The Major UNSC Broken Dreams 4 Hours After Rupture

“They’re gettin’ hammered down there,” Rebar muttered, the team’s sharpshooter shaking his head as they appraised the hologram. The render of New Mombasa shivered with static, the city tinted orange by the briefing table projectors. There were dozens of colour-coded dots sprinkled throughout the urban landscape, red for Covenant, blue for friendlies, the latter of which had been reduced to a few isolated pockets of resistance.

“That’s why they called for us,” Holiday answered, the soldier’s BDU creaking as she shifted her weight. Like Rebar, she preferred to travel light, her battledress sporting minimal armour plating in favour of pouches for extra ammo and grenades, the holster for her magnum strapped over her sternum. “ODST’s couldn’t do their jobs properly, so they send us in to clean their shit up.”

“Who backs up the backup?” another of their comrades added. The orange highlights on his armour, and the smiley face decal etched onto his opaque visor, gave the man away as Joker. The more experienced members of the Navy ended up customising their armour as Joker did, but unlike ODST’s, these privileges came from a lack of authority than seeing a lot of action, not that they’d been strapped for fights lately. “At least, that’s our cover, right Major?”

The last of their number was pulled out of his thoughts at that, looking down to appraise the shotgun in his hands. It was an M90 pump action, as personalised as the rest of the team’s gear was, with a flashlight mounted on the barrel, and ornate patterns laser-etched into the stock that could only be seen when the light caught it at just the right angle. A massive suppressor capped the weapon, adding around a foot to the gun’s overall length.

“We are helping, just not the way these marines might think,” the Major replied, stowing the shotgun on his back. “Time to get set, if there are no more questions?”

There weren’t. The Major switched the hologram off, walking with his team down the aisle, the ship’s winding corridors a mess of exposed cables and access panels. They had gone over the plan numerous times during the jump in, so they didn’t need much of a briefing this close to the drop.

Earth had been discovered. Despite humankind’s best efforts to keep the homeworld a secret, a Covenant fleet had jumped into orbit and had taken the port city after breaking through the orbital defences. Not even half a day had gone by and they’d overwhelmed the defenders, and intel suggested this was because the carrier that had spearheaded the alien fleet had been the flagship of a Prophet, who were the highest-ranking members in the entire Covenant.

Unfortunately, the carrier had jumped to slip-space before anyone could take the Prophet out, leaving a giant rupture right above the city that had wiped out most of the infrastructure, including the orbital tether that housed the city’s space elevator, which had hung like a loose piece of string above the outskirts before collapsing hours ago.

The Major and his team had boarded the Broken Dreams to join the next wave of ODST reinforcements, their orders coming straight from the top. The Captain of the ship wasn’t exactly pleased with having a bunch of spooks on board, but the Major couldn’t care less what a Navy officer that preferred to fly over a battle thought about his mission.

Shock Troopers turned to watch the Major’s team trundle into the hangar, adjusting their gear as they found their designated pods. The ones not wearing helmets didn’t look pleased to see the group of officers, quickly turning away when one of the specialists caught them staring. The ship was quiet, the only sound being the clunk of reloading weapons and troopers loading into their pods. The human/Covenant war had been going on for years, and now the aliens had set their hooves on Earth’s soil – there was no desire for chat at this stage.

Their pods were the last four along the aisle, the Major slotting his shotgun into the holster next to his seat. Single Occupant Exoatmospheric Insertion Vehicles, or eggs as they were nicknamed, were single-man transports launched out of the belly of a ship from orbit, dropping a soldier feet-first into any battle at incredible speeds. They were equipped with thrusters to slow down the descent before they crashed into the ground, but apart from that, the occupant just had to pray they didn’t get shot out of the sky before they landed.

The Major had used a drop pod before, he remembered all too well how he’d wet himself on his very first time, his fellow cadets back then had never let him hear the end of it.

He turned and secured himself into the seat, seeing his team doing likewise, hooking the straps and belts over their thighs and arms. A one-minute countdown blared over the intercom, the pod door sliding shut as the vehicle began to twist in place. There was a small window directly in front of him, the Major looking out over the horizon of Earth. At least they had a good view.

He powered on the monitors to either side of the glass, the helmeted faces of his team showing up on one, the navigation controls on the other. The status of their four pods lit up in green, the Major flicking the button that would allow him to remotely control their heading. It took a lot of guts to let someone else glide your pod in for you, and he respected his team’s trust in him.

“The rest of the troopers will be dropping in to assist with the evacuation,” he announced over the shared radio. “We’ll stick with them until we get close, then we break.”

“The Covvies are all over the place,” Holiday said, her helmet turning about as she read her tactical displays. “Why haven’t they nuked the city yet? Save us the trouble?”

“They want data recovered, not destroyed,” Rebar answered. “And don’t talk about wiping Mombasa off the map. I grew up here.”

“Ten seconds,” the Major announced. “Time to drop into hell, everyone. Duty Calls.”

The pods launched from the underside of the ship, shooting out like bullets as they angled towards the surface. The Major felt his pod’s main engines ignite, his stomach flying up into his chest as he was fired. He gripped the joystick controls, watching his height indicator tick down.

Through the window, he could make out the dozens of other pods joining the formation, the egg-shaped vessels framed by damaged ships listing in Earth’s low orbit. What looked like a frigate had been shredded to hundreds of pieces, turning the world up here into a floating graveyard of scrap.

Beyond that, the orbital tether rose from the clouds below, trapped in the gravity well. It should have been connected to a shipyard in orbit, but the rupture had sent its lower struts crumbling to the ground hours ago, wrapping over most of the surrounding country and leaving a line of destruction. To see such a huge project reduced to rubble sank the Major’s heart.

They dropped by the burning pieces of scrap, the world turning into milky whiteness as they passed into the clouds, turbulence making the Major’s stomach lurch. They streaked through the clouds until the city could be seen below. The sun was slipping beneath the horizon, but the raging fires caking the city illuminated the urban expanses, casting it all in a blood-red glow, the winding mazes of the streets framed by the black, sparkling waters of the ocean.

“Everything’s burning…” Rebar muttered, clearly troubled even though his expressionless helmet was all the Major could see. Nobody consoled him, there would be time for that later.

“Ten clicks,” Joker reported. “Are we going or… wait. Incoming!”

The Major winced as a bright ball of energy speared up from somewhere in the city sprawls below, travelling like a comet towards the falling drop pods. The concentrated orb of gas impacted one of the pods in front of the Major’s own, the vessel turning into liquid metal as the plasma slagged it.

More plasma fire joined the first, dozens of thick energy bolts sailing into the air from the ground, another drop pod off to the left engulfed in the superheated gas, its occupant no doubt cooking alive inside his metal coffin.

“AA!” Holiday warned. “They were waiting for us!”

“Adjusting,” the Major muttered, pivoting the joystick to the side. His pod narrowly dodged out of the way of a plasma bolt, three other pods following his movements as they engaged evasive maneuvers.

The ground was rapidly closing in, the height indicator slipping from kilometres to meters. His feeds shook with static as more anti-air fire flew past their pods, the sky cocked with plasma as the barrage continued. The team streaked past the very tops of the highest skyscrapers, well off their original heading as ground fire forced them off course.

“Pop your chutes,” the Major ordered, his pod beginning to shake as it engaged the brakes. As the stabiliser panels began to extend, he watched in horror as a plasma bolt tracked his slowing pod, missing him by mere inches, but crashing into the building directly behind him. The splash damage was enough to rock him in his seat, the belts digging into his limbs as he was thrashed around, his pod spinning wildly out of control. He reached over and disengaged the autopilot guidance he had over his team, giving them manual control, gripping the handholds on the door as the g-forces began to stack.

His BDU was flashing red with the internal warning lights, alarms blaring at him as his pod bounced off another building like a billiard ball. He could feel the pod slowing, his engines were still working, but the city was rising up to meet him all the same, his body freezing up as he prepared for a hard landing.

Seela Above the Streets of New Mombasa 1 Hour Before Rupture

She hated dropships. She hated them ever since she’d joined the Covenant, they were too small to have so many aliens crammed into the compartment bay, and the combined stench of the various species sent her sensitive snout into a twitching mess that further irritated her foul mood. This wasn’t to mention her body’s poor tolerance for inertia, a thing her male counterparts chuckled about behind her back, as if she had more reason to be perceived as the weaker gender.

There weren’t many females serving in the Sangheili ranks of the Covenant, but Seela had slogged her way through a training program that had been rife with intolerant fanatics, and she liked to tell herself that being so resilient as a recruit had made her one of the strongest warriors to serve the Prophets today.

As she rose through the ranks and survived her many deployments, she’d eventually been assigned a squad to lead, giving her the same command as an Ultra, though she’d never held authority over a fellow Sangheili or Jiralhanae. They’d been assigned to reinforce some squad pinned down in the city below, a trivial duty, but at least she would claim some honour in the process and prove she could handle being in a proper Sangheili squad.

She fiddled idly with her white power armour, grumbling at how it pinched the creases in her leathery hide, particularly around the elbows and armpits. There was no female-specific armour, fitting her just like her brother’s oversized hand-me-downs she’d been given when she was a child back on the homeworld.

She glanced over at her squad beside her. She had a mix of Unggoy and Kig-Yar at her disposal, numbering about ten in all. The Unggoy were squat, fat little creatures with methane tanks strapped to their backs, with rebreathers connecting their mouths to the gas which they needed to breathe. She’d seen many of those tanks explode under sustained gunfire, only cementing their role in the Covenant as cannon fodder and lowest standing among the races. She’d never seen one wield anything larger than a pistol.

The Kig-Yar were a little more capable than the Unggoy, though that was like comparing two piles of differently coloured excrement – with the scent to match. The avian creatures stood on a pair of backwards legs, their quills flittering in agitation as they chewed on their wrists and arms with their needle-shaped teeth. Their eyes were too big for Seela’s taste, always flicking about like they were two seconds away from lashing out at the nearest thing. Some of them had shield gauntlets strapped to their arms, others had long needle rifles strapped over their shoulders. Their armour covered their thin bodies in pitiful amounts of plating, the creatures so visibly lacking in muscle Seela wondered how they didn’t crumble under the planet’s gravity alone.

“The heretics will be waiting for us, expect a fight as soon as we land!” the only other Sangheili present shouted, backhanding one of the Unggoy that whimpered at the news. They were sharing the dropship with another squad, much to the chagrin of Seela’s poor nose. She didn’t know her kinsman’s name, but as someone who knew what it was like to be abused by her leaders, she went easier on her charges than most would afford the pitiful warriors.

The Zealot was wearing the golden armour reserved for only the most devout of the Covenant, his suit catching the light of the overhead fluorescents as he shot her a snarl. As his rank suggested, he probably thought she was just as lowly as the runts surrounding them, but that wasn’t exactly a new development for her.

At least he wasn’t a Jiralhanae. Those apes were covered in sweaty, muck-ridded fur that reflected their attitude towards her, seeing Seela’s presence in the elite ranks of the military as just short of heresy. Combine that with the infighting that already divided the Sangheili and the Jiralhanae, and Seela had been forced to stay up countless nights for fear of an attack by fellow forces of the Covenant.

She lifted her carbine from its holster, checking the ammo count as the dropship began to slow. She could feel the ship rocking beneath her hooves as the nose-mounted cannon fired at something below, the primitive Humans still putting on a brave fight even as their world crumbled around them.

Although she was grateful for the respect the Covenant had given her, and the modicum of honour and renown she’d managed to create over the years, the war was not so back and white as she had been led to believe in her youth. Even her kinsman respected the ferocity the Humans showed in battle, and yet the things she’d seen and the things she’d done to them only dampened her faith in the cause.

Her squad bumped into each other as the Phantom slowed to a halt, the vertical doors sliding open on either side of the craft. Wind and sunlight slipped inside, Seela raising an arm to block her eyes from the harsh light. Air choked with smoke and burning flesh met her nose, Seela not sure if she preferred the smell inside the Phantom or out of it.

The alien street was a long drop below, the Phantom’s pilot not deigning to get any lower, and for good reason. It was chaos down there, the roads full of strange, blocky vehicles that were not armed or armoured in any way. Their doors were open or blasted off, some still rumbling quietly as though abandoned only moments ago.

Trees of alien origin spaced parts of the asphalt, their leaves shaking in the breeze. Metal structures built in right angles flanked the roads leading out of a circular intersection of some sort, the sunlight casting harsh shadows over a battle in progress.

On the island in the centre of the intersection, Covenant troops were trading fire with aliens hiding in the buildings across the road to the north, the black, primitive weapons of the Humans flashing as they fired through the broken window frames. Unggoy and Kig-Yar cowered behind the abandoned vehicles and planters, firing blindly over their covers as they were picked off one at a time.

Seela braced herself, her squad waiting behind her as she readied her carbine. She leapt, gliding through the second-long jump and landing in the middle of the routing forces, cracking the ground like it was made of glass. She dropped into a crouch, shouldering her weapon as she aimed at one of the muzzle flashes. She fired twice, the weapon rocking into her shoulder, a muffled cry of pain reaching her ears as the Human dropped from view.

Her squad dropped down behind her, the Unggoy stumbling over themselves as they found cover, while the Kig-Yar leapt onto any high ground they could find. The Zealot’s squad likewise dismounted from the transport, the Kig-Yar covering the reinforcements as they fanned out.

Seela was washed in the backdraft of the retreating Phantom, the dropship gunning its engines and flying over the tops of the metal buildings, disappearing from sight. If she had to board another one of them again, it would be too soon.

“Push them back!” the Zealot commanded, raising a pointed finger at the Human holdout, while igniting his energy sword in his other arm. Energy hardened into two ornate blades sprouting from the metal hilt, Seela feeling a surge of confidence upon seeing the holy weapon. She’d never held a sword before, if she were to, Zealot’s like this one would have her head.

She spied a dead kinsman just off to the side, his purple blood splattered across the ground. She dashed over and lowered to a knee, checking his pulse despite the gunfire sailing over her head, only for her fingers to touch cold skin.

“Get some rounds on those windows,” she ordered to her Kig-Yar, the avians scrambling onto the larger vehicles nearby, laying on their bellies and providing suppressive fire. She murmured a prayer for the fallen Sanghieli, there was no greater honour than to die in battle.

She turned to the surviving Unggoy and Kig-Yar she’d been ordered to reinforce, the runts cowering under her gaze. “If you do not wish to die, get on your feet.”

She didn’t wait for them to answer, vaulting over the front of a vehicle, the chasis denting under her weight, dashing to the next one along, her heavy hooves thundering across the tarmac. A wild spray across her front ignited her energy shields, the barrier going bright white as the rounds melted on contact. She put her back to the door of the next vehicle, the thing bouncing on its suspension as she collided with it. She peeked over the side of it, gauging the Human’s holdout a couple more lanes in front of her.

They crouched behind pieces of rubble on the first and second floors, the walls scorched black by plasma fire. She counted six of them, watching as one of the Humans levelled his rifle out of the window, sending a three-round burst into the face of a Kig-Yar trying to flank to the right, the avian crumpling without a sound.

She took aim with her carbine, her superheated rounds finding their marks in the Humans chest, the armoured alien falling to the pavement below with a clatter. She could see the Zealot’s team was advancing on the right, while her team followed her on the left, a tried and tested maneuver.

The surge of numbers boosted the morale of the survivors quickly, the little aliens following after her as Seela advanced on the holdout. The Unngoy were too slow for her taste, even if their job was to be out front, Seela leading the charge while her squad covered her.

She could hear the Humans shouting from inside, the tide quickly turning as they abandoned their firing positions, Seela too close for them to get an angle without exposing themselves. She ducked into the low doorframe of the entrance, sweeping her carbine around as she checked the corners. She had to lean down to avoid hitting her head on the ceiling, the overhaning wood shaking as the Humans up there started moving.

“Secure those rooms!” she ordered, pointing at the doorways leading deeper into the building, keeping her eyes on a stairwell leading towards the next floor. As her Unngoy waddled inside, they were knocked aside as the Zealot charged through the doorway, his sword swinging by his side, the blade lighting up the shadows.

“Do not waste time,” he growled. “I will push them out, go and wait by the exits and cut them off, do not let them escape!”

The Zealot dashed by, leaping up the stairs three at a time and vanishing from her view. There was a cry as the blade met its first victim, Seela grumbling under her breath as she reloaded her weapon.

“How far does this building go?” she asked one of her marksmen, the Kig-Yar leaning around the side of the structure and looking through the scope down the street.

“Not far,” the avian hissed. “It ends at a wall, but there are exits everywhere!”

“There are more on this side too!” another said, looking down the opposite street.

“Then we split up and cover each one, you five take the right, the rest of you with me. Move out.”

Her squad split into two, filling onto the streets, Seela in the middle of her own as they moved down the street, sticking close to the building. As her marksman said, the structure stretched on for a bit before terminating at the wall of another structure at the end of the road, and their were three archways built into this face, each one cutting straight through where one could see the road on the other side.

She had little idea of what such an odd structure’s purpose could be, but each archway provided an exit for their quarry, with staircases leading into them from either side of the arch, so Seela ordered a few of her underlings to guard each one they passed, while she would cover the last by herself. From somewhere inside she could hear her kinsman roaring in anger, the procession of gunfire slowly working its way up the building as the Humans were pushed back.

She dashed to the end of the street, skidding on the pavement as she turned to face the very last archway, her squad readying themselves as they set up their ambushes. The Zealot’s team was methodically pushing the humans through the building, wherever they came out, Seela or her team would be there, waiting.

She glanced to her right as one of her Kig-Yar fired a plasma bolt into an archway, the rest of her squad following suit. She could not witness the slaughter from this angle, but she could tell the Humans had been caught out.

Seela didn’t have to wait long until someone stumbled into her archway, a Human running out into the daylight. She aimed her carbine, but as she scoped in, she hesitated.

It was not a Human soldier like she expected it to be. This one wore fabrics that might have had some ceremonial purpose, with pieces of jewellery slipped over the fingers on its hands. As her reticle hovered over its face, she noticed its complexion was different to other Humans she had fought. It looked small, weaker, with long, flowing hair trailing down to its shoulders rather than shaved short. It looked at her with wide eyes as it clutched something closer to its chest. A weapon, perhaps?

But it was no weapon. As she aimed lower, Seela saw it was holding something bundled up in a white cloth, something moving. The sliver of a head peeked out from the folds of the blanket, a pair of tiny, curious eyes meeting Seela’s own. They were blue, like the oceans surrounding the city, surrounded by pudgy skin with a little button nose in the middle. It was an infant. She’d never seen a Human infant before, they must be very brave creatures to not be making a single sound.

The mother, or at least Seela thought it was the mother, turned away, putting herself between Seela and the infant. At least she knew now the reason these Humans were fighting so desperately for this unremarkable piece of the city. Just as Seela let her scope drop, another Human stepped out from the staircase, and this one was clad in the weapons and armour she was familiar with. It raised a rifle in her direction without pause.

Before she could lift her weapon, Seela’s shields flared as the Human unloaded all his ammo at her. Her shields were strong, but couldn’t stop sustained damage, the barrier flickering away just as she stepped out of the alley back into cover.

She waited until the gunfire ceased, Seela peeking round the corner to see more unarmed humans filing out into the passage, the infant and mother disappearing with the group into a small opening between two walls, some kind of escape passage she guessed. The human with the gun stood valiantly between Seela and his charges as he reloaded.

She reached for the plasma grenade on her belt, her thumb hovering over the triggering mechanism. The eyes of that infant, so innocent and studying, was burned into her vision like the afterimage of a bright light. Had they not evacuated the innocent yet? Or rather, the Heretics that didn’t fight, she mentally corrected herself.

Sighing, she stowed the grenade away, peeking round the wall to see the Humans falling back, their sole defender covering them before turning to run after. Seela aimed her carbine at him, but steps against the pavement nearby drew her attention away. Her squad was coming up behind her, it seemed all their exits had been covered, and they’d come to investigate the shooting. An Unggoy at the front cocked its head at her.

“W-Where Humans?” it chirped, looking over her shoulder down the archway.

Once again, someone else stomped their way down the stairs, Seela and her squad lowering their weapons as the Zealot snarled at them, his sword still ignited in his hand.

“Where are the Humans?” he demanded, red blood staining his otherwise flawless armour. His sword was clean, the energy had burned all the stains away.

“That’s what I say!” the Unggoy squeaked, Seela pushing him around the corner, away from the fuming Zealot’s view.

“At least five of them escaped this way,” the Zealot continued. “Surely even you could not have missed them, sister?”

Trying not to snarl at him, Seela pointed over his shoulder. “They fled that way, I could not get a shot before one of them destroyed my shields.”

“I do not care for your excuses, find them! My team will stay here and hold this ground.”

“Only one of them was armed,” she replied. “There is little honour in chasing down those who do not fight back.”

“There is even less in letting them go,” the Zealot snapped. “You had one task, now carry it out, or shall I call the Penance and explain to the Prophet himself of how you shirk your duty to the Great Journey?”

Seela turned her snout up at the Covenant assault carrier, the bulbous ship hanging low over the city, casting its shadow over the Human dwellings. The Solemn Penance was the Prophet of Regret’s flagship. She had only met him face-to-face once, but she had never forgotten the encounter.

“Very well,” she mumbled, turning to her team. “Check your gear, we have a hunt on our hands.”

The Kig-Yar clicked their beaks in glee, the two Sangheili letting them pass as they chased after the Humans, the Unggoy waddling after. Seela followed them out into the street, feeling the eyes of the Zealot on her back. It would do her no good to hesitate further in front of the devout warrior, she had no idea if he had a line of communication with the Prophet or not, but wasn’t about to test him.

She worried for the mother and her newborn, sparing a worrying glance at one of her Kig-Yar who had picked up their scent, the bloodthirsty aliens scurrying into the next street as they gave chase. Hopefully, the Humans knew the city well enough to escape, or Seela would have to take matters into her own hands…

The Major Occupied City Center 5 Hours After Rupture

A crack of thunder jolted the Major awake, the man blinking his blurred vision clear as he took in his surroundings. The interior of his pod was a mess of broken electronics and twisted metal, the Major slowly recalling the AA fire that had botched the drop. Had his team managed to reach the ground safely? He tried reporting in through his radio, but all he heard through the link was static.

The glass of his pod window was completely gone, the Major looking though it to see a frame of broken wood and metal cutting a hole into the side of a building, his pod must have slammed straight through the wall just before hitting the ground, it was a wonder the Covvies hadn’t found him and put a plasma bolt through his head.

He pulled the manual release on the door, having to tug on it three or four times to dislodge some internal component. The door opened with a hiss of air, the Major kicking it open with his boot. It banged against the roof of the pod as it swung out, the Major thankfully finding his shotgun hadn’t been damaged during the crash.

Clutching his weapon to his chest, he leapt from the pod, lowering to a knee as he took in his surroundings. It seemed he’d landed in the foyer of a mall, his pod landing right in the middle of some kind of food stand, bits of paper drifting across the cracked tiles. It was discouraging to see what should be such a busy place devoid of life and sound. Shopping carts and tables full of food had been left discarded in every direction, everyone had been going about their business when the aliens had turned up.

He stalked over to the big, glass entry doors, his boots echoing loudly through the vaulted space. The sun was gone, bringing with it the night and the beginning of a storm, the sky above dark with broiling clouds, another rumble of thunder sounding off in the distance.

Some of the street lamps were still working, casting the twisting streets in a white glow, flickering advertisement boards flanking the sidewalks still displaying their products in bright colours. Against the darkened backdrop, it was difficult to make out much else, the Major flicking on his onboard visor with a tap on the chin of his helmet. His targeting systems rolled across the world around him, upping the brightness so he could make out objects in the gloom.

He checked his comms again, but he got no response from his team. The street on his right wound up a slight incline, maybe some high ground could help establish communications with someone.

He moved through the clogged street, the cars here abandoned with their lights on and their engines still running. They were piled up against a line of barricades that had been built into the road, the way they were positioned hinting at the mass panic that had gripped the city.

There was no sign of the Covenant or the city occupants, every car he peeked inside of empty of bodies. Perhaps the Covenant ate the dead, or the marines had managed to get most of the people out. He hoped it was the latter.

He followed the LED lights marking the lanes further up the hill, the street taking a bend to the left after levelling out. A couple of park benches sat close to the edge of an artificial balcony, the Major peaking over the railing at some sort of plaza below. The view above was mostly unimpeded, the horizon filling up with the burning skyscrapers of the City Centre, the plumes of smoke merging into the dark sky.

Despite the added height and the open air above, still his comms failed to work. He needed to link up with his squad, if they were still alive, or find their bodies if they weren’t. As for the mission… he needed to know where he was if he wanted to get anything about that done.

“Need directions? Please enter the name of your destination!”

The Major flinched as the synthetic voice blared to his right, raising his shotgun towards the source of the noise. There was a kiosk against the far end of the railing, and he walked over to it, seeing the face of the city’s superintendent on the angled screen. The logo flickered away, replaced with a supersized keyboard. He let his shotgun hang by his side as he tapped at the letters and hit the enter button, watching curiously as the screen slowly zoomed out into a wide, birds-eye view of the city. The words you are here flashed at a point near the top of the screen, and a red travel line began to draw away from it, curving through the streets until stopping at a point.

Strangely, that wasn’t the destination he put into the computer, the kiosk directing him to some random building to his east. He tapped at the back button and typed in where he needed to be, but again, the kiosk plotted a course to that meaningless spot again. It was on the way to where he needed to go, but he was still suspicious all the same. Maybe there was another kiosk he could use on the way, this one was probably busted.

A raindrop plinked off the front of his visor, the Major looking up to see lightning streak across the sky, the rain slowly growing in frequency as the seconds ticked by.

After committing the roadmap to memory as best he could, he raised his weapon, moving off to the left where the road twisted down into the plaza beyond, moving around a bus stop and scanning the alleys for threats. The wet asphalt reflected the shining neons of the city’s overhanging mega screens, the rain making everything look slick. He stuck to the outside lane as the road curved lower, the balcony with the kiosk now up and to his right in relation to where he was facing.

Staying close to the wall, he peeked round the corner, his shotgun at the ready as he checked the open area. In the middle of the plaza was a raised fountain, the sprouts still dribbling water into the surrounding bowls. The ceramics had been cracked and weathered, but if this was due to fighting or the rupture blast, he couldn’t be certain. The water spilled out of the more damaged recesses to flood the surrounding stairs, sinking into the cracks in the ground. Park benches and seats where people could sit by the water were still standing nearby, planters placed around to give the place a more rural appearance.

His visor outlined something in red, and the Major focused in on it, cursing under his breath as he recognised the figure. Standing next to the fountain was a towering Elite. The creature was over eight feet tall, the reptilian warrior wearing red power armour that glinted under the flashes of lightning. He could see its skin on the three-fingered hands and the neck, its hide dark and smooth, covered here and there in fine bumps, not unlike the skin of a turtle. Where the chin and mouth would be on a human, instead two pairs of thick mandibles jutted out from the front of its open helmet, leaving the throat open to the air. Despite its size, the alien was slim, its powerful arms moving with an odd grace as it checked its weapon. The Major recognised the needle rifle, a long-range precision weapon that fired red crystals at subsonic speeds, the Covenant’s equivalent to a sniper rifle.

Two Grunts were moving around nearby, he could make out the tops of the pointed tanks they wore just over the fountain and the benches. He could see the telltale mark of a plasma burn on a part of the Elite’s chestplate, they must have come from a fight. Was one of his team nearby? Had the Elite killed them?

The Elite waved at his two underlings, his voice lost to the distance as he ordered them around. The Grunts started moving his way, the Major quickly ducking into the building just round the corner, finding himself in a small shop. Although he had suppressed weapons, he didn’t like his chances facing off against an Elite by himself, Grunts or not. They were called Elites for a reason.

As he ducked behind the counter, he decided he’d take his chances and let them pass. He didn’t know how good Elite sense of smell was, but he guessed he was about to find out…

He steadied his breathing as he held his shotgun at the ready, peeking over the countertop as the alien troops walked closer and closer. They were making their way back up the ramp he’d come from, travelling in a line with the Elite at the front. He held his breath as the Elite trundled past the shop, its giant feet ending in two hooves that strangely did not make much of a sound as they hit the pavement, the thing could be quiet when it needed to be.

The Elite disappeared round the bend, but the Major kept his breathing in check, the waddling Grunt’s following behind their leader. The first one walked on by, but the second stopped, raising its masked face to the sky, sniffling loudly as it scented the air.

It stepped gingerly into the shop, dropping to one hand as its eyes scanned the shelving units. Even with its mask, it was still smelling him out like a damned bloodhound, the Major’s heart pounding in his chest as he weighed his options.

He clutched his weapon tighter, the plastic barrel creaking audibly as he held his breath. The Grunt wasn’t losing interest, so he decided to act first, leaning up over the counter and lining up the iron sights with the alien’s head.

By the time the Grunt noticed him, the Major had already fired. A narrow spread of buckshot broke apart the thing’s rebreather, the four-foot alien flipping head over heels at the point-blank shot. By the time it landed face-down on the floor, the Major was already moving, dashing out of the shop and into the cover of the fountains.

Behind him, he heard the Elite grumble in its alien language, gesturing for its remaining underling to go after the Major. The Grunt fired its pistol at him, but the bolt went wide, the Major returning fire over the ceramic bowls, hitting the Grunt in the back as it tried to run away.

His visor outlined the Elite, who had doubled back to put itself behind a derelict car. His shotgun wouldn’t do much at this range, so the Major drew his sidearm, unloading the silenced rounds at the Elite, its shields flaring as a couple found their marks.

He reloaded his pistol as he moved up, stowing his sidearm as he reached for his shotgun sling. He crouched behind one of the smaller fountains, the thing bubbling noisily as he looked over it. His shotgun would work better than his pistol, but he needed to get close, and the Elite seemed to know this, giving up ground as it retreated, firing its needle rifle blindly behind itself as it sort cover behind another vehicle further up the ramp.

Crystals bounced off the water as the Major ducked, the strange ammunition leaving small contrails that quickly disappeared. He let his weapon hang in its sling as he reached for his belt, grabbing one of the grenades and flipping the pin. He didn’t want to draw more attention, but it was better than letting the Elite drag on the fight, he couldn’t risk it calling in for backup.

He tossed it over the fountain, the grenade rolling to a stop by the wheel of the car the Elite was behind. The Elite loosed a bone-shaking roar as it noticed the explosive, but rather than dodge out of the way, it threw something back. A ball of blue flame came hurtling from the Elite’s hand, the Major recognised the plasma grenade. Those things were covered in an adhesive substance – if you got stuck by one, you would be vaporised the second you tried to get it off.

The Major fell into a sprint as the plasma ball stuck to the lip of the fountain he’d been hiding behind, falling to the ground as his and the Elite’s grenades detonated. The decorative, ceramic plates of the fountain hurtled in all directions, spearing into nearby walls as the water flooded the surrounding area. His own grenade ignited whatever fuel was left in the car, the fireball coalescing into a giant explosion that rocked the ground. Windows of the nearby vehicles shattered as shrapnel was sent flying, the hood of the car tumbling into one of the second storey windows as the engine tore apart.

The smoke slowly cleared as the Major sat up, knocked away by the blasts but none the worse for wear. He crept up on the Elite’s location through the swirling dust, seeing it laying on the ground, prying at the asphalt as it tried to crawl away, its armour scorched black. The tough bastard was still alive. The Major pumped his shotgun and pulled the trigger, the silenced hiss of the suppressor sounding off as he executed the alien.

Sighing behind his helmet, he took a second to collect himself as he reached for his chest sling, fishing out the spare slugs there and inserting them into the receiver. He’d been so close to getting stuck, his heart beating against his chest as he realised how close that had been. He was down a mag with his pistol and two slugs, minus a grenade, the pair of explosions no doubt drawing the attention of any Covenant nearby. All in all, not amazing. He had to get moving.

He checked the Elite’s body, finding that one of its sticky grenades was still intact, while the rest of its weapons were too damaged to be used. He clipped it to his belt, moving to one of the dead Grunts and ripping its pistol from its cold hands. Most marines were familiar enough with alien weapons to use them, since the UNSC never had enough spare ammo for every trooper, not even for specialists like the Major.

Hooking the plasma pistol to his hip, he continued on, hoping there were other kiosks around that would actually work.

Seela

Streets of New Mombasa

30 Minutes Before Rupture

She watched the star begin to sink beneath the urban horizon, the plummeting temperature making her shiver beneath her power armour, Seela pausing on the next corner to catch her breath. Her Kig-Yar had been running down the Human survivors through the winding streets non-stop, panting like a pack of rabid animals as they fell into their bobbing sprints,

She had tried to reign them in, but the Kig-Yar were restless, their desire to hunt overpowering their sense of tactics and discipline. Ignoring her orders, they broke formation, disappearing out of her sight. Insubordination was one thing, but hunting down Humans who were unwilling to fight only fuelled her depleting temper.

This was supposed to be a simple reinforcement assignment, now they were hunting down fleeing Humans through countless identical streets. She wasn’t a slouch in terms of physical performance, especially compared to the diminutive Kig-Yar, but the avians could be unnaturally quick when they smelled blood, and even she was starting to tire after so much running.

“We give up chase now?” one of her Unggoy asked, doubled over as he panted for air. At least her Unggoy had the sense to stick with her, even if their fastest pace was barely walking speed for Seela.

The one who’d spoken nearly tripped over when she rose to her feet, almost thrice his size as she stood to her full height.

“No,” she replied, her hooves thumping on the concrete as she picked up the pace. “We follow the Zealot’s will, and by extension, the Prophets own.”

Her Unggoy hopped along impotently on their stumpy legs, following her as she rounded a corner. Even beyond the sight of her devoted kin, she wasn’t about to betray his command, she was no Heretic. Yet she couldn’t shake the feeling of what seeing the human infant had instilled in her. The Great Journey was paved by flowing blood, but this was a step too far. If only she could find a way to reason with the Zealot, but they were so reverent of the cause, perhaps to a fault…

She banished these Heretical thoughts from her mind, but not just because she was fearful of the Prophets will. Over the endless stretches of colourless buildings had echoed the unmistakable report of Human gunfire, too close to be from anything else but their quarry. She fell into a hard run, following the direction of the noise.

Rounding into an alleyway, she glimpsed a pair of Kig-Yar at the far end, a couple of plasma shots carrying on the wind, the green muzzle flashes painting the crumbling walls in their emerald glow. The sound of the bolts filled her with guilt, what if she came upon the corpse of the tiny Human?

Her avian sharpshooters stood in a circle, looking at something on the ground out of her view. She pushed her charges away, and when she saw what was laying there, her worries lifted. The Human that had depleted her shields earlier was laying there, a plasma burn in the middle of his back, and another male Human was sprawled on the ground nearby, his thin clothes betraying him as one of the civilians.

She glanced to the right, the alley splitting off into one other direction, not counting the one she’d just walked down. She could make out footsteps at the edge of her hearing. At least some of them had gotten away, her relief mixed with a pang of underlying guilt as she realised she was rooting for the enemy.

“This one hardly put up a fight!” one of the Kig-Yar chittered as he prodded the Human warrior with his needle rifle. His beak angled up at her as he noticed her presence. “Ultra, the others went that way, shall we cut them down?”

“Break formation like that again,” she growled. “And it is you who shall be cut down. What were you thinking?” she barked, turning to the other Kig-Yar, each one wilting under her furious gaze. “Charging forward like that? What foolishness compelled you to break ranks?”

“Th-The humans were escaping,” one replied meekly. “We have to hunt down all Humans…”

They were clattering their beaks at each other, anger and frustration getting the better of them. She had to say something or else they might run off again.

“You have to follow my lead,” she chided, reigning in her temper. “What if the Humans had laid a trap? They know these streets better than we do, you would have walked right to your deaths, throwing all sense of caution aside as you were, then it would have been you laying on the ground.”

She jabbed a finger at the dead Humans to make her point. She knew enough about the avians that their feathers were flattening in a display of guilt, she was getting through to them.

“None of you are of any use if you’re dead,” she added. “Control yourselves next time, any fool can charge into battle, but a patient one tends to live much longer. Trust me on that.”

“So… We go after Humans now?” an Unggoy asked her, Seela turning her attention to where the rest of the Humans had fled, her mandibles flexing in thought.

“No,” she said, the Kig-Yar tilting their beaks up at her. “We have hunted them down, including their warrior.” She gestured to the Human with the weapon. “Let the rest flee, they will tell others this area belongs to the Covenant. We’re done here.”

As they made to move out, one of the Kig-Yar spared her a suspicious glance, confused by her approach. Other Sangheili and Jiralhanae would have dealt with insubordination with violence at best, and this avian had probably seen more than one underling fall under the hand of a superior.

“Fall in,” she ordered tersely, the avian hopping away as she took up her position at the head of the squad, the relieved Unggoy at her flanks as she led them back the way they had come without further incident.

She glanced up to watch a pair of Phantoms rising from the cityscape in the distance, banking on their downward-facing engines as they rose to the Solemn Penance, its sight inspiring in her heart a feeling of protection, as though the Forerunner’s themselves were up there watching over them.

Movement drew her gaze to the side, and she squinted after spotting another two Phantoms banking towards the giant ship. The dropships disappeared into the many hangers pocketing the belly of the carrier, but did not come out. Perhaps they were getting ready to move to another part of the city?

Her squad relaxed as another Covenant group walked towards them from the other end of the street, the golden armour of the Zealot glinting in the light as he stood at their head. He brushed aside a two-wheeled vehicle in his path, his mandibles twitching as he met her gaze. “I’ve given you ample time to complete your task,” he said when he was close enough. “Report.”

“Following me, brother?” she asked, nodding in the direction he’d come from “What happened to holding that ground?”

“New orders. Plus, my faith in another is reflective of their standing in the Covenant,” he replied, his eyes flicking over her shorter frame. “Interpret that as you will, and give me your report. Did you find the humans you failed to catch?”

“Yes,” she growled, suppressing her rising anger. “We hunted them down.”

“All of them?”

“Only two. One of them was their protector. He held us back to buy time for his charges, and they slipped away, deeper into the city. I lost track of them.”

“You let them go once again,” the Zealot sighed. “It is no wonder one who has served as long as you have has failed to gain any real worth in the Covenant. The rumours hold no small semblance of truth…”

“What rumours?” she snapped, her anger getting the better of her. She immediately regretted her tone of voice, watching as the Zealot let his arms hang by his sides, the way he brushed the hilt of his deactivated sword not going unnoticed.

“Do you think to ask things of me?” The Zealot’s mandibles clenched in a challenge. As they stared one another down, she was vaguely aware of their squads watching in silence around them, glancing between one other as they waited to see what happened next.

She broke eye contact, sighing as she backed off in deference. “No, brother, I just wish to know what these honourless kin are saying, that they would stoop so low as to whisper behind my back rather than face me.”

“There is little glory in gossiping like a bunch of Unggoy, I concur,” the Zealot huffed, making sure his runts were aware of his displeasure. “-but to act like one, there is less so. You’d do well to remember this, few females outside of the household ever learn such things from the truly devoted.”

She was clenching the grip on her carbine so hard she was starting to hurt her fingers, Seela turning away as she heard another telltale warble of a rising Phantom, her eyes tracking the craft as it soared overhead.

“Are our ships being recalled?” she asked aloud, changing topics.

“That would be those new orders I mentioned before,” he answered, their armours clinking together as he brushed past her. “The Field Marshal is readying all forces for a new deployment.”

“Has the Forerunner artifact been found?” she asked. She wasn’t privy to all the details of the Prophet’s mission on this planet, but any Sangheili knew that the presence of even one Zealot meant an artifact would be close by.

“Nothing more could force such a redeployment,” the Zealot replied, as if he was explaining to a fresh-faced Minor. “but temper your eagerness, the Humans will viciously defend these sacred relics, whether they know their true purpose or not. Follow me, we return to the base on foot.”

***

Enclosed on all sides by walls of glass and alien stonework was a clearing, the ground made uneven by rising sets of stairs leading to the facades of the structures, banners and alien symbols conveying whatever purpose these structures may have had. Covenant engineers had swept the abandoned vehicles and debris Seela was so accustomed to seeing away, erecting a command post alongside four watchtowers to safeguard the perimeter. There was enough room around the command post that Phantoms could land and take off behind the safety of the base’s barricades, Seela watching as one did just that the moment she and the Zealot emerged into the adjacent street.

Up on the closest watchtower, an Unggoy manning a stationary plasma turret peered down at the approaching squads with his beady eyes, the floating platform he was sitting upon gently bobbing on the anti-gravity beams holding the tower aloft. At the foot of the structure were Sangheili-sized barricades, walls of purple alloy allowing the defenders ample cover, Seela seeing many Kig-Yar standing guard behind them as she followed the Zealot between two such barricades.

Groups of the Covenant species milled around the base, weapon crates full of carbines, pistols and other various weaponry spaced throughout the area. As the Zealot moved for the command post, she paused as her Kig-Yar started clicking and squawking in their native tongue, Seela turning to see what they were looking at.

In the corner of the base, just beside the bottom of the northernmost watchtower, was a pile of dead Humans. Flesh had been torn from bone, black blood drying up in a circular splotch around their splayed limbs. It looked like she had mercifully missed the Jiralhanae feasting on the bones of the defenders.

She flexed her mandibles in disgust, finding the whole ritual barbaric, one of the few things she and her kin could agree on. She had heard of more influential Sangheilians trying to ban the act of consuming flesh, but the Prophets hadn’t listened, they had even encouraged it, if the rumours were to be believed.

“Get some rest,” she said to her squad, a sour look on her face as some of the Kig-Yar sauntered over to the pile, the avians also had a weakness of consuming sapient creatures. She turned and walked through the command post portal, feeling eyes on her back as her fellow kinsman watched her disappear inside.

The cramped interior was occupied by a command terminal, projections of the surrounding city and the current strength of their forces shimmering on its glowing surface. The Zealot stood to one side of it, talking with another kinsman. This one was wearing a suit of colourful, purple armour with an ornate helmet, with two decorative horns branching off the top of it. This was the Field Marshal, and his word was law among all Sangheili on the ground.

He noticed her presence, the Marshal’s stance adjusting to a more relaxed state as he addressed her. “Sister, I realise you were unsuccessful in catching some escaped Humans after your deployment. It is of no matter, we will purge the Heretics another day.”

Seela glanced from him to the Zealot, her eyes narrowing. “See you’ve been busy giving my reports for me, brother.”

“I merely wish to inform the Marshal of all the details,” the Zealot huffed in reply. Now that they weren’t alone, Seela decided she could afford to be a bit more flippant with him.

“In that case, did you mention the fact they slipped through your fingers first? You had them trapped, indoors, with that sword of yours, yet you somehow missed several of them.”

“Our plan was to flush them out,” the Zealot snapped. “had you not hesitated this would have-”

“Enough!” the marshal commanded, and they did, it wouldn’t be wise to disobey their superior. “You should know better than to treat a mouth of the Prophet with such disrespect, sister.”

She didn’t reply, knowing from experience when it was wise to be quiet.

“And you,” the marshal continued, turning to the Zealot. “you represent the Prophet’s themselves, yet you squabble over the words of one who is lesser in rank. To let such petty emotions cloud your mind, your father would be disgraced.”

The Zealot turned away in some vain attempt to hide his shame, Seela allowing herself a little bit of a smile as he finally shut his mandibles for two seconds.

“We have more pressing issues to address,” the Marshal went on. “there is no time to waste fighting amongst ourselves, so listen. There has been a complete restructuring of the chain of command, directly from the Prophet himself. I am… no longer to be your Field Marshal.”

“Are you being replaced?” Seela asked, the Marshal nodding. “By who?”

“Me,” a gruff voice answered. Seela turned around to face the newcomer, and her mandibles began to flex in disgust. Standing in the threshold was a Jiralhanae, his towering body covered from his stumpy two-toed feet to his neck in armour the same shade of gold as the Zealot’s own suit, identifying him as a Captain Major.

The lower part of his face was hidden behind a scraggly, grey beard braided into three thick strands, red bands of cloth wrapped over them to help keep their shape. From behind his lower lips emerged a pair of tusks as thick as her fingers, sharpened for cutting through flesh. Above his flat snout were two yellow eyes, regarding the Marshal and the Zealot with a resigned suspicion. When he turned his gaze back on Seela, his suspicion was instead replaced with a smile that made her skin crawl.

“It has been too long since I’ve seen a female among the Sangheili ranks,” the Captain Major remarked, taking a few steps forward. He was a head taller than her, his body so thick with muscle his presence was overwhelming on an instinctual level. “I wasn’t aware the Marshal was delving into his reserves, too many casualties, perhaps?”

“Tell us what the meaning of this is,” the Zealot ordered, the way he stepped between Seela and the Jiralhanae almost coming off as protective. When it came to the racial clash between Sangheili and Jiralhanae, chauvinism always took the backfoot. “Never has a Jiralhanae ever given orders to us.”

“A Zealot doubting the Prophet’s will?” the Jiralhanae chuckled. “Truly, your battalions need some reevaluating if these two are any reflection of your field group, Marshal. Or should I say, Ultra?”

“Do not presume to think I’ve been demoted,” the Field Marshal replied. “I have been recalled to the carrier because the Prophet commands me so. Your leadership here is temporary at best, so do me a favour and leave everything exactly where I left it for my return.”

“If you say so,” the Captain Major replied, finding the whole situation more amusing than anything. “Your ship is waiting, Marshal, better to not keep my pilots waiting, nor the Prophet, he insisted on speaking to you.”

The Marshal glanced at Seela and the Zealot before making for the threshold, making sure to give the Captain Major a pointed stare as he passed him. As she made to follow him out, the Major put up a furry hand, the thing as big as her face.

“Not you two,” he ordered, taking up the Field Marshal’s position at the table. “Since I have you here I may as well relay your new orders.”

“What has happened to cause such a drastic change of leadership?” the Zealot demanded. “We are in the middle of an invasion, and you dismiss our Marshal?”

“Again, you doubt the orders spoken by Regret himself,” the Jiralhanae chided, before gesturing at Seela. “At least our little sister here knows how to keep quiet like a good mate.”

“What are our new orders?” she asked. She’d heard similar comments from her kin, but from a Jiralhanae it felt ten times worse.

“And eager, too. Too bad I find the Sangheili people a little too thin for my taste.” He chuckled again, his tongue flicking out to wet one of his tusks. “You are both to take your squads on new patrol routes to seek out any remaining Heretics that are dug in, south of the base.”

“We are to work together once more,” the Zealot remarked. If the Marshal was still here, the Zealot probably would have complained, but now he was all too glad to be with kin, female or not.

“I cannot wait,” she replied sarcastically, rolling her eyes at him.

“You’re in luck, little sister,” the Jiralhanae interrupted. “I will not be sending you out together, as of right now all Sangheili teams are to be accompanied by one squad led by a Jiralhanae of my choosing. They will assist you in securing this city from the Heretics. One of my Captains is already outside waiting for you, Zealot, unless you have more objections?”

He clearly did, but decided to hold his tongue, storming back out into the daylight without a word, the Jiralhanae chuckling dryly as she was left alone with him.

“And who is to be my escort?” she asked when he didn’t continue.

“Leader,” he corrected. “One of my Minor’s will come find you when he is ready. Do not worry, you’re easy to pick out.” His yellow eyes played up and down her body. “Rest and rearm, have your share of Heretic meat, if you wish.”

“I’d sooner die,” she murmured, taking that as a sign she was dismissed. She made her way back outside, looking around until she spotted her squad resting on the concrete nearby, some of them hanging their heads to catch what little rest they could.

As she went to join them, a hand fell on her shoulder. She bristled, turning around to expect to see some male trying to sidle up to her, as was the usual case whenever she finally caught some down-time. Her arms relaxed when she realised it was the Marshal.

“I thought you had been recalled?” she said, glancing up at the carrier far above them.

“I didn’t want to speak in front of the Captain Major,” he replied. His voice was a whisper, like he didn’t want to be overheard. “This change in who leads the ground invasion worries me, sister. What did the Jiralhanae tell you?”

She relayed to him her new orders, the Marshal shaking his head when she finished. “He should hardly expect any Sangheili to willingly follow the orders of a Jiralhanae,” he murmured. “I do not trust this Captain Major for one moment.”

“You think the Prophet’s made a wrong decision?” she asked, looking over her shoulder as a pair of Jiralhanae walked by. She’d never heard of a superior being so doubtful, least of all straight to her face.

“Regret knows how to lead, not how to invade,” he replied. “I shall make him explain what reason he has to make such drastic changes, I should be back by the time your patrol is finished. In the meantime, you and your brothers must watch each other’s backs.”

“We will, Marshal.”

“I must go warn the others before I’m missed. Farewell, sister.”

She watched him leave, shifting from one foot to the other. The Marshal was one of the few males she’d known that didn’t talk down to her, likely because she had been serving with him for a time and had proved she could handle herself.

She joined her Unggoy, crossing her legs as she sat down next to them, telling the ones who were awake what their new task was. They didn’t seem particularly interested, especially the Kig-Yar, who were mercenaries above all else, they didn’t care what power struggles happened within the Covenant, but she felt compelled to clue them in regardless.

She bowed her head, drifting into a sleep riddled with nightmares. That damned infant just wouldn’t leave her thoughts be, her mind convinced it could hear its screams in the distance, her mind conjuring images of Kig-Yar chasing it down through a dark, swirling maze, Seela reeling in horror when she couldn’t move her muscles, couldn’t stop the aliens from devouring the defenceless Human.

Her eyes flew open, and she looked up, judging by the sun’s position that she hadn’t slept long. Footsteps rumbled the hard ground beneath her rump, and she looked up, sighing when she saw a Jiralhanae coming over to her, flanked by a small procession of Unggoy and Kig-Yar.

The colour of his armour identified him as a Minor, no doubt the one the Captain Major had earlier mentioned. He looked adolescent, a little less brawny than others of his kind, and he stank like a corpse, Seela brushing at her snout as he loomed over her.

“On your feet, female,” he ordered, his thick beard barely long enough to hide his features. They took great pride in the length of their hair, it held some cultural significance Seela hadn’t bothered to learn the details of, so to see one so clean-shaven reflected his inexperience. “We have Heretics to clear out. The rest of you runts get behind me,” he added, growling at the Unggoy settled in beside Seela.

“You do not hold authority over my troops,” she said, her mandibles clenching as she rose to her feet. “We are to patrol as two units, mine and yours. Those are our orders.”

“Our orders are that I take charge,” he insisted.

“I’m sure you think that,” she replied, gesturing at her helmet. “Do I have to remind you that an Ultra outranks a Minor, or are you too fresh out of the womb to realise who gives orders to who?”

She wasn’t an Ultra in any official capacity, of course, but the Jiralhanae didn’t know that, and she wasn’t about to start telling them. She’d never dream of talking like this to a kinsman, but her disdain with these Jiralhanae overpowered her hesitance, and she’d be damned to let one of them walk over her.

The young male could tell she wasn’t going to budge, his jaws exposed as he forced out a humourless laugh. “Looks like she has tusks. Very well, keep your runts and follow me, the sooner we get this over, the better.”

“On that, we are agreed,” she replied, motioning for her underlings to follow. With the Jiralhanae’s squad that put their group at about twenty strong. The procession moved out from the safety of the barricades, beginning their patrol as they disappeared into the winding streets.

***

“How long have you served in the Covenant?” Seela asked, trying to make conversation. She didn’t really care for his answers, the lack of Humans was making her antsy enough to put aside her prejudices so she had something to distract herself with. They had patrolled for a good time now, with no sign of the Heretics despite the Captain Major saying they were dug in around this area. It wasn’t silent, however, the distant sonic booms as aircraft broke through the atmosphere to swoop down on faraway skirmishes reminding her this planet was covered with Humans.

“One standard rotation,” the Jiralhanae replied, his eyes following his rifle as he swept the area for Heretics. There was something almost casual about the way he trailed his weapon back and forth, stalking through the alien streets without bothering to keep close to cover, like he knew this part of the city was long evacuated.

“You ever seen a planet so heavily defended before?” she continued, looking up at the dimming sky, the clouds joined to the ground by thick smoke columns trailing up from the worst areas of resistance, the sky occasionally filling with Banshees and Human spacecraft delivering airstrikes or reinforcements.

“Once. We must be on one of the Heretic’s core worlds,” he replied with a grin that exposed his many teeth. “Perhaps we have them cornered, and it won’t be long before all Heretics are purged.”

“They will fight harder than ever if that is the case,” she said. “We will grant them good deaths.” They emerged from the maze-like streets into a sort of plaza, the clearing centralized by a monument representing a Human figure, half of the bronze statue scorched with plasma fire. Blocks of rubble littered the footpaths near it, and off to one side was an armoured vehicle flipped on its side, the engine compartment coughing smoke. Heretics and Covenant alike lay scattered around, they must have just missed the fight.

“You Sangheili always praise the Heretics,” the Jiralhanae spat, pushing the human vehicle out of his way while Seela just walked around it. “you admire those who worship false Gods, who fight the Great Journey at every turn. How the Prophet’s thought of you as the best of the Covenant I cannot guess.”

“There is honour in defending against an overwhelming enemy, to help the non-combatants,” she chided. “then again you probably don’t even know what half those words mean, I should save my breath.”

He bared his teeth at her in a snarl, and began to speak, but his words were lost as a blinding flash of light erupted behind them. Seela covered her eyes with an arm, turning to watch as the shadows around her began to strengthen, looking up at the smokey sky to see a ball of off-blue energy had appeared at the nose of the carrier, her eyes tracking the giant ship as it seemed to be pulled towards the rupture.

In a moment, the carrier was no longer there, the orb of energy popping out of existence too, an expanding ring of crackling electricity replacing it. The buildings closest to the carrier simply disintegrated, the ones further away crumbling apart from the shockwave, Seela’s eyes going wide as she felt a massive weight hit her front.

She dug her hooves into the ground, the Unggoy having no such luck as they were thrown around, bouncing and skidding off the pavement, the Kig-Yar joining them as they were knocked off their feet. The Jiralhanae braced himself against the derelict vehicle, shielding his face as the rushing air coursed through the plaza.

When the ferocious gale lessened, she turned her gaze up to the alien megastructure dominating the horizon, a column of metal rings spiralling up into the clouds. It rattled on its wire-thin supports as the eruption washed over it, tilting off-centre but managing to stay upright.

“Ship blew up!” an Unggoy squeaked. “Humans destroy Prophet ship!”

“Quiet, you runts,” the Jiralhanae snapped, his armour clinking as he brushed himself off. “The carrier has jumped to slipspace.”

“Gods,” she said in disbelief, plucking one of her Unggoy to its feet when he couldn’t roll off his methane tank. “Why did they do that? We had hundreds of troops stationed right below the carrier!”

“Do not question the Prophet’s will,” the Jiralhanae replied. “They had to have a reason.”

“We’re going to die!” another Unggoy wailed. “Prophet’s leave us on Human world!” The crustaceans were running about as though their methane tanks had gone dry, even the Kig-Yar were gathering up, looking nervously around as they searched for places to hide.

“Warriors of the Covenant!” the Jiralhanae shouted. “Shut your mouths or I’ll shut them for you. The Prophets have a plan, and so do we. We’re going to look for survivors from the blast and gather our forces. Lead the way, Ultra,” he added, motioning with his plasma rifle. “I’ll pick up the rear, make sure these cowards do not run.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, how could he know what the Prophets were planning after such a sudden jump out of the system? The chance of survivors being in the very middle of the rupture was nigh impossible, did he really think they’d find anyone?

She set aside her worries, leading her squad as she took up the lead, moving in the direction of the blast zone. They moved out onto a four-lane street chocked with abandoned vehicles, the ground beginning to tremble as one of the buildings up ahead gave way beneath its supports, the tower of brick and stone listing over the street, kicking up a mountain of dust as it crashed to the ground.

“The shockwave has weakened all these buildings,” she said, looking round to see if the street branched off somewhere, cursing when she saw no alternative paths. By the Forerunners she hated this place. “It’s too risky to cut through here, we must double back, find another way to-”

She turned, and found herself staring down the barrel of a plasma rifle, the prongs crackling with warming energy. Behind its curved top, the Jiralhanae grinned at her with his yellowed teeth.

“What are you doing?” she asked in disbelief, watching as his subordinates began to raise their rifles at her as well. “Traitors!”

“No, we follow the Prophet’s will,” he replied. “The San’shyuum finally grew enough sense to dismiss your kind, Sangheili. The Captain Major told us to wait for the signal, and that rupture was it. All of you!” he barked, gesturing at the Kig-Yar and Unggoy behind her. “Relieve this Heretic of her weapons, the Chieftain wants her brought back alive.”

Her charges looked at her, then at each other, the conflict visible in their eyes as they hesitated. Seela’s heart began to sink as they aimed their weapons.

“W-We know you no Heretic!” one of the crustaceans said.

“Yes! We like Sangheili lady!” another added.

“I won’t charge in blindly this time,” a Kig-Yar began. He raised his needle rifle and pointed it, not at her, but the Jiralhanae. “Heretic or not, better to follow the orders of one who values our lives.”

Seela felt a surge of relief as her squad joined him, pistols and rifles angling past her at the Jiralhanae’s squad. It seemed her desire to command through respect had paid off, and her words had stuck with the Kig-Yar, who she had thought would betray her at the first chance.

Her squad coalesced around her, Seela raising her carbine at the Jiralhanae’s chest, who growled at seeing so many weapons being aimed at him.

“You would all follow this female?” he snarled. “Very well, it makes no difference to me.”

He pulled the trigger on his plasma rifle, Seela firing her carbine at the same time, both their personal shields flaring as the superheated gas clashed against each other’s protective barriers.

There had been a vehicle off to the left, and Seela dove for it, the Jiralhanae mirroring her movements as he doubled back to hide behind a light post, both of them firing on the move. Their underlings held no such tactical awareness, firing on the spot as they broiled themselves in a point-blank bloodbath.

Crystal rounds crisscrossed between the groups of Kig-Yar as the marksmen levelled their needle rifles, their beaks painted pink in short instances as their muzzles flashed. An Unggoy flipped head over heels as a round embedded into his rebreather, another crustacean beside him keeling over as his torso was riddled with bolts, the plasma broiling over his thin armour like it was a liquid.

Those with shield gauntlets ignited them, one of the slower Kig-Yar dying before his shield had even flared to its full size, the more situationally aware avians backing up to seek cover. There was a high-pitched wail as one of the Unggoy produced a pair of plasma grenades, one in each hand, igniting the charges with his thumbs as he ran madly into the middle of the brawl. He along with five or so of his kind vanished in the resulting blast, pieces of methane tanks whipping in all directions, bouncing off the street with loud clangs of metal, Seela feeling the heat blast wash over her helmet.

She felt a pain shoot up her arm as she reached the vehicle, looking down to see a crystal as long as her hand embedded through her elbow, its jagged point poking out of the other side of her arm. Her shields had collapsed before she could get her head down.

She ripped the crystal dart out with a growl, casting it aside as she levelled her carbine over the hood of the vehicle, aiming at one of the hostile Kig-Yar and firing. The first shot hit his hand through the groove in his shield, and the second landed on his beak, the alien toppling over without a sound.

She scoped in on another Kig-Yar falling back, the avian jumping up onto one of the balconies protruding from the building nearby, the muscles bulging through his leg armour as he jumped an amazing height that would have been impossible for any other species to scale.

She pulled the trigger, her carbine flashing as she ended his height advantage, turning her attention back to the brawl. The Jiralhanae was firing from the hip at her loyal followers, two more of the Unggoy crumpling as he sprayed them down with a torrent of plasma.

He staggered back when she fired a burst of rounds, two of them catching him in his torso while the third missed. His shields had also been depleted, the alien roaring as bits of his armour broke away where her shots connected. As she reloaded, the Jiralhanae produced something from his belt.

“Catch this!”

The thing was shaped vaguely like a stick, the Jiralhanae thumping the bottom of it against his thigh, tossing it underhand in her direction. Dozens of silver blades stuck out of its length, their serrated edges glinting in the light as it tumbled over the car she hid behind.

It landed on the ground a few meters away, one of the blades digging through the concrete like it was searing into flesh. It glowed a subtle orange colour before it detonated, sending all those wicked blades flying through the air, Seela protecting her face with her arms.

She felt one of those blades hit her shoulder, but she ignored it as she popped out of cover, slamming a fresh canister into her weapon as she aimed at the Jiralhanae, who’d used the distraction of the spike grenade to fall back. Against the Human backdrop he was a massive target, and she emptied her magazine into his backside, watching as his heavy frame crumpled to the ground with a wet gurgle.

She took aim at the rest of the fighters, but they weren’t aiming their weapons at her, Seela relaxing as she saw the ones remaining were on her side. She vaulted over the vehicle, stalking towards the Jiralhanae, who she saw wasn’t dead yet, the alien crawling away with one hand, while lifting the other to his helmet.

“H-Heretic on my position, send support no-”

She silenced him, the muzzle on her carbine flashing once, Seela cursing under her boiling blood began to cool. They weren’t that far from the base, they would be coming this way ever since they heard the shooting start. Her chest tightened as she realised how many of her kin were back there, unaware of the traitorous Jiralhanae’s intentions.

Had the Minor spoken the truth? Had the Prophets really seen to it to dismiss her whole race from the Covenant, and why? She would not have believed his words had she not seen the carrier jump to slipspace, leaving all these forces on the ground behind in a move that reeked of cowardice.

As if she needed further proof, her communicator crackled to life, Seela’s eyes going wide as dozens of confused voices from her kin garbled through the speakers.

“The Jiralhanae have betrayed us!”

“My squad has turned on me! I cannot-”

“Brothers, th-the Covenant has forsaken us…”

The rapid report of a plasma turret echoed from nearby, Seela deflating as she pictured all those watchtowers as they opened up on her kin. They would be cut down in moments, their deaths nothing short of humiliating.

She couldn’t just stand here, she had to do something. If she couldn’t go back to the base, maybe she could link up with other patrols out here, but even that idea seemed foolish. The Captain Major had said himself all teams would be accompanied by a Jiralhanae of his choosing, they might not have gotten as lucky as she had…

“What are your orders, Ultra?” one of her Kig-Yar asked. She turned to see only three of the avians had survived, and just as many Unggoy, the short aliens looking to her for guidance. She could not afford to lose them now by hesitating.

“We look for other patrols led by my kin, find safety in numbers. Rearm from the dead if you need, we cannot stay here.”

She wanted to thank them for not betraying her, but couldn’t find the right words to say, and the opportunity passed as they fanned out to relieve the dead of their spare ammo. She hunkered by one of the Unggoy that had been on her side, murmuring a prayer she would usually reserve for dead kin. To die loyal to the end, there was no greater feat in her opinion.

Her arm burned with pain as she examined her carbine, Seela looking down to see a shard from the spike grenade still lodged in her shoulder. She’d almost forgotten about it.

Ripping it out, a spurt of her purple blood following, she pointed back the way they’d come. “Let’s move,” she said when they were ready, the Unggoy dropping to all fours as she led them away from the skirmish.

The Major

Kikowani Station

6 Hours After Rupture

Water splashed onto his shins as the Major stepped into the puddle in front of the kiosk, his gloved fingers tapping at the letters of the touchscreen keyboard. This was the third kiosk he’d tried after the first one had bugged out, each one either glitching out or pointing him to that same incorrect destination. Maybe the whole city network had bugged out and he was wasting his time trying to find his way round like a damned shopper lost in a mall, but third time was the charm, so they said.

He hit the enter button, cursing as his destination was once again replaced, the navigation waypoint encouraging him to go somewhere else. He thumped the side of the kiosk with his fist, watching as the screen sizzled with static, the map replacing with the green face of the city Superintendent, a tinny, artificial voice replying to his little outburst.

“Please follow these directions! Warning: fellow passengers may be sharing your designated route, please provide assistance if possible!”

The Major tilted his head, maybe these things weren’t bugging out. Was the city AI trying to point him to his missing squadmates? He took a closer look at where the map was pointing him to. Kikowani Station, the area was called, a train station not far to his east. He would rather not waste any more time than he already had, but if there was a chance one of his team was out there, he had to prioritize them over the mission.

The route pointed him to one of the tunnel access points leading below the city, where he could walk right through the subway to Kikowani. His HUD told him he had a full receiver plus thirty spare shells, and he also had his sidearm and the plasma pistol, he’d be as ready as could be if he ran into Covenant down there.

Memorising the directions, he cut through the nearby building, checking the corners of some kind of reception area for a JOTUN office, their signature logo hanging on the walls in big letters. They made farming equipment from their factories on Mars, that was all he knew about them. There was no telling if there were Covenant in any of the rooms branching off from here, but he didn’t have the time to clear each one, so he kept moving through.

The automatic doors on the other side opened up, the Major emerging out onto a street, with no Covenant in sight. There was a giant billboard on the face of the building across from him, and it shifted into a pair of white arrows pointing toward the left. The glare of the sign would have been blinding if not for his visor automatically dampening the harsh glow.

His eyes followed the arrows until they rested on a small shelter covering a staircase leading below ground, the sign on the arch flashing the word Platform 4 in orange letters. He weaved between the cars as he crossed the street, rain sliding down the front of his visor in thick drops.

When he got close, he saw the staircase was in fact an escalator frozen in place, the Major feeling better as he made his way down, the incessant rain finally stopping as the roof protected him. He wiped his visor clean with his glove, the sound that filled his helmet reminding him of when one wipes a window with a squeegee.

He brought his shotgun to bear as he reached the last step, scanning the subway for threats. The platform was covered in rubble, a pair of support columns having long crumbled to dust from some unknown force, maybe artillery. A flickering lightbulb washed over the front carriage of a train cart that had derailed, its nose smashed several feet deep into the platform’s edge. The accident should have left dozens dead, but as he made his way over to the cart, kicking stones out of the way with his boots, he was treated to a bodiless sight as he peered through the windows.

The tunnel leading off to the side drew his attention, the smooth walls outlined by the dying fluorescent on the platform. After a few feet the stone slowly faded to darkness as the tunnel curved gently to the left and out of view. Walking through had seemed so trivial up top, but now it felt like he was about to plunge into an abyss.

Leading with his shotgun, he hopped down from the platform, his boots crunching the rocks between the rails. It was easy to imagine civies running down these tunnels trying to escape the Covenant, it would have been horrible going into all that darkness with a Brute chasing you down.

He activated the night vision on his visor as he stepped into the tunnel, the illumination fighting back the intense darkness. Even after all his years of training and campaigning against the aliens, he hadn’t quite outgrown his childhood trepidation of dark places, remembering how Joker had never let the fact go after he’d found out, buying the Major a nightlight to cement his nickname in the squad.

The first bend was painted green by his visor low-light systems, but the fluorescents in this tunnel were black and dead, and soon the fading light behind him grew dimmer until his visor was struggling to outline the curving passage.

Without an outside source of light, his night vision was close to useless, so the Major flicked a thumb over the mounted flashlight on his shotgun. The beam cut through the inky darkness as he swept it over the shadows. The light was strong, but after around twenty feet the circle of illumination blurred into darkness.

He kept walking, at one point his boot slid against the rocks and he almost lost his balance, his hand shooting out to rest against the wall. The thump as his glove met the smooth stone echoed eerily down the tunnel, as if there was someone every twenty meters in front of him hitting the wall as well.

He shuffled along, the scraping of rocks below his feet also having an echo, the repeating scratching noise making his heart pound against his chest. The darkness was a perfect canvas to let his imagination run wild, a Brute could be waiting round the next bend, a cloaked Elite could be coming up behind him and he wouldn’t even know it.

He pushed these ideas aside, why would the Covenant be down here after all this time? They were here to destroy all of humanity, not skulk down here in the dark in some random subway tunnel.

He picked up the pace all the same, the circle of his flashlight beating back the swirling darkness, how long did the kiosk say this tunnel was? It didn’t, he remembered, the line just went on until it opened up at Kikowani, yet he couldn’t see any natural light, there must be a few more turns.

Something flittered above his helmet.

He shone his flashlight at the upward-curving walls, cracks splintering along the ceiling where dust occasionally fell like raindrops of powder. There had been a noise, but he hadn’t made it, and he listened to the echo with his finger ready to pull the trigger. The sound reminded him of the chittering noise of when a beetle flaps its wings.

The hairs on his neck stood on end, the circle of light too small for him to scan everywhere at once. He wasn’t sure how long he waited, only that a part of him began to doubt he’d heard anything at all, that the vapours of the dark were playing tricks on his eyes.

He began to move again, bringing his attention back to the rails so he didn’t lose his footing. The tunnel bent to the right now, every meter of the tunnel looking the same as the last, only the cracks in the tiles beside him holding any sense of change. He wondered what made them, Covenant artillery, explosions up on the streets, perhaps?

Something heavy landed on his back.

He yelled out, a stinging sensation adding a snarl to his scream as something sharp slipped between the plates on his BDU, the Major feeling warm blood trickle down his spine. He whirled around, but the weight on his shoulders followed his movement, whatever it was it was clinging to him hard.

He turned and thrust his back against the wall of the tunnel, a clicking sound that almost came off as a scream joining the echoes racing down the railway. A pair of bony hands slapped against his visor, four fingers, no, claws, beginning to rake at his helmet. They were made up of plates of chitin rather than flesh, the underside of the hand and wrist made up of angular sections of what looked like hard plastic.

The arms were backlit by his flailing flashlight, the orange plates of bone glinting in its light. He couldn’t take a shot with the thing so close, so he reversed the grip on his shotgun, swinging it like a club over his shoulder.

The stock hit something hard, and judging by the following thump, he’d missed and hit the wall. Something thin, long and covered in fine hairs brushed over his gauntlet, the Major shivering as he turned his head to see a pair of antennae poking out of a rounded head.

Through the claws scratching at his visor, a pair of glowing, green eyes stared back. They were arranged on the sides of a flat, disk-shaped head, a pair of serrated mandibles that flexed and twitched in the place a mouth would be on a human. Its head and back were layered over with thick plates of chitin or maybe armour, he couldn’t be sure. The thick torso tapered into a pair of skeletal hips, the legs and thighs covered in little barbs, ending into a pair of feet with two massive toes that were currently hooked into the waist of his BDU.

The thing looked like a giant, overgrown mantis, the Major recoiling in alarm as it gave up trying to pry his helmet off with its arms, going in instead with its jaws. Its mandibles wriggled as it latched onto his visor like a leech, the Major looking clear down its throat to see its entire gullet was lined with hook-shaped teeth.

He grabbed it by one of its antennae, snarling through his teeth as he fought to pull it off. It let go, but not before slicing him across the chest with its claws, the sound of fabric tearing as it cut through his pouches, the Major feeling its claws narrowly miss cutting into his skin.

He threw it to the ground, flipping his shotgun back into its correct position in one fluid movement. Now that he had it in his sights, he saw that two pairs of translucent wings extended from its back, the protective casings folded up over its shoulders twitching as the alien shifted on its thin legs.

It was a Drone, a flying race of insects the Covenant used to soften up positions before the elite troops rolled in. They weren’t the strongest race individually, but they travelled in such massive groups they could overwhelm even a Spartan. Why this one was alone he didn’t know, but he wasn’t about to question his luck.

The butt of the shotgun rocked into his shoulder as he fired off a shell. At such close range, the kinetic energy simply disintegrated the bug, parts of its exoskeleton flying apart like fragments from a grenade, yellow ichor trailing out to splotch against the Major’s front. In such a small space the blast from his weapon was very loud, the roar bouncing up the walls the way he’d come, the splatter of the Drone’s limbs following it.

Snarling through his teeth, he realised it had stuck something in his back, reaching up and giving what felt like a hilt a tug. He winced as he pulled it out, bringing it to his face, examining what looked like a dagger right out of the medieval ages. The blade was curved, much like the Drone’s claws had been, almost an exact approximation.

He threw it to the ground where the Drone had formerly been, the black blade reflecting the light of his flashlight as he lowered the receiver, replacing the spent shell. It didn’t feel like the stab had gone all that deep, but he’d rather be safe than sorry and look around for a medkit when he got out of this damned tunnel.

Where there was one Drone there would be more, the Major at least getting an explanation for all these cracks in here, there was undoubtedly a hive nearby, probably right above his head. He doubled timed it, not eager to see another one of them again any time soon.

He moved on for a few more minutes until he saw something through the scratches on his visor. Up ahead was a small ball of glowing light, gradually expanding with every step he took, orange light shining on the pair of rails, the fist-sized rocks casting shadows against the rest of the ground. It was probably light born from the burning city, but he wasn’t about to let morbidity stop him from feeling relief.

He moved faster, the mouth of the tunnel opening up into a huge expanse of open space. The tracks stretched on into what seemed like a bridge, ending at a platform almost identical to the one he’d just come from. What sounded like sloshing water reached his ears, but this was overwhelmed by the rapid echoes of plasma fire.

He took a knee by the tunnels end, sticking to the shadows. There was indeed a river the bridge extended over, its salty breeze filtering through the gaps in his helmet, but he was focused more on the gunfight on the other side of the bridge.

He could see six or seven Brutes off to the left of the tracks, the platform merging into a sloping set of staircases, the aliens taking cover behind planters and pillars as they fired at the train below them. One of the Brutes broke cover, the Major watching as he sprinted through the open, bee-lining it for the train. As it ran, the barrel of a Covenant carbine poked out from the train windows, cutting the alien down with a quick burst of rounds, his shields and then his body collapsing.

The dead Brute joined what looked like dozens of fallen Jackals and Grunts and even a few other Brutes, whoever was in the train setting up a nasty kill zone. He couldn’t see which of his squadmates it was at this angle, only that they probably deserved a promotion after such an amazing kill count.

“Hang on, I’m coming,” he muttered, shouldering his shotgun as he crossed the bridge.

Seela

Kikowani Station

5 Hours After Rupture

The light from the setting star had become a strange, dusty orange, and Seela didn’t like it. The sunshine filtered through clouds of ash broiling in the heavens, a strange darkness enveloping the world as the strength of the sun began to wane, the guttural roars of those who would see her dead flowing on the screaming wind. It felt like the end of days was approaching, though perhaps that was just Seela’s own bias’s speaking.

She had been searching for hours for her kinsman, and she would have preferred not finding them at all, after she came upon the first sight of fellow Sangheili since leaving the base and being betrayed.

The smell of blood had drawn her into one of the countless alleyways, Seela resting her carbine against her shoulder as she peered into the narrow passage. There, at the far end, she could make out the blue armour of a Sangheili Minor. There was no movement apart from stray bits of plastic scraping against the stone ground.

“Wait here,” she told her followers, the Kig-Yar and Unggoy taking up positions at the mouth of the alley as she proceeded in. There could be no possibility her kin were still alive, but Seela still held onto hope anyway as she walked, her stomach churning as she came upon a scene she would never forget.

The Minor was joined by another, her kin slumped up against the wall, their purple blood smeared along the limestone in two wide splotches, the dribbling lines trailing down the cracks in the stone. They carried no weapons, and by the way they were arranged, they had been facing the wall before their deaths.

It wasn’t hard to recreate the scene: the Jiralhanae had relieved them of their rifles, led them down the alley, and butchered them.

Her breathing hitched as her mind was convinced one of the Minor’s was staring back up at her, his clouded eyes locked on hers. Traitors or no, only cowards killed those without looking them in the face. To have fallen in such a pitiful way was more horrible than anything Seela could imagine.

“Find something?” a Kig-Yar called out to her.

“No,” she answered, resting her carbine against her stomach. Little to none of her kinsman ever saw Seela as more than a prospective mate at the best of times, and a weakling who should go home at the worst, but no warrior deserved to end like this, one should face death full of courage, lest their ancestors see their end as pitiful, unworthy.

“What did you find?” the Kig-Yar asked again when she returned. He glanced around her waist, clearly not satisfied with her earlier answer.

“Jiralhanae cruelty,” she answered. The squad’s collective heads snapped around when another of those deep, booming grunts sounded off, so loud Seela wasn’t sure which direction it was coming from. She had served long enough to know a Jiralhanae hunting party when she heard one, the primitive aliens were calling out, their cries carrying across the city to alert other packs of her location.

“Let us go, before the Jiralhanae scent us,” she said, her squad falling in behind her as they moved. Since her fight with the backstabbing Minor, the Jiralhanae were following in their footsteps, perhaps seeking revenge for their fallen packmate, or maybe they were simply so bloodthirsty they needed to kill every Sangheili they could find, she didn’t care which it was.

The crack of the sound barrier being broken turned her gaze up to the heavens, and she allowed herself to feel a bit of relief as first one cruiser, then another dropped through the cloud layer, beginning to deploy Banshees and Phantoms from their docking bays. She recognised one of the ships as one belonging to her kinsman. Reinforcements had finally arrived, maybe the shipmasters could lift her out of this damned place, and she could explain what had happened.

Yet as she made to hail one of the passing ships, a message over all frequencies garbled through the speakers in her helmet, Seela raising a finger to the receiver as she listened in.

“This is Shipmaster Vivercis of the Sanctity, calling all Covenant forces. The Prophet of Truth has blessed me with seizing this ship from the traitorous Sangheili. They have forsaken the Great Journey, and our hour has finally come to take our rightful place by the San’shyuum’s side. Fellow Jiralhanae, slaughter the Sangheili just as we have, show them a reckoning even the Heretics will be envious of.”

She watched as the Sanctity began to list to the side, its sight now filling her with an entirely new feeling. This treachery was happening not just here, but in orbit as well. She could just imagine this Vivercis stabbing the shipmaster in the back, seizing his place through the most cowardly of moves.

An expression of dread etched her features. The Prophets themselves had ex-communicated her race, and she would be hunted down like an animal in this Human city. She couldn’t risk signalling any fellow kin without bringing the whole Jiralhanae armada down on her location, even if there were any fellow survivors after this traitorous move from the Prophets. What could she do? She might be able to hide, wait for her kin to contact her, surely she wasn’t the only one left, was she?

Plenty of these buildings were big enough to house her and her faithful followers, the Jiralhane couldn’t search them all. And yet, just picturing herself cowering like an Unggoy in some decrepit building only morphed her fear into frustration.

No, she would not hide and wait like some spineless child. Regret had been a coward and left his troops down here to die when he jumped to slipsace, and Truth had taken over the Covenant forces, deciding her race after years of service, was no longer required. Bravery, loyalty, they did not know the meaning of these words, but she did, and Seela was going to show them in the most glorious way possible.

At the next intersection, the ground sloped down towards a sheltered façade that roofed some kind of underground complex, the archways flanking the descending staircase slightly more ornamental than the rest of the city. There appeared to be grooves in the thresholds of the arches, perhaps slots for lowering gates to protect the interiors from outside attacks, though Seela doubted much of the architecture here had defence anywhere in mind.

The exterior of the structure towered into the sky, as wide as a field, the walls thick, not unlike a bunker. From what she could tell, the building must be the same, or perhaps lower than ground level. It was a fine place to enact her plan.

“You should leave,” she said, pausing at the top of the steps. Her squad glanced quizzically up at her. “All of you. The Jiralhanae are your new leaders, not I.”

They did not have access to Covenant channels like she did, relaying to them the new shipmasters message. “A strange decision from the Prophets,” one of the Kig-Yar said. “one that reeks of political intrigue. So the High Prophets have removed all Sangheili from the Covenant?”

“They hunt me down, not you,” she continued, waving her hand. “I do not plan on running any longer. Do not linger here, they will kill you all if they see you anywhere near me, but play the part of ignorance, say you got separated from your leader, and the Covenant will surely take you back, none the wiser.”

“Noble of you,” the Kig-Yar commented after a pause. “I’m almost tempted to stay with you, but I can’t exactly spend my pay if I’m dead. Have a good death, Ultra,” he added, not hesitating to take her up on her offer as he turned away.

The other two avians hesitated before they followed, the Unggoy’s showing off their herd instincts as they too departed, Seela watching the squad disband in a matter of moments. She sighed, but not because she was annoyed. This was her choice, it would be best if she did not drag others into it.

“I-I stay with you, Sangheili lady!” one of the crustaceans yipped, Seela blinking in surprise as she looked down at the remaining straggler. The Unggoy puffed his chest out proudly, Seela allowing herself a soft chuckle as she got down to one knee, as close to eye-level with him as she could manage.

“No, you won’t,” she replied, shaking her head. “Though I’m thankful for the offer. You’re braver than most of your kin, you’d make a fine Ultra yourself one day, and I’d hate to ruin that for you.”

“You really think so?” he asked, Seela nodding.

“Really.”

“I have gift for you!” he said. He reached for his belt, producing a plasma grenade and holding it out to her. “Me save it for special occasion, but you need more than I do, I think!”

“Thank you,” she said, slotting the grenade alongside the one she had already. “Now off with you.”

She turned him by his methane tank, giving him a gentle push to get him going. The Unggoy waddled off, Seela sparing him one last glance before she turned around, vanishing into the underground structure.

Inside was a giant, open space, her hooves echoing across the stones as she walked through to the interior, though that was not an accurate word to describe the structure. The middle of the roof was open to the sky, dying beams of light shining down on a cavernous space.

Seela didn’t really know what to expect, but the sight still took her by surprise. As she passed the threshold the path split into three directions, two sets of stairs leading up, while the one in front of her went down to a lower level, the dozens of steps flanked on each side by limestone columns and planters full of green fauna. Most of the lower level was covered in sloshing water, made black by the lack of light, and in the distance were bridges suspended over the inky water, one of them gapping the far wall and the platform at the base of the steps.

Seela shuffled down the incline, her hooves too large to use the steps properly. At the bottom were a dozen square planters, set up in a grid-like pattern on the platform, the tall trees adding a touch of colour to the industrial environment. Their leaves did not move in such a sheltered place, Seela wondering how they grew with such little sunlight.

A long, thin vehicle sat idle next to the platform, where the bridge stretched from right to left. On closer inspection it seemed to be made of three individual carriages joined by steel cables, its wheels glued to a pair of rails built into the ground. This must be some kind of transportation hub, if all the bridges had such rails built into them.

The hunters call echoed out again, Seela bristling as it seemed to be a little louder than last time. She tried to quell her nerves, she did not want to resemble a cornered animal in these moments.

The top of her helmet grazed the ceiling of the carriage as she stepped inside it, examining the rows of seats, the cushions ripped in places where cotton spilled out, support bars and bits of metal littering the aisle between. This vehicle msut have come under attack, yet it didn’t appear to have any weaponry or armour plating, it was probably for civilians.

She leaned round the entrance of the carriage, looking back the way she’d come. There was hardly any cover on the stairs, save for the trees at the bottom, and this long vehicle would make a good spot for an emplacement to enact her plan.

She looked along the railway line, seeing that it extended to a hole on the far wall, the tunnel too dark to see into. Unless the Jiralhanae found a way through there, which she doubted, the stairs would be the only approach she had to worry about. Air support wouldn’t be an issue either, not unless they wanted to drop their troops straight into the water.

Keeping as much of her body behind the wall of the carriage, she brought her carbine to rest on the window, her sights training on the steps up above. A throaty cry echoed throughout the complex, chased by the unmistakable laughter of a Jiralhanae. They were close, but this did not dissuade her from her focus, in fact she welcomed the call.

She would not end up like her executed kin in that alley, she would not be stabbed in the back, and she would certainly not cry out over the communicator like her brothers had. No, Seela would go down on her own terms, prove to her dismissive kin that she was a warrior and would fall with more grace than they had this day, fighting until the bitter end in the name of her father and her ancestors.

They didn’t keep her waiting, the first few pairs of Unggoy waddling into her view after a few minutes, followed by a Kig-Yar. The latter hopped up onto the planters, surveying the flowing river like a giant, perching vulture as the former lumbered down the steps. Another pair of crustaceans rounded the corner, and at their back, a Jiralhanae followed them inside.

She could make out his gruff voice as he ordered his squad to look around, Seela resting the crosshairs of her scope on his helmet. She blinked when another of his kind appeared beside him, both of them armed with plasma rifles. They were both Minors by the colour of their armour, did that mean there was a third, higher ranked one out there?

They were trudging down the steps two at a time, the closest Unggoy about halfway down the incline, she’d have to spring her trap while they were still in the open. Exhaling a long breath, she adjusted the range on her scope one final time, and squeezed the trigger.

Three to the chest dropped the Minor’s shields, and the fourth knocked his helmet clean off, his head snapping back as he fell to the ground. She was already firing on the other as the Jiralhanae watched his counterpart fall, Seela dropping him with another four rounds.

The Unggoy did what they always did when their leaders fell before they did, Seela’s sights struggling to hold on an Unggoy as he started running circles, firing his pistol wildly into the air. Her carbine rocked once as she killed him, then once more as she dropped another, the little aliens toppling down the stairs as she picked them off efficiently.

As she reloaded, the Kig-Yar leapt off the planter he was perched on, exaggerating his strides as he descended the staircase, trying to make his movements as erratic as possible to throw off her aim. The first shot grazed his arm, but the miss caused him to stagger, and the second shot found its mark, the avian toppling over the balcony, a distant splash ending his fall.

She had dropped them all in a matter of moments, but that wasn’t the entire hunting party. She heard a Jiralhanae bellow a challenge at her from somewhere above, one she met with her own roar, bracing her carbine on the lip of the window.

Her earlier suspicions were confirmed as another Jiralhanae entered the complex, the waning daylight at his back as he crouched by the threshold, his red armour square in her sights. He must have thought himself out of her view as he raised a finger to his helmet, his head moving as though he was speaking with someone.

He was calling in reinforcements, she was sure of it. She could have taken him down then and there, but she waited, letting him send his call for help. Let them come, she thought. The more she killed, the more glorious her stand would be.

He disappeared behind one of the walls up there, Seela taking a moment to check the plasma charge on her carbine. The telltale warbling sound of a Phantom’s engines filled the complex not a few moments later, Seela watching its shadow pass over the water as it banked across the open ceiling.

She heard it lower to the street somewhere nearby, depositing a number of troops whose number didn’t remain a mystery for long. More Kig-Yar and Unggoy sauntered down the stairwell, the pair of species fanning out as more Jiralhane Minor’s brought up their rear.

The runts were more prepared this time, sending small arms fire down at the vehicle she was crouching inside of, Seela fighting against her instincts to duck away. Trusting in her shields, she returned a few bursts of her own, dropping two, then three Unggoy as they descended the incline, easy targets in such an open area.

Kig-Yar wielding shield gauntlets ignited their protective barriers now, three of them forming a line as they stood shoulder to shoulder. She could see their beaks tucked flat against their chests through the plasma wall, keeping their bodies protected as they advanced down towards her position. The shield wall was a tried and tested Covenant tactic, the novelty of being on this side of the manoeuvre making her heart race.

Her carbine bolts bounced harmlessly off the shields, the thin contrails painting green lines that joined to the vaulted ceiling. She growled as she was forced to duck away by a hail of suppressive fire, the Jiralhane covering the avians as they advanced with the shield wall.

She drew her pistol from her belt, feeling the metal on her back warming as the plasma fire splashed against her cover. Taking a knee, she turned out, looking down the sights of her pistol as she pulled and held down the trigger, a growing ball of energy coalescing around its muzzle. Pistols could be overcharged to fire a much denser bolt that could deplete even the strongest shields with a single shot, though repeated use would render the weapon unusable.

The weapon began to shake in her hand, even as Seela willed her muscles to steady her aim, waiting until the overcharge had reached its maximum power before she let the trigger go. The bolt was as big as her fist, travelling maybe half the speed of a standard bolt, curving through the air as though an invisible force was influencing its trajectory.

The bolt crashed into the leftmost shield, the Kig-Yar behind it voicing a squawk as his gauntlet overloaded. Seela cut him down with a single shot, emptying the rest of her ammo into the next one over, splitting the avian in half by the waist as a radioactive round found its mark in his centre mass.

The third Kig-Yar retreated upon seeing his shield-brothers die, turning to run head-first into the leg of the Jiralhanae that had been advancing behind him. Knocking the avian aside, the Minor charged forward, Seela emptying the rest of her cartridge, watching as he tumbled, his momentum carrying him the rest of the way down the stairwell.

She fished for another cartridge on her belt, seeing she only had two left. Good, she needed something to get her blood boiling.

The other Jiralhanae along with three Unggoy were inching their way down to her position, and she made them fight for every step, picking the little ones off one at a time, growling when her cartridge was empty again. She popped a fresh one in, looking over her cover to see the Jiralhanae was close enough she could see his mammalian eyes blinking at her.

They were within grenade distance, so that’s exactly what Seela did, producing the plasma grenade the Unggoy had given her and tossing it in the Jiralhanae’s direction. It narrowly passed the tree he’d been hiding behind, not sticking but landing too close for the big, lumbering alien to escape the blast radius, the explosion tossing his armoured body away where he collided with the wall, leaving a crater in the stone.

Her shields sparked as plasma struck her from the side, Seela snarling as she turned to see an Unggoy had snuck into the vehicle while she was distracted. He visibly deflated as she stared him down, his single shot the only one he sent her way as she willed him to drop his pistol using her gaze alone.

She flexed her mandibles as far as they would go, yelling a wordless roar, the little alien yelping a noise Seela wouldn’t be caught dead making herself, the Unggoy running off back the way he’d come.

Her gaze rose to the entrance, her heart hammering in her chest as she spotted another full squad up there, the sound of a departing Phantom just noticeable above the rain of plasma fire coming down on her. Six more Jiralhanae, along with the Major she’d seen before, formed a cordon behind their runts, the shorter aliens dashing across the open, supressing her as the Jiralhanae advanced.

One of the Jiralhanae produced a weapon that made her curse under breath. It was a thin, stout weapon with a tube for a muzzle and a blade for a stock, Seela throwing herself to the ground when he fired it from the hip, the thump-thump-thump as he pulled the hammer vibrating through her bones even from this distance.

Explosive charges arched towards her, the first two landing a few paces in front of her position, shrapnel peppering the other side of her cover. The third detonated on the roof of the vehicle, Seela flinching reflexively as the metal caved inward, her helmet muffling the explosion.

Her vehicle rocked on its rails as the Jiralhane emptied the rest of his grenade-launcher at her cover, Seela firing her carbine through the window at the advancing Unggoy, cutting three of them down before they could hide behind the trees.

Her cover was starting to lose its solidness with how much fire was coming down on her, the metal slagging into liquid in places as the heat began to accumulate. She dashed for the next window over, her shields flickering as they absorbed a few plasma bolts that found their mark in her flank.

Seela took cover next behind another window, raising her carbine over the lip, cutting down another Jiralhanae Minor. The one with the grenade launcher fired one last time, Seela stumbling as the resulting blast detonated not two paces in front of her. A cloud of obscuring smoke rose up from the blast, Seela firing blindly through it at the advancing aliens.

She could hear them reaching the end of the stairwell, ducking into the trees and fanning out, plasma fire hitting her cover from seemingly all sides. She fired over the window when she could, the energy of her shields rapidly depleting each time she popped out of cover. She tossed her remaining grenade at a Minor who was closing to within spitting distance, leaves from the closest tress raining down on the platform, Seela waiting for the explosion before leaning out to deplete one of their shields, felling another, but she was running out of breathing room, in a moment they’d be right outside her cover.

Her shields flared as the plasma overwhelmed her personal barrier, the energy shattering like broken glass as she hunkered down, the horrible sensation of exposure washing over her. Finding her carbine had run out of charges, she slotted it to her back, drawing her pistol.

She put her back to the vehicle’s side, the metal burning her through her suit as the metal started slagging, the Jiralhanae keeping her suppressed. She was running out of options, but the tightening feeling in her stomach was not one born from dread. She felt alive for the first time in years, how ironic that this feeling was here, so close to the end.

The one with the grenade launcher sent another explosive charge her way, this one detonating inside the vehicle to her right. The tiny Human seats exploded in clouds of cotton and plastic, what few remaining windows shattering as the vehicle rocked on its wheels from the impact.

Steeling herself, Seela dashed along the vehicle’s length, escaping the blast of a follow up grenade that exploded right where she’d been standing. She stooped to pick up the pistol the frightful Unggoy had dropped before, huffing as she realised she was picking up a lot of weapons from the small creatures as of late.

She snarled as she felt plasma impact her shoulder and stomach, Seela raising her pistols over the seats and firing at the Jiralhanae with the launcher. He was by the foot of the stairs, and she overcharged one pistol while firing the other one normally, combining the bolts. The heat washed over his thick armour, his shields fizzling out, the alien slumping to his side with a wet gurgle as the bolts cooked his insides.

“Signal for reinforcements!” she heard one of the Minors say as she hunkered down. “We need more Unggoy!”

“Call the whole Covenant!” Seela shouted at them, her pistols warming her palms as she stayed hidden. “Let the Prophets themselves know that a hunting party cannot deal with just one Ultra!”

“I will feast on your bones, Sangheili!” one of them snarled back. She could hear their footsteps drawing closer, tightening the net as two approached from one side, the rest from the other.

She emptied her pistols on the closest one, but only succeeded in cutting his shields down before she was harried with plasma fire, one of the bolts catching her on the helmet, Seela collapsing to the ground in pain. Her helmet had managed to dissipate the heat, but so much kinetic energy had been behind the bolt, it had felt like someone had thrown a brick at her face.

She heard one of them stomp his way onto the vehicle, the vibrations traveling up through her spine. So this was it, three whole squads had been needed to take her down, plus one Jiralhanae pack. She had hoped to last for a little longer, but with a bit of hope, her ancestors would find her worthy.

She struggled to her knees, but the killing blow never came. She looked up at the Jiralhanae on the vehicle with her, but he had turned his back on her, wielding his gun around on something else. She winced away as his shields sparked in an unstable white, a pair of follow-up shots killing the alien where he stood, the Jiralhanae keeling over on one of the seats flanking the aisle. Had some of her kin managed to find her?

She peered over the window frame, but her saviour was no Sangheilian.

An Imp rolled out of the way of a barrage of plasma, bringing a large, two-handed weapon to bear on the closest Jiralhanae, a sound like that of escaping gas echoing through the complex as he fired, collapsing the alien’s shields and following through with a single shot from some sort of sidearm, the Jiralhanae dropping his carbine as he died.

Imps were some of the deadliest creatures the Humans employed, second only to the Demons, but the ferocity they showed in combat was no less impressive. Yet something was different about this one. Imps wore black armour with minimal features, but this one had highlights throughout his plating, could this be their equivalent of an Ultra?

The Jiralhanae had all but forgotten about Seela, turning their weapons and attention on the new threat. The Imp stuck close to the trees, his smaller frame allowing him to use the fauna to its full potential, staying crouched as it moved to a better position, firing its strange, long weapon at the Jiralhanae Major.

“Damned creature!” the Major snarled, his shields breaking apart. It would take many Human bullets to deplete a shield from full, yet it had broken in just two shots. The Imp followed up with another blast from its Human weapon, one of the Jiralhanae’s arms severing at the shoulder, black ichor spraying. He tried to fight on anyway, charging the Imp down with a fist raised, but he only made it three steps before the blood loss caught up with him, and he collapsed.

The remaining Jiralhane tossed his weapons aside, dropping to all fours as it charged down the Imp, loosing a bestial roar. The bloodthirsty aliens lost all sense when they were the last ones remaining among dead packmates, and he made an easy target for the Imp, its weapon seeming to become more deadlier the closer its target was, the enraged Jiralhanae losing his shields after just one shot.

The Imp brought it down, the alien collapsing mid-lunge, his chin sliding along the floor and halting by its boot, the Imp giving it a kick to make sure it was dead. As the silence began to sink in, Seela found her mandibles had opened in awe, the Imp had taken all her foes down without a single hit, yet it didn’t seem completely unharmed.

Taking advantage of the lull to examine it a bit closer, she saw it was bleeding from its back, and parts of its chestplate were scratched, its opaque visor sporting jagged lines running across it, as though a great beast had raked its claws across its face. It even had a plasma pistol strapped to its leg, further confirming it had been battling Covenant at some point before now.

It lifted its blue visor in her direction, Seela stepping out of its view as her heart began to beat faster.

“Think that’s all of em’,” it called out. “You can come out now. That you, Holiday?”

It was speaking Human, a language Seela understood. She checked the charge on her pistols. Imps never travelled alone, where was its kin? She held her breath, fearing any noise might give her away.

“Joker? Come on, this isn’t funny.”

Holiday, Joker? What gibberish was it saying? Perhaps these were names of its kin, and it had assumed Seela was one of these Imps. It had so fearlessly charged the Jiralhanae down in order to help her, unaware of what she was, it was almost impressive. Should she send an overcharge its way? It would be an easy shot, it wasn’t in cover, yet the fact it had come to her aid made the decision much harder than it should have been.

She holstered her pistols, staying out of view as she waited for it to speak again, but it didn’t. The Imp’s boots clocked against the floor, Seela thinking up a plan as it started coming her way.

The Major

Kikowani Station

6 Hours After Rupture

“Think that’s all of em’,” the Major said, replacing his spent shells. “You can come out now. That you, Holiday?”

Holiday always had an affinity with Covenant weapons, but she wasn’t one to stay quiet when he called her, the Major frowning behind his visor as he examined the train. This whole side of it had been rendered black with plasma fire, the steel melting into chrome puddles that dripped to pool over the tracks.

There was blood everywhere, too, the Jackals and Grunts by the foot of the steps forming piles two or three aliens tall. It reminded him of the time he’d walked through a captured Covenant cruiser, where a Spartan had singlehandedly slaughtered his way from the cargo bay to the bridge, leaving none of the aliens alive, and a hell of a mess for everyone else to clean up.

“Joker? Come on, this isn’t funny.”

His only answer was his own echo: “Funny… unny… ny…” There was no movement from the train, the Major pumping his shotgun as the silence made him wary. He stepped over the corpse of the Brute, bracing his weapon as he made his way to the train. Had he been too late?

He exaggerated his step as he crossed the gap between the train and the platform. The ionising energy in the air warmed his skin through his armour, an uneasy stillness settling over the station. He flicked on his visor as he glanced at the carriage on his right, the systems fighting back the darkness. There was a dead Brute in the aisle, the giant alien plugging the whole path like a cork in a bottle, his dropped weapon laying on the seat by his slumped head.

Looking over his shoulder at the opposite carriage, his visor outlined the seats leading up to the driver’s hatch, but nothing more. He made his way up the train, the Major kicking aside a couple of spent carbine canisters littering the ground like bullet casings.

The aisle narrowed where the carriage’s joined, and he turned his body sideways so he could squeeze through, his bulky armour not designed with civilian trains in mind. There was blood in here, too, his head locking to a splotch of it on one of the seats in front of him.

The blood was purple.

The gears were still turning in his head as he emerged into the aisle, when all of a sudden a giant arm swiped down on his shotgun with a whoosh of air, the weapon clattering to his feet.

He turned to see an Elite had been standing just to the side of the threshold, the most obvious hiding place in the book, yet he’d missed it. Instincts kicking into action, he drew his sidearm from its holster, firing from the hip like a gunslinger out of a Western movie. He got off four shots, the Elite’s shields flickering as they absorbed the rounds, the alien snatching the gun out of his hand.

It chucked his sidearm out of the train window, its arm clad in the white power armour of an Ultra. Parts of its plating were burnt, and there was drying blood seeping out of a wound on its shoulder. It was obvious this was the one who’d been fighting off those Brutes, but how was that possible? The Covenant were a united faction who purged humanity, not each other.

It didn’t seem to react after disarming him, but the Major took the opening as his chance, producing the combat knife from his chest and driving it towards its chest. The Elite seized his wrist, its mandibles flexing as it growled down at him, the thing hunching so it could fit inside the train.

It leaned down until its face practically touched his visor, its pair of eyes filling his vision. Its sclera was a deep yellow that bordered on gold, and the irises were a striking purple, vertical like a reptile’s.

After these few moments of examination, he socked it in the mouth, or maybe snout was a more accurate word, since it didn’t possess a mouth in the traditional sense. His fist bounced off its mandible guards, the Major snarling through his teeth as white-hot pain pulsed through his fist. It felt like he’d just punched a wall of stone.

At least he wasn’t alone in his pain, the Elite’s face wrinkling as though about to sneeze, the alien voicing an “Oof!” –as it recoiled, its grip on his knife weakening. He pulled his arm free, reversing the blade so it pointed at the ground, driving it home at a different angle.

The tip of the knife slipped between the plates on its chest armour, sinking in a few inches before the Elite grabbed him by the arm once more. It was two or three heads taller than him easy, and probably three times as heavy, the alien easily overpowering him as it shoved him back, pushing him against the opposite wall of the carriage.

It slammed his arm holding the knife against the side of the train, his grip on the handle buckling, but he didn’t let it go. The Elite examined his blade with its amber eyes, as if confused by his strength.

It lifted his arm again, its whole hand completely blocking the Major’s limb from his sight, crushing it on the wall much harder this time. The knife slipped from the Major’s fingers, but he was already throwing another punch with his free hand before the weapon hit the floor.

The Elite was ready for it this time, engulfing his hand with its own and squeezing. He grunted as it thrust him up against the wall, his toes leaving the ground as it lifted him up by the arms, suspending him there.

“For one so small, you fight like a Mgalekgolo,” it said, the Major stopping his struggling to look it in the eyes. He had heard Elites and Brutes speak English before, but only ever to taunt their enemies. “I can admire one who struggles in the face of defeat, but you’d do well to calm yourself, or I shall rip off your arms.”

It was applying just enough pressure to keep him pinned, but not enough to crush him, the Major trying to get his breathing under control as he glared at it.

“Good,” it said, the deep contralto of its voice catching his attention. Its tone was husky, as it would be on such a massive creature, but there was some sort of quality to it he couldn’t quite place. “I do not need to see your eyes to know you wonder why I’m speaking to you. I’ll give you a reason,” it added, pausing as it waited for him to respond, and when he didn’t, the Elite continued. “You have spared me from a death at the hands of these Jiralhanae. Although part of me is frustrated by this development, honour demands that repayment is due, so I shall not take your life for the moment. You are welcome.”

“So what to do with you?” it continued, tilting its head at him. “I could tell by your marked armour that you have battled the Covenant before. We share a common interest.” It nodded towards the fallen Brutes behind it. “The Covenant are no longer my allies, the Prophets have betrayed me and my kin, and although I may not get revenge on the San’shyuum themselves, killing the traitorous Jiralhanae will be more than enough to please me. Since I no longer have my companions, and you have proved you can handle the Jiralhanae, we may yet wipe out more of their packs by working together.”

The Major was more than shocked, this thing had been ready to kill him, but now it was offering to work with him? It was a proposal that didn’t need a lot of considering. His squad was out there with no way of contacting him, the city maps weren’t working, and his pod had landed him right in the middle of the Covenant forces, this Elite was his one chance to maybe make it out of here alive. Of course, if he did say no, it would probably go through with its threat and rip his arms from his shoulders, so there was obviously only one answer.

“Why do you not talk?” it asked him, its mandibles flexing in what might have been impatience. “I know you can speak, Imp, you talked of some… holiday a moment ago.”

“Fine,” he replied. Its eyes widened, locking onto his own even though his visor was opaque. “You wanna kill Brutes, we’ll go kill Brutes.”

“Brutes?” it asked, tasting the word. “You mean the Jiralhanae? Mm, a fitting name. You may pick up your tiny knife if you think it will help you.”

It lowered him to the ground, slowly pulling its arms away as it waited to see what he’d do. He bent over to pick up his discarded knife, slotting it into its sheath with a quiet scrape of leather on metal.

“Your weapon,” the Elite added, leveraging his shotgun off the ground using only its hooves. The gun flipped into the air, the Major snatching it by the stock. The Elite’s eyes trained on the muzzle as he lowered it to the ground.

“I must collect more ammo before we proceed. Do not shoot me in the back, Imp, I’ve had enough of that this day.”

He would have done just that when the Elite turned around, exiting the train and moving to the closest dead Brute, but something about this alien came off as different, and not just because it had spared his life a second ago. Elites were the right-hand of the Prophets, living off combat, yet this one had chosen to talk to him after disarming him, that alone was enough reason for the Major to stay his hand.

He took a few moments to examine it a little more closely. The Elite carried itself much differently to others he’d seen in the past, its gait more balanced and graceful, the hips rolling in time with each of its long strides, the curve of its waist more exaggerated as it bent over to pluck a carbine from the hands of a dead Brute, a pair of toned buttcheeks drawing the Major’s gaze, each one bigger than his helmet.

It snapped the receiver open, ejecting the cartridge and slotting it onto its belt, taking two more from the Brute’s corpse. It reloaded the carbine holstered on its back, turning to the Major once it was rearmed. Seeing an alien looking at him with a weapon drawn compelled him to aim and fire, the Major resisting the urges all the years of training had instilled in him.

“Do not just stand there,” the Elite said, gesturing with a four-fingered hand. “You know this city better than I do, lead on.”

Giving it a sideways glance, he moved past it, retrieving his pistol as he made his way up the stairwell, moving between the dead aliens. He could feel the Elite’s presence just behind him, the Major confident that if it wished to kill him, it would have done so already, so there was little point in worrying about it betraying him. Still, it was difficult to shake the feeling of having an alien at his back.

When he reached the top, turning towards the next flight of steps on the side, the Elite spoke up.

“I came in from that way,” it said, pointing towards an entrance leading up onto the street, the rain falling down on the ornate threshold in sheets. “Why head in this direction?”

“That way leads north,” he said. “I need to go east.”

“Why?”

He didn’t answer, and the Elite followed him anyway as he trudged up the stairwell, the alien grumbling as it struggled to keep its footing, as its hooves were more than twice the size of each step.

When the ground levelled out, the Major was greeted with a view onto another street, but the way was blocked. A safety barrier had activated just inside the awning, a crisscrossing pattern of metal bars closing off this exit. The Major gave it a tug, finding it firmly stuck in place.

“Stand aside,” the Elite said, the Major moving out of its path as it stepped up to the barrier. It put its carbine on its back, the magnetic locks on the power armour holding it there as it dusted its hands. It bent down, wrapping its fingers over the lowest bars, its knuckles tensing as it started to pull.

The alien’s muscles bulging beneath its armour, the security gate began to rise, a horrible grating sound echoing throughout the station as the gate grinded against its own locks. The barrier was designed to keep vehicles out, the Major both impressed and terrified by the Elite’s strength as it lifted the barrier inch after inch. He ducked through the gap when it had raised the grates high enough for him to slip under.

The Elite braced the barrier against its back as it followed him out, twisting its torso once it was clear, the grates smashing back into place with a loud bang. The alien turned to him, a more than pleased expression on its face.

“Good job,” he said, giving it a thumbs-up. “There was a security booth back there that could have raised the gate remotely, but that worked.”

“What are you doing with your finger?” it asked, looking at his hand.

“It’s a gesture, means good or yes.” He lifted his shotgun as he scanned the street, rain dripping off the lip of the station’s awning obscuring his vision. “By the way, what should I call you?”

“You have no reason to know my name,” it replied.

“What if I need to call out to you? Should I just say, ‘over here alien’?”

“You are the alien,” it said. “But, you have a point. My name is Seela.”

“Seela? Hold on.” He looked it over, the Elite turning away a little as he scrutinised it. “You a female?”

Its eyes narrowed, a subtle growl drawing from its throat. “Yes,” it said, looking away.

Now he knew what had caught his attention the first time it spoke, its tone was distinctly womanly, and its curves had come off as feminine. With access to UNSC databases not even veteran Marines were aware of, the Major was a well-informed individual, but even he hadn’t heard of female Elites serving in the Covenant before, they must be rare.

“Having second thoughts about me?” Seela asked, her tone of voice altering somewhat, as though she was unsure of something.

“Well, not if I ever need another gate opened.”

“You cannot get rid of me even if you tried.”

The Major had the feeling he wasn’t following along, electing to say nothing as he moved out into the rain, passing round the hood of a destroyed car. “Not gonna ask me my name?” he asked.

“As if a creature like you has one I could even pronounce,” she replied tersely.

It was the last time the Major spoke for a while, the two pressing on down the street.