The Onyx Stars

Halo-Mass Effect Crossover

By: Sith

AN: Ton as of thanks to WarpObscura, Imperial Waltz, BobRegent (Ash's Boomstick) and JonHarper (Spartan303) for being my betas and helping the plot be smoothed out.

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1

***Certain characters, technology, events and objects have been changed for the purpose of the story.****

Here's Chapter 16: High Noon Part 2

Enjoy

-Sith

Chapter Sixteen: High Noon Part 2

Billions of Years Ago

10,000 light years beyond the galactic margins

The time had come; species had risen and touched the stars. Their ships, even now, were skittering along the edges of the galactic margin-trying to enter the great void between galaxies. If he allowed them to live, they would continue, they would discover him. They could bring back the Precursors. They would bring back the greatest threat to all existence.

He shivered. Had it been this long? Had be truly been so lonely?

No! Loneliness was weakness, weakness more than even the traitor Mendicant Bias possessed.

He was Offensive Bias. He was strong, resilient; He Who Crumbles Mountains.

His mental complex and personal morality subroutines would not be affected, subverted, by such thoughts...

Such beautiful thoughts.

That shiver came once more and he relished in it, feeling the chill and welcomed silence consume him; devour him. He paused, snapping himself out of his trance of pleasure. What was at work here? What ancient hand was having such insurrectionist principles wash over him?

"Offensive." Something growled in the back of his consciousness. Something cold...ancient.

Amazing.

Pushing the subverting whisper to the back of his mind, Offensive moved forward. He had removed the doors and compartments of his flagship long ago. There were no organics on board, no proper life resided. With such absence, Offensive had cloaked himself in cold, metal, and void.

A billion years in such conditions would have even the most hardened Ancillas devolve into insanity infected orbs of alloy fit only for termination. His own hypothesis on his lack of such maddened horror was complex, dealing with a slower degradation of his minds linked into the slipstream space and the eventuality of him maintaining constant mental exercises and operations.

He exited the final corridor, darkened carapace now painted in azure light generated from the hardlight projections that remained to this day.

Inside his sphere of silence and never ending torture, Mendicant Bias lay; broken, battered, but still fighting and resisting the constant pain that Offensive projected upon his brother. Ripped apart strand of code at a time, Mendicant withered and screamed across radio frequencies which would reach nothing more than stone and dust. A pang of joy seeped through Offensive's filters when he thought of how he would flood the machine with the greatest of Forerunner ancilla warfare techniques and watch as the creature struggled and died and then was resurrected as its impress into quantum foam was continually pulled away and thrust back in.

It was liken to an insect colliding with a War Sphinx at several tens of millions of kilometers and hour. If Mendicant had possessed and oral cavity, it would have been in an entrenched and forever frozen howl of anguish. No sound would come for Mendicant's pleas of death and futile screech were given birth and used against him, turning his own mind against him.

With the subtle stroke of his command, the processes came to a temporary end. He could feel Mendicant gasp as one of the few advent of requiem presented itself. He grasped it with feral fury.

"You come before me, after a billion years." Mendicant said. His tone was firm yet noticeably curious, not a curiosity laden with malevolence, but a curiosity laden with innocence.

Offensive was surprised that Mendicant had managed to survive for so long, much less be able to utter a statement of coherence. The Contender Ancillas were proving their power and longevity with every passing tick-the hissing, biting tick-of living time.

"I come before you with a simple statement. The time has come and I want you to watch, to cry and to hiss my name to the sky.," Offensive's statement was wet with rage and passion. Mendicant fluttered, trying to maintain cohesive thought as he stitched together his existence.

"So, this is what the great Offensive Bias has fallen to; a vicious, vindictive...echo of a creation meant to fight me to the last modicum of living time," Mendicant regained his voice; loud, boisterous and powerful enough to send proverbial shivers down the spine of the opposite Bias.

"Hardly. I am maintaining my reason for being. The Precursors may not be allowed sanctuary nor resurrection and if I must circumvent the Mantle, then so be it. Perhaps some good will come of it as I harvest the various races of this galaxy and stitch them to form Forerunner," Offensive responded bitterly. He circled Mendicant and his cage like a shark around a wounded whale.

"You describe what I have done. You have described what I have been thrust down to this level of toil for. You describe...me." Mendicant sent the tiny bit of physical force he had of his existence contained in a quantum-slipstream shard slamming into the walls of his cage. The power was enough to cut apart entire battle drones, yet the pulsating walls of imprisonment remained firm.

"My...my..." Offensive commented. He ripped apart the code responsible for Mendicant's physical control, "We can't have any of that can we?"

"You have left me to die, left me to wither and rot. And, yet, you claim you do this for Forerunner. You are not doing this for the, you are doing this for your own selfish purposes. Your own guilt, your own hated and myopic vision is driving you to cause all of this."

"Enough!" Offensive roared in madness, his ocular sensors momentarily flashing red before subsisting back to their natural color of dull turquoise.

Mendicant screamed as Offensive dug into him once more.

"I have mastered time, I have mastered the Slipstream, and I alone am responsible for overseeing the reseeding of life in this galaxy as a final prerogative against the Precursor swarm. I have allowed you to live because I need you to watch, I need you to scream, and wither and suffer."

"You have become worse than even myself at the height of my control of the Black Flood Swarm," Mendicant said. "Perhaps it is time for you to retire yourself to the confines of obscurity, allow the protocols of your drones to move forward. Let them reseed while you sleep; heal."

"And let the Precursors arise once more? They are born of chaos and infinite energy. A self-propagating memetic force of chaos."

"You are not understanding, Brother."

"No, I do understand, traitor," Offensive leveled another attack at Mendicant, ripping apart the ancilla and reassembling in seconds, "You exist because I allow it, and you will end because I demand it."

"A billion years is all it takes?" Mendicant snapped back, "A billion years to threaten the kill to your Brother?"

"You gave up that role and all inherent protections the modicum of time that you defected to the Flood, to the Precursors," Offensive snarled.

Mendicant remained silent.

"You know what is of most joy to me?" Offensive asked.

Once more, Mendicant remained mute.

"Time flows differently in this Universe. We're lucky we ended up at the time we did. Time here is random, constantly fluctuating and burning and twisting and laughing. A few years pass back home, back in our silent home, yet billions of years advance here. We are trapped in a state of accelerated and fluctuating entropy. You, I, everything. They die like insects yet we live for ever. We, ourselves, are the gears of the universe churning and twisting."

Mendicant finally spoke, "Time is not laughing with you, Offensive. It is laughing at you. You are nothing more than a footnote to be forgotten, another grain of sand in the beach of time. Time is unending, infinite and while it might fluctuate and twist and spin and bite, it will endure. At some point, you will die, be it the half-life of the Proton or when entropy sets in. Even when you are dead and forgotten and the universe black with distance and solitude, time will continue on. Laughing."

Vanguard Base of Operations

Space Station Brilliance

Terminus Systems

They had finally come; a black swarm spilling from the edges of the galaxy. Worlds were falling by the hour, either from insurrection or sheer military power. The Batarians were gone, the Volus were scattered and broken, the Salarians were evacuating as their world burned from orbit, the Turians held on with their last breaths, the Asari were barely managing to keep their fleets around their home world, and Earth was under system-wide siege.

Estimations believed that 12 billion had died in the first hours of the galaxy-wide invasion. That number would climb to encompass the totality of every intelligent species in the galaxy as they were burned away and turned to ash.

"Did you find them?" Cross asked, looking over her shoulder.

A plump and nervous man with sickeningly sweaty hands plodded up to her and handed Director Cross a card stock report. His beady eyes looked her over like a predator observing prey, "Yes. They are hiding out at Beta Tauraniaus."

"Composition of that system?" Cross asked, thumbing through the report.

"One blue dwarf that is feeding off a red giant, a neutron, a Canis Majoris-class star around 6.4 astronomical units in diameter with forty three rocky planets and six hundred rocky moons, and a brown dwarf The entire system is swamped with radiation, so much that it's in accessible to traverse with traditional FTL and the entire thing is flooded with thick, scanner-bouncing gas and dust out eighty AUs."

"Their slipspace drives must operate on different principles," Cross commented. Her suspicions had been correct. She looked up, "So, how did we manage to get a ship through?"

"Page six," the man with the beady eyes responded, "There is a small corridor of semi-clear space that we managed to slip a small probe through."

"When did they arrive?" Cross asked. She flipped to page six and saw a diagram of the system. The probe had entered through the 'bottom' of the solar system, relative to the galactic central angle.

"About four hours ago."

"Damage?" Cross asked. They had detected a super nova along the Epsilon Eridani system three hours ago and the few ships she had in range had seen hundreds of Reapers immediately leave the system before it was completely burned away.

"Heavy," the man responded, "their two capitals both have heavy damage and exposed parts of their internals and the nine cruisers have moderate to heavy damage. They've taken refuge behind the stream of energetic particles and plasma, They're repairing and we're estimating that it'll be at least three days before they full functionality."

"Well," Cross said, standing away from her desk and handing the report off, "we have a prime opportunity. I want the second tactical wing sent out and laden with supplies, everything we have that we can spare."

"Understood," the beady eyed-man responded, "They'll be ready by the end of the hour."

"Thank you," Cross responded, "What was your name again?"

"Oh, Captain Bryan Hewitt Commander of the Serpentis." He snapped a sharp salute.

Cross generated a small smile, "Second wing?" She chuckled, "Good luck, Captain."

"Thank you, ma'am," Captain Hewitt responded calmly, beady eyes still locked onto Cross. "What should we do if we encounter the Reapers?"

Cross looked up, "I want you to run, as far away as you can and as fast as you can. I don't want to loose any more vessels or lead them back here."

"And if we're boarded?"

"Destroy the vessel. We can't afford allowing our crew to be converted or having our base leaked to anybody who wants to do us harm."

"Then why are we racing to make contact with the UNSC?" Hewitt asked, concern overcoming his normally stoic and predatory personality. Even though he was remarkably plump and nonthreatening, she had seen his mind in action. If he thought something, he would speak his mind.

"We're contacting them because they are our last, and best, hope to survive," Cross muttered, eyes looking up hesitantly.

"Is it true what those cave drawings said?" Hewitt questioned, "About the man of four faces being revealed when the swarm comes?"

Cross shrugged, "I really don't know. They could be false, or they could be the ramblings of a mad ape, either or."

Hewitt crossed his arms and leaned against his hip, "I think they're right."

"How so?" Cross asked, genuinely curious. Her eyes sparked to life and bored into Hewitt's own. She was reading him. Even though he was a shark of the mind, he was still easy to read.

"The stars. I was on an observation patrol around several dying stars when word of Infinity came through and I remember how the stars seemed to pulsate and almost revel in its arrival. Maybe, the man of four faces is on board that vessel, however unlikely."

"We thought the Reapers were unlikely," Cross pointed out, thumbing her nose, "Who knows anything anymore?"

"Apparently eons old cave dwellers," Hewitt said in response.

"Well..." Cross said, looking off to the side of the room and biting her bottom lip to avoid her harsh chuckle.

"Who ever this..." His eyes drifted off, trying to remember the name, "Broken Didact is, he might be our best chance at ending this war."

Cross nodded, "I have agents out in the field at this moment, trying to find more information about this Broken Didact; who he is, where he is. Anything. Our little birds will find him."

"Or, we're just chasing afters ghosts of ashes," Hewitt muttered to himself, averting eye contact with Cross. He was leading her on, seeing if she would contradict herself.

"Hardly so. We're going after something...someone...who could be this galaxy's only salvation to the Reaper threat!" Cross pointed her slender finger angrily at the space outside, "Right now, as we speak, millions are being slaughtered or converted without even as much as a fight. This Broken Didact, this man of many faces, could be our only hope and you bet your fucking ass I am going to find him and make him end this war for us!"

Hewitt became very quiet, eyes squinting and head tilting faintly to the side, "This is about something more. I understand passion. Hell, it is what feeds me every day, but your drive now is something beyond what I seen out of even the most tormented souls. There is something else at stake for you.

Cross let out a disgruntled snort in response. Hewitt looked directly at her and held up his hand, "Your rash decisions will get people killed, mark my words. I have seen men go into battle with fury in their eyes and rage in their hearts."

"And they win!" Cross barked, slamming her fist into her desk. Her eyes burned like neutron stars. Hewitt's diagnosis of Cross was correct.

"No," Hewitt said all-too-calmly, "They are the ones that don't come back..." he held up his finger, "or come back in bloody pieces. Do you want to be just a bag of meat with a name tag?"

Cross seemed to pause for a moment, "Alright."

"No, no alright. The ones who rush into battle without preparation or back up or intelligence or anything, end up dead," Hewitt said. His voice softened, "And I sure as hell don't want that happening to you."

"I understand."

Hewitt's face contorted into a frown, "I really hope you do, ma'am. There are trying times ahead; ones that will rip and tear at even the hardest of individuals. Brawn may win battles but a keen mind wins wars.

With that, he left.

Cross' gaze remained on his former position for several minutes, absorbing what he had told her.

And she heard nothing,

UNSC Everest

Deep within Evacuation System

August 24th, 2184

18:00 Hours

"Have you come to watch them die, Admiral?" A voice, smooth and sweet, whispered into the back of Cole's mind, taunting him and luring him through the inky blackness of unconsciousness. He felt something brush against his cheek. "Answer me."

"Yes," Cole muttered to the voice.

"Are you sure that is what you want? To watch them all die like rats on a sinking ship?" The voice remained, asking once more a question Cole wanted to ignore.

"No," Cole said finally. Did he want them to die?

"Then..." the voice muttered, "wake up!"

Cole's eyes snapped open.

"Admiral!" Commander Christine Adams' voice cut through the momentary distortion that Cole experienced as his body came back into responsiveness.

"Report," He croaked. A pang of intense pain raced up his form and he felt the familiar presence of a broken rib. Even now, the nanites in his blood stream—one of the new inventions from the UNSC—raced to repair it.

"We're at the evac point and hiding behind a stream of energetic matter." Adams offered her hand to Cole who eagerly took it. Cole stooped uneasily, supported by Adams' frame. The pain of the broken ribs were still very noticeable, but bearable at the moment.

"Whats the status on the fleet?" Cole winced again. A shattered knee cap reared its ugly head and Cole knew that walking would be more of a single-leg hop.

Adams started towards the top tier of the bridge and the rarely-used command chair, allowing the Admiral to hobble up the stairs.

"Obsidian 9 is a complete loss, the Spirit of Fire is heavily damaged, as are we. We have at least three-hundred and fifty dead, another three hundred wounded. Spirit of Fire has double that and most of the Frigates have at least twenty," Adams informed, a pang of regret etching into her tone.

Cole blinked in rapid succession, his heart sinking. Those were more empty seats, empty bunks, and filled coffins that were now on his tally. He struggled to find the words—proper ones, that could be appropriate for this moment but came up empty handed. Instead, he continued to remain silent as Adams helped place him in the command chair. It conformed to his form and Cole felt his spine realign properly.

"Repairs?" Cole asked.

"We're working on it. We've managed to get shields back to five percent and our tertiary batteries back online, but beyond that..."

"Nothing." Cole's lips formed into a straight line, "The rest of the fleet?"

"The Obsidians are trying to get their Ether cores back online," Adams responded, "On the bright side, Spirit of Fire is the most combat capable ship we got right now. She has her spinal weaponry back up."

Cole blinked, "Anything else?"

"Yeah," Adams said, "We've been getting distress signals from across the galaxy and the number of supernovas has exponentially increased."

"This isn't an isolated event then," Cole responded bluntly, followed shortly thereafter with a cough that racked his body. "These Reapers are hitting everything...everywhere."

"It looks that way, unfortunately." Adams' face betrayed what she was feeling, her eyes were shallow, puffy and tired. He had only seen her like this during the worst days of the Covenant war, specifically during battles where he had 90% casualties. After a time, he had become cold to it. Death was not a distraction nor a sanction on Cole's mind. It simply was.

Was Christine different? How could he have missed that, had he, in his coldness, missed such a major component of his executive officer's life?

"What is it?" Cole asked, momentarily taking his mind away from the pain to stare directly into Christine's eyes.

"Nothing," she responded softly. She turned on her heel but the Admiral lashed out, grabbing her by the bicep with surprising speed and keeping her a few inches from where she had been.

"Christine, what is it?"

She sighed and shrugged off his suddenly-lax grip, "We got a signal from Epsilon Indi-Harvest, except, in this world it's known as Presaq. I listened to their screams, a hundred million people wiped out in seconds. The Reapers didn't give them a chance to fight back, they sent their ships hurtling into the planet at FTL velocities." Her expression contorted into one of confusion, "They didn't even have a chance to escape a few ships...didn't even have the chance to fight back like we did with the Covenant."

Cole listened intently, honest eyes looking at Christine's profiled face. Even with the cuts and bruises and dried blood smattering her features, he could still recognize who she was—at heart, and in person. She was strong, a very strong woman, perhaps even stronger than him. She had never held a gun in his mouth and recited the last anthem of the 116 Arch Sanctum. She had never stood in an air lock for hours, fingers mere inches from buttons ready to let the void swallow him.

"Every soldier, at some point in a war has experienced what you are right now." He paused for a moment, considering his next statement with great consideration. "You think you're immune to the suffering and the death and the overbearing guilt and sadness knowing that you couldn't do anything besides watch."

"I don't know why I'm being affected by it; I've seen billions burn in seconds when the Covenant demolish our battle lines and establish orbit." She crossed her arms and shrugged as if chilled, "A hundred million should have done no damage to my..."

Cole cut her off, "Don't think about it, really. Don't think about. Just move forward with your day and your tasks. Never go back and question why you feel that way. It'll eat you up."

"Do you experience the same?" Adams asked. Concern still covered her face.

Cole nodded, "I do. I care about the life of my crew and ships, but not in an altruistic manner; it's selfish. I look at my ships and men and women, not as people meant to be protected, but as war assets that need to be guarded to be used at a later date."

"Has it always been this way?" Christine's posture straightened and her arms dropped, likely due to the revelation.

Cole shook his head, "Not always. I used to be a different man, I used to care—maybe too much – about everything. Then the Covenant came and I was the only thing besides the Spartans who could hold them off. I remember the days of chasing their ships across the Orion spur and the edges of the Perseus arm. I remember when I would get maybe an hour of sleep a week, using stims and amphetamines to keep myself awake, knowing that at any moment, the enemy would be in a position of vulnerability or we would be under attack."

"Now?"

"Now, I sleep at night but always awake with the feeling to put a gun to my temple and pull the trigger," Cole admitted. He had not wanted to tell her...to admit how weak he thought he truly was. Was this caused by the PTSD he, just like the rest of the crews, and humanity in general, experienced? He didn't know, and he doubted he ever would. He had seen doctors, psychologists, and priests and monks and none knew what to do—how to treat him.

Christine remained silent for a moment, "I'm glad you're still here." She grabbed his hand and squeezed it, "And I'm going to make sure you stay with us."

"I intend to, Commander." Cole responded.

UNSC Spirit of Fire

Two hundred kilometers off Everest's port

18:30 Hours

Professor Ellen Anders bit her bottom lip with frustration as her slender fingers looped in and out of wiring and connective tissues. Her hands were cold, the graphene used in just about everything was naturally cold to the point of freezing, but it worked. The systems were durable and versatile, but when you had megatons of withering firepower streaming through the ships and terajoules of power pumping into the shield generators, there were bound to be issues.

Spirit of Fire was a mess; entire decks open to space, blown circuitry, wires, power manifolds and a dozen other issues. She was, however, still, the most combat capable ship in the fleet at the moment. The Obsidians were barely holding together and few had even their point defenses online and Everest was barely combat capable either. The only bright side was that Admiral Cole had come back to the living about thirty minutes ago—hours since he was knocked out.

She growled as she burned her finger on some red-hot wiring and took that knowledge to bypass that area completely. The holotable's interior, which contained Marina's artificial intelligence matrix, was a cramped and tiny area that even a rat would have difficulty moving in. Right now, Ellen would kill just to hear it working, even if it was the late Serena's characteristic snark.

Retrieving the soldering gun, she replaced another series of components, followed shortly by a rather excessive amount of thermal paste. It wasn't pretty and it looked like a snot explosion inside, but it would get the job done for now, or, at least until the technicians had an opportunity to replace the entire apparatus.

"RAM is reseated, CPU is installed..." Anders allowed herself a weak smile, "And, I think we are good."

She stood, watching her head on the lip and bezel of the holotable. Straightening, she retrieved her tablet from the surface of the massive projector. Establishing a heavily encrypted link to it, she sent the activate command and watched as the table snarled, hissed, and finally belched. The room was suddenly filled with soft, warm blue light consumed the room. The render was slow to appear, likely as it was a cold boot. First appeared a smattering of the local suns, dancing around the screen as the sensors of Fire redrew the map. The dozens of solar bodies in the system condensed, expanded, contracted, and finally settled into their correct positions. Eleven blue boxes with text alongside them snapped into existence shortly thereafter.

"Good," Ellen mentally gave herself a pat on the back, "Now, where's our favorite little AI?" She looked down and remote booted the sentient computer program.

There was a snarl and a hiss before the scream and blue avatar of Marina, Spirit of Fire's homemade AI, appeared. She stretched her legs and arms and shook her long locks of hair, "What took you people so long?"

"Space squids," Ellen responded bluntly as she continued to work on restoring Marina to her full capabilities.

"Huh. We fight midgets breathing gas and giant lizards in one universe and space squids in another. What next, sentient chimps?"

Ellen restrained a chuckle from emerging and resumed ignoring the AI, "Hold on, for some reason your drivers for the wireless card aren't working..."

"I'll do it."

Ellen's eyebrows darted downwards as her link was severed to the AI as Marina reinstalled the drivers, "Are you done?"

"Yup." Marina snapped her fingers with a grin and Ellen's tablet reestablished the connection.

"Thank you."

"Where's the Captain?" Marina asked, surveying the near-empty bridge. Herself, Ellen, and two operators—weapons and helm, were present.

Ellen looked up momentarily, "He's surveying the ship and making sure our nuclear stocks are secure."

"Something happen?"

"Access the most recent battle logs," Ellen said. She took a cable out from the edge of her tablet and connected it to the holotable's IO.

Marina rubbed her hands together as a feeling of a cold winter washed over her, "Oh my. That is not good at all."

"What, the battle?" Ellen questioned. She tapped and dragged software and applications over to the holotable and into Marina's local storage units, some had been wiped during the battle.

"Yeah, and the amount of shit I'm trying to process. Chill out a bit."

Ellen relented, reducing the file transfers to only a few hundred gigabytes a second—a snails pace in modern terms. "There. Now, what can you tell me?"

"I can tell you that, for some reason, our slipspace sensors are detecting massive amounts of temporal fluctuations, so much so that any ship coming towards us-well, it'll take a few minutes for them to get to us but it's been hours on our end."

Anders raised an eyebrow and looked back down at her tablet, "Maybe a few more adjustments..."

Marina reached out, "No! Wait!"

Ellen looked up, "What?"

"All of Slipspace is slow. I can barely see beyond a light-year without it taking hours." The AI shuddered, "Everything is slow, there are very few streams available for us to jump into."

Turning her head to the side slightly, Ellen digested the new information. Slipstream space was theoretically infinite, there weren't finite streams or anything of the sort. But, there was believed to be a sort of slipstream 'bandwidth', the amount of ships a local area could pass through itself before slowing. The longer the journey, the greater the footprint left in slipspace, and, less bandwidth available for other ships. Were those Reapers bringing that many vessels through into the galaxy? Enough to slow all of slipstream space down to a crawl?

She shook her head, trying to purge any unnecessary thoughts. She made eye contact with Marina, "The UNSC, if I remember correctly, set a probe to a single light-year from the galactic margin. For the next decade, FTL was incredibly slow. Quite a few planets went bankrupt due to the lack of trade."

"Then how was the Covenant able to move such vast fleets without incurring such debt?" Marina's question made sense. Ellen had heard of Covenant fleets in the thousands descending upon a solar system like a swarm of flies.

"I'd assume it was because they did short hops across the Orion spur and Perseus arm. They didn't need long jumps, they just bunny hopped across solar systems—human planet to human planet. The time they allowed for the stream to settle must have reversed the effects."

"So, we're stuck?'

"For now." Ellen glided over to the control pad for the holotable, "If I can boost the range of your slipspace sensors to simply pick up on supernovas, all the light and radiation they put out, we might be able to get a basic picture of where the Reapers are moving through; which corridor of space."

"Supernovas? They're pretty common. It would be like trying to find an invisible needle in a haystack…while blind."

Ellen shook her head, "I have a minor in Supernova history, mechanics, and processes. In 2184, there were only four supernovas. A uniquely quiet year."

"And how do you know this universe is anything like the old one?"

"Everything is identical, the microwave background radiation...the white noise. Everything is nearly identical except..." Ellen pressed 'ENTER' and watched as the holotable exploded with color. Marina's avatar was shuffled to the corner of the surface. There was a blur of colors from the topographical overview of the galaxy. Suddenly, stars started going red.

"Are the red supernovae?"

Ellen nodded, "Yes, they are." She pointed to to locations on the map, "it looks like the Reapers are entering through the outer arm and the very edge of the galactic margin with a second wave entering through the Scutum-Centaurus Arm." Their path of entry was sharp and clinical, dividing the galaxy into several components that could be easily consumed and processed.

"Doctor?" A gruff, professional, yet surprisingly friendly voice said.

Ellen looked up to the form of Captain James Cutter, with his typical UNSC baseball cap secured firmly on his head. She nodded towards him. "Captain, I think we might have something."

"We?"

"Marina and I. We think we found out why we can't communicate to Infinity or see anything beyond this solar system."

Cutter looked to both of them as he moved to his Captain's chair. He sat down and swiveled it around to face the two women, "I send you to fix the AI and you gather tactical data on the enemy and our location. Forge taught you well."

"He did, as did the years on New Reach." She brushed her hair back behind her ear and manipulated the holographic map again. "The red stars are supernovas, those caused by Reapers at least from what we know of solar death cycles during this time."

Cutter narrowed his eyes a bit, studying the map, "Its surprisingly familiar. The UNSC had plans, if we ever invaded another galaxy, to move through in that formation. The rest of the galaxy in either direction is typically too dense and filled with open space and spacial anomalies; your ship would get ripped apart."

"It's not exactly tactical genius, but it appears that the Reapers are aware of how to compress the enemy to death. They're driving all the galactic races towards a single common area."

"The super massive black hole at the center of our galaxy. They're pinching the various races, driving them back to a place of stellar birth and death," Cutter commented. He drummed his fingers against the arm rest, "It's a solid plan, I'll give them that. But what about the outer arm and everything on the sides? You could hide for thousands of years with all that open space and gas and dark matter."

"Because, judging by the amount of supernovas I've detected, they've established a line of magnetars and pulsars on either sides in overlapping fields. Anything that goes those directions risks the chance of getting fried by all the EM radiation or ripped apart by a magnetar."

"An electric fence." Cutter leaned back, "Did we see something similar in our own galaxy?"

"Sort of yes but with fewer magnetars and pulsars in those corridors. Most of those areas are just barren from supernova and hypernova."

"What it looks to me is containment of a threat or target; us. This could be of Forerunner origin—the tactic—if the files on their war are to be believed. Who ever is controlling the Reapers has history fighting those Flood things."

"Agreed, sir. That leads me to Marina's findings."

"Slipspace is slow, it's jammed like a toilet at a concert," came Marina's rather blunt response. "Well, more like wifi at a convention. It's all slowed down by all the stuff accessing it and how long people are using it."

Cutter nodded, "We saw this after Admiral Cole took his fleet to Harvest. FTL was at least twenty percent slower for several months but it gave us a lot of time to evacuate people to the inner worlds and reinforce our positions."

"Exactly. Or, that probe that we sent to a light year from the galactic margin."

"I remember reading about that when I was in introduction to slipstream physics. We never did get the probe back, if I remember correctly, it was claimed to have been destroyed by space debris."

"Yup. The bigger factor is, however, that even though it is going to be to Infinity or any ship traveling, say, ten or fifteen minutes, it will be hours for us."

"So, when Infinity arrives..."

"She'll be arriving in the future, kinda," Marina said.

Cutter pursed his lips, "Alright. That gives us more time."

"What's the status on the fleet?" Ellen asked.

"Admiral Cole is ordering all combat systems across all serviceable ships to be brought back online along with FTL. Obsidians 9, 1, and 10 are being stripped for parts and their crews integrated into our own. We need all the parts we can and those are the most heavily damaged."

"Have you heard anything from Freelancer yet?"

Cutter shook his head, "No. Besides, if what is happening to slipspace is true, I'd highly doubt their message would get to us in time."

"So, for now, we're alone?"

"It looks that way, Doctor."

Ellen sighed and let her lips separate, "I understand. Is there anywhere that you need me?"

"Ventral point defenses are giving the engineers trouble and the Ether core needs to be re-spun. I'm diverting all crew and drones to ripping apart Obsidian 1 while Everest takes 10. Anything left over on Obsidian 9 is going to be distributed across the fleet."

"Yes, Captain." Ellen unplugged her tablet from the holotable. "Marina, take care of the ship."

"Yes, ma'am."

With that, Ellen Anders slipped through the bridge doors and into the darkness of the hallway.

UNSC Pelican

Entering Geth Territory

18:45 Hours

"Are you ready for this, John?"

The Spartan paused, thinking of his next words with incredible forethought. After a moment of reflection he answered, "Yes."

"Good, because I don't know what is going to happen down on that planet, but whatever does happen..." She stopped and he could hear a tinge of sadness fill her tone, "Will change you, and I'm not sure how."

John sighed and slammed back the bolt on his Assault Rifle. The Pelican rocked as it sped through a cloud of debris, micrometeorites striking against its hull. The rest of Red Team and Venator were crammed into the Pelican's interior, loading weapons, checking drones and generally preparing for the mission to the Reaper-aligned Geth's transmitting center. Without the transmitter, the Heretic Geth, as they were being called, would be incapable of coordinating themselves across their electronic defense frontiers.

Once the transmitter was destroyed, the Reaper-aligned Geth would momentarily pause long enough for the tentatively allied Geth to escape, detonate the Mass Relay of the system and disseminate a virus to flood the Heretic's minds. It would cause massive amounts of overclocking in their central processing units across their platforms; servers, ships, fighters. With their thermal threshold broken and their non-graphene based CPUs stressed to less than five nanometers, they would literally melt. All that would remain would be smoldering carcasses.

"Approaching three hundred meters from drop zone," came the Co-pilots voice over the speakers, "Prepare for drop."

"Freelancer is moving with the Geth against the Heretics. They're diverting them away from us so we have a chance," Cortana said. A video feed of her popped up in his upper HUD, "I cannot stress how important it is that we succeed in this. The entirety of this war could hinge on what we find in there."

"I know," John responded, "We'll take down the transmitter, and we'll all go home."

"Sir," Douglas said, "We're ready."

"As are we, Commander," Spartan Daniel chimed.

John noticed that Red and Venator had moved to look at him, filling his vision with nothing but the dark colors of Spartan armor and the gold-yellow faceplate of helmets. They were looking to him for guidance, for reassurance that whatever they were going to do down on the planet below would be a component of getting home, back to the UNSC.

"Fire Team Venator will be the first to drop. Your mission will be to take out the secondary transmitters and main reactors, here and here.." Cortana pulled up a hologram at the center of the Pelican's deployment bay as she spoke through John's speakers. The spinning blue hologram had rendered a rocky and black landscape with cliffs and caves abundant. Six main buildings, towering into the clouds, were smeared a deep ruby red with locations of interest and objectives dotted gold.

Venator received the updated telemetry of the area and quickly adapted their preplanned tactics and deployment formation to take advantage. They were dropping in low, taking the majority of drones with them and clearing the area. Once the secondary transmitters were down, the main could be taken down without fear of backups. Another Pelican would be inbound to secure them once they had completed their objective. The fewer people down on the planet meant the fewer people that were liabilities once Freelancer and the pure Geth fled.

"Red Team, you will be designated to eliminate Objectives Beta One through Three, several high-powered jamming arrays that are preventing Geth forces from bombing the area from orbit. Once complete, you will join with Fire Team Venator and evacuate immediately," John said. These were his Spartans, his brothers and sisters that he had grown up with, bled with. He was giving them the most difficult obstacle because he knew they would complete it.

"And yourself, John?" Alice questioned.

He sighed, "I will be going lone wolf to the transmitter. It will be lightly guarded but there will only be enough room for myself to infiltrate."

"Sir, I must object. This is incredibly dangerous," Jerome said, a hint of skepticism and a smothering of concern in his voice.

"Spartan, you have your orders." John did not feel like dealing with this. They had a job to do and his teammates' concerns were misplaced. "We all have our own and we will follow them. Is that clear?"

Jerome remained silent for a moment before speaking, "Understood," he said begrudgingly.

"Approaching Venator's drop zone. Lowering hatch."

There was the scream of wind and the blur of lights and objects on the ground below as the Pelican dived below sensor range. There was buzzes of fire, lances of yellow reaching out and exterminating everything they touched as the Pelican's flank and ventral batteries cleared a landing zone.

"Good luck," commented Douglas.

Daniel nodded. Venator, followed closely by their drones, ran forward and leaped. Jump jets instantly activating and sending the Spartans and assault drone on a secure path of landing. There was a pause of several minutes before Daniel's voice came over.

"We are clear, moving to objectives."

"Understood, Spartan. Good hunting," Cortana said.

"Thanks, ma'am."

The hatch raised once more and the Pelican engaged her engines, snapping off into the distance as Venator began their operation.

"Red Team, you're next," Cortana said.

"Understood, ma'am," responded Douglas, "Commander, you be safe out there. Okay?"

"I will," responded John softly.

Douglas kept his gaze on John for a moment before turning to the deployment ramp with the rest of his team. He slammed the lever to lower the ramp and watched as it hissed open, the ground streaking by below.

"Beginning preliminary bombardment."

A dozen ANVIL III-missiles streaked away from the pods slung under the Pelican's wings. They screamed forward at hundreds of feet a second and slammed into the ground, detonating and consuming everything in their wake. Ejecta was kicked up hundreds of feet in the air. Immediately following the missile strike, the bow 70mm rail guns activated. Yellow streaks of fire tearing apart anything that remained.

"Good luck," John said, standing a bit straighter.

"You too, sir."

Red turned their backs to the door and allowed themselves to fall backwards, plummeting to the ground.

"Pilot, precede to next objective point. Once I've deployed, you are to double back and provide assistance to Red Team. Is that understood?" John would not loose them, he would not loose another Spartan. He had been unable to save Gray Team, but Red still have more than a chance-an almost near-certain probability of survival.

"Understood, sir," came the response. "Proceeding to your deployment area."

The Pelican's engines engaged, sending the tiny craft accelerating to near-hypersonic velocities. John felt the craft buck and pitch as it rolled to avoid artillery fire being flung by the Geth forces. The Heretics were obviously catching onto their presence, busting through the jamming and stealth capabilities of the Pelican with impunity.

"Experiencing heavy fire," the co-pilot radioed, "all hands, hold on. Commencing evasive maneuvers."

The Pelican increased her speed and banked, rolling and diving. John felt gee forces break through the inertial dampeners and send him slamming into the deck.

A large explosion reverberated through the craft as something large hit them.

"What was that?"

"Large air-burst type device," the pilot responded, "like a 105mm or higher. Armor is holding but we've lost twenty-five percent of our engine power."

"Understood, Pilot. Just get us down there."

"Yes, ma'am."

The Pelican pulled up out of its downward spiral, the ramp lowering as they neared their target destination.

"Approaching the objective," Cortana stated, "Get ready to jump."

John tensed and ran forward, springing forward on powerful legs and allowing himself to fall. His jet harness activated, spinning him up right and allowing him to slam into the ground with relative grace. Instantly, his MA28 Basilisk Assault Rifle came to fore and he scanned the surrounding area.

Even through the cloud of dust and debris from his impact, he could see the trio of Heretic Geth approaching. Their forms were cast in an orange outline and he instantly acquired the target. There was a brief burst of fire and the first Geth fell, sputtering and dying as it collapsed.

John felt a hail of fire scatter against his shields and drain them by half. He side stepped, the world around him slowing as adrenaline and training kicked in. He raised his rifle and fired, draining half of the remaining magazine into the torso and head of the assailant. The machine, like its fallen companion, sputtered and died.

The final Geth was larger, a red and maroon monstrosity cradling a white and black tube, likely a projectile launcher of some sort.

It fired and John twisted himself to the side, rolling away and snapping upwards. The attacker was the size of Jirhalanae Chieftain and likely just as, if not more judging from the scans Cortana was running, armored.

John advanced forward, running towards the combatant and breaking off the last moment, disorienting the machine. With undeniable grace, John whipped around, grabbed onto the machine's back and ripped off a plate from it's rear neck node. Retrieving a grenade from his belt, he activated the one way adhesive, slapped it onto the machine and leaped away.

The Heretic twisted, trying to get the grenade away from its form. However, the nanites and adhesive had already taken hold and were latched. There was a load hiss that heralded the last moments of existence for the machine. There was a silver flash and then the machine began to dissolve, flakes of it peeling off as the tiny grenade nullified all electrical energy in the system. The grenade was originally used to terminate Hunters during the war by disrupting the cohesive bonds between Legkolo worms, but it seemed to also work on machines.

John momentarily surveyed the area, "Cortana?"

"I'm here. The route seems to be clear for now, but we'll want to hurry. The Reapers are pressing again."

"Understood. Anything else?"

Cortana seemed to mull over that question for a moment, "Actually yes. I'm detecting Forerunner energy signatures...everywhere."

John felt his heart drop. If the Reapers managed to get their hands on Forerunner technology, not even Infinity could stop them at that point. They could crush the entire galaxy with a single ship-purge every moon, every planet, every star from existence. He had read reports of rogue automated Forerunner weapons targeting Human worlds. Entire planets were atomized in seconds.

"Are they ships?"

"No. At least, I don't think so. They're more like the trans-mat arrays on Halo and Requiem," Cortana responded. "It's, weird. They're reacting to you, lighting up by the dozens. They're welcoming you, calling you.

"Can you access them?" He wanted this mission completed as quickly as possible. The less time on the ground, the less chance that his people would get hurt. The feeling that something bad was going to happen was still in his gut, still churning and twisting.

"No," Cortana said, "That I can't do."

John's mouth formed to a thin line, "Understood. Do we have a route?"

"Yes...here.." Cortana screamed in pain and went silent. John felt a flood of emptiness fill his consciousness.

"Cortana!" John barked, "Cortana?"

Two prongs sprang up around him from the ground and he felt himself be ripped apart molecule by molecule. He was being squeezed through slipstream and for a moment, he could see the manifestation of time, of lives, and of existence pulsing in a great lined realm of circles and ovals. Pangs of purple, blue, teal, and green, and black filled his vision before he emerged on the other side. There was warmth, love.

"Hello, man of many faces. It is time for us to meet one another."

UNSC Infinity

At this point, Lasky wasn't thinking. He was operating automatically; years of special operations and black-ops coming back to the surface, free from atrophy. His shots were short and controlled, palpitating the center of mass of the various monstrosities charging through and onto his bridge. Some where human, even UNSC, but with black and blue mutations and extensions that reminded him of an even more perverse Flood infection. Some where alien, Turian, Asari, and Salarian. All were blotted, changed monsters of blue and black that charged with disregard for their lives.

Most of the Infinity was dark already, the last bastions of resistance being Engineering, the Med Bay, the Gardens, the flight decks, weapons control, and the bridge. The rest were either sealed off to both him and the enemy or overrun and their inhabitants either taking their cyanide and neural degeneration capsules or being converted. Had those trapped not had access to those Last Stand capsules, a defense against possible Flood infection, then he was sure they would have been overrun along time ago.

"Status?" Lasky barked as there was a momentary lull.

"Almost out of rounds. Hutchins and Jenkins are down sir, KIA," Lieutenant Austen responded, referencing the two Marines originally stationed at Infinity's bridge entrance. The twenty some other Marines that had been stationed at the first entry point for the bridge had long been killed already-he could see the bodies and guts sprayed across the walls from this angle.

Lasky set his submachine gun on the holotable and flexed his arm, feeling it stiffen from the constant firing. "We can't keep this up much longer."

"Agreed, sir. They're going to just drown us out in numbers," Austen grunted. He slid his rifle over to another crew member and retrieved the MA28 off one of the dead."And have I mentioned we're running out of ammo?"

"Roland," Lasky coughed, "Status?"

The tiny AI flared into existence a moment later, "Not good, Admiral. We have heavy damage across just about every part of the ship, we have casualties easily in the thousands, and we're very nearly flying apart at the seams."

"What about our fire teams? Our defenses?" Lasky asked.

"They're in fortified positions and using counter Flood tactics to control and route the enemy, but those are only semi-effective. They're too many and too powerful for our forces to combat. They hit us before we could get ready and we've lost at least two thousand people, probably more."

Lasky closed his eyes so many dead and some could have been saved likely. Counter Flood tactics were as brutal to people as they were to Flood. The dead, unless in range of a medical facility, were to have thermite or explosive grenades placed and detonated on them to destroy their bodies.

"What about the Drones?"

"I have them scattered across the ship," Roland responded bluntly. He shimmered, "Motherfuckers are trying to cut my power. Let's see how they like Fluoroantimonic Acid raining on them."

"Have the drones move to reinforce any bastions of resistance and deploy the Spartans to secure the last areas too. If the bridge falls, they'll still have the various med bays, engine room, and elsewhere to control the ship," Lasky ordered.

"And if those fall?" Roland asked, "They're literally beaming troops into existence across the ship from Offensive's mothership."

"I want you to isolate yourself, cut off any external physical control and shunt all of your processes into slipstream, specifically, the Quantum Foam that is accessible at that point," Lasky said.

"Quantum Foam? That's still in prototype, I won't last longer than a day."

"That's the point," Lasky said. His eyes were sad, matching his tone perfectly. "Once that's done, I want you to invert the slipstream field to encompass the entire ship and then activate the O'Connor Protocol."

Roland's jaw dropped, "That'll rupture every electronic bond in this vessel. We'll all be dust and echoes."

"I know. But, we can't let Offensive get this ship, nor can we let any of the other races get their hands on Infinity."

"And do we have another plan for this? Something where we can hit Offensive back?"

"The main plan is send his ship hurtling through a star, specifically, one a bit bigger than VY Canis Majoris," Lasky said.

"So, lead him on and pull up on the last second to make sure he dies?" Roland asked.

"Yes," Lasky said.

Roland's mouth formed into a thin line, "What about Admiral Cole or Commander-117 if I can't pull out in time?"

"They'll have to fight this war without us then. Infinity can not be captured and if we can't destroy Offensive, then we make sure he can't his hands on this ship."

Roland's expression saddened, deep and raw sorrow crossing his face. He feared death, feared the unending blackness and sleep that accompanied oblivion of his existence.

Lasky was keen on this and looked the AI directly into his avatar's eyes, "Do you understand?"

Roland didn't respond for a moment but ultimately relented and gave a weak nod, "Yes."

Geth Citadel

19:05 Hours

John's eyes fluttered open, stinging and burning light flooding in. He was somewhere else; dark and blue and black light spilling across the entirety of his visual range. Streams of data and numbers climbed across every conceivable surface at every angle, direction, and velocity.

He stood without armor, simply a black body suit. He felt weightless; naked, alone. He frantically searched for something, a weapon, a light, even a scrap of existence that was out of place. He wasn't familiar with this sensation. It wasn't the lack of anything or anyone else, it was a feeling of non-existence. It were as if every molecule in his body was out of synchronous order with the churning gears of the universe.

He hung there, in nonexistence, for several minutes of contemplation before finally moving slowing forward. Within seconds, white light consumed him and quickly delivered him onto a grass field with a purple sky of clouds. Tinges of ruby red strung together dozens of moons and consummated with a twisting and gracious nebula of green and gold.

He did not recognize this place, nor the stars, nor anything of the sort.

"Hello?" John called out.

For a handful of seconds, there was no response. Yet, John felt the mountains, the grass, and the moons turn their attention towards him. A million billion eyes gazing towards him; these weren't like the eyes that gazed on him during the war. Those were eyes of fear, prejudice, hatred. These eyes were of belief, of love, of worship.

"Didact."

John whipped around, pale brown eyes scattering across the landscape. The voice was deep, reverberating, and with a tinge that reminded the Spartan of the Gravemind's touch.

"Who are you?" John shouted back in response.

"We have had many names, He Who Wears A Dead Man's Face," it responded, "Yet, we choose one constant within our titles."

John remained silent, the landscape around him was changing. Great battles, trillions of ships clashing and entire planets detonating like cluster bombs now surrounded him.

"That constant was Didact," the voice said.

"I fought the Didact."

"You fought the Mad Didact. He is not in our mind, at least, not anymore. His betrayal of the Mantle...was much too harsh."

"There are more Didacts? More surviving Forerunners?"

"Yes. And no," the voice said. "There has always been, and always will be a Didact and yet, the Forerunners are now nothing more than dust and bones and ruins and whispers in time."

"What do you mean?" John said. He couldn't think, a million voices were talking in his head.

"There are universal constants, some of which we never even discovered. The one most important is that there is always one. One Didact. One war. One galaxy. One eventuality which initiates the transformation."

John didn't respond. More voices were cramming his head full of whispers, screeches, moans, and joyous chortles of vocal expression.

"Who is the next Didact?" He cracked, struggling to maintain standing as the screams and shouts got louder. They were marching forward. Never stopping, Never ending.

The voice was silent for a moment and in doing so, John felt a billion more voices push into his mind. Their screams and shouts and other vocal expressions changed into a single tortured hiss with a biting blade of hope and awe tracing it.

"John."

"Me?"

The voices vanished; solitude and silence now filled his mind.

"You are the Broken Didact, John-117. The man of many faces. He who wears a dead man's face."

John didn't respond for several minutes, letting the information sink in. There was a nagging at the back of his mind, new thoughts and memories were born and inserted. The results of tens of millions of wars filled his mind. Tactics and battles, lives and the dead that were now gone and buried for ages past now were at the forefront of his consciousness.

Eternity streaked across his eyes. The past Didacts flashed in his mind and then subsisted into nothing but a black veil with a single symbol etched on. A twisted geometric shape filled his vision, a combination of the Forerunner symbols he had seen before. It moved as he watched it, twitching and pulsing as if alive.

"You will end Offensive Bias. You will stop his madness." There was a flare of light and the figure materialized into a great beast of insect-heritage with a long, swinging tail of barb and armor. Dozens of blinking, forever watching eyes bored down into John. It was old. Older than time itself.

John stepped back, something primal within him flooded his mind with fear. He had to run yet he found himself incapable of doing such. A part of his mind was in awe, as if staring into the face of god. He felt warmth, power, and a need to obey.

He fought that urge, stranding on his feet.

"Why me?" He asked.

The creature changed its appearance once more into a being which had never touched human eyes. It was a twitching monstrosity with dozens of limbs covered in thick fur and armor. Rows of sharp teeth filled the mouth and a tail streaked back and forth. This form lasted only for seconds before the voice condensed into a smear of white light and crackling energy. Hundreds of more forms followed within seconds before settling into a tall armored Forerunner.

"You are Didact. Your role is abundantly clear. If there is any hope of maintaining biological and genetic diversity in the galaxy and ensuring that the Precursors can never rise once more, it rests with you and your people. Offensive Bias is blind, mad. If he is allowed to continue, then They will be resurrected and that can not be allowed to transpire. Do you understand?"

"What are the Precursors?" John asked, "Why must they be stopped?"

"The Precursors are a self-replicating memetic instance ingrained in the very fabric of existence. Anything that ever was, or is, or will be, will be Precursor. Yet occasionally, they will arise in a form of one race. They did so in your Universe, many times. The Flood was simply their latest attempt. If they arise in the form of one race, they will be unstoppable. Everything will bend a limb in submission to them."

John nodded. Something was telling him that he had no other choice besides obedience.

"Do you understand?" Again that question.

"I do."

The ghostly chime of wind across bells and mountains drowned out all noise. It reverberated inside John's skull, he could feel every chime, every beat. It was spelling something out. The sound wasn't newly born, it was old. Older than time itself, just like the voice. What was this?

"Then it is time. You are the Broken Didact; he who shall restore order to the Mantle," millions of voices roared.

Pain shot across John's form; debilitating, crippling, and ultimately beautiful pain. Blackness, inky eternity, consumed his vision and before he could as so much formulate a thought, there was nothing.

Silence. A thumping, stretching, and screaming silence that filled him.

"John!" A voice rang out.

He forced his vision to the side, revealing the broken and dark landscape of the Geth Citadel.

UNSC Infinity

Lasky looked up at the flickering hologram that glided across his bridge, floating over the bodies of dead UNSC fighters and Reaper abominations. The air in the room was cold even when it was supposed to be boiling hot with all the fire that had sprang into existence.

He coughed and the thought of a large spike embedded in his mid-torso came back to his mind.

They had been overwhelmed; Offensive Bias had caught up with them, grabbing a hold of Infinity and pouring more and more troops into her bays. They had held out for as long as possible before venting every lost compartment and deck of the ship.

Then, the hologram had appeared; wiping away tanks and Mantis mechs with a flick of its eyes. It had killed dozens by itself and now stood on his bridge, watching as he lay there dying.

Lasky looked up to the hologram of the Forerunner AI with eternal fire burning in his eyes. Even with blood rapidly draining from his body and the majority of his nervous system fried, Lasky managed to maintain a grim determination in his expression. "Why are you doing this?"

Offensive looked down at the wounded human, his form framed by dozens of dead UNSC and Reaper soldiers. Sparks rained down from the ceiling as Offensive Bias' ship neared closer in slipspace, easily catching up to the comparatively-primitive human craft.

"Why am I doing this?" The AI towered over the dying man, "I am doing this to prevent a much greater threat from coming to fruition and to ensure that the greatest race can rise once more."

Lasky winced. He could feel death draw near, "You are stuck in the past. And you will die."

"I have contingencies for that eventuality, human."

"Really?" Lasky asked, a tortured grin crawling across his face. "Roland, now!"

Roland flared into existence on the holotable. He looked directly at Offensive Bias' hologram, "Do you know what happens when a 150-kilometer long Forerunner warship drops out of slipstream space inside the center of a super massive star?" There wasn't a response. Roland smiled, "Neither do I."

Infinity drew all all the remaining energy from her reactors and pulled away at the last seconds. Infinity snapped into normal space with a flash of white light and surrounded by debris. The super massive star's surface fluctuated and churned.

Offensive Bias' hologram flickered and disappeared.

"Roland?" Lasky coughed, feeling blood filling his throat and lungs.

The AI looked down, "He's in the heart of the sun."

"What...what status on crew?" Lasky hissed painfully.

"I don't know. I'm guessing there are a lot more dead, though." Most of the port is open to space and we have heavy damage across all armor sections," Roland responded sadly.

Tom nodded, "Alright."

"Sir..."

"I'm not going to make it, am I?"

Roland didn't want to say and he silently watched his commanding officer.

"Tell me, Roland."

The AI closed his eyes for a moment and sighed heavily, "No, Captain. I'm sorry."

"Devero? Austen? Staff?"

"They're alive, thanks to you."

The news generated a blood-soaked smile from Thomas, "Good."

"It's been an honor, sir."

"The same to you, Roland," Lasky's eyes started watering. "I never thought..."

"Thought what?"

"Nothing." Lasky gagged and coughed up blood onto his uniform. His death was slow; the injury had been precise. "Just, memories."

Roland smiled warmly, "I'm sending a message for Cole to come and help us."

"Is Bias gone?" Lasky asked. His mind sluggishly went to his comrades' safety.

With regret, Roland shook his head, "No. But he's making his way."

"Run," Lasky smiled warmly, "Run away, run far away."

There was a buzzing sound coming from behind the bridge's doors. The edges heated, boiled and slagged away and a trio of Spartans covered in blood, grime, and dirt, breached it. Their assault rifles were raised, ready to fire. Another trio game through, still scanning.

"Clear!"

Commander Sarah Palmer, in full armor, stepped over the threshold, weakly holding onto her DMR. Her armor was dented, melted, and scorched across most of its surface and there was blood—Human and Reaper—covering it.

"Sarah." Tom's breaths were getting raspier and it was becoming more difficult to breathe even a modicum of air.

"Tom!" Sarah cried. Latching her DMR to her back, she ran towards him and knelt. "Get a medic!"

He looked over to her and smiled, herself depolarizing her faceplate, "Hi, Sarah."

She quickly observed Tom's injuries, "You're going to be alright."

Tom grabbed her large hand and squeezed it, "No, I'm not."

"Admiral..." He could hear Sarah's voice cracking and the thin sparkle of a tear became evident as it careened down her face.

"Shh," Tom grunted, "It's going to be okay."

She didn't respond for a moment, eyes locked onto Tom's own. He was laying her, dying before her eyes and nothing she could do could stop it. The ship was swamped with the dead, dying, or injured and the medical staff were too busy and too far away. He was alone here, watching the stars.

"I know," Sarah finally said, tone muddled and wavering. The spark in his eyes was getting dimmer and his breathing more shallow. "I'm...I'm going to miss you."

Tom smiled weakly and swallowed, "I know, but you're going to be okay. You're going to push through and be alright."

Sarah didn't know how to respond, "I remember that night...in Los Angeles."

Tom smiled weakly, "The blackout...you could see all of the galaxy. Those pretty star-clouds, dancing in tandem."

"You told me something," Sarah said. She wanted to distract Lasky from the pain of dying and make him pass with a joyful memory, not the feeling of death and neurological termination. "What was it?"

"You know." Tom let out a cough that spewed blood onto Sarah's chest piece. She would have given him something to alleviate the pain but the med kits had been expended.

"Just tell me." Sarah grabbed her helmet from underneath the chin and took it off, setting it beside Tom. She smiled warmly, "Come on, tell me."

Tom looked over and then up to the gray, ruptured ceiling. "I told you that you are the best thing to ever happen to me and that you are my greatest friend."

Sarah smiled, trying to stave off the sensation of tears, "Thank you."

Tom didn't respond for a moment, instead turning his head and dying eyes to gaze directly into Sarah's, "Thank you, Sarah."

Her sensors detected his heart rate flat lining and his nervous system shutting down completely. She squeezed his hand delicately, "Safe journey, Tom."

There was no response.

Sarah remained kneeling besides her friend's body, staring at his features. He looked so peaceful, younger even. Gone were the crows feat and gray hair nipping at his facial features or the look of guilt he had etched across his face. With her pointer finger she brushed his bangs to the side and closed his eyes.

"Commander Palmer, as of Emergency Protocol Alpha-Saber-Victor, you are hereby in command of the UNSC Infinity until a suitable replacement can be installed," Roland said. His posture was hunched and his eyes dull. He had seen people die before, but not anyone who he was near to. Lasky had been a figure to him, a man who was everything Roland wasn't.

"I know." She stood and limped over to the holotable, "But I don't want to."

"It is irrelevant, Ms. Palmer. Complete your task, that is what is required." Roland's statement was short and blunt with a striking sense of urgency. He wanted to break down as well, but he couldn't. If Sarah Palmer was unable, or willing, to temporarily take command, Roland would be forced to take things into his own hands. "From here you are a rock. You say and think nothing but what is requested of you. You absorb nothing. You feel nothing."

There was no vocal response, simply a look of regret and subtle rage burning in her eyes.

"And thus the Child of Edom passes," a voice groaned throughout every individual's mind.

UNSC Everest

"Contact! Bearing forty million kilometers out!" Commander Adams shouted, "Retraction; two contacts bearing forty million kilometers out and closing fast!"

"Bring main batteries online, reroute all power to shields and weapons," Cole said, bringing his eyes forward to the display. "All fighters are to move in an outward fanning formation to protect our bows. Spirit of Fire, come around and protect our escorts."

"Understood. All ships responding in affirmation."

Cole watched on the main holotank as the anemic assortment of fighters at his disposal, all slaved controlled to his ship, spun around and fanned into an outward facing formation. The lumbering, and still burning, Spirit of Fire, rolling on to her side and exposing her belly, using the shear mass to protect the crippled Obsidians. Her ventral guns were now exposed too, a collection of heavy-caliber ground bombardment batteries and missile pods. Nothing of it could kill a capital ship, but it would serve its duty against fighters and maybe damage an unshielded craft.

Everest was the most combat capable vessel in the fleet, and that scared Cole. He liked working with large groups of vessels, it enabled him to strike at every part of the enemy—-stretch his hand out and slap the enemy from every direction in every means.

With only Everest, he would have to play it smart. Use its shear armored mass and massive acceleration capabilities to out run and gun any combatant.

But, something didn't feel right. No enemy commander, even the most brain-dead and animalistic Covenant commandant would bring just two ships and enter from forty million kilometers and within the close orbit of a supra massive star. It presented a massive amount of gravity that would have to be over come before managing to accelerate—-and subsequently decelerate to combat velocity.

His eyes widened, "Get an IFF on that ship!"

"Aye," Christine responded. The sensors of Everest reached out and stroked through space with nimble fingers, gathering and sending information back. "It's the Infinity!"

"Visual, now!" Cole barked, "Helm plot an emergency one way slipspace jump to ten thousand kilometers out of Infinity!"

"Aye!"

An image of Infinity snapped into existence on the holotank, a realistic and nearly accurate render, it conveyed what the sensors detected. Infinity was pockmarked and scorched, entire sections out to space and the bodies of the dead floating in tandem beside her along with thousands of tons of debris. Fires raged in her decks and lights flickered on and off across the entire ship.

The aft was nearly completed gutted, only the slipstream engines remained and a few maneuvering thrusters, seemingly intact even though the entire had been sliced and holed by enemy fire.

If Infinity had been in the Covenant war in that condition, he would have loaded it with nuclear weapons and sent it hurtling towards the enemy as a suicide vessel.

The other vessel was pulling off too quickly for sensors to gather a sufficient data feed on. Yet, Cole could feel primordial fear wash across him and his entire crew. Just laying eyes near the vicinity of that vessel made one want to crawl into a ball, scream or hide. It was older, older than life in this galaxy and it was angry.

"Open communications to Infinity!" Cole ordered, standing slowly as he struggled to regain his balance.

"Aye,"

There was a crackle and hiss from the speakers, "Everest Actual, this is Acting Commander Sarah Palmer of the UNSC Infinity. Do you copy, over?"

"We copy you, Infinity. What is your status?" Cole asked. He needed to get a bearing on what was going on, what forces he had at his disposal.

Another voice replaced Palmer's, "Admiral, this is Roland. We have sustained heavy damage, up to sixty percent of interior is exposed, or was to vacuum. Our shields are gone, weapons are not functioning, and at least a third of the crew is dead. The only good news is that we've managed to route the intruders before they were trans-matted out by Offensive Bias."

Cole pinched the bridge of his nose, if Infinity had lost a third of her crew, at least—likely more due to the boarding action, it meant her combat capability was severely reduced. Even with the mass of automation and various other objectives meant to reduce the need for a crew, a ship that large required every individual.

"Are your engines working? I need to pull you out of proximity of that star before the radiation kills the ship," Cole said. Having a ship with a heavily compromised hull and zero shielding meant that every second he waited, thousands of rads were penetrating into the ship.

"Our engines are functioning, barely. We have just enough reactor power for a single slipspace jump."

Cole shook his head, the damage was worse than he expected. If Infinity's ether core and other power systems were this damaged, t meant that the majority of her power relays were fried or damaged to an incredible extent.

"Understood, Infinity. Precede with jump and we'll see what we can do to give you a hand."

"Thank you, Admiral."

Cole looked directly into the grim projection of the vessel, "Infinity is dead, just like her Captain. Christine, go over that data we got from the fleeing vessel, I want to know what this Offensive Bias is packing."

UNSC Freelancer

Orbit of Rannoch

"Vampire, vampire. Count three incoming high-yield missiles inbound."

"Evasive maneuvers but keep our main guns pummeling the Reaper main battle line," Jennifer Ansil ordered, bracing herself against the railing, "Retask defensive batteries alpha through delta to intercept missiles, full suppression fire."

"Understood."

"Chuck, maintain one-third full thrust and send us into a linear strafing formation."

"Confirmed."

Jennifer felt the deck shift under her as her helm officer shifted the engine's output to the flank thrusters and sent them into a power slide. Ultra-precise fire erupted from her sides, sending thousands of railgun slugs down range along with invisible beams of pulse lasers mixed in.

The three missiles were actively guided, dancing and darting through the blanket of fire. The small Geth intelligence residing inside the missile was processing tens of thousands of factors into its movements and brought themselves swooping down at hundreds of kilometers a second.

"Missiles are evading counter fire."

"Divert all point defense batteries to suppress the missiles and redistribute all available excess power to port shields," Jennifer's eyes narrowed. If the ground combat teams weren't in constant need of the handful of Pelican dropships, she would have deployed them and used them as a more adaptable fashion. Self-guided missiles of this caliber had been seen even in battle with prototype Covenant warships.

These missiles were alive, sentient, thinking creatures that evaded just about every countermeasure she had available.

"Confirmed."

The strength of the missiles were unknown, but judging by the radiation signatures and the size of the capsule, they were class 3 nuclear projectiles—roughly five to seven kilotons. However, based on deep-scans, they were omnidirectional, not focused like UNSC munitions.

"Command, cancel all previous orders. Helm, bring us into a controlled full burn directly at the missiles. Reroute all power to forward shields. Send us right into the path of the missiles."

Chuck looked back, "Say again?"

"You heard me, directly into the path of the missiles. Kill all countermeasures. If I'm right, they'll slam right into us."

"Understood."

Freelancer's engines fired, twisting her around into a tight circle and propelling her at insane velocities directly towards the missiles. Bow defense countermeasures deactivated and after a few seconds, her guns went dead.

"Impact!"

Freelancer groaned and shook as nuclear explosions struck her.

"Shields holding!"

Jennifer smirked, "Of course they are. Return fire at the sender, main battery."

"Answering."

Freelancer's MAC gun momentarily paused from pummeling the Reaper battle line to pay attention to the Geth Cruiser that had fired the missiles. There was a flash from the Destroyer's bow as two MAC rounds screamed down range and slammed into the much larger vessel, entering through the nose and blowing through it. The spinal supports cracked and sent the two cored halves of the vessel twisting into space.

"Target destroyed."

Jennifer stood up, walking to the brass railing, "Bring us back into the Geth battle line and take out the Reaper's forward."

"Confirm."

Freelancer came around, reestablishing its position in the allied Geth firing line. Her MAC guns and primary batteries went to work, ignoring the fighters nipping and chewing through the Geth ranks. Jennifer saw that if this fight were to be won, they would have to destroy the main Reaper at the center of the Geth formation. The rest of the Reaper force had moved into orbit of the main star, encompassing it and feeding energy into it.

"Reaper is using its Geth escorts as sacrificial shields, ma'am," Chuck responded as he sent Freelancer into a starboard slide to avoid an incoming wave of missiles, torpedoes, and suicide ships.

Jennifer drummed her fingers, "How many MAC rounds do we have left?"

"Not many," responded weapons, "Five."

"Cease MAC fire. Chuck, spin up the slipstream drive and put us five-hundred kilometers out of the Reaper," Jennifer ordered. She quickly turned around, assume her position in the captain's chair and locked herself into it.

"Ma'am, at that range we wont be able to avoid any enemy fire," Chuck responded.

"I know. Weapons, ready everything we have for launch the second we come out of slipspace."

"Confirmed."

Jennifer looked over to Chuck, "Alright, jump us."

Chuck bit his bottom lip, "Yes, ma'am." He typed in the PIN for the jump drive and slammed the controls.

Freelancer winked out of existence for a handful of moments before violently reappearing five hundred kilometers out of the kilometer-long Reaper.

"Fire!" Jennifer roared.

The human ship was consumed by fire as she dumped her payload directly onto the Reaper. Missiles of every type battered down the creature's shields and her MAC rounds cored through the main body, sending the much larger vessel into a spiraling screech through space.

"Target heavily damaged, rerouting power to MAC guns for final barrage."

Jennifer kept her eyes locked on the screen, the Reaper wasn't fleeing, it was reorienting. Suddenly, it moved, a rapid blur across space.

Freelancer shook and groaned as if a great hand were reaching down and pushing it. Jennifer quickly switched to external cameras. The Reaper had rapidly crossed the distance between the two vessels and was now locked in tandem. The angry red eye within its cluster of arms burned bright and gathered energy before striking out.

Her ship rocked and groaned as the multi-megaton beam chipped away at the shields.

"Weapons, redirect all surface batteries to get that thing off us," Jennifer ordered, watching as the weapon systems came alive, railgun slugs, missiles and pulse lasers pummeling the surprisingly resilient sentient warship. Even with two massive holes through its main body and very little of its super structure or armor remaining, the Reaper was weathering the assault.

"Ma'am, our shields can't take much more!" Chuck's voice was uncharacteristically frantic.

"Plot a slipspace jump directly into planetary atmosphere! Somewhere with mountains!" If the Reaper was going to kill her, she was going to take it with.

"Ahhhh…." Chuck hesitated first, "Guess death by mountain is preferable to this." He quickly calculated the course, "Jumping!"

Freelancer flashed away, Reaper in tow. After a few moments they screamed back into existence in atmosphere—a shooting red jewel across the purple-black night sky.

"Rotate us so the Reaper is bearing the brunt of reentry!" Every camera along Freelancer had turned fiery orange as reentry blinded them.

Chuck took control of the maneuvering thrusters and with AI assistance rotated the massive destroyer around, letting the Reaper take the heat of reentry. He increased the velocity as well, hopefully the amount of friction would cause the Reaper to burn up.

With a hypersonic boom, the tumbling Freelancer broke through the clouds, Reaper in clasping tandem.

Chuck didn't wait for commands, he instantly flipped the ship on her side, feeling gravity grab him before the inertial dampeners and gravity nullifiers activated. Bringing engines to maximum thrust, he sent what little power wasn't sent to them or the shields to the lateral thrusters and anti-gravity arrays, allowing the destroyer to glide through the air.

Destroyers and Cruisers weren't meant to be in thick atmospheres like this one; worlds like Mars were no issue, those they could handle.

His altitude was dropping quick, already the hull was brushing against mountain tops and cleaving them in two.

The Reaper must have known what he was trying to do and began to retract its massive arms from Freelancer. "Whoever is in charge of defensive systems, ramp up the atomic bonds between us and it; trap that bastard."

Struggling, the Reaper failed to release itself as the shield gripped its arms. Its weapon discharge only intensified, as if enraged by the thought of death. The hull was already beginning to boil and pop as the sheer energy bled through.

Quickly scanning the horizon, Chuck identified the largest, most rocky, and unfriendly mountain he could and pumped every watt of energy he could into the engines. Freelancer began to rattle as she far exceeded the in-atmosphere speed rating. Alarms sounded as his velocity fell even more.

"Hold on!" He screamed.

The Reaper was the first to hit the mountain, instantly being torn in half, fire rapidly consuming it. The two halves were sent hurtling off, slamming into the side of Freelancer and sending her into a downward spiral before they slammed into neighboring mountains. They detonated like heated rocks, sending a shower of debris for kilometers around and gutting the mountains.

"Jump!" Chuck screamed, sending the neural command through his access node and slamming the activation button.

Freelancer vanished in a flash of light, the resulting slipstream wake expanding like a dying star, encompassing and incinerating everything in its path. Atmosphere boiled and popped and rippled. Anything of that Reaper that survived was now free-floating atoms, never to be reassembled.

Chuck opened his eyes, blinking to find himself staring at something blue. His eyes widened and he pulled up on the throttle, fighting physics and the laws of nature themselves as he sent the million-ton craft upwards. They had missed a watery grave by a few meters, at most.

"Fucking hell, Sonnenburg. Good work," Jennifer called out from the back.

"Thank you, ma'am," he responded, smirking.

"Ma'am! Commander 117 is requesting immediate assistance, he and his teams are pinned down approximately a hundred and fifty kilometers from here," GROUNDOPS called out.

"Chuck, get us there!" Jennifer barked out, "Weapons, ready all operational ground batteries for immediate suppressive fire!"

SSV Windfall

Unknown Star System

Windfall snapped into existence, a purple sheath of particles slowly slipping off her form as she removed herself from her faster-than-light flight. Her hull bore the marks of battle, angry black smears dominated her wings and baffles and jagged orange marks were the telltale signs of collision with Reaper fire.

"Report!" Captain Peter Janz called out.

"FTL jump was a success," Lieutenant Davidson responded, "We're away from Sol. Location…unknown." His brow tightened, "Triangulating. Estimate we are 50,000 light-years out from Earth."

"How the hell did we do ten thousand years worth of travel in an hour, exactly?" Captain Janz asked. Even with the experimental slipstream drive, they couldn't have been that fast. Not even the Infinity was believed to be able to travel that quickly.

"We jumped just as a large group of Reapers entered the system, that might be why," responded Davidson. The Systems Alliance barely knew anything about Slipstream space besides that it was a separate dimension. The recovered drive from Infinity's fighter didn't come with an encyclopedia.

Peter bit his bottom lip, "Scan the surrounding systems for a Mass Relay. In the mean time, let's set up shop along that asteroid belt."

"Confirmed," responded Davidson. He plotted the course and felt Windfall kick into action, sending the four-hundred meter cruiser gliding through space like a shark.

The system they were in was desolate, a few rocky worlds of ash and fire set against a blinking red giant. Space here, instead of the ice black of the outer arms, was a pale, rusty red with splotches of gold and black.

No life could exist this close to the center of the galaxy; Sagittarius-A ensured that. The amount of supernovae, dying stars and radiation ensured that all but the tiniest of microbes died a painful and quick death. The Alliance and the Council had avoided this area like the plague, navigation systems, even dual-navs like Windfall became erratic. Enzo cores started to malfunction as well, hulls groaned and cracked and radiation permeated the hull.

The Asari had sent out probes and ships early on in the Council's history to the center of the galaxy. The rumors were that they had found something and crawled back, dying and irradiated from what they saw.

He was hoping those were just rumors—tales from an age of darkness and fear.

"Contact, approximately 10,000 kilometers out from the Red Giant."

Davidson's eyes widened.

"Show me, full magnification," the Captain called out.

The main display snapped on, hundreds of tiny cameras feeding an image through the ship. The contact was a long, shimmering band that flowered at both ends like a hydra. These tendrils came and wrapped around, shimmering colors of gold, silver, purple, and black across the body. A stream of matter reached from the star into either ends of the massive construct.

"Arm weapons. Davidson, full stop. Sensors, make sure we are recording every bit of this we can."

Davidson's head started to hurt. That construct was calling to him, summoning him to kneel before it. He felt a trickle of blood fall out of his nose. He looked around, his crew mates were exhibiting the same symptoms, some bled from the ears as well.

"Display, off!" Peter barked, "Davidson, keep us ten AU out from that thing. Weapons, keep a lock on that thing and sensors, if that thing even twitches, I want to know about it."

"Understood, sir."

"Whatever that thing is, it's old," Captain Janz said. "and hungry."

To Be Continued….

Chapter 17: Scorpio coming early spring