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Chapter 2 - Foray

The journey towards the facility had continued with periods of silence, punctuated by frustrated remarks towards the difficult terrain to traverse; but Evans seemed to enjoy the adventure. The cathedral like shape of the temple was admittedly more impressive upon closer inspection. Four flat, acute triangular spires pierced to the skin with a center cylindrical structure, decorated with various balconies and windows. It was remarkably well preserved despite the age of it, and in scope it was equivocal to a skyscraper, with most of its mass located presumably under the ground. Evans had seen some massive, interwoven trees of selcouth nature, whose bodies seem to undulate and twist around invisible objects. Growing upwards in the same manner, he noted, the Forerunner must have experimented on shifting their structure, as practice for their own architectural endeavors.

They had not encountered any watchful eyes, no Jackals or Grunts and not even a mounted turret; furthermore, the lack of activity outside the base brewed suspicion that it was abandoned. Evans turned the volume of his music up as the tempest began to culminate powerful gales around him. They had walked three kilometers to the building, passing by an array of abandoned and destroyed temples, with still no visible signs of the Elite's presence.

"Are we absolutely certain that they are in this base, specifically?" Evans asked with some hesitation, "There is nothing here to say they are. We should head to the Index Chamber directly."

"Our orders are to infiltrate this building which is the most direct route to the index chamber." Harwegh began sternly, "Evans, regardless of how you feel about it, we _will_be entering through route."

Evans frowned out the side of his mouth and said no more, not wanting to piss off his Commander any further than he had. He was admittedly uncertain about the modus operandi, the facility, and the Covenant preoccupying it. Evans eyed the impressive structure and wondered if it would be even possible to reach the Index Chamber through it. He doubted it, but preferred not to tell anyone; especially Harwegh whom he knew would not care to listen.

There was a sudden call of alarm from one of the other Spartans; it was Amanda, who had shrieked when her foot had descended through the snow, into the exposed ribcage of a putrefied body. She calmed down and apologized, saying it was a sudden scare, and brushed away the snow to examine the body, with the other members now gathered around to observe. It was a Sangheili whose throat had been torn to pieces in a gruesome manner; the scalene, and sternocleido had been viciously severed, with parts of thyroid cartilage and manubrium exposed. His mouth hung open wide, and it was at close glance that Evans noted this Sangheili had a lower jaw with mandibles, which was the most peculiar feature. The skin was solid black from frost bite, the eyes having sunk inwards leaving nothing but a putrefied socket; the gums and skin had receded, leaving most of the Sangheili's teeth exposed, and the flesh on the face was grotesquely tight.

"What do you think happened?" Amanda asked quietly, taking a step back to preserve her own constitution. "I've never seen something like this--the brutality--what in the fuck did this?"

"They look like--teeth marks," Rico pointed out, having more professional experience in the medical field than any of them. "See that--where the slashes begin? He was held by the shoulders, as you can see where claws pierced him--but it was from behind, so he must have been lying on his belly. He was bitten about a dozen times or so."

"And his ribcage was destroyed by an explosive," Evans interjected as he crouched down as well. "You can see by the spread of the burns on his skin it started here, at the solar plexus--and blew his bones inwards. Trust me; I'd recognize that kind of injury."

"It was probably post-mortem. But that makes no sense--he must have detonated a grenade to try and kill the creature--but not after." Rico added, shaking his head. "I feel bad for the guy--he looks to have been dead for a month. But whatever attacked him could be around here."

Evans lingered for a moment and brushed some snow with his boot over the male's face in a swift action, thinking he him-self would not want his face exposed like that if he died. Something did not smell right about the whole thing to him, he knew it was beyond the scope of a beat in these woods to murder someone like that. Furthermore, he saw nothing to indicate the animal was even hungry- if it were a deranged attack, he doubt the body would have been discarded, in such a frigid climate where survival is imperative. He continued to climb up the snowy mounds to the building, nearing the long metallic bridges that connected the mainland to its base. It was impressive to note that the building floated almost weightlessly in the air, over a massive icy-blue chasm that seemed infinite in depth.

"The distance is now two kilometers," Commander Harwegh began, "We'll pass over these bridges, and enter through the south side and east. Spread out!"

Spreading out in two groups, Evans led him-self along with four others to the eastern bridge which connected to a microcosm of the main temple. It was ten stories in height; Evans briskly led his men along the circular walk-way, by passing any kind of distraction. He kept his eyes open and the music in his helmet at a low volume, scanning several feet of snow ahead of them. The wind died down for a moment, and he could clearly see the massive structure with an enormous cylindrical tube of metal and stone that connected it to the icy abyss below. To his left the other team had advanced forward and Evans wondered, why there were no drones, or traps, or any form of ambush. It could only mean that there was no one there, and if they were--they were luring them in.

"What is it?" Rico began, "Evans."

"There is just something--not right about this place. It is completely deserted, there are no foot prints anywhere in the snow; the wind is strong enough to blow it away, but the snow is too thin of a layer for this wind to not brush it off." Evans turned around to face them through the hard wind, "I do not like this situation, at all. We are being lured in, I know that we are."

The Spartans remained quiet for a moment, and a powerful gale picked up that brought in a hard wave of powder snow; Evans turned around, feeling very uneasy. Ever since the gravesite, and then the vanishing Sangheili, he did not trust the location he was in; the commander was too dismissive of this, like that time. . .

"Evans, keep moving before the storm picks up!" Commander Harwegh ordered him harshly, "We need to get inside before it is too difficult to travel!

"Yes sir," Evans replied with hue of annoyance in his voice. Harwegh had always been an anathema to Evans ever since the failed invasion of the Elite compound where Evans saw the Commander's incompetence. He disagreed with almost everything the Commander said, and on several occasions was threatened to be court martial, but he was able to avoid out of luck.

? ? ?

An hour passed after his confrontation with Eyth 'Kha and Ze'ev had come to regret taking his chances to dig under the Sangheili's skin. Within just a few minutes of the altercation, a group of three men had entered his room carrying a large urn of water. He said nothing to them as his shackles were lowered, and he was stripped of his mantle; Ze'ev looked up to the three in the dimly lit room, casting his most unforgiving gaze on them. One of them had left the urn on the ground and exited the room, returning with two large sheets of polished glass, and carefully set them up to Ze'ev's left, and his right.

"What are you doing with these?" Ze'ev asked quietly, glancing to the mirrors opposite of each other. What are they doing with these things--to make look upon my shame? This does not matter to me--

They looked away and lifted the stone urn, and poured a stream of gelid water onto Ze'ev, who cried out in pain and shock; he did not curse, biting down his teeth, and enduring the agonizing stream of burning ice.

"Aaaargh!" Ze'ev fought to keep the water off of his face, flinging his mouth away as he chocked and coughed.

He quaked, the frisson in his chest was unbearable and he felt like passing out; his body temperature was so low, and his blood pressure had instantly dropped. Ze'ev breathed quickly, but gasped and growled out loudly as more of the water was poured over his face. He breathed hard and rapidly, trying to fight off the constant stream as the precursors of hypothermia had begun sitting in. When the men were finished with all three urns, and he sat in an icy pool coughing hard, his body weak and faltering. His breath evaporated in front of him, and he turns his eyes up to the three.

"You are not yet finished," Ze'ev promised then angrily. "It will take more than hypothermia to kill me! But you are all ready dead--so live vicariously through my suffering, if you must!"

They each set their Urns down, and stood there in silence as Ze'ev huffed and heaved in air, desperately trying to not lose consciousness from the cold, and pain. They stood silently for a moment, and Ze'ev struggled to move onto his feet, nearly collapsing and heaved outwards, his head falling back. He felt his arms be grasped and presumed he was about to be held down.

Two of them had moved to the back of the room; one shut the door, and bent down to pick something up, he had not seen them set anything down, but he prepared him-self. He stood up on his legs as tall as he could, raising his fists to them, and the other two had momentarily backed away, urging the other to quickly move to them. Ze'ev towered over them by three heads as he did to Ze'ev, his body significantly more muscular, but endless grey scars showed the years of abuse from battle, and most recently, Eyth 'Kha's.

The one carrying the cloth-wrapped item moved forward and set the items down at the Sangheili's feet, and stepped back, removing the visor that covered his face. He motioned for the other two. Ze'ev grasped the torch to his right and held it up, his whole arm quivering.

"What is this?" Ze'ev gestured, to the mound.

The male, who stood to his right, leaned down and unraveled the cloth. Ze'ev narrowed his eyes as he stared a black pile of ash. He tilted his head in confusion until one of the men stepped forward, and scooped up the ash in their hands, stepping towards Ze'ev. He threw the ashes at Ze'ev who flinged his arms up to protect him-self, expecting to be hit, but as the Ashes stuck to his skin he watched in confusion as the Soldier continued to fling ashes onto him, covering him in the dark grey matter.

"Stop it!" Ze'ev commanded loudly and spit out the dry, tasteless powder that got in his mouth, "Are you deaf!? Get away from me!"

The other two approached now, grabbing the ashes from the pile. The strange ritual confused him, as they began to wipe the ashes over his arm, chest and face; he had stopped struggling, realizing they were ever so vigilant. It did not seem like a form of humiliation, and he cautiously watched them, as his black skin was replaced by grey and white ash. When he had mostly been covered from the waste up, the three of them stepped away, and silently looked back at him.

The first one in the middle grasped his visor, a decompression of air emitting from the lining, as he removed it. The face behind it was blackened like death, the eyes were withdrawn and the cadaverous skin tightly clinging to the bones beneath. The other two followed suit, revealing equally withdrawn and malnourished bodies, and they approached him, standing directly in front of him.

"What--what has become of you?" He whispered in grotesque shock as he saw their withdrawn faces. The smell was retched, a hot and sour mixture of decay that curdled the acids in his stomach, nearly compelling him to vomit.

"You are dead--get away! I will not be tormented by a ghost!"

Ze'ev felt dizzy as they stood directly at his face, and in his peripheral vision the sight of his body covered in ashes, and the infinite reflection had caused dizziness. The males, having stood for so many minutes, he realized they did not breath, or if they did, it was as subtle and slowly as he had ever seen. He turned his eyes to look at the mirror on his right, and as he did, he was momentarily stunned by the site of his ash covered frame. He looked sick, and dying, and it was not until he had looked up to his face that he realized he did not see the reflection of the other men.

What is this sickening magic--have I been poisoned? By the gods, I cannot die like this--

He snapped his head back and when he did, the three men had vanished from his site! He felt coldness wash over his body, a level of eeriness as the shock took his voice from him; he tried to yell out to them but he could not. His heart began to beat rapidly in his chest as a boiling fear began to spread throughout his system. The visions in the sides of his eyes had begun to merge as, as if the longer they remained by his side, the more and more they refocused to standing at an angle from him! The blurry, cadaverous form of his body bled into his vision like a phantasm and it was wholly frightening to the Sangheili; he had never before seen this kind of magic, or technology.

The chain suspended forms would waver and distort as his eyes twitched to look at them, typifying his suspension in chains. He called again for help, but no voice embittered from his mouth, and he gave in to the paranoia, presuming the worst of his suspicions had come into fruition. The echoes of his body began to struggled and quiver, lifting their heads up in an eerie manner of synchronicity. Suddenly they began to cry out in maddening velocity, thrashing in the chains as the ash over their skin evaporated, revealing underneath a bright red, fleshy epidermis.

"What--what is this!" Ze'ev frightfully exclaimed as he watched the clones in the mirrors now beginning to disintegrate in silence!

He felt sickness and vertigo, with a magnificent weight around his eyes and head, as if he had been turned into steel. It felt like he was slipping backwards, falling at a great length; the surrounded atmosphere turned gelid, with a thunderous metallic rumbling. The reverberation seemed to shake his veins physically, his nerves becoming overcharged by an enthralling anxiety. He now saw the floor at eye level, as if he were resting on his side, and he could see three pairs of feet standing but mere steps from his face. The spinning and falling continued and he trembled in fear, feeling the emptiness of death abounding inside of his organs!

"Help me--someone, help me." Ze'ev weakly whimpered, attempting to move his arms to shield him-self, but his body did not respond! He struggled and cried out for help, his own voice fading in and out of reality; he felt him-self be rolled onto his back, by an unknown force. The white cadaverous echoes of his body now stood at his sides, their arms bound by chains, and their heads hanging low; he knew now they were dead.

"HELP ME!" Ze'ev cried out as hard and loudly as he could, "SOMEONE!"

Ze'ev howled loudly as he lifted his head from this chest, his arms above him, coiled in chains whilst the mantle clinging to his chest had since solidified. His heart slammed into his ribs as his eyes opened widely and he stood, catching but only the faint, vaporous image of three bodies standing in the middle of the room. The three beings had turned away and seemed to fade away into the shadows of the south wall, and Ze'ev, in his delirium, could not ascertain if it were real or fake. He groaned in pain, shaking from the residue of fear that clung to his soul.

I must be going mad--I must be. This world has sickened and hated me since birth--and it still chooses to kill me slowly. Ze'ev thought to him-self now, as he looked around nervously.

Unaware of what had occurred, he could only assume he passed out when the water drenched him; and all that he experienced must have been a very vivid hallucination. Not that it was uncommon anymore; for he had in the coming weeks had endured frenzy of hallucinations; from vaporous bodies in his room, to strange dreams of warning. It must, to his knowledge, been his subconscious demanding a form of escape from the reality, but inadvertently only caused him more pain. Silence was around him and he felt an eerie chill at his body, unlike the numbing pain that had constantly plagued him, but something much different. His sleep, however he managed to come across, had never provided anything to him but the most unpleasant visions.

He realized now that he was in fact naked with a dreadfully uncomfortable pain at his genitals and extremities, but was not covered in ash, as in his dream, which brought some relief. He felt beyond uncomfortable and agonized by the temperature of the room, laughing out of frustration quietly.

"By the gods--wherever they are--why must I suffer?" He looked up to the ceiling and frowned deeply, "I gave up my life for my ken. I sculpted a dream for them, away from death, away from blood and suffering!" His voice echoed into the dark room, fading away into the darkness. He would receive no call from anyone; in the lifetime of loneliness he had never been given an answer to why these trials befell him.

Like a rotten log, half buried in the sand--my life, which has not flowered, comes to this rotten end. The death poem of a fallen warrior came to his mind, a moment of indulgence in his own demise as he wondered when death would take him. Hypothermia would surely come claim him eventually; he had been fed, enough to sustain his livelihood, but Eyth 'Kha would not prorogue the demise forever. He thought to the coming battle, the warning Skae had given him he had forgotten in his wondering of his end.

If Eyth 'Kha is to end my life--why is it during this time? I would surely be murdered before hand, to motivate the men, instead of during. He shook his head at the confusion of the warning, dismissing it as nothing more than his own paranoia about the coming sortie. Perhaps I am truly losing my mind--seeing eidolon, and having premonitions. Hehe--I suppose it is only a matter of time before I am speaking the tongues.

There was a soft hum of white noise, as the intercom from the top center of his room turned on. Ze'ev looked up to it with dread, "By the gods--does his voice ever get tired?"

"Hello my brothers! As you have all been informed, we are to prepare for a coming battle with the slaves of our kind! This clan is not just an organized Vox Populi; we are a coalition of catharsis, destined to cleanse our species and extirpate the vilest and murderous infection to ever spread throughout! We still are stained by the visions of lesser beings, but, but our constant applying of force is the precondition for victory! This resolve is but the derivation of a true conviction; not of the false-divine prophets, but of a NEED to arise above the faltering, stillborn ken that plagues us! My brothers, any violence that does not come from a true, firm belief in our freedom is an uncertain action. And I am certain--that today, through my leading, we will show our enemies who we are! What we stand for! And that we will no longer allow our-selves to be fodder to the tyrannical leaders that imprisoned us for eons!"

There was a cheering that could be heard from the floors above, muffled but ostensibly his words had motivated the hundreds of them. They soared with elation at the promises and reaffirming words of Eyth 'Kha, who had shown a great level of vim and vehemence in his words. Ze'ev listened to the shame of their dedication to his insanity, and Eyth 'Kha continued with an obvious smile to his vile mouth.

"I ask all of you to salute, to love and protect your brothers today; for as we struggle to train the body, the soul it-self must be preserved, and reinforced! The Spartans will be but an appetizer for the battle to come--when we face our enslaved kindred, I ask that you take pity on them as you take their life! Remind your-self you are setting them free--there is not violence in the catharsis of their unclean souls. We must do what we must to save them! Prepare your-selves for battle!"

A further resound of cheering had begun, hundreds of feet slamming across the stone and steel floor as they organized into the sects. The battle would be fought in air and on land, should any of the Covenant or USNC infiltrate the compound; Ze'ev felt now helpless, and isolated, amidst the preparations. He could hear some speech over the intercom that was partially drowned out by the commotion above, as the sub-commanders organized their ranks.

The guards positioned at his door also departed, and before long he was left in isolation once more, and he stood alert, listening in for any signs of conflict. He had in his head constructed the ideas for how to prepare for such an invasion, though in the past he had fought the USNC only once. The Hypethral of Heaven was a ship that carried great weight, having been responsible for the deaths of over fifty of his brothers during their battle of the Faceless Gods. It was long ago, out of the Rtva system and when Ze'ev had originally declared an insurrection against the Covenant.

Stationed away on a small moon, where they were investigating a Forerunner compound for a supposed weapon to retrieve before the Covenant, they had encountered a Spartan regiment after the same canon. A fire fight broke out, and Ze'ev, in his younger years, spared no mercy to destroy the Spartans through any means to stop the Covenant. He displayed more anger back then, over five years ago; he chuckled quietly, remembering the fervor that once compelled him. As the battle had taken place over the course of three days, they had succeeded in repelling of the enemy in the early morning hours. After a successful raid of their camp site, pushing them to the outer limits of the temple's region, Ze'ev and his team had discovered the fruitless Forerunner weapon, after which it was quickly disassembled, much to Eyth 'Kha's dissatisfaction.

However, an ambush by the Hyp-103 in the middle of the night had lay waste to their compound, which was unpredicted. The ship had emerged from slip space five miles to the east by the coast; it had equipped it-self with a small nuclear device called the PACIFIER. By the time the scouts had reported its appearance, the bomb reached the temple only moments later. The explosion decimated the entire surface of the forest for two miles, and deep into the bowels of the temple. The heat and radiation had killed twenty of his men positioned out in the field, and they had escaped through the lower recesses to an extraction point by the ocean. Another ten men died from the concentrated fire that seemed to crawl through the labyrinth, engulfing the unfortunate who were unable to find an escape route in time.

He took it exceptionally hard on him-self when they had escaped back to their compound in the Xaon system; not speaking for days in a vow of silence until he felt he could reprimand him-self properly for that failure There was a night where Ze'ev had been pressed too far by Eyth 'Kha, who he had engaged in a vociferous altercation with that lasted two hours into the night. After it had been disbanded by Usze, who rushed to hold the two back from each other, Eyth 'Kha remarked how Ze'ev was better off a martyr, than a leader. Ze'ev consumed an endless amount of Sangheili liquor known as Coffin Polish; over the course of the night he was exceedingly drunk, staggering into the lower levels. There he was found by Usze sometime later, having placed the tip of his energy sword at his bowels, too drunken by his own grief to continue.

He had been hysterical as he mourned the death of his brothers, unable to feel fit as a leader as the defeat had been so catastrophic. In the past he had lost two battles before hand, accumulating in the death of almost three hundred of his closest brothers. While trying to be convinced that hundreds of thousands of their own had died, under Ze'ev's leadership, it was well known he took his blame and heartache to a severe level.

"You are the Knight of our People, Ze'ev. The shining example of loyalty and vigilance--if we were but a fraction of you, there would be no need for you to carry this burden alone." Usze calmly spoke to him, "You suffer alone because you chose to--but brother please, this is not yours."

"That deefat was unv-unvabcleecpal I am a flailure as a leader!!" Ze'ev slurred out drunkenly and grit his teeth hard as he sobbed. "Ifailedeveryoneandeverything!" Ze'ev screamed, his words tumbled and rolled from his mouth as he struggled to enunciate. "Iah-- cannot leathem iv were goin' to be obv-obvliteratred like ensektz!"

Usze paused and contemplated how to help his friend; he set his hand over the hilt of the sword, gingerly working it away from the hysterical male. He had encountered him in this state at least three times before, but never had he seen it to such a severity. He blamed Eyth 'Kha entirely, never having liked the Sangheili since he joined the coalition as his freedom from the prison; regardless, he tried to distract his Commander.

"Ze'ev, listen to me. Do you remember that poem, by Minamoto Yorimasa?"

Ze'ev dropped his head to his chest and nodded weakly, as he felt his hands moved away from him. "I--I do."

"When you started this clan--this family, you did it to unite us away from certain death. We all believe in you, and we know we will die. We accept it, because without sacrifice, our dreams are just granted wishes--and it spoils us."

It was that single statement that took Ze'ev out of him-self in that instant; while he had developed a love for this ancient culture of warriors from the human civilization, there were times when his own discipline was forgotten. Usze's words was then so paramount to Ze'ev, that following the next week, he had resolved to never again allowing his emotions to consume as he did before. He struggled for weeks, upon months, refusing to falter in front of his brothers as he did before. The Commander supplemented this by creating his own haiku, and ferociously studying a plethora of philosophies and codes.

In regards to bloodshed, he absconded from the unnecessary murdering of his brothers, believing there was no honor in this violence. He told the men in one of his many didactics his views of it, and while he could not always convince him, they understood his love for his brothers was above any bind of honor. This infringement of one of the oldest creeds of their society was met with a dichotomy of feelings; half thought he was again drunk the day he revealed his feelings.

Ze'ev calmly stood before the hundreds of men, at that time proudly smiling at them in the sunlight before their departure to the Forerunner Temple. "There was once a teacher who existed--a thousand years ago--a disciplinary that have inspired much of what I do, brothers. I will recant to you a speech of his, in the hopes that I can teach you all the ways I abide by, that have shaped, and molded me into the brother you all grace me by following."

"To transform the world, we must begin with ourselves; and what is important in beginning with ourselves is the intention. The intention must be to understand ourselves and not to leave it to others to transform themselves or to bring about a modified change through revolution, either of the left or of the right. It is important to understand that this is our responsibility, yours and mine."

_Ze'ev paused for a moment to allow them ample time to absorb the meaning, before he continued. "To be free of all authority, of your own and that of another, is to die to everything of yesterday, so that your mind is always fresh, always young, innocent, full of vigour and passion. It is only in that state that one learns and observes. And for this, a great deal of awareness is required, actual awareness of what is going on inside yourself, without correcting it or telling it what it should or should not be, because the moment you correct it you have established another authority, a censor." _

It was this idea of abandoning the ties of yesterday, of keeping their minds aware of the constant change of the world that had drawn them into his ideals. He did not want to shape their actions, but he pleaded with them to stray from the old doctrines of spilling blood out of an honor that could not be identified. Of the men who opposed the idea, some more than others, none other than Eyth 'Kha had been the most vociferous in his objections to Ze'ev's philosophy. In private altercations the two had engaged in fierce debates as to what defined honor, what their heritage should mean, and their future. Time and time again, Eyth 'Kha demonstrated only anger and revenge for his past imprisonment. It would turn into his own undoing, as Ze'ev tried for two years to persuade the male away from his violent ambitions, and bloodlust--he could not see the madness growing inside of him. Eyth 'Kha's passion for the destruction of the San 'Shyuum had superseded Ze'ev's, who instead clung to the idea of freedom from oppressive religious dogma, or social manipulation. He truly did wish for the exile of their leaders, however, he wished to prevent as much death as he could.

This in turn became his second greatest defeat--the one that haunted him for the months that followed. While it had only been one season since the day that Eyth 'Kha betrayed him, to Ze'ev, it had not been but a mere blink of an eye.

_ _

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BOOM! BOOM! CRAAAAAASH!