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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.