Rumble—!
Countless plasma beams streaked across the starfield, slamming into the fully powered energy shields of the Covenant warships. Light lances crisscrossed like torrential rain, and blazing fireballs and flares directly 'illuminated' the orbital space of Reach.
Crash!
At the center of the Covenant fleet, the massive fleet flagship—CAS-class assault carrier Rigorous Prayer—relied on its Forerunner-derived Tantalus-pattern shield array to withstand a full volley of lance fire from part of the Night Lords fleet, continuing its steady advance.
Within the central bridge chamber of the Rigorous Prayer, one of the three High Prophets—the Prophet of Truth—sat upon his hovering throne. He wore luxurious deep-red ceremonial robes. Upon his hunched back rested a golden divine halo, and atop his head sat a heavy, intricately patterned crown.
It was a crude imitation. They believed such attire would draw them closer to the gods, but the result was the opposite. They lacked the bearing for it—it was like crowning a monkey.
(PS: The one in the red robe at the center is the Prophet of Truth; the holographic projection on the left is the Prophet of Regret, the first San'Shyuum to set foot on humanity's homeworld; the one in the light blue robe on the right is the Prophet of Mercy, who remained in High Charity after the other two High Prophets departed.)
"Notify the entire fleet. Enter a state of war!"
"Attack! Full attack! Show no restraint whatsoever! Inform Regret and Mercy of the situation—our intelligence was wrong. Aside from the human fleet, another unknown civilization has intervened in the battle for Reach!"
Watching the energy shield outside the panoramic bridge viewport crackle and writhe with violent sparks, the Prophet of Truth spoke grimly. With each heavy syllable, his frost-white beard trembled.
"Yes!" replied the Jiralhanae Honor Guard stationed at his side.
"What is this unidentified fleet with no known markings? Such immense scale—and yet the intelligence division offered not the slightest warning!"
Could it be that that old bastard Mercy joined hands with that greenhorn Regret—the youngest of the High Prophets—to scheme against me...?
The thought surfaced unbidden in the Prophet of Truth's mind.
What followed was boundless fury.
"Damn it! Shameless scum devoid of honor! Our agreement with him is worth less than toilet paper!" the Prophet of Truth snarled, smashing a hand against the armrest.
He had humbled himself and made overtures to that old bastard Mercy after Regret assembled the so-called Holy Offering Fleet and departed for Erde-Tyrene—Earth. All for nothing. A fox's courtesy to a chicken—utterly wasted.
Seen in this light, Regret demanding nearly half of his Jiralhanae legions for the assault on Erde-Tyrene was likely intended to weaken his personal military strength, then use another's blade to eliminate him.
He had been calculating against Regret and Mercy. Regret had colluded with Mercy to calculate against him. And perhaps even Mercy—who had suddenly chosen to remain in High Charity under the pretext of handling attacks on the Covenant's Outer Orion Arm colonies—was not as detached as he appeared. Perhaps he, too, was plotting against both of them.
And even if Regret later arrived with feigned urgency, citing the unspoken San'Shyuum tradition of "unity" and "mutual aid," the Prophet of Truth could already foresee it—if he placed any hope in such reinforcement, the so-called "rescue operation" would inevitably become a "vengeance operation."
"Order the fleet into defensive formation. Open a slipspace aperture. Fight while withdrawing—" the Prophet of Truth began issuing his strategic retreat.
"Revered Prophet, we have received a video transmission on an unknown frequency. It appears to originate from the fleet currently engaging us. Should we—" asked a senior Jiralhanae Honor Guard.
It was difficult to imagine such humility—almost obsequiousness—coming from beings humanity feared as "Brutes."
They were notoriously brutal, delighting in slaughter. The savage tribal traditions of their blood-soaked homeworld Doisac were well known. Yet after converting to the Covenant faith, they had become eerily devout.
It could be said that the Jiralhanae were among the most fanatical supporters of the Covenant. They followed the Prophets' teachings word for word, living exactly as instructed. Unlike the Sangheili—who were independent, honor-bound, and prone to questioning—the Jiralhanae were the perfect tools.
With their ferocious temperament toward outsiders and their utterly submissive obedience toward the Prophets, the contrast with the Sangheili was stark. No wonder the Prophets increasingly favored them.
"Put it through," the Prophet of Truth said irritably, waving a hand.
Beep.
At the operator's command, the central console projected a communication screen. A flash of white light appeared, and the incoming video transmission resolved into view.
"Humans?! Impossible! How could you vermin possibly possess such power?!" In an instant, the Prophet of Truth's expression changed drastically. Though their form was somewhat different, the figures on screen were unmistakably human.
"Could it be that humanity has received the gods' blessing...?"
He knew the truth from the beginning. Humanity was the true chosen inheritor of Forerunner civilization. It was he and the other High Prophets who had concealed that fact.
In his view, there was only one explanation for these humans' transformation—they had deciphered the Forerunner relics and begun officially inheriting the Forerunners' legacy.
Otherwise, there was no way to explain how human civilization had achieved such a tremendous leap in development within so short a time.
"Damn it! The gods' blessing belongs to our race! Heretics—you have desecrated the sacred relics! You have defiled our holy pilgrimage!"
At that moment, the Night Lords Grand Company Captain responsible for diplomatic contact showed a trace of displeasure.
"Silence."
"A pilgrimage? Pursuing the will of the gods? You are not worthy! Do you think the God-Empress' blessing is something alien filth like you can possess?"
"Delusional."
"You believe hiding within that turtle shell will spare you from the destruction that approaches? Trying to flee? Use your shriveled brains and think! No—no, you cannot! Your worlds themselves will be burned to ashes!"
"Remember this—your destruction is the will of the God-Empress. We merely act as her instrument!"
Zzt—
With naked arrogance and contempt, the Night Lords Grand Company Captain terminated the transmission, leaving the Covenant officers staring at one another.
"Prophet, we..." the senior Jiralhanae Honor Guard began cautiously.
"Retreat—"
His eyes bloodshot, his aged gray hand gripping the armrest of the anti-gravity throne until it creaked, the Prophet of Truth roared from the depths of his throat:
"Retreat!!!"
"Activate the slipspace engines. Deploy the slipspace corridor. Now!"
...
"They have come this far. We may as well settle it all at once. No one will escape."
Striding onto the prow deck of the Nightfall, now more than halfway emerged from the trans-spatial rupture, Konrad Curze raised high the Honkai Cube bestowed upon him by the Empress Selene, setting the tone for the end of all things.
"Pursue the will of the gods. O Goddess—let the light of divine might cascade across the earth, reaching to the very ends of the world."
Hummm—!
The dark-toned Honkai Cube began to writhe. Its six faces resonated in perfect unison, pulsing with violet-crimson fluorescence that synchronized with the surrounding starfield itself.
High-energy Honkai particles expanded outward from Konrad Curze in ring after ring of violet-red radiance, solid as though tangible.
"Here and now—twist all phenomena. Seal—!"
The violet-red brilliance intensified. The starry void seemed to shatter. Terrifying streaks of light spread outward like an opening web, expanding ceaselessly until they enveloped all of Reach—and even the entire Epsilon Eridani system.
Vrrrr—!
As the spatial isolation field activated, the half-formed slipspace portal before the Rigorous Prayer collapsed instantly.
In that moment, not only was the Covenant fleet affected—even the UNSC Navy preparing for battle in Reach's low orbit was cut off. Faster-than-light slipspace corridors were sealed, and all extrastellar communications were severed at once.
At that instant, the Prophet of Truth understood. The Jiralhanae legions resting in the Covenant heartland colonies—those too had been attacked by them.
"Praise the God-Empress! Our Goddess watches over you. Night Lords—advance!"
Konrad Curze's command drove the battle toward an even more brutal crescendo.
In an instant, Honkai lances of every size and color, melta lasers, and plasma beams erupted from the Night Lords' turret arrays, staining the once-dim cosmos in violent hues.
Following closely behind came tungsten alloy shells—each weighing several tons, dozens of tons, even over a hundred tons—accelerated from electromagnetic railguns and transformed into blazing streaks of death.
The Covenant fleet responded in kind. With escape impossible, and under the Prophet of Truth's command, the fanatical Jiralhanae howled in fury.
Inherited from Forerunner civilization, weapons of annihilation—Inferno-pattern superheavy cleansing lances, Urpeon-pattern superheavy plasma spears, Luxor-pattern heavy plasma beams, and Ferriel-pattern pulse lasers—collided one after another with the advancing Night Lords fleet.
The two fleets closed the distance relentlessly. Dense plasma torrents erupted again and again, detonating in layered succession. Explosions overlapped and spread into contiguous waves, bursting in dazzling brilliance against shield barriers on both sides.
From time to time, a ship's energy shields overloaded. Its hull was instantly focused by concentrated fire, blasted into ruin, and reduced to yet another spark in the cosmos.
Covenant warships were struck repeatedly, erupting in blossoms of flame. Troop carriers, assault craft, and fighters were melted outright, reduced to drifting debris.
Yet even now, at the trans-spatial webway aperture deployed by the Astartes reconnaissance cruiser, Night Lords vessels continued to pour through without end.
With every passing second, the Covenant fleet endured increasingly devastating firepower.
The problem lay in the limited output of the lightweight Lunar-class cruiser acting as a beacon node. Its aperture was narrow—and the Nightfall, charging through first, occupied more than half of it. Many vessels could only squeeze out from its flanks and extremities.
The Imperial Navy's heavy battleship formations had yet to emerge.
But with Konrad Curze's activation of the Honkai Cube, the rupture in reality drawn from the trans-spatial webway expanded ever wider. At last, the Imperial Navy's heavy battleship squadrons and carrier-battleship formations entered the battlefield.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
Their arrival was heralded by countless detonations, drawing the attention of every observer in that star system. For the Covenant fleet, each explosion marked the destruction of another allied warship—but there was nothing they could do but watch helplessly.
They were completely surrounded.
In space warfare, for a major naval fleet to be encircled entirely by another—one could scarcely imagine the scale required.
Rumble—!!!
This unprecedented void battle painted the entire region of space in the colors of annihilation.
Stationed directly between the Night Lords fleet and the Covenant armada, Reach's low-orbit defense platforms wailed with piercing alarms. The brilliant, dazzling light forced many personnel to shut their eyes.
Beautiful beyond measure—yet for every member of the UNSC defense forces, it was the light of the end. Everything would be reduced to burning ash beneath that splendor.
For the largest of them all—a colossal warship exceeding 300 kilometers in length, vast as a celestial body—had not joined the assault against the Covenant fleet.
Instead, with unstoppable momentum and without the slightest concealment, it advanced toward Reach.
"Prepare to engage!"
Within the orbital defense platform, the commanding officer shouted with utter despair as Night Lords warships flooded into Reach's near orbit like an endless tide.
...
On Reach's surface, the once-prosperous cities had already lost their former clamor. Civilians wept in desperation as they fled toward shelters. Along major transport arteries, UNSC defense troops rapidly established one permanent defensive position after another.
"Soldiers! We will fight to the very end on Reach!"
"We shall fight in the skies, we shall fight in the seas, we shall fight at the enemy's landing zones. We shall fight in the fields and in the streets, we shall fight in the mountains. We will never surrender!"
"We will defend her at any cost—even unto death! Reach shall be our final grave! We will not yield!"
Tearing off his helmet, a UNSC officer stood upon the steps and roared to his troops.
In the heavens above, the vast fleet led by the Nightfall loomed ever clearer. It was as though thunderclouds had gathered across the sky, heralding a coming storm.
Even with Reach's current supreme fleet commander lost, even with the situation appearing utterly hopeless, mid- and lower-ranking UNSC officers activated the emergency contingency plans for planetary invasion of their own accord.
True to their oath, they were prepared to die.
At this moment, within the UNSC Command Headquarters on Reach, fighting had not ceased.
With the death of Admiral Parangosky and the riots that erupted within the base spreading outward, the response time of Reach's UNSC defensive forces had slowed by more than a beat.
No matter how elite the grassroots officers and soldiers were, no matter how desperately they attempted to compensate, it was useless—their command core had already been paralyzed.
Clank. Clank. Clank...
From the collapsed ruins came the sound of heavy armor advancing.
"What a pity. I thought we were friends."
"We were friends. But now—we are enemies."