Chapter 4 - AssimilationThe massive ships flew throughout space, dozens of these massive edifices of metal and elegance unknown to the Jiralhanae. The curious eyes looked out from the plasma shield that encased them inside, looking around the insides of these cell-rooms with wandering eyes. Some went crazy and erupted into their brutish rage, ramming headfirst into the plasma shields repeatedly. A few causing contusions, leading to their inevitable coma and death.
Arterus was sitting idly in the corner of his cell, Martkus next to him. They were both praying to themselves, a strange taste in their mouth--one of idleness and tameness. That's exactly what they were. Tamed. At least at this point they were; many elites standing guard outside--more than one would expect. They seemed almost scared of Arterus and his other beasts of men, a few screaming out furiously still in his cell. It got to the point where one of the Elites guarding the door shut down the plasma shield--bad mistake.
The brute--Cestrius--that was flipping out ran out and gored the elite. Ramming full speed into the Sangheli, head crashing against his stomach and sending him back a few meters right off the edge of the twisting path. The elite soon meeting his impending death, however, that was far from the end of it. All the brutes in the cell rose up and watched silently--it was an odd spectacle--why were they not helping their brethren? This was not right, at least to Arterus.
Cestrius gripped the second elite guarding the door and flung him to the ground, before a shot could even be fired off from his plasma rifle, a few other Jackals on the rafters firing down at him. He took it, stumbling back into a wall and continuing to charge. He ran like a mad football player through a crowd of elites and jackals trying to stop this beast. Cestrius managing to ram through--and knock off the edge--almost five more elites in no particular order.
His uprising was stopped just as quickly as it started however. A jackal from afar fired off its beam rifle, striking Cestrius through the heart and making him fall to his knees. Another elite walked up and gripped him by the throat, lifting him slightly in his grip and throwing him back down--sending an entire burst of plasma rifle energy into his face. The shield holding Arterus closing up again--they knew their place.
Soon they, the ships, entered the atmosphere of another planet. One unknown to them, one much too small to even be a planet--almost moon like but made of steel. As the ships orbited this small moon-like sphere of metal, all the brutes were hastily transported into Spirits and Phantoms alike. Mostly with no resistance at this point--what was the point? Arterus was picked up from his cell, along with the five others remaining and guided up the pathway.
They reached the top, floating into these mystical purple flying machines--the aura itself lifting him. This was his first conscious experience of this, and it was almost magical to him. He stood in a corner of the Phantom, watching the other brutes converse amongst themselves--the Elites laughing among each other at their own jokes--most likely at the brutes in some fashion.
As they were lifted off of the Phantoms, almost all the brutes were gathered into a giant congregation in the hundreds of thousands. All on a giant, open plain--many phantoms and banshees patrolling the sky to quell any uprising. Arterus looked about, he was alone at this point--Martkus and anyone else he knew was gone in the mist of the crowd--he was among his people; just as far as he knew, they were not his people--at least on Doisac. This was new.
As the last of the brutes were lifted onto the ground, a voice rung out through the sky. All throughout the congregation altar's arose throughout in the hundreds--maybe even thousands as large holograms of three prophets lit up in full figure. All three rose their hands and proclaimed to the Jiralhane, "Welcome, brethren." Brethren? This word confused every single brute in the fields---many words escaping lips of curiosity--sometimes even rage.
One of the Prophets continued, "We apologize for your rather rough expulsion from your planet--but we have been watching you. You are a STRONG race" his fist clenched at the word strong, his eyes closing as his head tilted down. A soft sigh escaped from the prophets mouth, his face arising again--almost looking at these beasts if it were not for the hologram. "We need you, and your kind to become stronger than -ever- before. The Forerunners have commanded it---the creators of all---demand it."
This caused less of an uproar than one would have thought--this mention of the Forerunners. The brutes yelled out, almost comically in unison, "Who are the Forerunners?" The prophet obviously heard their demanding question, all of them as laughter escaped from them--almost like teenagers snickering at an inside joke. After regaining composure briefly afterwards, they spoke again, "The creators of the rings of course. The creators of most, your forefathers. They are the way to the Great Journey, they are the true path."
The brutes took this willingly--including Arterus--whom was watching them at this strange machine. How were they speaking--but not there? How could they make figures of themselves in such intricate lights? These thoughts flew through every single Jiralhanae's mind--they wanted to know, badly. The Prophets smiled again, "Do you accept my offer, my dear Jiralhanae?" he said in an unctuous manner--his attempts at cajoling an entire race was obviously working.
The entire congregation of brutes--every single voice--erupted into one word.
"Yes."
Aloysius:
-Less than half a of percent of players have the General rank on Xbox Live.
How is the General rank fair again?
Halo Fanboys. The next most annoying thing next to Jonas Brothers fanboys.