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A Note about Canon:
Canon is tricky, particularly for an ongoing video game series. As you may have noticed (and I know you did, I got a lot of comments about it) some of my info is out of date or otherwise wrong. This is because a lot of the information I have to guess and/or make up to fill in holes in the official story is plot important and can't be changed with a simple revision. The result is that, as canon expands and clarifies, my work -- despite my best efforts -- suffers some drift from the source.

Some of it I can fix, such as when we learned that the tuning fork-shaped dropship was called the Spirit and up until then I had called it the Apparition, or when we found out the Elites' homeworld was called Sanghelios and not Sangheil as the community overall had guessed. Those were fixed with simple "Find and Replace" commands.

What's less easy to fix is when I've spent years building up an alien culture only to find out that certain critical parts, such as the marriagability of sword-wielding aristocrats or the identity of the Arbiter, don't match up to official canon. I can't very well go and rewrite huge stretches of text to accomodate that update. Instead, I will make a note of the difference in my files as well as a reason for it, and I'll do my level best to highlight the difference in the story.

In conclusion, please be kind when reading my stories, or anyone else's for that matter. I understand I've acquired a kind of reputation for rigidly adhering to established canon, but there's only so much I can do. Time makes fools of us all, and some of us didn't have such a great head start in the "not fools" section anyway.

//

Chapter 1: Reveille

The vacuum of space being empty of material in which sound waves could travel, was completely silent. So the arcs of magnetically-guided plasma moved through them without a sound, as did the sleek vessels that unleashed them. Likewise, the metal slugs of the boxier ship were quiet as they moved along a linear trajectory.

The two projectiles passed and the plasma seemed to adjust itself almost to swallow the titanic bullet whole, but stopped as if reconsidering the action; instead it placed itself back on course towards the bulky and unattractive craft. Where it hit, metal boiled and the oxygen inside evacuated, turning to shimmering crystals in the infinite cold.

Finding its own mark, the bullet plunged through a silvery barrier and gutted the Covenant ship, sending it listing.

Explosions, azure and orange, briefly illuminated a series of small tubular craft that slid undetected across the nothing, towards the craft that had fired the offending metal.

Within them each stood eight warriors of the Covenant. They were the faithful followers, loyal and driven soldiers of different species united by their devotion to the Forerunners and the Great Journey. Victorious and unconquerable, they moved through space itself to seek combat against their foes. These humans had settled themselves on Forerunner planets, spread themselves across the galaxy and infected each world they came across with their cities that grew like a grey cancer across the surface. They had to be cleansed, to have the surface burned so as to leave nothing alive.

Their crusade was going well. In twenty-seven years, they had destroyed hundreds of worlds and ended billions of these heretics.

Oriné 'Fulsamee was one of the soldiers, and as he waited for his chance to serve the Covenant he was deep in prayer. His faith would protect him, as would the cobalt armor he wore as an Elite Minor and the rifle at his side. Though hunched now, his body was a powerful weapon in its own right. His hooves had trodden on the soil of many worlds, his clawed hands covered in heretic blood, his four mandibles parted in a war cry that made the unfaithful weak and the devoted strong.

Beside him crouched a fellow Sangheili, his armor the deep crimson of an Elite Major. As the iron heart of the Covenant, the Sangheili protected the Prophets, commanded the fleets and armies, and sat on the councils. They were promoted according to their battlefield merit. Major, Tokla 'Gerrolee ranked higher than Oriné, but there were others higher still.

The two Sangheili guided the other occupants in prayer: six Unggoy, diminutive creatures who were little more than slaves within the Covenant, earning them the title "Grunts." They did not breathe oxygen but methane, plentiful on their icy home world. On their backs they wore bulky life support mechanisms that housed a recycling unit. They were less than imposing and many were cowardly. They best traveled in packs, for individually they were easy pickings for their enemies... or even their allies. They too were ranked, but by their usefulness to their masters, and none were near the social or physical stature of an Elite.

The craft rumbled as they drew nearer to the human ship, peppered by weapons fire from the point defense systems, but the Sangheili did not break their concentration. They shifted to the Writ of Union:

So full of hate were our eyes
That none of us could see:
Our war would yield countless dead
But never victory.

So let us cast arms aside
And like discard our wrath;
Thou in faith shall keep us safe
Whilst we find the Path.

The Sangheili stood, towering over the five-foot-tall Unggoy.

"We are prepared," said the Major. "We go with the Gods."

Oriné nodded but said nothing. For years he had served under 'Gerrolee as part of Resolute Unit, S'gor Legion, and in that time knew he was devout in his belief of the Covenant, but only a lackluster commander with a taste for stealing glory.

Still, Oriné did not mind. He had already lost so much in pursuit of the Great Journey, what was losing some recognition?

A tremor went through the craft as it made contact with the human cruiser. It had been programmed to enter where the human lifepods were departing so they would not waste time cutting through the hull, all the while vulnerable to attack by the human single ships. The computer on board took a moment to crack the human system, but a moment later the doors slid open and allowed them access.

"Onward!" shouted the Major.

Oriné drew his rifle. He would once more place his life in the hands of the Gods, divine powers that he no longer trusted, but he would not falter in his duty to the Covenant.

//

Ship Master Gersha 'Kaeromee shook his head in disdain as he watched another human projectile slam into the Truth and Reconciliation, forcing the cruiser to alter its course. Atmosphere vented from several decks and the engines stuttered, trying to keep the ship from going into a roll. Here and there shield generators flickered while they attempted to bring the protective force-field back online, but too many of them had been damaged to sufficiently cover the ship against more fire. He heard a transmission from the Supreme Commander of the Fleet of Particular Justice ordering Reconciliation's Ship Master to land the damaged craft on the ring, to withdraw from the fight.

Gersha snorted derisively. To be ordered out of combat was incredibly dishonorable. It implied helplessness in the face of the enemy.

The bridge of his own cruiser, the Winds of Providence, was devoid of any crew beside himself. It was how Ship Masters operated: they stood on the raised platform deep in the belly of the ship, observing all the data on the battles and the live video feed from outside and ordered the stations that were placed elsewhere in the ship. The humans had a different strategy, one that he had come to appreciate: by grouping all their commanding officers in one place that looked directly out on the battle, a simple strike from a pulse laser could kill the entire ship.

His internal monologue was cut short when a chime resounded through the room. He turned, irritated, towards the source of the noise: one of the four doors leading into the bridge.

"Who goes there?" he barked.

"It's 'Quarmee," declared a Sangheili on the other side of the door. Gersha clicked his mandibles, the equivalent of a shrug, and touched the holographic rune that unlocked the proper door. A fellow Covenant Elite walked through, wearing golden armor that was almost identical to the Ship Master's.

"Ignil," the one on the raised platform said, nodding his head in respect.

"Gersha, how are you?" inquired the Field Commander, stopping at the base of the ramp leading up to the command platform. "Not too tired, I trust? Certainly all this excitement hasn't gotten to you."

Gersha huffed and returned his attention to the monitors, motioning over his shoulder for his friend to join him. "I am not yet weary; the humans are keeping me entertained. And yourself? Has the situation on the ring gotten out of control yet?"

Upon reaching the Ship Master's side, the other Elite cocked his head. "No," he said, confused, "should it have?"

"I anticipate the humans will try to land on the sacred ring," Gersha replied.

Upon one of the monitors was pictured the subject in question: a massive ring-shaped structure floating at the perfect Lagrange point between a gas giant and its moon. The outside betrayed its mechanical truth: machines and generators stood beside marvelous, vast etchings. It glowed faintly silver in the light from the distant sun and, when rotating out of its reach, millions of little lights twinkled and pulsed. However, the inside was what left observers breathless: great oceans, green plains, brown mountains capped with white ice and snow. Valleys and rivers carved their way across what must have been an artificial surface but was too perfect to have been conceived by mortal minds.

"Halo," Ignil 'Quarmee whispered, and muttered a quick prayer under his breath. "Have you informed the Prophet of your assumption?"

The Ship Master shook his head and pointed towards one of the tactical displays, this one showing the icon of the Truth and Reconciliation falling back towards the ring. "He knows."

Nodding, the Field Commander turned his attention back to the battle at hand, watching the monitor with the live video feed. He had a hard time reading battle telemetry data and wished to see the fight with his own eyes. The human ship occasionally launched salvos of missiles towards the Covenant vessels but the cruisers merely soaked them up, ignoring them as if they were flies. Here and there were flashes of light where human interceptors engaged in dogfights with the Seraph space fighters. And every so often a wave washed across the screen, briefly highlighting a miniature fleet of boarding craft as they inched towards the human ship.

"What is the name of their ship?" he asked, trying to alleviate the silence.

"Pillar of Autumn," Gersha snorted. He was of the opinion that humans hardly deserved a name, let alone their primitive craft. Ignil was quiet for a while after that, contemplating the battle as it continued. After a moment a Covenant cruiser charged its lateral lines and unleashed a hellish blue inferno towards the ship.

"I thought you were forbidden from using plasma torpedoes," said Ignil. "Is not the risk of damaging the ring too great?"

"Technically yes, we are forbidden," the Ship Master admitted, "unless we run the firing solution past the Supreme Commander first. As long as he approves of it, we may fire on these heathens."

The Field Commander watched for a few minutes more until the ship began making drastic adjustments to its course. It seemed as if the Ship Master's theory of their ultimate destination was correct. With the realization that enemy forces were going to be landing, 'Quarmee took his leave from the bridge, excusing himself to the dropship bay where he could return to the surface of Halo in order to prepare his forces.

Gersha remained standing, issuing orders as he watched from afar.

//

As the doors parted the group of eight soldiers burst from their boarding craft, the two Elites bellowing the ancient Sangheili war-cry: "Wort wort wort!" Their hoofed feet clapped on the ground as they rushed around a corner, bringing up their rifles and firing at a group of human Marines. Two of the humans fell but the rest returned fire, bullets striking the Elites and sparking on their personal shields; the impacts forced them back around the corner.

The Elite Major looked at Oriné briefly and then back to the Grunts. "Unggoy! On my command, charge and attack those bastard heathens!" The Unggoy cowered, unappreciative of the plan but unable to refuse the orders of their superior. The Major waited until the human firing stopped and then shouted, sending the Grunts rushing around the corner with plasma pistols in their hands and fear in their hearts.

Oriné noticed one of the Grunts was carrying an odd satchel, and immediately he reached out and pulled the creature back from the fight; half a second later a three-round burst cut through the very same spot where he had been standing.

"You, Grunt," the Elite Minor said. "You are the one carrying the grenades?" The diminutive creature nodded rapidly, not wishing to anger one who was both savior and master. "Then remain close to us. Should we run out, I expect you to be quick about giving us more."

The Unggoy thought to mention that the grenades were for everyone in the lance, including the Grunts, but wisely thought better and merely nodded his affirmative. "I'm Rurut," he squeaked out.

Oriné clapped him on the shoulder and stood up, nodding towards the Major as he did so. The two of them jumped out from their cover, followed by Rurut, and began firing. Three of the Grunts had been gunned down and only one Marine, and from the looks of things it was by pure chance. The two Sangheili warriors saw to the quick extermination of the survivors.

"Excellency," Oriné said, walking up to 'Gerrolee, "what is our mission?"

"On this ship is one of the Demons," Tokla replied, idly kicking one of the deceased aliens. "Our assignment is to find it and kill it while it is still in the humans' cryogenic storage."

For a moment, Oriné's hearts stopped beating. The Demons were a very dangerous kind of human, clad only in green armor with a mirrored gold visor. They had shielding equal to that of most Sangheili armor and were proficient with virtually every weapon. There were only supposed to be so many of them, but battlefield rumors cast them as specters of death, capable of ending entire Legions each.

But something had changed during their last engagement, before leaving to pursue this vessel. "Were they not all destroyed on Reach?"

"It is believed that the one on this ship is the only survivor," he growled, glancing down the hallway as he heard gunfire at the other end. "If we catch him while he slumbers, we will be able to dispatch him quickly." He looked back to the Grunts, still recovering from the firefight. "Warriors, onward!"

The lance, now made up of five troops, pushed onward through the ship.

//

Captain Jacob Keyes stood on the bridge of the Pillar of Autumn, sighing as he looked out the forward window. Despite his best efforts his ship was slowly getting beaten apart. It was strong, one of the sturdiest in the fleet, but when faced with an entire Covenant armada it amounted to nothing more than a few minutes before absolute annihilation.

His only chance, he knew, was the strange object they had stumbled across. It was a giant ring floating in space, caught between the gravity of the planet, dubbed Threshold by the Autumn's AI, and its moon, Basis. It followed the orbit of the moon exactly. But that wasn't what was truly interesting: the inner surface of the ring looked like a world of its own. There were green and brown continental areas and sparkling blue oceans. A preliminary scan had revealed Earth-normal gravity and an oxygen-nitrogen atmosphere; the normal rotation of the ring wasn't quite enough to sustain the gravity, however, which meant there was something else at work.

But for now he had to focus on getting there, and to do that his ship needed to be in one piece. Keyes turned from the window, strode back to the tactical screen, and consulted it for a moment. "Cortana," he said, and a holo-tank sprang to life next to him. A purple-hued image of a woman with short hair appeared, her hands on her hips and her head cocked to one side.

"Yes, Captain?" Her head bobbed, data streams racing across her "skin" at shocking speed.

He glanced at her. "How are our preparations coming along?"

"They're going well," she replied, shifting her position to something appearing relaxed rather than tense. "Alpha through Delta companies are repelling boarders throughout the ship with more success than I had originally calculated; Easy and Foxtrot are defending the vehicle and launch bays. I also have the Helljumpers defending the engine room. The Covenant has so far failed to breach too deep into the ship, but in all honesty it's just a matter of time."

"And our special guest?"

A smirk crossed the AI's face. "He's already up and about sir, just walking off the effects of cryo."

"I want him up here now. We don't have time to dawdle."

Cortana's smirk turned into a frown. "Captain, he needs time to—"

"Now, Cortana."

She sighed. "I'll patch you through to cryo-bay two."

A moment later Keyes heard a soft beep. It was his neural-lace confirming that he had been linked to the second cryogenic storage bay. "Bridge to Cryo-2, this is Captain Keyes," he said. "Send the Master Chief to the bridge immediately."

The techie was clearly agitated when he replied. "But sir, we'll have to skip the weapons diagnostics, and I—"

The captain didn't have time to argue. "On the double, crewman!"

"Aye-aye, sir," the man replied. The link terminated.

At least he's awake, Keyes thought, staring out the forward window again and scratching at his grey crew-cut. The Covenant will sure have a harder time getting in now.

//

"Cover!" Oriné threw himself behind a bulkhead as human rounds flashed by, a few striking the hard surface and shattering on impact. The fragments bounced off his shield, doing no damage. His hand groped along his own waist, finding a grenade and pulling it free. He gave it a squeeze and quickly tossed it, not wanting the weapon to accidentally adhere to his own palm.

A burning ball of sapphire flame arced through the air and fused to a human's helmet. Had it been thinking clearly it could have simply removed the headgear and thrown it aside; instead, however, it panicked and began flailing about and screaming. Its comrades yelled at it, but by then it was too late. The charge exploded, wiping out the entire group.

Sighing in relief, the Elite Minor eased out from behind his cover. Major 'Gerrolee nodded in approval and Rurut waddled up to hand him a replacement grenade.

The Major's head lifted, eyes unfocused, as if he was seeing something that wasn't there. A moment later he raised a hand to the side of his helmet, pressing the radio toggle, and he muttered something Oriné couldn't hear.

"We are going to meet up with another lance," Tokla said after he had finished. "They are not far from here." The team moved on down another of the seemingly endless hallways of the human ship, following the sounds of combat. In another few minutes they found themselves at the site of a pitched battle between a group of humans sheltered behind barricades and Covenant caught in the airlock.

Immediately Oriné's team moved to provide covering fire, allowing the trapped soldiers to move out and get behind better cover. After that it was only a few moments of exchanged fire before, once again, the holy warriors were victorious.

The other lance was haggard, but Oriné immediately recognized the noble figure of one of the Elites. "Yarna!" he called out. The other Elite Minor turned, surprised to hear his name.

"Oriné?" Yarna 'Orgalmee jogged over. "It is you! I had not thought that your ship would give chase after these vile creatures." Oriné's ship had been deploying its troops on the surface of Reach when the Supreme Commander ordered his fleet to follow the Pillar of Autumn. Undoubtedly he had hoped the ship would flee to the humans' home world, but where they were was unknown at the moment.

"It is good to see you again," was all Oriné managed to say before the Major called his name. Excusing himself with a nod to his friend, the Elite Minor jogged over to where his commanding officer was standing. He was in the middle of a three-way intersection. On the floor was human cryptography.

"Which way do we go?" the Major growled. "We wish to find the sleeping Demon."

"Yes Excellency." Oriné knelt to inspect the markings. He alone among the group could read the humans' writing. He had learned through self-education. Included with the text on the floor were pictures that helped his translation: he determined that the cryo-bays where they would find their guest were down the left hallway.

The group, now bolstered by the inclusion of Yarna's lance, moved in the proper direction. There was less resistance down this path; either the humans didn't believe it to be strategically important or another squad had already come through here. If the latter was true, then Major 'Gerrolee would be enraged by the slight upon his honor that someone else had accomplished his mission.

A wall of fire was waiting for them when they neared, cutting them off from the bay; through the flames Oriné could see the door that would lead to their target.

"Can we circumvent this inferno?" the Major asked, looking back at Oriné.

"Yes, Excellency, it should be simple. Follow me."

//

Esam 'Mijumee allowed himself a brief moment of respite. He leaned back against the stone wall of the valley and gazed up into the sky, a gentle breeze flowing over him. It shocked him how beautiful Halo was, and how peaceful its surface seemed. Rolling plains, snowcapped mountains, sweeping valleys, and endless oceans; it all came together so gloriously. If there was truly a heaven, the Covenant had found it.

For a moment his thoughts turned to his mate, Nero Jum, back on High Charity. She was expected to lay her egg soon, a thought that filled Esam with pride. The Healers had said it would be a son. A son! One who could carry on his Lineage, his honor, even his work.

A voice cut through his daydreams. "Esam, why are you away from your station?" The echoing trail of sound led back down the finely carved passage angling deep below the surface. "Is something the matter?" Gradually the voice sounded more and more solid, like glowbugs coalescing on a warm Sanghelios night. A moment later a cobalt-armored head stuck itself out from the passage, two brown eyes resting on Esam's relaxed form.

The Minor Inquisitor rolled his head listlessly to meet the newcomer's stare. "What is it, Esli? Can it not wait? Look," he said, pointing up into the sky, "the clouds take shape. That one looks like a Yorahii and that one is a Ghost chasing it…"

Esli 'Sarodee shook his head. "You dream far too much, my friend. And slack off, too. 'Oegulee is making his rounds. If he finds you away from your station, he will have no—"

"He will have no compunction chopping me up, cooking me, and feeding me to the Kig-Yar. I know." The former flippantly waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. "But look at this. The glory of our Lords is all around us! Can you imagine they once walked this very soil?" He stamped his hoof, sending up a small cloud of dirt and dust. "Observe, I have added my footfalls to that of the Forerunners! How incredible is that?"

"Amazing," said Esli with no overflow of enthusiasm. "Can we return to our stations now? I would prefer not to be beaten by the Overseer, even if just for a day."

Grudgingly Esam nodded and shuffled back into the tunnel. The clapping sound of his hooves on the strange metallic stone echoed all around him, but he enjoyed the noise: just a further demonstration of his Lords' abilities. Their subtlety continued to astound him, even so many years after entering the Inquisitor Corps.

Down in the depths things grew understandably darker, but here and there were brightly luminescent Forerunner devices: panels set into the ceiling that provided light; strange sources of illumination peeking out between grates set into the floor and strange boxy constructs that came up from the ground. So far they had found no particular purpose for these miniature buildings, but there they were, defying explanation. That was the sort of thing that put Esam in his element.

He returned to his station and sat down: a mosaic carved with exquisite care clung to the base of one of these boxes. From a nearby equipment dispenser he retrieved a pinpoint scanner and swept it back and forth over sections of the carving, occasionally glancing back at a holographic monitor to make sure he was getting an accurate picture. The scanner measured depth, particle spread, and makeup of whatever it analyzed, and with its current modifications, would put together a gradual perfect reconstruction of the item in question.

Esam had been at this particular mosaic for over two hours before he took his impromptu break and had gotten more than halfway through it. After he was finished he would scan the other sides (the pattern spread all around the base) and take it back to his ramshackle office at camp to further study it. Then he would transmit the data back to the ships in orbit where the Fleet Master would look them over and subsequently send it off to High Charity for proper filing. The entire process could take weeks just for this one find, but with the incredible amount of Inquisitors that had been called in, the entire sector could be properly scanned over the course of a month.

Heavy footfalls sounded nearby, but he ignored them and kept working. They came to a stop directly behind him; he gradually realized that he could hear the individual breathing in his usually cumbrous manner as he leaned down.

"How is work progressing, Inquisitor 'Mijumee?" Overseer 'Oegulee had been placed in charge of this particular expedition, though other Overseers were dotted all throughout Halo. This one, however, was particularly imposing. He was a head taller than most Sangheili, with large, rippling muscles that could easily tear an Unggoy in half, and his crimson armor was shined to immaculate perfection. Not a molecule of filth could touch the harness without him becoming aware of it and ruthlessly punishing whoever he took to be at fault, before retreating to obsessively clean it.

'Oegulee believed that at any moment they could find a living, breathing Forerunner who would look upon his cleanliness and bestow fantastic powers on him for it. Esam believed that 'Oegulee had been dropped frequently while in his egg.

"Work continues apace, Overseer," he replied, not looking up. "It should only be a few more hours before my scan is complete and I can begin analyzing it."

'Oegulee leaned in closer. "No distractions, 'Mijumee? No unsanctioned breaks?"

Esam remained silent, stoically continuing his work.

Finally the Overseer huffed and reared himself to full height. "Your ears!" he cried. All activity ceased in the grand room, 'Oegulee's voice echoing in the cavernous interior. "I have just received word from the Prophet attached to the Fleet of Particular Justice," he continued. "A human ship has just come out of Slipspace nearby. The Supreme Commander believes these heretics may just be desperate and suicidal enough to attempt to land on this sacred ring.

"Thus, His Holiness has asked that we move our timetable up several slots. For now, continue working, but bear in mind we may be evacuated or called to battle at any time. Make sure your sidearm is available in the event we are set upon by the humans. That is all." The crimson-armored Sangheili then stalked off to go hassle a flock of Kig-Yar that was idling by the doorway, hissing and jabbering in their native tongue.

Glumly Esam turned his attention to the equipment dispenser, reaching his hand in and withdrawing his plasma pistol. He had never fired the weapon except for in training, and even then he had never hit anything. A poor shot and a miserable warrior; those were two of the qualities that made him a good Inquisitor. However, as mandated by their duty as soldiers, they had to be willing to fight for the Prophets at any moment.

All Esam could do was exchange a significant glance with Esli, fasten the weapon to its magnetic holster on his hip, and return to work. Hopefully the humans would all be killed before too long, and he could continue his efforts unburdened by the thought of being attacked.

//

As Oriné had said, the way to get around the burning area of the ship was simple, if not exactly short. It took another ten minutes of searching in order to find their way into the cryogenic storage bay, ten minutes which made Major 'Gerrolee all the more anxious.

To make matters worse, when their lance finally did make it into the storage bay, it was completely empty. There was not a human to be found, alive or dead. Oriné and Yarna looked towards the Major, but all they could see was the barely-contained rage simmering in his eyes as he stared at one obvious and open casket. The two Elite Minors wisely kept their mouths shut and continued to make a show of searching all the pods, though they already knew their quarry was long departed.

Oriné suddenly felt a chill on the back of his neck. Instinctively he brought a hand up, suspecting tactile contact, but he found nothing. Even the warmth of his hand could not abate the cold feeling. Warily, he turned around and looked up into the control room that overlooked the room, and immediately his hearts leaped into his throat.

"Excellency!" he cried and pointed. There, standing above them and looking down, was the Demon. The descriptions did it no justice. It was taller than any human Oriné had ever seen. Its simple presence clouded Oriné's mind with rage, thoughts of glory… and fear. The Sangheili shook his head in an attempt to ward off the unwanted emotion.

The Major, however, was not so affected. Instead he howled and charged out into the hallway, hoping to find and kill this Demon himself and earn the honor that Oriné had so briefly dreamed. With only a moment's delay he and Yarna bolted out as well, though not nearly so fast as 'Gerrolee. By the time the pair reached the hallway the Major had vanished.

Oriné turned to the Unggoy who had remained in the hall. "Where has he gone?" One of them pointed in one direction down the hallway. Just as he started to head in that direction, however, his communications channel chimed.

"All forces, abandon the human ship," the gruff voice of a senior Sangheili growled. "It is beginning to break up. Repeat, all forces, abandon the human ship." As if to reinforce the point, there was a loud groan and the ceiling caved in two meters in front of Oriné. The ship was beginning to buckle under some fantastic stress.

Realizing he was cut off from the Major, Oriné turned back around. "We must find our way out of this place," he said to Yarna and the Grunts. "Let us go back to the boarding craft!" They quickly made their way away from the hall.

"I shall not miss this ship," Yarna told Oriné as they ran. "Human air is filthy."

//

Major Tokla 'Gerrolee believed himself to have set a perfect trap. There were only two more lifeboats remaining on the human ship, and he and a few Unggoy had hunkered down and reinforced the position.

The Demon must come through this place if it is to escape this vessel, he told himself, looking back and forth down the two approaches to the pods. And when it did, he would kill it, take its head as a trophy, and escape the ship just in time. He would be revered and pushed up the ranks to a full-fledged Field Master. His name would be sung for generations as a Demon Killer.

The sounds of battle broke him from his daydreaming, and he gazed down the hall to his right. A clutch of Grunts had engaged human survivors attempting to push their way to the lifeboats. It's here! Anxiously the Major raised his rifle and aimed it down the corridor.

An innocuous click sounded nearby. Curiously he turned his head and saw, with horror, a human fragmentation grenade landing behind him. He screamed a warning to the Unggoy half a second before the device detonated, sending smoke and shrapnel in every direction. The metal shards sliced through the Grunts and totally drained 'Gerrolee's shields, the concussive force of the blast knocking him to the floor. Trying to draw air into his lungs, he turned and let out a hoarse roar just as a hail of 7.62 mm rounds cut through his head.

As the Major's lifeless body slumped to the floor, the Demon stepped out from behind its cover, admiring its handiwork. Kicking one of the limp Grunts to ensure its destruction he jogged towards a lifeboat. Just as he was climbing aboard there was an explosion and a Marine was thrown into the doorway. It picked up the wayward soldier by his pack and threw him into the pod before stepping in and sealing the door.

The Demon had escaped.

Description
A Note about Canon:
Canon is tricky, particularly for an ongoing video game series. As you may have noticed (and I know you did, I got a lot of comments about it) some of my info is out of date or otherwise wrong. This is because a lot of the information I have to guess and/or make up to fill in holes in the official story is plot important and can't be changed with a simple revision. The result is that, as canon expands and clarifies, my work -- despite my best efforts -- suffers some drift from the source.

Some of it I can fix, such as when we learned that the tuning fork-shaped dropship was called the Spirit and up until then I had called it the Apparition, or when we found out the Elites' homeworld was called Sanghelios and not Sangheil as the community overall had guessed. Those were fixed with simple "Find and Replace" commands.

What's less easy to fix is when I've spent years building up an alien culture only to find out that certain critical parts, such as the marriagability of sword-wielding aristocrats or the identity of the Arbiter, don't match up to official canon. I can't very well go and rewrite huge stretches of text to accomodate that update. Instead, I will make a note of the difference in my files as well as a reason for it, and I'll do my level best to highlight the difference in the story.

In conclusion, please be kind when reading my stories, or anyone else's for that matter. I understand I've acquired a kind of reputation for rigidly adhering to established canon, but there's only so much I can do. Time makes fools of us all, and some of us didn't have such a great head start in the "not fools" section anyway.

//

Chapter 1: Reveille

The vacuum of space being empty of material in which sound waves could travel, was completely silent. So the arcs of magnetically-guided plasma moved through them without a sound, as did the sleek vessels that unleashed them. Likewise, the metal slugs of the boxier ship were quiet as they moved along a linear trajectory.

The two projectiles passed and the plasma seemed to adjust itself almost to swallow the titanic bullet whole, but stopped as if reconsidering the action; instead it placed itself back on course towards the bulky and unattractive craft. Where it hit, metal boiled and the oxygen inside evacuated, turning to shimmering crystals in the infinite cold.

Finding its own mark, the bullet plunged through a silvery barrier and gutted the Covenant ship, sending it listing.

Explosions, azure and orange, briefly illuminated a series of small tubular craft that slid undetected across the nothing, towards the craft that had fired the offending metal.

Within them each stood eight warriors of the Covenant. They were the faithful followers, loyal and driven soldiers of different species united by their devotion to the Forerunners and the Great Journey. Victorious and unconquerable, they moved through space itself to seek combat against their foes. These humans had settled themselves on Forerunner planets, spread themselves across the galaxy and infected each world they came across with their cities that grew like a grey cancer across the surface. They had to be cleansed, to have the surface burned so as to leave nothing alive.

Their crusade was going well. In twenty-seven years, they had destroyed hundreds of worlds and ended billions of these heretics.

Oriné 'Fulsamee was one of the soldiers, and as he waited for his chance to serve the Covenant he was deep in prayer. His faith would protect him, as would the cobalt armor he wore as an Elite Minor and the rifle at his side. Though hunched now, his body was a powerful weapon in its own right. His hooves had trodden on the soil of many worlds, his clawed hands covered in heretic blood, his four mandibles parted in a war cry that made the unfaithful weak and the devoted strong.

Beside him crouched a fellow Sangheili, his armor the deep crimson of an Elite Major. As the iron heart of the Covenant, the Sangheili protected the Prophets, commanded the fleets and armies, and sat on the councils. They were promoted according to their battlefield merit. Major, Tokla 'Gerrolee ranked higher than Oriné, but there were others higher still.

The two Sangheili guided the other occupants in prayer: six Unggoy, diminutive creatures who were little more than slaves within the Covenant, earning them the title "Grunts." They did not breathe oxygen but methane, plentiful on their icy home world. On their backs they wore bulky life support mechanisms that housed a recycling unit. They were less than imposing and many were cowardly. They best traveled in packs, for individually they were easy pickings for their enemies... or even their allies. They too were ranked, but by their usefulness to their masters, and none were near the social or physical stature of an Elite.

The craft rumbled as they drew nearer to the human ship, peppered by weapons fire from the point defense systems, but the Sangheili did not break their concentration. They shifted to the Writ of Union:

So full of hate were our eyes
That none of us could see:
Our war would yield countless dead
But never victory.

So let us cast arms aside
And like discard our wrath;
Thou in faith shall keep us safe
Whilst we find the Path.

The Sangheili stood, towering over the five-foot-tall Unggoy.

"We are prepared," said the Major. "We go with the Gods."

Oriné nodded but said nothing. For years he had served under 'Gerrolee as part of Resolute Unit, S'gor Legion, and in that time knew he was devout in his belief of the Covenant, but only a lackluster commander with a taste for stealing glory.

Still, Oriné did not mind. He had already lost so much in pursuit of the Great Journey, what was losing some recognition?

A tremor went through the craft as it made contact with the human cruiser. It had been programmed to enter where the human lifepods were departing so they would not waste time cutting through the hull, all the while vulnerable to attack by the human single ships. The computer on board took a moment to crack the human system, but a moment later the doors slid open and allowed them access.

"Onward!" shouted the Major.

Oriné drew his rifle. He would once more place his life in the hands of the Gods, divine powers that he no longer trusted, but he would not falter in his duty to the Covenant.

//

Ship Master Gersha 'Kaeromee shook his head in disdain as he watched another human projectile slam into the Truth and Reconciliation, forcing the cruiser to alter its course. Atmosphere vented from several decks and the engines stuttered, trying to keep the ship from going into a roll. Here and there shield generators flickered while they attempted to bring the protective force-field back online, but too many of them had been damaged to sufficiently cover the ship against more fire. He heard a transmission from the Supreme Commander of the Fleet of Particular Justice ordering Reconciliation's Ship Master to land the damaged craft on the ring, to withdraw from the fight.

Gersha snorted derisively. To be ordered out of combat was incredibly dishonorable. It implied helplessness in the face of the enemy.

The bridge of his own cruiser, the Winds of Providence, was devoid of any crew beside himself. It was how Ship Masters operated: they stood on the raised platform deep in the belly of the ship, observing all the data on the battles and the live video feed from outside and ordered the stations that were placed elsewhere in the ship. The humans had a different strategy, one that he had come to appreciate: by grouping all their commanding officers in one place that looked directly out on the battle, a simple strike from a pulse laser could kill the entire ship.

His internal monologue was cut short when a chime resounded through the room. He turned, irritated, towards the source of the noise: one of the four doors leading into the bridge.

"Who goes there?" he barked.

"It's 'Quarmee," declared a Sangheili on the other side of the door. Gersha clicked his mandibles, the equivalent of a shrug, and touched the holographic rune that unlocked the proper door. A fellow Covenant Elite walked through, wearing golden armor that was almost identical to the Ship Master's.

"Ignil," the one on the raised platform said, nodding his head in respect.

"Gersha, how are you?" inquired the Field Commander, stopping at the base of the ramp leading up to the command platform. "Not too tired, I trust? Certainly all this excitement hasn't gotten to you."

Gersha huffed and returned his attention to the monitors, motioning over his shoulder for his friend to join him. "I am not yet weary; the humans are keeping me entertained. And yourself? Has the situation on the ring gotten out of control yet?"

Upon reaching the Ship Master's side, the other Elite cocked his head. "No," he said, confused, "should it have?"

"I anticipate the humans will try to land on the sacred ring," Gersha replied.

Upon one of the monitors was pictured the subject in question: a massive ring-shaped structure floating at the perfect Lagrange point between a gas giant and its moon. The outside betrayed its mechanical truth: machines and generators stood beside marvelous, vast etchings. It glowed faintly silver in the light from the distant sun and, when rotating out of its reach, millions of little lights twinkled and pulsed. However, the inside was what left observers breathless: great oceans, green plains, brown mountains capped with white ice and snow. Valleys and rivers carved their way across what must have been an artificial surface but was too perfect to have been conceived by mortal minds.

"Halo," Ignil 'Quarmee whispered, and muttered a quick prayer under his breath. "Have you informed the Prophet of your assumption?"

The Ship Master shook his head and pointed towards one of the tactical displays, this one showing the icon of the Truth and Reconciliation falling back towards the ring. "He knows."

Nodding, the Field Commander turned his attention back to the battle at hand, watching the monitor with the live video feed. He had a hard time reading battle telemetry data and wished to see the fight with his own eyes. The human ship occasionally launched salvos of missiles towards the Covenant vessels but the cruisers merely soaked them up, ignoring them as if they were flies. Here and there were flashes of light where human interceptors engaged in dogfights with the Seraph space fighters. And every so often a wave washed across the screen, briefly highlighting a miniature fleet of boarding craft as they inched towards the human ship.

"What is the name of their ship?" he asked, trying to alleviate the silence.

"Pillar of Autumn," Gersha snorted. He was of the opinion that humans hardly deserved a name, let alone their primitive craft. Ignil was quiet for a while after that, contemplating the battle as it continued. After a moment a Covenant cruiser charged its lateral lines and unleashed a hellish blue inferno towards the ship.

"I thought you were forbidden from using plasma torpedoes," said Ignil. "Is not the risk of damaging the ring too great?"

"Technically yes, we are forbidden," the Ship Master admitted, "unless we run the firing solution past the Supreme Commander first. As long as he approves of it, we may fire on these heathens."

The Field Commander watched for a few minutes more until the ship began making drastic adjustments to its course. It seemed as if the Ship Master's theory of their ultimate destination was correct. With the realization that enemy forces were going to be landing, 'Quarmee took his leave from the bridge, excusing himself to the dropship bay where he could return to the surface of Halo in order to prepare his forces.

Gersha remained standing, issuing orders as he watched from afar.

//

As the doors parted the group of eight soldiers burst from their boarding craft, the two Elites bellowing the ancient Sangheili war-cry: "Wort wort wort!" Their hoofed feet clapped on the ground as they rushed around a corner, bringing up their rifles and firing at a group of human Marines. Two of the humans fell but the rest returned fire, bullets striking the Elites and sparking on their personal shields; the impacts forced them back around the corner.

The Elite Major looked at Oriné briefly and then back to the Grunts. "Unggoy! On my command, charge and attack those bastard heathens!" The Unggoy cowered, unappreciative of the plan but unable to refuse the orders of their superior. The Major waited until the human firing stopped and then shouted, sending the Grunts rushing around the corner with plasma pistols in their hands and fear in their hearts.

Oriné noticed one of the Grunts was carrying an odd satchel, and immediately he reached out and pulled the creature back from the fight; half a second later a three-round burst cut through the very same spot where he had been standing.

"You, Grunt," the Elite Minor said. "You are the one carrying the grenades?" The diminutive creature nodded rapidly, not wishing to anger one who was both savior and master. "Then remain close to us. Should we run out, I expect you to be quick about giving us more."

The Unggoy thought to mention that the grenades were for everyone in the lance, including the Grunts, but wisely thought better and merely nodded his affirmative. "I'm Rurut," he squeaked out.

Oriné clapped him on the shoulder and stood up, nodding towards the Major as he did so. The two of them jumped out from their cover, followed by Rurut, and began firing. Three of the Grunts had been gunned down and only one Marine, and from the looks of things it was by pure chance. The two Sangheili warriors saw to the quick extermination of the survivors.

"Excellency," Oriné said, walking up to 'Gerrolee, "what is our mission?"

"On this ship is one of the Demons," Tokla replied, idly kicking one of the deceased aliens. "Our assignment is to find it and kill it while it is still in the humans' cryogenic storage."

For a moment, Oriné's hearts stopped beating. The Demons were a very dangerous kind of human, clad only in green armor with a mirrored gold visor. They had shielding equal to that of most Sangheili armor and were proficient with virtually every weapon. There were only supposed to be so many of them, but battlefield rumors cast them as specters of death, capable of ending entire Legions each.

But something had changed during their last engagement, before leaving to pursue this vessel. "Were they not all destroyed on Reach?"

"It is believed that the one on this ship is the only survivor," he growled, glancing down the hallway as he heard gunfire at the other end. "If we catch him while he slumbers, we will be able to dispatch him quickly." He looked back to the Grunts, still recovering from the firefight. "Warriors, onward!"

The lance, now made up of five troops, pushed onward through the ship.

//

Captain Jacob Keyes stood on the bridge of the Pillar of Autumn, sighing as he looked out the forward window. Despite his best efforts his ship was slowly getting beaten apart. It was strong, one of the sturdiest in the fleet, but when faced with an entire Covenant armada it amounted to nothing more than a few minutes before absolute annihilation.

His only chance, he knew, was the strange object they had stumbled across. It was a giant ring floating in space, caught between the gravity of the planet, dubbed Threshold by the Autumn's AI, and its moon, Basis. It followed the orbit of the moon exactly. But that wasn't what was truly interesting: the inner surface of the ring looked like a world of its own. There were green and brown continental areas and sparkling blue oceans. A preliminary scan had revealed Earth-normal gravity and an oxygen-nitrogen atmosphere; the normal rotation of the ring wasn't quite enough to sustain the gravity, however, which meant there was something else at work.

But for now he had to focus on getting there, and to do that his ship needed to be in one piece. Keyes turned from the window, strode back to the tactical screen, and consulted it for a moment. "Cortana," he said, and a holo-tank sprang to life next to him. A purple-hued image of a woman with short hair appeared, her hands on her hips and her head cocked to one side.

"Yes, Captain?" Her head bobbed, data streams racing across her "skin" at shocking speed.

He glanced at her. "How are our preparations coming along?"

"They're going well," she replied, shifting her position to something appearing relaxed rather than tense. "Alpha through Delta companies are repelling boarders throughout the ship with more success than I had originally calculated; Easy and Foxtrot are defending the vehicle and launch bays. I also have the Helljumpers defending the engine room. The Covenant has so far failed to breach too deep into the ship, but in all honesty it's just a matter of time."

"And our special guest?"

A smirk crossed the AI's face. "He's already up and about sir, just walking off the effects of cryo."

"I want him up here now. We don't have time to dawdle."

Cortana's smirk turned into a frown. "Captain, he needs time to—"

"Now, Cortana."

She sighed. "I'll patch you through to cryo-bay two."

A moment later Keyes heard a soft beep. It was his neural-lace confirming that he had been linked to the second cryogenic storage bay. "Bridge to Cryo-2, this is Captain Keyes," he said. "Send the Master Chief to the bridge immediately."

The techie was clearly agitated when he replied. "But sir, we'll have to skip the weapons diagnostics, and I—"

The captain didn't have time to argue. "On the double, crewman!"

"Aye-aye, sir," the man replied. The link terminated.

At least he's awake, Keyes thought, staring out the forward window again and scratching at his grey crew-cut. The Covenant will sure have a harder time getting in now.

//

"Cover!" Oriné threw himself behind a bulkhead as human rounds flashed by, a few striking the hard surface and shattering on impact. The fragments bounced off his shield, doing no damage. His hand groped along his own waist, finding a grenade and pulling it free. He gave it a squeeze and quickly tossed it, not wanting the weapon to accidentally adhere to his own palm.

A burning ball of sapphire flame arced through the air and fused to a human's helmet. Had it been thinking clearly it could have simply removed the headgear and thrown it aside; instead, however, it panicked and began flailing about and screaming. Its comrades yelled at it, but by then it was too late. The charge exploded, wiping out the entire group.

Sighing in relief, the Elite Minor eased out from behind his cover. Major 'Gerrolee nodded in approval and Rurut waddled up to hand him a replacement grenade.

The Major's head lifted, eyes unfocused, as if he was seeing something that wasn't there. A moment later he raised a hand to the side of his helmet, pressing the radio toggle, and he muttered something Oriné couldn't hear.

"We are going to meet up with another lance," Tokla said after he had finished. "They are not far from here." The team moved on down another of the seemingly endless hallways of the human ship, following the sounds of combat. In another few minutes they found themselves at the site of a pitched battle between a group of humans sheltered behind barricades and Covenant caught in the airlock.

Immediately Oriné's team moved to provide covering fire, allowing the trapped soldiers to move out and get behind better cover. After that it was only a few moments of exchanged fire before, once again, the holy warriors were victorious.

The other lance was haggard, but Oriné immediately recognized the noble figure of one of the Elites. "Yarna!" he called out. The other Elite Minor turned, surprised to hear his name.

"Oriné?" Yarna 'Orgalmee jogged over. "It is you! I had not thought that your ship would give chase after these vile creatures." Oriné's ship had been deploying its troops on the surface of Reach when the Supreme Commander ordered his fleet to follow the Pillar of Autumn. Undoubtedly he had hoped the ship would flee to the humans' home world, but where they were was unknown at the moment.

"It is good to see you again," was all Oriné managed to say before the Major called his name. Excusing himself with a nod to his friend, the Elite Minor jogged over to where his commanding officer was standing. He was in the middle of a three-way intersection. On the floor was human cryptography.

"Which way do we go?" the Major growled. "We wish to find the sleeping Demon."

"Yes Excellency." Oriné knelt to inspect the markings. He alone among the group could read the humans' writing. He had learned through self-education. Included with the text on the floor were pictures that helped his translation: he determined that the cryo-bays where they would find their guest were down the left hallway.

The group, now bolstered by the inclusion of Yarna's lance, moved in the proper direction. There was less resistance down this path; either the humans didn't believe it to be strategically important or another squad had already come through here. If the latter was true, then Major 'Gerrolee would be enraged by the slight upon his honor that someone else had accomplished his mission.

A wall of fire was waiting for them when they neared, cutting them off from the bay; through the flames Oriné could see the door that would lead to their target.

"Can we circumvent this inferno?" the Major asked, looking back at Oriné.

"Yes, Excellency, it should be simple. Follow me."

//

Esam 'Mijumee allowed himself a brief moment of respite. He leaned back against the stone wall of the valley and gazed up into the sky, a gentle breeze flowing over him. It shocked him how beautiful Halo was, and how peaceful its surface seemed. Rolling plains, snowcapped mountains, sweeping valleys, and endless oceans; it all came together so gloriously. If there was truly a heaven, the Covenant had found it.

For a moment his thoughts turned to his mate, Nero Jum, back on High Charity. She was expected to lay her egg soon, a thought that filled Esam with pride. The Healers had said it would be a son. A son! One who could carry on his Lineage, his honor, even his work.

A voice cut through his daydreams. "Esam, why are you away from your station?" The echoing trail of sound led back down the finely carved passage angling deep below the surface. "Is something the matter?" Gradually the voice sounded more and more solid, like glowbugs coalescing on a warm Sanghelios night. A moment later a cobalt-armored head stuck itself out from the passage, two brown eyes resting on Esam's relaxed form.

The Minor Inquisitor rolled his head listlessly to meet the newcomer's stare. "What is it, Esli? Can it not wait? Look," he said, pointing up into the sky, "the clouds take shape. That one looks like a Yorahii and that one is a Ghost chasing it…"

Esli 'Sarodee shook his head. "You dream far too much, my friend. And slack off, too. 'Oegulee is making his rounds. If he finds you away from your station, he will have no—"

"He will have no compunction chopping me up, cooking me, and feeding me to the Kig-Yar. I know." The former flippantly waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. "But look at this. The glory of our Lords is all around us! Can you imagine they once walked this very soil?" He stamped his hoof, sending up a small cloud of dirt and dust. "Observe, I have added my footfalls to that of the Forerunners! How incredible is that?"

"Amazing," said Esli with no overflow of enthusiasm. "Can we return to our stations now? I would prefer not to be beaten by the Overseer, even if just for a day."

Grudgingly Esam nodded and shuffled back into the tunnel. The clapping sound of his hooves on the strange metallic stone echoed all around him, but he enjoyed the noise: just a further demonstration of his Lords' abilities. Their subtlety continued to astound him, even so many years after entering the Inquisitor Corps.

Down in the depths things grew understandably darker, but here and there were brightly luminescent Forerunner devices: panels set into the ceiling that provided light; strange sources of illumination peeking out between grates set into the floor and strange boxy constructs that came up from the ground. So far they had found no particular purpose for these miniature buildings, but there they were, defying explanation. That was the sort of thing that put Esam in his element.

He returned to his station and sat down: a mosaic carved with exquisite care clung to the base of one of these boxes. From a nearby equipment dispenser he retrieved a pinpoint scanner and swept it back and forth over sections of the carving, occasionally glancing back at a holographic monitor to make sure he was getting an accurate picture. The scanner measured depth, particle spread, and makeup of whatever it analyzed, and with its current modifications, would put together a gradual perfect reconstruction of the item in question.

Esam had been at this particular mosaic for over two hours before he took his impromptu break and had gotten more than halfway through it. After he was finished he would scan the other sides (the pattern spread all around the base) and take it back to his ramshackle office at camp to further study it. Then he would transmit the data back to the ships in orbit where the Fleet Master would look them over and subsequently send it off to High Charity for proper filing. The entire process could take weeks just for this one find, but with the incredible amount of Inquisitors that had been called in, the entire sector could be properly scanned over the course of a month.

Heavy footfalls sounded nearby, but he ignored them and kept working. They came to a stop directly behind him; he gradually realized that he could hear the individual breathing in his usually cumbrous manner as he leaned down.

"How is work progressing, Inquisitor 'Mijumee?" Overseer 'Oegulee had been placed in charge of this particular expedition, though other Overseers were dotted all throughout Halo. This one, however, was particularly imposing. He was a head taller than most Sangheili, with large, rippling muscles that could easily tear an Unggoy in half, and his crimson armor was shined to immaculate perfection. Not a molecule of filth could touch the harness without him becoming aware of it and ruthlessly punishing whoever he took to be at fault, before retreating to obsessively clean it.

'Oegulee believed that at any moment they could find a living, breathing Forerunner who would look upon his cleanliness and bestow fantastic powers on him for it. Esam believed that 'Oegulee had been dropped frequently while in his egg.

"Work continues apace, Overseer," he replied, not looking up. "It should only be a few more hours before my scan is complete and I can begin analyzing it."

'Oegulee leaned in closer. "No distractions, 'Mijumee? No unsanctioned breaks?"

Esam remained silent, stoically continuing his work.

Finally the Overseer huffed and reared himself to full height. "Your ears!" he cried. All activity ceased in the grand room, 'Oegulee's voice echoing in the cavernous interior. "I have just received word from the Prophet attached to the Fleet of Particular Justice," he continued. "A human ship has just come out of Slipspace nearby. The Supreme Commander believes these heretics may just be desperate and suicidal enough to attempt to land on this sacred ring.

"Thus, His Holiness has asked that we move our timetable up several slots. For now, continue working, but bear in mind we may be evacuated or called to battle at any time. Make sure your sidearm is available in the event we are set upon by the humans. That is all." The crimson-armored Sangheili then stalked off to go hassle a flock of Kig-Yar that was idling by the doorway, hissing and jabbering in their native tongue.

Glumly Esam turned his attention to the equipment dispenser, reaching his hand in and withdrawing his plasma pistol. He had never fired the weapon except for in training, and even then he had never hit anything. A poor shot and a miserable warrior; those were two of the qualities that made him a good Inquisitor. However, as mandated by their duty as soldiers, they had to be willing to fight for the Prophets at any moment.

All Esam could do was exchange a significant glance with Esli, fasten the weapon to its magnetic holster on his hip, and return to work. Hopefully the humans would all be killed before too long, and he could continue his efforts unburdened by the thought of being attacked.

//

As Oriné had said, the way to get around the burning area of the ship was simple, if not exactly short. It took another ten minutes of searching in order to find their way into the cryogenic storage bay, ten minutes which made Major 'Gerrolee all the more anxious.

To make matters worse, when their lance finally did make it into the storage bay, it was completely empty. There was not a human to be found, alive or dead. Oriné and Yarna looked towards the Major, but all they could see was the barely-contained rage simmering in his eyes as he stared at one obvious and open casket. The two Elite Minors wisely kept their mouths shut and continued to make a show of searching all the pods, though they already knew their quarry was long departed.

Oriné suddenly felt a chill on the back of his neck. Instinctively he brought a hand up, suspecting tactile contact, but he found nothing. Even the warmth of his hand could not abate the cold feeling. Warily, he turned around and looked up into the control room that overlooked the room, and immediately his hearts leaped into his throat.

"Excellency!" he cried and pointed. There, standing above them and looking down, was the Demon. The descriptions did it no justice. It was taller than any human Oriné had ever seen. Its simple presence clouded Oriné's mind with rage, thoughts of glory… and fear. The Sangheili shook his head in an attempt to ward off the unwanted emotion.

The Major, however, was not so affected. Instead he howled and charged out into the hallway, hoping to find and kill this Demon himself and earn the honor that Oriné had so briefly dreamed. With only a moment's delay he and Yarna bolted out as well, though not nearly so fast as 'Gerrolee. By the time the pair reached the hallway the Major had vanished.

Oriné turned to the Unggoy who had remained in the hall. "Where has he gone?" One of them pointed in one direction down the hallway. Just as he started to head in that direction, however, his communications channel chimed.

"All forces, abandon the human ship," the gruff voice of a senior Sangheili growled. "It is beginning to break up. Repeat, all forces, abandon the human ship." As if to reinforce the point, there was a loud groan and the ceiling caved in two meters in front of Oriné. The ship was beginning to buckle under some fantastic stress.

Realizing he was cut off from the Major, Oriné turned back around. "We must find our way out of this place," he said to Yarna and the Grunts. "Let us go back to the boarding craft!" They quickly made their way away from the hall.

"I shall not miss this ship," Yarna told Oriné as they ran. "Human air is filthy."

//

Major Tokla 'Gerrolee believed himself to have set a perfect trap. There were only two more lifeboats remaining on the human ship, and he and a few Unggoy had hunkered down and reinforced the position.

The Demon must come through this place if it is to escape this vessel, he told himself, looking back and forth down the two approaches to the pods. And when it did, he would kill it, take its head as a trophy, and escape the ship just in time. He would be revered and pushed up the ranks to a full-fledged Field Master. His name would be sung for generations as a Demon Killer.

The sounds of battle broke him from his daydreaming, and he gazed down the hall to his right. A clutch of Grunts had engaged human survivors attempting to push their way to the lifeboats. It's here! Anxiously the Major raised his rifle and aimed it down the corridor.

An innocuous click sounded nearby. Curiously he turned his head and saw, with horror, a human fragmentation grenade landing behind him. He screamed a warning to the Unggoy half a second before the device detonated, sending smoke and shrapnel in every direction. The metal shards sliced through the Grunts and totally drained 'Gerrolee's shields, the concussive force of the blast knocking him to the floor. Trying to draw air into his lungs, he turned and let out a hoarse roar just as a hail of 7.62 mm rounds cut through his head.

As the Major's lifeless body slumped to the floor, the Demon stepped out from behind its cover, admiring its handiwork. Kicking one of the limp Grunts to ensure its destruction he jogged towards a lifeboat. Just as he was climbing aboard there was an explosion and a Marine was thrown into the doorway. It picked up the wayward soldier by his pack and threw him into the pod before stepping in and sealing the door.

The Demon had escaped.