Our first contact with the…parasites…was Harvest. Whether it was the Covenant's interest, or they simply uncovered it by accident ,it doesn't matter . We managed to scrape a single spore from that horrific exertion, and from that we breed more. I am sorry that you were not made aware of it, but it was on a need to know basis, I'm sure you understand. These parasites are remarkable creatures. Horrific, frightening, cancerous in the rate they can breed, but remarkable. They are impossible to reason with. Truth be told, we would have a better chance of building a treaty with the Elites, at least they have ears to listen, minds to reason. Nothing works with the parasites, we can't threaten them or reason with them. However, even enemies are a valuable resource that must not be overlooked.

Chapter 1

"This is Major Orff 'Schulwerkee, does anyone copy."

The words oozed from between his mandibles, slick and slimy, after a long, deep breath of cold, dry air. Not the worst that Orff had ever been hurt, in fact his commanding officers had beaten him worse during his training, but this was the worst he had even been hurt alone, without someone to help him walk and ease his wounds. An entire clip of magnum bullets, point blank, after his shields had already shriveled to nothing under the assault of countless rifle fire. Through the armor, through the chest, and burrowed deep enough that everyone cut like glass with each breath. "Spartan," he hissed. He felt great honor when his blade cut through the green armor and to the soft, weak flesh beneath. No matter how they dressed, no matter how fearless they may been on the field of battle, or what sorcery they used to make them stronger, cut a human open and the insides were all the same. Beneath that armor, there was a soft fleshiness that popped just the same. To know that green clad warrior wouldn't live to take another of his brothers away, he had seen far too many fall to this new breed of human, he would die knowing that. A life for a life, a major for a general, it seemed like a fair enough trade. To die in battle would have been an honor. And indeed, even with his gut aching, he charged forward with his blade in hand, absorbing round after round until his body gave way to darkness. He thought he was dead. He believed he was dead, and saw the life of paradise that all honorable soldiers would go to. A pleasant death, one of honor. To die fighting the human plague.

He had yet to bore a son. Though it was Sangeheili tradition for the father not to have contact with his brood, all fathers did, just not officially. They all watched, from a distance, as their son grew into proud soldiers for the Covenant, and their hearts sang. He was disappointed at his lack of a child. He wasn't of noble birth, and had worked hard through the ranks, reaching aristocracy and his rank. He had yet to take a mate, his tours of duty kept him too busy. And now he was dying, passed over by his living comrades as just another corpse, with the lullaby of gunshots above him. With the glass in his guts. All alone, and dead.

He didn't know how long he was out. A day at least. Three days at most. The battle had long past, the bodies were cold and night had fallen. He had been buried under the corpses of his brothers, cut down by a hail of fire from the human's Warthog turrets judging by the size of the entry wounds. His chest ached and he tried to determine how much blood he had lost by the purple puddle beneath him. From the corpses he scrounged a Plasma rifle with a quarter of its battery intact, as well as his sword still ignited and glowing in the darkness of the night. The human survivors would have long fled, and the Covenant victors had long given chase. If anyone was even on the planet wasn't known. Lacking enemies, his brothers would have been quick to leave to find another outpost to raze.

"This is Major Orff 'Schulwerkee," he barked into his radio. "Orff 'Schulwerkee, does anyone copy? Commander Zulfaree, are you there? Anyone?"

A snarl of annoyance and he booted one of the human corpses across the field. It was frustrating to be on this forsaken planet alone. That he had survived was biting, denied a noble death. He could continue forward and hope to stumble upon his comrades, but without a destination, chances were he would simply expire. Collapsing from blood loss on a quiet savannah was lacking something.

"This is Major Orff 'Schulwerkee. Any who can hear this, please respond."

This battle had long passed, the final assault on the human remnants, ground beneath Sangheili hoof. The humans were dead and his commander had left. His people had left, lacking anything else to be gained, this planet may very well be razed.

"Major…lwerkee…are…?"

The voice was deep and barely audible through a torrent of static. Amongst other things, his radio must have been damaged. That he had gotten a transmission off at all was nothing short of a blessing by the Forerunners. If the speaker was planet side or he had somehow picked up a transmission from a distant star, bouncing through the vastness of space, was a mystery. But it was someone, and he didn't have much desire to lay down and wait for death.

Clearer now, they must have boasted the signal or adjusted the transmission. "This is the Red of Nail. What is your position, major?"

Orff looked around. His neck popped, and he checked for any wounds, but it must have just been sore from the cold and lack of movement. He sighed, massaging his long neck. "I'm sorry, sir I don't know. The battle was long. I've activated my tracking device, you probably have a better idea than I do. Red of Nail? Who is your shipmaster? What fleet are you of?"

"We have your position. Move three klicks to your north to rendezvous, the human resistance has been crushed, but be wary of any stragglers."

"Understood sir." Perhaps he should have questioned the abruptness of the conversation, or the deep, graveness of the voice, even deeper and graver than a Sangeheili's. But, truth be told, he was tired and wounded, and still young enough that he was not suspicious of everything said.

The cloaking device of his armor must have been damaged during the firefight, it sizzled and sparked when he activated it, drawing even more attention to him than if he just left it off. His plasma rifle wouldn't last for any length of firefights and would overheat in a prolonged engagement. He passed dozens upon dozens of human assault rifles, and enough rounds to take on the entire UNSC navy. But he didn't trust humans design, save perhaps the laser beam he had seen shoot down a Ghost, tar through the armored hull like his blade did flesh. He had lost two brothers to that laser, before his blade tasted the marine's blood. He found himself growling lowly.

If it were up to him, if he were a shipmaster and had that much sway in the Navy, he would have bombarded this entire planet. Burned until its surface was nothing but glass. Kill every vermin who dare raise arms against their better. Who dare defile the sacred lands with their filthy steps. It was more fun to take the planet on the ground, to feel the death of every human, and such encounters brought great honor. But he wasn't the only Sangeheili to fall in the battle. The ground was awash with purple. He crouched before every one of his fallen, checking to see if they still drew breath, but it seemed he was the only lucky one.

He found a vehicle of human design, one of the large things with mounted turret on the back, crashed into the fuming pile of wreckage of one of their ships. The passenger and gunner had been thrown clear of it. He checked the pulse of the driver, and feeling a thumping, however faint, took the human's head firmly and twisted it so it was facing the other way. He threw the body carelessly to the ground and climbed into the driver's seat, surprised that it was so roomy. A little stiff in the shoulders, but that was due to the protrusion of his shoulder guards. The seat would be far too large for any human, like a child driving a tractor. Perhaps it was a psychological thing, Sangheili armor was designed to intimidate enemies of the state, even at a distance. Seeing such a massive vehicle, with the turret on the back spitting out hot lead, may have scared the Unggoy, cowardly wretches they were. No one must have told the humans that Sangheili wouldn't be scared by such a cheap deception.

He stopped half a klick from his destination. The last thing he wanted was for an Unggoy stationed on a turret to mistake him for a human and open fire. Slothful little beasts. To stupid to identify their target before shooting. Cowards, not even worthy of carrying the burdens of the Covenant on their shoulders.

He stroked the bullet holes in his armor with a long finger. It wasn't the first wound he had sustained in the war, it wouldn't be the last, and save the soft skin and ache in his belly, it wasn't a horrible wound. But his pride was hurt. That a human should manage to wound him, even one of their greatest, it was annoying. And he would need treatment, which was all the worse. It was a long, slow walk the rest of the way.

"This is Major Orff 'Schulwerkee contacting the Red of Nail. Does anyone copy?" He looked about. "I am at the rendezvous, where is the Red of Nail?"

Even if expeditions on this planet had ended, there should have been something to mark this as Covenant territories. Most of the humans may have been crushed, but they were like bugs, digging so deep in they were impossible to root out. They would bide their time, replenish their ranks, then pop up once more. Orff was expecting a perimeter. He was expecting Banshees and Ghosts. Scarabs stretched towards the sky and ready to march forward and trample the humans under their treads. His motion detectors was sparking and glitched, he guessed half of the red blips weren't there, but the other half. He turned around, eyes piercing through the darkness, rifle at the ready but finding nothing. He gripped his rifle a little tighter, sure that at any moment a platoon of humans were going to come pouring over the horizon. It was entirely possible that they had intercepted his frequencies and planned this whole thing out.

His radio buzzed and hummed, before a gruff voice said, "You might want to run." An orange glow caught his attention from the corner of his eye. There was a bright, blinding flash and a fire erupted in the night. The soles of Orff's hooves burned as he stumbled to his side, rolling, in case any additional grenades were thrown. He fired a burst into the Jiralhanae he noticed behind him, from where the incendiary grenade had been thrown, the hulking form silhouetted in the dark. The beast tumbled to the ground, roaring. The hot plasma singed his fur. Beneath the fur, skin began to melt. But Jiralhanae were durable creatures, and he stood back up

Orff felt the ground beneath him rise and heave, and stumbled again as the earth itself opened. A massive, white furred behemoth stumbled out of the trench, gripping a red Plasma rifle and looking for something to shoot. Orff was upon him in a moment, bashing his skull with his rifle. The Jiralhanae stumbled, fazed, and Orff should have pressed the attack, but he was more concerned with any additional hostiles popping out of the ground.

They had dug trenches to ambush him. They had actually set a trap, and worse he had walked right into it. How he had wished the humans had simply killed him. The Jiralhanae bashed his own Plasma rifle across Orff's jaw, knocking him to the ground, dislocating both his left mandibles by the force. He tried to crawl away, only thinking of escaping, when a weight settled on his back and ground him to the soil. The Jiralhanae's foot, he was disgusted to say. The breath was pinched out of him, all he could give out was a low whine as his armor, then his very bones, began to yield under the unflinching weight. He squeezed the trigger of his rifle until it burned his hand, hoping that some stray shot would catch the Jiralhanae.

"Thantus!"

Instantly, the pressure left him, though when he tried to push himself up, he realized the foot was still resting on his back, just no longer trying so hard to crush him.

Something took him by the back, around the ribs, and hoisted him up, and Orff found himself face to face with the largest Jiralhanae he had ever seen. A massive creature, dwarfing even the two fellow pack mates who surrounded him. Albino fur, the mark of the eldest, an ornamental headpiece crowning his head, and the gravity hammer carried effortlessly in his free hand. A chieftain, the kings of the barbaric race. "This one is more use to us alive." The Jiralhanae cocked his head to the side, as if trying to gain a better look at Orff, who cringed and snarled as the chieftain's nostrils opened and his scent was taken in. Apparently having gained whatever information could be taken from such a feral act, the chieftain smashed his forehead into Orff's, knocking him out.