Covenant Assault Carrier Crucible of Faith
14 February 2552 1930 MST
Orbit above Jericho VII, Lambda Serpentis System
As not even Fleetmaster Arga had been able to muster the courage to witness for himself what other torments the self-proclaimed Nightmare had wreaked upon the unfortunate crew of the UNSC Safe Haven, the frigate was unceremoniously shunted from the Crucible’s interior and used as target practice for the point-defense turrets. The demonic fog seemed almost disappointed as it watched the tainted hull disperse in a cloud of cleansing fire through one of the bridge’s view screens.
“What a shame,” it muttered to itself. “It’s been such a long time since I’ve had so much fun.”
“Listen well, horror,” Arga growled, wavering only slightly when that terrible face materialized in the mist. “I do not know how you normally conduct yourself, but vermin like the humans deserve efficient extermination, nothing more and nothing less. They are to be spared death only to gather information, and only until that information is gained. Torture is acceptable only as a means to that end, and is by far the most dishonorable method available. To preserve any life for the sole purpose of inflicting pain on it is an act of depravity beyond even the Jiralhanae’s savage morals. You will do well to mark that I will tolerate no such acts under my watch, and will suffer your foul presence only as long as you are of use.
“Now make yourself useful before I change my mind.”
Through the rant the Nightmare wore a bemused smirk, as though humored by the fleetmaster’s naïve arrogance. At the final order it drifted over to one of the command consoles, much to the terror of the Sangheili stationed there, and forced its way into the electronics, the glinting blue eyes staying fixed on his until the last moment. “I’ve set your ship to travel to our enemy’s planet,” it announced over the speakers, the familiar electronic undertone dampening its ubiquitous menace. “But I feel like I should warn you of something first. When the humans arrived they had been transformed into a native species, and I can’t help but guess that something similar will happen to you and your compatriots. In fact…” There was a brief pause as the Nightmare performed some new function with the ship’s computers. “There. I’ve added a quick detour to the journey that should give you all plenty of time to get used to whatever affects you may suffer.”
“Also.” This time the voice came not from the speakers, but from directly behind Agra, and he whirled to face the billowing smoke which had manifested from an unoccupied station there. “I have an experiment that I would like to run on your person,” it offered in an eager tone. “It is somewhat invasive, but if it works you will find yourself much better off than otherwise, and failure should leave you no worse for wear.” The black haze surged forward, engulfing the surprised fleetmaster before he could act. There was a sudden pressure in his mind, insistent but not overpowering, like it was simply waiting for something. “All you have to do is let me in,” the cursed voice said, now so close that it was as if it was in his head already.
“Think about it,” it whispered in his ear, in his mind, now a voice of seduction and promise laden with magical influence. “I can give you power. All the power you would ever need to take all the glory you could ever want. Power beyond mortal dreams to do with as you see fit, to punish those who wrong you and destroy those you hate. I can make you a god.”
At that word, he broke. The Prophets often foretold of the Great Journey, of following in the Forerunners’ footsteps and ascending to godhood, and here he was being offered the very thing his entire civilization had been seeking for countless generations. Never mind that it came from a serpent’s tongue, for in his clouded thoughts he only saw the end result: that he would be the first to take the Great Journey, and use his powers to purge all blasphemy from the universe so his brothers might follow unhindered. “Very well,” he said as if in a daze. “Do as you wish.”
At his submission the Nightmare moved in, filling his mind and body like the fires of Damnation, always hungry and blackening all it touched. Yet despite the presence he felt no more powerful than before. There is no cause for suspicion, it said in his mind, very likely reading his thoughts as they formed. If my guess is true, then whatever force determines your new form will detect my presence within you and give you a suitable body. All that is left now is to take the Journey.
Arga turned without hesitation to his officers, too focused on his coming reward to notice them flinch away from his now-azure gaze. “Spread the order,” he commanded, oblivious to the disturbing echo of his guest woven into the words. “All forces are to return to their respective ships immediately and prepare for departure. We move as soon as possible, and on the path our guest has provided us. Also, all troops are to suit up. What you wear into subspace is very likely what you will wear into battle, weapons included.” The other Sangheili hurried to obey, confused but not wanting to invoke the wrath of their possessed leader.
There was some opposition to the orders, mostly that it went against the will of the Prophets, but it was quickly quelled with news of the glorious target circumstances had offered to them and them alone. At the appointed time, all five supercruisers, eight cruisers, and eleven destroyers, all filled with fanatical warriors eager for battle, linked themselves to the flagship’s computers and followed it into slipspace. Only one among them was not surprised when the drives immediately cut off and brought them into an empty region of deep space immeasurably distant from the system they could almost still glimpse behind them, though that was far from the first thing on anyone’s mind.
The pain Arga experienced, though brief, was excruciating. It was as if his body was being torn into molecule-sized pieces and forced to mold around an alien core, with not quite enough material to form the whole creation. What flowed into the empty space, however, more than made up for the unpleasantness: power, as pure and as dark as the vacuum of space. It was so exhilarating that he could not help but chuckle once everything settled, even as he heard the groans of others who had also been caught off guard but did not receive the boost as he had.
Once the rush wore off, Arga began making sense of his new form. It was a quadruped, much to his initial dismay, but that faded as he recognized what quadruped it was. Razor-sharp claws flexed at the end of his lean, muscular legs and thick, jet-black hide covered him from the tip of his arrow-like snout to the end of his powerful tail. His mandibles, mostly unchanged beyond bearing stronger muscles and sharper teeth, clacked in surprise as the name of the beast surfaced from his memories: the Sanglatronis. More commonly known as the Sangheili War Beast, these creatures used to be used as battle mounts by the ancient Sangheili before mechanical alternatives became available, and were still kept as pets and status-symbols by the upper echelon of Sangheili society, supposedly for how dangerous a wild specimen was and how difficult it was to train them to not kill their masters on sight. Sadly, that lethal instinct had long since been culled from the domestic stock in favor of obedience.
But not us, he thought with a predatory grin as he watched his flag crew pick themselves up on their new limbs. We are still killers at heart.
I’m glad to hear it, the Nightmare interjected itself into his thoughts. And might I add the experiment was a complete success. You truly appear as a god among beasts. The invasive spirit suddenly sparked life into a new area of the fleetmaster’s brain, and his vision swam as an outside point of view was inserted alongside the original. He quickly realized that he was looking at himself, and he couldn’t help but be impressed… and intimidated. In addition to the stark contrast between his shadowy skin and ornate golden armor, he now sported a pair of great leathery wings which draped across his back like a cloak and a blade-like crest that ran the length of his skull and glowed with an aura of fearful midnight. He also noticed that his stature was significantly greater than that of the officers around him, towering nearly twice their height despite carrying a similar proportional build.
All attention snapped to the sudden beeping of a nearby communication console. The Sangheili stationed there rushed to perform his duty, stumbling upon the fact that their digits remained just as dexterous as before despite ending in claws. “Fleetmaster,” he called, not bothering to try to meet his superior’s mighty gaze. “It is the Jiralhanae Chieftain. He wishes to know ‘what in the ancestral blazes just happened.’”
Arga pondered his options for a moment, eventually relenting to his, and the Nightmare’s, curiosity. “Put him on the main display. I wish to see what has become of the brutes.”
He felt his eyes widen in surprise at the figure that appeared in the hologram, a figure which also demonstrated visible shock at what it saw. The great Clan-Chieftain looked almost completely unchanged by the transition, as did the clan elder to his right and the guard pack visible behind him. In fact, it took a confused Unggoy (also unchanged) wandering through the room for the zealot to notice that the apes had actually shrunken slightly, and now stood only as tall as an average Sangheili, though the chieftain was still a head above his fellows.
“Darrinus,” Arga growled, relishing the heightening shock that played across the alpha’s face. “I take it you have some questions for me?”
A mixture of confusion and fear flashed across the Jiralhanae’s shaven features before they settled into wary anger. “What the blazes is going on, Arga?” The fleetmaster scowled at the disrespect the filthy savage showed in using his first name. Though that senile elder claimed it to be a traditional show of respect to a fellow leader, according to Sangheili tradition it meant they considered him too inferior to mandate the use of his rank and title. It was for that reason he returned the “respect” whenever possible. Still, it was also considered dishonorable to interrupt a status report. “The lekgolo now glow green and the Kig-Yar and your Sangheili have turned into strange animals, with yourself looking like some demon straight from the nightmare realm!”
I suppose different species are changed in different ways, the Nightmare offered mentally. I find his assessment of your new form wonderfully apt, though.
Arga nodded in agreement before focusing back on Darrinus. “These transformations are the gods’ gift to prepare us for the coming battle; a gift your kin obviously weren’t worthy of. Prepare your ships to make the true journey as soon as possible; we must continue the warpath while the favor of the gods is with us.”
With the brutish hassle dealt with and his subordinates circulating the nature of the flash, the newly-ascended zealot had one final task to oversee. Nightmare, he called into his mind. You can hear me like this, can you not?
Indeed I can, your honorableness, it replied readily and somewhat cheekily. How may I best serve the gods?
Stow your mockery, demon, for I do not suffer such heresies in my presence. There was a distinct sensation of something sealing itself, followed by a wordless apology and an urging to carry on. Now, you are apparently quite knowledgeable in the power of the gods. I would have you teach me in its use.
There was a pause as the Nightmare pretended to consider the request, secretly grinning at how deep the fool had sunken into its clutches and the renewed depths the fanatic just unknowingly opened beneath himself. Very well, my little destroyer. It’s not like I have much else to do.
* * * * * * *
Command Center Sierra, AKA “Styx”
18 February 2552 1700 MST
The Everfree Forrest, Equestria
The dropship jostled slightly as it settled into a vast, unnatural cavern, signaling to its star occupant that he would be at the end of the line soon enough. He knew he should be angry. He had been imprisoned in ice for over two thousand years, and finally escaped only to blunder into a blatant trap. How could he not rage at such a cruel twist? Even the nature of his new binds, a crystalline heart carved in a meticulous likeness of the very artifact he sought, seemed specifically designed to infuriate him.
And yet as King Sombra stared at his captors through the tint of his magical chains, he only knew resigned peace. Another of the Nightmare’s lackeys, they had called him. Despicable. Evil. A tainted abomination that survived only because it had no physical form for them to strike. On any other day he would not have cared what the mortals thought of him and would only have struck them down on principle and pride, but this was a special, dreadful day.
This day would see him into Tartarus.
He did not struggle as he was pulled across the hangar by a steely-eyed unicorn’s steely-grey magic. Such degradation of dignity ill befitted a king, and had ceased the moment he realized its futility. He simply hoped that those embarrassing eight hours of impotent flailing had gone unnoticed by his escort. Their lack of mockery was a good sign of that, at least.
Unwilling to strike up conversation with mere grunts, and lacking any other method of occupying his last minutes outside of that most cursed jail, he took to examining the path of his condemned march. The arrival room, though spacious enough to house and launch nearly a dozen of the strange airships he had been transported in at a time, quickly gave way to a series of smaller, branching corridors. Heavy metal doors lined the walls at odd intervals, and even greater barriers loomed around every intersection, poised to slam shut on any unwanted movement.
“Can you believe the Guam’s not back yet?” a voice said through a nearby opened doorway. Inside, several stallions could be seen unpacking crates of strange armor.
“I wonder what the holdup is?” another replied, almost hiding the nervous quiver in his voice. “The Covies could be here by the end of the month!”
“Maybe she’s getting an upgrade? I heard they were starting to put runes of the battle fleets when she left Reach before.”
“Fat lot of good that’ll do us if she comes back to a glassed-Ow!”
“Stow it!” Though the room had passed out of sight, it was obvious that somepony had taken objection to the doom-mongering.
These “Covies” must be a mighty host indeed, Sombra thought in admiration, to strike fear into a fortress such as this.
The hallways continued for some minutes, and the rare door ajar revealed more rooms in the midst of assembly. Bunks were being set and stacked in one, another already filled with racks of what he could only guess to be weapons by the sign of “Armory” painted on the floor outside. There was even a small mess hall already seating and sustaining a hoof-full of ponies and, to his great surprise, a few of those dullard diamond dogs. Mercenaries, I’ll bet.
The procession was suddenly halted by one of the mighty moving walls, the first such instance encountered closed. A fresh party of soldiers approached, each as hard and suspicious as his stoic carrier. Pointed questions were asked, revealing spells were cast, and the head-sized prison was handed off to a new bearer. Only then did the obstruction move, lifting into place with surprising haste to reveal the uniqueness of this particular junction.
Instead of another uniform passageway, Sombra now found himself in a gap in the wall of a smoothed tunnel easily a hundred meters across and curving out of view in either direction. On the floor a number of strange chariots idled or moved by their own power, carrying cargo both living and not. The air was tainted with dust and smoke despite intricate humming ductworks lining the ceiling, and the king was grateful that he lacked the faculties to taste it.
Looking to the far wall, however, revealed that the causeway served another purpose. Narrow, enclosed stairs led to a high balcony lined with cover and bristling with weapons of a similar nature to those in the armory. His own ledge, by comparison, was completely exposed and offered no solid passage down into what was clearly a killing field. It’s a veritable keep within a castle! What foe could possibly hope to take such a line?
Luckily for his nerves, the far battlement was mostly unoccupied and both sides possessed mechanical lifts for desired passage, though even these weak points were designed to heavily favor the defenders in battle. His first sight of the near lift was a sturdy roof, slanting upwards away from the wall to deny even the slightest guard against the inner defense and completely protect a counterattack. Next was a chest-high barricade that looked somewhat counter-productive until, once the platform arrived at its destination, it lowered into the hall.
Once he and his new watchers occupied the exposed elevator, it reset its fence and descended until Sombra was sure it had to be sinking into stone. Only the barest seam could be seen between it and the floor beyond, and he was given little time to look before being jerked along across the cluttered street. Around him bustled an astounding plethora of races: ponies and hounds scowled at his passing, while gryphons and changelings hardly glanced away from whatever task occupied them. Even a dragon was present to drool hungrily at his gemstone cage. The entire world must be set to burn to bring dragons into a pony’s home!
Despite the beast’s pressing gaze, it seemed to be no time at all before the sanctuary of the second lift surrounded them. Unlike its death-trap of a counterpart, this one was set into a shaft in the stone and rose by a familiar pulley system. It also sported heavy grating on both entrances, which rattled away only when the lift had stopped.
As much as King Sombra would have liked to give his ego one last stroke with the parapet’s impressive overlook, he found himself carted into another set of hallways before he could see anything but that dragon’s eager yellow eyes. Do they even feed that thing? He wondered, not noticing the sheer black door or its jagged red lettering until the last moment.
Abandon hope, all ye who enter here.
Charming, he thought dryly as mechanical rumbling echoed through stone and space. I suppose this is it then. How bad could it be?
The initial vibrations ceased, and the gateway shuddered. Slowly, it receded into the floor, every hoof marked with a resonating clang as wicked crimson hooks sprung from the surrounding frame to claw at their fleeing charge. With each toll, another set was left still and gleaming in a pale light as the rest were inexorably bent back out of position.
Well blacken me impressed. Who or whatever built this thing certainly knows a thing or two about proper intimidation. I’ll tip my crown to them if they can make the product match the poster.
Even the soldiers’ faces were starting to sweat by the time he could see over the dark edifice. Lightweights, he sneered before taking in his last vision of this world. Just as the fables had said, the roughly-circular domed cavern centered on one of the largest runes Sombra had ever seen, and the unearthly light it gave of lent an aura of simple finality to everything it touched. Unlike the stories, however, the great Cerberus had been replaced with a being far more terrible than any slavering beast: Princess Celestia.
The last latch released, and the ringing faded into silence before the solar alicorn relieved him of his escort, taking hold the gem with her own magic as they hurried away. The gate, however, remained opened even after he crossed its bleak threshold. The princess merely examined his black essence within the trap before tossing him dismissively to her feet.
“King Sombra,” she said in a tone one might use to a bug neither amusing nor distasteful. “There was a time, not so long ago, that I would have feared your return. I’d have risked anything to keep you from reclaiming the Crystal Heart, even my own student. But now?” she scoffed, turning her head to the gaping portal and the impenetrable fortress beyond. “Now there are far worse threats to prepare for.”
“Then why come here?” Sombra rasped, surprised by the brittle chime to which this small prison reduced his once-booming voice. Still, he couldn’t balk in front of royalty. “Why travel all the way to this forsaken chamber just to see little old me into the pit?”
“Why, curiosity, of course,” she stated as if it were the only possible explanation. “I want to know what the Nightmare promised you for your efforts. I want to hear what you think you were going to get out of that deal.”
He hesitated before replying, “What deal?” How could she have guessed?! It swore there would be no way to connect me to it!
Celestia only scowled. “The same deal they all made,” she spat as her horn re-lit, this time reaching for Tartarus’ Rune. The light shuddered, turning a baleful yellow as a procession of ghostly figures flickered through the symbol’s core. Though Sombra did not recognize many of them, occasionally he would catch sight of a legend from the horror stories he had loved as a foal.
By the time the barrage of mythical nightmares ended, the princess had recomposed herself, again appearing merely indifferent to his presence. “So what did it take to buy you? Power? Treasure? Time?”
The dark king knew exactly what reply to give her: “Freedom.” The look of surprise on her face was so glorious that he simply had to elaborate. “The council you left in power was a collection of pompous old fools with no desire for progress.” True enough. “They could not accept my studies, and banished me for them.” You probably would too. “When the Nightmare offered me a chance to pursue my dreams, I leapt for it.” Revenge was just an added bonus. “All I had to do was bring it the Heart.” But you had to come and stop me, didn’t you?
For a moment, Celestia stared at him with that same surprised look on her face. Then she closed her eyes, and smirked. “You know, perhaps I ought to be thanking you.” Sombra again thanked his lack of physical form, for he doubted if he could keep his own shock from showing at those words. As if reading his mind, his counterpart continued just as he had. “When you removed the Crystal Heart, the magic keeping the Windegos at bay went with it. The ponies were forced to put aside their petty prejudices to survive, and rediscover harmony and friendship in the process. That was what Luna and I had left over, and the sign that our little ponies were truly ready to follow us.”
Sombra was stunned. She actually doesn’t know? Oh, this is rich! He let out a dark chuckle, letting it grow into full-blown laughter as that clever grin melted right off of her face. “Ha ha ha! Oh you foolish mare. Did you really think that those frostbitten echoes were a part of the plan? By taking out the Heart, I opened the way for the Nightmare itself; the Windegos just struck first!”
The princess’s visage turned to one of rage as she slammed her gold-shod hoof down upon the noisy prison, transforming the mad cackling into as cry of pain. Her ire not sated, she took the gem in her magic and pressed it to the edge of the shining rune. Sombra shuddered as he felt the unwavering pull and the promise of eternity behind it, only the comparatively feeble charms of the false Heart keeping him free.
As he clung to the anchor of his chains, he could hear Celestia spitting venom-coated words. “I came down here because I was unsure, guilty even, of condemning one of my little ponies to Tartarus. I thought there had to be some way of redeeming you, some way of freeing you from that monster’s grip. But hearing you brag about letting that thing in, that thing that made me imprison my own sister for a thousand years, I honestly don’t care anymore.
“Enjoy your stay,” she said dismissively as she flicked one prison through the other. “That’s all you have left to look forward to.”
King Sombra did not scream in fear or rage as the magic of the Tartarus Rune seized him. That would have been unkingly. He had known that there was no way to avoid it. Having Her Majesty looking to help him had been a true surprise, but he doubted that it would have changed anything. He would have had to lie for that to happen, and that would have been unkingly too.
Still, he thought before even that freedom abandoned him, one does not build a fortress around a seal which cannot be broken…
* * * * * * *
Author’s Notes: The Nightmare’s a bit of a touchy subject for Celestia.
For those unfamiliar with Halo lore, the names the Covenant species were given in the games are just terms the UNSC uses to identify them. They don’t actually call each other by those names (usually). The elites are called Sangheili, the brutes are Jiralhanae, the grunts are Unggoy, the jackles are Kig-Yar, and the Lekgolo are those little worms that make up the Mgalekgolo, or hunter.
Each of their new forms, or lack thereof, represents a similar niche to one a pony would fill (riding mount or beast of burden) in each civilization, with one exception: the hunters now possess the magic of Photosynthesis! The grunts never actually domesticated anything before the Covenant brought them in and for the most part placed them in one such niche themselves, and the brutes actually used the “runts” of their own species. As for the jackals, I’m going to leave that a secret.
The “Sanglatronis,” I actually completely made up (donut steel) because the elites needed to stay badass while still being transformed. The name comes from the Latin word for blood, Sanguine, and one of the words google coughed up when I looked up “Latin word for hunter,” Latronis.” This is the same way the elites homeworld was named, Sanghelios; “Blood-Sun.” If someone can come up with a better name that still roughly translates to Blood-Hunter, I’d be glad to hear them.
Thank you all for your continued feedback and a particularly big Thank You to Rifleman526 on Fanfiction for offering to edit my story! I’d tell you to go read his stuff, but I don’t think he has any yet.