Halo: King of the Dead

This fanfiction article, Halo: King of the Dead, was written by Ajax 013. Please do not edit this fiction without the writer's permission.

Halo: King of the Dead, is a novella following the survivors of the CCS-class Battlecruiser, Sagacity as they hunt the Demon responsible for the loss of their ship, and their honour.

Chapter 1: Shame of the Sagacity

"On my blood, and my bloodline, I swear an oath!"

"I swear to command my warship in service to the Covenant."

"I swear to uphold the Fleetmaster's Command without question"

"My warship will be commanded justly and orderly."

"No discord will mar our harmony, nor will cowardice."

"With this honour, from the Prophets, before the Gods,"

"I shall command in their name."

―Shipmaster's Oath

Vun D’vir kneeled on the command deck of the flagship, staring down at floor. He’d held this position for over an hour, with one knee to the ground, his right hand propping him up, and his left arm over his knee, the Sangheili display of submission. His body was shaking, though not the exertion of holding this position. His body roiled with rage and shame, his jaws clenching so hard he drew blood from where fang met flesh. He glanced to the command screen to his left and saw the source of his anger. It showed a CCS-class Battlecruiser, or least the wreckage of one, slowly breaking apart. It had been rent into several pieces by a tremendous explosion, with purple-blue smoke billowing from the wreckage. It was once the ‘‘‘Sagacity’’’, his warship. Now it was his greatest shame. There was a sharp inhale of breath above him, causing him to look back to the ground. Anywhere else, and D’vir’s golden armour would have stood out, but it paled beside the deep and magnificent purple armour worn by the Fleetmaster who stood over him.

“Unbelievable. Utterly disgraceful.” The Fleetmaster growled, walking a circle around the kneeling warrior. “They told me it was a single warrior. One of their so called ‘Demons’, that boarded your ship- “

“I was unaware of its arr-” D’vir began.

“Silence Shipmaster!” the Fleetmaster barked. He paused for a moment. “Though you can hardly be called a Shipmaster now, with no ship to command…”

He walked past him to the side of the command deck, where D’vir’s Second knelt “We shall resume. A single human boarded your ship. It cut through your crew, and sabotaged the vessel. Even worse, this worm managed to steal the Navigation Core from your ship! With such a device, it will be privy to the journeys our Fleet has undertaken thus far. The Prophets have ordered strict secrecy for our fleets, and Fleet Security are incensed by your lapse in vigilance. Their commander wants your head.”

The Fleetmaster paused a moment longer. Blood dripped from D’vir’s mouth where he bit ever harder, now shaking with barely contained rage.

“You will make amends for this failure, Shipmaster. Rise, and walk with me.” The Fleetmaster commanded.

D’vir exhaled, trying to steady his breath. He rose to his feet, ignoring the lingering ache in his legs from holding that position, and stepped to the side of the Fleetmaster. The Fleetmaster walked closer to the sprawling viewscreen ahead of them. As well as the ‘‘‘Sagacity’’’, it showed the DDR-class Bladder Ship the Demon stowed away from, it too burning, venting jets of plasma from its sabotage. Beneath both of them was a planet— or rather, the dead husk of one. D’vir forgot the crude name humanity gave it, he only knew that they’d burned it several cycles ago. The surface was mostly ash and glass now, with dust storms, and thunderclouds visible even from this height.

“Sensor sweeps showed it fled your ship in an escape pod, and landed in the remains of a city on that world. I fear it is awaiting rescue so it can escape with its prize. You will take your surviving men, and remaining war machines, and undertake a mission of penance.” The Fleetmaster cast a glance over D’vir “You will slay the demon, and retrieve the navigation core, or die trying. Is that understood?”

D’vir nodded slowly, still staring at his beautiful warship, now reduced to a dispersing cloud of debris.

“You will be given a signal buoy with which to communicate with us to say you have been successful. If you are not heard from, a ship will arrive in 3 days to fetch you and your men.”

D’vir turned to his commander and dropped back to his knees, this time clutching a closed fist to his chest in salute “Thank you Fleetmaster!” he cried emphatically.

The Fleetmaster turned his back on D’vir “Come back a demon slayer, or do not return back at all.”

---

The bulkhead closed behind D’vir, finally blocking out the view of his beloved warship, obliterated by sabotage. Next to him stood his second, Eran ‘Fadyr. He’d been a loyal warrior and companion for as long as they knew one another. He’d been his Second, almost as long as he had been an Obedientiary. His red toned armour marked him as an Officer, though his position as the Second of an esteemed Shipmaster elevated him above some of the more rank and file officers.

“This is excellent, Shipmaster, this means we have a chance to avenge ourselves, to regain glory.” ‘Fadyr exclaimed.

D’vir continued walking, not even looking back to his subordinate who followed a few steps behind.

“Your warriors will be overjoyed with this chance.” ‘Fadyr began, trailing off as he attempted to scan his commander’s mood “Do you not agree?”

D’vir let out a low growl, thinking of the previous night. Last night, as alarms blared and running battles spread through his ship, he’d given ‘Fadyr an order. Vent the oxygen from the lower decks. Suffocate the beastly invader. ‘Fadyr refused at first. He’d asked the Shipmaster to reconsider, as that would kill hundreds of his own warriors. He practically begged for him to deploy the Evocatus complement, the Spec Ops lance, even their Swordmaster. They were refused. He reluctantly followed his orders, and vented the decks. Their comms were deafened by calls from loyal warriors begging for air, choking, suffocating. Not that it mattered. The demon carried on without pause, seemingly unfazed by the lack of air. It cut through a bulkhead, in the process causing an explosive decompression that tore a rent in the ship’s hull. The first of such wounds that resulted in its death.

“…yes, I do.” He said.

---

D’vir walking into the cavernous cargo bay, ‘Fadyr trailing close behind. He slowed to a stop in front of his surviving warriors, his officers immediately barking orders for their warriors and thralls to fall into line. His warriors moved into an orderly formation, then dropped to their knees and saluted. Normally he had a Warhost almost seven thousand strong, now he had a force barely a fifth that. Twenty officers, four hundred warriors, seven hundred thralls. They had recovered three Phantoms, and a dozen Ghosts. He cast a discerning gaze over his warriors. He was thankful that of those who survived, many were his finest. Even just scanning the front row showed him most of the Evocati detachment survived, as did his highly prized special operations warriors. His eyes wandered further back where lances of Sangheili, Unggoy, and Kig-Yar, he was thankful to see the distinctive green harnesses of the Skirmisher Commandos that served him. He eyed his favourite, and least favourite officers amongst the survivors too. Favourites would no longer matter, as he needed all the resources at his command to regain his honour. His warriors had reformed into Lances, Files, and Sections, to become a Demi-Warhost. Most of them had taken casualties, so many new, ad-hoc units had been formed.

He opened his jaws, as if to speak, and held a moment, before speaking to the assembled warriors “My brave comrades!” he began, shouting above the din of the cargo bay “We have been shamed! A human, a ‘’’demon’’’, made its way onto our ship, killed our fellows, and stole away with our vital Navigation Core. He tore the heart from our ship, and escaped to the ravaged world below.”

He paced in front of his men now, holding his hands behind his back “Now, we have been given the opportunity to avenge this grave trespass! Now we will pursue that fell beast back to its warren, and slay  it. Our honour is at stake, and the restless souls of our slain comrades call for vengeance! Will you not answer this call!” he shouted, his voice raising to a booming crescendo. He raised his fist into the air and bellowed “Now come with me, to regain our honour and avenge the slain!”

Most of his troops raised their fists into the air and roared back. Some did not. D’vir took careful look over his warrior’s reactions. He continued to brief his men, telling them of their orders, and of the signal buoy, and the relief arriving in 3 days. To some boring minutiae, but vital mission details nonetheless. With the briefing completed, his warriors assembled, and prepared to deploy.

---

The surviving Phantoms of the ‘‘‘Sagacity’’’ escorted two large transport vessels down onto the shattered world. They’d chosen a landing zone, that would double as their base camp. They would unload, and the transports would withdraw, leaving them to begin their hunt. As the ships descended, the leading officers had assembled in a briefing room on the main transport. Around the conference table sat the highest ranking Sangheili officers on the ship. They were joined by a Skirmisher Champion. D’vir was on his feet, back to the table as they discussed the hunt ahead.

At this moment, the heated discussion in the room was being chaired by one of the few D’vir still trusted in this room. Thenn ‘Wadarc commanded a lance of Special Operations warriors that served as their elite forces, to the chagrin of their Evocati fellows. They were his favourite subordinates, as they had never failed him. ‘Wadarc and his men were loyal, and served him without fail. He was somewhat thinner than the normal Sangheili, and wore the sleek, and enigmatic armour associated with Special Operations.

“This response is out of proportion. Its one human! I take my lance, with the Shipmaster, and return with its head before the moon has completed a cycle.” He bragged.

D’vir gave a barely discernible smile at his suggestion. ‘Wadarc was immediately drowned out by loudest voice in the room, which belonged to largest Sangheili there. Clad in the pearlescent white armour of an Evocati, Jerric ‘Kadotas was the assigned delegate of the Evocati sworn to D’vir’s service. D’vir’s subtle smile turned into a sneer. Warriors that thought themselves above command joined the ranks of Evocati, forming a coterie of elite warriors that focused only on battle skill. They often had to be held on a tight leash by D’vir, for fear they’d take to the field and gain glory without him. He had awarded them many opportunities for glory on his own terms, but they rarely thanked him.

“Have you ever organized a hunt?” ‘Kadotas growled, wrapping the knuckles of his clenched fist on the table in agitation “You assume were hunting some human officer in the heat of battle. You saw what it did on the ‘‘‘Sagacity’’’. You saw it tear through experienced warriors.”

“You give it too much credit. It slipped onto our ship like a thief, and murdered like a thief. We corner the creature, and it will die just like the rest.” ‘Wadarc chuckled

“Such complacency is what got us into this mess.” ‘Fadyr interrupted. ‘Wadarc frowned at the second, deeming him beneath himself.

“And you, Second. You were told your orders, and you refused them. A less magnanimous Shipmaster may have had you executed for treason.” ‘Wadarc hissed.

“Quiet fool.” The Evocati hissed “Do not think to speak for the Shipmaster.”

The command room began to erupt into an argument between the Ultra and the Spec Ops officers. ‘Fadyr tried to calm them, to no avail. D’vir could not help but notice the fifth Sangheili in the room, who remained quiet. Furthest from D’vir sat the silent Ghel ‘Sebatai. An excellent swordmaster, sworn to his service as reward from the Fleetmaster, his presence always set D’vir ill at ease. D’vir feared, in private, that his men admired ‘Sebatai more than himself. He saw ‘Sebatai’s strengths as his own weaknesses.  He kept him close, otherwise he may run to the nearest battlefield and gain a glorious death, and the cost of D’vir’s honour. Such was his station that he was afforded to wear golden armour, like his superiors, though far less decorative than his own. D’vir had also privately entertained the thought that ‘Sebatai may be younger than himself, but lacked the hot blooded impetuous of younger Sangheili, making him somewhat of an enigma.

Amidst the argument, one force spoke, just loud enough to be heard over the quarrelling Sangheili. The croaking, raspy voice came from the Skirmisher Champion present, Skas Maj. “My lord, if I may speak.”

“Do not intervene in an argument between your betters!” ‘Wadarc roared, standing up from his seat. D’vir raised his hand, silencing him.

“I value your thoughts and skills. Speak.” D’vir said softly. He’d come to rely on the lethality and hunting process of Skas and his Commandos, though he found their trophy taking somewhat… unpalatable. He’d been allowed to attend this meeting because D’vir valued the Skirmisher’s input on such matters.

He cleared his gular sack, and spoke “We are not fighting an army, or even a resistance. We hunt only one human. Demon or not, it is one human. We know where it is, we have superior numbers. We treat this like a hunt. We close in on it, we hunt it down, force it into a corner, and kill it.” He said. ‘Sebatai nodded in approval.

“And of course, you wish to take its skull as a trophy.” D’vir chortled.

The T’vaon let out a short chuckle “You know me well my lord.”

“Fine. We establish a ground base, then begin the process of cornering the demon, and killing it. Are we in agreement?”

“Aye!” the room replied emphatically, par ‘Sebatai, the soft-spoken warrior barely above his normal volume. D’vir took note of such things, as always.

The intercom buzzed, and a voice came through “Are are preparing to set down now, Shipmaster.”

D’vir looked to his warriors “To your stations.”

Chapter 2: Pursuit

"Planet ZB-3 Theta, local designation 'Cairn', had been discovered during a routine sweep of the sector, utilising encoded pulse shifting to ascertain the position of human colonies in the immediate territory. We initially deployed a surveyor force to ascertain the heretic's defensive measures. No decent defensive force was found. The Fleet of the Divine Eclipse, from the Ministry of Resolution, arrived in system 17 cycles later. The battle lasted for 15 cycles, and 12 units, before human cohesion and defence failed. Our casualties were light, while humans lost 13 light tonnage warships, and 2 heavy tonnage warships, and an estimated demi-legion sized ground force. Last pockets of resistance were given absolution from orbit with sacred fire. It is estimated that only 3600 humans escaped our wrath. Post battle exploration suggests the planet is ideal to serve as a refuelling base as we push further into the human sphere."

―Battle report compiled by Seneschal Vikir 'Kyranum, Eye of the Prophet

As with any military operation, it must be launched from a strong base of operation. D’vir repeated this to himself as he observed the slow-moving progress on setting up their camp. They’d built a perimeter fence of shred-wire and barriers, with strategic entry points protected by barricades and fortifications, and within the camp they had begun erecting the structures they needed to wage war. Tents for troops to rest in, a command tent to direct the hunt, an armoury, a fortified structure to contain the Signal Buoy, a covered garage for their vehicles, and a methane structure for the Unggoy to have brief spells in without respirators. A number of menials were busy using plas-cutters to clear ground and lay down a landing pad for speeding up the deployment. Even with D’vir’s keen oversight, and his officers cracking the whips, so to speak, deployment was far too slow for his liking.

He watched from the slight incline the command tent sat on, giving him a good overview of the camp. He clicked his jaws in dissatisfaction, and began to walk around the camp, hoping his gaze would empower his warriors to work harder. The camp ground was in what was once a park, the remains of trees and sculptures cut away by the landing forces. It was situated in the centre of a fallen city, struck by orbital fire from Covenant fleets several cycles previous. The city was mostly in ruins, with many buildings collapsed, dilapidated, or melted to glass. The glassing had cursed the environment too, resulting in suffocating dust clouds that intermittently swept the city. The entire place was covered in a thick layer of ashen dust, giving the city a grey-brown coating. Not a single living thing, not even a blade of grass, survived the wrath of the Covenant.

D’vir lingered on this dead place, and wonder what madness drove the demon to come here. Perhaps other humans came to meet him here? Perhaps he had a nest or warren to hide in? He grunted to himself, giving the beast far too much credit. His swift action in repelling it drove the demon to take the desperate measure of escaping down here. He was pulled from his thoughts by a familiar call.

“Shipmaster!” ‘Fadyr called, approaching him with haste “I have news.”

He dropped to his knee, saluting him. “Our air patrol found the escape pod. Vander File is on station to investigate the wreck.”

D’vir gave a beckoning motion, for him to get up “Have them track the demon, but do not engage.”

‘Fadyr nodded, and walked away and beckoned over an Unggoy to communicate back to the File.

---

Kenda ‘Toranu observed the fallen escape pod from the side door of his Phantom transport. Satisfied with what he saw, he turned back to his warriors. “The order is, investigate, but do not engage.” ‘Toranu said, looking to his File. He gazed at their faces, with over half of them being new to the File.

‘Toranu had long served as a warrior. First in his local militia when he was a teenager, then as a warrior in the Covenant. He’d served on the ‘’’Sagacity’’’ for three cycles, two of them as an Officer. During those two years, he’d forged his File into a strong, cohesive fighting unit. He had no interest in pretending to be an overlord, like some fellow Officers, and instead raised his warriors up through strong leadership. But that came to nought when the Sagacity was destroyed. One Lance had been killed outright fighting in the lower decks, while another died when the ship was destroyed, having failed to make it to escape pods. His File was now merged with a group of survivors from another File. He had four Sangheili warriors at his disposal, with ‘Pracha and ‘Denthol from his original File, and ‘Renache and ‘Lhethier transferred in from damaged Files. He lost his Kig-Yar thralls, and some Unggoy thralls, and they were replaced with new survivors. They’d been formed into four Lances, with three Lances of Unggoy, and one Kig-Yar lance, all lead by a Sangheili. He grumbled to himself, dissatisfied with an order just to pursue. He’d lost good men to that demon, he wanted vengeance too.

The Phantom dipped closer to the ground, the doors dropping for them to unload. The pilot grunted something, a sign for him to disembark. He led first, leaping onto the dusty ground, covering his mouth to shield from the dust. He felt a leader should always lead from the front, and espoused that belief in all he did. His men followed closely, fanning into a semi-circular formation on each side of the Phantom. The Phantom took off, returning to base, with the distinct whine disappearing shortly after. They manoeuvred into a cordon formation, setting up a perimeter around the escape pod, while two of his warriors clambered up the ruins to investigate it. They were absent a few moments, before one returned to his side.

“Empty. No sign of damage or injury. The demon made it down unharmed.” ‘Denthol reported.

“Fine, hunting formation. Take Unggoy files on the left and right flank, and rear. ‘Pracha come with me on lead, with your Kig-Yar.” He ordered.

His men began moving into position, though his newer files were slower on the uptake. He raised his plasma rifle to a resting position, and took lead. His men fanned into a wide formation, with his men taking flanking positions. One of the Kig-Yar squawked, signalling that he’d found the trail. ‘Toranu trotted over, and observed his findings. Heavy human foot prints, moving away from the escape pod.

“Excellent work, we’ll move on this, follow the trail.”

His team fell into a tighter formation, and moved forward, keeping the trail. The street was littered with debris, and ruined vehicles, but the trail was easy enough to follow. The file moved with great precision, even with the newer members, moving over wreckage, and stepping over decaying skeletons. ‘Pracha kept close to ‘Toranu’s side.

“Sir, to be kept on observation like this. It isn’t right. The Demon killed our brothers.” He growled, quietly enough that the Kig-Yar did not hear.

“I know brother, but our orders are absolute.” ‘Toranu replaced, side stepping a fallen lamp post “But should we catch the demon by accident? We’d surely have to kill it in self-defence.” He smile.

‘Pracha returned the smile and gave a single, approving snort. They followed the trail another hundred cubits, keeping a good pace, until the Kig-Yar keeping the trail squawked again.

“What’s wrong?” ‘Pracha asked.

“The trail sir!” the Kig-Yar whined.

‘Toranu walked over, and immediately saw the problem. The trail just ended. It was the middle of the street, with no means of climbing off the street, or entering a building. He stared at it a moment, dumb struck. Something gnawed at the back of his mind, but he couldn’t not reason what it was.

“Perhaps the demon began covering its tracks, realising it would be followed.” ‘Pracha reasoned.

“Sir, ahead!” another Kig-Yar called, pointing to a building some distance down the road. It was taller than the other structures, surrounded by a circular road and a large open plaza, with the building partially overhanging it. There was a small column of fire rising from the damaged roof top.

“It must have covered the tracks, and hid there, setting up camp.” ‘Pracha reasoned.

‘Toranu nodded. It was a sound assessment. He lead the File further, spreading into a wider formation as they kept a good and even pace.

“Flanking Lances, move through buildings and side streets, keep together. Rear guard, fall back a distance and keep overwatch.” He ordered over the radio.

He got a resounding “Aye!” as his answer, as they continued. ‘Denthol and ‘Renache lead their lances to each side of the street, disappearing into the warren of damaged buildings and claustrophobic alleys. The building was closer now, with a wide boulevard covering the entrance. He signalled for them to slow, and ducked by the ruins of a human transport.

“There’s many windows there, with plenty of means to fire upon us…” he said, observing the building. “Kig-Yar, keep your shields up, prepare to defend us if they fire.” They nodded and shuffled somewhat closer.

“’Denthol,  ‘Renache, move your forces to over watch, we will advance to the building.” He ordered over the radio.

“Aye.” Came ‘Denthol’s voice.

“’Renache?” he called. Silence followed. His jaws clenched slightly. His stomach knotted, but he ignored it.

“The buildings could be disrupting our communications…” ‘Pracha reasoned.

‘Toranu nodded, accepting this.

“We will advance, ‘Lhethier will follow, followed by ‘Denthol.”

His signalled for his Lance to move, and broke into a sprint across the open boulevard. His warriors followed close, skipping over ruined transports and ducking under fallen lampposts with ease. They slowed as they reached the entrance to the building, some kind of large office as far as ‘Denthol could determine.

“We have arrived, report?”

“This is ‘Lhethier, I’m moving.” His lance began to move, slowed by the hunched trots of the Unggoy. ‘Toranu glanced back to see them weaving between the gridlock of wrecked vehicles, with them intermittently disappearing from view.

“’Denthol?” ‘Toranu asked into his radio. There was a short burst of radio static, then silence.

“More interference from the buildings?” ‘Pracha asked.

‘Toranu nodded, slowly this time. He was feeling less certain. He raised his rifle, taking aim, and led the File into the building, scanning the area with caution. They were in a large atrium, with a staircase leading to an upper atrium. Every nerve was active, looking for ambushes. His lance dropped into a column formation, as was dictated as standard protocol for urban suppression by their superiors. The formation dropped into a longer column, for fear of explosives causing multiple casualties. They ascended a staircase, putting the entrance out of sight.

This creature was certainly a tricky one, more so than any other worm he fought. He thought, of tricky opponents he’d fought before. He was barely a teenager, when his father allowed him to join him as a militia man for the State of ‘Solodos. They hunted a bandit who had killed a woman during a robbery. He’d fled into the desert, and hid in a canyon, or so they thought. They followed his tracks, but he attacked them from behind. Two men were killed, and ‘Toranu’s father was injured. They’d discovered that the bandit had walked to the shack, then stepped backwards over his own tracks, circling behind them but leaving only one set of tracks.

The knot in ‘Toranu’s stomach tightened. Had the demon been so crafty? Had he tricked them? It meant the demon was behind them… but that… that could not be possible. Even through the concrete valleys around them, he’d hear gunshots from his allies putting up a fight.

“Lhethier… join us immediately, get to our position now.” He ordered curtly.

“Of course sir.” He replied.

“Sir?” ‘Pracha asked.

‘Toranu’s slowed their forward movement to a crawl, dropping his pace right down. “What if we made a mistake? What if the demon double backed, walking over his own trail, and circling around us?” he said through gritted teeth. He looked straight ahead, still feverishly scanning the atrium they stood in, hoping the demon may appear.

“Impossible sir.” He scoffed

“And what if he’s already taken out our flanks, and he’s closely pursued us here.” ‘Toranu said. His stomach knotted harder.

There was complete silence behind him.

‘Toranu tensed up, his whole body stiffening. All his senses began to scream that he was in danger. Both his hearts sped up so fast that he felt that they’d explode. His body grew clammy as it heated up. His breathing grew faster, with regulation becoming almost impossible.

“’Pracha?” he asked, his voice breaking.

Silence.

Now he was rapidly panting. He could feel his heart in both ears, pounding. His hands began to shake. He’d never experienced such dread, such terror. The silence was perhaps the most deafening thing he ever heard. He gritted his teeth. He wouldn’t die, he thought to himself. Not like this. He refused. With every ounce of energy, he snapped his waist around, rifle levelled and fired.

---

D’vir looked up, along with the whole camp, as the distant sound of plasma fire echoed towards them. He immediately pressed his communicator.

“Vander File, report!” he was met with radio silence. “Vander File, I order you to report!”

He cast a glance to ‘Wadarc, who had finished unloading with his unit, and motioned to a parked Phantom. He understood immediately, and saluted, and motioned to his men in turn, running to the Phantom. D’vir began to follow when ‘Fadyr called for him.

“Shipmaster, I’ll bring the Evocati, and three Files with us. It will take us a short time to prepare.”

“I cannot wait! Have them meet us there.” D’vir ordered sternly.

He clambered onto the Phantom’s side door, and ordered the pilot to Vander File’s last position. ‘Faydr chased after him, his protests drowned out by the sound of the Phantom taking off.

---

The Phantom had circled the building twice now, and their communicators were still silent. D’vir kneeled on the loading ramp on the starboard side and scowled at the continued silence.

“Pilot, bring us down.” ‘Wardarc ordered. Turning back to his commander, he clicked his jaws “The Demon couldn’t have possibly slain twenty-one warriors with only a single shot fired in return…”

D’vir snorted, and stepped off as soon as the Phantom touched down. They formed into a semi-circular formation, D’vir on lead, and entered the building. They stepped through the shattered doors, and into the foyer. D’vir growled as he spotted a member of Vander File. A Kig-Yar lay face down in the dust, droplets of dark purple blood around its neck, with droplets on the ground. D’vir’s nose was assaulted by the smell of Kig-Yar blood, a smell that got stronger as they strode forward. Another Kig-Yar lay down, blood staining the dust beneath him where it flowed from his neck. Each one died within a few cubits of the other, but all died without seemingly raising the alarm. Another dead Kig-Yar, followed by a fourth, and a fifth. Then, a dead Sangheili. He was on his knees, body resting on his heels, and slightly hunched over. His deep indigo blood stained the front of his armour and pooled beneath him. He had a slack jawed impression, as if surprised, or confused. His plasma rifle lay discarded next to him, dropped as he desperately clawed at his throat to stop the bleeding.

Last of all was the officer, ‘Toranu. He was the only one that apparently faced his assailant, evident from the fact he died facing his Lance. His body lay on its side, facing the door way they’d entered through. His plasma rifle was an arm’s length away, and still hot from firing. ‘Toranu’s neck had also been cut, he’s hands stained with his own blood when he tried to stem the bleeding. There was a second injury, where he was stabbed beneath the jaw, and into his cranium. The most disturbing thing about this scene was his expression. His jaws were parted, his eyebrows raised, and his eyes dilated. He was terrified when he died.

D’vir was speechless as he looked at this scene. All his pomp and bravado had petered out, and most of the colour in his face had drained. ‘Wadarc kneeled to look close, moving one of ‘Toranu’s hands to look at the blows inflicted on him.

“The demon cut both his sinistral and dextral artery… blood flowed into his airways and silenced his speech. This blow was with a great amount of precision, from somebody experienced in assassinating Sangheili…” he remarked.

“What are you, an admirer of his work?!” D’vir snarled, his senses returning “He’s an assassin then, an honourless worm who cannot fight as a warrior.”

“Shipmaster… perhaps caution should be advised. He likely took out the entire File in this manner.” ‘Wadarc replied.

“He’s close, he could not have gotten far. Prepare to pursue him.” He ordered sternly “Somebody pick up his trail!”

The warriors loosened their formation, and one shouted “I found his trail!”

They began to move out onto the street, where his foot prints moved deeper into the city. They showed the demon was running, and running fast. With a roar that reverberated through the ruined streets, D’vir sprinted in pursuit, his warriors following close. D’vir would slay this demon and avenge his men.

Chapter 3: In the Company of the Dead

"These heretics have saved, perhaps, their gravest of evils for last. They have brought forth their demons, creatures created from fell practices, and blood sacrifices. These Demons are foul beings, possessed of stolen strength, and conduct rituals of a heinous nature. Such disgusting deviation cannot be tolerated by the faithful, and it is the duty of each member of this holy Covenant to hunt them down, and destroy them. Let it be known that the Demons are not to be feared, only to be loathed and hated. This is the will of the Gods, spoken by your Prophet."

―The Prophet of Truth, in his Sermon outside the Temple of the Consecrated Gods, Ninth Age of Reclamation, Twelfth Solar Cycle, Fifth Monthly Cycle, Second Weekly Cycle, Second Cycle

D’vir bounded over wrecked barricades, and over turned vehicles, leaving a dust trail in his wake. He would not stop until he closed with his prey. In full armour, a Sangheili could sprint fast enough to catch a fleeing Keifra at full gallop. A human, laden in armour, would be far slower prey. Even so, he’d been sprinting after his prey for twenty minutes, and his legs began to ache. However, he would not tire. He was in his prime, he was well fed, he had plenty of reserves, as did his men. The Lance of Seven warriors following him weren’t even panting, still following him closely. The demon evidently had tried to shake them. False stops, switching paths, and double backing on itself all failed to throw them off. It moved into one of the large buildings, and scaled a staircase further up.

“We have it now…” he said under his breath.

The demon had surely taken him on a merry chase, bu sand blasted ruins, across cratered roads, and through buildings that still burned from glassing. In his hand he held his energy sword, though it remained deactivated. It would taste blood soon. He could sense victory was close. He led his Lance, with his warriors following closely up the stairs, only narrow enough for single file. They had to duck through the narrow doorways, preferred by the small and pathetic humans.

“Closer, closer. I can smell the beast.” He growled

He burst through the final door at the top of the stairs, splintering the reinforced door to pieces with his shoulder. He immediately saw the demon ahead of him, standing amidst fallen cubicles and damaged desks. This was the closest he had been to his nemesis since it tore through the Sagacity, and the first time he’d been face to face with it. It was big, for a human, bigger than he expected. The heavy armour it wore enhanced its large physique, while the dull golden reflection of its visor gave nothing away of its face. It stood so visually, no weapon in hand, its back turned to the group. It glanced over its shoulder at them and turned away, seemingly uncaring that eight elite warriors had caught it. Its grey armour was further tarnished by the persist dust of this world, giving it a worn appearance. D’vir could see the armoured pod affixed to its back, carrying the navigation core he had to destroy.

“Come demon, my vengeance is at hand…”  D’vir announced, activating his blade.

His sword came alive, projecting a startlingly beautiful blade of silver-blue sun-fire. He raised his blade into an attack stance and began to step forward with measured footwork.

“Nowhere to run…” ‘Wadarc smiled, his unit fanning into a line to prevent its escape.

They had ascended ten floors, it could choose a good death by the blade, or jump to its death like a coward. It chose to jump. The demon bounded forward, smashing through the glass window ahead of it and fell.

D’vir roared in frustration and charged forward, stopping at the ledge to look down on the demon. He’d at least witness its death; it could not deny him that pleasure. The demon fell, keeping its body vertical, then landed on the hood of a destroyed car feet first, crushing it, then rolling off the vehicle in a forward roll. It stood back up and looked up, then turned and ran, sprinting. D’vir was speechless. He witnessed human frailty first hand, but this was unprecedented! This thing jumped from this height without injury, and still ran without impediment. Even watching it run he was startled, this thing sprinted faster than he’d imagined possible, far in excess of what he could.

“By the gods, what manner of creature is it.” One of the Spec Ops troopers uttered, in disbelief.

“One we will kill today.” D’vir hissed back.

‘Wadarc continued to watch it as it ran into a large open area filled with craters and a single structure at the centre. It looked to be some kind of bunker, or reinforced structure, like a shelter.

“Quickly, it looks like its going to hide there.” ‘Wadarc posited.

D’vir nodded, and ran back to the stairwell.

---

The Lance exited the building, and ran across the open space ahead of it. This had once, in better days, been a communal area, something of a park, but it was repurposed into a fallout shelter as the threat of the Covenant grew closer. Of course, they were ignorant to this idea, or simply didn’t care. The entrance was partially buried into the ground, and visible once you got closer. The large, heavy bulkheads, each the same width as a Wraith tank, were partially open, room enough for two of them to step through at a time. D’vir ordered his unit to slow, and entered first, sword in hand. He clambered over the accumulated dust, and stepped inside.

There was no lighting in here, with the only illumination cast by the few scan beams of light from outside. This was a long corridor of pitted and damaged concrete, with cracks, likely from the bombardment outside. With the whole unit past the door, they moved into a shorter formation, making use of their numbers in this enclosed space. Struggling with the darkness, D’vir tapped on his left shoulder, and a recessed illuminator sprang out, casting a deathly pale light ahead of him. The Special Operations warriors had various enhancements available through their helmets, for the benefit of their leader they followed suit and deployed their own illuminators. With these lights guiding their way, they advanced slowly into the bunker. D’vir kept his breath under tight control, regulating it to keep his hearts flowing steadily, and his well-trained troops did the same. Each kept looking into dark corners, or into vaulted ceilings for the Demon. He was so preoccupied with looking for an ambush, that he failed to notice his steps, and stepped onto something hard and brittle. It cracked loudly under his feet, drawing the attention of the whole unit. They looked down as D’vir withdrew his foot, showing a shattered femur. Looking across the floor, they noticed it was strewn with bones, devoid of the flesh that once bound them. The presence of a human skull confirmed they were in the presence of dead humans. ‘Wadarc contemptuously stomped on the skull, shattering it beneath his foot. As they moved forward, the number of bones grew, until they became a carpet of the fallen. Ahead of them was another bulkhead, this one also partially open. D’vir lead the way, slipping through, gazed on the scene in front of him.

It was a large, cavernous chamber, with the far walls being far enough away that his illuminator could not see them. Beneath him was an ossuary, a field of human bones that was deep enough he sank to his knees. His jaws clenched as he observed this. ‘Wadarc stepped through behind him and looked, his helmet hiding his expression.

“I see… humans fled here to escape the bombardment…” he began “but, no worm may flee our holy fire.”

They moved forward, wading through the sea of bones as they attempted to spot the creature. The bones produced an echoing clatter as they walked over them.

“Why would it come here? To a place so filled with death…” one warrior uttered.

“Perhaps it wanted to die in the company of its own dead? Or pay some kind of respect to the fallen?” another replied.

At this point, the lance had moved into a wide line formation, each warrior stood a few metres from the next, but close enough to see and hear them, even in this darkness. D’vir stood at the centre, stopping dead.

“Shipmaster?” ‘Wadarc asked. “Is something bothering you?”

D’vir stood still, sword clenched tightly in his hand. “Why did it come here, ‘Wadarc? It could easily have continued running… no, I think it lured us here…” he whispered, almost as if he didn’t believe it himself.

“That’s preposterous, as if it would be so smart as t- “

Behind them, the carpet of bones suddenly shifted, and from it sprang a figure. Bones exploded into the air, and dropped away, almost like a geyser would with water. The demon. It had pieces of bones crudely tied to its armour, camouflaging itself with the corpses of its fellow dead. D’vir barely had enough time to look over his shoulder as it levelled its gun. In that split second, he chuckled to himself. He’d seen the crude weapons humanity utilised; Chemical explosions to throw metallic slugs. Effective, in their own barbaric way, but against their enhanced shielding it’d long expend its ammunition before hurting them. Of course, D’vir never paid attention to human weapons it details, otherwise he may have been more worried. This was a long weapon, covered in a black coating, with a simplistic pump to reload the shells. And the shells? Devices of the demon’s own cunning artifice.

As D’vir’s sense of time slowed, the demon raised his weapon to his hip, not needing to bother with greater accuracy at this range. It levelled the weapon to the warrior to D’vir’s right, and fired a shot. D’vir’s vision was blinded by a gout of flame erupting from the weapon, a luminous flash in the dark. The flame hit the warrior in the back, with sparks and wisps of fire bouncing off him and briefly illuminating the room. His shielding erupted into a corona of blue light, before crackling and fading, all in a split second. His armour cracked, his flesh ruptured, and bones shattered, and a spray of flaming shrapnel and purple blood erupted from his chest.

Both of D’vir’s hearts jumped to full speed, pounding hard. His body flooded with hormones that enhanced his reactions. Time continued to slow around him, as if drained by an unseen reaper. Some called this a Warrior’s High. Even so, with his enhanced reactions, the demon still out paced him. His movements were fluid and purposeful, there was no wasted energy. It racked the pump on the front of their weapon, expelling a spent shell, and turned to the next warrior in line. He was beginning to turn to the demon when the second shell fired. Another gout of flame, blinding his vision again with the white-hot flame. The warrior was shredded in a hail of fire, his upper body twisting and snapping from the force of the impact, and falling down into the mass of skulls beneath them. It already smelled of charred flesh, the smell growing stronger.

D’vir was still turning, moving as fast as his body would allow, yet the demon still moved faster. It ejected another spent casing, and turned to another warrior, one who’d finally turned to face him. His upper-body disappeared in a tongue of flame, his body still burning as it fell onto the mass grave at their feet.

In a motion practice a thousand times, and mastered in a hundred battles, D’vir drew his sword and rotated his body followed by his legs to face the demon. Now he would carve the beast in half. His light illuminated just how unpleasant it looked. Bones, some of them scorched by plasma, had been tied to its armour to create a disguise. Femurs, tibias, and humerus bones tied to the limbs, ribs hung across its chest, and shoulder blades masked its back. If he had not known the demon was present, he might have assumed this was some grotesque revenant, born from the thousands of corpses down here, risen to take vengeance on their murderers. The demon levelled the weapon at him. D’vir wasn’t close enough. The demon would kill him before he swung. At that moment he thought, perhaps this was a monster, summoned by the angry dead to avenge them. Perhaps this is his moment to die.

“Shipmaster!” a voice called. It seemed so distant to him.

A rough impact hit his side, knocking him sprawling into the dead at their feet. The weapon fired, engulfing the brave warrior who shoved D’vir out of its path. He dropped dead, with barely a whimper, slain outright by the crude and terrible weapon. As he tried to regain his footing, he saw another of the lance taking an overhead swing at the demon, close enough to now cut it in half. The demon caught it with his left hand, the warrior’s right bracer crushed in its merciless grip. It raised the shotgun again, and fired, at almost point-blank range. There was a wave of fire that washed over him, even splashing back onto the demon. The warrior collapsed, his burning body illuminating the darkness that consumed them. It racked another shell without a wasted second. The demon suddenly ducked, dropping its posture low to the ground as plasma bolts whizzed over its head. The youngest of the Lance, ‘Herani, screamed as he fired, having witnessed five brothers slain within moments. The demon fired again. ‘Herani’s screams of anger turned into screams of pain. He was out of D’vir’s line of sight, he could not tell his fate, only that he screamed for his mother.

‘Wadarc closed the distance now, sword in hand. D’vir was back on his feet, sword in hand. Two expert swordsmen, now close enough to kill it!  The beast was through! He neglected to aim, and instead pulled a tubular device from the network of patches and objects from its chest. It tossed it into the air ahead of them, and ducked. At that moment, D’vir’s image was consumed in a blinding flash, accompanied by a deafening bang. His vision went white, and he lost the footing on the charge, tripping and falling into the unwelcoming bed of bones, his sword clattering free of his grip. His vision warped with afterimages seared into his eyes, and the deafening bang stilling ringing in his ears. He found himself on his hands and knees, staring down at a lifeless skull. In a panic, he immediately rolled over and saw ‘Wadarc. ‘Wadarc was kneeling down, clutching a deep wound on his shoulder, blood running down his chest and coating the white bones beneath. D’vir looked at him in confusion. Something about this scene was wrong, out of place. There were two hands on his head, one below the jaw, and one behind the crown, gripping it like a vice. They belonged to the demon, who stood proud as a victor behind ‘Wadarc.

Wadarc’s jaws moved, as if to call out for him. D’vir tried to read his speech, though his vision was still returning.

“Help me” he mouthed silently.

The demon violently turned his head, twisting in nearly 180 degrees. While his hearing was still disrupted, D’vir definitely heard the snapping of his neck. The demon pushed ‘Wadarc’s corpse aside, and stepped over it. It reached for its shotgun, hung from his shoulder on a sling. D’vir’s prided himself on being calm and composed in battle, but right now he was panting hard, his body running away from him, and his mind too preoccupied with looming thoughts of death to control it. He thumbed the activation on his sword to realise it was no longer in his hand. He must have dropped it in the struggled. He began to frantically search through the bones, desperately trying to find it as the demon stepped closer, bones cracking under each foot step. D’vir looked up, his jaws agape. He would die in this place, unsung and unremembered. He began to mouth begs and please for mercy. The demon raised the shotgun, preparing the execution shot. However, its head shot up at the last moment, looking over its shoulder. It broke into a sprint away from him, his body quickly followed by bolts of plasma and the beams of illuminators.

“Pursue the demon! Force it from this crypt!” ‘Fadyr bellowed. His voice sounded distant and strange.

D’vir watched in shock, as the demon vanished into darkness, with warriors pursing it. A firm hand gripped his shoulder, shocking him out of his daze.

“Shipmaster!” ‘Fadyr called “Are you hurt?”

D’vir’s breathing slowed, and he gradually began to return to his senses. He looked at the six bodies around him, some still burning from that cursed weapon. The youngest lay screaming, howling in pain, as warriors tried to minister his wounds. D’vir couldn’t speak, he could barely even move. He stared into the darkness, trying to understand the horror of the last thirty seconds.

Chapter 4: Shadows Overhead

"Our mighty Covenant commands many advantages over our simple foes. Their aerial conveyors are weak, and flimsy machines, that can be struck down with the lightest of fire, but you, my young warriors, will be protected by the Phantom. A behemoth of the air, it will rain our holy wrath down on the heretics, and guide you safely to the ground. Trust in the Phantom, as it is a gift of the Gods, and of the Prophets, and it will protect you on the Journey."

―Obedientiary-Novis Lar 'Ghetar, to a class of Novitiate Warriors, Ninth Age of Reclamation, Twelfth Solar Cycle, ninth Monthly Cycle, third Weekly Cycle, twentieth Cycle

Erz ‘Farnaze hugged his Carbine close to his body as the wind lashed at him. He sat perched on the starboard loading ramp of the Phantom, the Unggoy gunner Fipip manning the plasma cannon behind him. Inside the Phantom itself was packed with warriors, with Eran ‘Fadyr at their centre. The warriors were in relative silence, something unheard of with such groups. Erz could feel the tension, as the whole group remained on edge. Their beloved Shipmaster pursued the Demon with only a handful.

“Second!” one of the Officers hailed over the comms “We have lost contact with ‘Wadarc’s unit! I cannot pick up their beacons.”

“With all haste, pilots. We must catch up to the Shipmaster now.” ‘Fadyr ordered, his voice like iron.

The Phantom’s nose dipped as it accelerated, flying over the ruined city beneath. Erz snarled looking over these ruins, begrudging not the humans that died, but their existence in the first place. Every day he was fighting as part of this Holy War was another day he was away from his wife and new born son. He gave a calming breath, washing away those doubts and concerns, and held the rifle a little closer. He eyed the small inscription he made above the trigger, an act frowned upon by those officious Armoury-Masters.

I will be home soon

The Phantom’s nose dipped further, and it slowed, moving into a spiralling motion as it manoeuvred closer to the last location of the Shipmaster and his retinue. They’d chased the Demon into a bunker, but failed to keep in touch. The Phantom touched down only a short distance from the entrance, kicking up a cloud of dust and ash. Warriors leapt off, covering their faces as they assembled beyond the edge of the smoke. Before he disembarked, ‘Fadyr put a hand on the shoulder  of the Storm.

“Remain in the Phantom ‘Farnaze. Provide us overwatch from the heavens. If you spot it, kill it.” He ordered.

Erz nodded slowly, but with certainty. ‘Fadyr jumped from the Phantom and moved to the head of the assembled warriors, waving his hand to have them fall in behind him. Erz ordered the pilot to ascend once again, and circle the bunker they overshadowed.

The next few minutes was probably the most confusing and alarming Erz had been subjected to. The communicator intermittently crackled in and out of life, with warriors barking orders, shouting war cries, and panicked cries. There were bursts of plasma fire, explosions, and gasping, wheezing death rattles. All of these radio calls cut in and out, as if being interrupted by some force. He had never heard anything like it in his life, like something from a nightmare. He was listening to his brothers suffer and die in battle, while he circled a hundred metres above this bunker. He should be in there, he thought to himself, gripping the rifle a little tighter. That’s when the call came.

“’Farnaze, he’s leaving the bunker! He’s yours!” ‘Fadyr radioed in, gasping as he did.

Erz pushed the rifle up his shoulder now, aligning his eye with the gunsight, trained on the only visible exit from the bunker. The Phantom dropped its altitude, and reorientated to face it. It was the perfect killing ground. Just as predicted, the Demon came running from the partially melted bulkhead doors, and into the amber light of the setting sun. Erz saw the monster, the magnification of his Carbine showing it in perfect clarity, and he balked. It was clad in charred bones, hiding its monstrous appearance with a hideous camouflage. There were streaks of violet and cyan blood dripping from its arms and chest.  It looked at Erz, the dull golden visor betraying nothing of its intentions except and overwhelming desire to kill. Erz’s finger hovered over the trigger and froze. His whole body refused to respond. Such an overwhelming evil stared him down, and he flinched.

“Boss!” Fiplip wheezed “The Demon!”

He was jolted out of his paralysis first by the Unggoy’s words, then the Unggoy opening fire with a stream of plasma. The bolts sizzled through the air, but the Demon had already began to move, scrambling over concrete ledges and fallen trees with such speed and acceleration Erz thought he’d hallucinated. He fired off a short burst, the virulent munitions failing to find their mark on the speeding target. The crew chimed in, firing off a few shots with distinct thuds, but failed to hit the demon, only serving to conceal him with the following explosions. The demon had ran into the sheltered ruins of a building complex, moving onto wide street with tall buildings on each side.

“Bring us around!” Erz commanded, scanning the building ahead of him for prey.

The Phantom circled the building, moving at a gentle cruising speed meant to make it a lethal platform for shooting down on its foes. Erz glanced over the building complex, which had lost most of its façade to the wrath of the Covenant, exposing the floors, and skeletal remnants of its structure.

Erz could hear the anxious Unggoy tapping on his gun with nervous energy “Where is it?!”

“The Demon does not appear on sensors, Storm ‘Farnaze.” The pilot reported.

Could it have already fled? he wondered to himself, still looking over the sundered buildings ahead of them.

“Drop us down further, fly us down the street between the buildings. He must have fled into them.” Erz ordered.

The Dropship dipped further, now hovering a scant forty metres over the ground. The crew, and both Unggoy gunners continued to scan their targets on either side, for any sight of their quarry. Nothing. Sensor sweep found no heat signature, or electromagnetic signature. It had gone. Erz growled as the thought hit him. He stepped up from his seated position on the ramp and ran to the other side of the cabin, leaning over the other side.

“It must have ran beneath us!”

“It can’t be possible, we’d have seen it cross the street.”

Erz leaned from the port hatch, certain in own instincts. Now, a louder voice in his head chimed in.

Did you wonder why communications with troops in the bunker were so poor? Why we heard nothing from the Shipmaster when he entered? These heretics are devious, and none more so than the Demons. They would do anything to waylay true believers, and to deceive them. Why not jamming comms? Why not hiding from sensors?

Erz frowned, refusing to believe something so maddening. He was pulled from this brief reverie by Fiplip’s panicked cry, a short burst of fire, and then a hammer blow to his back. The armour over his shoulder blade cracked, as did the bone underneath, and he was sent tumbling over the side, bellowing with rage as he fell from the Phantom.

---

The demon knelt at the end of the corridor, looking straight ahead to the opening that overlooked the street. It was hunched over, every muscle in its body tensed like a coiled spring, ready to recoil with explosive energy. The Demon was poised like a predatory creature, lying in ambush, ready to break into a chase after its prey.

The Demon’s vision was fixed on the opening ahead of it, unmoving, unwavering. Just then, the distinct iridescent purple hull of the Phantom bobbed into vision, the aesthetic of the Covenant waved like a red rag in front of a bull. It sprang into action, like a bullet from a gun, and broke into a sprint. As he approached the opening, the hapless Unggoy gunner spotted him, releasing a panicked yelp and began to fire, far too late to do anything to stop the Demon. The Demon reached the edge of the building, where the destroyed structure gave way to the street below, and leapt, springing into the air. The Demon cleared the gap effortlessly, flying through the air like a missile, hitting the starboard ramp, and rolling off its leap. The Demon came to its feet directly behind the Sangheili Storm stood on the port ramp, his back directly to the Demon. The Demon, still carrying significant moment, delivered a high kick to the Sangheili’s back, launching him from the Phantom to the unforgiving ground below.

Fiplip yelped and released his gun, and fumbled for the pistol on his hip. He was far too late. The Demon had drawn its own sidearm, and killed Fiplip with a clean shot to the head. He let out a gasping wheeze and toppled from the Phantom. The closest Unggoy didn’t even warrant such a death, and during its attempt to draw its own sidearm, the demon struck a blow to the side of its head, cracking its skull and delivering enough force to knock it tumbling off the ramp. One of the two crewmen began to clamber from the cockpit, screaming insults at the demon who dared to board his ship. He instead was knocked straight back into his cockpit with a flat kick to his chest, landing against the pilot’s seat. Attempting to get back to a standing position, and arm himself, the crewmember looked up long enough to see the Demon draw a plasma grenade from its belt, and ignite it, the grenade surrounded in a luminous blue glow. He casually tossed it into the crew cabin, landing, and immediately adhering to, the crewmember’s chest. Roars of indignation turned to crying pleas in a moment.

---

Erz lay on his belly, rasping and wheezing, his whole body ablaze with pain. His left arm was bleeding heavily, a piece of bone jutting from his flesh. Both legs hung limp and useless. He was dragging himself with his good right arm, staining the sand behind him with dark violet blood. He didn’t notice Fiplip land with a crunch a few metres away. He didn’t notice a second grunt land further. He didn’t even hear the explosion above him. When the burning wreckage of the Phantom hit the ground, he didn’t notice the wave of heat washing over him as it exploded, the pressure wave blowing dust over him, or the reverberations of the explosion rattling from his broken bones. He only had one goal. He crawled closer and closer to his rifle. It lay in the sand in front of him, calling him. He’d be safe with his rifle. He could slay the demon with it. He could go home. He edged closer and closer, each inch agony, every ragged breath raked his body with pain. He crawled with desperation, tearing his claws out. His Carbine was in reach now. His vision, although blurred with pain, made out the inscription.

I will be home soon.

He dug deep, and shuffled again, dragging his maimed body, bringing him in touching distance. As he reached out for it, a worn, weathered, grey boot stepped onto the rifle, pinning it in place. Erz looked up, his jaws parting in growing horror. The Demon stood over him, looking down, its visor reflected Erz’s terrified expression.

He gasped his last.

Chapter 5: In the Shadowlands

"...when a brother falls far from home, it is important that their bodies are returned to the embrace of the Covenant, and to the ministrations of a priest of the Great Journey. The vessel must be preserved, to preserve the soul, so at first opportunity place them in a preservation-sepulchre so they may be returned to the Covenant. All care should be given, and daily ministrations so their fallen vessel may be properly consecrated upon return, and their souls sent on the Great Journey... lest they fall into the Shadowlands..."

―Meditations of the Honoured Treatment of the Valorous Dead.