Halo: Avenger's Reckoning

This fanfiction article, Halo: Avenger's Reckoning, was written by Actene. Please do not edit this fiction without the writer's permission.

Halo: Avenger's Reckoning
Author	Actene
Previous Story	Halo: Indelible Past
Story Series	The Avenger Trilogy
[Source]

Once upon a time in a far away land, there lived a dog. He had no master, no home, no pack or family to belong to. Ragged and abandoned, he wandered here and there in search of a place to call his own. But no one wanted him, and they always turned him back out into the streets. He was a stray.

The dog was small and lean and ugly. He had nothing to live for, yet still he clung to life. A gnawing hunger followed him wherever he went, always reminding him of the sufferings of the past and the things denied to him. The hunger drove him onwards and gave him the will to survive, for in his heart the dog's deepest desire to find a way to sate the endless hunger. Time and time again he came within reach of his goal, but every time it would be snatched away and he was always left with even less than what he had had to begin with.

Defeat after defeat beat the dog down, but he was never broken. Nothing could break him, because was already broken. So he staggered on and on, always suffering but never submitting. Loneliness and fear ate away at him, but there was also anger rising up within him. And when the anger met the hunger, he realized things would only be this way as long as he let himself be kicked and cursed and driven out.

And so the dog decided to stop being a stray. Instead, the dog decided to become a wolf. But the anger and hunger and loneliness and fear would not go away. The new wolf needed something to hunt. He needed prey.

And soon he found another creature more than happy to provide it.

In another part of the world lived a panther, a creature who had dwelt in the shadows since it was a young cub. The darkness was its ally, and when the dog-turned-wolf slipped into its domain the panther recognized it for what it was at once. For the panther had also lived a life of pain and grief. Like dog, it knew the pain of loss and defeat and like the dog it was plagued by an endless hunger. But a pitiful quest for solace was not the panther's dream, for he was not alone.

A black beast of vengeance thrashed about within the panther, thriving on his pain and always urging him onwards. Kill, kill, it would tell him. Kill the enemies of your friends. Make them suffer the way you suffered. And so the panther and his beast carried on, for their enemies were many and strong.

But revenge was simply a single step in the panther's journey, for his dreams stretched far further than the enemies who had caused him grief. The panther dreamed of the future, a future that he would sacrifice his very soul to create. He gathered others around himself in the darkness and waited for the moment to strike.

He witnessed the dog become a wolf, and in that instant their fates were entwined. They were both creatures molded in the darkness, and now their goals were the same. The new wolf was only a novice in the field of rage and hate, but the panther gathered him up and set his paws upon a new path. Now the wolf had prey and the panther was ready to seize his hour.

Their journeys had been long. Their battles would be fierce. The wolf and the panther set off for war.

The day of reckoning was at hand.

Halo: Avenger's Reckoning

Prologue: One With the Darkness

His body shuddered and convulsed as jolts of pain tore through his muscles. His legs buckled and he fell to his knees. The bare skin scraped raw against the cold floor; he threw his weight on his arms as he gagged back a wave of bile. The pain was all around him. He had nowhere to run, no place to escape the sheer agony that seemed to be ripping him apart from within.

The bloody legs came back up, trembling, as he struggled to rise. His head swam from the pain. His left eye felt as if it were about to explode. A fit of coughing nearly knocked him back down, but he threw a hand out and caught himself against the wall. He leaned in place, gasping for breath in between pained whimpers.

"You are not resisting the effects," someone said from somewhere above. He didn't have the strength to look up at the speaker. "You must fight this stage on your own, or the stimulants will consume you."

Worms. It felt as if there were worms all throughout his body, crawling through his veins in place of blood. His arms couldn't take much more of this. They would burst open, he was sure of it, and then all the worms would come spilling out onto the floor.

"You must fight," another voice, deeper than the first, commanded. "We will contain you until your body stabilizes. You are its master, not the other way around. Contain it!"

He'd been through this before. He tried to think back, recalling a scratchy bed, tubes sticking in him, this same ripping sensation in his arms and legs. There had been others, people just like him lying all around. The walls had been white, no, blue. Or had they been grey?

His stomach lurched, and this time he couldn't hold it down. A wave of half-digested rations splattered on the floor. Warm bile struck his bare feet, but he didn't even have the energy to shy away in disgust. Through blurry eyes in dim light he saw that the grey-tinged puke was laced with bright streaks of red.

Blood, he realized distantly. I'm puking up my own blood.

"Good, good," the first voice said. "Purge yourself of nutrients. They might get in the way of the stimulants you received. The faster the takeover, the better."

"Give your body rest," the second voice advised. "You do not need to resist the stimulants. You need only survive."

Survive. The word stirred a new wave of resolve within him. He could do that. He had to do that. I can survive. That's what I do. Survive.

His legs failed him again, and this time he didn't even try to catch himself. He collapsed face-first onto the ground. A foul warmth spread up the side of his body where he'd landed in the vomit, but right now all he wanted to do was sleep. His eyelids drooped, fluttered...

No! He forced them open. He had to stay awake. He had to fight back. He had to survive.

He sucked in deep breaths. His lungs burned like everything else, but he had to keep breathing. His head was full of voices, each one clamoring to be heard over the others.

"Felix made me an offer..."

"I can set you free from all this. If you work for the UNSC, I'll make sure you never want for anything again..."

His body spasmed again and he cried out feebly. There was no reply. The room was getting darker, or maybe that was just his eye. No, eyes. He had two of them again now, right?

"This is a second chance at life..."

He tried to curl into a ball, but another wave of pain knocked his limbs back out. They splayed feebly out at all sides, unable to move even as fresh jolts ate their way through his body. Nothing to do but lie where he was and wait for it all to end.

"The UNSC's shit's gonna hit the fan and splatter..."

"We don't take jobs to fulfill some selfless cause..."

"Freaky, there really was an attack in the back. I was just hoping they'd follow the barrage of people out the front and leave me alone..."

He just had to keep breathing. That was all there was to it. Just keep breathing. Survive...

This pain was necessary. He needed it. It was his friend. His ally. He needed to get stronger. He needed to fight, to hunt. But it hurt so much...

He rolled over and tried to slip away inside himself. A better time, a happier time... The dim light brightened, the floor softened, and there was a warmth that ran through his body and chased away the pain. Someone's arm was on his shoulders. A gentle touch caressed his cheek. His eyes fluttered weakly as he stared up into someone's face. The light was too bright; he couldn't make out who it was.

"Simon."

His name, that was his name. Right? The voice was as familiar to him as the sound of his own, but he just couldn't reach far enough to know who it belonged to. There was tenderness there, tenderness laced with regret and... pity?

His lips moved in answer, but no sound came out.

He still couldn't make out the face. It loomed over him amid the brightness, radiating with beauty and power that defied his imagination. Who are you?

"Mordred."

This voice was different, less confident. The face hadn't changed, but the warmth was beginning to fade. His muscles began to burn once more.

"Stray, I love you!"

Twin gunshots tore him back into reality. The warmth, the light, the gentle touch all faded, leaving him alone in the darkness. He groaned feebly, thrashing from left to right as the agony returned. His left hand smacked the ground, its prosthetic metal fingers leaving grooves in the polished floor.

"The UNSC, the rebels..."

He could see a burning keep, its walls kept alight by the fires of his agony. Bodies were all around, warriors, females, children. He saw it all as if he had just seen it yesterday. A place of peace and tranquility burnt to ashes by the will of a single family.

"The Vadams."

"All the people who do things like this..."

"Let me help you make them suffer..."

That was right. He had a job to do. The roars of furious animals rang in his ears as they tore into rebel flesh. That had felt wonderful then; to do the same to the Vadams now would be just as sweet.

And then he could rest. Then he would be free of it all.

A weak smile slid over his face as he curled into a ball and let the pain wash over him. Simon, once SPARTAN-G294, once Stray, and now Mordred, fell back into the pain as the darkness closed in around him.

Soon he'd be free...

Part One: Kindling Fire

Chapter One: Alien Guests

Whenever Cassandra had heard stories about Sanghelios's red sky, she had always imagined a world locked in eternal sunset. She had envisioned everything as being tinted red, as if looked at through a color lens, from the grassy plains to the leaves on the trees. The image had struck her as incredibly depressing.

But now that she could actually see it in person, she realized the stories couldn't do the sky justice at all.

Yes, there was red here but she also saw swirling clouds of dusty yellow and even Earth-blue. The horizon was a constantly changing tapestry of color; sometimes she lost herself staring off into the distance for hours on end, immersed in the heavenly patterns before her. When Cyla told her that there were forms of poetry and dance dedicated to describing the changes of the sky, Cassandra believed her.

Everything about Sanghelios looked as if it had been designed to inspire the arts. From the sky to the endless plains and towering mountains to the smooth contours of the keeps the Sangheili noble clans called their homes, Cassandra found beauty everywhere she looked. Many Sangheili warriors used the arts as a pastime to hone their skills, but she had a hard time understanding how such a dedicated warrior culture could have evolved on a place this wondrous in the first place.

It still baffled her that two decades ago these aliens had wanted nothing more than to wipe her entire species off the face of the galaxy.

She looked away from the clouds and back down towards the makeshift workbench she had created from a slab of wood and a trio of rocks. The Vadam keep did not want for more elaborate stations, but none of them were outside and as long as she was here Cassandra had decided to take in as much of Sanghelios's natural beauty as she could. Right now she was doing her work in one of the keep's gardens, a simple clearing surrounded by well-manicured trees.

The contents of her medical bag were spread out across the board in front of her. Normally she ran inventory on it once a week, but after accepting supplies from the keep's quartermaster she had started doing it every day. There were no needlessly elaborate medicines or gadgets amongst the gear she'd gotten from the Sangheili, just variations on the splints and bandages that were standard issue in the UNSC. But she wasn't used to working with non-human gear and in the field that might be the difference between a patient's life or death.

Besides, she needed to keep busy. When she wasn't checking her gear or admiring the planet around her, she found other things for herself to do. The Vadams had been shocked to find their small female guest working herself to the bone every morning pounding through exercise after exhaustive exercise. Since then the keep drill masters had started to use her as an example for their pupils to follow.

She needed to keep busy, because otherwise she might start to think again. And if she started to think she would have to remember everything that had happened to her over the past two months. New Madrigal, the UNSC, David Kahn, the Incumbent Wrath... and Simon.

Cassandra fought back the lump that formed in the back of her throat and set about checking her medical supplies with renewed vigor. Pausing to take a breath, she pulled her shoulder-length hair back and tied it behind her head. Work. She needed to focus on work.

She checked a roll of UNSC-issue gauze, then compared it to a similar canister of Sangheili bandages. The small brown tube, no larger than a roll of toothpaste, somehow managed to contain twice the length of fabric that her regular one did. She had been amazed the first time she'd inspected it and found that it was several times more sturdy than the human make. She guessed that the warriors used their energy gauntlets to cut it in the field, because it had taken her a minute of sawing with a freshly-sharpened combat knife before she could hack a length for herself off. She'd need to figure out a way around that. Bleeding patients couldn't wait a minute for her to tear off bandages for them.

Moving on to the set of splints, she busied herself comparing the lengths of the two models. She was halfway through trying to decide if she could use the Sangheili-issue ones for treating Spartans when a faint rustling off at the edge of the garden.

She turned to see a female Sangheili in lightly-patterend robes making her way across the grass. Cassandra was still working on telling each of the aliens apart form each other, but this one at least she knew at once as Cyla 'Cazal.

The Vadam Keep's mistress stopped a few paces away and spread her mandibles in what Cassandra was coming to understand as a smile. She would never find the Sangheili beautiful, but she couldn't muster up the same revulsion that many humans did when they looked at their former enemies.

"Cassandra," Cyla said warmly. Cassandra had picked up bits and pieces of Sangheili dialect in her time running underground med clinics on the frontier, but she needed to rely on the small translator device embedded in her ear to make out what her host was saying. "You have been here all afternoon."

"I like it here," Cassandra pointed out. "And my gear needs to be in order today. We'll be having visitors."

Cyla nodded, though her eyes told Cassandra that she didn't like the idea of human soldiers setting foot anywhere near her keep. The Vadams had gone to great lengths to keep their keep hidden from their many enemies; Autel 'Vadam had needed to argue long and hard with his clan mates before Cassandra had been allowed refuge within the keep's walls. "Yes, the inspection. Autel warned me."

Cassandra nodded apologetically but didn't know whether to apologize or not. The Sangheili seemed to have protocol for every occasion. Cassandra hadn't gotten around to figuring out how to reassure a worried keep mistress yet.

Just thinking about protocol made her realize that she was still sitting in front of Cyla. Once again, she didn't know if this was rude or not. It was enough to give her a headache, but she stood and brushed blades of grass from her jumpsuit's pant legs. Cyla had been incredibly accommodating since she had arrived here, taking time out of her schedule to talk to her about all sorts of things whenever the opportunity arose. There was no reason she couldn't try to be civil.

Cyla looked around the garden. "You are here," she noted. "But where is your friend? I have not seen her since this morning."

"Oh, Nimue?" Cassandra shrugged. "She came in here with me. But I haven't seen her for a while either."

As if on cue, some leaves rustled behind them. Cassandra and Cyla turned to see a small figure drop from one of the tallest trees in the garden. She landed on all fours, catlike, and glanced up at them through intense brown eyes. "You wanted me?" she asked.

Someone who didn't know her might have decided that Nimue was being impudent, but Cassandra knew better. Her friend had probably managed to track every person in the keep from her perch up there. Maybe she'd even been shifting from tree to tree; the way she moved, Cassandra would never have known.

A month ago, this sort of thing would have frightened Cyla out of her skin. By now, though, she was more than used to it. Nimue had a penchant for finding her way into places that everyone else considered out of reach. Be they high towers or locked armories, Nimue managed to slip in and out of them effortlessly, only being detected when she wanted to be. It was as if she'd made it her personal mission to memorize the layout of the keep inside and out.

The girl got to her feet and brushed a lock of dark hair from her face. Like Cassandra, she chose to wear a dark human-style jumpsuit rather than the robes the Vadams had offered her. When neither Cassandra or Cyla said anything, she shrugged and vanished back up the tree as quickly as she had come down. Within moments Cassandra had lost her completely.

"She is a strange one," Cyla admitted. "Is she... like you?"

"Something like that," Cassandra replied. "Something like that."

But that was a lie. Nimue was nothing like Cassandra or any of the other Spartans. They had all spent at least a little time as civilians with regular lives before the Office of Naval Intelligence had turned them into regimented, military commandos. Nimue's whole life had been spent in training to be something completely different.

David Kahn, the deadliest mercenary the galaxy's underworld had ever known, had raised her Nimue since childhood to be the perfect assassin. Cassandra still wasn't clear on the details, but even now at the age of thirteen her friend possessed the skillset of any one of ONI's wetwork agents. When she tracked the Vadam keep's residents and crept through locked rooms, it was not a simple matter of showing off. Nimue had quite literally killed every Sangheili in the keep in her head a dozen times over since she'd arrived.

Cassandra had seen some improvement in the girl's social abilities since they'd become friends, but a month ago Nimue had watched David Kahn, the man who'd been her entire universe, perish on the end of a Sangheili energy sword. Since then she'd done next to nothing but exercise and polish her skills, keeping to herself as much as possible outside of meal times. Sometimes she'd vanish for days on end, only to reappear again as if she'd never been gone.

It was unnatural, but what could Cassandra expect from a girl who had quite literally been raised in a bunker?

"It just takes some getting used to," Cassandra explained to the bemused Cyla. "She's had a rough time of things."

"So it would seem," Cyla sighed. She started off towards another end of the garden and Cassandra felt inclined to follow.

"I can try to get her to stop if she's being a pain," Cassandra said apologetically, trailing after her host. "It can't be easy on your servants, having her popping up everywhere."

"No," Cyla assured her. "It has been hard on some nerves, but for the most part it amuses them. The idea that a human child can slip by our guards unnoticed has encouraged our drill masters to keep a closer watch for any real threats that might strike this keep."

"You've had problems like that in the past, haven't you?" Cassandra asked. "Autel... I mean, your husband told me the Fallen got in here once."

Cyla let out another sigh, and Cassandra almost regretted bringing it up. It was another thing that clung to her mind since she'd arrived here. The Fallen might be gone, but she could never forget all the times their warriors had harassed her med clinic on the colony Tranquil Harmony. The idea of them setting foot in this place unnerved her.

"Yes, they came here," the Sangheili admitted. "They took our children, our newborns. It was all apart of some scheme to turn us against your kind. Had you humans not lent us your aid..."

She shook her head. "I doubt I would ever have seen my children again. I do not understand the things that drive some of us to behave so hideously towards each other. The end of the Great War was supposed to bring peace, but some warriors do not seem to be content unless there is some fight for them to wage."

"It's the same with us humans," Cassandra said. She remembered the Humanity Liberation Front, whose commandos had infiltrated Sanghelios and indiscriminately butchered every population center they could find. She had been part of the operation that had wiped them out, though she'd been a prisoner at the time. A prisoner meant to get leverage over...

She turned away, trying to ignore the memories before they came. She was so focused on staving off grief that she nearly tripped over the young Sangheili who had appeared behind her.

She stumbled backwards as the female looked up at her with interest. Cassandra was immediately drawn to the girl's eyes: they were odd, even for a Sangheili. White pupils flaked with red peered out at the world, taking everything in and appearing to miss nothing. The girl wore loose, featureless robes and nearly came up to Cassandra's neck.

"Vena," Cyla said. She sounded more amused than surprised. "I didn't notice you there."

"I only just arrived, mother," the young Sangheili replied. Even through the translator her words sounded clipped and oddly mature for one her age. Cassandra found her eerily similar to Nimue. "I wanted to see the humans."

Cassandra shot Cyla a questioning look. She had seen a few children around the keep, but they had all been male. The way she understood it, the Sangheili sent their females off to the country and cities to be educated while the males trained to be warriors in the keeps.

"Vena has been away studying," Cyla told her, indicating her daughter. Vena bowed politely. "She arrived here this morning to visit the keep. She will be staying with us for some time before she returns to her studies."

"Oh," Cassandra said, nodding and doing her best to hide her apprehension about her host's daughter. "Nice to meet you, Vena."

"And you, healer. You are a long way from your home and friends here."

"What a creepy kid."

Cassandra jerked her head, heart racing. For a moment she could have sworn she heard Simon's voice speaking beside her, but there was no one with her besides Cyla and Vena. But that's what he would have said, even if he was a guest. If he were here.

Cyla must have seen the pain that flickered across her face and mistaken it for something else. "Vena is quite mature for her age," she explained. "But she has more experience with humans than others."

"Don't worry," Cassandra replied, keeping her voice level. "I know humans just like her."

Vena cocked her head. "Such as the one sitting in the branches above us right now?"

None of them had any time to look up. The leaves rustled, and then Nimue was landing nimbly between Cassandra and Vena. Cassandra saw her hand come up and cried out a warning, but it was too late. Nimue's fist shot towards Vena's throat.

No one had any time to react. No one, that is, except for Vena. She twisted her head and let the blow whistle inches past her. Nimue instantly turned the fist into a knife-hand and slashed inwards, but this time Vena brought her arm up and batted it aside.

Without even pausing, Nimue whipped up her foot and aimed a high kick at the Sangheili girl's face. Vena leapt back and caught the foot, twisting it to the side. Nimue began to fall, but then planted both hands in the grass and lashed out with her free leg. This time the kick struck home, the girl's foot planting itself firmly in Vena's gut.

Cassandra could barely follow the exchange at the speed both girls moved. Nimue pulled her leg free and leapt to her feet as Vena staggered back and brought both hands up in a very familiar posture.

Their fists and legs whirled, striking and blocking with incredible precision. Cassandra practically lost track of which was the Sangheili and which was human. Nimue and Vena blended together in an unbroken chain of attacks and counter attacks.

Then they broke free of each other, leaping back but never losing track of each other's eyes. Nimue moved first, darting off to the side and into the bushes. Vena followed at once and the two of them vanished into the shadows.

Cassandra blinked at the spot where Vena and Nimue had been standing a second before. Cyla also seemed to break out of the trance that had held them both in check since the fight had erupted. She suddenly realized just how awkward this was. It was like the time on Onyx where Ralph had led Team Jian in setting off a small grenade in the latrines while she and Team Kopis were using them. Jian had run off, leaving Kopis holding the bag when the drill instructors arrived.

"Um." Cassandra rubbed the back of her neck. "I can try to get them back."

Cyla seemed rattled, but not at all as panicked as she should have been under the circumstances. "Do not bother," she replied, shaking her head. "I saw the attacks they used. Neither sought to do serious harm."

Cassandra blinked at the keep mistress. She read their moves? This was getting even more bizarre by the second.

She remembered something she had noticed about Vena during the fight. "Those moves Vena used," she said slowly. "I don't know how Sangheili do unarmed fighting, but she was using human-style martial arts. The kind they taught people like me."

There was a pause before Cyla answered. The silence told Cassandra more than her host ever could. "Human self-defence techniques have been incorporated into her daily regimen," Cyla said carefully. "The school she studies with is very progressive."

"Oh," Cassandra said with a nod. For now at least she would play along, but there was more going on here than just advanced defense techniques. Vena had managed to fend off an attack from someone who had been augmented and trained to dominate any opponent at such close range fighting. But right now Cassandra was just grateful that Cyla hadn't panicked when Nimue had gone after her daughter.

She was scanning the garden for any sign of the girls when a familiar whine filled the air. Even after all this time, the sound of Banshees and a Phantom dropship sent a shiver down her spine. She reached for a sidearm that wasn't there before calming her nerves and clasping her hands tightly behind her back.

"It's time to go," Cyla observed. "Your inspection team has arrived."

Cassandra gulped, all thoughts of Nimue and Vena forgotten. No matter where she went, it seemed the UNSC always found a way to pay social calls.

Chapter Two: Gathering Darkness

"Commander, the council is almost assembled. They wish to commence shortly."

Council. A wretched assortment of thieves and murderers too greedy and stupid to do anything but allow themselves to be led on by promises of wealth and plunder. And they are not much worse than the scum that have overrun the homeworld.

"They can wait longer. I am engaged." I have waited for over ten years. They can spare a few more moments of their time now.

"Commander--"

"That is all."

Shinsu 'Refum, Black Knight of Sanghelios and commander of the Cleansing Blade, tossed the communicator aside and turned back to where his sparring partner idled a few meters away. Her blades dipped towards the ground as she inclined her head deferentially in his direction.

"Master," Pula said. "The council will not wish to be kept waiting. I can perform the drills--"

"Enough." Shinsu's voice was level as he reactivated his own energy sword. Pula fell silent immediately. "It is bad enough that Umbra questions my decisions. You at least should know better."

"My apologies," Pula murmured. "I meant no disrespect."

Shinsu brought his blade up to a ready position. The blue energy that crackled along its twin prongs was infused with red; a malfunction in the activation device that he had never bothered to correct. "Then repent," he said, his mandibles spreading into a rare, genuine smile. "Show me your sincerity with your next attack."

The lithe female obliged, sweeping in with a low attack at his legs. Shinsu sidestepped at once and easily parried the follow up blow from her second blade. Pula swung the first sword up at his midsection and Shinsu stepped through with the swing. His momentum carried him around and behind his young disciple and before he had even stopped moving his blade jabbed in towards Pula's exposed back.

Pula whipped one blade up and over to cover her rear. She spun around with the second and Shinsu hastily turned his stab into a parry that knocked the oncoming blade off-target. It passed so close to his face that he could feel the energy crackling; he leaned back to avoid the chop that Pula directed with the deflected sword at his neck. They both disengaged, withdrawing a few steps and circling each other warily.

"Graceful as ever," Shinsu observed. "But you waste movement using both arms separately. If you cannot wield two blades with precision, then you should only use one."

Pula raised both swords, crossing them over each other in a defensive position. In the next instant she sprang forwards, the blades slashing towards Shinsu in tandem. He sidestepped to try to get behind her again, but this time Pula twisted her body in time and forced him back with a flurry of stabs and cuts. Shinsu's eyes burned as he traced each one's path through the air. It was no desperate assault, he noted with satisfaction even as he dodged and parried. Each swing aimed for a specific point on his body. Pula worked the swords with intense focus, slashing in tandem to weave inescapable nets of attacks around her master.

Another warrior would have succumbed to the assault, parrying one attack only to be bisected by the other blade at once. But Shinsu threw himself into the midst of the flashing blades, forcing Pula to step back as well to keep him at arm's length. He knocked aside one arm with his free hand while making an attack of his own with his blade. Pula adjusted at once, sweeping at his feet with one leg even as her arms continued to attack.

Shinsu raised one leg to avoid the kick, then lashed out and hooked it around the attacking leg. Suddenly off-balance, Pula deactivated one blade and braced the newly freed arm against the floor. Even as she disengaged she continued to cut up at her commander until she planted both feet back on the floor and stepped away. The blades flashed back up into a ready stance.

Now Shinsu came on, blade flashing towards Pula's defenses. She leapt to meet him head on and in the next moment all three blades sprang into a blinding tandem of parries and counter-attacks. Shinsu cut loose then, going at Pula with everything he had.

He had never let anything interrupt a training session. From the day he had found Pula sitting amidst the ashes of her parents' charred bodies, she had been as loyal a student and follower as Shinsu could have asked for. Her devotion went beyond that of a disciple to her master and Shinsu repaid her in kind by putting as much into her training as he did for the stratagems and management of the Cleansing Blade.

These sparring sessions were the only times when Shinsu could set aside his mantles and the shackles they placed on him. Here in the ring with Pula he could forget all the plots and schemes he had immersed himself in and be the person he had always truly been: a blademaster, ready and able to pass his knowledge down to his student.

There were no lies between him and Pula. Shinsu had steadily sacrificed everything, his honor, his friends, his very soul to the dream he and the Cleansing Blade pursued. But to surrender these moments with Pula would be unthinkable.

Especially not now. Not when he was so close to everything he had been working towards since the day his father died.

Sesa 'Refumee had walked and died on the path of an outcast, yet history remembered him as the first great rebel in the movement that had saved the Sangheili from the machinations of the Covenant. Shinsu had devoted his entire life to walking a similar path, but he doubted future generations would be as kind to him as they had his father.

He slipped through Pula's defense at last, scoring a deep cut down his pupil's throat. The energy sword's low setting did little more than send a searing jolt through Pula's body. She jerked, then pulled away.

"You maintained the twin-bladed assault admirably," Shinsu remarked, dipping his blade in a quick salute. "But your form is still too easy to read. It will service you well against warriors used to fighting at range, but against a master you leave to many openings."

Pula ducked her head. "As you say."

She was no fool. Even amidst the progressive ranks of the Cleansing Blade, there were plenty of warriors who felt females had no place on the battlefield. Shinsu had never interfered with any of the harassment Pula had received at their hands. He had simply stood aside and let her sort things out herself. She had never disappointed him.

"You want me to leave." Shinsu let a hint of amusement creep into his voice. "Concerned our new allies will take this as a snub?"

"We have come too far to let the whims of pirates and criminals stand in our way now," Pula replied. "I do not like the idea of everything falling apart because you devoted too much time to my shortcomings."

Shinsu snorted, but he could already feel his masks slipping back into place. Pula was right. He could not afford to be Shinsu 'Refum the teacher now. He needed to be the Black Knight, fearsome commander of the Cleansing Blade.

"Don your armor," he ordered, deactivating his blade. "You will be at my side for this. All of it."

"At once, commander." Pula bowed low and retreated.

Shinsu turned away from the ring and towards the doors. He would need to dress as well. The council was waiting. He clenched his fists as a rush of apprehension shot through his arms. Today marked the true beginning--and end--of everything he had fought so hard and sacrificed so much for.

Father, mother, master, Cena, he thought. My comrades. You did not die in vain. I will carry your memories to victory with me.

All eyes were on Shinsu as he entered the conference chamber. Clad in the special operations harness that had borne him through every one of the Cleansing Blade's battles, he tucked his helmet under his arm and descended a short ramp down into the circular chamber. A few of those who occupied the benches that ringed the room rose in respect, but more just glared with thinly masked suspicion. Not surprising, given that over half the room's occupants were Jiralhanae or Kig-Yar.

"Ah," an irate voice cut through the murmurs of idle conversation. "The warrior of the hour arrives. How good of him to join us."

Shinsu glanced over at the speaker, a Sangheili in the armor of the Path Walker movement. He recognized him from one of Urei's intelligence reports: Ruji 'Geran, second in command of the Path Walkers. Ruji's commander, Urei 'Cazal, sat beside his subordinate on the room's outer edge. Urei gave Shinsu a slight, almost imperceptible nod and didn't say a word.

He raised a hand for silence as he reached the middle of the chamber. A quick head-count showed him that all of the chieftains, commanders, pirates, and deacons he had assembled were present. Good. A good start.

"On behalf of the Cleansing Blade," he announced. "I thank you all for responding to my entreaties. I understand that my kind has done little to merit your trust since the Schism. Your willingness to overcome your grievances speaks much of you all." Speaks much of your greed, that is.

"Indeed," growled a Jiralhanae chieftain. Shinsu recognized him as Yetherus, leader of an extensive pirate fleet. "You have yet to prove that this is anything more than a waste of our time, Sangheili."

"Watch your tongue, ape." Umbra 'Vesic rose from his seat at the front of the ring. Shinsu's chief lieutenant--for the time being--raised a clenched fist, the only one he possessed. Shinsu had personally deprived him of the second a month ago amidst the ruins of the Visag keep.

"Umbra," Shinsu said coldly. "Insult our guests again and you will be disciplined."

The one-armed warrior's eye twitched, but he returned to his seat, head lowered in embarrassment. A month ago, Shinsu would have been more lenient with his short temper and quick tongue, but no longer. Umbra was living on borrowed time as it was. The souls of the millions of Sangheili who had died thanks to Umbra's meddling cried out for vengeance, and Shinsu was feeling obliged to give it to them. Soon, very soon.

A string of murmurs spread through the room, some in anger at Umbra's outburst and others in approval of Shinsu's rebuke. There were plenty of people to watch here, but Shinsu couldn't help but keep Urei in the corner of his eye. The rest of this murderous rabble were laughably predictable. Shinsu could wrap them around his finger in his sleep. But Urei...

You are the wild card, as the humans might say. Urei 'Cazal was by far the most dangerous person in this room. Shinsu would not let himself forget that fact.

A large Jiralhanae rose and let out a sharp roar. The room fell silent as the chieftain spread his massive arms imposingly. "I will hear no more of these doubts," he snarled. "Shinsu 'Refum helped us free Famul from the grip of that oaf Mallunus. We have all profited from his actions in the past. Let him speak!"

"He has profited most of all," Yetherus shot back. "And who controls Famul now, Butherus? Certainly not you and that blind rabble you call a pack!"

Butherus bared his teeth, but backed down as Shinsu raised a hand for calm. "Very well," he told Yutherus. "If you believe you have nothing to be gained from listening to this conference, you and your pack may leave. And be quick about it; there are important matters to discuss."

Yutherus bristled but fell silent and remained where he was. But he was not the only dissenter. A Kig-Yar pirate queen rose now and looked down her snout at Shinsu. "For months, you have been urging us to marshal our forces, to bring together as many ships as we could. You promised us riches beyond our wildest dreams if we responded to your summons. Well, here we are. We have brought ships. Dozens more wait in other systems. Where are the riches?"

Shinsu smiled. "Within your grasp," he told the queen. He raised a hand, a signal for Umbra to activate the holoprojector. "All you need to do is extend your hand and take them."

A large planet flashed into view above him. Several of the pirates gasped in surprise. They knew this red-tinged world all too well.

"I present to you Sanghelios," Shinsu announced. "You have but to listen to me here and I will deliver it into your hands. All of it."

He could practically feel the room's temperature rise. He had half of these creatures in his grasp already. The mere sight of the Sangheili homeworld was enough to boil the blood of most Jiralhanae. The offer of its capture would have them ready to go to war within the hour.

An astonished cry rang out from the upper benches. Ruji 'Geran had leapt to his feet and was gesturing wildly at the hologram. "That is the homeworld!" he yelled furiously.

Shinsu glanced up at the image and nodded. "Yes, I do believe it is," he replied evenly. "I am glad to see you know what it looks like."

Ruji's eyes burned dangerously. "You offer the homeworld up as a prize? To scum such as these?"

"These scum happen to be my business associates," Shinsu told him. "They have proven to be far worthier allies than any on the homeworld ever were. Please refrain from insulting them again in my presence." The lie burned as it left his mandibles, but he was used to that by now.

The Path Walker lieutenant sputtered, at a complete loss for words. Beside him, Urei shifted slightly and motioned for him to sit down. The former Fallen commander's eyes still hadn't left Shinsu. Analyzing my body language, trying to find the truth buried in my lies.

Yutherus chuckled. "Your fellow Sangheili seems to have said what we're all thinking. Why would you sell out your own homeworld? What chance would we have against it? This is nothing but a feeble attempt to trap and destroy us."

"Like I just said," Shinsu said, gesturing again at the image of Sanghelios. "The people of Sanghelios are of no use to me. I poured my life into saving that miserable planet once, and for what? A corrupt Vadam government that seeks nothing more than an alliance with the humans that chokes the rest of the galaxy into poverty and submission."

He shot a glare across the assembled council. "I have had enough," he continued. "There's no hope left for that pathetic world. The people of Sanghelios are all the same. They focus on the trivial and lose sight of what's most important. Change is impossible in such a fog of ignorance."

Yutherus fixed him with a dull stare. "I still do not understand."

"Of course you do not. You lack ambition, Yutherus, which explains why you have spent the past five years doing little more than rest in the safety of your fleet. I suggest you pay closer attention to this opportunity." Shinsu clicked his mandibles. "This is a chance for all of us to benefit. The Sangheili will be stunned, the Interspecies Union will be shaken to its core. Those of your own kind who still cling to its protection will swarm to your banners once you hoist them on Sanghelios. We will restore balance to the order of things."

"And you?" Yutherus demanded, but even his doubts were wavering. The jab about his fleet's inactivity had hit home, just as Shinsu had known it would. "What do you get from all this."

"Simple." Shinsu spread his hands out plainly. "The feud I have pursued since childhood will finally be laid to rest. Thel 'Vadam and his clan will be expunged by this attack, and the ghosts of my past will be at peace."

"So you want revenge." The speaker this time was Deacon Tethib. The only Unggoy in the gathering, he perched atop his bench and surveyed the room through tiny eyes. "The planet is plundered and we have the chance to throw off the yoke of the Interspecies Union."

Of all the leaders gathered here, Tethib was the one Shinsu felt worst about betraying. The diminutive Deacon had assembled a massive following amidst a teeming population of Unggoy that was growing more dissatisfied with the Union's policies by the day. They wanted nothing more than systems to colonize with their exploding numbers. But the future of the Sangheili was worth far more than the hopes of the Unggoy. If I turn back now, I am lost, Shinsu reminded himself.

"I will personally ensure that your followers are given as much territory as they need, Deacon," he told Tethib. "Their vessels and ground forces will be critical in the battle to come."

"Many of them will die," Tethib replied gravely. "That is always the case for us. We will hold you to your word."

Shinsu looked away from the Deacon and back out over the crowd. Dissenters like Yutherus were caving in by the second. Over half the room was already murmuring excitedly. Everything had gone just as planned.

Butherus had already gathered a substantial fleet of pirates around Famul; several of the Kig-Yar leaders had done the same. All it would take was a few weeks for the others to assemble their own forces, and he would have a fleet to rival those of the Covenant at the height of the Great War. At least for a moment.

These vermin think I am giving them a great prize. All it will amount to is their own graves.

But he would still unleash them on the homeworld, and millions would pay the price. He shot another glance at Umbra, his eyes flicking towards where his arm should have been. I punished him for far less, he realized. But I took those crimes upon myself as well.

There would be no forgiveness for what he did here. But he had come to terms with that long ago.

He raised his voice to address the excited crowd. "Sanghelios will be yours," he declared. "And Thel 'Vadam, the Interspecies Union, and all our enemies..."

All of them will fall."

"That went quicker than I anticipated," Urei 'Cazal remarked. He leaned back against the small briefing room's wall, arms folded. "You have quite a way with these vermin, 'Refum."

Shinsu set his helmet down on the central table. Umbra was busy overseeing the "council"'s departure from the Cleansing Fire, leaving him free to handle some other matters.

"I have spent many years living amongst them," he replied. "The Vadam government has always overlooked those without a flag to rally under. The Fallen, the Covenant, and now the Path Walkers have commanded their undivided attention since the end of the Schism."

"With good reason," Urei pointed out. "Yours are not the only forces stirring."

"I would be concerned if they were. Forces are always stirring. The battle goes to those who stir fastest and strike the most vital position."

"True." Urei tapped a finger against his Path Walker armor, a combat harness as grey and featureless as Shinsu's own. "Which is why I am still apprehensive about this assault. The Sangheili cannot afford even a moment of weakness."

Shinsu tapped a button and conjured up a hologram of Sanghelios. Motes of light danced around its perimeter, mapping out the planet's defenses. "A single battle lost will not be the death of our people. Even if this alliance leaves the homeworld utterly ravaged, we will recover within a year. And the sacrifice will have made us stronger than we have ever been."

Urei stepped forward to join him at the table. The Path Walker leader peered down at the image of Sanghelios. "I am taking an awful risk by trusting you," he said. "This had better work."

"If it does not, the government will be even further discredited," Shinsu pointed out. "They will have failed to predict this new threat, and because of that the homeworld has been threatened with destruction. Either way, our plans advance. One option is simply faster than the other."

"Indeed," Urei said with a nod. "After the disturbing events last month, even some kaidons are questioning Thel 'Vadam's capacity to lead. The human attacks, and then the Visag massacre... I did not think Thel to be capable of such an atrocity."

"I was stunned myself." It wasn't a lie, not at all. Shinsu could still remember the numb fury that had flooded through him when he'd realized what Umbra had done. His lieutenant had been lucky to lose only an arm to that righteous anger, but in the end the fact still remained: the Visags had been butchered by government warriors. Shinsu had simply shouldered the burden of the grand lie that Umbra had sacrificed millions to create.

There was a brief silence as both Sangheili looked down at the image of their homeworld. Shinsu found himself wondering what Sanghelios would look like after this assault. Not the same, that was for sure. The people would wake up from the dream of peace and stability that the Vadams and their puppets had woven for them. The notion that the Sangheili could be anything but warriors would vanish, and a new generation of conquerors and defenders would rise from the ashes. The galaxy would never be the same.

"The Path Walkers have begun the offensive, just as we arranged," Urei said at last. "They are attacking colonies across four systems; that will keep the government's fleet occupied while the attack commences. If any ships flee back to the homeworld, we will send reinforcements while capitalizing on their confusion."

Shinsu nodded. "The forces the pirates will muster will be able to overwhelm the home guard. I have other plans in place to see that they do so quickly and without many losses. But they will all want to be a part of the ground assault. They will all suspect the others of trying to cheat them of their prize."

"Our ships will provide a rear guard," Urei told him. "I suppose the Cleansing Blade has some ships to offer as well?"

"We lack your fleet, but we possess a strike force. I will be engaged on the surface, but I will leave most of my ships at your disposal."

"Excellent." Urei pushed away from the table and paced around it. "Once the planet is taken, what will you do?"

"I will try to curb the pirates' violence as much as I can, but I cannot do much more than organize the chaos. But the Vadam supporters will be hunted down and eliminated. I need only a week."

Urei smiled. "My forces will keep the military engaged. Then they will turn tail and free up elements of the fleet to return and retake the homeworld."

"Indeed." Shinsu passed a hand through the Sanghelios hologram. "Blame for all of this falls upon me, and the Cleansing Blade vanishes into the darkness. The fate of our people will rest with you, then."

"And I will see to it that your sacrifice is not in vain." Urei raised a hand. "But do not be so quick to set aside your own role. There will be much I will call on the Cleansing Blade to do when I rebuild Sanghelios."

"With my friends and family avenged, my journey will be complete," Shinsu said, bowing his head. "My followers and I will be at your disposal."

So you want your pet back, Urei. The Black Knight of Sanghelios at your beck and call, just like in the Fallen. It was all Shinsu could do not to laugh. The Cleansing Blade will never be your dogs. And we will never leave the future of the Sangheili in your corrupted hands.

But his expression betrayed none of this. For now he was content to merely play the part of the ambitious avenger, just another tool for Urei to humor and manipulate. That was the trick to dealing with the truly intelligent. Present yourself as their equal and they suspected you at every turn. But submit yourself to them and they never saw you as a threat.

He would let Urei continue to believe that he was the puppet master behind this entire show. But once all this was over, once the Cleansing Blade were disgraced and exiled, they would come for Urei and every other threat to the Sangheili's future.

But I must not underestimate this warrior, Shinsu reminded himself. After all, that has been his fatal mistake.

Poor Urei. Pitiful creature.

The Path Walker leader had departed some time ago, heading out to ensure that his followers adhered to their part of the plan. Shinsu wondered what exactly Urei was telling the religious fanatics about all this. The former Fallen commander had woven so many lies to buy their loyalty that a battle such as this must require an even thicker pack of deceptions.

How lonely it must be to mistrust even the warriors you led. The Cleansing Blade shared Shinsu's goals. They were all prepared to sacrifice everything for this fight; he had told them nothing but the truth about what awaited them after this fight.

And yet...

Now he was keeping secrets from them. Pula was the only one of his followers who knew the full truth about the Visag massacre. The rest of the Blade thought Umbra had simply spoken out of turn once too often and finally paid the price for insubordination. They, like the rest of the Sangheili, saw only the government to blame for Visag's destruction.

Was this how it had started with Urei? One concession, one lie to advance his agenda, until now those lies were the foundation of his plan?

Perhaps Urei was off by himself now as well, thinking similar thoughts about the Cleansing Blade. And this is where it all started with Shinsu. Pitiful creature...

But this was not a lie that would endure. Its usefulness would die with the Vadams, and the truth... the truth would die with Umbra.

Shinsu turned back to the conference table. Umbra had been unspeakably useful when he had needed an ally within the Fallen. He had helped build the foundation of the Cleansing Blade and stood faithfully by Shinsu's side through the battles and tribulations of those early years. But unlike Pula, his loyalty had limits. And the Visags needed to be avenged, one way or another.

"He has served his purpose," Shinsu murmured.

"Pardon?"

He glanced over at the room's two other occupants, the ones who had arrived shortly after Urei had left.

"Nothing," Shinsu replied. "These recent events have been taxing on my nerves. You will have to pardon my fatigue."

Helen Powell, chief lieutenant of the Syndicate's criminal empire, smiled across the table at him. Pretty by human standards, she was dressed in what Shinsu gathered was elegant formal wear in the human colonies. The dark colors matched her raven hair, which spilled down over her shoulders and across the back of her chair. She folded two pale, slender hands and smiled up at him. It spoke volumes about Shinsu's contact with humans that he was no longer repulsed by their strange slit-mouths.

"Perfectly understandable," she said. "You should delegate responsibility more. Handling everything by yourself is never good for your health."

"I will take that to heart," he told her. "But only once this present business is concluded."

"Of course. There is a lot riding on the outcome, and not just where the Sangheili are concerned."

You have no idea how true that is. Shinsu nodded. "Which is why you wished to be here to observe our little gathering."

"Of course." Helen's smile remained gracefully in place. "The Syndicate has interests at stake here."

"Indeed." Shinsu inclined his head at Helen's companion. "Your escort is a new face. I have never seen her at any of our previous meetings."

"And here I thought you had trouble telling us apart." Helen raised a hand to indicate the female standing beside her. "But since this is you we're talking about, I really shouldn't be surprised. Allow me to introduce Constance, my chief associate."

The red-haired human gave him what amounted to a polite nod. Unlike Helen, her clothing was sleeker and more practical. A compact sidearm rested on her thigh along with a handful of electronic devices, and her eyes were constantly scanning the room . The female's pose was relaxed, but their was a taught ease to her arms that told Shinsu she could spring into action at any time. He returned her nod.

"I thought you already had a chief associate," Shinsu commented. "The one called Yukon."

Helen shrugged. "So I did."

Shinsu did not press the issue. "So you saw the meeting. Did it raise any concerns?"

"None that weren't already raised," Constance told him, folding her arms. "A lot of these warlords you're marshaling are customers of ours."

"I see them more as... competitors," Shinsu replied. He folded his hands behind his back. Constant dealing with these criminals had taught him a new, despised language: that of business and greed. "They will be removed or weakened, and the resources they leave behind will be open for the Syndicate to advance on."

Constance nodded. "The frontier will need the Syndicate after this."

"Agreed." Helen raised an eyebrow. "Are you looking for an arrangement similar to what we made at Famul?"

"Hardly. I will have no need for any of the pirate assets after this attack. In this regard, there is no reason for me to negotiate with you for it at all."

The eyebrow stayed up. "You've always been a pleasure to work with, Shinsu. But we are more than a little concerned with your latest ally."

Shinsu had wondered when they would come to this. He saw Constance straighten a little as well; this was clearly a topic she and Helen had discussed at length. He remembered Yukon as being a diminutive male who had always been recording notes and numbers into a ledger he had carried at all times. He had been little more than a renegade bean counter, albeit one with a good head for business. Constance's eyes radiated as much intelligence and none of the cautious deference Yukon had always given off.

She does not need to fear her superiors, Shinsu thought with grudging approval. She knows that she is too useful to replace. He wondered if she had dealt the killing blow to Yukon when the time had come to take his place. Knowing the Syndicate however led him to suspect the unfortunate agent had been dealt with in a more subtle fashion.

"You mean the Path Walkers," he said.

Helen nodded. "Religious fanatics are never good for business. But the bigger issue here is Urei 'Cazal."

"Him specifically?" Shinsu asked, miming surprise.

"We know he's smarter than your average Path Walker," Constance informed him. "And he used to be the head of the Fallen. They were an even bigger headache than the Path Walkers have been."

"Ah." Driving the Syndicate from Sangheili space was one thing Shinsu and Urei actually agreed on. The only difference was the timing each of them had in mind. "Yes, I am aware that he is not the most reliable partner."

"You met with him right before this," Helen noted. "Did you discuss anything that might interest us?"

"Unfortunately, yes." Shinsu shook his head. "He was as concerned about my ties to you as you are with my ties to him. Exclusionism is as much a part of his philosophy as it has ever been."

"But you need his resources for this attack." Helen sighed. "I hope you can control him."

"Control is not the issue," Shinsu told her. "But I certainly do not trust him. And you should be wary as well. During our discussion, he spoke openly of moving against the Syndicate once our control of the government is established. And I am not naive enough to believe that he will not attempt to remove me as well."

Helen and Constance exchanged a look. "That doesn't surprise us," Helen admitted. "Once this is over, we'll have a common enemy to look out for."

"As always, I will be grateful for any assistance you can provide." The Syndicate would be a formidable opponent when the time came to eliminate them, but Urei was the more immediate threat. It would be useful to have the Syndicate behind him once that particular alliance came to an end. Yet another ally I cannot trust, Shinsu thought wearily.

But the Syndicate was not interested in political dominance like Urei was. As long as they saw Shinsu as a profitable business partner they would not see any benefit in killing him. He did not doubt that Helen and Constance had several plans for dealing with him should he become a threat. The Syndicate had not achieved its criminal hegemony by not viewing everything and everyone as a potential threat.

"We can discuss Urei 'Cazal at length another time," Helen said after a moment. "For now, we should focus our efforts on ensuring that your current efforts succeed. Is there anything else you need aside from the support we're already giving the pirate forces?"

It never ceased to amaze Shinsu how people as intelligent as Helen and Constance could work so readily towards their own destruction. But that was the advantage of playing the avenging reformer: no one ever guessed the depth of his true ambition.

"As a matter of fact," he said. "I understand that Venter's forces were not entirely destroyed during the unfortunate misunderstanding last month. Might you be in contact with those survivors?"

There were always tools at hand ready and waiting to be used. The trick wasn't in finding them, but in knowing what to do with them when they had outlived their usefulness.

Chapter Three: Social Call

The Phantom decloaked, its ethereal shimmer sliding away to reveal the familiar bulk of the Sangheili dropship. Its Banshee escorts dropped to a low hover beside it as it lowered, side ramps extended.

Cassandra was sweating beneath her jumpsuit. She shouldn't have been nervous... but then again, perhaps she should.

She came to attention, then decided to stand at ease instead. Her time away from the military had made her memories of the proper drill and ceremony procedures rusty. Now that her return to the UNSC loomed ever closer, she was beginning to remember how stifling it had felt in the first place.

A Sangheili in the ornate armor of a field master emerged from the dropship. Cyla stepped away from where she had been standing beside Cassandra to greet him.

"Taszar," she said warmly. "I did not know you were coming."

"I have just returned from the fighting near Truthful Reckoning," the field master replied. "I was granted a brief reprieve from my duties and decided to be come here. It has been too long since I have seen home."

Cyla nodded, but quickly broke eye contact with Taszar to peer into the dropship. "And Autel..."

Taszal shook his head. "I am sorry, but he chose to stay with the kaidon in Yermo. Thel needs all the support he can get with all the recent misfortunes."

"Oh," Cyla said, clearly disappointed. "Yes, I understand."

"I am not alone though," Taszar said, shooting a meaningful look in Cassandra's direction. "The keep will be entertaining more guests today, I fear."

"Oh, we'll try not to overstay our welcome," said a voice that was unfortunately becoming more and more familiar. "We know how nervous your people get around outsiders."

Cassandra fought back a gulp as Commander Yuri Rosch strode out of the Phantom. Clad in his usual insignia-pressed overcoat, the ONI officer shifted his gloved hands behind his back as he cast an imperiously disdainful look about the Vadam keep. A man in his early thirties, Rosch's hair had whitened prematurely. His mildly attractive features were hard and pitiless, just like the man beneath.

Rosch would most likely be her commanding officer once she rejoined Team Jian; her former teammates Jake and Ralph were apparently his personal assault team. Cassandra would have to obey him and pay due courtesy, but how could she ever respect the man who had once claimed--to her face--that she and Simon were nothing more than defective military property?

Rosch embodied everything she had come to despise about the UNSC: a man willing to go to any lengths, no matter how heartless, in the name of defending humanity. As far as she was concerned, he was as much to blame for Simon's death as the Path Walkers were.

Behind him came two much more welcome figures. Jake and Ralph, her friends and all that remained of Team Jian, walked on either side of Rosch clad in their face-concealing Semi-Powered Infiltration armor. Their weapons were strapped to their backs, but Cassandra was used to reading their body language. From the way they kept jerking their heads and had their hands down by their sidearms, she could tell they were on edge.

The last person to exit the Phantom was clad in MJOLNIR armor. His right arm was an unprotected skeletal prosthetic. She tried to overlook that detail; she didn't want her grief over Simon tainting the image of the man who was the closest thing to a savior she'd found in the ranks of the UNSC.

"Lieutenant Commander Felix," Cyla said, though her mandibles had to struggle to sound out the unfamiliar rank. She pointedly ignored Rosch and Jian. "You are always welcome here."

Felix-116 nodded at her. Cassandra had always thought the restricted visor of the basic MJOLNIR was even more impassive than the full-faced SPI helmet. "Cyla," he replied. "Good to see you again."

Rosch stepped past Taszar and Cyla to stand in front of Cassandra. She kept her hands clasped firmly behind her.

"G006," he said, voice even colder than usual. "I take it you're well."

"Yes." I don't have to call him "sir". Not yet, anyway.

"And your friend?" Rosch's jaw twitched. Cassandra knew how much he must have wanted to get his hands on the girl who had been David Kahn's chief accomplice last month. She would never forget how Felix and Jian had stuck their necks out and fed their commander the lie that the Sangheili had taken them both into protective custody after the fighting had ended.

"She's fine."

"Wonderful." Rosch glanced around the keep again. "But as tiring as the entire flight out here was, there isn't time to stay for lunch. Is your gear ready? We're leaving."

Jake stepped forward, his visor depolarizing to reveal his grinning features. "We just got the news from command: you've been cleared of all charges. A little paperwork still needs to go through, but you're going to be reinstated!"

"Reinstated?" She'd been expecting this all along, but why had Rosch and his team come all the way out here to tell her?

"It isn't official yet," Rosch said. "But I want to get you back within the regular command structure as soon as possible. And we have business to attend to elsewhere."

So there it was. After all this time, she would finally be returning to the UNSC. This was what she had wanted. So what was this apprehension that suddenly tightened her gut?

"Then I'll go get my things," she said quickly.

"Yes, carry out the order I just gave you," Rosch muttered, turning back to the Phantom. "That's a start, I suppose."

He strode over to Felix and the two launched into a hushed conversation. Jake and Ralph nodded encouragingly to Cassandra before going over to observe their superiors. Taszal had headed off deeper into the keep, leaving Cyla and Cassandra by themselves again.

"So," Cyla said after a moment's pause. "You will return to your people."

"Yes," Cassandra replied. In more ways than one.

The military was her home. That was where she had been raised, trained, forged. Forged into the military hardware Rosch saw her as. But she'd had a home before then. A father, a mother, a sister. Yes, the military was her home, the Spartans her family. But only because she'd been taken from her first home and family.

She turned on her heel. Best not to give Rosch an even worse opinion of her than he already had. Besides, her gear wasn't the only thing she needed to see to. There were other arrangements that had to be made.

Nimue wasn't in the room they shared. Cassandra quickly donned her own suit of SPI armor. It was barely functional, providing little more than basic protection and the helmet's heads up display, but it was still a marker that she had always thought set her apart as a Spartan.

Until Simon sold the blueprints to the Syndicate, a nasty, treacherous voice in her head whispered. SPI isn't so special anymore.

She ignored it and gathered her medical kit and what few personal items she owned into a travel bag. Slinging it over her shoulder, she tucked the helmet under her right arm and cast one last look at the small, bare room that had been her home for the past month. The corner where Nimue slept was empty, but that wasn't too surprising. She was always taking her things off to different places of the keep.

Cassandra shook her head and headed down the hallway. Word of her departure had started to spread; a few of the keep's servants and even some warriors paused in their duties to bid her farewell.

It was a shame that she had to leave now, but that was the way it went. She had gotten used to moving quickly from place to place after Hekate. Hopefully this would be the last time she had to exchange one home for another.

She was met with two surprises when she returned to the Phantom. The first was a pair of keep warriors who were preparing to board the dropship. The second was the sight of Nimue and Vena, seated a ways off together seemingly lost in conversation.

Cassandra wasn't sure how she was supposed to react to the odd pair. An hour ago they had been locked in an intense fist fight. Now they were speaking together as if nothing had happened. Nimue never did that with anyone, especially not with someone she'd just met.

Ralph sidled up to her. "Um, what's up with the psycho girl?" he asked. He and Jake had clearly not forgotten the child who had held her own against them when they had captured her. "Who's the little squid head?"

"She's Autel's daughter," Cassandra told him. "And I don't know what's going on with them. They were at each other's throats last time I saw them."

"Vena will be accompanying you to Yermo," Cyla said, approaching from the keep's main building. "She has never seen the city before and will not have this opportunity again for some time. And it seems your friend will be going with her."

"Oh," Cassandra said with a nervous glance at Rosch. He wouldn't try anything rash if Nimue left the keep, would he? "Glad to see they're getting along better."

"It seems they have both had unusual childhoods," Cyla said with a knowing look in her eye. "Warriors from the keep will accompany them both, so I see no danger in letting them leave."

"If you're finished paying your respects, G006, we should be leaving," Rosch said from the Phantom's troop bay. "We are behind schedule as it is."

Ralph grinned at her through his depolarized visor. "Welcome back," he said. "Let's try not to piss off the officers on your first day."

Cassandra tightened her hold on the travel bag and followed her teammates towards the Phantom. It was time to let go of the past. A new future was in front of her and she would need to make the most of it.

Time to go home.

Chapter Four: Wolves

"I must say, I was surprised by the invitation to move my facilities here." Nem Helo tapped his slender fingers on the arms of his gravity chair, increasing its speed to keep up with Shinsu's long strides. "You have been somewhat removed from my work of late. I was beginning to wonder if you still had a use for me."

"I have been occupied with other matters," Shinsu replied, pausing to investigate one of the many workstations that dotted Nem's new lab aboard the Cleansing Fire. The San 'Shyuum had brought a veritable mountain of equipment with him from his lab on the frontier, forcing the Fire's warriors to relocate a good portion of their living quarters to make room for his new facilities. "But your research is as important to me as it ever was."

Nem chuckled, clasping his leathery hands together. "And you have certainly shown your appreciation. I am having trouble sleeping with all the opportunities you have sent my way."

"As long as you continue to produce results, you will never want for opportunity," Shinsu noted. "The galaxy is full of secrets. It would be a shame if they went undiscovered."

He had discovered Nem quite on accident in the middle of a raid on a small Covenant installation. The Syndicate had needed the base removed and Shinsu had thought it a good opportunity to give some of his greener warriors a taste for combat. During the attack they had encountered Nem sealed in a holding cell awaiting execution for heresy. It had not taken long for Shinsu to understand why: there really weren't any boundaries, be they religious or simply ethical, that Nem was not willing to cross in his endless quest to sate his boundless curiosity.

The Cleansing Blade was full of innovative warriors, Sangheili who were quite ready to improvise and adapt their weapons and equipment to surpass those of their enemies. But it was a rare Sangheili on any side of this conflict who could delve into as many branches of science as Nem busied himself with. The San 'Shyuum couldn't have cared less about the Cleansing Blade or its goals. As long as he had the opportunity to conduct his research, he was content.

"Yes, so many secrets," Nem agreed cheerfully. "So few with the generosity to let me pursue all of them."

He floated over to the cramped lab's central worktable and indicated the components scattered across its length: the components of the UNSC MJOLNIR armor that Shinsu's forces had recovered a month ago. "Take this marvel, for example. Human engineering is simply fascinating. Analyzing it all is such a meticulous process, and I am simply loving every moment of it."

"Glad to hear it." Shinsu looked over the armor. The sight of its helmet still gave him shudders. He had never actually faced a Spartan in battle before, but some fears were deeply ingrained in the hearts of every Sangheili. "Have you discovered anything useful?"

"Oh, certainly," Nem adjusted the elevation of his chair and plucked the helmet from the table. "Quite a feat of design, this. So many failsafes meant to keep me from unlocking its secrets, yet I have my ways."

He peered into the helmet, reaching in to adjust some of its internal components. "So many of these features are meant only to bolster human senses. I saw no reason to bother with them. My interests lay within the power source, and what a magnificent find indeed! I have already made some primary adjustments to incorporate their design into your new armor."

Shinsu frowned. "My new armor?"

"Why, yes. The one you commissioned for me last week."

"I did no such thing."

Nem scratched his temple and tossed the helmet back onto the table. "You didn't? Well, no matter. I am close to making the finishing touches. My best work, if I do say so myself. Much better than that outdated can you are wearing now."

Shinsu glanced down at his "outdated can," a rugged special operations suit that had carried him through battle after harrowing battle for over ten years. "I appreciate your eagerness, Nem, but I did not come down here to discuss my armor."

"Oh, yes, of course not. I nearly forgot. The patient."

"Yes. You said he was recovered?"

"For the most part," Nem said dismissively. "Some light trauma, occasional vomiting, occasional trouble with bodily functions, but otherwise the procedures went exactly as planned."

He led Shinsu over to one of the lab's side doors. "A fascinating specimen you gave me to work with. Such similarity to the regular human composition, yet so many subtle differences! Once the initial treatments were done, I simply had to go ahead and use the stimulants on him. And the results! I have been working with that formula for decades, and he is the first subject to survive the implementation!"

"I knew he would." Shinsu tried not to think about exactly what Nem's "formula" contained. Some things were best left unasked, particularly when given the specimens Nem had demanded be retrieved for him during its creation. "This human is unlike your past experiments."

The door slid open to reveal a small room adorned only with a cot, a small table, and a holo terminal. The ex-Spartan mercenary known as either Simon-G294 or Mordred sat up as they entered.

"Recovered" wasn't exactly the word Shinsu would have chosen to describe his new ally. The human's mane of untidy black hair was patchy and worn; tufts of hair seemed to be falling out here and there. His skin, already pale to begin with, was practically translucent. Veins stuck out across his body; some of them even seemed to twitch and bulge as if tiny worms were slithering through them.

Shinsu had seen humans in many forms, but this was the first time he thought he might actually be repulsed by one of them.

Mordred's mouth twisted. "So you finally came to visit," he said. "I was wondering when you'd stop by."

"I had heard you were almost ready to leave this place," Shinsu told him, approaching the cot. "Was I misinformed?"

A vein above Mordred's eye twitched, but he smiled ruefully. "I know I look like shit, but I'm doing okay. I stopped throwing up a few days ago, so now all I have left are these damn headaches."

He rubbed his forehead. "I could probably already be up, but no one's given me the chance to sit on my ass for a long time. Figured I'd do it while I still could."

"Indeed." Shinsu gave Mordred another look. Though the skin was faded and sagging, the muscle tone hadn't vanished at all. If anything, Mordred's scrawny figure looked slightly better developed than before he'd undergone the supplements. "And your eye?"

Mordred had come to the Cleansing Blade missing his left eye. Shinsu had immediately put Nem to work cloning a replacement. It fit in well with the right eye, with no way to tell that it had ever been destroyed in the first place.

"Still a bit blurry," Mordred said. "Hurts when I read."

"I must thank you for agreeing to undergo the procedure," Shinsu told him. "Nem is always looking for new opportunities to test his creations."

"Yeah." Mordred's eyes narrowed. "About that."

He punched the air in front of him with his right hand, and then his prosthetic left one. "You said these augments would make me stronger. I don't feel any stronger."

"The supplements were engineered more towards improving your durability," Nem said from the doorway. "I was hoping to go as far as granting your body some slight regenerative traits, but only time will tell if I was successful."

"Apparently it will take time for more of the supplements to take effect." Shinsu pulled a small canister from his armor and handed it to Mordred. "Until then, these pills will slow its spread and give your body more time to handle the changes. I must admit that I do not understand much of what has been done to you, but the effects can only be for the better."

"That's reassuring," Mordred grunted. "I guess it could be worse. It didn't give me an inverted penis or anything like that."

"Indeed." Shinsu turned back to Nem. "What of the other accessory? The enhancers?"

The San 'Shyuum floated over and pulled a case from one of his gravity chair's many pockets. Shinsu took it and set it on the table beside Mordred. "Those will apparently enhance the supplements' effects for a short time. Reflexes and senses will particularly be heightened."

"Huh." Mordred opened the case to reveal a row of syringes. He picked one up and looked at it dubiously. "Nasty looking needles. Where the hell do I stick them?"

Shinsu indicated the neck. "Just be careful not to overuse them. The stimulants could become too... excited. The effects then would not be so beneficial."

"Got it." Mordred closed the case and stood up from the cot. He didn't stumble or require support, so clearly his condition was not nearly as bad as it looked. "Guess I should be getting to work again then. You'll want something to pay you back for this."

"Consider it a gift," Shinsu replied. "A token of my gratitude for your services."

"Huh." Mordred grunted. "You're welcome. But I'm not doing this for you."

He stretched and jerked his neck. "Like I said before, I just want to help you make the Vadams suffer."

"Well, 'Refum," Ro'nin growled, as pleasant as ever. "Why did you want to see us?"

The Sangheili mercenary perched atop the hood of a deactivated Ghost. They were in one of the Fire's cramped loading bays, packed with war machines and crates of weapons. Ro'nin's partner, the burly Jiralhanae Kenpachus, stood beside him.

"You have both agreed to take part in the coming assault," Shinsu reminded him. "I have plans for you both."

Ro'nin sighed and adjusted the grip on his plasma repeater. "Do what you want. Just make sure our pay gets doubled for this one."

In spite of the circumstances, Shinsu couldn't help but smile at Ro'nin's greed. "I take it recent events and the target of this attack wouldn't be enough to lower your price?"

"Of course not," Ro'nin snapped. "Don't hold my father's corpse under my nose like some deal breaker. You won't be getting the Mordred discount out of us."

From where he sat a few meters away, Mordred raised a single figure in what Shinsu gathered was an offensive gesture. "Yeah, fuck you," he muttered. "I'm really getting tired of working with you right after you betray me."

"Oh, get over it," Ro'nin sneered.

Mordred looked back down at the gear he was inspecting and didn't reply.

"You, Mordred, and Kenpachus will be accompanying a team under my command," Shinsu continued. "We will be part of the ground forces assaulting the city of Yermo."

"Yermo?" Ro'nin grinned. "Of course. Hit them right in the center, eh? Do I even need to ask who are target is?"

Beside him, Kenpachus chuckled. "I hear that the warriors who guard the Arbiter are formidable. The best your kind has to offer."

He pulled the long metal sword from his back and ran a claw down its length. "I can hardly wait."

"Let's just get going." Mordred slid a clip into his assault rifle and racked its slide. "Where's Diana?"

"She is attending to the task we discussed earlier," Shinsu told him. "For now, can you get on without her aid?"

"I guess I'll have to," Mordred sighed. "But you never did tell you what you did to get her to cooperate."

"Simple," Shinsu said. "I gave her the opportunity to test her limits. That alone was enough incentive for her to agree to all that I asked."

Chapter Five: Assets and Targets

Peter and the Syndicate man were going at it again.

The Reaper scowled behind his SPI helmet and wished the noise-cancelling function still worked. It had broken a few years back and he'd never bothered to fix it. He'd figured it wasn't worth the effort. Of course, that was before he met Peter.

"Kid, you're starting to piss me off," the Syndicate agent, a weary looking man with leathery skin, growled. "For the last time, just go sit tight with your buddies and wait patiently like the rest of them."

"Fuck you," the young clone snapped back. Dirt and grime had worn through his head of well groomed hair, leaving a dark rat's nest in its wake. With the collected filth across his clothing and face, he actually looked like his progenitor for once. "We've been waiting for two weeks. When the hell are you getting us off this rock!"

"When the Syndicate tells me too, and not a minute before." The agent pushed past Peter and waved angrily at the Reaper. "Hey, bucket head! Get this punk under control before I double your travel fair again."

"Peter," the Reaper said, not looking up from his portable computer. "Back off."

"Since when are you in charge?" the clone sneered petulantly.

"Since I saved your ass from the squid heads," the Reaper replied, doing his best to stay calm. "Since I kept us all together and since Venter isn't around to put up with your bullshit anymore. Sit down or I'll make it so you can't stand up ever again."

Peter's face contorted in anger, but after a moment he sullenly threw himself down amongst ten of his fellow Humanity Liberation Front commandos--all that was left of nearly five hundred others who had descended on Sanghelios a month ago and raised utter, glorious hell. They and the Reaper were the only ones who had managed to claw their way out of the underground facility that had been their operations headquarters when the Sangheili had finally caught on to them and hit them with everything they could get their four-fingered hands on.

The agent shot the Reaper another warning look before strolling over to the other end of the Syndicate warehouse that had been their refuge for the past two weeks. He was met by a pair of squid-head workers who, after a moment of furious conversation, set to work unloading a stack of crates: the latest shipment of black market goods to reach Sanghelios, no doubt.

The sight of his alien enemy was enough to make the Reaper scream in frustration. He would have liked nothing better than to gun both creatures down where they stood, along with the human who so casually worked alongside them. But there was nothing he could do. He needed the Syndicate if he ever wanted to get off this planet alive.

And he needed to get off this planet alive.

One of the other survivors got up and edged over to him. The man's body armor had been scorched by repeated plasma hits and his face was as grimy and tired as everyone else's. "I know the kid's getting on your nerves, but he kinda has a point," he said quietly. "They're just stringing us along and raising the price every day."

"If you don't like it, go find us a way offworld yourself," the Reaper snapped. "They have all the cards here. So unless you have another way to escape, sit down and be quiet."

The rebel was undeterred. "You can't be liking this either. Is there anything else you want to try?"

"What I want to do is kill every split-face on this miserable, God-forsaken planet." He wasn't exaggerating. "But since that's not exactly doable, I'll settle for living to fight another day."

With a weary shrug, the man ambled back over to the others. Alone once again, the Reaper gritted his teeth and returned to his computer. He didn't normally let himself get this testy. But right now he was hungry, tired, and sick to death of the galaxy in general. His practiced emotional control was beginning to slip.

He glared down at the computer, which was displaying the test data he'd retrieved from Sangheili prisoners during the operation. This was nearly the hundredth time he'd reviewed it; the whole thing was practically committed to memory by this point.

I should keep studying, he told himself, but for the first time in years his heart simply wasn't in it. What was the point of looking for some miracle solution, a bioweapon or chemical agent that would wipe the Sangheili out for good? He had spent nearly two weeks with Venter's assault force putting down thousands if not millions of them, yet now he was stranded in this criminal warehouse with nothing to do but wait for the Syndicate's whim to save them. They hadn't even put a dent in Sanghelios's population.

"What's the point?" he muttered, angrily thumbing the computer's power switch. After all he had lost, everything he had been through, this was all his life amounted to: a bunch of scattered data on a memory disk and an extended stay in a Syndicate warehouse.

All of his efforts up until this point seemed utterly trivial and pointless. A few kaidons assassinated her and there, a few squid-heads kidnapped once in a while to test his latest theories and formulas on. It hadn't amounted to anything at all.

He clenched his gauntleted fists helplessly. This wasn't his dream or a personal vendetta, but a goal. A mission that he had set for himself when the whole galaxy had seemed a thousand times more simple. He had always believed that he was the only person who could accomplish that goal, but now it looked as if no one else had the strength or desire to help him get there. What could he possibly do on his own?

"Hey, ugly!" It took the Reaper a moment to realize that the Syndicate agent was talking to him. The man held a small, Sangheili made holo-communicator and gestured for him to come take it.

"What's going on?" the Reaper demanded, getting up and crossing the warehouse floor. "Is a ship available?"

"No," the man grunted. "But we've got a call on the line for you. My boss said to patch it straight to you."

The Reaper took the communicator and frowned down at the holo-pad. Who could possibly be contacting him now? Maybe the Syndicate had a job for him to do. It turned his stomach to work as a tool for these criminals, but what choice did he have? There was nothing for him to do now but go wherever he could and try to understand where his life had gone so wrong.

The blue pad flickered, then sprang to life as a palm-sized image appeared before him. A human girl in her early teens, with blond hair and a casually fashionable outfit, smiled up at him.

"The Reaper, I presume?" she asked with a poise that didn't suit a girl of her age at all. An AI, he realized. A smug half-smile was planted firmly on its lips, and its holographic eyes radiated with intense satisfaction.

"Who is this?" he demanded. "Why are you looking for me?"

"Oh, because I'm a huge fan of your work and I was hoping you could send me an autograph," the AI said, mockery plain in her tone. "Maybe I really just want to see what's under that helmet. Mind giving me a peek?"

The Reaper blinked, momentarily flummoxed. He suddenly realized that there was something familiar about this strange AI: he had seen her before.

"You're that one from the facility," he said. "Mordred's AI."

"Mordred's partner," she corrected. "I don't belong to anyone."

He sighed. "I really couldn't care less. What do you want with me?"

"I told you," she replied, her smile broadening. "I'm a big fan of your work. And I'm here with a little proposition."

"Absolutely not." The Reaper pushed away from the makeshift table and the upended crate he'd been using as a chair. "Get some other patsy for it. I don't work for squid heads."

It felt like yet another nail in his coffin. Bad enough that he had to lower himself to deal with thieves and murderers of his own species, but to act as the hired help of some Elite...

He wrapped one hand around the other, physically restraining himself from smashing the communicator and blotting out this insufferable AI's look of mock dismay. There were questions to be asked, for sure--such as how Mordred's AI had wound up acting as a messenger girl for an Elite warlord--but right now the Reaper just wanted her gone.

"You didn't seem to mind working with Venter," the AI--she called herself Diana--pointed out. "And this job isn't much different from what you were doing with him. Just a tad more restrained."

"Venter was scum," the Reaper growled. "But at least he was human. Now go crawl back to whoever sent you and give them my response." He drew his sidearm and aimed it at the holo-pad.

"Now, now," Diana scolded, completely unperturbed. She waved a finger at him reproachfully. "Let's not lose our temper. We're all adults here, aren't we?"

The Reaper's jaw tightened behind his helmet. She was right, as much as it galled him to admit it. He was more on edge than he could remember being in over a decade, and now it was making him act like a child. And I'm being lectured about it by a computer program that looks like it should be in high school. He returned the pistol to its slot on his hip.

"There we go," Diana said. "Nice and easy. It's taking a lot of processing power to transmit here, you know. The least you could do is show some courtesy."

"Why'd they send you, anyway?" the Reaper demanded. "Why not contact me in person?"

"Well, obviously you'd have reacted even worse than you are right now." A chair flickered into existence beside Diana's avatar. The holographic girl through herself into it and leaned on one of the armrests. "Besides, I was the one who told Shinsu to send me. It was getting so boring cramped up on that ship of his."

"You were bored?" It had never occurred to him that AIs could get bored. "And why are you with them, anyway? What happened to Mordred?"

"Oh, he's with me." Diana shrugged. "Currently working as Shinsu's newest stooge."

The Reaper wasn't really surprised by that. He couldn't even muster up the same contempt he might have heaped on any other human who submitted to an Elite. He'd seen the poor, wretched creature that G294 had become back in Venter's FOB. To hear that he'd sunk to even new lows merited only pity.

"And you?" he asked, lowering himself back onto the crate. "Are you just there because he is?"

"I guess," she sighed. "And like I said, currently bored out of my skull. If I had one, that is."

"Well you can stay bored," he told her coldly. His emotions were back under control now; he wouldn't let her press any more buttons. "I won't help some new Elite grab power."

"Hm," Diana mused. "What about helping two groups of Elites kill each other?"

He frowned. "I don't see the difference."

"Well that's an easy one. I've got the list of the things Shinsu wants you to help prepare with me right now. I never said you had to prepare them properly."

The Reaper was completely taken aback. Was Diana actually suggesting he sabotage Shinsu's efforts? "And why would you want me to do that?"

"I told you before, didn't I?" She smiled and leaned back against her chair. "I'm bored. You caught my eye a month ago and I want to see you work. Why should I care if Shinsu gets screwed over in the process?"

His mouth opened to voice another objection, but he could feel a spark of the old fire kindling in his belly. Help two groups of Elites kill each other. He wasn't exactly sure what this Shinsu was planning, but he wanted the HLF remnant to start hitting military targets. If he could figure out exactly what was going on, maybe he could work things out to ensure that no matter who won, plenty of squid-heads would die in the process.

"What about Mordred?" he asked finally. "I'm betting this puts him in danger."

She shrugged. "I can take care of that dumbass just fine on my own, thanks. Now, do you want that target list or not?"

He watched her for several more moments. Maybe this was a trick. Maybe she was just trying to get him killed. But then again, what did he have to lose?

"Alright," he told her. "Keep talking."

Chapter Six: Yermo

"Amazing," Cassandra breathed.

She braced herself against the Phantom's door gun and leaned out as far as she dared. A magnificent forest of towering skyscrapers was spread out beneath her, each one smooth and twisting until they looked as much like sculptures as they did buildings. Air traffic swirled everywhere like tumbling leaves, weaving in and out of the towers in an endless stream.

Cassandra had always hated the cities on human colonies for their smell and dirt and general lifelessness, but Yermo was a whole different story. She could see trees and foliage of all shapes and colors dotting between the buildings, as if the city had been built along with nature rather than against it. Even traveling at this height in a military dropship, she experienced the same feelings of tranquility that she'd known back in the Vadam gardens.

"Yermo," one of the warriors beside her observed. The Sangheili seemed intrigued by her awe. "After the Schism, we had no seat of government. Yermo has always been the most prosperous state from before even the time of the Covenant. It was the only possible choice to make the capitol."

Moving away from the center of the troop bay, Vena craned her neck to peer over the warrior's shoulder. "It looks very different from the holograms," she observed. "Particularly the air traffic."

They watched as a large civilian transport lifted off from a water-side landing pad not a hundred yards from their Phantom. A flight of Banshees soared in to escort it on its ascent.

Now that Cassandra looked, she was seeing a lot of military craft. Phantoms and Banshees darted amongst the civilian traffic in regular patrol routes. Several corvette-class warships hung in the atmosphere at a distance.

"They must have tightened their security," Nimue said. Cassandra nearly fell out of the dropship. She would never get used to the way the girl simply popped over whenever she wanted to say something. "The recent attacks?"

"In part," the warrior admitted, reaching out an arm to steady Cassandra's balance. "The Arbiter will be convening a high council meeting to discuss recent events. Many kaidons are demanding a show that the government can handle threats like the Path Walkers. And there is talk of accusations that may be leveled at the government. The Visag scandal has incited many hot tempers among the people."

"Yeah," Cassandra murmured. "The Visags." She'd heard about some massacre that had happened on the other side of the planet at the same time the Path Walkers had attacked the Incumbent Wrath. She didn't know much about it, but it was the place where her friend Tuka 'Refum had grown up. And where Simon...

"That is where my father is," Vena said confidently. "By the Arbiter's side."

Cassandra followed her outstretched arm. It wasn't hard to see where the Sangheili High Council met to discuss affairs of state. A large, domed building with several tiers running up its slanted walls sat on its own, removed from the other skyscrapers by a wide swath of open parks and smaller buildings. Air traffic swarmed around it like bees outside the hive; Cassandra counted no less than fifteen Phantoms circling its perimeter along with countless Banshee escorts. Looking down at the cleared space around the government building, Cassandra noted several large gun emplacements , heavy cannons meant to blast dropships out of the sky and wear down the shields of smaller warships.

Suddenly Yermo didn't seem quite as peaceful as it had a moment before.

She looked back at Jake. "So what are you here for?" she asked. "Besides me, of course."

He shrugged, bracing himself against one of the Phantom's bulkheads. "Officially, that's it," he replied. "Unofficially?"

He shrugged again. "We'll talk later."

So ONI was jumping at any excuse to have Spartans on Sanghelios. She couldn't really be surprised, but her shoulders still slumped involuntarily. And I'm going back to them. But that was the choice she had made, and she would stick with it. If not for the UNSC's sake, then for her friends' sakes.

The Phantom swung wide and slipped through Yermo's air traffic, becoming one amongst the teeming throng of vehicles to soar through the towers.

Chapter Seven: Mark of Pride

"I have to give your new boss credit," Diana remarked, her hologram leaning against an invisible wall on Simon's lap. "He puts on a good show."

The headaches were fading, but Simon still wished Shinsu would hurry up and give him something to do. The way his body felt right now, he needed to be moving around more than anything and yet hear he was, sitting cross-legged in the shadow of a parked Wraith in the corner of the Cleansing Fire's main hangar. The fighter craft, vehicles, and equipment that were usually packed in the bay had either been moved off to the side or removed entirely to make room for the crowd of Sangheili warriors who had assembled before a makeshift podium of stacked supply crates.

Simon flexed his organic arm, keeping his eyes trained on the lone figure on the podium: Shinsu 'Refum. The wiry Sangheili was clad in full armor, helmet tucked under one arm as he paced before the gathered Cleansing Blade warriors. Your new boss, Diana had called him.

He gave me this gift, Simon thought, thinking back to the room where he'd lain for what felt like days, wracked with pain and vomiting every time he was given a meal. He certainly didn't feel any different, aside from the headaches.

Was this how he felt after the UNSC had augmented him? It had only been--how many years ago now? That had been before he went to war, before Mamore and Rat Pack and the Visag Keep. It was an eternity ago, a hazy memory that ushered in a wave of confusing emotions. Was this nostalgia? He'd been happier then, even with the military regimen and the daily humiliations from his fellow trainees. The universe had been a simpler place then, one with leaders he could trust and friends he could count on.

But that had been a lie, in the end. He looked down at his arm, at the half-assembled armor that clung to his body or lay on the deck beside him. The augmentations had just made him a better killer, a better pawn for ONI and the UNSC. Shinsu had his own goals, that was obvious, but at least Simon and the Cleansing Blade's leader had an understanding. I'll use what he's given me to get justice for Visag. After that...

He shook his head. Thinking about the future was stupid. Hadn't he learned that by now? There was only the battle to come. He'd focus on that and then deal with whatever lay ahead when it happened.

Up on the podium, Shinsu motioned for silence, which instantly descended upon the crowd of warriors. Holo-transmitters glowed on all sides, sending out a feed to the rest of the Cleansing Blade's fleet.

"Warriors," Shinsu began, his voice amplified to fill the hangar. Simon picked up on most of the language, though the translation software in his earbud did most of the work for him. "You have gathered together from all walks of life. Soldiers, students, farmers, all of you have united under the banner of the Cleansing Blade because you believe in the future of our people. A future governed not by the past or by the fears of a dangerous galaxy, but one limited only by the Sangheili's own desire to reach out and seize it. You have put your faith in me, and I in you. Together we have gathered here today to begin the salvation of our people."

A rumble of approval passed through the crowd. Warriors raised their fists at their leader's acknowledgement and a few brandished plasma rifles and energy swords above their heads.

"My quest began on the homeworld so many years ago," Shinsu continued. "I was just a child then, a child driven by dreams of vengeance. When the Arbiter who killed my father chose to lead our people rather than face justice for his crimes, my hatred burned bright and I conspired to destroy him. And when the Vadams and their puppet government caught wind of my survival they compelled my own master, the kaidon who had raised me long and well enough to be my second father, against me. When he struck against me as I slept, I killed him with my own blade. And in that instant, they stole not only my master but his honor, and mine as well. And they destroyed their honor, just as they would do to all who linger under their reign.

"I stand before you now as one who knows full well the horrors that the civil war brought upon the homeworld. Many of you shared it, in service to the Fallen or simply as bystanders caught up in the fighting. We are an accursed generation, one that has known nothing but violence since the dawn of our lives." He paced back and forth across the podium, head swiveling slowly as if he were looking down at each individual in turn.

"In the past, we fought against the humans. We fought against the Flood. We fought against the Jiralhanae, who betrayed us, and the San'Shyuum, the deceivers who first led us astray. And now, in this blood soaked reality we have made for ourselves, we slaughter all. When Sangheili does not take up arms against Sangheili, we find ourselves beset by pirates and brigands. Humans lay waste to our cities, killing at will. And in the meantime, Thel 'Vadam and his government prostrate us before the galaxy, accepting the recession of our people before the rise of the humans, the spread of their wars, their corruption, their greed."

Someone above Simon let out a short bark of laughter. "Shinsu 'Refum," chuckled Ro'nin, crouching atop the Wraith's hull. "Now there's a soul on fire, as the poets might say. Or as I put it, a warrior who likes to hear himself talk."

"I prefer the poetics," grunted Kenpachus, appearing on the other side of the Wraith with folded arms. "Besides at least he has earned the right to a few speeches. More than can be said for most of the sniveling wretches who lead your world these days. The warrior up there didn't get where he was with rank or privilege. He fought his way there with the edge of his own blade."

The burly Jiralhanae grinned. "One day I'll see just how sharp that blade really is."

"Not while I'm living you won't," Ro'nin snapped hastily. "I'd rather not bring the rest of these deluded fools down on us if it's all the same to you. That wench Pula has wanted my head for years."

"So why aren't you out there?" Simon asked, still wary of the warrior who'd tried to kill him more times then he could count. "Getting cozy with his little Sangheili supremacy party?"

Ro'nin clicked his mandibles. "Supremacy? Perhaps, though with the kinds of people he associates with I wouldn't exactly compare him to the Fallen. But as formidable as he is, I doubt Shinsu will succeed. His kind never do."

"But you're fighting for him," Diana noted. "And he's got more ambition in one finger than most of you meatbags have in your whole squishy bodies."

"Shinsu is a crusader," Ro'nin replied with a human-looking shrug. "What it is he is crusading for still escapes me, but he may burn brightly today and maybe even the next few years, but he will burn out. It's the way of things."

"But while he burns, it will be glorious," Kenpachus noted. "Better to burn and leave your mark while you can than simply accept things as they are. If my people had even one chieftain like Shinsu 'Refum, perhaps I might consider them worth fighting for after all."

He glanced down at Simon. "We are the same in that at least, human. You bear no love towards your own people, that much is clear."

The remark didn't sting half as much as it should have. Simon just leaned back against the Wraith and folded his arms, grateful that the headache had disappeared while Ro'nin had been talking. "It's the government I hate," he said as Shinsu continued his address. "And Shinsu doesn't want to kill humans. Besides, we're too good at killing ourselves anyway." Even with Venter dead, the memory of children lying dead in the streets of Mamore burned hot inside him. It didn't matter what the species was: as long as someone had power, they could kill and kill and kill without any fear of justice.

It was something that he and Shinsu both understood: if you wanted justice in this twisted galaxy, you had to take it for yourself.

"Well, regardless," Ro'nin remarked, his attention divided between Shinsu and the present conversation. "I can't see this ending well for Shinsu. Even if he does succeed here, the humans will not let the Vadam government be replaced by another. Their spies and demons will come for him even if he is victorious."

"Yeah," Simon agreed, clenching his metal fingers into a fist. "ONI won't take that lying down." But he doubted that they'd ever gone up against a foe quite like Shinsu before. He didn't know the full story behind how the UNSC had toppled the Fallen, but if they thought Shinsu and the Cleansing Blade were anything like them, they would be in for quite a deadly surprise. In spite of everything, the thought of ONI biting off more than they could chew with the cunning warlord was enough to bring a slight smile to Simon's lips.

"Shinsu 'Refum against ONI," Diana mused, echoing his thoughts. "Now that would be a show worth watching. Once this one's over, of course."

"We've had our differences in the past," Ro'nin continued. "Like the time you cheated us out of the Demal bounty and the time you blew up a grenade in our ship."

"Huh," Simon said, shooting Ro'nin a dirty look. "I'm having a hard time remembering that stuff. Maybe the time you blew up my shuttle and tried to get me arrested were just too traumatizing."

Ro'nin clicked his mandibles. "Now, now, let's not be holding grudges here. My point is, we mercenaries have to stick together. I say we do the job, get paid, and get out before things come crashing down on Shinsu's head. Any longer is just asking for trouble."

"I'm in until he's taken out Vadam," Simon replied, resting his head against the Wraith chasis. "There needs to be some justice here. For Visag."

Ro'nin sighed and shook his head. "Do as you like. I just never took you for being a creature like Shinsu. You always seemed more practical than that, even if you were an annoying little vermin all the time. What happened to my father's keep was a tragedy, but massacres happen every day. You and I have both seen it, out on the frontier. Going after the killers and thinking you'll make any difference is little better than throwing away your life."

A few weeks ago, Simon would have agreed with an outcast like Ro'nin. But now, with Venter's dying screams still fresh in his ears, he knew that justice wasn't impossible. You just had to fight long and hard to get it. He still wasn't sure how this would play out, but for now as long as Shinsu kept the pay steady and gave him a chance to avenge Visag he'd fall in line with whatever the warlord ordered. I'm done letting all the murdering bastards get away with the things they do.

A shout from the warriors drew their attention back to Shinsu. The Cleansing Blade troops called out in approval as Shinsu yelled: "We give up all, our honor and our pride and our names, to give them a future once again! We take this evil upon ourselves to free our world from the bonds of corruption and tyranny! You have chosen to stand with me against the powers that sustain them. You have been loyal this far; now, will you join me in this greatest leap? Do I have your faith?"

The resounding cries that echoed throughout the hangar drowned out whatever it was that Diana said just then. But peering down at her hologram, Simon was almost positive that she was grinning from ear to ear.

Chapter Eight: Warrior Politics

"They will be assembled soon," Autel 'Vadam reported. "The representatives from Saka arrived last night."

The light in the private chamber was dim, but the special operations officer could still see the weariness in his father's eyes as Thel 'Vadam nodded. Once the supreme commander of the Covenant's elite vanguard, then the disgraced Arbiter, and now the closest thing the Sangheili had to a head of state, Thel sat at a simple desk while Autel gave his report. Although he tried to hide it as best he could, the years were beginning to catch up to Thel. He was nowhere near the age of a true elder, but the years since the Schism had not been kind to him.

"It will be two days before the council can begin in earnest," Thel said, calling up a small hologram and casting a yellow eye down a list of clans and their representatives. "Hopefully we will have something reassuring to offer them by then."

Autel gritted his mandibles. "I am not sure anything will have presented itself," he admitted. "Deno has been forced to end his investigations into the slaughter at Visag."

Thel sighed. "So I am told. No new leads?"

"None. All Deno's agents could say for certain was that the offending unit did in fact receive orders through an official channel. The source of those orders is still unclear. Deno says that, impossible as this sounds, that it simply does not appear to exist."

"And if even Deno cannot dig up the truth behind this tragedy, I see little any of our own teams can do to shed any light on it." Thel shook his head. "And in the meantime, the blame will continue to be placed on the government. And Vadam."

The room fell silent as father and son considered the implications. With the government already discredited by the human terror strikes, the added suspicion that they might somehow have conspired to eliminate a keep as venerable as Visag was threatening to split Sanghelios in two. Autel could already see it, a repeat of the Fallen civil war with roving militias clashing with government forces, leaving ruined keeps and villages in their wake. It was a horror he'd never thought he'd be forced to live through again. So much death, and now all those sacrifices may yet be for nothing.

"The Path Walkers have launched offensives across five systems," Thel told Autel after a moment's pause. "With things the way they are, I have had no choice but to commit elements of the home guard to shore up the defenses. Yet another action they will want my head for, I'm sure."

"You still have allies on the council," Autel reassured his father. "The naysayers have grown, but most keeps still support your leadership. Vadam's allies will quell the doubters once the session commences."

"Which will only strengthen the accusations that Vadam has used the Schism and Fallen conflict to strengthen its own power." Thel dismissed the hologram with a wave of his hand. "I am tired, Autel, very tired. Since the Schism I have tried to lead our people to peace. To mend the wounds of war and help the galaxy rebuild. But it seems that for every war there is simply another waiting behind it."

He shook his head. "Perhaps it is time for me to step down."

"Now?" Autel protested. "Even with the recent unrest, you remain the most respected warrior in Sanghelios's history. Our people need you now, more than ever."

Thel gave his son a tired smile. "Because my 'respect' has brought us such good fortune already."

Autel looked away. This wasn't proper, none of it. The Sangheili nobility's devotion to their keep's bloodlines made it just as necessary that bloodline have no bearing on an individual's place in society. Warriors needed to rise by their own merits--this was why a father did not reveal his identity to his sons and could only watch from afar as a brother raised them in his stead. Theirs was a society found upon the success and prosperity of the deserving rather than grooming and deference to heirs.

Autel should have been an officer in the service to his homeworld, nothing more. Yet here he was, conversing with the most powerful warrior on Sanghelios merely because he was that warrior's son.

I have earned this privilege, he reminded himself, keeping his gaze from Thel lest his father see his doubts reflected on his face. In this place of lies and betrayals, I am his only link to the home keep.

Yet that reasoning only helped strengthen the naysayers' cries that Vadam considered the rest of Sanghelios its vassal. In that instance, Autel truly understood how great a warrior Thel 'Vadam really was. The years since the Schism had seen nothing but war and chaos, yet Thel had spearheaded the efforts to bring order to Sangheili territory. Without him as a rallying point, the homeworld could very well have collapsed into a morass of infighting and clan feuds. Thel had borne the shame of disgrace, the betrayal of the Prophets, and now the heavy mantle of leadership that now threatened to drive him to his knees.

Tradition or not, I owe it to him as one warrior to another to support him in this time of need. Autel would worry about the ramifications of broken tradition later. For now, for this meeting, he needed to be wherever his father needed him to be.

"Hopefully, we can keep the council focused on the enemies beyond the homeworld," Thel continued. "These Path Walker attacks are no coincidence. Urei 'Cazal knows of this gathering, I'm sure. He hopes to sow the seeds of disunity by making us look weak in the face of his offensive. Already there are some peasant villages who are entertaining the notion that the Journey offered by the Path Walkers has some truth to it after all. Deno is trying to isolate the sources of these rumors and quell them without bloodshed. I am inclined to agree with him there. We do not want to see a resurrection of the Preserving Blade or any of the other militias that aided the Fallen."

"Deno and his intelligence network are discreet enough to help the kaidons keep their states in check without violating their sovereignty," Autel agreed. "We must focus our attention on the Path Walkers."

"And their new allies," Thel noted. "Reports from the attack on the Incumbent Wrath mentioned other warriors fighting alongside the Path Walkers. Fira identified their leader as Shinsu 'Refum, the Black Knight of Sanghelios."

"He has a grudge against Vadam," Autel admitted, quickly suppressing a shudder as he remembered how easily the Black Knight had cut his way through a line of special forces warriors. "But he is merely another one of Urei's pawns, as he was from the very beginning during the Fallen rebellion. He is of no real concern compared to the Path Walker threat."

"I hope you are right," Thel sighed. "The last thing we need is yet another warlord to rise from the ashes to take our current enemy's place. Once this war is over, we will need peace to rebuild our people. We have known nothing but war for decades now."