Halo: A Matter of Honor

This fanfiction article, Halo: A Matter of Honor, was written by Actene. Please do not edit this fiction without the writer's permission.

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Halo: A Matter of Honor
Beware the blade of dishonor. It kills more silently than war, more quickly than age.
Author	Actene
[Source]

Halo: A Matter of Honor

Prologue

Streams of plasma tore through the air and danced across the field as dozens of Sangheili warriors ran for their lives amidst the waist-deep grass. The warriors' shields flared and died as the heat from the shots scorched the plants around them and set the field alight. Some of the shots struck their intended targets, sending fleeing warriors collapsing into the burning grass with charred holes where their chests or heads should have been. Others, less fortunate than their slaughtered brethren, waded too deep into the burning foliage and became living torches that filled the air with screams that rose even above the din of the plasma fire. Even more struggled through the fire and smoke only to keel over and choke to death as the fumes from the consumed grass filled their lungs.

The sources of all the suffering and terror in the field below hovered and darted about high above the dying warriors. A trio of bulky Phantom dropships and an entire squadron of Banshee fliers were pouring every ounce of plasma they had into the enemy below. The gunners and pilots weren't particularly concerned with hitting their targets. As their commander had explained prior to the assault and as was clearly being demonstrated now, they didn't need to score a hit here to kill their foe. The plasma bolt would merely be the swiftest way they could die.

Aboard the lead Phantom, one white armored Sangheili turned to another who had crouched down on the deck with him. "We should be fighting them on the ground on equal terms, as true warriors," he grumbled discontentedly. "There's no honor in this!"

His companion started to reply, but froze when another figure loomed over them in the troop bay. This warrior wore a suit of battered officer's armor that bristled with weaponry, and the two crouching Sangheili regarded him warily.

"No honor," the figure chuckled. "And yet we're winning. You Fallen won't stand much of a chance against these government warriors unless you take advantage of their mistakes."

He gestured down towards the slaughter below. "They were idiots to move against us without air support, and now I've handed you a resounding victory. That's more than a replacement for your precious honor."

The first warrior looked up at the newcomer with undisguised contempt. "Were it not for our orders, we'd have killed you a long time ago, you mercenary filth. You pervert the very meaning behind a Sangheili warrior, commander."

The newcomer just laughed and turned away to address the troop bay's remaining occupants. These warriors wore the white and turquoise armor of the Fallen special operations forces and wore the anti-gravity gear of Sangheili rangers. Their leader's armor denoted him as an Ultra within the ranks of the Fallen.

"Sweep the fields for them, wing leader. The Phantoms and Banshees will coordinate with your fliers and alert you if they spot anything. Engage on sight and don't let up until they're dead." The mercenary inclined his head. "Based on your past performances, I'm sure you'll be thorough."

The Ultra grinned from behind his face mask and gestured to his troops. At his signal, they leapt out of the Phantom's troop bay on either side, engaging their anti-grav packs as they did so and shooting off over the fields. Dozens more launched from the remaining Phantoms and joined in their formation, ready to hunt down and butcher any of the remaining government troops.

"And this," said the mercenary informed the two Fallen minors. "Is why you two will die as you are. You don't have the right mindset to move up in this war."

"I won't listen to any more of this," the first speaker snarled, turning away. "One like you who knows nothing of honor will never understand why we are fighting."

The mercenary let out a curt, mocking laugh. "Oh, I know plenty about honor. Enough to know how worthless it is, in any case."

The two minors did not answer him, but the mercenary's thoughts had already been stirred. As he gazed down at the fires below that burned brightly into the night, his mind drifted back to the light of a day that had happened an eternity ago in what felt like another lifetime.

The day everything had changed.

The day his old self had died.

Chapter One: Sister's Disgrace

The smells of the garden flowed around him, enveloping and even passing through him as he matched his breathing and movements to the feelings that the scents invoked within him. It was a technique that his masters had taught to him when he'd been quite young, and to this day he used it as a casual meditation exercise. His energy blade hummed about him, slashing intricate patterns in the air as he twisted and spun in time to his instincts. And though his eyes were held firmly shut, he didn't so much as cut a leaf from one of the surrounding bushes. Through thousands of similar meditations, he had made the space he was in as a part of him as the sword he wielded.

Ro 'Visag completed his breathing pattern and finished the sword movement by bringing his blade up past his side in a casual salute. He held himself there for several moments, gauging to see whether or not his breathing and balance were completely under his control. Pleased to find that they were, he opened his eyes to find that he was in the exact center of the garden clearing, the very spot that he had begun from.

Ro allowed himself a satisfied nod and deactivated his blade, returning its hilt to within the folds of his robe. The exercise had gone perfectly.

A polite cough brought his focus completely back into the present. Whirling, he saw an older Sangheili observing him from the clearing's entrance. Recognizing the watcher immediately, Ro knelt respectfully.

"Kaidon," he said, his head lowered. "I didn't know you'd be out this early."

Roni 'Visag, Kaidon of the Visag keep, clicked his mandibles gently. "I rise early, now and again, to see what goes on here and there at the break of day. Sometimes I worry that my years are catching up to me."

He let out a short bark of laughter. "Seeing you does not reassure me that this isn't the case."

Ro lowered his head even lower. "You flatter me, Kaidon."

With another laugh, Roni gestured for the younger Sangheili to rise. "Take it as you will. Now continue with your exercises and forget I ever disturbed you."

Nodding his approval, the kaidon turned and left the clearing as Ro rose to watch him leave. While he'd never confirmed it, he was almost sure that Roni had been his father. For one thing, his mother had always been close to the kaidon, going so far as to grant him a name quite close to that of the clan leader. For another, Roni was considered to be one of the best swordmasters in his generation and Ro himself excelled at the swordplay that had been drilled into him from the earliest of ages. If sword mastery was hereditary, than Ro had certainly had those skills passed down to him from his father.

But regardless of whether or not Ro's suspicions were correct, the kaidon could never take the place of his uncle, Sindu 'Visag. Sindu had, as Sangheili culture mandated, raised Ro from the moment he was born, training him both physically and mentally to emulate the ideals behind a true Sangheili warrior. Honor and pride were essential parts of those ideals, and as far as Ro was concerned everything that he knew and cherished had come from Sindu's teachings.

As the kaidon vanished deeper into the garden, Ro headed the other way, back to the living quarters he shared with the other newly-graduated warriors. With his exercises completed, he was eager for a little rest before carrying on with the rest of his day.

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