HALO: Evocatus

Chapter 7

Delta Halo spun through space.

High Charity drifted alongside, accompanied by its swarm of escort ships. Like insects from a hive, they scattered out, searching the Ring, hunting for a lone Human frigate. It had tailed the Solemn Penance, the personal CAS Assault Carrier of the High Prophet of Regret, undetected in the carrier's own Slipspace bubble, and if sources were correct, was still somewhere nearby.

If other sources were correct, Regret himself was dead. Murdered by the Humans. Now they crawled over the Ring, crawled inside it, searching for its secrets--searching for the Sacred Icon. The Covenant had to find it first, before the infidels could destroy another Halo.

Kusan was terrified.

He noticed he got scared a lot. Looking back on it, he couldn't remember a time outside of High Charity or Appetency's chambers when he wasn't actively fearing for his life.

The mauve-plated Phantom shuddered and creaked.

"Entering atmosphere," said the Jiralhanae pilot over the loudspeaker. "Please remain seated while the cabin light is on."

Kusan cradled his carbine. The two Brutes on either side of him had no respect for personal space, and squeezed him between their matted hairy shoulders.

The Sangheili was appalled. Whereas the Justiciar's Phantoms were scrubbed clean, polished inside and out, completely spotless, this Phantom from Burbaeddeus's ship had floors caked in muddy footprints, pieces of random trash scattered throughout, and some relentlessly terrible scent that was something between rotted meat, burnt hair, apeish body odor, and entirely too much flatulence.

Kusan tried to push it out of his mind, as he didn't want to cover his face for fear of offending the Brutes, so he tried to focus on checking his carbine. And yet he found himself all too distracted by a loose flame grenade rolling freely across the floor. It was absolutely not helping his anxiety.

He drew his Spartan knife and peered at the metal, polished so fine it reflected his face. He had to look again to confirm it was really him; he didn't want to recognize the red-armored Sangheili staring back.

Kusan was a Major now. That was the promotion N'theze had mentioned, back in Appetency's chambers. The old Prophet had blessed him personally, then blessed the rest of the Pious Justiciar. The Sangheili had received plenty of looks as he followed N'theze to the armory, mostly from reverent Grunts or envious Jackals as most Elites were busy crowding viewscreens to gaze at the holy Ring.

"Demonslayer," they chittered, which somehow only managed to knot Kusan's stomach more.

When they reached the armory, Kusan was surprised to see a fresh red combat harness and his repaired undersuit laid out for him. The new armor, with its upgraded shield bank, battery, and improved accommodations for additional modules, was heavier than Kusan's last suit; this added weight vanished when the armor powered up and polarized the undersuit's muscle-like fibers.

The armourer, a knurled Unggoy, had made two modifications: she had integrated Kusan's active camo module, and had affixed a magnetic weapon mount conspicuously on the right pauldron.

"For the Demonslayer's trophy," she explained.

Back to the present, Kusan twirled the knife in his fingers. One of the raucous Brute Minors noticed.

"What does your trophy say, Elite?" he snarked. "Does it impart bloody wisdom?"

Kusan abashedly sheathed the blade.

"Cut him slack," pushed another Jiralhanae. "He killed a monster."

"Him?" said a third. "He looks....scrawny. The Demon must've been too busy laughing to fight!"