The feast of slaughter had ended. The earth was stained in a riot of colors—blood, viscous fluids, severed heads, organs, and fragments of weapons and armor scattered across the ground.
Some belonged to the Madrigal resistance.
Some belonged to the Sangheili.
Clunk... clunk... clunk...
Each heavy step of armored boots kicked up clouds of dust. The butcher clad in dark blue straightened the claws drenched in the blood of his kin. His powered boot crushed the head of a brown-armored Sangheili beneath it. Blood and chunks of flesh sprayed outward, and grotesque fluids oozed from the twisted skull.
"Haha..."
The cold, low laughter of the Night Lords officer carried an indescribable eeriness. Anyone who heard it felt their heart tremble and their limbs turn cold.
"A duel... hahahaha, this xenos scum wants a duel?"
"Hey, hey, listen to that. I'm not dreaming, am I?"
The World Eaters roared with laughter, utterly unconcealed in their contempt for the alien filth.
Even the Retributors, disciplined under the harsh command of Great General Budo, could not help but let out a round of laughter. Their bolters rose in unison, muzzles aimed at the Covenant Sangheili who were now surrounded in the southern sector of the drilling station.
Among them, the Night Lords in dark blue power armor etched with lightning patterns were the most unsettling. One of them had impaled a still-living Sangheili on his chain-glaive. From time to time, the chain teeth revved at low speed—vrrr—and blood gushed from the massive, torn wound, soaking the ground and reddening the eyes of the remaining Sangheili.
Amid the weak death rattles of the half-living Sangheili, accompanied by the grinding of chain teeth tearing through flesh, the hoarse, ghostlike snickers of the Night Lords were enough to chill not only the Sangheili at the center of it all—even the four Spartans watching from a distance felt a wave of unease.
"Master Chief, does the United Nations Space Command have soldiers like this?" Spartan-125 asked.
Judging by the popcorn war films and television dramas produced under the UNSC's main narrative, these Astartes warriors looked exactly like villains—outright antagonists.
"Master Chief, we have trouble. They are not enemies—but they are not allies either." The female Spartan numbered 028, equipped with a communications backpack, pressed her back against the Master Chief and spoke in a low voice.
"Should we attack?" asked the male Spartan numbered 134.
"Hold position for now."
Standing back-to-back with the other three members of Silver Team, the Master Chief watched cautiously as the Astartes, having finished off the Covenant Elite warriors, cast occasional glances in their direction.
"We haven't lowered our guard against them, and they haven't lowered theirs against us. There are at least ten muzzles aimed at us. One wrong move could trigger a conflict that might otherwise be avoided. I've already contacted the United Nations Space Command. Dr. Halsey is aware of the situation. We'll wait for them to negotiate."
...
The explosions, the thunder of bolt shells, the buzzing of chain weapons had largely subsided. The surviving members of the Madrigal resistance, who had been using the drilling station as a stronghold, cautiously emerged from the ruins lining the circular wall as the noise died down.
"Oh my God... the UNSC was telling the truth."
"What do you mean telling the truth?" Kwan Ha, panting heavily behind the tire of a massive wheeled mining truck, swallowed hard and asked the Black woman lying prone beside her.
"About the war with the alien civilization—the Covenant."
Ignoring the dust and grime on the ground, the Black woman wiped off a pair of binoculars and peered into the distance. "We thought the UNSC was exaggerating it on purpose—to better enslave Madrigal and secure deuterium resources at dirt-cheap prices."
Conspiracy theories always seemed to thrive under the Unified Earth Government. Trust in the government was low among the lower classes—especially on outer colonies like Madrigal, far from the Solar System.
It had gone far beyond distrust. Many outer colonies, Madrigal included, had once united in a massive armed uprising that lasted nearly twenty years.
Part of the reason the Spartan-II Program progressed so smoothly was because the UNSC sought a faster and more efficient method of suppressing insurrections.
The Spartans produced by the program, including the Master Chief, had participated multiple times in colonial suppression operations.
That was why the first reaction of the Madrigal resistance commanders upon seeing Spartans had been to open fire.
"They're here to rescue people, right? Janka, are they the Spartans you and the Professor talked about—the ones who can fight a hundred alone?"
A young man who had survived thanks to the Astartes' sudden drop crawled over, still shaken. If that gray-armored giant hadn't landed and crushed the alien who was about to stab him with an energy sword, he would have been dead.
"Probably... I'm not sure. But according to the UNSC promotional videos, Spartans aren't that tall. These iron giants—oh my God—they're nearly two point eight meters tall. And what they're doing... ugh..."
"Maybe they're the UNSC's newest generation of super-soldiers."
Janka lowered her binoculars, visibly shaken. The savage act of hanging blood-soaked heads from their waists was far too intense.
"Are all the aliens dead?" Kwan Ha asked urgently, staring at the towering figures painted in blue, white, and gray.
"Not yet. They've surrounded a group of aliens over there. I don't know what they're laughing about."
...
"A duel?"
The Night Lords officer's skull-faced helmet emitted another distorted sneer through its mouth grille.
"Human, this is the dignity of a warrior. Why do you laugh?"
Though he could not understand their language, the red-armored Sangheili commander could hear the undisguised mockery and contempt in their tone.
Glowering at the humans, he pushed aside a blue-armored soldier blocking his view. Since the attack began, this was the first time he had been able to truly examine these newly arrived human warriors.
Their strength far exceeded that of the Jiralhanae.
Though he still looked down on the Jiralhanae as nothing more than brute military shock troops—strong limbs and little else—he had to admit they were physically powerful, as strong as the Sangheili themselves. Yet they were more savage and bloodthirsty, and easier for their superiors to control.
That was why the San'Shyuum, the Covenant's ruling class, had increasingly favored the Jiralhanae.
"Insolent vermin. Kneel and surrender unconditionally—or die. You... have no right to set terms," the Night Lords officer said calmly.
"The Sangheili... never surrender."
Clutching his crimson Type-1 dual-bladed energy sword, the red-armored Sangheili commander stepped out from the protective formation of the blue-armored warriors and roared defiantly.
Listening to those words, the Night Lords officer smiled behind his skull-faced helm. He casually activated the disruption field of his lightning claws.
According to Covenant historical records, the Sangheili—natives of a humid world in the Urs system—were renowned throughout both the Covenant and the UNSC intelligence divisions for their warrior culture and obsession with honor.
"Human, to die in battle is glory! You will never understand!!"
Before his words had fully fallen, the red-armored commander struck first.
He was gambling—gambling that by engaging this way, he could buy time for the other team in the forest. Even half a minute would suffice. As long as the sacred relic was carried out, their total annihilation would be worth it.
The crimson blades streaked like twin rainbows. The air wailed as it was torn apart. The dual-bladed energy sword thrust straight toward the vulnerable junction between the Night Lord's helmet and his power armor.
The dark blue warrior shifted slightly. The energy blade pierced empty air. Seizing the brief pause as the thrust turned into a sweeping slash, his left lightning claw rose in a reverse arc.
At that very instant, the Sangheili commander's plasma pistol—already charged in his left hand—was jammed toward the Night Lord's abdomen.
"Prepared to die, are you?"
What warrior was not?
But the Night Lord was faster.
With a savage chuckle, he twisted his body just enough to evade. Bang! A surge of violet-red Honkai energy erupted from his power armor.
Boom—!
The immense backlash detonated the Sangheili commander's entire left arm. Before his disbelieving eyes, the plasma pistol melted into slag.
What was this? An energy discharge?
The intact armor had released a particle shockwave of its own accord.
Then the blazing arc gave him no time to hesitate or react—his other arm, the one gripping the energy sword, was severed.
The Night Lord's right lightning claw crackled with electricity, refracting violet light. With a metallic crash, it shattered the energy shield and carved downward, slicing off the red-armored commander's legs in a single brutal stroke.
"Cough... you... human... you are not human..."
"Nonsense. If I'm not human, what am I—Sangheili like you?"
Seeing the remaining blue-armored Sangheili stir in fury, ready to charge in desperation, the Night Lords officer waved his hand.
"Deal with them. Mm... don't kill all of them."
"Raaah—! Kill them all!"
Like bulldozers descending a mountain, the long-restrained World Eaters howled as they charged forward.
"Apothecary, get over here. Keep him alive."
Ignoring the screams behind him, the Night Lords officer looked down at the limbless Sangheili commander who had closed his eyes. Suddenly, he let out a soft laugh.
"You're looking for something, aren't you?"
The commander's eyes snapped open. His four-part mandibles flexed. "What do you mean?"
"Tsk, tsk... still denying it." He paused, then enunciated heavily, "The 'sacred relic'—the Keystone."
"So it was you. The disappearance of the Jiralhanae transport ship—your doing as well!"
"Yes." The Night Lord clasped his hands behind his back and looked toward the forest beyond the breach in the northern wall. "Since I began observing you, your gaze drifted toward that forest exactly four times."
"Your 'relic' is there, isn't it? They won't escape."
Following the so-called human's line of sight, a dreadful premonition seized the Sangheili commander. Driven by instinct, he lifted his head and looked toward the azure sky.
For a fleeting moment, his gaze seemed to pierce the clouds and atmosphere, reaching the steel leviathan orbiting the planet.
Then came a blinding flash.
A searing beam descended from space like a perfectly straight pillar.
The high-energy laser, converted from Honkai energy by the lance emitter, pierced through the atmosphere. The sky ignited as if set aflame. Each impact generated a violent surge of wind. Scorching air blasted outward.
It all happened in an instant.
The forest was gone.
"No—!!"
With only his torso remaining, the Sangheili commander struggled upright, eyes splitting with rage. The hellish light illuminated a cruel truth.
"Through testing, we determined that triangular object can withstand an explosive yield exceeding ten million tons of TNT without a scratch. We were concerned you might try something clever—bait and switch. A simple test. If it remains intact, it's the genuine article."
As swiftly as it had come, the sky-piercing lance vanished. Aside from the lingering heat in the air and the absence of the forest, there was nothing left.
The Night Lords officer nodded to several nearby Astartes.
"Understood."
Grasping his intent immediately, they moved swiftly toward the bombardment site.
"Don't let him die," he added.
The dark blue warrior no longer paid attention to the Sangheili. Instead, he turned his head toward the four figures standing tensely in the distance—the Master Chief and his team.
Through his helmet's internal tactical system, lines of sharp white data scrolled across his retina. In particular, the man roughly 2.2 meters tall in unfamiliar green power armor—the alien memories extracted from Covenant minds referenced him most often.
They called him Demon.
Devil.
It seemed he was a hero of this universe's human civilization.
He glanced at the environmental data displayed outside his armor.
Oxygen concentration: 21%
Atmospheric temperature: 42°C
Surface gravity: approximately 1.08g
And he recalled the captain's warning: negotiate amicably. Do not start a fight.
Amicably...
He stepped forward. In order to display the bearing of a great power—and not disgrace Selene's Angels of Death—he even gave a somewhat aristocratic bow.
"Front wheel not turning, rear wheel turning... simida..."
"Huh?"
Strange. Wasn't the loudest crying earlier in Korean?
Seeing the four Spartans momentarily stunned, the Night Lord immediately switched to English.
"Apologies for the wait, four sergeants."
"Hello."
The Master Chief gave a brief nod. "Sir, we are Silver Team of the United Nations Space Command Spartan Program, currently executing a mission on Madrigal. May we ask who you are?"
He did not know who these giants were—or which branch they belonged to—but judging from the ornate precious-metal decorations on the giant's armor, he was certainly no ordinary soldier. Addressing him as 'sir' was safest.
"You need only know that we are human. If possible, I would like to meet your commanding officer. Your rank may not be sufficient."
Though phrased as a request, it carried unquestionable authority.
With a soft hiss, the Night Lord removed his helmet.
Jet-black hair and eyes. Though his skin and musculature were unnaturally pale, there was no doubt—he was human.
Under normal circumstances, one would not converse while wearing a helmet. It concealed expression, masked intention, and created a sense of cold distance—hardly a display of sincerity.
...
"Master Chief 117."
Aboard the flagship Imperial Fury—a colossal spacefaring fortress stretching over three hundred kilometers.
Within the palace-like bridge.
Inside the study.
Selene, dressed in a platinum-white gown adorned with stars and trailing moonlight, sat in a velvet-backed chair. While watching the projected footage of the Astartes reconnaissance forces, she lifted a teacup and took a gentle sip. A rich fragrance drifted softly through the air.
"The San'Shyuum's so-called Great Journey was fundamentally flawed. The Forerunners chose the new humans of Erde-Tyrene—Earth—as their successors. Not them."
"The San'Shyuum likely realized this. That is why they desperately scour the galaxy for remnants of Forerunner technology, calling them 'sacred relics' to strengthen their own divine legitimacy and proclaim themselves the chosen heirs."
"At the same time, they hasten their war against human civilization, hoping to exterminate it. If humanity is gone, then they alone remain as the rightful inheritors."
"Mm. A logical choice."
She rose and gently touched the Forerunner relic resting upon the table—the triangular Keystone.
"It only responds to those bearing ancient human genes... is that it?"