both being awarded for their service. How? Through the age-old Covenant practice of assimilation. The Arbiter had taken the word ‘Sergeant’ from his rank of Sergeant Major and had created a new Covenant rank specifically for the Grunt, giving it way more power than it deserved. His award was just to be the one from which the title came; apparently this was a great honor in their culture.

Great, he sighed. Just what I want. One thing was definitely good news: the Grunt traitor had taken a fatal dose of radiation and would be dead within the next day (or so; he found the Covenant calendar confusing). The sonofabitch Grunt would suffer before it went to wherever aliens were sent. He knew very well just how painful the effects of radiation poisoning could be, having had a bad incident himself back on Paris IV.

He turned to inspect his Commander’s still body once more. The Elites had placed her inside what appeared to be the Covie version of a cryo-chamber, a purple tube filled with pink mist. Her uniform had been removed and Johnson could see a large gash, partially patched up from some organic substance, spanning the length of her torso.

He grabbed the shotgun he had left on a table and cocked it. It seemed that even though the Brutes had collected human supplies, the Elites would still rather die than even touch the stuff. The Grunts had all but forced the weapons on him and he picked out a M90 still in good condition, ammo, and some rations. “Alright, let’s go,” he said, letting the Elites lead the way. Behind him, the Elite medic carried his commander within the tube, and around them floated Forerunner drones.

They walked through countless corridors, each indistinguishable except for the Brute and Jackal corpses that decorated the floor (and in some cases, the walls). At last, they reached the airlock. Outside, numerous Covies paced around. Several Grunts gathered to watch as they passed.

“See? Human Sergeant,” one coughed to its friend. “Who Jitji has.” The second Grunt apparently understood the incomplete sentence and nodded.

God help me, he lamented. I’m being regarded as famous by Grunts. They paused as the Elites opened the door, just enough time for the Elite medic to explode. That is, as they stood there a Brute grenade was fired at his injured commander, only to bounce off the tube and hit the Elite.

The drones went into action immediately, firing beams of heat at the Elite who had attacked. The Elite dove into the crowd, letting himself be shielded by the unfortunate Covies that found themselves caught in the beams. As the drones moved away to reach a better angle, Johnson turned around sharply hearing the sound of an energy sword being engaged.

A red Elite, wielding the deadly sword, roared and charged him. He heard his bodyguards engage their swords, but knew there was not enough time. He raised the M90 and fired, causing blue light to flash around the Elite as it swung its double-bladed sword toward him. He dropped into a roll, dodging the sword and spinning around behind the Elite. His two friendly Elites had their swords out, ready to finish off his attacker; he fired.

The Elite fell to the floor, screaming something his implants translated as Devil. The drones, having killed the other one, returned to hover around him. “Heh,” he chuckled. “Looks like your Sentinels aren’t exactly the smartest drones in the galaxy, are they?”

“They are… alien,” one of his friendlies attempted to explain. “We are still unfamiliar with their functions.”

Something you should have thought about before trusting them with my life, he mentally grumbled, but held his tongue to prevent the Elites from being insulted. When trusting them to take a bullet for you if need be, it costs nothing to be polite. Not that he exactly needed them, as shown by this little demonstration.

“Let this be a warning to all,” the Elite called out. “Attempting to harm the humans will only bring death and dishonor!”

***

Commander Rtas ‘Vadumee ran his hands along the spike rifle, examining the shining black double barrels. “I have seen this before,” he muttered. “The Prophet of Justice did not create it… he has merely taken the credit.” He remembered well that first meeting with High Chieftain Demon, the array of wicked tools that littered his belt, the vulgar weapons carried by his warriors. The young Jiralhanae have forgotten what was once theirs, their heritage vanished by the High Council…

He turned to regard the Sangheili who he had welcomed aboard his stolen ship: the Arbiter, Ship Master ‘Setfethee, and High Councilor ‘Lafatee (who currently fancied himself an Emperor of Sangheili). They had gathered in the control center, all eager to launch an attack upon Ascension itself – no small feat by any means. All the while, the Flood were making their attack on the Holy City, gaining millions of troops for their own armies. And then there was the matter of the Humans…

“Another attack on your Humans has been reported,” he informed them, having received the message as he was examining the weapons. “The rebels were slain, and your Humans are unharmed.”

‘Lafatee growled. “The frequency of these insurrections is becoming most annoying…”

“Well, then, Emperor,” ‘Setfethee spoke, the disdain in his voice unmistakable, “Perhaps you would be willing to consider my preposal to inform our warriors exactly what is occuring?”

“No,” ‘Lafatee said shortly. “That we have kept the truth from them this long is the only reason we still yet live. Were they to learn of our rebellion—”

“Would you prefer they learned now or when they are told that they must assault the Prophet of Truth?” ‘Setfethee cut him off. “Tell them now, give them time to think over the facts—”

“And have our Humans slain, negating our chances of forming an alliegence!” ‘Lafatee cried, stabbing a finger at the Ship Master. “No, their ignorance is the only thing that keeps them from organizing against us. ‘Opskitee was a mistake we must learn from. Now, the Prophets excelled through their use of fantasy and we should learn from their example.”

“Their example is the reason we’re trying to kill them,” ‘Setfethee retorted.

“Excellencies, if I may intrude?” he broke into their argument. “Ship Master ‘Iewasee of the Silent Blessing has elected to enter High Charity in order to help this Cortana. However, there is another option available to us. If High Charity has been invaded by Flood, if their attacks have become so great that this construct should ask us for assistance, then perhaps we should consider it an enemy stronghold to be destroyed.”

“By the gods in the Divine Realms,” ‘Lafatee cried, his mandibles spread wide, “This goes beyond the matters of war and rebellion. High Charity is our home! Our sanctuary! You wish to destroy a place with such history?”

“It is our home no longer,” ‘Setfethee practically growled. He turned to ‘Vadumee, “Do you know of a way to destroy it?”

“I do,” he nodded his head. “By detonating the engines of any of our cruisers, we would create an explosion so severe as to utterly remove it from existence. I propose that we go alongside Silent Blessing and acquire the construct for ourselves. Unlike the Humans we carry, the construct will not be easily slain and may help us establish an alliance.”

“Indeed?” ‘Lafatee asked, interest overcoming his distaste. “Yes, this construct could take the form of a High Prophet. If we can make it broadcast an announcement that the Humans are under the protection of the High Prophet of Mercy, the attacks will drop away to nothing.”

‘Setfethee sighed, “While useful for a short term, it would still not be enough to convince anyone to attack the Prophet of Truth. How can we expect them to react when they find they have been deceived?”

“Regardless,” he interrupted, aware that their dispute could waste them valuble time. “Are we in agreement that acquiring Cortana is in our best interests?”

“It will serve us well,” ‘Lafatee stated, glaring at ‘Setfethee.

“Indeed,” the Ship Master replied, returning the gaze.

The Arbiter remained silent, although he could tell that there was something on his mind.

“Well, then, if there are no objections,” he paused to give the Arbiter a chance to speak but there was no response, “…Let us commence.”

***

Within the halls of the Zealous Missionary, the final stage of transfer to the Enlightened Soul was about to commence: prisoner transfer. It was a duty that made Minor Onwi ‘Ogoaree more that a little nervous, especially because this prisoner was a high-ranking Jiralhanae. He was sure that were this prisoner to break free of its restraints, the two Unggoy beside him would be of no help.

Careful to keep the Jiralhanae within his line of sight, he stepped behind it and raised his rifle. “Begin walking,” he commanded.

“But of course,” it responded, shuffling forward as best as it could with its legs linked together.

The Unggoy yelped and huddled behind him. No help at all, he thought, but then something very unusual occurred.

“No, you strong Unggoy,” he heard one say.

“Yes… me strong,” the other agreed. Soon the Unggoy took their proper places on each side of the prisoner.

How very odd, he thought, but was not going to deny a god’s blessing. The prisoner also took interest in the Unggoy, but continued its slow march.

“Wait!” one Unggoy (the ‘strong Unggoy’) cried without warning, raising its pistol.

“What is it?” he asked, halting the prisoner. “Kig-Yar?” It was possible that they had missed one of the original crew.

“No, it…” the Unggoy trailed off, its eyes gazing stupidly at the ceiling. “Me hear…”

“What?” he asked, impatient.

“Skitter, skitter,” the Unggoy said unintelligently. “Scratchy, scratchy.”

“Enough nonsense,” he ordered. “Prisoner, resume walking.” They went back to their duties.

“Me heard something…” he heard the Unggoy whisper.

“Me know…” he heard the other one answer.

Stupid Unggoy. He could barely wait to be a Major. Then he could lead people of actual intelligence as opposed to worthless cannon fodder. He blinked as he saw a quick movement out of the corner of his eye. He refused to take his eyes off of the prisoner and instead glanced at his motion detector. No hostiles were detected. It is a mere trick of the light, he decided.

***

The flat nothingness of the Shadow World exploded into geometric shapes as they reentered the Mortal Realms. The Arbiter gazed at the holograms, recognizing that they were inside High Charity. As Cortana had indicated, he could tell from the flashes of plasma that battles were taking place all over the Holy City.

“It appears we are the only ships inside the shell,” ‘Setfethee reported. He brought up a scan and frowned. “This is… very queer. Battles seem to be erupting in every sector, yet I am only reading life signs within the lower regions…”

They stared at the display, nervously attempting to understand the implications of it.

“Do not underestimate the Parasite,” ‘Vadumee warned them, his eyes narrowing. “It is as insidious as it is foul. This could all be a deception to grant them a ship that can penetrate shadow.”

“What of Cortana?” he asked. “The Flood can not infest what does not have a form.”

“We do not know enough about the construct,” ‘Vadumee pointed out. “Perhaps it has been taken and altered by the Flood, by this Gravemind…”

“Enough,” ‘Lafatee interrupted. “Arbiter, you will take a Phantom to the Fourth Tower, you will secure the Cortana, and you will take it back to the Enlightened Soul.”

“Yes, Emperor,” he responded, brought back into reality. He was not a ruler, he was but an Arbiter. He would let the Emperor strategize on his own, with the advice of the Ship Master. He would obey his commander as any dutiful warrior would… but first he would pay a visit to the medical center.

***

“No, no, it’s not the product of a mental illness!” Avery Johnson cried. Of all the cultural things that were labeled as hardest to explain to an offworlder, he doubted that flip music would be one of them. And yet, here we was, trying to explain it to an alien whose race had never invented rock and roll.

“But if the volume is high enough to create damage to the auditory functions…” Peer Sticky trailed off as the Arbiter entered the room, and quickly stood at attention.

The Arbiter ignored his fellow Elite and approached him. He then shortly bowed in a manner similar to Asian cultures and slowly said, “Sergeant Johnson, I wish to apologize for all the trouble you have been put through. I have been sent to retrieve a human construct from within a Flood-infested structure that may help us to cease these acts of rebellion, however, I fear I shall not be successful. If I am not, please convey my deepest apology to the humans of Earth. Would I have known the truth, I would have become a traitor long before Halo.”

“Huh,” he grunted, unsure how to reply. The bastard responsible for the fall of Reach and God knows how many other planets was apologizing to him? What the hell could he say? Words are overrated. He grabbed the M90 and cocked it, “I’m in. You can leave your message with the oracle.” He nodded at the Monitor guarding Keyes.

“I would be happy to be of service,” the lightbulb chirped.

“No, Johnson,” the Arbiter denied, shaking his head. “If both you and your commander perish, we may lose our ability to forge a treaty with your people.”

“Don’t worry about me,” he said with a grin. “I’ve fought Flood before. They didn’t find my taste as desirable as you’d think. Worry about your own men. I can take care of my own self.”

The Arbiter stared at him for a long moment. “Very well,” he said finally. “However, I shall instruct Peer Sticky to assist you.”

“Yes, Arbiter,” the red Elite replied, sounding far more enthusiastic than last time they were to work together.

“Oracle?” the Arbiter asked, stepping close to the machine.

“Your message has been recorded,” the Monitor replied.

“No,” the Elite shook his head. “I have another task for you. I require the Index.”

“I’m sorry,” the Monitor said, “But only a Reclaimer has the authority—”

“Give it to him, Sparky,” Johnson interrupted. He watched as the Monitor produced the Index from its eye beam. I gotta ask it how that trick works.

The Arbiter accepted the Forerunner device and bowed in thanks. “Are you ready?” he asked him.

Johnson grinned and raised his shotgun. “Lets send them on a first-class one-way trip to Hell!”

The Arbiter nodded, although Sticky looked confused. “Jitji?” the Arbiter called, and the Grunt traitor scurried over from another part of the sickbay.

“Yes, Arbiter, me ready,” the Grunt answered before it had been given any instruction.

“Then let us go,” the Arbiter said, leading them all out. He then made some order on his radio for some Elites to join them.

Soon enough, Johnson found himself inside a loaded Phantom. “So, what’s this human device you’re going after?” he asked the Arbiter as he felt the Phantom launch.

“It refers to itself as an artificial intelligence construct known as Cortana,” the Arbiter explained. The Elite paused as Johnson gave him a look of surprise, “You know of it?”

“Yeah,” he nodded. “Cortana’s our top AI, the Master Chief’s… partner, you could say.”

“So it had indicated,” the Arbiter said. “Cortana instructed us to help it by engaging an unused power source it could gain energy from, however, my orders are to take it back to the Enlightened Soul so that we…” he broke off.

“What?” he probed.

“…The exact use of Cortana is under debate,” the Arbiter said finally. “The Emperor wishes to use Cortana to deceive our warriors, while Setfethy argues against it… It is not my place.”

He nodded, and the trip was silent for while.

“…What is Hell?” Peer Sticky asked after a few moments had passed. “Is it your afterlife, human?”

“Uh, yeah,” he muttered, shifting back into educator mode. “But you only go there if you’re bad. It’s a fiery cavern where you get tortured for all eternity. If you’re good, you get to go to Heaven where you can laze about on white puffy clouds without a care… What’s yours like?” he asked out of curiosity.

“After we perish, we are judged by the Forerunners,” Sticky explained. “Similar to your beliefs, we are then sent to either the Mortal Realms or the Sea of Shadow. If we are deemed worthy in the eyes of our gods we are sent to regain new form, and we continue to serve the Prophets as they search for the Sacred Rings. If we are not worthy, we are sent to the Shadow World where we eternally drown in an endless darkness, without a glimmer of hope. It is often said the Prophet of Benevolence regularly takes his ship into the Shadow World simply to taunt the souls with that which they cannot have: the ability to leave.”

“That a fact?” he laughed. Who believes in a literal Hell these days? The aliens were always confusing, but at least now they were somewhat amusing to listen to.

“You do not believe that the Prophet of Benevolence would do such a thing?” Sticky asked in confusion. “I believe it well within his character. I assume you are aware of the incident at Draco III?”

“I don’t know your politics,” he said, ignoring the question. “I just meant… What is the evidence of this Sea of Shadow?”

“What do you mean?” Sticky asked, more confused than ever. “You deny its existence?”

“Yeah, I do,” he said. “We, humans, don’t really believe in Hell. It’s just a metaphor for being kept separate from God.”

“I can understand your skepticism,” Sticky acknowledged. “However, I can assure you that the Shadow World is quite factual. I have passed through it many times myself, as you must have to arrive here. I have heard the humans describe it as ‘Slipspace.’ Do you know that name?”

“Slipspace?” he asked incredulously. “You guys think Slipspace is Hell?”

“No,” he replied. “I know it to be the Shadow World.”

As he thought about it, it did make some sense. The utter absence of anything surrounding a ship would indeed resemble a world devoid of light, especially if you were certain that such a world existed somewhere. Besides, the Prophets probably did a little retconning once they found out about Slipspace. If the Elites could frequently see substantial proof of their prophecies, it made the rest of it that easier to swallow. “Believe me,” he said, “What we’re going to face down there will be more of a Hell than Slipspace could ever be.”

“Johnson,” said the Arbiter this time, “Do you know anything about something called the ‘gravemind’?”

“No,” he shook his head. “What is that?”

“It was a word used by Cortana,” the Arbiter explained slowly. “I believe it was using it as a name to describe the Flood leader.”

“That huge Flood thing you were talking about?”

The Arbiter nodded. “I… I am very curious about it. It pronounced us brothers… I hope it will keep that vow.”

“Unlikely,” he said. “The Flood aren’t the most friendly of species.”

“Arbiter,” the pilot’s voice came through the speakers, “There appears to be a human ship crashed inside the fourth tower.”

Human ship? ''The Flood kamikazed In Amber Clad? Keyes won’t be happy about that.''

“Is a landing impossible?” the Arbiter asked.

“No, I will be able to land on the very top, but you may encounter some difficulty on your descent.”

“Do not worry,” the Arbiter said with a trace of humor, “That part will be trivial.”

***

The Arbiter led them through the ruins of High Charity. Each step filled him with worry. The once grand Tower was filled with the residue of a Flood infestation, the walls covered with living flesh. The very air was thick with their putrid spores, and every breathe he took made him want to regurgitate. None of this worried him.

What truly made him nervous was the fact that while every room contained great evidence of Flood infestation, there were no Flood to be seen. His motion tracker displayed no activity at all, and he checked it once more to be certain it functioned correctly; it did. He approached the first image generator that appeared to be functioning, and engaged it.

Before them, an indigo figure of a female Human flickered into existance. Geometric shapes scrolled through her features, and he recognized several of the Human scripts within her form. Her eyes passed over each of them, acknowledging their presence. “Arbiter, it is good you came,” the construct spoke in English for Jahnsen’s benefit. “The UNSC In Amber Clad has penetrated the center of the Tower. While it is grounded, its engines remain functional. I can use them to generate the energy I need to continue to hold back the Flood. The UNSC security programs, however, have blocked my access. What I need is for you to attach a Covenant decryption device…”

“Wait, wait, hold on,” Jahnsen interrupted. “You’re a top-class military AI. Why don’t you have the codes already?”

“Unfortunately, only the ship’s commander has the authorization to carry out certain tasks,” Cortana explained. “Or if you’re questioning if my identity, I seem to recall you repeatedly referring to the Unyielding Hierophant as the Uneven Elephant even after being corrected. Good enough for you?”

“Yeah, that’s pretty good,” Jahnsen admitted.

“It truly matters not whether or not you have the codes,” the Arbiter said. “My orders are to transfer you to Enlightened Soul at once so we may together engage the Prophet of Truth in battle. The Silent Blessing will remain here and detonate its engines, creating an explosion so great to destroy the city.”

“Hmm,” Cortana considered. “It seems to me that sacrificing an entire ship of Sangheili will only make it harder for you to claim Ascension. Detonate In Amber Clad’s engines, and you can take Silent Blessing along with you.”

He considered. Cortana’s proposal did seem sound. However, this whole meeting was very strange. Where were all the Flood? Why were there so many explosions if there were none that were uninfested? If Cortana has been altered by the Flood, why would they be interested in In Amber Clad’s engines? “I should consult my superiors,” he said, activating his long-distance radio.

Damn it. The communications barrier was still up. He fiddled with his settings, and created a graphical representation of the individual waves. As the Jiralhanae had said, each wave was decreasing in size. Watching the hazy forms on his display, he was reminded of the ancient hourglasses of the lower temples. ''Each wave sinks away like tiny grains of sand. When the hourglass runs out of sand, it marks an old hour.'' The waves constantly decreased… He decided that whatever he would choose to do, he would do it as fast as possible as to avoid whatever the waves may herald. “My commander is out of reach,” he said, returning his gaze to the construct. “I will assist you.”

“Excellent,” Cortana smiled.

Soon enough, he found his unit breaking into the Holy Library of the Covenant. Perhaps their greatest treasure not left behind by the Forerunners, this small room contained all of Covenant knowledge. Thanfully, the room had been so carefully sealed that it offered an escape from the stench of Flood. It was mostly bare but for the library’s display, a large steel bowl in the center of the room filled with water, and the two navigational pedastals on each side of the entrance. He knelt down beside the display and inserted his identity disk. However, it was rejected; it appeared that not even the Arbiter had authorization.

“Insert it in the map generator,” Cortana’s voice met their ears.

He stepped over to the short pedestal, and did as the construct instructed. Cortana’s form soon appeared in place of the map.

“Try it again,” Cortana told him. “I rewrote your identification. It now thinks you are the Prophet of Mercy.”

How could this Human construct be so powerful? the Arbiter wondered, inserting the disk once more. This time he was given access and the display glowed a rich gold, a stark contrast to the dark green of the infested air, and an image of the Abiri was projected in the air before him. He followed Cortana’s directions, downloading the requested data.

“Great. Now, we need to board the In Amber Clad.”

“Wait,” he said, eying the library. “Did you not earlier say that you had full access to this database?”

“You caught me,” Cortana admitted easily. “I lied in order to convince you to come. Now that you have, I see no reason to deceive you any further.”

“Indeed,” he muttered. Unless you are lying with every word. It was too late to turn back empty-handed, but perhaps he could make some more use out of the library. He returned to the display and brought up the search index, and then requested all documents with the term ‘Ascension.’

He could only watch as hundreds of documents were sped through the display, each containing the word ‘Ascension’ in the designation. From the glimpses he got of the contents, he could tell many of the documents contained information on the Shadow World. This is… the Great Journey, he realized. Fake evidence to support their myth?

He halted the cycle, and examined one of the files. “Divine Pathway Theory #293,” he read aloud. “Author: Prophet of Virtue. For ages we have prophesied assuming the Luminous Key properly deciphered the Holy Text of Ascension; however, there is a possibility it had a flaw in its design, small enough to evade detection, but substantial enough to defile our predictions. Below I have gathered possible alternatives…” He stopped reading. He opened another one, and read it with equal confusion. These files contained conjectures and opinions relating to the nature of the Great Journey, with no mention of the visions said to guide the Prophets to the truth. Could the Prophets themselves have forgotten it was a myth?

He began a new search for the term ‘Ascension’, but bound it to the ship category this time. The numbers were considerably lesser than the more broad earlier search, and he quickly skipped through the documents. Most of them detailed the ship’s discovery at the bottom of one of Ardhi’s oceans, the ramifications it had on the Prophet-Sangheili war, and of course Prorok’s famous speech. However, there were a few files on the Rite of Ascension, the ritual that supposedly allowed Hierarchs to become the reincarnation of the first Prophet, which was preformed in the heart of Ascension.

He accessed the files and browsed through them. His breath stopped short as he viewed an image of a Prophet’s head being sawed apart by another Prophet, both dressed in the royal gowns of the Ages of Conflict. He read the caption: ''Prorok sacrifices Nabi to create the Luminous Key. (artistic generation, Prophet of Faith)''

This is… despicable, the Arbiter thought as he gazed at the horrifying image. Even knowing the Covenant mythology was false, this went against all he knew of it. “No, no,” he mumbled. ''Prorok sacrificed himself! Everybody knows that!''

As the story went, the Prophet saw the potential to become semi-immortal by binding his soul to Ascension, allowing his successors to view all of his knowledge and become his reincarnated forms. He meditated on the Forerunner text for three days, refusing to eat or drink, until he finally knew what he must do. He plunged his sword in his brain, but the Forerunners kept him alive just long enough to craft the Luminous Key and then they let him die in service of the Covenant, allowing his soul to remain within the Key. It was a popular tale, one often dramatized by the youth.

“Hey, you gonna stare at this piece of sadomasochism all day?” Jahnsen broke him out of his stupor.

“No,” he muttered, moving on. Here it is, he thought with triumph as he brought up a three-dimensional map of Ascension’s interior. This will be very useful. He hurriedly downloaded it, and motioned for them to continue moving.

***

“Spin about!” Ship Master Enla ‘Erforee cried as they were struck by a topedo. While there was no true direction within empty space, relative to them the Selfless was upsidedown. “Recharge the lasers! Broadcast our affiliation!” The confusion within this one battle had been enormous. Under the shadow of the communications barrier, it had been near impossible to be certain that they were in fact fighting the enemy. Fortunately, the barrier strength had waned considerably since it was first projected and they were now able to communicate with other ships.

“Excellency, Selfless is Sangheili,” Major ‘Nugadee reported as the viewer depicted the cruiser veering away to fire on another ship. “Shall I fire torpedoes?”

“Not yet!” he snapped. “Acquire the affiliation of…” he checked which ship Selfless was attacking, “Shining Light. Now!” Absolute madness. It was obvious that this was no way to fight a battle and while he strongly wished to avoid firing on an allied craft, the constant search for affiliation made his frigate vulnerable to enemy (and friendly) fire.

“Excellency, I am detecting accelerating power levels from High Charity,” Major ‘Rzaolee reported just as ‘Nugadee announced that Shining Light was under Jiralhanae command.

He chose to temporarily ignore High Charity, his eyes studying the viewer. “Fire two torpedoes into her left flank! Are the lasers charged?!”

“Yes, Excellency!”

“Target the engines. Wait for shields to drop! ‘Codomee, swing us around Selfless. I want to slay Jiralhanae, not defend Selfless, understand?”

“Yes, Excellency!”

“Good!” Free for an instant, he glanced at High Charity. As had been indicated, the energy levels had greatly increased in the past moment. In fact it seemed as though her engines were charging up…

“Shadow penetration!” ‘Rzaolee shouted as the displays blinked a warning. “We will be swept up in her wake!”

“Torpedos have impacted!” ‘Nugadee cried. “Firing lasers!”

His eyes quickly flicked back and forth from the viewer to the penetration stats. The battle will be suspended when we are in the Shadow World… “Cease fire! Keep us behind Selfless!” He watched as Shining Light was struck by Selfless’s turrets, and waited for penetration to occur.

However, instead of the usual effects of shadow penetration being displayed, it appeared that the machines were malfunctioning. What in the name of Prorok is this? The viewer continued to display the placement of ships, impossible within the darkness of the Shadow World. Even the shadow readings, the radiation measures, were all incorrect for either world.

“Excellency, we…” ‘Rzaolee trailed off as he took in the readings.

“Are we in shadow?” Major ‘Codomee wondered.

“Excellency, all weapons have been… altered!” ‘Nugadee declared in a shocked voice.

He was about to ask the Major to elaborate, but then saw it for himself. Every single torpedo, plasma stream, and laser within the battlefield had been removed from the realm of physics known to him, for they all flew throughout space without any direction he could make out. However, they all impacted into a ship before dispersing. He also noticed that the Sacred Ring had vanished. “What in the universe is happening?!” he cried to the gods with all the strength his voice had.

***

“What. In. The Hell. Was that?” Jahnsen demanded.

They had finally made their way into the crashed Human ship and had established a link between the engines and High Charity’s computer system, allowing Cortana to access what it needed to access. Then the Arbiter had watched as the power was transferred from the ship and into High Charity’s power grid. They all had felt the city tremble as it penetrated shadow.

“We have entered Hell,” ‘Pirztikee answered, perhaps mistranslating the statement.

“Slipspace,” he corrected. “We have entered Slipspace… Why?”

“Cortana?” Jahnsen asked. However, he received no response.

The Arbiter noticed that the communication barrier waves had vanished. “We should go,” he muttered. I have a very bad feeling about this. Not that it was much of a variation from his normal line of thinking.

“Cortana? Is something wrong?” Jahnsen tried again to no avail.

“Let us go,” he snapped. “The mission is a failure. Let us escape with our lives intact.”

They made their way out of the Human ship and stepped out into the hole the impact had created. Several levels of the Tower lay open with various pieces of debris bridging the gaps. Fortunately, the Flood infestation had glued much of the debris to what they lay against, allowing them to use it to climb down to the ship. It had been very welcome when they had found it, but now the openness of the area bothered him. Nowhere to hide.

“Ascend,” he ordered. “Now.” His warriors began to climb. He engaged his radio and tried once more to contact the construct. “Cortana? Are you there?” Silence greeted him. It occurred to him that he could now theoretically contact Enlightened Soul. He checked his radio, but suddenly he heard an electronic chirp behind him. He turned to see a door slide open, letting Flood spill into the room.

“Go!” he cried, firing red plasma into the swarm. He tightened his mandibles and decided to do his best to give his warriors time to escape, sacrificing himself if necessary. However, doors were opening all around them.

“Die!” Jitji screamed as he ran into a nearby swarm, but was soon overrun and activated what the Arbiter knew would be one last grenade before death. So much for Sergeant Jitji…

He followed in the Unggoy’s lead and threw a grenade into the mass of Parasites, before hurrying up after his warriors. On the next level he saw that they were involved in their own battles, Flood all around them. He dropped his rifles and engaged his sword, slicing away at the creatures. Too many, he knew.

It was all for nothing, he realized. He, Jahnsen, ‘Pirztikee, would all be slain here. He had failed to bring back Cortana, and now had killed their last healthy Human. The fate of the universe now rested on the shoulders of the creature the Covenant called Demon, this Spartan-117. Despite his disbelief, he began to silently pray. My Gods, please look after him… It would have to do, for he could do no more to help him.