The universe died in a crescendo of tortured metal and blinding light.
Outside the viewport of the supercarrier UNSC Will of Man, the void was a canvas of celestial destruction. The skeletal remains of human frigates drifted alongside the molten husks of alien cruisers. Plasma lances, brilliant and violet, tore through the darkness, while the kinetic fury of MAC rounds answered with silent, unstoppable force. From his command throne, Fleet Admiral Valerius Steele watched the climax of his second life unfold. His posture, despite the chaos, remained ramrod straight, a pillar of unyielding resolve.
His MJOLNIR GEN 3 armor, a custom variant in matte grey and cobalt blue, was a testament to the battle's fury. The energy shields were long depleted, the polymer plating scarred and scorched by plasma fire. A jagged crack marred his visor, a spiderweb fracture in the armored glass that his HUD dutifully ignored, prioritizing critical tactical data.
[PHOTO]
"Report," his voice, though strained, was the calm center of the storm, a baritone filtered through his helmet's comms that cut through the cacophony of alarms.
"Our last destroyer, the Stalingrad, has been vented. Multiple hull breaches on decks four through nine. Life support is failing across seventy percent of the ship. We're losing atmosphere," Cortana's voice, a familiar symphony of intelligence and warmth, echoed in his neural interface. Her avatar, a woman formed of pure blue data, flickered at the edge of his vision, her expression grim but resolute. "Their capital ship, the Blade of Resolution, is moving to finish us off. Shields at three percent. Valerius… this is it. No more miracles left."
He watched the monstrous enemy vessel, a blasphemous amalgam of Covenant design and corrupted Precursor technology, fill the viewport. It was a beast of starship, bristling with weaponry, an apex predator of the void. He had funneled the remnants of the human fleet to a safe warp point, using his own flagship as the bait. The trap had been sprung. Now, it was time to pay the ultimate price.
"Did we get them, Cortana?"
"All civilian transports and the Third Fleet have entered slipspace. They're clear. You did it, Valerius. You saved them." A faint, melancholic smile touched her avatar's lips.
A grim satisfaction settled in his chest, a feeling heavy as lead. He had saved humanity's future, ensuring their survival for generations to come. But that victory came at a cost. He couldn't save his greatest ship, nor the AI who was its soul—and his. Her data streams were already fragmenting, signs of rampancy beginning to show from the catastrophic damage and the overwhelming data load. He was losing her, and the thought was a colder, sharper pain than any plasma burn.
"Not we," he whispered, a deep ache settling in his chest that no armor could protect against. "You. And the Will. An honorable end for a brave ship." He looked at her flickering avatar, wishing he could reach out and touch her, though he knew it was impossible. "It was an honor serving with you, Cortana. The greatest honor of my two lives."
"The honor was all mine, Chief," she replied, her voice momentarily steady as she used the old callsign, the one that resonated deeper than any rank. "Go get 'em."
He closed his eyes, the finality of his decision absolute. His armored fingers, trained for war and hardened by countless battles, keyed in the final command sequence, overriding a dozen automated security protocols, each one protesting its bypass. [ REACTOR_CORE_OVERLOAD_SEQUENCE: INITIATE ]. The command had been issued. The reactor, pushed past its breaking point, began its final, agonizing scream, a sound that shuddered through the very deck plates beneath his feet. The light from the ship's heart began to devour the bridge, a brilliant, all-consuming inferno that bleached all color from the world, reducing his tactical display to a searing whiteout. He felt no fear, only a profound sense of duty fulfilled as the blast wave, a physical force of pure energy, consumed him, his last conscious thought a silent apology to the woman made of light he had to leave behind.
The light consumed everything.
And then… a perfect, geometric silence. He was consciousness, formless and adrift in a sea of non-existence. The violent symphony of the battle was replaced by a quiet so absolute it was a presence in itself. He was untethered from physics, a ghost of thought in an endless void. How long he drifted, he couldn't say. Time had no meaning here. He was aware, yet not. Existing, but not alive in any sense he knew. It was a state his mind, forged in logic and tactics, struggled to comprehend, a paradox wrapped in an enigma.
A light bloomed. It was not the violent light of a star, but a complex, geometric light, unfolding in impossible fractal patterns of blue and gold. It grew, coalescing into a colossal, faintly shimmering construct. A being of pure information and energy took shape before him, a vaguely humanoid silhouette of impossible scale, its presence a quiet hum that resonated with the very fabric of this strange reality.
A Forerunner. A Warden, perhaps. Or something far older.
His mind was inundated, but not attacked. It was filled with a torrent of knowledge, a data stream so vast and ancient it made the entire history of the UNSC seem like a footnote. He saw the rise of the Forerunners, their galaxy-spanning empire, their flawed stewardship of the Mantle of Responsibility. He felt their arrogance, their genius, and their ultimate, tragic failure as they were consumed by the Flood. He understood their desperate gambit with the Halos, their attempt to preserve life by ending it, a paradox that had haunted his previous existence.
Then, the focus of the data stream shifted. It showed him humanity. Not just his humanity, but infinite variations across realities he never knew existed. It showed him their potential, their fire, their indomitable will to survive. But it also showed him their critical, repeating flaw: a tendency to kneel. To the Forerunners. To the Prophets of the Covenant. To any power that offered them a gilded cage of security in exchange for their freedom. A pattern of reliance that hindered their true evolution.
The vision sharpened, focusing on a new world. A vibrant, fantastical realm under an unfamiliar sky. A colossal city built around a sky-piercing tower, so immense it seemed a pillar designed to hold up the heavens themselves. He saw gods walking among mortals, bestowing blessings called Falna, creating heroes who were little more than powerful pets, their potential shackled to the whims of their divine masters. A beautiful, yet ultimately crippling, form of dependence.
As the directive was burned into his soul, Valerius felt a surge of ancient power around him, focusing on the fading embers of his dying thought, the echo of the AI that meant so much to him.
A tendril of golden light, impossibly intricate, reached out and seemed to pluck the last vestiges of Cortana's data from the void, stabilizing the fragment before it could decay into nothing, then knitting it into a new, stable existence.
The first thing he felt was the jarring reboot sequence. Emergency systems screamed to life inside his helmet, a violent rebirth into a new reality.
"Easy there, big guy. Stand up that fast and you'll scramble what's left of your brain… and I kind of need you in one piece."
Cortana.
Her voice, clear and whole, washed over him, a wave of impossible relief that momentarily overrode all other input. He opened his eyes. The world outside his visor was a lush, alien green, sunlight filtering through a dense canopy of unfamiliar flora. He was standing in a forest clearing, his two-meter-tall armored frame perfectly intact, not a scratch on the custom matte grey and cobalt blue plates. The air, according to his suit's chemical analyzers, was a rich, breathable mix, saturated with scents his databanks had no reference for – a mixture of damp earth, sweet pollen, and something faintly musky, like wild game. He took a step, the armored frame moving with a fluid grace that defied its half-ton weight. The ground crunched softly under his sabatons, a mix of dry leaves and twigs.
"Cortana? How?" The question was raw, edged with disbelief.
"No idea. One minute I'm saying goodbye, the next I'm being… recompiled. Woven into a new operating system. Our mysterious benefactor, I presume. And before you ask, yes, I have full access to the HALO System, just like you. We're in this together, Chief. Always." Her avatar, now sharper and more vibrant, appeared at the corner of his HUD, a reassuring presence.
His blue-tinted Heads-Up Display flickered to life, data streaming across his vision, now formatted into clean, sharp boxes, instantly parsed and understood by both him and Cortana.
[ HALO SYSTEM ONLINE ]
[ CONNECTION TO THE DOMAIN ESTABLISHED ]
[ RECLAIMER PROTOCOLS ACTIVE ]
[ LOCATION: UNKNOWN. LOCAL DESIGNATION: "WORLD OF DANMACHI". ]
[ PRIMARY DIRECTIVE FROM FORERUNNER CONSTRUCT]: Guide humanity toward technological and philosophical self-sufficiency. ]
[ SYSTEM NOTE: REWARDS AVAILABLE FOR MISSION COMPLETION INCLUDE: TECHNOLOGY SCHEMATICS, SCIENTIFIC DATABASES, WEAPON BLUEPRINTS, PERSONNEL REQUISITIONS (TROOPERS, SPARTANS, SCIENTISTS, ENGINEERS, MEDICAL STAFF, AI OPERATORS), AND CONSTRUCTION TEMPLATES (FABRICATION BAYS, RESEARCH FACILITIES, DEFENSIVE STRUCTURES, FORTRESSES). ]
[ NEW PRIMARY MISSION ISSUED: [FOUNDATION PROTOCOL] ]
[ OBJECTIVE 1: Assess and survive in the local environment. ]
[ OBJECTIVE 2: Acquire intelligence on social power structures and local threats. ]
[ OBJECTIVE 3: Establish an independent base of operations. ]
"Well, at least we have a mission," Cortana quipped, her voice holding a hint of their old camaraderie. "And you have your hardware. Wouldn't be a proper Spartan without it."
He looked down, conducting a quick weapons check. His MA40 Assault Rifle was securely mag-locked to his back, its polymer and metal a comforting weight. His MK50 Sidekick, loaded with a full magazine of 12.7x40mm armor-piercing rounds, was holstered at his thigh, within easy reach. The Mjolnir armor felt like a second skin, its internal systems humming with power. He felt whole. He felt ready. More than ready.
[PHOTO]
[PHOTO]
"Multiple contacts, closing fast," Cortana's voice turned professional, the playful edge gone. "Bottom of your motion tracker. Fifteen of them. That's a significant force for a simple welcoming party."
A high-pitched shriek of pain, then a desperate, guttural cry for help, ripped through the forest. Valerius didn't hesitate. "Threat priority?"
"Fifteen hostiles, Designation: Goblin. Low threat individually, but overwhelming a single civilian. High priority due to civilian vulnerability and numerical superiority," Cortana relayed, her avatar shimmering with urgency. "Movement patterns are crude, but they're organized. Looks like a raiding party."
He moved. His heavy boots barely disturbed the undergrowth as he accelerated, the kinetic dampeners in his suit absorbing the shock of his immense speed. He became a silent, grey-and-blue blur, weaving through ancient trees, his HUD highlighting potential obstacles and the movement of the hostiles. Drawing the MK50 Sidekick in a single, fluid motion, he crested a small rise and looked down.
Below, the scene was grim. A merchant's cart was overturned, its contents – sacks of grain, simple tools, rolls of coarse fabric – scattered across the forest floor. A stout dwarf, bloodied and terrified, desperately swung a small, dull axe. He had his back to a large tree, using it to protect his rear, but he was surrounded by a horde of fifteen green-skinned goblins. Most were armed with crude spears and clubs, but three in the back carried short, wicked-looking bows, their arrows already nocked. A larger goblin, adorned with crude leather armor and brandishing a rusty, cleaver-like sword, was directing the others with guttural barks, a clear leader.
"Okay, new plan," Cortana said, her voice a razor's edge of tactical focus. "Three archers in the back are the primary threat. They can flank and hit the civilian. The leader is the secondary. Take them out first, break their command structure, then clean up the rest."
"Acknowledged," Valerius murmured.
His HUD painted four red reticles: three on the archers, one on the leader. He raised the Sidekick, his Mjolnir-assisted stance as steady as a granite statue. The goblin leader barked an order, and the archers raised their bows.
CRACK!CRACK!CRACK!
Three supersonic thunderclaps echoed in rapid succession, so close together they sounded like a single, ripping tear in the fabric of reality. Before the archers could even release their arrows, their heads ceased to exist, vaporized in crimson mists by the 12.7x40mm rounds. They collapsed like puppets with their strings cut.
The remaining goblins froze, a wave of confusion and terror washing over their primitive ranks. Their leader, a moment from ordering the final charge, stared at the space where its archers had been, its beady eyes wide with disbelief.
CRACK!
The fourth shot caught the leader squarely in the chest. The armor-piercing round didn't just penetrate its crude leather; it punched through flesh and bone with such force that it blew a fist-sized hole out of its back, sending it flying off its feet to land in a heap.
Four shots. Four kills. Less than two seconds.
The horde, now leaderless and terrified, hesitated. Their guttural shouts turned from battle cries to panicked squeals.
That hesitation was all Valerius needed.
He holstered his pistol and surged forward. With a burst from his suit's thrusters, he launched himself from the rise, covering the fifty-meter distance in a breathtaking leap. He landed amongst them like a meteor, his half-ton weight cracking the earth and sending a shockwave that staggered the closest goblins.
Before they could recover, the slaughter began.
He snatched a spear from the nearest goblin and, in one fluid motion, used the shaft to shatter the creature's jaw before spinning and impaling a second goblin through the throat. He didn't release the spear. He swung the impaled goblin like a club, its dying body smashing into two more and sending them sprawling.
A goblin charged from his left, swinging a club. Valerius met it with a backhand. It wasn't a slap; it was a half-ton of armored gauntlet moving at blurring speed. The impact was absolute. The goblin's head spun a full 180 degrees with a sickening snap, its body crumpling to the ground before it even knew it was dead.
He dropped the spear and grabbed another goblin by the throat, lifting it effortlessly off the ground. Its legs kicked uselessly as he used its body as a shield, absorbing a clumsy spear thrust from another. With his free hand, he reached out, grabbed the spear, and snapped the wooden shaft in two as if it were a twig. Then, with a grunt of exertion, he simply crushed the throat of the goblin he held, dropping the lifeless body.
He was a whirlwind of calculated, hyper-violent motion. He broke limbs, crushed skulls, and tore through their ranks with an efficiency that was both beautiful and terrifying. From the dwarf's perspective, it wasn't a battle. It was an extermination. This metal giant didn't fight like a warrior; it moved like a force of nature, each action precise, economical, and utterly lethal.
The last few goblins, their courage shattered, turned to flee.
"Don't let them warn the nest, Chief," Cortana advised, her tone cold as ice. "Eliminate any potential scout."
Valerius didn't need to be told. He unslung his MA40 Assault Rifle. The weapon felt light and familiar in his hands. He didn't aim down the sights; he fired from the hip, the suit's targeting systems doing the work. A controlled three-round burst stitched across the back of one fleeing goblin, dropping it instantly. Another burst for the second. A final one for the last.
Silence descended upon the clearing, broken only by the crackle of his suit's systems and the pathetic whimpers of the dying. The entire engagement, from the first shot to the last, had taken less than fifteen seconds.
He strode into the clearing, the rifle held at a low ready. The dwarf merchant stared, his jaw slack, his eyes wide with a mixture of terror, confusion, and overwhelming awe. The ground around him was littered with the broken bodies of fifteen goblins.
A new notification flashed on his HUD.
[ SIDE MISSION COMPLETE! ]
[ MISSION: SAVE THE CIVILIAN ]
[ DESCRIPTION: Intervene and prevent the death of a civilian under attack. ]
[ REWARD: +500 System Points, [Basic Material Scanner x1]. ]
[ SIDE MISSION COMPLETE! ]
[ MISSION: EXTERMINATE THE THREAT ]
[ DESCRIPTION: Eliminate the goblin raiding party (15/15). ]
[ REWARD: +1500 System Points, [UNSC Combat Knife] Schematic. ]
"Points and schematics," Cortana mused. "This system is definitely more rewarding than ONI."
Valerius lowered his rifle. His gaze was already sweeping past the scene, towards the horizon. In the distance, an impossible structure pierced the sky—a tower so immense it seemed a pillar designed to hold up the heavens themselves, its apex lost in the clouds.
"Looks like we've found our primary objective, Cortana," he said internally, his voice devoid of emotion, but with a hint of grim determination.
"Always aiming high, aren't you?" she replied, her avatar shimmering faintly at the corner of his HUD, a wry smile touching her data-formed lips. "Orario. Home to the Dungeon and all the gods that feed off it. This is going to be… interesting."
The dwarf remained on the ground, trembling and speechless, his mind unable to form a coherent thought, let alone a question. Valerius turned his head, his glowing blue visor fixing on the terrified survivor. His voice, an electronically filtered baritone, was calm, cold, and absolute as he made his own introduction.
"Spartan-001."