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Chapter 3 - The Harrowing Pt. 1

The soft blue iridescence of the screen melted away against the wall behind him, and the commander ran his claws rapidly across the screen. He arose from the floor and quietly hid against the wall in the Cimmerian labyrinth, unable to find an accessible air duct. His breathing was stifled behind the respirator, and he held a vigilant crouch along the eastern wall, peeking around every corner before continuing his slow trek. His heart banged against his ribcage with excitement, and residual adrenaline from a recent encounter.

He pushed open a door that led into a large, sunken lobby and closed it silent behind him. He walked in complete silence along the carpeted flooring, listening to every groan and shift that the ship uttered. It was in agitated and he sensed that aboard the ship, the atmosphere changed--it mutated it-self, an essence of hunger, of hatred that pulsated. He had acclimated to the atmosphere, but now he felt a revamped consciousness of it, since the first days aboard_._

I wonder if they are there--I just want them to be real! They cannot be. They won't be! They will not be real! They never are!

The male gripped his head, closed his eyes as he growled with anger, and shook his head hard, slapping it hard with his hand until he had brushed the thoughts away from him-self. He lingered for a moment to listen to the ship and mutter to him-self, cursing it, damning it with a flinging of spit to the ground, feeling it growl with ire at him.

There was another low growl from the ship as it began humming, stirring the infected viscera with spite, and he knew in his heart it would fight to keep him! He exited the lobby into pitch-black isles and corridors that would lead him to the only safe passage he had found. As the cries of his brothers began yawning from behind, quickly, and without a sound, he disappeared into a vertical shaft. He held his back against the metal with his legs, affixing the grated plate and began spider crawling downwards. The screaming now entered the hallway, the frightening echoes of pandemonium reverberating down the metallic shaft and disguising his footsteps.

"GET HIM OFF! SOMEONE HELP ME!"

"DAVI! DAVI RUN, PLEASE!"

"STOP THEM! SOMEONE, PLEASE STOP THEM!"

The recycling calls of fever and horrors echoed a most foul, abominable choir that rung in his ears; he closed his eyes and leaned his head back as crawled down the shaft gradually. His brothers hunted for him always, but he had perfected his sub-rosa trekking; with a reformed determination, he began scaling his way to the floor below. The cries above went unanswered as they always did; forevermore his brothers were lost in their continuum of incognizant hazard.

The Sangheili slid through the blackened halls with much ease, taking his time to walk with precision across the floor; but the ship was cunning, and knew his routes. He had to trick it sometimes; he would move through emptied bedrooms and in-between floors.

"Let's see where you are now--" He whispered in his guttural voice as he crouched down against the wall and examined his HUD. Their location was hard to determine for him, but he saw them, deep in a recess of the ship he had feared to enter after the last encounter. It would lead to death, he was certain of it.

He stepped silently and quickly, his back pressed against the cold stonewalls as he descended: the ship groaned louder and he slowed down, realizing just how stimulated it had become by all the excitement. He cursed under his breath; the only light source manageable was the soft glow of his helmet's light, turned down so low that to the regular eye there was in fact nothing to be seen. There was a loud clank beneath of him and he froze, slamming him-self against the wall, holding his breath and shutting his eyes, hoping that it would not see him.

There it was--the cold, sibilant brushing of voices against his ears. The Sangheili froze, his mandibles quivering, his eyes darting around rapidly as behind him the manifesting of a presence so sinister, so condemning that his hear felt the icy hand of death caressing it.

Commander--where are you?

Please come back, we need you.

We suffer a hell that you are late to join!

His eyes widened and he looked over his shoulder slowly to gaze upon translucent phantasms so horrifying he screamed with fright, and slammed his fist into the steel pipe and nearly jumped down the stairs, his heart racing as rapidly as before until he reached Sector 3, and quickly exited the door into the hall. He covered his nose and mouth as he walked briskly, his steps heavy and loud against the carpeted ground; he hoped that none was present save for the entities behind him.

COMMANDER! DO NOT IGNORE US!

IT IS YOUR FAULT! YOU COWARD! YOU DESERV DEATH!

His faculties still functioned enough to service vestigial comforts in knowing the malignant, supernatural beings that haunted him would only go so far. However, he did not expect such arousal of the ship and the silence was a misconception of a brewing storm, portending an influx of phenomenon that might drive a man into insanity. He became the mad man he was, after the long intervals of terrible, agonizing lucidity.

There was a low hum beginning to sound in the walls, and he heard the creaking of doors, shifting and opening all around him; they were coming, like a horrible storm! He gritted his teeth and slammed his feet into the ground, sprinting forward past two intersecting corridors. He took a sharp right, his breath rapid, and his eyes widened as they examined every dark inch around him. Death was so close to him; the hand extended to snag him to bow to its way. He nearly wept out of desperation had it not been for remnants of discipline that encouraged his evasion of such abysmal phantasms!

GRAAAWRGH! HURRY! THIS WAY! THEY ARE NEAR! RUN! RUUUN!

The shouting began now, the booming, vociferous cries of hysteria and agony from tortured beings that, upon awakening, charged through blackness after the scent of the lone Sangheili.

"Get away from me!" He pleaded with rising, enthralling madness. He slammed him-self into the wall as he rounded a corner before catching site of a functioning door at the end of the dark hall, growling and charging forward.

"SOMEONE CLOSE THE DOORS! WHERE IS THE COMMANDER!? WHERE IS THE COMMANDER?!"

"SOMEONE, HELP ME! HELP ME, PLEASE! AAAAAAARGH!"

The Sangheili stopped at a wall, slamming his thumb against the scanner as the screams approached with maddening speed, and in the blackness, the Sangheili's featured contorted into stark, grotesque horror. The door had not opened: it had not budged!

"No--no, open! Open, damn you!" He shouted, looking up to the crown of the door. The light flickered, the door stuttered and creaked and he feared so greatly his coming end that his knees began to shake and the gut wrenching nausea of death, culminating in probability, had finally climaxed.

CLINK! VRRRRRRM. . .

Luck was with him, as the doors slowly opened enough for him to squeeze through as those abominable beasts with shrieks of terror and madness bounded down the hall towards him. The Sangheili fell back on his rear, staring down the black hall, seeing the grizzly silhouette of those horrible beasts running towards him. He stood up, pressed his hands into the door, and pushed with all the might he could, forcing the heavy slabs of steel to compress into each other.

With the door sealed off and those ravenous beasts repressed, he sprinted to his right, though the path in a barricaded dining hall. Amidst the debris of the hall he heard a ghostly tittering, an almost charming atmosphere that permeated from the upturned tables, adorned with various decaying bodies too petrified to make light of their identities. The Sangheili cautiously made his way around them, and while his mind was steadfast on his objective to intercept the new occupants of the ship, he felt the precursors of palsy and paroxysm setting in. The fear, which loomed silently in front of him amongst the many others, called out to him in a sibilant, distorted manner that possessed no vernacular he had recognized.

He caught site of them, standing in unison: and in that instantaneous glance, he felt the zenith of terror rush over him with unbearable, skull-thrashing fervor.

? ? ?

. . . Xal laughed a little bit under his breath, "Women on our planet are not so courteous to the men: all things regarded, they see breeding more of a financial matter, than a recreational one. Families are centered around fiscal security, not--values, or the likes."

The Sangheili grinned and whispered a series of actions to Xal who widened his eyes and then laughed quietly, entirely embarrassed by Elsv's words. "Elsv, you are very--profane."

Elsv smirked with confidence, "My wife has said the same thing on many occasions. Have you ever considered a wife, for your-self?"

Xal croaked and shrugged his shoulders. "I am not interested in marriage or anything of the sort--I have too much to be concerned with, such as being my Cousin's caretaker. It has been my lifelong duty."

He nodded and glanced over to Xal's cousin and nodded. "If I may ask you, Xal, what do you Kig-yar do with your finances?"

"It is not often we're asked. Our finances are recycled in weaponry, training, travel, the likes. We are not a frivolous species, and indulgence--well that is more of a myth, then a practice."

"You should invest money and time into life as well, not just the securing, but the enjoying. We Sangheili, though we are sworn by war, by blood and honor--we have our times of indulgence when we are back home. Visiting the many beautiful places of our home is something I have always enjoyed."

"What do you do in such places?" Xal asked with interest.

"Well, I spend time with my loved ones, my brothers, my son and wife. There is a great feeling of comfort, when you cherish your life and the people in it. I suggest to you the same thing, perhaps be a little_nicer_ to your cousin, instead of punching him. You never know what could happen to you or them." Elsv reached over and gently placed his hand on Xal's shoulder. He nodded confidently to Elsv, though the sensation of his shoulder patted was damn unnatural to him: regardless, he trusted Elsv, and considered him a friend.

He turned head and looked past the row of men at Z ba and Anfi for he had begun to hear a disturbance; they had begun slowing down as they neared the next docking station, but it seemed like there was confusion brewing as Z ba's voice rose above Anfi. Xal stood up and walked forward a few feet before Anfi shouted at his commander, stepping away and then out onto the docking station.

"Remain where you stand!" Commander Z ba roared at his men, his voice fiery with ire as he stomped after Anfi, and Xal sighed with grief. When the doors shut, the men began spewing to each other an exchange of grief, curiosity, and through all the noise it was deciphered that Anfi was distressed. About what, exactly, was disclosed. Some utterance mentioned a family matter, whilst other utterances picked up that Anfi wanted to investigate a floor above, to limit their stay.

"Seems the men are quite riled up," Elsv whispered, "I should go calm Anfi down, and get them back on board."

"Wait, Elsv," Xal stopped him before Elsv could leave. "You should not bother, let them handle their own altercation."

"Xal, Anfi is a supernova of arrogance, and Z ba has little to not patience." Elsv sighed and shook his head, "I know them both very personally, so I will take care. Do not worry my friend, I will be back again."

Elsv disappeared ahead, and Xal's cousin walked up to him and sat beside him. Xal turned his eyes to the window, staring outwards, his mind rummaging over the events of the day until he saw the reflection of his cousin and looked over to him.

"Gat--is there anything on your mind at the moment?"

"There is not too much, Xal. I am concerned about the argument, however--not much else."

"Same as I am. Frankly, I would prefer to go back home, not bother with this nonsense and relax. You should talk with Elsv, he is quite--interesting."

Gat cocked his eyebrow and looked at his cousin hesitantly, the wording being more alarming as Xal never wanted to relax, let alone compliment people. The Kig-yar shifted close and whispered, "Xal, are you all right? Are you feeling sick or-- something else?"

"I am fine, Gat." Xal answered confidently. "I am just waiting to return home, and having some introspection while here."

"Introspection? That is a word I never thought you would utter! Elsv must have some kind of magical power, to get past that dense head of yours!"

"How about 'I'm sorry'?" Xal snickered at Gat and mocked him. "Your head is rather dense too: did my punch affect you in any way?"

"Very unpleasant, thank you, Xal." Gat muttered.

"Well, your forehead hurt my knuckles. Pain is a two-way street." Xal laughed quietly, and Gat's eyes widened again in pure surprise at a joke, and an axiom in the same sentence!

"Xal, what has gotten into you? A joke, laughter, and now even a quasi-apology! When this is over, I am going to pay Elsv to become your mentor!"

Xal croaked out another laugh. "I am perfectly fine, Xal. I am in a good mood, oddly enough."

Gat nodded unsurely, but then smiled at the convivial nature and comfortably sat beside him. "Aside from this ship being so--foreboding, it is incredibly cold, to me. I've been able to see my breath."

"I was thinking the same thing--this ship has a strange atmosphere."

"I guess when there are thousands of dead men surrounding you; it invokes a sense of unease, yes?"

"Yes, it definitely makes you worry about your own health." Xal patted his cousin on the shoulder, "Let's not think about it."

"You are right, cousin, thank you."

Gat relaxed back, and Xal leaned over to peer out the window; neither Commander Z ba nor Anfi had come back. The tram remained docked for three more minutes, and though the men's discussion had subsided of the source of the issues, now the Sangheili discussed why their commanders had taken so long to return. Xal waited patiently by the window, cautiously checking behind him-self to look for the apparition or corpse of an infected Sangheili. He took Elsv's warning to heart, all to knowing that there was danger webbed over every inch of the ship's interior. The noise in the tram had begun quieting down as the men waiting in silence and

RUMBLE--HISS--CLANK!

Suddenly the doors to the tram locked and unlocked, and then the engine began humming; it was alarming at first, but being stationary, it seemed natural for it to shift. Xal peered out the dark window, looking for any sign of the Sangheili in the docking bay. He saw nothing but darkness and dilapidation, which was disconcerting slightly, as he admittedly did not enjoy being aboard a deserted laboratory with knowledge that thousands lie dead, somewhere aboard.

The question-lingered in the back of his mind; where had they gone?

It was not until Xal smelt the air, the pungent, rich odor of a familiar liquid that the precursors of alarm began setting in place, and by the time his mind had assembled the needed words to convey, it was too late. The explosion happened in a fleeting instant; the immensity of the heat and brightness was supernatural, and it was impossible to perceive accurately what had happened. In moments just after a chord carrying coolant to the engine severed due to a lack of maintenance, a spark ignited by an unknown source caused an explosion of such prowess that the tram was blown outwards. The force ripped the metal into pieces, and liquid fire and shrapnel tore through the crowded front, dissolved everything in its path.

Xal felt his consciousness evaporate instantaneously, guided only by the minute perception of momentum as he felt him-self flung backwards through the air in a coverlet of heat and light. His breath stung in what seemed like hours of suspension against molten air, until he tumbled against the carbon-fiber pipes along tunnel wall, and then rolled onto his back at the base of the wall. His eyes held open by shock, in his vision he saw a great white demon, enveloping the tram, and to his left, as he looked slowly, he saw the burning carcass of his cousin. Shock restrained his voice; he stared at the melted armor that covered his cousin's face.

Xal croaked weakly, reaching forward for his cousin. He dropped his hand, closing his eyes and laid against the cold ground for indefinite time before he felt him-self shift upwards. He could not discern if by some manner of primordial instinct that he guided him-self to his feet and guided him-self away from the inferno.

A feverish tempest of pain, confusion, and fear webbed over him, and the screams of the dying men beset him with such powerful woe, he began to weep. There was a sudden shift in temperature and he came to his senses shortly, realizing a pair of arms had pulled him from the explosion. He opened his mouth, croaking and hissing weakly; trying his hardest if not using all his remaining strength to ask for help from whomever was with him. He heard a voice, but he could not understand it. Xal could do nothing more, rolling his eyes upwards and glancing at the male's face for just a minute before he collapsed, and all went to black.

His body was lifted onto the shoulders of the male, whose eyes looked at the tram with dread: whatever hope he had of seeing another living brother, of getting off the ship was now lost, again. He wanted to scream, to howl in anger, to express his fury and to kill all of the infected!

However--he lingered, with the Skirmisher Commander's limp body over his shoulders, he turned and ascended a ladder quickly as beneath him an influx of the flood rushed towards the noise, resonating beneath him like a field of insects. When he returned into the safety of the dark corridors, sliding through endless ventilation shafts with the limp body pushed ahead, he laid him down on a mattress, stripped him of his armor, and tended to his wounds.

White spheres hung like moons, boiling into red cubes that rose upwards, into his eyeballs, disappearing into his brain amongst a velvet sheet of grey, and deep black. The abyss was beautiful, but consciousness divided had left the Kig-yar unaware of his current state; he felt nothing, seeing only bright colors that burned through his eyelids. When he tried to look away, heavy plinths of dirt and steel stopped him; it was a frightening mixture of weightlessness, and feeling as if he were crushed by something externally. His eyes darted about, and the more he recognized the colors and shapes before him, the more he realized he was looking--then as he looked, his mind accepted it was active, and Xal's eyes parted.

He looked now at darkness, though it felt as if he stared into his own eyelids, and several times, he tried to push through this ocean. He opened his mouth to speak and felt words, but heard nothing. Words in his ears were slow, fading in and out: in his mind images tried to compensate but all he saw were blurry, eerie contortions; memories of what he saw on the tram would flood in, and in moments of fear, he croaked in his sleep.

His sentry would stare at him from the dark from afar; and the masked stink of this being under the odor of the room it-self, but Xal's residual senses detected the moschate odor of something living. He tried several times to open his eyes, seeing clips of darkness, of strange and unimaginable geometries; when his equilibrium was upset, he fell through a black ocean in vertigo. This repeated it-self for a time that he could not count his mind unaware of the hours spent in the bedroom, unaware of the days that had passed since the destruction of his tram, or the death of his cousin. Soon, consciousness began to bloom, and the deep voice of whatever being lurked in the shadows began surfacing into his mind.

". . . ase . . . n't . . . tr. . . lk. "

Xal croaked slowly as he felt words spinning in his ears, and his head throbbed so much it brought tears from his eyes, which stung his cheeks. He wheezed weakly, his lips parting to allow only the simplest of words, for which he hoped it would be understood.

"M--m--my--head.Heeeeead--"

"I . . . ill . . . it." The voice answered slowly, and Xal dropped his eyes again, falling into what seemed like a several hour slumber until he felt his snout dipped into water.

Heat surrounded him, but his flesh felt covered in ice. Repeatedly he tried to sit up, to make sense of his surroundings, but he failed with each meager attempt. It was not until seven hours later when he felt a cold object press against his torso that his eyes opened widely. He gasped out as he saw a dark mass crouched over him, features so distorted it shook him with fear and he tried to scream, but weakness clutched his throat and only a whine escaped him.

"Stop moving. You're not ready to move--and if you bleed, they will smell it."

Xal's heart beat hard and he felt a wave of heat at his shoulders and snout, forcing his eyes open. A dark face loomed near him: the breath was horrid, leaking moist decay into the Kig-yar's nostrils. His eyes were however sharp enough with vestigial strength in his faculties to observe the stained face of a Sangheili, staring fixedly.

"I am alive--" Xal chocked, his flesh burning as his jaws parted, "Sangheili--?"

"Yes." The male answered much softer than before, and lay the Kig-yar back, "You're so very much alive--"

Xal croaked and lowered his head again, and for a final time before falling into restless sleep, his mind worn out with dreams as he drifted in emptiness.

The Sangheili nodded, slowly standing up, turning his eyes to his right and left nervously, and then approached the camera console beside the door. Staring intently, his eyes flickering between each body that roamed aimlessly down the corpse-infested hallway. So many, he thought, they are more aware than ever that I am here--that they were here too. However, they are all ashes now--

Xal whimpered from the mattress and the Sangheili turned sharply to look at him, approaching the edge of the bed slowly. His eyes hungrily analyzed the feeble body as if it was a precious artifact, and he reached forward, touching the exposed chest. There was a surge of ecstasy from his fingers to his brain. The Sangheili's hand roamed to the small shoulders, and then up to touch at his neck, his fingers raking down the artery achingly.

He is here--by the gods, I am not dreaming! Thank you--oh thank you.

Xal groaned a little louder than before and the Sangheili looked over to him, staring at the burnt flesh around his snout, and the scars that swelled up by his abdomen.

The Sangheili turned his eyes up to the roof for a moment, almost as if he were glaring to the god, and then to the sleeping Kig-yar, standing over him in the darkness and he leaned downwards to whisper.

"Pray that you die in your sleep, instead of living in this hell with me. Do not wake up-- because if you do--you'll never want to open your eyes again."

The Sangheili leaned back onto his rear and closed his eyes, putting his hands to his ears to block out the noises of the ship, the pumping of its entrails as it searched for his life. He heard the voices outside the door, the slow, drooling mantra of a deceased brother reiterating their calls for help into the abyss.

? ? ?

It was a day later that Xal awoke from his sleep and he felt secular agony and an immediate, ravenous hunger. He pushed his feet onto the floor and groaned, his legs buckling while his head, heavy and spinning, made him slope and collapse against a table at his right. He felt his armor at his feet, his eyes still opening whilst he adorned him-self in a Lycra suit, grieves, the damaged breastplate and other items he carried.

Xal's arms shook as he reached to grab his shoulders, feeling a great agony run down them as he weakly held his chest up. "God damn it--" he whispered faintly, his legs quivering, "Is anyone there?" He waited for a reply before bravely moving around the room, feeling timidly with his hands, cursing him-self for his trepidation.

He could slowly make out the shape of a bedroom, not entirely large, but completely dilapidated with all the furniture turned on its side against the door. He stood near the west wall, listening to odd sounds of shuffling, and mumbling; presuming his own mind was maladjusted, he was insouciant about them. Xal approached the sink, turning on the faucet and sighed with disdain when nothing came out of it.

Is it so much to ask for water, he hissed underneath his breath. His eyes scanned the dilapidated surroundings to find that dark splatters of undeterminable material covered much of the floor. He remembered the crash, closing his eyes as the bright light of memory blinded him: and then, flashes of his deceased cousin stirred darkle in his viscera. The pain scared him, more than anything in the world had ever scared him before.

Thump--thump--scrape!

Xal croaked out in alarm, spinning around, falling onto one knee and hissed wildly in pain as a fiery charge erupted throughout. He aimed at the top of a wall where he espied the silhouette of a wide ventilation shaft. He croaked weakly, pushing him-self onto his feet, and prepared for what would possibly be a flood-infested denizen of the ship.

CREEEEEEEAK--the grille parted, and Xal looked anxiously at it, opening his mouth to speak, but before he did so, he heard a low voice come from the darkness to preempt him.

"Put down your weapon." The voice whispered, the breathing deep and slow, "Back away, Kig-yar."

Xal blinked and cleared his throat, growling. "Who--who are you!"

"Shhhhhh!" The voice hissed at him, "Do you want to alarm my brothers? Be quiet! "

"What--what do you mean?" Xal demanded, "Come out of there, slowly!"

The grille opened up slowly and the Sangheili slipped out from it, landing softly on the bed on his toes. Xal stared silently as the Sangheili locked the shaft, turning around and stepping just a few feet from the Kig-yar. Xal backed away quickly, his gun shaking in his weak arms as the massive, dark male loomed over him with a deep, raspy breathing.

"Stop shouting, please, you will alert the entire floor." The Sangheili spoke much smoother now, with a quiet tone, "Your gun is unloaded, too, so I suggest you stop exhausting your arms. I had to realign your shoulder."

"Who is out there?" Xal snapped, ignoring the rest of his words, "Who is out there in the hall?"

"Them--my brothers, they are right outside the door." The male pointed and nodded. "See for your-self."

He looked at the door, and then to the deranged Sangheili, pulling on his rifle and backing away from him. He turned to the camera prompt, glancing at it for a moment, seeing several Sangheili with bulbous, pulsating bulbs on their bodies. They growled and mumbled incessantly, with the occasional spoken verse of an undecipherable vernacular.

The Sangheili backed away, took off a thick bag, setting it down quietly on the floor, and began retrieving items. "Try to not stare too long--they sometimes notice."

Xal steadied him-self against the wall as exhaustion did not permit him to stand any longer, and he fell forwards and landed on his bruised, burnt arm. He cried out as a breath-snatching pain surged through his ribs, and he knew a bone was broken: he balled his fists, fighting to stifle his breath. The Sangheili had rushed over to him, reached into his pocket, and placed his other hand to the Kig-yar's side, "Be quiet, and hold still for just a moment."

Xal turned his eyes over to the dark face warily, and then felt the sting of a sharp needle into his skin that made him wrench, but the male held him still. A slow rush of euphoria came over his body, and Xal lowered his head, asking what it was.

"I am not a doctor." Kvaz answered causally. "I cannot understand the dribble; however, I was given it before. It helps with pain."

Xal cocked his eyebrow, immediately disturbed by the ignorance, but thanked him kindly while the pains subsided. The Sangheili nodded and stood up, assisting Xal to his feet. Xal took his arm away and rubbed it slowly, calming him-self while watching the Sangheili warily, increasing the proximity between the two of them for his own sake.

Seems he is skittish--I wonder if I frighten him, Kvaz thought to him-self, turning his eyes away for a moment. That young male must be terrified--but he knows nothing of my own fear. He will have to trust me--please let him trust me.

"My name is Kvaz," he finally announced, in a whisper. "What is your name, Kig-yar."

"I am Xal." He answered quietly, standing up onto his feet, weakly supporting him-self. "Skirmisher Commander."

Kvaz put his hands together calmly. "You almost died from the explosion: you did not suffer serious burns, but you broke a rib, and bruised up your backside." Kvaz looked him over slowly and tried to sound more aroused, though it proved difficult to bare an optimistic tone. "You are strong to survive a blast of such degree, which would normally kill a male of my stature."

"T-thank you," Xal weakly muttered without much regard for the compliment. "Did you save anyone else, Kvaz?"

Kvaz said nothing to him, and Xal understood the reply well.

Xal limped forwards, his gun held close, and moved him-self to sit on the edge of the bed, watching the Sangheili as closely as he could. Kvaz picked up jar, opening it, and handing it to Kig-yar.

"Eat this," Kvaz insisted, "You have not had a meal in over twenty-four hours."

Xal looked at it unsurely and shook his head, feeling too dizzy to eat. Kvaz set the jar down and stood up, stepping towards the door and placed his hand against it, peering out into the dark hall. The site no longer brought forth anguish, in fact he felt more of an abhorrence for the great army of mutated, and putrefied denizens of the Popul Vuh.

"It'll come for us, soon." He whispered, "The ship--it will send all my brothers to find me, it's tried to for months-- and I've hidden so well from them. But now--now they know there is more here, there is a disturbance." Kvaz looked at the Kig-yar with a deep frown, almost accusingly. "You and the others stirred this damn corpse back to life."

"So you are a survivor from the previous. Who are you--just another soldier?"

Kvaz snorted and moved away from the wall, "Survivor? No-- no, living here is not surviving, I am merely lucky. How long has it been--two months?"

"Two months--yes," Xal replied slowly.

Kvaz sighed through his lips, "Guess it has not been that long then--I am Commander Kvaz 'Alakavee, of the 'Alakavee clan and second son of Zeevu 'Alakavee. My mission was to command, report, observe, and document the productivity of the scientists, and--prevent an outbreak, which I failed to do. Where you sent here, for survivors?"

"No--no we were sent to find what the scientists researched. A--"

"A cure." Kvaz answered quickly, snorting quietly as he began to eat the meal, not turning his eyes from the floor. He shook his head, "There is nothing here, and there never was. You should have died," Kvaz gave an apprehensive look to Xal, whose eyes widened at the words. "It would be easier, for you."

Chapter 3 Pt. 2: Decompression

Silence was not been something Xal had any opinion about, nor had he ever considered that noiselessness would become unbearable. However, as he had sat in the room for several hours with tenterhooks, it became unbearable to be in perpetual silence. Kvaz was asleep on the other side of the bed, and Xal guessed it would be best to leave him be. He slid off the mattress and pushed him-self to walk to the bathroom, leaning over the sink, breathing heavily as tiredness consumed him.

God dammit--I am so tired--why in the hell can I not sleep! He turned on the sink faucet, and splashed some cool water over his face, and his arms, sighing in relief. He dreaded closing his eyes, for he would see the vista of white heat: a blinding inferno that nearly took his life. He felt a pain in his heart and an emptiness that seemed to grow: it was metaphysical, but cultivated a great dolor behind his eyes. He whimpered softly through his lips, shaking his head clear of the feelings, distracting him-self.

Xal looked down at his arm, and then walked back into the musty bedroom, reaching for his gauntlet. He turned it on and whispered into it, "This is Skirmisher Commander Xal, is anyone else alive--"

He listened for a reply, but heard only static, which he expected to hear. Xal lowered his head and placed his gauntlet back onto the ground, and then sat on the edge of the bed. His eyes roamed around the room slowly, and he felt anxiety overwhelming him, not knowing what to do, or what to think. He was too weak to move again, and laid him-self back down onto the bed beside Kvaz. Xal looked at his exposed back, and he could make out long scars running from various angles across his dark skin. It was unnerving to see them, and Xal looked down at his own chest, and abdomen, seeing the remnants of bruises.

Xal laid his head back with frustration and stared at the roof, breathing quietly. He found it impossible to go back to sleep, and Kvaz eventually awoken, slipping off the bed and dressed him-self in his dark suit. Xal sat up and watched as Kvaz took out a drink, food, and placed it on the floor, and then kneeled down and began to eat. Kvaz muttered and lowered his head, eating with a solemn behavior.

Kvaz began his quotidian routine of exercising, more of a memory then an instinct. Through a routine that lasted for roughly an hour with the aid of light that came from his helmet, the Sangheili cycled through a whole body exercise routine. Xal observed with curio at this, watching The Commander with interest, noticing in fact that Kvaz was incredibly strong. The Sangheili even went so far to cover his body with his armor, and then perform one armed pull ups, but Xal lost count how many he did each.

"Do you exercise ever day?" Xal asked him.

"Only certain body parts--it helps me keep track of the weeks. At the end, I do a full body routine, for synergy." Kvaz sucked in a deep breath as he squatted with very large objects in his hands, and then rose up onto his toes. The burn in his calves and legs was moreover satisfying, one of his few pleasured. He explained to Xal that in order to navigate the ship's ventilation ducts he needed full control of his muscles, individually, and as a whole. He wiped off his sweat and then placed the towel neatly on the desk beside him, after an hour, he had become very hungry, and he moved to sit on the chair.

Xal admittedly was impressed by the Sangheili's diligence to his routine, and from what he could make out in the darkness, Kvaz was a very pyknic, and chiseled Sangheili. Kvaz remained silent for the minutes he consumed his food, his eyes at the floor and Xal shifted to the edge of the bed and put his hands together, unsure what to do.

"Kvaz--" Xal began, but when he spoke, Kvaz jerked his head up and his eyes widened in the dark. This reflex took Xal back, but Kvaz's expression softened and he nodded to the Kig-yar.

"Sorry--I forgot you were here." Kvaz admitted quietly, handing his drink to his new occupant. I forgot he was there. I wonder why. I must be accli--accli--GOD DAMN IT. I am--acclimated to this. Ok--yes, I must not be used to this. Must not be.

"Xal," Kvaz began smoothly, attempting to sound approachable. "Are you feeling better?"

"I am ok--I hurt all over, but I am fine. I have not yet seen my body--how bad is the scaring?"

"I do not know." Kvaz replied dryly, "You are better off not seeing it."

Xal gave up trying to rest, took the bottle, tasting fresh water, and then drank it slowly. Kvaz watched him intently, and when the bottle was returned, he grasped the bottle, resting his palm over Xal's fingers. He sighed softly and his hand shook at the touch of flesh, forever exciting, and exhilarating.

"I have to keep reminding my-self you're real--because you're the first living person--the first one I've seen in two months." Kvaz reached up and touched the Kig-yar's hand, but Xal took his hand away cautiously. The Sangheili turned his eyes to the floor with a frown, twitching his head to the left slightly as he felt a surge of anger in him. Xal rubbed his hand with uneasiness, sliding back from Kvaz and laid him-self onto his bed, thinking, this one is very disturbed--the way he touched my damn hand--uggh, absolutely unnerving.

"Why did they come so slowly--why did they wander into the labs?" Kvaz mumbled solemnly, "Why--why would they directly enter?"

Because they were idiots--god damn morons! Hrrrargh, no, you must not insult your brothers! Forgive them, for this ship is a monster! But why--why did they die--why did they have to! Kvaz's thoughts began to run wild as he contemplated to him-self, and evermore did he grow angry, and resentful, in ambivalence he also felt remorse and dolor.

"Our Commander was fearful of separating his team," Xal replied.

Kvaz frowned and snorted, "This ship-- it is nothing but a web of secrecy, and death! Your commander, my brother, he was foolish to believe he could just circumvent them!" Kvaz slammed his fist onto the floor beside him, gripping his face tightly. "They all died--before I could see them."

"Kvaz--" Xal opened his mouth, in the hopes to stymie the Commander's elend. However, he could find no words meaningful enough and as Kvaz began to sob quietly on the floor, he felt ashamed of him-self.

Kvaz whimpered and his mandibles quivered, his hands shaking fiercely as he balled them into fists. He sucked in a quick breath, his heart beginning to hammer at his chest. "God damn this ship--GOD--DAMN--THIS--SHIP!" Kvaz slammed his hands onto the floor and gripped his head with a fierce anger, "They did this! They killed them, all of my brothers!

"Kvaz!" Xal croaked out in alarm, rushing off the bed. "Please, stop! Calm down! You will disturb the Flood!"

"WHY? Why did they have to die! God damn this ship!" Kvaz shouted back at Xal, walked to the door and slammed his fists into it madly, smashing his forehead into the door even harder.

Outside the beasts stirred and screamed, and Xal listened now: at first, the voices, and their crying confused him. However, he stood up from the bed, took his rifle into his hands, and listened to the crowd as more clearly he deciphered from the vociferous roaring, cries for help. Kvaz seemed unfazed, merely pounded his fist into the door, screaming maddeningly over the noise until he was shoved hard into wall.

"STOP IT!" Xal had managed to scream at Kvaz over the noise, and slammed his gun into the Sangheili's hip and pushed him into the wall. "What in the HELL is wrong with you! You could get us killed!"

"They cannot get in!" Kvaz bellowed at Xal and pointed to the door, "It is welded into place!" Please come here to kill--NO. Weakness is pathetic! Disgusting and pathetic to cling to a paltry release! Suffer, god damn you, suffer!

Kvaz pushed past Xal and stomped to the other side of the room, while Xal covered his ears to drown the noise. His heart was racing so fast it made him frail, and a feeling of vertigo, heat and fear had begun its mephitic course through his blood and mind. He slumped down against the wall and held onto his head, his legs giving out, wherefore he fell onto his side, his eyes rolling up. Xal slumped onto his shoulder, collapsed onto his side and panted as the incurrence of adrenaline attenuated his strength to nothing.

The Commander looked over his shoulder when he heard wheezing, seeing Xal on the ground by the door, and he relaxed his fingers, his shoulders lowering. He groaned and cursed him-self for his manners, God damn you Kvaz--you must not devastate this! He is all you have and you must retain your faculties! There is nothing here--no, there is nothing left, so why? We should both be dead--like my brothers. However, what if Xal is not ready to die? Did you ever think of--no, no--keep him alive, and you too!

All right. I must protect him--for whatever reason, I should.

Kvaz closed his eyes, nodding to him-self, and quickly scooped Xal off the ground, and took him to the edge of the bed. Kvaz said nothing as he shamed him-self as the dissonant shouting from outside had begun to die down, with the occasional outburst from his condemned brothers.

"What in--the hell--is wrong with you?" Xal struggled to breathe, looking up to the Sangheili with a glower of ire. "God dammit, you fool!"

Kvaz remained silent as he took a needle from the desk and a small vial, and then cleaned off Xal's shoulder with an alcoholic that came from a white cylinder. Kvaz tilted the vial upside down and then filled the syringe less than half way, flicking it, and then stuck it into Xal's shoulder. Xal waited until Kvaz was finished with a firm hiss form his lips, and then when Kvaz was finished, the Kig-yar asked him again.

"What in the hell was that all about? Do not pretend like you cannot hear me!"

"I am sorry, Xal." Kvaz answered softly, placing the materials back into the desk. He sat back in a chair and then put his hands into his head. "All of my brothers died before I could see them--after so many months. I cannot begin to describe how I feel! My mind--it is plagued by thoughts, so many thoughts, Kig-yar. Even now -- even now, I hate everything, you, and me--and at the same time, I fear telling you. I don't want you to fear me, or hate me--I cannot let the first living person I've seen in so long hate me."

The Kig-yar's mouth remained shut as he listened to the spiel. Kvaz suffered ambivalence, paranoia, sadness--the whole spectrum, turning into madness and Kvaz had yet to escape from it. Xal understood more of it now, but he knew not what he could do to amend or vamp the state of mind, but for the Sangheili's sake, Xal pardoned and accepted him.

"Kvaz, please." Xal began, interrupting him abruptly. Kvaz looked up with apprehension, and Xal croaked out, "You do not need to worry. I will not hate the man who saved my life. Thank you, Kvaz."

The Sangheili exhaled in relief and smiled. Thank you--foolish--thank you Xal. I must be sorry--but I am, so why must I be more? I must apologize, now.

"I am deeply sorry, Xal. Please forgive me, for acting the way that I did. I will not do that again--I swear, by my name."

Xal gave a brief nod and put his hand to his shoulder, looking at it. "I forgive you, Kvaz. Is there--well--what can I do, to at least calm you?"

"I--don't know. Before this, no one had ever tried." Kvaz admitted with umbrage at the vilipend that his emotions had endured. He imagined that this was the source of his own quixotic outbursts. "Normally people recoil when I am angry. You're much different than my own brothers--quite braver, to attack me."

"The same thing happens to me when I am angry." Xal admitted with a smile, "My own men regarded as dangerous, due to my temper. And--heh, I would sometimes use rubber rounds and shoot them if they acted out."

Kvaz laughed a little quietly, looking up at the Kig-yar. "That is brilliant--better than the fist."

"No broken bones for me and a sore ass for them. I found it worthwhile!" Xal laughed with light vivacity, and Kvaz chuckled under his breath. The feeling was so bizarre to him; he almost forgot what it was like to express amusement.

"Tell me about your men--would you?"

"My regiment?" Xal clarified.

"Yes, please. Talk to me about them--" Kvaz's tone sounded almost pleadingly, and Xal obliged, and he expressed his many great opinions about his regiment of snipers. He was not accustomed to relaying the information casually, but he did his best to discuss how they acted, their training, and their behavior. He spoke of their attitudes towards each other, and felt some regret he had not been more convivial to his own men. Kvaz listened to everything that Xal said with a great consideration, resting his chin on his knuckles and would chuckled now and then at the manners of Xal. He found them both to be similar to each other; this feeling of similarity calmed him more than anything.

"What about you, Commander Kvaz?" Xal asked with more ease.

"Oh--my men and I were like any other regiment: we were a family of brothers, honoring our codes, and our love for each other. I was harsh, yes--hehe, sometimes I yelled more than I should, but I loved my men endlessly. I'm just--so--ashamed, they're all dead, or on my planet."

Kvaz looked down at the floor and sighed, "Sometimes I wish I were dead--so then maybe, if the afterlife does exist, I could see them."

"Oh--you're not part of the Covenant?"

"Hardly," Kvaz admitted with a snort. "Being engrossed with such a freakish ideology--it is dramatic, and unnecessary. Loving your kin, and fighting with them, matters more than your silly religious notions."

The Sangheili once more took Xal back by the suddenness of his eloquence and more vivacious demeanor.

"Sounds like something I often said--on the way here, the men were praying constantly."

"They were right to be scared--this ship is an abomination. And for what--not even I know what the scientists did on it." Kvaz snorted, "Abysmal dreaming."

Xal smiled and laughed, "I like this side of you. Angry, and intelligent."

Kvaz laughed a little louder at the compliment and put his hands together, sitting more upright. "Now that is one interesting compliment, from an equally interesting friend!"

? ? ?

Xal grumbled quietly as he brought the hot rag over his body, letting the hot water drip down his abdomen. It was refreshing, and at the same time so tedious, he could barely savor this quasi-bathing. The portable burner had heated the water much faster than Xal anticipated, and it was to his relief he could find it in infinite supply: however, it was much too time consuming to create a full bath, so he instead squatted in the tub.

He cleaned his underside carefully, washing his legs last and then taking the hot pot with a towel and dumped it into the tub. He toweled him-self dry, then dressed back in his body suit, and exited back into the bedroom. Kvaz looked up with almost excitement and greeted him with enthusiasm, noticing Xal's expression showed a great amount of annoyance.

"It is unsatisfying, is it not?" Kvaz began, "Imagine how much trouble I go through--it takes three times as long."

"Uggh--I suppose I am lucky I am not as large as you are." Xal limped to the edge of the bed and then say down, sighing softly as the pain in his ribs and back did not subside. "Kvaz, what do you do every day?"

"Before you--there was nothing to do. I found books--but--the noises outside are unbearable." Kvaz looked to the door with resentment, "What I would give for them to stop. Or to at least to hear them mutter something other than last breaths--the macabre is daunting."

Xal looked to the door and nodded, finding it above his kin that Kvaz had endured it for so much time.

The Commander told him that he took narcotics to sleep at night, and Xal considered he might have an addiction, but Kvaz proved to have more control over him-self than most would. Xal laid him-self back on the bed and groaned as his back touched the mattress, feeling an immense discomfort. Kvaz moved close to him and remained very attentive to Xal, offering him a drink, and carefully checked his bruises.

Xal shifted with some discomfort at being touched, while Kvaz looked him over in the dark. He felt the hand roam over his chest and his side, and it made him flinch, and instinctively he croaked with displeasure, but Kvaz seemed to disregard it. Never did I imagine a Sangheili acting like a nurse, Xal jested in his mind, and He has definitely calmed down. I wonder if this is how he really acted.

"Does this hurt?" Kvaz asked, pushing against Xal's firm abdomen.

"No--the pain is mostly on my sides."

Kvaz nodded, his hand lingering as he savored the touch of the reptilian skin, and he felt the present abdominal muscles under his palm.

"All right," Kvaz retracted his hand. "I will take you off the steroids, unless you want to continue to take them. You've healed up well, but you will not be able to move out of this room for a few more days."

Xal nodded, wondering to him-self what it was he would do when he left the room.

The question of what to do had been on Xal's mind for all the hours he were conscious, but he knew not what to do: he had no escape plan, he had nothing now. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back, fearing the reality of his death aboard the ship rushing in now. It made his heart race, and he felt the sickening, soul lacerating realization of his predicament crash down on him with an incursion of angst. He desperately tried to tell him-self that other things had happened that were worse to men, and Kvaz him-self had lived. However, this feeling of isolation, it caused helplessness in Xal that was excruciating.

He had begun to feel the onset of a fever, and it had been brewing for hours. First was the soreness of his skin, and Xal knew well enough his body was falling victim to something. The anxiety and heart hat were produced were precursors enough, but his fear had weakened him too much.

"Kvaz, whatever you use to go to sleep, give it to me." Xal managed to choke out quickly, "Please."

Kvaz stirred from the chair and looked to Xal with worry, "What is wrong, Xal?"

"I just need to go to sleep, all right? Give me whatever you take." Xal spoke frantically, "Come on!"

Kvaz opened his eyes more and then quickly moved to the desk, prepared another syringe and then filled it a quarter of the way up. He held Xal's shoulder still and then injected him, seeing the distress and fear in the Kig-yar's snout as he flinched and panted on the bed.

He must be feeling it--the fear, the knowing that he cannot escape hell. I am sorry Xal.

Kvaz sat beside the Kig-yar and watched him drift through somnolence into dreaming, and he wondered if Xal's dreams would be lurid, or filled with fears, and guilt. Xal's breathing slowed down and after some long minutes, Kvaz knew he was asleep, and he shifted to the other side of the bed, staying close. That instinct had charged since he first picked Xal up, and carried him away from the inferno that nearly killed him. He reached his hand forward, and he felt that ecstasy again--the gentle caressing of Xal's forehead, and his neck, which he hoped would sooth the Kig-yar.

Xal's dreaming was uneasy for him, as the fever that had begun to develop left him with alternating currents of sickness, and headaches. The reveries were dark, bright, and all spectrums of madness that he could not describe: in some facet, he was lucid to these dreams. However, they were ghastly, and he tried to shove them away: continually they morphed from his memories to his desires, to his fears. Illusions of spinning stones and dark pipes that bled into snakes, and swirled into an infinite blackness were the most vivid he could recall. From this, it spun into a confusing ocean of warmth with a weight on his chest, a heaviness that represented it-self like the cosmos, sitting over his heart. He felt subjugated by this, angry at the space that laid over him, and when he turned in his head, he fell downwards, and awoke the first time.

Routinely he would awaken, he would beg for a drink, and Kvaz would amend his need soothingly. At some point Kvaz had left the room, and Xal felt solitude so grand it left him palsied with fear, and fretfulness. He opened his eyes to look around the dark room and saw the dark figure of Kvaz in the distance, and called out for him.

"K-K-Kvaz--I n-need water." Xal let out a soft pule of weakness, and he waited for the relief of anything, a soporific or water. Through his shadowy sight, he saw the dark mass approach him and a hand lay softly on his head, and he heard something whispered. He felt coolness wash over his eyes and into his brain, penetrating past the dream: the hand softly caressed his face, and then brushed over his chest. Another whisper was uttered, but Xal could not make out the words in his stupor. It felt as if Kvaz was still on sentry beside him, a strong, loyal soldier whom had not budged for the entire time and instead nurtured, and cared for him.

The terrible dreams seemed to subside and his conscious settled into a gentle wave of relaxation of dreaming. What seemed like an infinite amount of time had passed in the dark room before he was stirred from his sleep, when Kvaz had returned. Xal felt his head lifted off the pillow and a liquid placed to his lips, but this flavor was different: it was sweet instead of bland, and very cold. He grasped the cup and drank until he could not breathe.