The morning broke red. Not sunlight—just firelight reflected on low smoke.
The Sprawl hadn't slept. The smell of oil and burning insulation clung to everything. Drones drifted above like patient vultures, their rotors humming low. Every few seconds, one flared bright and fell—sniped from the sky by a scavenger's rifle.
Jack stood on the overpass, boots planted in puddled rain and blood. Below, his people—if he could call them that—moved like ants, stringing cables, welding scrap, stacking barricades of twisted metal. A thousand makeshift soldiers building a kingdom out of wreckage.
Victor joined him, rifle slung across his back. His eyes were dark from no sleep. "They're pushing from the east tunnels. Authority vanguard. Full armor. Mechs."
Jack's jaw tightened. "How long?"
"Minutes. Maybe less."
Jack nodded. "Then it's time."
He climbed onto the hood of an overturned transport. The wind tugged at his coat, smoke curling around his boots. The crowd quieted, hundreds of faces turning up to him.
No crown. No symbol. Just the man who refused to stay dead.
"You hear that?" he called. The faint rumble of mech treads echoed in the distance—steady, certain. "That's them thinking they can take this back. That we'll crawl into the dark again."
Murmurs rose. Fear. Anger.
Jack's eyes swept the faces. "You can run. No shame in that. But if you stay…" He paused, feeling the hum of the Blood Oath coil under his skin, hot and alive. "If you stay, you fight like you already died."
Someone shouted, "FOR THE KING!"
The chant caught like fire.
"King! King! King!"
Jack didn't silence them this time. He just raised his hand. "Then let's make them remember what they made."
The Authority hit like a hammer.
Columns of armored units rolled through the east gates, flanked by drone clouds and spider mechs, their white insignias glowing like ghosts through the haze. They moved in perfect formation—machine rhythm, no hesitation.
The Sprawl answered with chaos.
Gunfire cracked. Molotovs arced through the air, bursting into liquid flame. Mechs staggered, caught in the crossfire of scavenger-built turrets. A rocket struck one dead center, blowing a hole clean through its chest plate.
Jack moved through the line, barking orders—not shouting, just precise.
"Hold this sector. Push the drones west. Don't waste rounds unless you see white armor."
Victor followed close, his own weapon spitting short, clean bursts. "You're not leading a gang anymore," he muttered between shots. "You're leading a war."
Jack ducked behind cover, reloading. "Feels the same."
"It's not the same," Victor snapped. "These people will die for you."
Jack's eyes flicked to him. "Then they won't die for nothing."
A shell hit nearby, throwing both of them to the ground. Debris rained down. Jack's ears rang. For a moment, all he could hear was the distant hum—Marcus's voice threading through the static of the battle.
"They obey you now," it whispered. "All you had to do was become me."
Jack pushed himself up, blood trickling from his temple. "Not yet."
He sprinted toward the front barricade.
A mech crashed through the smoke, plating slick with ash. Its cannon arm spun, charging. Jack didn't hesitate. He climbed the wreckage of a bus, jumped, and landed on the mech's shoulder. His blade flared alive. One swing—clean through its neck joint.
The machine lurched and fell, sparks painting the rain. Jack dropped with it, rolling to his feet. The Blood Oath surged hot in his chest, too fast, too loud.
Victor saw him from across the line—eyes glowing faint, movements sharper, inhuman. He shouted, "Jack! You're burning out!"
Jack didn't answer. He grabbed a downed rifle, aimed, and fired at an Authority officer breaking through the smoke. The man fell. Another charged; Jack met him halfway, slamming the butt of the gun into his mask until it cracked.
When he looked up, the battlefield was fire. His people—the scavengers, the strays, the forgotten—were pushing them back. For once, the Sprawl wasn't breaking.
Victor climbed the barricade beside him, chest heaving. "They're retreating!"
Jack's breathing slowed. The hum in his ears faded to a low, satisfied pulse. He watched as the Authority mechs withdrew, the drones blinking out one by one into the mist.
For the first time in years, Halo District 9 was silent.
Then the cheer began.
It started small—a few voices in the smoke—then spread, rising until the ruins shook with it. "Jack! Jack! Jack!"
He didn't smile. He couldn't. His hands were shaking.
Victor stepped closer. "You did it."
Jack's eyes stayed on the horizon. "No," he said quietly. "I started it."
That night, the Sprawl burned like a city reborn. Fires lit every rooftop. Survivors drank, cried, patched wounds. They'd beaten the Authority—at least for now.
Jack sat apart, boots dangling over the edge of a ruined balcony. His coat was shredded, his hands raw. The Blood Oath still hummed faintly, a reminder he couldn't turn off.
Victor approached, a bottle in hand. He sat beside him, offering it without a word.
Jack took it, drank, and winced. "Tastes like rust."
Victor half-smiled. "That's because it probably is."
Silence hung between them.
Finally, Victor spoke. "You ever think about what happens if they really follow you? Not out of fear. Out of faith."
Jack glanced over. "Faith in what?"
Victor looked at him for a long moment. "You."
Jack laughed, but it broke halfway. "Then they're more lost than I thought."
Victor leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "They don't care who you were. Only who you are now."
Jack looked down at his hands again. The blood under his fingernails wasn't all his. "Then they're following the wrong ghost."
Victor's voice softened. "Maybe. But they're following."
The fires crackled below, painting their faces in gold and shadow.
Jack turned the bottle in his hand, watching the reflection of the flames inside the glass. It looked like a crown.
He didn't say anything after that.
He just stared out at the burning city—the one that now, somehow, belonged to him—and wondered if Marcus was somewhere smiling, counting the cost of every breath Jack took.
By dawn, the chants had started again.
"King."
Jack didn't silence them this time either.
He just whispered under his breath, almost to himself—
"Then let's finish it."